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[posionapple24]

Hey, so I’m not dead. I’ve been touching a lot of grass and getting my affairs in order. So enjoy this short and sweet Yandere OC piece.

Yandere Short Stories:

Black Coffee

1920s Mobster x Oblivious Waitress Reader

If anyone were to ask (your name) if she knew the local mob’s ‘mad dog’ personally, she would tell them no. She didn’t necessarily know Vinnie on a personal level. (Your name) only knew he was a regular at the diner she waited at and his usual order. A black coffee, extra strong, piping hot. Nothing else. He was easily her simplest customer that always tipped well. A fat wad of cash was always handed to her personally before he finally left right before closing time. He only ever tipped her despite having a few other, prettier waitresses at this little diner. For a small little diner in the heart of Little Italy in New York, Vinnie gave enough cash for a month’s rent each time… which only made his presence all the more out of place there.

Yet it wasn’t just his presence that was out of place, it was also his appearance. Vinnie always had on a crisp pinstripe suit, despite not being the boss of his mob family. He was always clean cut with his dark hair slicked back and his white fedora on. He was a real handsome fella, if one would ignore he was apart of the Italian mob. To (your name), Vinnie was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

She just didn’t understand why he would stay at the diner up until her shift was over. Nor did she comprehend why he’d wait in the parking lot in his cherry red corvette until she left the cafe’s vicinity completely. (Your name) never thought she was anything special, but Vinnie would be at the diner from the start of her shift till the end whenever he had free time. She swore she felt his gaze bore holes into the back of her head.

“You’re a real looker.” Vinnie told her one day as she refilled his cup of hot black coffee as usual. His Italian accent was heavy yet raspy. It was obvious he smoked. “I’m amazed a dame like you don’t got a man at home.”

“…no. I don’t have a boyfriend.” She replied to the mobster who gave a smirk.

“I know. Otherwise I wouldn’t be talkin’ to ya.” He took her hand in his much larger one. “Name’s Vincent, but you can call me Vinnie.”

“Nice to meet you, Vinnie. I’m-“

“(Your name). I know. I’ve had my eye on you for a long time now, bella.” Vinnie brought her knuckles up to his mouth for a kiss. “Real pretty name for a real pretty girl.”

She blinked a few times but ultimately gave a quiet thanks. He knew her name? She hardly ever told anyone her name… even her boss got her name wrong so how the hell did a man like Vinnie Moretti know it?

She watched him put his chin in his palm as he brazenly admired her like she was a work of art at a museum.

“How bout I take ya to the Ravenite Social Club? We can go out on the town after and I can show you all the best spots Little Italy has to offer a dame like you?” Vinnie asked (your name), a wolfish grin on his face. “I can even take ya out to dinner if that isn’t your cup of tea. And I can bring ya some flowers. The whole nine yards, bella.”

“That sounds lovely, Vinnie. But I have work-“

“You’re breakin’ my heart, sweetheart! I’ve been tryin’ real hard to impress you and you can’t even spare lil’ ol’ Vinnie some time?” He put his hands on his chest as he sighed. “What else does a man gotta do to make ya wanna spend a few hours with him?”

“I’m flattered, I am-“

“Then go out with me. We could have somethin’ beautiful, ya know.” He wrapped his arm around her, which made a chill roll down her spine. “Start off slow as I immerse ya in Little Italy more. Hell, you can meet my Nonna. She makes a mean lasagna. Always wanted me to settle down… she’d love ya. You’re pretty and shy. Such a catch. She’ll probably start planning a big, fat Italian wedding the moment you enter the door.”

“I… I don’t know what to say…”

“Then don’t say anything. You can just follow my lead.” Vinnie smirked. “I’ve been making sure no one steals you away so you can be my girl.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice trembled out before she could seal her lips. Her fear was obvious, and just like a shark, Vinnie could smell it. A cocky grin crawled on his face.

“You really think men don’t want you, cara mia?” Vinnie chuckled. “I think you underestimate yourself… and my affection. I’d fight the devil himself if he tried to take you away from me. You’re mine, whether you like it or not.”

“But Vinnie-“ he grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles, his stubble tickled her soft skin.

“Shh. I have you now, cara mia. I’ve been waiting months sipping this subpar black coffee all so I can get my bella. Amore mio sei bellissima.” His kisses trailed up her arm before he stopped and turned those dark eyes up to admire her face. Those dark eyes were as dark as the coffee she’s been serving in for the last four months… but filled with more flavor than the cheap grounds this little cafe could ever serve. “Tu sei mio e io sono tuo.”

[posionapple24]

Love like Unpolished Gold. 

Obsessive Rich Industrialist Husband x Lady Reader

Warnings: (none for this chapter) dub/con, slight abuse, gaslighting.

Summary: For Arthur Evans Green, entry into English high society demanded a key—and you were it. You were supposed to be a tool but things were changing, feelings blooming.

Note: Although the character isn’t a psycho yandere, HE Will BE OBSESSED. I am gonna make this man a jealous, yearning, angsty fool for Y/N. So give him a chance, even if you tend to only read strong yandere. 

I also wanted to write a story where the obsession doesn’t start at first glance, but instead builds over time.  (reader isn't an extra ordinary beauty in this one)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Context for readers:  The merchant class (self-made men) were business owners, trades, etc., and the gentlemen class (lords) in England looked down upon the merchant class. The ton (social circle) was mostly lords, ladies, and their families, and VERY RICH merchants.Earl and count are the same title; the reader’s title is Lady, as her brother’s future wife would be the countess. End of March to late July was the social season when they left their estate in the countryside and went to London to mingle. When there are small time jumps or pov switches, I use the smaller divider. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Chapter 1: A Lady befitting the Manor

How had things ended up this way? Face flushed with heat, your aloof husband's mouth feasting on your neck, his strong form pressing you to his desk,  a knee pressing deliciously between your legs. Breathy gasps and sounds of his wet kisses, all the while, a few doors down, some hundred guests mingled in your ballroom. Wondering where their hosts had disappeared to.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Eight months ago…

The late Victorian era was a prosperous time for the new-money men of England, the ones who proudly called themselves self-made. Gone were the days of old money. The Lords and their lands did them little good in the ever-evolving century. Consequently, the born gentlemen had become desperate to protect their status and estates. So they often barred self-made men from entering elite circles of society. Circles that promised capital investment deals over expensive scotch.  

Arthur Evans Green was one such self-made man. Who, despite his genius and already substantial riches, found that his talents for accumulating wealth were being limited. He was born a common man, son to a preacher of a small parish. Even as a boy, he knew idolization of a modest life was a lie the rich told the poor, to keep them docile. He could still see the massive cross hanging around his father’s neck, like a dog on a leash. The old man would often say, “Arthur, all a man needs is a roof over his head and food in his belly; to want for more is a sin, my child”. Arthur would only nod, feigning understanding, while he dreamt of silk suits and townhouses.  

At thirty-two, he had attained what few of his station ever dared to dream of. He owned several raw material processing factories, which had deals all across England. Now, he was looking to grow his business, exporting railway materials abroad. But to be the railway tycoon in England, one had to meet the right people at the right place. Places where his lack of a title blocked him from going. But all things could be remedied; he just had to think. 

·𖥸·

A week later, fresh gossip spread through the ton. Whispers of a ruined earl, a daughter with inadequate dowry, a son to inherit an empty coffer. Arthur knew that if the gossip were true, the earl would be desperate. He set out to confirm the rumors, but the truth was far worse. There was no dowry, and the estate was in ruins. The earl was a notorious gambler and had accumulated debt beyond measure. Arthur couldn’t help the sick satisfaction he felt at a lord’s ruination. The man had met his fair share of the smug ‘noble’ bastards, and none of them wasted an opportunity to put him down. Effortlessly, schemes unfolded in his head; this would be easier than he thought.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

All it took for your Father to sell you was a promise of his debts being cleared and ten thousand pounds. Money that would be gone in no less than a year, considering his habits. All you had ever known your father to be was a drunken gambler. Not once in all his years had he said sweet words of love to you, like a father ought to. As a little girl, you had tried to earn his adoration, but all you received were strikes and malicious words. Words that remained imprinted in your mind even at twenty-six. Earl Newberry held a sickening disdain for both his children; neither you nor your brother knew the cause. Was there a reason good enough to hate one's own spawn?

Your season in London was spent surrounded by gossip and inquisitive stares. Few men had danced with you at balls, and even fewer Lords. So when a man by the name of Arthur Evans Green had approached your Father to ask for your hand in marriage, you had tried to convince yourself it was for the best. It was highly unlikely that you could entice another proposal without a dowry. Perhaps if you had possessed otherworldly beauty, a duke might have romanced you away, but that was not the world’s design. ‘The proposal was indeed a good thing,’ you assured yourself. No matter, you had never met this Mr. Green, no matter that you had dreamt of love. None of that mattered now. You readied yourself, for the wedding was to happen in mid-August, only a month away.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Green and Newberry wedding was to be a grand affair. Arthur had spent a fortune to make sure the ton knew of the rich tycoon marrying the Lady Newberry. When he had asked to manage and pay for the wedding processions, your papa was elated. Naturally, the invites were also taken care of. The very pinnacle of society occupied the oak pews at the church—men with grand titles and even grander wallets. The whole thing was an exposition of his wealth for the Crème de la crème of the Lords. The ones that had made the right deals before and were looking to make them again. 

In the days leading up to the wedding, you had seen Arthur only in passing. When he would visit your brother or father to take care of the finances of their agreement. It was quite abnormal that an engaged couple had never spoken before their wedding day. But Arthur had never attempted to speak to you, and your father had threatened severe repercussions if there was an attempt on your part to see Mr Green. ‘You’ll scare him away with that dull face of yours, and I’ll lose it all,’ he had yelled one drunken night when you had raised the matter. His warnings were never to be taken lightly; if enraged enough, even your brother couldn’t step in to save you. 

‘Poor John, he’ll be left alone to bear Papa’s rage,’ you sulked. 

·𖥸·

Dressed in a white gown of the latest fashion, you stood waiting to walk down the aisle. Like everything else, this gown was your fiancées choice. The whole affair was his; you were no foolish girl. It was clear Arthur wasn’t your knight in shining armor; he was a businessman making a deal for prestige. And you were making a deal for dear John. ‘I’ll be one less mouth to feed when he takes over the estate. ’    

As you walked the length of the aisle, arms linked with your brother, you kept your eyes low. Anxiety growing in your belly like nausea. Thoughts crowded your mind, things you had tried not to think about. ‘

What if he is cruel like Papa? Would he take mistresses in public? I wouldn’t mind if the affair was private.’ Your sickening ideas ended abruptly when John planted a light kiss on your cheek. He admired you with his beautiful eyes, wishing you love and luck. 

