min-liz0204

Sweat cools on your skin. Tiny droplets tracing paths down your sides. Yet the heat radiating from Sukuna wraps around you like a living flame, keeping you warm, while his first cock rests heavy and thick against your tummy. Its warmth seeping into your skin where the fat head is nestled perfectly in the soft dip of your navel. Thick, sticky precum dribbles steadily from the slit, filling that little hollow and spills over where the taut skin beneath your belly grows warmer from inside out. The sensation makes your breath hitch.

You can feel the way your own pussy drips around his second cock, sweet juices soaking his girth and the sheets below with every flutter of your walls. Sukuna felt every little pulse, every flutter of your walls around his massive length. Your cunt's molded itself to him now, gripping him tightly and welcomes him deeper with each subtle shift as you clench helplessly around his massive length, pulsing and squeezing as if trying to pull him in even deeper.

Your fingers are fisted tight in the silk sheets, knuckles white, the fabric's scrunched up in your palms so hard that if you let go, the imprints of your grip would remain. Every muscle in your body felt deliciously sore already. The kind of ache you knew would linger tomorrow and remind you exactly who had claimed you so thoroughly.

Sukuna moves with aching gentleness. He fucked his cock into you slowly. Just a little more with each rock of his hips, pushing a little deeper, then easing back only to press forward again. Every thrust paired with a tender-rough kiss to your neck. He's sucked purple kisses into your skin, marked you as his, over and over again, he can’t help himself.

This was one of those long nights, where he had you right where he wanted you. His version of making love to his sweet wife involved this slow worship. He kissed your beautiful skin. He felt your warmth and revelled in the pace of your heartbeat under his palm. The way your blood circulated throughout your body hypnotized him. It captivated him completely alongside the tight constricting heat of your cunt around his cock.

Wet squelches were significantly audible now, sopping wetness that flowed out thickly from your cunt, made them most prominent in the quiet room. He loved those lewd noises. He loved the scent of you even more. The warm salt of your skin. The sweetness of your hair and the sweet, heady aroma of your arousal that hung thick in the air around you both. His eyes traced every detail of you.

The heat across your cheeks. The way your lips trembled. The subtle sheen of sweat making your breasts glisten. He noticed how your nipples peaked in the cool air, noticed the rapid rise and fall of your chest. The soft thrumming of your heartbeat under his fingertips calmed him. Love made him drink in all of it. You were his. Utterly and perfectly his.

By now, you started to whine as the pressure built unbearably.

“s'too much...haaah...Sukuna-” The words left your lips high pitched and dazed. Voice coming out soft and breaking on little incoherent babbles when another slow thrust nudged his thick cockhead against that deep, sensitive gummy-soft spot inside you.

Sukuna shushed you gently, lips brushing your ear. “Shh, little wife. I know. I know it stretches you so full. But you are taking me so well. Just a little more. Let me feel you.”

His crimson eyes drank in every detail of your face, the way your lashes fluttered, the way your lips parted on little gasps as he rocked into you more intentionally but tenderly. He knew he was big. Everything about him was. He always tried so hard not to overwhelm you. Yet the stretch of his huge cock already did that. Your body always tried its hardest to take him. It fluttered and clenched around him. You wanted to cum.

The need to is excruciating but his resilience held him back from fucking you roughly. He wanted to savor you first and only then he'd make sure to fill you full with his cum, and leak him for days. Pump load after load into you and watch your lower tummy swell with him. It was always so much. It always had been and always will be.

Right now, he savoured you. You kept taking him deeper and deeper, then his gaze left your face. He looked down at your body, eyes focused on your breasts. The slight movement of them every time you heaved for air entranced him.

The way Sukuna took his time was excruciating. One of his lower hands trailed from your shoulder down your sweat-slicked skin, cupping the soft weight of your breast. He stroked it tenderly, thumb brushing over the nipple before pinching it lightly and tugging the stiff bud. It grew firmer instantly under his touch, so sensitive and soft.

You arched with a quiet cry, and Sukuna groaned low in his throat as he leaned forward to capture your nipple between his lips, mouth closing around it tenderly as he sucked gently at first, with slow devotion. Then harder, tongue swirling and teasing around the taut bud while his hips continued those shallow, devastating thrusts.

Pleasure coiled tighter inside you. Slowly, his hands moved down, two big palms finding purchase on your soft curves. His eyes followed the expanse of your body as he gripped your waist lightly, both thumbs pressing on the swell there, his first cock still resting on your lower tummy, smearing thick, warm precum on your skin.

He massaged the sticky mess, thumbs rubbing slow circles on your bloated lower tummy. Feeling his other cock under your skin, shift as he moved and began fucking into you deeper with purpose, now that he had a proper hold on you. Pulling you down on his cock to meet his thrusts.

You cried out. It felt so good, yet it was too much. The fat tip of his cock meeting the puckered tight entrance of your cervix, bullying it sweetly. More and more, it yielded gradually. You felt him so deep. So impossibly deep. Body trying so hard to take him. Your walls fluttered and clenched, milking his thick cock with every movement. The pressure built inside you, excruciatingly perfect, until it finally broke.

The intensity crashed over you. You came hard, body shaking as your pussy milked his cock with powerful spasms. Sweet juices gushing around him. Sukuna's control finally snapped. He held you tighter, four arms wrapping around your trembling body as he fucked into you with desperate, deep strokes claiming you completely.

His second cock rubbed hot and heavy against your tummy, smearing more precum across your skin. With a guttural growl he buried himself to the hilt and came. Heavy pulses of thick cum flooded the narrow channel of your cunt. So much of it. Your lower belly swelled visibly with the warmth of him. You felt every spurt, every throb, walls milked him greedily, drawing out every drop as he emptied himself inside you.

He stayed buried deep, arms cradling you close while the last tremors ran through both of you. His forehead pressed to yours. Crimson eyes soft in the dim light as he looks at you with something close to wonder.

“My perfect wife,” he murmured, voice rough and low. One hand stroked your swollen tummy, he pressed gently feeling the evidence of his release there. “So full of me. So good for me, always.”

You whimpered softly. Your cunt still fluttering around his cock. Yet you smiled up at him, arms wrapping around his neck. Sukuna kissed you slow and sweet, savouring the taste of your lips. The warmth of your breath. The way your body yielded so completely to his. He noticed the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when your eyes closed. He noticed the faint tremor in your thighs still wrapped around him. Noticed how your pulse slowed under his palm. Every detail etched itself into him. His wife. His light in the endless darkness.

He would stay like this for a while longer, still warm against and inside you, savouring every pulse, every shared breath, every quiet moment where the King of Curses could simply hold his beloved wife and feel utterly at peace. Outside, the night continued on. Inside, wrapped in each other, time held no meaning. Only love and the burn of pleasure remained.

and even worse than the girls that draw hearts around you and sukuna’s staff photos next to eachother in the main office, he’s got gojo. gojo, who ships you two and nags him like worse-than a middle school girl. gojo, who shoves you two together for any school event.

“what game do you have planned for tomorrow?” you ask, leaning over to whisper to sukuna as eighth grade awards are called for each subject, timing claps inbetween your words while names are called. you smirk, “how many kids am i gonna have sent my way next time?”

“just dodgeball.” he leans down to whisper flatly against your ear, still staring down a kid giggling in the seating rows of the auditorium and effectively getting him to stop with his gaze.

“your version of dodgeball is basically to the death, i might have to have paramedics in my room on standby.” you joke, turning to smile at him so sweetly. in his mind, this counts as him making you laugh and therefore counts as a win.

he chuckles lightly, just a quick huff of his chest, but essentially the hardest he can laugh if he’s not looking at a kid getting tackled in class. “these kids will toughen up eventually, i am just teaching them to do it early.”

“were you a weak kid that needed to toughen up? i can really only picture you as a big scary dude.”

“i was actually a severely malnourished child due to my mothers impoverished state during her pregnancy.“ he says, truly not realizing how solemn he sounds in his voice even as he means it as a light hearted jest.

you blink at him, face contorted in confusion and awkwardness. he wants to hit himself.

the only thing that saves him from not saying anything stupid again is the end of the assembly, marked by gojo yelling into a megaphone and for kids to round up by homeroom.

the following week he’s still embarrassed to even look you in the eyes. he’s mulling over how stupid he must’ve looked infront of you while sifting through the equipment closet.

he hears steps echo throughout the currently empty gym before he yells out.

“gojo i’m not covering your lunch break, fuck off—” he turns around to not see the usual suspect he finds during his free period. instead, he sees you, leaning against the door in scrubs and white coat clinging to your body. he stills in his motion.

you speak before he can (if he can speak at all in his embarrassed state).

“i understand the confusion, he bothers me all the time too.” you dismiss, smiling at him with your glossed lips he probably thinks about hourly. waitwaitwait, gojo talks to you all the time ? he’s going to kill that lanky fuck. “just wanted to drop these off for yuri in your next period.” you jostle around a pill bottle in your hand, “she can get fainty on gym days so give these to her just in case to help prevent that.” he knows it’s your job and all, but your concern is honestly kinda cute.

“uhh yeah i’ll be sure to.” he nods, right as you drop the bottle on top of a stack of rubber cones by the door before you walk out. and he would just like it to be known he definitely didn’t stare at your ass as you left.

and he typically makes it easier for himself to deny how down bad he is to you, but now, after you spent a week of saved up sick days out last week, he’s kind of craving your voice. so who can blame him when he calls his 6th grade nephew into his office while he’s supposed to be at lunch.

“look, kid. i’m going to need you to do something, and i’m gonna need you to not be annoying about it, kay?”

yuji furrows his brows, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie.

“you,” he gestures to his nephew, “are going to act like you collapsed and let me bring you up to the school nurse. you are then going to be quiet when i talk to her.”

“is it cause you have a crush on her—”

sukuna tenses before cutting him off.

“do a good job acting and i will consider buying you that human earthworm blu-ray. do you hear me, brat?”

yuji’s eyes light up at the mention of the dvd.

“is this impression good enough then?” yuji leans and clutches at his side in fake fatigue while moaning dramatically for help, then immediately straightens up with a smile like he’s waiting for a rating. sukuna shakes his head and genuinely wonders how he’s related to this—in sukuna’s words— pea brained doofus.

he dials your number on his offices phone, sitting tense in his chair while he shh’s yuji. yuji nods and salutes as sukuna continues to roll his eyes.

yuji could’ve sworn he saw him smile when you pick up. he continues to watch sukuna fiddle with the curled wire of the phone as he explains yuji’s apparently dire situation. he can just barely hear the muffled sound of you saying ‘just bring him up and i’ll check him out.” over the speaker of the phone before sukuna hangs up and fixes his hair.

sukuna walks out the door and desperately tries to ignore yuji’s terrible post fainting impression behind him as his nephew follows his step to your room.

just before they step into your room he whispers to yuji as he leans over.

“if you can bring up me being single i’ll take you out for ice cream, brat.”

When the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the noise, Sukuna was sitting alone on the low bench. His fight shorts hung low at his hips, exposing the sharp v-line of his torso, and his broad chest was already slick with a sheen of pre-fight sweat. In the dim atmosphere, the black tattoos covering his wide shoulders and ribs flexed with every deep, slow exhale he took. The fighter looked up, dark eyes locking onto yours, his messy salmon-pink hair damp against his forehead.

You didn't say a word, just stepped up to him with a fresh roll of thick white cotton gauze in your hands. The moment you slotted yourself perfectly between his thick thighs and sank into his lap, those muscular arms instantly wrapped around you. One heavy forearm locked across the small of your back—trapping you securely against him. The scent of your perfume immediately cut through the sharp, medicinal tang of liniment and deodorant filling the space between you.

The silence held fast—broken only by the slight rustle of fabric. You grabbed Sukuna’s big, scarred hand and grazed his blistered knuckles. Slowly, you pulled the white cloth taut over his calloused skin, smoothing it down.

As you focused on the final turns, Sukuna leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. The heat radiating off his body was scorching, his damp, pink hair scratching lightly against your skin as he pressed a slow row of warm kisses against your throat. “You done?” he asked quietly against your skin, flexing his fingers beneath the fresh gauze—testing your work.

You giggled as the short strands and his warm lips tickled your skin. You pulled away just enough to look into his eyes, your thumb lingering over the finished wrap. “Keep your hands steady,” you whispered, smoothing out the white gauze.

“Are you nervous?” you asked softly.

Of course he had to be, you thought to yourself. This was the championship finals. The highest stakes imaginable. In less than ten minutes, he was either walking out there to claim the gold belt, or he was coming back to this exact room with a bruised face, a busted lip, and the bitter taste of defeat. The pressure was enough to crush anyone.

“Nah” he said softly, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I've already won.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips at his playful confidence, and before you could tease him back, Sukuna’s wrapped hand slid down the back of your thigh—his fingers sliding right beneath the hem of your denim skirt. With a strong grip, he lifted your leg up and guided your thighs wide, moving you so you were fully straddling his lap.

The movement instantly bunched the stiff denim fabric all the way up to your hips. Your bare thighs and the plump, soft flesh of your ass were left entirely exposed on his lap, with your simple grey cotton panties serving as the only barrier between you.

Sukuna didn't give you a chance to speak, his other hand instantly coming up to cup the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair as he pulled you down into a deep kiss. His mouth parted yours easily, his tongue sliding inside with a hungry rhythm that tasted faintly of copper and mint.

A soft gasp escaped your throat—completely swallowed by his lips as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling yourself against his chest.

Unable to help yourself, you shifted your weight—your hips instinctively rolling forward. You grind your clothed cunt right against him, the grey cotton of your underwear rubbing directly over his aching cock.

Sukuna let out a low and rough breath into the kiss, his hand sliding up from your thigh to slide over your bare, exposed cheek. His rough fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, squeezing it with a grip that anchored your hips right against his. His other hand trailed down to grip your hip—rocking you back and forth.

The fabric of his fight shorts offered no cushioning, letting you feel every rigid inch of his heavy length straining hard beneath the flat velcro waistband. He continued to rock you, pulling you harder against him with every roll of your hips. You whined into his mouth, your hips rolling desperately against his hard bulge until your core throbbed.

Sukuna broke the kiss just enough to breathe, his lips dragging across your cheek to your ear, his chest heaving against yours. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, a rough breathless laugh catching in his throat as your desperate grinds threatened to break his control before the bell even rang.

He stood up with you trapped against his chest. And in two heavy strides, Sukuna laid you onto the high training table. The short denim skirt rode all the way up your hips, with the cold wood biting into the bare skin of your lower back and thighs.

His hands gripped your knees and guided them back, flexing your legs wide as he stepped deeply in between them. Sukuna pressed his hard bulge against your clothed cunt—letting you feel exactly how thick and hard he was for you under his gear.

Slowly, his large hand slid down between your thighs, his palm flattening over the front of your plain, soft grey panties. He didn't pull them down yet. Instead, his fingers began to trace the shape of your damp folds through the fabric, outlining the plump, aching shape. Pressing his thumb hard against your clit, circling it—making a pathetic whimper catch in your throat.

As his fingers worked over the damp grey fabric, Sukuna leaned his weight forward, slowly driving his thick bulge straight into your clothed heat. The sleek material of his fight shorts slid against your soaked panties, pinning you firmly to the wood with every slow hitch of his pelvis.

Your excitement had completely soaked through the material—the grey cotton was almost translucent, darkening from the moisture and sticking directly to your sensitive, swollen folds. Every time he shifted his weight or rubbed his thumb over you, the damp cloth dragged intimately against your clit.

Sukuna leaned down, his eyes locked on yours, watching your expression fracture. “Look at you” he said with a smirk, as his thumb took one more slow dragging stroke along the damp seam before he finally hooked two fingers into the waistband of your underwear. He slid the wet grey fabric down your legs with an impatient pull—letting it drop to the floor.

Sukuna dropped to his knees, broad shoulders wedging your thighs even wider, pinning your legs back until you were completely spread out for him.

“So fucking wet already. The only lucky charm I need.” He let his breath coat your swollen, slick folds, watching the way you shuddered just from the heat of him. Your core was oozing onto the wooden table, the wet skin glistening under the lights, and a low satisfied breath escaped his chest at the sight. And when his tongue finally made contact, he slid it from the very bottom of your opening all the way up through your slick folds to your throbbing clit in one slow, deep lick.

