topazy

[topazy]

Shades of grey

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x reader

Warnings: Oral sex, period sex (aged up characters!)

Chapter: 1.01

Doing your best to stay quiet, you stand by the doorway leading into the attic that was once full of nothing but dust and junk that was now converted into an art studio, watching Xavier draw. His brows pull together as he concentrates on the canvas, picking what color to use next.

The house that you lived in together in the small town of Graves Hollow was beautiful and well out of your price range, but Vincent Thorpe bought it so that his son could be closer to him.

The attic always looked crammed with sketchbooks, splattered paint on the floor, and various finished artworks stored in boxes, but on the flip side, it was cozy.

The window was covered with a heavy curtain since Xavier preferred drawing at night with only candlelight.

“How long are you going to watch me?”

Chuckling, you walk over to him. “did you hear me? I thought I’d gotten better at creeping around.”

“I could smell the flowers as soon as you got home from work.” Once you stand behind him, you thread your fingers through Xavier’s hair. You feel him ease under your touch. “Was it busy? You came home later than normal.”

“I stayed to help the owner prepare for a wedding.” You notice his painting only consists of different dark shades of red, and you learn the darker the dreaming, the more on edge Xavier was. “What’s wrong?

“Nothing…” he clears his throat before finishing and pushes his chair out slightly. “I hung up more dreamcatchers; hopefully it will help you sleep.”

“Oh,” silence lingers between you for a moment while you try and think of a response. “Speaking of sleep, I’m going for a shower before I go to bed.”

—

The smell of fresh fruit fills the bathroom as you lather up your hair and body while your mind goes into overdrive. Xavier meant well, but the long-standing issue of your fear-inducing insomnia was a sore point between the two of you; handling it was the only thing you couldn’t agree on.

He insisted you speak to a doctor because he thought the lack of sleep was making you ill, but no doctor or therapist would understand.

Wanting to blend in in Graves Hollow, you’d both chosen to have normal jobs. Xavier was now a tattoo artist while you worked as a florist. So far nobody seems to expect either of you to have any supernatural abilities, and that’s how you wanted it. And if you go looking for help because of your struggles as a dream-walker, then it would just draw attention to Xavier, who has never fully recovered from being accused as a murderer.

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a soft towel around your waist and make your way to the bedroom. You almost slip on the wooden floor, but Xavier catches you by the waist, and instinctively you cling onto him.

He presses his forehead against yours, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just clumsy.”

Xavier gives you a soft smile and then leans in to kiss you. His hands roam your body while his tongue explores your mouth. His lips move to your neck and then trail down your body, pulling the towel down as well. A small moan leaves your mouth when Xavier kisses your breast, but when he reaches just below the shimmering belly bar, you reluctantly stop him from going any further. “You can’t… it’s not the right time of the month.”

“To go down on you?” Xavier smirks and leans back on his heels. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

While considering it, Xavier presses a gentle kiss to your stomach, and that was all you needed. Your fingers tangle in his long hair as he falls to his knees. When the towel falls to the floor, Xavier wraps his hands around your thighs, keeping you steady as he starts to devour you with his mouth.

Feeling his warm tongue flickering over your clit, you instinctively arch your back. Your grip on his hair becomes tighter as pleasure coils tight in your belly.

“I’m not going to last much longer!”

Xavier quickens his movements, pushing you closer to the edge. Legs trembling, you come undone, crying his name, the orgasm hitting you so hard you momentarily feel dizzy.

“You always sleep better after you come,” he murmurs against your skin.

Heat rushes to your cheeks when Xavier looks up at you; his lips are glistening with a mixture of blood and arousal. He presses another gentle kiss to your stomach and keeps a tight grip on you until you’ve recovered from your high.

—

Something pulls you from the deep slumber that overtook you, and as consciousness creeps in, you scream.

The sheets below you are twisted and wet with dampness. The suffocating darkness from your dream almost got you. While Wednesday told you to run, two hands covered in lacy black gloves tried to claw at you.

You first saw her standing at the foot of your bed; her lips moved without sound, forming words you couldn't hear. Her skin was paler than normal, making her resemble a ghost. Something dark crawls out of her mouth, then the taste of blood coats your tongue—but it isn’t real.

Startled by you screaming, it takes Xavier a moment to understand what was happening, then he wraps his arms around you.

“It almost got me; it almost got me!”

“Who?”

“I don’t know,” you sob into his chest. “I could feel it, how evil it was. It wanted to kill me.”

Growing up, so many outcasts envied you being a dream-walker, but it was a curse. Each dreamwalk took a toll on you; sometimes it was minor, like falling asleep during the day, but other times you’d wake up covered in bruises.

Awake, you could enter others' dreams while they slept and could either influence their surroundings or silently observe without being seen. But the dreams consumed with fear, anger, and grief would wrap around you like a noose, so you stopped.

But now when you sleep, you lose all control.

“I thought these night terrors had stopped. Do you know whose dream it was?”

“It was Wednesday; she’s in danger.”

[topazy]

Shades of grey

1.01

[topazy]

Wednesday

Written in blood

Shades of grey

[topazy]

Hunted

Pairings: Liam Dunbar x reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing

Chapter: 6.06

“I’m not crazy.”

When you close your locker, Mason and Liam both try to remain unfazed by your furious expression. Nobody was taking your concern that someone else who was close with the McCall pack was taken; their existence was erased, just like Stiles.

“It means something.”

Mason gives you a questioning look. “Hale? Are you sure it’s not hail-like weather?”

A low growl of irritation passes your lips. Mason wouldn’t have heard it, but Liam definitely did. Attempting to comfort you, he squeezes your shoulder. “I believe you, but unless we figure out how to stop the ghost riders, then there is nothing we can do for anyone that’s been taken.”

He was right.

Sighing, you start to walk to class in silence until your phone starts to ring and your alpha's name flashes on the screen. “Scott, where are you? I missed you before school.”

“I had to leave early, but you can’t sneak out again; if my mom finds out, she’ll freak. Liam can stay over as long as you don’t… do anything that will lead to trouble.”

Mason laughs. “That’s such a dad thing to say.”

He was right; you have a weird sense of déjà vu but aren’t sure why since your uncle Chris wouldn’t allow it, and Tom would never have said that.

“So what happened last night?” Mason asks.

Scott goes into an empty classroom, and once you’ve followed him inside, he closes the door. “I and Lydia made contact with Stiles last night.”

“Oh my god!” You grab Liam’s hand and drag him into an empty classroom, Mason following closely behind. You put the loudspeaker on. “you talked to Stiles?

“It was only for a minute, but it was him.”

The signal was becoming weaker. It sounds as if Scott was in a moving car. “What did he say?”

“He told us to go to Canaan; me, Lydia, and Malia have already left. I don’t think we have long; there’s something going on with our signal. But there’s something else; last night I and Malia found Peter; he was with Stiles.”

You, Liam, and Mason look at each other confused, “who’s Peter?”

“Peter Hale.”

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, you stumble, and your phone slips from your hand, but Liam catches it with one hand while keeping you upright with the other. “Scott, we have to go.”

“So…” Mason starts. “Do you think this is what your dream was about?”

You shake your head. “I remember Peter now. He worked with Kate to try and kill Scott. I… I… I need to go.”

—

When the door to the basement opens, you wipe at your eyes to remove any mascara that has rubbed off from your crying. You could smell Liam’s nerves before you heard his footsteps.

“This is the last place I would have thought to look for you.”

“I didn’t think anyone else would come in here.”

He sits down beside you, “what’s going on?”

“I just feel like a massive part of me is suddenly missing, and I have this gnawing feeling that something is wrong, and it’s not just the ghost riders. I feel like I’m being watched all the time, and there’s this scent that’s so familiar, but I don’t know what it is.”

“I know what you mean.” Liam links his fingers with yours. “I’m convinced I can smell berserkers. When you were asleep last night, I went downstairs to get a glass of water and thought I saw one through the window.”

“What if you did? What if Kate has come back for me?”

“Then I’ll do whatever I can to make sure she doesn’t find you.”

—

Somehow you and Liam managed to leave school without being caught by any teachers and went to your uncle Chris's apartment to look for any clues of where Kate was. For the last hour Liam has been acting stranger than normal; you could smell his sweat and how agitated he was becoming.

From across the room you hear his phone ping again, then seconds later hear it being slammed onto the couch.

His cheeks start to flush red with rage, eyes glowing with rage, so you do the first thing that comes to mind to distract him before he loses control. You cross the room quickly and press your lips against his. Liam is taken aback at first, but he leans into the kiss and wraps his arms around you. The kiss is hot and passionate; Liam grabs your ass and starts to back you up towards the couch, but you stumble over a discarded box.

Giggling, you cup his cheek, “what’s going on, babe?”

“Shit,” his face falls. While the two of you searched for clues on Kate, Hayden and Mason were supposed to be looking for further information on how to radiate the electricity you’ll need to trap a ghost rider, which was the plan your boyfriend came up with. “They think our best chance of luring one is finding a person who’s able to absorb lightning…”

“The only person who could have been capable of it was Josh, but he’s dead.“

“Hayden and Mason were talking… Josh might be dead, but Theo did absorb his power.”

No words leave your mouth in response, just a growl.

—

“Hey,” Liam tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and then kisses you on the cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

It felt almost surreal standing back in the damned sewage tunnels, but this time felt worse than any other because Kira’s mom had just handed Kira’s sword to Liam so he could let your enemy from the hellhole the skin walkers put him in as punishment.

“I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, but I don’t know what else to do. Scott’s not answering the phone, and,” he lowers his voice, but you’re sure the others will still be able to hear. “I’m not just fighting against time to figure out how to defeat the ghost riders and save our town, but for us to leave before we find out if Kate is really here.”

You didn’t agree with this plan, but you understand it was the only way.

“If he’s of no use to us, then we send him back.”

Liam's hand shakes as he steps further away from the group. A picks a spot and takes a deep breath, then stabs the sword into the concrete. The ground cracks and shakes, and blue light appears. At first nothing happens, but a few agonizing seconds pass and claws scrape against the ground.

Everything else happens in a blur.

Theo leaps quickly from the hole and pins Liam against the wall, asking where his sister is, but you see red. You pounce on Theo and start to punch him.

With each punch, you feel yourself losing control. Manipulating Liam, almost killing you and Malia. Almost destroying the McCall pack. His attempt to kill Scott and steal his power. There was something else Theo had done that hurt deeply, but you couldn’t remember what it was.

“That’s enough!” Hayden yells. “Stop, remember we need his help.”

