#Sebastian Sallow x mc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingsoftarnishedsilver · 9 hours ago

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Somewhere Safe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This story touches on sensitive themes of domestic abuse. If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please know that help is available. I've included resources below that offer support, guidance, and ways to take action. You are not alone, and there is always hope for a way out. Please take care of yourself as you read.

International Domestic Abuse Resource Link

Words: ~9,500

Tags: Violence, Abuse, Trauma, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort

Beta: @newdreamlove95💚

The world tilted when Sebastian pressed his back against the wall, a slow, lazy grin tugging at his lips as the woman in front of him whispered something he didn’t quite catch.

K-something.

Karina? Kelsey? Kate? Fuck, had she even told him? Maybe once, over the roar of the music in the bar, the hum of Ominis and Garreth’s laughter, the clink of glasses and shouted orders. It was distant now, fuzzy around the edges. The only thing sharp was the heat of her breath on his skin, the way her nails scratched lightly over the fabric of his shirt.

He let his head tip back against the wall, eyes slipping closed for just a moment. He was tipsy, not drunk. The whiskey still swam warm in his veins, enough to make everything feel slow and a little surreal, like watching himself from the outside. Too much, probably. He hadn’t planned on drinking that much, but Garreth had been in rare form tonight, rambling about some catastrophic potion mishap that had almost set his shop on fire, and Ominis—miraculously—had tolerated them both for longer than usual before fucking off home.

Sebastian had thought about leaving then, too. He should have. He'd been about to grab his coat, already debating—instinctively—whether to call you.

It was always you. Even after all these years, through all the tangled, unspoken things between you, his first thought was always you.

But then K-something had leaned into him at the bar, laughing, a teasing nail dragging down his arm. The look she gave him was clear, unmistakable—an invitation, no strings attached, nothing complicated, nothing messy. Just one night.

That had been enough. He let her take his hand, let her press against him in the back of the cab, let her perfume wrap around him—something floral, a little too sweet. Not right. Not familiar.

And now, here they were. His apartment. His mind blank where it mattered.

The door had barely clicked shut before her hands were on him, pressing, pulling, trying to unravel him. Her lips were eager, swallowing the taste of whiskey on his tongue, coaxing him toward the bedroom. His fingers ghosted over her hips, hesitant, and for the first time tonight, the thought crept in—

I don’t actually want this.

He ignored it.

Sebastian let her push him back against the wall, let her fingertips skim the waistband of his jeans, let his mind fog over with something other than the sharp edges of thought. He was just loose enough to let his body take over where his mind was absent.

And then—

A thunderous pounding on his front door.

K-something startled against him, pulling back with a little noise of surprise. Another knock—louder, harder, more frantic.

“What the hell?” she murmured, but Sebastian wasn’t listening.

Something was wrong.

If it were Garreth, he’d be yelling something obnoxious through the door. If it were Ominis, he would have texted first, making some sardonic remark about how it was far too late for him to be dealing with Sebastian’s nonsense.

Then—

“Sebastian, are you there?”

Your voice. Hoarse and desperate.

“Who is that?” K-something asked, tilting her head toward the door, annoyance creeping into her tone.

Sebastian didn’t answer. His whole body was already moving—pushing past her, heart pounding.

Another hit—this one shakier, weaker. A small, broken sound from the other side.

His hands were on the lock in an instant, fumbling, his pulse roaring in his ears. The second the front door swung open, his breath caught in his throat.

What the fuck happened to you?

Your hair was a mess, wild and tangled like you’d been running. Your shirt—torn, slipping off one shoulder—was smeared with something dark, and his brain tried to tell him it was just dirt, instead of what he feared. Your eyebrow was split, a thin trail of blood tracing down your temple. The bruises blooming along your arms and neck were fresh, ugly, fingershaped.

You were shaking, too, and not from the cold. You were wrung out, your breath coming too fast, too shallow, like you were barely holding yourself together.

But it was your expression that really sent ice straight through his veins. Wide, fractured eyes. Lips parted, trembling like you wanted to speak but couldn’t. Like you were afraid.

"Fuck," he breathed. "What—"

Your eyes flickered past him into the apartment, taking in the scene—the woman behind him, her rumpled clothes, the way Sebastian had clearly been in the middle of something when you knocked.

Your face crumpled. Your whole body tensed. You took a step back.

"Sorry, I—I shouldn’t have come." Your voice wavered, raw and too damn small. Your fingers curled against your ribs like something there ached. "I didn’t mean to—"

Oh, hell no.

Sebastian took a step forward, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you could slip away, but his voice never had the chance to follow—

A voice from behind him cut through the moment.

“Sebastian?” K-something called, her impatience laced with confusion. “Who is—”

She finally stepped closer, eyes widening when she took in your appearance. Her lips parted, expression shifting from irritation to realization. She wasn’t stupid. She could see what this was.

“…I should go.” She sputtered, already grabbing her bag from the counter. “I’ll call a cab.”

Sebastian barely heard her. He didn’t care.

She did hover for a moment, like she expected him to say something—to at least acknowledge her—but his eyes never left you. Eventually, she exhaled sharply and muttered something about Sebastian being a “waste of time” before leaving.

The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, the distant slam of the stairwell door barely registering in his ears. It was like a pressure valve had released, but it didn’t make anything better.

Because Sebastian had never—not once—seen you like this. Not even out in the field, back-to-back with him, dueling dark wizards without hesitation. Not even on the worst nights, when you were exhausted and bleeding but still smirking, still throwing out some dry remark.

But here? Now?

You were a mess of trembling limbs and wide, haunted eyes. You looked like you were barely holding yourself together, like if he breathed wrong, you might break apart completely.

His grip on your wrist was light—barely there—but your pulse raced beneath his fingers. You hadn’t tried to pull away, but you weren’t looking at him either, gaze flickering somewhere over his shoulder like you wished you could vanish entirely.

He swallowed hard, speaking past the gravel in his throat.

“What happened?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out, just a shaky exhale that barely made it past your teeth.

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled you inside, stepping around you to close the door with a quiet click. You stood stiffly in the entryway, one wrist still in his hand, your other arm wrapped around yourself like you were holding your own ribs together.

Sebastian could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears. His skin still buzzed with whiskey, his body sluggish from the alcohol, but his mind—fuck, his mind was awake now.

Someone had hurt you. Not just in the way that left bruises blooming across your skin or a sluggish trickle of blood tracing down your brow—but in the way you stood, small and hollowed out, like something inside you had caved in.

And he was going to make them pay for it.

The rage inside him wasn’t just anger—it was something worse. Something deeper. A raw, seething thing that coiled around his spine, tightening with every second he spent looking at you like this. It clawed at his ribs, demanding blood, demanding violence.

Sebastian had done a lot of things in his life—things he wasn’t proud of, things he couldn’t take back—but none of it would compare to what he would do to the person who put their hands on you.

His voice came out strained. “Tell me who did this.”

He watched the hesitation flicker across your face. You shook your head once. No.

He felt his pulse hammer in his throat, hot frustration bubbling up beneath his skin.

“Who?” His voice came sharper than he meant, rough and edged with something dangerous. “Just tell me who—”

Sebastian felt the second he fucked up. The moment the sharp edge of his voice cut the air, you flinched—so small, so fleeting, but there. And suddenly, the anger curdling in his chest didn’t matter. You didn’t need his temper, his anger, the violence simmering beneath his skin. You needed the part of him that knew how to take care of you.

His grip on your wrist loosened instantly, shifting instead into something light, barely-there, just enough to anchor you without holding you in place. His entire body language changed—he softened, dropping the heat, the demand, everything that might make you feel like you were being cornered. Because you weren’t. Never with him.

“Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to push,” he said quickly, voice dropping low, steady, warm. “You’re safe now, love. You’re with me."

Your lips pressed together, a sharp inhale stuttering in your chest, like you were trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

Sebastian took a slow step forward. Not too close. Just enough.