A sharp gasp caught your throat, your teeth immediately sinking into your lower lip as your hips twitched against the hard table.

“Stay still for me,” he mumbled against your heat, lips flattening against your clit, sucking the sensitive bud entirely into his mouth. Sukuna rested his heavy forearms over your thighs as he lapped your throbbing cunt heavily, his tongue working in aggressive upward swipes through your slick folds, that mirrored the pace of a hard, dirty fuck.

He dragged it out—taking his time to torment you, his tongue flattening to lap broad strokes from your opening to your clit, before narrowing to swirl his wet tongue on the sensitive bud until you were whining, the sound echoing in the concrete room.

Suddenly, rushed footsteps and raised voices echoed right outside the door—the loud, frantic calls of his manager and officials checking the halls. Panicking at the noise, you instantly clamped a hand over your mouth, stifling a loud cry as his tongue swirled over your clit.

Sukuna paused for a second, looking up from between your thighs with amused eyes. He gripped your wrist, firmly pulling your hand away from your face and pinning it down against the table.

“Tryna be quiet?” he murmured.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as the voices faded down the corridor. “They’ve heard you before.”

“Sukuna, please, someone's gonna—” you gasped out, your words dissolving into a broken moan as his tongue slammed right back into your wetness.

“Mm…yeah, you like that?” Sukuna hummed with a grin.

Your eyes fluttered back, vision blurring as you looked at the dim ceiling “M-mhm…I do…please…” Fingers instantly tangling into his damp salmon-pink hair, gripping the short strands tightly as you tried to pull him even closer against you. “F-fuck…” you gasped out as your back slightly arched off the wood, your lip digging into your teeth again trying and failing to stifle the ragged whimpers escaping you.

The booming chant of the crowd outside blended with the wet, squelching sounds of his mouth devouring you. You could smell his deodorant, his sweat sticking onto your skin, feel the scratch of his short pink hair against your lower stomach, and the burning touch of his wrapped fingers spreading your wet folds wide so he could dig his tongue even deeper into your pulsing core.

Then, he pushed two thick, gauze-wrapped fingers inside of your cunt.

The rough texture of the tape dragged against your sensitive walls—the friction so sharp it made you sob, your walls clamping tightly around the texture. Sukuna let out a low grunt, immediately taking advantage of how your tightness was sucking his fingers in. He began to pump his fingers hard and fast, the rough gauze dragging in and out of your oozing heat, perfectly hitting your g-spot with every thrust while his tongue continued to lap and suck your clit.

A ragged chain of whines and moans slipped out of your lips while your hands desperately tightened their grip on his hair. The contrast of his rough tape inside your cunt and the soaking wet heat from his mouth against your folds was driving you over the edge. You could feel yourself building, the pressure pooling heavily in your lower stomach until you were trembling from head to toe.

“Sukuna—please, I’m gonna—”

“Give it to me” he murmured against your core. “Right here. Let me taste it.”

He accelerated the pace, his fingers shoving deep and fast, your internal walls contracting violently around the tough gauze. The intense friction snapped the last of your control and your orgasm hit like a physical blow, your back arching off the cold table as your eyes fluttered shut. Your internal muscles were completely squeezing and spasming around Sukuna’s wrapped fingers.

And finally your wave of release flooded out, soaking his hands and spilling directly onto his fingers, the gauze soaking it in as you whimpered, your toes curling slightly and thighs trembling against his broad shoulders as you came hard against his knuckles.

Sukuna didn't back off—he stayed put there, drinking you down greedily, swallowing every drop of your release while his fingers continued to slowly pump inside your wet folds, wringing out every last, fading spasm of your climax, letting his knuckles coat themselves completely in your wetness. He didn't stop until your frantic breathing finally began to slow to a ragged wheeze, his tongue giving one you one final, heavy swipe over your throbbing core.

When Sukuna finally pulled away, a thick, silver string of saliva connected his lips to your wet skin. He stood up, towering over you with his face completely flushed, his lips glistening and wet with you. He used the back of his wrapped wrist to swipe the wetness from his chin—flashing a satisfied look at the mess he made out of you.

Sukuna grabbed his mouthguard off the counter, shoving it into his jaw, and adjusted the waistband of his fight shorts over his aching length.

He gave your warm inner thigh one last reassuring squeeze, smoothing the edge of your denim skirt back down over your legs.

“Shouldn't take long.”

🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ 💜🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​ II

𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀:

Ragnar and Lagertha are relentless in their pursuit. They are both intense, dominant personalities who know what they want—and what they want is you. Once they decide you should be part of their relationship, they make it obvious.

They flaunt their relationship openly. Ragnar will press kisses to Lagertha's throat while staring at you, or Lagertha will run her fingers through his hair while smirking in your direction. They aren't subtle. They want you to see how passionate they are—and imagine yourself between them.

Lagertha is the more direct of the two. She's bold, confident, and unafraid to flirt shamelessly. She will whisper suggestive things in your ear, brush her fingers along your arm, and let her gaze linger on you with unmistakable interest.

Ragnar is playful and teasing. He likes to test boundaries, offering honeyed words in that deep, knowing voice, always pushing just enough to see your reaction. He'll casually mention how good you'd look in his furs or how Lagertha has taken a liking to you.

You are treated like a prize to be won, but they don't pressure you, but they seduce you in a way that feels inevitable. Every interaction is a battle of willpower, and they have an unfair advantage—they work as a team.

Their protectiveness is intense. Even before you agree to anything, they treat you as theirs. If anyone dares look at you with disrespect, Ragnar's hand is already on his axe, and Lagertha is seconds away from throwing a dagger.

They are patient. Ragnar and Lagertha know you're younger than them, so they don't rush you. They enjoy the chase, savoring every moment of tension and desire. You are their obsession, and they are willing to wait until you come to them.

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

Thinks He's In Charge (Ragnar) x Is Actually In Charge (Lagertha) x Knows They're Not In Charge (You)

Power Couple + Their Soft Obsession – Ragnar and Lagertha are the ultimate Viking power couple: strong, deadly, and deeply in love. But when it comes to you, they are patient, devoted, and willing to play the long game.

Hunted by Love – They relentlessly pursue you, drawing you further into their web with heated glances, suggestive words, and overwhelming presence. You're not just being courted—you're being claimed.

𝗥𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗣𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗧𝗿𝗼𝗽𝗲𝘀:

The Reluctant Third Who Falls Harder Than Either Expected Slow Burn with Unbearable Tension Inevitable Destiny

𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗻𝗴:

Monster – Starset Come with Me Now – KONGOS Animals - Maroon 5 (slowed) & Reverb

🔞𝗡𝗦𝗙𝗪🔞:

They want to overwhelm you. Once you finally give in, expect no escape from their attention. Every touch, every glance, every word is designed to ruin you. They want you to crave them as much as they crave you.

Ragnar is an instigator; Lagertha is in control. Ragnar loves to provoke reactions, whispering filthy promises, making sure you see exactly how much they enjoy each other. Lagertha, on the other hand, decides when and how you are finally theirs.

They love to watch each other with you. There is something deeply possessive in the way they share—both completely devoted to one another but equally devoted to you.

Lagertha takes her time with you. She's the one who will pin you down, whispering against your lips, testing your limits while Ragnar watches, amusement and desire gleaming in his eyes.

Ragnar is primal and relentless. He lives for pleasure—yours, Lagertha's, his own. He loves seeing you surrender under their hands, knowing it was inevitable from the start.

They make you feel like a goddess. Every single time, you are worshiped and revered as something sacred.

They have wanted you for so long, and once you give in, they will ensure you never regret it. Ragnar is passionate and overwhelming, Lagertha is slow and deliberate—but together? Utterly devastating.

They enjoy drawing out your pleasure—Ragnar loves to watch you squirm, while Lagertha enjoys the slow, intimate moments, ensuring you feel completely adored.

If you are shy or inexperienced, they will be patient and encouraging, letting you take your time. They want you comfortable and willing.

𝗜𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗱𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀:

𝐋𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Lagertha is protective, sometimes to the point of possessiveness. She ensures you are safe, strong, and independent—but also that you know you belong with her.

Lagertha is soft yet firm—she knows what she wants, and she does not hesitate to tell you.

She will teach you to fight if you are not a warrior, her hands guiding yours over the hilt of a blade.

Lagertha adores worshipping you—she will take her time in every intimate moment, making sure you know just how treasured you are.

She is the one who comforts you when you are unsure, reassuring you that you are not just an addition—you are a part of them.

She is intense and deliberate, taking her time to map out every inch of your body. She enjoys seeing you undone beneath her.

Romantic Gestures:

Teaching you how to fight, braiding your hair with flowers, and giving you small but meaningful gifts.

𝐑𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Ragnar is playful and enigmatic. He makes you laugh but also challenges your mind. He sees your potential and will push you to embrace it.

Ragnar enjoys the chase—he will smirk, taunt, and push you until you break and admit you want him too.

He will test your resolve, seeing if you can match his sharp tongue and quick wit.

When he finally claims you, there is no question—you are his, and he will not let you go.

Ragnar loves seeing you between him and Lagertha, knowing that together, you are unstoppable.

He is a mix of dominance and worship—he can be rough, but always in a way that makes you feel adored. He loves teasing and watching you struggle to hold back.

Romantic Gestures:

Long philosophical talks by the fire, small pranks, overwhelming and sudden displays of passion.

You didn’t look up from your book as the door to the Room of Requirement groaned open. There were only two people who knew of this room besides you, and as Professor Weasley hadn’t stepped foot in it since your fifth year, that left only one person. 

“Hello Ominis.” You called out your greeting, nearing the end of the page. He didn’t respond, which made you look up. You dropped the book and sat up straight at the sight of him. His cheeks were pink, there was a gash on the bridge of his nose which was steadily dripping blood, and one of his eyes was beginning to swell shut. Worry filled you, as your mind went to all of the worst case scenarios for what could have caused this. You stood up and hurried towards him, urging him to sit down on the sofa you had just been occupying. 

“Hello.” He said finally, in a dejected voice. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, a table appearing next to you with a bowl of water and some cloths. You very gently took his jaw in your hands as you tilted his head up to inspect his wounds. The cut on his nose was deep, and now that you were up close you could see his nose was slightly crooked. His pain was very evident, and his frown likely wasn’t making it any better. 

“I’m wonderful, thank you for asking.” Ominis hissed as you turned his head to get a better look at his eye. You were fairly certain his cheekbone wasn’t broken, which was more than you could say for his poor nose. 

“What happened?” You asked, ignoring his irritated sarcasm. If anything, it only suggested to you that he was fine beyond the wounds on his face and possibly a bruised ego. You weren’t sure if you had the skill to repair his nose. In the last year, you’d taken to spending more time in the hospital wing with Nurse Blainey. You’d assisted her during a detention once, and she had been more than happy to show you some of the healing arts. You knew the spell… perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try? 

“I got into a fight.” He said, skirting around your question. 

“Well, obviously. I would love some detail, if you’re willing to provide. When Sebastian comes around all beat up like this it makes sense, but you mostly keep your hands to yourself,” You said while taking one of the cloths and gently pressing it to his nose, “hold that. I’m out of wiggenweld, I’m going to brew some.” His hand replaced yours as he held the cloth to staunch the blood dripping from his nose. You looked down at his uniform. His shirt and tie were covered in blood.

“Is detail truly important? I was in a fight, and now I’m here.” Ominis’ voice was muffled from the cloth. You poured some water into the cauldron atop your potions station. He was usually very open with you, content to tell you all of his deepest thoughts. Somewhere deep in your mind you wondered if this fight had somehow been caused by you. He had gone to Hogsmeade today with Sebastian, and Rookwood’s Ashwinders still tried to prey on you. You prepared your Horklump juice and Dittany leaves, waiting for the water in the cauldron to begin bubbling. It was strange that he would keep something like that from you, even if he didn’t want you to worry. 

“It’s clearly bothering you a lot, Ominis.” You said softly. He made an angry noise and didn’t respond. Now that the cauldron was bubbling, you added the ingredients and stirred the correct amount of times. You turned away to let it brew until it was ready, and returned to Ominis’ side. You wordlessly took the cloth from him and pulled it aside. It was drenched in blood, but it had mostly stopped the bleeding coming from both his nostrils and the gash on the bridge of his nose. 

“Ouch!” He hissed as you reached up and gently poked at his nose. 

“Stay still. It’s broken. Does anything else hurt?” You mumbled, climbing into his lap and holding his face steady with one hand. You fumbled for your wand, and he let out a little panicked breath and shook his head a little.

“What are you doing?” He asked, his good eye widening slightly.

“The Wiggenweld can’t straighten a broken nose. Don’t move. Episkey!” You said. He yelped as his nose cracked back into its normal position and the gash healed. You nodded in approval, pleased that the spell had worked. You’d never cast it beyond Nurse Blainey’s watchful eye. 

“There. I bet you can breathe a little better now.” You said, removing yourself from his lap to check on your potion. Ominis took a long, very audible breath. You watched him as he reached up and felt his nose. He looked absolutely miserable. Your lips pressed together in a frown, it was worrying how little information he was willing to divulge. 

“Have you seen Sebastian?” He asked. 

“No, I thought he was with you.” You said, scooping some of your completed wiggenweld potion into a glass. Anxiety briefly pulsed in your chest, worrying that whoever had attacked Ominis had also gotten Sebastian. No. He wouldn’t have come to you unless he knew Sebastian was safe. 

“He never met me. Must be with Violet.” He snorted, sounding absolutely furious with his friend. You tilted your head, making a small sound of agreement. Violet McDowell was Sebastian’s particular flavour this week after you’d forbidden him from asking Poppy Sweeting on a date. You had promised him swift and painful retribution if he had even looked at Poppy without the intent of marrying her and loving her forever. 

“Here. Drink this.” You said, handing Ominis the glass full of wiggenweld. You crouched in front of him, a hand on his knee balancing him as he drank. The bruising around his eye faded, and he sighed with relief as he set down the now empty glass. You stayed crouched before him, your fingers drumming on his knee as a sign that you would love an explanation. 

“You really can’t just let it go?” He asked. 

“I’m sorry, I’m worried. It’s frightening when you get hurt.” You squeezed his knee a little. He let out a little sight, his frown softening.

“No, please don’t apologize. It should be me apologizing, I can see how someone arriving covered in blood would be worrying - especially for you.” He put his hand over yours. You stood then, setting your wand to the side as you settled down beside him. 

“If you really don’t want to tell me what happened, please just tell me if this is going to be a recurring problem.” You said in compromise, taking his hand again. He looked deep in thought, clearly battling with his inner thoughts.

“I heard two sixth-years plotting about how they were going to slip you a love potion.” Ominis said finally. You blinked in surprise. Out of everything that could have come out of his mouth, that had been the one you least expected. 

“A love potion?” You echoed. He nodded, and you admired the rage on his face. He’d fought two boys purely because they wanted to give you a love potion. You fought the smile spreading on your lips. For someone who was awfully composed, he was certainly prone to his jealous moments. 

“Yes. A love potion. They’re lucky I haven’t gone directly to the Headmaster. I should have them both expelled.” He sneered. Your face went hot at the arrogance in his voice. You leaned in, loosening his bloody tie and tossing it to the side.

“You’re covered in blood.” You informed him. He wasn’t really listening to you at all, instead he was caught up in his own rage. You took that opportunity to unbutton his shirt so you could remove it and try to clean the blood off. 

“Foolish, impudent worms. Gryffindors always think they’re entitled to that which is not theirs.” He pulled his arms out of the sleeves when you tugged on his shirt. He may not have been paying attention to you, but you were hanging onto his every word. That which is not theirs? That statement certainly held some heavy implications. You were grateful he’d stepped in of course, love potions were risky and you did prefer to make your own decisions.

 Ominis continued his monologue, describing precisely what he had done to the Gryffindor boys for their crime. You took a clean cloth and dampened it to wipe the blood off his neck and chest. He’d been exceptionally cruel to the boys, and every word he spoke had your heart beating faster. It was becoming difficult to pay attention to your cleaning. He’d taken their threat personally, and had essentially destroyed them for it. Broken their wands, hanging them upside down from a tree, blackened eyes, he had truly done a number on them. Out of your little trio he was widely regarded as the most peaceful, with Sebastian being the most violence-prone and you falling somewhere between the two. He was incredibly protective of you, something you’d discovered even when your friendship had only just begun to bloom. 