Theo’s face is red with blood, but you don’t care; the memories of his claws digging into your stomach are blinding you. Liam and Hayden struggle to drag you off Theo; it’s only when Liam goes behind you to wrap his arms around your waist that you finally start to calm down.

You see the look on Hayden’s face and snap, “what? It’s not like he won’t heal.”

Feeling you relax, Liam lets go of you; it’s only then you notice Mason is holding the sword.

While standing up, Theo laughs when he notices his blood clinging to the front of your white top. “I really should have made you a part of my pack; I would have been unstoppable with a crazy bitch like you.”

Hayden steps in front of you before you can do anything, but Liam lunges forward and punches him on the nose. The sound of the crack makes you cringe. Liam stands in front of him, “don’t ever call her that again!”

“Are you each other’s guard dogs now?”

“You’re going to help us, and if you don’t, you’re going straight back into the ground.”

[topazy]

Writing update; as well as working on updates for my current WIPs, re-doing some of my 100 WIPs I’ve been working on some unhinged smut! Not my usual type of writing but hey ho🤣

[topazy]

I’d like to apologise—I added this update but never actually linked it to the masterlist!

Hunted

Pairing: Liam Dunbar x reader

Warning: None

Chapter: 6.05

You sit in silence watching as Liam wraps tape around his lacrosse stick; nothing you could have said would change the way he feels. The ghost riders had taken all the people your pack tried so hard to protect, but Liam had taken it the hardest and was blaming himself. He arrived at the science lab just as the ghost rider that was trying to attack you vanished, looking so defeated and broken.

You presume it was the presence of a hellhound that scared the ghost rider off.

Hearing footsteps, you lift your head up, forcing a smile when Hayden, Mason, and Corey walk into the boys locker room. “What are you guys still doing here?”

Neither of you say anything.

“None of this was your fall.” Mason puts his hand on Liam’s shoulder. “There was just so much happening tonight, it was impossible to save everyone.”

After the game, Coach had made Liam team captain, and under any other circumstances he would have been delighted; becoming captain was something he had wanted for so long.

Feeling your phone vibrate, you walk to the other side of the changing room. The sound of static keeps interfering. “Scott, I can’t hear you.”

His voice comes through like mumbling.

“Can you say that again?”

He repeats himself, but this time his voice is clearer. The phone starts to slip from your grip, but Hayden is by your side and catches it before it hits the ground.

“What’s happened?” Liam wraps his arm around your waist, holding you upright. “Babe, what’s happened?”

“My uncle Chris is in the hospital.”

—

“You should be in school.”

Hearing your uncle's voice, you sit upright in the hard plastic chair you were starting to doze off in. Seeing him with so many injuries made tears well up in your eyes; it was bringing back the pain of losing Allison. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

He strokes the back of your back, “I’m going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Just as you begin to hysterically sob, Melissa comes into the room and kneels down so she’s level with you. “Hey, Chris is going to be fine. Argent’s are made of rubber.”

Y/n Argent.

That didn’t feel right.

You wanted… It definitely wasn’t your mom, and you don’t have a dad anymore. Not since Kate killed the man she let you believe was your father for most of your life.

“I just feel so alone.”

Melissa pulls you in for a tight hug and says, “You’re not alone. I think you should stay with me and Scott until Chris is out of the hospital.”

“Thank you,” your uncle gives her an appreciative nod.

They make eye contact and share an intense look, one you try to ignore. The last thing you needed to think about was whatever was going on between the two of them.

“Yeah, thank you.”

Melissa stands back up and awkwardly breaks eye contact with your uncle, her cheeks turning red. She clears her throat while smoothing out her scrubs. “I have a spare key in my locker; I’ll go and get it. Unless you want to wait until I finish my shift.”

“I better go to Liam’s house first; I left my backpack for school at his. I can text Scott and ask him to pick me up on the way back home. But thank you; this means a lot.”

She gives you a warm smile, “Don't worry about it. You're in Scott's pack, and that makes you family.”

—

Feeling exhausted, you flop down onto the bed beside Liam. You chuckle lightly when Liam outstretches his arm so you can cuddle into him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you ever get the feeling something is wrong but you can’t fully understand or explain what’s wrong? I just... something has changed, but I’m not sure what.”

“I need to see what you just said in writing.”

You both laughed; you were so exhausted your brain felt as if it was turning to mush. “I just need to sleep before trying to have a real conversation again.”

“Scott knows you're here, doesn’t he?”

After showering, you said goodnight to Melissa and Scott. You went to sleep in the spare room, but you had this gnawing feeling in the back of your mind that Liam wasn’t okay, so you snuck out of the McCall house by climbing out of the window. We went to the Dunbar house. Melissa probably wouldn’t have been too happy, but unless she came to check on you during the middle of the night, she wouldn’t know.

“Yeah, Scott most definitely knows.”

“I can give you a lift back in a couple of hours before Mrs. McCall gets up.”

You cuddle closer into him, “Thanks.”

Liam kisses your forehead, “But in the meantime, try and get some sleep.”

Not long after your eyes shut over, you begin to dream of different things, and even while in a dream-like state, you still feel a sense of deja vu. You see a board with different names on it, but none of them are clear enough to read. You are in a hospital bed, and someone is holding your hand, but you can’t see beyond their arm. And the last thing you remember seeing is seeing writing on your hand.

ᗩᖇGEᑎT ᕼᗩᒪE

[topazy]

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader, Rick Grimes x sister reader

Warnings: Character death, swearing

Chapter: 5.08

Resting your head against Daryl’s shoulder, you hold onto his arm tightly as you both sit in the front seats of the fire engine. It had broken down the day before, but it was safer to keep the kids inside it than scavenging with the others.

After finding a working car close by, Rick, Tyreese, Glenn, and Michonne left to take Noah back to his home, which wasn’t too far away. The group's morale was at an all-time low, even worse than when the farm burned down, so it would be incredible if Noah were reunited with his family and Rick returned with either supplies or knowledge of a safe place for your people to stay.

But you weren’t holding your breath.

“How are you holding up?”

Daryl doesn’t say anything at first, not for a long time. But you feel his body tense when he finally does. “After we got out of the prison, Beth told me she knew that when I looked at her, all I saw was another dead girl. She was right; I didn’t think she would last long. Not without someone keeping her alive.”

“She was just a kid, too young and kind for this sort of world.”

“Beth knew she wouldn’t live long,” his voice starts to shake, but Daryl does his best to hold it together. “Beth said I’d miss her when she’s gone and that I’d be the last one standing.”

Those words, no matter how gently spoken, would have been a punch in the gut. In his life before the apocalypse, Daryl was always alone, even when he was with his brother, who used him. But now that he had experienced what it was like to feel real love from you, Rick, Carol, and everyone else who cared for him, the mere thought of being on his own again would have been painful.

“I went back to the prison,” he says quietly. "I was trying to find you, but the prison was overcrowded with walkers; I couldn’t see anyone until I heard Beth's voice." She was looking for the kids to get onto the bus, but we couldn’t. We made it to the tree lines, and I helped her climb up it and told her if I wasn’t back by sunset to go on without me. I picked as many of them off as I could, but… the side of the yard I last saw you had nothing but dead bodies being torn apart by the dead, and that side of the prison wall was destroyed by the bomb. I kept looking until the sun started to set.”

You consider telling him that you have always been nearby since your return to the cell block after getting shot, but the guilt visible on his face prevents you from doing so. Guilt was pressure that never eases, and you didn’t want to risk adding any more to it.

“Beth was wrong about one thing,” you say softly. “You won’t be left alone, never.”

Daryl kisses you gently on the lips, then looks over his shoulder to the back seats. All the kids were asleep, including Carl, so at least for a short time things would be relatively peaceful.

—

“He’s really good with him.”

Noticing what Rosita is looking at, a small smile starts to pull on your lips, but you quickly stop. It felt wrong to feel anything apart from grief.

It had been a while since any walkers appeared close by, so you decided to join the others who were taking a break from trying to find supplies and sitting on the grass by the side of the road. Daryl was sitting underneath a tree with Jace in his arms, his usual hardened expression softer than normal. Your eyes flicker to Maggie, who was sitting on her own not far away from him, her eyes swollen and puffy from crying. You wanted to comfort her, but Maggie insisted on being on her own.

Twiddling long grass between your fingers, you feel the small twinge of a smile again but don’t allow it to become anything as you look back at Daryl. “I think he’s trying to teach Jace to say his name.”

“Daryl and not dad?” Rosita squints when the sun shines directly on her face. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry; it’s just, if it wasn’t from the bits and pieces you guys have said, I would have thought he was Daryl’s.”

“Bits and pieces… Glenn told you everything didn’t he?”

Rosita thinks about it for a moment, then nods. You shake your head, “Of course he did.”

You weren’t mad that Glenn told her, and especially in times like this, you understand why people talk so much. There wasn’t much else to do when you were waiting around to find out if your loved ones are safe. Looking around, the divide in your group was more obvious; Sasha, who was holding Judith, was sitting with Father Gabriel and Carl, while Eugene sat in silence with Tara. Abraham looks as if he might explode with rage any time the other man looks in his direction.

You could see Carol moving around in the fire engine; it looked like she was talking on the radio.

“Glenn also told me about Woodbury. I’m sorry.”

“It feels like a lifetime ago.”

A short amount of time passes with neither of you talking again when Rosita nudges her knee against yours, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh?”

“You’re allowed to be happy. Even though the world’s gone to shit, you’ve still got people you love and are worth fighting for. That’s what keeps us going in the darkest times.”

“Thank you.”

Hearing the sound of a car approaching in the distance, everyone reaches for their weapons and gets ready to move. Eugene stands up and looks through a set of binoculars. Time feels as if it goes by slowly until he finally says, “it’s them.”

—

When Rick steps out of the car, the first thing you notice is the defeated look on his face, then the fresh blood clinging to his clothes. Rushing over to him, you start inspecting him for any cuts or bites. “Oh my god, what happened? Where’s the blood coming from?”

“It’s not mine,” he says quietly. “It’s not mine.”

A bead of sweat rolls from his temple down to his jaw. No, it wasn’t Rick’s blood, but it was someone’s. You were too afraid to ask or look back at the car to see who’s not coming out of it, but the blood-curdling scream that comes from Sasha answers the unspoken question.

Tyreese was gone.

You turn just as Sasha falls to her knees.

Glenn gets out of the car and goes over to Maggie, who immediately starts to cry in his arms. Michonne tries to comfort Noah, who was still sitting in the car beside Tyreese’s body, looking traumatized. Noticing this, Daryl, who’s now holding Judith and Jace, starts to back away. “I’m going to take them back to the truck.”

“Carl, go with Daryl.”