“I’ve got you," he murmured, even softer now. The backs of his knuckles brushed against your arm, barely a touch. Just enough to let you know he was there. That he wasn’t like whoever had put their hands on you tonight.

“You don’t have to tell me anything right now, okay? We’ll deal with it later. You just—” His throat tightened. “Just let me help, alright sweetheart?”

Your gaze flickered to his, and for the first time since he’d opened the door, he saw it—relief. Not much, just a flicker. A tiny, fragile thing. But it was enough.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once.

“Come here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he was making an offering. A place to land. A way out of your own head.

And when you stepped forward—hesitant, small, but willing—he didn’t hesitate.

Sebastian’s arms came around you in an instant, warm and solid, pulling you in carefully, shielding, steady. His hands were broad against your back, his entire frame curving around you, like maybe if he just held you tight enough, nothing could touch you anymore.

Your breath stuttered against his chest, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a fraction. He felt it happen—felt the smallest bit of weight drop from you as your forehead pressed lightly against his collarbone, like you were finally, finally letting yourself breathe.

Sebastian shut his eyes, exhaling slow and controlled. His voice was a low, quiet promise against your hair.

"You're safe. You hear me, love? You're safe now. You're with me."

Your voice came out quiet, fragile in a way he’d never heard before.

“I—I’m sorry, Seb” you murmured shakily against his chest. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night. I just—I ended up here, and—”

Sebastian stiffened. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. His grip on you twitched, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, to see the exhausted tilt of your head, the way your eyes wouldn’t quite meet his, how you were curling in on yourself like you could make yourself smaller, less of an inconvenience.

Something sharp lodged itself in his throat.

His hands ghosted down your arms, then one of them lifted before he could stop himself—fingertips barely brushing the side of your face, near the cut on your eyebrow. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"You didn't 'ruin' anything. You can always come to me,” he murmured. “No matter what. Doesn’t matter where I am, what I’m doing—you can always come to me. Understand?”

You swallowed hard, lips parting, but no words came out. Instead, your fingers curled weakly into the fabric of his shirt, gripping at him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.

Sebastian exhaled softly. “That’s my girl.”

Your weight was pressing against him now, not quite leaning but… there. Trusting.

Then, so quiet he almost missed it, you hummed softly against his chest.

“I don’t even remember coming here,” you murmured. “I just… walked. It’s like my feet knew where to go before I did.”

Sebastian stilled. His mind tripped over itself, racing to keep up. You walked here? From your flat? That wasn’t close—at least three miles, probably more. At this hour? In this state?

His stomach turned.

Had someone broken in? Had they been waiting for you? Did you even get a chance to fight back? Why didn’t you use magic? His pulse roared in his ears, questions piling up faster than he could process them—

But he didn’t voice any of it.

Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you, fingers curling lightly beneath your chin, coaxing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, sharp—wide with something like realization.

“You walked here?” His voice was low, too calm, too careful—like he was trying not to startle you. Like he was trying to make sure he’d heard you correctly before he let himself lose it.

You blinked at him, like it hadn’t even occurred to you that this was something he might react to. “…Yeah?”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

“That’s—” He exhaled sharply. “That’s miles away.”

You flinched, just barely, but this time it wasn’t from him—it was like you were only just now realizing what you had done, the reality settling in now that he had said it aloud.

“I—” Your voice wavered. “I didn’t even think about it, I just—” You shook your head, swallowing hard. “I wasn’t thinking about anything, I just needed to go. And I guess—”

Sebastian didn’t let you finish.

His hands were tightening around you in an instant—not gripping, not pulling, just there. Solid. Like he needed to convince himself that you weren’t still out there wandering the streets, hurt and vulnerable and alone.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead dropping briefly against yours, eyes screwing shut. “Fuck, fuck—”

The thought of you, alone, stumbling through the dark like a ghost, disoriented, wrecked, bleeding—it made him sick. You could have collapsed. You could have gotten lost. You could have—he couldn't even finish the thought.

Sebastian sucked in a slow breath, forcing himself to breathe, to be what you needed.

“Alright.” His voice was softer now, quieter. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s sit you down so I can clean you up, yeah?”

You hesitated, but only for a second. Then, finally, you nodded.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once in return.

“Good girl.” The words slipped out without thought, low and full of quiet, genuine relief.

Then, before you could process that—before he could process that—Sebastian was already moving, guiding you carefully toward his bedroom.

The dim glow from the bedside lamp bathed the space in soft, golden light, stretching long shadows across the floor. It was familiar, safe. You’d been here a thousand times before—kicking off your shoes without a second thought, making yourself at home on his bed, wrapped in that massive, worn-out blanket you always stole whenever you stayed over.

Sebastian barely had to nudge you down before you were sinking onto the edge of the mattress, exhausted, hands twisting together in your lap like you didn’t know what to do with them.

Without a word, Sebastian pulled the heavy blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around your shoulders, tucking it in carefully. You sank into it immediately, pulling the edges closer.

"Just sit tight," Sebastian murmured. "I’ll be right back."

You nodded—slow, small—and he gave your shoulder the lightest squeeze before pushing himself to his feet.

The moment he stepped into the ensuite, he exhaled sharply, pressing his palms against the cool porcelain of the sink. His reflection in the mirror looked as wrecked as he felt—jaw clenched, eyes dark with something raw and sharp.

The cabinet door creaked as he yanked it open, hands moving fast. A clean washcloth, warm from the sink. A Dixie cup of water. The first aid kit he’d barely ever needed but always kept—just in case. He nearly knocked over a bottle of cologne reaching for it.

When he returned, you hadn’t moved much. Still perched on the edge of his bed, shoulders drawn in, hands curled loosely in your lap. The trembling had eased, but not completely.

Sebastian set everything on the floor and knelt in front of you, careful, steady, slipping effortlessly into the version of himself you needed right now. The one who would take care of you.

“Here.” He held out the paper cup, his fingers brushing against yours as you took it. “Drink.”

You brought it to your lips, taking slow, small sips. Sebastian didn’t look away, watching carefully, making sure you drank enough. Making sure you weren’t about to fold in on yourself.

Then, once you’d set the cup aside, he reached for the washcloth, folding it into a neat square.

“Okay,” he murmured. “This might sting.”

Your gaze flicked toward his, cautious but steady, and you nodded.

His fingers were steady when they cupped your cheek, tilting your face just enough to give him a better look at the cut above your eyebrow. He barely even touched you, just the ghost of his palm against your jaw, his thumb resting near your temple.

And fuck, seeing it up close was worse.

The cut wasn’t deep, but it was still bleeding sluggishly. The skin around it was red and raw, like you had wiped at it with the sleeve of your shirt at some point. There were bruises along your temple too, darkening by the second.

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it sent a dull ache down his neck.

Breathe. Focus.

He kept his touch gentle, dabbing carefully at the blood along your brow, slow enough to avoid hurting you more than necessary.

You winced, breath hitching just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Your eyes fluttered for a moment before settling on him. And that was when he felt it. Like a thread pulling taut between you—delicate but unbreakable.

He knew that look. He’d known it for years. Had seen it a thousand times in fleeting moments—across the rim of a coffee mug, under the hazy glow of streetlights on late-night walks, in the quiet of stolen glances when you thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Soft. Open. Trusting. Loving.

Even now. Even after tonight—after whatever fresh hell you’d been put through—you still looked at him like that. Like he was safe. Like he was yours.

Sebastian swallowed hard, forcing down the impossible tightness in his throat.

“Good news is,” he managed, trying to keep his voice light, normal, like he wasn’t seconds away from completely fucking losing it, “you still got your pretty face intact.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of your lips. Not quite a smile, but close—softer than anything he’d seen from you all night. More importantly, it earned him the softest exhale, a breath of sound barely there, barely audible, but approaching a laugh.

Sebastian let himself smile—small, reassuring, nothing too much.

His thumb moved before he could stop it, brushing over your cheekbone, the lightest, most absent-minded touch.

"Let me see your hands," he murmured.

