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The only thing keeping Tom from hitting the ground was the tentacles. They were slithering toward his mouth, crawling all over his body and poking at a place where he never wanted anything to touch. One had wound itself tightly around his waist, squeezing the breath from his lungs with a grip that bordered on possessive. Not that he noticed; he was too distracted by the others—one curling firmly around his legs, another pinning his arms back as though it had no intention of letting him go.
Warm slippery fluids dribbled down his thighs, pooling from a place he rarely allowed himself to think about outside of detached research, where the genitalia between his legs seemed determined to ruin his life. He knew from all of his reading on omega reproduction that it was emitting a distinct aroma. While he doubted that plants had the olfactory means to notice that sickly-sweet scent, they seemed to somehow be responding to the deluge of hormones carried on his slick.
Tom was well and truly ensnared. The vines had a sinuous strength and were able to twist and turn him as they pleased. One especially thick tendril coiled beneath him, bringing with it an unsettlingly vibrant flower—a fierce, almost angry pink that unfurled on a heavy stalk, petal by petal.
He froze, barely daring to breathe. He knew this flower, knew it from books with pages thin as onion skin, filled with warnings about its dangers.
As an omega, Tom would be defenseless against its effects. He was far too young for such a thing to occur naturally, but the pollen of the Feverbloom flower was a critical ingredient in potions crafted to bring on a heat.
Clumps of bright pollen clung to the anthers in thick, fuzzy layers, heavy enough to slough off at any second. The thin, curved stamen appeared to tremble underneath the weight. One errant breeze, and the powder would float into the air, ready to ensnare anyone within breathing distance.
Tom loathed fear, considered it a weakness he’d dedicated himself to conquering, but in that moment, the chill of it crept into his veins. He was well aware that a single Feverbloom flower carried a dangerous amount of pollen, enough to brew multiple heat induction potions.
One might wonder how Tom ended up here, tangled in a mess of vines and seconds away from experiencing his first heat.
*
Earlier that night:
Tom slipped out of the Slytherin dungeon, his steps charmed silent against the stone floors, a dark purpose simmering within him. Tonight, he intended to teach his roommates a lesson for every slight they’d thrown his way. For his poverty, for his dirty blood, and most insultingly, for having been born an omega.
When he’d first arrived at Hogwarts, Tom hadn’t understood the significance of the last two slights. But he was nothing if not brilliant, and it hadn’t taken him long to piece together what the others thought of his blood status. Being an omega had been a little trickier to understand, but he’d managed it, studying his own nature with cold resolve. His classmates claimed they could smell it on him—the stench of poverty, of mudblood taint, of his omega status mingling into something they seemed to find revolting.
The Slytherins weren’t the first to think they could walk all over him. In the orphanage, Tom had made Billy Stubbs, Amy Benson, and Dennis Bishop pay dearly for thinking him weak, and he prided himself on his creativity when it came to revenge. This time, he had chosen a method as calculated and untraceable as it was unforgiving.
There were so many useful plants in the Hogwarts greenhouses that his classmates could have “accidentally” come into contact with, and Tom had several to choose from. Ultimately, he decided that the Venomous Tentacula would do the trick.
It wouldn’t kill them—no, Tom had no intention of damaging their useful bloodlines. But he wanted to leave them with a lingering reminder never to cross him again. The barest contact with a small bit of fuzz from one of the pods unleashed a searing, knife-like pain that clung on for weeks, one which no pain potion could alleviate—a fitting metaphor for anyone foolish enough to cross Tom Riddle. It would be a brutal warning, sharp and unyielding, that he was not to be trifled with.
The plants classified as Class XXXXX Dangerous Flora were kept strictly in Greenhouse Five, which was off-limits except under supervision by Herbology Professor. But Tom had volunteered enough times to sweep the floor and bring in fertilizer bags to know exactly how to get in and out without setting off any of the alarms.
Inside the greenhouse, the air was thick with humidity, smelling of wet soil mingled with the faint, exotic sweetness of fresh blooms. Sweat dotted Tom’s brow, but he needed to move quickly. His plan was to be in and out in ten minutes.
He had already mapped out every twist and turn through the greenhouse aisles, knowing which rows held the most dangerous plants and which ones were safe to brush past. He was confident, and yet, a strange feeling prickled the back of his neck. The greenhouse felt more alive than usual. There was a rustle of leaves, the faint hiss of a giant fern releasing a burst of mist, the slithering of a vine before he kicked it aside when it brushed against his ankle.
Ordinarily, a simple Lumos was enough to keep the creeping, night-loving plants at bay, though Tom didn’t expect them to give him too much trouble. Wizarding plants were sentient in ways that muggle plants were not, but Tom was certain he could manage them.
Another rustling sound, coming quickly from behind. Tom turned as a vine shot out from nowhere to hook around his knee.
He stumbled, tipping forward with his arms flailing, about to fall flat on his face. But before he hit the ground, a second vine wrapped around his waist, stopping him mid-fall and lifting him up as though he weighed no more than a twig.
Panic clawed at him, and he bit back a yelp. He twisted, reaching for his wand to slice through the vine, but it was knocked from his fingers and plucked out of the air by a green tendril, which waved it in front of his face like a taunt.
The vine around his waist tightened, and Tom realized with an uncomfortable certainty that the plant was toying with him.
Tom’s gaze landed on a spade-shaped leaf, unmistakably belonging to Devil’s Snare. His mind stuttered—that was simply impossible. The Devil’s Snare was kept on the far side of the greenhouse, well beyond the path he’d mapped with painstaking precision. He had made sure of that. Had the plant crossed the room by itself just to catch him?