His hand closed around your wrist suddenly, and you realized you had stopped moving. You looked at his face, his hair was a mess, his cheeks were still pink, and he held an expression you’d never seen before. You were suddenly desperate to break the silence. His other hand lifted to your cheek, his fingers delicately tracing along your jawline. 

“They can’t have you.” He whispered, his fingers moved down your neck slowly. Your breath hitched at this display of possessive intimacy that you had never seen before. You and Ominis had your fair share of intimate moments, but this? Never anything like this. This was an entirely new side to him. It was something you’d expect of Sebastian, the man who moped over girls he’d barely been involved with for longer than a week, but never Ominis. You didn’t know what to say. When you had first crossed that border between friendship and something more, it had been relatively laid back. You went for walks together, bought each other sweets and butterbeers from Hogsmeade, and spent late nights in each other’s arms in the Room of Requirement or the Undercroft. This change was almost as unexpected as its impact on you. You knew deep down that this should not be making you so aroused.  

“Where has thi–'' You were cut off when Ominis leaned in and kissed you. You dropped the cloth from your hand as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you onto his lap. You draped one arm behind his neck, and rested the palm of your other on his cheek with your fingers in his hair as you matched his passion. It wasn’t rough, so much as it was claiming. His cold hands pressed against the skin of your back making you gasp and arch against him. He took this opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue moving so sinfully your core was steadily aching now. You knew precisely what that tongue was capable of, and you’d grown to anticipate it. Dream about it even. 

His rapidly warming fingers stroked your sides as he brought them under your front and withdrew them from your shirt entirely. As Ominis began to unbutton your shirt, you began to lightly rock your hips to create some friction between you and the bulge in his trousers. He let out a low groan and proceeded to rip your shirt open. Your eyes snapped open as you sat back a little bit in surprise, but he pulled you back against him with a single tug of your shirt. His hands went to your chest, and he let out a dark laugh against your mouth when he felt only skin. You weren’t wearing anything under your shirt. His mouth lowered and he left hot, wet kisses and little nips down your jaw and onto your neck. You couldn’t contain the small moans and gasps that tumbled from your lips. 

Ominis’ tongue ran along your collar, and his hands roamed to your backside where he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up more. The hand you had in his hair shot to the back of the sofa to brace yourself. You cried out as he bit down on the side of your breast. His tongue delicately swiped out licking the hurt he’d just caused. He held you up with one arm, his other hand running along your backside and between your legs. The fabric of your trousers was disappointingly thick, and you felt far too constrained while wearing them. His hand moved to cup your breast as he swirled his tongue over your sensitive nipple. He stopped suddenly, his hands falling to your waist as he pushed you back slightly. 

“Take off your trousers.” He commanded. The bark in his voice sent a wave of heat to your core. You stood up, fumbling with the buttons before finally pushing them down. He reached out and made a sound of displeasure when his hands ran over your underwear. He hooked his thumbs in the waistline and yanked them down. You stepped out of your trousers and undergarments, and Ominis checked to make sure you’d done precisely what he had wanted. He made no move to remove his trousers. You stared at his bulge desperate to see him undressed. It wasn’t fair that you were now bare in front of him, and he was still half-dressed. 

“I want to taste you.” You pleaded in an attempt to get him to take his trousers off. 

“As reluctant as I am to deny you, don’t you think you’ve taken enough care of me today?” Ominis’ lips twisted into an arrogant smile, as he turned you around and pulled you back. You fell into his lap. One of his arms looped around you pulling you back against his chest. His lips pressed to your neck, leaving kisses and small bites all along the smooth column. He pushed your legs open wide, biting down hard on the flesh of your shoulder. You cried out, your eyes squeezing shut at the pleasurable pain. One hand ran along the inside of your thigh, and the other stayed planted on your belly. 

“Those fools think they could have this. That they could have what is mine.” His breath was hot on your neck. You whined as his hand stroking your thigh got closer and closer to where you wanted it. 

“Please Ominis.” You complained when his fingers brushed next to your wet and aching center but he didn’t touch it. Your lip curled, two could play at this game. You began to rotate your hips slowly, grinding down on the bulge in his pants. Your hands covered his and you moved them to where you wanted them to be. One between your legs on your heat, the other cupping your breast. He huffed out a laugh.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He chided. 

“I thought you wanted to prove I’m yours.” Now this spurred him on. Without warning he curled two fingers inside of you. Your back arched as you let out a gasp and Ominis began to pump his long fingers deep inside of you, ensuring the heel of his palm pressed against your clit while he worked. While his fingers curled against your sweet spot, you shamelessly rutted against his palm to elevate you even higher into ecstasy. 

“Is that better, darling?” He asked, nibbling on the back of your ear. 

“Uh huh.” You moaned, nodding your head. You wished you could kiss him. You wanted to face him and have him buried deep inside of you. You would have turned around if this didn’t feel so fucking good. There was something about him being in complete control and doing what he wanted with you. You weren’t even tied up, yet you felt useless to do anything to pleasure him beyond grinding against his bulge. There was a tantalizing pressure building inside of you, and you knew you weren’t going to last much longer. Ominis seemed to have realized as he pressed further into you and his fingers kept up the exact same pace. Your head fell back against his shoulder, his free hand coming up to wrap around your throat. 

“Right there?” He asked. You nodded against him, unable to form a coherent thought. You writhed against him, pressing his palm hard against your clit. Your eyes squeezed shut as you fell over the edge and bolts of pleasure made your toes curl. You let out a sinful scream that may have been his name. Ominis didn’t stop, letting you ride out your orgasm on his hand until your knees clamped together and he withdrew. You were a panting mess as he gently guided you to lay on your back. You heard the sound of his belt hitting the ground, and you opened your eyes and watched him pull down his trousers. You moaned at the sight of his cock springing free, delightfully pink and large. 

Ominis knelt on the couch between your knees, lowering himself over you. Impatient and greedy, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to press your lips to his. You were hungry for him, your tongue swiping over his bottom lip prompting him to open up for you. You were certain the way he tasted would stay with you for the rest of your life, so damn sweet and addicting. Reaching down, you gently wrapped your hand around his cock and lined it with your entrance. Slowly, Ominis pressed into you with a low moan. You were distracted from your kiss at the feeling of his cock filling you up. He always went slow when he started, knowing it drove you crazy. Once he was sheathed fully inside of you, he stayed completely still aside from the hand that laced in your hair lifting your head again to press a sweet kiss against your lips. 

“I’ve always been yours.” You whispered as his forehead rested against yours. His eyes snapped open at this, his fingers curling so he was pulling your hair. He ground into you, and you choked on a moan. Ominis pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back into you with a husky groan. He hooked his free arm behind your knee, pushing your leg up and out of the way as he settled into a slow and steady rhythm. 

“Of course you have. I fit s-so perfectly, it’s like you were made for me.” The little stammer in his sentence made your heart flutter. You gasped when Ominis rolled his hips forward deepening his thrusts. Your nails scraped across his shoulders as your mind was overtaken by pleasure and thoughts of him. The moans and small praises that came as a steady stream from his mouth paired with his cock hitting every angle inside of you had you on a high you didn’t think possible. 

You arched your back in an attempt to let him deeper inside of you. Despite being connected at your most intimate part, you wanted more. You wanted inside of his heart, inside of his soul. Through your pleasure, you opened your eyes to look upon his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure, his mouth hung open and his skin completely flushed, his hair an absolute mess. You loved it. Without warning, Ominis picked up the pace slamming into you without restraint. You dug your fingernails into his shoulders now, forcing him down to kiss you. His arms wrapped around your waist arching your back even further and changing the angle which he fucked into you. Between the feeling of his lips on yours, and his cock inside your already sensitive cunt, you were rapidly tumbling towards another orgasm. When Ominis took one hand from under you and reached down to rub circles on your swollen clit, your head fell back.

“Come.” Ominis ordered, and you didn’t even have it in you to scream this time. Ominis muttered a string of curse words as your walls clenched around him and you rose up to clamp your teeth down on his shoulder. It was almost painful how hard he had made you come, and some primal part of you needed him to share in that feeling. He kept his steady pace, not faltering once as he chased his own pleasure with a great moan. The hand that had been rubbing you clamped around your neck and squeezed. You watched him and saw in his face he was close. You met his thrusts, matching his rhythm. His chest heaved and a light sheen of sweat had formed across his body. In that moment you were certain that it wouldn’t matter if someone gave you a love potion, Ominis was all you’d be able to see. 

“Yours, Ominis.” You whispered, incapable of telling him truly what you were thinking. His fingers dug into you and his grip on your neck tightened. Almost there. You watched in awe as his head dropped and he let out a guttural groan that slightly resembled your name. His cock twitched and his body trembled as he emptied himself inside of you with shallow thrusts. Ominis’ hand let go of your throat, and he collapsed on top of you. Both of you were breathing heavily, and you wrapped your arms around him holding him tight to your chest. You pressed kisses to the top of his head and he let out a wordless groan. After a few moments passed, Ominis slowly pulled out leaving you feeling empty.

“We should have conjured a bed.” He mumbled. You let out a little laugh as one appeared next to the sofa. Ominis rolled over, taking you with him so that you were laying on his chest instead of him atop of you. You knew that you should get up and probably clean yourself off, but with his arms around you and your genuine concern about your ability to stand, you were content to just stay. 

“Maybe you should get into more fights.” You sighed, reveling in the lovely feelings of your afterglow. He laughed, gently rubbing your back.

“If men don’t learn how to behave, I just might.” He said. You could do without him getting injured, but if this was how he reacted when he was jealous or feeling possessive? You could definitely get behind that. 

“I’ll be here when you do.” You sighed, thinking about how you should really restock on your wiggenweld potions. 

“And, for the foreseeable future, I will be tasting your food and drink before you.” Ominis said, making you snort. 

“What am I, the Queen of England? I don’t need a food taster, Ominis, if anything I’ll just start carrying around an antidote to love potions.” You told him.

“You can be my Queen.” He grinned at you.

“You’re not allowed to speak with Sebastian anymore, he’s rubbing off on you.” You sat up a little bit to get a better angle as you looked down at his face. 

“That’s your job, Darling.” 

ii.

Sebastian was fairly certain Ominis Gaunt was in love with you. He was also fairly certain that Ominis actually had no clue he was in love with you.

Every time Sebastian mentioned it, Ominis would look legitimately shocked and appalled at the accusation. But the way his friend acted, there was no other explanation.

Especially with what his oblivious, oblivious friend was doing right now.

Somehow, Ominis had decided that he needed to feel your face so he could 'know what you looked like'. And you'd agreed to it because Ominis had assured you he did this with all his friends.

But Sebastian certainly had never had his face touched by Ominis, and he was his oldest friend, so he was calling bullshit on that.

He watched in amusement, hiding his smirk behind his drink, as Ominis trailed his fingers over your features. His fingertips caressed your face softly and slowly, and when Ominis' thumb traced over your lips for a full minute, Sebastian was practically biting his cup to stop himself from laughing.

Yeah. He totally wasn't in love with you. Suuuuuure.

iii.

Sebastian watched in open disbelief as Ominis piled present upon present into your arms.

This was ridiculous.

Sebastian had got a single Christmas present from him. And yes, it had been meaningful and he loved it, but it had been one single present.

Meanwhile, you had walked in the door, and at last count, Ominis had put at least twelve presents in your hands. It was getting to the point where you were having to crane your hand back to be able to still look at Ominis over the growing pile you were clutching.

And when you opened them?

The presents were basically everything and anything you'd ever even mentioned an interest in in passing. Including some things you noted that you didn't even remember talking about.

Bloody hell.

If Ominis wasn't in love with you (which he was), then Sebastian needed to have a very firm talk with him about his blatant friendship favouritism.

iv.

Finally, Sebastian confronted him about it.

It'd been a long day of seeing Ominis moping around the common room in an absolute sulk. All because you'd gone out for the day without breakfast so he'd not been able to talk to you before you'd headed out on your day trip with Poppy.

Sebastian had watched him lay on the ground by the windows to the lake. He was mercilessly convincing the first years that he could hear the mermaids so of course they should stay by the window for another hour to try and see them, when Sebastian thought he should step in.

He'd shooed off the little eleven year olds, before taking a seat in the big armchair.

"It's not the first years' faults that a certain someone skipped breakfast, you know. It's not fair to bait them with the mermaid thing, you know they'll stay here for hours if you tell them they might see one."

Ominis grumbled.

"I don't have a clue what you're on about. I'm merely having some fun."

Sebastian chuckled a little.

"No, you're not. You're sulking that the love of your life is having a day out without you, so you're winding up the baby Slytherins to take out your grumpiness on someone."

"Not the love of my life! I'm not in love! Surely, I'd know better than you if I was in love, so the fact you keep insisting that I am and I just don't know it is, frankly, insulting." Ominis protested, standing up and wandering off to sulk somewhere else.

Sebastian watched him go, shaking his head.

He's not even in denial. I think he actually doesn't know.

v.

You'd been sat working with Amit in the library when Ominis had done something that made Sebastian nearly choke on the pumpkin pasty he'd been inhaling.

The two boys had been working together. Seb had been helping Ominis with his Potions work, while Ominis helped Seb with his Ancient Runes.

And then you came in, and as tended to happen when you entered the room, Ominis' attention was gone. Especially when he realised you were with another boy. 

Thankfully, they'd gone through the Ancient Runes assignment first, so Sebastian merely rolled his eyes, pulling the Potions essay towards him and writing it on Ominis' behalf. He was clearly too busy glaring in Amit's direction to take on the work himself.

At first, Ominis seemed happy to scowl from a distance. Until he heard you laughing loudly at something the Ravenclaw had said, and the next thing Sebastian knew, Ominis was striding across the room.

"Oh, hi, Ominis. Everything alright?" He heard you say.

"Just tired. Do you mind if I lay down over here? Sebastian's keeping me awake with how loud he is."

Sebastian scoffed in disbelief. He could not believe Ominis was throwing him under the bus in an attempt to further his 'not-love' life.

You'd cooed at Ominis, your protective instincts kicking in as soon as you heard that, ushering him to sit down.

And then, Ominis had what seemed to be a sudden burst of Gryffindor-esque courage and decided to lay down with his head in your lap. And you just laughed it off, beginning to stroke his hair.

Oh, Merlin, Sebastian realised. They've done this before. He's got it bad.

vi.

Sebastian was exhausted.

If it wasn't you complaining that Ominis hadn't asked you to the Yule Ball, it was Ominis complaining that he hadn't asked you to the Yule Ball.

If this was some sort of dramatic romance story, he'd have flung you both into a cupboard by now and locked you in there until you kissed it out.

But it wasn't a dramatic romance story, so he had to use more normal means to wingman his best friends. And if that included mild deception to said best friends, so be it.

He'd slipped Eric Northcott three Galleons to ask you to the ball. He'd promised him an additional two Galleons if he did it when you were next to Ominis.

It went exactly as planned.

Eric had asked you. And before you could answer, Ominis 'not-in-love' Gaunt had stepped forward with a set jaw and told Eric in no uncertain terms that he'd already arranged to be your date.

God, Sebastian was a good friend. If you and Ominis didn't name your first kid after him after all this effort, he was going to riot.

vii.

He couldn't find the two of you.

He'd just finished dancing with his date, and he'd seen her off to her common room. The plan was to meet you and Ominis after the ball by the Grand Staircase for an afterparty of sorts, but you two had been nowhere to be seen.

Unfortunately for Sebastian's Ominis and you shipping heart, you'd danced together once and called it quits, sitting on the sidelines for the rest of the night with your drinks. 

When he'd asked Ominis why, he was informed that the amount of people was making it nearly impossible for the two of you to dance together, as it was confusing Ominis' wand and he kept stepping on your foot.

Sebastian really hoped that it hadn't put a damper on your night, but Ominis looked quite put out. Maybe the two of you had decided to head to bed and not remembered to tell him. He decided to look around a little more for you two, not wanting to ditch you if you'd just been shooed away elsewhere by lingering professors.

