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this is some sort of mood

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»𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦«

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I saw this on instagram and I SCREAMED

Credit: sebastiansallow_ on Instagram

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The Serpent's Paramour CH 8 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Your futile snooping in Sebastian's office lands you in a precarious position. You want to hate him for it– even though it's your own damn fault– but then mounting tensions finally reach their breaking point.

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, teasing, too much sexual tension

Ao3 saw it first

Despite the halls of the manor being mostly empty, you still found yourself to be incredibly on edge. 

It had taken you an additional twenty minutes to make your way inside following your discussion with Devlin. Not wanting to act out of the ordinary, you had stayed in the garden with him while he continued to sift through paperwork, only parting ways once he had claimed to ‘need a break’. Whatever that entailed had nothing to do with you, so after he had disappeared through the courtyard door, you’d waited. 

One minute. Five minutes. Once you were positive he’d gone back to his room– or wherever it was he decided to hole up when he wasn’t with you or Sebastian– you stood up and made your way through the dining room towards the office. 

There were a few, scattered voices echoing throughout the halls, but none that seemed close enough to make you overly concerned that you’d be caught snooping around. Most of the Ashwinders here were relatively normal when they weren’t chasing innocent women through forests to kidnap them. You had even seen one man knitting a couple days ago. 

Wand in hand, you testingly jostled the door handle, pursing your lips when your earlier hypothesis was proven correct. It was locked, but as far as you could tell, there were no hexes or traps imbued in the mechanism. One last glance was cast over your shoulder before you charmed the office open, pushing the door open a tiny crack before slipping through and quietly shutting it behind you. 

The candelabras in the room flickered softly, casting a warm, ambient glow across the dark walls as your eyes scanned each and every corner. Everything looked exactly the same as it had a week ago, save for the threadbare blanket you had spotted under the chaise lounge; that was now on top of the cushions in a crumpled heap, giving you the impression that Sebastian had slept there before hurriedly venturing out to one of the many meetings that littered his schedule. The overcast skies outside illuminated his desk through the tall window, and your footsteps were measured as you carefully moved away from the door and deeper into the room. 

Most of the books you glanced at were what you would expect to find in a dark wizard’s office. Novels on the history of dark magic, field guides on mythical creatures, and old, worn maps covered in Sebastian’s familiar, messy scrawl. Your eyes flicked away from the piles of literature on the floor and landed on his desk, noticing instantly that it seemed to be the cleanest space out of everything in the room. He probably spent most of his time sitting behind the massive piece of oak furniture, so you reasoned that it made sense to start your search there. 

You were light on your feet as you padded across the room, the pair of doll shoes you had acquired from Nora’s donated clothing clicking mutedly against the hardwood floor. There was a brief pause in your movements as you listened for any signs of life outside the office, on guard and prepared to flee at a moment's notice, but the silence that met the action spurred you back into motion. 

You had no clue where to start. There were more maps and ancient looking texts stacked neatly in the center of the desk, but nothing that could give you an idea of who Sebsatian was working with. If you were lucky, you would find something that revealed who he was reporting to– because despite his unwillingness to fess up to you, you knew there was someone else in charge here. Someone you hadn’t seen, and someone important enough to make even Devlin nervous. 

Crouching down so you were eye level with the drawers that lined the side of the desk, you gave the top one an experimental tug, only moderately surprised to find a whole lot of nothing inside. Just ink pots, quills, and a compass that– upon further inspection– turned out to be broken. You slid that drawer shut and moved on to the next, only to be met with more miscellaneous papers. A sheet of parchment folded into quarters caught your attention, and you hastily opened it up to discover a map of the Hogwarts region. Tiny crosses littered the image along with dates that had long since passed, each one coinciding with locations you recognized. 

They were ancient magic sites. Ones that you had already discovered. The dates etched into the parchment went back as far as two years ago, and you sucked in a shaky breath as you realized Sebastian hadn’t been entirely honest with you. 

Either he had started the search for his relic remarkably quickly after his escape from Azkaban, or he had been tracking you for far longer than he had implied. You were inclined to believe the latter. 

You pursed your lips as a wave of apprehension rolled over you, then refolded the parchment and tucked it back in the drawer. Everything else in there was unimportant; more maps of different countries, old letters of correspondence from Henri and someone who signed off using only ’V’. You made a mental note to remember the obscure signature in case it proved to be important later. There was an old pair of cufflinks in there too for some reason, but you didn’t pay them any mind as you shut that drawer and moved down to the largest one at the base of the desk. 

It was locked, and a spark of excitement raced through you at the discovery. You pointed your wand at the tiny keyhole next to the handle and muttered, “Alohomora.” 

The sound of the lock giving way reached your ears, but when you tried to pull the compartment open, it stayed firmly shut. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you tried again, only to be met with the same result. Was it jammed or something? The spell had worked, and you hadn’t sensed any protective charms… maybe it was just old and failing. You set your wand on top of the desk and braced your hand on the side, pulling hard enough on the handle that your fingers ached where the protruding wood dug into your skin. 

“Blasted thing…” you swore under your breath, readjusting your grip again before yanking hard, and the sudden feeling of the drawer giving way sent you careening back onto the floor. Your back smacked against the base of the window and caused the panes to rattle loudly, and your breath stalled in your chest as you listened for any signs that you’d been discovered. Your spine throbbed painfully beneath your blouse, but you grit your teeth through the discomfort, remaining completely still until you were certain you were in the clear. 

When you hoisted yourself back up to peer into the drawer, your heart stumbled over itself when you came face to face with something you had long thought destroyed. 

Salazar Slytherin’s spell book was on display beneath you, positioned squarely in the middle of the compartment and surrounded by random bits and bobs that looked familiar to you. The old tome, though– that held your attention, and it took you a moment to will your limbs into motion so you could reach in and pull the book out of its hiding place. It was almost exactly as it had been during your fifth-year; the worn green edges frayed at the corners, a testament to how frequently Sebastian likely thumbed through it. The gray skull that adorned the cover stared up at you menacingly, a sigil of unknown origin carved beneath the ominous face, and the stench of dark magic permeated every inch of the cursed book. 

How in Merlin’s name had he gotten his hands on this? After he had been expelled from Hogwarts, you knew the Ministry had gone through his belongings in the Slytherin dorms. Naturally you had assumed they had found the spell book he had spent countless nights obsessing over and taken it with them, but evidently your presumption couldn’t have been farther from the truth. You scowled at the tome in your hands, barely resisting the urge to light it on fire as you gingerly set it down beside you. 

The next startling discovery in the drawer was his old wand. It was broken in half– the two pieces side by side– but you recognized the familiar checkered handle instantly. A wave of nostalgia washed over you at the sight of it, your mind transporting you back to your first day at Hogwarts when you and Sebastian had dueled in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Times had been so much simpler then, your excitement towards being able to practice magic blinding you to the darker side of wizard-kind. Ignorance really had been bliss. 

Again, you had no clue how he had gotten his hands on the remnants of his wand. That was another thing the Ministry definitely confiscated from wizards sentenced to life in Azkaban. All your snooping was doing was leaving you with more questions than answers, and after brushing your fingers over the broken bit of wood, you moved on in your search. 

Your hand halted its movements at the sudden sound of voices reverberating off the walls of the hallway, and you held your breath as you willed your ears to work harder. Footsteps outside the door accompanied the muffled conversation until the culprits sounded too close for comfort, and as you frantically rushed to put the spell book back in the drawer and slide the compartment shut, Sebastian’s familiar tenor filtered through the slit under the door. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

There was nowhere for you to go. There was only one way in and one way out of the office, and everywhere you looked revealed next to nothing to hide yourself with. The lounge chair in the corner was too close to the ground for you to crawl under, and the bookshelf was mounted flush to the wall. The footsteps grew louder, and the door handle dipped down as it was pushed open. 

With no time to think about it, you threw yourself underneath the desk and pulled the chair in as close as it could go, then planted your hand over your mouth to stifle your ragged breathing. You squeezed your eyes shut as you silently prayed to whatever higher power existed that Sebastian was just coming in to quickly grab something. 

Please leave, you thought desperately. Leave and go back to London and stay there. 

“What else is there to do?” came a feminine voice from the doorway, and you felt the footsteps vibrate through the hardwood floor as Sebastian and his accomplice entered the room. “We have the heartstrings and the girl. At this point, meeting with him is just a formality. We could get this done by tonight and still have time to head to St. Mungo’s before midnight.” 

It was Nora, you realized suddenly. You could picture her standing in the middle of the office with her arms crossed, those ruby red lips of hers pulled back in a fierce scowl. 

“We’ve waited this long, and we can wait a little longer.” Sebastian’s heavy feet traversed the full expanse of the room, stopping somewhere near the far wall of the office. The sound of glasses clinking together told you that he was helping himself to a drink from the end table in the corner. “Besides, I still have plenty to deal with here. Henri has been pestering me nonstop to meet him in Alsace-Lorraine.”

Nora scoffed, the heels of her shoes scraping against the floor as she presumably sat down on the chaise lounge, if the telling creak of stiff leather was any indication. “Why bother? You got what you wanted from him. Just ignore the bastard.” 

“If I keep brushing him off, he’s bound to take matters into his own hands. The last thing I need is him showing up here unannounced to pummel me with questions that I don’t have the answers to.” 

“Except you do have the answers. Why are you protecting her? She nearly killed you and my father with that stunt. If you ask me, she would deserve whatever Henri comes up with as recompense– use her to get the relic and then dust your hands clean. Move on, Sebastian.”  

“There’s nothing to move on from, and that’s not happening,” Sebastian bit out roughly, his voice taking on a different, harsher tone. “I didn’t ask you what you thought. I get it– you don’t like her– but I’m not sicking Henri on her just because you have some petty grudge. Your father already made his peace with the whole thing and he was there. What’s your excuse?” 

Of all the conversations to eavesdrop on, this one certainly took the cake. Your eyes widened as you stared unblinkingly through the window ahead of you, scared to so much as shift a finger if it meant getting caught. Nora hissed under her breath and stood from her seat, heels cracking against the floor as she moved elsewhere in the office. 

“Maybe you’re forgetting the part where she turned you in to the Ministry? Three years of your life spent in that hellhole because she’s a bloody do-gooder with no spine. Is that good enough for you?” 

The sound of a glass being slammed down on top of the desk reverberated throughout the room, and you jolted in place despite your best efforts. Shit, he wasn’t going to sit down, was he? You felt and heard Sebastian’s footfall against the floor as he rounded the side of the desk, pausing next to the drawers momentarily. You thought maybe he’d seen you, but then he kept talking. “No, it’s not. That’s my problem to deal with, Nora, not yours.” 

“But she’s–” 

“I don’t care what you think,” Sebastian growled, the tenor of his voice threatening and commanding. “You will keep your mouth shut about the dragons, and if I so much as think you’re considering breathing a word of it to Henri, you’re done. Do you understand?” 

“You’re a real doormat, you know that–”

“Do you understand?” 

“Yes! Fine! Bend over backwards for her some more, see if I care.” Nora’s boots scuffed once more against the floor as she turned to leave, the handle of the door groaning in protest as she brutally twisted it and yanked the exit open. “Just make sure you remember what you have to do later when the time comes. This whimsical fantasy you’ve concocted about what you get to have won’t last forever.” 

With those enigmatic parting words, Nora left the office and slammed the door behind her so aggressively that the walls shook. Your blood thrummed in your ears as you did your best to breathe quietly, waiting miserably for Sebastian to leave. The pins and needles sensation that prickled over your folded legs was beginning to worsen, and you weren’t certain how much longer you could stand being folded up under the desk. 

There were a few beats of silence that were eventually followed by a throaty chuckle– one that made your blood run cold– and you pressed yourself against the back of the desk as Sebastian’s legs came into view. He swiftly pulled the chair out, throwing himself down in the seat unceremoniously before spreading his knees apart and sighing. 

He was already looking at you when you nervously glanced up at him, your expression the epitome of guilt. Those brown eyes of his crinkled at their corners as he flashed you a suggestive smirk, his eyebrows waggling for emphasis as he purred, “If you wanted to get under me, all you had to do was ask, princess.” 

Pig. 

Scowling, you relaxed your muscles so you weren’t coiled tighter than a spring. Now that he knew you were here, there was no point in staying curled up. “Move,” you snapped. 

He tilted his head to the side, strands of his curly hair brushing across his forehead. “No, I don’t think I will. I’m rather fond of this new position we’ve found ourselves in.” 

