thewrldx

[thewrldx]

[thewrldx]

We Are Playing on My Terms Now – S.S

pic creds to @dark-sallow1 (she's so talented i could die)

Synopsis: Uhhh...smut :D

Sebastian Sallow x FemaleReader

WC: 2.3k

inspo from Amb.

18+ aged up characters, bondage, edging

as always, ignore the mistakes. they dont exist.

MDNI!

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　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

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The cottage door opened and shut with a quiet, weighted click.

You glanced up from where you were wiping down the counter, rag still in hand, sleeves rolled past your elbows. A quiet domestic hum had filled the room from the soft fire crackling in the hearth.

Your lovers' eyes find yours from across the room, and everything stills. Sebastian was holding the kind of gaze that made your pulse skip, keeping you in place. He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, already undressing you with that sinfully slow drag of his gaze.

He dropped his wand onto the table with a casual flick of his wrist. Shrugged out of his coat with a slow, practiced ease. His shoulders rolled as the fabric slid down his strong arms, a sight that shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. It didn’t help that his eyes never left yours.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he finally spoke, voice low and rough. It was full of heat, grit, and a promise. “The way you look when you fall apart for me.”

The bold words struck like a spark, sending a tint of pink to your cheeks.

It wasn’t what you expected the moment he walked in. Normally he would have wrapped those large arms around your middle, pressed his lips to your temple, and maybe even murmur something sweet against your skin. But then again, Sebastian could turn on a dime when it came to desire. He was spontaneous in the most delicious way.

“Well, hello to you too,” you replied, laughter spilling out softly as you tossed the rag aside.

“Hi,” he rasped, crossing the room with slow steps.

By the time he reached you, the air between you was pulsing with tension. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking along your bottom lip, parting it ever so slightly.

“Missed you,” he murmured.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words never made it out.

Sebastian’s mouth was on yours in the next heartbeat, swallowing your response with his kiss. It started soft, tender, almost.

It didn’t stay that way.

Within seconds, the kiss deepened. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, coaxing it open before his teeth caught it in a sudden bite. You made a quiet sound, something between surprised and need—the kind that bloomed too fast, almost as if it’d been waiting for him to strike it.

You hadn’t even realized how much you wanted him until that moment.

His hands moved to the buttons of your shirt, nimble fingers undoing them one by one with maddening control. He pushed the fabric open, eyes going dark when he found bare skin beneath. No bra. A low, appreciative growl rumbled in his throat as he palmed your breast, thumbing over a nipple with reverence that made your toes curl.

A soft sound escaped your lips.

“Get on the bed,” Sebastian murmured against your lips, pulling back just enough to nod towards your shared bed tucked in the corner of the room. His gaze dropped to your waist. “And take off those shorts.”

“Someone’s needy,” you teased.

He chuckled then. “You’ll pay for your smart little words.”

You smirked before stepping away from his warmth. Every part of your body buzzed while you moved instinctively towards the bed. You stopped just short of the mattress before finding the waistband of your shorts, hooking your thumbs in them before dragging the fabric over your hips. It slipped past your thighs and pooled at your ankles.

You stepped out of them and made your way to the edge of the bed. His gaze raked down you, searing every exposed inch of skin. Your heart hammered.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

“Of course.”

Then, calmly, commandingly. “Lay down. Put your arms up.”

Something electric shot down your spine.

You lowered your body down slowly, head sinking into the pillows. Ever so gently, your arms floated upwards until your hands found the posts of the headboard. You gripped them without thinking, breath trembling as you held yourself there, exposed, waiting. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said under his breath, flicking his gaze to your thighs which had parted without a thought. A betrayal of your patience.

His lips twitched.

With an agonizing calm, he pulled the emerald tie from around his neck. The fabric whispered as it slid through his collar, slow and sinful. You swallowed hard.

Sebastian climbed onto the bed, straddling your waist without fully settling, towering over you as he reached for your wrists. He took them gently and began to tie the silk around them, letting each twist and pull drag across your skin. He fastened you to the carved wood of the bed frame, then allowed his fingers to graze the soft underside of your forearm, lighting a new fuse beneath your skin.

“There we go,” he breathed, his brown eyes flicking up to meet yours. Hunger danced in his orbs as his tongue darted out to wet his lips.

The tie was snug. The silk cool against your skin. It didn’t hurt, wasn’t meant to. Just firm enough to remind you who you belonged to.

Sebastian leaned back on his heels for a moment, admiring his handiwork. Admiring you. There was a crooked smile playing at his lips, equal parts wicked and worshipful.

“You look beautiful like this,” he murmured. “All tied up, already trembling…and I haven’t even touched you.”

Heat bloomed under your skin. You shifted slightly, testing the restraint. It held.

He rose slowly, the change of position bringing him fully into view—him, still composed. Completely dressed. His white shirt was tucked neatly into his slacks, not a single button undone.

The contrast was jarring. He was calm, pristine, in control. You were flushed, bound, and unraveling by a damn gaze.

Sebastian’s fingers brushed your thigh, featherlight.

You gasped—hips jerking instinctively toward his touch. You were nearly embarrassed by how desperate you were being. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Ah, ah,” he chided softly, his smirk deepening. “Whose needy now?”

His hand moved upward, unhurried, drawing invisible lines up to your torso. He circled your nipple with the pad of his index finger, ghosting the peaked bud before sliding lower again. Over your ribs. Your stomach. To the edge of your underwear.

He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear.

“Tell me,” He whispered, voice dangerously mellow. “How badly do you want me to touch you?”

“Sebastian…” your voice broke on his name as his finger hooked into the waistband of your lace.

“Guess I’ll find out myself.”

With that, he dragged them down your legs with an infuriating pace. He watched them peel away, exposing more and more of you, eyes never once lifting. Then he saw it—the glossy thread of arousal that clung and stretched as it followed the fabric.

He groaned. “Fuck.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “And you’re dripping onto the sheets.”

Your cheeks flushed deep pink, humiliation warring with raw need. You instinctively pressed your thighs together, trying to ease the ache.

It didn’t last.

His hand came down fast and firm, pulling your legs apart with no resistance.

“Keep them spread.”

He knelt between your legs then, and your skin prickled with anticipation.

Finally, he touched you.

The tip of one finger dipped between your folds. You gasped, the sound slipping from your lips before you could stop it. Just that single point of contact had your whole-body tightening.

He didn’t rush. In fact, he was purposely dragging it out.

He ran his digit lazily through your slick, gliding it up and down with an unbearable pace, collecting every drop before circling your clit once—twice—just to watch you squirm. A soft moan fell past your lips as your wrists strained against the tie. It didn’t give.

Neither did he.

“Look at you,” Sebastian mumbled. “Falling apart with just one finger.”

His index drifted down again, gathering more of your wetness before returning to your clit, pressing just enough to make stars bloom behind your eyes. He circled excruciatingly slow. Maddeningly light.

“Please,” you whined, hips rising to his touch. “More—please—”

“Mm-mm.” He gave a soft shake of his head. “We are playing on my terms, darling.”

He continued the torture.

Barely-there touches. Agonizingly gentle strokes that never stayed where you needed them most. He traced shapes with your arousal, teasing your clit in infuriating patterns, pressing in just enough to make you think this is it—then pulling away,

“Don’t squirm, love,” he said gently, using his free hand to still your bucking hips. “Be patient.”

Then he pushed in. Just the tip of his finger slipping inside with ease. Your mouth dropped open, breath caught in your throat as you clenched around him.

He smirked.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he admitted, observing your expression. “Didn’t expect you would be this ruined over one finger.”

He started to move.

Long, calculated strokes that were painfully slow, the kind of rhythm that made you crazy. He was forcing you to feel every inch, and you were squeezing around him, trying to pull him deeper, make him go faster.

But he didn’t.

In fact, it felt like he slowed down even more. 

“Seb—” you whimpered, forehead pressing into the pillow.

“Hm?” He said casual, as if he wasn’t knuckle deep in your dripping heat.

“I…I need—please—"

“You want to come?” he asked, tilting his head, mock-innocent. “Just from my finger?”

You nodded frantically, barely coherent. “Yes. Fuck, baby please—”

He exhaled sharply. “You sound so pretty when you beg.”

And then—sweet fucking mercy—he pressed back into you, this time with a second finger.

Your back arched and a helpless noise clawed from your throat.

He moved in short, tight thrusts, curling his fingers just right, finding that devastating spot. The wet sound of your cunt filled the room.

Then he pulled out, his fingers shining in your arousal. You whined and strained against the silk.

“No!”

“You’ll be a good girl and finish around my cock.”

With no hesitation, Sebastian brought his fingers to his mouth and slipped them between his lips. He sucked them clean; his unholy chocolate eyes locked onto yours the entire time.

“You are so sweet,” he uttered.

He reached up and began untying the silk. The knot loosened and the second the fabric slid away, your arms dropped limply to the mattress with a shaky exhale.

You felt him then—his cock, hard and aching, still trapped behind the fabric of his pants. He pressed firmly against your inner thigh, and you moved on instinct, dragging your bare skin against the thick ridge beneath his clothes.

A deep, strangled sound escaped him.

“What are you trying to do, love?” He panted against your mouth, grinding his hips down hard against you. “Make me come in my fucking trousers like some pathetic schoolboy?” 

You shot him a teasing smile. “Are you going to?”

Sebastian puffed out a sharp breath, both amused and undone at once.

“Fucking hell.”

He grabbed your hips and flipped you over in one fluid motion, his strong hands guiding your body. Your chest hit the sheets, and before you could blink, he was peeling your open shirt down your arms and tossing it aside.

One knee slipped between your thighs, nudging them wider. His palm gripped your ass, kneading the flesh as he squeezed.

“Fucking perfect.”

You heard the rustle of fabric, the sharp zip of his fly, and then Gods, the hot press of his cock was against your entrance. He dragged the tip through your wetness, teasing you with the promise of it. The threat.  

He slammed into you without warning.

You cried out into the pillow, fingers fisting the sheets as he bottomed out in one deep, punishing thrust. He held there for a moment, savoring the tight heat around him before he began to move.

Strong, sharp grinds that punched the air from your lungs. His fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you as the room filled with the sounds of skin on skin.

“You feel—fuck—so good like this,” he gasped. “Tell me, angel—tell me how much you love when I fuck you like this.”

You could barely respond, choking on moans as he pounded into you with growing desperation. “I—I love it,” you managed.

A growl built in his chest.

One hand slid up your back where he pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you down, forcing you to arch deeper. The angle was even more devastating as his hips snapped harder.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he groaned into your ear. “Want to feel you squeeze my cock while I fuck it out of you.”

“Y-Yes, please,” you stammered, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack.

He leaned over you, his body caging you in as his hand snaked around just above where you were connected. He rubbed your sensitive clit, giving it the attention it so desperately craved.

“Come for me,” he whispered, lips brushing your temple. “Just like this.”

It was all it took for you to shatter. You came with a broken, shuddering cry, body convulsing around him so tight it stole his breath. Your orgasm pushed through you in crashing waves—blinding, electric and endless. He didn’t stop. He kept going, fingers working you as he fucked you through it, dragging it out until you were gasping, trying to crawl away from the overstimulation.

He held you firm, and with one last deep thrust, he buried himself deep and came. His cock pulsed inside you, hot and thick ropes of his release filling your walls. He groaned your name into your shoulder like a confession.

He collapsed over you, breath ragged, heartbeat thudding hard where it pressed to your spine. For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the feeling of slick skin.

Then, so soft you could’ve missed it, Sebastian pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“So good for me, angel.”

[thewrldx]

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

[thewrldx]

Best Friends, Better Lovers — S.S

pic creds to @deathlysallows!!

Synopsis: Sebastian Sallow is your best friend, but you fell in love with him. What are you going to do when your secret letter ends up in his hands?

Sebastian Sallow x FemaleReader

WC: 3.8K

18+ aged up characters, obviously in love best friends to lovers, soft smut.

DT: @sallowsproperty my sweet dani—you deserve soft seb 🥹

i never write sweet things bare with me

also ignore the mistakes it's 2:48am

MDNI!

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　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

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As soon as Professor Weasley signaled Transfiguration class was over, you were up and moving, weaving through desks with one goal in mind.

Your best friend had missed your first class today—no explanation, just an empty seat at the table where he normally slouched with a smirk and a quill he never used properly. You weren’t sure you wanted to know why he’d skipped. But you still wanted to see him.

Sebastian was still seated, deliberately slow in packing his bag, like he was stalling. Drawing it out on purpose. Part of you couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew you’d come over, that he was waiting for it. Maybe even hoping for it.

You reached his desk and leaned against it with a practiced ease, propping one elbow behind you, a subtle arch to your back just enough to draw his gaze in case he wanted to look.

You hoped he wanted to look.

Your smile was small, barely there, one that lived more in your eyes than your mouth. The kind of smirk that hinted at trouble. Dangerous.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you said, voice light, teasing. It was not a complaint, just a jab aimed to get under his skin the way you always knew how to.

“I missed one class,” he replied, looking up at you, but not too fast. Almost as if he was trying not to stare. “Hardly grounds for exile.”

You raised a brow. “I don’t know, Sallow. Seems a little suspicious. Were your causing mayhem without your partner in crime?”

A hand flies over your chest in mock offense, earning a chuckle from the boy.

“And if I was?” He challenges.

You reach into your satchel and pull out a few pages of parchments, holding it up between two fingers. Notes. Neatly written, edges crisp, possibly color-coded.  “Then you wouldn’t get these.”

Sebastian blinked. “You took notes for me?”

You gave him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you retorted, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward. “Ominis was going to set them on fire. Something about not deserving them if you don’t care to show up.”

His eyes sparkled then, deep brown catching the slant of afternoon light. It seemed he was thoroughly amazed with the fact that you took notes for him.

Your breath hitched, but you tried to mask it quickly.

“I thought I’d be your academic savior.”

He leaned back in his chair at your quip, arms crossing lazily over his chest. The movement pulled his robes tighter over his frame, but you tried not to notice. Just like he tried not to notice the way your collar had come undone, the fabric loose around your neck after a long day.

You both were failing spectacularly.

“You mean to tell me,” he began, “you spent your precious free time writing out notes to rescue me from academic ruin?”

You shrugged, feeling a slight flush beginning to creep on your cheeks. You brushed imaginary lint from your skirt, trying to regain some sense of composure. “Someone has to stop you from flunking out.”

“So you do like me that much.”

You rolled your eyes, because it was easier than telling the truth—which was, yes.

Yes, you did like him that much.

But he was your best friend.

You shifted just slightly. The angle of your body changing enough to make him sit up a little straighter. You held out the notes and didn’t let go when he reached for them. Your fingers brushed his, just once, and it was like flint striking against steel. A spark that both of you pretended you didn’t feel.

“In your dreams, Sallow,” you said smoothly. “I did miss you arguing with Sharp, though. Something about how many inches should be due next week.”

Sebastian snorted. “I could have talked him down.”

“Or gotten detention.”

He shrugged, reckless and unapologetic. It was one of the reasons you fell for him. Not just the charm and witty remarks—but the way he made everything seem easy, like gravity never pulled quite so hard on him. It was infuriating.

Intoxicating.

Inevitable.

You realized then that your hands were still touching.

One of you should have pulled away, said something clever and meaningless. But instead, your eyes met his, steady, and for a heartbeat you wondered if maybe it wasn’t stupid to feel this way for him.

Then he took the notes, a bit too quickly, shattering that shred of confidence. His fingers fumbled as he shoved them into his bag like they were suddenly too much to hold.

“Thank you,” he muttered.

“Of course.”

A beat.

“Loser.”

His expression softened at the insult, like something in the word, or perhaps the way you said it, had altered his heart once more. It broke the tension, just as you had wanted.

You pushed off the desk, brushing by with a whisper of fabric. If you lingered too long, especially while he was looking at you like that, you’d say something you shouldn’t. something a best friend wouldn’t say.

“See you tonight,” you called over your shoulder, already peeking out into the corridor.

He didn’t get the chance to reply.

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • . .

Dear Sebastian.

I don’t know why I’m writing this.

I mean, I do. I was talking to Ominis, because that attentive bastard found out my secret, and he told me to. Said writing things out helped him when he couldn’t say them aloud. And because he’s irritatingly wise, I listened.

But I’m not going to give this to you. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Because if you ever read these words, if you knew the extent of what you really meant to me, I think I’d actually dissolve on the spot.

Spontaneous combustion via sheer embarrassment.

Here it is anyways.

I am in love with you, Sebastian Sallow.

Not the soft, sensible kind of love, the kind the creeps up gently and asks permission. No, Merlin help me, this is the all-consuming, knock-the-wind-out-of-me, ruin me forever kind of love. The kind that has engraved on my soul, whether I like it or not.

I’m surely going mad.

It’s getting worse. I can’t go a few hours without looking for you in a room, or imagining what you’d say in the middle of class. I miss you before you’re even gone. That’s probably not normal.

Definitely not normal.

Two whole years of this. Two years of being your best friend, of pretending that’s all I wanted. Watching you be reckless and brilliant and infuriatingly charming and telling myself I wasn’t falling in love.

I let you drag me into arachnid infested cave dwellings and up mountains in the pouring rain. I let you talk me into breaking rules and curfews and probably a few laws. I learned the way your brow furrowed when you’re focused. How your voice gets soft when you’re talking to me but don’t realize it.

I know how you laugh when I say something that actually surprises you. How you sing—horribly off-key—when you think no one’s listening, and dance like an idiot in the Undercroft when you’ve had too much of the that terrible honey mead. (Which, for the record, you stole. I was only an accomplice, like most times.)

I know you better than anyone.  

Falling in love with you was never part of the plan. I think I would’ve avoided you altogether if I had known this was the outcome. Because now, nothing else compares. And the worst part is, I think you’ll never see me that way. Not really.

You’ll keep teasing me, keep being your impossibly frustrating self, and I’ll keep pretending it doesn’t make me ache in ways I don’t even have words for.

So, this letter—it’s a secret.

A coward’s confession.

Something I will most likely set ablaze the moment I finish it.

Yours. Always.

P.S. I will have to thank Ominis, because I feel, barely, better.

Sebastian had read that piece of parchment in your elegant scrawl once.

Then again.

And then a third time, just to make sure he hadn’t dozed off in his dorm and conjured it all up in some twisted dream.

It was quiet, Ominis had vanished off somewhere, muttering something about needing peace, and the rest of the boys were still lingering at dinner. He bailed early, knowing that he should probably be responsible, and take advantage of those notes that you had graciously given to him.