You couldn’t help but tear up at having to say goodbye to the only family you had. Turning away,  your sights finally set on your man to be. And he was breathtaking. You had never stopped to admire him before. But now, as he stood before you, with the morning light spilling through the stained glass, crowning him in a halo, he looked like a vision touched by heaven. His dirty blond hair gleamed like unpolished gold. The navy suit fit him like a glove; he looked befitting of a noble title. However, something in his gaze sent a cold rush through you. His eyes were dark and detached. Your gaze strayed again, and you didn’t lock eyes with him for the rest of the ceremony. 

·𖥸·

In the carriage ride back, the silence was deafening. You admired the gorgeous interior of the carriage to suppress the awkwardness. Unexpectedly, his throat cleared. “ You look radiant, madam.” 

You wondered, ‘Was that supposed to be a compliment?’  It was said more like a sentence being served to a criminal. 

“Thank you…, The ceremony was beautiful.”

“Yes, it was.”

Silence reigned again. Was this to be your marriage? Hollow exchanges, insincere words?

He spoke again, “Last year, I bought an off-season estate in Bedford. It's only six hours away from London, which is ideal since I spend most of my time there for work…” 

You said nothing, listening dutifully, “ We’ll reside there, that is, of course, until the season in April. Since the place is still new, I have set aside some funds for you to furnish it as you see fit.”

Surprised was an understatement. To have a home to call your own and decorate as you please! To have any funds at all at your disposal was a dream after the dreadful bondage under your papa.

“Madam?” He asked.

“Ah! Yes, it sounds wonderful, …t-thank you.”’ You whispered the last part.

·𖥸·

‘How odd, ’ mused Arthur. 

The girl barely spoke, keeping to herself like a cat curled out of reach. He watched her profile. She was handsome enough, with a good figure; the only extraordinary thing about her was her hair. He had admired its shine in the sunlight during their ceremony. An odd need to stroke it had overcome him then, to tell her cowering form, “‘it’ll be alright, darling”. But he had restrained himself.

Most of all, though, she hadn’t demanded any say when it came to the wedding or her dress. What game was the snobby Lady playing at? A woman of her standing would soon show her true colors: demanding, spending, betraying. Regardless, he had taken what he needed from her; the rest was inconsequential.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

7 Months later…

March brought with it colorful blooms and green pastures. The first 7 months of your marriage to Arthur Green had passed quietly. He was a man of few words, you had come to realize. Rare were the occasions when you saw him at Estelle Manor. He would pass through like a misplaced winter draft. Even though, technically, you had been neglected by your husband, you were happier than ever. For you didn’t see these months as lonely, but instead as a solace of your own making. While the cold rains had thundered outside, your soul had renewed. Being away from your cruel father had done much good, and everyone around had noticed too. 

The maids noticed the peep in your step when you browsed the manor library and the cheer in your tone as you spoke of new adornments. The cooks saw the way you took more interest in the menu when the rare guest visited, and the parish priest noticed your frequent visits to Sunday services. You were unaware of the physical embodiment of your joy.

More than anyone, though, Arthur had noticed the shift in the mood at his manor. The place was brighter, the food more palatable, and there was an air of guileless ease. He also observed his wife’s newfound light. Unknowingly, he had started searching for a glance of you during his short stays away from London, restless without you in his vision. His feet would intuitively lead him to where you would be, in the library, the lounge, the gardens. And when you would scurry away before he could gather the courage to say a word of pleasantry, an inconspicuous irritation would mar his mood for the rest of the day. He tried to pretend he was indifferent to your presence, only for warmth to bloom within him when you stumbled into him.

He would casually ask his butler about you. What you did all day, if you had displayed disappointment about the manor or its runnings. And each time Mr. Moore had only sung praises of your kindness and grace.

“Lady Green has been the most generous, Sir! She has completely transformed the place.” He had said. 

Simultaneously, disdain grew in him. You were everything he had wanted to be, born with noble blood in your veins. He abhorred the fact that you had been better received by his staff than he. The way his staff attend their mistress enthusiastically, seemingly proud to serve her. The sight struck at his ego. ‘Naturally, they must have despised serving a nobody before I married the daughter of an Earl,’ he thought. ‘Curse her!’

Of course, his assessment was far from the truth; the staff were simply glad to have a mistress who took an interest in the running of the household. You had given them purpose and passion. A thing they had lacked the year before, when they only had a master. 

·𖥸·

One March afternoon, your husband joined you for tea in the gardens. His sudden attention was unnerving, and you found yourself a fluttering fool.

You attempted to speak of the weather, the manor, even the parish, but his replies had been short and snippy. He seemed irritated, so you decided it was best to let the time pass in silence. 

He, however, started speaking just as you had resolved to keep silent. 

“The season will start soon, and we’ll leave for my townhouse in a fortnight. It’s our first season as newlyweds, so I expect you to act the part of a doting wife when in public.”

‘His townhouse,’ you couldn’t help but note the implications of his words.

“Most of all, I plan on throwing several gatherings, a few Galas, and many more intimate dinners for the more influential folk. Accordingly, you’ll have to entertain their wives and daughters. I will need you to be a great hostess, meet the ladies for tea, and most importantly, be agreeable at all times.” 

You tried to agree, but he continued, his tone harsher.

“Y/n, you are now married to.. what I believe your circle refers to as a trade man,” you knew it to be an insult. “As a result, money doesn’t just flow into my pockets; I have to work for it, charm for it, and I need you to play your role. I won’t ask more of you in this marriage.”

You were stunned, automatically you spoke, “I understand, husband.”

His heart skipped when you referred to him as a wife should. “Forgive me, but I must go now.”  

He walked away after his declaration, the tea you had poured him left untouched.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This story is about to have the craziest angst. *cackles villainously *, About to make this bitch boy yearn so bad.

It’s taking me a while to get a hang of the Victorian speaking style. Proper and all, but I’ll improve as we go.

Also, cotton candy fields will be updated next cause I keep seeing notifications of ppl binge-reading the chapters, and I feel bad when I realize they are left waiting T–T, 

I have been there before, gang, hate the wait. But life is fucking me in the ass rn and it is taking a while. 

Master Naughtylist: @hopingtocleaemedschool, @aenishas (girl I forgot to tag you last night, I got you tho) 💕

Let me know if you want to be on the master taglist or the series taglist.

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Reverse

Cassis x GN!Reader

Tw: obsession, killing, power imbalance, possessiveness, manipulation, slavery, Stockholm syndrome?

Povtober 2023, Day 25 [Masterlist]

Right now you're totally not standing before kneeling Cassis, totally not. Completely not.

...

So now you're standing before kneeling Cassis and you have no idea what to do with it.

You still could feel the burning stare of Roxana as your father gave Cassis to you, instead of her.

Shivers went down your spine at the thought of the wrath of your older sister, that was placed upon you.

How badly you wanted to end it before she did it before you. But she had different plans.

She wouldn't hurt you, don't worry, you were her favorite character.

Her first plan of freeing Cassis failed, but she still could use you and the fact that in the novel Cassis fell in love with you, to her advantage.

But what she hadn't foresaw was the fact that, Cassis fell madly in love with you. Madly, as in I will kill for you way.

So now, she had a hard time approaching you ever since, with Pedelian acting as your guard dog, who you took everywhere with you. You surely did get attached.

But even then you still remain completely oblivious, how are you not dead yet, to your slave growing possessiveness.

With time even Roxana started to doubt if he ever wanted to go back. No matter how she tried, she could never get him to leave you. Not even for a moment.

And that's when everything started to go downhill for you. Even when Cassis never showed it, he had every intention of running away from your family manor.

Who do you take him for? Of course he will take you with him!

And so, he started scheming with Roxana, giving her the feeling of the upper hand, while under her nose planned to take you with him.

When he succeeded you got degraded from the beloved lady of the Agriche, cause how are you not dead yet? They surely must love you a lot, to a doll.

A doll for him to dress up and admire, it unnecessarily reminded you of your aunt, Maria.

You want to go back? Haha, yeah, no.

You can do anything but that. You can want anything and he shall happily provide, just not it.

Oh poor you, completely spoiled and taken care of you. It must be hard being away from your family full of psychopaths, right?

Are you sure you still don't want to stay here?

[posionapple24]

“He’s my comfort character”

And the character in question has not known a minute of comfort in his entire life

[posionapple24]

[posionapple24]

I just finished reading 3 parts of Dee x reader, and PLEASE, I need more😩😩

Your writing is just amazing🙏🙏

Thank you it makes me really happy knowing you like it!! There's not enough authors for my Pookie Dee unfortunately 💔

I encourage you to pop in a request for Dee!! I have very minimal inspiration for him, tragically

[posionapple24]

diesel is desire (we were playing with fire) ; sebastian sallow

pairing sebastian sallow x f!reader word count 4k synopsis sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief. content contains seventh year au, dubcon (under the influence of lust potion), darker take on seb's character lol <3, breeding kink, creampie, possessive!sebastian, possessive sex, virginity loss, babytrapping

“Why did you go out of your way to avoid me?” 

An accusatory voice momentarily breaks you free from the overwhelming feelings you were struggling to deal with, but the voice is too familiar.

The source? Sebastian Sallow — a very disappointed Sebastian Sallow, which after two years of friendship (and the lingering what-if of becoming something more), you’re able to identify as a Sebastian that you would much rather not be dealing with. Particularly because, try as hard as he might, he’s rather prone to saying harsh things and treating you unkindly whenever he gets into one of his moods. The hurt expression on his face is barely concealed by the scowl that mars his otherwise handsome features. 

Don’t think about how handsome he is!

Instead of replying to him, you’re quick to turn your head to the side, trying to focus on the curtain that separates your cot from the others in the infirmary. It’ll do no good to engage with Sebastian right now — not whenever the reason you’ve been compelled to check yourself in to the school nurse is purely because you’re not sure if you have enough self-control to stop yourself from literally ripping his robes off of him.

But it’s not like you can tell him all that. Lying would be preferable, if only Sebastian wasn’t so attuned to you and every single one of your tells. If you attempted lying to him, who knows what more damage you would cause? Then again, blatantly ignoring him also seems equally dangerous, especially with how quick to irritate he’s been lately. Ever since you witnessed him literally murdering his uncle, the relationship between the two of you has grown stronger — being practically partners in crime will do that to a friendship — but also more… volatile. The charming fifth-year you met on your first day of school still remains, but you have long since realized that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On the surface, he’s nothing but affable. Maybe a bit of a rebellious streak, but it’s all in good nature. In the beginning, it was fun being with him. Exciting, even. Then you started following him on the dark path he paved all by himself, and before you could realize that you were in too deep, it had already been too late to turn around. Now, the seventh-year boy standing by your cot seems so different from the one who lives on only in your memories.