“You’re vile. Let me out, I can’t feel my legs.” You pushed at his knee with your palm, your vexation growing stronger when he didn’t move the limb aside. 

“And whose fault is that? I certainly didn’t tell you to crawl under there. Let me guess…” he tapped his finger against his chin in an animated fashion, making a show of guessing your motives while you shoved at his leg harder. “You were being nosy, as you usually are, and failed to remember that I wasn’t in London today?” 

“I never know when you’re in London. You never tell me anything, remember?” 

“This is also true… lucky me, then.” His eyes seemed to drink in the sight of you below him, and you hated that his hungry gaze left you feeling so exposed. Even worse, that part of you liked it. “What were you looking for, hm? Should I guess?” 

“Please move,” you countered, avoiding his question with the sprinkled in nicety. 

“Okay, I’ll guess.” For the love of Merlin… “I’m thinking… you were on the hunt for names? Did you find any?” 

“Sebastian, please let me out–”

“Answer the question and maybe I will.” 

You groaned, scrubbing your hands down your face as though that could wipe away the pissed off expression you bore. “I found part of a name and it means next to nothing to me. There, happy?” 

He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs apart even more as he laced his fingers together behind his head. The motion forced more of his lower half into your face, and you jerked away so suddenly that the back of your head cracked against the back panel of the desk. A colorful string of curses spilled from your lips as Sebastian sighed contentedly, watching you struggle with rapt amusement. “Oh, I’m happy. Not because you didn’t find much, though.”

Prick. “What gave me away? Or did you put some kind of tracking spell on me when I wasn’t looking?”

“Nothing so fanciful, I assure you.” He reached forward with one hand to pick something up off his desk, then made a show of twirling your wand between his long fingers, his head tilting to the side as he watched your face fall. In your hurried attempt to hide, you’d left it sitting there out in the open like a novice. You tsk’d disapprovingly, and Sebastian smirked. “Thank Merlin you went the nomad route after graduating. You never would have stood a chance as a detective, or heaven forbid– an Auror.”

You were so going to throttle him the second he let you out. This was far from what you had anticipated when he’d walked in the room. Moreover, having this conversation with him while you were still wedged under the desk was making you feel particularly homicidal. You opened your mouth to tell him as much, but a quick succession of knocks at the door halted the words before they could be voiced. 

Sebastian’s calm gaze met your panicked one, and you shoved at his leg again so he would hurry up and move before you got stuck underneath the desk for the duration of yet another conversation. He had no qualms about denying you, though. In fact, he looked incredibly smug as he shifted in his seat, moving the chair closer to you before calling out, “It’s open.” 

Glaring at him slack-jawed, the door to the office opened swiftly before closing, and you knew you would be forced to keep your mouth shut once again when Devlin’s voice reached your ears. “I finished sorting through those reports– found something you might want to see.”  

Sebastian’s hips shifted back in his seat as he leaned forward to take the report from Devlin, and you reclaimed the miniscule bit of space with a muffled sigh. You had barely made a sound, but he still elected to nudge you with his foot tellingly, his lips curling into a poorly hidden smirk. Your indignation rose to new heights; he was playing a dangerous game by subjecting you to this, and you had half a mind to give him a taste of his own medicine. 

He wanted you to be quiet? Fine. But how composed could he remain if you stole back control of the situation? 

“What am I looking at, exactly?” Sebastian asked, his eyes roving over the paper inquisitively. 

“One of your contacts in the Ministry got pinched. The guy who got you your new wand and returned the old one, I think.” 

As the conversation droned on above you, your eyes skirted away from Sebastian’s face to focus on his lower half. His legs were still spread obscenely wide, the dark, pressed trousers he wore held around his hips by a belt that had definitely seen better days. You carefully adjusted yourself so you were no longer pressed against the back panel of the desk, your shoulders hunched forward to allow you to extend your arms towards your target, and you bit your lip to hide your smile as you grazed your fingertips up the insides of his thighs. 

His legs jolted with a barely perceivable twitch, and he nudged you with his foot again– harder this time. Knock it off, the motion seemed to convey. 

You dug your nails into the fabric of his clothes in response. Make me, you silently communicated. 

Sebastian swallowed thickly and shook his head, setting the report down on the desk gently. “How? We haven’t reached out to him in months and he told me that he’d wiped the paper trail clean.” 

More motivated than ever to ruin that composed, self-righteous tone he spoke with, you continued your ministrations with renewed tenacity. Your fingers pressed and dragged against his thighs, slowly but surely inching higher up the firm expanse of his legs. The muscles beneath your palms tensed as the foot he’d taken to kicking you with slid back against the floor, the urge to pull away from your touch plain as day, but he wouldn’t dare make a scene in front of Devlin. That much, you knew for certain. 

“Someone from the Law Enforcement Department flagged the missing wand a few weeks ago. It sounded like they investigated and figured out Arthur was responsible, and they arrested him four days ago. I’m guessing he’ll end up in your old cell considering how pissed the Minister still is about your escape.” 

“The Minister can–” Sebastian did his best to fight the noise, but a genuine croak bubbled from his lips when you brazenly palmed his manhood directly through his trousers. The split second decision was worth the embarrassment you knew you would feel later on. That was a sound you wouldn’t be forgetting for a long, long time, and you mentally berated yourself for deriving any enjoyment from the situation. He cleared his throat, tapping his chest with his fist to play off the bizarre behavior. “Sorry… the Minister can piss off.”

Devlin didn’t seem to read much into the strange outburst, seeing as he kept talking like nothing had happened. He hummed and said, “The old bloke probably thinks getting you back behind bars will sway everyone in his favor for reelection. What about Arthur, though? Do you want to get him out of there?”

Slipping your hands away from Sebastian’s groin, you spread your fingers over the tops of his toned thighs, kneading the skin slowly– sensually– relishing in the unconscious tremors that emanated from his limbs. Not so smug now, you thought with a smirk. You heard him exhale shakily as he raked his fingers through his hair, a dazed sort of expression passing over his features at the same time you noticed a telltale bulge beginning to strain against his pants. 

The poor sod. 

“I don’t see how we can,” Sebastian forced the words out, the struggle in his voice evident. “If the Ministry has him, he’ll be in the Detention Area on site until his trial. It’s too risky to go in after him– it could jeopardize everything.” 

Another shudder coursed its way down Sebastian’s spine, and as calmly as he was able, he slid one of his hands off the desk to squeeze one of yours. His grip was bruising, but you continued to poke and prod around the growing, uncomfortable problem between his legs. For such a domineering dark wizard, he sure was sensitive.

“…Good point,” Devlin couldn’t have sounded more uncertain if he tried. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

“I’m fine,” Sebastian crushed your hand in his grasp, the bones of your fingers grinding together so painfully that you damn near yelped. You shot him a withering glare that he dutifully ignored. “What I want to know is who went poking around for my information in the Ministry. You would think that after two years, they’d learn to leave well enough alone.”

“I thought about that too,” the older Ashwinder mused. “Did some extra digging and worked my way backwards using the staff issued number on the wand report. Turns out it was Gaunt.” 

Your hand froze at the same time Sebastian went rigid above you, the room suddenly silent enough to hear a pin drop. Had Devlin just said Gaunt? As in…

Sebastian chuckled darkly, any genuine humor completely absent from the sound. “He’s still as obsessed as ever, huh? Interesting.” 

The stuffy air in the office was immediately ripe with tension. Sebastian propped his elbow on the armrest of his chair, then perched his chin in his palm as that distant look in his eyes returned full force. You were beginning to recognize the expression as one he wore when he was remembering something troubling… or when he was about to suggest something really, really bad. 

Your previous antics momentarily forgotten, you watched with bated breath as Sebastian nodded to himself, seemingly deep in thought before saying, “Alright, we’ll get Arthur out.” 

Oh, for the love of–

“Just like that?” Devlin sounded completely exasperated, and you could picture him shaking his head at his boss in disbelief. “Why?” 

“Because I just decided it would be worthwhile. Arthur is a good man, and if we run into the illustrious Auror Ominis Gaunt while we’re there? All the better.”

Your blood ran cold in your veins at the implications of the statement, and you hastily dug your nails into his leg again. This time your aim wasn’t to get a rise out of him– you were trying to voice your silent protest, and of-fucking-course, he ignored you. 

“Shit… well, whatever you want to do, I’m with you.” Devlin sighed, and you felt his footsteps through the floor as he made his way to the door. “When do you want to head to London?” 

“If Arthur got arrested four days ago, he doesn’t have long. I’ll come up with a plan by tomorrow. I’ve got something I need to take care of right now.” 

Devlin must have nodded, because he didn’t say anything else before leaving. The door had hardly clicked shut fully before Sebastian was rising out of his seat faster than you could track– the speed with which he moved causing his chair to tip sideways. He ignored the deafening boom of the leather seat smacking into the floor as he yanked you out from under the desk by the hand he still gripped, and with your legs still prickling from the lack of blood flow, you stumbled into his waiting arms and were left at his mercy as he spun you around to pin you to the bay window behind the desk. 

The air was expelled from your lungs at the impact, your eyes pinching shut as you scrambled to gather your bearings. Sebastian’s broad hand gripping the underside of your jaw cut your efforts short, however, and you blinked rapidly as you came face to face with a very flushed, very worked up Sebastian. 

“You’re a wicked little minx, you know that?” He abruptly wedged his knee between your legs, nestling it shamelessly against your nether region while he leaned in to brush his nose against your thundering pulse. “Do you enjoy tormenting me? How long have you been itching to put your hands on me, princess?” 

Winded, startled, and fighting the unfortunate, natural reaction to having his leg pressed against that one spot, you were left stammering in his face as you tried to formulate a complete sentence. “You started it,” you hissed, tugging at the wrist Sebastian held pinned to the window. “Trapping me under there like some pet. I was only returning the favor.” 

Something halfway between a groan and a laugh came from him then, and you hated how attractive the sound was. He pulled away from your throat to stare at you, his eyes as frantic as the rest of him, and it was at that moment you considered that maybe you had poked the sleeping beast a tad too hard. 

“You haven’t even begun to do me any favors. Burning down my associate’s business, snooping around my office, riling me up with those perfect little hands of yours… seems to me like you enjoy causing problems.” Removing his hand from your jaw and bracing his forearm against the window pane beside your head brought him a hairs-width away from your face, and you found yourself watching and waiting almost expectantly for him to close the distance. “But do you intend on fixing any of those problems, princess?” 

“You have hands,” you bit out roughly. The nervous edge to your voice didn’t escape your attention, and it certainly didn’t slip past Sebastian, either. “Use them.”

“I would rather use something else.”  

Dark, hungry eyes flickered to your lips for the briefest of moments, and you curled your hands into fists. You wanted to shove him away– to break free and throw something, anything at his stupidly attractive face. He wanted to go after Ominis. He had lied about how long he had tracked you with his posse of dark wizards, and he had derived sick satisfaction from humiliating you under his desk just minutes before. He was arrogant and impudent and crude, and not at all the fifteen year old boy you had come to care for during your fifth-year. He had changed so much that it scared you. 

But you had changed, too. 

You were filled with a dark power that threatened to consume you on a daily basis, shaping your every waking move and decision. It had been a long time since you’d found yourself surrounded by people that distracted you from that harrowing truth. Devlin entertained you and put up with your snide comments, never once pulling his punches when the two of you started bickering. Sebastian indulged you constantly, letting you get away with so much that even his own underlings questioned his leniency. As infuriating as he could be, his approach towards you was strangely refreshing– reminiscent of the easy camaraderie that had once existed between you both years ago. 

Now, as two grown adults forged by the brutal, unforgiving flames of life, it was all too tempting to bow to your baser desires. In your own convoluted way, you still cared for Sebastian, and against all odds and despite your role in condemning him to Azkaban, you knew that he cared for you too. 

Bad ideas were apparently the only ones you were good at coming up with. Even though it would likely end with regret and heartache, you didn’t put up a fight as Sebastian leaned in closer. Those bottomless eyes the shade of Honeydukes chocolate jumped back and forth between your own– the barest hint of hesitation coloring his movements when he paused– but doubt wouldn’t do either of you any good anymore, so you relented and took matters into your own hands. 

Your inhibitions were carried away by an imaginary, distant wind as you slammed your lips into his, finally surrendering to the festering desires that had plagued you for far, far too long.