The tendrils started ripping through his robes, shredding the fabric, and Tom flailed, shouting in protest. He only had two sets of school robes, and they were both secondhand—losing even one was more than he could afford.
But the vines showed no mercy as they exposed his skin to the oppressive humidity of the greenhouse. Tendrils coiled around his limbs and torso, winding tighter until he was completely immobilized, their weight pressing the air from his lungs with the relentless force of a boa constrictor wrapping around his chest.
Tom was tightly bound, ensnared in the plant’s undulating vines like prey captured by a sentient jungle that tightened its hold around him with each passing moment. It felt as though the entire greenhouse had turned its gaze on him, with every riotous bloom, delicate frond, and leafy bough leaning in, observing him with a quiet, unsettling intensity that felt like hundreds of eyes on him.
*
The world seemed to shrink around Tom, until all he could focus on was the gentle sway of the noxious pink flower in front of his face, nearly luminous in the dim silver moonlight.
The Feverbloom arched on its stem, tilting as if studying Tom with a playful curiosity.
Then, with a delicate shiver, it shook itself all over his face.
Tom immediately shut his eyes and held his breath, refusing to inhale even a trace of the pollen. But he could feel it settling on his face, tickling the inside of his nose, sinking into his skin.
The effects of the pollen took hold instantly.
Tom’s entire body relaxed, any tension or resistance melting away. Within moments, a slow, smoldering warmth started spreading through him, as if a furnace had roared to life within.
Tom opened his eyes to assess the situation. The world had gone pink and hazy at the edges. The fire within intensified, centering in the pit of his stomach, deep in his pelvis, burning hotter with each passing moment.
More vines began to creep closer, as if lured by the rising heat radiating from him. A slick, glistening substance oozed from the tips of some vines, dripping slowly onto the bare skin of his chest, pooling on his stomach, seeping between his thighs.
Vines drew his legs apart. He felt a firm, slick tendril prodding at his flesh, sliding slowly across the inner curve of his thighs in curious exploration.
Heat flooded his face, burning bright at the implication.
A tendril flicked around his small omega cocklet, tugging on it, coating it with the clear, slippery substance. It sent another bright flare of heat through him, and Tom bit down on his lower lip, stifling a cry. The last thing he wanted was to draw anyone to the greenhouse and risk being discovered.
Another tendril slid against the outer curves of his cunt, which was now throbbing with some type of intense, indescribable need. Tom could feel himself get wetter in between his legs, as his body tipped into what he assumed as a full-blown heat, slick dripping from his cunt and smearing all over the insides of his thighs.
When Tom had done his research on omega anatomy, he had studied all the diagrams, knew exactly where all the bundles of nerves and pressure points and glands were concentrated. Yet, he had never done a hands-on exploration. The dry, scientific texts had never described how it would feel. He didn’t know that the pleasure would be so concentrated. That the yearning ache deep inside of him would twist his insides so much that it felt like he would die if he wasn’t filled within the next second.
Out of the corner of Tom’s eye, he caught a sudden flash of fire. Briefly, he wondered if something might come to his rescue by burning up all of the plants.
A figure moved into Tom’s field of vision. The unmistakable bird’s nest of messy hair revealed it to be Professor Potter, his Herbology instructor.
Potter was holding a lit joint and a muggle lighter. The telltale scent of gillyweed clung to him in a dense, lingering cloud.
“Tom?” he squawked out, and despite his obvious concern, a wild, feral gleam sparked deep within his eyes as he took in Tom’s bound form, legs splayed open, his leaking cocklet and drenched cunt fully on display.
Despite the haze from his heat clouding his thoughts, Tom quickly crafted a cover story. "I’ve been having nightmares, so I came down to pluck a few Somnifera pods. Just to help get some sleep," he insisted, trying to keep his tone steady, difficult as it was.
Potter took a drag from his joint while assessing the scene, his brows furrowed.
Tom tried to relax. Of all professors or prefects to get caught by, Potter was the least worst option. He was the most relaxed, approachable professor at Hogwarts—the one who never handed out detentions or docked House points.
Then Potter’s gaze darkened as he spotted the Feverbloom.
“Tom, I’m not going to take any points, but—” Potter took another long draft off his joint, pausing before he continued, "—I think you – you might – er, be going into…" He exhaled a huge cloud of smoke. “It looks like you’re going into an induced heat.”
Potter’s pupils dilated as he got closer to Tom. For the first time, Tom noticed that Potter’s eyes were the exact shade of bright green as the lush, tropical leaves of the Venomous Tentacula. There was an unreadable glint within them—sharp, almost predatory.
Tom swallowed, his mouth suddenly watering, as he breathed in deep lungfuls of air. His senses were overwhelmed by the heady scent of Potter’s alpha pheromones, smoky-dark and rich and commanding.
With a violent lurch of his stomach, Tom suddenly remembered that Potter was a fully-grown adult male alpha. Unbonded as far as he could tell.
A vine reached down, deftly plucking the joint from Potter’s hand to hold it for him. Not for the first time, Tom noticed how the plants clearly adored him, responding to his presence like loyal pets, shifting and swaying as if they could read his mind.
(Had Potter instructed the plants to bind Tom, or had the Devil’s Snare acted of its own malignant accord? Alpha or not, Potter never seemed the sort to do that to his exceedingly underaged student.)