There was hesitation—he felt it before he even saw it. Your fingers curled into the blanket, your body tensing, as if you weren’t sure you wanted him to look. Then, slowly, you unwound your fingers, releasing the fabric, and let him take your hands.

And fuck. Even your knuckles were torn up—split, raw, some still sluggishly weeping where the skin had broken open. Dark smudges of dried blood clung between your fingers, across your palms. The skin along your wrist was bruised, as if someone had grabbed you.

He felt his pulse slam against his ribs.

You’d fought back. Of course you did. Of course you fucking did.

Because you were you. Because you were strong, stubborn, fierce even when the odds were stacked against you. But the thought of you having to fight—having to defend yourself like this, having to claw your way out of something horrible—

Sebastian inhaled sharply through his nose.

He forced it down—the fire, the violence curling under his skin, the instinct to demand names, places, details—he swallowed all of it.

Later. He’d deal with that later. Right now, you needed him.

Sebastian lifted the washcloth again, pressing it carefully to your knuckles. You hissed softly at the sting, hands jerking slightly in his grip.

“Easy, love,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, thick with something that sounded like devotion. “I’ve got you.”

He cleaned away the blood with slow, deliberate strokes, careful and methodical. Taking his time, as if it might make a difference. As if he could erase what had happened, wipe it from your skin, lift the weight from your shoulders and take it onto his own.

The silence between you settled, thick and heavy but not suffocating. Not tense. Just… there. A presence in the room.

When he finished, he set the washcloth aside and reached for the first aid kit again, fingers brushing over the zipper before he pulled it open. His hands were steady, practiced, as he found what he needed—a small tube of antibiotic ointment.

He twisted the cap off and squeezed a little onto his fingertip.

Neither of you spoke when he smoothed it gently over the cut above your eyebrow, his touch featherlight. You didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, just let him. And when he moved to your knuckles, carefully spreading the ointment over the split skin, you watched him—eyes dark, unreadable, but there. Present.

When he was finished, he squeezed your hand. That part wasn’t strictly necessary, but he did it anyway. A small thing. A quiet reassurance. And thenyour fingers curled around his, squeezing back—just barely.

Sebastian swallowed, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. “I’m getting you a clean shirt,” he said softly.

He turned to his dresser, yanking open a drawer and rifling through the mess. Because you were not staying in that fucking t-shirt. Not when the collar was torn, stretched where it shouldn’t be, the fabric stained with blood.

The thought of you still wearing it made something ugly curl in his stomach.

So he found the softest thing he owned—one of his old hoodies, oversized and warm, worn to hell but clean. Safe. Something that smelled like him.

He turned back to you, pressing it into your hands.

"Thanks," you murmured, your fingers curling into the fabric, the sleeves bunched between your knuckles.

Sebastian cleared his throat. “You can change in here,” he said. “Or the bathroom. Whatever’s—”

“I don’t want to be alone.”

His entire body went still. The words weren’t loud. If the room had been any noisier from the traffic outside, he might have missed them. But they hit like a gut punch, like a fist curling around his ribs and squeezing tight.

You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was downcast, fixed somewhere near the floor, but your posture told him everything. Shoulders curled inward. Small. Hesitant.

Sebastian turned back to you instantly.

"Alright," he murmured, voice steady, unwavering. "I'll stay right here."

Something in your expression shifted, like the tension in your chest eased just slightly. Then slowly, carefully you peeled off your ruined t-shirt.

Sebastian tore his gaze away, jaw clenching. Not because he didn’t want to look—fuck, that was never the problem.

But because this wasn’t about that.

You needed comfort, not whatever mess of feelings he was shoving down, not whatever heat curled low in his stomach whenever you were close. Not the part of him that had spent years wanting to touch you, years wanting you in ways he’d never said aloud.

So he clenched his fists and stared at the wall, listening to the soft rustle of fabric as you pulled his hoodie over your head.

A moment of silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Sebastian turned back.

The hoodie was massive on you, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs.

He exhaled slowly, raking a hand through his hair before nodding once. “Better?”

You gave the smallest nod.

“Good.” His voice softer now, the rough edge smoothed just slightly. “Right then, let’s get you settled.”

Sebastian reached for the bed, moving on instinct. He pulled back the messy covers, shaking them out before propping up the pillows against the headboard, making sure they were stacked just right. Then, with quiet purpose, he turned back to you, nodding toward the bed.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice low, steady.

Your gaze flickered up at him, exhaustion dulling your eyes, but beneath it—gratitude. Silent, unspoken, but undeniable.

Slowly, you crawled onto the mattress, shifting beneath the blankets, and the second your head hit the pillow, you curled in on yourself, like your body had been waiting for this—this warmth, this safety—to finally let go.

Sebastian grabbed the blanket—your blanket—and tucked it securely over you, smoothing it over your shoulders before sitting on the edge of the bed, just close enough to reach you if you needed him.

“Anything I can get you?” he asked. “Tea? A snack? Whatever you want, love, just say the word.”

Your fingers curled into the edge of the blanket, your brows drawing together slightly like you hadn’t even considered that option.

“I—” Your voice was quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian huffed a quiet, almost amused sound. “Not exactly a helpful answer.”

You exhaled a soft breath—one that might have been the ghost of a laugh if you weren’t so drawn out—and ducked your chin into the blanket.

Sebastian watched you for a second, then nodded to himself, already making up his mind.

“Alright,” he murmured, standing. “Something to eat, then.”

You blinked up at him, looking so small, so tired, but you didn’t protest. Sebastian took that as a win.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, already scrolling through the UberEats app with single-minded focus. He wasn’t just looking for just anything—he was looking for your favorite restaurant.

He knew what you liked. Knew what you always ordered when you were too exhausted to cook, when you’d had a rough day, when you needed something warm and familiar to make the world feel a little less harsh.

And besides, it wasn’t like he had anything useful in his kitchen. The last time he’d checked, his fridge contained precisely one beer, a half-empty bottle of hot sauce, and something that might have once been a loaf of bread but was now a science experiment.

Not exactly ideal.

But even if he had groceries, it wouldn’t have mattered. You’d said you didn’t want to be alone. So he wasn’t going anywhere—not even to the damn kitchen.

As he flicked through the menu, your voice broke the silence.

“…Seb?”

He glanced up immediately, his full attention snapping back to you in an instant.

“Yeah?”

“…Will you lay with me?”

Something thick and impossible to name lodged itself in his throat, pressing against his ribs.

“Yeah,” he murmured, already moving. “Of course.”

He climbed into the bed beside you, careful and deliberate, mindful to keep a respectful distance—giving you space to breathe, to settle, to feel safe. But the second he was still, the second the warmth of him fully registered beside you, you scooted closer, the space between you vanishing in an instant. You curled into him, pressing into his side, burrowing against his chest like it was the only place you wanted to be.

Sebastian barely had a second to process it before instinct took over.

His free arm came around you automatically, pulling you in, keeping you there. He didn’t even think about it—just moved, just held.

And fuck, you fit against him so perfectly it made his heart lurch.

He ignored it.

Ignored the way your warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt, ignored the way your breath ghosted against his neck, ignored the way his own pulse stupidly, traitorously picked up speed as you curled your fingers into the hem of his hoodie like you had no plans to let go.

Instead, he adjusted the angle of his phone so you could see the screen, keeping his voice casual. Normal. Like his brain wasn’t short-circuiting at the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Here,” he murmured. “Do you want your usual?”

“…Yeah,” you said, voice half-muffled against his chest. “That sounds good.”

Sebastian hummed, tapping the order in without question.

“Alright,” he said. “Then it’s settled.”

His fingers flexed lightly against your waist, soothing, absent-minded, and you sighed, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian swallowed hard, ignoring the way something deep in his chest ached at the feeling. He was in trouble.

But fuck it.

He’d deal with that later.

The next little while passed in silence—not the uncomfortable kind, not tense or heavy, just quiet. Steady.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Neither did you. You just lay there, curled into him, your breath even and slow, the warmth of you pressed into his side.

But Sebastian didn’t need words.