[hlschmutt]

Guys hear me out……………………………… panty sniffer Sebastian

[hlschmutt]

The Sorcerer’s Blade

my amazing book cover by @dark-sallow1!!

hi friends. i just wanted to post about my first book i’m writing—if you like dark seb, this is for you….

there’s a link to ao3 in my navigation.

i will still be posting one shots here! 🩷

thanks for your time. ;)

[hlschmutt]

You wake up in the middle of the night with a sinking feeling that you’re being watched. HARK! Sebastian Sallow in the flesh is standing in your room and he locked the door! Do you scream? Do his red flags outweigh the fictional charm and drive you to reach for a weapon? Or do you live out your wildest smut writer fantasies? 🫦🔥

HELLO ??? That motherfucker is locked in the room with ME

[hlschmutt]

How to Defuse a Ravenclaw (Pt. 1)

Seb had been forced to devise a “defuse the Ravenclaw” protocol for when that damn witch lost her shit. Which was a lot, quite frankly. It’d been going as well as one could hope. Destruction was down, and she was able to talk in coherent sentences in under an hour that didn’t involve threatening to Avada him. So when against his better judgement he throws protocol out the window, he’s forced to face one of his own very private rules: Do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw. And fail. Miserably.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x FMC Rating: Explicit - MDNI Total Word Count (both parts): ~14,500 CWs: Vaginal sex, oral sex, mirror sex, semi-public fingering, orgasm denial, begging, not actually unrequited, porn with plot, crack fic tendencies, theft lol, a lot of fire, the one where Ominis wears stupid hats, Seb is a switch ✨Read it here, ao3 and wattpad (MASTERLIST) 😈You are on: ➡️PART ONE // PART TWO // BONUS: OMINIS PREQUEL

“Natty Onsai has caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Everett Clopton’s voice roared through the downpour.

The crowd erupted, the stands shaking in shouts and stomping as if they’d collapse with another brutal gust of wind.

“Fuck,” Sebastian said.

“Fuck, indeed.” Ominis sighed. “On a scale of Mandrake to Chinese Fireball, how livid does she look?” He adjusted his stalwart grip on their umbrella. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell him it’d only covered a quarter of his side for most of the match.

“Neither. Hungarian Horntail,” Seb grumbled.

“Oh, we’re doomed, aren’t we?”

“Yep. I’ve got her.”  

Seb pushed his soaking hair from his eyes, squinting out at the pitch. While the other players circled, offering handshakes, he spotted a flash of Ravenclaw-blue already off her broom, storming for the tent.

He could kiss his evening in the Restricted Section goodbye. On Quidditch match nights, students were so rowdy, no one noticed when he slipped away. But on Ravenclaw match nights…

She’s going to break my arm again, isn’t she?

“You’ll be good to get back to the castle, yeah?”

“I’m not a lost puppy.” Ominis snapped.

“Of course you’re not.” Seb snorted. “I’ll see you in the dorms.” He patted his friend’s stiff shoulder and rushed out of the stands before the crowd really started to swarm.

The last time she’d lost a match, it’d gone as swimmingly as one could expect. She’d nearly burned down the Undercroft, though he couldn’t judge her for it as he’d lost count of how many times he’d done the same. He almost regretted teaching her so many fire spells fifth year. Ominis had been so livid, Seb was forced to devise a “defuse the Ravenclaw” protocol for when she lost her shit.

Which was a lot, quite frankly.

Failed exams. Snide comments from her many “sworn” foes. Losing Quidditch matches. The list went on.

The massive well of rage she harbored was almost endearing if she wasn’t so destructive, but even saying that would send her into a secondary spiral. Which there was a protocol for that too.

He and Ominis traded off each time one of these events occurred, and it’d been going as well as one could hope. Destruction was down, and she was able to talk in coherent sentences in under an hour that didn’t involve threatening to Avada him. Most of the time, anyway.

He slipped into the empty player tent, and the chill hit him instantly as he was finally free of the rain. His clothes clung to his goosebumps, and he rubbed his arms before remembering there was a wonderful thing called magic for this exact circumstance. He casted a drying charm, and his shoulders loosened.

“I’m looking for a very disgruntled Ravenclaw,” he called out. He was hoping to pluck her from the other players’ grip before she got herself banned.

“STUPID!”

A massive crash made him jump. He followed it, spotting a trail of muddied clothes and Quidditch equipment, stopping short at the showers.

“You good in there?”

The shower silenced. He shifted from foot-to-foot waiting for a sign.

Merlin, please don’t be naked.

He didn’t think he’d be strong enough to deal with her pissed off and naked. His fifth-year self would have fainted at that fantasy, but he’d smothered that idea the moment he’d sent his uncle to an early grave. Girls didn’t like boys who had a mental breakdown, raised the dead, and murdered their family—and still make jokes about it.

She came bursting through the steam, fully clothed, hair dripping wet and fanning around her like a harpy. He barely had time to react before she shoved him, sending him almost careening over a bench.

“Fucking Leander,” she screamed, grabbing her dirty clothes and tossing them in an enchanted hamper. “How many illegal plays before someone kicks him off the pitch? Did you see what he did?”

She tugged up her sweater, and Sebastian nearly popped a blood vessel before he spotted the already purpling bruise against her ribs.

“He rammed the edge of his broom straight into me.” She growled, literally, chucking her helmet into a cubby.

Rule One: Never agree with the Ravenclaw. Keep a neutral stance. Agreeing only encourages violence.

“Well, he is an insufferable dunce.” Sebastian agreed.

Woops.

“Where is that sniveling prick?” She stormed back toward the field.

“Noooo you’re not going back out there.” He caught her by the waist, spinning her around against him. It earned him a smack of wet hair against his cheek. “Come on. Time to go.”

“I just want to talk.” She shimmied in a very distracting way, her ass a bit too close to his cock. He had no choice but to tighten his grip. Truly what an inconvenience it was.

“Sure, you do.” He dragged her back the other way, toward the castle.

“Let go of me.” She bucked before all her weight dropped as she ragdolled.

They tumbled, and he caught them both, hauling her against his side.

“Honestly—” He lugged her with her feet dragging behind them. “My days of carting bodies is over, yet you keep reminding me with this stupid little deadweight trick you do.”

“Shut it.” She hissed.

She was just like hauling a haystack. A pissed off, living haystack currently trying to bite his arm. All that manual labor Solomon had forced him to do in Feldcroft had finally paid off. Who knew it’d be for livid little Ravenclaws?

“We’re going to go cool down,” he huffed.

“I already took a shower.” She kicked her legs, hooking one around his.

He tripped. “Not that.” He pinched her arm, and she yelped.

She wrenched harder, and he flung them outside into the rain.

It hit like slicing knives, and she shrieked, flailing her arms and legs. “Put me down.”

He halted, and the merciless wind shook a tree, a wave of icy water dumping over them.

Fucking hell. He grimaced.

“‘Put me down,’ what?”

She silenced for a moment before thrashing. “I’m not saying please.”

Seb rolled his eyes. In a swift movement, he flipped her, her head hanging inches from a bubbling puddle of mud.

She shrieked. “Fine. Please, please, please!”

“That’s better.” He righted her on her feet and gripped her shoulders. Merlin, she was looking more like a drenched cat by the second. Her blouse was…he tore his gaze away. She’d kill him if he caught her staring.

“We can either fight out here in the downpour and contract some plague, or we can cool down in the nice dry Undercroft. Your choice.”

She glared, bottom lip stuck out in a furious pout. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” He tapped her head, and he drudged ahead.

“Fucker.”

“I heard that.”

***

As soon as the gate to the Undercroft clicked shut, she was off before he could even cast a drying charm.

“Stupid fucking Prewett.” She whipped out her wand. “Confringo!” the crates erupted.

He shielded his eyes at the searing fire, a wave of heat clouding the room. “Just burn us alive. That’s fine.”

“I want to kick in his stupid rectangular head.” She hurled a candelabra into the flames.

Oh shit. “Don’t—”

She hurled a pillow next.

“Salazar’s roasted nuts.” He sighed.

It was a bloodbath. She grabbed anything not nailed down. Soaking hair sticking to her flushed face and neck, her clothes dripping on the stone floor, and there he was entranced by her tits and brassiere through her translucent shirt.

His boots gave an annoying squeak.

If he didn’t look away, he’d have to hurl himself into that fire soon. He sighed, the smoke itching his throat, and he fished out his wand and dried them both.

“My hair.” Her hands flew to her scalp. It puffed up frizzy and big, and her face twisted into another angry pout. She hurled an old bag of gobstones into the fire, and the flames flashed with snapping embers.

Rule Two: Do not, under any circumstances, let the Ravenclaw set anything on fire.

Well, that rule was overrated anyway.

He accio’d multiple homework assignments from her hands, allowed her to hurl a cup and a plate, and nearly had a panic attack when she’d grabbed one of his books.

“Not th—”

She paused, chest still heaving, before setting it back on the table.

At least she has some decency.

“Is that enough?” he asked, coughing. Smoke swiftly filled the Undercroft, and his eyes were beginning to water. “Feel better yet?”

But her eyes shifted, ignoring him as if he wasn’t even there. She clocked something near the couch, storming after it.

“No, no—” He surged after her.

Rule Three: Do not destroy any of Ominis’s personal shit.

He clutched her arm, wrestling her for Ominis’s expensive brim hat. It was the stupidest thing Sebastian had ever seen, and he’d mocked Ominis ruthlessly for trying to wear it, but under no circumstances could it go in the flames.

“Bugger off.” She bared her teeth, using her other hand to dig her nails into his arm.

“Ouch, fuck.” He wrenched it from her grip and raised the hat high above their heads. “If you burn this stupid hat, Ominis might actually crucio us.”

She jumped and didn’t even graze his wrist. “Don’t you have some witch to snog?”

He paused.

Where had that come from?

He took in her glowering face again, nose scrunched, pink lips pulled back as she scraped and scratched at his arm.

A spike of adrenaline coursed through him, his heart thudding.

Don’t.

Rule Four: Do not antagonize the Ravenclaw. You’ve been warned.

But that old fifteen-year-old Seb, the rash, slightly deranged side of him, came hurtling to the surface—filled his head with unsavory thoughts he’d worked so hard to squander. His eyes traced her bouncing form, and his throat tightened.

Rule Five: Do not think about fucking the Ravenclaw

(That was a Sebastian-specific rule that he’d made up. Right now. And he meant it. Get the image out of his head. Dead puppies. Dead Solomon. Smelly Inferi. Mental breakdowns…)

She pitched forward and rubbed her front against him.

Shit. Stop doing that. Those fucking tits.

“Don’t you sound jealous?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

She faltered, glaring daggers at him. “Shut it, nerd.”

Merlin, she was pissed. He licked his lips and grinned.

He tossed the hat across the Undercroft, unsheathing his wand and squelching the fire.

She seethed, fanning the smoke before he cleared that away as well.

“Now what was that about me snogging other witches?”

“Expelliarmus.”

A sharp sting snapped down his arm, and his wand went flying. “Oh, you wicked little witch.”

He should have been pissed, but his cheeks ached he was grinning so wide. She was in for it. He’d poke and prod her, tease her until she was huffing and puffing. He’d drive her absolutely mad.

“I take back my statement.” She straightened her blouse, suddenly very red in the face. “You’d be snogging some dusty old tome.”

Rule Six: Do not take the Ravenclaw’s bait.

He tilted his head back and laughed. “Nasty girl. At least I didn’t get kicked out of Crossed Wands for assaulting a fourth year.”

“I did not—”                                         

“He was in the infirmary for three days.” He arched a brow. “A broken thumb, bruised ribs, no eyebrow—”

“Stupefy.”

The spell spiraled, and it missed him. It bounced off the bookshelf, sending the massive old thing careening forward. He caught it with his shoulder, and books spilled over his head.

Damn, Ominis was going to kill him.

“A little help?” he called over his shoulder.

She glared, arms crossed.

“I’ll tell Poppy where you’ve been hiding that albino thestral—”

The bookcase illuminated in a levitating spell, and it flew from his arms, knocking back against the wall. The books whipped past him, stacking precariously on the shelves.

“That’s better.” He brushed the dust off his shirt. “Good as new.”

“All one percent of it,” she muttered.

They both glanced at the charred remains in the corner. The floor, walls, and ceiling were stained in black, tapestries hanging in pathetic chunks, ash littering the trunk just far enough to go unscathed.