Except when he thought of you handing them over—propped up against his desk, giving him that dangerous half-smile, gracious was not the word he would use.

Sebastian dropped onto his bed, grinning to himself. You could pretend all you wanted that you didn’t care, but the ink on those pages said otherwise. They were detailed with tiny margin comments that almost felt like whispered jokes.

He pulled the pages from his bag and tossed them onto the blanket in front of him. His intent was noble, skim the outlie and read a line or two, enough to commit one potion recipe to memory before inevitably tossing them aside.

Something slipped from the stack.

A single folded piece parchment, thicker than the rest, slightly creased at the corners.

He frowned, brow creasing as he picked it up. It wasn’t labeled, just tucked between a diagram and an oddly flirtatious doodle of a bubbling cauldron.

It probably wasn’t supposed to be there.

But then he saw his name.

In your handwriting.

His entire body went still, immediately sitting up straighter.

He unfolded the letter slowly, like it might vanish if he moved too fast.

And then he read.

And read.

And read.

By the end, his heart was hammering like he’d just sprinted across the castle. Every word screamed you—sarcastic, stubborn, heartbreakingly vulnerable.

You had written that you had the kind of love he’d only dared imagine in the late hours of the night when everything else was quiet. Confessed the very thing he’d spent months—hell, a year—trying to bury.

Sebastian rubbed at his jaw, staring at the end of the letter, his thumb hovering over the last line.

Yours. Always.

He let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Coward,” he murmured, a smile curling despite the ache in his chest. “You absolute coward.”

You loved him.

And you had no idea that he loved you, too.

That every other girl had paled in comparison since the moment you walked into his life with a smart tongue and a heart bigger than you let on.

And you wrote it down with the intention of burning it.

Sebastian folded the letter carefully, pressed it to his chest for one suspended second, letting himself feel everything.

Then he stood.

. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. . • . .

You were dying a slow, humiliating death.

The realization hit halfway through brushing your hair, your eyes snapping open in horror as your stomach sank. That stupid letter you wrote. The one you poured your heart into like some desperate romantic.

It had been in your bag.

Next to your Potions notes.

You flung yourself across the room like a girl possessed, digging through your bag, once. Twice. Dumping it completely. Then tearing through your belongings like they’d personally betrayed you.

Gone.

It was gone.

And you knew exactly where it went.

A tidal wave of panic surged through your bloodstream, burning hotter than any fever. Not only had you accidentally handed over a soul-bearing love confession, but you’d done it to Sebastian Sallow.

Your best friend.

This was it. The end. The absolute, mortifying, inescapable end. He was going to read it and probably laugh, or worse, pity you.

This was surely going to ruin everything. Your friendship. Your entire existence.

You did the only thing a sane person could do in such a state.

You crawled into bed and pulled the duvet over your head, curled into a mortified little ball, and vowed never to emerge again.

Maybe the blankets would absorb the shame, and if you held perfectly still, Sebastian would forget you ever existed and move on with his life without ever bringing up the letter.

But of course, you weren’t that lucky.

Not even fifteen minutes after the devastating realization, you heard the soft creak of your dormitory door opening.

You went rigid.

Please be a roommate. Please be a ghost. Hell, let it be Peeves. Anyone but—

“…Hey.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

No no no no—

“I know you’re in here.”

His voice was soft, and amused. Way too smug and far too close for comfort.

When you didn’t respond, he took advantage of the silence.

“You left me a love letter,” he added casually, like that cursed thing hadn’t just detonated your world. A pause. “That I was never supposed to see, apparently. Which, by the way, is rude. Who writes something that romantic and just plans to obliterate it to ash?”

You sank deeper into your cocoon of embarrassment.

Then—fwip.

He grabbed the edge of the duvet.

“Sebastian—no—don’t you dare—”

Too late.

He peeled the covers back in one swift, dramatic flourish, like he was unveiling a piece of art. Your face was flushed to hell, hair sticking up slightly, eyes wide and full of horror. You looked like a startled cat.

He grinned. “There she is.”

You immediately rolled away, yanking a pillow to cover your face. “Get. Out.”

“I will, eventually,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed like he belonged there. “After you come out and face me like a brave girl.”

“I’m not brave. I’m dying.”

“Dramatic,” he chuckled. “Tragic heroine. Very on brand for you.

The pillow smashed harder against your face.

He spoke, softly, “…it was really beautiful. The letter.”

You peaked one eye out, expression wary. Suspicious.

He took that as an opening. Gently, he pulled the pillow away, and worse, worse, reached up and tucked a bit of hair behind your ear, fingertips warm and feather-light against your skin.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Oh no.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

A moment.

“You know I love you too.”

A statement. Not a question. Before you could even fully absorb the admission, he was speaking again.

“Can I kiss you?”

Surely, you stopped breathing.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but it was not that.

His eyes searched yours, open, vulnerable, and eager. He needed you to say yes, because he didn’t know if he’d survive if you said no.

You would be a complete fool to ruin this moment.

“Yes,” you answered.

That undid him completely.

He didn’t speak, just exhaled sharply as a mix of relief and desire collided inside of him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over the line of your jaw while his gaze flicked down to your lips. His breathing was coming in uneven spurts.

Finally, his lips found yours.  

It was slow at first, like he didn’t quite believe it was real, that he was kissing the girl he’d been so unbelievably in love with for the last two years.

It deepened in an instant. You made a sound in your throat, helpless and airy that lit something hot inside Sebastian.

His fingers slide into your hair, tilting your head as he kissed you like he’d been craving to. Your hands fisted into his shirt, pulling him closer until you bodies met in a soft thump as you tumbled back onto the bed together.

Side by side. Entangled. Still kissing like the world might end if you stopped.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Sebastian rasped against your lips. His mouth trailed down to your neck. “I’m sorry if I’m—fuck—if I’m moving too fast. I just can’t stop…”

His lips pressed a soft kiss to a sweet spot, causing you to let out a sigh.

“Don’t” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned low and rough, the sound activating butterflies in your stomach. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he rolled on top, pressing his body flush to yours. A gasp fell from your mouth at the heat of him pressing against you.

“Merlin,” he rasped. “You feel that?”

Oh, you did.

He was hard. Incredibly hard. Heavy against your thigh in a way that made you clench around nothing. You’d imagined this after hours, basked in only dim candlelight, hand between your thighs.

Imagination had nothing on the real thing.

“Yes,” you practically begged, dazed. “Seb...yes.”

He kissed you again, slower, tasting the one thing he thought he’d never get as his hips rolled instinctively. His hands wandered, reverent, exploring you like you were a spell he wanted to master. His lips dipped lower, trailing to your collarbone.

You arched into him with a broken whimper.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, barely audible.

You smiled. “Sebastian, for fuck’s sake,” you teased. “I want you.”

His chocolate eyes darkened, playfulness bleeding into desire.

 “Say it again.”

“I want you.”

His mouth was on yours again—hungrier now, desperate in a kiss that stole the breath from your lungs. It tasted like years of restraint finally unraveling, all soft gasps and tangled fingers, as your bodies moved in perfect clumsy rhythm.

Clothes melted away between kisses and whispered I love you’s, scattered like leaves in the fall. He paused when he reached behind you, unclipping the small clasp and letting your bra come undone in his hands. The straps slid down your arms like silk and he had to take a moment to sit back on his heels, eyes roaming over your bare chest.  

“Fuck,” he breathed, one hand sliding down your thigh with shaking fingers. “You’re gorgeous.”

His hand found the edge of your underwear, and you let out a moan when his fingers brushed your inner thigh. He froze, breath catching in his throat like the moment had stolen the air from him.

“Bloody hell…” he murmured, voice wrecked. His finger gilded higher, just barely grazing over the soaked fabric clinging to you. A low sound rumbled deep in his chest. “You’re so wet.”

Your hips tilted towards him without thought, your blush deepening.

“I can’t help it,” you replied. “It’s you.”

His forehead pressed to yours, eyes closing as he tried to keep control.

“I’ve thought about this,” he admitted. “All the fucking time. What you’d sound like. How you’d feel under me…” he paused to open his eyes. “Around me.”

You whimpered at the last part, thighs trembling as slick pooled between your legs. He was going to be the end of you.

Sebastian did not waste another second. He pushed your panties aside and finally touched you.

His fingers were warm and sure, the pad of one brushing over your clit with delicate precision, and you let out the softest, sweetest cry.

“Gods,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through your slick, coating them, “You’re drenched, love. Absolutely soaked for me.”

“For you,” you gasped, clinging to his shoulders, nails leaving tiny crescents into the muscle. “Please…”

He didn’t make you beg twice. He started to rub slow, steady circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, drawing out sounds you didn’t know you could make.

Then he pushed a finger inside.

“Oh—!”

He paused only to check your eyes, searching for any sign of discomfort. When all he found was satisfaction plastering your expression, he added a second finger, curling them expertly until he found that spongy spot that made you whine.

He worked you gently, lovingly, coaxing wave after wave of pleasure from you until you were shaking beneath him. He was panting watching you, his arousal painfully obvious through his boxers.

Sebastian needed to be inside you.

His fingers slipped out, and he kissed the whine from your lips. He tugged down the thin fabric of his boxers, tossing them aside. He sprung free, all of him.

You gulped. He was big, throbbing and leaking at the tip from how badly he needed you.

You pulled your panties the rest of the way down, chest rising and falling rapidly.

For a fragile second, panic fluttered in your stomach.  

He noticed. Of course he did. He always did.

“Hey.” His voice was soft as he reached for your cheek, thumb brushing the skin. “It’s okay. We don’t have to—”  

“No,” you interrupted quickly.  “I-I want to. I’m just… nervous. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He smiled, warm, and pecked the tip of your nose.

 “It’s okay,” he promised. “I’ll take care of you.”

He shifted, body slotting perfectly between your thighs. His hand guided himself to your entrance and he leaned down, lips pressing gently along your temple, down your jaw, over the shell of your ear.

 “You’re going to take me so well.”

His tip nudged against you—teasing—and then he pushed in, sliding in easily.

A cry left your lips at the sensation, new and intense. He moved slowly, watching your face with care, giving you time. Your hands clawed at his back, leaving tiny half-moons he’d treasure later.

“Sweetheart,” he moaned, mouth parted in stunned bliss, “you feel so perfect. So fucking perfect.”

His hips stilled as he bottomed out, letting you breathe. He kissed your shoulder, trying to prove just how precious you were to him.

“Please, Seb,” you said breathless, biting your lip.

He pulled out nearly all the way, then slid back in, deep and unhurried. Your body welcomed him, desperately. You moaned at everything he gave you, and he swallowed the sounds, rolling his hips deeper each time.

You both laughed through one misaligned kiss, still panting through another wave of pleasure.

It was slow. Beautiful.

Two souls, finally connecting in the way they had been yearning to.

And fuck did it feel like heaven.

“Sebastian,” you gasped, voice cracking as he hit a spot that made your toes curl.

He groaned your name in return, thrusts turning a little messy.

“I’m not going to last,” he confessed. “Not after wanting you for so fucking long.”

You cupped his face, pulling him close. “I’m right there.”

That shattered him.

He thrust harder, hips stuttering as your walls clenched around him.

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, trembling, stars blooming behind his eyes.

He spilled into you with a strangled groan, hips grinding to prolong the pleasure as you moaned beneath him, your own orgasm ripping through you.

Sebastian collapsed over you, heart hammering, your legs still wrapped tight around his waist. For a long moment, neither of you spoke—just clung to each other, panting, kissing lazily, mouths brushing as you caught your breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “That I didn’t last.”

You smiled, dazed and thoroughly wrecked, tracing your fingers through the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. “You were perfect.”

His laugh was breathless, and completely in love. He kissed you again gently, because he could.

“I owe you a love letter now.”

[thewrldx]

me as a writer

[thewrldx]

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. ;)

[thewrldx]

EVERYONE LOOK ALLIE POSTED

“And you can gladly fuck off.”

Did a Dark Seb session for my friend and her book. I can’t wait to see the others come to life.

@thewrldx

[thewrldx]

my fave writing reminder

honestly, this phrase has been on my mind more times than i can count. i've kidnapped it, taken it as a hostage with no ransom money because i need it to live permanently in my head.

[thewrldx]

Are You Needy? – S.S

pic creds to sallowsgirl on pinterest

Synopsis: uhhh can't think, but but but just think of Sebastian Sallow not having his girl for far too long.

Sebastian Sallow x Female Reader

WC: 2.7k

18+ aged up characters, needy couple, and uh...smut.

barely proofread :p

MDNI!

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　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

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　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

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　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　

Poke.

Your quill kept scratching against the parchment, jaw tight with effort to ignore the insistent jab of Sebastian’s finger in your arm.

Poke.

You side-eyed him. A silent, what are you doing? etched into your glare, which of course went ignored.

Poke.

“Sebastian,” you huffed, trying for stern, but the edge of your voice gave you away. He heard it, the flicker of fray.

He’d been at this all day. Not annoying, exactly, but so incredibly persistent. How intoxicatingly insufferable your boyfriend could be.

“You can’t wait one more hour?”

Sebastian, of course, could not. He knew he was being a bit maddening, yes—absolutely. But he could not help it.

You hadn’t looked at him properly all day. Not once. Not during breakfast, not in the corridor between Charms and Herbology, and now certainly not during Professor Ronen’s dry-as-dust lecture on charm theory. Something about the importance of understanding its history and we why should care. Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to. 

He leaned in slightly, just close enough to see the edge of your notes. Your handwriting was frustratingly neat. As if you had the nerve to be focused when he was clearly in need of attention.

The betrayal.

He blinked at you, wide-eyed and innocent. “What?” he mouthed silently, like he hadn’t done anything at all.

Your eyes narrowed. A warning, again, before you kept writing. He could hear your quill scraping faster.

He resisted the urge to snatch it from your hand.

“Darling, I’ve waited all day. You’ve ignored me since breakfast. I’m practically wasting away here.” He said, just loud enough for you to hear, voice pitched low and velvety—dangerously charming, as Ominis would accuse him of.

The tiniest twitch in the corner of your mouth was a victory. Small, but potent.

Sebastian shifted in his seat, his knee bumping against yours now, no more poking, just contact. A subtle claim of territory.

His voice dropped further, playfully sinful. “Come on, love. Just one look. One little glance, and I’ll stop.”

A pause.

“…Maybe.”

You shook your head, biting your lip—and there it was. The smile you were trying so hard to fight off.

“I haven’t been ignoring you because I haven’t been sucking you off all day.”

Sebastain choked on a breath, sputtering slightly. Merlin, that earned a look from Professor Ronen, sharp and suspicious. He played it off with a cough, sitting up straighter like he was paying the utmost attention to whatever ancient magical charm system he was droning on about.

You just smirked.

Finally, your eyes lifted to meet his. He gave you a look, raising his eyebrows like really? while you just stared, cool and composed. Devastating. As if you hadn’t just made his entire blood flow relocate.

“I know that’s why you are being this way. All needy.” You cocked a brow. “Don’t lie.”

An answer was unnecessary, because you knew Sebastian Sallow. He was your damn boyfriend. You were never wrong when it came to him, knew every wire in his head and how to pull them taut.

Truth was, he had been wound up lately. Weeks of schedules that didn’t line up, late-night practices, exams, and professors who apparently thought you had nothing better to do than drown in ink.

Keeping your gaze on him, you flicked your eyes over his form, up and down his chest. No robes today. He hated how they made him ‘look like he followed the rules.’

Not that you were complaining. The white button-down clung to him like a secret. Tight across his shoulders, sleeves rolled to the elbow.

Handsome devil he was.

And it was written in your expression. Giving him that look. Not the annoyed one—the look. Where your eyes wondered just a touch too long, heat under the surface.

Sebastian damn near forgot where you guys were.

“Okay, I looked at you properly,” you said. “Now focus.”

And just like that, you snapped the leash back on—broke the trace—and left him blinking in the aftermath.

He stared at you for another beat, lips parted, breath caught somewhere between reverence and disbelief. Then he leaned back in his seat, grinning like an idiot.

“Cruel girl,” he muttered under his breath. “I love you.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

I came out syrupy sweet, a lazy purr of affection that cost you nothing but meant everything. It was something that should have made him relax, but you had no such intentions today.  

You watched him shift in his seat uncomfortably at your words. Gods how you could make him fall apart so easily.

To your credit, Sebastian was trying. Genuinely. Eyes on his notes, quill in hand, posture practically textbook. He was scribbling something about the etymology of basic charms when you, without looking, placed your hand on his thigh.

“Pay attention,” you whispered.

It was the kind of voice that belonged in the back of the restricted section, or behind locked door in the Undercroft. Not here, in class, surrounded by students and a professor who had eyes like a bloody hawk.

“Then I’ll reward you.”

Merlin help him, your hand moved.

He actually twitched, his quill dragging a jagged line through his sentence. Ink splattered and he stared down at it like it might save him.

Now your hand was there, right over where he ached for you most. Palm warm, fingers teasing, the faintest pressure over the hard line of his arousal.

Sebastian turned sharply, jaw clenched, eyes burning into the side of your face.

“Darling,” he hissed. “You’re playing with fire.”

Your fingers didn’t move away. They lingered, patient and cruel.

As if he could focus now.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his mouth like that might somehow ground him.

“You’re evil,” he muttered. “You know that? Utterly evil.”

Yet, he didn’t stop you.

Nor did he stop himself.

With a glance to make sure there were no lingering eyes, Sebastian reached under the desk, finding the bare skin of your knee, trailing higher. His large hand disappeared beneath your skirt mid-day. No shame.

This is why you worked so well. The two of you matched each other’s energy. You could hit him something—anything—words, even hexes and he’d come back just as ruthless.

He bent forward just a bit more, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Undercroft. After class. No excuses.”

You giggled and shifted in your seat, the damp press on your underwear now unmistakable. You weren’t just getting under his skin, he was crawling under yours too.

The fact that you were suffering too made it so much worse. Sebastians trousers felt as if they were made of stone, and you both were squirming in your seat trying and failing horrendously at how badly you needed one another.

You both pulled away gently.

There were forty-five minutes left of class.

Forty-five fucking minutes.

It was dragging. Of course it was. Your head met the desk, cheek pressed against the wood as you meet your boyfriend’s gaze with mischief. Your hair spilled over the surface and the words Ronen was speaking might as well have been Gobbledygook.  

His mind was already in the Undercroft, his hand on your hips, mouth on your throat—

Then you mouthed something that hit him like a goddamn Bludger.

I’m so wet for you.