One thing was certain—Potter smelled so good. Tom’s heat must have oversensitized Tom to the scent of unbonded alpha, because he felt utterly intoxicated by the deep, potent aroma of Potter’s arousal, rolling off of him in thick waves.
Tom whimpered as the unyielding vines moved upwards, dragging along his thighs, grinding against his soaking wet cunt.
“Do you know what happens during a heat, Tom?” Potter didn’t wait for Tom to answer. “Your body will, biologically, need to be bred. Your womb will crave being filled. An omega’s heat doesn’t end until your body is satisfied that you’ve been stuffed full of pups.”
The vine holding Potter’s joint swooped down, pressing it between his lips, and he paused to take another slow drag. “So we will need to simulate that as closely as possible, in order to get your heat to break as soon as we can.”
Even though it was dark in the greenhouse, with only a half-moon above them, Tom could see the haze swirling around Potter, the pollen suspended in the drifting smoke from the gillyweed. Everything had taken on a pink tinge, edges softening and melting into a surreal blur. He felt feverish all over.
Potter swallowed thickly. Then he said to Tom in a low, grumbling, possessive growl: “And while you’re down here, on my grounds, you’re my responsibility.”
A new set of vines curled upwards, prying apart Tom’s knees. These were thicker, blunt at the tips instead of being tapered, resembling the tentacles of the giant squid that occasionally drifted past the Slytherin common room windows.
Tom felt the blunt tip of one of the tentacles prodding at the soaked entrance of his cunt. A moan slipped past his lips before he could stop himself. The insides of his thighs got even wetter.
“Your slick smells incredible… so sweet, so warm," Potter murmured, closing his eyes with a low, lingering groan.
The tendril that was wrapped around Tom’s small cocklet gave a sharp tug upwards. A clear, slick fluid started splurting onto Tom’s stomach out of the end of his prick…
…soon followed by what felt like a huge flood of slick gushing over Tom’s inner thighs.
He had never had anything like this happen before—only read about it.
The waves of pleasure and heat that slammed into Tom directly afterwards was indescribable.
He lost account of all his senses, melting fully into the intense, blinding pleasure like it was the only thing in the universe.
Every limb, every muscle, every neuron of his was left shaking afterwards.
Tom had never felt an orgasm before. The way it was described in books fell far short.
When Tom came to, Potter was gazing at him with a burning, wondrous hunger. "So beautiful…you’re so gorgeous… Look at how easily you cum…” A rough, calloused hand reached out to stroke Tom’s bare thigh.
Tom’s prick was still fully hard, as though he hadn’t cum at all.
He suddenly felt the blunt tip of the vine that had been circling his entrance dip inside and breach him. “Aaa–aaah,” he cried out, as a sudden jolt, sharp and electric, surged through him.
It was exactly what his body had been craving. It felt so right, so good, so perfectly natural. But it wasn’t enough. Tom wanted more—so much more, a hundred times over.
“You’ll need to relax, Tom, or it’ll hurt more,” Potter said. The hand on Tom’s thigh trailed higher, teased at his heated, oversensitive skin. “Your body knows what to do, just relax and let your instincts take over.”
At Potter’s words, Tom let his hips cant upwards, opening the way for the vine to sink deeper. Encouraged, it surged further inside.
He felt it slipping deeper and deeper in, pressing outwards against his tight inner walls, expanding them, pushing against them, as though it were a balloon inflating from inside him.
It pulled back and plunged inside once again. “Oh, my,” he choked out. “Oh god, more, please, more,” he pleaded, not even sure what he wanted more of.
“Such a pretty little omega, so overwhelmed with your first heat.” Potter’s voice had dipped, became coarser and more vulgar. There was a large bulge at the front of his robes, long and thick and tented slightly to the right. “Letting yourself be used and fucked.”
The vine sped up, as though responding to Potter’s words. Tom felt his cunt stretched to the brim, filled and fucked. Bred.
If he wasn’t already overheated, he would have turned bright red from the flush that followed.
It continued pistoning in and out of Tom, with each thrust slipping deeper inside of him, further still. The thinner tendril was still twisted around his cocklet, tugging jerkily at it, up and down.
Tom splattered all over his stomach again, for the second time in five minutes.
As his body seized up with his second orgasm, he could feel himself pulsing around the tentacle inside of him, pulling it deeper in.
When Tom opened his eyes, he saw himself surrounded by a tangle of vines that had crept upwards around him. Their tips were similarly thickened and blunt, like the one inside of him, and they all extruded a clear, viscous fluid. Most concerningly, the vines appeared to be rippling and waving around him, slow and sinuous, as though waiting their turn.
One of the vines probed at Tom’s arse. At his hole. He let out a startled yelp of protest and clenched down, tightening his muscles against any intrusions.
Undeterred, it pressed further in, ripping through Tom’s tightly clenched muscles.
A cry of pain escaped Tom’s lips.
Potter patted his thigh soothingly. “I told you to relax and not to fight it so much, didn’t I?” he asked, furrowing his brows sympathetically.
Tom had never thought the indignity of being an omega would come with the mortification of getting his arse penetrated, too. It was too strange, too overwhelming, but he tried to relax, and that did make it so much easier. His jaw went slack at the unfamiliar stimulation, tongue lolling out to swipe lazily at his lips, wanting something he didn’t understand—needing to have every hole filled.
Another one soon wedged its way inside of Tom’s arse alongside the first. He had never felt so stretched open before, so stuffed and full. Entirely exposed and on display.