Rule Seven: Don’t shame her for losing her temper, but ensure she knows she’s in the wrong for whatever violent action she took.

“This place is fucked.” He sighed. “Did you at least get all that out? You don’t need to slaughter Prewett anymore?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“Now come on, grumpy grindylow. Do you need a hug?” He held out his arms.

She snorted, something like a grimace on her face as she pointed her wand at him again. “Keep your mangey hands off me.”

“Is that a smile you’re trying to hide?” He stepped forward.

Her face practically glowed red like Ominis’s wand at this point. There was no way he was imagining it. He’d accidentally tapped into something she’d kept well clutched to her chest.  

He inched even closer, and she stepped back, a panicked expression flashing through her desolate glare as she gave him a onceover.

Merlin’s fucking beard. She was nervous.

Rule Eight: Do not imagine fucking the Ravenclaw.

Again.

“Come on.” He grinned wider, and she stepped back with his every step forward.

She didn’t notice he was backing her into a corner. Not until she thumped against the wall, and she set her jaw.

“They’re not so bad. You hugged me once.”

“I think you mean when I was bleeding out in that spider lair, and you were dragging me out.”

“Same difference.” His hand twitched at his side, hesitating. For something. Anything. Terror in her eyes. A wand at his throat. A knife at his throat. But she only pursed her lips, her big eyes flicking across his face.

Rule Nine: Don’t–

Forget the fucking rules.

He tugged her face-first into his chest.

“Oofffshf!!” She growled into his shirt, arms immediately seeking purchase to push him off. “Ughhhghhghghh.” She punched him in the side, balling up his shirt in her fists.

“Are you always this tense?” He laughed.

She screeched, digging her nails into his forearms.

“I think you’re tighter now actually.”

“Get off.” She fisted his hair.

A jolt rocked through his body, straight to his dick, and he blinked in surprise. Well, he certainly hadn’t known he was into that.

“I’ll let you go when you breathe.”

“I am breathing.” She smacked him in the head.

He grabbed for her hand, and she punched him in the gut.

“Ow!”

“You’re so annoying,” she hissed, this time nailing him square in the chest and worming herself free.

“Fine. That what you want?” He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and she stopped, raising an eyebrow. “You want to fight? Then let’s brawl it out the Muggle way.” He held up his fists. “Come on.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, head tilting to the side, and he fought the laugh cracking his serious expression. That Ravenclaw thinking face. It was ridiculous and he loved it.

He leaned forward, giving her a light tap on the cheek, and she lunged.

“You daft, idiotic, ignorant—”

“Low blow.”

“—jerk!” She punched, slapped, and he held her a safe enough distance not to break anything, wincing when she bopped his nose.

He laughed, he couldn’t help it. She looked like a furious puffskein, hair all wild and puffy, the curls untamed showering around her shoulders and down her back.

He caught her waist, and she swung, hitting him right in the throat.

“Fu—” he choked, gripping his neck.

She blanched. “Are you alright?”

“You punched me. In the throat.” He wheezed, trying hard to shake it off. Merlin, she could throw a punch.

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out, a pathetic hand extended toward him.

Shake it off. You look like an idiot.

Seb cleared his throat, rubbing his neck.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Note – add a new rule to the protocol: don’t get punched in the throat.

He swallowed, and it ached all the way down. She certainly wasn’t going to get off clean for that one.

“It’s fine.” He scratched out. “You’ll just have to kiss it better.” He tapped at the hollow of his throat.

That concern dropped immediately. Straight to horror. “Absolutely not, you narcissist.”

He grabbed for her.

“Don’t you dare.” She jumped back, batting at his arms.

He caught her forearm, careening her into his chest.

She flailed, smacking his back, clawing at his shirt.

He kept her face pressed hard against him, her frizzy hair tickling his neck. “I’ll let you go when you do it.”

“I’ll bite you,” her muffled voice warned.

Something wet and hot hit his neck, and again, he was violating his newest rule.

“A little drool doesn’t scare me.” He pressed her face harder, gripping her jaw so she couldn’t unhinge her devil teeth and bite him.

“Yerdeadseb,” came her muffles. “Ichantbreeth.”

He snorted. “I can’t understand you. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

A hand swung around his head, fisting his hair just as her foot hooked around his leg. His back slammed against the wall, steadying them, and he couldn’t help but laugh a bit too loudly between his yelps as she once again went for his knees.

If Ominis were to walk in, there’d be no explaining their compromising position. That thought made his pulse spike.

She kept swinging until her arms slowed, tiring.

“You know what you have to do,” he hummed, easing his grip.

“I hate you,” she grumbled.

But a brush, feathery soft, made contact with his skin.

His whole body lit in goosebumps.

Oh. Fuck.

He wasn’t expecting her to actually do it.

His heart pounded in his ears, the blood quickly heading south. He blinked down at her, but she kept her forehead pressed into his chest.

“There. Let me go.”

He wet his lips. “I didn’t even feel anything.”

By Salazar, he was testing his luck. Dangerously dangling over the edge.

She twitched, breath hitching. He awaited the onslaught of rage. But her soft lips brushed against the hollow of his throat, her breath hot.

He bit down on his lip. Fuck, he had a full out erection now. Solomon’s ghost wouldn’t even be able to stop it.

This was a bad idea. Horrendously bad.  

“Was that so hard?” His voice sounded strangled, and he cleared his throat. His fingers tangled uselessly in her hair.

Let go.

Except he didn’t. He tightened his grip.

She looked up at him, flushed and dazed, and his knees nearly buckled. His other hand dug into her side. A different type of tension built in those violent limbs of hers. Her body shifted forward, pressing those curvy hips against him, against his fucking cock.

She was grinding against it.

His every limb tightened, coiled, desperate.

Don’t fuck the Ravenclaw. Don’t fuck the Ravenclaw.

He bit the inside of his cheek, but his mouth watered, every inch of him demanding he toss her on that couch.

Say something.

“Haven’t killed anyone yet?” Ominis voice rang from the top of the stairs.

They ripped apart.

The Undercroft gate rattled in the awkward silence, and the red of Ominis’s wand highlighted his shadow climbing down the stairs. “Do I smell smoke?”

Sebastian met her eyes. She blinked at him, hand gripping her throat as if she couldn’t speak.

“Just a, um, small fire. Everything’s fine.” Sebastian dug his hands in his pockets to hide his erection.

Ominis stopped in the doorway, holding his wand out to evaluate the room. “Small? The Undercroft is destroyed. Again. Merlin, you two have the impulse control of first years. Who started it?”

Seb scoffed. “It wasn’t me.”

She still didn’t say a word, gaping between the two of them.

“Well?” Ominis turned to her, brow pinched. “Kneazle got your tongue? Out with it.”

“Seb tried to burn your ugly hat,” she blurted.

“What?” he roared.

“How dare you.” Ominis surged after him, and she took that as her escape as she sprinted out of the Undercroft.

“I saved your bloody hat,” he tried saying, but Ominis was already upon him.

“Is respect—” he chucked a quill, “—that much—” a pillow decked Seb right in the face, “—to ask for?”

“You’re letting her get away.” Sebastian rushed after her, but Ominis fisted his sleeve, throwing Seb onto the couch.

“You both need to be reminded that your actions have consequences. Clean it up.” He crossed his arms.

Seb stared helplessly at the closing Undercroft gate. This wasn’t the mess he wanted to clean up. He had another one to deal with now.

“Going to try and send me to Azkaban again if I don’t?”

Ominis’s face burned red—almost purple. “Now.”

***

It’d been the longest week of Sebastian’s life—which was an exaggeration as every week of fifth year felt like the earth would crack itself open and suck him into the soil. But he’d never felt like this…so sweaty all the damn time.

She’d effectively ignored him unless they were in a group conversation, and then she communicated in grunts and nods, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.

And he just kept staring at her. At her mouth, thinking of her soft lips brushing his neck. Imagining her lips in other places. How she’d grinded against him. And the fucking hair pulling. She’d been pinned so pretty against the wall, huffing and frazzled, clawing at him…

“Are you paying attention?” Ominis snapped.

Seb blinked. “Of course I am.”

“I swear not enough oxygen stimulates that brain of yours,” his friend grumbled, shoving their potions homework in Seb’s hands. “We’re nearly finished, and I’d like to get some sleep before the sun rises.”

Sebastian sighed, leaning back in his chair. The candles were burning low in the Undercroft, and he fished out his pocket watch to see the hand flirting with Two.

“Fine. Fine.” Sebastian sighed, dipping his quill, and they plowed through the rest of their group assignment.

Ominis quickly packed his things, abandoning him for their dorms with barely a huff over his shoulder.

Sebastian sighed. He was tired, but he could tell sleep wouldn’t be greeting him any time soon. When this happened, he’d bury himself in his readings, hoping they’d bore him to slumber, but they never did. He’d always get too interested, and then he’d find himself pacing back and forth until the sunrise greeted him.

Except this time, he wasn’t sure if even a book could distract him.

“Damn Ravenclaw.” He sighed.

He grabbed a random book off the shelf, tossing it on the velveteen couch when he spotted a Slytherin scarf on the floor. Ominis must have dropped it. He’d be looking for that in the morning. Sebastian tucked it beside him.

He was deep in his readings when the metal gate to the Undercroft rattled. He didn’t look up, flipping the page. “Forget your scarf?”

When no response came, he lowered his book.

There she was, fiddling with her button-down as she studied him with a strangled sort of expression.

“Oh, hello there.” He gave her what he hoped was an unbothered smile even as his fingers dampened the book pages.

“Evening.” She tucked her hands behind her back.

“How is, um, Quidditch?”

Quidditch?? Excellent, Seb.

She paused, finally dragging her eyes up to meet his. “We’re losing.”

“Such is the way with sports.” He shrugged.

Imelda had once begged him to try out to be a beater. “Those shoulders can’t be wasted, Sallow.” But he’d rather be possessed by another ancient relic before playing Quidditch. Fun to watch, but too infuriating to play.

“How’s Prewett, by the way? Last I heard, he was still alive.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How’s Ominis’s ugly hat?”

“Still intact, no thanks to you.”

She scoffed. “Please, your manhandling warranted me destroying everything in the Undercroft, I think.”

He quirked a brow. “So you’re saying I make you crazy?”

She blinked, mouth opening and shutting.

Got her.

He fought the smirk off his face, flipping the page of his book as if he wasn’t vibrating out of his skin.

“Next time you’re going straight into those flames,” she said.

“I’m burning up already.”

Something flashed across her face, and her chest rose faster than before. “We’ll see about that. Watch your back.”

“For you I will.” He dared to wink, and he sensed the panic in her like a taut string—one he would pluck as many times as she’d let him.

She wasn’t normally like this. Nervous. Quiet. He should have had a plate broken over his head at this point, but her fingers fumbled uselessly with the lowest button of her blouse.

Sebastian wet his lips.

“I was looking for my scarf.” She nodded at the one in his lap.

“This scarf?” he asked, snapping his book shut. “Last time I checked, Ravenclaw’s colors were blue and bronze.”

The button popped open, and he fixated on the action, on that miserable sliver of skin.

“It’s mine.”

“Did you steal it?” He took a better look at the scarf, the worn crest, threads tugged loose from years of rough use.

“So what if I did?”

“Klepto.” He snorted when his jaw slackened. Old gray stitching in the bottom corner caught his eye—only he would recognize it.

“S.S.”

“This is mine.”

Her face turned bright red. “No, it’s not.”

“Did you steal my scarf? I had to buy a new one. Thought I lost it in Hogsmeade.”

“You lent it to me, and I simply forgot to return it.” She turned up her nose.

He laughed. “You little freak. Do you sleep with it or something?”

Her eyes widened. “No. That’s ridiculous.”

Liar.

“Do you nuzzle it and think of me?” he cooed, shaking it back and forth. She watched it like an entranced cat.

She surged toward him, face furious as she yanked on it. “Give it back.”

He held it in a death grip. “No. It’s literally mine.”

“You have another o—.” She tripped on his shoe, careening forward, falling straight into his lap.

He let out an oof, and his arms flew out to catch her. “You scuffed my boot—” The words died in his throat.

She was splayed between his legs, hands fisting his shirt. All of her curves in easy access, a perfect sight for his devouring eyes.

And there was no way of hiding his hardening cock as it pressed against her.

She swallowed, eyes fluttering. “Trying…to…I…”

“Nothing clever to say, Ravenclaw?”