He was just thankful you were here, that your body had finally started to relax, that the tension had drained from your limbs.

Then, eventually, the soft buzz of his phone vibrating on the nightstand broke the stillness.

The food was here.

Sebastian sighed, shifting slightly, preparing to get up, but the second he moved, he felt it. You stiffened. Barely perceptible, just the slightest tensing of your fingers against his shirt, but enough. Enough for something cold to crawl up his spine.

So instead of pulling away completely, he murmured, “Alright, come on then,” and reached down, slipping his arm around you.

You made a soft, startled sound as he shifted, rolling forward until you were draped across his back. His hands hooked securely under your thighs as he straightened, carrying you with him as he padded toward the door.

You didn’t protest. You just buried your face into the crook of his neck, fingers loosely gripping his shoulders as he moved.

Sebastian grabbed the takeout bag with one hand, snatched a couple of forks from the kitchen drawer on his way back, and carried you straight back to bed.

He placed the food between you, climbed in beside you again, and grabbed the remote, flipping on the TV. Some random YouTube video started playing—something dumb, nothing serious, just background noise to keep things from feeling too quiet.

You didn’t eat much. Just picked at your food, nudging pieces around with your fork.

That was fine. Sebastian didn’t push. Didn’t say anything about it. Just sat beside you, eating in easy silence, letting you take what you needed at your own pace.

And then, finally, you spoke.

Your voice was soft, quiet, but clear.

“…Sebastian.”

He glanced over immediately. “Yeah, love?”

You swallowed, staring at your food like you weren’t really seeing it. Then, slowly, you set your fork aside, taking in a shaky breath.

“I'm... I'm ready to tell you what happened.”

Sebastian’s fork stopped midway to his mouth.

The words settled between you, quiet but heavy, sinking into his ribs like a slow, aching weight.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you as you stared down at your takeout, your breath uneven like you were preparing yourself.

Slowly, he reached for the remote. The video playing in the background cut off instantly, plunging the room into a thick, expectant silence. Sebastian set his fork down on the nightstand and turned his full attention to you.

“Alright,” he murmured. “I’m listening.”

You inhaled sharply, like you were bracing yourself, and when you spoke, your voice wavered—small and fragile in a way that made something in his chest splinter.

“It was him.”

The second the words left your mouth, his stomach dropped, and a sharp, seething hatred coiled hot and violent in his chest.

Sebastian knew who you meant. It was him.

And fuck, of course it was. How hadn't he put it together sooner?

Sebastian had never liked your boyfriend. Never. Not even in the beginning, when everyone else had acted like he was some goddamn catch. Sebastian hadn’t needed a reason, hadn’t needed proof—he just knew there was something off about him. Something that never sat right with Sebastian, no matter how many times you swore he was nice.

He’d never said anything, though. Not outright. You were happy, or at least that's what you said, and Sebastian—Sebastian, who was a selfish bastard on the best of days when it came to you—hadn’t wanted to be the bitter one. The one sitting on the sidelines, waiting for something to go wrong.

But now—now—he was fucking furious at himself for not pushing harder.

Because if he had, if he’d done something, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here, hands trembling, voice wrecked, telling him about how the person who was supposed to love you had put his fucking hands on you.

His fists clenched in the blanket.

He had never understood why the fuck you got with him in the first place. A Muggle, sure, fine—Sebastian didn’t give a shit about blood status—but him?

You were brilliant, sharp, always three steps ahead in a conversation, in a duel, in everything. You had a way of reading people, of understanding things too quickly, like your mind was always moving, always making connections that no one else could see.

And your boyfriend? The guy was dense. It wasn’t even an insult, just a fact.

Sebastian had been baffled when you first introduced him. Because what the hell did you even talk about? He wasn’t clever, or funny, or anything that made sense for you. He was just… there. All tall, broad-shouldered, perfect-featured statue of a man, like some idiot Greek god who had never had a thought deeper than his own reflection.

And you, who could debate theory for hours, who could outduel anyone, who never backed down from an argument—had ended up with him?

It made no fucking sense.

At first, Sebastian had assumed it was just a passing thing. Maybe you were into the whole tall, hot, and dumb aesthetic. Maybe you just wanted something easy. Someone who wouldn’t challenge you, someone who wouldn’t drag you into the kind of shit Sebastian always did.

But then the relationship had lasted. For months.

Sebastian tried telling himself that his problem with your boyfriend was just jealousy, that it was something ugly in him that hated seeing you with someone else.

But deep down, it wasn’t just that.

He had never liked him. Never trusted him. And now—now he fucking knew why.

Your fingers tightened in the fabric of Sebastian’s hoodie, but you didn’t look at him. Your gaze stayed locked on the blanket draped over your lap, like you couldn’t bear to meet his eyes.

“He went out drinking,” you murmured, voice thin and raw. “Came home late. I was already in bed, and I—I could hear him from the other room. Slamming drawers, throwing shit. He was mad about something—probably work, or maybe just the fucking weather, I don’t know. But I knew it was bad. I knew the second I heard him that it was one of those nights.”

Sebastian didn’t move. His entire body had gone tight, coiled like a wire stretched too thin. One of those nights?

How many times had you stood there, listening to him throw shit around the apartment, waiting for him to come for you? How many nights had you lain awake, breath shallow, heart pounding, afraid of the man who was supposed to love you? How many times had you flinched at the sound of keys in the door?

Sebastian's breath was slow, measured—too controlled. He had to keep himself in check. Because if he let himself fully think about it, if he let himself process the fact that this wasn’t just some freak incident, that you had lived like this—

You kept talking, your voice quiet but raw, and he forced himself to listen.

“I tried to pretend I was asleep,” you muttered. “Hoped he’d just pass out on the couch. But then he came into the bedroom. Flicked on the light. Stood in the doorway for a second, just looking at me.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“And then he started talking—no, ranting—about everything that had gone wrong today. Like it was my fault. Like I was supposed to fix it. I told him to calm down, but that just made it worse.”

Sebastian swallowed, his throat dry as fucking sandpaper.

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, knuckles pressing against your ribs like you were trying to hold yourself together. “He got in my face,” you continued. “He does that sometimes, to intimidate me, I think. I told him to back off, but he didn’t.” Your voice broke slightly, and you sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I reached for my wand.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

And then, he knew. He knew what was coming. Knew it.

But when you finally said it—when the words left your mouth, shaking, broken—he still felt like the fucking floor had been ripped out from under him.

“He grabbed it out of my hand,” you whispered. “And he snapped it in half.”

But you weren’t done.

“And then he grabbed me.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fucking break something.

“I hit him,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I tried. That’s why my knuckles are—” You gestured vaguely to one hand with the other, your fingers trembling. “But obviously I was never going to win against him. Then he shoved me, slammed me against the wall so hard I thought my head was gonna split open.”

Sebastian’s fingers twitched against the blanket. His breath was coming too fast, too sharp. He needed to stay still, needed to stay quiet because this wasn’t about him, but—fuck. You were shaking now, and it took everything in him not to pull you into his arms right then and there.

“I—I must have hit the dresser on the way down,” you said, voice thick as you reached up, brushing a fingertip over your eyebrow.

Sebastian felt sick.

“He grabbed me again,” you continued, voice unsteady. “By the arms. He was yelling, I don’t even know what the fuck he was saying anymore. I—I tried to claw him off, and then he—”

You stopped. Sebastian’s pulse roared in his ears.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. He could feel what was coming next, and it terrified him more than anything else you’d said.

His voice, when it finally came, was low. Too low.

“He what?”

You swallowed, voice thick with unshed tears. “He put his hands around my throat.”

Sebastian’s world went fucking silent. The breath was knocked out of him. His heart slammed so hard against his ribs he thought it might crack them.

“And I—I couldn’t—” Your voice wavered, raw and unsteady. “I couldn’t breathe. I was kicking, and I—I think I got him in the ribs or something, because he let go just long enough for me to shove him and run.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

“ I didn’t think. I didn’t even grab anything,” you whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I just—I had to get out, so I ran, and… and I dunno, I ended up here.”

