#Quidditch!Sebastian

[morelikeravenbore]

Feigning Indifference

"— And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference."

 (I promised Quidditch!smut for the girlies a literal year ago, oop. 🐢🐢🐢 Anyhoo...)

Rated: Explicit. MDNI. NSFW. 🔞

Content warnings: f!reader, no mention of house or appearance, size difference kink, semi-public sex, voyeurism/exhibitionist fantasies, possessive!Sebastian, Beater!Sebastian, feral!Sebastian, excessive use of the word fuck, p in v, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1.8k

[MASTERLIST] [WATTPAD]

Sebastian descends onto the Quidditch pitch, wind-swept, sweat-soaked — victorious.

Like a stone in quicksand, he's swallowed up by the cheering throng of admirers before he's even fully off his broom; Slytherin's mostly, their faces painted emerald, scarves transfigured into woolly snakes around their necks — they crowd around him, beside themselves with the thrill of Sebastian's triumph, back-slapping, hand-shaking, cheek-kissing. Sebastian is glad to be wearing his protective gear against the most enthusiastic among them — not that he's weak without his shoulder pads and arm guards, but some thump him so hard with their congratulations that he wonders if they're Gryffindor’s in disguise trying to put him out of action before the next match.

Once he's past the worst of it, he shirks off his Beater's gear: pads, guards, helmet (even cup, which he unashamedly yanks right out of his pants) hit the ground in quick succession, discarded for the teams’ first-year assistant to collect in his wake (provided his rabid fan club doesn't get to them first.)

Thanks to his seventh-year growth spurt, Sebastian is hardly any smaller without his bulky gear on — a fact he uses to his full advantage to shoulder through the crowd. It takes him several minutes to wind his way through; supporters and haters in equal measure jostle for his attention, girls squeal and find excuses to touch him, Imelda criticises his technique as he passes (even though he just won her the bloody match), and somebody lets off a series of explosions overhead that shower the crowd with green and silver sparks. — And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference. 

He wants to kiss the frown right off your face. 

‘There you are.’ He grins down at you. You glare up at him.

‘Seven different girls touched your shoulders just now,’ you grumble, scanning your narrowed eyes over the crowd. ‘Two more touched your chest, and that last one tried to climb you.’

Sebastian's grin widens, delighting in your jealousy. ‘Did they?’ He affects a look of innocence. ‘I didn't notice.’

‘Liar.’ You shoot him a deeply contemptuous look. ‘Maybe I should take up Quidditch, see how you like seeing your girlfriend being groped after every match.’

His amusement drops faster than a fumbled Quaffle. Usually, he finds your little jealous streak endearing — after pining after you for two long years, convinced his feelings were one-sided, your possessiveness makes him embarrassingly gooey-eyed and lovesick. But today he's too jacked up on adrenaline to let that comment slide: nobody touches you but him. Not even in your imagination. 

With no more effort than he expends on waving his Beater's bat around (less, even), he lifts you with one arm, bringing your face level with his. 

‘I wouldn't let you play Quidditch,’ he says lowly, his voice deep with authority.

Authority which you completely ignore, like always.

Incensed, you scoff and wiggle and squirm for freedom (‘Ugh, put me down, you brute! — You can't tell me what to do! — If I want to play Quidditch, you can't stop me!’) but Sebastian only waits, watching your little tantrum with a mix of resigned patience and wry amusement. 

‘You're not the boss of me!’ you wail. You’re tiny in his grip, slender limbed and delicate, but you’re agile enough to break free if he doesn’t handle you right. His arm tightens around you, pinning you so firmly against his chest that you squeak. 

‘Yes,’ he growls in your face, ‘I am.’

Despite all the height and the strength he’s gained since you met in fifth year (or the physique if all the giggles and whispers about his shoulders are to be believed), Sebastian is, generally speaking, an unapologetic softie when it comes to you: the most precious thing he's ever beheld, there's not a girl alive more loved than you. But fresh off the field, bolstered by the dizzying rush of glory and adrenaline, all his usual gentleness eludes him. — Suddenly, he wants to do more than kiss the frown off your face. 