“Don’t ignore me.” He means to make the words come out sharp, irritated. It resembles more of a plea than anything, and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It must be all in your head, but you swear you can smell the familiar scent of him: cool mint mixed with the light musk of whatever cologne he’s been favoring since the fifth year. 

“Sebastian, I’m not feeling very well.” You mumble, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to leave you alone. It’s not a lie. You aren’t feeling great whatsoever. Not even the nurse, bless her heart, can figure out what’s become of you. She gave you a pitying look and an almost amused smile as she explained that — in her words — sexual urges are very normal for girls your age. 

If your body wasn’t already overheating, you’re certain your cheeks would have instantly turned hot from sheer embarrassment. 

“Well, why wouldn’t you tell me that instead of abandoning me the whole entire day?” Sebastian is many things with different people. With you, he is both guarded and vulnerable. Some days, when you’re not feeling your best, his emotions versus his actions can give you whiplash. He has the audacity to say something like that all the while, he sounds absolutely tortured over the fact that he had to go eight hours without your presence. 

As if realizing the harshness of his attitude, he softens his tone as he asks, “Are you feeling any better?”

You had gone to the Great Hall before him because you needed to review your History of Magic notes before the test today. All you had was a bit of pumpkin juice and toast, and all had been well until you started feeling warm underneath your robes and sweater. As the heat began to travel through your body, you found it hard to concentrate on your notes. Not because of the heat, but because of the many thoughts swirling around in your head. Flashes of Sebastian that started innocently enough and quickly morphed into daydreams of him without his uniform. Sebastian with his hair messed up from the way your fingers tugged at the strands as he satiated his thirst with the juices flooding between your legs. Sebastian who would prioritize your pleasure over his and could make you cum multiple times before even thinking about getting his dick wet. Sebastian—

—who you share most of your classes with! 

You knew right then and there that something had to be wrong with you. Sure, you’ve thought about him sometimes, but never to that degree. And certainly never at seven in the morning over breakfast and history notes. 

That’s how you ended up lying in a cot in the infirmary, trying your hardest to ignore the intrusive thoughts of Sebastian fucking you ‘til you can’t walk anymore. 

“No.” You practically moan out the word, and you’re hoping to play it off as just you being a baby about being “sick”. 

You don’t expect him to turn your head so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, and you certainly don’t expect him to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His hands are cold, but surprisingly enough, it brings you some sort of relief from the fever that has seemingly overtaken your body. You bite back another moan. 

“You’re burning up.” Gone is his attitude. Instead, it’s been replaced by your favorite Sebastian — the kind, caring one. The one that resembles the boy you first met. Sometimes, his care can be suffocating, but when you find yourself craving nothing but him and his touch, you don’t mind his invasion of your personal space at all. “Are there any other side effects? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Tell me what’s the matter.” 

You know how Sebastian must feel when it comes to people he cares about falling ill. His sister has only made him more paranoid about the severity of sickness and curses, and the concern and fear etched upon his face makes your hardened resolve of keeping the sordid details of your affliction to yourself melt away.

“Don’t laugh…” You warn him, but your voice seems so small and maybe even a little scared that his expression turns even more serious.

“Never.”

“I think… I think something happened to me. A charm…” You’re careful to dance around the word curse, lest Sebastian accidentally blows up the whole entire infirmary due to his emotional state. “I just feel very hot. And, um, I think the only relief would be to—”

You can’t even say it. You can barely even explain it since you don’t really know what’s happening either. 

“I’mfeelingverysexuallyfrustratedandIhavenomeansofrelief!” 

The two of you know that you’re never going to repeat that phrase ever again, and you’re practically near tears after that little confession. 

“Oh.” He says, as if this is nothing more than a simple, casual conversation and not the most humiliating situation ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“Be-because it’s embarrassing!” Has he really no shame? Who would willingly admit that out loud? 

“You know, I’ve heard rumors of some sixth-years trying to pull pranks by spiking the juices with love potions. Just really gimmicky concoctions, truly. Nothing too severe. Hmm… You must have a sensitivity to it, though.” Sebastian’s musings do nothing to bring you reassurance. If anything, it just makes you want to hide. If the universe is truly kind, a sinkhole will emerge from nowhere and swallow you whole. Yes, that sounds lovely right now. 

Instead, the universe is sick, because what else could explain Sebastian telling you, 

“If it’s relief you need, I’d be happy to help.” 

Sebastian is many things to you — a dear friend, a confidant, a literal partner in crime — but none of those things involve him having sex with you, even if the offer only came from some odd sense of duty. 

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He probably feels indebted to you since the fifth-year. Maybe even anxious, too. You could expose him at any given moment, and maybe that’s why he’s been so keen on attaching himself to your side ever since. This is a humiliating predicament to be in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell — considering that you don’t even know the names of girls he’s been with before is evidence. 

Besides, you’re only feeling incredibly needy for one person. You can accept his offer, but you’re certainly not going to let him know the truth: that only he is the one who can help you. 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His cool hand is now cupping your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone in an almost gentle manner. Sweet Sebastian is making an appearance, perhaps to try to put you at ease. You like this Sebastian. “Just let me take care of you.” 

When the haze of lust clears from your sex-addled mind, the rush of consequences will burden and crush your very conscience. 

Fortunatenly enough, consequences are clearly the last thing on your mind.

It would appear that the only thing you can truly focus on is Sebastian and what his idea of ‘taking care of you’ is. 

The Sebastian staring greedily at you is an unfamiliar Sebastian. You’ve become accustomed to the many variations of himself: Angry Sebastian, who says the most vile things out of spite and usually misguided anger; Remorseful Sebastian, who is quick to grovel (he’s quite good at groveling, really) and wants nothing more than to be back in your good graces; Happy Sebastian, although there are variations upon this very variation — the trick to seeing whether he’s pseudo-happy or not is all in his smile (the fake one is eerily perfect, the real one is crooked and a rarity). This Sebastian, though…

Hungry. 

The word doesn’t quite explain the dark glint in his eyes or the way his hands are almost reverently stroking your body. Your skin felt so, so hot just a few minutes ago — then again, just a few minutes ago, you still had your school jumper and blouse neatly intact. Now, you’re laid practically bare, prey to Sebastian’s more-than predatory gaze. 

If the two of you weren’t such great friends, you might have had enough sense to be scared.

The only articles of clothing left to protect your dignity and shield you from his eyes are your skirt (which is already riding up to expose your thighs due to his wandering hands), your white cotton panties, and the matching bra. 

“How do you feel now?” He asks, and you want to tell him you’re still feeling embarrassed, but his hands feel surprisingly nice on your skin, and you can’t help but hunger for more. Perhaps the look in his eyes, the one you couldn’t quite find a proper name for, is the same look you’re giving him. 

“More.” You whimper out, not caring if you sound selfish or impatient. This is awful. The two of you should put a stop to… To whatever the hell this is! This is a horribly unbecoming, unsavory situation you are in, and if things progress like how you think they are going to (how you want them to), then you’re both dead once all the adults find out. Professor Weasley would probably force the two of you to be wedded within the next day of her finding out, not to mention that the headmaster would probably have the both of your heads on sticks.

But you don’t tell him to stop because your rational thought is slipping, much like your bra. You’re viewing everything almost as if in a trance, almost as if this is happening to someone else and not you. But it is very much you; it’s your nipples hardening after being exposed to the cool air of the infirmary. It’s your bra that Sebastian tosses to the side. He’s licking his lips, eyeing the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. In ordinary circumstances, you’re certain you would make all attempts to cover yourself up and try to regain some sense of modesty.

In these circumstances, you practically arch your back and mewl out for more, more, more.

More touching. More skin-to-skin contact. More of Sebastian. You want him. All of him. Every part of him. You want his cock ramming into your cunt, you want his hands wrapped around your throat, his mouth spewing out words of filth right into your ear. Most importantly, even though all you can seemingly focus on is having him ravish you, you can’t help but to be greedy and dare to hunger for more. You want his secrets — all of them. You want to know the nightmares that plague him, and whether he’s full of regrets, just like you. You want to have a claim to his soul, just like how he already has a claim to yours. You want to know that when his heart beats, it is calling out for you. 

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He announces, like he’s waiting for you to protest. He’s not directly asking, but the question is still there, as is the warning. Can I kiss you? If you let me, there’s no going back. 

“Please.” You whimper, completely and entirely at his mercy.

“Say it.” Sebastian swallows hard, almost as if he’s also nervous and too charged up with desire. His fingers are loosening his tie. He has already shrugged off his robes. 

He doesn’t tell you want to say, but you already know what he wants to hear. The words have been resting on the tip of your tongue this whole entire time, anyway. 

“I want you to— to kiss me, and more…” You look into his eyes. The lights in the infirmary make them appear a lighter color than usual. “I want more. I want you, Sebastian.”

The moment the last confession slips from your soft lips, Sebastian’s mouth descends upon your own. His body is angled awkwardly, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you can feel the heat emanating from him all the same, even despite the layers of his clothing that separates the two of you. 

You think the world stops spinning when his lips slot against yours. He tastes like the pumpkin juice from this morning, sweet and refreshing. There’s a lingering taste of spearmint toothpaste. You want to keep kissing him forever. You want him to kiss you everywhere else. When breathing becomes a necessary thing, he stops. You frown. You didn’t want him to stop. Oxygen is overrated, anyway. 

He lays a hand against the pillow you’re resting on, staring down at you, want clearly displayed on his visage; desire is etched onto every facial feature, and his eyes are gazing so intently into yours, you wonder if he’s a Legilimens. 

“Promise me you won’t regret this. Swear that you truly do want this.” 

He must not be a Legilimens, then. It’s so clear you’ve been in… It feels odd to admit it. Wrong, even. But it’s the truth—

—you’ve been in love with him since the fifth year.

You don’t keep someone’s secrets, their crimes, to yourself when you don’t love them. You let him perform Cruciatus on you, and you forgave him. No — you didn’t. Because you asked him to. There was nothing to forgive. You would endure it, over and over and over again, just for him, only him. And to think, you’re flooding your panties just at some simple fantasies of him, and he has the nerve to believe you don’t want this? Don’t want him?