Sebastian couldn’t breathe. You had to run from your own home. You had to run for your life.

Sebastian was going to kill him. No—he was going to do worse.

And then, then, his mind supplied the worst possible thought.

His voice came out strained. Tight. Lethal. “…Did he do anything else? Did he— did he touch you?”

You shook your head. Small. Quick. Immediate.

“No,” you whispered, voice thick. “No. He didn’t.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to collapse with relief. But the fact that he even had to ask—the fact that he had even worried about it—was enough to send another wave of fury rolling through his chest.

His voice, when it finally came, was flat, cold in a way that barely sounded like him.

“Where is he now?”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “I don’t know.”

Sebastian’s fingers curled into the blanket, his jaw locking so hard it ached.

“I don’t know if he chased me down the street,” you muttered, voice distant, "or if he just passed out on the floor in the flat.” Your mouth twisted slightly, bitter. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sebastian saw red. Wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the first fucking time. The words slammed into him like a punch to the gut, a brutal, taunting echo that wouldn’t stop.

How long? How long had this been happening? Had there been times when you’d wanted to tell him? When the words had almost left your lips, only to be swallowed back down by fear? How many times had you thought about leaving but been too scared?

Sebastian’s stomach twisted violently, a sickening, nauseating weight settling deep in his ribs.

Had he ever looked at you and missed it? Had you ever shown up to work, to his flat, tired or distracted, wearing long sleeves even when it was warm? Had he ever caught a glimpse of something he should have seen—some hidden bruise, some flicker of fear in your eyes—and fucking ignored it?

His vision blurred at the edges. He should have known. He should have fucking known.

And now—now it was too late, because it had already happened, and you were sitting right here, bruised and battered, wearing his hoodie because your own clothes were ruined, voice small and wrecked as you told him about how you had run for your life.

Sebastian couldn’t sit still.

The rage was too much, too sharp, clawing up his throat, curling around his spine, making his limbs itch with the need to move, to do something, to fucking fix this.

So he shoved his takeout onto the nightstand, barely registering the sound it made, and pushed off the bed before the anger swallowed him whole.

But he didn’t get far.

The second he was standing, he felt it—your fingers catching weakly at the fabric of his shirt, not pulling, not stopping him, just… holding.

Sebastian froze. His hands twitched at his sides, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders back, forcing himself to breathe, swallowing the violence in his throat.

“Tomorrow,” he said, voice hard with finality, “I’m getting all your stuff from your place.”

Your head snapped up, eyes widening slightly, but Sebastian didn’t let you speak.

“You’re never going back there,” he continued, unmoving. “You live here now.”

Your lips parted, and for a second, he saw it—that flicker of resistance, the part of you that was always so fucking stubborn, always ready to argue, to find some logical excuse for why you couldn't—

Sebastian didn’t give you the chance.

“No.” His tone was unyielding, “You don’t get to argue with me on this."

Sebastian steeled himself, forcing himself to be rational, to speak in the way you’d actually listen instead of just demanding you do what he fucking said.

“You don’t have a wand,” he reminded you, voice rough but steady. “You don’t know where he is. I’m not letting you walk back into that flat. Ever.”

You swallowed hard. “But—”

Sebastian shook his head.

“No. This is your home now,” he said. “For as long as you need. As long as you want.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but finally—so quietly he almost didn’t hear it—

“…Okay.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply, tension bleeding from his shoulders just slightly, just enough that his hands didn’t feel like they were about to break something.

“If you want to report it,” he said, steady, certain, determined, “we’ll figure it out. We’ll go to the Ministry if we need to, or the Muggle police.” His throat felt tight, but he pushed through it. “Whatever you need. Whatever justice looks like for you—we’ll get it.”

Your breath stuttered slightly, but you didn’t speak.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We can ask Ominis which one to go to. He’s good with this shit—he’ll know what to do.” He hesitated for a second, then added, “And if you don’t want to tell him… that’s fine, too. I’ll sort it out myself.”

Because he would. If you wanted to handle this the legal way, he’d be right there beside you, every step of the way. And if you didn’t—

“But if you don’t want to do that,” he said, voice dropping lower, gentler, softer in a way that made his ribs ache, “that’s okay.”

It was your choice. All of it. For what was probably the first time in months, it was yours.

Sebastian was about to say more—was about to ask if you wanted him to do something now, to go to the flat, to find that fucking bastard—but then you made a sound. A small, barely there sound, like something breaking apart inside you. And before he could even process it, your shoulders shook, your face crumpling as the first sob ripped out of you.

Sebastian's stomach dropped.

Fuck—

What did he say? What did he do?

He had tried to be so careful, but now you were crying—really crying, for the first time all night—and fuck, had he pushed too hard? Had he said something—

Your hands were reaching for him.

Sebastian barely had time to breathe before you were clutching at him, holding him with all the strength left in you.

He melted. His arms came around you instantly, pulling you in, one hand cupping the back of your head as you buried your face into his chest. He felt the shudder of your breath, the way your whole body trembled as you broke apart against him, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey—" His voice was low, rough, but so fucking gentle. "I've got you. It’s alright. Just—just let it out."

You gasped between sobs, fists curling into him like you needed him to keep you steady.

And then, through the shaking, through the broken sobs, “Thank you.”

Sebastian's breath stuttered, his grip tightening around you. You were still crying, still wrecked, still clinging to him, but the words were so raw, so genuine, it made something ache deep in his chest.

"Don’t thank me," he muttered, pressing his cheek against the top of your head. "You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart. This—" He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. "I would do anything for you. You do know that, don't you?"

You let out a soft, breathy laugh against his chest, barely more than a shaky exhale. It wasn’t light, wasn’t joyful. It was exhausted, raw, frayed at the edges like you didn’t quite have the energy for it but couldn’t help yourself. A sound that came from somewhere deep, somewhere aching.

And then, you whispered, "Yeah, Seb… I know."

Your voice was hoarse, wrecked—but sure in a way that made his ribs feel like they were caving in. Like there had never been a doubt in your mind. Like you had always known.

And something inside him cracked.

All the anger, the panic, the terror that had been keeping him upright—keeping him steady—just snapped, and suddenly he was unraveling too, spilling apart at the seams before he could even think to stop it.

Because the truth, the reality of this finally hit him—really hit him, slamming into him all at once like a freight train, like a fist to the ribs, like something he would never recover from.

You could have not made it here. He could have lost you. Not in some abstract, distant, what if kind of way.

No.

This had been real. This had happened. And if things had gone just a little differently—if you hadn’t gotten away, if that bastard had held on just a second longer—

The thought suffocated him, dragged him under, wrenched something raw and painful out of his chest. His breath hitched sharply against your hair. His shoulders trembled. And then, before he could stop it, before he could even fight it, a choked, wrecked sob ripped out of him.

Sebastian never cried.

Not when his uncle died. Not when he thought he’d lost Ominis for good. Not even when he lost Anne and the weight of his own mistakes had nearly crushed him. He’d swallowed it all down, shoved it away, because crying never changed anything.

But this—

This was different. This wasn’t grief. This wasn’t regret or guilt or self-hatred.

This was terror.

Pure. Crippling. The kind that hollowed you out, carved into you like a knife, left you feeling like there was nothing inside but raw, open wounds.

He could’ve lost you.

His breath came too fast, uneven, the pressure in his chest too much, and his mouth was already moving before he could stop it.

“I swear to God, I don’t— I don’t know what I would have done if—” His voice cracked, a raw, fractured thing that barely made it out past his lips.

“I—I should’ve known, I should’ve done something—” His grip flexed, desperate. “I knew something was off about him, I fucking knew, and I didn’t say anything—”

“Sebastian—”

“And I—fuck, I can’t stop picturing it. You— you walked here, you were just, just out there, all alone, and I wasn’t—” His voice cracked again, barely holding together. “I wasn’t there, I didn’t know—”

Your hand lifted, soft and soothing, brushing against the side of his face, and it wrecked him, because fuck, you shouldn’t have to comfort him. Not after what you had just been through. Not when he was supposed to be taking care of you.

