#heady wire wrap

[pixidelic]

Some wire wrapped roach clips I’ve made 💕

[whitefeathers]

perv!butcher who gets handsy with you but of course he can, hes the leader!

mdni. DARK CONTENT WARNING, READ MY PINNED POST BEFORE CONTINUING. cw: manipulation, dubiously consensual/non con touching but reader is into it, abuse of power. Choking, somnophilia. Daddy kink. Massive daddy issues and butcher is a father figure to u in this, heavy on the taboo and age diff. <3 im down to make a part 2 to this if ppl are interested too ! w/c: 1.2k

Butcher isn't a nice man. He's ruthless, does what he wants, whenever he wants - he's definitely got some sort of conscience in there, but it's drowned out by the primary emotion that drives him. Lust. It's usually for blood, but this time, it's for you.

A pretty young thing, definitely not dumb but definitely inexperienced. Sometimes you don't know when to shut your mouth, too excitable and bubbly, too full of energy. You mean well, you do. But when Butcher already has a headache, your begging to take temp V is driving him mad.

"I'll be okay, it won't hurt me, I could just have cool powers like you, and it'll be all over the next day! It could really help, we don't know what I'd be able to do and it could be something helpful!"

You're sat next to Butcher on the deflated couch in the pawn shop basement, only the pair of you there. You're sat with your legs crossed facing him, gesturing with your words, while Butcher is sat with his legs spread wide, pinching the bridge of his nose, facing directly ahead at the TV. He sighs, turning his head to look at you.

"Fucccck no. You ain't havin' any, end of story. Give 'ers a bit of peace and quiet, will ya? Me 'ead is banging, yer yapping isn't helping."

"I'm not yapping, I'm trying to help..." You murmur, dejected. You turn to face away from Butcher, frustrated and feeling like he doesn't trust you. He watches as the dull light from the TV illuminates your face, trying so hard to look calm and collected. Butcher sees right through you. He knows you need his approval like air.

Butcher sighs again. He's a horrible, fucked up man. He's about thirty years your senior. Fuck it, he'll blame the V for how he's acting if anyone pulls him up on it. If anyone dares. He's the leader, he can do what he likes.

"Look, c'mere. Ya wanna help? Sit,"

"Sit...?" You meet his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. Butcher is unwavering, and he looks scary. His eye contact is intense, and you choose to look down at his chain and his sweater instead.

"Yeah. Sit. Didn't stutter, did I? C'mere," your gaze follows his hand (so large that it's practically a paw) as he pats his strong upper thigh. Your head and your heart race, and you stay still.

"Isn't that... um... inappropriate?" You've always seen him as a mentor, a leader, a father figure. Of course you've had some thoughts, but you've shoved them down deep enough to silence them. He's practically your dad - and old enough to be, too. This is wrong.

Like a dam breaking, all those thoughts suddenly surface. Flickers of Butcher's strong, veiny hands, his rough lips, his even rougher voice calling you a good girl. Fuck, this is bad.

"Surely is. Stop ya whinin' though and give me what I want, yeah?"

You shakily stand up, nodding. You always want to make him proud, and deep down you know you want this - whatever this is. It could be anything from a cuddle to a punch in the gut. Butcher is a live wire.

You settle yourself in his lap, hovering by putting most of your weight on your white-socked feet still planted on the ground. Up this close, Butcher is all you can smell. Heady, masculine, intense. Like testosterone, sweat, and leather. You know it should gross you out but it doesn't.

Butcher's large arm manhandling you so your back is to his chest makes you gasp. He's overpowering and rough, too strong for his own good, too arrogant and self-serving. His hand wraps around to suddenly grip your throat, feeling your pulse but not choking you. Just holding. Your heart jumps into your throat. He might actually just kill you right here.

"You're nervous. Scared I'm gonna hurt ya, sweetheart? Scared I'm gonna make ya cry?" Your eyes flutter closed, and you nod, terrified. He's whispering into your ear, a dark growl. You can feel his warm breath against your neck, smelling like cigarette smoke and mint. His other arm is around your waist, keeping you close to him. Making it so you can't get away.

"Not gonna hurt ya. You want this too," Butcher takes a deep inhale, nostils flaring and eyes fluttering shut. The V has given him an increased sense of smell, and with your legs slightly spread, he can smell exactly what you've been desperate to hide.

"Yeah, you want this too. Can smell ya dripping. This little cunt want daddy, yeah?" Butcher laughs cruelly when his words make your breath stutter and a new gush of wetness to soak your panties, intensifying the smell of pussy that is driving him mad. He takes another deep inhale, and you try to shut your legs, only for Butcher to force them back open with a heavy palm, slapping the soft jiggle of your thigh through your cargos. Mean.

"No, no. No, no, baby, nuh uh. Nope. Don't fuck me about. You're on my team, and you're mine. You want a daddy? I'll be your daddy," you shake your head no, and Butcher coos.

"No? Don't want a daddy?"

"Don' want any daddy, want you," you whisper. "'S always been you."

He groans and adjusts you in his lap so you're even closer to him, and his lips are on your neck by his fingers, just resting. You can feel him now, hard against your ass. Fuck, either he's carrying a gun in his pants, or he's huge.

"Thaaat's right. Always been me. Picked ya up off the street, ya own dad ain't know how to treat ya. I do though. Know what brats like you need," his hand on your throat tightens, cutting off the circulation to your head and making you go dizzy. His lips move up, his tongue softly licking that spot where your neck meets your jaw.

"Need an older man to look after you. Need a good stuffin' to stop you gettin' all gobby. You've been giving me such a headache, princess. Gonna fuck that mouth outta ya. Just gotta have you passed out for it, yeah?"

You struggle to breathe, panicking. Passed out? Why? Your eyes start to flutter closed and Butcher's voice starts to echo in your head, feeling both a million miles away and right inside the pulse of your clit at the same time.

"Stupid lil cunt for daddy. Ya won't be able to take me when you're awake, so I just gotta force it while you're out... sleep now, sweetheart. Shhh." he coos as your vision goes spotty, and you go limp in his lap. Once he's sure you're out cold, he lays you down on the couch, and gets to work using you just how he's always wanted.

He's a deeply fucked up man, but it's not his fault you make such a perfect daddy's girl.

[fairytalesandlegacies]

Trust Fall

• Author: fairytalesandlegacies • Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy • Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader • Warnings: 18+ Characters | NSFW | MDNI • Word Count: 23.5k

Summary:

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years. Or: Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

✨ Read On AO3 or below the cut ✨

Trust Fall

After a whirlwind first year filled with dragon attacks and crumbling ruins, keepers and keys and hidden passageways, bonds of friendship forged in secrets and fire, daring quests and trying trials to prove your worth to wield an ancient form of magic only few can see, you should have expected your final year at Hogwarts would be anything but uneventful — and that suits you just fine.

Though, eager as you are to move beyond the confines of the castle and take the wizarding world by storm, there's a part of you that isn't quite ready to leave this place you've come to call home just yet, a part of you that's still got a few more noteworthy memories to make. Luckily for you, you've got a best friend who certainly knows how to make things memorable.

Ever since that thrilling excursion to the Restricted Section back in your fifth year, the two of you have been sneaking out of your common rooms almost nightly to go on all sorts of daredevil adventures — midnight waltzes through the Forbidden Forest in search of the legendary unicorn den, swarms of lacewing flies fluttering all around you like traces of dark magic; summer nights spent sneaking out of the sweltering confines of the castle and stealing away to the lake for a refreshing swim, diving down to its depths to see if you can catch a glimpse of a pod of mermaids or the eye of the giant squid, exploring cavernous grottos hidden beneath the waterfall, turquoise and sapphires made of pure light dancing across the surface of the water by the glow of your wands.

And of course, just last autumn, the night the two of you flew to the top of the Astronomy Tower to make wishes on a shower of shooting stars, bright sparks of silver and gold lit up in his warm brown eyes as he'd gazed up at them with a wide smile on his face and slowly counted to eighteen — one wish for each year he'd been alive. You suppose it would've been a truly breathtaking sight to behold, only you were too busy gazing at something far more beautiful, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles that dapple his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Luckily, you didn't have to wait long to get your second chance, a flurry of snowflakes swirling down from the sky the night the two of you snuck back up for an encore in celebration of your birthday a few months later, green and silver scarf wrapped around both of your shoulders to keep you warm as you blew out candles lit by an overzealous Confringo cast and shared bites of a slightly lopsided cake he'd insisted on baking himself (though you suspect the only reason it was actually edible was because he'd had help from the house elves.) You never told him, but it was the best birthday you've ever had.

That's just how it was with him. Sebastian Sallow had a way of making every moment feel like an adventure.

And tonight is no exception. An owl asking you to meet him at your usual spot wakes you from your bed at a quarter 'til midnight, and the next thing you know, you're following his Disillusioned form down a candlelit corridor, traversing well-worn paths you've come to memorize like the back of your hand. You assume you're off to the Undercroft as per usual, but the longer you follow, the more it seems Sebastian has other plans (either that, or he has no idea where he's going and is simply feigning confidence — wouldn't be the first time.)

"Sebastian," you hiss, but he doesn't seem to hear you, moving ahead at the same steady pace.

You try again.

"Seb—"

"Bash—"

"Oi, Sebastard!" you call out in a series of escalating whispers, running through your rolodex of well-loved nicknames until he finally hears you, a wrinkle in the hood of his cloak catching under the candlelight as he turns his head in your direction.

"Yes, darling?" he whispers back, and you don't need to see his face to know that he's smirking underneath his cloaking charm. You're suddenly very glad for your own Disillusionment Charm — even though you know he only does it as a joke, purely to rile you up, it still makes you blush up a storm every time he calls you that. Thankfully, you have a lot of practice brushing it off.

"Did my Quaffle hit you a little harder than I thought during last week's match?" you tease, relishing every opportunity to gloat that you were the one to score the final goal and lead your team to victory. "Undercroft's the other way entirely."

"Have a little more faith in me, darling. I know exactly where we're going," he reassures you, cocky as ever. "We're simply taking the scenic route."

"I wouldn't exactly call this scenic," you snicker, casting your eyes around the bare stone walls of the corridor you're currently sneaking down.

"Are you sure about that?" he counters, throwing open the unassuming double doors at the end of the passageway with a graceful flick of his wand.

What lies beyond steals your breath away, shivers akin to a haunting melody in an empty cathedral dancing across the back of your neck as you step into a corridor bathed in glittering golds, greens, and blues, kissed by silver in the light of the full moon spilling through wall-to-wall windows, a mosaic of painted glass depicting star-strewn skies over tempestuous ocean waves, fields of wildflowers dotted between snow-capped mountains, and twisting ivy redolent of the Scottish countryside curling in curtains around a sprawling scenery of a vibrant, lush green forest.

At the very end of the hallway, you spot a familiar fixture — the Serpentine Beast Window, leading right out into the middle of the Defence Against The Dark Arts Tower. How extraordinary — a whole corridor hidden inside of a window. Nearly three years here and you're still discovering new secrets about the castle, despite all your eager exploring back when you first arrived.

"Stumbled upon this little beauty earlier today and immediately thought of you," he says softly, and then quickly clears his throat. "I mean to say, I thought you would like it. And, judging by that little dip in the outline of your cheek that can only mean you're wearing your signature dimpled smile, I'd say I was right."

You turn to face him, exchanging one beautiful scenery for another, wondering just how many of your mannerisms he's got memorized, and could know to look for even when you're nearly invisible.

"And look," he adds with a smug smile, pointing toward the little alcove with the familiar clockwork fixture sat just beneath the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom as the two of you peer around the corner. "You see? Told you I knew exactly where I was g—"

Without warning, a bat-like figure emerges from out of the blindspot of the alcove, and the two of you immediately fall silent.

"Impertinent piece of— I know there's a secret room hidden behind here, if I could just—" Headmaster Black curses, flitting agitatedly back and forth in front of the clockwork cupboard, muttering all manner of incantations to try and figure out a way inside.

In your panic, the two of you bolt back behind the corner you've just rounded, hastily squeezing into a little recess in the wall of the corridor. You've never been the most graceful of people, tripping over your own feet and nearly falling flat on your face in your eagerness to escape, but Sebastian is well prepared for it, reaching out to steady you, grabbing ahold of your waist and pulling you into the little hideaway. Next thing you know, you're pressed right up against him, caged between the cold stained glass wall and the warm, heavy weight of his rapidly rising and falling chest, heart beating like the wings of a wild thunderbird beneath it.

You've never been this close to him before, but even though he's nearly invisible, you've all but memorized his every feature, so it's easy enough for you to map them all out — from the sharp curve of his jawline to the devil-may-care sweep of his hair, to the plush pink pout of his lower lip, and— uh oh, you're definitely staring. And maybe it's just a trick of the light, but you could almost swear he was too, that little telltale flicker as his eyes snap back up to meet yours.

Ocean blues filter through his Disillusioned form as the aquatic landscape bleeds through from behind him, making him look as though he's one with the water, moonlight dancing along the edges of his outline, igniting him in a soft silver glow. Sebastian was right, it is very beautiful in here…though you'd wager it's less to do with the colorful mosaic and entirely due to the man standing in front of you, lips a mere breath from yours, close enough to lean forward and—

Oh, you really need to sort out your priorities. If you're not careful, your less-than-pleasant headmaster will catch the two of you sneaking around past curfew, and that's worth two poltergeists on a good day. This is no time to be thinking about your best friend's lips, wondering whether they might taste like the strawberry sugar quills he'd snuck the two of you after dinner, or the spearmint toothpaste he uses every night before he goes to bed…

The sound of distant footfalls headed down the opposite corridor snaps you out of your reverie, accompanied by the dulcet tones of your irate headmaster, evidently giving up in his attempts to break past the barrier into the place that's been your refuge for the past two and a half years, until all you can hear is the sound of the Defence Tower's crackling Floo flames and the frenzied staccato of both of you trying to steady your breathing.

"I think we're safe now," you tell him, whispers disguising your breathlessness.

"Hmm?" Sebastian replies with a distracted hum, gaze snapping back up from the shape of your lips for the second time in as many minutes.

Sebastian shakes his head, and for a few nerve-wracking seconds you hold your breath in fear that he can feel the sudden jump in your pulse as he leans in even closer in an effort to peer around the corner, before giving you a quick nod of affirmation and slipping out of the passageway, taking what's left of the air in your lungs along with him. The glass wall against your back suddenly feels a lot colder without Sebastian's warm weight against your chest, and for a brief moment you wonder whether you've gone mad, wishing that Black had hovered around for just a little bit longer.

"Yes, it would appear so…for now, at least," Sebastian grouses, lips twisting into a frustrated scowl. "But if Black's been sniffing around the Undercroft, then it's only a matter of time before he works out how to get inside, and that means it's as good as lost to us as a safe haven. I'm…not sure where else we could go," he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken by the notion of having to cut this little nighttime rendezvous short.

You're about to join him in his lament, when a spectacular idea comes to you.

"Oh!" you exclaim, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when the outline of his eyebrows shoots up in alarm.

"Sorry, got excited," you explain. Sebastian's lips quirk up in fond amusement.

"Follow me," you whisper, taking him by the hand and leading him up the staircase directly across from the hidden corridor.

"Where—" he starts, but you cut him off with a cryptic, "You'll see."

Without another word, Sebastian follows you up several flights of stairs, twists and turns leading you past Charms and up through the Astronomy Tower, sleeping portraits tutting at the two of you along the way.

"Can't believe I didn't think of it before, but, well…I've only just discovered it, and we've always had the Undercroft, so I didn't think…aha! Here we are," you whisper excitedly as the two of you round one final corner, coming to a stop between a blank stretch of stone and a tapestry of Barnabas The Barmy.

Sebastian looks at you like you've gone mad.

"Darling," he drawls, the affectionate moniker dripping with the urge to tease you senseless. "That's a bare stone wall."

"Are you sure about that?" you ask in a mimic of his playful prodding from earlier, lips quirking up in a smug smile at Sebastian's gasp of surprise as an ornate doorway bleeds into view, sprawling across the stone wall like fast-growing ivy.

With a confident smile, you breeze through the door and into a spacious moonlit room decorated in a blend of botanical greenery and gothic architecture, ceiling enchanted to reflect the world outside, sky full of stars glittering through an array of blossoming vines suspended from the illusion of a skylight.

You haven't quite finished setting everything up just yet, so it's still a little messy in some areas (a seemingly endless struggle to coax the paintings and fixtures to hang just right) but you're fairly happy with what you've done with it so far. A handsome writing desk strewn with stacks of dusty old textbooks, half-finished essays, inkwells, broken quills, and a bowl magically enchanted to fill with fresh fruit whenever you enter the room (courtesy of your friend Deek, who'd noticed you missing meals one too many times because you were too wrapped up in one of your projects, and decided to intervene) sits in one corner, while a potioneer's station with a trio of burners and a potting table with nearly-sprouted dittany and mallowsweet sits in another, a whole empty corridor just waiting to be filled with anything your heart desires (your own private library, perhaps) nestled in between.

"Is this…the Room Of Requirement?" Sebastian whispers from beside you, awestruck expression on full display now he's no longer cloaked by his Disillusionment Charm. "I thought that was just a myth."

"So did I," you chuckle, lifting your own with a casual flick of your wand. "…until a fortnight ago."

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes narrowing.

"Hang on," he says, tone changing from fascinated to guarded in the span of a few words. "You've known about this room for two whole weeks and you haven't told me?"

You can't but feel a little pang of guilt over how hurt he sounds.

"Come now, it's not like that," you assure him, reaching out to take his hand. Despite his sudden shift in mood, he immediately takes it, fingers slipping easily between your own, sighing as you rub soothing circles along his thumb.

"Like I said, I've only just found out about it," you explain. "Professor Weasley showed it to me after I spoke to her about wishing I had a quieter place to study for my N.E.W.T.s. — suppose she took pity on me, seeing as two out of three of my only years here have been plagued by nerve-wracking exams — let me turn it into my own private study, and decorate how I please. She made me swear not to tell anyone, but…well…you're my best friend, Seb, of course I was planning on telling you. I just wanted to wait until I'd finished setting everything up first," you finish, eyes narrowing at one of the paintings above your desk set several inches above the others at an odd angle.

"You are a wonder, you know that?" Sebastian laughs, warmth flooding back into his features as he gazes down at you with a fond smile, giving the palm of your hand an affectionate squeeze. "You've got all these professors fooled into thinking you're this saintly, rule-abiding student, yet here you are, sneaking out past curfew with the school's biggest mischief-maker to learn forbidden magic in a secret room you swore you'd tell no one about. We do so adore restricted areas, don't we?"

"Forbidden magic?" you repeat, arching a curious eyebrow.

"Why do you think I invited you to meet me tonight?" he says, lips curving up in an impish grin. "I've got another spell I'd like to show you."

Your eyes light up in excitement, eager as the day he taught you Confringo.

"But first, I think you owe a tour of your secret private study, starting with…whatever those are," he says, curious gaze flitting between three magnificent archways connected by an imperial staircase just across the way, slivers of gold waltzing between the branches of two majestic oak trees twisting around the entryway of the first, a lullaby of birdsong and gentle ocean waves echoing from the bright, hazy doorway of the second, climbing vines curling like serpents around water-logged trees cloaked in mushrooms and moss, casting shadows like Celtic filigree across the marble floor as the soft silver glow of magically-conjured moonlight spills down the steps leading up to the entrance of the third.

"Oh, you mean my vivariums?" you reply with an air of feigned nonchalance, smiling at the way he gazes at them with all the wonder of a small child discovering magic for the first time. "Forest, swamp, coastal, or grasslands — where would you like to start first?"

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyebrows arched in astonishment.

"You mean to tell me there's an entire ecosystem in each one of these?" he asks.

"Well, of course," you answer. "Each beast I've rescued deserves to feel right at home, wouldn't you agree?"

"You've got magical beasts in there?" Sebastian huffs out around a disbelieving laugh.

"Would you like to meet them?" you ask, lips curling up in a bright smile.

"Would I like to— is that even a question?" he asks, jubilant.

"Please, lead the way." Sebastian sweeps into a low, theatrical bow and is nearly knocked off his feet as you eagerly tug him by the hand toward the first of four doorways, stepping from the serene moonlit study into a lush green forest teeming with birdsong and honeybees, lit by the soft golden glow of warm summer sunshine.

"—should really check on everyone anyway. I set up an automatic feeder and a toy chest in each one, but they still need to be brushed on occasion so I can collect all their feathers and fur," you ramble, but your idle chatter is lost on Sebastian as he stands there in the middle of the forest clearing, gazing awestruck at a pair of unicorns — a bright white female and her little golden foal, coats adorned with a series of swirling spirals that seem to shimmer in the sunlight — trotting toward you in the distance.

"I— I can't believe it," he breathes. "After all that time we spent searching, you finally found the unicorn den."

"Do you remember that mooncalf den we found in the middle of the Forbidden Forest that one time?" you prompt, smiling at the memory of one of your many midnight forays.

"How could I forget? The way you cooed over them. Adorable," Sebastian teases you with a fond smile.

"Fifty paces east and we would've found it," you tell him, delighting in the impressed look on his face.

"Huh," he muses softly. "All that time, we were so close. Funny how often that seems to happen."

You watch his gaze drift down to your entwined hands and settle there for a moment, heart thundering to the beat of swiftly approaching hooves. Before you can think of anything to say, you're pulled out of the intimate embrace by the arrival of your unicorns, the bright white female nearly knocking you off your feet in her enthusiasm to greet you. She nuzzles at your shoulder before shooting Sebastian a curious glance, her little foal hiding behind her. You've never brought anyone else into your vivariums before, and she has every right to be wary after everything she's been through.

"It's alright. Sebastian is safe, I promise," you assure her in a comforting whisper, reaching up to stroke along the bridge of her nose. She huffs out a breath and closes her eyes, shaking her head in an effort to get you to reach a little bit higher. After a moment's deliberation, she approaches Sebastian, bowing her head and allowing him to touch her. Sebastian shoots you a wary glance, asking your permission. You give him an encouraging nod, and slowly, carefully, he reaches up to gently stroke along the same path, letting out a delighted laugh when she huffs and nuzzles against his shoulder in turn.

"This is Hazel," you tell him with a soft smile. "A lovely woman by the name of Betty Bugbrooke bonded with her when she was just a foal, came to visit her in the forest every week. But one night, they were attacked by wolves, and Hazel ran off scared. Betty worried she might be injured, or worse— that poachers might have gotten to her. She asked if I could find her, give her a safe place to recover. It was only after I brought her here that I realized she was—"

On cue, the little golden foal takes this moment to make his grand entrance, squeezing in past his mother to head-butt Sebastian in the stomach, eager for attention.

"Oof," Sebastian laughs, raising his other hand to gently stroke the foal's mane.

"And this is Hazel's son," you chuckle, glancing back and forth between the two boys. "I haven't thought of a name for him yet — he was only just born last week. Perhaps you could help me name him?"

"You'd let me?" Sebastian asks, pleasantly surprised.

"I think it's only right. He seems to have taken quite a shine to you," you smile as the little foal head-butts Sebastian's outstretched hand.

"Either that or he thinks my fingers are carrots," Sebastian laughs.

"I don't think he's quite figured out how to work the automatic feeder just yet," you venture, glancing back at the row of little wooden crates by the entryway and making a mental note to double check you've conjured the spellcraft correctly. "Would you like to feed him while I brush Hazel?"

"Sure," he says, glancing warily at the automatic feeder, not quite sure how to use it himself. "Should I just—"

Before he can finish asking, you lift your wand and produce a fresh bag of beast feed similar to the ones you've used in class, handing it off to him before conjuring your brush and heading toward Hazel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Sebastian reaches into the bag and lifts a handful of food into the air, where it floats between himself and the foal, who eagerly reaches forward to chomp at the pieces. Sebastian chuckles fondly at the hungry little unicorn and sets about trying to figure out a name for him, listing a few choices out loud and asking him what he thinks of each one in turn.

"What shall we call you?" Sebastian muses, tapping a finger against his chin. "Oh, I know! How about a wood-themed name to match your mother? Let's see…how do you feel about Hawthorn?"

The golden foal snorts and shakes his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no," Sebastian chuckles. "Hmm…how about Rowan, then?"

The little foal stamps his front hoof in even deeper disapproval.

"Well, we can't very well call you Dogwood," Sebastian laughs.

Hazel lets out an impatient snort as she waits to be brushed, bringing your focus rather sharply back to her. You breathe out a hasty apology, but she merely gives you a look like she knows exactly why you were so distracted.

"Hush, you," you admonish her with a small smile, reaching up to brush the tangles out of her long silver-white mane.

Hazel lets out another huff like she's sighing at you, glancing over to watch Sebastian playing with her son, red-faced and laughing as the two of them chase each other across the clearing, before turning back to level you with another pointed look, nodding her head and nuzzling her nose into your shoulder, and you think it might just be the closest anyone's ever come to getting a unicorn's stamp of approval.

