#hogwarts fan fiction

[sp7-mr]

[iatnen]

Hey all…..

Errr uhhhh finally got to writing my fic

It’s a super short intro 😅 not a lot happened but at least it’s out

Quidditch, quidditch, quidditch

AO3 - Birds of a Feather

[writing-intheundercroft]

The Night Shift

AO3 Link

Pairing: Auror!Sebastian x F!MC

Word Count: 10,206

Rating: T (just some smooches but plenty of angst)

Summary: You're the lead healer in the St. Mungo's intensive care unit, and a painfully familiar face ends up in your ward.

A/N: Took a break from my long fics this week to deliver a long angsty Seb one shot. I heard Phoebe Bridgers cover Night Shift and became feral over it. Perhaps it needs a smutty part two???

Night One

“I’m so glad you were able to slip away from work for a bit.” Poppy says, pouring tea into your cup.

You smile up at the brunette girl, who still wears her hair in a cropped bob, albeit a bit more fashionable now that you’re in your twenties.  You miss Poppy’s presence in your life, but her career as a mazoologist and yours as a lead healer in the intensive care unit of St. Mungo’s has your schedules rarely crossing.  

“It’s nice to be out in the sunlight,” you say coyly, lifting the cup to your mouth. It's the truth–you haven’t been out to tea with a friend, dressed in a pretty lace gown in what feels like ages.  Your career usually has you in a tightly pulled bun, hair out of your face to focus on your patients, with bloodied aprons.  Magic can heal most ailments, but your ancient abilities make you the best bet for the most gravely wounded.  So much so that you’ve worked six nights a week every week for the past five years, sleeping during the day to make it to your overnight shifts at the hospital.

With few exceptions.

But there’s coverage today, giving you a rare Saturday afternoon off to enjoy the warm spring day.  You and Poppy are sitting outside a tea shop in Diagon Alley, catching up on all things personal, while people watching.  It’s strange, you think, to be surrounded by so many people.  You leave for your shift at seven thirty in the evening, when most people are getting home for dinner, and return to your flat far after everyone has left for work.  

Poppy had just started telling you a story about a wild herd of manticores she’d encountered on her travels abroad, when a familiar face walked up to your table.

“Merlin’s beard, I never thought I’d see the likes of you two ever again,” Andrew Larson grins.

“Andrew,” Poppy smiles. “It’s good to see you.”

There are obligatory kisses on the cheek as the handsome Ravenclaw pulls up a chair. “What are you doing in town, Poppy?”  

“Visiting my gran, of course.” She tilts her head towards you. “And catching up with friends.”

“And you, it’s like you’re back from beyond the grave.” Andrew shifts his attention, teasing you. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Just busy keeping people from their graves, that’s all.”

“I’ve heard.” Andrew elbows you. “Youngest lead healer in all of St. Mungo’s.”

“Yet being the youngest earned me the night shift.” You wrinkle your nose.  “And very few days off.”

“How’s the auror office doing?” Poppy quips, leaning her chin into her palm.

Andrew shrugs. “Busy; we’re working on a big case right now, but we finally got a few hours off to enjoy lunch.  I was just heading over to the Cauldron, meeting Sallow and Clopton for a bite.”

You swallow thickly.  It’s been five years since you last spoke to Sebastian Sallow.  At this point, you can’t exactly remember how it ended, except that the two of you had screamed at one another.  You were fairly certain you’d thrown a book at his head, and he’d knocked over your favorite mug in the process. You still had it, the handle broken off, now used as a quill holder at your desk.

“Oi, Larson!  Quit flirting, we’ve just gotten a message. All hands on deck at the office.” 

Both you and Poppy turn to the voice; Everett Clopton is standing a few paces away, wearing a smart suit.  He still has his gold wire glasses, but he’s grown into them. He’s wearing a hat, tipping the brim to you both in acknowledgement.

You hate the way your breath hitches when you see their companion.  Sebastian is also dressed well, sporting a tweed three piece suit, shiny black dress shoes, and a gold auror badge attached to his lapel.  He meets your gaze briefly before looking back up to Andrew, who’s moving the chair back to its proper table.

