#was written with legacy ! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myokk · 3 months ago

Text

clumsy

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

word count: 9,1k

summary: sebastian is clumsy

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

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

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

Quite literally.

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes.

What has he done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he gathers his wits and wanders away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Divination is unfortunately not interesting.)

Oh, fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What had gotten into her? What is she doing?

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

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

She has a lot of thinking to do.

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

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

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

Figure out what the hell is going on between us

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sebastian, I..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Misery.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Imelda does not stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello."

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

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

But what if he rejects her?

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

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

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

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

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

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anto-pops · 2 years ago

Text

Secrets - Ominis Gaunt x Female! Reader

Summary: After slinking out of Hogwarts for five long, stressful hours in the dead of night, you returned to a pissed off Ominis who is beyond fed up with your blatant disregard for your well being. The last thing he wants to do is let you off easy, so he patches you up and elects to 'punish' you for your infuriating secrecy.

Alternatively summarized as really, really shameless Dominis smut.

Yes, this is the most gratuitous thing I've ever written. No, I will not be taking questions at this time.

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit sexual content, rough sex (seriously)

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 with much more informative tags

It was well after midnight by the time you returned to Hogwarts. You would have come back sooner if it had been up to you— seeing as you weren’t particularly keen on slinking through the school’s deserted corridors in the dark. But you were tired, bruised, and lacking a good amount of blood that had left your body through the deep slice in your leg, so naturally you moved slowly.

At least with the late hour, you would be able to avoid Ominis. There was no way you could deal with his particular brand of ire right now.

You didn’t mean to keep these things from him, but he was a chronic worrier. Every time you left the castle walls for something– be it for potions ingredients, or to help out in a nearby village– Ominis would grouse about it. While he knew you could handle yourself in most situations, he was convinced that you continued putting yourself in danger simply because it was the only thing you were used to. From the moment you entered his world in your fifth-year, you had been fighting for your life and solving other people’s problems without so much as a spare thought for yourself.

He made it very clear to you that he wasn’t a fan of your heroism. “It’s not your job to fix everything,” he had told you one night after you missed dinner to take on an entire Poacher camp by yourself.

You knew that. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t at least try to help where you could.

Which was precisely why you had agreed to travel to Marunweem in the first place. The town’s doctor had sent you an owl requesting your assistance after a caravan of medical supplies was raided by Ashwinders. The grimy bastards had holed up in a cave a mile outside of the village for the better part of a month and had been robbing its denizens left and right, leaving the townsfolk too terrified to leave their homes and run the risk of getting hounded.

Finding the slippery fuckers had been easy enough. What you hadn’t counted on was the second group of them that returned to the camp half-way through dispatching the first bunch. Their arrival had caught you off guard, which was the only reason one of the Scouts succeeded in hitting you with a Diffindo charm when your back was turned. You had been effectively handicapped for the remainder of the fight, limping around to dodge more curses and charms alike, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. In the end, you had made it out victorious, leaving a pile of Ashwinder bodies behind in your wake.

Climbing the staircase to the Astronomy Wing was a trial in and of itself; your leg stung fiercely every time you lifted your knee to take another step, the torn skin pulling uncomfortably and throbbing with every minute movement you made. You were all too grateful to reach the top landing, the massive, oak entryway to the Room of Requirement revealing itself before you’d even reached the wall. A small mercy.

The heavy door swung shut behind you as you limped straight from the entrance over to your potion’s table. There was only one thing on your mind, and you already knew you had no vials of Wiggenweld left, so you started methodically gathering what you needed to brew a fresh batch. You lit the burner and added Horklump Juice to the cauldron first, letting that simmer over low heat while you riffled through a drawer to grab a rag.

“Aguamenti,” you murmured under your breath, saturating the cloth with water before firmly pressing it against the jagged gash in your thigh. The fibers burned the raw skin underneath, but you grit your teeth through the pain, whimpering softly as you turned back to your Wiggenweld potion. Healing magic was always something that had eluded you– despite your best efforts– and as a result, you didn’t trust yourself to properly stitch your skin back together with a spell.

As you picked out a handful of Dittany to toss into the bubbling mixture, the telltale sound of clothing shuffling reached your ears. After the hellish night you’d just lived through, your instincts had you whirling around with your free hand hovering inches away from your side, ready to draw your wand from its holster in a heartbeat.

It was Ominis. Shit.

He was sitting on the couch on the opposite side of the room, bathed in the silvery moonlight that streamed through the skylight overhead. Your tunnel vision upon entering the room had allowed you to overlook his presence entirely– but he’d also made no move to make himself known. His sharp, angular features were drawn into a tense expression, and his fingers tapped impatiently against his crossed legs, betraying just how pissed he actually was.

Fuck.

“Ominis, what are you doing just sitting there? You scared me, why didn’t you say something?” Your heart hammered against your sternum so hard, you were certain that he could hear it.

“What am I doing?” Ominis’ voice was like a whip, cutting through the air as viscerally as the Diffindo charm that had sliced your leg. “How about you tell me where you’ve been for the last five hours, or why you’re bleeding out and trying to fix it with a potion instead of going to the Hospital Wing?”

There was a split second where you considered denying his claims, but you knew it was pointless. He had likely heard you mewling and smelled the blood the moment you walked through the doors— and besides, lying would only upset him further. “I had to deal with a few Ashwinders in Marunweem,” you confessed, wanting desperately to leave it at that so you could focus on dealing with your leg.

Ominis finally stood from the couch, his imposing presence amplifying as he strode across the chamber with his wand clutched tight in his white knuckled grip. “Since when are ‘a few’ Ashwinders getting the jump on you? Don’t sugarcoat the truth, I’m in no mood for your tip-toeing.”

