Sebastian Sallow X Mc - Blog Posts

don't know why but i feel "My Green Light" from the great gatsby broadway musical fits sebastian sallow and the mc.

⚠️ *Tw: Mentions of implied suicide* ⚠️

I know you guys are waiting on my next Diabolik lovers comic, but I’m suffering from art & writers block. So I started playing some Hogwarts legacy. And for those of you wondering; I myself am a ravenclaw, always have been. And I saw everyone else drawing their ocs and filling in their hogwarts id so I thought that I would get in on it. I hope you guys like them and maybe after I’m done with Kanna’s origins if anyone would care enough to see more artwork about my hogwarts ocs?

Bonus: 👇

guess the charm doesn't cancel out all noises... 🥴

Hogwarts Legacy Requests!

I really want to get back into writing for fun, so I'm looking for some requests to get my creativity jumpstarted!

Hogwarts Legacy characters (especially Ominis and Sebastian), Hogwarts Mystery Characters, or Harry Potter characters in general are all fair game. Use the request button featured on my account and give me a character and a little blurb about what you would like me to write!

Smut is A-Okay, I'll trust you all to know what may be taking it too far!

Ask away, friends :)

Preach bae 💕 Love this take

The ✨MC✨ influence

My favourite thing about the Sebastian x MC / OC ship is how each unique character Sebastian is paired with draws out different aspects of his personality while still keeping his traits and core values in tact. I think one of the reasons it's the popular ship in the fandom is because there are so many aspects of his personality to explore through the MC relationship dynamic that the possibilities are endless.

Depending on his partner's personality and lore, Sebastian can be extremely dark, achingly tender, or somewhere in the middle straddling that line between light and dark. Yet every portrayal is still undeniably Sebastian, from villain arc to redemption arc and everything in between. And that, my friends, is what has kept me hooked on exploring this ship for two years with no end in sight.

Some people might complain about him, some people flat out hate him, but to me, that sort of discourse is a sign of a well written, nuanced, complicated character. Even in the game, we're never quite sure where we stand with him. Does he like us, or is he using us? Is he a dark wizard in the making, or just a misguided orphan trying to hold his shattered family together? Or is it a very human combination of all?

The appeal of his character lies in these unanswered questions, which leaves us free to explore them in so many exciting ways!

Pictured above: Aurélie's ✨French influence✨ on him means my flavour of Sebastian is usually dressed in designer 😂

💅Outfits by @sallowsangel

queen behavior actually

Aurélie over-dressing for quests to annoy Sebastian, a series ✨💅

sebastian: ... really?

aurélie: 😇😊😌✨💅💖

I really loved this hc from @rosabellatonks and I had to draw them (although I made them so dirty 😭 I haven't gotten used to digital painting with my fingers yet)

I used my mc 💛

I've been drawing this scene for so long because of law school that won't let me do anything else 🥺🤡

*Everyone is standing around the broken cauldron*


Garreth: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone:

Poppy: ...I did. I broke it.

Garreth: No. No you didn't. MC ?

MC: Don't look at me. Look at Sebastian.

Sebastian: What?! I didn't break it.

MC: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

Sebastian: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

MC: Suspicious.

Sebastian: No, it's not!

Amit: If it matters, probably not, but Natty was the last one to use it.

Natty: Liar! I don't even like brewing!

Amit: Oh really? Then what were you doing by potions class earlier?

Natty: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Amit!

Poppy: Okay, let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, Garreth.

Garreth: No! Who broke it!?

Everyone:

MC: Garreth... Ominis' been awfully quiet.

Ominis: rEALLY?!


*Everyone starts arguing*


Garreth, being interviewed: I broke it. I burned my hand so I punched it.


Garreth: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick.


Garreth:


Garreth: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

A/N: I CHANGED THIS ONE TO KEEP THE MAGIC THEME, SORRY SKDKSK

The Serpent's Paramour CH 22 - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: In the wake of Nora and Joshua showing up at Natty's house battered beyond belief, a life altering decision looms on the horizon. What do you do next? None of the options presented are good ones, but the one thing you know with absolute clarity is that you can't stay in Uganda any longer.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, graphic descriptions of blood/injury/torture, angst

New chapter is up on Ao3 as well

It felt like you were moving through quicksand over the course of the next hour. 

Natty had led Ominis and Devlin to another spare room on the opposite end of the second floor, the two men working together to cautiously transport Nora up the stairs. Paternal panic was emanating off of Devin in waves, so no one had said anything when he’d taken it upon himself to take charge of his daughter’s care. You and Sebastian had jumped into action to move Joshua onto the couch in the living room, the Ashwinder’s feet clamped firmly to your sides while Sebastian looped his arms under the man’s armpits. 

The second his back hit the cushions of the sofa, he groaned, eyes flashing with pain. “Gods. Your bedside manner… needs some improvement.”

Sebastian huffed dryly, shaking his head as he took to unbuttoning the redhead’s blood-stained vest and shirt. “I’m not exactly used to my underlings showing up half-dead in front of me like this. Where are you hurt?” 

“Don’t know,” the Ashwinder sighed. “Everywhere?”

“Unless you want to end up completely naked and make the lady blush, you’re going to have to be more specific than that.” 

Joshua tried to laugh, but the sound came out in the form of a wet, rattling wheeze. “Chest is torn up… hip hurts, too. Right arm is shredded to bits.” 

Without further commentary, Sebastian motioned for your assistance. You held Joshua upright as the brunet carefully peeled away the top half of the ruined clothing, his movements measured and gentle in his attempts to not worsen the existing damage. Without the vest and the shirt in the way, you were given a clear, unobscured view of the wounds, and the sight of them made nausea churn in your gut. 

It was awful. Violent, deep lesions decorated the front of Joshua’s chest– many of them criss-crossing over one another to form intentional ‘X’ shapes over his heart and abdomen. Bruises, burns, and cuts covered every inch of his torso. His arm was sliced badly too, but it looked to be the work of a botched apparition attempt– splinched nearly to the bone. Had he been the one to get himself and Nora here? It was near suicide to apparate if the witch or wizard casting the spell wasn’t one hundred percent focused. 

That was hardly important right now, though. Beneath the dried blood, you could make out a strange pattern that looked weirdly similar to lightning. The jagged lines were a dark red color and stretched outward from the center of his chest, wrapping around his entire upper body and delving beneath his sides. You wagered that if you turned him over to look, you would find the same marks all over his back. 

“Merlin– what is that?” 

Sebastian looked at you out of the corner of his eye, his jaw clenched so hard that a muscle there spasmed. “Evidence of the Cruciatus Curse. Victor did this to you?” 

“He gave the order,” Joshua muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against the gruesome pain you knew he had to be feeling. “Told the men when to start… and when to stop.” 

“And the cuts? The bruises?” 

You bristled when you heard his answer. “Henri– the fucking madman. Said it was more personal… using his hands.” 

You were unfortunately familiar with Henri’s methods. While you hadn’t experienced anything to this degree during your week long captivity in the Poacher’s castle, none of this was bringing back good memories. Sebastian looked at you again, his expression warring between concern and anger, but you weren’t the one that needed care right now. Steeling your nerves, you ignored his blatant worry and bolted into the kitchen, grabbing every available rag, towel, and napkin you could get your hands on. A bowl was swiftly filled with water– but Anne’s sudden appearance in front of you stopped you before you could return to the living room. 

She hugged a bottle of amber liquid to her chest, her gaunt face mirroring the panic you felt deep down. “I can help,” she said firmly. “I’ve been around doctors– I know what to do.” 

You were hardly of a mind to protest. With a curt nod, you and Anne made your way to the living room with your assortment of makeshift medical supplies. Sebastian’s face fell when he caught sight of his sister, and his body seemed to move on its own to block her view of the brutalized dark wizard on the couch. “You don’t need to see this, Anne–” 

“I’ve seen these exact sorts of things for the last five years,” she cut him off sternly. The younger twin barely spared her brother a glance as she got situated on her knees, helping herself to a rag before dipping it into the bowl of water. “I know how to help better than anyone. Go find Natty– ask her if she has any Wiggenweld potions. They won’t heal everything, but it can minimize the bleeding and fix that gods-awful rattling in his chest.” 