But you did. You just held him.

Sebastian let out another ragged breath, desperately clinging to you. “I could have lost you.”

Your thumbs swept across his cheekbones, gentle, careful, steady. "You didn’t.”

He let out a sound—somewhere between a sharp exhale and a broken laugh, because that wasn’t the point. The point was that it had been so fucking close.

“I—” His fingers curled against the nape of your neck, into your hair, gripping you like a lifeline. "You have no fucking idea—I just—I thought—" He inhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice turning frantic, desperate.

"Sebastian—"

"I knew he was wrong for you, I knew it, and I—fuck—I just let it happen—"

"Seb—"

"I love you."

It ripped out of him.

Messy. Raw. Completely unfiltered.

“I love you and—fuck—" his voice was wild, frantic, cracking over itself. "And I swear to God, I’m going to kill him." His breath hitched, a sharp, furious sound. " I’m going to bury him, I’m going to make him suffer, I’m going to make sure he knows—"

His breath came hard, uneven, furious, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.

"He’s done," His laugh was sharp, bitter, wrecked. "I mean it—I mean it, I will put him in the fucking ground, I will tear him apart with my bare hands—"

His voice was getting rougher, more desperate, more unhinged with every word that tumbled out. He couldn’t stop—couldn’t stop picturing it, him, with his hands on you, hurting you, breaking your wand, stealing your power, making you run for your life—

"I should’ve stopped this, I should’ve—fuck, I should’ve done something the second I saw him looking at you like you were his, I should’ve fucking known—"

"Seb—"

"You don’t understand—he put his hands on you. On you. Do you have any idea what that means to me? Do you have any clue what I would do for you?" His breath came sharp and fast, his words spilling out unchecked, unstoppable. "You—you’re everything to me—I love you, fuck, I love you—"

And that was when it hit him.

He said it.

Again.

For the fourth fucking time, actually.

He had said the one thing he was never supposed to say, the thing he had spent years shoving down under layers of denial and cowardice and self-preservation because it was safer that way. Because it was easier to pretend, easier to be your friend, easier to just be there for you without ruining everything.

But it was out now. It was out, and there was no taking it back, and fuck, he shouldn’t have said it—not like this, not when this wasn’t about him, not when you had just been through hell—

And suddenly, fresh panic was clawing up his throat, his mind spinning too fast, spiraling, trying to fix it, trying to backpedal—

And then you kissed him.

Sebastian’s mind blipped.

Just shut off completely.

One second, he was losing his goddamn mind, his body shaking, his hands gripping onto you like you were the only thing keeping him from self-destructing, and the next, your lips were on his, soft and desperate and real.

It was like slamming into a wall at full speed.

Every thought cut out at once.

The rage. The panic. The terror.

Gone.

All that was left was this. You. The feeling of your hands curling into the neckline of his shirt, pulling him closer. The way your breath hitched against his lips, the way your body melted against his like you had wanted this just as much as he had.

Sebastian made a noise in the back of his throat—wrecked, wild—before he sank into you completely.

His hands flew up, cupping your face, tilting your head like he needed more, like he was drowning and this was the only thing that could save him.

He felt your fingers shaking, gripping him like you needed him as much as he needed you, and fuck, if that wasn’t enough to destroy him.

He broke away just long enough to suck in a breath, his forehead dropping to yours, his whole body shaking.

And then—softly, like he couldn’t help himself—he let out a ragged, disbelieving laugh.

“…Okay,” he breathed, his lips barely an inch from yours. “Okay. That was—yeah. That was a good way to shut me up.”

Your lips twitched—small, barely there—

But there.

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whizzing-fizzbee · 12 hours ago

Text

I'm going on vacation, so as a tiny parting gift and since everyone seems to love Subastian, I give you...

Ignorant.

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI; all characters are adults Words: ~4000 Tags: female reader insert, 2nd person POV, no y/n, smut, soft dom/sub, Subastian Sallow, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, revenge, marriage, post-Hogwarts, aged up characters, MDNI

Summary: You already know what this one's about. That incident. On this day five years ago, Sebastian Sallow had the audacity to call you ignorant during an argument in the Undercroft. You forgave but you sure as hell didn't forget. Now, you're exacting some revenge five years later to show your new husband who the ignorant one really is. In other words: MC is petty as hell for remembering and exploiting the "ignorant" incident in the form of sexual revenge.

Notes: I love how the "ignorant" incident has become an ongoing joke within the HL fandom, so this is just something silly and stupid I thought up. Major thanks to @newdreamlove95 for helping me sort through the logistics of this one.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Today was special. It marked a particular anniversary for you and your beloved husband. No, it wasn’t your wedding anniversary, nor was it the annual marking of the first day you met, or even your first date.

This anniversary held a much more facetious meaning. Perhaps you were petty for remembering it, but you never claimed to be perfect.

It all started five years ago, when you were caught in the middle of a whirlwind school year. You had just started at Hogwarts, already years behind your classmates in your lessons. Then you discovered that not-so little secret about your ancient magic and Ranrok’s mission to turn Hogwarts and its surrounding hamlets to hell on earth, all while your new friend Sebastian decided to dip his toes into dark magic to try and save his sister.

Needless to say, your first year at Hogwarts was a bit much. But plenty of good did come from it. You saved the school – and probably the entirety of the surrounding Highlands – from Ranrok, Rookwood and their loyalists. You took down a notorious ring of poachers and saved the golden snidgets. You exposed Cassandra Mason and took over her decaying Hogsmeade shop, gave Puffskein Duncan the ridiculing he deserved and helped that sweet old goblin reunite with his dear mooncalf Biscuit. All that, and you even managed to make that freckled friend of yours fall in love with you.

You hadn’t meant to. Sure, you’d had a crush on Sebastian from the start, and apparently he had it bad for you the moment you demolished him in that Defense Against the Dark Arts duel. But he spent most of your fifth year chasing down a cure for Anne’s curse, while you spent that time chasing him down in hopes he wouldn’t get himself killed.

It wasn’t until all the dust had settled – after Solomon’s death, Ranrok’s demise and Ominis Gaunt’s decision to keep quiet about Sebastian’s crimes – that Sebastian realized how important you had become to him. It was somewhere around Christmas of your sixth year that he finally crafted the courage to tell you.

Since then, you and Sebastian Sallow were synonymous. Where you went, he went, and vice-versa. When someone spoke your name, his followed. It was no surprise to your Hogwarts classmates and professors that you eventually became Mrs. Sallow.

But your great love story wasn’t without a few hiccups. You and Sebastian were both bold and brash. You both liked to fight fire with fire, and while he was much more impulsive, you were stubborn and clever. It was inevitable that the two of you occasionally tussled, but you also loved one another far too deeply to ever let your grievances get too far.

Except for this one tiny, little thing.

You brought it up only on rare occasion. If anything, it had become an inside joke of sorts between you and your husband – a silly memory of your rocky beginnings. He apologized profusely and you’d forgiven him ages ago. But that didn’t mean you forgot.

So on this particular day, which marked five years since that irritating little incident, you decided it was time to remind your husband to be mindful of how he speaks to you.

The two of you left work promptly at 5 p.m. You were both Aurors, another example of how in tandem the two of you were. You’d spent your Hogwarts days as partners in crime only to graduate and become partners who chased down criminals.

But today, Sebastian was the only one who would be paying for any crimes – even if they had technically been forgiven five years ago.

You entered your London townhome per usual, tossing your coat on a hook by the door as Sebastian whined about being hungry. You barely acknowledged his words. You were far too excited to serve revenge, not dinner.

While he rummaged through the cabinets for something to eat, you kicked off your shoes and continued to your home office. It was your own secluded space where you kept your most important belongings – notebooks about the repository, research on ancient magic, observations about that stupid relic Sebastian had stolen your fifth year. You kept it all filed away safely under lock and key. The remainder of your office housed a desk covered in trinkets, an old armchair and a row of modest bookshelves. And in one corner of the office sat the old triptych.