You sighed as the blond planted himself directly in front of you, the slender fingers of his free hand reaching for your shoulder, and once he found you, he followed your arm down to where you held the rag against your thigh. His brows slammed down at the grating confirmation that yes– you were hurt, and he tsked disapprovingly before nodding over your shoulder at the potion’s table. “Sit down, I’ll do it– and turn off the burner.”

Once again, you found yourself hesitating, if only because your pride had never allowed you to easily accept assistance from other people. But the rigid set to Ominis’ shoulders had you complying relatively quickly, afraid that if you protested him helping, he would really let you have it. So you cranked the burner knob to the off position, then shuffled over to the other end of the table.

A soft hiss slipped through your teeth as you shifted to hoist yourself onto the flat surface, the movement pulling at your wound painfully, and you instantly felt Ominis’ warm hands around your waist. He helped you hop up on the table, letting you get settled as he pried the rag away from your thigh. His ministrations were soft and thoughtful; a stark contrast to the unyielding, vexed expression on his face.

Your trousers hung in tatters around your injured leg, fluttering listlessly around your calf, so Ominis tore the remaining fabric away and discarded it to the floor. His wand flared briefly as he summoned a collection of Wiggenweld potions beside you, handing one to you soundlessly.

As you worked the cork out of the top, you muttered, “When did you brew these?”

“I didn’t,” Ominis replied evenly, taking the damp cloth from your trembling fingers to re-saturate it with water. You jolted in place when he pressed it to your thigh, but the tender sweep of his thumb across your unmarred knee soothed you instantly. “They’re technically Sebastian’s. I’m sure he’ll be less than pleased to find them missing from his trunk, but he’ll understand.”

Humming your acknowledgment, you finally popped open the vial and knocked back its contents, relaxing into the table as the liquid warmed your insides and worked its magic. When Ominis pulled the rag away from your leg, you were pleased to find that the bleeding had subsided significantly, but the skin was torn too deep to fully stitch back together after one dose of Wiggenweld.

The blond lifted his wand to cast a diagnostic spell, setting the blood-soaked cloth off to the side before a lyrical chant slipped from his lips. Vulnera Sanentur was far from an easy spell to cast– much less master– but Ominis did it without a second thought, never once lifting his head as he expertly worked to mend your skin. You knew that he had taken to studying healing magic after your sixth-year, but you hadn’t actually seen Ominis use any of what he’d learned until now. The feeling of your skin pulling together was strange, but not uncomfortable, and you watched wide-eyed as the gaping wound closed up and left only a faint, pink scar behind.

“When did you become so proficient with healing spells?” You asked him as he stood straight, summoning a few Dittany leaves into the palm of his hand. He twisted them between his fingers and wafted the scent towards his face before holding them out to you.

“Around the same time you and Sebastian started using yourselves as shields in Crossed Wands. Now hold these on top of the area for a bit, otherwise the scar will linger,” he instructed you matter-of-factly, and his stern tone made your shoulders sag. You truly hated it when he was upset with you.

“I really am sorry, Ominis.” You muttered remorsefully as you accepted the leaves, and his brows pinched together at the sound of your dejected tone. “I didn’t mean to upset you with all of this–”

“I’m getting rather tired of sitting idly by while you throw yourself into danger. What is it going to take for you to realize that what you’re doing is incredibly careless? What happens when the next spell hits a little higher and kills you, hm? What would I do then?” His frustration rolled off of him in thick, potent waves that made your stomach churn with anxiety.

“Ominis please, I know you care about me, but there are things I’m obligated to do– especially as a wielder of this ancient magic. No one else can do what I can–”

“I really don’t care about everyone else,” he practically growled the statement and closed the miniscule space between the two of you so that he could brace his arms on either side of your hips, caging you between his long, lithely muscled arms. “All I care about is you and your wellbeing, but you have this infuriating ability to do the exact opposite of what I ask. Why? Sometimes I get the feeling you see me as more of a chastising parent than your boyfriend.”

Hearing that made you scowl, “That’s absurd, of course I don’t see you that way. I just hate to worry you with these things–”

“Well, I am worried. I’ve been worried. You used to be more careful about these excursions of yours, but now you’re beyond reckless. You used to listen to reason and now you’re too stubborn for your own good.” His eyes were like burning pools of moonlight, piercing through your very soul as he leaned forward to trail his hand up your arm and across your shoulder. “I have a growing distaste for your rebellious streak. Why must you insist on being so disobedient?”

Something about the word disobedient had your retort shriveling up in your throat, and your mouth snapped shut with an audible clack of teeth while your eyes flickered between Ominis’. His expression was drawn tight, but there was something else there– something domineering about the way he spoke to you. You’d seen this side of Ominis before, but it had been a long time since you’d actually done anything that worked him into such a state. Uncertainty washed over you like a bucket of cold water, and you swallowed around a lump in your throat.

Ominis’ hand on your shoulder continued to rise, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your clammy skin until they splayed outwards and he was holding you loosely by the neck. There was no helping your startled gasp at the brazen move, and you stared wide-eyed up at him as your nails dug into the surface of the table. Your silence was palpable, as was the shiver that coursed through you, and Ominis acknowledged both of those things with a taunting smirk.

“What, nothing to say now? Has it sunk in? Have I finally gotten through that ironclad head of yours?”