Tears fill Rick’s eyes. “Sasha doesn’t need to see this. His arm… I tried to save him in the same way I saved Hershel.”

You didn’t need any more information to understand what happened. Tyreese must have been bitten on the arm, so they amputated it trying to save him. Quietly you ask, “the place that you went, was it…”

“It’s overrun,” Michonne says. “We can’t go back.”

That meant Noah’s family was gone. Like you always do, you look to Rick, but for the first time in a long time, he looks completely lost.

Clearing your throat, you turn to the group; Bob, Beth, and now Tyreese have all died within such a short space of time, but you couldn’t crumble; you need to be strong for everyone else. You catch the eye of both Tara and Abraham and wave them both over and away from Sasha.

“We should start digging a grave before it gets dark.”

“We can’t stay here,” Abraham deadpans.

“I know we can’t, but Sasha needs to say goodbye.” You start walking towards the fire engine, knowing it has at least one shovel in it. “Once it’s dark I think we need to leave; we’re too exposed here to stay long term. We keep going until we find somewhere safe to regroup, and then we’ll figure out what’s best from there.”

You hated to be the one saying it out loud, but it was the truth. Your group had very little ammo and food left, and virtually no cover if the wrong type of person were to come by. It was safer to keep moving.

Tara stares at you. “why? What’s the point?”

“Because all of this pain… it will all be for nothing if we don’t even try to survive.”

[topazy]

Thank you! And yes, I’m currently working on S2

Little dark age

Pairing: Rick Grimes x reader

Warnings: Swearing, character deaths, blood & gore, explicit language, sexual content

S1

1.01 1.02 1.03 1.04 1.05 1.06

S2

[topazy]

I’m behind on updates but will hopefully manage to post some of them this weekend!

[topazy]

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x reader, Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing

1.04

Standing by the window, you enjoy the feeling of the cool air blowing against your exposed skin. The sun had been strong throughout the day; now finally alone in your chambers, you are able to let your hair flow freely around your shoulders, a relief from the uncomfortable heat that had been gathering at the back of your neck.

When the door creaks open, you take a deep breath, knowing who it was without looking back.

“Princess.”

Without attempting to hide the venom coursing through your body, you hiss at the knight, “was the battle a success?”

Criston clears his throat. “There were many losses on both sides.”

Tears of anger roll down your cheeks; your grandmother and her dragon had died during the battle of rooks rest. Aemond and Vhagar did the same to them as they did to Luke and Arrax. But you knew your husband well; Aemond was too impulsive to plan such an attack, and Aegon was too drunk to comprehend planning a battle, which meant Criston Cole was the brains behind it.

Spinning on your heels quickly, you slap him hard across the face. “You paraded Meleys' head through the streets.”

He says nothing.

You shove him in the chest, “stop killing my fucking family!”

Criston remains unflinching.

You shove him again, harder this time. “Is this what you thought would happen when you placed the crown upon Aegon’s brow and named him king? T tens o' thousands dead on your account all in the name of a usurper who doesn’t even want the crown.

Tears threaten to spill from his brown eyes while mulling over your words; he suddenly snaps when you shove him again, grabbing hold of your wrists. The knight pushes you backwards until you collide with the wall; he pins your hands above your head. There was no anger or hatefulness on his face, only sorrow. “The men at rooks rest… Their armour melted onto their bodies. They pleaded for death. When they tried to remove their armour, their skin peeled off with it,” he whispers. “I thought the realm would know nothing but peace with Aegon on the throne.”

“And now the realm is doomed. Neither my grandmother nor Aegon would have taken pleasure in burning anyone, but Aemond would have. He’s the reason that Sunfyre is dead and his brother is dying, isn’t he?”

Criston looks down at the ground.

“He’s a kinslayer; you must see by now he didn’t kill my brother out of anything but revenge. He craves power, and with Vhagar, he is unstoppable. The monster you’ve seen only glimpses of is what I’m trying to protect my children from. They deserve better; they deserve a family who can keep them safe.”

“And you think Rhaenyra can do that?”

“My mother, the queen, would keep us safe. And my stepfather, he would die before letting any harm come to us.”

“It’s believed they are responsible—”

“Do not!” You finally pull your wrists from his hold. “Do you really think my mother would have wanted any child, let alone her grandchild, to be slain? And if Daemon did intend to harm me or my children, Jacaerys would have warned me.”

“Jacaerys?”

“My eldest brother? The one you all insist on calling a bastard,” the snarky comment rolls off your tongue. “Unlike my uncles, I and my siblings have loyalty. We protect each other above all else.”

Criston falls silent for a few moments, looking lost in thought until he inhales deeply and lets go of you. “The Queen dowager has summoned me to give her a full detailed report of what happened to the king.”

When the knight goes to leave, you reach for his hand; he tries to pull it out of your grip, but you hold onto him tightly and bring it to your stomach. “You’ve seen what Aemond is willing to do to his brother; what do you think he’ll do to us when he finds out? When the seed blooms and our sins are laid bare for all to see.”

“What?”

“My moon blood is late. I haven’t bedded Aemond since Aerys was born, and there will be no denying who the father is when I give birth to a dark-haired babe.”

Criston stills for a moment. Coming out of whatever trance he was in, the knight recoils his hand as if it was just burnt and rushes from your bedchamber without saying anything.

—

Lip trembling you light three candles in the grand sept, one for your father, the second for your sweet boy, and the third for Lucerys. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you poorly muffle a sob.

Hearing multiple footsteps echoing in the house of worship, you turn to see a handful of silent sisters holding candles making their way towards the one room, most likely to prepare a body for a funeral. Although they are considered holy, the silent sisters terrified you as a child. Even now as an adult, they make you unnerved.

The entire sept did.

The whole building reeks of death, or perhaps the stench was coming from the streets of kings landing.

The members of the king’s guard who escorted you advised it was best you didn’t look into the city streets. Lord Larys says the bodies of all the rat catchers hanged on Aegon’s orders were only cut down a day prior because of Aemond. But before that their bodies were left to rot in the street for all to see, including their grieving mothers.

Pushing down the lump in your throat, you light another three candles, one for your grandmother Rhaenys, grandsire Viserys and sister Visenya, who never got to draw her first breath.

Warm tears continue to roll down your cheeks until a knight interrupts your train of thought. He says nothing, but by stopping so close to you, you know something is wrong. Taking a deep breath, you stand and turn to face him, keeping your head held high.

“Ser Willis?”

“Your dragon… she’s been spotted flying over sharp point.”

“How is that possible?” picking up the trail of your skirts, you head towards the exit. “My dragon would not just leave without me.”

“She was spotted flying with another smaller dragon, princess.”

“Which one?” You ask panicked. If Vhagar had chased your beloved dragon, then it was quite possible you would break and slay the beast's rider yourself.

“It’s being said the dragon is Vermax.”

—

“Am I really expected to believe that it was merely a coincidence?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face Aemond, who has followed you into the library. Your back hits the wooden bookcase behind as you back away from him; the dangerous glint in his eye was beyond sinister. Many have jested that your dragon fleeing was an act of rebellion, a comment which he did not take kindly to. When feeling humiliated, Aemond is at his most unpredictable.

“How exactly would I have gotten my dragon to leave when you have forbidden me from going to the pit? No king’s guard would take me, and even if I somehow arrived on my own, I doubt the dragon keepers would have allowed me to get close enough.”

“That’s because they know I would have them burnt if they did.”

“I know.” Your heart races as he comes closer. “I would never attempt to go anywhere without my children.”

“Our children,” he snaps. “But you know better than to cross me, don’t you?”

Tears start to build as you nod. “You attempted to kill your brother for power. Trust me, I have no intention of crossing you, not when I know what you are capable of.”

The hatred you felt towards him was unhealthy. Whenever you think of the pain your sweet son suffered because of Aemond's actions, you want to do nothing more than strike him down. But being a woman, you have very little experience with a sword, and the writing was on the wall with how it would end.

“Do not say those words out loud again. And if that foolish bastard Jacaerys attempts to fly before Vhagar and your dragon is beside his—”

When someone clears their throat, Aemond steps back, an irritated look on his face. Ser Criston stands at the doorway; his eyes swiftly brush over you as you stand shaking, gripping the book in your hand close to your chest. “My Prince,” he adverts his gaze back to Aemond. “The queen dowager has asked for you to join her in the council room.”

Without looking back, Aemond storms out of the room. The longer the war went on, the crueller he became. Criston waits a beat, then turns to you; words linger on the tip of his tongue, but the words die when Helaena comes into the room hand in hand with Jaehaera.

—

Holding Cassana in your arms as if she were still a small child, you watch the relentless rain disappear into the darkness below. Aerys stirs ever so slightly in his cot but settles himself as the noise of wind howling becomes louder.

It was strange; most children fear storms, but yours seem to sleep more peacefully.

Letting out a deep sigh, you continue to chew on your lip nervously. Has your dragon followed Vermax back to Dragonstone? The thought of her being out in the storm scared you. She was too gentle for it. You hoped she followed Vermax back to Dragonstone.

When there’s a soft knock at the door, you turn away from the window, “come.”

It wasn’t unusual for bedmaids to come at this time of night to make sure the children don’t need anything. But then again, you were constantly reminded how it was unusual for someone of your status to have their children’s nursery attached to their bedchamber.

To your surprise, Ser Criston steps into the room. It has only been three days since you last spoke with him, and the knight already looks ill with stress. You notice a sack that looks similar to the ones the people on kings landing have; it wasn’t something that a knight was known to carry with them.

“What is that?”

“Aemond has gone to Harrenhal; now is the time to leave.” He places the sack down and pulls out clothes that resemble those of beggars on the streets. “We don’t have long; make the decisions now. Stay or leave.”

Not needing to second-guess the opportunity to escape, you gently place your daughter, who was still asleep, onto the bed and start to change into the clothes. Putting the trousers on underneath your nightdress, you notice the knight staring down at the ground. “Why Harrenhal?”

“To meet with Daemon.”

When Aemond dies, you hope he's haunted by the memories of Laenor. He deserves to suffer.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry, and you feel an overwhelming urge to vomit. Quickly turning to face the opposite way, you feel as if everything in your stomach empties out onto the floor. The shock of feeling the knight's hand on your back genuinely shocks you. Acid burns the back of your throat. Why did Criston need to be nice? This would be a lot easier if he was always horrid. Your hatred for him was still strong, but the concern in his eyes made him more human.

“If Aemond meets Daemon in the sky, he will never come back.”

—

Sweat and rainfall coat your body. It was a cold night, but you could feel nothing but heat radiating inside you, burning from the inside out.

It was out of fear of being caught.

It was from the excitement of going home.