“Emergency meeting,” Sebastian utters gloomily. “Ruined a good lunch.”

Your stomach twists at the sound of his voice.  It’s no more than six words, but your insides feel like a wet towel being wrung out.  And Sebastian doesn’t even have the decency to look at you, avoiding eye contact with the person he considered his best friend for three years.  The audacity of him, to completely ignore the person who once held his fate in their hands–you feel the bile rising in your throat, swallowing down the anger that once consumed you.

No, you won’t let a tiny interaction with Sebastian ruin five years of hard work.  You stare at the cutlery on the table, willing him to leave.

Andrew Larson sighs, rapping his knuckles against the table. “It was good seeing you girls,” he smiles. “Hopefully I run into you again.”

The three boys–men, rather, you are all twenty three at this point–shuffle away.  

There is a heavy silence between you and Poppy, until she clears her throat.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly.

You nod, collecting yourself as you smile at her. “Perfectly fine.  It’s been ages, Poppy. We’re all over it.”

She grabs your gloved hand, pulling it towards her.  “You certainly are,” she says playfully, twisting the sparkling bauble on your left ring finger. “It’s gorgeous, by the way.”

“I never get to wear it,” you admit sheepishly. It’s been a month since your engagement, and you’ve hardly worn your ring; your fiance’s parents are perturbed that the announcement hasn’t been posted to the Daily Prophet yet. Despite having courted for the last year and a half, it still feels like everything has moved too fast, like you’ve fallen off your broom mid flight. For the most part, your engagement ring is safely tucked in its box atop your dresser, at the risk of getting bodily fluids on it during your shifts.

“He’s a lucky man.” Poppy echoes, sitting back in her chair. “You are happy, aren’t you?”

You’re doing fine, you think.  You’re at the top of your field.  You have a fine flat in a nice part of London, and a promise from a man that’s kind to you.  The kind of man who waited for you to get off your shift to bring you breakfast, and took you to a nice restaurant on your Friday nights off. You hadn’t expected a pretty ring from him, especially since you only graced him with your presence once a week, but then again, your last relationship had taught you not to expect anything at all.

A flash of brunette hair crosses your mind; you blink away the thought.

“I’m happy.  Very happy,” you say simply, holding your teacup up to your lips again. “So about the manticores…”

You jolt out of bed, a blue wisp of a rabbit bouncing around your bedroom.  It’s rare to get a patronus message at this hour; it can only mean an emergency at the hospital.  It also must be bad, considering they’re calling you in on your day off.

Without another thought, you tumble out of bed, rushing to your wardrobe to pull out your clothes.  Your unit specifically wears a deep purple–dark enough to hide stains.  Your shrug on undergarments and petticoats, and a burgundy gown with a high neckline.  Your hands know exactly how to tighten your hair into a knot within a minute, having perfected the craft over the five years of your career. Your wand is stowed in your dress pocket; you’ll grab an apron at the ward.  Grabbing a fistful of floo powder next to your fireplace, you step in, yelling out for St. Mungo’s.

The ward is in a flurry as you step out of the flames.  A nurse hands you a white cotton apron, which you wrap around your waist as you hold your wand between your teeth.  There are men all over, gashed and bleeding, as other healers take their information. 

“What’s happened?” You bark at an orderly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Auror ambush by some ashwinders,” he says dryly. “It’s awful.  Lost a few–even more are bleeding.  It’s dark magic, some sort of spell to keep the wounds bleeding.”

“Of course it is, those bastards.” You mutter. “I’ll take the worst of them.  Can someone bring me a coffee?”

He nods, pointing over to a bay of beds a few feet away. “Those three–they specifically requested you.” He hands off the charts, promising a caffeinated beverage.

You’re about to start flipping through the charts when you hear your name.  Your head flies up at the familiar voice, and you feel the blood drain from your face. You can see Everett Clopton waving his hands at you; Andrew Larson’s voice is yelling behind the curtain.  And just your luck, a pair of black shiny dress shoes are dangling off the examination table, twisted in an unnatural way.

Before you even realize it, you’re running to them.  The charts are promptly cast onto the side table when you duck behind the curtain, a gasp catching in your throat.

Sebastian looks awful.  