You honestly didn’t know what the hell was going on in your head. Things had shifted so suddenly that now instead of feeling remorseful for aggravating your boyfriend, you were keenly interested in seeing what treatment you’d won yourself by doing so. “I-I’m sorry, Ominis–”

He tightened his hand briefly to angle your head to the side, pulling another gasp from your parted lips, and he hunched forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of your exposed neck. You could feel his lips smiling against your pulse, betraying exactly what he had in mind for you, and you whimpered pitifully under him.

“I didn’t ask if you were sorry, I asked if I made myself clear; I don’t like you putting yourself in harm's way, but I especially loathe it when you try to keep things from me.” You felt the pinprick of his nails digging into the soft skin below your jaw– not overbearingly tight– but it made you acutely aware of the placement of every one of his fingers, and the sensation had your heart skipping beats one after another.

“I know, I understand,” you whispered, your voice airy and fleeting. “I wasn’t going out of my way to keep secrets– I just came here to take care of my leg, I wasn’t expecting you to be waiting for me–”

His teeth nipped at the skin of your neck, pulling another gasp from your throat and cutting your rebuttal short “Would you have told me about it if I hadn’t caught you slinking in here tonight?”

“E-Eventually–” you started to say, and in a flash Ominis was pulling away from you to glare fixedly in your direction. His grip on your throat stayed gentle but firm as he angled your face back to his, and one of your own hands finally shot up from the surface of the table to wrap around his slender wrist.

“No lying,” he hissed, nearing closer so that his lips were mere inches away from yours. “You and I both know you would sooner tangle with Devil’s Snare before telling me you’ve been galavanting through the Highlands taking on dark wizards by yourself.”

“I would have,” you bit back at him, the conviction in your tone making him draw pause. “Maybe I would have omitted a few details, but yes, I would have told you. I don’t make a habit of not telling you things.”

“And yet, here we are.” The ghost of his breath danced across your lips, your mind flooding with unrestrained fantasies and ideas that were made all the more potent at the feeling of his thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw. “Sometimes I feel like the only way to keep you out of trouble would be to restrain you and lock you away in your bedroom. At least then I could make sure you stay safe.”

You hated arguing with Ominis. You despised making him doubt your sincerity. It made you anxious anytime you knew he was upset with you, in large part because he got angry with you so rarely. But right now, an offhand comment like that was doing more to frazzle you and fuel a slew of unholy thoughts that had no business existing at the same time he was scolding you.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Ominis elected to release his hold on your throat at that moment, jarring you from your thoughts, and he dropped the appendage to your thigh. Your breathing hitched when he trailed his palm lightly over where your wound had been minutes earlier, and he shook his head disapprovingly at you. The scar was still evident under his touch– the Dittany leaves he’d given you still gripped loosely in your fist, unused.

“How does your leg feel? Any other wounds I need to know about?” He asked you, almost somewhat… cunningly.

The sudden change in topic wasn’t unusual, but it was the way he presented the question that made you pause before answering. You decided to humor him and testingly lifted your knee, pleased to find that doing so didn’t cause you burning pain any longer. “No, and it’s a lot better actually. Thank you.”

He seemed to contemplate his next words carefully, his wand-bearing hand sliding up your forearm to lightly grasp your elbow as the other skirted higher up your leg, stopping to toy with the frayed fabric of your torn trousers. “Don’t thank me yet. Come with me.”

In a flash, Ominis had tugged you off of the table, his grip on your arm like a vice as he began leading you further into the Room. “Ah– Merlin, Ominis, what are you doing?” You nearly tripped over your own feet, but the blond’s unrelenting hold on you kept you upright as he pulled you behind him down the narrow staircase that led to the larger portion of the vast chamber.

“Such simple instructions and yet you fail to follow them,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “At this point, I’m convinced you’re doing it on purpose to get a rise out of me, so consider this your punishment.”

Ominis knew exactly where to steer you when he reached the bottom step– with or without his wand– and the nervousness you felt was greatly overshadowed by the ripe anticipation that blossomed in your gut. He threw his shoulder against the door to the bedroom to shove it open before hauling you through the entryway, immediately getting to work to show you exactly what sort of ‘punishment’ he had in mind.

—

“Stop whining and use your words.”

Ominis’ sharp voice cut off your guttural moan, and he removed his hand from your throbbing core once again, killing your building release for the nth time tonight. You couldn’t help it; you sobbed at the loss. The imposing blond man leaned forward, whispering his response along your jaw slowly and playfully nipping at the skin as he moved down. “The sooner you apologize, the sooner we can cease this incessant game.”

You’d been here for some time already, sprawled out on your shared bed in the Room of Requirement with Ominis circling you like a hawk. Every so often he would elect to touch you again, giving you a modicum of reprieve from the burning tension between your legs, but not before pulling his fingers away right as you were on the cusp of your climax. The two of you had been going at it for close to an hour now, and it was suffice to say you were losing your fucking mind.

Your wrists had been tied snug together and bound above your head, rendering your hands useless as your boyfriend toyed with you to his heart’s content. You were a flushed, panting mess underneath him, hopelessly writhing against the sheets in search of more of anything. The ache between your legs was tantamount to torture.

As you drew your knees together in a feeble attempt to create some friction for yourself, Ominis felt you fidgeting and sat up to stop you in your tracks. His long, elegant fingers gripped both of your legs and spread them apart, leaving you fully exposed to him as a throaty whine sounded from your lips.

“Please, Ominis–” your raspy voice cracked on his name, drawing a dark chuckle from him that sent a thrill down your spine.

“I don’t know why you’re begging when you know you should be apologizing,” he chidded you, tilting his head to the side to cast a taunting look in your direction. “I know what you want, but what about what I want?”