Sebastian’s hands curled defiantly, but he didn’t outright object to his sister’s instructions. Clearly he felt negatively about her exposing herself to the horror scene playing out in Natty’s house, and it was for that reason you found yourself saying, “I’ll go. I want to check on Nora, anyway.” 

A shadow of guilt flashed across Sebastian’s face at the mention of the female Ashwinder, but you were already walking out of the room by the time you considered consoling him. There would be time to check on his wellbeing after everyone had made sure neither Nora nor Joshua died. 

Things weren’t much better upstairs. Ominis, Devlin, and Natty were busy tending to Nora’s unconscious body with unwavering focus. The Auror ran his wand over her torso, the red tip pulsing quickly as he seemingly scanned her for internal damage. Natty had just finished unbuttoning her tattered blouse to reveal injuries identical to the ones that littered Joshua’s abdomen, but the bruising against her ribs couldn’t be fully concealed by the blood caked to her skin. It looked nasty– monstrous. Someone with a vendetta had definitely gone to work on her, and for the first time since knowing her, you found yourself fearing for Nora’s life. 

Devlin was hunched over his daughter– brushing matted strands of hair out of her face as he murmured reassurances that you weren’t even sure she could hear. “You’re going to be alright, baby. You’ll be fine– I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

You had never seen the older man so terrified. Angry, bewildered, and shocked– yes. But the fear in his eyes shook you to your very core, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. 

“Natty,” you called to her softly. “Anne was asking for Wiggenweld for Joshua. Have you got any left?” 

The woman’s eyes stayed trained on Nora’s body as she wordlessly and wandlessly summoned up the same types of things you had fetched downstairs. She nodded at the same time she grabbed for a rag, dunking it in the water before wringing the excess back into the bowl. “Yes, they are under the shelf in the dining room.” 

There were… a lot of shelves in the dining room. Furrowing your brow, you muttered, “Um… which one?” 

“The one next to the decorative vases–” her hand stilled against Nora’s bloodied shoulder, pursing her lips as she reevaluated what she was saying. “Nevermind, I will get them.” 

You felt bad for removing your host from her self-imposed duties, but you genuinely had no idea which shelves she was referring to. Time was not on anyone’s side right now, so wasting it in search of healing potions didn’t seem wise. As Natty passed you, she handed you the red-tinged rag, holding your stare for a few extra seconds with sorrow glimmering in her dark eyes. “Are they… do they work with…”

“They used to work for Rookwood before Sebastian took over,” you whispered. “Now, though… I’m not so sure. I can’t make heads or tails of this.” 

“This is…” she trailed off, shaking her head to herself as she glanced back at the jagged scars decorating Nora’s skin. “I have never seen marks of a curse so severe. Even the ones I got from Harlow were not–” her voice caught in her throat, but before you could offer any form of comfort, Natty shook the thought from her mind. “That she is alive at all is a miracle.” 

“I know. So let’s try to keep it that way.” 

There was nothing else either one of you could say. Natty hurried out into the hallway to make her way downstairs, and you swiftly strode over to her original position near the head of the bed. Nora’s injuries were… extensive, to put it mildly. Cuts and bruises, gashes and lesions, and that abhorrent scar left over from the Crutiatus Curse. All of it was stark against her fair skin, sickening you to your core and making you think that anyone capable of doing such a thing to another human being deserved the most painful of deaths. 

Echoing your thoughts, Devlin spoke up in a low, threatening voice. “I want to kill him myself for this.” 

You almost asked who before thinking better of it. Henri or Rookwood– it didn’t matter. If they were working together like Joshua had said, then they were both equally guilty. “I know. We need to focus on Nora for now, though. One thing at a time…” 

From the other end of the bed, Ominis sighed and let his wand bearing arm fall to his side. “The bruising is inside of her, too. I can’t tell where– maybe her lungs– but I don’t think we’ll be able to give her the kind of care she needs here. She needs professional help.” 

Devlin grimaced, his eyes never once wavering from his daughter’s mercifully serene face. “St. Mungo’s?” 

“Ordinarily I would say yes, but in her current state…” Ominis frowned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend apparating with her back to London. I’ll ask Natty if there’s a hospital nearby we can bring her to.” 

Whatever words Devlin wanted to reply with got lodged in his throat. His brows pinched together, and he dipped his chin in understanding. Even though Ominis couldn’t see the motion, the palpable stillness within the room conveyed the older man’s feelings well enough. He would do whatever was best for his daughter– no questions asked. 

The Auror turned on his heel to exit the room, leaving you, the elder Ashwinder, and Nora alone in the bedroom. There wasn’t much you could say to quell Devlin’s worries, so you instead began methodically wiping away the blood that adorned his daughter’s chest. Her brassiere was the only thing Natty had left on her upper body, and you elected to leave it where it was and just clean around it the best you could. 

“How did Joshua know to come here?” You found yourself asking after a while. Devlin was slow to respond, and when he finally did, his words were strained. 

“Nora had been filling in for Sebastian and I while we were away. We were corresponding regularly after we ended up in France, and I sent word to her the day we came here. I didn’t tell her the specifics of where, but since your friend works for Uagadou, I assume she was able to find out the address…” he trailed off after that, his expression conveying well enough that he was grateful for his daughter’s sleuthing. Digging deeper for Natty’s personal information– however that might have come to pass– had probably saved her life. 

Minutes ticked by in silence. You were fully prepared for things to continue like that, but then Devlin’s hoarse, weathered voice reached your ears. “What do you want to do?” 

You stilled only briefly before dunking the rag in a bowl of water, wringing out the excess and resuming your efforts. “About what?” 

“This,” he jerked his chin towards Nora. “If Rookwood and Henri are at the manor, we can go after them. We can put an end to them before they get the chance to jump us at the ancient magic site. You and I both know that’s where they’ll end up, anyway– Victor already knows that’s Sebastian’s end goal.” 

It was a sensible question… but not an easy one for you to answer. “Shouldn’t you be asking Sebastian this? Why does my opinion matter?” 

“Its always mattered, kid. I’ll ask Sebastian too, make no mistake. But you’re the one Henri is after. I still don’t know what to think of your idea that Victor caused all of this just to kill you, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been a part of this. So if it was up to you, what would you do?” 

You swiped away more blood as you chewed the inside of your cheek. He made a good point; bringing the fight to Rookwood did present an opportunity that was too tempting to pass up. It would remove the largest obstacle in Sebastian’s path to the relic, and it would all but guarantee that the plan to cure Anne could be executed without interruption. 

But it was almost too perfect. Too convenient. 

Nora and Joshua escaping was either the biggest stroke of luck the universe had ever dished out, or it was a calculated move on Rookwood’s part. He had to know they would make their way back to everyone if given the chance– that they would bring the news of his arrival straight to everyone here. Sebastian’s twin sister had been cursed by the very same man he had worked for, and Nora was Devlin’s daughter. Between the two of them having such personal motivations to seek Victor out, the likelihood of the manor being a trap was astronomical. 

Returning to where all of this had started was risky. It seemed foolish to charge head first through the front doors and risk being blindsided by what was more than likely an ambush. 

“I think Victor and Henri are pulling more strings than we realize,” you cautiously explained. “I think they planned all of this. Working together, going to the manor, Nora and Joshua escaping… if we go home, we’ll be bushwhacked.”

“Bush– what?” Devlin muttered, shaking his head in confusion. “You know what– nevermind. I get what you’re implying. So you would rather get the relic first, then?” 

“I don’t know. That could very well be a trap too since Victor knows its location. Maybe they can’t hide out inside since it’s sealed up with ancient magic, but he probably has eyes on it. I doubt he would leave it unguarded since he knows Sebastian will inevitably turn up there.” 

“Then what do you suggest? Because sitting around in Uganda isn’t exactly a solid plan in my mind. We’ve wasted enough time here as it is– and look what that got us.” He gestured to Nora, his voice harder and more impatient as he snapped at you. You tried not to take it personally, though. It was understandable that he felt stuck. “If we go to the manor expecting a trap, then that’s us staying one step ahead of Victor, right? We can still kill them.” 

It didn’t escape your notice that Devlin sounded uncertain. It was almost as though he was trying to convince himself more than you, and you fixed him with a knowing look that made him bristle. His eyes jumped away from yours to land back on Nora, and you sighed. “I don’t know, Devlin. To be completely honest, I think we’re screwed either way.” 