His body fell rigid, chest tight. It was like you had cast a full-blown body bind on him with no wand. His erection throbbed painfully against his pants, and fuck, he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t touch you like he’d been fantasying about in long torturous thoughts since the last time, which, bloody hell, had been weeks ago.

Sebastian Sallow was desperate for his sweet girl to be wrapped around him.

With deliberate precision, he pulled out a clean piece of parchment and wrote one line across the top:

“You won’t be able to walk straight after I’m done with you.”

He folded it once, slid it across the desk. Let it rest at the edge of your elbow before leaning back. Smiling.

You glanced at the paper and smirked smugly, not grabbing it right away, just letting it sit there like loaded weapon. He was practically vibrating.

When you finally picked it up, dainty as ever, your eyes scanned it like it was nothing more than a passing note. Calmly, like the picture of self-control, you dipped you quill in ink and wrote back in elegant script. Folded it and slid it back across the desk.

It felt as if it might explode.

Still, he grabbed it as quickly as he could.

Sebastian unfolded it under the desk, hands quick, heart thrashing.

“Can you do it in five minutes?”

He nearly choked.

His hand curled into a fist on his knee, the other crumpling the edge of the parchment slightly. Five minutes.

You had written it calm and innocent, challenge embedded between the lines that he easily read. When he glanced at you, you were already looking forward again, complete unfazed at the fact you had just ignited some primal in him.

Sebastian leaned in just slightly, mouth near her ear again, voice husky.

“I’ll make you come in three.”

When there was five minutes left in class, you both were unraveling. Knee’s bouncing in anticipation, Sebastian breathing out his nose trying to resist the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap. Do unspeakable things to his precious angel that would leave you both expelled from the castle.

The second that the clock hand clicked over, he was up and storming out of the classroom without a word, not even glancing to see if you were behind him. He knew you would be.

By the time you both entered the Undercroft, you had four minutes to get to your next class. The door slammed shut, and you’d barely taken two steps before he had you. His hands found your hips and he crashed his lips on yours with no mercy. It was hungry—raw lust.

You back hit the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of you, and he swallowed that gasp in a kiss that bruised. Your hands fisted the front of his shirt as you met him with equal fever, devouring each other.

His hand was already under your skirt like he’d been dreaming about every damn time he closed his eyes.

“Three minutes,” he muttered against your mouth.

You gasped as his finger dipped under your panties without pause, knuckles grazing your soaked heat. His other hand tangled in your hand and yanked your head back to bare you throat.

“Thought you said you were wet for me,” he whispered, lips dragging down your neck, teeth grazing the flushed skin. “Didn’t fucking warn me you were drenched.”

You whimpered, a sweet breathless sound that made Sebastian’s entire body clench.

Two fingers slipped into you without delay, curling just right. His thumb swiped over your swollen clit as he worked with a practiced, punishing rhythm. He knew your body instinctively.

Fuck.

It had been too long since he’d touched you like this. You were a moaning mess, bucking your hips into his hand, chasing your release like it would give you salvation. Nearly thirty seconds and he was already going to ruin you.

“Gonna come for me already darling?” he teased, right against your ear. Every twitch, every delicious sound told him the answer.

Your eyes squeezed shut. You were so close.

“Seb…”

“Yeah, I know.” His lips skimmed your jaw,. “You’re right there, aren’t you? Your body’s so ready to fall apart for me.”

His fingers didn’t let up, he kept thrusting, coaxing, and pressing just right. The lewd sounds coming from every movement of his hand proved just how expertly he was working you.

 “Be a good girl. Come all over my fingers before class like that perfect little slut you are for me.” A lower, filthier, praise-laced command.

You shuddered, the pressure of your orgasm bubbling over nearly instantly as you broke for him, coming around his middle and ring finger like you were for made it. Your body arched back into the stone; mouth open in a choked sob of pleasure. Your head lolled forward onto his shoulder as he let you ride out every second.

But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

There was not a second for recovery. He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound, turned you roughly, and pressed you face forward into the ancient wall of the Undercroft.

“Fuck, look at you.” He nearly growled, dark with want. “Still shaking, and you’re ready for more.”

He pushed your skirt higher, bunching it around your waist. He slapped your ass, sharp and claiming, then shoved your panties aside to reveal you completely to him.

Sebastian let out a strangled sound at the sight.

“Please,” you begged, pressing back, grinding your slick folds against his clothed cock. “Need you. Need you to fill me.”

You didn’t need ask twice.

One-handed, he freed himself—his cock flushed red, thick, and leaking from being painfully hard the entire damn hour. He lined himself up and didn’t wait.

“Hands on the wall.”

You obeyed instantly, your fingers scraping against the stone.

He didn’t ease in. He couldn’t. He buried himself inside you in one hard, deep thrust. He slid in easily with how wet you were—felt your walls stretch and pulse around him like you did know whether to take it or cry out.

“Oh, fuck” You whined, already struggling to stay upright. You had nearly forgot just how big he was. There was nothing for you to hold onto, and that only made it hotter—how you braced yourself completely at his mercy.

“So tight.” He rasped, kissing your neck. “So perfect for me, every fucking time.”

He pulled out, slowly, just to hear the slick drag of your cunt before slamming into you again. He leaned in close, chest pressing against your back as he fucked you like he was trying to remind you of everything you’d been missing. Weeks without this. Weeks of stolen kisses, frustrated glares, empty nights in separate dorms and hurried goodbyes in hallway was all catching up in this one, hot, desperate moment.

Those sweet, wrecked little whimpered slipping from your lips were driving him absolutely mad.

“S-So good, Sebby—mmph!”

His grip tightened, hand splaying flat over your stomach, pulling you flush against him with every snap of his hips. He was so deep this way, and you took it. Craved it.

“Fuck angel,” he moaned against your shoulder, biting done just enough for you to feel it. “I’m not going to last—can’t—shit—”

His hand slid lower, right above where you were connected, finding your sensitive bundle of nerves and rubbing them in perfect circles.

“One more,” he whispered, voice pleading. “Give me one more.”

Sebastian’s thrusts were ragged now, sloppy with how close he was, but he always made his girl finish around him first.

Just like that, the intense wave of euphoria crashed over you again, giving him everything. Your cunt was clenching around him as he continued to pound into you. Babbles and incoherent incantations of his name sounded like prayer from your mouth.

It was holy.

With one last thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, vision going white as he followed you over the edge with a low, strangled groan. His forehead pressed to your shoulder as he emptied weeks of longing and restraint into you with each sharp pulse.

You both stayed like that, tangled and breathless, for a moment that felt outside of time.

“Fuck.” He finally breathed, still catching up with reality. “That was…you’re going to kill me.”

He pressed a soft kiss the back of your neck, hands gentle now as they soothed over the same skin he’d gripped so fiercely minutes before. His slipped out with a soft groan, his release instantly dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

With a light turn, Sebastian made you face him to lean down a press an intimate kiss to your lips. You held his face like he was precious and not the same man that just fucked you senseless against a stone wall.

“How late are we?” You asked, hopeful it wasn’t too bad.

He smiled and pressed his lips to your temple before glancing at the watch on his wrist.

“Ten minutes,” he admitted. “Maybe twelve.”

His hand slid down to your ass, giving it another squeeze.

“But you know what?” His smiled turned wicked.

“Worth it.”

[thewrldx]

i neED MORE

Sex | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This fucking song and this fucking idea have been floating around in my head for months and I think I just gotta get it out before I go NUTS!!! I hope y'all enjoy.

This is... not very plot driven tbh, just pretty much longing and smut.

Words: ~9,200

Tags: Shameless Smut, Modern AU, Plus/Mid-Size Reader, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post-Hogwarts, Chonky Seb Supremacy, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Longing and Pining

The walk to the car is excruciating.

And it’s not because of the crowd, not because of the neon-lit chaos of the parking lot, or because people are weaving between cars, shouting to their friends, the leftover adrenaline from the concert still pulsing through everyone’s veins.

It’s excruciating because of you.

Because you’re tipsy and giggling, clinging to Sebastian’s wrist as you stumble over the uneven pavement in those ridiculous platform heels that you insisted on wearing even though you knew you’d be walking half a mile back to the car.

Because your top is tight—way too tight—clinging in ways that make his pulse skip, the fabric stretching over curves that he’s spent ten fucking years trying not to stare at.

Because your jeans are hugging your thighs like they were painted onto you, and he’s trying so goddamn hard not to think about how good they look, how good you look, how much better you’d look without them.

And then there's your makeup—the dark, sultry eyeshadow, the perfectly lined eyes, the lipstick that started out precise but is now just slightly smudged from sweat, from drinking, from running your tongue over your lips all night.

It’s killing him.

You laugh suddenly, squeezing his arm as you stumble again.

“God, my feet hurt,” you whine dramatically, pressing your forehead against his bicep like the weight of your suffering is too much to bear. “Why the fuck did I wear these?”

Sebastian snorts, steadying you easily. “I asked the same thing when I picked you up, love.”

You lift your head, squinting up at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, the heat, the pure, unfiltered joy of the night.

“They make me taller,” you say, lifting one foot and wiggling it mid-air for emphasis before dropping it back down with a clunk.

Sebastian shakes his head, amused but also distracted, too fucking aware of you tonight.

“You’re still short,” he mutters.

Your mouth drops open in mock offence and you shove him, but your balance is shit, so you just end up gripping his arm harder, your nails pressing into his skin.

Sebastian swallows. He feels everything—your warmth, your weight against him, the way your fingers curl slightly against his forearm, the way your perfume is mixing with the sweat on your skin, and fuck—

He clenches his jaw. Keeps walking.

You don’t let go.

“That was such a good show,” you murmur, your breath warm against his shoulder.

Sebastian swallows. Nods. “Yeah.”

Then you tilt your head up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“You’re being so quiet,” you tease, squeezing his arm. “Did you not have fun? You didn’t even get a single drink.”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, smirking just enough to cover the fact that his pulse is pounding.

“Yeah, well. One of us had to drive.”

You laugh, nudging your hip against his.

“Responsible and sexy,” you tease. “God, you really are the whole package, aren't you?”

His throat goes dry.

You always do this when you're tipsy. You get flirty, bolder than usual, pushing boundaries you'll never fully cross. You say things, teasing, reckless things, that curl around his ribs and settle deep into the spaces between them. Things that would mean everything if he thought, even for a second, that you meant them.

But you don't. You never do. By morning, it'll be like it never happened.

You'll wake up, groggy and hungover, your memories softened at the edges, and everything you said, every look and every touch, will be reduce to a joke, and Sebastian will have to pretend it didn't mean anything to him either, just like he always does.

He knows this.

But tonight? Tonight, it’s harder to keep his head on straight.

Because you look like this. Because your boyfriend isn’t here. Because your fingers are wrapped around his arm, and your perfume is still lingering in his lungs, and you keep staring up at him like you’re waiting for him to say something. Like you’re daring him to say something.

Sebastian forces out a low chuckle, looking away.

“Let’s get you in the car, trouble.”

He unlocks it with a quick flick of his keys, grateful for the distraction, for something to do with his hands other than wrap them around your waist and haul you up against him.

He slides into the driver’s seat and barely gets the door shut before you’re groaning dramatically and stretching out.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, reaching down with clumsy fingers to unbuckle your heels. “I swear to Merlin, I think my feet are broken.”

Sebastian smirks, watching as you yank them off one by one, dropping them onto the floor with two loud, echoing clunks.

“Told you,” he mutters, reaching for his seatbelt.

“I don’t need your attitude right now,” you huff, kicking your feet up onto the dashboard before twisting to face him.

Then, before he can even register what’s happening, you shift—leaning over the center console, stretching yourself across his lap like you belong there.

His entire body locks up.

Fuck.

Your hair spills over his legs, soft waves spread over denim, the warmth of you pressed against him. You twist a little, adjusting yourself, completely oblivious to how every tiny shift of your body is undoing him.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“You comfortable?” he mutters.

You hum, smiling lazily, your cheek resting on his thigh.

“Mhm.”

His pulse jumps at the sound, but you’re not even thinking about it, are you? You’re not thinking about what it means, or about how he can feel the heat of your body through his jeans, how desperately he’s trying not to not get hard right now, how much he wants—

He exhales sharply, tilts his head back against the headrest, and fights the urge to slam his fist against the dashboard.

This is going to kill me.

Sebastian puts the car in drive.

Your place is only twenty minutes out of town. All Sebastian has to do is survive you laying across his lap and not get pulled over for the blatant seat belt violation happening right now. Simple.

Except it’s not.

Because every time he shifts gears, he feels you. And every time he exhales, he catches the scent of your shampoo, and because your breath is warm through his jeans, your fingers idly tracing along his thigh like this is just something you do, something normal, something casual, something it absolutely isn’t.

Then you start talking, and part one of his mission—survive you being in his lap—becomes infinitely harder.

“You ever think about your exes?”

Your voice is light, teasing, and the question comes out of nowhere.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Like who?” he mutters.

You hum, fingertips still lazily dragging patterns over his thigh.

“Emilia?” you guess. “Or what about… what was her name? Harper?”

Sebastian scoffs, his pulse pounding. “Not even a little."

You grin like you don’t believe him. “Not even for the—"

“Don’t.”

You huff a dramatic sigh. “Sebastian, it’s okay if you still think about them.”

“I don’t.”

That’s the truth.

Because he doesn’t think about Emilia. Or Harper. Or any of them. Not when every girl he’s ever been with has only been a placeholder for the one person he can’t fucking have.

You hum. "I miss some of mine."

Sebastian exhales sharply, jaw flexing.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He should not be listening to this, but you keep talking, your voice low, thoughtful, the alcohol making you too loose, too honest.

“I mean, not them, really,” you continue. “Just, like… the sex.”

Sebastian almost veers off the fucking road.

He physically has to adjust his grip on the wheel, blinking hard against the heat that flares in his gut, against the way his brain immediately starts supplying images he shouldn’t be thinking about.

You miss the sex. Not the relationship. Not the romance.

The sex.

“You literally have a boyfriend,” he grinds out, his voice tight.

He hears you exhale, feels you shift slightly in his lap. “So what?”

Sebastian finally glances down at you, just for a second, just to make sure he actually heard you right. Because you can’t be serious.

But you are.

You’re staring at him, lips parted, the distant glow of headlights and streetlamps casting golden light over your face.

Sebastian lets out a short, humorless laugh. “'So what'?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really are drunk.”

You make a small, amused noise, your fingers tapping idly against your thigh.

“I’m not that drunk,” you murmur.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah?” he mutters. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just meant that some of my exes have been better in bed than him, that's all."

Sebastian hums noncommittally, keeping his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel is tight. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

On one hand—good. He’d never liked your boyfriend anyway. The guy was mediocre at best, the kind of safe, boring choice you made when you were trying to convince yourself you wanted stability instead of passion. On the other—

Sebastian doesn’t exactly want to hear about how great some other guy’s dick was.

But the damage is already done. Because now, he’s thinking about it. Thinking about you with them, thinking about the ones who were better, wondering what made them better.

Was it how they touched you? How they talked to you? Was it the way they knew exactly how to pull you apart, how to ruin you? Was it—

The sensible thing to do is change the subject. Ignore it. Pretend you never said it and focus on not losing his goddamn mind while you’re still draped across him, still warm against his lap, still too close.

But then—because he’s a fucking idiot—the words slip out before he can stop them.

“Who was best?”

You stretch a little, completely oblivious to the way every tiny movement of yours is sending heat pooling in his gut.

“Well,” you muse, eyes glinting with something dangerous, “do you want, like, a ranked list? Or just an all-time favorite?”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

“No, no,” you tease, scooting up slightly. “You asked. You wanna know.”

I really fucking don’t.

But he stays silent. Because some stupid, masochistic part of him actually does.

You pretend to think for a moment, eyes flicking to the windshield, lips curving in a way that’s going to fucking kill him.

“Probably Caleb,” you finally say, voice thoughtful, casual, like you’re discussing a meal you once had instead of someone who used to fuck you.

Sebastian hates how his stomach twists.

“Caleb,” he repeats, expression unreadable.

“Yeah.”

Sebastian shifts his grip on the wheel, fighting the urge to roll his shoulders, shake off the tension creeping up his spine.

He remembers Caleb.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Stupid fit. A Muggle who played rugby at Uni. Arsehole.

He also remembers how pissed he was when you first started seeing him, how much he fucking hated the way Caleb used to pull you into his lap at parties like he owned you.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Huh.”

You grin, shifting again, your hand brushing against Sebastian's arm now. “He was good."

"Why?"

The question slips out before he can stop it and you smirk, and Sebastian knows—he knows—he’s about to regret asking.

“He was just…” you hum, tilting your head like you’re choosing your words carefully. “He was… I don’t know. Rough, I guess? He liked taking control. Giving orders. That kind of thing.”

Sebastian grips the wheel so hard it might snap in half.

Because now he’s picturing it. Picturing you, pressed down against a bed, hips pinned, whimpering, gasping, hands gripping sheets, your voice breathy as you—

Stop.

Sebastian's jaw locks, his pulse hammering at his throat. “I didn’t need that image, thanks."

You laugh softly. "Why not? I thought maybe you wanted to take notes."

He laughs, low and dry, shaking his head. “In your dreams.”

Your smirk widens. “Mm. Definitely in my dreams."

Sebastian nearly groans.

Because fuck you for saying that. For laughing softly, for dragging your fingers against his stomach as you shift again, like you can’t stop pressing yourself against him. For smirking when you say it, for the way your voice dips, lower, softer, like you’re confessing something, like you’re actually being honest.

Sebastian holds in a sigh. He is not playing this game.

Because you’re drunk, and you’re not thinking about what you’re saying, and in the morning, you won’t remember how you said it, how your voice curled around the words like you meant them, and because your fucking boyfriend is waiting for you to get home.

So he laughs, low, dry, dismissive.

“Sure,” he mutters. “That’s a nice little fantasy you got there.”

“You’re such a dick,” you say, still amused.

Sebastian hums, flicking the turn signal as he veers onto the quiet stretch of road leading out of town.

Eight more minutes.

Just eight more minutes and he can drop you off. He can shake off the feeling of your fingers grazing his stomach through his t-shirt and of your weight pressing against his lap like it’s the most normal fucking thing in the world.

Eight more minutes and this night will be over.

Then you speak again.

"...Have you ever thought about it?"

“Thought about what?”

You grin, and it’s slow, lazy, dangerous.

“Us,” you say simply.

Sebastian stiffens.

Has he thought about it?

Fuck, he’s spent years trying not to think about it.

Not to think about you pressed beneath him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging over your skin, your voice breathy in his ear. Not to think about the way you’d sound, the way you’d fall apart, the way you’d look wrecked and flushed and fucking perfect. Not to think about how you’d feel under his hands, under his mouth, how you’d—

Sebastian shoves the thought away violently.