You took Isidora Morganach’s triptych with you upon graduating Hogwarts when you and Sebastian decided you couldn’t risk leaving it for someone to stumble upon in the Undercroft. It now posed as a pretty piece of artwork, its significance only meant for you and Sebastian.

You gazed at the triptych and smiled to yourself. It represented a monumental portion of your past, particularly with Sebastian. In many ways, you might even say it brought the two of you closer as you spent months during your fifth year searching for its missing canvases. And then, there was that moment, which occurred on this day in front of the triptych five years ago.

“Oh, darling!” you called out. “Can you come here?”

You leaned with your back to the desk, wand held lazily in one hand as you waited. Sebastian’s footsteps padded against the wood floors until he was lingering in the doorway of your office.

“Yes, love?” He stepped into the room, his brow furrowed as he noticed you gazing at the triptych. “What is it?”

“Oh, I was just thinking about this old thing,” you said innocently as you gestured toward the triptych. “Brings back quite a few memories.”

Sebastian blinked, unsure what to make of your sudden nostalgia. “That, it does,” he agreed. “What’s the reason for this trip down memory lane?”

“Oh, nothing,” you shrugged. “I was just thinking back and realized what day it is.”

“What day it is?” Sebastian repeated blankly. You smirked as you could see the panic surging through his head. He was certainly trying to recall important dates, terrified he’d forgotten your birthday or anniversary. “Sorry, darling, I don’t recall.”

You stepped toward him, hooking one arm around his neck to pull him close, your bright eyes shining as you smiled at him. “You don’t remember what happened with this triptych on this day five years ago?”

Sebastian fought to remember, his frown deepening as he struggled for a response. “Five years ago? I’m sorry, love,” he admitted. “I have no idea.”

“Oh, well that’s okay,” you said with a shrug. “It’s not really that big of a deal.” You reached for his tie and tugged him into a slow kiss, offering him a cheery smile when you pulled away.

“But if it’s important to you-” Sebastian started. You cut him off with another kiss, stepping toward him to press your body against his. You knew he’d forget all about that triptych now.

As you dragged your tongue against Sebastian’s bottom lip, you rocked your hips forward into his. His fingers pressed into the small of your back. You nudged him backward until he was against the desk, his thigh between your legs. You grinded yourself against him and moaned, your eyes falling shut as you rocked.

“Fucking hell, what’s gotten into you?” Sebastian breathed. You kissed him again, the flat palms of your hands raking down his chest until they were in his lap. You smirked against his lips as you felt the bulge in his trousers.

“I love when you get hard for me,” you whispered, one hand stroking over his length. Sebastian groaned at your touch. You continued to rub him through his trousers until he was fully erect, the fabric now straining tight around him. You shifted forward against his thigh.

“Tell me you want me,” you breathed in his ear.

“You know I do,” Sebastian murmured.

“Where do you want me to touch you?”

“You know where.”

You fiddled with the knot of his tie and yanked his shirt open to slide it down his arms until it was a crumpled heap on the desktop, then you kissed a trail across his jawline and returned flat on your feet so you could tug his trousers off. “Here?” you asked as two fingers traced the tip of his bare cock.

“Yes, there,” Sebastian hissed.

“What do you want me to do to you?” You ran your tongue across your bottom lip as you held eye contact.

“Everything,” he breathed.

“Such as?”

“Ride me.”

“And what do you want to do to me?”

“Ruin you.”

You pulled away just far enough to gaze upward at him with soft doe eyes. He was beaming, clearly under the false impression he was going to bend you over that desk.

“And you really don’t remember what today is?”

“I’m sorry, love, I don’t.”

You tutted, your hand gently cupping his face as you pouted at him. “That’s a shame,” you mewed as you gazed into Sebastian’s worried eyes. “Didn’t realize you were so ignorant.”

You flashed a gleeful grin as you watched the realization and the horror swell over Sebastian's expression.

“Y- you actually remember the specific date of that?” he whined. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, love, I am so serious,” you breathed as you steadied your wand hand. “Petrificus totalus.”

Sebastian’s arms snapped to his side and his legs locked. You caught him before he could crash to the floor and eased him down gently until he was flat on his back. You smirked into his eyes, which blinked back at you in disbelief.

“Sorry, dear,” you said merrily as you leaned over him until you were inches from his face. You dropped your wand next to his body to taunt him, leaving it within reach though he couldn’t move. “But I’m going to show you who the ignorant one is here.”

You stood over Sebastian, his torso between your feet as you started to unbutton your blouse. You maintained your stare down into his eyes as your fingers worked slowly and deliberately until you were slipping your arms from the sleeves. You tossed the shirt into a corner and returned your fingers to the clasp of your bra. You let it drop from your body so that it fell across Sebastian’s chest.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” you whined dramatically as you wriggled out of your skirt and kicked it aside with your bra. Looming over Sebastian in just your soaked panties, you flashed him a cheeky grin. “Can’t you tell?” He blinked in despair.

“Oh, sorry, love,” you said with nonchalance as you reached for a pillow from the armchair. You tucked it beneath Sebastian’s head to prop it up and smiled. “There. Is that better?”

You smiled at his lack of response and stepped out of your panties. Now fully bare, you sank to the floor until you were straddling Sebastian’s chest, your parted knees on either side of his biceps.

“Merlin, what a day it’s been,” you declared. “I was so tense all day.” You spoke with slow drama, your hand carefully snaking down your chest and past your stomach until it was between your thighs. You stared at Sebastian as you dragged two fingers over your entrance and let out a melodramatic moan, drawing long, slow swipes across your clit until you needed more. You sank a finger inside yourself and inhaled sharply at the welcome intrusion, extracting it slowly to ensure Sebastian could see your slick arousal.

He hated when you made him watch, which rarely happened because he was always quick to ravage you the moment he became jealous of your fingers. But not this time.

“That’s better,” you breathed as your wet fingers found your clit again. You worked as slowly as you could withstand, sexy gasps and whimpers chorusing from your throat to emphasize just how much you were enjoying yourself. Your thighs locked around Sebastian’s biceps as you brought yourself close to a climax. Though his stiff body remained still, you could hear his breaths becoming ragged beneath you.

Your hips jutted forward as the heat mounted within your nerve endings until it sent searing spasms deep below the surface of your skin. You choked out a pitchy moan as you rubbed yourself to completion, your eyes clamped shut until it was over.

You peeked one eye open once your body stopped shivering. Sebastian was staring up at you with desperate defeat in his eyes. You flashed your canines at him.

“Oh, that was good,” you moaned as you remained seated on his chest. “But it certainly could have been better. Too bad I’m too ignorant to get myself off properly.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh as you rose to your feet, offering Sebastian a full view of the aftermath of your solo play until you sauntered toward the door.

“My, I’m parched,” you mused, casting a smirk downward at Sebastian. “Pardon me, love. I’m just going to go fetch something to drink.”

You wanted to prolong this as long as you could. You wanted to relish it, remember it, commit it to memory, because if you knew your husband, you knew he’d find some way to exact revenge sooner than later.

By the time you returned with a glass of water in hand, you almost felt guilty for what you were doing to your poor husband. He remained on the floor, eyes blinking upward as you lowered yourself into the armchair with a satiated smile to sip casually from the cool glass.

“I was so thirsty!” you drawled as you allowed some of the water to spill onto your chest. “Oops!” It trickled between your breasts, down your body, toward your lap. “How ignorant of me,” you laughed as you set the glass on the desktop with a crisp clink.

“Now,” you said as you knelt on the floor next to Sebastian. “I took care of myself. I suppose it’s only fair that I take care of you too, given your sorry state.” You crawled closer to him and leaned over to peer into his eyes. “How’s this?” you cooed as you dragged your palm down his chest. You lowered your lips to his neck and sucked gently against the skin.

“Why are you sweaty, Seb?” you teased in his ear. His eyes shifted in reply. You barked a laugh and returned your lips to his body. You kissed down his chest toward his navel and stilled, peering into Sebastian’s eyes with a new sense of seriousness.