“Beautiful,” Potter murmured. He squeezed the tent at the front of his robes with the hand that wasn’t rubbing Tom’s thigh. His fingers smeared through the juices drenching Tom’s sensitive, overheated skin, his touch teasing the very edge of Tom’s cunt before bumping into the vines and skating back down to cup Tom’s arse.
The vine that was thrusting inside of Tom’s cunt soon reached a point deep inside where pain rippled through him at every thrust forward. Tom tried to follow Potter’s advice and relax into it, rather than fighting the intrusion.
Gradually, he found that while the ache didn’t fade, it was overtaken by a searing heat, scorching into his nerves with every spike of pain.
Another vine reared upwards and caught Tom’s eye. It was distinct in that it had a row of luminous, turquoise-blue bulbs lining its underside, each about the size of a large egg. The other vines parted, still buried deep inside of him, letting the bulbous one through, right down the center.
With resistance pushing against the new intrusion at every inch, the vine took a long time squeezing itself inside of Tom’s already overstuffed pussy.
Tom felt so full he thought he might burst when the bulbs started pushing inside of him, each one catching on his rim before shoving inside.
“Alright… it’s alright… you’re good, Tom, you’ll be great…” Potter’s voice was husky, and Tom couldn’t see him anymore since the vines had momentarily tilted him backward, fully presenting his exposed and stuffed cunt to the alpha in front of him. “This should be enough to break your heat. It has to—oh, fuck. This is so fucking hot. I bet you feel so good, don’t you?”
Tom was sopping wet, and his stretched-out pussy was making filthy noises. He couldn’t help but yelp when another, wider bulb pushed inside with a pop.
“Here, this should help.” Potter dragged his hand over Tom’s chest, vines parting to let him make contact with flushed skin. He traced his fingertip around one pebbled nipple, and it felt like his fingers were burning as they pinched and pulled, rolling it between his thumb and index finger.
“P-professor—” Tom cried before orgasming again, whining through the sensations as the bulbous vine worked its way deeper inside.
His eyes rolled back and his nerves screamed, overly stimulated, making him twitch and writhe against his bonds.
He was so wet, so full, and the vines were pumping in and out of him, again and again, until he lost all sense of time and reality, until he was just a hole, there to get fucked and bred.
Everything went lax, the vines still pumping into him as he faded in and out of consciousness, draped in a pink, fuzzy Feverbloom blanket, leaving him with no desire to fight it as the plants bred him, one after another.
“Shh, it’s alright. You should feel better soon,” Potter told him, and there was a groan under his words. “They’ll leave their eggs in you, and that’ll be enough. That’ll break you.” His nails gripped the fleshy part of Tom’s thigh, nails digging in. “Fuck, you smell so good…”
Then, the motions grew rougher, ramping up into something different. The vines moved fast and deep enough to shake Tom out of his pleasure-induced stupor.
He craned his neck up to see vines wrapped around his thighs, more pumping in and out of his cunt hard enough to send his slick flying in all directions. Potter was standing so close, and some of the vines had wrapped around him as well, like a long, sinuous snake draped across its owner’s shoulders. He was still fully clothed with his hand squeezing his cock.
There was an alpha cock right there, and it wasn’t fucking him, and Tom needed it more than anything.
“Professor—please—I need you, please, I’m going to—”
Tom cried out, sobbing, as he felt the tentacle-like vine crush past his cervix to plant its eggs, tearing him wide open. It felt like a ring of fire had roared into life at the entrance of his cervix as the vine strained to push the egg all the way inside.
He could feel the first egg push out of the tentacle’s end, planting it deep inside his womb, quickly followed by another.
“Good boy, good, very good,” Potter sighed, longing and hunger in his voice. “You’re taking these so well. You’re doing perfect, Tom.”
Tom could see his stomach swelling with each one, distending to make room for the foreign bulbs. By the third, he was certain he couldn't take any more.
But then the vine shivered, as another lump worked its way down the verdant length. Breaching the tight muscles deep inside of his pussy and forcing its way into his womb. He howled with both pain and a deep, dizzying satisfaction.
“That should do it,” Potter said as the deflated tentacle pulled free, dripping with slick. On Potter’s word, the vines that had been pistoning inside of Tom’s cunt and arse also drew back, as did the thinner one wrapped around his stiff little cocklet.
The other vines that were wrapped around Tom’s limbs stayed in place, keeping him spread completely open.
Tom felt so empty all of a sudden. Agonizingly, achingly bereft. He needed to be filled so badly it felt like a bleak gash of emptiness deep within his soul.
Potter stared at Tom’s exposed, gaping pussy. A tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.
Like he couldn’t help himself, Potter moved even closer, crowding between Tom’s spread legs. He pressed his hand against Tom’s cunt, making Tom buck up and pulse against him. “Look at you, all loose and stretched out and ready to take more,” he murmured appreciatively.
When Potter pulled his hand back, it was covered in shiny fluid. He brought his hand to his mouth, eyelids fluttering behind his reflective glasses, and dragged his tongue over his palm.
The eggs were heavy inside Tom’s womb. He could feel them bumping and shifting around as the vines readjusted him, bringing him low enough so his cunt bumped against Potter’s groin.
Potter’s lips were parted, breath coming in hard, ragged bursts, like he’d just finished a grueling workout. Tom could see the battle etched across his features, the way he was struggling to hold himself back, fighting against the pull of temptation that threatened to drag him under.
"Feeling any better, Tom?" Potter finally asked, his voice rough and low, almost a growl. It made something inside Tom go limp, submissive, like he’d bear his throat if the vines gave him the choice.