Feeling the unsteadiness of the wooden planks below you, grip onto Ser Criston’s arm to steady yourself. Being part Velaryon, the sea usually made you feel at ease; it came just as naturally to be on a ship as it was to be in the sky, but with the weather still bad and night still a dark grey, your heart sank the closer you got to the small boat waiting at the end of the dock for you and your children.

“Can these men be trusted?”

“If they want to live, they will take you to Dragonstone without question.”

One of your handmaidens was accompanying you back to Dragonstone; you wonder if she had ever shown an inkling of not wanting to stay in kings landing, or if Criston simply didn’t give her a choice in leaving her home.

Cautiously, you hand Aerys to her before assisting Cassana onto the boat. The boat was tiny in comparison to your grandparents’ ships, but it was big enough that it should be safe to cross the water. At least that's what you were telling yourself. And they wouldn’t betray you.

“Why are you helping me?”

“I don’t wish to be responsible for whatever crimes Prince Aemond would commit against you or have any part in leaving children motherless.” Tenderly he strokes your cheek, then moves his hand to your stomach, “perhaps in another life, princess, things would have been different.”

“How will you tell them I escaped?”

He lets out a small laugh and asks, “Do you really care?”

“No, but if the dowager queen is looking for anyone to blame, then I’d suggest pointing the finger in Lord Larys’ direction.”

Nothing else is said as you leave him standing on his own. Any onlooker would only see two people in cloaks draped over their own soaking clothes and probably think you are lovers being torn apart due to the war.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

As the boat goes further away and Criston Cole becomes smaller and smaller, a heavy twinge pulls on your lower stomach. Perhaps the pain was from growing a babe or from knowing that the knight who was now near invisible would be living the rest of his life thinking about the child he’d never get to meet. The child he believes is his.

—

“It’s fine; I’d like to inform Prince Jacaerys I’ve come home myself.”

Elinda nods and escorts the handmaiden who travelled with you to a room for her to change and sleep in. Water droplets drip off the wet clothes clinging to your body as you walk the already damp halls of the castle. Your first priority when you arrived was getting your children bathed and into dry clothes; they were now exhausted and sleeping in their rooms.

It warms your heart that your bedchamber and the children’s nursery were ready for you to just walk into.

Your mother always knew you would come home.

bathe and change in due time, but right now you were desperate to see Jacaerys. It was still in the early hours of the morning, and he would most likely still be asleep. The moment you arrived the queen was informed, but you saw no reason for your siblings to be woken at that time.

The reunion was emotional; you both cried as you clung to your mother and swore to never leave her again, and in return she promised to never let any harm come to you, Aerys and Cassana, again.

Finally face to face with the door leading to Jacaerys' chambers, you take a deep breath. The knight sThe knight standing guard in the hall averts his gaze as you finally open the door, revealing Jace on the opposite side.

He was standing on the opposite side of the door. Pulling you into his arms, Jacaerys buries his face into the side of your neck. The feeling of warm tears mixes with the dampness on your neck. After a moment he lets out a shaky breath and peppers kisses across your face. “I’m at a loss for words… I thought I wouldn’t see you again until we took kings landing. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you as well.”

Looking at his beautiful face, dark eyes full of innocence and pain, you knew you’d never be able to tell Jacaerys the full extent of what you did to leave kings landing.

He presses his forehead against yours. “Once the kinslayer is dead, we will go to kings landing and take it back in the name of our queen.”

“Jace, I need to tell you something.”

“You don’t need to sound so afraid,” he chuckles softly.

Kissing him softly, you take his hand and place it over your stomach. “The night we spent together… has consequences. I’m with child, and it’s yours, my prince.”

Jace cups your cheek with his free hand tenderly, but the expression on his face is difficult to read. “When the news comes that the kinslayer is gone, we will be in need of our maester; you will become my wife. I will protect you and the children, always.”

[topazy]

I’m soooooo excited for you hogwarts legacy fics!!!

Thank you! I currently have three that wips I’m working on🥰

[topazy]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐮𝐬

Pairing: Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Child birth, child loss

2.01

Deep breath in, low breath out.

Deep breath in, low breath out.

Deep breath in, low breath out.

Your fingers grip the sheets below so tightly that your knuckles turn white when you start to push, for what is hopefully the final time.

“That’s it, princess; the babe is almost here.”

This is the last time. You loved all of your children, but this babe was the last. You don’t think you could survive another pregnancy. A sob of agony rips from your throat just as a newborn's cry pierces the room. Tears of happiness replace those of pain when the midwife wraps the babe in a blanket and then places them onto your chest.

“Healthy?”

“Yes, princess, another healthy girl.”

“A girl,” you breathe out. “Another sweet girl.”

Stroking the babe’s cheek, you kiss the tip of her nose, smiling at the way her small face turns red and scrunches up as she starts screaming.

One of the midwives smiles gleefully while sorting the pillows behind your back so you are sitting upright. “Her lungs are strong, princess.”

Two years ago, you learnt how cruel the gods can be when you lost a child. The maesters weren’t able to say if it was at birth or in the womb, but falling down the stairs was the cause of it regardless. It was all a blur. The only thing you really remember about that day is your screams being drowned out by Lady’s roar before the silence that followed. The silent sisters wrapped the babe in white cloth before you ever saw her face.

“That they are, but it’s a sound I’m blessed to hear.”

The door to the bedchamber opens, and Raya rushes into the room, the disappointment from missing the birth clear on her face. She had gone to check on your son and daughter since the hour was late and you insisted on knowing they were settled. But you don’t focus on that for long, as the familiar cramping in your stomach returns.

—

“What time is it?” You whisper.

“Near the hours of the nightingale princess,” Dyana, a young handmaid, answers quietly. Her blue eyes flicker to Raya, who’s standing behind you, braiding your sweat-coated hair into a loose braid to keep it from falling into your face. “Is there anything else you need for me to do, princess?”

“No, that is all, thank you. I’ll have it passed onto Princess Helaena that you’ve been here all night so that you’ll get the morning off.”

“Thank you, princess,” she says rather enthusiastically before leaving.

Dyana was the first of three handmaidens who are supposed to serve Aegon, and Helaena volunteered to attend to you during your labour. They were most likely doing it because it gave them a reason not to serve Aegon, who has become more and more of a menace as of late.

It feels as if time passes incredibly slowly as Raya finishes the braid. After delivering the afterbirth, she helped you change into a clean dress while a midwife bathed your babe, all within your eyeshot. You didn’t want the babe out of your sight for one moment. Your legs had been shaky and weak while you changed, which is why the midwife insisted you stay in the room you gave birth in longer before walking the halls of the castle to your quarters.

It was understandable.

You just hope the castle halls are still quiet when you return.

—

“Has the cot been placed beside my bed?”

The look Raya gives you is one of annoyance for even asking. “As always, princess, yes.”

“Has a raven been sent to Winterfell?”

Raya’s expression quickly changes from annoyance to a softer one. “The moment you felt a twinge, I had the maester send word to Winterfell that your labour had started, princess. And considering she never wanted to leave your side, I suspect princess Meera will be coming back as quickly as possible to see you.”

It was hard for Meera to be away from you and her siblings, which is why she opted to fly back and forth between her old home and her new one. It was hard for you to process that your sweet little girl was eight-and-ten and soon to be married. You adored her betrothed; Cregan is kind, much like his brother was.

“Mother!”

Bef Before you can comprehend what's happening, you feel small arms wrap around your waist. Carefully you hold the babe in one arm and use your free hand to ruffle Daemion’s silver hair. “You, my little prince, should be sleeping in bed.”

With eyes that match your own, he stares up at you while loosely holding onto your skirts. Although he was named after your uncle Daemon, your sweet boy was nothing like him. He has your mother's gentleness.

Hearing footsteps, you look up and instantly feel the weight of the knight’s gaze before his eyes move to the sleeping babe in your arms. “My apologies, princess; the Prince and princess became restless, and the bedmaid couldn’t settle them, so I escorted them to your bedchamber.”

“Ser Cristion.”

He swiftly moves his gaze to the floor while holding the door open. Taking your son’s hand, you usher him into the room; following behind, your eyes meet Criston’s. While holding your son’s hand, you usher him into the room; as you follow behind, your eyes meet Criston’s. It was only a brief look but somehow too long.

He clears his throat, steps back, and looks at the ground until Raya enters the room, after which he closes the door and resumes his post. It left a heavy feeling in your chest with Criston on the opposite side of the door, listening as the children fussed over their new sibling. But this is how things will always be between the two of you: lovers and friends in private, but in public he was nothing more than a member of the king's guard, and you the princess he protects.

—

The scar on your hand was deep, reaching from your wrist to the middle of your palm. The scar on your hand served as a constant reminder. Scratching at it so often wouldn’t be helping, but the phantom itches from previous stitches were verging on the maddening.

“Another girl, I heard.” You watch Criston silently as he walks over to the cot and finally gets a good look at the babe just as her eyes fully close over.

“She’s been fighting sleep since her last feed.”

Criston's brown eyes gloss over slightly as he rubs his thumb along the baby's cheek. “She’s beautiful. How are you feeling, princess?”

“Exhausted. The children don’t have any lessons today, although I’d wager they will want to visit the dragonpit.”

A smile tugs on his lips. “Princess Alyrie demanded I take them to pick a dragon egg the moment the sun started to rise. I said they can go in a few hours; it will give you time to rest.”

“Hm, I imagine they will keep you there most of the day.” Being ten-and-three, Alyrie was already dragon riding. Daemion, who was nearing his eighth name day, wasn’t quite ready to mount his dragon yet but was still fascinated by them. “Although I know they will pick the perfect one.”

Before returning to her bed, Alyrie asked if the babe being born meant her father would return from OldTown, and the pained expression on Criston’s face was easy to notice. He usually hid his emotions well, but every so often you would notice the cracks in his facade.

“I should be making the most of things being quiet; I imagine my father will want to meet his new grandchild when he wakes, and I asked Raya to send news to Dragonstone to let Rhaenyra know; she will no doubt be furious that she wasn't informed when I went into labour, but I didn't want her stressing about me and flying back and forth while pregnant. But I do hope when my sister comes to the keep, she and Daemon bring my nephews. I miss them a lot.”

He says nothing, which is odd. And the way he avoids making eye contact… something was wrong.

“Criston? Is my father okay?”

“The king is still the same, princess, last I heard.”

“Has the queen asked someone to take my child to her again? I will not let that happen.”

“No, no. I wouldn't allow her to be taken if the queen had.” He caresses your cheek and asks, “Have you chosen a name yet?”

“Sarella.”

“Sarella,” he repeats.

“Criston?”