A little while later, the two of you are sitting at the edge of the forest by the toy box, discarded cloaks laid out underneath you like a makeshift picnic blanket, watching Hazel and newly-named Willow chasing an unpoppable bubble around the clearing, when Sebastian lets out a long, slow, contented sigh and leans his shoulder into yours.

"I have to admit, it's a wonder I've seen you at all these past two weeks," he says with a soft chuckle, gazing out onto the golden horizon, mesmerized by the way the sunlight kisses the surface of the lake. "I could easily stay like this forever."

He turns to look at you, sunlight dancing in his warm brown eyes just like the stars had that night on the Astronomy Tower.

"Here…with you."

Breath catches in the back of your throat as you look at him, eyes trailing down the curves of his freckled cheeks to land on his lips again. Here in the soft afternoon light, his freckles are more pronounced than ever, each one a kiss from the sun. You imagine him spending his summers running around outside, tearing through the countryside on all sorts of rollicking adventures, tending to the gardens and livestock in the village on his quieter days. Perhaps that's how he developed such a sturdy build, broad shoulders straining against the sleeves of his button-up, rolled halfway to his elbows, baring toned, freckled forearms that flex with each flick of his wrist as he guides the moving path of the unpoppable bubble.

You feel your body start to lean forward of its own accord, eyes fluttering closed, but manage to stop yourself before you do something monumentally stupid like kiss your best friend in the middle of a magically-conjured forest clearing.

"Ah, but then you wouldn't get to see the rest of my vivariums," you quickly recover, jolting yourself out of the moment.

"Merlin, I forgot," Sebastian shakes his head, seemingly coming out of his own little reverie. "This is just one of three."

"Four," you correct him with a small smile. "The doorway to the grasslands sits just above the entrance to the Room Of Requirement."

"I didn't even notice," Sebastian marvels. "I was so preoccupied with the three right in front of me."

You slowly get to your feet, dusting grass off the edge of your skirt.

"Well then, are you ready to see the next one?" you ask, holding out your hand.

"Absolutely," he says, taking your offered hand, though he does most of the heavy lifting as you help him to his feet. You expect him to let go once he's standing, but he only holds on tighter, slipping his fingers back in between yours. You can't help the rush of warmth that surges through you at the contact.

"Shall we take the scenic route?" you ask, inclining your head toward the darkened forest just ahead.

"Is there any other way to travel?" Sebastian quips back, eagerly following at your side.

Jobberknolls and fwoopers fly overhead, weaving between the autumn-kissed treetops as the two of you make your way through the thicket, while kneazles chase rolling puffskeins through the leaf-strewn undergrowth. As the two of you trudge along, the forest itself grows darker and darker, fading from the warmth of a golden summer's day into a misty moonlit night, the ground beneath your boots becoming steadily more uneven and unforgiving, solid dirt and gnarled tree roots giving way to soft, muddy earth dotted with moss and mushrooms, puddles of water stretching between patches of grass and tall, swaying cattails, until you reach the very edge of the forest, opening out onto the swamplands.

Sebastian lets out a sharp gasp, faltering for a moment when he sees two skeletal, horse-like creatures with wingspans the size of a Hebridean Black swoop down from the night sky to land at the edge of the forest, one pitch black like the sky above, one as bright as the moon.

"You have thestrals?" he whispers, equal parts amazed and apprehensive.

"There's a den just north of here," you tell him, giving the palm of his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Absolutely riddled with poachers, last time I checked. It's not safe for them out there anymore, at least not at the moment. So, Deek asked me to rescue a mated pair."

"Deek," Sebastian repeats, the name somewhat familiar. "That's that house elf that's friendly with Professor Weasley, right?"

"The very same," you reply with a small smile. "He's the one who helped me set up my study, in fact; encouraged me to rescue as many creatures as I could, give them a safe place free from the threat of poachers."

"Which is how you ended up with a mated pair of thestrals," Sebastian concludes, sounding both amused and impressed.

"Gomez and Morticia," you answer with a cheerful nod.

Sebastian glances at you, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"It's what I've taken to calling them," you say with a small shrug. "Suits them, don't you think?"

Sebastian watches the pair of bad omens curl up together under the shade of a weeping willow, Gomez stretching out his wings to wrap around Morticia's shoulders like a protective shield, before leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against hers.

"It certainly does," Sebastian replies with a soft smile.

He turns back to look at you, teasing grin returning in full. "Came up with names for all of them, have you?"

"Of course," you reply with a jovial smile. "It would get awfully confusing if I didn't, especially with an entire herd of— aha! There they are, right on cue."

One by one, all seven of your mooncalves emerge into the clearing, moonlight dancing in their big, bright blue eyes, webbed feet splashing through muddy puddles as they all come hurdling toward you, jumping up and down, enveloping you in a cuddly circle. You greet them all by name — Millie, Mooncake, Marzipan, Vanilla Bean, Snickerdoodle, Pancake, and Jellybean — giggling and cooing over them as you ask each one how they've been, who's hungry, and who needs to be brushed.

Too wrapped up in your little herd to notice the way Sebastian's lips curl up in a soft, smitten smile as he watches you, heart fluttering inside his chest at how utterly adorable you are, how big and pure your heart is. Of course you'd have a whole herd of them. He shouldn't have expected anything less.

"Where on earth did you find them all?" he asks, huffing out a laugh as one of the braver ones comes sniffing around his ankles, peering up at him expectantly.

"Poacher camps," you explain, upper lip curling in a scowl. "Every so often, I'll come across an encampment near their den in the forest, catch them before they manage to steal away with their quarry. They mostly use cages with level one locks, so they're easy enough to pick while their backs are turned, but it's not exactly the quickest process. So far, I've only been caught twice. Managed to duel my way out of trouble without too much fuss — nothing a vial or two of Wiggenweld couldn't patch up — and more importantly, without any mooncalves getting hurt in the process. Poachers scare pretty easily when they find out a student knows Confringo — thanks for that, by the way."

You look up from your little herd of mooncalves to find Sebastian staring at you in astonishment, mouth hanging open like you've just revealed some grand secret double-life, so distracted he doesn't even notice the muddy paw prints saturating the knees of his trousers as Jellybean jumps up to nose at his pocket, searching for treats.

"You—" he falters, breath coming out in a disbelieving laugh. "You're amazing, you know that? I wondered where you'd been disappearing off to whenever you weren't with me. Speaking of which…I'd like to come with you next time, if you'll have me. Help you fight the baddies, keep these little ones safe," he says, leaning down to stroke the top of Jellybean's head and letting out a contented hum when she closes her eyes and makes a high-pitched squeaking sound.

"I take back every time I've ever teased you for going soft over these little gremlins. I can see now why you like them so much," he relents, chuckling as Jellybean purrs and nuzzles her head against the palm of his hand, eager for more scritches.

"Aren't they wonderful? They're so sweet and soft and silly," you laugh as you watch a trio of little ones chasing after a tiny floating moon conjured from the toy box with all the fondness in the world. "Oh, I just love them so much."

"Is that what it takes to earn your love? I'm at least one out of three of those things," Sebastian chuckles under his breath, eyes growing wide the moment he realizes he's just said that out loud.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," you say, struggling to hear anything over the sound of Snickerdoodle happily crunching away as you feed him a handful of treats.

"Nothing," Sebastian lies, summoning a handful of beast feed from out of your bag with a flick of his wand. "I was just asking Jellybean here if she was hungry."

At the mention of food, all seven of your mooncalves come gallivanting up to surround you both, floating toy moon immediately forgotten.

"Alright, easy there, I promise I won't let anyone go hungry," Sebastian reassures them, laughing as their little pink tongues poke out to tickle the palm of his hand. There's no Hazel to tease you this time as you stand there, rooted to the spot as though you've just been Stunned, one breath away from sighing like a lovesick damsel as you watch Sebastian dote on your mooncalves, heart threatening to burst with the overwhelming love it carries.

You wait until the very last mooncalf has huddled in with the rest of their herd and laid their head down in the tall, swaying grasses to drift off to sleep, fur brushed and bellies full, before making your way to the next vivarium. Together, the two of you wade through knee-deep swamp water littered with lily pads and lotus flowers, cloaks soaked and caked in mud and moss, until you reach the mouth of a darkened cave, shards of moonstone jutting from floor to ceiling like rows of shark's teeth.

Led by the glow of your wands, the two of you carefully make your way through the cavernous passageway, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting across the walls each time your light shines through a cluster of crystals, until eventually, the light at the end grows bright enough to outshine even the strongest of light spells, a symphony of crickets and tree frogs and echoes of dripping stalactites giving way to the soft cries of seagulls and gentle ocean waves, moss giving way to seaweed, until the muddied puddles of the swamp meet little whirlpools of sea water.

Together, the two of you step out into a bright, hazy world lit by golden sunlight streaming through fluffy white clouds stretched across a brilliant blue sky, ocean waves crashing against massive weather-worn rocks surrounding you on all sides.

After thestrals and unicorns, Sebastian really shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have hippogriffs too, but he gasps in disbelief all the same when two of them come swooping down from the sky to land right in front of you, eager to be brushed and fed.

They're wary at first, only used to you, Natty, and Poppy from your daring rescue weekend last, watching Sebastian with a kind of cautious curiosity as he dips into a low bow, warm brown eyes fixed first to Highwing's golden gaze, and then Caligo's piercing bright blue. After a moment, the two of them bow their heads, allowing Sebastian to come stand beside you and brush them, Caligo affectionately nipping at the hood of Sebastian's cloak when he sneaks him a few extra treats from your bag of beast feed.

"Keep that up, and I bet he'll let you ride him in no time," you chuckle, plucking another loose feather from Highwing's bright white plumage and stowing it in the pocket of your cloak.

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes wide with excitement.

Your lips quirk up in a smug smile.

"There's nothing quite like the view of the castle grounds from the back of a hippogriff," you sigh, mischief dancing in your eyes as you cast him a playful grin. "Want to see for yourself sometime?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Sebastian quips back, lips pulling up into a brilliant smile.

"Is it just the two of them in here, or are there any other surprises I should know ab—" Sebastian barks out a startled laugh as a bright white diricawl bursts into existence right beside him.

"Oh, hullo Gwyneira, nice of you to join us," you chuckle as the squat little bird marches up to the automatic feeder, bobbing and weaving without a trace of fear between the hippogriffs' taloned feet, and steals three helpings' worth of food before disappearing again with an audible pop.

You didn't think Sebastian's face had room for any more freckles, but after a long stretch of sitting at the edge of the beach, dark gray trousers rolled up to his knees, wool socks and worn leather boots discarded in favor of dipping his toes into the sand, tempting the water to come up and kiss the soles of his feet, you're proven quite wrong, a ruddy hue settling into the hollows of his cheeks as he squints against the blinding sunlight and watches in fascination as Caligo and Highwing take to the skies.

Eager to see where they're off to, the two of you make your way a little further east, where a large formation of rocks leads up a steep cliffside covered in a thick coat of lush greenery, cracked and crumbling steps ascending to the ruins of an old castle. It's a bit of a climb that's hell on both your knees, but the view at the top is well worth it, sunlight spilling over a landscape that seems to exist forever in the golden hour, rolling grasslands teeming with billywigs and honeybees buzzing about a colorful sweep of wildflowers, surrounded on all sides by majestic, snowcapped mountains.

Sebastian gazes out onto the horizon, elbows resting against the edge of the wooden guardrail fencing in the highest outlook of the clearing, mesmerized by the way the sunlight hits the glittering golds of Highwing's feathers and the cool blues of Caligo's as the two of them soar across the mountain range, when a flash of bright red wings swoops by overheard, wind curling its fingers through his hair.

"Is that— oh, there's no way," Sebastian gasps in unbridled excitement.

"Oh, did I forget to mention I have a phoenix?" you reply cooly, though your proud, beaming smile gives you away.

"Incredible," he says, a little breathless as he watches the legendary bird soar across the mountainous landscape. "Absolutely incredible."

He turns to look at you, sunlight catching against the back of his frame and igniting him in a soft golden glow, fixing you with a smile that's somehow even softer as he adds, "Every time I think I've seen everything, you always find a way to surprise me."

Sunlight spills across his features as he holds your gaze, kissing brand new freckles into the curves of his cheeks and the bow of his lips, and in that moment you've never been more jealous of the sun, longing to follow in its lead.

You're shaken out of the moment by a series of curious squeaks and whines, turning in time to see a family of nifflers eagerly waddling up the path toward you, keen to sniff you out and see if you've got anything valuable to nick. You introduce Sebastian to the felonious foursome — the infamous Irondale Pilferer, Calamity, his partner in crime, and their newborn twins, Mischief and Rascal. Sebastian greets them with a friendly smile, crouching down to tickle Mischief's belly and laughing when a handful of coins comes spilling out of her pouch. You tell him he's more than welcome to pocket them…if he can manage to keep them out of her brother's clutches.

Sebastian lets out a deep, contented sigh as he gazes out into the distance, watching as the sun slowly starts to slip beneath the mountains, bathing the clearing in hazy shades of citrus and rose.

"Blimey, how long have we been in here?" he laughs, glancing down at the edges of his nearly-dried cloak. "It feels so real in here, I'd honestly forgotten we're still in a room inside the castle, and haven't just traversed the whole of the highlands in the span of— what, a couple of hours? This place feels never-ending, it'll be a wonder if we ever manage to find our way back."

He glances over at you suddenly, a worried crease settling into his brow.

"Do you know the way back, or do we just live here now?" he asks, huffing out a nervous laugh.

"Come along, lost boy. Let's get you home," you tease, fixing him with a fond smile as you take him by the hand and lead him down a curved, winding pathway that twists around the cliff face of the clearing, tall grasses and fragrant wildflowers weaving between the pickets of the worn wooden guardrail, down down down until you reach a magnificent waterfall spilling out into a vast, glittering lake on the periphery of a familiar terrain.

As you climb down the last moss-covered boulder and make your way across the clearing, you spot Hazel curled up around her little foal, the two of them softly dozing under the shade of an oak tree, gentle sunlight spilling through its branches in a lazy waltz across the lush green grass.

Hand in hand, the two of you step back through the doorway opposite the edge of the forest, and into the heart of your starlit study.

Sebastian shakes his head like he's coming out of a trance, glancing back toward the sunlit doorway to double check it hadn't all just been a dream.

"An entire world — sorry, four entire worlds — existing inside a single room in the castle?" he marvels, breathless laughter rushing out of him as he glances around the study. "And you managed to set all this up in just two weeks?"

"Well, I had a lot of help," you're quick to assure him, not wanting to take all the credit. "From Deek and the room itself."

"But you're the one rescued all those creatures, and you chose all the decor, didn't you?" he insists, playfully knocking his shoulder against yours.

"I suppose that's true…" you relent, lips curving up in a proud smile as you glance around the room, sleek mahogany bookshelves lining nearly every wall, just waiting to be filled with all your favorites, moonlit sky casting shadows on the polished marble floor through the twisting greenery adorning the skylight up above.

"It's magnificent, by the way…your private study," he tells you, voice soft and low as he turns back to look at you.

"Our private study now, if you'd like," you correct him, mesmerized by the way the moonlight dances in his eyes.

"A secret room that's just ours alone? Oh, I like the sound of that very much," he says, voice close to a whisper now as he keeps his steady gaze fixed on yours.

It's easier to catch this time, now you're no longer under the spell of a Disillusionment Charm, the way his eyes trail down to your lips and linger there, just for a moment. Your tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip in instinctual anticipation, and you could almost swear you hear his breath hitch, hand gripping yours a little tighter.

And oh, you're going to do something very stupid if you don't snap yourself out of this right now.

"So," you prompt, embarrassed by how breathless you sound. "You promised to show me something forbidden tonight?"

Sebastian blinks, eyebrows jumping to his hairline.

"What?" he blurts out, half shocked disbelief, half breathless laughter.

Ah. You just clocked the way that sounded. Brilliant subject change. Spectacular choice of wording right there.

"You— you said you had a spell you wanted to show me?" you clarify, cheeks burning at the eager look in his eyes.

"Oh," Sebastian breathes, shoulders sagging a little. He shakes his head to try and clear it.

"Right, we should—" he falters, suddenly nervous, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way into the middle of the study. (You try very hard not to mourn the loss, the space between your fingers a little too empty without his to fit perfectly between them.)

The look he gives you as he stands opposite you is apprehensive, posture worse than usual as he ducks his head down in an effort to appear smaller.

"So…" he starts, lips pulling up in a wincing smile. "I trust you remember a little spell called…" he swallows. "…the Imperius Curse?"

All the air rushes out of the room like a Dementor's kiss, fear lancing through you like slivers of ice, leaving pins and needles in its wake.

It's been over a year since the catacombs. You thought he'd put all that behind him.

"Sebastian…" you say his name like a warning.

Sebastian puts his hands up in surrender.

"Allow me to explain," he says softly. "Please."

You purse your lips, eyes narrowed. After a moment's deliberation, you let out a sharp sigh and give him an impatient look, your silence giving him permission to continue.

Sebastian breathes a sigh of relief and nods in gratitude.

"Okay, so…hear me out," he starts. "You and I have both known what we wanted to do since the end of our fifth year, yeah? But getting Outstandings in our O.W.L.s is only the beginning. If we're to have even a shot at surviving life as Curse-Breakers, then we need to be prepared for what's out there."

"Even— no, especially— all the things the school deems too dangerous for us to even know about. Honestly, what's the use in Defence Against The Dark Arts if they're not going to teach us how to properly defend ourselves against the Dark Arts?" Sebastian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he riles himself up over his longstanding disdain for the curriculum.

Your lips twitch into a small smile in spite of yourself.

Sebastian shakes his head and lets out a wearying sigh, reeling himself back in, gaze softening as he turns back to look at you.

"Listen, I know you didn't want to learn it last time…but this time, I really think you should," he insists, solemn conviction laced with an undercurrent of soft, desperate pleading. "Not for the purpose of using it on anyone, but so you can understand how it works, the kind of power that comes with wielding it, and most importantly, how to fight against it, so that if anyone is ever fool enough to cast it on you, you won't be so easily subject to their whims."

A shudder runs through the both of you at the very thought, Sebastian bristling with a kind of fierce protectiveness you've only ever seen him display for a few choice souls — his twin sister, his oldest friend, and you.

"And the other two curses?" you ask tentatively, voice low and quiet as your vision swirls with sparks of acid green and crackling carmine, a phantom burst of pain unlike anything else in this world rippling across your abdomen as the memory of cold stone beneath your hands and knees overwhelms you. "Would you have me fight against those, too?"

"No!" Sebastian says a little too sharply, terror flashing in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, grounding himself.

"The only one I feel even remotely comfortable casting on one another is the Imperius Curse. In the right hands, it's the only one that isn't inexorably harmful…the only one anyone's ever been able to fight against. With the other two, it's really just a matter of…of dodging it," he swallows thickly, a flash of guilt tightening his jaw. "Or…or enduring it."

Sebastian's expression darkens and you know he's thinking back to the Scriptorium again, his reaction so raw and visceral it's as though you're back on a different stone floor, tears drenching the hood of your cloak as he'd clung to you, shoulders shaking in violent, body-wracking sobs.

It's not as though he's made peace with what happened with his uncle, or that he feels more remorse for one grievance over the other. You suppose it's just a little easier to contend with your past mistakes, to quiet the voices of all the people you've wronged, when you don't have to look one of them in the eye every day…when they've been nothing but kind and loyal to you, and all you did in return was repeatedly let them down.

And you know, because he's told you countless times now, that there isn't a single day that goes by where he doesn't wish it'd been him instead, that he should've fought harder against your refusal to cast it on him. But that's an empty regret, because even if you had to go back and do it all over again, you still never would have let him be the one to take it.

"I'll never cast that spell on you ever again," he says, broken, choking. "Once was already too much. I'm so—"

"I know you are," you tell him softly, the same words you've repeated countless times since that quiet little moment in the Undercroft at the end of your fifth year.

You'd kept in touch over the summer, too eager to hear from him to follow through on any half-baked notions of needing space. And a good thing, too — Sebastian, it seemed, was just as keen to hear from you in return. He'd written dozens of letters — two, three, four, sometimes five times a week, if his owl was feeling up to it (though according to one of his letters, she'd start biting his fingers if he ever reached for his quill a sixth time in the span of a single week.)

He never veered toward the topic of your magic or what happened down in the catacombs, content to talk at length about the mundanities of your day instead, asking after your fancy new life in London living all on your own in the flat Fig had left you in his will, commiserating over the hardships of settling a late loved one's affairs. He never seemed bored in the slightest, even when you felt you were droning on about nothing, always happy to hear what you've been up to, even on the days you never left the house. To Sebastian, it seemed no subject could be exhausted, especially when it came to you.

In each new letter, he'd oh-so-casually ask about one of your favorite things, from sweets to flowers to the muggle authors you'd grown up reading, and every week, you'd find a little hand-wrapped parcel among his many letters — a box of sugar quills or a chocolate frog he'd picked up in Hogsmeade the weekend before, a bright blue jobberknoll feather he'd found at a nearby den and fashioned into a quill, fresh honeysuckles and hyacinths from his neighbor's garden pressed between the pages of a quote he'd scribbled down from one of your favorite books, along with an essay on why he liked it.

He'd been keen to keep you up-to-date on how he'd been faring too, eager to keep busy and make himself useful, helping his neighbors with various errands and tasks they might need done, tending to livestock and community gardens, helping to fix up the hamlet in the wake of loyalist destruction. He spoke like he was desperate to prove himself, prove he was keeping his word. A few times, you couldn't help but giggle at the way he sounded like an overzealous suitor trying to woo his intended, keen to sell up his accomplishments.

At first, you'd thought it was simply because he was lonely, that you were his only correspondent, but then Ominis finally broke his silence in July (insisting in his letters to you that given the choice between his family's company and Sebastian's, he supposed he'd rather tolerate the latter, and not because he missed the impish bastard, or anything — his words) followed by a tentative hope you're well from Anne in August. Though she hadn't quite been ready to forgive him back then, Anne was still anxious to know how her brother was faring, not-so-subtly asking if you'd heard from him in her owls to you, and, according to Anne's letters, getting an earful from one of her former neighbors.

After Anne left Feldcroft, she'd kept in touch with one of the neighbors she'd always been closest to — a kindly old woman who used to send over home-cooked stews when Anne and Sebastian first arrived on Solomon's doorstep, and who'd apparently been singing Sebastian's praises all summer for all the hard work that nice young man had been doing to help cut back on the gnome infestation threatening to overtake her rose garden.

Evidently, there were only so many times Anne could bear to hear about that poor boy's crumpled face every time the old woman mentioned Anne's name in passing, how sweet it was that he missed his twin, but wished her luck in her travels as she took a much-needed respite to mourn the loss of their uncle, opting to stay behind and look after the estate, that she'd finally broken and decided to send him a letter. Just one line — hope you're well — but to Sebastian, it was everything.

And yet, the frequency with which he wrote to you never wavered. If anything, it'd given him even more to talk about.

You remember how excited he'd been for term to start back up again — it was all the two of you seemed to be able to talk about in the days leading up to September. You'd grown so used to his presence, even if it was only through letters, that the stroll through Diagon Alley felt rather lonely without him, as did the train ride from King's Cross (though an afternoon of stories, snacks, and Exploding Snap with Ominis, Poppy, Natty, Garreth, and Amit certainly made for a lovely journey through the countryside) but seeing as he could easily get all his supplies in Hogsmeade and simply use the Floo Network to travel to the castle, it seemed rather silly to invite him to come all the way to London, just to go all the way back.

You remember the way the floor fell out from underneath you the first time you saw him again — teeth as white as a Patronus Charm against the sun-kissed glow of his skin, an impossible surplus of freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips pulled up into a bright smile, warm brown eyes lit up like afternoon sunlight across the forest floor, somehow even taller and stronger than he'd been only a few months prior as he'd rushed toward you and lifted you off your feet in a dizzying hug, shivers dancing down your spine as he'd buried his face into the crook of your neck and whispered, "Merlin, I've missed you."

By then, you'd finally begun to admit to yourself that maybe, quite possibly, you might have developed something of a small crush on your closest friend. This moment clearly endeavored to whack you round the back of the head with it.

Laughter caught like honey in the back of your throat as you'd pulled back to look at him, cheeks burning like you'd just hugged a living Confringo blast, and said, "Thought you'd be sick of me by now. We only wrote each other every day."

But Sebastian's sincerity only grew stronger.

"Never. Much as I looked forward to your letters, it's not the same as getting to see you in person. Merlin, can't believe it's been almost three months since I last saw you. You look—"

Sebastian paused, eyes lingering on the silken spill of your hair as it cascaded down your shoulders, longer now and out of its usual braid, the healthy glow that had blossomed across your cheeks from all those downtown strolls in the warm summer sun, same bright eyes, same soft smile you always seemed to reserve just for him.