“Fuck me,” Tom gasped, begging. “Please fuck me, please, Professor, I don’t think I’ll make it if you don’t.” He felt so overheated inside—completely wet and stretched wide open. His prick was swollen as hard as he had ever seen it, leaking more clear fluid than he thought possible.
Nothing had ever made him feel like this before—horrible and terrifying and somehow the best thing that had ever happened to him, all melted together in a haze of pink and fuzzy pleasure. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst.
Potter’s eyes fixated on Tom’s leaking cocklet, and as if reading his mind, a thin vine snaked around his waist and coiled teasingly around it. Tom seized inside the tight binds, a sharp jolt of pleasure coursing through his body from the renewed contact.
“Fuck,” Potter groaned. “I really shouldn’t… I—Fuck!” He pulled off his robes, throwing them aside. “The eggs should have done the trick,” he muttered. “That should have been enough to trick your body into thinking it’d been bred,” he muttered. “But maybe… maybe you just need a real—an actual alpha’s knot…”
A shudder passed through Tom at Potter’s words.
And then he caught sight of Potter’s alarmingly large alpha cock.
His pussy clenched down around empty air as he took in the glorious sight. It was the ideal, perfect alpha cock that he had seen in diagrams in the medical textbooks he’d studied, healthy and long and deliciously thick. Large enough to resemble a bludgeon, jutting out from a tangle of coarse black hair. More hair trailed a line up Potter’s stomach, dusting his broad forearms and legs. His thighs were thick with corded muscle, each of them about the width of Tom’s waist.
This was a man, a strong, fully grown alpha man, and his resistance was breaking down before Tom’s eyes.
For the first time, Tom felt a sudden awareness of where he himself fell… short. His own prick was so small in comparison to Potter’s. It was the length of his index finger, and about two fingers wide, whereas Potter’s must have rivaled Tom’s forearm in both girth and length. Even so, his useless little cocklet had swelled as much as it could, painting his stomach with a steady gush of translucent fluid.
“Please, Professor,” Tom moaned, his hips jerking upwards in small desperate motions. Without the vines plunging his pussy and his arse, a gnawing, aching emptiness ate away at Tom. He felt loose and ruined between his legs, and the only thing that could fix that feeling was being filled.
He needed more—he needed to be stuffed to the brink again. To be bred. Wetness gathered behind his eyes, fear twisting through his chest and leaving it hollow at this rejection. The world was so pink and so fuzzy, and why wasn’t this alpha taking him? Was he doing something wrong?
"You need it, don't you?" Potter's voice was a low, guttural growl, rumbling up from his chest and slipping through clenched teeth. His nostrils flared, and his eyes were blown wide, just a thin ring of green circling the dark, bottomless black of his pupils. “You need it, and I’m the only one who can give it to you. That’s it, yeah?”
The Devil's Snare had twisted itself tightly around them, its vines curling over nearly every inch of Tom’s view of the greenhouse, suffocating the other plants as it pulled Potter and Tom closer still. It was as if they were trapped inside some immense, breathing creature, the air swelling and contracting with a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if the very space around them was closing in. Moonlight slashed through the glass ceiling, painting everything in a ghostly silver, while the corners were concealed in shadow. The faint glow traced the lines of Tom’s chest and stomach, and he could see the vine gently ringing his prick, the others swaying possessively around him, the shape of Potter looming over him.
Potter who was panting deep and heavy, his rich and musky alpha pheromones filling the charged space between them. It had a more potent effect on Tom than even the heat-inducing pollen of the Feverbloom had. Tom had never wanted anything more in his life.
Potter stroked himself, his large knuckles wrapped around his thick cock, and Tom could see a bulging vein running down its length, stopping at the swelling base. There was a flash of umber light before Potter took another drag off his joint, which a vine hanging from the ceiling held against his lips.
To Tom’s surprise, the vine then offered him a hit as well. Feeling like he had nothing to lose, Tom inhaled. The smoke hit his lungs in an acrid cloud, and he coughed out a dense fog of white smoke. The swampy musk of burnt gillyweed filled the space, drifting across a streak of moonlight.
Then the reality-altering effects took hold. Tom felt like he was floating in a cloud. All the movements around him slowed down, and every muscle untensed and relaxed in unison. A bubbly warmth rolled all throughout his body. It seemed impossible, but Tom somehow became even more aroused, his prick twitching in small jerks against the vine that was encircled around it…
He watched in slow-motion as two wet vines slipped down his thighs and pushed into his arse. Potter’s steadily panting breath stuttered, his lips parting as his gaze was fixed on Tom’s gaping pussy—loosened, dripping wet, and more than ready for him. His groan sounded more animal than human as he kept pumping his hand around his enormous cock.
Tom threw his hips forward, and the vines, surprisingly, allowed the motion, pushing him down to graze his bare cunt against Potter’s cock, who grunted and moved his hand aside to flick the vine holding the joint away.
The Devil's Snare snuffed out the tiny flame as Potter forced his way through the dense weave of vines surrounding Tom, shoving aside the thick greenery to better grab ahold of him. The vines loosened just enough for Tom to wrap his legs around Potter, pulling him closer.
“You want this, don’t you?” Potter asked, and Tom nodded desperately, as he worked the fluttering, clenching entrance of his cunt around the blunt tip of the alpha’s cock.
The sensation filled Tom with such relief that he sobbed out loud.
Potter let out a long groan before thrusting forward, sinking down halfway into Tom’s wet heat.
He was so much thicker than the vines had been, and it felt so instinctive—so deeply right. Within the first few inches of Potter’s cock cramming itself inside of Tom’s throbbing pussy, it was as if the entire universe aligned, and everything fell into place.