The first place he thought to look was, of course, the Undercroft. And, of course, the two of you were there.

There was soft music coming from a gramophone that one of you must have transfigured into existence. And the two of you stood in the middle of the room, swaying side to side, you tucked tightly against Ominis' chest with his arms around you, his head resting atop yours. Both of you had your eyes closed, and both of you looked blissfully happy.

It was adorable. And he was going to bully Ominis for it relentlessly tomorrow.

viii.

The two of you were now holding hands.

And according to Ominis, once again, this was all platonic.

Sebastian thought he might need to find a dictionary and read out the definition of the word 'platonic' to the both of you.

Apparently, Ominis was very, very, very concerned that he'd lose track of you in the busy Hogsmeade crowd, and the only solution was to lock his fingers with yours.

God, Sebastian was tired.

ix.

Sebastian had returned from Crossed Wands. You'd not shown up for once, and he was a little curious what would lead to the 'reigning champion' skipping a match.

Then he walked into his dorm, and stopped short. 

Ominis was asleep on his bed. Nothing new, all that boy ever did was sleep. But you were there.

The both of you were tucked under the covers, sleeping peacefully. The sides of your heads were pressed against one another, and Ominis' arm was reached out, his palm pressed against your stomach as the two of you napped.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, getting into his own bed quietly. Nothing the two of you did surprised him at this point.

x.

Today was the day. 

He was going to confront Ominis, and the two of them were not leaving this room until Ominis came to terms with the fact he was in love with you.

Sebastian had caught Ominis on his way back from seeing you, because that was always when his friend was in the best mood, and promptly dragged him into the Undercroft.

"You're in love."

Ominis scoffed disdainfully.

"I can't keep having this conversation, Sebastian. I'm not in love."

"Right. Let's go down the list of the things I know about, because Merlin knows what you do when I'm not there. You listen for them to enter a room. You get grumpy when you don't see them. You take naps together. You remember everything they've ever told you, ever. You hold hands. You get ridiculously jealous of anyone who talks to them, even Amit, the literal nicest guy in the school."

"And I do all that because we're friends."

"No, you don't! If I suddenly started doing all that for them, what would you think was happening?" Sebastian asked, already tired from this conversation.

Ominis paused, considering before his eyes went wide.

"Oh, Merlin. I am in love with them."

Sebastian literally cheered in celebration.

1.

Now that Ominis was aware he was in love with you, he was like a man on a mission. He'd been looking for you for the last hour, and he was steadily getting more and more agitated the longer it took to find you.

Why is it that whenever I need them, they disappear? He thought in irritation.

Then, he heard it. Your laugh. The one that he'd memorised for 'completely friendly' reasons. God, he couldn't believe he'd actually been so stupid, but that was an issue for another day.

Ominis set off, chasing after the sound of your voice. Finally, he caught your scent, that fragrance that he'd bought you at Christmas, and he reached out, catching hold of your arm.

"Oh, Ominis! There you -"

You didn't get to finish your sentence before he'd woven his hands into your hair, tugging you close so he could kiss you.

When Ominis Gaunt fell in love, he fell slowly. 

It was all the little things she did—the little things that made up who she was. Her kindness. Her patience. Her touch. 

Before meeting her, touch meant nothing but pain. It was kicking and screaming as his mother dragged him along by his arm, harsh shoves from uncaring hands toppling to the ground, a cruel hand curled over his own, taking any control he might have and forcing a curse out of him. 

He’d been avoiding it ever since. Even Sebastian and Anne knew his aversion, careful not to grab him or brush against him. 

But somehow, she made his walls come tumbling down. 

-

Perhaps he started to fall that first time she saved him a seat at breakfast. 

It was one of the first breakfasts of their sixth year—the Great Hall was bustling, students running back and forth to catch up with friends and share adventures from over the summer. That was exactly what Sebastian was doing; he could hear his friend’s loud laugh as he spoke to someone at the Hufflepuff table. He’d expected her to be doing the same, her popularity as the Hero of Hogwarts was unmatched. Surely everyone would want to know what she’d been up to. 

He’d just settled on the idea of grabbing an apple off the table and leaning against the wall well out of harm’s way when a voice called out to him. Her voice. 

“Ominis! Ominis, right here, I’ve saved a seat for you!” 

His mouth fell open—just slightly. “You… you saved a seat…?” 

“Yes, now get over here before Sebastian barrels past and steals it, I wouldn’t put it past him,” she said, smile obvious in her voice. 

And so he obliged. 

He settled down on the bench, all thoughts of retreating to some far corner vanishing as she began to rattle on about her summer. In turn, he answered all her questions about his own time, best he could with the way his head was spinning. Of everyone in the school, she had saved a spot for him. She allowed him to take all her time, steal away every morsel of her attention. There was a lightness that came with that thought. A warm feeling he couldn’t quite name—not yet. 

But now that he’d felt it, he knew he’d starve for it. 

-

The next step into his descent was the first time she placed her hand on his arm. 

Herbology was always a bit chaotic—not nearly as much as Potions, no thanks to a certain Gryffindor—but chaotic nonetheless. Professor Garlick had laid out all the necessary tools and supplies on each table, and after her brief explanation on how to prune and shape the plants in front of them, she set them loose. 

Sebastian stood to Ominis’s right, grabbing some small cutters and starting on his plant quickly. 

“Sebastian, you’re making a mess of it already. She said to start from the top and go down, didn’t you hear a word she just said?” a voice said from his left. 

Ominis chuckled. “Since when has Sebastian ever been one to listen to anything?” He reached forward, grabbing his own cutters. He heard his friend grumble under his breath. “Don’t pout, you know I’m right.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not offended by it,” Sebastian said. 

“You’re offended by everything, Seb,” she said. 

“What is this? Attack Sebastian Sallow Day?” 

“No, but I’d be an avid celebrator if there was such a thing.” 

As Sebastian continued mumbling complaints, he felt it—her hand, just barely resting on his arm. “Sorry,” she said softly, leaning forward and across the table. “I’m just grabbing the fertilizer.” And then her touch was gone. 

It was nothing. Just a simple indication that she was there, making sure a blind man didn’t accidentally stab her with a sharp object. And yet it felt… different, somehow. His skin was tingling as he tried to resume his work with the plant. It was only later he realized that, unlike so many times others had made a similar motion, he hadn’t flinched or pulled away. 

In spite of himself, he sort of wished she would do it again. 

-

He came to a realization the first time she explained a Quidditch match to him. 

The realization was thus—she was even more kind than anyone he’d ever met. It was her very first match, and she had been elated to attend after Professor Black had announced the continuation of the sport at the beginning of the year. Normally, Ominis wouldn’t care too much about it. He rarely went to matches in previous years, only being dragged along by Sebastian when Slytherin was up in the running to take the cup. Crowds weren’t his thing. And trying to understand anything that was going on based solely off the oohing and ahhing of a crowd gave him a headache. But this year, Sebastian was making his debut as Slytherin’s Keeper, and that paired with her excitement to see the match was enough to draw him out to the stands. 

They sat next to each other, nestled into the crowd of Slytherins eagerly anticipating the game. He could only imagine how high up they were—there had been plenty of stairs to indicate it was nothing insignificant. The breeze that high up was cooler, and Ominis was grateful for it, allowing himself to focus on it instead of the people pressing in all around him. 

But when the match started, his focus shifted entirely to the soft voice next to him. 

In the past, he had always found the commentary on the match entirely unhelpful, and even more uninteresting. He could never get a picture of what was going on—the announcer would always press opinions on players and use the names of the different plays, which was ridiculous because Ominis had no clue what any of the plays meant. 

She, on the other hand, explained it all wonderfully. 

She wasn’t perfect—not even close, stumbling over words and gasping at times when an action surprised her. But for the first time, Ominis could follow. He found himself cheering, breath catching as he heard the whoosh of a broom overhead. The tone and expression in her voice was so lively, so dedicated, he wanted to take part in it. 

“Weasley’s flying fast toward the goals,” she commented. “Blimey, he should be Seeker with that speed. Imelda’s flown into his path, he’s going to crash—No, he dodged her, straight over her head—he’s throwing the Quaffle, come on Seb—YES!” 

He let out a cry of celebration as his friend beside him whooped and hollered, cheering loudly for Sebastian. It wasn’t long until they won the match, and the crowd of Slytherins roared like a raging sea. He followed her out of the stands and into the common room, where a party was already commencing. Sebastian managed to break away from his adoring fans. The Hero of Hogwarts leapt up and nearly pushed him over in a wild embrace. Sebastian laughed. 

“You were wonderful out there!” she said, pulling away. 

Ominis could hear the grin in his friend’s voice. “I couldn’t let your first match be a disappointment, now could I?” His feet shifted, turning to Ominis. “And really, Ominis, thank you for coming. I know Quidditch isn’t your favorite.”

“If I’m honest, I rather enjoyed myself,” he said. He nodded his head toward her beside him. “This one has a knack for explaining the game. She told me enough that I can sincerely say, well played.” 

“Then seems like you’ll have to go to all of the matches together,” Sebastian said. 

Ominis frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t want to impose on—”

“No, I like that idea,” she said. His heart beat a bit faster. “I want you to be able to enjoy it just as much as the rest of us, Ominis.” 

He couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night. When Sebastian asked about it, he blamed it on having too much Butterbeer.

-

When he let her lead him by his arm that very first time, he knew he trusted her. 

He’d known for a while—but now, through his actions, he had admitted it to her. To himself. 

Winter had set in. The two of them left the Three Broomsticks, bundled up and ready for the cold. He reached for his wand, pausing when he heard her speak up beside him. 

“Your hand is going to freeze holding it out like that all the way to the castle. I can lead you, if you’d like.” 

He pondered it for a moment—only a moment—and then he gave in. 

“If you think it’ll keep me from getting frostbite.” 

He sucked in a breath as her arm looped around his. How had she done it so gently? After a second, when he’d begun to breathe properly, he nodded. “Off we go, then.” 

It was strange, how he had surrendered so easily. When he had first gotten his wand, the world finally felt livable. He no longer had to shuffle around, arms outstretched, waiting for his brothers to jump out at him. He could fend for himself. Prove his independence. There was no longer a need to rely on anyone. 

Why did he rely so effortlessly on her? 

The truth came to him with a sudden thought as she took him through the streets, navigating expertly through the throng of students returning to the castle. He trusted her. She had always looked out for him. Cared when he felt no one else did. She made efforts to be around him, to involve him, even when he tried to push away. Ominis Gaunt did not trust easily. But she had proved herself worthy of that sentiment in every turn. 

The slight tug of her arm in his jolted him back to that moment. “We’re at the stairs,” she said quietly. “There’s six of them.” 

He’d trust her with his life. 

They seemed to walk closer and closer together as the castle drew nearer. It was the cold, he told himself. Just the instinctual craving for warmth drawing their sides together. Simple as that. 

But they still walked arm in arm through the halls of Hogwarts, leaving the excuse of the chill and snow far behind them. 

-

The first time she held his hand, he finally felt alive. 

Their sixth years had come to a close and the Hogwarts Express was waiting to take them home. They’d spend the last few months in what he considered bliss. They stopped looking for excuses to take each other's arms at some point—just letting it happen. Strolls on the castle ground. Between classes. Anywhere and everywhere they went together. Sebastian teased them a bit at the action, but Ominis claimed it was just easier than using his wand. He didn’t have to concentrate on a spell while walking about. It was true—but really, it hadn’t been inconvenient the five years before that, had it?

But now his dear friend gave a low sigh beside him. “This crowd is awful,” she said, glowering at the students around them. “I don’t know how we’re going to make it on the train in time.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be—” 

He stopped mid sentence, feeling her fingers interlock with his. 

“I think I see a path, come on now.” 

She nearly tipped him over as she pulled him along. He managed to remember how to walk just in time to catch himself, allowing her to lead him through the hustle and bustle around them. How did this feel so entirely different than being led by her arm? How could he only focus on how soft the skin of her knuckles felt under his thumb? How could he feel like he was dreaming, but never felt more aware in the same moment?

They stopped in front of the train, doors open before them. She didn’t let go. Neither did he. But the train let out a whistle, and the sound brought him back in an instant. Their hands dropped, and the loss of the intimate feeling of her fingers between his knocked the air out him like the perfect Depulso. 

“We made it,” she said softly. 

“Barely.” 

She laughed. He might as well have been a fish for how much he was struggling to breathe. “I’ll see you soon,” she said, voice softening. 

“I wish I could say the same,” he said, smirking. He felt her hit his arm, stifling a laugh.

“You’re awful.”

“You’re the one who laughed.” 

“Goodbye, Ominis,” she said, still chuckling. After a moment, she spoke again, a little quieter. “I’ll write you.”

His stomach flipped. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Then she was gone, taking part of him with her.

-

He knew he was in love the moment he got her first letter. 

What was it some fool had once said? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? What a load of dung. 

Absence made the heart ache so much it nearly killed him. And it had only been a day. 

He knew it was from her the moment the lingering scent of her perfume hit him. He smiled. She kept her word—he had never doubted she would. He was just relieved she had done so so soon. 

Quickly, he pulled out his wand and transfigured the words on the parchment, running his fingers over them. He paused where she had written his name. Every letter filled him with warmth as he poured over the short letter. 

Dear Ominis,

I realize we only saw each other yesterday, but I wanted to assure you it wasn’t an empty promise when I said I would write you. 

I really don’t have too much to share—my mother was more than pleased to see me, of course. Wailed when I came home as if I’d come back from the dead. She’s still not used to me being away for so long. I’ve just begun unpacking, and honestly, it just makes me wish I was back at Hogwarts with you and Sebastian. 

How are you? I do hope you’re alright. I worry about you going home, you know. I can’t help it. I’ll be inviting both you and Sebastian to my home as soon as I’m settled in—please do survive until then. 

Yours,

He closed his eyes as he felt her name beneath his fingertips. She was worried about him. She’d be inviting him. The warmth and elation he felt was so unlike the cold halls that surrounded him. He could survive—he’d do it for her. 

How she could make him feel happiness—hope—in a house so tainted with pain was beyond him. He never would he have thought he could have a moment of something good there, a memory worth keeping after he abandoned the place. 

Finally, he had a name for that warmth, the one that overtook him every time she crossed his thoughts. Love. Deep, profound, and lasting. It was more than he could have imagined, overwhelming and pure. How could he have lived to this point without it? 

He read the letter once more before pulling out his quill and beginning to write. 

-

The first time he thought she might feel the same coincided with the first time she laid her head on his shoulder. 

She had kept yet another of her promises. It was only a couple of weeks before he was off to her house, finally free from the suffocating marble halls of the manor. His escape lasted only for ten days, but it gave him what he needed to keep going. 

Though being with her was definitely what fueled him the most. 

Laughing with her and Sebastian made the stress of being around his parents melt off of him much faster than he would have imagined. Their ten days had been full of exploring the woods around her house, of playing Gobstones, of laying in fields and telling old stories. 

Ten days of her hand brushing his as they sat together. Ten days of catching his breath when she spoke. Ten days of falling harder than he ever thought possible.

Because now that he knew what it was he was feeling, it was there in everything she did. He was drowning in it, and he’d stay under with a smile on his face. 

Sebastian bid them farewell on that final evening. Ominis would be gone back home in the morning—he tried desperately to push that thought away, focusing instead on spending every moment with her he could. They’d wandered to the overgrown park not far from her home, coming to rest on a bench hidden away in the trees. Crickets sang around them, and Ominis basked in the cool summer night by her side. 

“Are you going to be ok when you go back?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. 

He gave a small smile, one he hoped was reassuring. “I’ve lived this long. Two more months will be nothing.”

She sighed. “It won’t be a full two months. I’ll make sure of it. If you can’t come here again, we’ll go to Sebastian’s.”

“You worry about me too much.” 

“I think I worry just enough,” she stated simply. 

Her words made his chest time. How could he ever begin to explain what they meant to him? She cared for him. It was enough to shatter him if he let it. He couldn’t say what he wanted to—not yet. He’d find a way, someday. But he told her what he could by reaching for her hand, locking their fingers together. And when she leaned into his side, head coming to rest on his shoulder, maybe, maybe, that was her way of saying she understood. 