“I should resume my post before one of your ladies-in-waiting comes back.” He kisses you on the forehead; after a moment he pulls away and quietly says, “I need you to rest, princess. As you said, it will be a long day.”

You take hold of his hand; although you might just be overwhelmed and tired to the point of paranoia, you can't shake the feeling that Criston is behaving differently and hiding something. Your mind was going into overdrive with worry for Meera and your father, who has been ill of late. “You would tell me if something has happened, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, princess,” he kisses the back of your hand. “Something happened while you were in labour, but I didn't want to ruin your happiness so soon. Or for you to overreact.”

“What is it?”

“Princess Rhaenyra's three eldest sons's legitimacy is being brought into question.”

[topazy]

Little dark age is chefs kiss

Thank you 🥰

[topazy]

I don't know if you've even updated this story in a while but for a lot of the parts of your Murphy x reader x emori the full parts weren't showing. Idk if it's just my phone or something wrong on your side but I really love this story and I want to be able to read the full thing!! Thank you!!

Hey, so I’m currently updating that WIP along with other Murphy one before finishing them so the older parts have been removed to be edited! I’ll hopefully have the next part updated tonight or tomorrow, but I’m glad you are enjoying it!

[topazy]

𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐜𝐲

Under the rose

Shadows of the past

[topazy]

Under the rose

Paring: Sebastian Sallow x reader

Warnings: Time jump

Chapter: 1.01

Don't blame me, love made me crazy

If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right

Don't blame me - Taylor Swift

Hurling through the busy corridors, your fingers curl round the edges of the books you have pressed tightly to your chest, the rough edges digging into the skin. Your mind was so busy replaying the owl you had just received from your eldest brother, Ash that you completely missed your former friend paying close attention and observing from a distance.

Perhaps if Sebastian hadn't cut you off completely you could have turned to him and Ominis for help, but you didn’t want to put Ominis in an uncomfortable situation by doing you favour when you're no longer close.

And Sebastian hadn’t spoken to you in over a year.

When the portrait of a snake slithering through a grassy field on a farming estate comes into view, you wait for the hallway to be clear before approaching it, after all it was a secret passage.

The snake hisses when you stand in front of it and quietly say, “basilisk fang.”

The snake disappears amongst the grass and the portrait swings open, and you rush in before anyone notices. The last thing you need is for someone to find out about your special place.

It was possibly the last place you were truly safe.

—

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes but you push the emotions down. Taking deep breaths you sit down on the edge of the bed and start to braid your hair. Funny, as you wrap your fingers around the ends of it, all the memories of Sebastian trying to convince you that your hair would change tone depending on your mood comes flooding back.

There were times you compared Ash to Sebastian, they shared some similarities such as rule-breaking and being reckless but at least your former friend was loyal and protective of those he cared for, like Ominis.

Ominis had a kind heart, he just hid it well behind sarcasm and pessimism.

You missed being his friend.

You missed the undercroft. Hidden away from everyone the three of you could talk freely, it’s where Sebastian taught you various spells. It’s where you convinced Ominis not to turn Sebastian in after he killed his uncle. Do some time you’d thought of Hogwarts as a living creature, and the undercroft was the lungs that breathed out security for those that kept it secrets. And the room of requirements was the beating heart, you would visit Deek and the animals you’d rescued in your fifth year everyday.

The animals were pure and innocent which is probably why you associated it with love and heartbeats.

Attempting to gather your thoughts, you reach under the fluffy pillow and continue to work on the jumper you have been knitting. It was a gift for Poppy’s birthday and you need to finish it before leaving Hogwarts. It was the only logical thing to do. In Ash's letter he states a dark wizard he crossed paths with years ago could possibly come after you as an act of revenge since you would be the easiest Qualley sibling to find.

So you need to leave before anyone you love gets hurt.

—

“Don’t blame me Ominis!”

Sebastian felt completely blind sighted, when his friend asked for them to meet in the undercroft he thought it was to practice spells, he wasn’t expecting to be ambushed. Slouching against the damp wall, Sebastian lets out a dramatic sigh. They have had this argument many times and it always ended the same, with him being nothing but a selfish man who cut their former friend off after getting what he wanted but in reality it was far from the truth.

Sebastian missed her, she consumed his every waking thought.

“And why not? After everything the three of us have been through together we should have stuck together, but because of you y/n won’t talk with me for longer than five minutes because it becomes too painful.”

“Well that’s not my fault.”

“Ohh but it is. She doesn’t want to be around anything or anyone that reminds her of you.”

“Did… did she tell you that?”

“No,” Ominis scolds. “I can sense it; anyone who pays attention to her can. She is heartbroken Sebastian, you’ve ignored her for the entire sixth year… but I dare say she still cares for you which is what makes it hurt so much.”

Sebastian has noticed y/n chewing on her nails a lot recently, but he thought it was due to starting their final year.

“Do you remember the first thing you ever told me about her?” Ominous asks, his voice softer than before. “How ‘magnificent’ her eyes are.”

Of course he did, how could he forget. It has always fascinated Sebastian how different the Qualley siblings' appearance is, especially since you wouldn’t know they were all related at a first glance. The twins, Crystal and Porcelain have a striking resemblance to their late mother, inheriting her thick raven hair and dark purple eyes, as did their oldest brother Ash. Colbert, the second youngest son, has his father’s grey eyes and platinum hair. And not only was y/n’s appearance different to her siblings, she’s also softer than their hardened exteriors; she has a glowing aura that he suspected was caused by the ancient magic she possessed.

“No, that doesn’t sound like me at all.” There was a lopsided smile pulling on Sebastian’s lips, but it wasn’t genuine. He had been faking any happiness he presented to others since he lost two of three people he truly cared about.

“I was talking to Samantha earlier and she informed me—“

“Who’s Samantha?”

Frowning, Ominis tuts, “Samantha Dale.”

“I’ve no idea who that person is.”

“You really are insufferable at times. Ravenclaw. She’s been in our charms class since we started at Hogwarts.” Shaking his head Ominis sighs, “this is beside the point. Natty and Poppy were upset during class and Samantha told me at the end of our lesson it was because y/n is leaving.”

“Leaving… to visit a relative again?”

“No, Sebastian, she is leaving Hogwarts for good.”

“What…” his voice starts to crack. No, no, no, he has already lost Anne for good, he couldn’t lose Red forever as well. “Are they sure? When is she supposedly leaving?”

“In a few days time… so now is the time to make amends before it’s too late.”

He couldn’t.

Sebastian wanted to, but that would involve telling y/n the full truth of why he needed to distance himself and that was something he couldn’t do.

Not if he wanted to keep them both safe.

[topazy]

Restraint - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Sebastian wasn’t sure whether or not he was grateful for your lack of attention. The clueless facade you maintained where he was concerned made him equal parts angry and confused. Didn’t you know he was a man? An eighteen year old man who catered to your every whim? A legal adult whose room you spent an unorthodox amount of time in? Anyone with eyes could see that Sebastian was into you, and yet you never gave him any sign that you were aware of his feelings for you. 

It was mind-boggling. It was frustrating. He was at the end of his rope.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, masturbation, intense pining, possessive behavior, cunnilingus, oral fixation/oral smut, explicit sexual content

This random Monday oneshot is also on Ao3

Sebastian had never been one for subtlety. In Ominis’ own words, he wore his heart on his sleeve and let his emotions fuel his tone, but there was little he could do to remedy that fact. Tiptoeing around a subject or beating around the bush never failed to frustrate him. He preferred it when people said what they meant and meant what they said. Being straight up and getting to the point spared him a headache and prevented him from losing his temper, which was the best case scenario for everyone. 

Sebastian said what he wanted, did what he wanted, and never wasted his breath apologizing for his actions when he knew deep down that he wouldn’t mean it anyways. Placations were pointless. 

Unless, however, you were involved. 

Everything about you had driven Sebastian mad for the last three years. From the moment you had arrived at Hogwarts, he had been completely and utterly entranced by you. Then you’d gone and broken his dueling win streak in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the infatuation had turned into obsession. You were the one person he wouldn’t– no, couldn’t be authentic with. How could he be? You made him stupid. He could barely think straight around you, his mind imbuing him with the sorts of thoughts that would land him in an asylum if he voiced them. If he didn’t filter himself around you, it wouldn’t end well. Not for him, and certainly not for you. 

He didn’t know if your obliviousness to his behavior was all for show or if it was completely genuine, but he didn’t want to risk finding out. 

“Sebastian?” Your voice made him go rigid, the tired rasp to your voice sending his body’s entire blood supply straight between his legs.  

“What?” 

“Do you want to work on that History of Magic report with me later? I fell asleep and missed half of the lecture.” 

He watched you over the rim of his cup, the steam from the hot chocolate wafting into the air and obscuring his view of you slightly. Of course he knew you’d fallen asleep– he had been watching your head bob up and down for twenty minutes in class before the fatigue had won out and you’d slumped over your desk. Professor Binns was always too preoccupied with floating listlessly around the chalkboard to take notice, which was why Sebastian hadn’t bothered to wake you up. If you were tired, you needed to rest. 

More to the point, Sebastian enjoyed watching you when you weren’t looking. What better opportunity was there to do so than while you slept? 

Your chin was daintily perched in your palm as you pushed around the food on your plate, waiting patiently for his answer. With your tired smile and half-lidded eyes, he was convinced you were on the verge of passing out again. How late had you stayed up last night? What had you been doing instead of sleeping? Had you gone out with your friends– or Merlin forbid– someone else?

He banished the train of thought from his mind, lest he piss himself off with the possible answers. “Sure. Library?” 

“Hm… can we go to your room? If I fall asleep again, at least it’ll be in an actual bed.” 

The mental image of you sprawled out on his bed did nothing to alleviate the growing bulge straining against his trousers. His jaw hardened as he breathed in deeply through his nose, then exhaled through his pursed lips. “Yeah, fine. I won’t do the work for you if you fall asleep, though.” 

Your tired expression lit up as you beamed at him, and his stomach churned violently. It was pathetic how smitten he was. He knew he would agree to come to class in a ballgown if it meant getting to glimpse that dazzling grin of yours. 

The smile he gave you was mildly strained, but you didn’t notice. Thankfully. 

Sebastian spent the rest of lunch holding his breath and thinking of anything that fit the criteria of gross and off-putting. He had to. It wasn’t like he could rub one out in the middle of the Great Hall to get rid of the half-mast hidden behind his zipper. He couldn’t even excuse himself to go back to his dorm to take care of it in private– he’d be showcasing the full extent of the problem between his legs to the entire student body if he did. You were none the wiser to his internal turmoil as you rambled on innocently about one thing or another, but he could barely hear you over the rush of blood in his ears. 