Potter pulled back and then plunged in again.
“Male omegas can’t produce sperm, but at least your little omega cocklet is still so pretty to look at.” Though Potter’s voice was gruff, it was said with a soft, admiring undertone that made Tom feel fuzzy and fond inside.
Tom soon felt the blunt tip of Potter’s cock prod against his bruised, abused cervix, which was still incredibly tender from the clutch of eggs nestled within it.
“Aahhh—” Tom cried out, as the head of Potter’s cock rammed past the ring of muscle at the entrance to his cervix. “That’s—that’s too much—”
Potter ignored him, pulling back and popping the head of his cock out of Tom’s cervix, then slamming forward again, knocking Tom’s breath completely out of his body. “God, you’re tight, you’re so tight, Tom… the vines did nothing to you, your pussy still feels so tight around my cock, it’s unbelievable how good you feel…”
Potter’s cock was significantly bigger and wider than the turquoise eggs that the vine had deposited. It felt twice the width—it stretched Tom past his breaking point.
Before Tom knew it, he seized up into another orgasm, and his cocklet again coated his stomach with a huge gush of clear fluids.
Blackness swallowed him again.
When Tom came to, he saw that his prick was still fully hard.
He hadn’t lost any of the blood or arousal that filled his swollen little cocklet and had it standing straight up.
“Haven’t broken it yet,” Potter said gruffly. “But we will… soon, Tom… we’re getting there.”
A third vine had wedged its way back into Tom’s arse. The vines in his arse were sliding against a sensitive part of his vaginal wall that Potter’s cock was stimulating from the other side. The combination of these dual pressures yielded a sublime pleasure that burned through Tom’s body, making his nipples throb, his eyes rolling back into his head.
“Please… don’t stop…” Tom gasped out. He needed something in his mouth, wondered if a vine might push inside if he kept it open.
Instead, Potter bent his head down and kissed Tom. Tom melted into the kiss, which was firm and grounding, and somehow helped bring a sense of sanity amid everything that had happened that night.
Then Potter sank all the way to the base, popping not only the head of his cock, but a good half of it, fully inside Tom’s cervix.
Tom howled.
He had never felt such concentrated pleasure and pain before. It was like an explosion of liquid heat inside the deepest part of him, radiating outward from his core in waves, flooding every nerve in his body with an intense burn.
“Tom—Tom—” Potter warned. “I’m about to—I feel my knot coming on—this is the last chance you have to back out if you don’t want to be locked together—”
Back out? The thought had never crossed Tom’s mind. Tom would take double if it meant Potter didn’t stop or pull out.
Tom felt a swelling at the base of his cunt, near the entrance. It was a tearing sensation, as if he were being ripped apart from the inside, like something was swelling and inflating within him, straining the limits of his small body.
“This should—this will be enough, Tom—this should break the heat—”
Potter knocked aside the tendril that was stroking up and down Tom’s prick, and he wrapped his own hand around it. His hand was large enough to envelop Tom’s entire cocklet, and Tom watched, entranced, as Potter stroked his large, thick fingers up and down the small length.
Another gush of fluid coated Tom’s stomach as he came from Potter’s knot swelling and swelling until he thought he couldn’t take it anymore.
Phosphenes exploded behind Tom’s eyes as he came all over his stomach again. The white-gold bursts were tinged with pink, and swirled in his field of vision like fireworks in the night sky.
When Tom came back to awareness, Potter’s knot was still locking them together, with Potter slowly rocking inside of him, back and forth. At least three vines were still pistoning in and out of his arse, wet and messy and so loud and embarrassingly squelchy.
Tom’s prick was still—frustratingly, maddeningly—hard.
“Your heat hasn’t broken yet,” Potter murmured, a broad hand gently brushing Tom’s sweaty fringe from his overheated forehead. “I’m not sure what more—” his voice creaked and broke, “—what more we need to do, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Tom—”
Tom was in no state to attempt to guilt-trip and blackmail Potter, which is what he would have done were in full possession of his faculties. Instead, he croaked out a simple, “More. More, please… I think I need more…”
“I think maybe—maybe you need to be more thoroughly stimulated.” Potter planted gentle, wet kisses all over Tom’s flushed face. “Stuffed to the hilt. To the absolute limit of what you can take. We need to push your body to take even more than just my knot, until it’s satisfied that you’ve been thoroughly bred…”
Tom gulped. He thought he had already reached his limit, but apparently there was more to go.
“My knot is starting to come down, perfect time to get some vines in here,” Potter muttered. He pulled back a bit, but his thick, swollen knot must not have been deflated enough, because it caught on Tom’s rim and sent a shock through his body as it tore through the sensitive ring of muscle there.
Then two vines were pushing their way inside of Tom’s overstretched pussy, stretching it further. “Beautiful—there we go, so beautiful—” Potter whispered reverently, watching his vines do their best to work their way around the girth of his knot, still half buried inside of Tom.
Then Potter’s cock again pushed all the way inside again, joining the vines inside Tom’s cunt, bumping against the ones burrowed into his arse. Another bulbous vein, heavy with eggs, drooped over Potter’s shoulder, and Tom moaned with weak, confused panic.
“Not down here,” Potter agreed. “Open your mouth, Tom.”
The vine drifted closer to Tom’s face, bumping against his lips. He could see the edge of an egg clinging to the inside of the vine, ready to be deposited inside Tom, in any available cavity.