A hot lick of desire alights in his belly, as familiar as it is impossible to ignore. Without another word, he hoists you higher and carries you off beneath the stands; game forgotten, celebrations be damned, he only has eyes for you, little doll, little bunny caught in his hungry gaze, so small and soft and devourable. 

You yelp when your back meets the wall, but hidden now deep in shadows, Sebastian only grins, wolfish. Grateful he'd thought to discard his cup, he pins you there with his hips, making sure you feel every sudden aching inch of him between your legs. 

You're his now. You both know it. 

‘How can you be jealous when you're the only one who does this to me?’ He leans in close enough to spill hot words right into your pretty, parted mouth. ‘I should fuck you standing. Right here,’ — he punctuates with a sharp thrust that makes you gasp, — ‘right now.’

Your eyes go wide, but whether you're scandalised by his audacity or desperate for him to keep whispering filth, Sebastian doesn't particularly care.

He wants to fuck the shock right off your face. 

‘R-right here?’ The wobble in your voice makes him twitch. He grinds into you again, sloooowly this time, rolling the entire length of himself against you while he watches you shift from stubborn brat to good fucking girl; no matter how many times he's seen you like this, flushed pink and panting, he's still utterly obsessed with the moment you finally give in. 

Because you always give in. 

‘Why not?’ He begins the careful crumbling of your resolve with the top button of your blouse, then the second button, third, fourth… But by the fifth his patience snaps and he yanks — hard; no need for a vanishing charm, he rips your shirt clean open. Buttons pop off in all directions; he knows you'll scold him for that later, but right now you only have strength enough to whimper. 

‘What if they see?’ You palm his shoulders — but you're pulling, not pushing. 

‘Let them.’ His lips are on the hollow of your collarbone, sucking shivers out of you. ‘Let them watch me fucking ruin you.’

Yanking you away from the wall, he spins you around and envelopes you from behind, one arm curled so tightly around your waist you couldn't wiggle free even if you wanted to. Not that you do want to; that much is clear when his other hand slides beneath your undies. Fingers slick, he fucking moans his way down the side of your neck, his tongue laving a hot, wet stripe down to your shoulder. 

‘You think I want to touch any of them like this, huh?’ He bundles your little body against him like a blanket, his arms taut and muscles straining as he works your moans free with his hands and his tongue. You buck obediently against his palm, and when he slides two thick, long fingers inside you, your knees give out. He holds you up, pinned pretty to his chest, your tits heaving in the open air, nipples begging to be painted wet by his hungry mouth. 

Sweat drips from his hair and lands on your face. ‘You think I want to fuck any of them the way I fuck you?’

Through the gaps between the stands, the Quidditch pitch is empty, quickly abandoned for post-match festivities (or commiserations if you're a Gryffindor). He imagines marching you back out there right now fucking you in the middle of it, stripping you bare and pounding you silly while the teams debrief in the changerooms and the Slytherin's celebrate their win in the dungeons. — He'd never do it for real, of course, but the fantasy of claiming you so openly, having you exposed and babbling on his cock for anyone to see makes him dizzy. 

He wants everyone to know you're his. 

The thought makes him fucking — lose — it. 

Hot and thick in his hand, he strokes himself free from his trousers with frantic pumps and a long, drawn-out whimper. If he's teetering on the edge of control, then you don't stand a chance; he hoists your leg up and rubs himself desperately against your underwear, mouthing your neck from behind, palming your tits with his big, calloused hand. Never has he been more grateful for all the grueling training sessions that have granted him the strength to manhandle you onto his cock whenever the mood strikes.

Undies bunched to the side, you arch your back and reach an arm around his shoulder, begging, begging, begging even as he's pushing in, in, into you. The sound he makes when he's fully sheathed is nothing short of feral; he stumbles forward, that hot, tight squeeeeeze of you so good it makes him weak in the knees. 

It's fucking unbearable what you do to him, the way you make him dribble and buck and moan all sorts of dirty things in your little ear — the way you make him lose control. 

‘Look at you,’ he slurs, anchoring you to his body with the full, hot length of his cock. ‘S'fucking good, s’all fucking mine.’