“I-I already said I was sorry,” you gritted through your teeth, momentarily grateful that Ominis couldn’t see the piercing glare you fixed him with. How many times did he want you to say it? “What more do you want me to do?”

He moved into your space so fast, it made you gasp and press harder into the mattress. His eyes were stormy and swimming with emotion as he growled, “I want you to mean it. Every word. Apologize for keeping secrets and for making me worry– then you can start begging me to come.”

Ominis brought his hands to your chest to drag his blunt nails lightly down your front, stopping the appendages over your pert nipples to pinch the sensitive buds, and your stuttered apology caught in your throat at the feeling. “Hah– I am sorry Ominis, I really am. I’m sorry I scared you, I’ll tell you everything from now on– n-no more secrets– ah–”

The wet warmth of Ominis’ mouth came over one of your nipples, followed by the sharp sting of his teeth clamping down, and it had you moaning and arching into him further. You heard his throaty laugh, blearily lifting your head in an attempt to get a better look at him, but he was already moving back to sit on his heels with his hands tracing burning circles on your legs.

“Hm, that sounds better,” Ominis murmured down at you, trailing his fingers tentatively over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You had half a mind to shift your hips closer to him– desperate to finally have your release after so long– but you knew doing so would just set you back even further. The urge to please Ominis any way you could was bone deep, so you fought down the desire to move, remaining a twitching, keening mess atop the sheets.

“Please,” you whined softly, tugging pathetically on the rope bindings around your wrists. “I want you so badly Ominis, gods– I want you to fuck me, make me cum for you. P-Please, Ominis, please.”

He didn’t respond at first, his hands stilling against your legs as he swallowed around the lump in his throat. You sounded divine begging for him like this. It almost made him want to cave early and finally give you what you wanted… but that would be too easy, especially considering it was your sneaking around that had landed the two of you in this position in the first place.

No, he intended on playing with you a little while longer before wrapping things up.

“You know I like taking my time,” Ominis purred down at you, and there was no missing the teasing undertone to his voice.

The tension in your gut seemed to worsen in that instant, and you honestly could have cried.

Ominis’ hands left your thighs to brace on either side of you as he leaned forward, a predatory glint in his milky blue eyes. His head dropped into the hollow of your throat, flicking the tip of his clever tongue against your pulse before licking a broad stripe down the vulnerable column of your neck. You shuddered at the bold move, whimpering at the expression he bore when he pulled back to smooth down your hair affectionately.

“So I will take my time fucking you, and you’d best believe I’ll have you screaming my name so loud you won’t be able to speak afterwards. I’ll bend you in half– fuck you so hard that we break the damn bed– and you know what?”

It took you a second to realize he was asking you a question, but the most coherent response you could muster was a soft whine. It was enough.

“When you’re shaking under me, fucked out and sensitive from finally getting to come…” Ominis smiled, licking his lips as he bent forward again to whisper devilishly in your ear, “I’ll keep fucking you, hard and fast until you’re brainless and drooling and all you can think about or say is my name.”

You were positive you were already brainless. The filthy, wicked promises dripping from Ominis’ mouth left plenty to the imagination, and you were a damn good visualizer. With a low growl, he sank his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, biting and sucking an angry mark into your clammy skin. You moaned in earnest, all too pleased to finally be moving forward with things. You didn’t think you’d ever wanted to come so bad in your fucking life.

When Ominis pulled away, you half expected him to start marking up the other side of your neck, but instead he backed off to shift around and swing one of his knees over your bare chest. He held himself precariously over you, refraining from smothering you with his body weight, and in doing so you were faced with Ominis’ straining, confined arousal mere inches from your lips. You huffed out a needy breath.

“Be a good girl and take it out,” he instructed, a coy smirk stretching across his face.

You squinted up at him then, giving the rope around your wrists a pointed tug, and he felt the motion reverberate through your prone form. He only laughed at you, shifting slightly to rub his clothed erection against your lips teasingly.

“Use your mouth if you can’t use your hands.”

It took you a second, but when you finally understood, your mouth parted on a long, low moan as your hips wriggled excitedly. Taking a moment to collect yourself, you drew in a deep breath before zeroing in on the catch of your boyfriend’s trousers. You surged forward and dragged your tongue up the thick outline of his cock, tracing along his undoubtedly uncomfortable arousal until you were kissing your way up the fly to the button.

Ominis just listened, half amused and half extremely turned on as you struggled to figure out your plan of attack. You nuzzled briefly against his groin before throwing caution to the wind and deciding to just go for it. Hooking your front teeth over the edge of the fabric above the button, you absolutely allowed them to scrape over Ominis’ light happy trail, relishing in the shiver it drew from him. You tugged the material down, and with a helpful push of your tongue, you managed to get the button through the catch.

You didn’t bother to hide your excitement; a giddy noise weasled it’s way past your lips, and you grinned smugly to yourself. Ever the perceptive one, Ominis felt his waistband loosen and gently raked his fingers through your mused hair in silent praise. That was the extent of his congratulations, though, before he was tugging on the strands softly to urge you towards the significantly easier zipper. You caught the thin bit of metal between the tip of your canine and clenched your teeth, dipping your head to pull it down, and your victory was marked by the barely there sigh that snuck out of Ominis’ parted lips.

The blond elected to take pity on you then, sitting up on his knees just enough so that he could shove his trousers and briefs down around his hips. His fingers moved slower when he got to the front of his waist, tilting his head to the side before carefully peeling the restrictive fabric away from his groin, and his cock sprung free and arched proudly against his taut stomach. Taking himself in his hands, Ominis shamelessly angled his cock towards you and slapped the leaking head against your cheek a few times, leaving a streak of pre-come across your face that you feebly tried to lick away, to no avail.