Exhales.

He's not about to tell you that.

“No.”

You laugh softly. Sebastian’s jaw tenses. And then you sit up, just a little, your breath warm against his neck.

“I have,” you say.

Sebastian stops breathing, his pulse slamming against his ribs as he flicks his gaze toward you—just for a second, just long enough to see the way you’re looking at him.

You’re not laughing now. There’s no teasing smirk, no smugness either.

Sebastian swallows hard, forcing his eyes back to the road, trying to think, trying to process, trying to decide if this is real or just another one of your drunken, fleeting moments that won’t mean a damn thing in the morning.

Then your hands move, fingers dragging down his chest, slow, deliberate, your touch featherlight but undeniable.

Sebastian grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself to keep the car steady, forcing himself to—

Your fingertips graze the waistband of his jeans, hooking slightly under the hem, and that’s it.

Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist, stopping you.

The car is silent. Just the hum of the engine. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard.

He exhales, slow, controlled. But when he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

“Don’t.”

A pause.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it," he mutters, voice rough, like he’s forcing the words out through sheer willpower.

"...What if I do mean it?"

Sebastian slams on the brakes. The car jerks to a stop, tires skidding slightly on the empty country road, the sudden silence deafening.

He stares at you, his pulse hammering, his breath coming too short, too fast.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Do I look like I’m fucking with you?"

Sebastian exhales hard through his nose.

Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck if he knows.

Because this is what you do.

You flirt. You tease. You get close, just close enough to ruin him, and then you pull away like it never meant anything at all. And right now, you’re still in his lap with your fingers still hooked in his jeans and your breath hot against his neck, and this... this is dangerous. If you’re joking, if this is just another round of you pushing boundaries you never actually mean to cross, it will break him.

Sebastian tightens his grip on your wrist just for a second—just long enough to make sure you’re listening, really fucking listening.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says, voice rough, uneven. “This isn’t a game, it's not—”

"Sebastian."

Suddenly, you don’t seem drunk at all.

The teasing lilt in your voice disappears, evaporating into the thick silence between you. There’s no lazy amusement, no coy smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, no playful glint in your eyes like there always is when you push him just to see how far he’ll let you go. It’s all gone.

Instead, you are sharp, your gaze cutting through the dim light of the car, slicing right into him.

Sebastian feels the shift like a physical thing, like the weight of something heavy pressing down on his chest. His grip tightens on the wheel out of instinct, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, but it does nothing to steady him.

Because suddenly, you are steady.

You pull back just slightly, just enough to give him an out, to give him space, but you don’t really go anywhere. You are still there, your body still warm on his, your breathing still uneven, just like his. You simply leave just enough distance between you for him to feel it, the unbearable stretch of space that’s always existed, the one he has spent years pretending doesn’t hurt.

For a moment, you just look at him.

Sebastian sees the hesitation in your expression, the flicker of uncertainty in the way your mouth parts slightly, like you’re on the verge of speaking but don’t quite know how. You look like you’re standing at the edge of something dangerous, like you’re deciding whether to step back or let yourself fall.

Then, you inhale. Slow, measured, determined. And you let it all out.

"I’ve always imagined it was you," you say, voice quiet but unwavering, like you've already made peace with the confession before it even leaves your lips. "Every single time I’ve had sex since I lost my virginity, I’ve imagined it was you."

Sebastian’s stomach plummets, and for a split second, he genuinely wonders if he’s actually dead. If he crashed the fucking car and this is what the afterlife feels like—sitting in the driver’s seat with his best friend sprawled across his lap, admitting the thing he has spent years torturing himself over.

You keep going.

"If hell is real, I’m fucking damned," you huff a laugh, your voice coming out rough, frayed at the edges, "because I’ve touched myself to you more than any reasonable amount."

Sebastian makes a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, one that he barely recognizes as his own. His hands clench into fists at his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with this With you?

You're rewriting everything, burning down every carefully constructed wall he has built to keep himself from wanting you too much.

And then you land the final fucking blow.

"You want the truth? I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen," you whisper. "And I want nothing more than for you to take me home at least one fucking time."

Sebastian’s body locks up. His vision tilts. Everything inside him goes too tight, too hot, too overwhelming. His fingers are trembling. His pulse is out of control. His mouth is dry.

No, this isn't a game, or some some drunken, fleeting moment. This isn’t a joke.

This is real.

And he doesn’t know how to breathe.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And I get it if you don’t feel the same," you say, voice softer now, almost like you don’t want to say it, almost like the idea is too painful, "if that’s why you’re acting like this, then I get it."

You laugh again, except this time it’s self-deprecating and bitter. "I mean, for fuck’s sake," you mutter. "I’ve got a boyfriend anyway. This is so fucked up, I know. I just, I don’t know what happened. But something inside me snapped and I can’t hold back any longer."

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. Because yeah, this is so fucking fucked up. And yeah, you do have a boyfriend and he is literally waiting at home for you right now. But Sebastian doesn’t have it in him to care.

Because you love him.

For ten years, he’s wanted this. Ten fucking years of pretending, of ignoring, of pushing it down so deep it nearly killed him. Every drunken flirtation, every lingering touch, every fucking time you smiled at him with that look in your eyes that made him wonder if you wanted it too, and now he knows you did. Knows you do.

And you—

Fuck, you think he doesn’t feel the same?!

"Just forget I said anything," you mumble. "Seriously. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—"

Before you can talk yourself further into this spiral, Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist.

You freeze.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his grip tight, his pulse racing, erratic, wild. Then, his voice low, rough, wrecked beyond repair—

"I've been in love with you since we were fifteen, too."

Your lips part, barely breathing, completely still, like you’re trying to process the weight of those words, like you’ve lived in a reality where that wasn’t true for so long that you don’t know how to exist in one where it is.

And then your face crumbles.

"Sebastian," you whisper, voice breaking, shattered.

And that’s it. That’s fucking it.

Sebastian crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s ten years of frustration, ten years of jealousy, of biting his tongue, of pretending he didn’t want you, and ten years of believing he could never have you—all of it, all at once, breaking loose, crashing down.

And you kiss him back.

Hard.

Desperate.

Your hands grip his shoulders, his jaw, fisting into his hair as you pull him closer, closer, like you need this just as badly as he does, like you’re starving for him.

Sebastian groans into your mouth, swallowing the sound of you gasping against his lips, swallowing everything he’s ever wanted from you.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing down your neck, sucking a dark, bruising mark against your pulse point just to hear you whimper.

"Tell me again," he growls against your skin, voice rough, demanding.

Your nails dig into his arms, your breath uneven, panting.

"Tell me again how you've thought about me," he mutters, dragging his lips up to your ear. "How you imagined it was me," he rasps, fingers slipping under the hem of your top, gripping your bare waist.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling. He grips your jaw, tilting your head so you have no choice but to look at him.

Your lips part, eyes glassy, dark, and fucking desperate. "I imagined you every time."

Sebastian throws the car into reverse.

Because he’s not taking you back to your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. Not when you’ve spent the entire night driving him insane, not when you're touching him, teasing him, whispering in his ear about the exes you never actually wanted because they weren't him.

Not when you just told him you’ve loved him for a decade.

No, he’s taking you home, and the second he gets you there, he’s going to ruin you.

You blink at him, dazed, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, still straddling his lap.

“Where are we going?” you ask breathlessly.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on your waist as he turns the wheel.

“My place."

Your eyes darken, and then your hands are everywhere—fisting into his hair, sliding down his chest, curling under the hem of his t-shirt like you need to feel his skin and touch as much of him as possible.

You trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, your breath warm, wrecked, and he groans, tipping his head back slightly as your teeth graze his throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely able to focus on the road as your hands wander lower.

You shift in his lap, your thighs spreading over him, and Sebastian hisses, cursing under his breath as you press down against him, rolling your hips just slightly.

And then your hands move lower.

Your fingers trace the waistband of his jeans, toying with the button, flicking it open. His hips jerk up instinctively and your laugh is breathy, lips grazing against his jaw.

“You drive too well for someone getting felt up,” you murmur against his skin, your voice all smug amusement and heat and fucking destruction as you drag a hand over the bulge in his jeans.

Sebastian groans, a deep, wrecked sound in his throat, his hips jerking into your palm despite himself.

“Fuck, don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

Sebastian slams his fist against the steering wheel, jaw clenched, desperate to focus, desperate to not lose his mind completely.

"If you keep doing that," he growls, low, warning, "I'm gonna pull over and fuck you in this car."

Your breath catches. Sebastian watches as your pupils blow wide, lips parting slightly, grip on him tightening.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The drive to his place is the longest fifteen minutes of his fucking life. By the time he pulls into his driveway, he’s barely holding himself together.

His jeans are too tight, his body is on fire, his pulse is a reckless, unforgiving thing pounding against his skin, and you—you are still in his lap, still pressed against him, still dragging your lips over his jaw, still palming over him, still teasing, still ruining him.

Sebastian barely gets the car into park before he’s gripping your hips, hauling you against him, mouthing at your throat like he’s starved for it.

You gasp, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, rocking your hips over his lap like you’re hellbent on making him suffer.

And he lets you. For ten long fucking seconds, he lets you.

Lets you grind down on him, lets you drag your nails over his scalp, lets you press hot, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, lets you whisper his name against his lips, against his skin, against his fucking soul.

Then—

“Inside,” he mutters, voice rough, strained beyond repair.

You blink at him, dazed, breath uneven and wanting. And fuck, he’s never wanted anything more than this. More than you.

The second he pulls you out of the car, you laugh, breathless, fingers gripping his shirt, swaying slightly in his grasp.

Sebastian catches you easily, one arm sliding low over your waist, his palm pressing into the soft curve of your hip, and fuck, he loves the way you feel against him, like you were meant to be there.

You tilt your head back, looking at him through half-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, “You gonna fuck me out here?” you murmur, smirking as you lean up, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian groans, his hands tightening on you. “Don’t tempt me.”

You giggle, bright and shameless, dragging your nails down his chest, lower, lower, until he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you along.

The second the front door closes, Sebastian is on you.

His hands in your hair, his mouth crashing against yours, his hips pressing you against the door as he kisses you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

And you moan into it, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him closer, biting at his lower lip.

Sebastian growls, pressing into you, his knee slipping between your thighs, forcing them apart.

You let out a whimper, grinding down against him, your fingers tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up, trying to get it off.

Sebastian laughs, breathless, rough, dragging his lips down your jaw, sucking another mark onto your throat just to hear you gasp.

“You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

You huff, rolling your hips against his thigh, lips curled into something dark, something smug, something absolutely fucking ruinous.

“You’ve made me wait a decade, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grip tightens. and then he’s lifting you, hands firm under your thighs, carrying you through the house like he’s done this a hundred times before, like deep down he’s always known exactly where this was going to end.

You laugh again, thrilled, breathless, arms wrapped tight around his neck as he kicks open his bedroom door and drops you onto the bed.

Sebastian stands at the edge of it, looking down at you—panting, flushed, wild-eyed, ruined before he’s even touched you properly.

You smirk.

“You just gonna stand there, Sallow?”

Sebastian smiles, dark and dangerous. Then he’s crawling over you, one knee pressing between your thighs, his hands bracketing your face, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, testing, torturing.

His voice is low, a promise, a warning.

“Not a fucking chance.”

He takes your mouth again, swallowing your breathy little gasps as he kisses you deep, slow at first, dragging his tongue against yours, learning the taste of you, the heat of you, memorizing this moment in case the world ends tomorrow and this is all he ever gets.

And you fucking moan.

Loud and wrecked and needy, and it does something to him, something devastating, something that makes him tilt his hips down, pressing into you properly, rolling against you in a way that makes you gasp against his lips.

“Fuck, Sebastian—”

His fingers work automatically, popping the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down, tugging the fabric past your hips—revealing more, more, more.

Sebastian has seen you a thousand times—in every possible way, in every possible light.

Drunk off your ass at parties, laughing with your head thrown back, cheeks flushed, eyeliner smudged from the heat of the room. Half-asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of his car, your fingers twitching as you dream. Post-workout, sweaty and flushed, hair stuck to your forehead, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. Dressed to the nines for some god-awful date with some guy who wasn’t him, your perfume lingering in his car long after he dropped you off.

And yet, he’s never seen you like this.

Laid out in his bed, your lips swollen, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, your jeans halfway down your legs beneath his hands, the anticipation humming between you so thick it feels like drowning.

You’re reaching for your top, fingers curling around the hem, ready to peel it off—not that it ever hid much anyway.

Sebastian should help you. He should be the one ripping that top off, the one dragging it up and over your head with shaking fingers and an aching hunger that’s been simmering under his skin for years.

But he doesn’t. He just watches as you pull it up slowly, revealing more, more, more.

His mouth goes dry.

Sebastian can’t stop looking.

You are a masterpiece.

Soft and plush, all curves and warmth, the kind of body meant to be touched, gripped, worshiped. The gentle rise and fall of your breath makes your stomach shift beneath the dim bedroom light, and fuck, he wants to put his hands there, feel the way your skin gives under his palms, kiss every inch of it. Your thighs—thick, full, fucking perfect—press against his thigh, and he thinks about spreading them, about feeling them squeeze around his waist, about sinking his teeth into them just to hear the way you’d gasp. Your hips, generous, tempting, made for his hands, make his fingers dig into the sheets, because all he can think about is gripping them, holding you down, guiding you. Your breasts, full and heavy, barely contained by the sheer lace of your bra, stretch against the fabric, making his vision tilt, his pulse hammer, his restraint fucking snap.

And then there’s everything else—the parts of you that make his chest ache, make his stomach tighten, make him wonder how the fuck he’s supposed to survive this. The stretch marks that paint your skin in soft, pale ribbons, evidence of time, of change, of life of a body that has existed beside him for years, growing, shifting, becoming something that was always beautiful but now feels like it was made for him. The softness that wasn’t there when you were younger, but grew with you, grew beside him, shaped by late-night drive-thrus, three too many beers, appetizers you never hesitated to share with him, the comfort of knowing you never had to shrink yourself. The dimples, the dips, the folds where your skin creases when you move, the evidence of a life fully lived, of a body that has only ever been yours—until now. Until him.

And you—you’re wearing a matching set. Black lace. Thin straps. Delicate details that don’t really hide a damn thing.

"Look at you," Sebastian says breathlessly, fingers tracing along the edge of your underwear, teasing. "Dressed up all pretty. You knew, didn’t you?"

You hum, lazily smug, shifting your hips just slightly, just enough to make his brain fucking short-circuit.

"Maybe," you murmur, biting your lip. "Maybe I wanted to be prepared."

Sebastian’s breath stutters, something deep, something dangerous curling in his gut, something possessive and wrecking and unbearable, because fuck—

Prepared? Did you know you were confessing him tonight? Did you get dressed for this moment? Or is he just filling your boyfriend's shoes?

His stomach twists, the thought curdling in his chest, bitter and raw, but then—

Does it matter? Because you're his now.

Sebastian leans in, pressing his mouth to the soft swell of your stomach, dragging his lips along your skin, his fingers curling into your thighs, his breath hot, his hands desperate.

“God, you have no fucking idea how much I love your body, do you?"

You make a wrecked little sound, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling.

Sebastian grins against your skin, dark and dangerous, pressing his lips lower, biting, sucking, making sure he leaves marks, making sure you feel exactly how much he’s wanted this.

You shift beneath him, breathless, giggling as your fingers find the hem of his shirt.

"Only fair," you murmur, tugging at the fabric, your voice teasing, expectant.

Sebastian huffs out a breathless laugh, shaking his head, but he lets you drag it up, lets you peel it off him, lets you look.

Because of course you should get to look.

He just wasn’t expecting to care so fucking much.

Call him arrogant, but he’s always known he’s good-looking. It’s never been a secret.

The wrong women (everyone but you) have always flocked to him like moths to a flame, drawn to the sharpness of his jaw, the cut of his smirk, the way he carries himself with an easy confidence that makes it seem like he never second-guesses a damn thing.

But this? This is different.

Sebastian never had trouble maintaining a trim figure back at Hogwarts, never gave it much thought beyond Quidditch and dueling and running from the consequences of his own goddamn actions. But adulthood claimed him differently, and that Sallow metabolism slowed to a crawl.

Sebastian is not lean.

And normally? That doesn’t bother him. Normally? He doesn’t care.

But right now, under your hands, under your gaze, in his bed—he does.

Because you’ve always been the most stunning fucking person he’s ever known. Because you could have anyone, and you always did.

Rugby players. Duellists. Healers who spend their breaks lifting weights instead of eating lunch. The kind of men who look like they were chiseled out of stone, sculpted into something untouchable, untouchable except for you—because you’ve had them.

Those were your exes.

And now here Sebastian is, broader, heavier in places they weren’t, softer in places they weren’t. Because he’s never been the type to count macros or meal prep or wake up at the ass crack of dawn to run five miles before work.

He’s still strong, sure—Auror training keeps him fit. But he’s also a man who doesn’t think twice about splitting a second plate of chips with you at dinner, who always finishes your leftovers because “wasting food is a crime”, who drinks pints after work without a second thought, who fills out his shirts more than he used to, who carries weight in his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

And now, here he is—bare in front of you. And you’re staring.

Sebastian wants to say something. Wants to make a joke, wants to shift your focus, wants to ignore the way something unsteady coils in his gut when your gaze drags over him—

Then you breathe out, soft, awed, wrecked.

"Fuck."

Sebastian freezes.

Your hands reach out, palms flattening against his chest, sliding over his skin, tracing down his stomach, your fingers pressing into the flesh there—

"You’re so fucking hot, Sebastian," you murmur, breathless, desperate, like you’re telling him the most obvious thing in the world.

He swallows, something rough and wrecked and disbelieving curling in his chest. "Yeah?"

You hum, dragging your hands back up his chest, your fingers tracing the freckles there, the muscle, the places where he’s softer than he used to be, pressing your lips just below his collarbone.

"Always have been," you hum. "But it's been really fucking unbearable the last few years."

Sebastian laughs, breathless, disbelieving, staring down at you like you just told him the sky is green, like you just shattered some fundamental truth about the universe.

Because fuck off—you’re serious? The last few years?

Oh. Oh. you have a thing for him like this—not when he was lean, not when he was a wiry, arrogant little shit back at Hogwarts, but now. Now, when he’s bigger, broader, heavier.

Something dark, something deeply satisfied, something possessive coils in his chest.