Correction–Sebastian looks dead.

“He jumped in front of me,” Everett panics, his hands on his head. “He shouldn’t have–we were talking, we thought we were out of the thick of it–”

“He’s been hit badly,” Andrew interjects.  His sleeves are bloodied from trying to apply pressure to a gash across Sebastian’s chest, the blood seeping through his shirt and vest. “You have to do something,” he pleads. “He’s the best of us–we can’t lose him.”

“Move,” you urge the two of them.  They scoot out of your way, and you make quick work of Sebastian’s clothing.

Years ago, tearing off Sebastian’s shirt would’ve been done out of passion, out of love.  You push those thoughts out of your mind as you rip through his white dress shirt, which is sopping wet with blood. Sebastian’s skin is cold and clammy; even his freckles are pale, disappearing from his face.

“Get me some dittany and shrivelfigs,” you screech at the other healers. “And the blood renewing potions, please.” You run your hand and your wand over Sebastian’s wounds, uttering a healing charm. “Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur,” you mutter under your breath.  The spell isn’t healing fast enough, Sebastian is still losing too much blood.

You let out the  blue wisps of magic from your fingertips as you channel some of your ancient magic into the healing spell. You’re still mad at Sebastian, of course, but you’ll be damned if he dies on your watch.  

To your relief, the wounds start knitting themselves shut faster, but the scars look awful, all purpled and raised.  Another healer is next to you, urgently crushing the dittany and shrivelfigs into a paste–an idea you got from the patient lying in front of you during your sixth year.  You’d been battered so often during Crossed Wands, the two of you had experimented with salves and balms to lessen the appearance of your scars. 

“He appears to be stabilizing,” the junior healer claims. “Good job, as always.”

You suppress the choked out cry that’s stuck in your throat as you think of Ominis, and how he used to scold the two of you for experimenting.  He’d be thankful now that you did.

“There’s others,” another healer urges you. “We must move on to the next.”

You don’t want to.  Sebastian seems to be stirring, groaning as the healer rubs the salve onto the gaping wound that streaks across his chest.  You can hear Everett and Andrew crying and laughing on the other side of the curtain, exclaiming your name for having saved their partner.

There’s so much commotion, you could swear Sebastian uttered your name, but when you look back, his head is flat on the table, eyes shut.  The color is slowly returning to him, now no longer pale and gray.

“We have to keep him for observation,” you instruct another healer, handing her Sebastian’s chart. “I’ll check on him later.  In the meantime, there are others.”

Without another glance, you move on to the next bay.

“Excellent work as always,” your boss pats you on the shoulder. “You saved six good men tonight with your quick work.”

“I should just move into the ward,” you mutter under your breath before taking a large swig of coffee.  

Your dress is stained with blood, fingers aching from all the healing you’d done.  From the twelve aurors in the ambush, three had superficial wounds (Larson and Clopton included).  Two had passed in the field, another before you’d gotten to the hospital.  But all six of the aurors you’d treated, Sebastian included, were now tucked into private rooms, safe and breathing. You were keeping them for observation, unsure of what kind of curse the ashwinders had used on them.  Your ancient magic managed to seal the wounds, but all were badly scarring.  They’d all have to stay until you could rule out the cause.

After a much needed shower and an owl sent to your fiance, regretfully informing him you’d not make it to brunch with his parents, you start making your rounds. Most of your patients are sleeping deeply, others dizzily asking what happened.  You save Sebastian’s room for last; Clopton and Larson, faithful companions, are sleeping in chairs outside of his room.

You quietly shut the door behind you, gulping as you stare at the man laying in the hospital bed. His chubby cheeks are long gone, hollowed and chiseled by age. You’d laughed at him when you were seventeen and he claimed he had a beard coming in; now you can see traces of stubble lining his jaw. His unruly chestnut hair has been brushed out of his face in a way you know he’ll hate.

But you don’t know that, not truly. Because you don’t know Sebastian anymore.

“Oh Sebastian,” you tut, sitting at a stool next to his bed. You hover your hands over his body, a misty blue glow emitting from them. No internal bleeding at least. He’s had at least three blood renewing potions, and his breathing is steady. You would examine the scars across his chest and torso, but the thought of undressing him in his current state is inappropriate to you. 