He didn’t say anything after that. There was nothing either one of you could offer up to make any of this better. Victor and Henri were conspiring with one another, Nora and Joshua had been tortured within an inch of their lives, and both plans before you were ripe with the potential to fail. 

It wasn’t just Devlin who felt stuck. Despite wracking your brain for answers or alternative possibilities, you were coming up empty handed every time. You really– wholly and truly– had no clue what to do. 

—

A vote had been cast in Natty’s living room. 

It could hardly be viewed as a democratic process. Ominis, Natty, and Anne weren’t participating, because they would be accompanying the wounded Ashwinders to the hospital once you left. Joshua and Nora weren’t giving their input for obvious reasons, so it had all boiled down to you, Devlin, and Sebastian. 

Were the three of you to return to the manor, or would you be traveling to the ancient magic site to claim the relic before squaring off with Victor and Henri? 

Devlin was still adamant about taking the fight to his former boss and the Frenchman. He wanted to inflict onto them what they had done to his daughter tenfold, and no amount of cautionary tales or warnings could sway him from that decision. Since you’d been forced to choose between the two options, you had voted in favor of obtaining the relic. Maybe having such an item in your possession would give you an edge against your enemies and grant everyone more time to come up with a plan of attack– one that was more cohesive than ‘show up and kill everyone’. 

Sebastian was the tie-breaker. You and Devlin had both tried to project your thoughts into his head in a bid to hear the answers you each respectively preferred, but you knew it was pointless. Neither one of you was a Leglimens, and Sebastian’s decision would ultimately be rooted in what he thought was best. 

Which is why you weren’t surprised in the slightest when he said, “I vote going back to the base. If we can take out Victor and Henri at the same time, it’ll make getting the relic to cure my sister that much easier.” 

The sinking feeling in your gut told you that nothing about this was going to be easy. 

Devlin’s shoulders sagged with relief, and Sebastian’s dark eyes swiveled towards you as a remorseful expression passed over his face. “I’m sorry, princess. The manor is familiar territory to fight in. Victor could bring the ancient magic site down on top of us if we go there with him still breathing.” 

The explanation was delivered in that ‘no-nonsense’ tone he reserved for his underlings. You were none too pleased with the sudden professionalism he displayed towards you– if it could even be called that. Pursing your lips, you nodded stiffly, then turned to peek at the silent trio you would be parting from shortly. 

Anne looked nervous. It was probably the most anxious you had ever seen her; her brows were furrowed, her hands were being wrung together incessantly, and she hadn’t stopped fidgeting since everyone had come together in the living room. To her left was Natty– a grave expression of her own shrouding her otherwise stern face. Was she upset that Sebastian’s drama had followed him to her home? Did she regret offering you sanctuary? It was hard to tell, but you knew apologies would be pointless. 

Ominis, on the other hand, looked to be the most put together of the three. His spine was ramrod straight, and his hands were clasped behind his back as his unseeing eyes darted around in front of him. Whatever he was thinking about was important enough that he hadn’t said anything to rebuff Sebastian’s comment about curing Anne. He had maintained an unwavering, serious demeanor ever since Nora had fallen into his arms hours earlier, and you couldn’t help but be grateful that he wasn’t coming with you. 

Despite his reservations about Sebastian, Devlin, and their work as a whole, you knew he would protect the people around him with everything in him. Nora would be in good hands here. You pitied the villains that dared to cross the seasoned Auror’s path. 

“It’s not too late for you to change your mind,” Sebastian said, drawing your attention away from your old friends. “You don’t have to go, princess. You can stay here– keep an eye on Nora and Joshua for us until we send word that Victor and Henri have been dealt with.” 

Yeah, not a chance. “I’m not letting you both gallivant into what is most certainly a trap without backup.” 

“The girl spends three days casting spells without a wand and thinks she qualifies as a one woman army,” Devlin muttered to himself with a smirk. “Pretty soon your head will be bigger than his.” 

Sebastian scowled when his second in command gestured loosely towards him, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the snide comment. “While I appreciate your willingness to help, this isn’t going to be anything like what we’ve done these last few months. Living with Ashwinders, burning down dragon fighting rings, squaring off with Dementors– that was child’s play compared to this.”

“You don’t have to be so dramatic. I already know–” 

“Do you?” Sebastian interjected roughly, his features contorting until his face looked like it had when you’d first set eyes on him all those months ago. It was the glower of a dark wizard. The cold, unyielding way he stared at you might have scared you back then, but now? Now it just pissed you off. “This will be murder. A plain, calculated execution. Yeah, Victor and Henri are awful people, and they probably deserve worse than a quick death. But while killing is easy, it’s the guilt that comes afterwards that can be difficult to cope with. Are you prepared for that?” 

“I’ve killed people before, Sebastian.” Your voice was flat as you threw the reminder in his face, which seemed to snap him out of his domineering persona. “You know as well as I do that I’m perfectly capable of defending myself. Besides… I already told you back in Colmar, didn’t I?” 

The brunet looked puzzled, but judging by the minute narrowing of Devlin’s eyes, he remembered the solemn vow you had made within the abandoned inn. Sebastian shook his head, “Told me what?” 

“That I would be the one to kill Henri for what he did to me. The two of you can draw sticks over who gets to swing at Victor first, but Henri? He’s mine.” 

Of all the things for Sebastian to do in the wake of such a bold statement, laughing was well at the bottom of the list. Ominis muttered something– probably a comment having to do with the startling amount of casual killers he found himself surrounded by– but you hardly paid him any mind. Anne and Natty remained silent as they mirrored each other and sent twin looks of wariness at one another. They had to be so far out of their element in the midst of the conversation that you almost felt bad. But then Sebastian was wiping a nonexistent tear from the corner of his eye, sighing around a smile as he practically beamed at you. 

“Alright, princess. Far be it from me to stand in your way. With all of those new tricks up your sleeve, Henri won’t know what hit him.” 

Saying goodbye was never easy. Part of the reason you had left Hogwarts after graduation without a word to anyone was because you were terrible when it came to farewells. People would cry, hug, snivel, and promise to write even though it was inevitable that with the passage of time, they would eventually forget. Relationships came and went, friendships ran their course before naturally coming to a close. You had learned a long time ago not to cling to the bonds you forged with others in a bid to make life easier later down the line. 

But be that as it may, standing in the rain-soaked courtyard outside of Natty’s house wrapped tight in her bone-crushing embrace made you realize that the connections you had repaired here were crucial. They had healed something within you. They had fixed a jaded, cracked part of your soul that had only worsened in the years you’d spent alone. 

“Thank you for everything, Natty.” Your watery voice was muffled against her shoulder, but she still heard you. “Take care of everyone for me, okay? We’ll be back soon.” 

“It was my pleasure, my friend. I am only sorry it must end so soon… three days was not nearly enough time.” She pulled away and slid her palms up to your neck, gently resting her hands there so she could stare imploringly down at you. “Promise me you will be safe? I expect to see you back here soon. No more keeping to yourself– there are plenty of other holidays we can spend together.” 

Her dark eyes twinkled with emotion beneath the moonlight, and your reassuring smile seemed to help her relax. “I promise, Natty.” 

Anne was a blubbering, inconsolable wreck. The force of her hug had nearly choke-slammed you to the ground, but you’d caught yourself and returned the gesture with equal strength. She’d extended the same treatment to Devlin, and then eventually to her brother. In-between sobs, she had managed to croak out, “Please stay safe. Don’t do anything careless– I swear if you die, I’ll find some way to kill you myself.” 

Sebastian laughed breathlessly, his massive arms enveloping Anne so completely that she was almost entirely hidden from view. It was a heart wrenching sight, and the fact that Sebastian’s eyes were red-rimmed when he cracked them open to look at you from over Anne’s shoulder didn’t help matters. None of this was easy for anyone. 

Ominis was– unsurprisingly– more poised with his goodbyes. He shook Devlin’s hand firmly, promising the older gentleman that he would see to it that Nora was well taken care of. Despite the fact that both men had gotten off to a rocky start upon meeting one another, Devlin seemed to take solace in the promise. He nodded appreciatively and said, “You’re one of the good ones, Gaunt. Try not to die anytime soon.” 

“I could say the same to you.” 