His stiff body slowly relaxed against hers, and he thought about nothing but the slow draws of her breath, the way her hair tickled against his jaw, the love he felt for the angel of the girl sitting pressed against him. 

-

The first time she held him he fell apart. 

Their little trio had stayed up late in celebration of their last school year, playing Exploding Snap well into the night. The Undercroft echoed their joyous sounds as the hours passed by, until Sebastian pulled himself away, saying he wanted to pay a visit to the Restricted Section for old time’s sake. It wasn’t long until she and Ominis were saying their goodnights to each other. 

It had been a perfect last first day, exactly what he’d needed after spending so much time at the manor. He’d left for what he was determined to be the last time. There was no better way to celebrate. 

He could think of no better way of ending it than saying goodnight to the girl he loved. 

“Goodnight,” he said softly, a small smile on his lips. 

“God, I missed you,” she breathed. “Goodnight, Ominis.” 

But before he could open the door, her arms wrapped around his chest. 

The result was immediate. His heart raced, and his throat grew tight. He couldn’t breath—how could he, with her holding him so tightly? Her head was against his chest, and for a split second he was afraid she might pull away when she heard the pound of it. It was that moment of fear that brought his arms around her, holding her to him like he had nothing left. 

It felt like dying when she pulled away from him. She sucked in a breath. “Ominis, are you alright?”

“What… what do you—”

“You’re crying.”

She was right. He felt the tears, now, traitorously running down his face. He quickly brought up the sleeve of his robe to wipe them away. 

“Is it something I did? I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He took a shuddering breath. “I just… You’re the first person who’s ever…” 

Ever what? There were a million ways he could finish that sentence, and all would be true. The first who had ever held me. The first who has ever cared so deeply. The first to touch him with nothing but kindness. She was the first person to break down his walls, to give him life, to let him love and be loved. 

Somehow, she seemed to understand his silence. She took him into her arms once more, and he let himself come crashing down. Sobs worked their way through—both sadness and joy mingled together in an utter mess of emotion. How could he have gone his whole life without this? Without feeling safe, without outstretched arms to run to? But he had found it. A person he could call his home, who would hold him when he fell apart. He was grateful. So grateful. 

They never went back up to their dorms that night.

-

He was determined today would be the first time he kissed her. 

Since that night in the Undercroft, every touch between them felt natural. Part of their beings. He came to her effortlessly, letting his arms pull her to him. His hand felt foreign when it wasn’t in hers. But yet, he had yet to confess the depths of his feelings for her. 

He knew exactly why—she was patient. They’d started this whole thing nearly two years ago now. She’d always gone at his pace, waiting for him to be ready for each new step. They didn’t need to say the words. It was obvious to both of them. But Merlin, he wanted to. 

She needed to know just how much she meant to him. The joy she brought into his life without even trying. It had been a long time coming, but now, he was ready.

He’d taken her out to Hogsmeade. It was the perfect spring day—cool breeze carrying the scent of Butterbeer clear out of the Three Broomsticks. The sun was just beginning to set, and they were on course to return to the castle when he stopped her. 

“Could I take you somewhere?” he said softly. 

“Of course,” she said, a little perplexed. He smiled, taking out his wand to guide the both of them, other hand still in hers. He led them down a path, then turned sharply into the woods. The trail he followed was light barely there, mostly grown over by foliage. But he heard the sound of the creek and knew he was close. 

The trees gave way into a small opening, the melody of water trickling just beyond it. He smiled. 

“It’s lovely,” she said. 

“Good. I hoped it would be.” His wand returned to his pocket, and he took both her hands, facing her. 

It was her turn for her breath to catch. It was only fair after all the times he’d done so because of her. Did he look as lovesick as he felt? 

“You are everything to me, do you know that?” he said softly. His hand reached up, following the curve of her neck up to her jaw, where it came to rest. “Everything.”

“Ominis…” 

The way she breathed his name sent shivers through him. And her breath on his lips—Merlin, how had he waited so long?

“I love you.” 

He didn’t give her a chance to respond—he’d let her say it soon enough. But he needed to prove himself to her, show her just what he meant when he said everything. His lips came crashing down against hers, and at that moment he decided every second not spent kissing her was a second wasted. Like everything about her, she was gentle. She was warm. She was soft. Like everything about her, he couldn’t get enough. He thought he’d give her a chaste kiss, but he was only a man, and a starving one at that. 

He only pulled away when his lungs felt like they would burst, and his chest heaved under her resting hand. 

“I love you,” she said, voice hoarse. “God, I love you.” 

He decided that night would be the second time he kissed her, too. 

Mattheo Riddle first saw Y/N Lestrange when he was six years old.

She stood in the doorway of Malfoy Manor — tiny, with (h/c) hair down to her shoulders and serious eyes — holding her mother Bellatrix's hand, who was kneeling before his father. The girl did not kneel. She simply looked at Mattheo — directly, without fear, without servility — and he remembered that gaze for ever.

He was six, and he did not yet know the name for what had settled in his chest.

By ten, he knew.

By fifteen, that knowledge had become unbearable.

Y/N grew up beside him. Their families were bound by ties held together not by blood, but by something darker — loyalty, fear, and a common purpose. The House of Lestrange served the Dark Lord with fanatical devotion, and Y/N had been born into that service as though into a cradle.

But she was different.

Mattheo noticed it in the small things. In the way she secretly fed the house-elves. In the way she read Muggle books, hidden beneath the covers of *The Pure-Blood Heritage*. In the way she sometimes froze in the middle of a conversation, gazing out of the window as though she dreamt of being somewhere far away.

He collected these small things. Every one. Stored them in his memory like a mad collector who cannot stop.

He knew what tea she drank. He knew that she twirled a strand of hair round her finger when she was nervous. He knew the scent of her hair — something warm, elusive, something he could not name but could have recognised amongst a thousand others.

It was not love.

Love was too soft a word, too human a word for what lived inside Mattheo Riddle.

It was obsession.

Mattheo had inherited a great deal from his father: sharp cheekbones, dark hair, a frightening intellect, and that particular, icy beauty which made people admire and recoil in equal measure. But unlike Voldemort, Mattheo could feel. And it was precisely this that he considered his greatest curse.

Voldemort had raised his son as an heir. As a weapon. As an extension of his own will. Mattheo was obedient — he had learnt early that disobedience in the Riddle family was punished not with shouting but with the Cruciatus Curse — yet inside him there had always burnt a fire that his father could neither comprehend nor control.

That fire bore Y/N's name.

The dreadful news came in October, when Mattheo was seventeen.

Y/N was to be married off to James Nott — Theodore Nott's cousin — a dim, self-satisfied pure-blood oaf whose sole merit was that his father was a useful Death Eater. The marriage was political. Sensible. Advantageous for both families.

Mattheo learnt of it from Y/N herself.

She sat on the windowsill in the library of Malfoy Manor — their usual meeting place — turning in her hands the small silver bracelet he had given her for her twelfth birthday. She still wore it. Mattheo had noticed this long ago, and every time he saw the slender chain on her wrist, he felt something dark and possessive clench in his chest.

"Father has announced the engagement," she said quietly, without raising her eyes. "To Nott. The wedding is in spring."

Mattheo stood in the doorway. He did not move. He did not breathe. The world around him had gone very quiet, the way it does before an Avada — that second of absolute silence before the green light swallows everything.

"You agreed?" he asked. His voice was level. Calm. That frightened him.

"Do I have a choice?" Y/N smirked, and in her smirk there was a bitterness that set Mattheo's teeth on edge. "My father has decided. Your father has approved. It's politics, Mattheo. We both know how it works."

She finally looked at him, and in her eyes there was something he could not read. Something she hid behind her habitual mask of composure.

"Nott," he said, and the name sounded like an oath. "He isn't worth the dust on your boots."

Y/N smiled faintly.

"Since when have you become so... poetic?"

Mattheo did not smile in return. He looked at her — at the curve of her neck, at the curls by her temple, at the fingers clutching the bracelet — and inside him something was breaking. Slowly. Inexorably.

She could not belong to Nott.

She could not belong to anyone but him.

The decision came at night, as all the most terrible decisions do — in darkness, in silence, when the mind is weakened and the demons are at their strongest.

Amortentia.

Mattheo knew it was madness. He knew that a love potion did not create love — it created an illusion, an obsession, a prison for the mind. He knew this because he had read about the consequences, because he had seen what such a potion had done to his grandmother Merope Gaunt when she had dosed Tom Riddle Senior with it. He knew that nothing good had come of it — what had come of it was his father.

And yet.

She did not love him. He was certain of this with absolute, agonising clarity. Y/N treated him warmly — as a friend, as a brother, as a fellow sufferer in the misfortune of being the children of monsters. But nothing more. She had never looked at him *that way* — with the hungry, desperate heat with which he looked at her when he thought she could not see.

She did not love him. And so, when she was given to Nott, she would leave. She would become another man's wife, would sleep in another man's bed, would wear another man's ring, and Mattheo would be left with this scorched place in his chest that would never heal.

He could not allow that.

He brewed the potion himself. He entrusted it to no one — not the house-elves, not the apothecaries of Knockturn Alley. Amortentia demanded precision, patience, and — this had always struck him as a cruel irony — passion.

A pinkish vapour rose above the cauldron, and Mattheo caught the scent: lavender, old books, chamomile tea with honey.

It smelt of Y/N.

His hands did not tremble as he decanted the potion into tiny crystal phials.

He slipped the first dose into her tea two days later.

They sat in the same library, and Y/N was telling him about a book she had been reading — something about Muggle philosophy, about some fellow called Kant and the categorical imperative — and Mattheo listened to her voice the way one listens to music, and hated himself with such force that it was almost physical.

She took a sip of tea. Froze. Her pupils dilated, and something in her gaze shifted.

"Mattheo," she said, and his name on her lips sounded different. Softer. More tender. Like a prayer.

His breath caught.

She reached towards him, touched his hand — her fingers were warm, almost hot — and he knew it was not real, that it was the potion, that the real Y/N would never have done this, but, Merlin, how desperately he wanted to believe it.

"You're so beautiful," she whispered, and her eyes gazed at him with the adoration he had so desperately craved.

Mattheo squeezed her fingers. His face was impassive. Inside, he burned.

"I know," he said quietly.

Three weeks.

For three weeks he dosed her with Amortentia, and for three weeks Y/N Lestrange was his. Completely, wholly, unconditionally.

She followed him like a shadow. She sought his gaze in every room. She wrote him letters three times a day when they were apart. Once she came to him in the middle of the night — barefoot, in her nightgown, her hair dishevelled — and said she could not sleep because he was not beside her.

Mattheo let her in. She fell asleep on his shoulder, and he did not close his eyes until dawn. He lay in the darkness, listening to her breathing, feeling the warmth of her body beside him, the scent of lavender in her hair — and the hatred he felt for himself was so thick he could have bottled it.

It was wrong.

He knew it was wrong.

But he could not stop.

Nott noticed the change. Of course he noticed — his fiancée, who had previously deigned to spare him a few words on occasion, now openly ignored him, entirely turned towards Mattheo like a sunflower towards the sun. Rodolphus Lestrange began to frown. Even Voldemort once cast a long, searching look at Mattheo, in which there was more understanding than Mattheo would have liked.

Something had to be decided.

He had to either stop or go through with it.

Mattheo Riddle did not know how to stop.

He went to her room in the middle of the night. He could not say how his feet had carried him there. Was it chance?

Or no — nothing in Mattheo's life was ever chance, not truly. He had not gone to her room by chance whilst she slept (the potion made her sleep deep and untroubled). He had not opened the drawer of her writing desk by chance. He was searching — for what exactly, he could not have said. Proof. Confirmation. Anything that might justify what he had done.

The diary was ordinary — a black leather cover, worn at the corners, with no name, no initials. Mattheo opened it in the middle.

And the world stopped.

~12th March~

Today Mattheo was reading beside me in the library again. Two hours. He didn't say a word — just sat opposite me, turning pages, and sometimes his knee would brush against mine under the table by accident. Every touch is like Incendio beneath my skin. I'm certain he doesn't notice. He never notices. Merlin, I'm so tired of pretending.

Mattheo stopped breathing. His fingers dug into the pages.

~28th March~

I had a dream. About him. I shan't write down the details, because if anyone ever finds this diary, I shall die of shame. But I woke with his name on my lips and a feeling of such longing that I wanted to howl. He is my best friend. My only friend. And I love him so fiercely that it is destroying me from the inside, and he DOESN'T KNOW. Sometimes I think he looks at me differently. Longer than he needs to. But it's probably my imagination. Mattheo is the son of the Dark Lord. He could have anyone. Why would he want me?

Mattheo's hands began to tremble. For the first time in many years. He turned the pages — feverishly, greedily, the way a drowning man clutches at wreckage.

~15th May~

He gave me a book for my birthday. A Muggle one. Wuthering Heights. He slipped in a note: "It reminded me of you." I reread the note thirty-seven times. Thirty-seven. I counted. I'm pathetic. I love him. I love him. I love him. I could write it a thousand times, and it would change nothing.

~7th September~

The bracelet he gave me when we were both twelve. I wear it every day. Every single day. Sometimes I press it to my lips when no one is looking. It is the only thing I have of his, and I cling to it like a lifeline. Mattheo, Mattheo, Mattheo. If only you knew.

~2nd October~

Father told me about the engagement to Nott. I didn't cry. Lestranges don't cry. But then I came here, closed the door, and sobbed for two hours. Not because Nott is repulsive (although he is repulsive). But because it means the end. The end of my foolish, hopeless hopes. I shall never belong to Mattheo. Never bear his name. Never fall asleep beside him and wake in his arms. I told him today. I tried to speak calmly. I think I managed it. He asked if I had agreed. I wanted to say: "No, because I love you, you idiot, I've loved you since I was ten years old, and it's the only thing I'm absolutely certain of in this mad world." But instead I said something about politics. Coward!

Mattheo closed the diary.

He sat on the floor of her room — the son of the Dark Lord, the heir of the greatest dark wizard of the age — and felt tears running down his cheeks. He had not cried since he was four, when his father had first used the Cruciatus on him "to toughen his character." Since then he had forgotten how. He had thought he had forgotten how.

She loved him.

She had loved him since she was ten.

She had loved him just as desperately, just as hopelessly, just as devastatingly as he loved her.

And he — he had been dosing her with Amortentia. He had turned her real, living, unbearably beautiful love into a chemical counterfeit. He had taken from her the choice she would have made herself. Willingly.

Mattheo Riddle knew how to hate. He had been taught it from the cradle. But never before had he hated anyone the way he hated himself in that moment.

He stopped giving her the potion that very day.

For three days Y/N was disoriented, distracted, unable to understand what was happening to her. The Amortentia left her system slowly, leaving behind a fog and vague, awkward memories. Mattheo avoided her for those three days. He could not look her in the eye.

But the plan had already taken shape.

On the fourth day, Mattheo Riddle walked into his father's throne room.

Voldemort sat in his chair, surrounded by shadows and silence. Nagini lay coiled at his feet, and in the green gleam of her eyes there was more warmth than in the eyes of the Dark Lord.

"Father."

"Mattheo." Voldemort leant back in his chair. "It is written on your face that you have come with a request. That is... unusual."

Mattheo dropped to one knee. Not out of servility — out of strategy. He knew his father. He knew which gestures the man valued.

"I ask your permission to marry Y/N Lestrange."

Silence.

Nagini raised her head and fixed Mattheo with an unblinking stare.

"The Lestrange girl has already been promised to the Notts," Voldemort said slowly. "You know this."

"I do. I ask you to annul the engagement."

"Why should I?" There was no anger in Voldemort's voice — only cold curiosity. That was worse than anger.

Mattheo raised his head and looked his father in the eye. Red met dark brown.

"Because she belongs to me."

Voldemort was silent. One second. Two. Ten. Mattheo could feel his father's Occlumency sliding along the edge of his consciousness — not intruding, but tasting. Testing.

"Attachment is weakness," the Dark Lord said at last.

"You are mistaken."

The air in the hall thickened. Nagini hissed. Mattheo did not flinch.

"You are telling me that I am wrong?" Voldemort's voice grew quieter. That was a bad sign. The Dark Lord never shouted. The quieter he spoke, the closer death drew.