You nestled fervently against his shaft, your enthusiasm palpable and more than enough to make Ominis’ head spin. He was positive he wasn’t meant to be feeling such warm fuzzies when he was supposed to be wrecking you as punishment.

Then again, you’d been a little too interested in his idea of payback earlier, so nothing was really going according to plan when he thought long and hard about it.

“Ominis,” you breathed, dragging his attention back to you restrained between his legs. Your soft lips brushed against the head of his cock then, your quick tongue flicking gently at the sensitive slit, and the sensation had him shivering as his breathing kicked up in anticipation. “Can I suck your cock?”

“I thought I answered that question already,” Ominis murmured, nudging his hips forward so he could smear warm pre-come all along your flushed lips. Your tongue darted out to lick at the slick trail, staring up at him with such intensity that you were certain he could feel your eyes on him. “You want it?” You nodded, licking your lips again as you tried leaning up to run your tongue over the head, but Ominis chose that moment to pull back just out of your reach. The whine that fell from your mouth was like music to his ears, and Ominis felt you begin wiggling your hips impatiently.

There it was. Ominis’ goal was to work you into a needy, frantic mess— he wanted you begging and moaning for him until he was sure he had shattered your composure entirely, and somehow he had a feeling that was what you wanted too.

Ominis’ fingers spread through your unruly hair and tightened a fraction as he pulled your head towards him, using his free hand to angle his impressive length towards your mouth. “Open.”

He could feel and hear your hot breaths against his achingly hard cock as you stuck your tongue out in invitation, and Ominis couldn’t help the sharp pang of lust that shot through him at the way you just… obeyed him. It was exactly what he’d wanted from the moment you walked into the Room tonight.

Breathing a quiet laugh, he went ahead and slapped the slick head of his member against your tongue, hissing softly when you immediately swirled the muscle around the head to lap up the copious amounts of pre-come he was already dripping with. The lewd, wet sounds coming from you beneath him were enough to leave Ominis twitching between your lips against his better judgment, and he tipped his head back as he lost himself in the blissful strokes of your perfect tongue.

“Ominis,” you breathed after a minute, your lips brushing lightly against his cock entirely purposefully. “Please fuck my mouth.”

Merlin.

He needed a fucking second to process that, his eyes widening up at the ceiling at the same time a predatory grin split your face. The shock was quickly buried, however, and Ominis regained some semblance of control when he tilted his head down at you and tightened his hold against your scalp. “Hm, I don’t know. Have you been good enough to get your mouth and your cunt fucked?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, chills breaking out all over your skin as a shudder coursed through you. Ominis loved being able to feel your physical reactions to his words, and he smiled despite himself. He was willing to bet that if he checked, you would be unbearably wet between your legs, staining the sheets preemptively with pooling slick.

“You don’t think so?” You asked him, voice low with arousal.

“It’s debatable,” Ominis moved back again, easily dodging your attempts to take him back in your mouth with an annoying smirk. “You’ve been pulling at the ropes for a while now, I can hear the fibers rubbing together.”

You flexed your fingers on cue, your brows furrowing as you shook your head. “I was only shifting.”

“Oh? How am I to know if you’re telling the truth?”

Ominis languidly stroked himself with a degree of confidence that made your mouth water. Your eyes flicked down to his cock, any ounce of shame evaporating from your body as you wet your lips and forced yourself to remain well behaved. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“That’s unscientific– and also highly unlikely given the circumstances. How about this; you know I’ll always inevitably get the truth out of you one way or another. I’ll fuck your mouth, but if you’re lying to me, that’s all you get. All night.”

Your jaw dropped, utterly appalled by the threat, and your drawn out silence told Ominis that you had absolutely been fibbing– but he just flashed you a sly grin as he continued to lazily work his hand up and down his shaft. He let you mull his words over, noting your audible gulp before you were muttering under your breath, “Honest witches have nothing to hide.”

“Alright then,” Ominis hummed in amusement, sitting forward on his knees once again. “Open up, sweetheart.”

You did so all too eagerly– ecstatic when Ominis finally guided his cock into your mouth, the wet heat making him groan low in his throat, and the sound got louder when you moaned and closed your lips around him firmly.

Fuck.

Ominis slid deeper into your mouth, over your wet tongue, then oh– into your throat, and you had more than enough experience to be able to relax and take his cock nearly to the base. His thighs shook on either side of you, his hands finding their way back to your hair to hold you in place, and you took the liberty of hollowing your cheeks around him and swallowing.

“Bloody hell,” Ominis moaned, his eyes pinching shut at the blissful feeling as he rocked his hips back. He moved just enough for you to be able to breathe, but after nearly an hour of dealing with his erection pressed uncomfortably against his trousers, that was about the extent of his patience.

He got to work setting a steady rhythm, sliding his cock in and out of your incredible mouth, your tongue, hollowed cheeks, and the tiny movements of your head enough to leave him gasping your name. Your eyes were glued to him– unable to help but watch as a bright flush started to creep up the neckline of Ominis’ shirt and spread over his angular cheeks. In the heat of the moment, the urge to run your hands up his torso came over you, but the rope around your wrists stopped you in your tracks, making you whine around your mouthful. Ominis sighed and sped up some, encouraged by your muffled noises and the unrelenting, insane ministrations of your tongue against the underside of his cock.