Holding your leg up, he sets a slow, deep rhythm and imagines himself watching you: a last-minute straggler drawn to your hiding place by your sweet moans. He imagines how pretty you'd look all stretched out and stuffed full of himself, tits bouncing, mouth agape with pleasure, too fucked out of your mind to realise how loud you are. He'd touch himself to it — oh fuck yes he would, edging himself to time his climax with yours. And maybe you'd notice him, a pair of dark eyes burning with desire. Maybe you'd like it. Maybe it'd make you cum harder. 

Fuck. Lust roils thick and luscious in his stomach and he makes a mental note to fuck you in front of a mirror next time. 

He's gasping now, slamming into you so hard your foot almost leaves the ground with every thrust.

‘If only —’ he groans, ‘— they could — see you —’ He drops his head to your shoulder and bites. ‘You're the — ngh — only one — oh, fuck —’

Surely you know — surely you understand that it's always been you; that the way you surrender makes him feel strong; that being inside you makes him feel less broken. Surely you know that he uses his body to say the things he can't put into words. 

It's more than sex: he fucking loves you. 

Your peak hits you first: a long, slow, wet release that Sebastian rides out as best he can without falling over. He moans along with you, echoing ecstasy into your ear, holding you up while your body succumbs to the overwhelming love he gives and gives and gives over to you. And when you're done, spent and shivering in his arms, sweet and limp and loved to the extreme, he follows. 

[hogwartslegacypics]

the closest we’re gonna get to seeing beater!seb

[hogwartslegacypics]

seb trying to get frisky with MC in the hospital wing but nurse blainey said ✋🚫 (scene from the newest chap of my fic that i had to draw after someone made the mr. moseby 'NOT IN MY LOBBY' joke LMAO)

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

okay sebastian would have the biggest ego if mc is wearing his sweater it would be near intolerable if mc was wearing his ring. I just imagine he would be like my fiancee every five seconds somehow bringing the convo back to his happy relationship much to everyone's detriment

Subtlety is Dead | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

AHHH THIS WAS SUCH A FUN ONE. THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT ANON! You're gonna get real Gollum "my precious" from LOTR in this ahaha.

Words: ~3,800

Tags: Seventh Year, Fluff, Established Relationship, Romance, Mutual Pining, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

Saturday mornings were meant for sleeping in. They were also, as it turned out, meant for stealing your boyfriend’s sweater.

Which was why, as you trudged into the Great Hall, still a little groggy from falling asleep in the Undercroft last night, you were engulfed in the oversized, worn-soft fabric of Sebastian Sallow’s favorite sweater. It was slightly too big—long enough to brush your mid-thigh, the sleeves swallowing your hands—but that was precisely why you’d taken it. It smelled like him, felt like him, and most importantly, it was comfortable.

You didn’t even hesitate when you reached the Slytherin table, sliding onto the bench beside Sebastian with a sleepy hum, fully prepared to load up your plate with eggs and toast.

You made one fatal mistake.

You didn’t look at him first.

Because if you had, you would have noticed the way he’d gone completely still, his goblet of pumpkin juice frozen halfway to his lips. You would have seen the way his dark eyes locked onto you with something between awe and unholy amusement, his smirk sharpening like a blade.

Instead, you reached for a piece of toast.

And that was when Sebastian lost his entire mind.

“Is that my sweater?” His voice was deceptively casual. Too casual.

You barely spared him a glance, still too focused on your breakfast. “Mhm.”

A sharp, disbelieving laugh left him, low and delighted. You should have been alarmed. “You’re wearing my sweater,” he repeated, but this time louder, as if announcing it to the entire Great Hall.

At that, you paused mid-bite, chewing slowly as you finally turned to look at him. His grin was positively feral, his chest puffed up with unmistakable pride, as if you had just declared your undying love for him in front of the entire school.

"I wear your clothes all the time," you pointed out, blinking at him.

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head, leaning in like you’d just said the most wildly incorrect thing in the world. “No, no, you steal my clothes all the time.” His fingers toyed with the sleeve of the sweater, plucking at the fabric with exaggerated interest. “But you never wear them out. Not where people can see.”