"I sure hope the end of that sentence is good," you'd teased in the wake of the silence that stretched between you, momentarily worried you had some leftover pumpkin pasty on your face, or forgotten to repair a singe in your cloak.

But then Sebastian had let out the softest laugh, ducking his head in a sheepish grin and peering up at you through his lashes. And Merlin, how your heart raced.

"That's one word for it. Good. You look good," he said softly.

He looked at you for a moment longer, lips pulling up into a soft — dare you call it adoring — smile. And then he shook his head, and in the next instant it was gone, replaced by something sharper, cheekier.

"Though it appears you've somehow gotten even shorter since the last time I saw you," he added in a teasing lilt, lifting his arm and settling it atop your head as though you were a particularly moody armrest.

"Or you just shot up over the summer, you bloody tree," you'd quipped, wriggling out from under his arm, only for it to fall around your shoulders and stay there until they called for everyone to take their seats for the start of term feast.

Sebastian's laughter lanced through you like a bolt of lightning, and you spent far more time than you'd care to admit lying awake later that night wondering whether he'd planned it.

The next morning, you awoke to find him waiting for you bright and early outside of your common room, in the midst of a heated debate with the eagle doorknocker over the answer to the riddle when is a door not a door?

"When it's ajar," you'd answered as you stepped out into the corridor, eagerly accepting the freshly-baked croissant held out in his hand.

"That's—" Sebastian blurted out, flustered. "How is that more of a correct answer than a portrait? Ever heard of the Fat Lady? The painting of the ticklish pear? The doorways to both the kitchen and the Gryffindor common room are literally hidden behind a portrait. So technically, my answer was correct."

You'd never seen a doorknocker look so exhausted.

"Does this little serpent belong to you?" the bronze eagle asked you as it cast a wearying glance at Sebastian.

Now that's one hell of a riddle.

"I— yes. He's with me. Sorry," you answered quickly, turning on your heel and steering Sebastian down the corridor before the doorknocker decided to exact vengeance by locking you out of your common room later that night.

You glanced over at the serpent in question, shit-eating grin spread across his ruddy cheeks.

"Sebastian," you prompted as you took in the sight of him, out of breath as he greeted you with a cheeky hello you. "Do you know how many staircases it takes to get from Slytherin Dungeon to Ravenclaw Tower?"

"Oh bloody hell, not another riddle," Sebastian groaned.

"Seventeen," you replied, cheeks aching from the effort of trying not to laugh. "Seventeen staircases. And you climbed all of them this morning just to…what, argue the merits of what makes for a good riddle with my house's doorknocker? You do know I could've just met you in the Great Hall, right? You didn't have to go to all the trouble."

The redness in the hollows of his cheeks spread like wildfire across the bridge of his nose, nearly drowning out the smattering of freckles there.

"Well yeah, I could've just waited downstairs," he brushed it off with false bravado. "But I figured it's only right I escort my charge to her first day of classes. It is a special occasion, after all."

"Is it, now?" you asked, smile growing even wider.

"It is," he quipped. "Did you know it's officially been one whole year since the day we met?" he asked, puffing out his chest with a kind of pride that made your stomach swoop like you just fell through the vanishing step in the grand staircase.

"You mean since I knocked you on your arse?" you teased around a mouthful of warm flaky pastry and rich chocolate.

Sebastian pouted at you and made a grab to take back his croissant, barking out a laugh when you shrieked and proceeded to shove the entire thing into your mouth.

"The very picture of grace," he'd mused, smile fit to bursting as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Speaking of which," he added, smile turning sly. "I think it's high time we had a rematch, wouldn't you?"

"Eager to make losing to me a yearly tradition?" you smirked.

"You wish," he snorted, smile fond as he rolled his eyes. "Meet me in the Undercroft after your last class, and we'll set the record back to rights."

"I look forward to sweeping you off your feet again," you countered with a playful smile.

Sebastian's eyebrows drew up the slightest fraction, lips pulling into a soft, amused smile as he let out a sound that was half hum, half laughter.

"Here's hoping one of these days I can manage to do the same," he'd mused, all the air rushing out of your lungs in a single breath as he took a step closer and reached out to swipe his thumb across your lower lip.

You had half a mind to wonder whether the duel had begun early, whether he'd been practicing wandless, nonverbal spells over the summer, and had struck you unawares with a combination of ice and fire charms, heart pounding in your chest as you watched his tongue dart out to lick a dab of melted chocolate off the edge of his thumb, darkened gaze locked on yours the whole time.

"See you then," he said, the low hum of his laughter stirring something that felt an awful lot like wings in the pit of your stomach, threatening to burst out of you and chase him down the corridor as you watched him walk away.

It took you five whole minutes to find your way to your first class, despite the fact that he'd literally walked you to the door.

You were still in a bit of a daze when you'd strolled through the sliding gate several hours later, hair wild from a particularly humid session in Potions brewing your first-ever N.E.W.T. level Draught Of Living Death, a streak of dirt on your nose from wrangling a screaming mandrake into a fresh pot of soil in Herbology — at least, that's the excuse you'd told yourself when Sebastian caught you off guard in the middle of your rematch, knocking you off your feet with a well-timed Depulso that had absolutely nothing to do with the way his forearms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

The spell hit you directly in the stomach and had you gasping like you'd just been struck by a charging graphorn. You vaguely registered the clattering of a dropped wand against worn stone, and in the next moment, Sebastian was on his knees beside you, hands reaching out reflexively and then faltering in midair, like he wasn't sure what to do, whether he was allowed to touch you.

You'd laughed it off, relieved for that first rush of air back into your lungs, head swiveling to where he kneeled beside you, preparing to see a sheepish grin, a wincing apology made less effective by a triumphant, gloating smirk, but all you saw when you looked into the eyes of your best friend was sheer terror, and you knew in an instant where his mind had gone.

Sebastian's gaze flitted between your eyes and the place you'd been hit — the very same spot his Cruciatus Curse had struck you less than a year prior.

"Oh Sebastian, it's okay," you reassured him, wincing at the slight wheeze to your voice. "I'm fine, see? It wasn't anything like—"

Sebastian's lower lip trembled, and in the next moment you'd been pulled into a tight embrace, shaking in his arms as seismic sobs wracked his entire body, an endless chorus of I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me spilling from his lips.

You'd held him back just as tight, assuring him between gentle strokes of his hair that you'd long forgiven him, that you knew he didn't have a choice.

"But I did have a choice," he argued, pulling back to fix you with a red-rimmed scowl. "I led you down there. I insisted. I'm the one who got us into that impossible situation in the first place. I made so many terrible choices, and all that time I let myself believe it was worth it because I thought I was doing the right thing. But in the end, all I did was hurt the people I—" he faltered, swallowing around a sharp burst of nerves that only had half to do with the guilt welling up inside him.

"I've had all summer to relive what I did to you…to everyone," he whispered softly, haunted by ghosts both living and dead as he'd looked into your eyes.

It's the same way he looks at you now, desperate and pleading for forgiveness you've already granted him, absolution he still won't allow himself.

You know how much he regrets it, how deeply it haunts him, even now. You know he's changed, learned from his past mistakes, determined never to repeat them. You know you can trust him. So if Sebastian wants you to learn one of the Unforgivable Curses, then you have to trust that it must be for good reason.

"So you're telling me it's actually possible to fight against the Imperius Curse?" you ask, still wary, but, you'll begrudgingly admit, curiosity effectively piqued. "How in Merlin's name did you ever learn how to do that?"

Sebastian lets out a breath he'd likely been holding that entire time, some of the tension unraveling from his shoulders as his lips pull into a smile like he's relieved you're still standing here with him, eager to share in something new he's learned like it's just another trip to the Restricted Section.

"Well, as you may have noticed, our dear friend Ominis is not exactly thrilled about our choice of career," Sebastian starts, and you can't help the small smile that curls across your lips as a litany of passive aggressive comments about how he'd better not see the two of you anywhere near the Janus Thickey Ward when he starts his residency in June, comes flooding into your memory. Sebastian clocks your smile and his lips twitch into one of his own.

"Keeps lamenting about how he wishes we'd choose something less dangerous," he adds, rolling his eyes in a show of fond amusement. "But that if we absolutely must, then he'd rather we go in fully prepared for what's out there. I'd assumed he was just going to help us practice a few defensive spells, offer to teach us some of the healing charms he's been learning shadowing Nurse Blainey. Imagine my surprise when Ominis Gaunt, self-proclaimed opposer of anything to do with the Dark Arts, offers to teach me the ins and outs of the Imperius Curse."

That certainly does surprise you, helping to put whatever remains of your unsettled nerves at ease. You know Ominis would never agree, let alone be the one to suggest practicing dark magic unless he truly felt it would be beneficial, unless he truly believed Sebastian could be trusted with such a thing.

"We've been practicing nearly every night in the Undercroft for the past several weeks," Sebastian goes on to explain. "I'd have told you sooner, but I didn't want to risk subjecting you to such a spell until I'd grown comfortable using it myself, fighting against its effects. Now that I have…would you like to see how it's done?"

A frisson runs down your spine, and you're not entirely sure whether it's thrill, fear, or some strange combination of the two. You swallow, only trusting yourself to nod.

"Alright then, draw your wand," he instructs, taking a few tentative steps closer until he's standing right behind you, gentle hands wrapping around the wrist of your dominant hand and bringing it into the air alongside his own.

"We'll begin with the wand movements so you can establish muscle memory," he says, warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck as he speaks in a low, soothing voice, sending shivers that have nothing to do with the forbidden magic you're about to perform racing down the length of your spine.

Together, you aim for the opposite wall, following his directions as he speaks them aloud. Arc up…left…up at a sharp diagonal to the right…and then straight back down in a figure four.

After you've completed your first circuit, Sebastian takes a step back and allows you to practice a few more times on your own, making sure you've got the movements just right.

"Good," he says, sounding impressed, but not altogether surprised. "Perfect form, in fact."

You can't help the automatic smile that curves across your lips at his praise.

"Now to put it into practice," he prompts, drawing his own wand from the inside pocket of his cloak and turning round to face you.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly, fixing you with a serious, almost pleading look, like if you answer no it's as good as casting Crucio.

"You know I do," you answer automatically. Because even though you're still a little nervous at the prospect of delving into darker forms of magic, there's no one you'd rather learn it from.

Sebastian's eyes crinkle in a grateful smile, before quickly shifting back to something more serious.

"Alright then," he says, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Prepare yourself, I'm going to cast it on you."

"I'm ready," you tell him, standing with your spine a little straighter, wand at your side.

"Imperio," he intones, wand flicking through the air in the pattern he'd just taught you.

The effect is instantaneous, a serene sort of blankness settling over your mind like you're floating through the clouds, a comfortable warmth akin to dozing off in front of the fireplace spreading throughout your entire body. Then, clear as a bell, you hear Sebastian's voice ring out inside your head, instructing you to walk over to your desk and bring him back an apple from the bowl set atop. Without even questioning it, you do so, legs moving of their own accord.

"Finite," he says as you come to a sudden stop in front of him, a bright red honeycrisp apple held out in offering in the palm of your hand. The floating high disappears instantly, leaving you feeling out of sorts, a little dazed as you stare down at the apple, almost as if you'd dreamed you'd gone to fetch it.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asks, checking you over like he's the one preparing for a Healer's career. "It can be a little overwhelming when you first experience it. Part of why I asked you to bring that," he adds, pointing down at the apple. "The sugars will help you recover."

Sebastian's always had a bit of a sweet tooth, but the sudden uptick in the sheer amount of sugar quills you'd seen stuck between his teeth as of late suddenly makes a lot more sense. Slowly, as though testing the bounds of being back in control of your own limbs, you lift the apple to your lips and take a small bite, mulling over his question.

"It was…strange," you decide, aware that's the biggest understatement of the century. "I know I should've been scared, but instead I felt oddly serene."

"That's what it does to you," Sebastian nods solemnly. "Lulls you into a false sense of security. Tricks your mind into complacency, like you're merely a vessel and someone else is steering the ship."

"I can see how it earned the name unforgivable," you agree with a grimace. "I reckon the only reason I'm not nearly as unnerved as I should be right now is because I knew you were the one casting it."

"That's exactly why I wanted to be the one to teach you," he says with renewed conviction. "In order to learn how to defend ourselves against it, it's important to practice with someone we trust."

"Which is why," he adds with a wry chuckle. "You're going to be the one casting it on me next."

Your lips part in surprise. Even though you knew it was coming, it still catches you off guard.

"Are— are you sure?" you ask warily.

"Course I am," he reassures you with a confident grin. "As I said, it's important to know what it feels like from both sides, understand the kind of power you wield."

You stare at him for a moment, mulling it over, and then give him a curt nod, taking a few steps back to allow enough room for a safe cast.

"Remember, you have to mean it," he reminds you, stowing his wand in his pocket and standing in front of you with his arms behind his back. "Concentrate. Think the command very clearly in your mind."

You take a deep breath as you square your shoulders, assume your stance, and raise your wand.

"Alright, I'm going to cast it," you tell him, giving him the same warning he'd granted you.

"I'm ready," he assures you in an echo of your words.

"Imperio," you say aloud, and a warm weight like you've just been handed the reigns to the carriage of Helios himself settles into your dominant hand. The effect on your intended target is immediate, spine straightening as he stands to attention, an eerie green glow flickering to life in the heart of his warm brown eyes.

You nearly lose your nerve when you see it, an overwhelming, all-consuming realization that you're completely in control of another human being settling into the pit of your stomach like lead, terrified that one wrong move could potentially hurt your dearest friend. But then you remind yourself that he's the one who asked you to cast it on him, that you're learning this spell for a reason, and so you close your eyes and clear your mind, focusing on the task at hand.

Walk over to the desk and bring back one of Highwing's feathers, and then place it behind my ear, your own voice rings out inside your head, clear as crystal. You open your eyes in time to see Sebastian already on the move, watching with a kind of macabre fascination as he does exactly as you'd commanded.

"Finite," you say the moment you feel the quill gently slide into place behind your left ear — though at first you wonder whether you've done it right, when Sebastian doesn't immediately withdraw his hand, instead letting it linger to brush back a lock of hair and tuck it behind your ear to join the bright white feather. You're saved from worry when he clears his throat a moment later, the bridge of his nose dusted in a curious shade of pink.

"A perfect first cast," he tells you, and although you don't necessarily want to be proud that you'd gotten such a dark spell right on your very first try, you can't help but preen a little at his praise.

"Now, I want you to try it again, but this time, let's focus on recitation," he says, backing up a few paces and resuming his stance from before. "Think the words very clearly inside your mind and watch as they come spilling out of my mouth as though we were a living ventriloquist act," he quips, lips curling up in a wry smile.

Used to his rather dark sense of humor in light of things he should probably take a bit more seriously, you merely smirk and roll your eyes.

After another steadying breath, you lift your wand and cast it again, beginning with a simple, "Hi, my name is Sebastian Sallow, and I'm a seventh year Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," watching in equal parts wonder and horror as he repeats every word you'd just been thinking in perfect recitation.

That's what an utterly ridiculous idea comes to you, and, curious to test the bounds of the enchantment beyond mere facts and figures, you instruct him to say something you know he never would of his own accord.

"Hello, I'm Sebastian Mallowsweet, and cockroach clusters are my favorite treat in all the world! I can't wait to buy a whole barrel from Honeydukes the next time I'm in Hogsmeade," Sebastian repeats in a bright, cheerful voice that makes you giggle so hard you nearly slip up and lose your hold on the spell, but not before you get him to add in a hearty, "Perhaps I'll share some with my best mate, Duncan Hobhouse, the bravest man I've ever known."

"Finite," you manage between poorly-stifled bouts of laughter.

"Oh, that's just cruel," Sebastian chides you with a playful scowl, shaking himself out of the enchantment.

"I'm not sure what's worse, the image of a whole barrel of cockroach clusters, or the idea of voluntarily spending time with Puffskein Dunkein," he adds with a sharper shudder toward the latter. "Rest assured I'll get you back for that heinous slander."

At this point you're a lost cause, laughing so hard it's like you've downed a dozen shots of giggle water, shoulders shaking as you struggle to regain composure. Try as he might, Sebastian can't even pretend to be cross with you, lips quirking up at the corners in a fond smile.

"It's a power feeling, isn't it?" he asks softly, giving you an appraising look, curious to see how you'll answer.

"Is it bad that I sort of enjoyed it?" you ask, wincing as though you've just admitted something wicked.

Sebastian studies you for a moment, choosing his next words very carefully.

"There's nothing wrong with the thrill that comes with learning a bit of forbidden magic," he says thoughtfully. "As long as you're responsible about how you use it."

"Some people learn that lesson through trial and error," he continues, lips twisting into a self-effacing frown. "And to some, it just comes naturally. Given that I am speaking to the person who had the chance to take one of the most powerful sources of magic known to wizardkind and keep it all to herself, but chose not to…I think it's safe to say you've more than proven yourself."

Your lips pull up in a small, grateful smile.

"And let's not forget one very important caveat: I gave you full permission to cast it on me and make me say whatever you wanted," he reminds you. "So let me ask you this: would you ever cast it on me without my consent?"

"Of course not!" you answer without hesitation, scandalized by the very thought.

"There you go," he says with a reassuring smile. "So, no, you're not a bad person for enjoying that little moment of power, because in the end, all you did was make a friend say something silly."

"But the kinds of people who usually wield this type of spell…well, let's just say their intentions aren't quite so whimsical," he says, grounding you back in a sharper reality, the chilling warning like a gust of wind through lantern light, reminding just how dark and twisted the path through the woods can be.

"Which is precisely why you're learning it," he says with bright conviction. "So you can understand the dangers of it, learn how to fight against it."

"Now, with your permission, I'm going to cast it again, and this time, I want you to try to break it, alright? Concentrate on channeling your own wants and needs, making your own voice louder than the one giving the commands."

You give him a firm nod of affirmation, wand held steady at your side.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready," you reply.

Sebastian raises his wand.

You brace yourself for it this time, try to shake yourself out of the fog the moment it hits. Just before you slip under, you see Sebastian's lips curl upward in a mischievous smirk, dark eyes glinting with mirth. It doesn't take long for you to figure out why, when, true to his promise to get you back for your little cockroach clusters prank, the words, "Sebastian Sallow is the best in our year — a dueling champion, clever as Merlin, graceful as a phoenix on the wind," come tumbling out of your mouth without your approval.

You concentrate all your effort on trying to break his hold on you, your own voice snorting with laughter inside your head as you recall that first day in Defence Against The Dark Arts when you'd knocked that cocky little smirk clean off his face with a single blow. Dueling champion, my arse.

That little burst of your own laughter grounds you, gives you clarity, strengthens your resolve to push back against the commanding voice inside your head, until you feel the curse's hold on you start to weaken, little by little, like the steady tick tick tick of an unlocking charm, before all the right tumblers and springs click into place.

Spell broken, you decide that the best way to get Sebastian back is to take his own ostentatious accolades a step further, hand over your heart as you pretend to swoon, sighing, "Devilishly charming, too. I would gladly spend hours charting constellations in the freckles that adorn his handsome face."

"With my lips," you add with a salacious wink to really drive it home, delighting in the way his whole face goes up in flames, burning brighter than a Confringo blast.

(The fact that it's all true is irrelevant. The point of the thing is to tease him, and judging by the stupefied look on his face, you've succeeded.)

"I—" Sebastian falters, embarrassingly breathless. "Hang on, I didn't tell you to say any of that!"

"That's right!" you exclaim, doubled over laughing for the second time in as many minutes. "I'd already broken your hold on me, that was me having a lark," you tell him, beaming with pride.

Sebastian looks relieved and disappointed all at once.

"That's…that's amazing," he manages. "Broke free from the enchantment on your very first try. You really are something special, you know that?"

You sweep into a low, theatrical bow like a performer on a stage, lips curving up in a smile when he snorts with laughter.

"Alright now, don't get cocky," he chides with a playful roll of his eyes. "While that was excellent for a first try, I still managed to get in a few commands before you broke the enchantment. So, we're going to keep practicing until you're able to completely throw it off from the get-go, alright?"

"Yes, professor," you tease him, stifling one last bout of giggles as he levels you with an admonishing arch of his eyebrow, though the fond upturn of his lips gives him away.

"Cheeky," he chuckles, shaking his head.

You can't help but stick your tongue out at him, further proving his point.

"Now, as you'll have no doubt noticed, fighting off verbal vs. physical commands requires different levels of concentration and technique," he continues, assuming a professorial stance in spite of (or perhaps, unconsciously, because of) your playful commentary. "One is merely a matter of holding your tongue, but it's a different game entirely having to fight for control over the entire rest of your body."

"With that said, I'm going to cast it again," he warns, wand at the ready. "And this time, I want you to practice fighting against a physical command."

"Ready?" he asks, checking in one last time.

"Ready," you nod, back straight as you prepare for the incantation.

"Imperio," he says, and in an instant, that same serene blankness creeps in, only this time, it's like you can make out distinct shapes in the fog, growing clearer and clearer the harder you focus, the more you ground yourself, holding fast to your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own desires.

His task is simple — button his cloak and straighten his tie.

You feel your feet start to move toward him, hands raising to complete the command, when—

No, your own voice rings out, loud and clear. I don't want to do that.

Your hands settle over the front of his cloak, pausing as they inch closer to the open clasp.

Button my cloak and straighten my tie, Sebastian's voice calls out again, more insistent this time. But the voice that answers — your voice — is so much louder and stronger.

No, you stand your ground, snapping back with a triumphant laugh. No, I really don't think I will.

In fact, that's the last thing I want to do right now, you muse, lips curving upward in a cheeky grin.

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak.

You can't help but notice how pretty and pale his throat looks beneath it, adam's apple straining with each swallow, caught on the edge of a soft, stuttered groan as you slide your hands up the length of his chest, fingertips dancing across the back of his neck and threading through the soft chestnut curls at his nape. Your eyes follow the movement with a needy, yearning kind of hunger, consumed by the thought of how much prettier it would look littered with pink and purple bruises in the shape of your lips.

A sharp intake of breath sends your senses into overdrive, head swimming in an intoxicating blend of spearmint and strawberry sugar quills lingering on the edge of his lips and the tip of his tongue, and suddenly all you can focus on is how badly you want to taste it. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years.

Whatever remains of the enchantment's hold on you is immediately withdrawn, sobriety washing back over you like a sudden plunge into a freezing lake, stumbling forward as Sebastian takes a few cautionary steps back. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady you, gentle hands prying yours from around the collar of his button-up shirt. He holds them there between the two of you for a moment, and then slowly glances down, letting out a small gasp when he realizes he's touching you, and immediately pulls away like he's just been burned.

He looks at you like he's afraid of you, eyes wide with panic and shame, a fiery red heat blossoming in the hollows of his cheeks.

For a moment, you're terrified you've crossed some sort of line, turned his stomach with the regret of having to eat his own words, all that lavish praise he'd bestowed upon you, all those gallant notions of a natural proclivity for responsibility, moral compass thrown off course by the magnet that always seems to pull you toward him.

Your mind reels as you struggle to process what just happened, one little moment changing the course of everything in the space of a few seconds. It all happened so fast — one minute you were fighting against the enchantment, and the next, your hands were in his hair, all sense lost to everything but how soft it felt beneath your fingertips, swept up in the way those warm brown eyes fixed on yours like he burned for you, sunlit warmth and dulcet sugar ghosting across your lips with each breath, and suddenly all you could think about was how desperately you wanted to kiss him, so focused on channeling your own thoughts and feelings into a shield to defend yourself against the curse, you unwittingly summoned everything you've ever wanted to the surface, all those long-held desires you've tried so hard to keep buried, unearthed.

You open your mouth to apologize for getting carried away, scrambling to come up with a reasonable explanation that doesn't involve spilling your deepest secrets, pouring your heart out to the man who's held it captive for years, hoping like hell the connection severed before he heard those stupid little words ring out inside your head, that you haven't completely ruined your friendship — but before you get the chance, he's the one who starts talking, a litany of apologies falling from his lips at a dizzying speed, promising you that he would never, ever use Imperio to make you kiss him of all things, begging you to trust him.

You blink in surprise. What's he on about? Of course you trust him. That was never in question. He's mischievous, certainly, a silver-tongued charmer when he wants to get his way, but you know he would never do anything as villainous as use potions or spells to try to get someone to…to…

Oh.

So you hadn't imagined it, then.

His thoughts. His words. His voice. Wrapped so sweetly around those two little words.

Kiss me.

Not a command, but a subconscious desire, just like yours.

Sebastian wanted you to kiss him.