Ominis gave you a firm but mindful hug, patting you on the back for good measure before making you swear that you wouldn’t do anything reckless. “I mean it,” he chided, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear it. “If things at that manor are as bad as I think they are, you leave. Get out and run as far from there as you can.” 

You wanted to jest– to make a comment pertaining to your affinity for getting into trouble despite your best efforts. But the Auror looked genuinely fearful as he fixed his milky blue eyes in your direction. Maybe Ominis wouldn’t outright say it, but you knew he was worried. He was holding it together the best he could for everyone’s sake, so you reconsidered your reply. “I will.”

After that, you, Devlin, and Sebastian congregated in the middle of the courtyard, the wet dirt squelching beneath your feet in the wake of the rain having finally stopped. Devlin put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, and before you could do the same, the dark wizard clasped your hand in his wandless one, giving it a telling squeeze for good measure. When you glanced up at him, his expression was remarkably soft– completely at odds with how you knew he must be feeling internally. 

“Are you ready?” 

No. 

“Yes.” 

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as though he knew better than to believe you, but otherwise said nothing. The three of you took one last look at the trio standing before the front door, hoping against all odds that it wouldn’t be the last time any of you saw them. A crack sounded all around you, a weightlessness coming over you shortly thereafter, and the way your stomach lurched had absolutely nothing to do with the feeling of apparating. 

You were going home. For better or worse, when you opened your eyes next, you would find yourself back where all of this had begun.

Sebastian Sallow x Reader (Drabble) — Winter Warmth

Synopsis: Winter has fallen upon the Scottish Highlands, blanketing Hogwarts in all of it's frosted glory. Sebastian is ecstatic as the mercury descends lower and lower— you, on the other hand, well, let's just say you could do with a few more layers and all of the warmth you can muster to steal from your doting boyfriend.

Established relationship, takes place 7th year/aged up characters, space heater boyfriend and ice cube girlfriend trope, fem!reader, fluff, fluff and more fluff, enchanted scarves, and me projecting how much I fkn hate winter.

You can't deny that the fresh cover of snow is just as lovely as it is cold. It encapsulates the grounds of the school on every surface, draping over the looming turrets and towers and glittering in the peachy morning sunlight. The cobblestone paths and courtyards are cloaked with frost and ice, and the Great Lake, now frozen, reflects the silvery sky and the pale rose of the sunrise.

Truly, it is beautiful, and maybe if you weren't such an avid hater of this frigid, dark, long season . . . perhaps you would enjoy it more.

But the chill seeps through your robes so cold it's practically burning, frozen fingers shoved deep in your pockets and shoulders shrugged up to your ears. You'd only been outside of the warm confines of the castle for a few minutes, yet despite your warm layers and thick house scarf, you still found yourself swearing at the biting wind.

You longed to be back in your common room, cozied up beside the large fireplace with a book and a warm drink but alas, Sebastian had other plans. With Quidditch season wrapping up along with the fall months, there were few more training sessions left and Sebastian was adamant on being there to support his peers. Not making the team for his final year of Hogwarts was a heavy blow for him, but the boy was determined to find a way to still enjoy the sport.

So, here you are, tracking through the snow in the early hours of December towards the Quidditch pitch, where you promised to meet your boyfriend to watch the team practice together. You'd both been swamped with exams and papers the last few weeks, leaving hardly any time to spend together besides crashing into the Great Hall to sit beside each other for meals and the occasional drop in to the Undercroft with Ominis.

Unlike you, Sebastian absolutely adores the colder weather. He's filled with excitement for the Holidays and glittering with joy like the morning frost that enamors him. It's hard to not at least look forward to his enchanted moods if not for anything else when the mercury drops this low.

You find that even casting basic warming charms isn't enough to keep you from shivering this morning, wishing desperately for an extra layer of clothing. Your teeth clatter together clumsily no matter how hard to try to stop them.

The quidditch pitch in sight and the whipping sounds of billowing robes in the sky have you quickening your step and your eyes scan the open space for the brunet. He stands just on the edge of the pitch beside the first row of bleachers, elbow propped up on the barricade as he bickers with Imelda teasingly as she flies overhead on her broom, eyes rolling light heartedly.

He turns at the sound of your boots crunching in the snow, that charming smile of his creeping across his face before he pushes himself off the barricade towards you.

"Hey, darling." He says, bowing his head to press a quick kiss to your cheek, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his dark robes. Despite his hot-bloodedness, Sebastian himself is layered in as many warm sets of clothing as you are, a Slytherin scarf tucked snuggly into his vest and a patterned wool coat unbuttoned atop his outfit.

"It's bloody freezing out here." You complain, leaning into his warmth as he chuckles light-heartedly at your scowl.

"Not too bad," Sebastian denies, "Practice will probably run short today anyway, won't have to stand it for too long."

You watch as the players pass the quaffle back and forth through their formations, running positional drills at incomprehensible speeds. Their green uniforms go by as mere flashes of color, winds whipping in their wake. Sebastian pulls you into his side, arm across your shoulders and you nearly sigh aloud at the heat radiating off of him. It takes all your strength to stop the tremors racking your body, you know he'll fret about you if he realizes how cold you truly are. As much as you'd love to be inside by the fire, you'd hate for him to miss out on this because of you.

"Are you warm enough?" He asks, dark brows furrowed in concern.

You turn to smile up at him assuringly, "I'm alright." You nod, but he's already turning to face you, pulling your hands from your pockets to cradle between his own.

"You're a bad liar," He chides, "Your hands are like ice!" He brings your hands together to his mouth, cupping his own around yours before blowing warm air against your fingers, lips parted just slightly. Sebastian gazes down at you with nothing short of adoration, taking care of you as he always does and you're practically melting in his hold. Warmth curls in your stomach and you have to look away to avoid blushing.

You wiggle your newly thawed fingers in his grasp, humming your content before he's pulling you in and wrapping your arms around his torso under his coat, tucking your hands into the pocket of warmth between his layers.

"Oh my god," You groan, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head, "How are you so hot?"

"While I'm flattered, my love, we do happen to be in public." He teases, wrapping his arms around your back to press you into his chest, enveloping you in his distinctly smokey-sage aroma. You pinch his side beratingly, though it ends up being mostly fabric and you can't help but laugh.

Together you watch the rest of quidditch practice, cheering on team mates and laughing while they goof off on their brooms. Some of the players are flushed red in the face due to the cold whipping at their skin, others seem unbothered by the chill. It's not long before they begin wrapping up, putting away equipment and high-fiving each other as they gather their things. Sebastian and you bid goodbye to everyone, still pressed as close as you can muster before filtering off the pitch with everyone else.

"How does breakfast sound?" You ask Sebastian, wrapping an arm around his bicep as you walk.

"Maybe something small. We could grab something from the Hall and take it to the Room of Requirement."

"Hoping to get me all to yourself, Sallow?" You tease, smirking up at him with a challenge.

Sebastian shrugs smugly, "Oh please, all I'd have to do is ask nicely."

You bounce your shoulder into his, laughing. "Well? Are you gonna ask then?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes, "Well, now," he draws out the word, "I don't want to." He turns his head from you childishly, puffing his chest up ridiculously and huffing.

"Fine, I'll ask then. Could we get breakfast and spend some time alone together and possibly never leave the Room of Requirement again?" You think for a moment, then ammend, "Well, at least not until summer. When it's warm out again."

Sebastian smiles, "If you insist."

The pastries you all but snatch off the tables in the Great Hall are warm and fresh, wrapped delicately in napkins and bundled up in your arms as you make your way to the secret room together. Sebastian holds two mugs of steaming hot chocolate, charmed to stay warm for the venture.

You push the door open as soon as it appears, a fire is already flaming next to the big gothic windows, the snowy landscape shining brightly through the stained glass. A burgundy settee is placed in front of it, adorned with plush blankets and pillows and a side table for all your treats.

Sebastian places the mugs down and shrugs off his layers, leaving him in his school jumper and pleated pants, House crest proudly embroidered on his chest. You follow suit before crashing onto the couch next to him, knees tucking into your chest as you practically burrow yourself into his side, slipping your socked feet under the warm blankets and sighing dramatically. Sebastian passes you an unwrapped pastry before taking one for himself, stretching his arm around you and settling into the furniture.

"Merlin, isn't this great? I mean, just think; if it were summer we'd be sweating right now. We'd have to sit on opposite ends of the couch and you'd still be whining about me being too hot." He remarks after a bite.