You frowned, because that wasn’t true—except, when you really thought about it, you did tend to limit your thefts to the common room or the Undercroft. You wore his jumpers when you curled up on the couch to study, wrapped yourself in them when you'd sneak into the common room late at night to snuggle by the fire with you, sometimes even slept in his shirts when he lent them to you after particularly rainy walks back from Hogsmeade.

But he was right. You’d never just… strolled into the Great Hall wearing something of his.

“Alright,” you admitted, narrowing your eyes. “So what?”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head with something that looked an awful lot like adoration, but in true Sebastian fashion, he let the smugness overpower it. “So, this is a big deal,” he declared, so loud you were sure half the Slytherin table could hear.

Ominis, who had been blessedly silent so far, let out a heavy sigh, already rubbing his temples.

“Sebastian,” you warned.

He ignored you entirely. His elbow hit the table as he turned to face the others, shamelessly gesturing at you as if you were some kind of grand prize. “Do you all see this?” He tapped the collar of the sweater, his grin turning downright predatory. “She’s wearing my sweater.

A few students spared him tired glances. Garreth, sitting all the way across the hall, snorted into his tea. “We know,” he called. “We heard the first time.”

Sebastian, as expected, ignored Garreth entirely. He was still staring at you, positively radiating smug satisfaction. You could already see where this was going.

So, naturally, you tried to stop it before it could get worse.

"Sebastian," you said again, voice edged with warning.

He only grinned wider. "No, but do you understand what this means?" He turned to Ominis, who was now sitting perfectly still, like a man bracing for a storm. "Do you understand what this means?"

Ominis inhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple as if warding off a migraine. "Please don’t involve me in this."

Sebastian beamed. "It means she wants people to know she’s mine."

Your entire body tensed. "Sebastian—"

"I mean, it’s one thing to steal my sweaters in private," he continued, ignoring you entirely, "but to wear it out in public? In the Great Hall? In front of everyone? I don’t think I’ve ever been so honored."

Imelda, who had been unfortunately seated within earshot, huffed. "Merlin’s sake, Sallow, we get it. She’s your girlfriend. She has been for two bloody years. Shut up about it."

Sebastian turned to Imelda, utterly undeterred. "Ah, but you see, Imelda, this is different. This isn’t just dating—this is public declaration." He gestured dramatically to you, his smirk stretching wider. "This is the undeniable, unavoidable proof that she is hopelessly in love with me."

You leveled him with a flat look. "You’re lucky I am in love with you, or I’d hex you right now."

Sebastian’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "See?" He pointed at you, like that somehow proved his point. "Even when she threatens me, it’s with affection."

Across the table, Ominis let out a long-suffering sigh and reached for his goblet. "It is far too early for this."

"Too early?" Sebastian scoffed. "Ominis, how can you say that? This is the best morning of my life."

"That’s sad," Imelda muttered.

But Sebastian didn’t even hear her, because something had shifted in his expression. His smugness momentarily faltered, his brown eyes narrowing as he took a closer look at you. Not at the sweater this time, but at your neck.

More specifically—at the silver chain peeking out from beneath the thick fabric.

His gaze darkened with realization. "What’s that?"

Your stomach dropped.

You scrambled to tuck the chain further beneath the sweater, but it was too late—Sebastian was already moving, quick as a snake, fingers darting out to catch the delicate silver chain before you could hide it.

His jaw practically dropped when he saw what was hanging from it.

His ring.

The one he had taken off weeks ago—the one you had absently pocketed, intending to give back but never quite managing to part with. The one you had kept. and worn around your neck.

Sebastian stared at it, utterly still, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might actually be speechless. But then his lips split into the most devastatingly pleased grin you had ever seen.

"Oh," he breathed, voice thick with satisfaction. "Oh, this is even better."

Ominis let out a strangled noise, already rising from his seat. "No."

You barely had time to react before Sebastians fingers completely curled around the ring, lifting it just slightly from where it rested against your collarbone. He rolled the silver band between his fingers, turning it over like he couldn’t quite believe it. His face was a picture of boyish delight, an impossible mix of smugness and pure affection.