Anger flashed on her face, but it shifted. He knew that look, the glint in her eye, her lips turning up only a breath. She was thinking something absolutely awful. He was about to call her out on it when her lips collided with his.

His brain whirled, a slew of expletives and spells crowding his thoughts. There was nothing about this in his protocol.

Her hands slid over his chest, slipping down and down.

And down.

She palmed him through his slacks.

“F-fuck,” he gasped, and she melted into his mouth.

Any resolve he had flew right out the window. He tugged her tighter against him, but she shoved him back, breaking the kiss.

“That’s not very nice.” He pouted.

“Just shut it for once in your damn life.” She shifted, straddling him, her skirt hiking up.

He gaped at her bare thighs. “Sure. Anything you say.”

Fucking hell. Fifteen-year-old him would have creamed himself by now.

His hands trailed across her soft skin. He squeezed, and she tensed, watching the movement with hungry hooded eyes. He studied her, the twitch of her mouth, how her breathing shifted. She met his eyes before brushing her lips against his.

He didn’t hesitate to deepen the kiss, to let his tongue roam. And the kiss hardened, quickened, desperate and messy. Her fingers abandoned his cock, and they trailed up, her pointer finger briefly tapping at the hollow of his throat when she tugged away from him.

She wove her hand around his tie, and it bit against his throat. He swallowed around it, fingers digging tighter into her thighs.

“Feel good?” She traced his upper lip with her tongue.

He nodded, unable to stop his whimper as he slipped his fingers under her blouse.

“No, no.” She wrenched his head back by his hair, and a growl ripped from his throat. “I think you groped me enough the other day.”

Ah. He quirked a brow, and his dick twitched. She was trying to punish him, was she? His heart thudded in his ears, his dick a leaking mess at the thought.

“So what are you going to do to me then?” he hummed.

Merlin, he was fucked in the head.

She blinked at him, head quirked as if she hadn’t thought this far. Knowing her, she hadn’t.

“Do you need me to take over?” His hands trailed inwards towards the center of her thighs, squeezing, kneading.

She chewed her bottom lip. It bruised red, breaths hitching in the back of her throat as she watched his ministrations.

He matched her breathing, eyes hungry on her face, her legs as they eased further open for him. Because of course they would. She was a keening mess in his lap. His fingers slipped between, curling against the fabric of her underwear.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he moaned, continuing to rub, circling when he found her clit.

She jolted, pulling his hand off, but it was too late. Like a snapped string he was rabid. He needed her. He needed her so fucking bad, he was going to lose his mind.

“Please just let me have a taste.” He dug his fingers into her hips. “I can lay you out on the couch, lick you until you can’t fucking walk…” He wanted to be drenched in her by the time he was done.

“Fuck you,” she choked out.

But he could tell she wanted it. Her pupils were blown, that bottom lip bit to ruins, hips idly rocking against him, grinding harder into his cock.

“You’re more stubborn than I am.” He sulked.

“I’m not stubborn.” A flash of defiance beat in her eyes, and she ripped at his buckle.

He nearly died. Nearly left his body to haunt the Undercroft as she wrenched his zipper down, as she tugged past his underclothes, her hot soft palm gliding straight over him.

He tilted his head back, arching up into her hands. “Merlin’s blue balls.”

She snickered, her own breaths coming in pitchy gasps. She worked him mercilessly, a sickening flick in her wrist as she squeezed just a hair too tight.

“Fuck.” He gasped. He’d helped create this little monster. And to think he had her hurling Unforgivables fifth year when she had this in her. He’d kill Solomon a hundred times over if it ensured it led here every time.

“What was that you were saying about taking over?” She ripped her hand away.

He whined in protest when she spat in her palm, bringing it right back. It glided perfectly wet, smooth. Her skin, her voice, her tits. Merlin, everything. It sent him over the edge.

“Mother fu—” Her free hand tugged harder at his tie, and his words died in his throat, replaced by a whimper.

“Now who can’t talk?” she huffed.

“Shush.” He fisted her hair, pulling her mouth to his.

She mercilessly worked him, and he devoured her mouth, the only thing she’d let him have. He scraped his teeth across that delicious bottom lip. She gasped, tiny moans she couldn’t swallow.

He wanted them all. Louder.

That dizzying sensation built fast, and he was half drunken to chase the release as quickly as possible, but also milk this for as long as possible.

Her thumb brushed over his tip, and he groaned.

Fuck waiting.

His hands dove for her blouse, two buttons popping easily. He tugged her brassiere down, bringing his mouth to her breast. She only worked him harder, hips rocking. His tongue grazed her nipple, and a cry left her throat.

He was so close. So fucking—

Her hands disappeared.

She disappeared off his lap.

“What—”

“This is payback for the other night.” She whipped her hair from her flushed face. “You don’t deserve to finish, you fucker.”

He balked at her, heart still pounding, his sex-addled brain not processing anything besides her body no longer heating his, her hands waving angrily at him instead of being wrapped around his cock.

“Huh?”

“You heard me.” She buttoned her blouse, tugging her shirt back down. “You can sit here and finish yourself.”

She stormed toward the metal gate.

“Wait—” He stumbled to his feet.

But she’d already gone up the stairs.

***

He didn’t want to think about what an idiot he looked like last night. She’d stumbled to her feet, shouting about payback, and he just gaped at her with his dick out.

In fact, he didn’t sleep at all.

After finishing himself as she’d suggested—because, by Salazar, he wasn’t a fucking sociopath—he’d laid flat on his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling with his scarf scrunched in his hand. Wondering if he should have chased her down the hall even if his trousers fell around his ankles.

Now, he burned a hole through her skull in DADA, barely listening to Hecate’s lecture on the ramifications of using the Unforgivables. Been there, done that.

He picked mindlessly at a crack in the desk, running his tongue over his teeth. How did he get that deranged Ravenclaw back into his lap? He was desperate to get even. To have her huffing this time. To fall so out of her mind, she had no choice but to beg.

She leaned her head in her hand, and her hair shifted, spilling from her shoulder down her back. He raked over the dance of her curves, her ass, down to her bouncing leg. She wore these sheer black tights today, and it made him bite the inside of his cheek. He’d seen her wear them countless times—shimmying them off behind a tree after classes, tearing them up from tripping, trying to patch them and making it worse—but now he could only imagine getting on his knees and ripping them open with his teeth.  

Ominis cleared his throat, and Seb glanced at his neighbor. That stupid fucking hat sat on the desk. Seb was tempted to throw it across the room.

Ominis cleared his throat again, tapping the corner of his notes.

“I can hear the drool dripping down your chin.”

Seb rolled his eyes, slumping in his chair. Ominis didn’t know the half of it.

He scribbled a quick response, kicking Ominis under the desk which earned him a tut. With a quick flash of his wand, Ominis traced the note, frowning.

“I seem to have gotten myself in quite the predicament with our Ravenclaw.”

“Did you murder a second cousin this time?”

“Fuck off.”

“You’ve left me no choice but to rule out murder first. What’s happened?”

“She... I need to get her alone.”

“Have you pissed her off again?”

“Something like that.”

“Entice her with something shiny. Like capturing a niffler.”

Shiny?

Sebastian leaned back in his seat, gaze dancing across her again. Her leg stopped bouncing, instead twirling her wand in her hand. She glanced around the room, eyes catching his, and she whipped forward.

Damn Ravenclaw.

Ominis nudged him again, and he glanced at the note.

“It’s a well-known rumor that Hecate keeps interesting items in her desk.”

He raised his brow. Now that was something he could work with.

“When are you going to stop wearing that stupid hat?”

Ominis crumbled the note, stuffing it in his pocket.

Right then. He’d have to drown it in the Black Lake later.

“Professor.” He raised his hand.

Hecate stopped speaking mid-sentence with a glare. She’d have to forgive him; these were clearly dire circumstances. “What, Mr. Sallow?”

“Collect anything interesting recently? I heard you’ve gathered quite the collection of rare magical items.”

Murmurs swept across the room, and the Ravenclaw’s wand stilled in her restless hand.

Hecate huffed. “Clearly I’ve been boring you with the Dark Arts.”

You could never, Professor. He smirked to himself. Ominis kicked him again.

“Well,” Hecate’s expression shifted, a hint of mischief in her pursed lips. “I have actually.” She sidled over to her desk, digging out a small chest and a key from her pocket.

“This is,” she paused, unearthing a ring. The details were lost to distance. “It’s an interesting little relic.”

He raised his brow. Ominis kicked him a third time. If ever a word caused such a damn reaction, it was that one.

“It’s said to assist one in a duel. The wearer can anticipate their opposer’s moves before they act on them. It’s highly unpredictable though, and has been the cause of one too many wizards’ demises. A dangerous thing, to trust the instinct of a magical object over one’s own.”

Funny, Sebastian’s instincts were telling him he needed to fuck the girl sitting in front of him.

Voices raised across the class, and Hecate locked the ring away, dropping the small chest back into one of the drawers of her desk. “You all look as if you’re about to expire anyway.” She sighed. “I’d say we covered enough. Class is dismissed. Get some exercise in those limbs of yours before your next lecture.”

The seventh years packed, Hecate among them as she grabbed her bag and darted out of the room, mumbling under her breath about the attention spans of what were supposed adult witches and wizards.

“Hecate not assigning homework? Well done.” Ominis stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Maybe that one track head of yours can do a bit of good. If only I could say the same for that Potions assignment—”

Seb’s attention snagged on the Ravenclaw, her eyes shifting over the shuffling crowd. Usually she was one of the first to dart of the classroom, but she stayed seated.

“I’ll meet you in Potions,” Sebastian said.

Ominis flipped that ridiculous hat, frowning. “I’m not making any excuses for you this time.”

Seb snatched the hat and hurled it. It sailed over their classmates’ heads, straight into the hall, decking Hobhouse right in the face.

“Honestly—” Ominis seethed, storming out after it.

Seb didn’t hesitate to follow behind him. He slipped into the crowd, easing off to the right just outside of the classroom. When most of the stragglers had made their way to the stairs, he casted disillusionment on himself and circled back inside.

The room was empty.

Damn. That was disappointing. Maybe he’d misjudged her. A rare thing really, but he’d been…distracted recently. Having someone climb into your lap and rub one out did that to you.

The door clicked shut, and he whirled around.

The damn Ravenclaw in question smirked, sauntering across the room with a bounce in her step to Hecate’s desk. She unearthed the same chest, shaking it before plucking a hairpin from her head. She probed the lock, but when nothing happened, she tugged her wand from behind her ear.

“Alohomora.”  

He dropped his spell. “You sure like to use those hands for promiscuous activities.”

She jumped, nearly tossing the box on the floor. “And you figured out how to tuck your dick back in your trousers.”

He blinked, taken aback.

Well, then.

“What would Hecate think?” He clicked his tongue, drumming his fingers on the desk beside him.

She tracked the movement. “Please. Like you weren’t intrigued. It’s everything you like—dueling, unfair advantages...the silly thing is even called a ‘relic.’” She tossed it at him, and he caught it.

The emerald stone hummed in his grip, a dull magic radiating off it. He shrugged, pocketing it. He’d find a way to traumatize Ominis with it later.

“Hey, I found it first.”

“Like my scarf?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You going to tell on me? Earn some house points for once?” She shot him a nasty smile, but that flush crawled up her neck.

There she is.

He couldn’t hide his grin. He also couldn’t hide how his dick pressed uncomfortably tighter the longer he stood in her presence.

“No.” He shrugged. “But you could make it up to me.”

She snorted. “Aw, is poor Sebby Webby a little sensitive after last night?”

The ring heated in his pocket, the clear image of her hurling a basic blast filling his head. He blinked, gaze dropping to her wand, and the telltale spark flared when she raised it.

“Accio.” He casted.

She flew into his arms with a yelp.

Damn, that ring does work.

“Get your hands off me,” she barked.

He shoved her against the closest desk, lifting her onto it.

“You know better than anyone I like you in my debt.” He moved his way behind her, tugging her back against him.

“You and your damn debts.” She wriggled, but she wasn’t fighting—if she had been, he’d be across the room by now upside down against the practice dummies.

His throat tightened.

She wanted this. She wanted it as badly as he did.

“I don’t see you stopping me,” he murmured into her ear, dragging his teeth down her neck. Her chest rose swiftly, fingers splaying on either side of her. “Did you like that last night? Regret not staying?”