"I am saying that in this particular case — yes. My... attachment to Y/N does not make me weaker. It makes me more dangerous. Because for her I would do anything. Without hesitation. Without restraint. Without mercy."

He fell silent, letting the words settle.

"You want an heir, Father. I shall give you an heir. You want loyal servants — the House of Lestrange will be bound to us not by politics, but by blood. You want power — our children will inherit the magic of both lines. This marriage is advantageous. In every respect."

Voldemort watched him for a long time. An eternity. And then — for the first time in Mattheo's memory — something remotely resembling a smile appeared on the thin, bloodless lips of the Dark Lord.

"You are my son," he said, and in his voice there was something Mattheo had never heard before. Perhaps acknowledgement. Perhaps pride. "And you are, without question, my son. Even in weakness you find strength. Or, at the very least, you know how to present it so that it looks like strength."

He raised one long, white finger.

"The marriage to the Lestranges is approved. The Notts will be offered... compensation." A pause. "But remember, Mattheo: if that girl ever comes between you and me, between you and our cause..."

"She will not," said Mattheo. "I shall see to it."

Voldemort leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. The audience was over.

Mattheo rose. His heart hammered wildly in his chest, but his face remained like stone. He turned and walked towards the door.

"Mattheo."

He stopped.

"You have been crying," said Voldemort, without opening his eyes. "Recently. I can sense it. Do not let it happen again."

Mattheo walked out without answering.

He found her in the garden of Lestrange Manor.

Y/N sat on the stone bench beneath the old beech tree — their tree, their place, where as children they had hidden from the grown-ups and their talk of blood purity and the coming war. She was reading — of course she was reading — and the wind stirred her hair, and the autumn sun lay across her face, and Mattheo thought that if his Patronus could ever take a form, it would look like her.

Although no. Mattheo could not cast a Patronus. The son of Voldemort. Too much darkness.

Or perhaps, now — he could.

She raised her eyes and saw him. And across her face there flickered that expression — quick, vulnerable, desperate — which now, after the diary, he could read like an open book.

Love.

She had always looked at him that way. And he, blind fool, had taken it for friendly affection.

"Mattheo?" She frowned, seeing the look on his face. "What's happened? You..."

"I read your diary."

The world froze.

Y/N went white. The book slipped from her fingers and fell into the grass. Her lips parted, and Mattheo watched as horror — real, animal horror — flooded her eyes.

"You..." She tried to rise, but her legs would not obey her. "You didn't..."

"Since you were ten," he said, and his voice broke in the middle of the sentence. "You've loved me since you were ten."

Y/N covered her face with her hands.

"Go away," she whispered. "Please, go away. Please."

Mattheo knelt before her — for the second time that day, but this time it was not strategy; it was necessity — and gently took her wrists. On the left one — the silver bracelet.

"Y/N. Look at me."

She shook her head, not taking her hands from her face. Her shoulders trembled.

"Please."

She looked. Her eyes — wet, enormous — stared at him with the expression of someone being led to the scaffold.

"I have to tell you something," Mattheo said. "And you will hate me. And you will be right to."

He told her everything. About the Amortentia. About the three weeks of lies. About how he had slipped the potion into her tea, feeling each time that he was betraying the only person he loved. About how he had found the diary and realised he had committed the most monstrous mistake of his life.

Y/N listened in silence. Her face changed — from shock to fury, from fury to pain, from pain to something for which he could find no name. When he had finished, she was silent for a full minute.

Then she hit him.

Her fist connected with his cheekbone — small, unskilled, but delivered with such fury that his head snapped to the side. The pain was bright, sharp — and entirely deserved.

"You... you..." She was choking with rage. "Amortentia?! You dosed me with Amortentia?! You — do you know what that means?! Do you know what you took from me?!"

"I do."

"For three weeks I was... I wasn't myself! For three weeks my feelings — my *real* feelings — were buried under your potion! You..." Her voice broke into a shout, then fell to a whisper. "You could simply have asked, Mattheo."

"I know."

"I would have said yes." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I would have said *yes*. And you took that from me."

"I know," he said for the third time, and his own voice was hoarse, shattered, nothing like the voice of the Dark Lord's son. "And I shall spend the rest of my life earning a forgiveness I do not deserve."

Y/N looked at him — at Mattheo Riddle, kneeling before her, with a red mark from her blow on his cheekbone, with wet eyes, with an expression of such absolute, all-consuming love that it hurt.

"Your father..." she began.

"Has approved our marriage. The engagement to Nott has been dissolved."

Her eyes widened.

"You... went to the Dark Lord and asked for my hand?"

"I did not ask. I demanded."

"You demanded? Of Voldemort?"

"You are worth any risk. You are worth everything."

Y/N closed her eyes. Her lips trembled.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know."

"You're a monster."

"I know."

"You are the most selfish, the most cruel, the most..."

She did not finish. She took his face in her hands — his face, wet with tears he had not noticed — and kissed him.

Mattheo froze for a moment — for one infinite moment — and then wrapped his arms round her, pulled her close, held her so tightly as though he were afraid she would vanish, dissolve, turn out to be yet another illusion. She was warm and real, and her lips tasted of chamomile tea with honey, and this — *this* — was real. Not a potion. Not Amortentia. Her.

When at last they drew apart, Y/N pressed her forehead to his.

"If you ever again," she said quietly, "put anything in my tea..."

"I won't—"

"I shall turn you into a ferret and leave you that way for ever. I don't care whose son you are."

Mattheo laughed. It was an unfamiliar sound — he laughed so rarely that he had almost forgotten how — but Y/N smiled — a real, living smile, not poisoned by any potion — and he thought that for the sake of that smile he would burn the entire world.

Then again, considering who his father was, that was not so much a metaphor as a perfectly feasible plan.

“…yes,” you whimper.

“Then fucking arch it.”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.

“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.

It has his attention now.

The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.

“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.

“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“

“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”

“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.

“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.

“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”

His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”

“I… I don’t know—“

“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”

“Please.”

“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”

And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.

"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”

Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.

“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”

Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.

He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.

The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.

“Are you ready to go again?”

One would think that after sating his three year craving for you, Sebastian would have calmed down a bit. After all, he now had enough material tucked away in his brain to make every masturbation session as vivid and succulent as the last. The sound of your moans, the way your body had trembled against his mouth, the taste of your slick gushing over his tongue. All of it lived at the forefront of his mind and helped to remind him that not only had it actually happened, but you had wanted more. 

Maybe that was why he was still pent-up. He knew you were waiting– quite eagerly, he might add– for him to make his next play. That fact made him annoyingly hard at the most inopportune of moments. 

Life had an annoying habit of getting in the way of most good things, though. Sebastian was really fucking regretting having so many extracurriculars to prioritize. 

Quidditch season was in full swing, which meant that Imelda dragged everyone on the team out to the pitch by their earlobes for practice. He wouldn’t dare miss a single scrimmage– he was certain his captain would somehow manifest at the foot of his bed and kill him in his sleep if he did. Lucan was in the process of orchestrating the first duel for Crossed Wands as well, which meant that Sebastian had been roped into conscripting more unsuspecting first-year students into joining the club. His first Transfiguration exam was in a week, Ominis needed help studying for Potions, and there was a book he still needed to snatch from the bowels of the Restricted Section. 

All of it was piling up, and by the end of most days, Sebastian was exhausted. There simply wasn’t enough time in the day to get around to spoiling you the way he had dreamed of doing for years. 

But all of that was about to change. 

For the sake of ‘exposing them to possible post-graduation careers’, the seventh-year students were going on an overseen field trip to visit the Ministry in London. Most of the Professors were chaperoning the excursion, leaving the resident ghosts of Hogwarts to substitute classes for the unlucky blokes who were unable to attend. He fell into that category, seeing as he had no guardians to sign the permission slip. You weren’t going either, and he didn’t know whether that was by choice or for reasons similar to his own, but Sebastian was having a hard time feeling unlucky about the whole thing. 

He was looking forward to it, in all honesty. 

Everyone would be gone. Everyone. And the phantoms taking over in the Professors’ stead were as air-headed as they came, so they wouldn’t notice two students missing from class when damn near everyone was already gone. It was the perfect opportunity for Sebastian to put his long awaited plan into action. 

His cock was fucking twitching with anticipation. He was grateful that his best friend was blind, otherwise he was certain Ominis would comment on how wound up he looked at present. 

“You don’t seem too upset that you’re going to be stuck with Professor Binns droning on at you for the whole day,” Ominis remarked dryly, his fork scraping against his plate of nearly finished breakfast. “Don’t tell me you’ve come to like his monotonous delivery.” 

Sebastian scoffed. “Hardly. I just don’t care to tour the Ministry with Professor Weasley breathing down my neck all day. I have better things to do.” 

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.” 

If only he knew, Sebastian thought. He hadn’t exactly been forthright with his friend in regards to his new, budding relationship with you. It could hardly be called a relationship, anyway. Aside from a few lingering touches and suggestive glances, the two of you had continued on the same as always in the wake of him feasting upon you like a man starved. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that you were pretending like it hadn’t happened. 

But the rosy hue to your cheeks every time he caught you staring at him told him otherwise. This was new to you– to him, too– so it was only natural for things to progress slowly. 

He couldn’t wait to put an end to that, though. Sebastian wanted nothing more than to brazenly kiss you in the hallways. He wanted to pull you into empty classrooms for stolen trysts against the walls, and pridefully strut about the corridors with his fingers linked through yours. He wanted everyone to know that you were taken. 

That you were his. 

All in due time, he reminded himself. Today would be a step in the right direction. He would make sure of it. 

The Great Hall continued to buzz with excitement, the seventh-year students riled up at the prospect of missing class for an entire day to venture out into the city. He and Ominis finished their breakfast in comfortable silence before the two parted ways, the blond man heading off to join the swarm of bodies making their way out to the Courtyard. Sebastian waited until the majority of the group was gone before he jumped out of his seat and hurried through the corridors in search of you. 

Maybe it was alarming how good he was at tracking you down. It was like his brain had formed a sixth sense dedicated solely to you, granting him the ability to find you no matter where you were. He moved with confidence through the halls as he allowed that innate skill to guide him. 

Once he found you, then the real fun could begin. 

—

In a bizarre turn of events, Sebastian finally stumbled upon you in the last place he had thought to look. 

Your bedroom. 

First he had gone to the Astronomy Deck, half expecting to find you up there watching the sunrise with a pastry and a textbook. When that assumption had been dashed, he’d descended the tower’s staircase and poked his head in the Room of Requirement. Deek had nearly jumped out of his skin when Sebastian had sighed loudly, the noise laced with frustration. The house-elf had helpfully informed him that the woman he was actively ripping his hair out over hadn’t been in since yesterday. So, Sebastian’s search continued. 

He’d gone to the Library, the beast pens, even the kitchens. You were nowhere to be found, and he was silently cursing himself for jinxing his you-sense. 

Just as he was on the brink of admitting defeat and ready to accept that you must have changed your mind about going to London, he decided to make one last stop. Your room. 

The way his heart leapt into his throat when he spotted you wasn’t worth mentioning. There you were, sleeping soundly in your bed– your hair disheveled and your cheek pressed into your pillow with a serene, angelic expression decorating your face. The tension that normally creased the middle of your brows was notably absent while you slept, and Sebastian shamelessly crept forward to lean against your bedpost, drinking in the sight of you with unwavering focus. 

Merlin– his cock was already rousing to life in his trousers. Just watching you was sending him into a tizzy. It needed to be illegal for you to look so delectable while unconscious. It wasn’t fair to him. 

But it also wasn’t fair to wake you up for the sake of his baser male urges. You were no doubt still dozing because you hadn’t planned on going to class today either, and the rare opportunity to sleep in was too good to pass up. He should just leave and track you down later. Then he could make good on his promise to take things further with you. 

He boastfully imagined you would need your rest for when he finally got his hands on you. As an athlete, his stamina was spectacular. 

A stray piece of parchment was wedged under the candelabra on your nightstand, so Sebastian helped himself to it. He wrote down a short message for you to read when you woke up, encouraging you to find him once you awake and moving to spare him the hassle of traversing the entire school in search of you again. The note was promptly folded up, adorned with a messy ‘S’, and perched delicately on the table. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t be waiting for you too long.

Just as he was turning to head for the door, the sight of something incredibly ordinary caught his eye. 

It was a wicker basket lined with a cotton sac. A makeshift hamper for you to discard your dirty clothes in. Totally normal– nothing worth stopping for. 

But Sebastian was a fucking weirdo. He was a hopelessly enthralled freak with no limits when it came to you. 

He needed to turn around. He had no business lingering in your room any longer– he had already left a message for you to see later. Even though he told himself as much, he still knelt down beside the basket, his body moving on its own as he reached in and rifled through its contents. Sweat was fucking pouring from his forehead– the fear of being caught triggering something in him that made his cock twitch and his gut tighten. 

Right at the bottom of the hamper was a pair of undergarments much like the ones he had peeled down your hips before; incredibly worn, sheer, tiny, and evidently used. Seriously– how frugal was too frugal when it came to saving money? There was no way you actually wore something like this under your trousers. 

The evidence to the contrary made his blood race and his own pants suddenly seem tight. Way too fucking tight. 

Glancing back at your sleeping face, Sebastian’s lips pursed as he considered his next move carefully. Surely you wouldn’t miss one pair of undergarments, right? If you held onto all the ones from the years past, there had to be an abundance of them lying around for you to use. 

Alright, not the right thing to think. The fabric over his groin was beginning to grow snug. 

He was a menace. A disgusting, perverted aberration. But he couldn’t help himself. He was pathetic.  

Swallowing thickly, Sebastian tucked the thin fabric into his pocket and averted his gaze to the door, unable to bring himself to look at you again as he stood up, turned, and made off with your unmentionables.  

—

Sebastian was pretty sure he had blacked out. 

Literally. There was a loss of time between when he’d left your room and where he found himself now, and he could not for the life of him remember how he had ended up here. Alone in his dorm, sat up in his bed with his pants around his ankles. Everything was shrouded in darkness, but he knew his own body well enough to maneuver around without light. His cock was pulsing in his fist as he furiously worked his hand over himself with your underwear pressed firmly against his face. 

Fuck. 

The mattress dipped beneath the weight of his body and the weight of his conscience as he dug his heels into the comforter, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head as he inhaled deeply once again. A shudder racked his entire form in a frigid rush at the scent that greeted him. Your scent– as intoxicating and addicting as ever. 

The groan that tore from his throat was muffled against your knickers, his fist twisting maddeningly over the head of his cock at the same time his hips bucked off the bed. Sebastian silently cursed himself for behaving so abhorrently, yet he was completely and utterly helpless to stop himself. He couldn’t. You were a walking, breathing aphrodisiac, and the smell of you alone was enough to drive him crazy. 

His lips parted of their own accord so his tongue could dart out and lick at the frail cotton. Thank Merlin no one was on his dorm’s floor, because the moan he let loose practically shook the walls. His taste buds were bursting as a thick, hot bead of precum seeped from the swollen tip of his cock, cascading over his curled fingers and lubricating his shaft further. The sound of the slide was made noisier– infinitely wetter– prompting him to increase his speed with renewed gusto.

Any shame Sebastian might have felt for indulging himself this way melted away with each frantic twist of his wrist. The guilt warred with his ever-present desire for all of two seconds before he stuffed your undergarments between his teeth, freeing his hand so he could loosen his tie and kick his trousers to the floor. The furnace that normally kept the dorms warm was off, but the heat radiating from his body was more than enough to chase the chill of the room away. 

As soon as his legs were free and his collar wasn’t quite as tight as before, Sebastian reclaimed the underwear in his hand and pressed the material to his face, trapping his nose and his mouth behind the saturated cotton. He sucked down another shuddering breath, a sob nearly breaking from his chest that he adamantly bit back. His hand moved vigorously over his cock, his thumb rubbing incessantly over the head as he milked more fluid from himself. 

Balls tightening, he felt a telltale heat roaring to life in the pit of his stomach. The tension was mounting quickly– his body begging for the release he had been after since he’d woken up with plans to bed you this morning. Your clothing and his own fist wasn’t at all what he was after– especially not after having gotten to taste you– but he didn’t care. He was desperate. It was utterly insane to lose control of himself like this over a pair of underwear, but it had already been established that Sebastian was the farthest thing from normal. 