You consider before shrugging. "Okay, maybe. But could we just spend the rest of winter indoors?"

Sebastian chuckles before pressing a kiss to your lips, hand cupping the nape of your neck and tangling in the hair that lay there.

You lean into him, fingers slipping under the hem of his jumper before trailing up his warm body to rest on his broad chest. The muscles ripple under your cold touch, and you feel him flinch away from you before grasping at your wrists, his lips smiling against yours

"Bloody hell! Your hands are too cold, stop stealing my body heat!" He chastises, but you're giggling and fighting against his hold, pressing your fingers back beneath the warmth of his clothes. You know if he really meant it that he's more than strong enough to hold you back, but instead he appeases you, although he yelps helplessly when you make contact with his chest again.

Suddenly, his warm breath is in the crook of your neck and he's pushing you down into the couch, settling his body weight on top of you and nestling under the blankets against your body. You wrap your arms around his torso and tangle your legs into his, closing your eyes and relishing in his affections.

He huffs a deep, relaxed breath and grins against your skin, "Okay, perhaps I could be convinced to stay here until summer."

"That sounds perfect to me." You say, reaching a hand up to twist into the curling locks of his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. He groans softly at the sensation, rocking his head back and forth against your fingers like a dog begging for pets.

It isn't long before you're both drifting to sleep, eyes slipping closed and breaths slow and even. You spend the day just like that, tangled up together in your secret hiding spot, laughing and cuddling and talking quietly amongst each other until you find something better to do.

The next few days pass just as cold and snowy as the first, but on the third day you receive a lovely wrapped surprise at breakfast. Inside the box sits a lovely matching set of mittens and a scarf knitted of soft, cozy fabric in your favorite color. Under it, a hand written note from yours truly, the scrawl messy and parchment crinkled;

"For your damned icicle fingers! Charmed to keep you warm even in negative temperatures.

Your handsome, marvelous, thoughtful, caring, and unbelievably intelligent boyfriend,

Sebastian

P.S. before you ask, yes I suppose you can keep using me as your personal heater as well . . . "

THIS WAS SO GOOD I DEVOURED IT

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.

End of the Line PART 2 - Sebastian Sallow x Female! Reader

Summary: Sebastian had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and he rarely gave up before accomplishing whatever it was he set his mind to. His goal of impregnating you was one he was hell-bent on succeeding at, and who were you to deny him?

Alternatively summarized as Sebastian fucking a baby into you and a brief glimpse at the months that follow.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, breeding kink, pregnancy, mild body dysphoria, explicit sexual content

Full fic can be found here on Ao3 ! Part 1 is linked here for the Tumblr squad :))

You were so overstimulated that it was starting to hurt. 

Completely boneless on the bed, Sebastian’s strong arms kept you pinned to his chest as he languidly rolled his hips into your soaked heat. The slick between your legs wasn’t solely your doing, though; your lover hadn’t pulled out of your tight folds once since taking you to bed earlier, and he had made good on his promise to make you come more times than you cared to admit. 

In truth, you’d simply lost count. 

It didn’t matter. What did matter was how Sebastian held you flush to him– the two of you were laying sideways against the sheets, his broad hands slowly roving down the bare expanse of your chest to squeeze your breasts as he pumped his last load deeper inside of you. The filthy, wet noises were enough to make your head spin, and from behind you, Sebastian’s own lustful groan betrayed just how much he loved the sound. 

“You’re taking it so well, darling,” he whispered directly against your ear, punctuating the statement with another unhurried roll of his hips. You arched into him impossibly further, your head falling back against his shoulder, and the stubble that adorned his jaw rubbed deliciously against your hyper-sensitive skin. “Fuck– you can’t even begin to imagine how perfect you feel. Such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” 

Your reply came out sounding more like a guttural moan– the combined feeling of his cock sliding into you lazily and his hands pinching your nipples enough to render your tongue useless. Sebastian didn’t mind, though. He fucking relished in having worked you into such a brainless state, full of his cum and covered in a slew of dark, branding hickeys. You looked and sounded wrecked, and the urge to do more– fill you more– was insatiable. 

One of Sebastian’s broad hands skirted higher up your chest to grip your throat, holding you against his shoulder so he could better sink his teeth into the skin below your ear. The pain quickly gave way to pleasure, and you moaned unabashedly at the feeling and trembled in his arms. 

“What do you think?” He asked you with a throaty growl, trailing his free hand down lower until the pads of his fingers were planted firmly over your swollen clit. An airy gasp ripped from your lips when he began rubbing tight, controlled circles over the inflamed nub, and despite your limp nature in his hold, you instinctively attempted to writhe away from the stimulation. It was pointless. “Think you can take another load? I can feel you sucking my cock in deeper– you can do it, can’t you?”

“Sebastian,” you whimpered meekly, and the fucked-out tone in your voice had his still-hard shaft twitching tellingly inside your walls. “I-It’s too much…”

“Shh, come on, darling. Do it for me? Let me fuck my seed into you, just once more– you’re so perfect, so good to me. Please?” 

It was hard to deny him when he was purring his request against the marred skin of your shoulder. Besides, the whole reason you were letting him have his way with you like this was due in large part to his desire to impregnate you. You’d been trying for weeks, but between his hectic work schedule and your sporadic ventures out into the Highlands, the opportunities had been few and far between. He was finally home for an extended period of time now, however, and he’d wasted next to no time at all in stealing you away to the bedroom as soon as he’d walked in the door tonight. 

You swallowed around the lump in your throat when his tongue laved over the light imprint of his teeth in the crook of your shoulder. The wet muscle trailed higher, up the side of your throat until he reached the curve of your jaw. He nibbled lightly at the salty skin there, urging you to answer him with another tantalizing plunge of his cock. 

Words were once again a thing of the past, so you willed your body to cooperate long enough to nod quickly. You felt Sebastian’s lips curl into a smile against the side of your throat, and before you could register what was happening, he had rolled you over so you were effectively laying on top of him with your back pressed into his muscular chest. The hand on your throat tightened a fraction as he dug his heels into the bed, lending an ample amount of force to his next few thrusts, and the warm, sticky fluids between your legs became all the more apparent from this angle. 

“M-Merlin–” you groused, wiggling your hips down with what little movement you were allowed in your vulnerable position. The mixture of your juices and Sebastian’s seed made the slide all too easy, and he groaned loudly as he ground his balls against the swell of your rear. 

His tongue flicked out to trace the shell of your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth to nibble gently, and your hands flew up to grip his thick forearm splayed across your chest. “How does it feel, darling? Is it good?” 

You’d never felt so full in your fucking life. “It’s–” he cut you off with a rushed snap of his hips, and your lips parted around a sharp gasp. “Fuck, it’s so good– you feel amazing, Sebastian– ah!”

Raising his hips off the bed fully, he withdrew slightly before ramming his cock back into your overwhelmingly wet cunt, simultaneously returning to rubbing demanding little circles over your clit without pause. It was mind-numbing– the pleasure unrelenting– and despite all of your writhing and twitching, Sebastian held you in place and expertly stoked the flames of yet another orgasm. You could feel it building hot in your gut– the tension there wrought tighter than a wire– and you arched frantically into his touch as he abandoned your ear to begin working another bruise into the column of your neck. 

Sebastian’s pace became brutal, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the humid room, his grunts of effort echoing off the walls and making your mind go blank. The fact that he had kept this up for so long was a miracle in and of itself– not to discredit his stamina or anything– but his cock had remained stiff and unyielding inside of you for the entire night, and at this point you were beginning to wonder if he was even human.

“Please,” you grit out through clenched teeth, your nails digging into the skin of his arm as he pounded into you with astonishing force. You were right there at the edge– utterly desperate to come again– because between the feeling of his lips on your throat, his hand curled around your neck, and his fingers assaulting your oversensitive clit– your body was quickly approaching its limit. 

An animalistic sound reverberated from deep within his chest, and in a flash Sebastian had flipped you back over, your cheek pressing against the sweaty sheets as your hips were manhandled upwards. One hand stayed planted on your waist, gripping you with bruising strength while the other flew into your hair and yanked your head back, forcing you to push yourself up on your elbows to follow his tugging. 