“Oh,” he smirks, his voice low, rough with amusement, with understanding, with something sharp and teasing. “So this is what you’re into?”

You blink up at him, your hands still roaming his chest, and fuck, you look ruined.

Sebastian lets out another low, rough chuckle, dragging his fingers down your body, spreading his weight over you, pinning you to the bed. He grabs your wrists, pressing them above your head, trapping them against the pillows.

“You mean to tell me,” he murmurs, lips hovering just above yours, teasing, testing, “that while you were off fucking all those blokes—”

You inhale sharply, your lips parting, your body arching subtly under him.

“—those assholes with their six-pack abs, the dueling champions, professional fucking athletes—”

You whimper softly, and fuck, he feels it. Feels the way your body reacts to him—not to them, not to some long-lost ex, not to your boyfriend, but to him, to his voice, to his weight pressing you into the mattress.

His grin turns wicked.

“You were picturing this?” he teases, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. "Me? All soft and heavy and fucking desperate for you?"

Your breath stutters, your thighs twitching against his hips.

Sebastian chuckles, dragging his lips back up to your ear, smirking when he feels the shiver that runs through you.

"And here I was, thinking I let myself go," he mutters.

Your breath hitches, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, sucking a mark there, then another, and another, branding you, making sure you remember this, making sure you feel it.

Your wrists twitch in his grip, but he doesn’t let you move.

Sebastian fucking loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way your lips part, the way your chest rises and falls in uneven little breaths, the way you’re looking up at him like you don’t even know how to handle what’s happening to you right now.

His smirk deepens. “Tell me, love,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat, “if this is what you wanted all along, why the fuck did you waste all that time with them?"

Your lips part, your expression flickering between dazed, ruined, and incredulous. And then you scoff.

"Because you weren’t fucking me, Sallow."

Sebastian freezes for a beat. Then two.

Then he laughs—low, rough, something almost mean curling at the edges of it. "No," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your throat, grazing his teeth against your pulse. "I wasn’t. But I am now."

You shudder beneath him, your body arching against his in some helpless, desperate little movement that goes straight to his cock.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, smirking against your skin.

You huff a breathless laugh, hips shifting beneath him, fingers flexing in his grip. "You’ve made me wait ten years. Figure it out."

"You're not the only one who waited, you know—"

Sebastian barely gets the words out before you tug your hands free, fingers reaching for his jeans, already undone from your teasing in the car. And he should be savoring this—should be dragging this out, making you beg for it, for him, for all of it—but you're already shoving his jeans past his hips, and he loses the ability to think entirely.

Then your hand slips beneath the waistband of his briefs, and Sebastian’s entire body tenses, his breath catching as your fingers curl around the length of him, teasing, testing.

“Christ,” he exhales, shuddering, his forehead dropping to yours.

Your eyes flick up to his, and the way you look at him—blown pupils, parted lips, your expression equal parts fascinated and utterly fucking desperate—it makes his cock twitch in your grasp.

He can’t fucking handle this.

His fingers tighten on your thighs, his jaw clenching, his entire body burning with the effort it’s taking not to lose himself completely.

Sebastian grabs your wrist, halting your movements, his grip firm but gentle.

Your brows lift slightly, breathless.

“Seb?”

His smirk is wicked, possessive, completely wrecked. He leans down, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, his lips brushing your ear.

"If we're going to do anything," Sebastian exhales sharply. "We might as well fuck. Otherwise, this'll be over before it even starts."

“Oh,” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach.

"We've waited ten years for this," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along your skin, feeling the way you shudder. His voice drops lower, rougher, teasing. "So let's make it worth our while."

Your breath catches, your nails pressing into his skin as you tip your head back against the pillow, blinking up at him like you’re still trying to process this moment—this night, this reality where you’re here beneath him, breathless and wanting, where he’s finally allowed to touch you like this.

And then you grin, a little dazed, a little breathless, completely wrecked already, and say:

“Holy shit, we’re actually about to fuck.”

You both freeze, eyes locking, and then you both start laughing, some combination of nerves and disbelief and a decade of waiting for this exact moment finally crashing down at once.

“God,” Sebastian mutters, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against yours, still grinning, still feeling that wrecked, desperate thing curling low in his stomach. “That’s what you have to say right now?”

You giggle, your fingers smoothing over his shoulders, down his chest. “I mean—come on, this is so surreal.”

Sebastian scoffs, nipping at your jaw, pressing a rough, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, humming when you shiver beneath him.

“Oh, I’ll make it real, love, don’t worry.”

And then he’s moving again, hands everywhere, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your bra, under the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your shoulders.

His breath hitches as your breasts spill free, full and heavy and perfect, your soft curves shifting beneath him, and he can’t stop staring. He feels greedy, like he needs both hands, both lips, every fucking inch of him touching every fucking inch of you.

His fingers brush over the swell of them, thumbing over one hardened nipple, and you let out a soft, breathy little sound that nearly kills him on the spot.

And then your eyes flick down, your breath catching, because he’s still in his briefs, but they’re pointless at this point, and you can see exactly how fucking gone he is for you already.

Your lips part, eyes widening slightly, voice soft, awed, wrecked—

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian snaps his gaze up to you, brows lifting.

“What?”

You swallow, blinking at his broad chest, his stomach, his cock aching against the fabric.

“Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is secretly built like a fucking god,” you say, laughing breathlessly, teasing, and yet completely, unabashedly honest.

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. “Oh, I’ll remember that,” he says, voice thick with amusement, with something darker curling at the edges. “Next time you decide to insult me, I’ll remind you that you said that.”

You grin, tilting your head back against the pillow, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

“I mean,” you hum, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, “the evidence is pretty overwhelming.”

Sebastian groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a second. "And here I thought you preferred the blokes built like Roman statues." He hums, dragging his lips lower, pressing open, slow kisses over your collarbone, between the swell of your breasts. “Should’ve known better, huh?” he murmurs, teasing, grinning against your skin. "Turns out my best mate likes them thick."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks into a whimper when he finally closes his lips around one pert, sensitive nipple, sucking, dragging his tongue over it, groaning when your back arches beautifully into him.

"Apparently," You mutter breathlessly, "You do too."

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he mutters, smirking, tracing the soft curve of your hip, gripping, kneading. “I've always known that. You've been ruining my life with it for years."

You meet his eyes, and your mouth curves into something downright sinful. “Yeah? So why the hell didn’t you do something about it sooner?”

Sebastian barely gets a breath in before you’re pushing him back, shifting your weight, twisting your body beneath him until he’s the one sinking against the headboard, his back hitting the pillows.

He exhales sharply, blown, wrecked, barely processing how fast you move—or the fact that you just fucking flipped him like that.

"Bossy little thing," he mutters, grinning, but his voice is hoarse, completely fucking ruined.

You straddle his thighs, pressing your hands into his chest, pinning him down like you’re making sure he doesn’t move.

And fuck. Sebastian just lets you. Lets you crawl over him, lets you drag your lips down his chest, his stomach, kissing and teasing and taking your fucking time.

He groans, his head tipping back, his hands twitching at his sides because he wants to touch you, wants to grip your hips, drag you back over him, but he doesn’t want to stop you, doesn’t want to break whatever the fuck this is.

His breath stutters when you press a slow, deliberate kiss over the curve of his hip, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs, tugging, teasing.

Sebastian curses under his breath, his jaw clenched tight, his entire body drawn so tight with tension he thinks he might actually fucking die.

"Jesus," he mutters, his hands flexing at his sides.

You hum against his skin, dragging your nails over his stomach, over his thighs, soaking in the way his muscles twitch beneath you.

And then you drag his briefs down, past his hips, past his thighs, down enough to free him.

Sebastian groans, eyes slamming shut, jaw clenching as the cool air hits him, as he feels the weight of himself resting heavy against his stomach, already aching, already dripping for you.

And you just fucking stare, mouth parting slightly, eyes dragging down the length of him, slow, heavy-lidded, like you’re trying to process what you’re looking at.

Sebastian cracks one eye open, breath ragged, and he can’t help but smirk. His voice comes out low, rough, teasing—

“What is it?" He grins, tilting his head, watching the way your gaze flicks over him, the way you press your thighs together.

You exhale sharply, blinking like you need a second to find words.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian laughs, full and deep, completely and utterly smug.

"Shit," you mutter, shaking your head slightly, still staring, like you're recalibrating your entire fucking world.

Sebastian grins, dragging a lazy hand down his stomach, wrapping his fingers loosely around himself, stroking once, slow, teasing.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice thick with wolfish amusement.

You snap your gaze up to his, glaring. "Fuck off." But your voice is breathless, wanting, wrecked.

Sebastian chuckles, tilting his head back, completely in love with the fact that you are absolutely, completely undone over him.

Then— then you lick your lips, and Sebastian stops fucking breathing.

You lean down, hands gripping his thighs as your tongue flicks over the head of his cock, licking up the sticky precum already there, your lips barely grazing the sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” Sebastian groans, his hands flying to your hair, fingers tightening, but you’re not done yet.

You swirl your tongue over him again, slow, deliberate, your nails dragging over his skin, and then—then you start mouthing off.

Because of course you do.

"You could have had me ten years ago, Sebastian," you murmur, voice low, teasing, sinful, your breath hot against his skin.

Sebastian grits his teeth, jaw clenching. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you hum, pressing one last, teasing kiss to the sensitive tip before dragging your gaze up to his face, smirking. "How the fuck could you be so blind to the fact I've been in love with you this whole time?"

Sebastian groans, fingers tugging at your hair, his body trembling with restraint.

"You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who’s got my cock in their mouth," he growls.

You laugh, fucking laugh, your tongue flicking over him again. "You really can’t take a little criticism, can you?"

Sebastian snaps.

"Alright," he mutters, voice low, rough, wrecked. "That’s enough."

Before you can get another word out, his hands are on you, gripping your hips, flipping you back beneath him.

You gasp, laughing breathlessly, but it’s cut off when he pins you down, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his hand wrapping around your throat, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. Then—just to make sure you never forget who you belong to—

He spreads your legs, dragging his fingers down your stomach, between your thighs, feeling the heat of you, the slick, messy proof of how long you’ve needed this.

"Christ," he mutters, running his fingers through the wetness, spreading it over you, teasing you.

Your hips jerk into his touch, desperate, wanting, already completely undone. Sebastian grins, dark and satisfied, watching you unravel beneath him.

"Messy thing," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours as he drags his fingers up to himself, coating his cock in your wetness.

You practically purr beneath him, your thighs trembling against his hips, the heat of you slick and fucking ready for him.

This is it. Finally.

His fingers curl into the sheets beside your head, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, teasing, aligning, his vision tunneling, his entire existence narrowing down to the feeling of you, of finally having you—

And then your hand comes up. Soft. Trembling. Pressing against his cheek.

His gaze flickers down to yours. Sebastian stalls instantly. His brain short-circuits, muscles locking tight, because he knows that look.

He knows it in his bones.

Knows it in the way your fingers tremble against his cheek, in the way your lips part like you’re about to say something but don’t know how.

Shit. Wait. Are you having second thoughts? Are you saying no?

Sebastian’s stomach drops, panic flaring as he searches your expression, trying to push past the fog of lust, of need, of desperation—

But it’s not hesitation he finds. It’s something soft, something raw and pleading, and he feels it deep in his chest, where everything soft and aching for you lives.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, barely a breath, and fuck, his chest aches.

“What is it?” His voice is rough, hoarse, aching with restraint.

“If... if this is just for tonight,” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like you’re saying it through the lump in your throat, “If this is just—if we’re just gonna wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened, then I—” you pause, your voice breaking slightly. "I need you to tell me now."

And that—

That fucking shatters him. How can you not see it? The way he worships you, the way he’s been yours since he was fifteen fucking years old?

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hip. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he tips your chin up, forcing you to see him, forcing you to understand. “You think I could have you like this and then just go back to how things were?”

Sebastian shakes his head, dragging his thumb over your cheek, over your lips, his brows pulling together.

“I’m not built like that, love.”

Your throat bobs, your breath shaky, uneven, your body still trembling beneath him.

He swallows, something breaking open inside his chest. “I’ve wanted you for nearly half my life,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your temple, against your jaw, against the curve of your throat. “You really think I’d just let you go after this?”

A breathless, almost helpless noise escapes you, your fingers curling into his hair, gripping, holding on to him like you don’t know what else to do with yourself.

Sebastian groans, pressing more of his weight down into you, anchoring you, grounding you, making sure you fucking feel him.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, possessive, reverent, certain in a way that leaves no room for doubt. "You're fucking mine, and I’m yours, and I don’t care how fucking long it took us to get here—I’m not fucking going anywhere. You understand?"

Your lips part, eyes flickering between his, something desperate and so fucking relieved blooming across your face.

"Thank fuck."

Then you pull him down to you, crashing your mouth against his, kissing him like he just fucking saved you. It's messy, all tongue and teeth and years of wanting, and his hands move without thinking—gripping, claiming, spreading you open for him

You whimper into his mouth when he grinds against you, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, slick and aching and so fucking ready for him.

You shift beneath him, thighs trembling, reaching down between your bodies, lining him up yourself, guiding him right where you need him.

Sebastian chokes on a breath, his head dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Shit," he groans, voice breaking.

He can feel you, feel the heat of you, the wetness of you, and his brain blanks.

He’s done for.

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is everything.

This is forever.

[thewrldx]

reblog if you have skilled writer friends and you're damn proud of them

[thewrldx]

Ethereal, As You Sleep.

Sebastian goes home to you after a late night shift as an Auror in the Ministry of Magic. After a busy week, he truly missed you... And he just can't wait until you wake up.

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI! 18+ content, Somnophilia, Filthy nasty smut, Degradation, After Hogwarts! Word Count: 3.1k

━━━━༻𓆘༺━━━━

It was the cold night of November, the winter air had already started teasing the hamlet of Feldcroft. It was where Sebastian and his lover, you, had decided to live after your time at Hogwarts. 

Whilst the place left some bitter memories, it was also the place Sebastian knew he couldn't leave. 

Sebastian was tired to say the least— after all, it wasn't an easy job, being an Auror. It was an unexpected path for him, seeing how he used to be addicted to the thought of mastering dark arts. But it only felt right— his own need of making up for mistakes is very evident to how he worked. 

Only downside was; he rarely gets to spend the much needed time with his girlfriend.

He ought to thank the convenience of apparition as it made things easier for him to get back at Feldcroft, needing to see you as soon as possible. The hamlet was already quiet with only a few lamps dimly lighting up the area. Sebastian’s footsteps were eager as he neared the small house, quickly pushing the door open. As he entered, the warmth of the place greeted him— the furniture rearranged to him and his girlfriend’s liking. 

His footsteps were light as he approached the curtain separating the bedroom and the main room of the house. Sebastian slightly ducked under the curtain as his hand held it high. There you are on the bed, peacefully sleeping in your nightgown. That fucking nightgown. 

The sight alone made his cock throb— you looked too beautiful even with those eyes closed. 

Ethereal even, as he would like to describe you. 

With a soft sigh of contentment, Sebastian prepared himself for bed— throwing a pair of pajamas that were comfortable enough against the cold. Thankfully, the heat from the fireplace had also provided them some comfort. He gently tip-toed towards the bed, although he knew he didn't need to because you are a heavy sleeper anyway. 

Climbing in the bed, his body automatically sought yours— pushing himself further on your side to press his chest against your back; his arm already snaking around your waist.

Sebastian propped himself with one arm, looking over to you to get a glimpse of the side of your face. Your lips were parted as you slept, the very same lips he had been craving to taste the moment he left for work, even with a goodbye kiss. 

Merlin himself could show up but nothing would still compare to Sebastian’s awe as he admired his love.

It was a simple sight and yet, here he was— thinking how he had missed the face he contorted in pleasure exactly a week ago. A week. That's how long since you two had last fucked. 

A week ago, Sebastian took you somewhere up the hill near Feldcroft to watch the stars, making up for his busy time in the Ministry. But the innocent stargazing had turned into something that left you both sweaty and panting despite the cold month of November. 

And if that memory wasn't enough to get him hard, you shifted in your sleep— causing your nightgown to ride up more. “Fuck…” He let out a soft cuss as he felt his cock get harder. 

Sebastian laid back down comfortably on his side, inching his body closer against yours. The hand that was supposedly over your waist had begun making its way up, fingers tracing your stomach softly until they stopped just under your breasts. 

Sebastian took another quick peek over your back, just to ensure you were still asleep as his body decided that heat from the fireplace wasn't enough anymore. 

He needed your heat.

With that, he slowly continued sliding his fingers up until it reached her nipple— as the tip of his finger made contact, his hand closed itself around your breast, massaging it tenderly. 

Sebastian’s breath hitched— he could barely describe the need he was feeling. “So soft…”

It was almost winter and yet the room started to feel like it was burning for him. His cock twitched inside his pajamas, begging to eradicate the very little space between your ass and his length; and how could Sebastian ever refuse such demand? 

Sebastian’s hips felt like it moved on its own, closing the distance— his cock now pressing hard against your flesh. He lets out a small moan, feeling the way his dick had created a dent on your soft ass. “Ah… baby…” He pressed himself further, needing to feel the friction. 

He didn't want to do anything but fuck do you make it so hard for him to behave… even when you're peacefully sleeping. 

And as if your ass peeking out from your nightgown wasn't enough— Sebastian hand that was on your nipple had slowly but eagerly snaked down to pull it up, your nightgown, pooling on your waist. 

Seeing your back in full view, Sebastian’s hips thrusted— his hard cock rubbing against layers of their clothing, denying him of touch. He groaned silently, feeling the heat on his neck as he grinds himself on his sleeping girlfriend. 

How do you do it, he wondered. 

How do you manage to bring him this feeling of intense hunger without even doing anything? 

His hand gently tugged the hem of your underwear, checking if you’d even stir in your sleep. As you made no move, his hand went down where it should be. Another hitch of his breath scattered in the room as his fingers finally touched your clit. 

His fingers moved in circular motion against your throbbing clit, his other hand moving your hair away from the pillows. Sebastian leaned in to lick your neck, tasting you desperately, “S-So good…” He began placing open-mouthed featherlight kisses as he attempted to stay gentle, not to wake you. 

Although, he wanted nothing more than to suck and bite down, desperately needing to mark you again over the fading ones from when he had fucked you last week. 

He had already left quite a few, but nothing brings him more satisfaction than letting you walk around with his own claim on his girlfriend. He needed everyone to know that you're unavailable, only for him to ruin. 