He was a lost cause when it came to you. 

Pervert, he heard you say in his mind. Yeah, he was hopeless. No better than a dog in heat. 

“Pervert.” 

Wait, what? 

Sebastian’s eyes snapped open so suddenly, he was momentarily blinded by the light flooding into the room from the open doorway. The voice he had been hearing in his head wasn’t in his head at all. 

Fuck. 

Clad in your casual clothing, you stood in the entrance to the dorm with a bemused expression on your face. The skirt you had on swished around your knees as you clasped your hands behind your back, but aside from that minute movement, you stayed where you were. There was a tinge of amusement in your wide eyes, but it was overshadowed by the heady flush that spread from your cheeks all the way down your neck. 

Dear gods. How long had you been standing there? How long had you been watching him? Before Sebastian had jumped your bones in his room two weeks ago, you’d had no experience dealing with this sort of… thing. His sexual urges had been his to deal with by himself, and as far as he had been concerned, you were a virtuous saint. A virgin. Unaware of the brutish thoughts that plagued all men his age day after day. 

So why weren’t you screaming? How come you were mostly unfazed, save for the blood heating your cheeks? Why– why were you closing the door? 

Why the hell were you walking closer?!

The curtains on the windows were still drawn, so the room was plunged into near darkness without the light from the hallway illuminating it. Your face was shrouded by shadows as a result, and Sebastian’s heart was hammering against his sternum so violently that he was positive you could hear it. 

“You could have at least asked, you know,” he heard you say softly, your shoes clicking gently against the stone floor as you closed the distance. “That pair isn’t even that nice.”

Sebastian’s brain had officially stopped working. Or he was dead. It had to be something like that, because there was no way in hell you were actually so calm in the wake of discovering him masturbating with your undergarments held against his face. 

They were still fucking there, too. He hastily jerked the material away from his nose and covered his leaking cock with his hands, wishing pointlessly that he hadn’t discarded his trousers to the floor. He needed something to cover himself with– or for a hole to conveniently open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Preferably the latter. 

You waved your hand dismissively as you approached the bed, and Sebastian wanted nothing more than to make out whatever expression it was you had on your face. What kind of look did you find suitable to wear upon catching someone fusing your underwear to their face? He had sniffed and licked and drooled all over them. That had to warrant a scowl or a grimace. Maybe even pure, undiluted disgust. But the room was too dark, and Sebastian’s mind was too hazy– both from lust and mortification. 

And fear. He was feeling a lot of fear at present, too. 

You stopped directly beside his bed, and even though Sebastian knew he was taller than you, he had never felt so dwarfed in his entire life. He watched you cautiously as you bent down to gather the hem of your skirt in your hands, and he damn near passed out when you gingerly slid something down your legs. Calmly and confidently, you straightened and held out the pair of underwear you’d been wearing beneath your skirt, and the choked gasp that ripped from his throat was too sudden to silence. 

They were a nice pair. Still sheer, but not from years of use. No, the risqué attire dangling from your index finger was designed to look that way. See-through, snug, and lined with tiny, lacey bows all around the waistband. They looked new. 

Merlin– when had you bought those? Why had you bought those? 

“What? Nothing to say?” Sebastian saw your head tilt to the side, the antagonizing tone you spoke with imbuing him with panic so potent that he started to sweat. 

“I–” he started to say, sitting up so he could close his legs shamefully. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking– I didn’t think–”

His nonsensical rambling was cut short when the underwear hanging from your finger was pressed against his lips. Even with his jagged, self-deprecating thoughts bearing down on him and making it hard to think, Sebastian’s cock still twitched under his palm when the scent from your knickers hit him. It was the same smell that had driven him mad with lust between your legs two weeks ago, and the effect it had on him was instantaneous. 

Your laugh was strained and a little awkward, but you stubbornly kept your hand where it was as Sebastian went rigid atop the bed. “You know, I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking that I was a fool. We had our little moment in here, and I told you I wanted more. Then I agreed to wait since you suddenly wanted to be chivalrous. But now I find you here like this? Using my underwear to get off? Do you prefer fantasy to the real thing?” 

Gods, no. You had no fucking clue how badly he had wanted to claim you that day. The fact that you had indulged him and allowed him to do what he did had seemed like a bonafide miracle. Doing anything more that night had seemed like playing with fire. He wouldn’t have been able to control himself, and if wanting your first time to be pleasant made him chivalrous, then the bar was on the fucking floor. 

He wanted you bad. The craving was so strong that it blinded him to almost everything. Maybe waiting this long had been a mistake, but… he’d believed it to be the right thing to do. 

To have you standing over him smothering his face with the undergarments you had just taken off, though? He was beginning to think otherwise. Maybe waiting had only made things worse for both of you. 

You didn’t bother to wait for him to respond to your line of questioning. As soon as his mouth opened, the thin cotton was pushed past his lips, your combined scent and taste invading all of his senses. Sebastian had to stop himself from moaning with relief– but that left him completely susceptible to the strongest wave of arousal he had ever felt in his life crashing over him. 

Fuck. 

Sebastian’s fingers flexed, the forgotten pair of underwear in his hand tightening around his digits as he fought the urge to grip his twitching cock. None of this made any sense. He was torn between wanting to touch himself and wanting to touch you, but he didn’t dare to move. This situation was precarious enough, and he wasn’t sure what the correct action to take was. 

Evidently doing nothing wasn’t it, because you huffed indignantly before reaching out to slap his hands away from his groin. Your smaller hand enveloped his throbbing length swiftly, and there was no stopping the guttural moan that Sebastian let loose– the sound muffled by the material stuffed in his mouth. His hips jerked up instinctively, and immediately after, his motor function returned to him. The other pair of underwear was dropped against the bed as Sebastian’s hand flew out to grip your wrist, his arm trembling as he warred between letting you stroke him and stopping you altogether. 

“Fuck, w-wait a second,” he stammered around his mouthful. 

“I’ve been waiting for weeks. If you don’t make good on what you promised, I swear I’ll walk out of this room and never come back.” 

His heart sank– but then your thumb swiped over the tip of his cock. Then his heart soared. He pried your hand and undergarments away from his face, keeping both close enough so the spit-soaked material brushed against his lips. “J-Just hold on– one second, give me one second.” 

“You’re the most indecisive man I’ve ever met,” you muttered in annoyance. His eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness, enough so that he was able to see the eager expression on your face. That, coupled with the way your lips were parted and your brows were furrowed, was quickly eradicating the remnants of his self-control. “Why leave me a note asking me to come find you if you were just going to send me away?” 

Ah, to hell with it. 

Sebastian’s eyes flashed for the briefest of moments before he pulled you down against the bed, effortlessly moving so you were sprawled beneath him. His lack of trousers didn’t seem to bother you in the slightest– not with how your lips quirked up in obvious excitement. Your enthusiasm was further validated when you reached up to tug on the end of his tie, drawing him closer into your space with a shy smile. 

His body was practically vibrating as he leaned down to whisper against the corner of your mouth, “Who said anything about sending you away?” 

Pulling back slightly, Sebastian was graced by the sight of you staring up at him with wet, wide eyes, and from that moment on, he was unable to perceive anything else. Not the unsatisfied ache in the pit of his stomach. Not the humiliation he still felt at having been caught with your underwear clenched in his white knuckled grip. Not the way you had brazenly attempted to match his energy even though you had no experience with such things. 

Alright, that last one was a lie. He still remembered that with a good amount of clarity. Fucking minx. 

Sebastian could hear your stuttered breathing as his right hand wandered down your prone form. The tips of his fingers skimmed over the plane of your stomach, then along your hip, and once he reached the center of your legs, he gathered your skirt into a messy heap. It almost pained him to look away from your face, but he couldn’t not watch as inch after inch of your soft skin was exposed. 

It was worth it. Gods, the sight of your bare legs had haunted his dreams for the last two weeks. Sebastian vowed that sometime soon, he would take his time leaving a collection of love-bites over every part of you. 

He had to be a masochist to some degree, because beyond attempting to take things slow with you, there was no good reason for him to let your clothing fall from his grip, and yet that was exactly what he did. Your skirt barely covered your exposed cunt, and when Sebastian testingly grazed his fingers along the inside of your thighs, the wetness he felt there nearly had him keeling over. 

Fucking hell, how long had you been like this? Was it everything happening presently that was turning you on, or had seeing him laid out with your underwear triggered your arousal? 

He wanted to ask you, but there was another more important question that came to mind at that moment. Sebastian fixed his eyes on yours again, all too pleased to find blatant desperation etched across your stunning face. Legilimency wasn’t needed for him to know that you wanted him to touch you where it mattered most. Not yet, he thought. First, he wanted answers. 

“I’m curious, darling,” he started, thankful that he had managed to keep his voice low and sultry instead of tight and strained. “In all that time spent waiting, did you touch yourself to the thought of me?” 

With how close Sebastian already was to your face, he watched plainly as the flush heating your cheeks darkened impossibly further. Your eyes widened, your lips pursed together harshly– and if there was ever a picture to be found in the dictionary beside the word ‘guilty’, Sebastian would pay good money for it to be the image of you right now. 

You didn’t even need to say anything. From the way you swallowed thickly and shifted your hips lower to chase after his hand, Sebastian knew without a shadow of a doubt that you had. 

The choked groan that snuck its way out of his throat conveyed his approval well enough. Sebastian’s lashes fluttered at the same time a self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and any remaining blood in his body that hadn’t already made its way to his cock shot there in a heartbeat. Merlin, he wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. 

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked, his hand slowly creeping closer to the apex of your thighs, the suspense effortlessly pulling a gentle gasp from you that was like music to his ears. He brushed his knuckles over the slick skin waiting for him beneath your skirt, watching delightfully as your chest sharply rose with your strangled intake of breath. “Did it feel good? Come on, tell me.” 

Your pupils were blown wide with lust as you blinked up at him. When you reached down to grab for his wrist– probably to move his hand where you wanted it– Sebastian withdrew the appendage entirely and tutted disapprovingly. Wordless as it was, the message was clear; you needed to confess the truth before he gave you anything more. 

“I– I don’t know,” came your half-hearted reply. You were obviously embarrassed– Sebastian could tell that much– but that wouldn’t do. Not in the slightest. 

He lowered his head so his lips were a hairs-width away from yours, then whispered, “I think you do. It’s not that hard, darling. Did you touch yourself while thinking of me? Yes, or no?” 

A timid sound reverberated through your chest, your expression shifting into something resembling forlorn. Just as Sebastian was about to reassure you that it was fine and that it was just him here with you, your small voice reached his ears. “Yes.” 

Fuck. 

Chuckling breathlessly, he pressed you further. “And?” 

You waited a few seconds, drawing in a deep, intentional breath before responding. “It… wasn’t the same.” 

Merlin help him. He couldn’t wait anymore. 

Sebastian closed the minuscule gap between your lips, kissing you ravenously as mental images of you touching yourself in the dead of night flooded his mind and left him feeling intoxicated. The arm he’d left braced by your head up until now moved so he could slide his hand under your neck, lifting you just enough to deepen the kiss, and he bullied his tongue into your mouth in some desperate attempt to taste you. A small whimper sounded from you, but you were quick to part your lips for him to grant him better access, and it was at that point Sebastian elected to dip a lone finger into your wet, waiting hole. 

He swallowed up the startled moan you let loose greedily, relishing in how warm you felt inside and loving how your walls fluttered around his finger. You were so sensitive– so responsive– and Sebastian couldn’t fucking wait to hear you crying out his name. He wanted to catalog every sound you were capable of making away in his brain forever. He wanted to burn a lasting mark on your very soul in the hopes that the memory of him would never leave you. 

Sebastian wanted all of you; your body, your soul, your mind. The mere thought of owning every fiber of your being left him feeling high as if he’d smoked a pouch of Mallowsweet, and drunk as though he’d downed a bottle of Firewhiskey. His blood burned hot with arousal, and a fat bead of precum oozed from the tip of his cock and dripped onto your thigh. 

 Not that you noticed, though. Sebastian was effectively consuming you– his kiss so thorough and so passionate that he didn’t doubt you were dizzy from it. That, along with the added addition of his finger probing deep inside you, meant that you were like putty in his hands. 

Trembling. 

Malleable. 

You were entirely at his mercy as he stoked the flames of desire growing stronger in his gut and– by extension– yours. 

Movement near his hip registered somewhere in the back of his mind, but it wasn’t until Sebastian felt your dainty fingers wrap around his cock that he gasped and broke away from your lips. You were the embodiment of sin looking up at him, with rosy cheeks, half-lidded eyes, and kiss-swollen lips that curled into a shy, seductive smile. He didn’t get a chance to say anything before you were swiping your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading around the precum there blindingly, and your efforts were met with the sound of Sebastian’s hoarse, guttural groan. 

Euphoria and fear alike overtook him. It felt good– too good. He saw stars, and the moment they cleared, he was fighting tooth and nail against his baser urges. 

“Fuck, don’t–” he almost fucking fell over sideways when you repeated the motion, and the curious glimmer in your eyes bordered dangerously close to wicked. He hissed through his teeth, “Shit, s-stop– stop. I’m serious.” 

“Why do you get to touch me but I can’t touch you?” 

The fact that you had the audacity to pout confirmed one thing very clearly for Sebastian: he truly had created a monster that night in his dorm. “This is going to end a lot faster than I’d like if you keep touching me.” 

“Oh…” You trailed off in a low voice as a frown tugged at your lips before almost mournfully releasing his achingly hard shaft. “Does… does it not feel good?” 

Bloody hell. Even without your hand on his cock, Sebastian was on the brink of cumming all over the place. Your wet, innocent eyes glistening with inexperienced uncertainty could prove to be a greater threat than your fingers, he wagered. His quick bark of laughter was airy and strained, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut as he shook his head. “The complete opposite, actually. It feels fucking amazing. But you’d be doing me a disservice if you forced me to finish now.”

Your body seemed to relax into the mattress, your relief at his clarification obvious and incredibly endearing. “Would that be bad? I don’t– I mean… I don’t have anything to compare to, so I doubt you could disappoint me.” 

Heavens above– if only you knew what his internal monologue had sounded like in recent days. “Maybe, but I would definitely be disappointing myself. Especially considering the only part of me that’s been inside you is my finger.” 

He curled the digit for emphasis, smirking to himself when you jolted slightly. “O-Okay, yeah. Point taken.”

Sebastian was satisfied with your acceptance, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He was positive he’d never been so hard in his fucking life– which was saying something when he stopped to remember how many times he had woken up in the middle of the night with the lingering, phantom feeling of your lips still around his cock. In those moments, he had sworn things couldn’t get any worse than that. But dreams evidently couldn’t hold a damn candle to the real thing. 

Reminding himself that he had the entire day to spend with you helped soothe his frazzled nerves. There was no list of guidelines that stated sex was a one-round thing, and he mentally thanked the gods for that. He had no intention of letting you go so soon.

Without taking his eyes off of yours, Sebastian dexterously slid his finger out to add a second alongside it. His movements were cautious and slow as he pressed the tips of both digits in, watching you for any signs of pain or discomfort. Apart from a nervous sort of anticipation flitting across your face, he saw nothing that indicated he was hurting you, so he gingerly began pumping his fingers deeper. 

It didn’t take long for his knuckles to end up flush to your cunt. The copious amounts of slick seeping from you made the slide infinitely easier, and as Sebastian took to curling and pressing the pads of his fingers against your innermost walls, your reactions were nothing short of mesmerizing. 

“How does it feel?” Sebastian asked roughly. His mind and his body were at war with one another– both parts of himself struggling to decide whether or not to give in to the mounting pleasure pooling in the pit of his stomach. He bit the inside of his cheek with so much force that he tasted blood. He’d already let himself come once just from feasting upon you two weeks ago– he could not pull such an amateur move a second time. 

Your shaky, panted breaths were all he heard. Then you were murmuring, “It feels– hng– it’s good, it’s good.” 