"You’re wearing my ring," he said, and for the first time since this conversation began, his voice wasn’t teasing. It was something softer, something real.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very warm under his gaze. "Sebastian—"

He let out a breathless laugh. "She’s wearing my ring," he repeated, this time louder, turning to the unfortunate souls still at the table.

Garreth choked on his tea. Imelda groaned.

Ominis pressed his palms against the table. "I am leaving."

Sebastian, ignoring everything else, lifted the ring just slightly higher, his fingers brushing against your neck. His smirk returned.

"You know," he mused, "in some cultures, this would be considered a marriage proposal."

You shoved him.

He barely moved, his grin only widening.

Garreth, still watching from across the hall, just shook his head. "You are the worst."

Sebastian sighed blissfully, slipping an arm around your waist like he was claiming you. "And yet, I am the one with a girlfriend wearing my ring. What a shame for the rest of you."

Ominis slammed his hands onto the table. "FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, WE KNOW!"

You sighed, heavily and dramatically, rubbing a hand down your face. “I’m so sorry,” you muttered to the others at the table. “Truly. I didn’t mean to trigger this.”

Ominis groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You say that, and yet you continue to date him.”

Imelda just shook her head. “We should have him fitted for a muzzle.”

Garreth gave you a weak thumbs-up. “I mean, it’s entertaining, at least.”

Sebastian, completely unbothered, was still fiddling with his ring around your neck, looking downright pleased with himself. “Oh, don’t listen to them,” he cooed, tilting his head at you, brown eyes warm with mischief. “They’re just jealous. I mean, really, who wouldn’t want a girlfriend who parades around in their clothes and wears their ring like some devoted little wife?”

You groaned this time, fully tilting your head back in exasperation.

“I am not your wife, Sebastian.”

He grinned. “Yet.”

That did it.

With a sharp huff, you reached up to unhook the clasp of your necklace, fully intending to take the ring off and put an end to whatever this was before it spiraled any further.

Sebastian gasped, loudly, like you had just personally betrayed him. “No—wait—”

But you knew him, and you were already shifting to your feet, which meant that when he lunged to stop you, you bolted.

The bench scraped loudly against the floor as you twisted out of his reach, barely dodging his fingers as you scrambled out from behind the Slytherin table.

“Oh, hell no,” Sebastian growled, already moving to chase after you.

The entire Great Hall paused, dozens of students watching as you sprinted for the exit, Sebastian hot on your heels.

Imelda rolled her eyes, reaching for her goblet. “I give her thirty seconds before he catches her.”

Garreth called, stroking his chin like he was deep in thought. “I dunno. She’s got the fear of being publicly proposed to on her side.”

Ominis just scoffed, going back to his breakfast like this wasn’t even worth acknowledging. “I hope Sebastian trips.”

Meanwhile—

You burst out into the corridor, your laughter echoing off the stone walls as you darted between students, shoving past a startled group of Ravenclaws.

Sebastian was right behind you.

“Oh, you’re dead!” he called, voice edged with amusement—and maybe just a little bit of menace.

“Not if you can’t catch me!” you shot back, heart hammering as you bolted down the next hallway, weaving between students who gawked at the spectacle.

A few younger Slytherins pressed themselves against the walls, watching in bewilderment as their Head Boy—someone who was technically supposed to be a responsible figure—chased his girlfriend through the castle like a lunatic.

The way Sebastian was gaining on you was both thrilling and concerning. Your mind scrambled for an escape route. Left toward the library? No, he’d just corner you between the shelves. Down to the courtyard? Too open—he’d tackle you to the ground.

Then—

The staircase.

A flash of inspiration struck, and you lunged for the nearest moving stairwell, barely catching the railing as the steps lurched beneath you.

Sebastian cursed as he skidded to a stop, just missing the stairwell before it groaned and began shifting away.

He stared at you, indignant, chest rising and falling from the sprint. “Oh, you little—”

You grinned breathlessly, gripping the railing as the gap between you widened. “Guess I win,” you teased, watching his jaw tick.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.

And then—

To your absolute horror—

He jumped.