He checked the giant grandfather clock against the wall. Twenty more minutes for lunch. With any luck, it would prove to be enough time for his cock to calm the fuck down. 

—

You were always late. 

Sebastian had grown accustomed to your unyielding habit of showing up places behind schedule. In the beginning it had bothered him, if only because he was the exact opposite. He had to be early to everything on his agenda, otherwise he was panicky and on edge. But your reliable tendency to arrive after an agreed upon time was exactly what he needed right now, because if he didn’t kill the boner he’d been sporting since lunch, he was going to lose his fucking mind. 

The dorm was empty since all of his roommates were either in the Library or in Hogsmeade, but Sebastian still tried to stifle his noises. Choked moans of your name were bitten back and swallowed as his fist furiously worked the aching length of his cock. There was nothing sensual or graceful about how he moved his hand– it was all frantic. Berserk, even. His fingers were pressed roughly against his shaft, his wrist twisting rapidly over the head as he tried to practically yank his orgasm out. Any other day he would be ashamed of how pitiful he had to look, but not now. 

Right now, he was desperate. He had to stave off his cravings for you as a precaution before you showed up, otherwise he knew he’d be done for. 

A quick succession of three knocks sounded from the door, halting his movements. Then Sebastian’s blood ran cold when he heard your voice from the other side. “Sebastian? Are you here?” 

The stinging slap from his hand clamping over his mouth worked to snap his mind out of its lust-induced haze. Squeezing the base of his cock with bruising strength, Sebastian let his head fall back against the headboard of his bed as tears of frustration and pent-up pleasure filled his eyes. He blinked them back stubbornly, digging his teeth into his thumb as his entire body seized with agitation. 

Figures that this was the one time you were actually early. 

You started knocking again, your knuckles rapping against the wood of the door faster, your impatience permeating the air on your side of the wall until it was too much to bear. 

Sebastian snarled as he hastily stuffed himself back in his pants, at a complete loss for how to proceed. He was hardly in a state to be around you right now. All of this had been so he wouldn’t be a fraught mess around you, but now things were ten times worse. His legs were tense as he swung them over the side of the bed and made his way to the door, taking an extra moment to readjust his painfully hard cock in his pants before undoing the lock and wrenching the door open. 

“Finally,” you huffed angrily, your narrowed eyes widening when they took note of his flushed, sweaty face. “Merlin, what’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” 

“You’re early,” Sebastian replied flatly, ignoring your question completely. 

“Yeah, Garreth offered to help Poppy out at the stalls for me so I came over sooner. What’s the matter with you?” 

“I–” Shit, what did he say? His brain scrambled for an excuse, his red cheeks and disheveled clothing leaving little room for interpretation. Unless… “I was working out. Getting ready for Quidditch next week. I thought I’d have more time to finish up and shower, but now you’re here.” 

“Oh! I’m sorry, I forgot about Quidditch. Figures Imelda is making you prepare early,” you waved your hand over your shoulder in the general direction of the bathroom. “Go ahead, don’t stop on my account. I can start reviewing what notes I did manage to take today.” 

Sebastian wasn’t sure whether or not he was grateful for your lack of attention. The clueless facade you maintained where he was concerned made him equal parts angry and confused. Didn’t you know he was a man? An eighteen year old man who catered to your every whim? A legal adult whose room you spent an unorthodox amount of time in? Anyone with eyes could see that Sebastian was into you, and yet you never gave him any sign that you were aware of his feelings for you. 

It was mind-boggling. It was frustrating. He was at the end of his rope.

And he still needed to shower. 

“Give me ten minutes,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. You nodded and stepped inside his room, watching as he stiffly grabbed a change of clothes and a towel before striding past you without a second glance. 

If the universe held any affection for him at all, a cold shower would be enough to loosen the tight knot in the pit of his stomach. 

—

Unsurprisingly, Sebastian’s excursion to the bathroom was unsatisfying. The shower head ought to count itself lucky that it was still mounted to the wall and not lying in a broken, dented heap on the floor. The icy spray of water had eased the problem between his thighs, but it had also snapped him out of his stupor, sharpened his senses, and left him with the grating realization that nothing would help him quench his thirst for you. 

After donning a pair of pajama pants and an old Quidditch jersey that had definitely seen better days, Sebastian slowly– painfully– made his way back to you. He dimly towel dried his hair as he shuffled towards the door, giving himself as much time as possible to steel his nerves and barricade his lustful thoughts behind a mental, brick shield. A chill snaked its way up his spine as the cold air of the Slytherin dorms kissed his damp skin, but he barely paid it any mind. 

He would rather be cold than embarrassingly hard. 

When Sebastian pushed the door open, he found you laid out on his bed on your stomach, a textbook and a pile of notes situated before you. You’d shed your robes and were clad in your school uniform, the trousers you’d stubbornly kept since last year acting like a second skin. The passage of time was ultimately Sebastian’s greatest enemy, because with every month that went by, you changed. Physically changed. You were taller, curvier, and more womanly than ever. Instead of replacing your uniform with one that fit, you held on to ones from years past that had no business living in your drawers. 

That perky ass of yours was going to be his undoing. Why did that outdated pair of trousers have to hug your hips so nicely? 

He averted his gaze to the wall, curling his hands into tight fists that left violent red crescents on his palms. Get a grip, he thought to himself. 

“You certainly made yourself comfortable,” he finally managed to bite out, his voice strained and pitched higher than normal. Idiot. 

You glanced over at him with what he could only describe as a doe-eyed look. Those plush lips of yours were parted in mild surprise before they curled up into an easy smile, and your feet proceeded to kick up in the air playfully. “Your bed is much more comfortable than the one in my dorm.”

Deep breaths. Deep fucking breaths, Sebastian. 

“Is that why you’ve practically moved in here? Not sleeping well in your own room?” 

“Among other things,” you admitted around a sigh. “Don’t pretend like you don’t live for my company though. What else would you do if I wasn’t around to pester you?” 

“Relax, most likely.” He allowed himself a shit-eating smirk, and he was rewarded by the sound of your indignant gasp. Closing the distance between you both, Sebastian sat down on the edge of the bed, confidently moving so that he was situated against the headboard for the second time today. You shifted around to give him more space, then brazenly draped your legs over his before shoving your notes into his lap. 

His smirk vanished, and it took everything in him not to let out the choked groan that bubbled in his throat in response to the close proximity. “Whatever. You love me, and we both know it,” you huffed tauntingly, your downcast eyes keeping you from seeing the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. “Now read over this and tell me if I got most of the important material. Then I can start drafting the paper.” 

History of Magic was the one class that never failed to make everyone sleepy, but presently? Working on an assignment like this with you in the wake of his shitty day? Sebastian had never been more awake, and it had everything to do with how pent-up he was. With excruciating restraint, he blocked out the feeling of your legs weighing down on his thighs and picked up the notes. 

It was going to be a long, long evening. 

—

It hadn’t been easy for Sebastian to maintain his composure for an hour straight, and there was even more truth to that fact now. You were still propped up against the bedpost with your notes scattered around you, your legs still tossed lazily over his, only you wouldn’t stop fidgeting. 

Seriously. Sitting still was a foreign concept to you and had been for the last twenty minutes, because your feet wouldn’t quit fucking rubbing together. That wasn’t the direct cause of Sebastian’s frayed composure. It was the fact that your incessant twitching was pulling on the fabric of his pants, drawing the material taught over his groin over and over and over. It wasn’t an unusual thing for you to get so restless after studying for so long without a break, but considering that his impromptu masturbation session had been cut short earlier, he was loads more anxious than usual.  

He didn’t mean to be so aggressive when he slapped his hands over your knees, stilling your absentminded writhing with a scowl. Later on he would apologize– and mean it– for being so harsh. But if he didn’t put a stop to your shifting, he was going to have bigger problems that superseded you being upset with him. 

“Hey!” Your head snapped up from your notes, your grip on your quill turning white knuckled as you openly glared at him. “That hurts. Let go–”

“Stop moving so much, you’re driving me insane!” He fired back defensively, hating how gruff his voice sounded. “Is it too much for you to sit still?” 

Your brows rose up your forehead in complete bewilderment, your expression warring between offended and shocked. “You could just ask next time instead of trying to dislocate my kneecaps. Merlin…” Sebastian didn’t know whether to be relieved or disgruntled when you attempted to withdraw your legs from his lap. Either way, he refused to let you move the limbs, and your loud sigh was laced with blatant vexation. “Let go, I’ll just move–” 

“No. I don’t want you to move, I just want you to relax.”

Your wary gaze pierced right through him, and if he wasn’t already coiled tighter than a fucking spring, he would stiffen at the way your lower lip jutted out into a pout. You obeyed, though, your legs staying mercifully still as you went back to reading over the notes he had added to, and Sebastian took the opportunity to watch you through his lashes while he pretended to look down at the papers in his own lap. 

Mussed strands of hair fell into your face, a byproduct of how frequently you’d run your fingers through them. Following summer break, you had returned to school with a light smattering of freckles dusting your nose. They couldn’t hold a candle to the ones that covered damn near every inch of him, but they were still pretty. Cute, even. The dark rings under your eyes would have looked sickly on anyone else, but in your case, they made the whites of your eyes all the more vibrant. You looked like a doll. 

A scrumptious, effortlessly beautiful doll. 

He watched as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, scratching out something you had written before hastily replacing the sentence with another. When the bit of skin was released, it was left red, swollen, and far more tempting than it had any right to be. 

He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to bite at your lips, your neck, your breasts, and leave imprints of his teeth all over you. He wanted to mark every inch of your body and lay his claim in some primal, unseemly way that went against every lick of gentlemanliness he had been taught. He wanted to toss his inhibitions to the wind and indulge in the taste of you– something he had wondered about for a long, long time. Were you as sweet as he imagined? Would your thighs work to crush his head if he found himself situated between them, lapping up your essence like a man starved? 

When your head popped up to glance at him again, Sebastian was unprepared for it. He was still staring– no, ogling you– with his eyes narrowed and his chest rising and falling rapidly. His fantasies had gotten the better of him and had left him a panting, lust-drunk mess. Another cold shower couldn’t even begin to lessen the painful throbbing of his cock. All of his hard work at keeping calm and in control had just flown out the fucking window, and he could only thank the stars in the sky that he had a pile of notes in his lap, concealing the evidence of his innermost thoughts. 

“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” You asked him, abandoning your quill against the mattress so you could sit forward and scan his very flushed, very tense face. 

“I’m fine,” he looked away, trying and failing to wave you off. 

Stubborn as ever, you didn’t back down. “You’re all red. Do you have a fever?” 