Humming his approval, Sebastian looked away from your face to seek out that one part of womanly anatomy he had read about once before. Not that he had intentionally sought out such information– not by a long shot. But by some stroke of luck, he had come across the bead of knowledge randomly once before, and seeing how focusing on it had pushed you over the edge the last time he’d been between your legs, he was eager to do so again.

It didn’t take him long to become reacquainted with the tiny bud. Every inch of your body Sebastian had already explored was dutifully committed to memory, and he doubted he could forget any of it if he tried. Twitching his fingers up, he planted his thumb against the crest of your folds and was instantly rewarded with the sound of your strangled gasp. Your spine arched towards him at the same time your heels dug into the mattress, and the long, drawn out moan that seemed to spill from your lips involuntarily was smothered when you slapped a hand over your mouth. 

Sebastian’s nails dug into the back of your neck, and he leaned down to nudge your wrist with his nose. “No one can hear you out there– it’s just us. Only you and me.” 

You squinted up at him blearily, crinkling your nose as you cast a fleeting glance towards the door. “You’re not just saying that, are you?” 

His face went stony, if only for a flicker of a moment. “I’d never let anyone else hear you like this.” 

Your arm twitched minutely before you let the limb fall beside your head. Then he was kissing you again– the action laced with promise and adoration. The attention he bestowed on your bundle of nerves never ceased, and the symphony of moans that fell rapidly from you were swallowed up by Sebastian as he licked, sucked, and bit at your lips hungrily. Your taste, your noises, the feeling of your body quivering and tensing against his– all of it left him dizzy with want. 

Lost in the throes of pleasure, Sebastian boldly plunged his fingers deeper, his thumb sliding harder over your clit, and you abruptly broke away from the kiss to toss your head back and groan, “Gods, Sebastian…” 

He shuddered like the wind had been knocked out of him, hot and harsh against your lips. Fuck. “Say it again. Say my name again.” 

If there was anything Sebastian could safely claim to know about himself, the first was that he was a quick study. The second? There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Your smile, your praise, your satisfaction. All of it twined together in his mind the second he heard his name fall from your lips, and he continued his movements with newfound vigor so that every touch, every toe-curling pump of his fingers, had you shivering and writhing underneath him. 

A bright, heady flush crept its way down your cheeks and beneath the neckline of your blouse, but despite your obvious embarrassment, you obliged him. You let Sebastian hear you as you whimpered his name– the word tangled up with stuttered sighs and half-stifled moans. You let him hear you when you warned him that you were close, that you were going to come, that you wanted to come. 

The stars that had clouded his vision before came back with a vengeance when you cried out his name again and grabbed his wrist, holding his hand in place as the wind was effectively knocked out of you. Sebastian watched you come apart with greedy eyes, drinking in the sight of your entire body tensing and squirming until the painful throbbing between his legs became too much to bear. 

Fuck, he couldn’t wait any longer. 

“You’re so perfect,” Sebastian said in a quick rush as he withdrew his fingers, his cock twitching against his thigh when he shamelessly licked the evidence of your pleasure from his digits. “Gods, you taste so fucking good, too.” 

There was a quiet tension hanging between both of you as he sat back on his haunches to begin unbuttoning your top. His movements were gentle– reverent– as he slipped the clothing over your shoulders, and his breath caught in his throat when he realized that you weren’t wearing anything beneath the shirt. Your laugh when you took note of his expression sounded like wind chimes, but Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to feel negatively about it. Strangely enough, a warm sentimentality overtook him as he helped you shed all of your clothing. 

When you sat up to allow him to slide your blouse down your arms, he felt relieved that it was you he was doing this with for the first time. When he switched gears to begin removing his own clothing, he felt giddy knowing that only the walls were bearing witness to how blissed out he looked as he gazed upon your naked body. And when he settled back over you in a daze– his hands skimming lightly up your sides to savor the softness of your skin– he felt a dark possessiveness take root. 

A primal sort of male-pride filled him as he delighted in the fact that you trusted him. You wanted this with him. No one else. 

Done with his impromptu introspection, Sebastian slid his hands down your waist, over your pelvis, and finally wrapped them under your thighs. He hitched your legs up so they were bent on either side of his hips and cast a questioning look your way. His enthusiasm couldn’t outweigh his caution– not where you were concerned. “Are you ready?” 

You gave him a shallow dip of your chin, your throat bobbing nervously. “Can I ask a stupid question?” 

“Yes, I take the contraceptive potion.” 

“Not that!” You slapped your hands over your face, trying and failing to hide your reddening cheeks. If anymore blood rushed to your head, Sebastian wagered you might pass out. Peeking at him through your fingers, he heard you mutter, “That is good to know though…” 

He laughed softly as he began tenderly caressing your thighs. “What’s your question?” 

“What if, um…” your voice dropped to a whisper. “What if it doesn’t… fit?” 

Your eyes fell to Sebastian’s cock resting heavily above your folds, and it was his turn to flush, but not from embarrassment. His brows climbed up his forehead as he pulled you closer by your legs, and he couldn’t fight the smug grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, it’ll fit. Don’t you worry your pretty head about that, darling.” 

Whether or not you believed him remained to be seen, but you did let your hands fall away from your face. You raised them above your head in an act of complete submission, and fuck– there was no way you could ever possibly know what that simple gesture did to him. 

Wordlessly, Sebastian shifted his hips back and lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. The first push had you hiccuping and holding your breath, and as much as he wanted to urge you not to do that, he wasn’t faring any better. It was hot. Tight and wet and way more overwhelming than he could have imagined. His heart was beating against his sternum so aggressively that he was certain you could hear it, and he had to blink rapidly to keep his wits about him. He still had a ways to go before he was fully sheathed, but for your sake and for his, he paused his movements. 

When he spotted your eyes clamped shut, he willed himself to groan, “You alright?” 

“Mhm,” you squeaked in quite possibly the most unconvincing way possible. “Just– just give me a second. It’s… a lot.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

A few terse seconds ticked by, and with a few murmured reassurances from him, you eventually opened your eyes and nodded up at him. “Okay. Maybe just… go slow for a bit.” 

Hell, if he had waited this long, he could wait a little longer. He smiled and grunted in confirmation, then looked down to watch as another sliver of his cock disappeared inside of your wet, fluttering walls. You must have instinctively realized that holding your breath wasn’t the right thing to do, because the sound of your measured, shaky inhales graced Sebastian’s ears, and he made a point to mirror your breathing. Muted whispers of “Relax” and “There you go, just breathe” were the only words he spoke, and when his hips were finally flush to your rear, he sighed his praise into the empty air above him. “Good girl… fuck.” 

The way you suddenly clenched around his shaft almost sent him careening over the side of the bed, but your muffled moan acted as his anchor. Sebastian looked down at you in shock– trying and failing to process what the hell had just happened– but it wasn’t easy to utilize his brain with your cunt threatening to snap his cock clean off. 

“What– really?” The teasing lilt to his voice was almost completely hidden beneath its strain, but you still picked up on it. 

“I– I don’t know,” you groaned bitterly. “If you’re just going to keep teasing me, we can call it quits here–” 

“I’m done, I’m done,” he promised in a rush. Even still, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “I just wasn’t expecting you to like hearing that so much.” 

You huffed out a dry laugh, then lifted one of your legs to hook around his hip. Digging your heel into the small of his back forced him to abandon his hold on your other thigh so he could brace himself over you using his forearm, but the twinkle in your eyes told Sebastian that you liked the closer proximity better. It also told him that you were ready for more. 

He was a quick study, after all. 

His first few thrusts were shallow and slow. Partly because he needed to figure out what you could handle, but also partly because he couldn’t get enough of how your lashes fluttered every time he bottomed out. Barely there moans slipped past your parted lips, and when Sebastian testingly ground into you after a particularly grating pump of his hips, you groaned unabashedly. 

Gods, he was losing his fucking mind. Burying his head against your throat was the only thing he could do to keep himself from losing control, but the fact that the deep breath he sucked down was laced with your tantalizing scent didn’t help him at all. Every facet of your being was smothering his senses. It was the ultimate test of his restraint. 

Eventually, he felt your arms wrap loosely around his neck. You sounded winded when you asked, “Are you okay? We can slow down if you need to.”

Slow down? Hah… 

Sebastian picked up his head to fix his eyes on yours, and even if you hadn’t blanched, he would have known there was a fire burning in them. “You have no idea how much I’m holding back right now.” 

Your gulp was audible. Then, much like before when you’d caught him red-handed with your undergarments, you seemingly steeled your nerves and tried to meet him half-way. “Then don’t. I can handle it, I promise.” 

Bloody hell. 

Sebastian searched your eyes for permission. As soon as he found it– and thank Merlin he did– he was kissing you again, distracting you with his teeth and his tongue as he withdrew his cock languidly. When he sank back in, his pace was only slightly faster than before, but the difference was insane. His head felt lighter, his nerves blazed to life, and the tight coil that had been looming in the pit of his stomach since before you’d walked in on him earlier made its presence known. 

You scrambled to hook your other leg around his waist– barely given the room to do so before his thrusts became more powerful, more forceful. He felt fucking feral, but you’d always done that to him. You always brought out the parts of himself that he tried to keep hidden. Without any effort on your part, you had him acting a fool time and time again, unaware of the full extent of your influence over him. 

In the past, Sebastian would say it drove him mad. Now, though? He embraced it. He reveled in it. Only you could make his brain switch off so flawlessly. Only you could reduce him to a desperate, lust-drunk idiot, and he was well past the point of caring. 

Each slam of his hips into yours brought wet, sloppy squelching with it. His bed creaked furiously as his tempo increased, but if breaking the frame was the price to pay for getting to experience this moment, he would gladly sleep on the floor for the rest of his fucking life. The force of his thrusts punched airy moans from your lungs, and the sting of your nails biting into his neck intermingled with the pleasure coursing through him beautifully. Entrusting you to keep your ankles hooked around him, Sebastian released your thigh to bring his hand to your face, thumbing over your cheekbone and grinning when his touch prompted you to abandon your attempts at keeping your voice down. The tightness in his gut amplified tenfold when his name tumbled from your lips, and Sebastian let loose a groan of his own. 

“Say it again,” he whispered, pausing with his cock fully buried in your unbelievably wet cunt. He was giving it his all– trying to stop himself from ending everything so soon. “Again– say my name again.” 

You blinked up at him with a hazy, fucked-out expression that would singlehandedly fuel his masturbation sessions until the day he died. “S-Sebastian,” you groaned. “More, give me more. Please, Sebastian.” 

He damn near folded you in half the moment the plea left your lips. He buried his face in your shoulder, wrenched one of your arms away from his neck to lace his fingers tight with yours, then started hammering home like a trueborn deviant. He’d be feeling this later– you would, too– but he hoped that would be the case. He wanted to come back to this moment later on. If he could relive the feeling of your legs around his waist, of your nails biting into his flesh, of your wet cunt swallowing his cock up hungrily… fuck, what else did he need? 

More to the point, Sebastian silently prayed that you would remember everything, too. If the aches and bruises that would no doubt litter your body after the fact made you think of him, he could die a happy man. 

The mounting pressure in the pit of his stomach threatened to burst. Sebastian groaned, mouthing brainlessly against the skin of your throat as he rammed his cock into you harder and faster. While he still had some tiny, barely there semblance of control over not finishing, he had long since lost the ability to keep his voice down. Between labored grunts and guttural moans, he said, “Good– so good– you’re so good for me. Fuck, you’re such a good girl.” 

The gasp that escaped you brought a wicked smile to Sebastian’s lips, and even though you tried to stifle the whimper that followed, it was pointless. He heard it all the same, and he felt the way your walls tightened in response to his praise. Gods, he never could have imagined something so simple having such a complex effect on you. His mere words could bring you higher to the edge? 

His ego had officially quadrupled in size. 

He felt your fingers curl until your nails dug into the back of his hand, every inch of your body tensing as your own pleasure grew. “I’m– gods, please Sebastian. I think– hng.” 

Keeping his head low, Sebastian turned so his lips were directly against the shell of your ear. Almost condescendingly, he cooed, “I know. Go on, give me another one. Please? Be a good girl and give me one more– just one more.” 

Your walls tightened around his cock impossibly further, senseless babble sounding from you as he weaponized your affinity for praise. When Sebastian slipped his hand free from yours to wedge it between your bodies and thumb at your clit again, it was a bonafide miracle you didn’t break his shaft off entirely. The way he could feel your climax reaching its peak was utterly maddening. It was too much, but he held out that little bit longer until he was sure you were coming apart beneath him. 

Your arms shot out to wrap around his shoulders, and your knees dug into his sides as you clenched your legs around his waist with suffocating strength. Sebastian kept slamming into you all the while– kept rubbing those tormenting little circles against your clit– but he had the good grace to move his face over yours so he could kiss you. The hoarse, hiccuping moans he milked from you were swallowed up by him animalistically. 

He had meant it earlier when he’d said no one was allowed to hear you like this. No one but him. 

The feeling of you convulsing around him was more than enough for that coil in his stomach to finally snap. Unable and unwilling to hold himself back any longer, Sebastian groaned loud against your lips, his thrusts turning stuttered and frantic as you slowly came back to yourself. His brows pinched together as he desperately reached the point of no return, and then he felt you pull his head down so you could press your lips against his ear like he had done. 

“Inside. Inside– please?” 

He fucking screamed. 

Sebastian drove his hips into yours with so much force that it knocked you a few inches up the bed. Not that it made much of a difference, though. You were still clinging to him with every remaining ounce of strength you possessed. The hand he’d previously slipped between your bodies flew out to grip your thigh with bruising strength, and he let the majority of his weight settle over you as he rocked his hips into you before finally stilling. 

Fuck. 

It took a while for his body to quit trembling. There was no way to gauge the validity of his assumption, but he was positive he’d never cum so hard or so much. He genuinely wondered if the mess was seeping out at this point, but when that fleeting thought caused his cock to twitch inside of you again, he banished it to the far reaches of his mind. 

He needed a minute to collect his bearings before his own body tried killing him. 

Still out of breath, Sebastian decided to stop smothering you. He pushed himself up on shaky arms and carefully pulled out, then fell beside you against the bed. He didn’t hesitate before gathering you up in his arms, deriving a gross amount of satisfaction in the way you snuggled against his chest as though it was your gods-granted right to do so, and you sighed contentedly when he took to grazing his nails lightly over your back. 

The moment was interrupted, however, when you leaned into him more with a frown tugging at your lips. You reached behind yourself to fish out something that had been pressing into you uncomfortably, and when you brought your arm back around, the undergarments Sebastian had swiped from your bedroom were dangling from your fingers. 

“Oh…” he muttered, averting his gaze to the ceiling to better hide the guilt glimmering in his eyes. “Sorry again for that… don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.” 

“Do you want them?” 

Nevermind the ceiling– he went right back to staring at you, his mouth hanging open in blatant shock. “Uh, what?” 

The underwear was pushed closer towards his face, and if he didn’t have a pillow blocking his way, he would have leaned back more. Undeterred, you repeated, “Do you want them? I don’t mind. I probably would have thrown them away soon, anyway. They’re kind of…” 

His wide eyes jumped from you to the underwear, then back to you. “Old?” he helpfully supplied. 

“Yeah… well if you want them, they’re yours. Or the other pair.” You tossed the clothing to the foot of the bed, then turned back to face him with a coy smile playing on your pretty face. “Or you can forget about the underwear and just have me instead.”

The sight of you leaning towards him with your bare breasts seductively crushed between your arms had his blood supply splitting between the upper and lower halves of his body. While some of it rushed to heat his cheeks, most of it took a nosedive straight for his cock. Merlin… 

“Oh, no,” he drawled as he reached for you, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You laughed playfully when he hauled you back against his chest, and the weight of your body pressing down on his evicted the blood in his face and sent it lower with the rest. “I get to have you all to myself in exchange for giving up your underwear? What a dilemma…” 

“You’d better choose carefully,” you managed to say between giggles. “There’s a right answer, and I’ll be pretty disappointed if you pick the wrong one.” 

Sebastian wasn’t arrogant to think of himself as smart. He got good grades, studied when he needed to, and never turned in assignments late. That didn’t mean he didn’t make poor choices every now and then, though. His track record for stupid decisions was impressive, and there was a long list of people who would wholeheartedly agree with him if he had the guts to ask. 

But this choice? It was a no-brainer for him.