She swallowed hard, her mouth pursed shut.

Fucking hell, she was coming undone. He gazed down the gap in her shirt, taking in the swell of her breasts.

“What did you do when you got back to your bed?” he rasped.

“Nothing—”

He hummed, tugging the fabric back and nipping at her shoulder. “I should have given you my scarf. So you could replay what we did and press it between your—”

She bucked, and he tightened his hold, chuckling.

His hand drifted to her neck, squeezing lightly before running across her jaw, her lips. “You’re being awfully quiet. Usually you don’t shut up.”

She sank her teeth into his hand. “That better?”

He snorted. “Keep an eye on the door for me, hm?”

He clawed his hands up her side, dragging them across her shoulders before he cupped her tits. He groaned, kneading harder, and a whine escaped her throat.

“Prick.” She pressed her ass into his cock, and he obliged the movement, dragging his mouth back up her neck, kissing the soft spot behind her ear.

“Are you watching the door?” he hummed, popping open her top buttons. He slipped his hands inside to graze her burning soft skin. 

She nodded.

“Your eyes are closed.” He teased, and his fingers slipped beneath her brassiere. He flicked her nipples, and she moaned louder.

“You’re not very good at this.”

She smacked him in the head. 

He laughed, giving her nipples another tug, rolling between his index and thumb, and her legs spread wider across the desk, her skirt hiking.

“Fuck,” he hummed, freeing a hand as he dragged it down her stomach to her thigh, squeezing the supple skin before inching his way toward her center. 

She whined, rocking her hips against him. With a swift tug, her skirt was at her waist. He grazed her center, rubbing at the tights blocking his entrance.

No time for teeth.

He ripped them open with a swift tug of his hand. 

“These are my good fucking tights,” she scowled.

“Alert the aurors.” He jerked her underwear aside, dragging his fingers across her.

A gasp ripped from her throat, and her head thudded to his shoulder.

Soaking fucking wet.

For him. 

Merlin, he’d cry if these last few days had been another fever dream.

He teased her entrance before dragging his fingers back up and circling her clit. She was a writhing mess, chest rising and falling, pressing further into him. Her hand flew back to the nape of his neck, tugging at his hair.

His eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sting.

“What do you want?” He dragged his mouth to her ear, licking down her neck until he dug his teeth into the meat of her shoulder.

She moaned, tugging at his wrist, forcing his fingers to her entrance. 

“Right there?” He traced his middle finger over the spot, feeling the give, the heat. Fuck, he wished he could fuck her right there. Taste her. Everything. 

She nodded. 

“What if I just…stopped?” he murmured, pressing a kiss in her hair.

She stilled, shaking her head.

“What? You’re not into that?” He inched his fingers back over her clit, higher, further away to rest on her stomach. “You sure were yesterday.”

“I’ll kill you. I swear to Rowena,” she growled.

“You’ve already almost killed me plenty of times.” Seb leaned away completely now, and she visibly sank.  He was enjoying this too much. She deserved it, the vicious little monster. “You’ll have to do better.”

“Fine.” She faced him. She had the biggest pout he’d ever seen, eyes blown wide, hair sticking up. “Please.” She trailed over his cheek, tugging at his hair before letting her fingers dance over his lips. His tongue darted out to meet them. She shuddered, thighs rubbed together. “Pretty please, you damn snake.”

Salazar, this fucking witch.

His cock twitched, and he ran a tense hand over himself. The sweet sensation humming through his limbs. She visibly swallowed at the sight, and he did it again just to watch her squirm.

“Once more. For me, pretty bird,” he hummed.

“Please,” she choked out.

He shoved her back against him, sinking two fingers inside of her. 

“FUCK,” she shouted.

His free hand flew to her mouth. “Shhh, love.” He laughed, pressing his lips to her ear, kissing the helix. “We don’t want everyone hearing us.” 

He didn’t stop pumping, and she whined louder, gasping as she rocked her hips to chase his movements. The desk scraped and squeaked beneath her, and he steadied the leg with his boot.

The heel of his palm grounded into her clit, and she was a careening mess as he increased speed. She kept moaning, louder somehow even with his damn hand over her mouth. He dug his fingers into her cheek. Saliva coated his skin, and he wished it coated his dick, his mouth.

“Shush,” he whispered. “You have to be quiet. Or I’ll have to stop.”

She cried, clenching around his fingers, and he gritted his teeth. He was so hard he saw stars. He was almost terrified he’d come in his trousers.

Her hands came around his neck, bucking wildly. Breaths ragged and hot against his hand. Her chest rose fast as she tightened around him, hips rising off the desk and slamming back down…and she came undone. Her walls convulsed, sucking in his fingers, and he worked her through it, slow and deliberate as she simpered, sinking down his front.

When she finally slackened, he dropped his hand from her mouth. She gasped for breath, spit glistening across her lips.

“Aren’t you grateful I let you finish?” he murmured, pulling his digits from her cunt. 

She glared back at him, face flushed, pupils wide as he sucked his fingers clean.

Better than he imagined. He was doomed. Positively doomed.

“I’m going to push you off a cliff.”

He laughed. “Can’t wait. I’ll make sur—”

She palmed him, and the words garbled in his throat.

“Fuck.” He took an unsteady breath as she squeezed. He steadied himself on the desk. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re already fifteen minutes late to Potions.”

She jumped to her feet. “Fuck.”

She scrambled for her wand, nearly toppling over when he caught her, casting a cleaning and mending charm on their clothes. 

“I can’t believe you.” She grabbed her bag, storming for the door. “I’m not getting a failing mark because of you.”

“I’ll just make sure to never do that again then. Since it’s such an issue.” He snorted.

“Don’t be funny.” She whirled on him, pointing a threatening finger.  

His eyes fell to the red marks lining her neck. He smirked, about to glamor them when he paused. She could find them for herself after a few hundred people got a good look. Payback, after all.  

Sebastian made a mental note: Rule Ten: Definitely fuck the Ravenclaw.

TAKE ME TO PART TWO ➡️

[hlschmutt]

A Losing Game

A/N: was in the mood to write pure filth so here's some jealous sebastian smut lul. also i left the context intentionally vague so that i could maybe write a prequel sometime but i hope it's clear they absolutely hate each other loool

Sebastian Sallow x f!MC - NSFW - 4.4k words - ao3

Summary: Watching his long-time rival and dueling partner kiss someone else ignites feelings in Sebastian that has him questioning just how similar hate is to desire.

Tags: Yule Ball, Enemies to Lovers, Pining Sebastian, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Mild Prey/Predator, No Safeword

For the first time in their many years of friendship, Sebastian is the one being dragged to a social event he has no interest in being a part of. Ominis, taking no small amount of pleasure in this, leads them into the Great Hall with an amused smirk on his face, only biting his tongue because he’s respectful of present company. Sebastian frowns.

His robes are scratchy, his date is doused in a nausea-inducing amount of flowery perfume, and there’s not nearly enough firewhiskey in the spiked punch this year.

He tells himself pointedly, as if it’s a matter of public record, that he isn’t looking for her.

Even as his eyes comb over the crowd, and there’s a little pang of disappointment in his gut when he still doesn’t spot her after the third sweep.

“Stop sulking,” Ominis murmurs from beside him. “You look miserable.”

Sebastian proceeds to sulk even more. “How would you know how I look?”

“I’m blind, not oblivious.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, sitting down at the table the blonde had chosen and preparing himself for an entire night of brooding.

He’d have no qualms in remaining seated in their desolate little corner for the entirety of the evening, but his date—Bianca or Beatrice or, maybe something with a D—has other plans.

She titters something about dancing, and then she’s suddenly tugging on his arm and dragging him towards parquet floors. In no mood to protest, he lets himself get weaved through pairs of students who are doing anything but respecting Headmaster’s Black rule to maintain a Potions textbook length apart.

So much for leaving room for Merlin.

He manages a tight-lipped smile when they stop under a cloud charmed to sprinkle snowflakes, small flurries of white blending into a halo around them. It’s a truly beautiful sight, a winter wonderland of silver and gold englobing them, yet despite this, Sebastian’s demeanor is tight and forced, starkly unhappy.

He pretends he doesn’t understand the reasoning behind his sour mood. Pretends he isn’t thinking about someone else’s hands, someone else’s smell, someone else’s eyes, and the obvious absence of them.

Sebastian feels dreadfully pathetic clinging to the prospect of even simply seeing her as a motivator to suffer through the remainder of the night.

He wonders when he became such a pining, spineless idiot and deduces it must’ve been somewhere during the first dozen times she’d knocked him on his ass in a duel. Surely, a screw was knocked loose then. Or a couple.

Sebastian swallows his displeasure and takes hold of a hand that’s not the right size, that doesn’t have the calluses and rough edges in the places he’s already far too familiar with. It’s easy to fall into pace, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Hard to pretend he’s dancing with someone else.

It’s then, glancing over his date’s shoulder through the haze of floating candles and snowflakes, that he finally catches sight of what he has decidedly not been thinking about all evening.

From the way he stills and all his attention narrows in on one person, you’d think Salazar Slytherin himself just made an appearance butt-naked on a unicycle.

Breath-taking is an understatement. Asphyxiating might be a more valiant contender. Sebastian would be impressed with himself if he managed to get enough oxygen in his lungs to keep his brain functioning for an entire night of staring at her across dance floors.

His eyes comb over every inch of the blood red floor-length gown she has on, head-to-toe, gaze rising to dust over the blush high on her cheekbones, even further up to the gems crested in her hair.

He takes a deep, fortifying breath, though it doesn’t do him any good.

Then, his attention narrows in on the person accompanying her and it’s like his stomach immediately pitches, falls down six flights of stairs, and subsequently plummets into a dark abyss, landing at the bottom with a pathetic, defeated sort of sound.

Because her arm is tucked into the crook of someone else’s elbow, and she’s smiling at something someone else is whispering in her, and despite being only a few feet away at this point, she doesn’t even spare a glance at Sebastian.

Instead, she drapes an arm around her date’s neck, which he reciprocates with a hand at the small of her back, pulls their bodies closer and—

Sebastian squeezes his eyes shut and refuses to look, turning away from what feels like betrayal, though he knows is the farthest thing from it.

Maybe that’s what feels the worst. What makes his mouth taste so bitter he could gag from it. It’s the realization that he has no right to feel so upset about any of it. That he can’t expect anything from her.

That she isn’t his.

His shoulders stiffen and he suddenly stops any movements, letting his hands drop from where they were rested at a chiffon-covered waist, stepping away.

His date calls his name, emitting some cross between a petulant whine and indignant scoff, but he doesn’t really hear her. He’s busy high-tailing towards the drink table and doing the mental math for how many teal-coloured glasses of spiked punch he’ll have to drink to self-induce a coma.

Ominis, with his hell-anointed sixth sense, meets him three-quarters of the way there, falling into step as they weave through pairs of students.

“This is your own doing, you know.”

He’s right, yet Sebastian would still throttle him if there weren’t so many witnesses around. He ignores him.

“Sebastian,” Ominis sighs. “You’re being childish.”

“You aren’t helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Ominis says. “I thought I’d already made myself clear that I was on her side concerning this.”

Sebastian scowls. “Some friend you are.”

“All you had to do was ask her.”

“Asking her is admitting defeat,” Sebastian mutters over the rim of the glass he just poured himself. “She wouldn’t have ever let me live it down.”

“I don’t understand this game you two play,” Ominis frowns. “Would it have been so hard for you to humble yourself for just a moment?”

Sebastian takes a long drink. “Yes. In front of her, it would’ve been.”

“Then enjoy watching her dance with someone else for the remainder of the evening.”

Sebastian has just about decided to actually throttle Ominis, witnesses be damned, but he’s already making his way back into the crowd, out of reach.

Sebastian groans, yet doesn’t go after him. Refuses to.

From his position on the outskirts of the dance floor, he’s in blissful ignorance of whatever it is she’s doing at the moment. Despite the curiosity eating away at him from the inside, it’s some form of solace that at least he can’t see the smile he’d caught on her face. Can’t see the glow in her eyes, or her hands on her date’s robes, or all the affection he craves so ardently misdirected towards someone else.

Somehow, it’s worse.

And then, as if Fortune, on his damned quarry smiling, has decided Sebastian hasn’t endured enough for one pitiful night already, the steady crescendo of a waltz begins to build.