“Seriously– I’m fine. Don’t worry about it, just finish your report already.” 

The force of his heart hammering against his sternum left him worried that it was about to jump out of his ribcage. Your hand was suddenly closing in on him, concern etched across your features as you shifted your legs to move closer into his space. The tantalizing smell of your perfume oil invaded his senses, filling his nose and setting his blood alight in his veins. There was something to be said about how primal humans could be when it came to scents. Yours had always been incredibly intoxicating, and Sebastian was all too willing to breathe it in deeply as the back of your hand made contact with his forehead. 

He was so fucked. 

“You’re burning up. Maybe we should call it a night… you probably need to sleep it off.” 

“I don’t need sleep,” he insisted with a frown, reaching up to pry your hand away from his face. “I already told you; I feel fine. Just drop it.” 

That spark of rebellion you reserved for your most loathed enemies came to life behind your irises, burning brighter than the sun as you narrowed your eyes at him and tried to plant your hand against his forehead again. Sebastian held you back with little effort, your arm shaking with the force you exerted in your attempts. “You’ve been weird all day– if you’re sick, you need to be checked out. So either you tell me what’s wrong with you, or I’ll drag you to the Hospital Wing myself.” 

That dark, animalistic part of him that conjured up the most obscene of daydreams silently laughed at your threat. Drag him? You couldn’t move him if you tried. He was infinitely stronger than you– broader, faster, tougher. You were the prey his inner predator yearned to claim. It was your fault that he was so out of it today, and yet you had the gall to order him around? 

With the utmost difficulty, Sebastian checked himself in record time, reining in the bestial side of him as his grip on your wrist tightened. “For the last time, nothing is wrong. If you can’t accept that, then leave. There’s the door. You have your notes– go finish your report in your own room.” 

You scoffed and strained in his hold, realizing that your attempts at moving your hand forward were fruitless. Then, faster than Sebastian could process, you threw your other arm out– deciding that if he was going to hold back your left hand, your right could pick up where the other had left off. He instinctively jerked you sideways to throw you off balance, which sent you careening forward against his chest. A guttural, almost pained groan ripped from his throat when your palm pressed directly against the throbbing bulge in his pants, your efforts to catch yourself effectively giving him away. 

The jig was up. Your hand was right on his cock, the notes in his lap crinkling loudly as your fingers flexed in alarm. His eyes, which had squeezed shut in response to the abrupt contact, cracked open to find you blinking up at him blearily. “S-Sebastian?” 

“Stop. Just don’t,” he grit through his teeth, his molars clenching together so roughly that he was certain his jaw would lock. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t– I shouldn’t have–” you tried to backpedal away from him to remove yourself from his personal space, but you only succeeded in applying more pressure to his groin. A choked whimper escaped his lips, the sound forming too quickly for him to stifle it and too loudly for you to have missed it. 

Fuck. 

Sebastian blindly yanked you forward so the brunt of your weight was pressed against his chest. His arm wrapped around your waist to prevent you from escalating the situation further, and the sigh of relief that slipped through his teeth when you moved your hand away from his cock was pathetic. He was pathetic. 

He was glad that you couldn’t see his face when he desperately whispered, “Don’t– don’t fucking move. Please, just… give me a minute.” 

That was all he needed. A moment of reprieve. He needed sixty, uninterrupted seconds to focus on his breathing– to imagine a Dugbog in a swimsuit, or Madame Scribbner in lingerie. He needed to cycle through the things that never failed to kill his libido, and he could only do that if you let him. 

You didn’t. Fuck– you didn’t even give him five seconds to open his eyes. Before he knew what was happening, your hand was back on his cock, your fingers digging into the parchment that covered his lap as you fucking squeezed his pulsing length with intention. 

The effect was instantaneous, and the sounds that fell from Sebastian’s lips were ones that would be seared into your brain until the end of time. His brain, too. He had never made such a wretched noise in all his eighteen years of living. 

“Don’t make me throw you off this bed,” he growled slowly, but the high-pitched edge to his voice made it seem like despite his words, he was secretly pleading for it.

The image of himself climbing over you on the hardwood floor, pinning those damnable hands of yours above your head with one hand while the other was knuckle deep in your tight, fluttering cunt flooded his mind, and the brick wall of restraint he had constructed earlier crumbled into dust. He sucked down a shaky breath, his entire body vibrating with need as you gave him yet another testing squeeze, and that was what finally prompted him to seek out your eyes. 

They were glimmering with unrestrained curiosity, something strangely like wonder dancing behind your pupils. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“I don’t know,” you admitted breathlessly, the prettiest flush Sebastian had ever seen spreading across your cheeks as you glanced down to where you gripped him. “I just… is this why you’ve been so out of it today?” 

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he rumbled, his mind urging him to shove you away while his body begged him to arch into your touch. “You better stop while you still have the chance.” 

“But…” you trailed off, squeezing him for the third time and jumping when he hissed loudly through his teeth. “This seems pretty bad. Painful, even.” 

If he wasn’t so wound up, he would have laughed. “You don’t even know the half of it.” 

Sebastian was convinced that he was the hardest he had ever been. The dual sensations of your hand on his cock and your shallow breaths fanning across his cheek had him dripping precum, the fluid swiftly soaking through the fabric of his pants and creating a stark wet patch that you noticed immediately. Almost testingly, you swiped your thumb over the spot, sending a bolt of arousal straight through him that left him gasping with need. 

His willpower was shot. It was going to take a fucking miracle to come back from this. You had effectively taken every last bit of Sebastian’s resolve and crushed it all beneath your heel, leaving him trembling and keening as every part of your being invaded his senses and held him hostage. 

“Fuck– please,” he moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He couldn’t look at you right now– it would be the end of everything if he did. The end of this insanely euphoric moment, the end of his restraint, and maybe even the end of his friendship with you. This was… uncharted territory. He was scared to explore it, but gods, did he want to. “Please, I can’t– I can’t take it…” 

He heard you swallow, your hesitation evident in the way you paused before lifting your hand away from his groin. The wrist he had held apart from you slipped free, his fingers closing over nothing but air, and a wave of disappointment crashed over him. Every inch of skin you pried away left him emptier and emptier, his heart and his dignity deflating with each passing second. His chest felt tight, and he was fully prepared to sit there in agonizing silence while you gathered your things to leave as fast as your legs could take you. 

But then your hands were back– on either side of his face to tilt his head up to yours– and his sharp intake of breath was smothered by your soft, delectable lips pressing against his. 

Bloody hell. 

You weren’t leaving. 

A switch flipped. 

A carnal growl ripped from the back of his throat, and then he had you splayed out on your back with his knee wedged insistently between your thighs. He faintly heard the sound of your notes being scattered across the floor, but your startled gasp transforming into a hapless moan was more important. His lips crashed back into yours with zeal, the mask he had maintained this entire time dissipating like smoke in the wind, and his tongue bullied its way into your mouth, probing and tasting as though he didn’t have enough time to memorize every facet of information he unearthed. 

You tried to match his pace the best you could, nipping at his lips and breathing heavily into his mouth, but your attempts only annoyed Sebastian. He asserted dominance by grabbing your chin between his index finger and thumb, then pried your lips apart with his tongue and conquered your mouth wholly and without subtlety. 

“I need you,” he panted against your face, his fingers digging sharply into your hips. “I need you so bad, darling.”

You could only moan shakily when Sebastian dove back in to latch his lips over your pulse, peppering your neck with wet, sloppy kisses and decorating it with an assortment of love-bites. His teeth left a trail of imprints that his tongue worked to soothe, comforting you like he always had while hopelessly committing the taste of your salty skin to memory. 

Sebastian felt you shudder as he worked his way up the column of your neck to the sensitive area below your ear. He nipped at the warm flesh waiting for him there, and when you whined and shamelessly bared more of yourself to him, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding his clothed cock against your hip. “Please, fuck– let me taste you. I’ll do anything you ask, just spread your legs and let me make you feel good.”

Your breathing hitched, and you tried to turn your head towards him, but he was too busy panting against your neck to meet your flustered stare. “S-Sebastian–” 

“Please, darling. I’m fucking begging here. Let me in. Let me do this.” 

Sebastian sounded drunk, his mind positively swimming with lust. The prospect of getting to see you like this, of getting to touch you, was driving him absolutely insane. His voice was airy and reedy– almost choked as though he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. 

“I– I’ve never done this before,” you stammered softly, your cheeks flushing with humiliation at the revelation. 

Sebastian’s head snapped up, a fire burning behind his eyes as he stared down at you with newfound hunger, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had to look deranged. “You– no one has ever touched you like this? Never?” 

“I mean, I’ve been kissed before, but not…” you trailed off, suddenly bashful in the face of your inexperience. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Something buried deep inside of him broke free at that moment– a wild, untamable piece of himself that salivated at the fact that you were a virgin. No one had ever laid with you before. No one had ever glimpsed the intimate, private parts of yourself that were always hidden beneath that damn uniform. He would be the first– he would be your first. It should have been impossible, but the thought alone made him harder, his cock straining and leaking so much precum that he wouldn’t be surprised if it was dripping through the fabric of his pants. 

Rational thinking returned to him then, and he was able to blink back the fog that shrouded his morals. “We can stop,” he croaked, not meaning a fucking word of it. “Fuck– tell me to stop and I’ll leave you alone. We can’t come back from this. Tell me to back off and I will.” 

“I…” uncertainty washed over your pretty features, and much like before, Sebastian’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. He was so selfish. He was such a self-serving bastard– he didn’t want you to call him off. He wasn’t the religious type in the slightest, but for the first time in his entire life, Sebastian started honest to God praying that you wanted this. That you wanted him. 

He was going to have to make a point to pray more, because after a few tense beats of silence, he heard you shyly murmur, “I don’t want you to stop.” 

Fuck. Thank Merlin. 

There would be time later to be embarrassed about how his body sagged with relief. He was too busy kissing you again to bother with such a trivial emotion right now. Savoring your taste with a deep groan, Sebastian allowed himself a minute to grind against your hip, then moved back so he could begin the laborious process of stripping your too-tight trousers from your legs. It took longer than he would have liked, but once the attire reached the base of your ankles, he was able to rip them off and discard them haphazardly over his shoulder. 

“Need to burn those,” he growled. “They drive me crazy.” 

A brief huff of amusement came from you, and you squeezed your knees together in some feeble attempt to hide yourself from him. “They’re just pants.”

He didn’t have the mental capacity to get into why he had such a potent love-hate relationship with the clothing. Instead of explaining himself, he reached out to pry your legs apart, taking immense satisfaction in the way you squeaked and your entire face turned red. “Let me taste you. I’ve been wanting to for so fucking long– I swear I’ll make you feel good, love.” 