“I promise. I swear it to you. I want this entirely.” And maybe liquid courage had been slipped into the juice you’ve consumed as well because you find yourself admitting, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you. If it… If it had to be done the first time around, I would always dream of you doing it to me.” 

He stops breathing, just for a moment. Gapes at you, even. 

“Y-you’re a virgin?” 

You wonder if you’ve gone off and ruined the mood. You wonder if you should take it back, say you were just joking, but before you can, his lips are pressing against yours once again. This kiss is even hungrier than the last, and you’re not quite sure how that’s even possible. It’s almost as if he wants to devour you whole. 

“Thank you.” He gasps out, so close to you that his breath tickles your nose. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, love. I promise I’ll make it good for you, just as you deserve.” 

And suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His sweater is discarded on the floor, right next to your bra and his tie. His belt is unclasped; he hasn’t even bothered to remove it entirely, just displaced it enough to where he can unbutton his trousers, and he’s pulling it down — his pants, that is. And the briefs. He hasn’t entirely disposed of everything, just partially. Meticulous Sebastian Sallow who is now so far gone into lust and depravity that he cannot even handle wasting another second by removing himself entirely of his clothes. You have made a man into a beast.

But you see the way he’s eyeing you — all dark hair and sharp teeth. He flips your skirt up, exposing your damp panties to him, and he licks his lips again, and you realize — perhaps too late, or perhaps you’ve known all this time — that Sebastian has always been a bit of a beast. A wolf only coyly imitating domesticity. 

“You’re so wet.” He brushes a finger against your cotton-covered folds, and you shiver. 

Yes! Your body seems to cry out. More, more, more! Your back arches, keening, craving his touch. You’re soaking through the fabric, making it practically translucent. You’ve never been this wet before in your life. You’ve never wanted his touch more badly than you do now. 

“For me.” He mutters, but in the silence of the infirmary, you hear him all too clearly. “Is this all for me, love? Have you been like this all day?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences. Even if he’s not staring at your head, far too fixated at what’s between your legs, he hums his approval. 

“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make it all better.” 

He’s kissing you. He’s got your panties only pulled to one side, and you think he’s muttering apologies against your saliva-coated lips. Something that sounds awfully like sorry, so sorry, but I can’t wait, and I don’t think you can, either. You barely catch a glimpse of his cock before you can feel the sharp heat of his length against your inner thigh. You would have thought that there would be some preparation, especially since this will be your first, but you’re thoroughly soaked. You’re aching for a sensation you have never felt before, but the animal inside of your brain is telling you, instinctually, to seek Sebastian out. That Sebastian will make it all better. That’s what he said he’ll do, and he’s kissing you, and he’s apologizing, and—

—and the world stops spinning.

No. There’s some slight resistance at first, your poor cunt protesting at the intrusion. A second later, and he’s slipping in half of his length with considerably more ease. A few inches more, and his hips are pressed against yours, and oh— Oh, it’s like you’re made for him. There is no resistance. There is no pain. There’s just you and him, and your body is welcoming him home. Where has he been? It seems to ask. Please don’t ever leave again. 

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses it out, and his teeth are gritted, and he’s admiring you. His eyes flicker to your face, down to your breasts, down down down right to where the two of you are connected. The word comes out broken, and yet, drawn out. As if he’s struggling to speak. 

Then he starts thrusting, and suddenly you realize that the world hasn’t ceased its spinning. No — now it’s moving entirely too fast. It must be off its axis. You feel otherworldly. You feel like this pleasure, this overwhelming, absolutely delicious pleasure, cannot simply exist on earth. It should be impossible. It should be impossible to find comfort and rapture in the way the tip of his cock seemingly kisses your cervix. You expect pain. 

You only find mindnumbing, earth shattering pleasure.

You feel stretched beyond your limits. You hear his pants and his groans, and you’re moaning, too. Calling out his name, which is so silly, he’s right there, he’s right there. There, at that special spot, at the spot you’ve never been able to discover on your own. You now know why adults advise so heavily against these type of relations — it’s simply addicting. You don’t think you can stop; you don’t think you want to stop.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so good f’me. Such a good girl. My good girl, aren’t you?” He’s rambling. His thrusts are considerably sloppier, and you feel his thumb brush against your clit, and you arch your back some more, practically screaming out his name. The stimulation is too much — it’s not enough — and you will always crave him. “Tell me. Tell me that you’re mine.”

There’s something so, so addicting about his possession. About being treated like his possession. 

“Yours. M’yours, Seb. All—” You can’t finish your sentence. The pleasure is becoming too much, and you’re too sensitive, and he’s doing this thing, this absolutely amazing thing, where he rubs circles on your clit in tandem with his harsh thrusts, and you’re cumming. You don’t ever want to come down. 

He feels you cum, sees your juices drench his cock as he pulls out, only to push right back in, relishing in the feeling of your contracting walls. He leans down, biting on your neck, and you take a hand to grip his dark hair, still cumming, and now he is, too. Spurts of his cum are flooding into you, painting your walls, successfully staking his unrivaled claim on you. You have been compromised. If anyone were to find the two of you out, you would have no other choice but to take his hand, his ring, his family name, him. You would have to take it all.

Coming down from his high, he has enough kindness left in him to lick at the wound he’s left on your neck. Your eyes are fluttering close, the intensity of it all thoroughly exhausting you. You don’t know the thoughts swirling in his mind. You don’t sense the longing behind him stroking your stomach, wondering if the Felix Felicis — his bottled Liquid Luck he’s spent forever brewing — has done its job. It would surely be very lucky, indeed, if his seed takes this first time around. 

Your breathing slows, and he feels your heartbeat even out. You’re exhausted, poor thing. Perhaps he had been too rough.

He’ll apologize, he decides, by doing something that’ll benefit the both of you. He ought to clean you up, get you tucked in, and when you wake, he’ll go down on you. He bets you taste so sweet, so innocent. He had known, of course, that he was your first — that he was always going to be your first. Your only. 

He wonders if the effects of the lust potion will still linger in your system even after you wake up. Probably so — he did it brew it quite strongly.

But the adoration, the love, in your eyes is something no amount of skilled potioneering can create. No; your feelings for him are real. You just needed to lower your inhibitions to get to the confessional stage.

And now that you have confessed… 

Sebastian Sallow can rest well after confirming what he’s known ever since he first laid eyes on you:

You’re his.

[posionapple24]

MC: Can I ask you for a favor?

Sebastain: I would literally die for you but continue.

Ominis: We have got to talk about you starting sentences that way.

[posionapple24]

アイドル !!

I messed around with the singer au! Chuuya bot and I had an epiphany. A rockstar! Chuuya with a (closeted fan) idol! reader.

Chuuya is a senior in the industry, and you're the newcomer of the year. Your debut was received very well, and your popularity exploded! Your first single (the song wasn't written by you, by the way. Your agency doesn't let idols write and release their own songs unless it's a solo project) was quick to climb the popularity chart.

Due to this, you're invited to perform at a huge joint concert with big artists in the region. Nervous? Absolutely! You're so high-strung by the pressure that you entered the wrong dressing room. And not just any dressing room, it's the Nakahara Chuuya's! The rock star you've been secretly adoring. Secretly? Why? Well, you aren't ready to let everyone know about the multiple posters and vinyl in your room, and idols are not supposed to like rough music, right? Their love is supposed to be only reserved for their fans.

That was the plan.

Before you realize it, you're blabbering about how much of a fan you are, and how amazing of a lyricist he is. Surprised by your own vivacity, you bow in embarrassment and get ready to depart for your own performance, so that you don't bother his time longer. Instead, he said, "It's okay. Thank you very much for liking my music."

"No, thank you for the wonderful songs! I want to be able to write and perform good songs like you, one day," you replied

The backstage crew calls you for a briefing, and you bow down with a polite 'sorry' and 'see you!' as the Nakahara Chuuya mouths good luck.

Hours pass! Your performance—which came right after Chuuya's—evoked a strong positive reaction! The audience cheers and chants, "Encore!" You were very overwhelmed, you almost ran into the audio mixer on your way backstage. It didn't help that most of the other guest artists congratulates you on your debut in a huge regional concert—Chuuya included.

"Did you write that song?" he asked. And you said, "No, but I'd want to perform my own song, one day."

He raises a curious brow, "You've written one?" Then you answered with a sheepish, "Yes. But it's nothing nearly as good as yours."

Maybe the Nakahara Chuuya pitied how much of a mess you are. Or maybe he saw potential in your talent. Life in the showbiz business is tough, and you are much too excited. He ended up offering you some pointers if you're willing to accept them. Duh, stupid question. One thing leads to another, and turns out Chuuya makes a good friend! He told you about the bright and dim sides of the industry, offering you constructive criticisms for your demos, and even better, encouraging your confidence. Words are soon circulating in the agency that you are to have your own solo single project, one with a song you wrote yourself!

But things can't always be sunshine and rainbows, can't it?

The situation went downhill when a photo of you and Chuuya sitting in a cafe spread on the internet. The good rumors about your solo project are dampened by a nasty line plastered in gossip columns: "Hit Rock Star Nakahara Chuuya And Emerging Idol [Name Surname] Involved In A Scandal?!" Your agency and his label are having a hard time suppressing the media, and you can't stop blaming yourself as an idol, for burdening your idol. The stress of disappointing your fans doesn't make things better, despite those rumors not being true.

Things get quiet after around half a year, and you've cut all contact with the rock star Nakahara Chuuya. Your solo project has been released. It was well-received, although not as grandeur as your first debut in the industry. The most pleasant surprise was when you received a message from a contact you'd never opened for months. 'Congratulations on the release of your solo project. You've come a long way.' Nakahara Chuuya sent. You smiled at your phone and things went fine, until you find an inconspicuous stranger backstage. In the darkness, you can't make out his face nor the thing he is holding in his right hand...

hngg this needs more polishing but my brain is finally, frantically, braining again. oshi no ko fever is real you guys.