The crowd pulses and sways in tempo with the symphony, leaving breaches and eyelets, brief openings that he can’t tear his eyes away from, because even if it hurts, he needs to see her again.

That’s how he catches sight of her for the second time that evening. Like the seas parting to reveal a miracle, she finds herself right in his line of vision.

Sebastian conveys the tightening he feels in his chest into an ice-cold glower, features hardened. He prays she’ll just look. Even if it’s something fleeting, a split second of a glance.

Once again, her eyes never make their way anywhere near him.

It’s almost intentional, in a way that drives him insane. As if she knows where he is, and she’s skirting over him pointedly, antagonistically. Sebastian wouldn’t be surprised if it were intentional, a gleaming testimony to all the other ways she manages to get under his skin.

The dancing body of students continues to shift, like a pendulum, back and forth, revealing and concealing. He clings to the momentary sight of her, and still, like a fool, hopes that at some instance she’ll look back. Acknowledge him.

Give him some form of recognition so he doesn’t have to admit defeat so quickly. So that he knows that they’re still playing their game, that he’s not just losing alone.

The composition nears its apex, surrounding gowns and robes reaching a swirling mass of glitter and silks, and something heavy sinks inside of him, an impending sense of foreboding.

He knows what’s coming, somehow.

The orchestra finally reaching its climax.

Her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of her date’s neck.

Her leaning forward, nose slotting against his, lips hovering over another’s and yet—

He doesn’t look away. Even if it feels like being split open, sternum cracked across the middle, until he’s left with a slick-red, yawning chest cavity.

He can’t look away, because her eyes are open and for the first time in the entire evening, they’re meeting his.

Like most instances involving her, he isn’t sure if he’s winning or losing anymore.

She doesn’t look away, and he can’t bring himself to either. It’s like he’s standing there, split from top to bottom, voluntarily exposed for her to prod at, to ruin. And yet, there’s a bittersweetness to it all.

Her lips aren’t on his, yet she’s looking at him as if she wishes they were.

There’s something taunting in her eyes. Something he might’ve mistaken as a threat if they were in their usual setting, mid-duel in the Undercroft.

A challenge.

It takes him a moment to realize that context shouldn’t matter. This is an invitation for battle, a glaring provocation. He stares.

The sight of her mouth on someone else’s makes bile rise in his throat, makes him so filled with rage and revulsion that he thinks he might suffocate on it all. Yet the sight of her eyes, the sheer amount of longing she’s able to convey in such a short glance, is enough to invigorate him, to channel all his rage and wanting into something else.

His legs move of their own accord.

Her reflexes are as sharp as they are in battle.

The second she sees him coming towards her, she reacts. Murmurs a hurried apology towards her date, who looks so confused Sebastian would almost feel bad for the bloke if he didn’t want to strangle him so violently.

She’s immediately cutting through the crowd towards the opposite direction, her eyes trained on one of the exits. He picks up his speed, but she’s quicker than him, smaller, able to duck through bunches of students with ease, even with her dress hindering her movements.

Adrenaline trickles up his spine. She throws him another glance over her shoulder and smirks, sly and knowing, a look that writhes under his skin in the way her glances always do.

Even if he’s the one chasing her, Sebastian feels awfully like the rodent in their little game of cat and mouse.

They both step into the quiet of the dimly-lit hallway, the sounds of the party bleeding away as the door shuts behind them, casting them in silence.

There’s a split moment where she spins around to look at him, chest heaving. The live-wire tension between them is pulled so taut it’s a miracle the air doesn’t crackle with static.

Neither of them move for a long moment, until her lips curl into a smile.

She breaks into a run and Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat.

He chases after her, his heart pounding with something primal, something instinctive. Like his self-control might slip away from him when he catches her, like he might just sink his teeth into soft flesh, dig his nails into supple skin. She runs as if she’s just as aware of this fact as he is.

He almost wants to punish her for it. Bite and scratch and mark as if in vengeance for her thinking she could ever get away from him. For her forgetting that she’s anything but his, as if she should simply know it by now.

She’s fast, but she’s nearly tripping over the dress she has fisted in her hands, and her heels don’t help. All it takes is for her to stumble around a corner and he’s on her, grabbing her gown, pulling her towards him.

He spins her around, and she grunts when he slams her against the wall. Teeth bared, strands of the elegant updo she’d had her hair in falling down over her shoulders, glittery makeup smeared down her cheeks — she looks like something savage.

For some reason, it makes something deep-set inside Sebastian ache.

“Let go,” she grits, struggling against the hold he has on her wrists, under the weight of his body that has her molded to the wall.

His grip only tightens, frustration simmering low in his gut. Sebastian has never known desire like this, shadowed by fury. Want and anger, love and hate, repulsion and obsession.

“I know what you’re doing,” he hisses.

She stills her thrashing in favor of looking up at him through her lashes with an expression so innocent, it’s crucifying.

“Attending a dance?”

His jaw sets. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Why, are you having a hard time keeping up?”

He stares at her for a long moment, jaw working in tandem with his thoughts. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and she tilts her head, amused at how worked up he’s gotten.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says.

“And what’s that?”

“Thinking about how badly you want to kill me, probably,” she says. Her eyes fall to his lips and his breath stops in his throat. “Or kiss me. Haven’t quite worked out which one yet.”

“So certain that they’re mutually exclusive,” he murmurs, his gaze falling to mimic hers despite himself. “I think you forget that I’m very multi-faceted.”

“That I’m aware of,” she tilts her chin up, almost as if inviting him to press his mouth to hers, a siren’s call. “You manage to be mind-numbingly stupid and brilliantly obnoxious, all at the same time.”

He scoffs. “And you manage to be the most infuriating person on the planet.”

She seems starkly proud of the title. “What can I say, I invoke passion.”

“You invoke homicidal thoughts.”

“Not the only kinds of thoughts I invoke in you, is it, Sallow?”

He reddens. He’s spent too many showers hunched over his own fist with silencing charms plastered around the tiles for his response to be anything more than a blurted, evocative reaction.

“Anything you think I feel for you is precisely the opposite. I fucking despise you.”

He only notes a split second after that it’s not an outright denial.

Evidently, so does she. Because then, as if she were made to crawl under his skin, writhe underneath it until his nerves were a mess, she smiles.

What he truly despises is how pretty he finds it.

“You don’t hate me.”

He sneers. “Is that so?”

“Hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is,” she leans in. “And I’d hardly call chasing me through the castle simply because I kissed someone else…indifferent.”

He decides then — or more accurately, his too-horny, too-angry, too-impulsive brain decides for him — to wipe the pleased grin off her face the most effective way he knows how.

With a hand fisted in her hair and his mouth crashing against hers.

It isn’t tender or sweet, nor the remotest definition of kind, but it’s fitting and dreadfully familiar, because it’s not like they’ve ever been nice to one another.

He lets go of her wrists to give her some fighting chance, because he’s cruel, but he prides himself on being fair. Instead of pushing him away, or going for her wand, or doing anything to indicate she doesn’t want this, however, she pulls him in. As if she knows exactly how to bring him to his knees, in any and all contexts, and revels in any opportunity to destroy him.

He almost thinks it’s a trap, another one of her grating ploys, but when she tangles her fingers in his hair and drags her nails down his scalp and kisses him back with just as much fervor as he does, it’s hard to believe it’s simply a farce.

Her tongue finds his and Sebastian wonders if they’ll ever do anything together that doesn’t mimic a battle. She fights for dominance in every stroke of her tongue against his, and his stubbornness refuses to grant her it.

“Fuck,” he groans against her mouth, because he’s learning just how much she kisses the same way she duels.

Dirty, unfair, brutal. Like she’s never been afraid of blood, or getting messy, or breaking things.

She stokes a fire that’s been simmering inside him until it’s red-hot and all-consuming, flames licking at the inside of his throat. He pulls her bottom lip between his teeth and bites until he tastes copper, finding some sick form of satisfaction at the pained little whine she lets out.

“You kissed him,” he pants, and there’s something raw in his voice. He rests his forehead against hers and stares at the crimson pooling on her lip. “You kissed him.”

She swallows. “I did.”

Sebastian despises how hurt he sounds. “I could kill him.”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

“I know,” she nods, chest heaving against his. Her voice grows suddenly soft, until it’s barely a whisper. “I wanted it to be you.”

He groans, almost pained. “Did you?”

She nods.

“Has he ever touched you?”

She shakes her head.

“Tell the truth,” he says, fingers threading through the tangled remains of her chignon, tilting her face up towards him so he can meet her eyes. “Did you let him touch you?” He presses a leg between her thighs, barely able to feel her through layers of tulle. “Here?”

“No,” she gasps from the contact, nails scrambling to drag down his forearm. “Never.”

“Fuck,” he sighs, and tips his head down to press against her throat, drags his lips over her jaw. “Only me, hm? Say it.”

She shakes her head and his gaze darkens, pulling back to tighten his fingers still tangled in her hair, to tear a whimper from the back of her throat.

“No? Who then?”

“No one,” she whispers, and despite the tight angle her neck is at, despite the fear dancing behind her eyes, she smiles up at him again. “You haven’t touched me yet, though, have you?”

She’s baiting him, and he’s aware of it, and still it manages to work.

He feels his self-restraint slipping through the cracks of his fingers like sand. There’s traces of scarlet on her teeth he wants to drag his tongue over. He wants to suck the marrow from her bones.

He spins her around, presses her cheek into the cool flagstone of the corridor they’re in, and molds his body to hers.

“S-shit,” she curses when his patience wears thin and he yanks at the fabric hiding her body away from his, pulling at the skirt of her gown until it rips. “Asshole.”

“Looks better this way.”

His fingers coast up her thighs to hook into her knickers, tugging them down before she can protest. She gasps and he smiles against her cheek, pushing her hand away when she tries to cover herself.

He nips at her ear, his hand reaching between her legs to cup her sex, reveling in the way she tries to squirm away from him.

“What’s wrong? Going to act shy now?”

“Someone could see,” she grits, though something in her tone tells him she’s not going to stop him.

“Wouldn’t they be lucky.”

His breath stutters when he finally dips his fingers between her folds and finds how soaked she is. Something about the revelation is dizzying, the notion that she could possibly want this as badly as he does. He grinds his hips into her arse so she’s just as aware of how gone he is.

Immediately, his hand is fumbling with his belt, the other pressing bruises into her hip to keep her still. He kicks her feet open wider, spreading her for him. His fingers flex on her hip in anticipation.

“You have full permission to use any Unforgivables you want on me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, burying his nose in her hair and inhaling deeply. He groans. “You’re not getting me off of you in any other way.”

When she doesn’t make any move for her wand he positions himself at her entrance, rubbing to coat himself in her fluids. Her breathing is heavy against the wall she’s pressed against, her gasps coming out in soft little pants. He revels in them for a long moment.

Then, he’s impaling her and all of her breathing stops. Replaced instead by a strangled sort of sound, as if he’d managed to knock out all of the air in her lungs with a single thrust. His jaw falls slack.

He manages to composure himself enough to murmur in her ear, voice hoarse. “Hurts?”

She chokes out a sob, nodding weakly. Her head falls against the wall, clenching around him as she tries to adjust to his size.

His hips snap forward again, even harsher this time, burying himself to the hilt and tearing a yelp out of her throat. “Good.”

“S–Sebastian—”

He pauses, so deep inside her he can feel every little pulse, hips flush against her arse. “Want me to stop?”

Miraculously, she shakes her head. It’s never like her to back down from a fight, after all.

“Of course,” he chuckles, though it sounds uncharacteristically strained, imprecise. Like he’s losing his grip. His head falls to her shoulder and he moans, grunting feverishly against her skin as he starts a brutal, unforgiving pace. “You can take it. Look so pretty taking it.”

“Please,” she whines. “Too much, I–I can’t,”

“You’re a tough girl,” he whispers, tone vicious despite his words. “You’re going to shut your fucking mouth and take my cock.”

She nods fervently, obediently, and Sebastian thinks he deserves a medal for not finishing right then. He yanks her hips back from the wall, shifting the angle and she gasps when he feels him push in even deeper.

“Oh my God,” she moans. “Good — feels s’good, yes, yes. Plea–please don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, voice sandpaper-rough. He snakes a hand to her front to rub tight little circles between her legs. “Look at you babbling. Dumb little cock-drunk slut. Can’t even think properly with me inside you like this, can you?”