Ominis grew braver and rolled his hips perfectly in time with the shallow bobbing of your head, the tip of his shaft sliding into your throat for just a moment, and your choked moan betrayed exactly how much you liked it. Your whines turned pleading as you quickly adjusted to the intrusion, half brainless with need as you worked to pleasure Ominis the best that you could. The hand he had curled around your disheveled strands of hair moved your head in sync with his hips, giving you a small bit of leeway to angle your neck otherwise if you so chose, but you planned to do no such thing.

“F-Feels so good, darling,” Ominis grit through his teeth, letting his head fall forward as waves of rapture danced down his spine. You made a throaty sound in response, your sucking growing sloppier with Ominis’ rushed bucking, but that was the farthest thing from a problem in his mind. The messy, wet sounds from his cock slipping out of your mouth before you greedily swallowed him down again were fucking addictive.

It was all too easy to let himself be overcome with the sheer euphoria that came with being encased in your mouth, but the incessant, growing fire in his gut was becoming too much to bear. He was getting dangerously close, and he hadn’t spent all that time with his fingers buried in your cunt to ignore it entirely now. So as much as it pained him to, he shook the desire to come from his mind and tugged your head back. You pulled off of his cock with a shaky breath, thick strands of saliva and precome dangling between your lips and the swollen head.

He hardly waited before he was shuffling down your body to give himself the space to start undressing, beginning with the top buttons of his shirt– and if you spent a little too long watching his deft fingers skirt down the row of clasps, he certainly didn’t need to know about it. The shirt fell open, revealing his smooth, pale chest, and he shrugged it off his toned shoulders without looking away from your spot on the bed. It never failed to make your stomach flip– how he always managed to zero in on your presence no matter where you were.

With some impressive side stepping, Ominis shed his trousers and briefs together, kicking the offensive attire away from the edge of the bed so he could crawl back to you undeterred. He felt his way up your body, goosebumps breaking out over your skin in the wake of his fingers, and when he found your lips, he was leaning down to crush his mouth against yours in a heated kiss. He swallowed your mewls and gasps easily while he slid one hand up your raised arms to the rope around your wrists, running his fingers along the edge of the restraints in silent question.

“Leave it for now,” you whispered against his plush lips, and he smirked. “I like this.”

Your voice was still rough from swallowing his cock, and the blond couldn’t help but notice— a spark of arousal shooting through him as he nodded and kissed you again. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, breathing hot against one another as your hearts raced in time and pulled you both away from the desperate precipice you’d been riding.

“You’re shaking, love.” Ominis observed, feeling the small tremors reverberate through your body against his own. His hand trailed back down your arms while the other stayed propped under him, giving him better leverage to lean over you and press a chaste kiss to your temple. “I think you’ve more than made up for everything by now, what about you? Want me to take care of you? Will you be good for me?”

“Yes,” you rasped out, sounding ten different kinds of seductive without even knowing it. Ominis swallowed thickly, tensing when he felt you writhe in place against the mattress, your hips ever so gently brushing against his throbbing cock. “Please Ominis, I’ll be good– I promise– I’ll do whatever you want–”

He silenced you with a suffocating kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth and rendering your brain a useless pile of mush as he splayed his fingers around the curve of your jaw. It left you entirely at his mercy as he practically stole your breath from your lungs, licking and biting at your lips until they were swollen and throbbing, and your nails dug fitfully into your palms in response to the mounting pressure between your legs.

“You sound so pretty when you beg, love. So eager to please,” he whispered against your mouth in-between kisses. “So I’ll fuck you, but you can’t come until I say so. Understood?”

There was a good chance you were about to combust.

You didn’t think you were going to last long with Ominis’ cock inside of you, but if telling him that ran the risk of not getting fucked, you would rather say nothing. Still, your displeasure was voiced in the form of a pained groan, and your frustrated sigh against your boyfriend’s lips dutifully conveyed your feelings on the matter to him.

“Don’t complain. Here I thought you were going to be good for me,” Ominis mused sarcastically, obviously teasing you with the promise of being filled up. “I never did find out… were you behaving earlier?”

Dammit. You couldn’t stop the whine that ripped from your throat as you tried to duck your head out of Ominis’ unrelenting grip, to no avail. His hold on your jaw stayed firm, forcing your eyes to remain glued to him while he unabashedly rolled his cock against the curve of your hip– as though to remind you of his earlier promise.

“You weren’t, were you.” It wasn’t a question. You licked your lips, honestly considering your options when Ominis angled your head to the side to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t you dare lie. If you tell me the truth, I won’t be mean to you.”

Your eyes slid shut, minutely shifting your hips towards the tantalizing feeling of Ominis’ cock pressed against your hip, before you shook your head and choked out a meek, “No.”

“Hm, of course not,” he murmured playfully, biting at the shell of your ear, then your neck, and he moaned softly when you tilted your head further to the side to offer more of yourself to him. “But I already knew that. Better late than never, I suppose.”

In a flash, Ominis had released your face and was sitting back on his heels, gathering your knees together so he could pin them to the side and give himself better access to your ass. Before you could question him, he brought his free hand down and landed a good, echoing slap against the sensitive skin of your rear, leaving you arching helplessly off of the sheets with a wanton moan. With your wrists still bound, all you could do was flail your legs in Ominis’ hold, but his broad hand kept them pressed against the sheets– forcing you to bear the sting for a moment before he was soothing the spot with his warm palm.

“O-Ominis–”

You were cut off as he spanked you again, a shrill cry ripping from your lips as your spine rounded in your feeble attempts to escape, but Ominis held you in place despite your writhing. “Is that enough of a warning? Do you promise to be good?”