♡ @ashthemadwriter

[posionapple24]

Heavy and Lif

[posionapple24]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı dazai osamu when you lose your memory request by: @redactedpng

when the doctor tells him you’ve suffered memory loss - specifically the years you’ve been with him - dazai doesn’t flinch. his expression stays almost too relaxed, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes curling at the edges. but if you looked close enough, you’d see the faintest twitch of his fingers in his coat pocket, like he’s holding on to something only he knows is slipping.

he’s no stranger to loss. he’s buried partners, lost friends, walked away from a life of crime, but this? losing you while you’re still breathing? it’s a new kind of wound. one that’s quiet. one that gnaws at him every time you look at him like he’s a stranger.

when you wake up in the hospital bed, eyes blinking slowly, your gaze settles on him, and there’s no recognition, no flicker of shared history. just polite confusion. you know his name, but only in the way you’d know a coworker’s name you’ve exchanged a few greetings with at the office.

he doesn’t correct you when you assume you’re just acquaintances. not right away. forcing you to remember would be selfish, and dazai, for all his mischief and ego, knows the fragility of the human mind. instead, he just tilts his head, smiles, and says, “we’ve… worked together a while. i’m glad you’re awake, belladonna.”

that night, he sits by your bedside long after visiting hours are over, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. in the dim light, there’s no mask - just dazai, lips pressed in a thin line, his hand halfway to yours before pulling back. you’d only wonder why he was touching you.

the days that follow feel eerily like the start of your relationship all over again. he flirts - softly, almost shyly, instead of his usual exaggerated dramatics. he brings you little things: tea the way you like it (though you don’t remember ever telling him), a book he knows you’ve read before but claims “it suits you.”

there are moments where the old rhythm almost returns without you realizing - the way you banter back at him, the way you instinctively lean closer when he’s near. and each time, he feels that bittersweet twist in his chest: the possibility that you could fall for him again, but also the fear that you won’t.

sometimes, you catch him looking at you too long, too intently. his gaze is soft but sharp, like he’s trying to memorize you, not just your face, but the smallest changes in your expression, the way you breathe between sentences. when you ask why, he only chuckles. “i just enjoy watching interesting things. and you… you’ve always been fascinating.”

privately, the cracks show. kunikida notices the way dazai lingers outside your office, the way his usual reckless energy dims around you. but dazai brushes it off - says he’s just being a gentleman, “keeping an eye on the rookie.”

in his mind, he decides on one thing: if he can’t have the you who remembers him, then he’ll simply make you fall in love with him twice. he’ll take you for coffee at the same riverside café, invite you to stroll through the neon-lit streets at night, tease you until you roll your eyes in that way that always made him grin.

maybe your memories come back one day, piece by piece, like puzzle fragments finding their place. maybe they don’t. but dazai’s made peace with either outcome. as long as you still look at him like he’s worth keeping in your life, in whatever form, that will be enough. or at least, that’s what he tells himself while quietly wishing for more.

[posionapple24]

I just binged Metal Family and HOLY SHIT I LOVE GLAM SO MUCH.

ME AND MY ADMIRATION FOR GOOD FICTIONAL DADS CONTINUES!

[posionapple24]

[posionapple24]

Bro do you also HATE it when you love someone's art style like it's so aesthetically pleasing and amazing but they turn out to be a FUCKING PROSHIPPER😭 like bro I was scrolling through Pinterest looking at Metal Family fan art and I saw this one person's art style that was amazing and drew the characters wonderfully, but then I found out their known for Dee x Heavy (DEAVY)... LIKE BRO WHY? 😭😭💀💀

[posionapple24]

sebastian: okay let's play 21 questions to get to know each other

mc: okay! i'll go first: what's your favorite animal —

sebastian: olive green. what's your opinion on early marriage, dare I say after graduation?

[posionapple24]

Misunderstandings | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

@preeyas-world my humble offering as per your request!

Words: ~4,600

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance, Happy Ending

The first time you noticed it, you told yourself it was nothing.

Sebastian had always been the kind of person people were drawn to—charming, quick-witted, impossible to ignore. He had friends beyond your shared circle, people he spent time with when you weren’t around. That was fine. Healthy, even. You weren’t the type to demand his attention every waking moment, nor did you want to be.

But then there was Lillian Thornton.

At first, it was small things. A glance across the Great Hall, a study session in the library. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sebastian was friendly, and Lillian was in your year—Slytherin, well-bred, elegant in the way you weren’t. She carried herself with effortless grace, always dressed in pristine, perfectly pressed robes, always speaking in that refined, poised tone that made people listen.

You had no reason to feel threatened.

But then it became more.

It started with the little things. The moments where he was late to meet you outside class because he had gotten caught up talking to her. The times he promised he’d help you with an essay but got sidetracked and never showed up. The way his eyes lingered on her when she spoke, as if he were truly listening, when lately, he barely seemed to hear you.

At first, you tried to be rational.

Sebastian was just being himself—helpful, charismatic. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. You were overthinking.

So you brushed it off.

You ignored the slight sting when he laughed at something she said across the common room but barely reacted when you told him a story. You forced yourself to smile when he mentioned her in passing, pretended it didn’t bother you that her name kept slipping into conversations more and more. You reminded yourself that he was yours. That he loved you.

Sebastian was still affectionate. He still kissed you before class, still let his fingers skim over yours under the table at meals. He still called you love in that warm, effortless way.

But something had changed.

He was distracted.

It was in the way his attention drifted when you spoke, like he was only half-listening. In the way he was always one step behind—laughing at a joke a second too late, responding to questions with absentminded nods, forgetting things he never would have forgotten before.

You had tried to be rational. You had tried to trust him.

But doubt, once planted, was a treacherous thing.

The moment it all unraveled, you hadn’t even meant to find them.

It had been a long day. You had been tired, drained, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on you. All you had wanted was to grab a book from the library and go back to the common room. That was all.

But then you saw them.

Tucked away in a secluded corner, books spread between them, heads close together as they whispered. Lillian was laughing, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned in. And Sebastian—Sebastian was smiling.

Not the polite, casual smile he gave acquaintances. The real kind. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the kind he used to reserve for you.

And then she touched his arm.

It was subtle. Barely anything at all. Just a hand resting lightly on his sleeve, her fingers curling slightly into the fabric. But what shattered you was that he didn’t move away.

You felt something crack inside you.

It wasn’t anger that hit you first—it was nausea. A hollow, gut-wrenching feeling that made it hard to breathe.

Because this—this was the moment you had been dreading. The moment your worst fears solidified into something real.

Sebastian was slipping away from you, and he didn’t even notice.

So, without a sound, you turned and left.

By the time you made it outside, the lump in your throat had tightened into something unbearable. Your legs carried you on instinct, leading you away from the castle, away from the suffocating weight pressing down on your chest.

It wasn’t until you passed a group of Ravenclaws in the courtyard hat you realized you were crying.

You could feel it now, the hot, silent tears slipping down your cheeks. The way your breath hitched every time you tried to swallow down the ache in your throat. The Ravenclaws exchanged glances as you passed, murmuring in hushed voices. One of them—a younger girl, maybe a third-year—looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, like she wasn’t sure if she should say something.

But you didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them whisper.

Nothing they said could hurt more than this.

The lake was ahead, the water stretching out into the dark horizon, reflecting the scattered stars above. It was quiet here, far from the hum of conversation and laughter that still lingered in the castle.

This had always been your place. Your safe haven.

You sank down onto the cool earth beneath your usual tree, curling in on yourself as the weight of it all crashed over you.

It should have been such a small thing. Just a smile. A simple moment between two people studying together. Something you wouldn’t have thought twice about a few months ago. Something that shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

Because it wasn’t just about the smiling.

It was every small thing, every moment, every hesitation, every inch of distance that had crept in between you and Sebastian over the last few months, piling up until you collapsed under the weight of them.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them as you stared out at the lake, watching the way the dark water rippled in the moonlight. The ache in your chest grew heavier with every thought that surfaced, memories stacking on top of each other, twisting into something painful.

Hadn’t things been different before? Hadn’t he been different before?

You tried to pinpoint the moment things had changed, but there wasn’t one moment—it was a slow unraveling, a series of little shifts so gradual you hadn’t noticed until now.

Like how you hadn’t been together as much lately. Not in the ways you used to be.

Sebastian had always been touchy—always slipping an arm around your shoulders, pressing absentminded kisses to the side of your head, tugging you into his lap when you were studying together in the Undercroft. he had never been able to keep his hands off of you when you were alone.

But now? Now he was too tired, too distracted, always promising later—but later never seemed to come.

And you had ignored it. You had convinced yourself it was just stress, that seventh year was demanding for both of you, that maybe you were reading too much into it. But now, as you sat by the lake, those thoughts turned into something worse.

What if it wasn’t stress at all? What if he had stopped touching you because he was touching her instead?

A shudder wracked through you, a bitter, sick feeling creeping into your stomach.

How many times had he been late to meet you for studying? For Hogsmeade trips? For dates he promised he wouldn’t forget? How many times had he made an excuse—something about Ominis, or a professor keeping him after class, or an essay he had forgotten about?

Was that all it had been? Or had he been sneaking off with her instead? Had he kissed her? Touched her? Had he pressed her against the walls of a hidden corridor, tangled his hands in her perfect curls the way he used to with you? Had he whispered the same things into her ear, the ones that used to send shivers down your spine?

The thought sent a sharp, breathless pain through your ribs, like something inside you had cracked clean through.

You had always trusted Sebastian.

Had loved him, wholly and completely, even when he made mistakes, even when he was reckless and impossible and difficult. You had always believed in him.

But now you weren’t so sure.

The thought alone made your chest cave in on itself. This was Sebastian. The boy who had sworn he’d do anything to keep you safe. The boy who used to hold you close as if he was afraid you’d disappear. The boy you loved. Trusted.

But that trust had cracks in it now, fragile and splintering under the weight of doubt.

You swallowed thickly, willing yourself to stop the spiral. To just breathe. But your thoughts wouldn’t let up, tearing through you like an open wound.

And then—

"There you are."

Sebastian’s voice cut through the quiet, and your entire body locked up. Your breath caught in your throat as you lifted your head, your heart lurching painfully.

He stood a few feet away, his brows drawn together in concern, his cloak slightly askew as if he’d rushed here. The dim glow of the moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features—the sharpness of his jaw, the tension in his expression.

Sebastian took a step closer, breath slightly uneven. "I—uh—I ran into Samantha Dale. She said you looked upset, and then you weren’t in the common room, so—"

He cut himself off mid-sentence, his expression shifting as his gaze landed on your face.

His whole body tensed.

"Shit—are you crying?"

The words came out rough, raw. Almost panicked. And before you could react, he was moving toward you, closing the distance between you with quick, determined strides.

"Hey, hey—what’s wrong? Talk to me, love." His voice softened as he reached for you, hands outstretched like he was about to gather you into his arms. "Come here—"

"Stay away."

Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it stopped him dead, his hands hovering in the space between you, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What?"

You swallowed hard, shifting back against the tree, every inch of you suddenly aching with exhaustion. "Just… don’t touch me."

A flicker of hurt crossed his face, barely concealed beneath the confusion. His mouth opened slightly, like he was going to argue, but then he really looked at you. At the tear tracks staining your cheeks. The way you were curled in on yourself, arms wrapped around your legs like you were trying to keep yourself from unraveling completely.