You barely had time to shriek, your brain struggling to catch up to what your eyes had just witnessed—because surely, surely, your boyfriend had not just jumped onto a moving staircase like a complete maniac.

But then Sebastian landed on the railing, clambering up with a look of sheer determination, and reality slammed back into you.

“Oh, fuck,” you muttered, spinning on your heel and bolting again.

“Get back here!” Sebastian bellowed, already launching himself onto the stairwell, closing the gap faster than you’d like.

Your eyes darted wildly across the open space below, scanning for another staircase—any staircase—you could jump down to before he inevitably caught you.

There—

Just beneath you, a staircase stretched toward the third floor landing. It was still far, but if you could time it right—

With a sharp breath, you vaulted over the railing.

Sebastian shouted your name, his voice cracking with something between shock and frustration as you dropped, your stomach lurching.

The impact rattled you, but you stumbled forward, pushing through it as you hit the third floor and took off running again.

Sebastian cursed so violently from above that you were fairly certain he just lost house points for language alone.

Then—because he was an idiot—he jumped too.

You heard the thud of his landing, followed by another string of expletives, but you didn’t stop to look.

You ran.

Students turned in confusion as you barreled through the corridor, robes billowing, heart hammering as you veered toward the next set of stairs.

Behind you, Sebastian gained.

"That was stupid, even for you!" you shouted over your shoulder.

"And your jump was smart?"

"It was strategic!"

Sebastian laughed, wild and exhilarated. "I love you," he called, voice full of amusement, "but I’m going to fucking catch you!"

You shrieked as he lunged forward, twisting away just in time, his fingers brushing your sleeve before you slipped past him, nearly slamming into a startled group of Hufflepuffs.

A few older students stood off to the side, watching with amused curiosity.

“Do they do this often?” a fifth-year asked.

Adelaide Oakes nodded sagely. “Unfortunately, yes.”

You sprinted down another set of stairs—you were so close to the Entrance Hall now, but the sound of Sebastian’s boots pounding against the stone behind you meant you had seconds before he caught you.

You needed a distraction.

A quick scan of the hall—and then, like a gift from Merlin himself, you spotted them.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team, fresh off the pitch, were making their way inside, brooms slung over shoulders, arms full of gear, chatting amongst themselves as they filtered through the corridor.

Perfect.

With a burst of speed, you dove straight for them, weaving between the tangle of players, brooms, and equipment like your life depended on it.

“Oi—what the hell?” one of them yelped as you ducked under a Beater’s arm, narrowly avoiding a swinging broomstick.

Sebastian cursed loudly behind you, nearly colliding with one of the Chasers. "Move!!"

But it was too late.

Sebastian was tall, broad, and not nearly as nimble in a crowd.

You heard the thud of him crashing into a Gryffindor, the swearing, the clatter of equipment scattering across the floor—

And just like that, you disappeared.

You darted left, slipping behind a pillar, pressing yourself against the stone as you caught your breath.

Sebastian was still somewhere in the tangle of disgruntled Quidditch players, trying to fight his way through.

You peered around the edge, watching as he spun in a circle, chest rising and falling, scanning the hall for you.

His eyes were wild, his brow furrowed, frustration practically radiating off him.

You grinned.

Sebastian Sallow, brilliant duelist, cunning strategist, top of his class—completely lost.

"Where is she?" he demanded, still searching.

"Mate, I don’t know," a Gryffindor groaned, rubbing his shoulder. "But you just body-slammed half the team!"

Sebastian ignored him, turning sharply, scanning again, his jaw ticking.

You held your breath.

Then his gaze snapped to where you were hiding.

Your heart stopped.

You bolted.

"Oh, you absolute menace—"

Sebastian launched himself forward and you squealed, laughter bubbling out of you as you sprinted for the doors, pushing them open as you burst into the courtyard.

The moment the warm spring air greeted you, you knew you were at a disadvantage.

The open space was too much. No more staircases, no more crowds, no more pillars to duck behind—just you, the sprawling stone path, and the very determined Slytherin chasing after you.

Sebastian was stronger. Faster. And, to your ever-growing frustration, incredibly smug about it. So you needed to be smarter.