“Do you want me to keep going?” you asked as you studied his eyes for any sign of protest. “Blink once for yes, twice if you really want me to stop.”

Sebastian blinked once. You smirked at him and dipped your head, placing a kiss just below his belly button until you eyed his erection.

“You poor thing,” you cooed, your hot breath ghosting over his cock. You hovered above it, your lips painfully close to making contact. Sebastian puffed an impatient breath through his nose. The tip of his cock glistened with arousal.

Finally, you ran your flattened tongue the length of his shaft. You moved slowly; you knew Sebastian – ever the impatient one – went wild whenever you did that.

The room was still as you wrapped your lips around Sebastian’s cock and sucked. Your tongue danced circles around the tip each time your head bobbed upward. He always moaned and groaned when you did that, but this time, you savored his silence.

Your jaw slackened and you eased your throat around Sebastian’s cock until it reached the back. You hummed as you held him there, your eyes shining with satisfaction because you knew he was undoubtedly on the cusp of losing his mind. As you glided and gurgled around his tip, you were almost certain you could hear him whimper. You hastened your movements until your hollowed cheeks ached from pulling against his cock.

You listened carefully to Sebastian’s breathing, ready to time your next move. When you heard sharp, short puffs of exhale emanating from his nostrils, signaling his impending peak, you let his cock pop free from your mouth. You smirked and licked your lips at him. His labored breaths sounded painful.

Sebastian’s body may have been incapable of movement, but it clearly wasn’t immune to temperature change. His skin was scalding hot and you could see beads of sweat glistening in the low light.

“What’s the matter, Seb?” you teased with the back of one hand placed flat against his forehead. “You’re absolutely burning up.”

You leaned down to plant a kiss on his lips. His nostrils flared as his eyes bore into yours.

“Now, what else was it that you wanted from me?” You tapped your chin as you pretended to think. “Ah, yes. Something about me riding you? How does that sound?”

Sebastian blinked once. You cackled in response. He was foolish if he thought you were going to be doing any of this for his benefit, and his eyes looked worried for what else was in store.

You climbed on top of him, your thighs hugging the sides of his hips as you arched your back to show off your body. Sebastian typically called the shots when it came to sex. He was dominant and you liked the way he took control in the bedroom. But not today. Today was yours.

You could feel Sebastian’s erection pressing against your entrance. If the anticipation didn’t kill you, surely Sebastian would. He was never very apt at the slow burn dance that was foreplay.

A low hum formed in your throat as you sank around his cock, your slick arousal exposing how badly you needed him. Regardless, you remained focused on the task at hand. You hovered around his tip rather than allow your weight to pull you downward around Sebastian entirely. Your hips rose and dipped until you were moaning at the sensation of his tip dragging against the spot that made your toes curl.

Sebastian’s eyes seemed to scream for relief but when you studied them, he didn’t blink. Your control of your husband made you giddy. But while you wanted nothing more than to prolong this, you needed your release. Finally, you allowed yourself to accommodate him fully, his cock spearing your innermost core. Your walls were already threatening to quiver as you began to bounce. His cock poked and prodded the swollen pressure inside of you until your moans echoed off the office walls.

Below you, Sebastian’s fragmented breaths competed with the sounds of your slapping skin.

“Oh, fuck,” you whined as you rocked with more fervor, desperate to snap the cord tightening inside you. It strained until it severed, your tension breaking in the form of sharp spasms that made your legs quake. You issued a guttural wail as your walls pulsed with pleasure.

When it subsided, you were left gasping for breath, your hands supporting your weight against Sebastian’s chest. His eyes were squeezed shut. When they cracked open, you smiled at him innocently.

You eased yourself upward with slow deliberation to provide Sebastian with a view of your soaked entrance as if you were about to rise to your feet. You locked eyes with him again and winked.

“What’s wrong?” You feigned confusion as Sebastian’s eyes shifted. “Did you think I was done? Oh Seb, how very ignorant of you.”

You chuckled and leaned backward this time as you rode him with your hands resting atop his knees to offer him a better view of the union happening between your hips. The angle nearly made you cry out, still sensitive as the anterior wall of your cunt glided against Sebastian’s tip. When it still wasn’t enough, you lifted yourself onto your feet, your knees falling wide open as you rose and dipped around his cock.

“Do you like what you see?” you taunted, panting as you continued to roll your hips, your arms locked at the elbows to support your upper body weight. Sebastian’s legs remained rigid beneath you. Your breasts jiggled with every movement and Sebastian’s eyes darted around as if they were overwhelmed by the vision that had unfolded above him. The obscene view was only rivaled by the crude sounds of his cock pounding your wet cunt.

“Oh god.” You bounced until your thighs burned and arms shook as they supported you, your own eyes falling shut as the heat inside your core began to surge up your spine again. Your hips increased their pace until you were smacking hard on top of Sebastian, whose face flushed crimson. You ground him into the floor with rough rocking motions until you were howling through an orgasm, your hips held in place until your walls stopped seizing.

You remained perched on top of Sebastian as you caught your breath, your head hazy and pulse racing. But as soon as your gaze met his, a wicked smile spread across your lips. Sebastian’s eyes were exhausted. Though he hadn’t moved a muscle, he looked as if he’d been through hell and back. But his trip wasn’t over just yet.

Finally, you crawled off of him, still on all fours as you positioned yourself above his legs.

“Looks so painful,” you purred as you eyed his erection. “Want me to relieve it?”

Sebastian blinked so hard, a bead of sweat trickled down his temple, reminiscent of a tear. You giggled at him.

“Alright, fine,” you simpered as you dipped your head. You pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock.

With only the tip of your tongue, you licked slowly – so slow, you could feel every ridge of Sebastian’s length. It was still slick from your previous acts, and you hummed at your own taste. You teased his tip at a tantalizing pace.

Finally, your head bobbed faster as your entire mouth engulfed him. You raked your fingernails down his chest until they pricked the tops of his thighs, sinking with slow intention while your mouth worked. Your lips dragged over his flesh with fervor until you could hear Sebastian’s breaths becoming broken sniffles. Your nails dug deeper and you moaned a series of vibrations around his cock, pulling and licking in sensual patterns until you were certain he was about to rupture.

And then, you released him with another soft pop. His eyes squeezed shut in sheer, unmitigated agony.

When you straightened up to take his cock in your hand, Sebastian sighed through his nose in relief. You traced a gentle finger over the apex, the body-bind spell preserving his erection, raw and red, aching for release.

Your fingers curled around Sebastian’s cock, your thumb tracing circles over the tip until you began to stroke him – hard. Sebastian’s watery eyes shot open at the intense friction while you pumped your hand at a fervid rate. It was tenacious and brutal, much rougher than how you typically treated your beloved husband, but you wanted this to linger in his memory for another five years, just in case he ever dared to call you anything but breathtakingly brilliant.

You stroked faster and harder until Sebastian’s nostrils were whistling with strenuous breaths. With one hand still working around his cock, you reached for your wand with the other.

“Reparifors.”

The body-bind spell fell and Sebastian’s entire body seized. His chest heaved upward as he gasped for breath, his legs kicking against the floor. He let out a carnal cry, his back arching off the floor as his cock erupted, twitching in your hand as it spurted his grand release in hot ropes across his own stomach. It left him a wheezing and whining mess of a man, sprawled out across the floor like a ruined ragdoll.

You, however, were drunk on power. All the ancient magic in the world couldn’t match this feeling as you batted your lashes innocently at your listless husband.

“Alright, love?” you asked with faux concern, your tone laced with saccharine sincerity.

Sebastian, whose hair was now plastered to his sweat-soaked face, glared at you with subdued eyes. He was still catching his breath, his body now limp and lifeless.

You smirked at him with absolute elation as you leaned over him, your eyes staring deep into his to emphasize your point.

“Sorry, darling,” you breathed quietly. “Guess you shouldn’t have been so ignorant.”

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