Chapter Text
You meant it.
The searing pain that consumed him, and the sudden slam of the Scriptorium’s cold, unforgiving stone floor against his side. The commanding echo of her voice and the determined furrow of her brows. The rawness of his throat and the warm, sticky feeling in his trousers. It was the most he’d ever felt. And you meant it.
Sebastian Sallow was a perverse individual.
Even beyond his inclination towards dark magic, he couldn’t deny that quality. How could he, when the first time a girl ever made him cum, it'd been from her casting the Cruciatus curse on him? When, now, the only way he can finish if he’s in some sort of pain? He blamed you for it all, and for the horrible irony. He was getting off to excruciating pain, while his sister was being weakened by the day from horrible bouts of it.
He hated himself for it.
The self-hatred spawned a different sort of shameful masochism. A voice–your voice–in his head as he roughly fisted his reddened cock, and firmly twisted one of his nipples. “You’re a nasty little thing, Sebastian,” were the sort of words you’d say, each word dripping with utter disdain.
“It felt good casting Crucio on you. You deserved every moment of that pain. I’d do it again, if not only to watch you writhe and scream on the floor once more.”
He’d finish with a pitiful noise, a violent jerk of his hips, and a sharp, metallic bite into the inside of his cheek.
Then came the searing regret. The hot tears that threatened to run down his freckled cheeks. You wouldn’t be so cruel, he knew. He figured.
—
You noticed.
When the quality of his groans subtly shifted from primal agony to something more breathy...Nearly obscene. The way he didn’t sound quite believable when he claimed he “would’ve done anything” to make the pain stop. The faint, unmistakable scent of him and how it vanished with a nearly inaudible "Scourgify."