As his cock hardened more, it started to feel like his pajamas were suffocating. His hand continued to circle your clit as you slept, your body involuntarily twitching occasionally— his other gently pushing his pants along with his boxers down. His cock sprung free, slapping against your clothed bottom.

Sebastian couldn't help but look over again to see if you're still asleep- which you were, thank fucking Merlin. 

His hand that was previously on your clit withdrew itself, needing to stroke his painful erection. He stroked himself, giving the pleasure his cock needed— but it would've been better if it had been your hand, he imagined.

Sebastian caressed your ass, massaging it thoroughly. It's been one of your qualities he can safely say he was addicted to. He slightly pulled on your panties’ leg hole and with careful movements, he managed to slide his cock between your underwear and your flesh— a whimper escaping his lips as he felt your warm skin directly against his aching cock. 

His girlfriend slept as he pathetically pleasured himself through her panty hole— thrusting his hips to feel each dent his cock created on the curve of her rear. 

His breathy moans fanned against your neck, even going as far as biting his lip just to suppress his noises. Oh how he could cum just by pressing his cock on your backside— It was pathetic of him and yet... he couldn't never really deny the fact that he's so obsessed with you that even a touch of your finger, he could be reduced into one needy man.

With another desperate whimper, his hand automatically moved— his fingers hooking to the hem of your panties, pulling them down smoothly despite his eagerness. 

Without another second thought, Sebastian quickly sandwiched his cock between your thighs— feeling your folds separate as his cock slid in. The tip of his hardened dick felt every detail that shaped your entrance. 

He threw his head back, lips parted in pleasure, and eyes momentarily closing at the warmth. 

Sebastian, the masochistic man that he is sometimes— teased himself by denying his cock an entry to your awaiting hole. “God… F-Fuck…” At this point, he had long forgotten the idea of trying to keep quiet as another moan escaped his lips. 

Sebastian, he had always been one to dominate another. 

May it be in another context or just you— yet here he was, pitifully moaning against the back of his girlfriend’s neck, as the tip of his cock flicked her clit with each thrust. 

You shifted in your sleep, causing your thighs to tighten around his dick— resulting for his lips to part more on your neck. His hand lifted and gripped your bottom, not knowing how much longer he could hold it without fully thrusting into you. 

The candles around the bedroom were witnesses of his filthy pleasure; witness to each groan his throat tried to hold back, witness to each frantic thrusts he did inside your thighs, witness to how his eyes rolled back as he self-gratified with his sleeping lover.

Sebastian was too lost on his own filth that he didn't notice you slowly waking up as he continued aggressively thrusting. "Sebastian..?" You whispered as you finally fluttered your eyes awake. 

His eyes immediately looked over to you, seeing you look back at him with your brows furrowed in confusion, eyes still half closed.

Fuck, that fucking face. 

"Oh, you're awake?... Good." Sebastian breathed out and in an instant, all his previous gentleness had gone out the window— forgotten as if his patheticness had never made an appearance.

His hand moved to hold his cock, positioning himself to your entrance. Without any more control, he thrusted his hips up, filling you completely. You gasped, holding on to the sheets while Sebastian's throat released a groan. 

“Fucking-... T-tight…” He uttered in pleasure, feeling your hole clamp immediately to envelop his starved cock.

He thrusted into you, not even giving a split second for you to adjust— your body had already lubricated itself after all, from his earlier furtive touches. 

“S-Sebastian, wait–” You began to protest, wanting to at least freshen yourself up, only to be cut off by his hand on your back— pushing you to lay on your stomach with him pounding behind. A hand moved to grip your hair tightly, yanking it towards his direction, making you arch your back on a whim. 

Without stopping his hungry thrusts, he leaned half of his body down until his lips were almost touching your ear. 

“I think I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart.” Sebastian simply whispered darkly, taking a lick on your earlobe before the hand on your hair wrapped around your neck instead, triggering a croaked moan from you. 

Fuck did he miss absolutely taking your pussy for his own pleasure. 

After a few more thrusts, Sebastian pulled out and flipped you over, making you face him. He needed to see your face, he needed to see each contortion on your face, along with the bounce of your breasts that are threatening to escape your nightgown— as he fucked you, his woman, senselessly. 

“Open your mouth.” He commanded, his voice firm— in deep contrast to his earlier whimpering state. 

Knowing better than to make him wait, you opened your mouth obediently. Sebastian internally smirked, satisfied at your immediate response to do as he says. He hooked a finger on your teeth, extending the gape before spitting inside your mouth. 

Not even a second after, he forced your mouth closed, slapping you on your cheek. “Swallow.” He said, to which you obliged, not breaking eye contact as you swallowed with a moan. “That's it…” 

Sebastian shifted himself down, taking a hold of his cock. He brought it down to tease your clit, causing a twitch from your body as a reaction. Sebastian’s gaze fell back on your eyes— those eyes perfect for begging. 

“Can't let you have it all now can I, sweetheart?” He said with a low chuckle, getting hornier at your look. His hand snaked under one of your thighs, lifting your leg and bending it until your knee almost touched your shoulder. Sebastian leaned his body together with your leg. “Do you know how fucking hungry I’ve been? How my fucking cock missed you?” 

With a shaky breath caused by his teasing, you pleaded, “P-Please… Show me. Show me how much you’ve– you’ve missed m–.” 

He cut you off by pressing his tip more firmly against your clit, flicking it up and down to give you something to whimper about. “You can do a lot better than that.” He demanded, unsatisfied with the words you struggled to let out. Wanting more.

You bit your lip as he denied you of pure pleasure— but of course, you had no other choice. Sebastian is a stubborn man. He won't stop teasing even if it means torturing himself too, not unless he sees your lips quivering and your eyes close to watering from denial. 

“Sebastian… Please… I-I need you, I need your cock inside me.” You managed to choke out, but seeing the look on his face that silently tells you ‘more’, you continued, “You-... Your fuck toy misses you.”

Hearing those words come out of your mouth, his plan to prolong the agony, perished. Sebastian couldn't torture you or himself any longer— With one hard thrust, your pussy was filled by his cock once again, causing you to moan loudly. 

A groan escaped his lips, the hunger he felt for a week suddenly vanished as you enveloped him warmly. 

Feeling impatient, you bucked your hips up— His eyes momentarily widening as the unexpected movement sent shivers down his spine. “What? You're gonna fuck yourself up on my cock? Hm? Like the good toy that you are?” Sebastian’s lips slowly formed a smirk, forcing his voice to remain with authority as he felt himself wanting to let you take charge. 

It was all confusing for him… The want to beg and be needy and the want to take and be brutal. Be that as it may, as long as his cock is inside you— Sebastian knew he’d be a satisfied lover. 

He lets you continue to struggle, thrusting your hips up for penetration as he kneeled and leaned still against your folded leg. 

This may have been one of the most erotic scenes he had ever seen. 

All the waiting was suddenly so worth it as he stared down at you like a toy, desperately fucking yourself on his dick— doing everything you could from bucking, thrusting and grinding up just to feel an inch of movement from him. You were moaning loudly, holding your legs up, eyes silently communicating how badly you wanted him to take over. 

“You're going to wake the whole damn hamlet with those fucking moans.” Sebastian whispered before finally pulling back until it was only his tip left inside you— then aggressively started fucking your cunt, not caring if your moans got louder. 

This hamlet be damned. 

The lot of them should know how he takes care of his girl.

“God… I- Shit- I fucking missed you.” He managed to croak out— it had only been a week… but for someone as insatiable as Sebastian, it felt like fucking eternity. He resumed his violent ramming, hands were pressing both your legs down now— locking you in a position he could go deep.

Soon enough, the pleasure had become too much to bear. He ought to prolong your ‘lovemaking’ but the pleasure you bestowed upon his cock sent him to chase his release. 

“Sebastian– fuck– I’m close…” His ears felt blessed to have heard his girl be satisfied even in his rough treatment. 

She was perfect. 

Everything about her was perfect, he thought.

“Me too, sweetheart… Me too.” Sebastian whispered gently in contrast to his aggression. 

Feeling his abdomen tightened— He let go of your legs, pulling your hips towards his instead as his release painted your insides white. 

He let out a dragged groan, panting at the sensation of having this privilege to mark not only your skin— but your hole too. You orgasmed together with him, coating his cock with your own fluids. “F-Fuck…” 

Sebastian looked down to where you were connected, seeing his cum leaking by how long they were stored… 

In that past week, not once had he ever touched himself, reserving every pleasure for you and you alone. 

He slowly pulled out, earning a small weakened whimper to escape your lips. The white liquid had dripped and stained the bed sheets, leaving a future reminder of both your filth. 

You were panting heavily, catching your breath— so was Sebastian. And if the mess wasn't revolting enough, he scooped some of his cum on his fingers… his eyes wandered towards your face. 

Beautiful. 

And he knew exactly what to do— Sebastian then lifted his fingers that held his own release, smearing it all over your face and stopping on your lips, letting you clean a bit of it off. 

There. 

Ethereal. 

Sebastian smiled down, feeling proud of his little work and of course… You. Your legs had given up and were resting at his side. A hand of his began to smoothly run itself on your thigh, a soothing touch reserved for your flesh. 

He leaned down until their noses touched, with a gentle and low whisper, “I love you.” He uttered. 

You smiled up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him close, to have him rest on your chest— not bothering to clean your cum covered face. “I love you more.” You replied with the same softness. 

Moments like these definitely define what your relationship with Sebastian is like. It was risqué mixed with tenderness. It was truly a balance. A passionate balance.

A comfortable silence surrounded the room for a hot minute, before you spoke again. 

“Remind me not to fuck you for a week again.” You teased, an indication of how much you had appreciated his lovemaking tonight. 

But Sebastian didn't find that funny.

Not one bit. 

There was no fucking way he’d wait that long again until he could touch you once more. 

He lifted himself from your chest, having his arms support his weight as he looks at you with yet another dangerous threat in his eyes.

“Fuck that. I’ll fucking quit the Ministry if I have to- just so I could have you. Every. Single. Day.” He threatened, emphasizing his need and passion. “Now, be on your fucking knees before I lose my patience.”

━━━━༻𓆘༺━━━━

━━━━༻𓆘༺━━━━

Ahahahehe. I'm so sorry, I apologize for the cringe— it's my first time writing smut ever HELP. Also sorry for any spelling mistake and if I repeated too much words— my first language isn't English, I fear. Will definitely post the shoot I did for this oneshot! Just that I may be away for a few days so I decided to do something big for today ;)

[thewrldx]

Save a Broom, Ride a Wizard – S.S

pic creds to 99luca99, found on pinterest

Synopsis: When Quidditch Captain Sebastian Sallow is trying to teach you how to ride a broom.

Sebastian Sallow x Female reader

WC: 1.4k

18+, aged up characters, unprotected sex, public sex?, poorly written work

@sallowisms this one is for you.

MINORS DNI!!!

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀���⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

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　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

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　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

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The sun dipped low over the Hogwarts pitch, casting long shadows across the freshly cut grass. The rest of the Quidditch team had cleared out long ago, their laughter and gear fading behind them, leaving only the hush of the evening and your increasingly ragged breathing.

You were sweating profusely, chest heaving as you landed yet again with a clumsy thud, your broomstick skittering across the turf beside you. You huffed as frustration burned in your lungs. You’d been at this for over an hour, maybe more. Madam Kogawa had told you that to even think about trying out for the Quidditch team, your flying needed to be exceptional. And flying…well, it wasn’t exactly your strong suit.

But you were determined. And who better to teach you than the Slytherin captain himself?

Sebastian stepped forward, strands of hair slicked to his forehead, still damp from practice. He had absolutely no right to look this damn good after hours in the sun. A smug little grin tugged at his mouth.

“Okay,” he said, lips twitching. “I’d give it a six. Maybe a six and half if you promise not to crash into the stands next time.”

Brilliant.

Now he was rating your flying abilities and enjoying every second of it. You blew an exasperated puff of air up to dislodge the strand of hair that had fallen out of your updo and into your face, shooting him a look that was half glare, half defeat. Your cheeks burned, whether from embarrassment or the lingering rush of adrenaline, you weren’t sure

He chuckled, extending his hand to help you up, which of course you took. His grip was strong and warm as he pulled you effortlessly to your feet, like you weighed nothing at all. You stumbled slightly, only for his other hand to catch your elbow and steady you with that damned smirk still plastered across his face.

“Alright, come on,” he said, retrieving your broom with a practiced sweep. “You’re not getting out of this. You said you wanted to learn to fly better to try out for Chaser—I’m holding you to it.”

You groaned, brushing stray bits of grass off your practice uniform and dug your toe into the earth. You were tired. Spent. And maybe just not built for this broomstick business.

But you weren’t quite ready to admit defeat.

At least not with him watching you like that.

“You know…” you start, heart skipping a beat as your pulse picked up for an entirely different reason.

Where you really about to say this?

“We could just save a broom,” you said, voice soft, deceptively casual.

He chuckled at that.

Then you spoke again.

“I could ride a wizard instead.”

Sebastian froze.

His smirk vanished. His mouth opened, then closed again. He looked as if his brain had short-circuited.

For one horrible moment, you wondered if you’d completely misread him today. The lingering glances. The subtle touches, the way his hands found your hips far more than necessary to guide your posture on the broom.

You quickly adverted your gaze, heart pummeling to the pit of your stomach.

“Merlin’s bloody—” he finally muttered, voice cracking halfway through a laugh. He scrubbed a hand down his face to attempt to hide red blooming across his cheeks.

“You can’t just say things like that,” he continued, brown eyes wide. “Not when were alone. Not when you’re—”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he looked at you. Properly. Fully. His gaze raked from the tousled mess of your hair to the flush on your cheeks, down to the rise and fall of your chest.

“Not when you look like that,” he added, voice rougher this time.

And there it was, the electric shift in the air. All the tension between you two dissipated into a single, taut thread, begging to be severed.

Sebastian’s eyes were dark now, heavy-lidded and locked on yours. The pitch was empty, the only sound was the wind curling softly through the hoops high above. He reached out slowly, like he was giving you a chance to stop him.

You didn’t.

His hand settled on your waist, tugging you forward until your chest brushed his. The broom clattered forgotten to the ground.

Suddenly, you felt awake. Like the practice hadn’t winded you at all.

“You’re really going to make me lost my captaincy,” he whispered dangerously close to your ear, his breath tickling that sensitive spot. “Getting caught like this on the pitch…”

“Then don’t get caught,” you murmured, arms looping around his neck.

He growled, low and throaty.

Then his mouth was on yours. It was hot, hungry, and completely abandoning any pretense of innocent flying lessons. His hands roamed your body, a little rough and utterly possessive as he walked you backwards toward the pitch wall, somewhere half-shielded from the castle windows. He spun you both effortlessly, pressing himself back against the stone before sliding to the ground, the grass bending beneath him.

You followed his lead, straddling his lap with trembling fingers and blazing need. He looked up at you like you were something holy.

“You sure?”

You nodded, biting your lip.

With a soft groan, you kissed him again, deeper—dirtier this time. His hands spread across your thighs, thumbs brushing circles that made your stomach flutter. You rocked your hips experimentally, grinding against the bulge beneath you. He was incredibly hard, convincing you to rock harder, gasping as the pressure struck you right where you were aching.

Not a second was wasted. You broke the kiss long enough to shimmy out of your pants, not caring that a slick spot had formed on the thin fabric of your panties. You reached between you both, fingers finding his belt, shaking as you worked it loose enough to yank both his trousers and boxers down just enough to free him.

His cock sprang out, thick and pulsing when you took it in your palm.

“Fuck, you’re going to undo me,” he hissed through clenched teeth, watching you like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You lifted your hips swiped your underwear aside before guiding him to your entrance. Slowly, you sank down, inch by inch, the stretch making your head tip back with a moan. His eyes rolled back briefly as he felt you began to take him in.

As you continued down his length, Sebastian’s head fell back against the pitch walls. “Gods, you’re so tight.”  

You dropped the rest of the way with sharp gasp. “—so full,” you panted.

“Fuck.”

You began to move then, slow at first, controlled. You rolled your hips the way you knew would wreck him. His hands flew to your waist, gripping hard, but still letting you lead.

Maybe you couldn’t ride a broom.

But you sure as hell could ride this wizard.

“Look at you,” he gasped, eyes half-lidded. “On top of me, on the bloody pitch—riding your captain like you were made for it.”

“Maybe I was,” you managed out, leaning down to kiss the line of his jaw.

You sped up, bouncing in his lap now, chasing that high you felt. The tension in your lower belly already coiling dangerously tight. There was something so intoxicating about being out in the open like this.

Sebastian began to meet your thrusts, hips snapping up into you hard and fast. The sounds of your bodies moving together was downright filthy. Skin slapping, breathless moans, and the lewd squelch of your soaked cunt.

You were humbled by just how quickly he was bringing you to the edge.  

“Oh—Seb, fuck, I’m going to—”

His hand flew to the back of your neck, pulling you back down into a desperate kiss. His tongue darted in your mouth, exploring with determination.

Your orgasm crashed through you with a cry, muscles clenching around him involuntarily, soaking his thighs in the process. He swallowed every sweet sound you made like they were oxygen and he’d been drowning.

He followed with a growl, holding you down as he spilled deep into you, cock twitch as his body shuddered beneath yours.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just panting and laughing softly.

Eventually he reached up, brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made you melt.

“Definitely a ten.”

[thewrldx]

The Sallow List

pairing(s): Sebastian Sallow x Reader

words: 6.3k

summary: Sebastian Sallow sneaks into your dormitory and finds a list hidden in your bed, one filled with names of girls who want him. All except yours.

When you find him reading the list, offended and curious, he decides to prove exactly why your name belongs at the top.

warnings: contains nudity, sexual themes and mature content that is not advised for younger viewers. descriptive smut. sebastian being competive and possesive. idiots in love. all characters are aged up!

a/n: you could also find this Ao3 too.

dedicated to @kelseyreads22 for the light peer pressure. and my discord peeps for never failing to support the stupid feral shit we all just agree with all the time lmao. you could join us for laughs and content here's the link too. enjoy xx

“What?”

Sebastian Sallow sat mortified on the edge of your neatly made bed. A crumpled parchment with scribbled writings clenched on his hand, still in a blend of a confused and deafening expression.

He hadn’t planned to be there, in your dormitory. Let alone, holding his find. He’d only planned to enter your common room and ask for something, but when he saw the dormitory door slightly ajar, curiosity took the best of him.

And he knew the parchment was yours. It was your bed. It smelled like you — the faint hints of your scent that had lured him in since your arrival the fifth year.

The stemming scent that kept him up late nights when the wind slept and his mind didn’t.