His thrusting ceased as he hunched over your bent spine, grinding his cock deep in your clenching walls with deliberate precision that made your legs shake under you. “Beg for it,” he demanded, and your mouth fell open as you moaned sinfully. 

“P-Please, Sebastian, please breed me,” you rasped out. “I want your cum inside of me, don’t stop– please don’t stop–” 

He obliged you all too eagerly. 

Releasing your hair, Sebastian’s hands returned to your hips to pull you back into his abrupt, rough pace. The intensity of everything had your eyes rolling back in your head, your arms shaking from the effort if took to keep yourself upright, and when you collapsed against the covers to gather the sheets in your clenched fists, Sebastian grabbed one of your wrists to pin it against the small of your back. 

“That’s it, darling, take it all– you’re gonna look so pretty full of my kids– fuck.” He threw his head back as his own finish crept in the far reaches of his mind, the undeniable urge to fill you to the brim taking over. “Come on my cock– let me feel your cunt swallowing my load. Come for me, love.” 

Rutting back onto his sharp thrusts, you felt the telltale heat in the pit of your stomach grow stronger. The way Sebastian was holding you down, possessively gripping you with that strength that made your throat dry up, left you panting helplessly beneath him as your climax crashed over you violently for the nth time tonight. You buried your cries of his name in the mattress as wave after wave of pure bliss coursed over you, and the way your clenching heat seemingly sucked his cock in further was about as much as Sebastian could take. 

He let go of the hand he had pinned to your back so he could drape himself fully across you, bucking deep into your sensational heat– and your muffled, high pitched noises were what finally sent him spiraling over the edge after you. Sebastian came with a shaky moan, thick ropes of his cum painting your insides and squelching out the sides of your folds as he withdrew his cock halfway before shoving every last inch back in. Your voice was gravelly as his name fell from your lips over and over again like a desperate prayer, and when his hips finally slowed to a stuttering halt, you felt him mouth soothingly at your shoulder as the two of you came down in tandem. 

Sebastian sounded breathless when he picked his head up to whisper directly against your ear, “So fucking perfect.” One of his hands slipped under your abdomen to feel how wet you were in the spot where the two of you were connected, and when he pulled the appendage away, his fingers were covered in the thick, sticky strands of his cum and your own slick. You whined softly when his other hand carded through your hair again, gently tugging your head to the side so he could get a good look at your face. “Open,” he commanded, and your lips had barely parted before he stuck the wet digits in your mouth, silently imploring you to taste your shared blend of fluids. 

“Mmph,” you moaned weakly, working your tongue over his thick fingers and swallowing the salty taste that graced your tastebuds. He pulled them out and made a show of licking away the strands you’d missed, and the filthy sight had your walls clamping down on his cock again. 

Sebastian swore softly under his breath at the feeling and tenderly looped his arms around your waist, tugging you flush against him once more as he situated the two of you on your sides. He made no move to pull out, keeping himself sheathed in your pulsing cunt in some primal attempt to get his seed to take root. The minute rocking of his hips continued for far too long to keep track of, and in that time he continued whispering praises against your ear with his chin nestled in the crook of your neck. 

You felt his hands wander down the plane of your torso before his fingers splayed against your lower belly, seemingly willing a baby into existence with how soft his ministrations were. Completely spent, your eyelids eventually drifted shut as you started to doze off, all too content to pass out with Sebastian’s cock still stuffed deep in your core.

When sleep finally overtook you, Sebastian continued to press the lingering tension from your body, rocking his hips into you every so often when he felt more cum beading at the head of his cock. The last thought that crossed his mind before falling asleep wrapped around you was one of victory; something in him knew he had succeeded in fucking his potent seed straight into your womb. 

Only time would be able to tell, though. 

—

Your dress didn’t fit you anymore. 

Growing out of your clothes was something you had psyched yourself up for when you’d learned you were pregnant three months ago. Obviously it was illogical to assume you would be able to stuff your swelling belly into your form-fitting attire for long, but to finally have that day arrive was like a slap to the face. 

You couldn’t help but frown at your reflection, turning to the side to gauge just how fat you’d actually gotten in only thirteen weeks. 

The revelation couldn’t have come at a worse time. This week had to have been the hardest for you thus far; between your mood swings, morning sickness, and the rampant fatigue that had clouded your mind day after day, you felt like you were going insane. Hell, you had bitten Sebastian’s head off just two nights ago for standing too close to you in the kitchen. It didn’t get much crazier than that. 

Yet here you were, irrationally upset that your favorite dress no longer fit around the slight growth in your lower stomach. There was a whole person inside of you, but despite your constant reminders to yourself of that fact, you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. 

Sebastian was due home any minute now to take you with him to one of his work functions, but now you simply stared at your scowling expression in the mirror, silently willing the floor to open up and swallow you whole. You didn’t want to go. You didn’t want to do anything other than mope around the house in whatever clothing you could find that was comfortable. 

Frustrated with the stupid dress and your ridiculous mentality, you hurriedly stripped the fabric off of your body and stomped over to your closet. If you made a mess in your attempts to find something that fit, you didn’t pay it any mind– instead continuing to toss shirts and trousers over your shoulder until you found one of Sebastian’s old Quidditch jerseys from Hogwarts. Considering it was meant to be worn over protective padding, it did a great job of hiding your body, coming to rest halfway down your thighs while the neckline dropped off your arm. You barely spared yourself a second glance before you were climbing into bed and hauling the covers over your head. 

Equal parts annoyed and sad, you wallowed in your own self-pity for close to a half hour before you heard the front door open and slam shut. Sebastian’s voice echoed down the hallway, his calls for you going unanswered. You felt too petulant to bring yourself to reply, opting to burrow deeper into the sheets until you heard the door to the bedroom creek open, and then his footsteps were steadily approaching the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he gingerly placed his hand on your covered head to peel the blankets away and breach your hiding place. 

“There you are,” he murmured affectionately, the slight smile on his face vanishing when you turned over and he was able to catch sight of your tight expression. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” 

Pursing your lips did little to help with the influx of tears that suddenly welled in your eyes, and Sebastian immediately scooted closer to you so he could cup your cheeks in his hands. You mumbled something about it being ‘stupid’ and for him to ‘forget about it’, but he was hearing absolutely none of it and forced your eyes to stay trained on his. 

“Talk to me, darling. Is it the baby? Did something happen?” 

As sweet as it was that he was so concerned about the baby, the reminder that you were pregnant and only going to get bigger from here on out caused the tears to slip down your cheeks despite your best attempts to fight them. 

This was unbelievable. Your hormones could kiss your ass. 

“Bloody hell, you’re scaring me here, sweetheart.” Sebastian’s brows slammed down atop his eyes, his fear for you and your unborn child palpable. “What’s going on? Why are there clothes all over the floor?” 

Forcing a breath into your lungs, you willed yourself to calm down and blinked the watery haze from your eyes. “My dress doesn’t fit.” 

Sebastian’s mouth fell open for all of a second before it snapped shut with an audible crack of his teeth. “Your– what?” 

His response only served to make you feel more ridiculous. You turned your face out of his gentle embrace and yanked the covers back over your head, curling in on yourself and immaturely ignoring the string of curses you heard him mutter. “I told you it was stupid,” you whined from beneath the sheets. 

He tried to tug the blankets back down, but your grip was iron-tight, so he relented and sighed. “It’s not stupid– I’m just trying to wrap my head around it, is all. You’re crying because your dress doesn’t fit?” His words were gentle– cautious, almost– as though he were talking to a wounded animal. You couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered by it. 

“I’m crying because none of my clothes fit.” Your voice was muffled by your makeshift cocoon, and you felt Sebastian shift closer to you from his position at the edge of the bed. “I’m irrationally upset that I’m gaining weight even though it makes perfect sense. I’m sorry– I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore– I’m just moody and I feel like I’m going insane.” 

“That’s what this is about?” He clarified with a shocked tone. “Darling, you can’t be serious. You’re pregnant.” 

Like you hadn’t already been telling yourself that all day. 

This time when Sebastian went to uncover your head, you let him, and he threw the blankets all the way down to the foot of the bed, his attention momentarily shifting to the oversized jersey you wore. Merlin– it had to be the pregnancy hormones talking, because only a dead person could miss how utterly delectable you looked. Sebastian shook his head, completely bewildered that you could even begin to think you looked anything other than ravishing, and you nervously started chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“I can promise you this; you’re as attractive now as you were three months ago. A little weight gain can’t change that, and watching our child grow inside of you is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been privy to seeing. There’s absolutely nothing for you to be self-conscious about. Tell me you understand, because it’s going to kill me if you end up feeling this way for the next six months.” 