“Y-Yes, yes, Ominis, please–”

The pressure on your knees let up as Ominis shifted you back into your original position, only this time he nestled himself between your trembling legs with the heavy head of his cock dragging deliciously over your incredibly slick entrance. He slipped his hand under the crook of one of your knees, bending it back to give himself more room to rock his hips as he said, “I hope so.”

“Please, don’t tease me anymore, Ominis– I can’t take it,” you gasped out your pleas, cracking your bleary eyes open to gaze up at the striking man towering over you. Those luminescent, unseeing eyes of his were seemingly alight behind the messy strands of blond hair that fell forward in his face, and the positively immoral expression he bore had you repeating his name like a broken mantra that filled him with renewed vigor.

Ominis stifled a moan, biting the inside of his cheek as he finally pressed into you, and he let his eyes roll back at the feeling while you groaned with unrestrained contentment. You were fucking beside yourself, your hands twisting fitfully in your restraints as you let out a long, stuttered string of words that didn’t properly form, and by the time Ominis was fully sheathed inside of you, your patience had run out.

“Merlin, Ominis,” your head flew back against the pillows, pathetically rocking your hips back in search of more, because his shallow grinding wasn’t going to begin to cut it. You craved this– you needed to get fucked through the bed, needed for Ominis to rail you like the world was ending– you needed more. “Ominis!”

“F-Fuck, sweetheart,” He wheezed out, hugging your leg to his torso as he panted heavily from how unbelievably tight you were, and how incredible you felt. Part of him wanted to be gentle with you– to roll his hips smoothly and evenly to build you up slowly and perfectly– but Ominis knew what you wanted. Even if he didn’t, you took it upon yourself to educate him with your next breath.

“Ominis, fuck me, please,” you were practically sobbing, rutting down onto his cock with what little movement you could muster on your back. “Come on, fuck me– please just fuck me already– please, please, ah–”

Getting you this worked up took no small amount of effort. Ominis took immense pride in the mess he’d made of you for a brief moment, sighing when you squeezed tighter around his cock and moaned his name again. “You sound so fucking good, love,” he hummed, giving you a slow little grind that left you overcome with urgency. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

Before you even had time to moan in response, Ominis was readjusting his grip on your leg, shifting the one still against the sheets further to the side so he had more room at his disposal when he pulled back and fucking rammed his cock back into you.

He didn’t waste any time in keeping up this way, either.

You were utterly delirious.

Ominis fucked you so hard and so fast, it seemed like it shouldn’t even be possible. The slap of his hips against your ass reverberated loudly off the stone walls of the bedroom, but it was overshadowed completely by how loud you were screaming.

It was everything you’d wanted. Probably more so, because Ominis was fucking railing into you with some insane stamina, breathing loud moans of his own, gasping your name, and you couldn’t even find the brain power to beg for more. Every time he pulled back and left you nearly empty, he was fucking you open again with the force of his cock, jolting you up the bed until you were bracing your bound hands against the headboard and utilizing your newfound leverage to push back onto him.

Ominis allowed you to rut against him for a few thrusts– enough to appreciate the lush sound of your ass bouncing against his hips– until the urge to take you over completely filled him. He moaned then, the noise low and savage, and he moved so that he was leaning over you with the knee he’d been holding flung haphazardly over his shoulder. Pressing into you further, you gave a whimpered protest at having your efforts cut short, but Ominis ignored you entirely in favor of spreading you wider to accommodate his larger frame.

With you pinned beneath him in complete possession, Ominis wasted little time in fucking you harder, faster– his long thrusts switching to deep, hammering ruts that drove the head of his cock clean past your sweet spot so intensely that it damn near knocked you out.

If you could use words at all, you would have tried to warn Ominis that you were about to come. There was no fucking way you couldn’t. You were so full of his cock, your throat raw from screaming, and you were being held down and fucked like you were merely a toy with your hands grasping pointlessly at air.

You felt Ominis before you heard him when he loomed over you to groan hot in your ear, his cock reaching deeper and hitting you even better than before, and when you were right there– tense and tight and wailing Ominis’ name over and over– he fucking growled his warning against your temple, and you broke down and sobbed.

“Don’t you dare come.”

Your noisy, brainless pleas fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend continued owning you, never letting up as he kept you pinned to the bed and chased his own pleasure. You were close– so fucking close that you didn’t know what to do with yourself besides cry and hope to whatever Gods existed that Ominis would have mercy on you.

Pulling at the ropes around your wrists frantically, your garbled cries blurred together in a barely intelligible string of ‘please’s at the same time it started to hurt from how long you’d been on the cusp of your climax. Tears streaked down your face, frustration and desperation and too much pleasure twining together with the pain of holding back, and before you could figure out what was happening, Ominis was looping one of his arms under your back. He tugged you so you were arched towards him, your front held flush to his chest as he bent you precariously upwards, all the while maintaining his unrelenting pace.

“Come on, darling, come for me,” Ominis urged you, his hot breath ghosting over your sweat-slick skin and making you shiver with delight for a multitude of reasons. He planted his feet firmly against the bed, bucking his hips up with a precision that left you boneless in his arms while he slammed his cock right into that mind-numbing spot so perfectly, and then you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your orgasm was earth-shattering.

The world seemed to flash a brilliant white around you, making you oblivious to everything in existence but the guttural moans slipping from Ominis above you, and for a good, long minute, your mind simply halted. You were vaguely aware of yourself gasping as he stilled his movements, having the good grace to remain idly in place while his gentle hands willed you to relax.