A mad, blissful smile spreads across your face, heart pounding in your throat as it threatens to leap right out of your chest. Your lips part, willing the right words to come, to assure him it's more than alright, but his anxious steamrolling doesn't give you the chance.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian cries, agonized. "I'm so sorry. You have to believe me, I would never take advantage of you like that. I swear to you it wasn't intentional, I just got carried away in the moment and it sort of slipped out. Beautiful girl tugging at my clothes like that, soft hands running through my hair, the way your eyes sort of burned when you looked at me, I—"

His expression softens to something you'd dare call smitten, lips curving upward in a big, goofy grin as he plays it back, and then quickly shakes his head, admonishing himself.

"Merlin, there I go again," he sighs, wincing in embarrassment as he chances a glance at you, an earnest longing burning in his eyes that makes your heart ache with the need to reach out and touch him. "I've tried so hard for so long to keep my feelings in check, because I know you don't feel the same way, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize our friendship, so I—"

You're certain the end of that sentence would've been lovely and heartfelt, but you'll never know for sure, the rest of his words swallowed in a soft, surprised oh as you rush forward, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against his. It's soft and small and tentative, hands gently cradling the sides of his face to keep you both steady, but when you pull back a moment later, Sebastian looks at you like he's just been Confunded, his face an adorable blend between shocked and hopeful, sun-kissed freckles spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips curve into a bright, blissful smile.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it's gone, replaced by apprehension and disbelief.

"Wait," Sebastian falters, holding you back at arm's length and looking you over with the same care and consideration he'd shown the first time he cast the curse on you, concern etched into his narrowed eyebrows. "Are you still under my spell?"

You can't help the smirk that curls across your lips at his choice of wording.

"In a manner of speaking," you reply, sly smile turning soft as you reassure him, "but not in the way you're thinking."

Sebastian blinks at you, confused.

"Then why would you…do that?" he asks, like he genuinely can't believe you'd kiss him of your own accord.

"Because I wanted to," you tell him, and the weight of it makes you laugh like you're about to cry. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Sebastian, you have no idea."

Sebastian's breath comes out in a sharp burst, redolent of that same euphoric laughter bubbling up inside your chest.

"How long?" he asks.

"Since you took the fall for me that night we got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section," you tell him, smiling fondly at the memory.

"The first time, that is," you add with a wry chuckle.

Sebastian lets out a disbelieving laugh, raking a hand through his hair and grinning at you like he would gladly go back and do it all over again.

"And you?" you ask tentatively, hardly daring to believe this is actually happening.

Sebastian's lips pull up into a playful smile.

"About five seconds after you knocked me on my arse during our first duel."

Now it's your turn to let out a surprised laugh. All that time you spent thinking your feelings were one-sided, and he's the one who fell first.

"It took you five whole seconds?" you tease, slipping easily back into your usual banter, reveling in the fact that you can freely flirt with him now.

Sebastian snorts with laughter.

"Yes, well…if you'll recall, I was rather stupid back then," he heaves a dramatic sigh. "After all, it took me two and half years to finally work up the nerve to kiss you."

"I'm the one who kissed you," you remind him, quirking an amused eyebrow at him.

"Ah, still besting me, I see," he chuckles, warm breath ghosting across your lips as he takes a step closer.

"Oh, but I wonder…do I still have the power to knock you on your arse?" you tease in a soft, low murmur.

His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep down to your lips, tongue darting out to lick his own in anticipation, before slowly trailing back up to meet your eyes.

"Every time you smile at me," he replies with a cheeky smirk.

"You charming bastard," you chide him, laughter swallowed up in another kiss as he leans forward to press his lips against yours.

"Mmm, that reminds me," Sebastian murmurs in between stolen kisses, smiling against your lips as you let out a needy whimper, already addicted to the way he tastes.

"So, earlier…when you called me devilishly charming and told me you wanted to — what was it — chart constellations in the freckles that adorn my handsome face…you really meant that?" he teases, positively beaming.

The look on his face is so smug, you're torn between wanting to knock him on his arse again, and wanting to kiss the stupid smirk right off his stupid, handsome face. (Though you already know which one is going to win out.)

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "Yes, I think you're handsome and charming—"

"Devilishly so."

"Yes, yes, you absolute menace. I think we've well and truly established that I like you," you wave him off, rolling your eyes in fond amusement. "Now, shut up and kiss me."

Sebastian chuckles under his breath and starts to lean forward, stopping just short of your lips, making you let out another impatient whine.

"Just one more thing," he says, remnants of mint and sugar ghosting across your lips as he leans in close, voice dropping to a low, prowling murmur. "You are, without a doubt, the most breathtakingly beautiful person on the face of this earth, and I consider it a goddamn tragedy worse than the falling out of the founders that I've gone this long without the pleasure of reminding you every single day from the moment we met."

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, spellbound by his words, heart aching to leap right out of your throat and build a home inside his chest right next to his own, and then you're rushing forward, closing that hairsbreadth distance that might as well be the space between two mountains, crashing your lips against his and kissing him senseless.

Your hands are everywhere, tugging at his shirt, threading through his hair, pulling him as close as possible. So lost in the intoxicating touch and taste of him that you don't realize you've been steadily moving backwards until your backside collides with the sharp corner of your desk. You let out a startled gasp that quickly turns to laughter, head lolling against Sebastian's shoulder as your own shake with self-effacing mirth.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern akin to a battle with an ashwinder and not a piece of inanimate furniture. You manage a small nod through your laughter.

"Damn desk, bruising my girl," Sebastian scowls, the words my girl sending a thrill like a bolt of lightning right through you.

You let out a surprised giggle as he picks you up and gently places you on top of the desk, settling between your thighs.

"The only kind of marks you should ever have on you are the ones from my lips," he whispers in between soft, slow, teasing kisses up the length of your neck, sucking a bruise against your pulse point that has you curling your fingers through his hair and moaning his name.

"Always hoped I'd hear you say my name like that," he murmurs in a deep, rumbling growl you can feel thrumming between your ribs like thunder.

Eager to return the favor, you thread your fingers through his hair and give him a gentle yet insistent tug, delighting in the way it elicits a rough, guttural moan in the back of his throat, pulse point jumping beneath your touch as you run your tongue along the curve of his adam's apple.

You're fairly certain one of the buttons goes rolling off under the desk as you tear open his shirt and splay your hands across his chest, pleased to find a whole new canvas of well-earned muscle teeming with sun-kissed freckled dotted between soft patches of chestnut hair, uncharted territory just begging to be mapped out with your lips.

By contrast, Sebastian is equal parts gentle and nervous. Clumsy, trembling fingers work the buttons of your blouse and the lacings of your bra until you're completely bare before him, the flowing fabric of your sleeves hanging loosely off your shoulders. For several long moments, all he can seem to do is stare at you like you're a miracle made real, licking his lips in anticipation as his eyes rake across your breasts.

Sebastian's gaze flickers up to yours, a silent plea. You let out a soft breath, nodding eagerly. In the next second, he's pressed in close again, warm hands skimming up the length of your torso before gently settling under the swell of your breasts, holding you like you're a precious artefact, pleasure sparking low in your core as hard-earned callouses graze across your nipples with a perfect texture.

Sebastian lets out a soft hum as he feels them pebble against the palm of his hand, eyebrows arching in a kind of curious fascination as he glances down at his own hands like he's just performed a spectacular bit of magic. Freckled cheeks curve into an eager smile as he ducks his head down, pressing a series of tentative, exploring kisses from the soft slope of your breasts down to the pale peaks of your nipples, taking one of them into his mouth and applying the gentlest bit of suction as he swipes his tongue across the sensitive bud, grinning in triumph as you let out a lurid moan and arch into his touch.

He pockets that bit of very useful information for later as he slowly makes his way back up toward your lips, eager to kiss you again, peppering fevered kisses across your collarbones and up the length of your neck, not wanting to miss a single inch of skin. Within seconds, he's captured your lips in a searing kiss, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gently cradling your cheek as he kisses you breathless, groaning into your mouth as you pull him flush against you, soft breasts pressed against the hard plane of his chest, heathered skirt hiked up around your hips as he cages you in.

Sebastian's rapidly growing hardness is an insistent pressure between your thighs, sparking your own arousal in a pleasant ache that pulses through your core with each touch. In an effort to get even closer to you, Sebastian shifts, and the head of his cock inadvertently grinds between the gusset of your underwear, sending shock waves of pleasure that have you gasping into his mouth, white-knuckling the sleeves of his shirt.

You can't take it anymore. It's too much and not nearly enough all at once. You need more of him. You need all of him.

"Sebastian," you sigh, breathless between kisses. "Do you— do you have protection?"

"Protection?" Sebastian pulls back to look at you, eyebrows arched in a look of adorable confusion.

"From what? I doubt anything will attack us while we're in—" he stutters as the tip of your finger curls into the waistband of his trousers and gives a suggestive tug forward.

"Oh," Sebastian's eyebrows jump in surprise.

"Unless you don't want—" you immediately pull back, feeling foolish.

"Oh, I want," he insists, drawing you back toward him, voice rough and pleading with exactly how much he wants. "I was just caught off guard. I wasn't expecting—"

Sebastian falters, nerves ramping up again.

"You have to know, when I asked you to come out with me tonight, I wasn't expecting any of this."

"I know you weren't," you reassure him with soft, gentle strokes through his hair. "I trust you, remember?"

Sebastian nods, breathing out on a sigh of relief.

"But, yeah…if you're asking me to be honest…stick a pin in trying to be a gentleman," he lets out a sheepish laugh, one of his hands coming up to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck. "Then the answer is a resounding, embarrassingly keen yes. I very much want to."

"I do too," you admit with a shy giggle, fingers curling under the collar of his shirt to draw him in for another, softer kiss.

The moment the words leave your mouth, two small crystal phials appear next to you on the desk, labeled in pristine print across each side: infecunditatem temporalis, XXIV h. — temporary infertility, lasting twenty-four hours.

The two of you stare down at them for a moment, blinking in surprise, and then slowly pick them up.

"Well, that's handy," Sebastian remarks with a breathless laugh. "This room really does think of everything."

"Cheers," you murmur softly, instinctually linking arms the same way you've always done for every shot of Firewhisky and post-match Butterbeer toast, before downing your respective phials in one swig.

You set them back down on top of the desk and glance up at one another, suddenly nervous.

"I've never done this before…have you?" you ask, not entirely sure you want to know the answer. You've always been exceptionally close, but you doubt he's told you everything.

"Ah well, you know me…" Sebastian starts with a cocky upturn of his lips, and then immediately deflates, letting out a long, slow, defeated sigh. He knows he'd never be able to lie to you, but a part of him momentarily considers whether he should, irrational fear mingling with a deep-seated insecurity that you'll be put off when you find out he has no idea what he's doing. He's researched, of course. Extensively. But it's not like he's ever put it into practice.

"No," he sighs, admitting it like it's some kind of flaw. "Most I've ever done is kiss someone…and that was back in fourth year…on a dare."

He doesn't miss the way your shoulders relax, relief in the form of a small smile curling across your lips, and suddenly he's very glad he never did anything for the sake of just getting it over with, rebounding his hopeless feelings with some faceless stranger wishing it was you, giddy with a heady mix of nerves and excitement that he'll get to be your first.

And if he's very, very lucky, your only.

"And since?" you nudge, keen to hear him say it.

Sebastian's lips quirk up in a playful grin.

"There's only one person I've wanted to kiss since then," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Only one person I've imagined lain on their back as I fall to my knees and bury my lips between their thighs," Sebastian confesses in a low, hungry growl, punctuating each word with a searing kiss as he slowly works his way down the length of your body, mouthing at your neck, between your breasts, across the ticklish plane of your stomach, until he's on his knees in front of you, gazing up at you like you're a brand new constellation in a starless night sky.

"You've no idea how badly I've been longing for a view like this," he says with an appreciative groan, kissing a hungry trail up your inner thighs. "Makes the view from the top of the Astronomy Tower look rather dull by comparison."

You can't help the blissful laugh that escapes you, legs trembling beneath his eager lips. Sebastian pauses his ministrations to look up at you, eyebrows arching in lighthearted indignation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say something funny?" he admonishes, nipping playfully at your inner thigh and making you let out a sharp peal of laughter.

"No, it's just…oh, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm just…pleasantly surprised, is all," you giggle.

"Whatever for?" he asks, rising back up to meet you. You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him close, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"You hear stories…about men who absolutely refuse to do that sort of thing, yet seem to expect it from their partners," you explain, thinking back to all those hushed conversations you'd overheard in the girls' lavatories, whispered in the dark before bedtime. "I suppose a part of me has always wondered whether you'd be the same. More of a taker than a giver in the bedroom."

Sebastian leans back to look at you, lips pulling into a frown.

"On the one hand, I'm insulted you think I'd do anything short of worship you," he says, diving back in to press a series of hungry kisses up the length of your neck that have you shaking in anticipation of such a promise.

"But on the other," he counters, pulling back to fix you with a teasing smirk. "It's nice to know you've spent a great deal of time thinking about what I'd be like in the bedroom."

A carmine blush creeps across your cheeks as you remember all the times you'd done far more than just think about him, careful to draw your curtains and cast a silencing charm so no one would hear you when you called out his name.

If only he knew…

…come morning, you'll make certain he does.

"Speaking of which—" Sebastian prompts, eyes darting around the room with an appraising frown, before landing on the desktop underneath you, broken quills and crumpled sheets of parchment hastily shoved aside to make room for your — ahem, more amorous ventures.

"This room might be fine for study and spellwork, but it's not the most romantic of places. I can fix that," he says, giving you a wry smile as he offers you his hand and helps you down from the desk.

"Just close my eyes and picture what I want, yeah?" he asks, looking to you for reassurance. You nod in encouragement, slipping your fingers between his and giving the palm of his hand an affectionate squeeze.

Sebastian closes his eyes and concentrates, summoning two and a half years' worth of fantasies to the forefront of his mind. A moment later, there's a soft grind of stone, and the two of you glance up in time to see a marble statue of an owl that's always sat in the alcove between the grasslands and the coastal vivarium twisting into an invisible recess in the floor, revealing a brand new corridor in its wake.

You let out a startled laugh as Sebastian scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the corridor, lulled by the excited thrum of his heartbeat as you bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. In just a few short strides, you arrive at the end of the hallway, where a handsome set of oak doors adorned with elegant swirling filigree in blossoming flowers and twisting vines, crescent moons and little stars, springs to life like fast-growing ivy.

You reach out to turn the handle, and for a moment, you're plunged into total darkness, the room beyond an unfinished painting, transforming before your very eyes the moment the two of you step inside, polished floorboards rippling into place like piano keys playing an arpeggio, walls and ceiling a patchwork puzzle as they slowly piece themselves together.

Brushstrokes in deep ocean blues and dark verdant greens turn the heart of the Forbidden Forest under a midnight sky into a painter's palette, dozens of paper lanterns lit by softly flickering candlelight floating all around you like fireflies, bathing the room in hazy hues of silver and gold as they mingle with the light of the crescent moon trickling down from up above, ceiling enchanted to look as though it opens out onto the heavens, night sky glittering with thousands of shooting stars.

A trail of your favorite flower petals leads to a cozy alcove bed cradled between two recessed bookshelves brimming with pristine leather-bounds the two of you will no doubt spend hours perusing at leisure, gossamer curtains woven with intricate stars and crescent moons spilling down across the silken sheets.

The gentle cadence of rainfall taps its fingertips against the glass of an ornate three-paned window set just above the bed, painted in a perfect replica of the sprawling landscapes from the hidden corridor he'd shown you earlier in the night, while a crackling fireplace dances merrily in the heart of a cozy reading nook complete with two plush armchairs tucked together side by side.

Sebastian lets out a contented hum as the last little details of the room settle into place, glancing down to gauge your reaction, eager to know what you think.

"Oh, Sebastian," you whisper as you gaze around the room, candlelight dancing like flecks of gold in your eyes. "It's beautiful."

Sebastian beams. Of all the times you managed to leave him utterly spellbound tonight, it's a point of pride to finally be able to elicit the same response from you.

"Trust I've been dreaming of the perfect place to be romantic with you for quite some time," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek.

You gaze up at him adoringly and lean up to kiss him, butterflies taking flight in your stomach when you feel the hard press of his uncontainable smile against your lips.

"Now, where were we?" he whispers, whisking you away to the cozy alcove bed at the heart of the room and gently setting you down at its edge between the star-strewn curtains.

As though he can't stand to be parted from you for a second longer, Sebastian sweeps forward to capture your lips in another breath-stealing kiss, gentle hands sliding across the curve of your jaw to thread through the hair at the back of your neck, cradling the back of your head as he kisses you slowly, deeply, savoring every second.

He takes his time peeling off the layers of your clothing, unwrapping you like a gift, hands sliding between bare skin and soft cotton until your blouse comes spilling off your shoulders to pool around your waist, eager lips following its trajectory as he presses a series of adoring kisses down the column of your throat, tongue darting out to smooth across the tender, claiming bruise he'd left on your pulse point, smirking at the way it jumps beneath his touch, gently palming at your breasts as he makes his slow descent.

Where before he'd allowed himself a small taste, this time Sebastian indulges, falling to his knees and burying his face between your breasts, pressing lavish kisses in time to the beat of your heart, before taking the nipple he hadn't had the pleasure of tasting earlier into his mouth and applying a gentle suction, delighting in the way it elicits the same sinful response from you as it did before.

Not wanting to neglect either of them, Sebastian tries to mimic the same technique on the one not currently occupied by his mouth with his fingers, gently kneading the pebbled peak between his thumb and index finger. Clearly it's the right move, because the moment he does both in tandem, you let out a sharp gasp, arching your back in an effort to get even closer to him, fingers curling around the sleeves of his shirt and gripping tight.

Sebastian chuckles, a low rumbling laugh that vibrates like a crackle of thunder inside your chest as he worships every delectable detail of your breasts, until a series of pink and purple bruises in the shape of his lips starts to blossom across your skin. The sight of it stirs something primal inside him, little reminders lasting well beyond tonight that let everyone know you're his.

Sebastian would gladly spend the rest of his days buried between your breasts, but the curious, insatiable, thrill-seeking side of him is eager to keep exploring, map out every inch of your body with his hands, lips, and tongue until he's memorized every single way you love to be touched, keen to know what other addictive sounds he can get you to make.

He presses a trail of kisses down your torso, smiling when you giggle and squirm beneath him as his lips tickle the curves of your stomach, pausing when he reaches the waistline of your skirt.

"Lay back, darling. Let me take care of you," he insists in a low whisper, sending heat like an inferno straight to your core. You do as he asks, hair fanning out across the sheets, a cool press of silk against your fevered skin.

Deft fingers carefully work the buttons at your waist, unraveling your wrap-around skirt until it's laid out flat beneath you. Hands shaking from a mess of excitement and nerves, Sebastian carefully hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your knickers and slowly slides them down your legs, breath hitching when you tilt your hips to help ease them off, giving him a glimpse of your backside.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he says with a wrecked, desperate groan that has you blushing like you've just downed a shot of Firewhisky, laid bare beneath his hungry gaze as he takes a moment to drink you in.

"Can I touch you?" he asks in a quiet, almost pleading voice.

"Please," you tell him, just as desperate.

Nervous, gentle hands slide up along the outside of your thighs, smoothing over the curves of your hips before settling in the space between, breathing out on a soft, stuttered gasp as his fingers thread through the soft patch of curls at the apex of your thighs.

He skims a finger featherlight along the seam of your lips, testing the waters before delving deeper, a low groan rumbling in the back of his throat when he feels how wet you already are for him. Heat pools low in your belly as he slides between your folds in an achingly slow tease, sending shivers like shock waves rolling down the length of your spine, working you into a frenzy as careful, calloused fingers graze your clit.

Once he's satisfied you're ready to take him, fingers coated in your slick, Sebastian slips down to rub teasing circles against your entrance, driving you to the point of madness, canting your hips with soft little whines, until finally, he relents, slowly sliding his ring and middle fingers inside you and curling them in a come hither motion that has you gasping and writhing above him.

"Is this— is this alright?" he asks, concern bleeding through breathless exhilaration.

"It feels amazing, Seb," you manage, yours words barely more than a stuttered moan as his fingers twitch inside you. "Please don't stop touching me."

Your soft gasps and moans guide him to where he needs to go, thumb rubbing heady circles against your clit as his fingers curl in that blissful breath-stuttering way inside you. He works you into a maddening frenzy, pressure slowly building like an arrow being drawn across a bowstring, and Sebastian can't help but let out a low groan each time you flutter and tighten around him. If this is how incredible you feel against his fingers, he can't even imagine how amazing you're going to feel around his cock. Though that particular pleasure will have to wait just a little bit longer, because Sebastian isn't anywhere near finished with you yet.

You let out a needy whine as that delicious pressure suddenly disappears, only to be replaced by a sharp burst of breathless laughter as Sebastian grabs a handful of your backside and hauls you closer to the edge of the bed, coaxing your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face between your thighs.

"Forgive me, darling, but I need to taste you," he groans, tongue darting out to delve between your folds.

"Sebastian," you cry out as a burst of pleasure sparks through you, hands fisting in the sheets. Sebastian lets out another loud moan as you call out his name, tongue gliding down to lick at your entrance, burying himself deep enough to taste your pleasure at the back of his throat, before sweeping back up to capture your clit in a blissful blend of gentle suction and the sinful swirl of his tongue.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his fingers back inside you, curling them against that sweet spot deep within you, lips and tongue working in perfect tandem to worship your clit with the same eager attention he'd given your breasts.

You've never felt so feral in all your life, hands clutching at the sheets as you writhe above him like a wild animal in heat, Sebastian's name spilling from your lips in a flurry of sighs and soft, keening moans. With a contented hum, Sebastian reaches up to gently pry your fingers from the bedspread, lacing his own through yours and giving the palm of your hand an affectionate three-pulse squeeze, encouraging you to hold fast to him instead, not wanting to miss a single detail of just how wild he makes you.

Your other hand follows suit, seeking him out, chestnut curls even softer than the silk sheets as you curl your fingers through his hair and give him an insistent tug, and oh, he really likes it when you're a little rough with him, so desperate and needy for his touch that all you can think to do in that moment is pull him even closer, the low, throaty moans he makes every time you do only serving to heighten your pleasure as they vibrate through your core like rolls of thunder.

He brings you crashing over the edge, wrecked and breathless as you call out his name, begging him between stuttered sighs that you need him to be inside you, now.

Sebastian lets out a soft, blissful breath as he presses a few more kisses to your inner thighs, and then slowly rises to his feet, gaze locked on yours as he swipes the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, tongue darting out to lick the last of your release. The sight is obscene, riling up a primal pride deep within you that only makes you want him even more.

You sit perched on the edge of the bed, reaching up to slide his button-up shirt off his shoulders and running your hands down the length of his torso, soft curves over hard-earned muscle, freckles scattered amidst soft patches of chestnut hair like a star-strewn sky through a forest canopy, pausing to take a steadying breath as you reach the waistband of his trousers. Hands trembling from a mix of nerves and excitement, you carefully work the buttons to relieve him of his trousers, the last layer of clothing left between you.

You take a moment to drink him in, eyes raking down the length of his body in hungry appraisal, letting out a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his generous length, before slowly sweeping back up to meet his gaze again, thrill and desire outweighing any apprehension over his intimidating size. You understand now how he must have felt when he first saw you — every inch of him is absolutely stunning.

You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, sending the two of you tumbling backward against the pillows, giggling and grinning as you cling to one another. Sebastian kisses you, soft and slow, his body a warm, comforting weight as he settles between your thighs, hovering above you. The two of you breathe in on a stuttered gasp as he takes himself in hand and slides the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in a combination of his saliva and your release, hesitating as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Ready?" he asks with a steadying breath, heated gaze locked on yours.

"Ready," you answer, just as breathless as you tilt your hips in invitation.

With a broken, blissed out moan, Sebastian slowly sinks inside, stuttered breaths ghosting across your lips as he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against your own, hips stilling the moment he hears your soft gasp from underneath him.

"How're you feeling, love? Are you alright?" he asks with an edge of panic to his voice, terrified at the thought of hurting you. He keeps still as a statue, giving you a moment to adjust to the sheer size of him.

It's indescribable — the most incredible pressure, a pleasant ache like kneading sore muscles, building and unraveling tension all at once; a feeling of fullness after a life spent starving; a kind of magic even more timeless and powerful than the rarity thrumming through your veins, wonderstruck by how perfectly he fits inside you, like the two of you were made for each other.

"More than alright," you reassure him with a breathless, euphoric laugh. "I feel amazing."

Sebastian lets out a sigh of relief.

"Merlin, that's one word for it," he breathes out on a blissful laugh, eyes rolling back at how amazing you feel wrapped around him. "You're perfect."

He leans down to kiss you, soft and slow and sweet.