A plan was already forming in your head as you pushed forward, feet pounding against the cobblestone. Behind you, Sebastian was gaining again, his longer strides eating the distance between you.

"You’re running out of space!" he called, voice dripping with amusement. "Where do you think you’re gonna go?"

You grinned to yourself.

The fountain was just up ahead—one of the larger ones, its stone base deep enough to hold a proper pool of water, its spouting center surrounded by intricate carvings.

You veered towards it.

Sebastian, just as you expected, followed.

You heard the smirk in his voice. "A dead end? Really?"

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even look back. Instead, you slowed, just slightly, making it seem like you were tiring. Like you had no choice but to stop.

And, of course, Sebastian took the bait.

You could practically feel his cockiness spike, could hear the overconfidence in his steps as he surged forward, ready to pounce.

"You should've known," he taunted, "you can’t outrun me."

Then, just before he could grab you, you pivoted on your heel, sidestepping at the last possible second.

Sebastian had zero time to react. His own momentum betrayed him—his hands missed you entirely, his boots slipped against the wet stone edge—

And then, with a loud splash, Sebastian Sallow went straight into the fountain.

The world paused.

For a single, glorious moment, there was silence.

Then—

You screeched with laughter, already sprinting away, the sound of splashing and furious cursing echoing behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Sebastian emerging from the water, soaked from head to toe, his jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"You—" He blinked, water dripping from his hair, his shirt completely plastered to his skin. "You little—that was foul play!" Sebastian shouted after you, struggling to haul himself out of the fountain.

"You should’ve seen your face!" you howled.

"I am so hexing you for this!"

"Good luck with that!"

Soaked to the bone, dripping from head to toe, and still struggling to wring water from his sleeves, Sebastian was left with no choice but to chase after you again, fueled by sheer, unbridled determination.

You, however, had no intention of letting him catch you anytime soon.

Your laughter rang through the courtyard as you sprinted towards the covered bridge, your heart hammering with exhilaration. Students had begun gathering in small groups, exchanging amused whispers as they watched the spectacle unfold.

Sebastian was seething, but in that wild, playful way that made your stomach flip.

“You are in so much trouble!” he bellowed, his shoes squelching loudly against the stone path as he stormed after you.

“I don't know,” you called back over your shoulder, grinning as you reached the entrance to the bridge. “You look a little slow, Sallow!"

“Slow?” he repeated, the disbelief in his voice nearly making you double over from laughter. “You’re taunting me now?”

You grinned, giddy with victory, heart pounding as you neared the bridge’s midpoint. "What? Can’t handle a little truth?"

Sebastian growled, and that was when you knew you were done for.

He launched himself forward, closing the gap with terrifying speed.

"Shit—"

You tried to dodge, but this time, he was ready.

Sebastian snatched your wrist, yanking you back so suddenly that you gasped, your feet slipping beneath you. And before you could even process what was happening, you were spun, your back hitting the wooden beam of the bridge, Sebastian’s hands trapping you there.

You gasped, breath catching in your throat.

He was close. Too close.

His chest rose and fell with exertion, his soaked clothes clinging to his frame, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. Water still dripped from his sleeves, his collar, his hands, leaving dark stains against the wooden planks below.

And his eyes.

Oh.

His eyes.

Dark. Smoldering. Dangerous.

His fingers flexed against your wrists, his grip firm—but not tight. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to hold you there, to remind you that he had won.

You swallowed hard. "Sebastian—"

"Oh, no," he murmured, voice dangerously low, his lips twitching into something deadly. "Not this time. You're not gonna talk yourself out of this, love."

Your heart stuttered as you took him in, watched the water dripping from his hair and from the tip of his nose.

You bit your lip. "You’re still wet."

He huffed out a laugh his gaze flickering to your mouth before dragging slowly back up to your eyes.

"Yeah?" His voice was soft now, teasing. "Well, whose fault is that?"

Your stomach flipped.

He shifted closer, pressing you firmly against the beam, his breath warm against your cheek.

"I should make you pay for that," he murmured, voice laced with something wicked.