“I have never heard you scream that loud,” Ominis groaned, sounding equal parts wonderstruck and pained– which probably had everything to do with his still-hard cock twitching inside of you. He gingerly lowered your prone body down onto the mattress, relishing in the weak, fucked out whimper the action pulled from you. “Are you alright?”

You tried saying yes, but it came out sounding more like a croak than a reassurance. Ominis chuckled darkly, sliding his hands down to your hips as though he were about to pull out, but your shaky legs wrapping around his slender waist stopped him in his tracks, and the movement had him choking on your name as he pressed down to hold you still.

“You want me to keep going?” Ominis asked, his voice incredibly tight and strained from the way your pulsing walls squeezed around his cock again.

This time, you managed to get your tongue to obey your brain and formulate a full sentence. “Y-Yeah, please Ominis. I want you to fill me up, please keep going.”

Ominis’ head fell forward, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist for a modicum of restraint. The tone of your voice was seriously doing him in, as was the way you seemed to suck him in deeper with your legs. “You have to tell me if it’s too much.”

You made a tiny sound of agreement before melting back into the mattress as Ominis’ hand slid up your thigh, lingering for a moment on the tiny scar you’d failed to heal earlier. He said nothing of it though, instead leaning down to kiss you hungrily before taking advantage of your legs coiled around his back, rocking into your tight heat once again.

The stark contrast between his earlier pace and his current one was almost dizzying. Ominis’ possessive snarls gave way to worshiping moans, and the hands that had previously pinned you down now reverently trailed up your torso to lovingly run his fingers up your chest, then your neck, and finally over your tear stained cheeks. It felt incredible; his cock moved so perfectly inside of you while his hands pressed and soothed whatever part of your body they could make contact with, but his restraint was still there. He had to be going insane– you’d been at this for an eternity, and he still hadn’t gotten to come yet. If his strained moans and trembling hips were any indication, he was holding back big time.

“Ominis,” you murmured, forcing him into you harder with your legs, and the drawn out groan he let slip reflected his need all too well. “Come on, Ominis, please. I can take it.”

“Fuck–” he blurted, his tempo faltering for a second before he braced one of his hands beside your head to once again pull nearly all the way out. When he snapped his hips forward again, he filled you with a hard thrust and ground into you so fiercely, the friction against your clit made your spine round off the bed with a keening moan.

His gentle, easy pace fell away– his breath fanning warmly against your cheek as he kept up his firm, grinding thrusts. By some impossible miracle, you felt a familiar heat building in the pit of your stomach, your pleasure being drawn out of you for the second time all too easily. You were still overwhelmingly sensitive from earlier, and it allowed you to feel everything Ominis gave you even more vehemently.

Ominis elected to drop his hand from your cheek down to your clit, rubbing tight, titillating circles over the nub as he continued spreading you open on his cock, and your scratchy voice filled the room as you threw your head back to wail for him. It felt too good– too perfect. You didn’t even know such euphoria existed, much less that your boyfriend could bestow it upon you so thoroughly.

“Gods, I can feel you– are you close again?” Ominis buried his face in your neck to whine against your sweaty skin, barely maintaining his rhythm any longer– just desperate to feel you around him. “I’m so close– fuck.”

“Yes, yes,” you croaked, wanting so badly to wrap your arms around his shoulders and curl around him like a second skin, but the rope around your wrists denied you, and your arms ached from the position they’d been left in for so long. “Me too– please Ominis, please– me too.” You threw your head back with a gasping cry as Ominis bucked harder into you, his hands grabbing and pulling at you as your combined sounds spiked higher and louder the closer you got.

When Ominis finally came, he sank his teeth into the marred expanse of your shoulder, biting down to stifle the string of curses that threatened to spill from his mouth. The sharp pain intermingled with the burning pleasure between your legs, and that was as much as you could bear before you were falling over the edge with him.

Ominis’ body tensed, his hips grinding into you as you twitched and gasped under him, and the rich feeling of him emptying deep inside brought you to new heights you’d never experienced before. He spent an ample amount of time just whimpering against your pulse, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you tight to him. His lips parted on a soft moan when you held him back best you could using your legs, and he brought one hand out from under you to follow your shaky arms up to the headboard. You felt a telling tug on the rope around your wrists, and in a heartbeat Ominis had expertly undone the knot that tied you to the bedframe.

As much as you wanted to wrap your arms around him, the appendages were practically useless. You felt pins and needles dancing down your shoulders, which didn’t do anything to help with your hyper-sensitivity. But all in all, you’d never felt so satisfied in your fucking life, and you turned your head to press your lips against Ominis’ messy head of hair graciously.

He shuddered at the feeling, lifting his head to gaze affectionately in the direction of your soft breathing. “Are you alright, love?”

You hummed contentedly and nodded, flinching ever so slightly when you felt Ominis slide out of your overstimulated walls. He bent down to claim your lips in a heated kiss, chasing away any lingering tension in your body as he ran his hands down your sides dotingly.

“You were so good for me, darling… so well behaved. You sounded so pretty falling apart on my cock,” he whispered his praises against your mouth, making you whimper, and you felt his expression twist into a smug smirk against your parted lips. “No more secrets, though. The next time you want me to fuck you senseless, you need only ask.”

You agreed embarrassingly fast, vowing to forever voice every last whisper that crossed your mind from this moment forth. Especially if it meant garnering treatment like this more often. What other sinful secrets was Ominis hiding from you?

As sore and achy as you were, a very big, very shameless part of you seriously couldn’t wait to find out.

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x female! reader #ominis gaunt smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt oneshot #dominis #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #my writing #longest and most depraved thing I've written thus far to be completely blunt #I'll see myself out now

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