Something in his expression shifted. Slowly, he lowered his hands. "Did… did I do something?"

You let out a breathless, humorless laugh. "I don’t know, Sebastian." You met his gaze then, voice shaking. "Did you?"

His face paled slightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You exhaled shakily, looking back at the lake. The reflection of the stars blurred in the water, their edges rippling as a cold breeze drifted through.

"I don’t want to do this right now," you murmured, voice strained.

Sebastian hesitated, and for a brief second, you thought he might listen, but then he stepped closer again. "No. I think we need to."

You closed your eyes, swallowing the fresh wave of emotion rising in your throat. And then, in a quiet, broken voice, you asked, "Are you in love with her?"

The question hung in the air, heavier than the weight on your chest.

Sebastian’s breath caught, his entire body going rigid. "What?"

You turned to look at him, your vision blurred with tears. "Lillian." You exhaled shakily. "Are you in love with her?"

Sebastian’s face twisted into something like horror. "What the hell are you talking about?"

You laughed then, a short, bitter sound. "I saw you with her in the library, Sebastian."

He blinked, caught completely off guard. "That’s what this is about? We were studying—"

"Oh, studying?" You cut him off, voice thick with hurt. "Is that what you were doing when she touched you? When you smiled at her like that?"

Sebastian’s mouth opened, then closed again.

His silence was enough.

You let out a shaky breath, looking away. "I should have known."

"No— Sebastian stepped forward quickly, desperation lacing his voice. "No, love, it’s not like that. It’s not—"

"Then what is it like, Sebastian?" You turned back to him, your voice breaking. "Because I don’t understand. I don’t understand why you’ve been pulling away, why you don’t see me anymore, why I feel like I have to fight just to be something important to you."

Sebastian shook his head, exhaling sharply as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t—I don’t even know where this is coming from.”

You let out a breathless laugh, bitter and disbelieving. “You don’t know?”

His eyes flickered, hesitating. “We were just—”

“Studying, yeah, I heard you the first time.” You inhaled shakily. “That’s not the point, Sebastian. This isn’t just about what I saw tonight. This is about months of you pulling away.”

Sebastian opened his mouth, but you weren’t finished.

“At first, it was small things,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “You forgot my Quidditch match. No big deal, right? But then you started forgetting other things. Like our Hogsmeade plans. Like the fact that Thursdays are the one night I don’t study in the library. Like how I hate chamomile tea, and you’ve been handing me a cup of it every single morning without even thinking.”

Sebastian flinched, his lips parting slightly like he wanted to protest—but he didn’t.

“You used to see me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Now I feel like I have to fight just to be something important to you.”

Sebastian’s face twisted, his jaw clenching. “That’s not true.”

"Then why does it feel like I’m losing you?"

Sebastian flinched. "You're not! I—I love you."

"Really? Because you don’t look at me the way you used to." Your voice cracked, but you pushed through. "You used to—Merlin, Sebastian, you used to look at me like I was the only person in the room. And now?" You shook your head, eyes burning. "Now, I see that look when you’re with her."

Sebastian’s expression twisted in terror. "That’s not—"

You inhaled shakily, forcing yourself to keep going, even as it hurt. "You used to want me, Sebastian." The words felt raw, scraped straight from the depths of your chest. "And now, we hardly ever have sex anymore. We hardly touch anymore."

Sebastian looked like you had just ripped the air straight from his lungs. "That’s not—I do want you." His voice broke slightly at the end, panicked, desperate.

You shook your head, swallowing hard. "Then why do you hesitate now?"

Sebastian’s hands clenched at his sides. "I don’t—"

"You do." Your breath hitched. "Every time we’re alone, every time I reach for you, you pull away just a little bit. I feel it." You let out a sharp breath, forcing yourself to look him in the eye. "And yet with her, you never pull away."

Sebastian went rigid, his dark eyes flashing with something sharp, something defensive.

"That’s not—"

"Don’t lie." Your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down. "I see it. Everyone sees it. She touches you, and you let her. She leans in too close, and you don’t move away. She looks at you like you belong to her, and you—" Your throat tightened. "And you just let her."

Sebastian’s entire body went rigid.

You inhaled sharply, wiping at your eyes, even though the tears kept coming. "I trusted you, Sebastian." Your voice trembled, but you held his gaze. "I told myself over and over that I was imagining things. That I was being paranoid. That you loved me, and that was enough." You swallowed hard. "But love isn’t supposed to feel like this."

Sebastian’s face crumpled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I do love you."

"Then why does it feel like I have to compete for you?" You shook your head, voice breaking. "You used to tell me everything. Now I don’t even know where you are half the time. I used to be the person you looked for in a crowded room, and now—" A broken breath left your lips. "Now, I feel like a ghost to you."

Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, his face twisting into something like shock, like you had just reached inside his chest and torn something out with your bare hands.

"That’s not—" He stopped, his voice catching, and before you could stop him, he surged forward, hands cupping your face with a desperation that made your chest cave in on itself.

"You listen to me right now." His voice was rough, unsteady, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, catching on the remnants of your tears. "I have never stopped wanting you. Never."

You inhaled sharply, your hands coming up to grip his wrists, but you didn’t pull him away.

His breath was uneven, warm against your skin. "I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I—" He shut his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily. "I didn’t realize I was making you feel like this. I swear to you, I didn’t."

Sebastian’s hands trembled against your skin, his breath uneven as he held your face between his palms. His dark eyes were frantic, pleading, like he could hold everything together if he just held on tightly enough.

Because this wasn’t like the petty fights you had before. This wasn’t something he could just charm his way out of with a teasing smirk and a stolen kiss. This was you, looking at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

You swallowed, hating how small your voice sounded. "Why are we even together when it's obvious you'd rather be with her?"

Sebastian was panicking.

You saw it in the way his lips parted like he was gasping for air, in the way his hands trembled as they held your face, in the wide, frantic look in his eyes like he was watching something he loved slip through his fingers. And thhen his knees buckled, and he fell.

Fell hard.

He was on the ground before you could react, his breath ragged, his shoulders shaking. "No—no, please, love, don’t say that." His voice cracked, raw and desperate. "Don’t—don’t tell me this is it. You’re not—" His breath hitched, his grip on you tightening just slightly. "You’re not breaking up with me, are you?"

You exhaled shakily, overwhelmed, aching, your mind screaming at you to step away before this hurt even more. Sebastian didn’t let you.

"Please," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I love you. I love you so fucking much, and I am infinitely sorry for ever making you feel like I didn’t." His forehead dropped against yours, his entire body trembling. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me. I swear to you, I will."

Your throat tightened, your hands hovering over his wrists. "Sebastian…"

His grip on you was desperate. "I should have told you sooner. I should have never let it get this far."

Your body went rigid. "Told me what sooner?"

Sebastian pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his own glassy with unshed tears. "God, love, it's... you’ve got it all wrong," he breathed, shaking his head. "I understand how it looked buut you have to believe me when I say—this isn’t what you think."

Your throat tightened. "Then explain to me what the hell this is, Sebastian. Because it looks pretty fucking clear to me."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, like he was bracing himself. Then—

"Lillian is in love with Anne."

The words hit you like a freight train. You blinked, staring at him, your mind struggling to process what he had just said. "What?"

Sebastian swallowed, nodding, his voice quieter now, but still urgent. "She’s in love with Anne. She has been for years. And Anne—" He took a shaky breath. "Anne… she likes women, too."

You stiffened.

Sebastian’s hands dropped from your face to your shoulders, his fingers tightening just slightly, grounding you. "You know what the world is like, love." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "You know how people see that, how dangerous it is for her."

Your chest tightened. "Sebastian—"

"Lillian wanted to know everything about Anne—what she liked, what made her smile, what made her laugh. She wanted to be sure before she risked everything by telling her." He let out a heavy breath. "I was helping her figure out how to do it. That’s all. That’s all it ever was and ever has been."

You stared at him, your mind reeling. Suddenly, every touch, every whispered conversation, every lingering glance between Sebastian and Lillian took on a completely different meaning.

She hadn’t been flirting with him, she had been leaning on him. The looks weren’t full of romantic affection—they were full of trust.

The physical closeness, the secret meetings, the time spent together—it wasn’t about Sebastian at all. It was about Anne.

Sebastian swallowed hard. "That’s why I spent so much time with her. That’s why we got close." He looked at you, pleading, begging you to believe him. "She... she makes me feel closer to Anne." His voice broke. "She reminds me of her."

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You had spent months drowning in doubt, in fear, in heartbreak—when all along, the truth had been something you never could have guessed.

Your fingers curled into his cloak, gripping the fabric tightly, trying to ground yourself.

"You're not fucking with me are you?"

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his dark eyes wide, desperate, full of something too raw to be anything but real.

"No," he said, shaking his head fervently. "God, no. I would never—I could never lie to you about this."

The sincerity in his voice, in his expression, in the way his hands clutched at your shoulders like he was terrified you might disappear—it was real.

But you were still trying to wrap your mind around it.

Lillian. Anne. Everything.

Your breath came shakily, the pieces clicking together, reassembling into something that was so painfully obvious now that you had the truth.

Anne, who had never shown much interest in the boys who flirted with her. Anne, who had always held herself at a slight distance in conversations about courtship. Anne, who had never once spoken about wanting a husband.

You had assumed it was grief. That losing her parents, losing her old life, had left her uninterested in romance. But this…

You swallowed thickly, blinking back the emotions rising in your throat.

Sebastian watched you, his entire body tense, waiting, his breath uneven. "I know—I know I should have told you." His voice was hoarse. "But Lillian didn’t want anyone to know. Anne definitely didn’t want anyone to know. She’s been scared, and—"

"I get it," you said softly, the words trembling on your tongue, uneven, but true.

And you did.

Of course, you wished he had told you. Wished he had trusted you enough to let you in, to explain instead of letting you drown in your own worst thoughts. But at the same time, you understood why he hadn't.

It wasn't his secret to tell. He had been protecting Anne. Protecting Lillian. But…

"But still," you murmured, voice thick with emotion. "I just… You let me believe I was losing you." Your voice cracked slightly. "For months, Sebastian. And this still doesn’t entirely explain why you've been so... so distant."

Sebastian flinched, his gaze dropping to the ground.

You exhaled shakily, the weight of it all pressing down on you. "Because even if Lillian wasn’t what I thought, you did pull away. You did stop looking at me the way you used to. You hesitated when I touched you. You forgot me." Your voice broke, and you swallowed down the thick lump rising in your throat. "And that has nothing to do with Lillian or Anne."