You’re about to get up, leave him to his slumber when you hear it. He whispers your name in his sleep, head falling to the side. And instead of him being the one with a gaping wound, you feel like a hole has been drilled into your chest. 

Maybe you’ll ask for tomorrow off.

Night Two

You’d asked for the day off again, but the request was denied.  Begrudgingly, you dress for your shift, tucking your hair behind your ears as you walk with your daytime counterpart down the hallway.

“You’ve missed all the commotion,” your fellow healer gasps.  She’s filling you in on the day shift, and all that’s transpired since you left in the morning. “There was a memory charm laced in with that blood curse from the ashwinders—some of them have lost weeks, years of memories. Not recognizing their wives or their children; we’ve had to close the doors to all visitors.”

“That’s a nasty curse.” You mutter, flipping through charts. Only someone sick in the head would mess with memory tampering curses—you wonder why no one has petitioned for them to be banned. The long term care wing at St. Mungos is filled with too many people who’d tinkered with memory spells, and you sincerely hope none of the aurors under your care end up there.

“Terrible, of course. But it made for an interesting day.” She hums. “You should’ve seen Rowle’s wife, security had to cart her out after he called her the wrong name. Think he courted her twin sister too.” 

You laugh with her as you walk through the hallway, until your heart fills with dread.  

“How is Sallow?  The patient in 213.”

She tilts her head. “Fine I think–oh, he was asking for you.  Do you know him?”

You fight back the red flush that’s creeping up your neck. “We were schoolmates.” You say. Nothing more. Sebastian can’t be more, especially after you’d done such hard work to forget him in the first place.

After your colleague has clocked out and you’ve checked all your other patients, you quietly rap your knuckles against Sebastian’s door.  It’s late enough at night that he might be asleep already, and you can avoid the entire awkward conversation.

“Come in!” 

Shit.

You open the door, and Sebastian is staring right back at you.  He isn’t scowling like you thought he would be–his eyes are bright, a beaming smile on his lips.

“They told me you were working the night shift.” he says happily, scratching at the collar of his hospital gown. “I stayed awake.”

“Right, Mr. Sallow,” You say curtly, eyes down at the chart in front of you. “It is late, you should be getting rest–”

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he frowns. 

You look up at him, and instead of a grown man, you see the puppy dog eyes that got you in trouble the few years you had at Hogwarts. “Mr. Sallow, rest is essential to your healing. You’ve been through quite the ordeal, and you need to go to sleep.”

“Why are you talking to me like you don’t know me?” Sebastian asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Pet, it’s me.”

You inhale sharply, white knuckling the edge of the bed. “Sebastian,” you mutter (you hate how easily his name rolls off your lips still), “what year do you think it is?”

He rolls his eyes and chuffs. “It’s 1893, duh.”

“It’s not,” you sigh. “It’s 1898. You were in an ambush yesterday, and it seems the Ashwinders are using a memory curse as retaliation nowadays.”

He blinks at you for a moment, before he bursts into laughter. “Really?  I’ve lost five damn years in my head?  What have I missed? Don’t tell me we’re not married yet.”  Only Sebastian could be jovial about such a matter; all the others were utterly distraught at losing their memories.

“Sebastian, darling, we haven’t seen each other in five years.” you confess, moving to the edge of the bed.  Your voice is quiet, and although it’s been ages since you last called him darling, you think it might be too much on his poor heart if you don’t. The poor man just asked if you were married, for Merlin’s sake.

His smile fades. “What?”

“We…we went our separate ways five years ago.” You clear your throat. “It…it was a mutual decision.” you lie.  Was it a lie?  You honestly can’t remember.

“I would never,” Sebastian bites back.  “I would never break up with you.”

“Darling, it’s been a very long time,” you say softly, wringing your hands together. “And I’m okay–you’re okay.  We’re both doing well…just on our own now.”

“I can’t–this doesn’t make sense,” he jolts away from your touch, and you flinch. “Why would I ever agree to such a thing?” 