Tom looked to Potter for reassurance, who nodded, and that was enough for Tom to open his mouth. The vine dragged heavily over his tongue, bumping against the back of his throat, and Tom gagged hard, but it wouldn’t pull away. He ground his teeth against it and thrashed, panicking as he ran out of breath, and quickly worked out that he needed to inhale carefully through his nose, exhaling heavily around the engorged tentacle.
It crashed against the back of his throat, more vines taking hold of him, tilting his head to allow it direct passage deeper inside. He didn’t know how he kept breathing, but his respiratory functions went into a stilted autopilot right on time for the tentacle to release an egg down his throat and into his stomach. Satisfaction roared through him as he felt it filling him up, making his cock twitch and spurt more clear fluid.
“Good boy. You’re being so good for me. There’s one more place I want to stuff you,” Potter murmured, laying a comforting hand on Tom’s forehead, stroking it with a roughened thumb, as the tentacle in his mouth pumped a few more of its eggs into his stomach. “This is going to be challenging, Tom, but I think you can take it. If anyone can be a good boy and take it, it would be good for you… it might be the final touch to breaking this heat...”
Tom nodded wordlessly. It wasn’t as though he could actually say anything, in any case.
At his nod, Potter shot him a lopsided, fond grin. “Alright then.”
A dark, thin vine came curling around Potter’s broad shoulder. It looked malignant and menacing in a way that none of Potter’s other plants had looked, not even the Devil’s Snare. Tom felt his body tense up in anticipation. He had no idea what Potter had in store.
The vine snaked around Potter’s chest and came down to hover above Tom’s groin. From its tip emerged a long, thin bristle. A spindle, really.
“Hold on, Tom, this will be a shock at first, but then you’ll feel really, really nice. I promise. Just remember that—”
The spindle descended and nudged the small slit at the tip of Tom’s cocklet from which clear slick was still squirting.
Then it dipped inside, wedging itself an inch deep into Tom’s prick.
Tom screamed, throat rippling and tearing around the tentacle stuffed down his throat.
It felt like a hot lance had pierced through his body and was igniting a pathway through his core. The feeling of acid burning away at his insides spread throughout his body.
How could such a tiny needle-like object feel like it was splitting Tom in two?
Potter’s voice cut through the haze of pain, reassuring in its steadiness, “You’ve got this, I’m here for you… only a while longer now, I’ll take care of you…”
When Tom opened his eyes again, he saw the world—Potter still thrusting brutally inside of him, his handsome, tanned face hovering concernedly over him—through a shimmer of tears.
Tom hadn’t shed a tear since he was three years old, locked away in the coal cellar for a week, but now they flowed steadily down his cheeks, betraying the raw shock and agony coursing through him.
He glanced down at his trembling body, every nerve seeming to throb in rhythm with his racing heartbeat. The spindle was still pushing its way deeper, an agonizing line of pain carving through him, relentless and unyielding.
“About halfway there now,” Potter said encouragingly. “You can do this, Tom.”
Halfway there?, Tom wanted to scream in frustration. He was, for once, thankful to have a small little omega cocklet, instead of a wand-length alpha cock. Still though, how could it be only halfway in!?
“You’re doing so well. Maybe I can distract you.” Potter pawed at Tom’s stomach, pushing down on the eggs inside, and Tom grunted, feeling them shift under his weight. Most of the vines moved away, save for the two still pumping into his arse, and then Potter pulled out of Tom’s pussy with a loud schlick! noise.
Then he moved down to press his mouth against Tom’s cunt. A deft, experienced tongue licked into it, moving in a slippery little motion with a heat and softness that the vines couldn’t come close to. Groaning, he wrapped his arms around Tom’s thighs and ate into him like he couldn’t get enough.
The spindle kept working deeper into Tom’s prick, but that fell into a background hum compared to the pleased noises of an alpha feasting on his slick. It made something deep and satisfied purr in Tom’s chest, until even the intruding barb felt good.
The tentacle down Tom’s throat pulled free, making him gasp and cough until he caught his breath, and as he recovered, his mouth dropped open and was promptly filled with two more vines, which were slick with bright green sap. Tom was too fucked out of his mind to question the sudden bitter flavor.
Suddenly, his head was spinning, and his very soul seemed to slip free from his body. Tom felt weightless, unanchored, as if he were floating several feet above the scene below. The dark colors of the vines around Tom grew brighter and more vivid, spinning and vibrating with an inner glow. Everything in the greenhouse appeared to breathe in sync, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The coarse, wet sounds of Potter fucking his tongue into him felt stretched and resonant, echoing from every angle.
Tom blinked, and all of a sudden, everything shifted. Potter was back on his feet, his cock buried inside of Tom once again.
Suspended in a surreal haze of arousal, both observer and participant, Tom hovered there as Potter continued to thrust brutally, relentlessly, into his small, pliant body.
They looked good together, he thought hazily, his mind swimming in half-formed fantasies. Potter would make for such a good alpha mate, tall and solid—protective, commanding. The kind of mate who could wrap Tom up in his arms and make him feel safe, keep any harm from befalling him. One who would move mountains to see Tom’s ambitions realized, devoting himself wholly to nurturing Tom’s every aspiration.
Tom felt Potter’s breath hot against his jawline, watched from above as Potter’s face was buried against the untouched mating gland near the back of his neck. He panted against the gland, low and deep and heavy, each exhale sending shivers down Tom's spine.