The thought alone ticked Sebastian, and he brought his senses up, his eyes flickering back on the bloody list.

Yes, a list.

Girls. Every name written like some twisted Quidditch scoreboard.

Some from every house, some he’d recognized, and some that he never expected to see there.

The most quietest ones held the most pride in signing this list.

The Sallow List

Sebastian didn’t need much context behind it. The doodles beside the signatures were enough.

— Cressida Blume,  his hair looks really soft

— Gracie, his voice?? His moans are probably so deep.

— C. Greengrass, his lips are so pink. They have to be kissable!!!!

— Lenora, I seen how fast his fingers move when he has a quill…what else could they do?

“Ergh,”

It felt invasive to read, but it was a list about him. Curiosity ran thick in his blood, especially on something about him. Something that was in your property.

A slow, vexed frown began to form on his face after re-reading the scribbles. The thickset of his brows furrowed as he looked for one name in particular. Yours.

You weren’t on it.

It felt too ironic for him to know you held this list in your belongings, yet, no evidence of you was there.

He even flipped it over, then back again, convinced he might’ve possibly missed it, knowing you and your small writing he often made fun of — but you weren’t on the list.

And it bothered Sebastian’s ego.

All these girls wanting to snog him, but the one whose bed he was currently sitting on; the one he’s seeking wasn’t among the names.

How annoying — how pesty of you to orchestrate such a thing like this and not be on it.

“Typical,” Sebastian murmured to himself. You always knew how to wind him up without even fucking trying — always with him, but still out of reach after all these years.

The pulse trip you gave him of endless ventures he’d spend with you. The almost ‘what-if’s’ but too cowardly to admit, so instead, he’d spend his growth cycles just wanking himself with your scent and hoping for the best.

The consequence? Your name not being on the list.

You entered breathlessly into your dormitory without notice. Everyone had gone to Hogsmeade for the weekend, including yourself, but you’d forgotten your coin pouch, so you ran back.

When the door swung shut, your steps creaked toward your side before finally finding the person in your space.

“Oh, shit—Sebastian?”

You weren’t even phased by his arrival. The patterns you’d learned about the Slytherin man throughout the years stuck with you, so his presence wasn’t ghostly.

What was ghostly was looking at the crumbled parchment you had sworn was hidden well beneath your pillow, now sitting still over his long fingers, in his possession.

Oh shit.

The list.

The fucking list.

Sebastian didn’t flinch. Hell, he didn’t even bother to act like he’d been in trouble. He had mastermind too many times getting caught by Scribner — but with you finding out he found the list? He just threw a smirk.

“W-What are you doing? Where did you find—“ You didn’t mean to stutter, but the list was a limited item you hid from him for years. An inside joke he now knew about.

The titled smirk didn’t fade from his face. You saw how his eyes laid on the parchment, the wrinkly freckled skin over his lids squinting as he spoke. “Wasn’t aware this was part of the female’s newsletter.”

Your heart dropped, but you passed your saliva and wind a hand up, using a non-verbal Accio spell to get the parchment out of his hands.

Sebastian curved your spell and snatched the paper back to himself.

“Hey,” Your feet worked again, and inched closer to him on your bed, wanting to get the paper from him. “Give me that!”

With a smooth motion, Sebastian stood up from your bed rapidly, and of course, with his ridiculous height advantage, he lifted the parchment enough out of your reach.

“I don’t think so.”

He was tall. And even with the swift motion of holding the parchment upward, you could sniff the manly scent as you tippy-toed a jump to grab it, but it was a fail.

“What is this, eh?” Sebastian asked you.

A blow transmitted out of you mid-dormitory. Your cheeks had been tomato red by now and you’d hope Sebastian didn’t notice the trickle of sweat outlining your forehead as you ignored his question.

“Seriously, Sallow,” You jumped again, but he was ridiculously taller than you. “—give me—“

His gaze was gawking at you. You’d known he was directing his attention at you for an answer, but you’d been busy wanting to take away the list on his hand. “You’re dodging my question.”

“It’s just a stupid list. It’s a joke.” You lied.

It wasn’t really a lie. It started a little after the sixth. Snogging began to occur often in the secretive halls of Hogwarts, and rumored lists would often lure. Considering you were the closest to Sebastian Sallow, one drunk night with the girls led to the list. Thanks to you.

A strange scoff emitted from him. “Oh yeah?” He cooed. There been a roughness in his playful voice that made you feel challenged. He’d always been manipulative for answers, but you didn’t want to give it to him today.

You scratched your forehead with your fingers with a sigh, surrendering to grab the item, and then faced Sebastian.

Both of your eyes met.

It hadn’t been fair really. Besides the height — it was foul to see how stupidly attractive the Sallow man truly was.

A few strands of his brown hair flopped over his forehead, nearly covering the brown eyes that peered at you.

You’d seen him more than any of those girls on the list. None of them were this close to him though. They didn’t manage to see the freckles that kissed the top of his cheeks, or how the color of his brown eyes turned lighter like honey in the light.

You've seen him so much, you could debunk the notes in that list. ‘I want to touch his clear skin’ one would say — but it was flawed with scars that only one would see up close. ‘His lips are so pink, he would be a good kisser’ you couldn’t debunk that, yet.

You passed your saliva, “Why are you stirred up, Sallow? If you read the list, your ego should probably be the size of a quaffle by now.” You spat, crossing your arms and breaking the eye-contact. You only stared at the dent he left on your bed from sitting long.

Sebastian had been in another state though. Not enough names could boost his ego in that fucking list. Not any compliments, not any assumptions — anything, but the one name that wasn’t there.

Wanting to avoid any tension, you began to pace around the space, focusing on what you really came in here for, your coin bag, and pretending like you hadn’t done this cut-off every time there was tension with you and him.

The friendship had been strong. You two have seen the worst and the best out of each other. In battles, in class, in parties — one thing would lead to another, but when there was a hint of something more, usually one pulled away or one became a coward.

“Ugh, where is that damn bag—“

“Does the creator of the list exclude themselves from it?” Sebastian asked.

He stood in the same spot, asking questions, but also watching you waste time to find the coin pouch. He was desperate for an answer. An answer that he wanted to hear and his scheme of manipulation took over. Sebastian wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

You chuckled, “Who said I created it?” Your body bent, going through some drawers at the end of the dormitory.

You were a bit far, but you heard the chuckle from him. It resonated more when nobody else, but you two were the only ones in the dormitory.

“I don’t know, let’s see,” Sebastian said, but there was a tip of annoyance in his tone as he projected his truth to you. “ I found it in your bed. Your pillow. And I know your handwriting by now. The title of the list — it’s your writing.” He pointed his finger at the bolded letters.

You froze at how attentive he’d been. It shouldn’t come off as a surprise, but you had to pause your hand digging in your drawer and blink at his words. There, you stood in place, turning slowly over your shoulder and glinting. “What’s your point?”

Sebastian was pissed at how calmly you took this matter. It was only proving that you really did not care about him finding the list as much as he imagined you to. This ticked him off because he was good with girls. He understood why there was a list. He had his way of words to lure and hypnotize them, but you?

The parchment crackled under his grip and you heard it far and clear but didn’t comment. The list became useless at this point if the main ingredient of it found it.

“My point?”

The Adam's apple in his throat moved a little heavier in visual view, but you didn’t notice because your head turned back to the drawer.

But your heart was beating fast. You’d learn throughout the years to avoid conflict. To hide away your real feelings, so to battle such a topic with someone like Sebastian Sallow — it was tough.

“Sebastian, you have like half of Hogwarts tallied up on that list and you’re still complaining?” You snarled, closing the drawer and taking a breath, your coin pouch nowhere to be found.

“All I’m wondering is why your name didn’t make the list.” He said bluntly.

This caught you now. The need to look for your item died down and all you could do was turn to him.

Sebastian held his stand in the same spot you left him in. In the side of your dormitory bed, the list no longer in the air from his height, but on his side, crumbled up in madness.

You swallowed, your steps taking tardiness as you approached him again.

Only you knew the truth, but the least you could’ve done was sign your name. The risks of prioritizing your feelings first rather than wanting to keep a friendship with Sebastian Sallow were high. You were not going to risk it again.

“My name?” You laughed it off, looking to the side. “Why the hell would my name be there?”

Sebastian didn’t laugh. You didn’t even hear a wince of a scoff or chuckle. He wasn’t matching your energy, so you stopped looking to the side and looked up.

There was a grave expression on his face. Those honey-like eyes you were admiring minutes back became dawn darkness from your words and you raised your brows at him.

Sebastian tilted his head a little and blinked with a mocking questioning. “Am I not your type?”

A nervous laugh spilled out of you. It was not funny. It was more of a laugh of hiding away the truth. You could no longer tell if he was teasing as he always was with himself, or demanding truth.

“Are you being serious?”

“I am.” He narrowed.

The air thickened, but you pursed your lips and then pressed them with a hesitant nod. “I just—I—“ you didn’t mean to stutter, but it was getting to you. “We’re…we’re friends,…and…and…”

“You’d known me more than anyone else in this castle, more than Ominis. I’d guess to boost my ego you could’ve written down a few compliments or so in this list to help. Don’t you think?”

You gulped.

Sebastian stepped closer, barely a hand’s length now between the two of you. He’d now begged himself for you to self-confess. Perhaps, it’s become a mutual feeling now, but you were a hard rock to break. It was impossible.

“And then what, Sallow?” You weren’t afraid of his closeness. You have been close to him many times, but even with an empty room with so much space, this one killed you. “Be part of this list too?”

His jaw clenched at your words. It wasn’t even a tease. You were just asking a question as you stared, but it still bothered him. It wasn’t enough.

“Am I not fuckable enough for you?”

It hadn’t even been a joke anymore. There was no cracked smug over his mouth. No glint in his eyes. Just a cold sting of frustration, pride, and something lower — something he didn’t want to admit.

As he asked that, the same list he had crumbled in his fingers crackled under both of you.

Your breaths were higher now and even if you wanted to take your eyes off him, you couldn’t. There was this appalling appearance in you from his question and you knew by now that he’d taken notice of how your chest raised in and out from the nerves.

“I bet if this list said Weasley, your signature would’ve been the first on top, wouldn’t it?” Sebastian dug now. There was a possessive and impulsive timbre in his voice. He hated mentioning the redhead, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Your eyes widened, not expecting him to cross lines now, unplanned. “Are you out of your mind?”

Sebastian’s breath shifted, slower and heavier from your reaction. He looked like he wanted to respond, but it caught between his teeth.

Your eyes glazed on his, then on his flushed cheeks. The little tint of pink that lay on his sides wasn’t there and before you could question anything, you twirled, walking away. “Whatever, Sallow. Just go have fun with the list of names—“

The steps you took from your bed to the door didn’t make it far. Sebastian moved fast, but your Ancient Magic moved faster, sensing his follow and before he could make a stop on you, you turned around facing him.

On unfortunate luck, he’d been close enough for you to step backward and feel your back touch the wall from behind. You took a heavy breath, watching Sebastian lift an arm over your shoulder, flatly on the wall beside you, and bend to stare down.

He’d caged you, so you wouldn’t leave as both of your heights reached the same scale.

It’s like his stare burned into you. Only the sound of his breath blew on your nose from how close he had been. You watched how he lifted his right hand in slow motion, wanting you to watch him show you the crumbled list in his grasp.

The list was fucked at this point. From his anger.

“You think I give two fucks about the names on this list?” He asked you.

You were staring at the paper, but even with that, you sensed his stare stalling at you with every word he said.

The air on the empty setting tightened now. That little humor you were bringing on earlier set off and now things felt serious.

“It’s…it’s a lot of names in there, Sallow.” Your throat itched demanding a sentence to him, but his breath seemed to win over.

“And yours?” Sebastian asked, again. He didn’t back off. He stayed closed, watching you like the truth was buried behind your words.

Your eyes met the frame of his jawline. It’ll pinch with his questions and you weren’t brave enough to stare into his eyes anymore.

But Sebastian didn’t hold his limits anymore. He stepped closer, much closer than he’d ever dared, and lowered right in the inch of your earlobe, his lips brushing on the outline and you shivered.

“What do I have to do,” He murmured in a deliberate struggle. “—to make you write your name in this list?”

The whisper held you under your skin now. This tension coiled between the two of you and the restraint in his voice only made you clenched, not in your throat, but in your core. You’d been afraid if you pressed your legs together, it’d clench faster from his position.

“S-Sebastian…”

“Tell me,” He demanded. “I’d spent the last years doing enough to think you’ll write your signature in such a list about me, yet,” his breath blew inside your ears. “…it wasn’t enough.”

You’d always had your eyes prying on Sebastian Sallow, since the fifth year, but the blockage of friendship and comfortableness layered it.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t enough.

It was that you’d never dared to let yourself want him openly — because if you did…it would never be just 'wanting'.

“Do I have to prove it to you?” Sebastian’s voice cracked over the last word. It sounded like a prayer. To have this blessing of allowing him to take this to his advantage.

Sebastian struggled. He struggled enough in the past years. He couldn’t keep holding back on this very moment. It had been enough in the cycle, and this frustration of rejection — he couldn’t stand it. Not from you.

He couldn’t stand how you stood below him, innocently, pretending like not one inappropriate thought crossed your bloody head this entire time, but he liked a challenge.

There was this competitive thrill for Sebastian Sallow to prove himself right. To have this source of ability to prove something. Persuading something — persuading you.

Pleasuring you.

His nose kept tickling over your ear, and he took the benefit of that scent of yours. To smell the small strands of your hair behind the ear as he kept his eyes closed, waiting for an answer, but also holding in the strained hardness that flexed over his pants below.

His cock twitched with every breath of yours.

“Speak up, sweetheart.” He said roughly, not having the great ability to hold back, but your lack of answers were edging him. “We could answer all those assumptions about me in this,” with one hand he un-crumbled the list again and brought it to your eyes. “…list.”

He was silly, but the butterfly feeling between your legs at the moment said otherwise from his intense tease.

“You don’t wonder how my fingers,” Sebastian read off the list, rephrasing the jotted lines of girls handwriting. “…write so fast with a quill…imagine what else…” his hands journeyed to your hip, giving the first touch before tracking down your skirt. “…they can do?”

Your leg shifted in a twitch from the touch. He’d only rested the warmth of his finger a little below your skirt, into your skin, but you gasped at his words.

“‘His lips are so pink’” He read off. You could still feel his face near your ear, but he came back up and faced you. You’d been a flush of a mess, but Sebastian edged closer as he kept reading. “…how kissable are they?”

A menace. He was a fucking menace.

But he transferred the curiosity to you. You always found yourself wondering how soft his hairs really were. Or if his lips really were —

Sebastian gave up on the silence. His hands let go of the parchment and let it fall onto the floor. Before you could watch the fall of the list, you were blocked by a pair of lips on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was all in frustration and force. Of wanting something that had been sitting for years. A breath-stealing kiss two parties yearned for enough to make a fair moan from just a kiss.

The one hand that held a list now cradled over the side of your face and a thumb brushed your cheek as you were grounded with a sloppy make-out session that both of you clearly ached for too long.

Sebastian kissed good. Dangerously good.

He held you captive over the wall, his tongue dancing over your own, guiding permission. His brows frowned, not from anger, but from how good kissing you felt. It was an ecstatic feel and it was just kissing.

You were in no help of a stop. Instead, your hands reached in an instinct, clutching at the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer. Your hands threading through those soft brown hairs everyone wondered about.

It was a hard study between heat and examination. You gripped the hairs, softer than ever — Sebastian groaned into your mouth from the pull and his fingers clutched the side of your hips from resisting.

They were, in fact, really soft.

Your back pressed the bed soon after. The make-out session on the wall quickly transferred back into your dormitory bed and with a soft thud, Sebastian threw you onto the pillow, making you reach for a breath.

“Oh, we’re not finished yet,” Sebastian warned huskily. “Everyone’s at Hogsmeade…and I’m here to prove my point.”

He dove back into your mouth with more need than before. The weight of his hand on the side of your hip found its way beneath your shirt, feeling the raw aspect of your stomach before scrunching it up.

Over grounded mouths, you’d often breathe heavier than usual when the air of the dormitory felt colder on your skin as Sebastian folded up your shirt above your chest and reached over a breast.

His finger traced the middle of your breast, purposely tickling you and triggering the hardness of your nipples. You both watched his actions and you flushed, wanting to return the invasion by bringing your hand downward over his pants and attempting to find his bulge.

He’d been hard and thick. You palmed him lightly, but it was a hard reach from his height to yours. You’d only been able to get a sense of what he hid behind the fabric and you could only now imagine how he would feel inside of you.

You weren’t always stuck in an inappropriate daze. There wasn’t shame in touching yourself in the quietest hours of the night in a bath or empty dormitory. It was easier than admitting how much you wanted him all those years when the sun was up and walls were closed.

But now it became difficult when Sebastian, the real Sebastian, pressed against you, kissing you like he’d been waiting for this too. To prove a point of a name.

The thought made your thighs want to press together again, to get the same heartbeat notion between your legs, but now, the body of Sebastian blocked it. You couldn’t press them and he noticed that.

“Open your legs,” Sebastian ordered, feeling your denial.

“I just—oh,”

He moved quickly, pressing the longness of his fingers under your skirt. His touch circled around the thin fabric of your underwear before pressing three fingers lightly over to feel the dampness outside of you.

“Sebastian,”

A breath hitched out of his mouth. He’d lost count of how many times his cock twitched, begging for an out as he found out how soaked you were for him. For him.

“Agh,” He said in satisfaction, almost amazed from the feel. “…they said they wondered what else these fingers,” you felt them nibble the bud of your clit, still with underwear on as he spoke over your whimpers. “…do besides writing fast.”

The touch was gentle, but so powerful. Sebastian had stopped kissing and now paid his full attention to his fingers beneath you, under your lifted wrinkled skirt he dragged up and watched his own fingers trigger your sensitive nerves even more.

And he felt how you clenched with each nub.

It felt humiliating. Humiliating to know that once his fingers moved your underwear to the side, he was going to feel how wet you’d been over the course of the hour. How with such an unnecessary proof of point, you exposed yourself too on your feelings.

“Merlin,” Sebastian fought over himself, not caring about his truth out loud. “I just want to bury myself inside of you like this, but…”

He didn’t say much after, and before you could question his denial need of fucking you, you gave a low whine when two fingers entered between your folds carefully, a slushy sound echoing over the ears from the arousal.

They’d been long. His fingers. Sebastian kept it slow and gentle, examining how far he could go with them. He lifted his head once wanting to see how you’ll react. You were already a beautiful mess, giving gentle moans and biting your lip constantly from his movements.