Sebastian inhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment before dragging his hands through his hair, visibly unraveling in front of you. His chest rose and fell with each unsteady breath, like he was struggling to get the words out.

"I was scared."

You stiffened.

Sebastian let out a rough breath, shaking his head. "Not of you," he rushed to say. "Not of us. But of… of everything after this."

You blinked at him, not understanding. "After what?"

Sebastian exhaled, his jaw tightening. He looked away for a moment, then back at you. His voice was hoarse when he said, "After Hogwarts."

Your stomach twisted.

Sebastian swallowed thickly, his voice raw. "I don’t know what happens next," he admitted. "I don’t know where we go after this—what our lives look like when we leave this place. What if we… drift apart? What if life pulls us in different directions? What if—" He inhaled sharply, his fists clenching like he wanted to punch something. "What if I lose you?"

You felt your breath hitch.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Part of me thought… maybe if I distanced myself now, maybe if I stopped needing you so much, it wouldn’t hurt as badly if we had to say goodbye."

You stared at him, your heart twisting. "Sebastian—"

"I thought I was preparing myself," he murmured.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers twitching at your sides. "You know your logic doesn't make any sense right?"

Sebastian let out a breathless, broken laugh, his face crumpling. "I know."

"And you do realize that pushing me away just made everything worse?"

Sebastian swallowed thickly, nodding. "Yeah, love. I’m painfully aware."

Your chest ached. There was a part of you that still wanted to be angry, still wanted to hold on to the hurt he had caused, but looking at him now—really looking at him—you saw a boy who was just as lost as you had been. Afraid. Unsure. But never unloving.

You let out a slow, unsteady breath. "You can’t do that to me again."

Sebastian’s expression shattered further,

"I won’t," he whispered, his voice raw. "I swear I won’t. I love you more than anything. I'm so sorry."

Your throat tightened, your eyes burning.

Because you believed him.

Not because he was desperate, not because he was begging, but because the way he was looking at you now—like you were everything, like you were the air in his lungs, the only thing tethering him to the world—was the way he had always looked at you before all of this.

The way he should have been looking at you all along.

You exhaled sharply, your emotions still tangled, still raw, but your body had already made its decision before your mind had caught up.

You leaned forward, and Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body going rigid. And then, carefully, cautiously, you lifted your arms and wrapped them around his neck.

At first contact, Sebastian's arms slammed around you, pulling you against him with a desperation that knocked the breath from your lungs. His face buried into your shoulder, his body trembling against yours.

For the first time in months, it felt like home.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your skin. "I love you." His voice cracked. "I love you so much, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

You swallowed hard, pressing your face into his neck. "Good," you whispered. "Because you’re going to have to."

Sebastian let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding through him, his arms tightening around you like he never wanted to let go.

And this time, you knew he wouldn’t.

[posionapple24]

wait what if mc accidentally sent sebastian a love letter. like they were trying to write down their feelings and it just got sent by a helpful roommate by mistake

Love Letter | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

I HOPE YOU ENJOY ANON! I really had a great time writing the love letter, UGH that got me right in the heart ;.;

Words: ~3,900

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Drama, Fluff, Romance

Sebastian,

Witch Weekly says that writing down your feelings is supposed to help. That if you’re in love with someone you can never have, you should put it all down on parchment, let it spill from your heart like ink onto a page. Then, once it’s written, you can crumple it up, set it on fire, or hide it away where no one will ever find it.

I suppose it’s meant to be cathartic. A way to lighten the burden, to lessen the ache. But I know better.

Because no matter how many words I pour onto this page, no matter how many times I try to convince myself that this will fix something, I already know the truth.

There is no fixing this. There is no untangling my heart from yours.

I will love you until the day I die.

It feels embarrassing to even write that, like I’m some sappy, lovesick fool. But I suppose that’s exactly what I am. And who cares, really? No one is ever going to see this.

No one will ever know how deep this goes but me.

How have you never noticed, Sebastian? You’re supposed to be so sharp, so quick-witted, always a step ahead of everyone else.

But the truth is I’ve loved you since fifth year, since the moment we met.

Since the day you smirked at me like you already knew all my secrets, like you had me all figured out before I’d even said a word. You were infuriating from the start—sharp-tongued, arrogant, always so bloody sure of yourself. You challenged me, teased me, riled me up just to see me snap.

And I never stood a chance.

Somewhere along the way, your laughter became my favorite sound. Your voice became my comfort. Your presence became home.

I know you—in a way I don’t think even you do. I remember everything.

The way you take your tea, strong and almost disgustingly sweet, like you’re trying to cover up the bitterness with reckless abandon.

The way you tilt your head when you’re about to say something infuriatingly smug, that damnable smirk already forming before the words have even left your mouth.

The way your brow furrows when you’re deep in thought, when you think no one’s watching.

The way your hands twitch when you’re holding back, itching to reach for your wand, to fight, to protect.

The way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh.

The way your eyes—Merlin, your eyes—burn with every emotion you try to hide. You think you're so clever, so unreadable, but I see it all. The mischief, the fire, the frustration, the fleeting moments of doubt you’d never admit to. They undo me. Every damn time.

And I’ve tried, Sebastian.

I’ve tried to love someone else.

I’ve been with other boys. I’ve gone on dates and smiled at the right moments, I’ve listened when they talked, I’ve let them hold me. And I wanted to feel something—I tried to feel something.

But none of them were you.

I could no sooner remove you from my heart than I could carve it from my own body.

You are in me. In every breath, in every thought, in every moment I spend wishing things were different.

And I have long since resigned myself to the reality that this is how it will always be.

You are my best friend, and that is more important than my feelings. It has to be. Because if I ever told you—if I ever let this slip—I don’t think I could bear the consequences.

So I stay quiet.

And at night, I stare up at the canopy of my bed and let myself think about all the things I will never have.

I think about you. I think about what it would be like if I were braver. I think about how you’d react if I kissed you.

Would your eyes go half-lidded, hazy with something slow and molten? Would you pull me close, pressing me against you, against something solid and warm? Would you let me run my hands through your hair, feel the softness of it between my fingers?

I wonder how you’d taste. If your mouth would be all heat and urgency, if you’d bite my lower lip just to make me gasp. If you’d whisper my name against my skin like you’ve always known it was meant for your lips.

Would you let me have you?

I think about it at night, when it’s late and the world is quiet and I’m alone with nothing but the ache of wanting you. I press my face into my pillow, close my eyes, and let myself pretend—just for a little while—that you want me, too.

But it doesn’t really matter. Because I’ll never know.

And I know I am eighteen years old, and older people love to say that teenagers don’t know what love is. That we’re naive, foolish, that we think we’ll feel this way forever when really, it’s just a passing fancy.

But of this, of my love for you, I am more certain than I have ever been of anything.

This is not something I will grow out of. This is not something that will fade. This is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life, whether I want to or not.

And I will keep it locked away, because I would rather love you in silence than lose you forever.

So I’ll fold this letter, tuck it away, and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Because you will never know.

—Yours (though you’ll never know it),

You signed your name, sniffing as you pressed your palm against the parchment, as if you could smooth away the trembling emotions trapped in ink.

There. It’s done.

It had felt good, in a way, to let it all out. But just as you predicted, writing it down hadn’t changed anything. Hadn’t lessened the ache or made your heart any lighter. If anything, it felt heavier, the weight of your unspoken love solidified in every word scrawled across the page.

You exhaled, folding the letter carefully—almost reverently—before setting it on your bedside table. You had every intention of tucking it away in your trunk, hidden beneath layers of robes where no one would ever find it.

But exhaustion was already pressing at your bones, and you thought, I’ll do it in the morning.

So you blew out the candle, turned onto your side, and let sleep pull you under.

Sunlight streamed through the windows when you woke with a start, your stomach dropping at the realization that you’d overslept.

“Shit,” you mumbled, throwing the blankets off and scrambling to dress as your roommates bustled around, already halfway through their morning routines.

“You must’ve been exhausted,” one of them teased as you tugged your uniform into place.

You barely heard them, too busy cursing yourself for missing breakfast. By the time you grabbed your bag and rushed out of the dormitory, your mind was already occupied with the day ahead—assignments, Professor Ronen’s latest essay, and the Quidditch scrimmage planned for the afternoon.

You never even glanced at your bedside table.

Never noticed the missing letter.

Nevertheless, your day had passed by like any other.

You’d managed to dodge Sharp’s wrath over a half-finished potion, spent lunch laughing with Ominis over Sebastian’s latest disastrous attempt at sweet-talking Imelda into lending him her broom, and successfully avoided thinking too much about the letter that was supposed to be ash by now.

Everything was fine.

That was, until you walked into the Great Hall for dinner.

At first, everything seemed as it always was—the low hum of conversation, the clatter of cutlery against plates, the floating candles casting their soft golden glow over the long tables. Your stomach grumbled at the scent of roasted chicken and buttered bread, and you barely gave a thought to where you would sit as your gaze instinctively flicked to the Slytherin table.

And there he was.

Sebastian sat in his usual spot, right beside Ominis. You felt the familiar pull of his presence, the way you always did, like some unconscious part of you sought him out before you even realized it.

But then, something shifted.

Sebastian wasn’t eating.

His hands were occupied—not with a goblet or a fork, but with a piece of parchment, one he had just begun to unfold. His brow furrowed slightly as his fingers smoothed out the creases, his dark eyes scanning the words in front of him.

You barely noticed the way your heart slammed against your ribs.

Because you knew that letter.

You knew that parchment.

You knew what he was reading.

Time slowed to a crawl, your breath halting as you stood frozen in the doorway, the warmth of the Great Hall vanishing, replaced by a creeping cold that wrapped around your spine and sank its claws deep into your chest.

Sebastian’s expression went slack.

His lips parted slightly, his brows drawing together in something unreadable as his eyes flicked over the words—your words—the ones you had never intended for anyone, let alone him, to see.

Ominis was speaking beside him, his mouth moving, probably teasing him about something, but Sebastian wasn’t responding. He wasn’t reacting, wasn’t moving. He was just reading.

Your stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in your throat as panic set in.

No, no, no, no, no.

Your breath hitched, your lungs seizing in panic as your mind raced— He hasn’t finished reading it yet. He can’t have. Maybe I can get to him, grab it before he—

But then his eyes lifted. And found yours. Everything inside you froze.

His face was unreadable, his dark gaze burning into yours with something too raw, too intense to decipher. And then—

Sebastian stood to his full height.

The parchment was still in his hands, crumpled slightly in his grip, like his fingers had tightened around it involuntarily. His mouth parted, as if he were about to say something—

And that was when your body made its decision.