Potter’s voice was a low, trembling whisper, rough with restraint. "Tom," he groaned, his tone laced with desperation, "I'm going to lose control, Tom, I’m on the edge here… you're driving me mad. You’re so beautiful, and you feel so fucking good around my cock. I swear to god, I’m about to lose control…”
Please, alpha, Tom thought. Please, bite me. Alpha—please—
Tom stayed there a while, floating above himself and started to dissociate from it all. Then his vision got dark and cloudy at the edges, and he started to gradually lose awareness…
A sigh woke him, dropping him back into his body.
“It still—it still didn’t work, I’m so sorry, Tom—”
His stomach was coated in fresh slick. A feverish ache wracked through Tom’s entire body—each nerve, each neuron, tingling with a delirious intensity. His skin was still overheated and sensitive, his thoughts both hazy and restless. The disorienting contrast left him feeling both weakened and strangely electrified, caught in the midst of a frenzied heat he couldn’t shake.
Bite me—Tom thought deliriously. He might have pleaded it out loud. Instead, Potter nosed at Tom’s throbbing mating gland, and then kissed him wetly, sloppily, instead.
As Potter thrust into Tom’s cervix, now entirely loosened to take the thick cock pumping in and out with no resistance, he reached both hands up to Tom’s chest. Strong, thick fingers, roughened from manual labor, reached out to play with Tom’s nipples, twisting and tugging at them. His nipples swelled under the attention. The pleasure coalesced into two pinpoints of a sharp ache that reverberated through Tom’s body.
Tom didn’t know if it was his heat or not, but white fluid came spraying out of his swollen nipples. Potter groaned at the sight and bent his head forward, latching onto one and sucking down hard. Drinking from it until Tom cried out from the oversensitivity.
“You taste so sweet… So rich and so creamy, the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Like vanilla and custard… I’ve never had milk as good as yours, Tom…”
Potter wrapped his thick, coarse fingers around Tom’s cocklet again. It jumped and twitched eagerly within Potter’s grasp. The rough friction and pressure and reassuring grip of his alpha felt so nice—
And Tom came again, and again—as Potter drained him of all his milk from one side, then switched to the other one and drank that side dry too.
The orgasms rolled through Tom’s body in thick, syrupy waves. Each of them would flood his body with indescribable heat and an intense, throbbing pleasure, then when they retreated, he was left feeling empty and like he wanted more, once again.
Through it all, Tom remained hard.
When Potter finally lifted his head from suckling on Tom’s swollen teat, his brows were drawn up in concern. “Still no change… I have—there’s a few more things we can try…”
Another vine dipped down over Potter’s shoulder. It had luminous white bulbs gathered along the sides, like the vine from earlier with the orbs lined up in a neat row along the bottom, but this time, the pods were smaller and arranged in clusters of about a dozen each.
“More,” Tom groaned, beyond exhausted yet still desperate to be filled.
Potter remained inside of Tom, but ceased thrusting for a moment to let the new vine through. It plunged into Tom’s cunt with a loud squelch, squeezing next to Potter’s cock, pushing Tom’s channel even wider and wider. In contrast to earlier in the evening, this time the vine burrowed past Tom’s cervix with ease.
He felt the rumble of the eggs as they passed through the tendril, bumping into each other as they were expelled from the end. Dozens of eggs started to drop and fill Tom’s womb, each of them sending a mini-orgasm ripping through Tom’s body until it felt like he had been coming for the last twenty minutes straight.
When he next looked down, he saw that his stomach was bulged outwards with the new deposit of eggs. It was so rounded that it blocked the nice view that he had of Potter’s hand wrapped around his little cocklet.
Tom was so full, so satisfyingly full, pregnant with alpha seed and dozens of beautiful, precious eggs.
“That’s right, that’s right, little one, that’s right,” Potter said, practically chanting, “You can take more, can’t you? You can take just one more. So good for me, Tom, such a good little omega, such a picture-perfect little omega...”
“Please—keep going—” Tom cried, even though he didn’t think he could take anymore, especially when he saw another vine filled with dangling pods lurking overhead, waiting its turn.
Potter seemed to notice Tom was reaching his limit, because a dark coil snaked its way down, and another dollop of bright green sap was smeared over his lips.
A few seconds later, Tom returned to that floaty place where his soul yearned for Potter—for Harry—more than anything else he had ever wanted.
Alpha, please—Tom thought. Please, Harry—
Bite me bite me bite me—
Tom was suspended in the same dreamlike trance as earlier. One in which he and Potter were bonded together as lifelong mates. Potter looking after Tom and protecting him. Potter always by his side, loyal to the death.
The first thing Tom felt when he returned to himself was Potter’s knot swelling inside him once again, locking them as tightly together as two people could be.
The second thing Tom noticed was the soft gray light of early morning beginning to filter into the greenhouse.
They had been there all night, and still, Tom was just as hard and in as deep of a heat as he was when he first encountered the pollen, with no end in sight.
Tom wanted relief—wanted it to all be over, but also wanted this to never end.
Potter’s eyes were glassy and wild, and his hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. “I had—I couldn’t help it, I had to knot you again, Tom—you were so gorgeous and fucked-out, and—”
“Did it break?” Tom interrupted. “Did it finally work?”
“No, Tom—no, I’m so sorry. I think—I think the potency of the pollen was too strong for someone as young as you. I’ve only seen the effects on adult omegas, and one blossom has enough pollen to induce several heats. I think—oh fuck, I just hope it won’t be days…”
Stuck down here for days in Potter’s greenhouse, amongst Potter’s creepy, pervy plants.
Tom couldn't imagine it taking several days more to break his heat.
Though part of him hoped it would.