"I'm going to start moving now…is that alright?" he asks after a few quiet moments, voice straining like it's been torture holding back.

"Please," you sigh, coaxing him closer as you wrap your legs around the small of his back.

Sebastian sets a slow and steady pace, achingly tender as his hips rock against yours in long, languid thrusts, pressing soft little kisses to your cheeks and the corners of your lips as he moves above you, whispering between kisses how beautiful and breathtaking you are. He's careful and controlled, each move dulcet and deliberate like a slow dance between the sheets, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get it just right, because it has to be. Because this is you, and you are everything.

He's been dreaming of this moment for years, and a part of him still can't believe it's really happening, that he actually gets to be with you. He's spent the better part of the last two and half years convincing himself you'd never feel the same, that he was lucky just to call you his friend, selfish to want more, that he didn't deserve you…though that never stopped him desperately wanting you all the same.

He understands now why they call it lovesick — feverish blush prickling at his skin, heart beating like a staccato as he moves above you, hands trembling as they gently cradle the back of your head and draw you in for a slow, sweet kiss. It's all-consuming, burning through him in equal measures of fiery fervor and glowing embers, like he's just swallowed an Incendio charm. Incurable — though this is one life sentence he'll gladly serve.

It's overwhelming how amazing you feel wrapped around him, soft hands threading through his hair and tugging ever so gently, legs locked around his hips to keep him anchored in your depths, shallow gasps and stuttered ohs whispered in between soft sighs in the shape of his name as you gaze up at him like he is everything to you.

It would be all too easy for him to lose himself in the euphoria of finally getting to be with you, and Merlin, he wants to.

He wants all of you. It's like he can't get close enough, a primal hunger to fuse himself with you, body and soul, bury himself inside you like treasure, climb inside your chest and build a home inside your heart, dive down to your depths and spill all his secrets inside you, long-held confessions of how deeply he's fallen for you.

The words bubble up inside his chest like steam inside of a screaming tea kettle, burning his throat as years worth of messy, nerve-addled feelings threaten to spill past his lips. He wants to kiss the words into your skin, knit his love so deep within you, you feel it in your bones, with each pulse of your heart, his name a subliminal sigh with each breath you take, until you're inextricably woven together, until he's an irrevocable part of you, just as you are for him.

He aches for you to be his, because he's so desperately yours. He'd shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower, from the stars themselves, if he could.

But if he does…he's afraid you might actually hear him. And Sebastian can't have that. He can't let you know the true depth of his feelings. Not yet. It's too soon, too much for something so fragile and new. He knows he can be a little intense, a little overwhelming. When Sebastian loves, it's fierce and unwavering, and as much as he wants to tell you, show you, how deeply he loves you, he's afraid the intensity of his feelings will drive you away.

He supposes that's one of the many reasons he's always been so drawn to more fiery forms of magic. After all, they're just like him. Fervent. Insatiable. Incendiary. Kindred — kindling — spirits. Cast with the best intentions — to protect and keep warm — but one wrong move, too much, and it becomes dangerous, destructive.

Sebastian has spent his whole life being told as much — that he's too much. Overzealous. Unrelenting. Reckless. Doesn't know when to stop. Breaks everything he touches. Loses everyone he loves.

He can't lose you too.

He's a wildfire, and you— you're a forest teeming with birdsong and greenery, and he's terrified that with one wrong move he'll burn you to the ground, when all he wants to do is keep you warm.

So he holds himself back, concentrates all his efforts into taking it slow, swallowing a symphony of lovesick confessions and pouring the softest version of his love into every touch, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get this just right. Because maybe, if he gets this right, he'll actually be lucky enough to keep you.

"So perfect," he sighs as he moves above you, soft and sweet.

"Tell me what you need, love," he urges between stuttered breaths and slow, languid thrusts. "To make this perfect for you, too."

You can tell he's holding back — each touch a little too gentle, a little too careful, a little too reserved — and you think you know why, because you know him.

Sebastian Sallow has never done anything halfheartedly, so when he loves, it's without reservation — fiercely, deeply, perhaps a little madly.

You also know that he's lost just about everyone he's ever loved.

Though you've never actually spoken the words out loud, you know that he loves you too. It's always been there, unspoken, thrumming beneath the surface of every interaction.

You can hear it in the silence of a lazy afternoon spent cloud-watching under the shade of a flutterby tree in the summoner's courtyard, splayed hands edging across the grass until you feel the accidental brush of his pinky finger against yours.

In little gestures played off as teasing banter, covert hands sliding stacks of toast and chocolate croissants across the shared desk of your first class, wrapped in scribbled notes admonishing you for missing breakfast after yet another sleepless night.

It's in the way you wish each other goodnight, stretching out the moment with hastily stifled bouts of laughter and stolen glances over your shoulders as you watch him make the long trek back from Ravenclaw Tower to Slytherin Dungeon, hesitant to part after yet another nighttime lark, despite the fact that you know you'll see each other the very next day.

In the way he insists on coming along with you on some of your more daring ventures, pushing down his deep-seated fear of spiders and instinctively stepping between you and a thornback ambusher seconds away from incapacitating you with its venom.

You've always known Sebastian loves you, but up until tonight, you've always thought it was in the same way he loves Anne and Ominis. Fond. Familial. Kindred.

That was before you'd felt the weight of his lips against yours, the tremble in his hands as he'd pulled you close, the beat of his heart thundering in time with your own.

Now that you know it runs even deeper — not just friendly or familial love, but romantic love, too — it adds a whole new layer of vulnerability. And if he loves you the way you think he does, the same way you love him, then you know why he's holding back. Because when someone is your whole heart, the prospect of losing them is that much more terrifying.

This is a man who has endured more pain and loss than most people could even dare to imagine. This is a man filled with more fear and guilt than anyone should ever have to bear. Afraid to fuck up again. Afraid to hurt you again. Afraid to lose what little remains of the people he loves. Afraid to let himself have what he wants, because deep down, he still doesn't think he deserves it.

Afraid that he is too brash, too broken, too intense, too much for anyone to ever want, the weight of his grief too heavy for anyone else to carry, spirit too bright and burning for anyone to ever want to get close enough to touch.

And maybe he is. Maybe he is too much. But that's never stopped you wanting all of him just the same. If he is an untamed beast, then your heart is a vivarium, a home built for an occamy at its full potential. For you, he could never be too much, because you could never get enough of him.

He's a wildfire, but you've always been drawn to his warmth, his light, bright sparks lighting up your coldest, darkest nights. You wouldn't just walk through his flames, you'd dance in them, safe in the knowledge that you'll never get burned.

Because he's a wildfire, but you are a hurricane, and you're more than a match for his heat.

So when he asks you, soft and sweet, what you need make this perfect for you, that's exactly what you tell him.

"You. Just you," you sigh as you lean up to press a trail of kisses in between the freckles that dapple the pale column of his throat. "I want all of you, Sebastian. Please, show me how badly you've been wanting me all this time, too. Don't hold anything back. I can take it…anything and everything you're willing to give."

Sebastian's hips still as he pulls back to look at you, lips parted in surprise.

"Are— are you sure?"

You lean up to kiss him, slow and deep, your answer little more than a sigh against his lips.

"I'm yours, Sebastian. I've always been yours," you whisper. "Now all you have to do is take what's yours."

Sebastian gazes at you, stunned for a moment, breath catching in his throat. And then his eyes darken, and that charming smile that's always made you weak in the knees curls across his lips, adoration burning like the heart of a wildfire in his irises as he keeps his steady gaze locked on yours.

He laces his fingers with yours and pins your entwined hands above your head, holding you captive, using them as an anchoring point as he begins driving into you with rough, zealous thrusts that hit deep and steal your breath, his other hand coming up to smooth across your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss, swallowing his own name as it falls from your lips in a stuttered sigh.

"Like this, love?" Sebastian groans, the hard line of his smirk pressed against your lips. "Is this how you want me fuck you?"

"God, yes. Please, Sebastian—"

"As you wish, darling," he growls, picking up pace even faster, his thrusts coming even rougher. "You've no idea how badly I've wanted to have you just like this."

"Tell me," you urge, voice barely more than a whisper.

A litany of lovesick confessions spill from his lips in between desperate, hungry kisses: how deeply he adores you, how beautiful you look laid out beneath him, how amazing you feel wrapped around him, how you must've been made for each other with how perfectly you fit together, how he's been dreaming of being with you like this for so long and he can't believe he's lucky enough to actually have the real thing.

How he'd love nothing more than to keep you forever, make you his in every possible sense of the word (because he's yours, he's always been yours, every beat of his heart belongs to you and you alone) wants you to feel the ache of him throbbing between your thighs days after he's made love to you, a constant reminder of what you've done together; wants to leave claiming bruises all over each other's necks so that everyone will know you belong to one another.

You tilt your head back, bearing your neck in offering, and Sebastian lets out an appreciative groan, swooping down to leave another mark right below the first, fire dancing in his eyes are he pulls back to admire his work.

"Mine," his voice rumbles through you like thunder as he presses the word into your pulse point.

"Yours," you sigh, leaning up to graze your teeth along the column of his throat, eager to claim him in return.

It's enough to drive him over the edge, burying his face in your neck and breathing in deep, greedy lungfuls like you're a burst of fresh air after a life spent drowning, praising you between hungry kisses. How he could gladly spend the rest of his life right here between your legs. How wild you drive him with the sounds you make, the way you call out his name.

"I've wanted to hear you say my name in every possible way — in laughter, in sighs, in gasps…in screams," he says with a prideful smirk as he gives a rough snap of his hips that hits deep enough to pull his name from your throat in a sharp, breathless gasp.

Sebastian lets out a low, throaty chuckle that sends shock waves straight to your core, heating burning every inch of your skin like a shot of Firewhisky as he tells you how badly he wants to watch you come undone beneath him, feel you wrapped around him as your body clings to him, see himself reflected in your eyes as you call out his name, to know that he's the only one who can make you feel like this, take you apart just to be the one that completes you.

The hand that's spent all this time tangled in your hair, gently pressed against the curve of your cheek, comes down to wrap around your waist, tilting your hips upward and pulling you roughly against him, the new angle giving him access to an even deeper sweet spot inside you, each thrust causing the space where you're connected to grind against that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body as he keeps a steady, consistent rhythm, buried to his hips between your thighs, building you to climax until you're crashing over the edge, fingers laced with his as you fall together, fluttering around him, pulling him in even deeper, an endless chorus of I love you, I'm so in love with you, I'm yours falling from his lips as he spills deep inside you, calling out your name like it's a sacred prayer and you're his salvation.

Sebastian collapses against you, panting against your neck and pressing lazy kisses to your cheek before rolling to the side to lay on his back. You're barely able to get out a breath before he's pulling you into him, coaxing your head onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a protective hold, burying his face into the top of your hair and breathing you in with deep, contented sighs.

The words he'd said to you as he'd fallen over the edge repeat inside your head like a mantra, pulling your lips into a bright, blissful smile.

"Sebastian?" you ask as you snuggle in closer, heart full.

"Yes, darling?" he asks, still breathless but utterly blissed, voice muffled by your hair.

"I love you too."

You feel his whole body relax, exhaling on a long, slow, contented sigh that almost sounds like a sob toward the end, like he's relieved to hear you say it out loud.

"D'you know," he says into the comfortable silence after a few moments, lips pulled into a bright smile as he glances over at you. "I've seen entire ecosystems co-existing inside a single room tonight — bloody hell, I saw a phoenix — and all of that still couldn't even hope to compare to being with you," he marvels, still a little breathless. "To think, we could've been— I mean, two and a half years. I can't believe it took us this long to finally act on our feelings."

You lift your head, a playful look in your eyes as you gaze up at him dreamily.

"We just took the scenic route," you tell him, smiling as you lace your fingers together and press a kiss against each of his knuckles in turn.

Sebastian's chest rumbles with laughter as he nuzzles in even closer, pressing kisses to the top of your crown. You do the same to his chest, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles you find there, falling into a deep, comfortable sleep before you have the chance to name them all.

[notsosweetchan]

Warning: Smut (Minors Do Not Interact )

Paring - Minho x Reader -

- Ink and Affection -

Getting tattooed by her hot tattoo artist Minho, Y/N m was starting to feel a little lightheaded from the pain and his sexy voice.,"You're doing so well," Minho cooed, his voice sending shivers down Y/N's spine. "Just a little longer, and we'll have this masterpiece finished.“ His tattoo gun buzzed gently, the vibrations against her skin both calming and invigorating at the same time.

The stinging of the needle had dulled into a tolerable throb, replaced by a kind of intoxicating endorphin high. The tattoo parlor around them seemed to melt away as they worked, leaving only the two of them in their own private world.

Minho's strong hands guided the machine with practiced precision, his every movement deliberate yet artful. He was lost in his craft, the epitome of focused intensity.

Y/N couldn't help but admire the way his biceps flexed under his sleeves as he moved, or how his forearm tattoos danced along with each stroke. "Almost done," he muttered to himself more than to Y/N, the tension in the air practically palpable.

"I just need to add a few more finishing touches." As the last few lines etched themselves into her skin, Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, less from the pain and more from the anticipation of what was to come. The tattoo gun hummed its final vibration before Minho put it down and stepped back to admire his work.

In the mirror, Y/N caught a glimpse of their reflection, marveling at the intricate design that now adorned her body. A delicate lotus flower blossomed from her collarbone, its petals extending across her shoulder blade in a sea of vibrant purples and pinks.

It was breathtaking. "Oh my god," she breathed, awe and disbelief mingling in her voice. "Minho, it's... it's perfect." He smiled, his eyes twinkling with pride. "I'm glad you like it." Their faces were so close now, their breath mingling in the space between them. Y/N could smell the faint scent of ink and aftershave on him, intoxicating and heady.

Her heart hammered against her ribcage as their eyes locked in a heated stare. It was the purest of seconds, suspended in time. She swore she could feel the electricity arcing between them, a live wire waiting to be touched. The tension was so thick, Y/N could practically taste it on her tongue.

But just as she was about to close the distance between them, Minho cleared his throat, stepping back and pretending nothing had ever happened. "Well, let's get this wrapped up and you can take a look at it properly," he said briskly, his professional demeanor returning as if by magic. Y/N felt a pang of disappointment but nodded mutely, trying desperately to hide the flush that crept up her cheeks.

Y/N has coming to his shop for the last3 months now getting 6 tattoos done by him, all for the chance to get closer to him. The most he had ever done was touch her hand once when she was wincing in pain. Maybe she was just seeing things that weren't there. “Hmm?” He looked up, a questioning eyebrow raised.

“Do you tattoo a lot of girls in here? The moment Y/N said it, she regretted it. “Why do you ask?He asked, a half-smirk playing on his lips. “No reason,” Y/N mumbled, the edge of the chair burning against her chest “I’m just curious I guess.”Minho chuckled lightly as he tied off the last of the bandage. “Y/N, I tattoo A lot of girls but none of the are as pretty as you.” heat crept into her cheeks as she looked away.

"You can't handle the truth, huh?" He sneers, leaning closer to her. She can see the tattoos on his arms and feels a shiver run down her spine. Just moments ago, he was giving her that same piercing look. Now, he's leaning over her, his arms resting on the cold armrests of the chair, his hand gently cupping her cheek. his hand and tilted her face to look at him. “I... I, I” she couldn’t get a word out, her heart hammering in her ears.

“ It’s okay Y/N, I’m into you too.” He whispered before closing the few inches between them and kissed her. Y/N's world swirled as Minho's lips met hers, soft yet insistent. His hands found their way into her hair, cradling her headas the kiss deepened. Her senses flooded with his scent, his touch, and the thrumming energy between them.

For a moment, all she could think about was him, the pain of the tattoo forgotten in the face of this newfound pleasure. Breaking away for air, Minho trailed kisses down her jaw to her neck, before whispering in her ear, "I've been wanting to do that for months." A shiver ran down Y/N's spine at his admission, and she couldn't help but smile.

"You could have just said something earlier," she managed to joke, her voice breathless. Minho chuckled, his lips ghosting along her jawline. "I like the chase," he teased. His hands found their way under her shirt, tracing the lines of the new tattoo with feather-light touches that made Y/N shiver anew.

As they remained entangled on the tattoo table, all thoughts of propriety and workplace ethics flew out the window. In this stolen moment, all that mattered was the two of them and the undeniable attraction that had been simmering between them for so long. Their movements became more urgent, fueled by months of pent-up longing and suppressed desire.

Minho caressed every inch of newly inked skin, as if committing each line and curve to memory. Y/N arched into his touch, moaning softly as he hit all the right spots. "I want you, Y/N," he breathed against her ear, his voice rough with need. "Tell me I'm not the only one thinking this is a good idea."

"God, yes," she managed to gasp, wrapping her trembling legs around his waist. "I've wanted you since the moment I walked into this damn shop.

"With that as permission, Minho wasted no time in standing her up and hiking her up on the counter, mindful of her fresh tattoo. He quickly unbuttoned her pants, revealing lacy panties that were already soaked through.

"Damn," he voice hoarsely, "You're soaked for me?" Y/N blushed in embarrassment but didn't deny it. She bit her lip as he slid her panties down her thighs and tossed them onto the floor. Minho's heated gaze raked over every inch of her exposed skin, as if he couldn’t believe she was really here with him.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said reverently, before dipping his head to kiss her mound through her folds.

His tongue swirled around her entrance, licking her sensitive folds and teasingly circling her clit. Y/N moaned loudly, gripping the counter for support as wave after wave of pleasure courged throught her body.

Minho looked up at her, a wicked grin on his face, "I'm just getting started," he murmured before sucking on her clit hard enough to make Y/N's toes curl. Minho's skilled tongue and fingers were driving Y/N wild, each touch and suck sending her body into a tailspin of bliss. Her nails dug into the counter as she arched her back, lost in the overwhelming sensations he was evoking in her. She knew she wouldn't last much longer.

"Minho, I... I'm," she panted, unable to finish her sentence as waves of ecstasy crashed over her. He moaned her name as he continued his ministrations, driving her higher and higher until she came apart in his mouth, her entire body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

As she came down from her high, Minho stood up, wiping his face on his forearm. "My turn" she said, pushing him down on the chair and straddling his lap. She unzipped his jeans, his hard shaft springing out, already aching for her .

With a mischievous grin, she licked her lips and took him into her mouth, running her tongue around the head and shaft, savoring his salty musky scent. Minho groaned, his hands finding a way to her hair , guiding her but not forcing. He tasted different than she thought he would; better and addictive. In no time at all, she had him on the edge and he was moaning her name like a prayer.

"Y/N" he gasped out, "I'm close," he warned her, but Y/N was relentless, wanting to see how far she could push him. But he pulled her off him just in time, “bend over the table ”, he said between labored breaths.

Y/N complied, her back arched invitingly, her soaking wet pussy on display for him. Minho position himself behind her, lining up his hard erection with her entrance and with one swift thrust, he was inside of her, filling her to the hilt. With every push and pull of their hips, the tattoo table groaned under their weight.

Minho's hot body slid in and out of Y/N's, driving her crazy with desire. He grabbed her hips, guiding their rhythm as they moved together in a frenzied pace. Their moans echoed through the otherwise quiet tattoo parlor, filling the emptiness as they basked in their newfound passion. Y/N felt him hit her cervix, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, and she mewled loudly.

"Minho," she moaned his name out, unable to form complete words. His hands found her breast, massaging and pinching the skin gently as he continued his assault on her body. She could feel his fingers tracing the intricate design on her back, following the curves and lines of the lotus flower perfectly.

The pressure added another layer to their intense connection. "Oh fuck," he groaned, his hips speeding up even more as he felt her walls clench around him. Y/N's hair flew around them, tickling their faces as they lost themselves in the moment. Their kisses were desperate and hungry, filled with need and longing.

His lips trailed down her neck again, sucking at the sensitive skin there before returning to her earlobe where he nipped and nibbled gently. Her body shuddered under him as she neared her second orgasm of the session.

"Please," she managed to whisper between breaths, unable to ask for more than that simple plea. Minho pulled almost all the way out before thrusting back in with force, hitting that spot inside her that sent her spiraling over the edge once again; a scream tore through her lips as she came undone around him, her nails digging into the leather upholstery.

“That’s it baby ”, he panted, his voice laced with strain, “come for me ”. Minho didn't last much longer either, with one final thrust, he followed her over the edge, his hot seed filling her as he groaned out her name. They both collapsed on the table, panting and spent.

Neither of them moved for a moment, trying to catch their breaths and process what just happened. Y/N was the first to speak up "so, umm... not your usual tattoo session?" she joked nervously, breaking the silence. Minho chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair, "I'll say" he smirked back at her.

[ginxyy]

The first kiss

(Ok i am going to kinda make this a series i think lmao. Let me know if you guys want to see a certain pair. Seventeen only rn but i might indulge with some SKZ)

The first kiss that shouldn’t have happened but did.

The golden hour cast a warm, hon eyed glow over the bustling café, shadows of the tables dancing in the light. I sat in my favorite little corner, sipping a vanilla latte, watching the world move around me. Yet, amidst the clinks of ceramic cups and soft murmurs of flirtation filling the air, my heart was caught in a siren’s call. It was him Mingyu his figure emerging like a dream from the sea of patrons.

Mingyu strode in, effortlessly cool, his presence commanding the room without uttering a single word. My heart did a somersault, but guilt gnawed at the edges of my exhilaration. Across the café, I glanced at my boyfriend, Jun, deep in conversation with some friends at a nearby table. His laughter rang out like a sweet melody, but it was Mingyu's playful smile that tugged at my heartstrings in an uncharted way. How did moments of innocent connection morph into something more dangerously alluring?

As Mingyu approached, the air thickened with unsaid words and unacknowledged tension. He plopped down across from me, a cheeky grin on his face, and I felt the familiar warmth rush through me, igniting something deep within the confines of my chest. “Hey, you,” he said, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers cascading down my spine.

“Hi,” I replied, my own voice barely above a whisper, apprehensive yet electrified in the shimmering ambiance. The unspoken rule we navigated was rigorously formed, my heart belonging to Jun, yet the current between Mingyu and me crackled like a live wire, daring to veer us off course.

In the moments that followed, we traded banter, each jest wrapping us tighter in an invisible web of shared glances and lingering touches. I’ll never forget how his fingertips brushed against mine as he reached for his drink. In that brief contact, the world around us dulled. Time itself seemed to stand still as I was lost in the warmth of his skin against mine. My breath caught, and, in that fleeting moment, reality withdrew, leaving only the magnetic pull that hung between us.

Mingyu leaned in closer to share a joke his warm breath tickled my cheek, intensified by his proximity. I could see the glint of mischief in his eyes, a roguish charm that had always drawn me in. It played like a symphony, filling the air with notes of danger and excitement, teasing the boundaries of friendship and something infinitely more seductive. My heart raced, urging me to lean into him, but conscience clawed at the back of my mind, reminding me of the bond I shared with Jun.

But as the minutes drifted by, our playful exchanges began to turn, each laugh punctuated by charged silence, every gaze lingering longer than the last. The café buzzed around us, but we were ensnared in our own world a secret vortex where rules blurred and hearts danced to a rhythm all their own. I could hardly breathe, intoxicated by his presence and the inexplicable connection that hung in the air like a heady perfume.

“Have you ever wondered what it would feel like?” he asked suddenly, his eyes searching mine with raw intensity. My heart crashed against my ribcage, caught between denial and unshakable curiosity. I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

“Just… this,” he gestured between us, the space filled with an unmistakable yearning. “What it would be like if we crossed that line.” I felt the warmth rush to my cheeks, suffocating me in delicious embarrassment and thrill. The question hung in the air, a palpable challenge wrapped in unmitigated temptation.

I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice, inching closer, my heart racing with possibilities. The man sitting across from me, my dreams and desires all colliding, was more than just Jun’s best friend. He had the power to awaken something deep within me that I had only dared acknowledge during long, lonely nights.

Before I could reply, I found my breath hitching again as I felt Mingyu's hand slide over mine, igniting a feverish pulse at our connection. “What if we just—” he started, the act of leaning in closing the space between us, the moment fragile but pregnant with intention.

I was aware that this could unravel everything, that a singular decision could draw me away from Jun’s warmth, but the magnetic force between us was a siren’s call. As his lips hovered close to mine, I was paralyzed in the intoxicating aroma of his cologne, an alluring scent of wood and spice that enveloped me like a warm embrace.

And then, it happened. Mingyu’s lips, soft yet fervent, met mine in an electric kiss that sent shockwaves shuddering through me. Time ceased. Ignoring the whirlwind of emotions flooding my mind, I surrendered momentarily to the fire, my senses igniting as his kiss deepened. I melted against him, lost in a fervor that eclipsed all rational thoughts. Every flicker and caress spoke of uncharted passions born from unspoken desires, and for that brief second, I was enthralled by the rhythm of our hearts beating fervently against the clasp of fate.