Sebastian was sure that if he opened a dictionary to look up the word ‘disoriented’, there would be a photo of your face printed right next to it. You had never looked at him like that before; flushed, wide-eyed, and with traces of both confusion and arousal shadowing your tight features. Your expression had no right to rile him up the way it did, but he wasn’t interested in hiding his thirst for you. Not anymore. 

“Are you sure?” You asked him, voice quivering. “That– I mean, if it’s gross or anything, don’t feel like you have to.” 

Sebastian scoffed. You had no clue how extensive his fantasies were. As if he could ever be grossed out by you. 

The level of innocence you displayed only spurred him on faster, and he eagerly sat forward to cover your mouth with his again, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse so he could wrench it over your shoulders. Even though he was vibrating with barely contained need, he had to allow himself a moment to take in the sight of you completely bare, the staps of your brassiere hanging seductively over the sides of your arms and tightening the knot in the pit of his stomach. Your undergarments had to be as outdated as your trousers, because they were snug, short, and way too sheer to qualify as new. 

He needed to burn those, too. 

Sebastian watched you with predatory intent as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of your unmentionables, letting his nails scratch against your thighs when he began to drag the clothing down your legs. Without your blouse in the way, he was able to see the full extent of your reddening skin, the color more vibrant than the Gryffindor banners that hung in the Great Hall. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, then stilled when the underwear was fully removed. Save for your brassiere, you were completely bare before him, and Sebastian audibly moaned when he looked down to find your folds glistening with moisture already. 

“I’m going to drink up everything you have to give me until there’s nothing left,” he braced his hands on either side of your hips to lower himself onto his stomach, taking care to plant soft, revering kisses against your hip bones. “I know you taste so fucking good. I just know it…” 

Your entire body tensed when you felt Sebastian exhale against your damp center, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhaled your intoxicating scent. Then before you could collect your bearings, he was licking a broad, flat stripe up your slit, collecting as much of your wetness as he possibly could, and the sensation made you jolt. “S-Sebastian–” you gasped, digging your fingers into the rumpled sheets of the bed in a bid to ground yourself. 

“Yeah, say my name,” he urged roughly, his chest swelling with male pride. The sound of his name on your lips had the same effect as a bolt of lightning; it sliced through him to his very core, electric and unbelievably erotic, and he brazenly covered the entirety of your cunt with his mouth, licking and sucking at whatever parts of you he could reach. 

The wetness that covered you was so extensive, it was hard to tell whether it was your own arousal or Sebastian’s saliva to blame. A cacophony of moans and whines tumbled from your throat without restraint, prompting him to dig his nails into your sides as he hauled you closer. He fucked his tongue into you with inhuman vigor, his jaw aching in protest, but he ignored the discomfort and continued to devour every drop of your essence like he would die if he didn’t. 

It was so messy, too. Sebastian could feel the moisture dripping down his chin, but that only inspired him to work harder– his grip on your waist turning so severe that he knew he would find finger shaped bruises there later. Another mark left by him. Another brand proving that you were his. 

“I knew it,” he panted hoarsely, his voice strained and deep as though he’d been screaming before now. “You taste so good, darling– so fucking sweet.”

“I– Sebastian, I–” you covered your face with your hands, the appendages shaking in earnest as your muscles began to tense. “Fuck, I think I–”

He sucked your clit between his lips then, laving his tongue over the swollen bud with so much pressure that your hips bucked against his face. The chuckle he let loose was guttural and dark, and he broke his unwavering concentration to glance up at you. “Are you close? You want to come for me, huh?” 

Sebastian knew you had to be embarrassed, because you were still hiding behind your hands, the heels of your palms digging into your sockets. He could faintly see the row of teeth-shaped marks that lined your neck, but the majority of his hard work from earlier was concealed by your forearms. That wouldn’t do. He reached up and wrenched one of your arms away to reveal your watery stare, the glassy sheen covering your eyes telling him everything he needed to know about how close to the edge you were. 

“Don’t hide from me. I want to see your face when you fall apart on my tongue.” 

“It’s embarrassing,” your voice shook, as did the hand Sebastian held in his own. “I can’t– it feels hot. Like I’m on fire. I can’t even think–” 

“Then don’t,” he interjected immediately, tenderly kissing the insides of your thighs in a way that made your stomach churn. “Don’t think. Just feel. Let me do all the work, and you just sit there and enjoy every second of it.” 

It was a simple enough concept, but you still yelped when he dove back in, the singular hand he kept on your waist pulling you down so he was smothered by your wet, pulsing cunt. Sebastian didn’t waste any time picking up where he’d left off, his eyes burning as your potent scent drove him into a frenzy. He inhaled sharply as his tongue poked and prodded incessantly, its only goal to collect as much of your slick as possible, the ferocity of his movements making you tremble. Your nerves were totally scorched as the heat within your body reached new levels, the pleasure building in your gut nearing a peak that you were almost afraid to fall over. 

“S-Sebastian, I can’t– ah!” Your words transformed into a keening moan when Sebastian sucked your puffy nub into his mouth again. The bedframe shook in time with your own vibrating, your eyes crossing as the symphony of ecstasy he gave to you climbed to its crescendo. Sebastian’s lungs burned from the lack of oxygen he sucked down, but he didn’t care. If he suffocated to death while fused to your sopping wet cunt, he would die a happy man. 

Breaking away from your clit for a brief moment, he hastily murmured, “Come on, love, let go. Use me and let go.” 

He released your arm and tucked his hand somewhere under his chest, your confusion lasting for all of two seconds before you felt his fingers snaking their way inside of you. There was no resistance thanks to the slick gushing from your hole, the wetness saturating his hand and making him groan with desire. Sebastian’s tongue continued to flick and press against your bundle of nerves with reckless abandon, his fingers pumping and curling in and out of you as you deliriously cried out his name. Your walls tightened around his digits, sucking them deeper at the same time your brows furrowed in alarm, and Sebastian knew he had you right where he wanted you. 

“Sebastian– wait, I can’t– I’m going to–” 

His eyes strained as he fixed them on your face, his lips barely parting from your clit as he encouraged you. “Come on, darling, come on my face. Be a good girl and let go– just let go.” 

The praise drove you clean over the edge, the coil in the pit of your stomach finally snapping as his voice and his fingers and his tongue reduced you to a quaking, moaning mess. Sebastian’s desperation for you consumed you, pure rapture washing over your limbs before they fell boneless against the mattress. Stars danced in the corners of your vision, and you heard and felt Sebastian groan against you before his unrelenting grip on your waist went slack. 

You hardly registered him slipping his fingers free from your cunt and climbing over you until his face was right in front of yours. Sebastian took a flurry of mental snapshots of you, tucking each one into the far reaches of his mind and vowing to himself that he would never forget the fucked-out expression you bore. He made a point to suck the remnants of your pleasure from his digits while maintaining eye contact, and you whimpered breathlessly at the sight. 

“You were so good for me,” Sebastian cooed as he gathered you up in his arms. He moved so his back was nestled against the pillows before repositioning you so your head was tucked against his shoulder. Soothingly, he carded his fingers through your hair as he asked, “Are you okay?” 

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you managed between deep, shuddering breaths. “What about you?” 

“More than okay. Don’t you worry about me.” 

“But…” your eyes flicked down at the same time he tried to cover the blossoming wet patch on his pajama pants. “I thought you didn’t–”

Almost sheepishly, he admitted, “I did. Trust me, that did more for me than you could possibly imagine. I’m sorry for being so aggressive. And for being such a prick today. I just… it’s been hard to rein it in around you recently.” 

He felt your chin dig into the side of his pec as you glanced up at him, the virtuous, doe-eyed look you fixed him with threatening to undo him all over again. “Rein what in?” 

“You can’t honestly tell me you don’t realize the effect you have on me, right?” He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut as he dredged up the very thoughts that had been hounding him for years. “I’m hopeless where you’re concerned. I get stupid. I act like a daft, brainless idiot, and you just strut about without a clue. I thought I’d finally gotten the hang of keeping that under control, but…” 

“Apparently not,” you helpfully supplied, and Sebastian grunted confirmingly. Those blasted trousers of yours had nullified the remnants of his restraint. So had your eyes. And your hands and your voice. All of you was to blame, really. Like he’d said from the very beginning; he was hopeless where you were concerned. 

“Anyway, thank you for… well, that.” 

“Please don’t thank me,” your face pinched, your body going rigid. “Then it will feel transactional, and I don’t want that.” 

Fair point. “What do you want, then?” 

That rosy flush reappeared against your cheeks, and Sebastian had to beat back the smile that threatened to split his face in the wake of your obvious shyness. “I– well… is there anything I can do for you?” 

Yes. No. Maybe? Sebastian’s laugh was humorless, mostly because there wasn’t anything funny about how his cock twitched in interest at the offer. “I don’t think we need to venture down that path right now. Especially since you’ve already given up so much tonight. I honestly feel kind of bad that your first experience was me jumping your bones…” 

“But what if that’s what I want?” His heart leapt up into his throat so fast that he nearly choked. The kind of uncertainty that went hand in hand with inexperience was written all over your face, but the stubborn set to your jaw told Sebastian that you were serious. Was he dreaming? Maybe he had passed out in the bathroom and this was all a very lovely, very cruel figment of his imagination. You pressed on, “Maybe I want to walk down that path with you. There’s no one else I trust as much as you, so… what would be the harm?” 

This time, Sebastian’s chuckle was genuine. He blinked rapidly, sucking in a deep breath in the hopes that it would settle his nerves and calm his racing blood. It didn’t work. “In that case, there’s plenty you could do for me, darling. I still think we should save it for next time, though.” 

You appeared to chew the inside of your cheek, your brows furrowing as you contemplated something that interested Sebastian to no end. Then, before he could process what you were doing, the hand that had been splayed against his chest inched down tauntingly, your nails dragging lightly across his skin. His breathing hitched, and then it stopped entirely when you gripped him through his pants. Much like he’d expected, the conversation had roused his cock back to life, and he was achingly hard in your hand. 

“I want ‘next time’ to be right now,” you declared stubbornly, pulling a hiss from him when your fingers rubbed over the sensitive head of his length. “I’m a little curious about this. You recovered pretty fast, but if you’re too tired…”

The wicked gleam in your eyes conveyed quite clearly that you knew exactly what you were doing. Where had the bashful innocence gone? Sebastian had blinked and suddenly it was like he was staring at a different woman, the challenge in your voice leaving him with one daunting realization. 

Either he had created a monster, or there had always been one lurking beneath the surface. 

His cock twitched again, and Sebastian knew that he was so, so fucked.