You drew a shaky breath into your lungs, huffing it out and practically deflating further into the bed. Part of you knew that telling Sebastian would garner reassurances such as this, but quite frankly, they did little to quell the nagging voice in the back of your mind that had hounded you for nearly a week now. Still, you nodded meekly with your cheek pressed into the pillows, and Sebastian’s eyes narrowed in a calculating manor. He could see through your facade as though it were made of glass. 

With his eyes still glued to you, the brunet swung his long legs over the side of the bed so he could better grip your ankles as he pulled you out of the protective ball you’d been curled in. Your surprised yelp echoed off the bedroom walls, and you pushed yourself up on your elbows to stare wide-eyed at Sebastian as he curled his hands under your knees and spread your own legs apart. 

“What are you doing?” Your voice was fleeting– barely there as Sebastian gingerly began running his hands up your bare legs to feel for your underwear beneath the jersey. 

“Actions speak louder than words, darling. I’ll show you how gorgeous you still are. You have no idea, do you?” His fingers slipped beneath the thin cotton separating your heat from him, and he oh-so-sensually tugged the material off of your bent legs and tossed it haphazardly over his shoulder without breaking eye contact. “The baby makes you glow. You’re the epitome of beauty every fucking time I look at you. You’re the mother of my unborn child, and that fact alone makes me want to bury myself deep in your perfect cunt all over again and lose myself in the feeling. I’ll never stop being enthralled by you.”

Sebastian shrugged off his coat and threw it to the side as well, loosening his tie around his neck before he was sprawling stomach down across the mattress. He sidled his way between your knees, hurriedly throwing your legs over his shoulders so he could affectionately trail his hands up your thighs towards your stomach. Maybe it was the hormones– or maybe his words were really starting to sink in– but the ache between your legs suddenly became all too apparent, and even the ghost of his breath over your folds was enough to leave you winded. 

You swallowed thickly, the feeling of his warm, broad hands caressing the slight swell of your belly enough to chase your insecurities from your mind and replace them with unrepentant thoughts. “What about your work event?” 

“Fuck the work event,” he replied quickly. “It’s just a stupid dinner party. I’d much rather stay right here and make you feel better– especially after coming home to you wearing my clothes.”

“S-Sorry,” you stuttered out the pointless apology, shivering when you felt his thick stubble brush against your inner thigh to plant a wet kiss against the skin. “It was the only thing big enough that fit.” 

His lust-dark eyes connected with yours from between your legs, and the predatory expression on his face had a sharp pang of arousal shooting through you like a bolt of lightning. “Never apologize for wearing my clothes. It’s one of the sexiest things you could possibly do. You’re mine, pregnant with my child, wearing my clothes. Do you understand?” 

The featherlight kiss he bestowed to your slick lips had your inhibitions flying out the damn window, and you sounded breathless as you choked out an airy, “Yes.”

Sebastian chuckled darkly, his unwavering gaze boring into your very soul as he licked a flat, broad stripe up your center, and the feeling instantly had you gasping into the empty air. His wicked lips sealed over your clit, sucking the nub into his mouth fervently, and your arms shook before giving out completely as you fell back against the mattress. 

He watched you crumble beneath him with rapt interest, taking in the darkening flush against your skin and the rapid rise and fall of your chest. The feeling of your legs tightening around his head as he lapped up your slick with his tongue was tantamount to perfection– and the wanton moan that ripped from your throat at the sensation had his cock twitching enthusiastically in his trousers. 

You were ready to attribute your sensitivity to being pregnant, because save for your first time, you had never found yourself so undone from merely having Sebastian’s mouth on you. His tongue felt like the most exquisite velvet, and the pressure he bestowed upon your tiny bundle of nerves lit a fire in your blood that you couldn’t even begin to tame. When he brazenly parted his lips to probe his tongue against your entrance, your hands flew up from the sheets to fist desperately in his curly brown hair, tugging him harder against you as your hips bucked against his chin.

“Fuck, Sebastian–” you keened breathlessly. He made a throaty sound in response, trailing his hands down the slight swell of your stomach to carefully grip your thighs with a tenacity that had you moaning loud. Your nails scraped against his scalp as you tightened your hold on him, and he groaned shamelessly as your heels pressed into his back to force more of himself inside of you. 

Sebastian obliged you willingly, shaking his head softly from side to side to create friction with his nose on your clit while his tongue delved deeper into your wet heat. He curled the muscle from within, licking broad stripes along your pulsing walls, and your head lolled brainlessly against the pillows as the pressure in your gut amplified to new heights. 

With one final plunge of his skilled tongue, Sebastian pulled it out to cleverly flick the tip against your clit. One of his hands slipped under your leg, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, and your raspy moan was cut short when you felt the tip of his finger slip between your soaked folds to press slowly inside. 

“Gods, you taste so fucking sweet,” Sebastian groaned, planting another kiss in the hollow of your leg as he worked the digit inside of you. “I could live off of just this for the rest of my life, I swear.” 

A string of meaningless sounds fell from your lips as Sebastian curled his finger inside of you, coercing more of your slick from your aching heat so he could lap it up ardently. His efforts left your mind reeling– the overwhelming pleasure stealing your breath from your lungs– and the wet, telling sound of him kissing and sucking at your folds had your face warming up intensely. You let him work you open on his finger, raking your hands through his disheveled hair as you writhed atop the sheets in your blatant attempts to feel as much of him as possible, and all the while Sebastian never lessened his attention against your core. 

He took your clit between his lips again and sucked– and seemingly out of nowhere your climax snuck up on you to hit you with the force of a damn train– leaving you gasping Sebastian’s name loudly and abruptly. 

Your legs tightened on either side of the brunet’s head, pulling him against you harder while your hips simultaneously jerked off of the bed, and your moans of delight sent Sebastian into a tizzy as he held you through your finish. He relished in each tiny twitch that emanated from your tense form, continuing to finger-fuck you through your orgasm until he felt your body relax completely underneath him, and even then he was slow to pull away. 

Through bleary eyes, you watched as Sebastian pushed himself up on his strong arms to cautiously crawl over your trembling body, and as soon as he was close enough, he was dropping his head to passionately capture your lips in a hungry, demanding kiss. “You’re stunning,” he sighed against your mouth. “So beautiful, I’m telling you– you’re fucking ethereal from head to toe. I’ve never been more enamored with you, darling.”

Gone were your insecurities about your body, wholly replaced by the near insatiable desire to have more of Sebastian; more of his praises, more of his touch, more of the mind-boggling sexual prowess that he exuded like a second skin. 

“Gods, I love you, Sebastian. Please– please keep going. I want you,” you implored him softly, noting the way his lashes fluttered against his cheeks at the sound of your pleading. He wordlessly sat back on his hunches to begin shedding his clothing, starting with his loose tie before making his way to his shirt. The buttons fell away one after another, blessing you with the marvelous sight of his tanned, freckled chest, and the urge to run your fingers through the sparse collection of hair above his navel was as potent as your need to breathe. 

Ordinarily you knew Sebastian would take his time undressing, never missing an opportunity to tease you with what he knew you wanted most, but this time was different. He seemed to worship you with his lust-dark eyes as he quickly removed the fabric that hid his body from your gaze, and by the time his trousers and briefs had been peeled away, you were aching with unrepentant need. 

Sebastian wasted no time at all returning to his place between your legs, tenderly lifting your knees so he could wedge his own on either side of you. The delectable feeling of his manhood brushing against your wet heat was a magic of its own, and when the head of his cock finally pressed into you, he was carefully hunching over you to kiss you breathless once again. Your moans of pleasure were swallowed up greedily as your lover began rocking his hips into you slowly, the tingling remnants of your previous climax making the stretch a non-issue, and you cannily hooked your ankles around the small of Sebastian’s back to silently nudge him onward. 

“Fuck–” he grit out through his clenched teeth, breaking away from your kiss-swollen lips to rest his forehead against yours as he worked to set a steady pace. The gentleness of his movements didn’t escape you, and it was clear to you that he was attempting to remain conscious of the little one nestled within your womb. Still sensitive from before, however, it made little difference to you; it never mattered how Sebastian chose to make love to you, so long as it was him and only him.