Heat surged between us a heady mixture of want and wordless longing. My mind screamed in protest, recalling Jun’s laughter from the table over. Guilt unfurled its claws, yet in that moment of ecstasy, I lost myself to the indulgence of what could be, while my heart fought the weight of betrayal. My tongue danced with Mingyu’s in an unrelenting ebb and flow, the moment spiraling outside the boundaries of reason.

As we pulled apart, breaths mingling in the plush air, reality slammed into me like a brick wall. The guilt washed over my skin like ice water, shrouding the heat that had enveloped us moments before. I was dating his best friend a betrayal so deep, the very thought threatened to drown me. But then I looked into his eyes, and the embers of that kiss flickered, tempting me to disregard it all.

"Maybe we shouldn’t have done that," I breathed, the weight of my words heavy in the air between us. But amidst the uncertainty, the connection between us simmered undeniably real, beautifully vibrant, fraught with the dangerous thrill of the forbidden.

Mingyu's gaze remained locked with mine, a silent promise lingering unspoken. “Sometimes, what feels wrong can be the most beautiful thing,” he murmured, his warm breath brushing against my skin, igniting a more profound fire that I knew could not easily extinguish.

In that café, amid the hum of life, we transcended the boundaries of friendship, wading into that burgeoning realm of what could be, caught between dreams and heartbreak. But as I glanced toward Jun, I vowed to navigate this tangled web with a bittersweet awareness a love unspoken in the silence, yet undeniable in the kiss that set my heart ablaze.

[gothcsz]

i'm horny and thinking about how good javier peña would be at eating your pussy 😵‍💫

so real prima, so real.... with a stache and nose like that, he has no choice but to be good at it i fear.

and maybe i'm biased because i really enjoy it, but i feel like he's specifically skilled when it comes to face riding omg.... wait let me cook!

His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush against his mouth and using his strength to keep you there.

Your own mouth opens in a silent scream as his tongue sinfully laps at every crevice of your warm sex, saturated in your arousal from taking him reverse cowgirl style.

Both of you were treading that very fine line of your orgasms. His cock driving into you so deliciously from the different angle melting your brain, and the view of your folds swallowing him inside of your pretty pussy enough to have him starved and craving you.

“Gotta taste you baby. My mouth's fuckin' watering over here.”

And that's how you got here, now bending over a little more, your warm breath fanning over his slick erection, from being inside of you, while your head rests gently on his broad thigh, whiny moans pushing past your lips.

He eats you out like you're the sweetest fruit he's ever tasted. The prickly hairs of his mustache a delightful juxtaposition to the wetness of his mouth.

His swollen lips wrap around your clit, suckling it softly as he pulls back with it still in his mouth, letting the fleshy part snap back with an obscene sound. He groans, repeating the action over and over before lightly grazing his teeth against your sensitive pearl.

A jolt runs up your spine and you grind down against his face, his curved nose doing wonders gliding along your slit.

“Mmm that’s right baby keep movin’ like that.” His large hand caresses the skin of your ass, groping and enjoying how pliable you are.

You do as he says, sensually moving your hips at a rhythm that makes you sing his name.

He listens, always attuned to you and what makes you moan so sweetly. His tongue is flat at first, letting your sensitive cunt glide against his wet and slightly textured muscle. 

He’s eating your pussy so good, you just have to lean over and lick from his plush tip all the way down to his balls, sucking one gently into your mouth. This has him tightening his grip on your thighs and hips. You fucking love it.

After leaving his scrotum wet and glistening with your saliva, you bring your lips to wrap around the head of his cock before slowly taking him into your mouth.

He mutters a few curse words and you go lower until he’s brushing against the entrance of your throat.

The tip of his tongue curls upwards, hitting the sensitive spot under the fleshy hood perfectly and it has you muffling a gasp against his hard cock, choking around him.

“Fuck, cariño, don’t know which I like more— this pretty cunt or that fuckin’ mouth.” 

You whimper, going from grinding on him to lightly bouncing your ass, his mouth making out with your cunt with the same fiery passion with which he kisses you.

You swear you can cum just from smoochin’ him.

It isn’t much after that you two finish, you squeeze your thighs tightly against his head and clench around nothing; your orgasm absolutely re-wiring your brain. Javier’s just that good. And he fucking knows it.

You soak his face with your release and he grunts loudly, lapping up every. drop. then sucking on your clit before placing soft and gentle kisses to it. He can feel your sex pulsating against his lips.

His warm and heady cum fills your mouth and you swallow like a good girl, the action clenching your throat around his dick and he smacks your ass lightly in response.

“Tan rica (so tasty), hermosa. Taste like fuckin’ candy.” 

[madhattervanessa]

Kill You To Try (Chapter 4)

Summary: Between old and new issues, you let your own health drag. Not everyone seems to be okay with it.

Warnings: grief, suicidal thoughts, gunshot wounds, stitching wounds

Words: 2621

prev. Chapter - next Chapter

Series Masterlist

-

The summer goes by smoothly.

Ignoring the countless hours you spent crying until your throat was raw, the tears stinging your cheeks, and the air burning your lungs from too many heaving gulps of it past your salty, snot-sticky lips.

Everything is fine.

After telling Gabriel you needed more time, a week later, a book about grief had appeared on your doorstep.

You had tried not to feel patronized.

You are fine.

Everything is fine.

You failed.

You hadn’t talked to Gabriel since.

Time had been spent by yourself, crying, in various places, in your new home.

You watch the bear every now and then from your porch. Sometimes you debate crossing into the river. Just to see what happens. To see if you have what it takes.

What better way to find out if you actually want to live?

But then you slip into a shirt and your hat and make your way down to the ranch instead, without fail.

It fills you with a sick sense of satisfaction.

Who is proud about not facing a bear?

Who even debates that?

Down at the farm, everything is back to how it was before you left- you are joking around with the men as you work together to keep the herd safe and healthy.

You spent half a week in the mountains putting up a new fence, wrapping wire with thick gloves on your hands that cook your hands through instead of facing Gabriel.

After work, it’s straight back to the cabin instead of down to the ranch. But as long as you get up and come to work with a smile on your lips, nobody says anything.

Except for the nights when you go grocery shopping with Rip, you keep to yourself. 

You mostly pick out the vegetables for him, some fruit - somehow, half of it always lands in your grocery bags that he carries inside for you afterward “as a reward for picking out all the best produce”.

You start to notice your kitchen cabinets filling up with all sorts of dry ingredients and canned food, even the occasional pre-mixed cocktail. There’s never any moldy food in your mostly untouched fridge.

The cabin is a mess, especially with all the dirty laundry strewn around in piles, the clean laundry staying in its basket until you’ve worn it all. The thick layer of dust that had quickly returned reminds you of your own inertia, daily.

Your writing crawls, but never quite makes it to the walking stage.

You never unpacked more of your moving boxes, finally retiring the duffel bags that had served as your wardrobe.

All you had managed in the past week had been wiping away the dust sitting on every surface and even prying open the vents, exchanging the filters to make sure it didn't come back.

Instead, you start to pick up some decorations on one of your grocery trips. Fall is basically around the corner now, at least according to the supermarkets.

So you had started picking up a few pumpkins, some fairy lights, a little bit of this and that, slowly browsing every aisle while Rip focused on getting food for the bunkhouse.

You turn into the next aisle and grab a candle, cedar, and … cotton?, and close your eyes. It’s too sweet and heady for your taste. You put it back and browse some more, settling on pine and smoke for another sniff.

When you close your eyes and inhale, you immediately get flooded with cinnamon and deep wood smells- the warmth of it immediately transports you back to the heavy perfume Tess, your godmother, used to wear all of the time. Especially on her visits, her smell would linger just like this.

You fight to smile against the heavy frown that settles on your face and open your eyes. You gulp down another breath of air and put the candle back with shaky hands.

“Hey…”, Rip’s soft murmur behind you makes the fat tears roll down your cheeks immediately. He shushes you, turning you to face him. His arms close around you, wrapping you up in warmth.

The squeeze of his arms does its trick. You sob into his jacket as he runs one of his hands up and down your back. He moves his head and you feel his breath fan over your head for a moment.

“You’re okay, honey.”

You feel too hot and cold at the same time as you sob into his chest. 

He keeps holding on to you, his tight grasp never faltering. 

You can hardly breathe like this and as you struggle with your runny nose, you feel one of his arms dropping. Shortly after, he squeezes a pack of tissues into the slim space between the two of you.

Your hands shake as you take the tissues, quickly wiping at the mess of your already swollen face. You blow your nose and quiet down your crying to small, sniffly sounds.

“You’re okay.”

His chin drops to sit on top of your head as you continue sniffling.

He gives you another minute before he withdraws. He holds on to your shoulders, taking a long look at your face. You try your best not to shiver too much but it’s like your body has detached. You shake like a newborn foal, barely managing to stop your teeth from chattering.

“I’ll just grab one more thing and then we can go, okay?”

You don't remember getting in the car.

Everything seems miles away.

Rip's voice is a dull background sound, melding with the low crooning coming from the radio as your eyes stare out of the car window without focus.

It's like you've blinked and you're back at square one.

What is truly happening in your life?

Nothing is moving forward.

You graduated, you worked, you got the fiance, you moved in, you visited the families, he cheated and here you are. 

Back like a ten-year-old left after she cried blood at the cash register. Left after just enough warning, you came back. Desperate, hurt, looking for something to cling to.

Maybe you shouldn’t ever have left.

Pathetic.

To be precise.

But apparently looking healthy enough for someone to hit on you.

It makes you queasy.

What if you're just clinging to the next best thing?

Worse, what if it's just because you're vulnerable right now?

What if you look desperate?

Oh god, what if-

"-doll. Come on."

The quick raps of Rip's knuckles against the car door make you jump out of your reverie.

He is leaning against the truck, pressing down his hat with his palm before looking out at the ranch.

You sniffle and get another tissue out to quickly wipe away any remaining wetness on your cheeks.

You push the door of the truck open and let yourself fall onto your feet. 

Immediately, dark spots line your vision and you sway.

“Woah, hey-”

“I’m fine-”

You barely feel Rip touch you, before the world faints to black.

-

When you wake up, it's dark outside. 

Your sheets are firmly tucked underneath your body and you detangle from your hug with your pillow to lift your head.

There's light on in the living room.

"Hello?"

You swing your legs out of bed- the dizziness returns immediately and with it, a dull pounding behind your eyes.

A faint light illuminates the living room. You let one hand skate over the wood of the wall as you approach- you can see the top of Rip’s hat from over the back of the sofa. 

He sighs loudly. A faint grumble follows. His face is covered by his hat, a green blanket half covering his body. His boots hang over the edge of the sofa as he dozes.

“Rip?”

He jumps, a surprised grunt escaping him.

“Fuck, h- Bones. Y’scared me.”

You hold on to the back of the sofa.

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened-”

“Did you have a panic attack or something?”

“A- what?”

He sighs and slowly sits up.

“What do you mean? I’m not- It’s not like I am mentally ill or something- I-”

“Honey. Please, just, sit down”, he grunts, sitting upright.

There’s that pitying tone again.

“I’m fine! I don’t need your fucking pity, Rip!”, you bite, despite your voice cracking. You hold your ground against the worrying look.

He bites his lip and averts his eyes. He gets up, the blanket left behind carelessly, and grabs his hat off of the arm of the sofa.

"I should leave-"

"Yeah. I think so, too."

Your face feels hot, burning up, as you flick between rage and shame.

He stands in front of you for a moment before turning to leave.

You stay where you are even as you hear him opening and then violently shutting the front door.

You perk up as you hear yelling outside, your hand immediately reaching for the gun next to the door.

You hear a faint growling, another yell, as you tear the door open.

"Get out of the way!", you scream before pulling the trigger-

Five shots ring out and you hear the bear growl, yelp, and scurrying off but your eyes are on the blood spraying from Rip's side.

He groans and his arm shoots out to hold on to the wooden beam next to the entrance of the cabin.

"Oh my god, Rip-!" You leave the gun on the table next to the entrance and run out towards him as the blood starts dripping down from his side.

"I'm so sorry- oh my god, I-", you press down on his bleeding side as you glance up towards the river.

There's a trail of blood left but no bear in sight.

"Let's get you inside. Come on."

He's spitting curses and you press your hand against him, trying to stop the bleeding.

It's a tumble to get him inside and to sit. The blood is slippery and the cabin hallway is barely big enough to fit the two of you through.

Getting to stitching him up is much more calming.

At least to you.

It's a familiar routine to tend to a wound. You grab your utensils one by one, preparing a kidney tray, some swabs, and some synthetic string with a needle, amounting to a little pile of sterile packaging while Rip gets out of his shirt.

"Put some of that on the wound", you murmur and point toward a bottle of iodine. "Take a cotton pad. It's gonna stain."

He just grunts and reaches out- it's the last thing you watch before you concentrate on pulling on your gloves.

"Clear it up."

He throws the pads into the spare bowl you had set out. You reach out to him and press at the edges of the wound.

All grazes. No clear shot wound. You hum as you try to figure out how to best stitch him up.

Another loud groan and another slam of his hand next to you don't deter you from continuing your probing.

You're used to the men writhing when you have to stitch them up after another accident. This is no different.

It's no different.

Just an accident.

"Got anything- fuck, Bones-"

You look up from the wound.

"Anything for the pain?"

"You can have a stick to bite on. No hand holding."

He groans and reaches out for one of the wooden spatulas to jam in between his teeth.

You stay curled up in front of him, waiting patiently until he sits back again.

"You good?"

He nods but you can see him twitch in his seat when you place the first stitch.

"C'mon, stay still. We've done this song and dance."

"Y'Haven't been the one shooting me, yet, honey."

"Good thing my aim is alright then and I didn't sink a bullet into you."

It's easy to fall back into the banter. Like after a hard reset.

After all, this is Rip.

Rip who has the blood of most of your ex-lovers and affairs on his hands, plenty of branded men and farmhands.

He’s knee-deep in the pool of your combined mistakes, every bruise, cut, broken bone, and tear, always side by side. Misplaced trust and the smell of hay in the sunshine, beating down on the two of you when you had had nowhere to go. The crackling fire in the stove of the bunkhouse when winter came and neither of you had any family to go home to.

You're both all but drenched in the collective of both of your past mistakes. One way or another.

“Almost there, hun”, you murmur halfway through, fully concentrating on stitching the skin together in a tight, neat line. The table creaks miserably next to your shoulder as you push through another part of his skin.

He bites down hard on the stick in his mouth as you place the last pair of stitches, his chest heaving with heavy breaths.

You look at his unclenched hand that now lays flat on the table before twisting the thread around the needle. You look back down as you neatly tie it up, snipping it quickly.

Rip inhales sharply through his nose, eyes finally opening again. You discard your instruments into your kidney tray before grabbing the wound disinfectant again.

“Just gonna bandage you up now and then we’ll be done”, you murmur, more to yourself than to him, before you pour some clear antiseptic over the fresh stitches. You don’t jump at the loud bang next to your shoulder, completely undeterred by the twisting of the man in the chair in front of you.

“Settle down”, you murmur and grab some more gauze to dab at the residual blood pouring out with the liquid. As the wound settles, you reach for a big adhesive plaster. You carefully place it, going over the edges a second time with your fingertip to make sure everything sticks.

When you look back up with a short “all done,” Rip lets his head fall back, throwing the stick he had been biting down on into the corner of the room before letting his arm fall. His chest is heaving with harsh breaths and you can’t help but look, his head still thrown back, a bit of sweat pooling in his clavicle. You swallow and turn back to gather your utensils up.

“Let's get you into bed, big guy.”

He grunts and you try a reassuring smile before hoisting him up.

“Going through all the nicknames tonight, huh, Bones?”

You look up at him from where you’re squeezed under his arm, furrowing your brows at him.

He laughs quietly, a little too flat for your liking, as you help him hobble through the door frame of your bedroom.

“You got a real sweet bedside manner, is all.”

You grunt as he bears more of his weight on you to get down onto the mattress.

“There you go”, you murmur, softly letting your hands swipe over his shoulder. “You okay with sleeping like this?”

“It's fine, Bones. Really.”

“Yeah- yeah, okay.” You back off of him, wringing your hands. “I’ll be on the couch, just call me when you need something, yeah? Doesn’t matter what.”

You look him up and down again.

"Do you need something to drink?"

He just looks at you again, a silent reprimand. When he leans back, he grunts loudly and you bite at your lip. Instead of reaching out to steady him, you pull the blanket over to cover him.

He takes it out of your hand and when you turn your head towards him, he averts his eyes.

"Goodnight. Don't bleed out."

He chortles before grinning.

"Goodnight. Don't fucking say that shit to me again."

You smile and leave the bedroom.

You doubt you'll catch any sleep. But you can try.

-

Taglist: @graniairish, @tragerlover, @lexixstewart, @deathbytidep0ds, @hoooli13

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[hockeynoses]

R/oy x Jam/ie (Somno/philia Snz Fic)

Summary: Consensual somnophilia when Jamie has a cold. Includes snzing into the covers (inspired by this post and my original post about it is here). Roy has the kink.

Warnings: Mess. 2.2k.

-

Roy can’t fall asleep. He’s been trying for the past hour, but he’s just so fucking distracted. Lying in the darkness of their room, he can feel the heat of Jamie’s body beside him. He’s been listening to the cadence of his breathing, uneven with congestion.

Jamie’s so stuffed up that he’s forced to breathe through his mouth, drying his throat and causing him to wake in fits and starts with cute little snuffles and coughs, rubbing his face into the pillow, the sheets, whatever’s in reach.

Roy himself hasn’t escaped unscathed, not that he minds, of course. Quite the opposite, in fact. Jamie had fallen asleep on Roy’s chest, peppering him with enough wet, heavy sneezes to cause all Roy’s blood to flow straight to his cock. He had tried his best to remain still and not wake his boyfriend, reaching down with his free hand and giving himself a couple cursory strokes to take the edge off in the hopes that he’d settle back down after that.

After several minutes, Jamie had stirred with a syrupy sniffle and rolled off Roy to his side of the bed, facing away from him. Roy’s grateful for the relief, and the ability to move his limbs freely without the weight of Jamie’s muscle mass smothering him.

So here Roy lies, deciding whether or not to wrap a hand around his cock and finish what Jamie unknowingly started. His skin feels itchy with need. It’s been a special kind of exquisite torture, looking after Jamie when he’s this sick. He’s fucking irresistible enough on a normal day, but this… this is more than Roy can take. His nerves are a constant live wire, jumping to attention every time Jamie sneezes or lets out a particularly miserable groan. The heady tension of desire and restraint constantly thrumming through Roy’s veins. Flushes spilling down his neck in a way that has Jamie smirking into his tissues. It’s like something out of a wet dream.

Jamie knows, of course. They’d talked about it months ago. He had assured Roy that it was fine. They’re both into plenty of freaky stuff, and Jamie has a very open mind. He’d gone so far as to say it was charming, the cheeky prick.

He knows Jamie would do just about anything he asks him to, so Roy takes it upon himself to be the one to set boundaries. He insists they have a safeword, in this and any other kinky shit they get up to. He doesn’t want to take advantage of Jamie when he’s sick. Doesn’t want to press him, but he has to trust that Jamie would tell him if it ever got to be too much.

They’d even talked about –

Roy squeezes his eyes shut. Is he really that desperate?

Jamie said it was okay. That he was flattered, always happy for any and all of Roy’s attention and love.

Their conversation from earlier that day flashes through Roy’s mind, as if to prove to himself that it actually happened.

-

“You dknow how we talked about… mbe being asleeb?” Jamie asks as he finishes blowing his chapped nose for the millionth time.

Roy grunts in affirmation, laser-focused on his boyfriend.

“You could sdtill do that, whend I’b like this.”

Something coils in Roy’s gut, sinister and so, so tempting. They joke about him being a sadist, but this feels like a lot, even for him. But oh god, he wants it.

He knows as soon as Jamie says it that he’s going to do it. How could he not? Now that Jamie’s offering it to him on a silver platter.

“Are you sure?” he forces out, his throat tight with lust.

“Of course. I trust you.” Jamie says. He presses the crumpled tissue to his pink, dripping nostrils. “And one of us mbight as well enjoy ihh… hih’AEETTSHH’uh! SNF. Endjoy id.”

“Okay,” Roy says, the idea taking shape in his mind. “You do need your rest.”

“Exactly, mbate. We can both get what we want.” His tired, red-rimmed eyes soften. “Love that you’re still into mbe evedn when I’b disgustin’.” He gives a playful leer that quickly dissolves into a wrenching sneeze. “uh…ha…HA’IGGHHSH’IUE!”

And Roy can’t go another second without touching him after that.

-

Roy’s cock twitches at the memory, dragging his attention back to the present.

His hard-on is insistent now; it hasn’t flagged at all. Probably because Jamie’s lying next to him making all sorts of sounds and Roy can’t focus on anything but that. Every noise he makes only serves as a reminder to Roy of just how full of cold Jamie is. He’d taken a considerable amount of Nyquil before bed to combat it, or at the very least to knock him out, and it seems to have only accomplished the latter.

Unable to take anymore, he decides to give in, reminding himself that he doesn’t have to feel guilty. Jamie asked for this.

He curls against Jamie, blanketing his back with the warm line of his body. He brings his hands to Jamie’s hips, buries his face in the nape of his neck, smelling the familiar warmth of Jamie’s skin. Jamie snuffles a bit – and Roy freezes – but he stays asleep.

His cock fits perfectly between Jamie’s pert ass cheeks, and Roy digs his fingers into the skin of Jamie’s hips as hard as he dares to pull him closer. Panting his hot breath against the back of Jamie’s neck, already so worked up. It’s like he’s popped the cork of a shaken bottle of champagne and all his desire is spilling out of him. Their bodies are sleep-warm beneath the sheets, and Roy feels like he’s going to combust. He starts a slow, easy grind against Jamie’s ass, forever grateful that the man sleeps with no pants on.

Jamie breath hitches and he groans out a little sound – Nng – nuzzling his face against his pillow. Roy doesn’t stop.

His runny nose has already leaked onto the pillowcase. Roy’s had to switch them out every day, throwing the snotty things in the wash. If Roy lifts his head a little, he can watch Jamie’s face contort, nostrils flaring as a sneeze builds in his sleep. Jamie’s chest expands as his breath picks up – “huh… huh-ggsh’TCHH’iue!” The sneeze sends mess bubbling from his nose, spraying down onto the sheets and his chest.

He still doesn’t blink awake. The Nyquil must have really knocked him out. The thought goes straight to Roy’s dick, heady with the knowledge that he could do whatever he wanted and Jamie might not even wake up; a sick power trip that’s been gifted to him.

“Fuck,” he grits between his teeth, pressing his forehead to Jamie’s shoulder as his thrusts turn more desperate.

Jamie snuffles again, his sinuses thick as molasses. His open mouth sucks in a sharp breath before – “ha’kxxgsh’uh!” another viscous, sickly sneeze coats his upper lip and the pillow below him. He moans, and Roy, through the haze in his own brain, tries to decipher if it’s in discomfort or if it has to do with the fact that Jamie’s dick is thickening up now – his body reacting to Roy even like this – dead to the world, sick as a dog, and hopped up on drugs. If there’s one constant in this life, it’s that Jamie’s going to get hard for him.

Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me, he thinks.

Needing more, he lifts Jamie’s leg as gently as he can – he’s so fucking pliant like this - and thrusts his dick between his fucking tree trunk thighs; one of the many benefits of dating a professional footballer. It provides him with just the right amount of the friction he’s so desperately seeking, the corded muscles like a vice on his dick.

The tight heat of Jamie’s thighs sends Roy careening closer to the edge, a growing, molten pressure in his gut. He’s still not awake yet, Roy marvels, breaking a sweat.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Jamie’s breath starts to hitch again - little frustrated gasps in and out. Roy doesn’t halt the movement of his hips. He buries his face in the back of Jamie’s neck and keeps pumping into that warm, inviting place between his thighs.

“ah…hah… ha’NGGSSHH’UH!” The sneeze rocks them both as it tears out of Jamie, spraying the sheets and clinging to the bottom of his face in a sheer glossy mess. Roy’s hips stutter with another sharp spike of lust.

Jamie groans, low and confused, and Roy feels it reverberate through him where he’s fused to Jamie’s back.

“Mm…Roy?” he mumbles, cracking his bleary eyes open. Roy slows his pace but doesn’t stop the rhythmic slide of his hips.

“I’m right here,” he says, his quiet voice strained with his quick breath. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got you.”

“Ngh… Cadn’t… heh… hih’nngg’SHOO! Ugh. Cadn’t breathe.”

Roy’s halfway to outer space right now, with the brain function to match, so he does the only thing he can think of and gathers the section of the comforter that’s in front of Jamie and presses it to his slick face. These sheets are fucked anyway, he reasons.