Run.

You spun on your heel and bolted.

You heard the scrape of Sebastian’s chair against the stone floor, the sharp inhale of Ominis beside him, the sudden uptick in murmurs as people took notice. But you couldn’t focus on any of it—only the sheer, overwhelming need to get out, to get away, to put as much distance between you and that letter as humanly possible.

Your robes billowed behind you as you pushed past a group of Ravenclaws near the entrance, ignoring their startled protests. You didn’t even know where you were going—only that you had to move.

You barely made it into the corridor when you heard it.

“Oi!”

Sebastian’s voice, sharp and demanding, echoed off the stone walls.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and immediately regretted it.

He was right behind you, his expression set in something fierce—determined. His grip was still tight around the parchment, his knuckles white, and oh, Merlin, he was gaining on you.

You whirled down a side hall, nearly colliding with a suit of armor as you ducked around a corner. The adrenaline was making your limbs feel weightless, your body moving on pure instinct. You knew—knew—that running made you look guiltier, made it clear beyond a doubt that the letter was yours, but Sebastian knew your handwriting.

There was no talking your way out of this.

So you ran.

And he followed.

“Bloody hell, will you stop running?”

No. Absolutely not.

Your heart threatened to claw its way up your throat as you rounded another corner, nearly losing your footing in your panic. You had no plan, no destination—only the singular, desperate urge to get away.

But Hogwarts was only so big.

And Sebastian Sallow was faster than you.

So you did the only thing you could think to do—you ran for the nearest exit.

The heavy wooden doors of the castle loomed ahead, and you threw yourself at them, bursting into the crisp evening air.

The temperature was cooler out here, the autumn wind biting at your skin, but you barely noticed. The sky was deep blue, streaked with the last remnants of sunset, the grounds bathed in the soft glow of torchlight.

And still, you ran.

The wide expanse of the courtyard gave you space—space to sprint, to put real distance between you and the boy who held your heart in his hands, ink-stained and utterly exposed.

But then—

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake—”

A heavy force collided into you from behind, and suddenly, the ground was no longer beneath your feet.

A startled gasp left your lips as the world tilted, and then—

You hit the grass, hard.

The weight of another body pressed down on you, solid and warm, pinning you beneath them.

For a moment, everything stilled.

The only sounds were your own ragged breaths, your pulse roaring in your ears, and the undeniable, shuddering exhale from the boy who had just tackled you to the ground.

Sebastian.

You felt him shift above you, his hands braced on either side of your head, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

The letter was still clutched in his fist, crumpled and worn from the chase.

And then—

“Are you absolutely mental?” His voice was breathless, frustrated—wild.

You flinched, panic curling up your spine, your body trembling beneath him.

“Sebastian,” you gasped, trying to squirm away, but he wasn’t having it.

“No.” His tone shook, his grip tightening on the ground beside you. “No, we’re going to talk about this.”

Your heart lurched. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening.

You squeezed your eyes shut, every fiber of your being screaming at you to run again, to somehow undo all of this.

But you were trapped.

Not just by his weight—not just by the way his arms and legs bracketed yours, caging you in—but by the look on his face.

His eyes.

Dark and intense, searching yours like he was trying to find an answer you hadn’t given him yet.

You swallowed, chest rising and falling too quickly, your hands curling into the grass beneath you as you tried to breathe.

Sebastian’s grip on the parchment tightened. “This—” his voice was lower now, unreadable, “—this isn’t a joke, is it?”

You swallowed, trying to force words up your throat. Your lips parted.

“I—” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t—”

“Because if it is,” he continued, his gaze darkening, intensifying, “it’s a cruel one.”

Your breath hitched, your body locking up beneath him.

A cruel joke?

"W-what?" you breathed,

Sebastian's grip on the letter was so tight now that the parchment crinkled loudly between his fingers. His other hand was still braced beside your head, his body caging you in, radiating heat, tension—something dangerous.

"You heard me," he said, his voice rough, barely controlled. "Is this a joke? Some sort of—of—prank?"

The very thought made your stomach twist. How could he—how could he even think—

"Of course not!" The words came out more forcefully than you intended, your panic spiking.

His jaw clenched. "Then why the fuck did you run?"

"Because!" You spluttered, incredulous. "You-you were- how the hell did you even get that?!"

Sebastian let out a sharp laugh, shaking the crumpled parchment between his fingers. “How did I get it? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because it was sent in the mail?!” His gaze burned into yours. “And it had my bloody name on it?!

"But I never sent it! I—" The words caught in your throat, a frantic, garbled mess of emotion and panic. You couldn't even think straight, not with him right there, not with his weight pressing you down, his breath still ragged from chasing you.

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh, so it just magically appeared in the post? Someone sent it, and seeing as it’s your handwriting, your words—your fucking confession—I’d say that narrows down the list of suspects."

Your mouth opened and closed, but your brain refused to supply a logical defense.

You had left it out.

And your roommates—oh Merlin, they must have seen it, assumed you had forgotten to send it, and done you the favor of making sure it got delivered.

Your breath shuddered as the weight of it all crashed over you, the full, awful realization that everything was ruined.

Tears burned behind your eyes, hot and humiliating, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, sliding down your temples into the grass beneath you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, voice thick and uneven. “I—I never meant for you to see it. I was going to burn it, I swear—”

Sebastian’s entire body jerked like you’d just hexed him.

His anger—sharp and scorching only moments ago—immediately cracked, giving way to something horrified, something panicked.

“Oh—fuck,” he breathed, his grip on the parchment loosening as his weight shifted. “Shit, no—don’t—”

And then, in a blur of movement, he was off you, scrambling backward like he’d just been hit with a Stunning Spell.

You sucked in a breath at the sudden loss of warmth, blinking up at him through wet lashes as he kneeled beside you, hands lifting slightly like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

“I’m not mad at you,” he rushed out, voice hoarse, urgent. “I swear, I’m not—I just—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

You buried your face in your hands, curling in on yourself as the shame closed in.

“No, it’s my fault,” you rasped, words strangled and raw. “I should have just—kept my feelings to myself. I should have never written it down, I don’t know why I—”

"Hey, hey—" His voice was softer now, no longer demanding, no longer frantic. A warm hand hovered near your shoulder, hesitant, but you were already spiraling.

"I—Merlin, why did I even listen to Witch Weekly?" You let out a miserable, watery laugh, rubbing furiously at your face as you tried—and failed—to control the mess of emotion in your chest.

Sebastian made a noise, almost like a pained laugh, but his eyes were still frantic, still burning with something raw and unsteady.

“So... it’s true?” His voice was quieter now, rough, but no less intense. “What you wrote?”

His fingers finally touched your wrist—not enough to pull your hands away, but enough that you felt it. Enough that it sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“Tell me,” he murmured, and you could hear the strain in his voice now.

Slowly, painfully, you lowered your hands from your face.

Sebastian’s gaze burned into you, desperate and unreadable.

Your throat was tight, your breath uneven.

But you couldn’t lie.

So you nodded.

A sharp exhale left him, his hand dropping from your wrist to clench in the grass beside him. His head tilted back slightly, his jaw tight, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair again.

You winced. "I know," you whispered, curling your arms around yourself. "I know. I'm sorry. You can just—just forget about it, okay? I know it's probably weird, and you don't feel the same, and I just—I'll move on, alright? I can—I can pretend this never happened, if that's what you want—"

Sebastian let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

And then he lunged for you,

Before you could even react, he was on you again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, your hands flying up to brace against his chest as he rolled, flipping the both of you over until you were the one on top, sprawled against the solid warmth of his body.

A startled noise left your lips as he crushed you into his chest, his arms locking around you like a vice. His heartbeat pounded beneath your cheek, wild and erratic, his breathing uneven.

"You're such an idiot," he muttered into your hair, his voice rough, still shaking with disbelief.

Your brain was struggling to keep up.

"W-what—?"

"You think I don’t feel the same?" He let out a breathless, almost hysterical laugh, tightening his hold around you. "Merlin, do you even hear yourself?"

Your stomach flipped, something warm and dangerous flooding your veins.

Sebastian's grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, his hand splaying wide against the small of your back, pressing you even closer to him.

"You’re not moving on," he said fiercely. "You’re mine."

Your breath hitched. "Wh-what?"

Sebastian groaned, his head dropping back against the grass, his fingers flexing against you like he was barely holding himself together. "Fuck, do you even know what you've done to me?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers still curled in his robes, every inch of you hyper-aware of just how close you were.

"I—"

"You've wrecked me," he muttered, almost like an accusation. "I thought—I thought I was losing my mind. You had to know, you had to have noticed—"

"Noticed what?" you whispered, your voice barely there.

Sebastian let out a shaky breath, and then his hands slid up your back, one curling around the base of your skull, the other gripping your waist, firm.

"Noticed how fucking obsessed I am with you."

Your body locked up.

He flipped you again, faster this time, pressing you down into the grass beneath him, his weight heavy over yours. His breath was ragged, his expression wild, his eyes—

His eyes.

Dark, burning, hungry.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice almost pleading, like he needed you to hear it, to understand. "I’ve loved you for so fucking long."

"You—" The words tangled in your throat, your hands fisting in the fabric of his robes. "You don't have to say that just because you—because you feel bad—"

A sharp sound left his throat—something between a laugh and a growl, something raw and frustrated.

"Are you serious right now?" His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your robes. "You think I’m saying this out of pity?"

You flinched, shaking your head quickly. "I just—I don’t understand—"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, dropping his forehead to yours for a fleeting second, like he needed the contact just to ground himself. "You really don’t know, do you?"

Your breath was uneven, your mind spinning. "Know what?"

Sebastian exhaled sharply, and then—

He kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant. It was a claim.

His mouth crashed against yours, desperate, consuming, like he’d been starving for this.

A shocked noise slipped from you, but he swallowed it, pressing closer, deeper, one hand sliding into your hair while the other anchored itself at your waist.

Heat flooded through you, overwhelming and intoxicating, sending shivers down your spine.

You had imagined this before—god, you had imagined this in the dark, alone, staring at your canopy and aching for him—but nothing could have prepared you for the way he felt.

The way he took. The way he gave.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he tilted your head back and kissed you again—harder, deeper, like he was trying to ruin you.

Like he needed you as badly as you needed him.

"Still think I'm lying?" he murmured against your lips, his voice a rough, wicked thing.

You shook your head, dazed, your fingers curling into his robes as you pulled him closer, your answer slipping out between gasps.

"N-no."

Sebastian smirked against your mouth, his grip tightening.

"Good," he breathed. "Because I'm never letting you go."