A thrill shot through you.

"Yeah? What's the plan then?" you asked, voice a touch breathless. "Gonna drag me back to the fountain? Hug me and get me all wet? Toss me in the Black Lake?"

Sebastian's smirk darkened, hooking a finger under the chain around your neck, his ring dangling between you.

"Who said anything about that kind of wet?"

Heat spiked up your spine, your entire body locking up as the meaning behind his words registered.

Sebastian just grinned, slow and devastating, clearly reveling in your reaction.

His voice dropped lower, velvety smooth. "What’s wrong?" His lips twitched. "You look a little flustered."

You gaped at him, at the absolute nerve—

"Unless you'd prefer a dip in the fountain instead?" He murmured, tilting his head, his smirk nothing short of lethal.

You stared at him, torn between sheer indignation and something far, far more dangerous.

Your pride refused to let you fold, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. But the heat pooling in your belly, the way your breath hitched under the weight of his gaze, the way he was looking at you—

Oh, you were in trouble.

Sebastian knew it, too.

He smirked, tilting his head just slightly, watching you war with yourself, his finger still hooked under your chain, rolling his ring between his fingers.

"Go on," he said. "Take your pick."

"Between drowning and…?" You trailed off, raising an eyebrow, pretending to be unaffected.

Sebastian hummed at your question, the sound deep, thoughtful—mocking. His smirk curled further as he slowly reeled you in, the chain around your neck tightening ever so slightly as he tugged you forward.

Your breath caught. Your nose brushed his. And his voice dropped to something low, something just for you.

"Let me show you."

And that was what finally made you admit it— you didn’t care at all that you’d lost. Because, Merlin help you, if this was losing, you never wanted to win again.

[kemiichi]

Slytherin quidditch team in shambles

idk how you guys do comics i'm dying after a few panels

[giselsann]

Oh💚😅

[vienguinn]

That scarf is so dangerous tho, cause what if… 👀

[keri-mcberry]

Trash talking before a quidditch match 🤭💕

The game is so much fun! If I see you guys out there, it’s on! 😤

Wow, I’ve come a long way since my first quidditch comic 🥹

[tamayula-hl]

Quidditch Champions Sebastian, who has a different hairstyle but is very lively, expressive and attractive🤩

[frenchydelacour]

How could anybody hate these three?

[n0va25]

Smooches During Practice 😘

These love birds can’t keep their hands off each other 😆, much to Imelda’s chagrin

~~Extra ~~

[morelikeravenbore]

I had to cut a lot of cute banter out of [this spicy oneshot 🔞] because it was just waaaay too Sebaura coded for smut (Aurélie would die of mortification.) But it's too cute not to share, so heheehe:

Eventually, with a sulky pout, you settle against him.

‘All better?��

‘No!’ you mope, arms hanging limp over his shoulders.

Laughing, he wraps his other arm around you and hoists you higher.

‘Did you even watch me play or were you too busy compiling a “kill list” of every person who looked at me?’

‘Kill list,’ you pout.

‘Must be a big list.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Entire school, I suspect.’

‘Sebastiiiaaannnnn!’

[hogwartslegacypics]

Sebastian practicing his flying skills for Quidditch!

[choccy-milky]

bloody beater seb🥴💞

[cursedonyx]

Nahhh why is this so adorable though

[lamieboo]

💚 SEB vs SEB vs SEB 💚

With the release of Quidditch Champions today, let’s have a contest to see which version of Sebastian is the BEST!!!

What is this

A community event to see which is the best version of Sebastian

The Team with the most entries can claim they HAVE THE BEST HC SEB EVERRRRR

Are you:

- Team Quidditch Champ Sebastian

- Team Bookworm Sebastian

- Team Duelling Master Sebastian

Rules

QT / Reblog with a drawing of which team you belong to, and use the #SEBvsSEBvsSEB

You can draw your HC Sebastian in more than one team

Have fun and get creative with your Sebastian (What position is he in? Which is his favourite book? Draw him beating your MC? Go wild)

Deadline is 3rd October

(Maybe I’ll make a prize for the winning team but idk what to do so any suggestions would be cool)