“Blow for me,” his voice rolls deep in Jamie’s ear. Jamie doesn’t even hesitate, still half-asleep and fuzzy from the Nyquil. He simply does as Roy says, mustering all the energy he has in his sleepy state to force out a gurgling blow, soaking the comforter with a heavy amount of snot.

“Good boy, get it all out.” He starts to pull the fabric away from Jamie’s face, strings of mess still tethered, when the sound of Jamie’s breath scissoring in and out goes straight to his dick. Fuck, he isn’t going to last much longer.

He props himself up on one elbow to have a better view of Jamie’s face as it contorts in a delicious pre-sneeze expression, still covered in mess and about to get worse. He doesn’t even have his eyes open, but his eyebrows pull up desperately as his red, wet nostrils twitch.

After one last sharp inhale of breath, a heaving double bursts from him - “huh… hih’AEESSHH’IUE! Hah…ha-Heh’GKSSHHTT!” – unleashed openly into the inches of space between him and the already-slimy comforter, coating it even further, spots of liquid turning the fabric dark where it lands.

“Fuck - Jamie.” Roy’s voice punches out of him, raw with need. Lightning jolts through him, his hips fucking into the tight clench of him, an exquisite pressure building. He sets his teeth against Jamie’s shoulder in a bite, as gentle as he can stand. Jamie groans and tries to snort up the congestion that’s shifted in his sinuses once again.

It takes all Roy’s concentration to arrange the comforter in his hand to find a clean spot and bring it to Jamie’s face for more.

“Come on. Again,” he grunts out, head swimming with his imminent orgasm. Jamie obeys. Of course he does. The squelching, miserable sound of it shivers down Roy’s spine. The viscous mess fills the section of fabric, drenching it through until Roy can feel it warm against his skin.

Fuck. Jamie’s breath starts to hitch again, and Roy thinks he must have done something very good in a previous life to deserve this. I’m so close, he thinks, his hips rutting in time with Jamie’s staccato breaths.

Jamie’s head rears back, pulling away from the sodden blanket before splattering it with another exhausted, desperate fit – “ah…hah’iiggh’SHIUE! Hih…hih-kngxxt’GSSHT!” The Nyquil and fatigue are banding together to turn his sneezes haphazard and unrestrained. His face is slack with it; mouth open as he heaves in another breath. “Ugh… ihh… hih’GgSHHuh! Hah… Hiiiih-ZZSSHHESSHH!” He finishes with a monster of a sneeze, sullying everything with a wrenching, wet deluge of filth.

Reaching a fever pitch, Roy’s thrusts stutter before pumping once, twice – then there’s a rush in his ears as he comes so hard he sees stars. Thick, white ropes of come coat Jamie’s thighs as Roy chases his pleasure, fucking him through it.

When Roy comes back to earth, he pulls out from Jamie’s thighs, hissing at the sensation. Nuzzling into Jamie’s neck, he peppers soft kisses against the warm skin there, luxuriating in the smell of him. Jamie sniffles and rouses a bit at that, and Roy tightens his hold around his middle.

One last time, Roy finds a dry part of the blanket - no easy task at this point - and wipes Jamie’s face clean as best he can.

“Roy?” Jamie blinks, half-awake as Roy pulls the blankets up around them. The sheets are truly disgusting, but only in certain spots. They’re both sure to wake up sticky tomorrow, but Roy’s too satiated and fucked out to deal with it right now. And he doesn’t want to disrupt Jamie’s rest any further. They’ll just have to enjoy a nice hot shower together in the morning, and Roy can throw the sheets in the wash then.

“Shh. You did so good, love.”

Jamie gives a sweet little moan and reaches for Roy’s hands around him, holding him there. He snuggles back into his pillow.

“Go back to sleep now. You need your rest.”

Roy’s hand drifts down to Jamie’s cock, checking the state of him, and finds him still half hard. Jamie cants his hips against Roy’s hand on instinct, but doesn’t give him much more than that.

Roy chuckles into his hair. He really does need his rest and Roy doesn’t want to risk waking him up further. It’s nothing that can’t wait.

“Sleep. I’ll take care of you tomorrow.”

Jamie’s contented sigh is the last thing he hears before sleep pulls him under.

[matchingbatbites]

watermelon sugar high (18+)

Much love to @amethyst-crowns for being my #1 cheerleader for this fic! So happy to finally share this with you! CW: This fic contains transmasc Steve Harrington, and I use both masculine and feminine terms for his genitalia. It also contains food porn, so feel free to skip if that's not your thing. Read on Ao3 | 3.3k

"What are you doing?" 

Eddie's voice sounds strangled to his own ears, and Steve looks up at him from his position on the pool patio. His boyfriend is wearing a t-shirt and the shortest swim shorts known to mankind, and his face is flushed from a combination of sitting in the sun and the exertion from whatever it is he's doing. He gives Eddie a tight smile and nods to the watermelon currently cradled in the grip of his thighs.

"Robin showed me a video of this guy crushing a watermelon between his thighs, and I wanted to see if I could do it." 

Eddie is a little baffled as he watches Steve, because what the fuck? Is this a thing? There’s no way this is a thing, that people actually do this. And yet here Steve is, hands braced on the concrete behind him, his hips lifting off the ground as he squeezes his legs again. 

Whatever Eddie was going to say in response dies in an instant. He feels weak in the knees as he watches the muscle of Steve’s thighs shift beneath skin, all taut and firm and bite-able from the strain. He needs to get down there, wants to feel it under his hands, wants to taste Steve’s effort with his tongue.

Steve lets out a pained groan that does absolutely nothing to help with Eddie's train of thought, and then a cracking, ripping sound cuts through the yard. The younger boy laughs in disbelief and looks up at Eddie, who can only stare, his face and dick both flooding with heat as the now watermelon halves drop onto the concrete.

The thought ‘god, I wish that were me’ somehow finds its way through the jumbled maze of Eddie's brain before slipping through his teeth and into the air. Steve just laughs again, bright and loud, even as his expression shifts into something hungrier. "Did you enjoy my little show, Eds?"

The weak, distracted “Yes, fuck,” that Eddie somehow manages to get out only widens the grin on Steve’s face. Eddie wishes he could string together more than two fucking words, wishes he could tell Steve how insanely fucking hot he found that whole display, but he’s entranced He’s completely spellbound as he watches juice drip off toned thighs, and Jesus Christ. What he wouldn't give to shove his face right between them, to lick them clean and feel them squeeze tight around his head. 

And either Steve is getting too good at reading Eddie, or - more likely - Eddie’s desires are currently plastered over his face like a billboard, because his sweet, sexy, sinful boyfriend spreads his legs open and leans back on his hands again. 

"You wanna taste, baby?"

Eddie whimpers and nods because God, does he want to. His hands twitch at his side with the need to reach out and grab, and he fists his hands in his jeans in an attempt to temper the urge. Steve sees it all, hums and tips his head to the side like he’s thinking about it, and Eddie stays where he is, waiting patiently even though every one of his nerves feels like a fucking live-wire.

"Mmm, okay."

Oh, Eddie doesn't need to be told twice. He jerks forward, eagerly dropping to to lay between Steve’s legs, uncaring about the crack of his knees or the fruit juice that soaks into his shirt. His hands wrap around his boyfriend’s gorgeous thighs and his tongue licks a stripe up that tempting expanse of skin. The sticky sweetness of the watermelon mixed with the salt of Steve’s sweat is a heady combo that Eddie instantly craves more of.

“That’s it, clean me up, Eds.”

Eddie feels like a starving man as he licks Steve clean, making his way closer and closer to the edge of those tiny fucking shorts with every pass, unable to resist giving him an occasional bite or sucking the beginnings of a bruise into lightly hairy skin. Steve’s legs are trembling by the time he moves to the other thigh and repeats it all over again, mirroring the entire process of lick-bite-kiss and flying high on the soft moans and breathy sighs coming from above him. 

When he finishes he glances up at Steve’s face and sees that his earlier flush has spread down onto his neck, that his pupils are blown wide with pleasure, and Eddie feels a sense of pride at how he did that. He made Steve all breathless and shaky with nothing but his mouth, with his teeth and tongue and careful attention. It leaves Eddie a little awestruck at the effect he has on Steve, and he hasn’t even touched anything except his thighs.

On that thought, Eddie looks down and sees more physical evidence of exactly what he can do to Steve, the dark spot forming on his shorts even more telling. He leans in again, fully intent on sucking the wet fabric into his mouth so he can taste it, but he’s stopped before he can get anywhere close. It takes him a moment to realize why, to notice that Steve has pushed a hand into his hair, holding him in place and keeping him from reaching his prize. 

His boyfriend tuts softly as he tugs on the locks, arching Eddie’s neck so he can look at his face properly. “Nuh-uh. If you want that you gotta beg for it, baby.”

Eddie shivers at Steve's tone, because fuck, it's gonna be one of those days. 

“Shit, Stevie please. You’re so fucking hot, sweetheart, need to taste you."

The hand tightens in his hair and Eddie whines high as Steve says "You need? How selfish of you, Eds. Maybe I should get myself off and make you watch, hm? Make you wish that it was you touching me instead."

Eddie shakes his head as best he can against the firm grip. "No no no, please. Wanna make you feel good, baby. Want you to use me however you need, wanna feel you come on my face."

Steve rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance and his fingers loosen. “I guess that’s good enough. Go ahead, then.”

Eddie barely gets out a “Thank you,” as he leans in and presses his tongue flat against that wet spot, tasting it for just a moment before moving up to Steve’s dick and licking a broad stripe over it through the shorts. He scrapes his teeth over it, knows the fabric will dull the sensation a bit, and Steve shudders. 

He grinds his hips up into Eddie's face for just a moment before he says “Get these off of me, baby,” and Eddie is eager to help as he pulls Steve’s shorts down and off. He tosses them somewhere nearby and presses back in, licking over Steve’s hole and tasting the slick that's leaking from him. Steve lets out a startled moan at the sudden contact, but seems more than happy to let Eddie do as he wants, especially when he brings a hand up to rub at Steve’s dick, especially when he hums his pleasure against Steve’s heated skin.

Every time he gets to have Steve like this is fucking Nirvana. There's no heaven that could be better than right here between Steve's legs, listening to him gasp and moan as Eddie gorges himself on his boyfriend's pleasure. The lingering flavor of watermelon in his mouth makes Steve taste divine, and when a thought flashes through Eddie’s mind- Well, he’s never been one to ignore an impulse for long.

Eddie digs his fingers into the nearby watermelon and grabs a chunk of the meat, completely heedless of the juice that soaks his hand and drips down his wrist. He crushes it in his hand, breaking it into smaller pieces before he smears it over Steve’s little dick and pussy, and the younger boy moans at the slick touch. Eddie dives in again and swipes his tongue through the mess, groaning loud at the taste of it, the sweetness of the fruit combined with Steve’s heady slick. Steve falls back so he’s laying flat and pushes his hips up, grinding against Eddie’s face as he sinks a hand back into brown curls and pulls.

“Fuuuck yeah, that’s it, baby. Love how greedy you are for it. Don’t even care that we’re outside, that anyone could stop by and see how good you are for me, huh?”

Eddie moans into soft skin, and just the idea of someone catching them like this has him grinding his own dick down into the concrete beneath him. He pushes his tongue into Steve’s hole and lets his nose bump up against his dick as Eddie eats him out, relishing in every noise and praise he pulls from his boyfriend. 

It's not long before Steve is gasping out a warning, an urgent “Fuck, baby, don't stop! Gonna come on your face, don't-!”

Nothing except another fucking gate opening beneath them could stop Eddie now, not when Steve is so close that Eddie can literally taste it. He brings a hand up and slides Steve’s dick between his fingers, the mix of spit and slick and juice easing the way as Eddie jerks him off, trying to give him that last little push over the edge. It pays off when those thighs snap shut around Eddie’s head and god, who needs to breathe when Steve is coming, moaning high and loud as he rides out his high against Eddie’s face. 

Eddie just lets it happen, enjoys the sharp tug of Steve’s hand in his hair, the trembling of his thighs where they’re squeezed tight around him. He feels Steve twitch for a moment before he relaxes all at once, his breath heavy as his legs fall away, and Eddie is finally able to pull back. The lower half of his face is soaked, he can feel it as it starts to dry on his chin, tacky and slightly uncomfortable, and he licks his lips to get just one more taste of the fucking ambrosia he’s just devoured.

He doesn’t have a chance to worry about properly cleaning off his face before Steve is pulling him into a sloppy kiss, and he just melts into it, lets Steve bully his tongue inside so he can taste himself in Eddie’s mouth. He must like what he finds because he lets out a low, heady moan that goes straight to Eddie's dick, and the older boy can’t resist rutting down into the concrete once more, needing some kind of relief.

Steve pulls back after a moment but doesn't go far, lets their lips brush as he asks “Want me to get you off, baby?”

“Yes, please, Stevie. Need to come so bad.”

“Yeah, I know you do. Do you want my hand or my mouth, sunshine?”

Eddie’s reply is a half-whimpered “Mouth, please,” and Steve grins.

“Of course, anything you want. Need you to do something for me first, though, okay?”

Eddie nods and Steve reaches out to grab the mutilated watermelon half, the one Eddie had dug his hand into earlier, and holds it as he looks at Eddie coyly. “Want you to get your dick all sweet and juicy for me. Can you do that, baby?”

Something in Eddie short-circuits at the mental image of what Steve is asking him to do, and he blinks rapidly as he glances between his boyfriend and the fruit in his hands. “Are you- Are you serious?”

Steve nods and hums, but Eddie can see him soften just a little at Eddie's hesitation. “You don’t have to. It’s just a thought.”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. It’s weird, for sure, but they've never been the type to shy away from trying weirder things in bed. “No, I’ll- Yeah I’ll do it.”

Steve’s grin is predatorial as Eddie sits back on his knees and opens his jeans with trembling hands, so willing to do whatever Steve wants him to. He shivers when his dick is finally freed, and he places his hands on Steve’s as he moves closer, completely aware of his boyfriend’s hungry, eager gaze. He pushes forward and shudders when the underside of his dick makes contact with the red flesh, thankful when it’s a bit more sun-warmed than he expected.

Eddie rocks his hips hesitantly, not sure how to feel as his shaft slides through the mess, but Steve’s eyes on him keep him going, as does his soft “C’mon baby. Fuck it good for me.”

Jesus Christ. He doesn’t miss Steve’s soft gasp when he finally gives a proper thrust, and it’s all the encouragement he needs to do it again. “Shit, Stevie, the fuckin’ things I do for you.”

Steve just gives him a wicked smile, sharp hazel eyes flicking up to his face before looking back at where Eddie’s dick is sliding against the somewhat mangled fruit. “I love it. Love knowing how good you are for me, love seeing how far you’ll go to make me happy. You’d do anything I ask, wouldn’t you, love?”

Eddie nods as he continues to roll his hips, mutters a soft “Yeah, fuck, anything,” as he really starts to get into it.

Steve watches him for just another moment before he pulls a hand free and digs it into the meat of the watermelon, covering it in the juice. He grabs Eddie’s dick and strokes it, and it should be sticky and uncomfortable but instead it just makes him whine, makes his hips stutter as he bucks into the firm grip. 

“Stevie, sweetheart- You said-”

“I know what I said, baby. Just making sure you’re nice and sweet for me.” He jacks Eddie off for just a second more before he sets the watermelon off to the side. “Sit on the lounger for me?”

Eddie nods and stands up, wincing briefly at the ache in his knees as he moves the few feet to the lounge chair and sits on the edge of it. Steve follows him and settles between Eddie’s legs in a clear mirror of their earlier positions, and he locks eyes with Eddie as he leans in and scrapes his teeth over one denim-clad thigh, a mean mimicry of a bite that Eddie desperately wants.

“Want you to keep your hands to yourself, Eds. Absolutely no touching me, got it?”

Eddie’s reply is a weak “Yes, Stevie,” and Steve grins up at him. Eddie doesn’t have a chance to brace himself before Steve is swallowing him down, no teasing or licking or anything that he normally does. He just takes Eddie’s dick to the back of his throat like the fucking champ that he is, and Eddie releases a strangled whine as his hands fly up to grab at his own hair. 

His mouth is hot and wet and perfect, and after everything they’ve already done, Eddie knows that this won't take long at all. 

Steve looks at him through his lashes and groans like Eddie’s watermelon flavored dick is the best thing he’s ever tasted and Jesus fuck. Eddie tugs at his curls, enjoying how the sharp sting only adds to his quickly mounting pleasure, and he can’t even buck his hips because Steve has them in an iron grip as he presses them into the lounge seat. 

The show of strength rips a whine from Eddie’s throat and he can see the pleased sparkle in Steve’s eye as he bobs his head properly, doubling down on his attempt to make Eddie see fucking stars. It works so well, too well, and Eddie should probably be embarrassed by how quickly he’s going to come, but he isn’t. He knows that Steve loves seeing how fast he can make Eddie pop off, loves ripping an orgasm from him so quickly that it almost hurts, but fuck if Eddie doesn’t love it just as much .

“Shit, Stevie, gonna-!” 

Steve just ignores the warning, presses in until his nose is pressed into Eddie’s pubes, and it only takes him swallowing around the head of his dick for Eddie to be fucking gone. He curls forward as he comes down Steve's throat with a strangled moan, grateful for the death grip he has on his own hair because there's no way he'd be able to stop himself from touching Steve at this point. Not as his boyfriend sucks him dry, as he licks over Eddie's dick until the older is almost shaky with overstimulation. 

When Steve finally pulls away, Eddie feels completely boneless, like a puppet whose strings have been cut, and he drops back onto the lounge chair. He’s still trying to catch his breath when Steve climbs up into his lap and grabs one of his hands, and Eddie just watches as Steve guides it between his legs. 

"Gimme two fingers, baby. Let me have one more and then we can go shower, okay?" 

Eddie nods weakly and pushes two fingers up into Steve's dripping cunt, and god, if he wasn't still floating down from his sky-high climax, the absolute vision that is Steve riding his fingers would be enough to instantly have him going again.

Instead he just watches, angling his palm up to press against Steve’s dick so his boyfriend can grind down against it, chasing his own pleasure once again. He's making those breathy little gasps that Eddie loves to kiss out of his mouth, and looking down at Eddie with so much affection that it nearly drives his post-orgasm brain to tears.

"Fuck, Eds, love you so much. Always make me feel so good, baby. Perfect boy, just for me, yeah?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie breathes. He knows he's mirroring Steve's look of adoration, can't help it as he watches his boyfriend take what he wants, something Eddie is more than happy to give him. “Your good boy. Your toy to fuck and use. Love to watch you come 'cause of me, wanna see it, please.”

Steve gasps and nods, his hand snaps down to take Eddie's wrist in an iron grip as he grinds down, a bit sloppy and uncoordinated now. His head drops back and he moans loud as he comes again, hips stuttering and thighs shaking. Eddie’s hand is quickly drenched in slick as that wet heat clenches tight around his fingers, and Eddie shudders with the briefest moment of regret that it’s not his dick currently buried in Steve.

He pulls his fingers free and wipes them off on his shirt, knowing that the article is already filthy at this point, and rubs his clean - cleaner - hand over Steve’s thigh. He watches as the boy takes a second to catch his breath, coming down from his high a little before he’s leaning forward to draps himself over Eddie’s chest. 

Eddie feels him placing a few kisses to the underside of his jaw and dips his chin to get a lazy but proper kiss. They just lay there for a while, lounging and kissing as that syrupy satisfaction settles into their bones, the gentle quiet only broken when Steve speaks up.

"You promise that you're not weirded out by the watermelon thing?" He’s clearly worried as he asks, and Eddie leans in to nuzzle at his cheek in a moment of soft reassurance.

"Babe, you regularly put me on a leash and call me puppy-" 

"Because you asked me to!"

"-Therefore, I think it would take something a lot more extreme for you to weird me out." 

Eddie grins as he leans in and scrapes his teeth over Steve's jaw, not hard enough to be an actual bite, but enough that Steve leans into it. "Or did you forget that you're talking to Hawkin’s very own king of the freaks?”

Steve hums in disbelief, still a bit unsure, and Eddie can’t resist pressing one more kiss to the twin moles on his cheek. “Besides, I'm pretty sure I put it on your dick first."

"Huh. You know what? You're right. I'm completely faultless here." Steve sits up and pats Eddie's chest, significantly more chipper than he was mere seconds ago. "C'mon, puppy. Let's go take a shower."

[littleslithewhump]

Day 12 - breathplay

He’s not sure how long he spends trembling on the floor, feeling each part of his body scream from neglect or abuse. He wants to move, but instead he feels himself gasp sobs over the ruin of his flesh, a feeling akin to both grief and nausea. 

He undos the spreader bar from his ankles, touching the raw skin with shaking fingers. 

Freed from bonds for the first time since his kidnapping, he tells himself he should be searching for an escape. He should plan something—a getaway, an attack. 

But for a while, all he can do is wrap his skinny arms around himself and try to calm his breathing. 

It’s strange, when he recovers enough to look around—there’s the mirror, the pads on the floor, the tiny bathroom in the corner. The tatters of his clothes are long gone. There’s the hose, which he drinks from like a dog. On the wall are manacles, hooks, nails, loops—some of the…gear hangs there, like the hood, like chains and rope. The door, when he feels strong enough to drag himself up the stairs, is bolted and padlocked from the outside. No windows, of course. 

Perhaps, with the rope, he could make a trip wire? If his captor tumbles down the stairs, could V be fast enough, strong enough to run?

In the darkness under the stairs, V finds a bench. It’s heavy—wood and padded leather. Metal loops are drilled into the thing. V can guess what they’re for. 

When he braves glancing in the mirror, he notices…his collar. He’s somehow mostly forgotten its presence, in the midst of everything else. His cage. He can’t take off the cage, but he runs a finger over the collar. He could…he could take it off. But when he looks in the mirror, the only other thing he sees is bruises, a face that’s not recognizable as his own for how gaunt and swollen it is. 

He doesn’t dare take it off. He feels too weak to attempt to escape, too scared of what will be done to him when he’s caught again. When, he notices himself thinking. Not if.

His cowardice makes him loathe himself. 

-

When the door opens, V doesn’t think. He just crawls to the corner, curling in on himself, making himself small. 

“Oh, pet. Not such a smart, snooty professor anymore, are you?”

V grits his teeth. The suspicion had crossed his mind since his escape—this man knows him. Who is this? A former student, maybe? Who else would he have managed to forget? How would he not have remembered those cold eyes?

It doesn’t matter though, when his large hand finds his wrist and pulls him into the open, V’s limbs flailing clumsily. 

“Lay back, pet.” 

A hand to his sternum pushes him to the floor. 

His captor manhandles his hips into his lap, a hand tight around his thigh while the other one frees himself from his baggy pants. 

V’s unable to stop trembling. He’s not sure what to do with his hands. He ends up pressing them protectively to his chest, holding his own hand, too afraid to touch his captor. 

“I’m going to fuck you today, little one.” 

“Please—please don’t, I’ll be good, I’ll—”

“Shhh. It’s not a punishment.”

The hand abandons his thigh, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bottle of lube. He squirts it in his hand and presses a palm to V’s hole, massaging there. V whimpers, a tear glimmering at the corner of his eye. 

His captor’s finger slides in. V can’t fight it, even as he wants to tense up and resist and bite. He’s just lax, letting the finger invade him. 

“Good.” 

His captor leans over him, looping his fingers under his collar, pulling V onto his finger by his neck. 

He adds another finger to his hole, slots another one under his collar. The pressure of being stretched makes V’s cock twitch in his cage, the pressure on his neck makes him gasp. 

With the third finger—one more under his collar, another fingering him open—V feels as though he can’t get any air at all. 

“Fuck—good boy—” 

V feels a heady rush when the fingers abandon his collar, and, abruptly, there’s a cock in his ass. 

His captor fucks him slowly, pressing down on his chest with both hands. He can’t get air past the pressure, only stuttering exhales—

When he lets up on his chest, stars dance across V’s vision. V tries to bat his hands away as they move to his chest again. He can’t breathe when he does that—

His captor growls, pulling out and grabbing V by his forearms, dragging him in front of the mirror before pulling him into his lap, V’s back to his captor’s chest. 

He grips V’s hip, sinking back into him to the hilt. V, still out of breath, feels a wave of lightheadedness, the new position pressing and igniting new and unexpected places. His arousal feels…blissful, even as the cage tugs uncomfortably at him.

His captor gropes him, tweaking every bit of sensation out of V’s sore body, before curling a hand around his throat, squeezing with enough force that V grips his wrist and tries to tug it away. 

It just makes him tighten his fingers, blocking V’s air. It makes V gasp and panic, struggling and struggling with increasing exhaustion.

“Look at you, pet. Look how gorgeous I’ve made you.”