Her response is too garbled for coherence, a mess of moans and pleas. He groans in a way that’s almost just as saturated with desperation, that tells her she’s not alone in her unraveling. He pulls her head back to smash his lips to her, stifling all kinds of confessions that threaten to escape him.

She breaks the kiss to gasp for air and his fingers swirl against her just right. She tightens. “Gonna — m‘gonna cum,”

“Yeah? Come for me, baby,” his voice breaks on the word, and he’s aware he’s practically begging. He’s too far gone to care, so he scrapes a kiss to her heat-flushed cheek and properly pleads.

“Please. So fucking beautiful. Let me see your pretty face when you come undone for me,” he stares down at her through half-lidded eyes and briefly contemplates the possibility that he’s died and gone to heaven when she looks back at him. “That’s it, look at me.”

He studies her as he sends her over the edge and pulls himself over along with her, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to keep her eyes on his.

The sight is enough to ruin him.

Her makeup a mess from the tear tracks running through them, the hair fisted in his hands in an even worse state, and somehow— she still manages a lopsided smile, as if beyond pleased with herself.

He’s faintly aware of the fact she’s won. He makes peace with the realization.

There’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing to fill the silence in the hallway as Sebastian tries to regain his bearings, still buried inside her. Neither of them move for a long moment, and Sebastian likens it to the peace following a war, a brief period of prosperity.

He’s conscious that it’s temporary.

She winces when he finally pulls out of her, their shared spend trickling down the insides of her thighs, her knees nearly giving out to the point he has to hold her up, even if his own legs feel dreadfully unstable.

It doesn’t take her long for her to detach her body from his own, to duck under his arm and slip away. Panic suddenly seizes his chest, dread trickling up his spine. For some reason, he can’t bear to watch her leave. He opens his mouth to say something—an apology, maybe—but she beats him to it.

“That was fun,” she says plainly, glancing back at him over her shoulder. It’s as if they’d just finished another duel. Hardly anything to bat an eye at. Sebastian is at a remarkable loss for words.

She hasn’t continued down the hallway, but she looks as if she’s prepared to.

He’s faintly aware of the fact he probably looks like a fish right now, jaw still slack.

When he doesn’t say anything, she turns her attention to righting her underthings and fixing the tattered remains of her gown. He watches her.

“Goodnight, Sebastian.”

Suddenly sprung to life by the threat of her absence, he takes a step forward. “I’ll walk you back.”

She snorts. “Ever the gentleman.”

“Unless, you’d like to, uh,” he stares down at his shoes, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “I could transfigure something for us in the Undercroft.”

She looks amused. “My god, you’re insatiable.”

He reddens. “I didn’t mean—oh, Salazar, to sleep…I meant to sleep.”

She turns to face him fully and raises her brows. “You’re asking me if I’d like to forego my own bed in order to spend the night with you in a dusty cellar?”

Mortification washes over him. Why would she? He should’ve kept his mouth shut and walked her to her dorm room instead of deluding himself with the notion that this could’ve been anything more than a quick fuck.

She stares at him expectantly and his fingers twitch at his side with the desire to grab his wand and promptly Avada himself.

It’s then that she decides to saunter over to him, taking her time, until she’s right beside him and can tuck her arm into his. She gestures forward, almost impatient.

“Go on then. I’m little spoon.”

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A scene from The Magic that Binds Us by @sallowskeeper

Man… I keep saying “bruh this man is insaaane” while drawing this🤣 but i love him nonetheless!! Heck i probably love him in this version so much because of that.

Poor Cecelia (not).

What do you think about psycho Ominis? Please leave a comment❤️‍🔥

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Sebastian did not learn the lesson🥲

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Taste | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

I posted awhile back about my headcanon that this man loves... tasting his woman. This is literally just that. And yeah I normally put pictures above the cut but... ehhh mdni

>:) enjoy

Words: ~1,800

Tags: Shameless Smut, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N

The front door swung shut with a quiet click, but you already felt his presence before you saw him.

You glanced up from your book on the couch just as Sebastian stepped into the dimly lit sitting room. His coat was still dusted with the remnants of a long day—ashen smudges on his sleeves, a faint tear near the collar. The usual sharp gleam in his eyes had dulled, replaced by a stormy, almost dangerous hunger as they landed on you.

He didn’t say a word, but the weight of his gaze, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides before he exhaled slowly—like he was trying to control himself—told you everything.

“Rough day?” you asked softly, setting the book aside.

Sebastian didn’t answer. He took two strides toward you, his footsteps heavy against the wooden floor, and then—before you could blink—you were in his grasp. His fingers dug into your hips, warm and possessive, and his mouth crashed against yours.

It wasn’t a careful kiss. It was a claim.

You barely had time to gasp before his hands slid under your thighs, hoisting you up. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist, hands gripping at his broad shoulders as he carried you with purpose, his mouth never leaving yours. The journey to the bedroom was a blur of half-stumbled steps, of Sebastian groaning against your lips like he had been starving all day, like the taste of you was the only thing that could put him back together.

He lowered you onto the e bed, and suddenly, you were beneath him, breathless. He hovered above you, dark eyes flickering over your face, your lips, your slightly dazed expression.

"Fuck," he muttered, voice low, desperate. "You have no idea what today was like. I was counting the minutes—every bloody second—until I could come home to you."

His grip tightened as he pressed his lips to your pulse, hot and open-mouthed. The scrape of his teeth followed, sending a jolt of heat through you.

You barely managed to get your hands on his shoulders before he was pushing you towards the headboard, caging you in. The groan that rumbled from his chest was the only warning you got before he kissed youagain, hard, all teeth and tongue, nothing gentle about it. Whatever had unraveled him today, whatever had pushed him to the edge, it didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was this.

You. Him. The way he was about to take you apart.

His hands skimmed over your thighs, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt. He pulled back just enough to look down, his lips curling into a smirk.

"Easy access today, hm?" His voice was rough, teasing, but there was something darker beneath it—something needy. His fingers toyed with the hem, slipping beneath it, palms trailing up your bare skin. "Almost like you were waiting for me."

Your breath caught as he shoved the fabric up, bunching it around your hips. His gaze darkened at the sight of you beneath—nothing more than lace and silk between him and what wanted.

"Fuck," he muttered, fingers tracing the waistband of your thong before snapping it lightly against your skin. "You have no idea how badly I needed this today."

His hands were everywhere all at once—gripping your thighs, squeezing the flesh there, sliding up to your hips before pressing you down against the bed.

Sebastian dipped his head, dragging his lips along your jaw, your throat, teeth scraping lightly as he reached the hollow just above your collarbone. He sucked at the skin there, and you gasped, hands tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you.

"Mine," he muttered, the word barely more than a breath against your skin.

You barely had time to register the movement before he was hooking his fingers into the sides of your underwear, dragging them down, his breath uneven, his patience fraying.

"Seb—"

He shut you up with a kiss, dragging your underwear down past your hips.

The moment the fabric hit the floor, Sebastian was lpreading you open before him as he leaned in. His breath was hot against your skin, teasing, torturous—then his mouth was on you, and any thought of forming a coherent sentence was lost to the sharp bolt of pleasure that shot through your spine.

He groaned,deep and guttural, like he’d been starving for you all day, like this was the only thing that could fix whatever had unraveled him. His tongue flicked over you, slow at first, savoring, before he pressed in deeper, more desperate.

"Fuck," he muttered against you, voice thick with relief. "I needed this."

His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he couldn’t bear the thought of you moving away. As if you even could—he had you pinned, utterly at his mercy, his mouth working you over with a single-minded focus that had your nails digging into the sheets, your head tipping back against the pillows.

Every flick of his tongue was measured and practiced, he'd done this enough times to know exactly what you liked, and yet the way he was devouring you was anything but controlled. He groaned against you again, like he was drowning in the taste of you, dragging his tongue over your skin before sucking at your clit, your thighs clenching around his head.

Sebastian liked that. You could feel the way he smirked against you before he gripped you tighter, holding your thighs further apart, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Such a good fucking girl,," he rasped before dipping back down, his voice nearly lost to the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.

Your breath hitched, a cry escaping your lips as the coil in your stomach wound tighter, heat rushing through your veins, making your fingers twist into his hair, tugging.

Sebastian lived for this, for wrecking you with nothing but his mouth, for making you fall apart against his tongue, and by the way he was working you over like a man possessed, it was as if he needed to ruin you to put himself back together after the hell of his day.

“Fuck,” he rasped, barely pulling away long enough to speak, his lips slick with you. “You taste so fucking good.”

He dragged his tongue over you bottom to top, slow and deliberate as if he were savoring every second, every shiver that wracked your body beneath him. His voice was thick with something dark, something utterly wrecked, the sound vibrating straight through your center.. “Could stay between your legs all fucking night.”

Your thighs trembled against his hold as he sucked at your clit, the coil in your stomach winding tighter, the heat unbearable, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he worked you over.

Then he pressed deeper.

Your entire body tensed as his tongue stretched you, dipping inside you with slow, languid strokes, his nose pressing against your clit. A broken cry tore from your lips, and Sebastian groaned in response, rutting subtly against the mattress as if just tasting you was enough to drive him to the brink.

Your vision blurred as the pressure built, sharp and unbearable and delicious. Your hands fisted in his hair, hips arching into his mouth as he devoured you. He loved when you pulled his hair, when you used him the way he was using you—like neither of you could get enough.

And you really couldn't. You could barely breathe, barely think—only feel.

“You like that?” he muttered, voice rough. “Fucking love when you ride my face, love—go on, take what you need.”

A broken whimper left your lips and you couldn’t stop the way your hips rolled into his face, seeking more, chasing his mouth. He moved against you, slick and filthy, brushing against your most sensitive parts as he worked you open with his tongue, stretching you, ruining you.

"Seb, I—I'm so close, don't—"

"Don't what?" he murmured, the words muffled by your skin. "Don't stop?"

The sharp, helpless moan that tore from your throat was answer enough.

Sebastian chuckled, the sound dark and smug, and maintained pace, sucking, licking, worshipping. He knew exactly what he was doing, exactly how to push you past the edge, and he wasn’t about to let up—not when you were trembling like that, not when you were gasping his name like it was the only thing you knew how to say.

"Go on," he muttered against you, the vibration sending another pulse of heat straight to your core. "Come for me, love."

You couldn't hold back even if you wanted to.

The coil inside you snapped, pleasure crashing over you so violently that your world tipped over, your whole body locking up before shattering around him. A strangled cry left your lips as the orgasm overtook you, your thighs clenching around his head, back arching as bliss shot through every nerve in your body.

Sebastian groaned against your core like he was the one unraveling, but he didn’t stop—not even as you writhed beneath him, too sensitive, your body still clenching around his tongue. He licked you through it slowly, dragging out every last aftershock until you were gasping, pushing weakly at his head.

Only then did he finally pull away,

He pressed a kiss against your inner thigh before dragging himself up over your body, eyes dark, lips and chin slick with you. He settled between your legs, his weight warm and heavy, and let out a low, satisfied hum as he brushed his lips against yours.

“Taste yourself, love,” he murmured, teasing, wicked. “Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was rolling his hips against yours, hard and insistent. Still desperate. Still wanting.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, pressing his body flush against yours, the heat of him searing into your skin. “You look so pretty when you come for me. Think you can do it again on my cock?”

The way he looked at you, eyes heavy with hunger, made your stomach tighten.

You swallowed, breath still unsteady. "I don't think you can wait."

Sebastian smirked, already reaching for your thighs again.

"You're right," he murmured, pressing your legs apart. "I can't."

[hlschmutt]

the holy grail types of fanfic

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A Midnight Tryst in the Boys' Dormitory

I'm sure Seb is the type of guy who can't resist intimacy, even if he has a friend by his side.

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Me when artists

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Ok long story short, I constantly hit my bed frame, and my husband thinks it's adorable until he sees the giant bruises it leaves. I was in my head and thought, would Sebastian do the same thing to Clora? Would he lovingly tease her, kiss the bruises, then at night when she's sleeping, dismantle the bed frame at the end of the bed?

im gonna be so real with you, i thought you meant hitting the HEADBOARD, so i just immediately thought of this LMAO

(..........but to properly answer your question, YES!! if there was a part of the bed frame that clora kept hitting herself/bruising herself on, seb would probably make fun of her and say something like 'how is it that even in your SLEEP you find new ways to hurt yourself???' but in the same breath he'd also work to clora-proof the bed so that she doesn't get hurt again🥰LMAO)