“…how can I when the sound of your pleasure brings lullabies to my ears,” Sebastian resisted, fingering you faster, “…my cock.”

A thumb reached the outside of your clit, rubbing slowly and you clenched much slowly, feeling the triggering effect of Sebastian learning what pace you moan louder from his fingers.

“Are they,” he would curl a finger inside of you for a ting of tease and you yelp as he spoke. “…really faster than a quill, hm?” He challenged.

What a provocative little shit.

You couldn’t even talk well to insult him. You’d been so lost in his pace that when he removed his fingers from you, a mushy sound electrified and you breathed.

Sebastian lifted over you, and with the small movement of that, you saw the outline of his cock fighting in his pants. His hands reached down his belt and he raised his eyes like a wild animal looking for prey as you watched him.

Embarrassed from catching you eyeing him, you felt colored again and looked away, giving the privacy of undoing himself, but only a bubble of a laugh threw you off.

“I recall someone scribbled,” Sebastian began to remind you of the list of assumptions as he pulled his pants down. “‘I wonder if his cock is as thick as his ego.’”

You kept looking at the opposite perspective, not wanting to see. Also, to hide the blush that crept over you from what he was saying. All you did was blink at the stupid window across the dormitory.

“Darling,” Sebastian threw a pet name on you for attention. He would sometimes throw them in over the years with a silly friendship thing, but now it sounded heavy and with direction.

You licked your lips, but then felt a hand weight down beside you. Your saliva lingered over your throat as you felt that Sebastian had finally hovered over you again, and once you turned around, he’d be right there.

“Don’t you,” You shivered feeling a few fingers trace your collarbone and down the buttons of your shirt, starting to undo them. “…want to know if is as thick as my ego?”

You let him undress you, but it took a good portion of seconds to gain the courage to turn your head at his nude body before yours.

Cock wasn’t the first thing you saw. It’d been his broad chest — the way his tanned skin vibrated perfectly on the freckles that stamped him. They weren’t only on his face, but they reached down his shoulders, onto his back. A few down his abdomen until you saw him.

He was big. You saw the outline, but now in a raw view, you swallowed from the veins that strained out of it. It stared at you, like a mind of its own and it clearly showed the wanting of Sebastian to you. His cock dripped with pre-cum and it twitched from its pink tip, prepared.

It became stupid when you felt the same familiar heartbeat between your legs again, despite him fingering you pleasurably, you wanted more. You wanted him.

“Hey—“

“Get inside me.” You begged.

By now, from the severe distraction of admiring Sebastian’s body, you’d been nude yourself from his help. The buttoned shirt you once wore had been hanging on the tip of another girl’s bed and you shivered.

You overthought your command, sounding needy and stupid. “I mean—“

Sebastian didn’t think twice about your needs. You felt his lips land on yours, but your once-sitting bodies now lay back down over the pillow. His hand sprawled over the side of your face as he went between your legs and played around himself.

You hummed, feeling his tip linger around the outside of your skin. It rubbed over your drenched cunt on its own as Sebastian kissed you passionately.

The temperature felt hotter as Sebastian brought a hand down under your bodies and eyed the moment before taking a glance at you. “Yes?”

“Please.” You closed your eyes.

Sebastian stared at you. In his head, it crossed that he watched you right now, waiting for you to start writing what none of those girls could ever, ever, write in that list.

He didn’t enter you gently.

His entrance was rough and within gasp, he shut his eyes, squeezing them — hoping for the best of his fucking ego to not cum in that very second as you clenched. “Fuck.”

Your nails dug into his back from the shift of his hips slamming into you and gasped loudly, having to break the kiss.

“F-Fuck…” Sebastian went out of you but kept his tip stuck in your entrance. “…I’m trying to be gentle, but—“

“You were proving a point, weren’t you?” You throw in.

It was a dangerous commitment. There wasn’t turning back on what you had said. To prove a point. Sebastian didn’t hesitate on your words and stood by his words.

He crawled his hand under your body, bucking it up a little before he plunged inside of you like a slap. You both gasped and then he began to fuck you endlessly as time depended on it.

His cock buried inside powerfully. Sebastian didn’t play. He would go deeper and deeper with every rapid thrust, wanting to angle himself perfectly to feel the depth of your cervix and mark himself enough for it to remember him forever.

He’d watched as the pretty little mouth of yours parted with each movement. How your breasts bounced perfectly beneath him and he’ll go back to watching himself thrust into you, in and out, deep and deeper, harder and rougher — oh, he loved it. He loved you.

Your moans and expression sent him over the edge. His goal was to satisfy you to bring your name into the list — but it was never really the stupid list. It was just you. His heart had always been on you. And to finally have you tied on him, finally, he wanted to prove all those lost times of just ‘being friends’.

“Oh,” You moaned.

“Y-You’re so…tight around me, you know?” He complimented, bending forward to caress your cheek with his thumb. “…I could feel you…pressing around — shit — my co-cock with each thrust.”

You did clench with each thrust. He’d been so thick and long, that you couldn’t help the feeling of hugging him inside your walls and keeping him there forever.

The bed made squeaking sounds over the dormitory. It was loud and if Sebastian kept the pace he was doing, the bed would most likely hit the wall across the room.

Neither of you could hear the bed as much as the squelching sounds of skin-to-skin in the air. The way Sebastian drilled into you as his balls slapped beneath your cunt over each motion making you whimper and moan.

But Sebastian became attentive to the noise of the small bed. Sure, he enjoyed your sounds, but his easily distracted mind didn’t allow him to enjoy it fully — so he cuffed you under his arms and carried you to the nearest wall again.

“Sebastian!” You gasped, feeling your back against the cold wall, but it was soon replaced by heated pleasure again as Sebastian pressed into you.

His chest rubbed over your breast as he held you tightly and made you bounce up and down over him on the wall. “Yes?”

One hand gripped your ass beneath you for a force and the other hand of his rested flatly beside you on the wall, using it as a control to keep himself in balance and submerge every inch inside of you.

You’d won over the list. That list that you’d convinced yourself that with all these girls wanting Sebastian Sallow, your chances would lower — but you’d been wrong. Super wrong.

“D-Do you know…” Sebastian breathed, bringing his forehead against yours. Your breaths were heavy and his sweaty hairs touched yours. “-how long I waited to do this with you?”

You gave a half-laugh half-gasp at his honesty over the sex. You were both sweaty, but as your head bobbed over each other, you couldn’t help, but kiss again, passionately.

“But,” Your body took a freeze when Sebastian let you down and turned you around to the nearest dresser, the same one you were indeed dying to look for your coin pouch. “I feel like I haven’t proven enough…”

He bent you gently, letting your hands grip the edges of the small dresser before he inserted himself from behind.

The sex became rougher.

You felt how Sebastian twirled his fingers over your hair like a ponytail and used it as a control to inject his cock back inside of you harder. He’d watch as your behind bounced with each pump and whimper from his actions.

his voice?? His moans are probably so deep. Someone had written on the list.

They were deep.

His moans were deep.

His cock was deep.

His words were deep.

“Oh, yes,” He’d moan over your ear. “Perfect.”

You’ll clench and he’ll let out rough groans, synchronizing with your moans.

“Oh yeah.” You murmured.

Sebastian didn’t think he’d get harder than he already was, but your sounds bricked him awfully. He’d often had to think about clown suits or Prewett dressed as a banana to keep himself going a little longer, but that just fucked his mind.

As he took you from the back, he leaned forward, moving strands of hairs from one side of your neck and becoming a sucking machine on you. He sucked your shoulder, up to your neck, and when you raised your head to see his actions, he found your mouth, clumsily kissing you.

The kisses became lazier and the movement became aggressive. You’d known that if Sebastian kept the pace he was going in right now, you’d reach an orgasm. More if his hand moved into your clit and rubbed it.

“P-Please…” You begged.

“Please, what?” He struggled. “Tell me…tell me what do you want, sweetheart?” He breathed, his voice blending with the slamming sounds.

There wasn’t an ability to talk. Instead, you responded to the hot breath vibrating near your ear before your head spun and met in a desperate kiss with Sebastian. Tongues tangled frantically and a hand of his snaked over your sweat-licked bodies.

His hand lowered and you tucked your stomach, feeling a steady rub of circles over your clit. Sebastian had read you well, determined to push you on edge with him.

“Was pinning you like this,” Sebastian hissed. “-w-worth it?”

The man had proved his point. From how ecstatic he made you feel right now, you were set to write your signature big and bolded over the fucking list. Hell, you’d even highlight it with your reasonings, but the idea of other women knowing how good Sebastian Sallow fucked didn’t allow you.

Perhaps, you had to make another secret list with him only knowing now.

“Yes, yes,” You pleaded.

With pleads and moans, Sebastian felt his cock draw up tightly, balls clenching as he signaled a finish.

It was chaotically messy. A disheveled moment of both of you reaching a coarse point with curses and final moans.

It was planted that you weren’t going to be able to walk for a while after Sallow’s moves. He made sure he gave his all to you in a short amount of time and you couldn’t envision how he would act in a normal setting of sex.

You found yourself like one of the girls on the list. Wondering with curiosity — if he fucks that good in sneaking minutes, how would he be with all the time in the world?

“Well,” Sebastian tilted minutes later, fully clothed, picking up the list that had fallen to the floor. A small tugging smile crept on him as he held it up to you, all sweaty and all. “—I’m sure you have a lot to say for this list, don’t you?”

His eyes peered on yours. He wanted a definite yes answer to it. The satisfaction of you admitting he pleasured you so well, you wanted to put yourself on this list.

Half-tiredly, your fingers conjured a pen over him, and the list was snatched from his hold before you brought it down to a flat surface on the wall and began to sign.

You made sure your name was big and bolded at the bottom, enough for anyone to see. Sebastian watched with you.

He’s HUGE and he’s mine.

He became flustered at the scribble but didn’t complain. He looked down, smiling to himself like he won the lottery of some sort.

“This list though,” You murmured, making it poof away with your magic. “Would only be visible to me and you now, Sallow.”

Sebastian gave a humming noise at your demanding tone. “Hm, yeah?” 

"Yes."  

[thewrldx]

the looking away AND THEN LOOKING BACK pLEASE!!!!!!!!!!

YEARNINGᵀᴹ

[thewrldx]

[thewrldx]

Desperate—S.S

pic creds to sallowsgirl on pinterest!

Synopsis: Sebastian leans naturally dominant in bed, but that isn't to say he won't absolutely relinquish any control for the one person who can make him obedient. Submissive.

Sebastian Sallow x Female Reader

WC: 1.6K (of smut of course)

18+ aged up characters, SUB SEB (dom seb for .2 sec), unprotected sex, bondage, slapping, slight choking, mentions of overstim.

@euphorisun you inspire me mommy.

MDNI!!

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It started as it always did.

Sebastian had you on your back—his mouth hot on your neck, hand buried between your thighs, muttering filth against your skin like he was a man starved. His voice was rough and possessive while his fingers worked you in a rhythm that bordered on cruel. He was always doing more than trying to make you come.

He was trying to own it. Claim it. Claim you.

But something was burning in your chest. An ache rising from the pit of your stomach that began to crawl it way up your throat. You weren’t just Sebastian’s obedient little pet. You were his equal.

And you were going to remind him.

Your hand shot up, grabbing his jaw with sudden force and tilting his face up from the hollow of your neck. “Flip over.”

He blinked.

Then his smirk slid in, slow and cocky.  “Getting feisty, sweetheart?”

Your palm cracked across his cheek.

Sharp. Quick. Clean.

It wasn’t enough to hurt him—but enough to stun him. As the sound echoed like a spell gone off, his breath caught, and his big brown eyes grew even wider. He was in shock, pure breathless awe. His movements inside you halted, and for a long moment, the only thing between you was the sound of ragged breathing—yours, steady and commanding, and his, shaky and uneven.

His lip twitched.

He should have snapped back. Fought. Reclaimed control with one sharp thrust of his fingers deep inside you.

Instead, he moaned. A raw, desperate sound, thick with arousal and something beautiful. Submission.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Do that again.”

Whatever restraint that had been holding you together snapped. You struck his cheek again—more force than before and immediately fisted your hand in his hair, yanking him down into a kiss that stole the air from his lungs. You kissed him like you were devouring him. Like he was yours to take and ruin.

Because he was.

You tugged him off the kiss, chest heaving, pupils so blown his eyes were almost black. His lips were swollen, slightly parted, and he looked dazed. Completely at your mercy.

He had never looked so fucking hot.

“Listen to me,” you murmured, voice deadly soft, your grip tightening in his hair. “You’re going to flip over and let me use you exactly how I want.”

His throat worked around a swallowed breath, and your fingers flexed once more in warning.

“And I don’t want to hear anything smart from that mouth of yours,” you purred, leaning in, brushing your lips just barely over his. “Except whimpers.”

That’s when the first once escaped his lips, while he nodded slowly.

You shoved him off you without a word, flipping him onto his back, watching the way his breath caught in his throat as he hit the mattress. Before he could even dare to reach for you, you mounted him, straddling his hips with a deliberate, steady grace.

He twitched beneath you like a needy boy, every muscle tense.

Your hand wrapped easily around both his wrists, pinning them above his head with surprising strength. The other hand slid slowly down his chest, nails trailing light over his flushed, trembling skin. He squirmed at every teasing scratch.

“Stay still.”

He obeyed.

Barely.

His eyes fluttered close as his inhaled a shaky breath. It was taking everything he had not to rut up into you right then.

Your hand continued downwards, past the muscles of his stomach, toward the aching heat between his legs. His thighs tensed and his hands were twitching with overwhelming need to touch you. When your fingers brushed his pelvis, his eyes flew open. They were pleading, wide with pure desperation. His cheeks were flushed, hair messy from where you pulled at it. His lips were already parting in gasping moans.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice wrecked already. “Please, baby.”

You rocked your hips forward gently, letting his length slide under your slick folds, teasing him with just enough friction to make your sweet boy cry out, but not enough to give him what he needed.

“Can’t what?” You spat, curling your fingers tighter around his wrists. “Use your words.”

His head fell back in a groan, chest rising in stuttering gasps. “Can’t think. Can’t—fuck, I need you—”

You leaned down, brushing your lips over the sensitive spot just beneath his ear. “You need me to do what?”

His voice broke.  “Anything,” he choked. Begged. “Anything you want. Just—please, give me something. Anything.”

His hips bucked against you without permission, instinct chasing desire as he whimpered.

Your hand moved from his wrists, shooting to his jaw. You forced him to look at you, your gaze like steel.

“I said.” You growled, “stay still.”

Without another word, you slid off him just enough to summon your wand. With a flick, a pair of magical shackles clanked into existence, gleaming against the candlelight. You didn’t need to ask permission before you were chaining his wrists to the bedpost, locking him in place.

Sebastian didn’t dare to move.

“Better.” You mused, climbing back onto him. You gripped the base of his cock, dragging it along your dripping folds before slapping it sharply against your clit.

He jolted with a gasp. “Baby—” he choked, “I need you.”

The words came out like a confession. Like worship you deserved.

“I need you to touch me, to take me—darling I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

And he was. You could see it in the tremble of his thighs, the sheen sweat on his chest, the precum leaking freely from the flushed tip of his cock. He was shaking, hands clenching uselessly in the chains which rattled with every breath.

You shifted your hips, teasing the head of his cock against your entrance torturously. Sebastian groaned, obeying well at the command of staying still.

And for that you rewarded, sinking down onto him completely, finally giving him what he was aching for. Your walls accepted every each of him perfectly. Sebastian’s head slammed back against the pillows as his whole body arched. He let out a choked, broken sob that cracked right through him.

“Oh gods—fuck—”

Then, you started to move.

And that was it. He was gone. Ruined. Absolutely yours.

Your movements were nothing short of devastating. Each grind of your hips drew a strangled sound from Sebastian’s throat, his body jerking as he tried not to move, not to thrust, not to come—he knew the rules.

His jaw was clenched tight, lips parted in frantic pants, eyes locked on you with pure obsession.

“You’re—fuck,” he whimpered. “You’re so perfect—thank you.”

You smirked, titling your head as your brow arched in amusement.

“What for, handsome?”

He gasped when you slammed your hips down with purpose, wrists tugging at the restraints. “For this. For everything. For ruining me like this. For riding me—gods, you feel so good, I don’t deserve it—”

“You’re right,” you replied darkly. “You don’t deserve it.”

His voice was trembling and raw. “I know—I know, I…fuck, I’m trying—trying so hard to be good—”

You picked up the pace then, rolling your hips harder, sharper, taking his cock deeper with every thrust. He looked so spent with his hair plastered to his forehead and entire body slick with sweat.

And he couldn’t stop moaning.

“Angel—please, I’m so close, I can’t—please—”

You shook your head no, leaning down to let your tongue trace along the vein on his neck. “So fucking desperate.” You whispered. “You don’t come until I say.”

He whimpered like he was going to cry. “B-Baby, I-I can’t hold it. Please, just let me—”

You silenced him with your teeth, biting down on his neck to make him groan out, “you can.” You snapped, grinding down hard to watch him crumble.

“I want to be good,” he babbled. “Want to wait—gods, please.”

“Then hold it,” you hissed, slapping his cheek just hard enough before moving your hand towards his throat. His pulse thundered beneath your fingers. His cock throbbed violently inside you.

He was going to break.

“Don’t you dare come, Sebastian,” you warned, your free hand sliding between your legs to toy with your clit. He opened his eyes to a sight that was enough to kill a man. His woman, riding him and pleasuring herself at once. It was too much.

“I—I’m gonna—I’m—” he sobbed. “Please.”

You tightened your grip on his throat and clenched around him purposely.

“You’ll ask for permission like a good boy.”

He nodded furiously; face red and wet from tears he didn’t try to hide. “P-Please can I—can I come? I need to com—ohfuck—”

He didn’t even make it through the sentence before his entire body seized, a full-body shudder racking him as he came. He shot multiple spurts of his release deep inside you, gasping your name like it would tether him back to reality. He rode it out for mere seconds before he looked at you with horror.

“No—” he gasped, “no, I—I didn’t mean too—fuck, I’m—I’m sorry—”

But it was already too late.

You stopped moving, just enough for him to feel the consequence. His cock twitched inside you, oversensitive and raw as he panted, trying to catch up with what he’d just done. Your hand moved from his throat to his jaw, wiping away the tear that escaped down his flushed cheek.

“Oh, baby,” you mumbled. “You promised you’d be good.”

Sebastian swallowed hard.

Because he knew he was about to overstimulated to hell.