V isn’t sure what he means–all he is is flushed beet red, wheezing, his chastity cage bobbing between his thighs as he’s stuffed full. But then he can’t see anything at all, darkness blotting out his vision. His grip slips from his captor’s wrist.

When he stutters back into consciousness, the pressure on his neck eased, he feels a wave of euphoria. His body is completely loose, arched against his captor. 

He heaves in air, his captor petting his jugular with his thumb, until he bears down on V again, tightening around his throat, placing a hand over his mouth and pinching his nose closed. 

V, robbed entirely of his breath, feels himself stammer in and out of wakefulness.

When he doesn’t black out, he feels his captor fucking him brutally. But the panic has been suffocated out of V's brain...he finds himself bouncing between struggling like an animal for more air, and giving in so completely that waves of bliss and asphyxiation feel synonymous.

[wiredsignal]

aside from regular societal biases on whats gonna be erotic i actually think partly the robot/machine fucker focused side of tf fandom actually just has a BRANDING problem. compared to those who wanna humanize, (or even just more monster/alien fucker inclined). cause like. if your anywhere from like. they have robot versions of human adjacent junk to full very. ahem. animalistic. kinky shit. sticky or v.p both work as terms for you. sticky i seem to find more in the databasal and forumy areas and then v.p as a working search term on socials.

but then if youre NOT looking for that. point the first, defining something as antithesis of something else. your already on the back foot. 'non-sticky' just isnt a functional search term, nor a very specific concept. (maybe i want the machinery STICKY! you dont know) and then the variance within?

wire play, this one is actually well used by robotfuckers at large. plug and play, sure yeah cables and sockets, we love that. tho it and sparkplay (yeah well comics huh) both also have like. the telepathy singularity. at which point i find telepathy sex and related can get so. heady (lol) and prose heavy, n conceptual? it kinda stops being erotic. lot of variance. also. like. and then tactile which i feel like. is that even a modern one anymore idk... the 'intimate massage' of smut. perhaps a bad wrap considering it could mean. ANYTHING. its like. the rest of it. hmm.

just saying its all very convoluted and god damn it doesnt anyone wanna FUCK this [pointing at an image of robotic innards] you know?

[allegra-writes]

"Love bites"

Daniel Molloy x Armand

Mature

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, mentions of blood, general awkwardness.

Disclaimer: I don't own the vampire Armand or Daniel Molloy, nor will I be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Ashley, Jackie and Boss the cat however, are all mine.

MY MASTERLIST

Daniel Molloy was fucked. Well and truly fucked. And not even in the fun way, though that had definitely happened. In fact, that was exactly how he had ended up where he was, sitting on his couch, hastily draped in his bathrobe, with Armand clad only in his plaid blue boxers next to him while his older daughter, Ashley, paced agitatedly in front of them. 

The irony of the situation wasn't lost to Daniel, as he sat precisely on the same spot his daughter had when fourteen years before, when he had walked in on her and her first girlfriend, but if Ashley noticed, she wasn't amused by it. Not that Daniel blamed her, as traumatizing as it had been for him and his wife to come home early from a convention only to be assaulted by the loud moans and sounds that couldn't be mistaken for anything else coming from their teenage daughter's room, he figured it didn’t quite compared to the eyeful she had gotten of her geriatric father bent over the kitchen counter while his (vampire) lover pounded into him from behind. Good thing she was a shrink, she probably knew a friendly colleague or two willing to offer her a good deal on the therapy she was sure going to need.

He could practically feel the eye-roll Armand repressed, the immortal’s mind a soft, welcome presence against his own. Daniel couldn’t help but to draw comfort from it, even as he had to wonder how was his daughter able to bypass it. It was easy for Daniel, with his failing human senses, to miss her arrival, but surely Armand, so proficient at the mind gift, had to sense her coming?

Armand let out a soft, almost imperceptible huff beside him. Some things never change, do they, Daniel? Always overestimating me, Armand’s velvet voice resonated through his brain right before it was flooded with images of himself watched from the outside, bent over the granite, the feeling of his own heat around Armand’s hardness, the heady flavor of his blood on Armand’s tongue, the electrifying feeling on the inside of Armand’s wrist where Daniel’s mouth was latched onto it, the starbursts exploding through Armand’s veins with every pull Daniel took, all tinted by the most unadulterated, overwhelming, possessive love Daniel had ever felt. It was beyond intoxicating. Clearly, human brains weren't wired for that amount of stimuli, a simple glimpse, one quick flash, and Daniel felt ready to pass out, but it made Armand’s point crystal clear, Daniel definitely understood now how her daughter’s presence could have flown under Armand’s mental radar. 

It also made him unnecessarily flustered in front of his daughter, which Daniel did not appreciate. He was focusing on sending the shameless vampire a mental chastising when his daughter finally spoke.

“You may want to clean up that…”

“Armand” He provided, usefully, face so perfectly candid it had to be on purpose. Too bad if there was anyone in the world capable of resisting Armand’s puppy dog eyes, it was Ashley.

“Righ, Armand. You may want to clean that up, put some Neosporin on it” Ashley repeated, gesturing at Armand's bloody wrist, clutched in his hand. He probably had his fingers wrapped around it to hide that the wound had already healed, but as it was, it looked like he was cradling it in pain. “Looks like a pretty nasty bite…”

Daniel hid his face in his hands, wishing the earth would open up, and swallow him. He guessed he should be grateful Armand had at least had the presence of mind to nick at his own tongue with his fang and heal Daniels's neck before parting when her yell of “Oh my effing god!” had sent them jumping apart. 

“Of course. If you excuse me” Armand got up and sauntered towards the bathroom with far too much dignity for a man in someone else’s underwear. Bastard. Ashley cleared her throat and Daniel noticed that, to his further embarrassment, he had been staring. 

“So, you and Armand” Daniel didn’t like the way Ashley said the name, she made it sound as dirty as when Daniel had called him rent boy, “How long has that been going on?”

What was Daniel supposed to say? That Armand was the love of his life? That they had spent twelve years together before she was born and Daniel had never gotten over it? That even though he didn’t remember it he spent the rest of his life looking for him in everyone and that was the reason her mother and him had crashed and burnt? That now that they had found each other again there was no force in the world strong enough to keep them apart, not even her? He could say they had met in Dubai, but he knew what Ashley would think of that, of a man -apparently- less than half his age moving in with him so quickly, and fine, there was no way his daughters could have an even lower concept of him than they already did, but Armand was no gold digger or fling, he was important to Daniel and he wanted his family to respect him. 

So instead, he replied,

“A while”

Ashley scoffed,

“A while? What, you were his prom date?”

“If you must know, miss Molloy, your father and I had an on-again-off-again relationship a few years ago. We recently ran into each other again in Dubai and… reconnected” Armand reappeared, wearing black silk pajama pants and a white bandage around his wrist for show “We both changed in these years. We are both wiser and more emotionally stable now, so we decided to try again”

“Years?” Daniel could see Ashley struggling to do the math in her head, “Where? When?”

“Ten years ago” Armand replied at the same time Daniel said “Miami” cause at least he wanted to be partially honest. 

“Ten- How old were you, seventeen??”

“Twenty-seven”

Ashley blanched,

“No. No way you’re seven years older than me” 

There was a little smirk on Armand’s face now, he was enjoying the situation way too much.

“I assure you, miss Molloy, I am thirty-seven years old. I can show you my passport if you’d like” 

Daniel had the impression Armand very much wanted to show her that passport, he was probably very excited about his little falsification. Ashley seemed completely lost as to how to respond to that.

“What? No, I just- I mean, look at your face and your… skin”

“If you want me to, I can refer you to my dermatologist”

“I don’t think that will be necessary” Daniel interrupted before the vein popping out from his daughter's very flushed neck could burst, “Ashley, I am aware of the age gap between us, but my relationship with Armand is and has always been a relationship between two consenting adults” Had it been toxic the first time around? Yes. Had it been fucked up and twisted? Fuck yeah. Had there been a clear power imbalance? Absolutely. But this time around, Daniel wasn’t interested in immortality, and he wasn’t afraid of Armand either, that plus his life experience had evened the field a lot for them. Of course, Armand was still richer than Bezos, but Daniel hadn’t left himself be swept off his feet to a private Island or a Dubai tower, he had demanded to return to his old apartment and his old life and Armand hadn’t fought him on it. He didn’t seem to need to control every detail of Daniel’s life like he used to, like he had done with Louis too. And that was a lot for him, wasn’t it? Armand was trying hard to be better, to make the relationship work, and be healthier than it had been the first time. And Daniel appreciated it.  “Armand is not some tinder swindler taking advantage of a sick, gullible old man and I am not a dirty old man taking advantage of a wide-eyed college freshman”

Ashley looked properly chastised after her father’s outburst, but it was obvious she still wasn’t convinced. She sat on the coffee table to be eye level with Daniel, a standard therapist move Daniel was used to being on the receiving end of after all his stunts in rehab. When she spoke again, the eye contact was intense. 

“But dad, you are sick. You have an autoimmune disease. And you took a trip in the middle of a lockdown anyway!” 

So that was why she was there, to rip him a new one. Daniel guessed he couldn’t blame her. 

“It was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity” That he somehow had gotten twice, “I took every precaution” or rather Armand as Rashid had. Ashley didn’t need to know the details but it was probably the safest Daniel had been in almost forty years “Besides, Armand here hooked me up with some of the best doctors in the world” Definitely the best money could buy.

“Daniel is in good hands, miss Molloy. I made sure of that” 

With her first argument twarted, Ashley changed her line of reasoning.

“Dad, he looks a lot like mom, you can’t deny that. Are you sure this isn’t some… attempt to get a younger, more docile version of her?”

His daughter didn’t seem to care if her words hurt Armand or created a drift between them, planting the idea that Armand was second best, a cheap replacement for Uma. Of course, Ashley had no way of knowing It was actually her mother the one that looked like Armand, Daniel himself hadn’t known either until about three weeks ago. 

Armand chuckled.

“There is nothing docile about Armand” Daniel deadpanned, “trust me” 

His daughter opened her mouth again, no doubt to point out another concerning aspect of their relationship, but Armand interrupted her with as much poise and disingenuous politeness as he had displayed as Rashid. 

“I apologize, miss Molloy, we are being most ungracious hosts” Daniel could have sworn Ashley’s eye twitched at the word we. Armand’s smile only grew brighter, “I’m sure this conversation would be more pleasant with some tea?”

Ashley sighed, the fight going out of her.

“Actually, I could use some coffee. It’s a long drive home…”

“Sorry, you’re outta luck then” Daniel snorted, “this is a caffeine free household” 

He wasn’t sulking. He wasn’t! Armand got up and marched into the kitchen, positively vibrating with glee as he announced,

“Actually, is not her the one whose luck’s ran out, Daniel. I found your secret stash. I’m giving the whole can away to your daughter” 

Daniel shot out from the couch, to plead or to fight, but Armand’s voice inside his mind sounded determined.

You are not nearly as sneaky as you think, beloved. Forty years later, you still use the same hiding spots.

Daniel cursed internally. And to think his night had started out so great…

To Daniel’s amazement, the rest of the evening had gone by pleasantly enough. It was evident Ashley still didn’t like Armand, but at least she had been civil ebout it, only whispering “I still don’t like this” to her father during their goodbye hug by the door.

“You don’t have to” Daniel had whispered back, not unkindly. 

“I’ll come by often to check on you” She had half promised, half threatened, making Daniel smile.

“I would like that very much” 

Then, she had left, without so much as a nod towards Armand. 

“I like her” Armand decided later, as he and Daniel snuggled on the couch watching Blade Runner on Netflix (the 80s version, of course)

“Who? Ashley?” Daniel made a face, “Not sure the feeling is mutual, boss”

“She cares about you, even despite herself. She is protective of you. I can’t begrudge her that”

Daniel buried a noncommittal hum in Armand’s hair, nuzzling the soft curls. The truth was, his daughters’ visit had shook him. On the one hand, he was overjoyed she was talking to him again, after all it only had taken a terminal disease diagnose, a pandemic, and his virtual disappearance to Dubai for her to do so. On the other, he couldn’t deny her disapproval of his relationship with Armand put a damper on that happiness. He didn’t need her approval, hell, he had rarely -if ever- gotten it, but he didn’t want things to be tense between them. He didn’t want to be forced to split his limited time between those he loved because they couldn’t get along. 

“I could make her like me,” Armand commented casually, as if he wasn’t suggesting brainwashing his child, “but that’s exactly how I thought you would feel about the mather”

“So let me get this straight, you see nothing wrong with mind controlling people into liking you, except for the fact it would upset me”

“I don’t want to displease you”

Daniel grabbed Armand’s jaw with his fingertips, gently turning his head to be able to look into those bright amber eyes.

“You really are a little gremling, aren’t you?”

“I’m the love of your life”

“You heard that, didn’t you?” Daniel sighed in mock exasperation, “Just don’t let it go to your head”

Armand beamed as he tilted his head up for a kiss,

“I would never”

[october-writes]

‘Something good?’ She flinched, instinctively clutching the box to her body to keep from dropping it. Chief Mica Hussein stood in front of Ada in what passed for her casual clothes: a form-fitting black sweater, jeans and Timberlands. ‘I thought you’d be in there with your colleagues giving Mr Ness a proper send off,’ said Hussein, her tone high-pitched and stretched like piano wire, ‘I know you were all tore up about what happened.’

Ada glanced in the direction of the canteen. The music had switched over to Burning Down the House, another Talking Heads classic.

‘A little rowdy for my tastes,’ she replied, ‘But don’t leave the party early on my account. I heard they found lemons and made some sangria.’

‘Making sangria outta lemons! I oughta remember that one,’ Hussein grinned like they were sharing a private joke, ‘Whatcha got there?’

‘Nothing you need to worry about.’

‘Oh, but I do. Worry. About you. A lot.’

Goose-flesh broke out along Ada’s forearms, but she remained composed. She knew Hussein’s play-book by now. She cornered her opponents with a heady blend of intimidation and vulpine charm until her target either surrendered or made a run for it. Option two was the Chief’s favourite. She loved a good chase.

‘Am I on your mind that much?’ Ada asked with a baffled smile, ‘Chief, I’m flattered! I didn’t think I was your type.’

Hussein took a step closer, ‘No, I think you’re exactly my type. Secretive. Sarcastic. Entitled. Strutting around like you own the place. Think you’re above everyone else. Smarter than everyone else. Pretending you don’t want special treatment, but getting it anyways. Always got more than one guy wrapped around your pinky. No. People like you were always my favourite.’

Ada pursed her lips at Hussein’s conveyor belt of insults. Then she shrugged, realising none of it was strictly untrue.

The other woman was so close now that Ada had to tilt her head back to look into her eyes.

‘Open that package for me, would ya sweetheart?’ Hussein nodded at the box in her arms.

‘This is my property. I signed for it.’

Hussein leaned forward, ‘I’m not gonna ask twice.’

Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.

---

Read the rest on AO3

[thepayloadisgay]

Dawn. A time familiar enough for Moira, either side of the hour.

Up too late, lost in whatever experiment, project was making her heart beat fast, mind wired, eyes unblinked. Up too early, pinged by Reyes with a 'need you' for another round in the ring with Blackwatch.

Shame, really. She'd been sleeping sound. A dream here and there, logical enough that it mirrored life could have fooled her into being real. But it was let down by being too pleasant. Eerie. Unfamiliar. No-one smiled at her like they did in her dreams.

Well. Maybe one had. Limbs layered in Moira's sheets, twisted with her own, drunk on hedonism and her own little world.

Moira wondered sometimes if that's why she kept coming back; why she stuck. They'd created their own little world in world. A waking dream that only they could see when they touched. Kissed.

Laughed.

It was beginning to permeate Mora's own dreams, peeling away a familiarity, inviting discomfort to her own mind. A sacrilege on something so sacred.

'20 mins. Dress warm'

Moira dismisses Reye's message. Little did they know she was working on a new formula for body temperature regulation. And always, what better subject than herself.

But something else stops her stride. The half open door that led to the balcony where Cole loved to drink, Genji meditate, Reyes pace, and Moira-

"Didn't know you smoked." Languid, by the door, a strip of sunrise bleaching a line over concrete, iron railings, and a mess of blonde hair, tacked back in too many pins.

(I keep the ones you leave at mine, that fall out of your hair, that I rip out. A counter. A trophy. I don't know. I haven't counted. Don't ask a number. I don't want to know)

"I don't." A long draw, sweet and heady. Exhale fogging Angela's profile, greying hair, smudging eyes.

"Well I do." Moira leans on the ledge, elbow sharp on stone as her hand lazily extends in request (demand).

Angela takes another draw as she turns, tipping the ash a touch from Moira's fingers, nails blunted, painted black. She hands the cigarette with lazy ease, letting her exhale cloud Moira, now. Her body relaxing with the motion, curving into the space between, like Moira had already tugged that invisible line only she could find.

"You look like shite."

A half smile, and she looks anything but.

"Can always count on you for honesty." Angela waits for Moira to take the cigarette, but she takes Angela's hand instead, lifting it to her unpainted lips.

"Can you?" The words brush Angela's fingers. She can feel them write on skin, smudged too quickly by Moira's touch.

And she inhales, watching the smoke clear, brief. Angela's eyes come to focus, half-lidded, insomnia lined. She's never stayed long enough to wake up next to Moira, for her to see those lazy morning eyes dripped in

satisfaction desire regret

Moira doesn't know which one to pick. What if she sees something else, a reflection of those eerie dreams.

She exhales, blurring Angela's beauty beneath the smoke, the sunrise turning the cloud above her head, fire.

"I'm leaving with the boys." She flicks the ash from the cigarette, half her hand, half Angela's. She's not letting go. "Might be a while. Week. Two tops. Don't touch my things."

Angela's seared the smoke already with beauty. It burns when she smiles, saccharine.

"I'll put everything back where it belongs. You won't even know."

Angela leans in for a last draw, but Moira's there first, a whisper from her face, basked in warmth, glow, the sunrise be damned. "I should put you back where you belong."

Smoke touched words wrap around Angela, dancing on that invisible line that Moira tugs, the last viper of smoke sliding between Angela's lips as Moira breathes out.

"And where, exactly, is that?"

Moira tilts Angela's chin with a thumb, strands of unwashed hair sticking to her cheek, pressing two fingers to Angela's bottom lip, cracked and unkissed.

"I think you know." There's barely sound, Angela feels her words more than hears. Breathing them in, tasting the tips of fingers she knows well, canine dragging over nail, chipping the varnish in goodbye.

Angela watches Moira leave, licking lips cracked, kissed.

[loveofbots]

Can you make a second NSFW part of the First Aid vent fic? I LOVED that

Oh sure thing!! I’ll get to flex my writing muscles on this

Hehe he’s my spicy medic

Warnings: 18+, vent play

Honestly how did you stumble upon such a good mech? You hardly even had to try to get him worked up and First Aid was all over you. 

The door behind you had just slid closed before First Aid pushed you up against it, height differences be damned. You fumbled for the lock on the door as his servos rose up your sides, over your chassis, and to your faceplate. He made you look at him as his face shield unlocked and slid away revealing his awaiting derma. The medic waited, tormenting you, until he heard the click of the door locking shut. 

First Aid devoured you, his full lips encapsulating yours in a passionate kiss. In your desperation to try and get a grounding grip on your lover you clawed against his plating. Eliciting a heady moan from the pent up mech. First Aid relented and backed away. Guiding you with gentle yet excited optics. 

“Finally.”

You giggled at his reaction. The two of you laid on the berth now. You were supported by a few pillows to arch your back temptingly into the mech who settled between your struts. It was definitely cute seeing First Aid’s optics so bright behind his visor. Normally this would happen when he explained something he was passionate about, or exploring his more curious side. 

Suddenly your faceplate heated up. You were the cause of his passion and curiosity. Only you could make this mech so eager to explore your frame. With your permission First Aid’s digits made their way to the outlines of your vents. He kept your intake busy with fluttering kisses and teasing remarks, his smile all too obvious. 

“You’re really excited Aid.” Your bashfulness was barely hidden under the lustful static of your vocalizer. “How long have you been- AH!” First Aid cut you off by spreading his digits over the slits of your vents. Your fans kicked on, air tickling his servos. 

He let you recover for a moment and rested his helm on your shoulder. “Too long, I think. We both get so caught up in work that I... I forget how much I miss you.” Admittance was not something First Aid gave lightly. It warmed your spark to see him be so open and honest about his desires with you. He crooned into your audial as your arms wrapped around his frame. 

“Can we continue what we started?”

He rose from your shoulder and looked at you with endearment. “Of course, Love.” 

Maybe you should be appreciative that it took so long to be alone together. The yearning you two had for each other seemed to multiply the sensations you had tenfold. His two servos cupped your vent plating expertly and began to toy at some of the seams. First Aid was rubbing at the tender cabling underneath your venting. 

“Relax now, I’ll go slow.” Your partner reassured you in the darkness. His frame being the only thing anchoring you in the moment, keeping you from floating away on a cloud of ecstasy. 

Your vents hissed as digits massaged between the slits further. Your display sent a ping that something was blocking your intake which you hastily dismissed. No more interruptions. 

His digits curled pleasantly once inside, making you arch your chassis into him. First Aid noticed both of your charges building between one another and picked up the pace. The little devil mouthing at your neck cables as well. Your ex-vents came quicker as your overload began approaching. 

The little medic seemed to know exactly what made you tick. In return your struts locked around his hips and pulled him even closer. At some point you must’ve offlined your optics, because once you turned them online you were met with the beautiful sight of First Aid with his visor off. You moaned as he dug deeper and deeper. Playing with wires and airways you didn’t even know you had. 

“First Aid I’m gonna... I’m gonnaaaAHHH!” Overload rippled through your frame, the excess charge making First Aid overload as well, retrieving his servos before slumping next to you on the berth. Your intakes came hard and heavy, fans working overtime to make sure your internals stayed cool. You felt the mech next to you pull you closer, brushing his digits over your venting again. The sensation made you shiver from overstimulation. 

The mech soothed you, watching intently as you came down from your high. 

After a moment your rolled over so that you were facing him. Your servos caressed that content looking face, innocently smiling as if he didn’t just make you overload. “That was so, so good First Aid.” He nuzzled into your chassis eagerly and snuggled. 

“I’m happy that I could do that, and that we got some quality time together.” 

Recharge slipped around you both like a blanket, safe and sound in each other’s arms.

[dyrewrites]

Find the Vibe Tag : "But I don't want to"

@deanwax tagged me for this one.

I'm tagging @pb-dot @ruinmegently @rmgrey-author

I am not entirely sure if I have what this vibe calls for...but here we go!

Warning, there is some mindfuckery afoot and uncomfortable implications.

Warm paws scooped Lyera from the cold dirt and her cheeks flushed with panic, voice choking in her throat before she noticed her rescuer. But he was not there a beat passed. None were there, none but those horrible, twisting faces and clanking fog. 

“Ortun fe?”  She asked the buck.

He gazed, smiling, but said nothing.

“Wh-who are you?”She tried again, dropping the dinmael of her herd for the more common Marnai.

The buck cocked his smiling head, eyes shining far too bright but again said nothing.

“Q–quiet type, huh? Well, you–you seem friendly enough. A little too friendly, if you don't mind my saying,” She said, gasping as he pulled her closer.

He cradled her against the curled softness of his fur and warmth radiated from him, spreading to her shaking limbs and smothering the itch to pull away.

“Lyera,” She offered him too freely, “from Lornel?” She added to the tufts of his fur. “What, what Rimlet do you claim?”

There was a twitch at the corner of his dark lips, the hint of a smile, and the arms cradling her shivered…yet still he did not speak.

“I...I appreciate your help all th–the same. I was, we was–were. We were hunting but I got turned round and...and lost my party, see? Then all this fog poured up and I saw. I know I saw–but then it was–and that clanging–You hear it, right, that clanging?” Her nose twitched, he did not smell right. But nothing in the Dreadmire did and his grip, his grip was so strong and his fur so...warm.

Warm. The word squirmed in her thoughts, drawing her closer and she nuzzled into his chest. His was a musty scent. Musty and sweet, like the mushroom trees of her home but something cloyed beneath, a smell that turned her stomach and she pushed away, wriggling and kicking but his arms would not allow it.

They pulled her closer, wrapping tighter.

Warm, safe, the squirming words insisted and the buck's face beamed then with a smile so comforting that Lyera did not notice his unblinking eyes or the wires tugging the corners of his mouth.

“You are safe. With me,” A new voice sang, too sweetly, in a whisper from somewhere other than the buck's hard lips.

Safe, it repeated in Lyera’s mind, breaking along her nerves and heating her from ear to tail as a low pulse built beneath it. Hot and heady that pulse gathered in her chest and her lips parted again, forming the words before breath could give them sound, “Safe. With you.”