In the midst of his rocking, one of Sebastian’s broad hands slipped under the jersey you wore to fondly feel along your distended belly. The tips of his fingers ghosting up your side brought a wave of goosebumps to the surface of your skin, causing you to shiver under him, and your own hands came to appreciatively loop around the back of his neck as you gazed longingly up at him. 

Your love for the man stole your breath, more often than not. That much would never change, you were sure of it. 

Sebastian fixed his awed stare on you through his dark lashes, licking his lips before he muttered, “You feel amazing, darling. So good for me– always so fucking good for me.” 

In a flash you had tugged him back down to your lips to kiss him adoringly, breathing quiet moans as you arched your hips up to take more of Sebastian’s thick cock– already trembling from the way he filled you so deep– so good. He edged his knees further up the bed, mindful of your stomach as he delicately bent you further in half, and the steady squeaking of the bed frame couldn’t drown out the arbitrary groan that spilled from your chest at the perfect change in the angle. 

“Th-There, right there Sebastian– fuck–” your voice came out like a whimper, raking your nails up the nape of his neck to tangle your fingers in his dark hair as you twitched against him. 

Sebastian hummed his agreement, nudging your jaw with his nose and mouthing along the slender column of your throat, tasting salty sweat as he began murmuring your name like a treasured mantra against your skin. His brain was clouded with the sheer euphoria that stemmed from your pulsing walls around his cock. It was all too easy to get lost in the feeling; how warm you felt, how incredible your nails felt in his hair scratching down his back, until he was nipping at your ear and gasping rough moans against you alongside whispered praises. 

The heat pooling between your legs stole your focus, and all you could bring yourself to do in the next moment was let your eyes slide shut as your hands fell away from Sebastian’s neck to land on the pillows over your head. His free hand not still caressing your stomach flew to grip your wrists, pinning you firmly in place as he languidly ground his balls against the swell of your rear, and you groaned unabashedly at the feeling. 

“Want to come, sweetheart?” Sebastian asked you, his voice gruff and hot as it ghosted across your cheeks. You nodded senselessly, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth when the freckled man above you tightened his hold on your wrists and gradually started to speed up. “I’m gonna come inside– see if I can’t put another kid in you while I’m at it– you love it, I know you do.”

You nodded witlessly, overcome with the impending bliss that you felt coiling deep in your gut. “Merlin– I love it, I love it so much. I love you, Sebastian– f-fuck–”

He moaned and squeezed his eyes shut as you clenched around him, holding off his own finish until you were right there with him, and it mercifully didn’t take long before you were kicking your head back against the pillows with a broken cry, the sound guttural and so fucking sexy. In turn, Sebastian was whimpering your name over and over against your ear, his hips spasming and twitching as he bucked a few more times into your sopping wet cunt before spilling messily inside. 

You could feel Sebastian shaking over you from the intensity of everything, and as much as you yearned for him to collapse on top of you, he evidently wouldn’t allow himself to smother you with his body weight. There was precious cargo inside of you, after all. 

He sat back on his hunches as he pumped his load deeper inside of you, trailing his hands down to the hem of the jersey to slide it up your quivering form for a better view of his cock stuffed in you to the hilt. Keening breathlessly, you gingerly placed your hands over his as you sighed contentedly, and Sebastian couldn’t help the sultry smile that split his face then. 

“Absolutely incredible, sweetheart,” he proclaimed in a low voice. “Only you could make pregnancy look so good. Don’t ever doubt that you’re perfect as you are– I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.” 

The power behind his words made your heart swell with affection, and coupled with the electrifying feeling of his cock steadily pressing into you, the fire in your veins easily roared to life once again. “Maybe one more reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you drawled lazily up at him, the insinuation hidden in your tone enough to warrant the biggest fucking grin from Sebastian. 

“Anything for you, darling.” 

—

When your daughter was born, it was decidedly the best day of Sebastian’s life. He had laughed and cried, hooted and hollered, and effectively taken on the role of town-chanter to inform everyone within earshot that he was officially a father. The whole display was incredibly endearing, but not as endearing as watching him brazenly take on his new fatherly duties with the utmost pride and care in the world. 

While most men would shy away from getting their hands ‘dirty’, Sebastian had a newfound tendency to try doing everything for the child. You had to remind him time and time again that as sweet as it was that he wanted you to relax and let him take care of things, there were some things he couldn’t do for the baby. 

Namely, feeding her. 

You could hear Anne wailing her tiny head off in the next room over, followed by Sebastian’s soothing voice shushing her as he tried to calm her down, to no avail. The sound of her cries made your hair stand on end– your own motherly urges taking root and demanding you go check on things to ensure she was alright. But you trusted Sebastian to bring her to you when he inevitably realized her demands couldn’t be met by him. 

Ominis shifted nervously in his seat on the couch, his heightened hearing evidently making the whole situation a bit more precarious. “Are you planning on checking on that?” 

You made a dismissive sound, opting to instead grab the teapot off the tiny table in the living room to refill his cup. “It’s fine, he’ll bring her to me soon enough. He’s stubborn about handling these things.”

“I can imagine,” the blond mused with a tentative half-smile. When he heard the sloshing of the tea cease, followed by the clink of the pot being set down, he leaned forward to take the cup and platter in hand, graciously murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” 

On cue, Sebastian emerged from the bedroom with Anne swaddled snug in his arms. His soft cooing continued as he carefully made his way to the living room, settling into the spot beside you before wordlessly offering the baby to you. She had stopped crying, much to your surprise, but her bright eyes were fixed expectantly on yours as though she knew she was finally in the right place. 

“I think she’s hungry,” he mumbled under his breath, raking his fingers through his mussed hair as he sat back against the sofa. 

“An astute observation,” Ominis joked over the rim of his cup. 

Sebastian scowled at his friend and pinched the bridge of his nose, the accumulated late nights seemingly bearing down on him all at once. “Alright genius, you have a kid and try figuring out their tells after barely ninety days.” 

Ominis chuckled to himself and shook his head, lifting his cup to his lips to take a slow, purposeful sip. “I think not. I doubt I would take to it the same way you have– fatherhood suits you, all things considered.” 

You couldn’t help but agree with him. Sebastian had gone above and beyond thus far; he had read every book, learned every spell, and visited every apothecary in the region to ensure things would run smoothly for you before Anne had even been born. Now that she was here, you were seeing a completely different side of him that you’d never been privy to. It had you falling in love with him all over again– and in the peaceful hours you were granted late at night while the baby slept– you made an effort to show him your appreciation every way you could. 

“Well, that’s just fine. You’ll have to settle for being named Godfather of all our kids then. You’re not getting out of it that easy, Ominis.”

The sound of your laughter filled the room, causing Anne’s eyes to widen up at you before she was giving you a gummy smile. Your heart skipped a beat; she hadn’t been around for longer than three months and she already had you wrapped around her minuscule finger.

“All of your kids?” Ominis asked incredulously. “You’ve only just had the first– how many little Sallows should I expect to be babysitting in the years to come?” 

Sebastian’s tired eyes seemed to roar to life when he turned to stare at you, the reverent expression on his face one that made your stomach flip on itself and had your toes curling. You knew that look– and you were suddenly all too grateful for Ominis’ inability to see the suggestive glimmer in the brunet’s eyes. “With any luck, plenty more. I suppose we’ll see what happens. For now though, we have our hands full with this little pumpkin.” 

Ominis groaned, his brows slamming down atop his milky-blue eyes, and you snickered at the incredulous look that spread across his face. “I don’t even know what the color gray looks like, but if there’s any truth to that statement then something tells me I’ll be covered in hairs that shade before I’m fifty.” 

Truer words had never been spoken. 

I'm malfunctioning this is actively altering my brain chemistry

End of the Line - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: “A less sentimental part of me wants to see you swell with my child purely because you’re mine. I want everyone to know it was me who impregnated you– that it was my cock that filled you with life. I want you to beg me to breed you before you fall apart and come all over me. The urge is fucking insatiable, you have no idea.”

No alternative summary because it’s exactly what it looks like.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content, breeding kink

PART TWO NOW ADDED ! The full fic can be found here on Ao3 

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