You can recognize the tell tale signs of panic on a patient’s face, so you hurry over to the cupboard, pouring a glass of water.  Sebastian is too far away to see you slip the vial of dreamless sleep into the glass, swirling it into oblivion.

“Here, drink this.  You’ll feel much better,” you assure him. 

Sebastian absentmindedly takes the glass, gulping down the water as he tries to make sense of the current situation. “It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters under his breath as he starts rubbing his eyes.  He’s fighting the effects, and he looks up at you, a deep set frown on his face. “You dosed me, dammit.” The glass rolls out of his hand and onto the bed, where you scoop it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, and it's sincere.  But you’re not equipped to handle Sebastian in such a state–you aren’t equipped to handle him, period.  It’s been five years since you’ve had to mind his temper, and your heart can’t handle the pain.  

Before you know it, Sebastian is knocked out, the dreamless sleeping draught taking over his body.  With his eyes tightly shut, you can finally examine him.  The scars across his chest are still purple, bruises lining his torso.  Your fingers dance across his skin trying to heal him, but alas, they stay.

You make notes on his chart, letting the other healers know he may be groggy and upset when he wakes in the morning. Even though they’ve put a no visitors policy on the aurors, you remind them to call upon Ominis and Anne to see if they can talk some sense into him.  

The last you’d asked Natty about Sebastian, he was happy.  He was climbing up the ranks in the auror office, and he’d finally moved out of Ominis’s spare room.  You’d cut her off once she started telling you how he was dating–that you didn’t need to know.

That had been two years ago.  You wonder what’s changed since then.

Night Three

Your pleas for a night off have gone unanswered.  Your boss tells you that you’re too integral to the auror case to be gone for more than twelve hours.  

There’s a note left by your fiance’s owl; he’s sad you missed brunch, but he’s excited to take you out on Friday, your next scheduled day off.  His mother is insistent the two of you sit for an engagement portrait that will be posted in the Daily Prophet to announce your impending union.  You fold the note and toss it onto your desk; when you have a free moment, you’ll write a letter explaining that you would like a lengthy engagement.

Planning a wedding and working the night shift is just too much work for you.  You twist your large engagement ring off your finger and put it in its box before taking the floo network to St. Mungo’s.

You’re barely five steps out of the fireplace before a body hits you.  

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Anne Sallow breathes, her arms enveloping you. “You saved him. He’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“Anne,” you sigh into her touch.  Similar to her brother, it’s been ages since you’ve seen her.  She’s still thin and delicate, but her bangs are long grown out. “What are you still doing here?  It’s so late.”

“Ominis and I wanted to catch you,” she claims. “The healers called us in to talk to Sebastian.”

“Right, I asked them to.” you say, smoothing your apron. “How was he today?”

Anne winces. “He’s…he’s still pretty confused.”

You give her a sympathetic smile, biting back the sarcastic words you had in mind. “It must be awful.”

Anne pulls away, digging her toe into the ground. “He keeps asking what happened between the two of you.  I’m not sure what to say.” she admits.

You bite your lower lip. “You can tell him the truth.  That we ended amicably.  That we were fine.”

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t have disappeared for five years.” a voice says behind you.

It only takes you a second to recognize the rich voice of Ominis Gaunt.  Whirling around, you throw your arms around the tall blonde.  It’s been ages since you’ve given him a hug let alone seen him, so he chuckles into your shoulder when you grasp him.

“I missed you,” you pat his cheek.

“We missed you,” Ominis hums. “I’m surprised St. Mungo’s would call me; I haven’t been Sebastian’s emergency contact for a while.”

You furrow your eyebrows as Anne takes Ominis’s arm. Why wouldn’t he be his emergency contact?  Ominis is his best friend, and having been together with Anne for so long, practically his brother.

That’s a question for another time, you decide.

“It’s late, you two should be getting home.  Visitor hours are over.”  you remind them.

“I’m not leaving before you promise to see me again,” Ominis says sternly. “Five years is far too long.”

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Of course. Ominis, I’m sorry.  I just thought that when things ended, the two of you were best friends…”

“That was my decision to make,” he says softly. “Not yours.  I decide whose side I’m on.”

Ominis’s words warm your heart, but they also leave cracks.  Ominis and Sebastian were a package deal when you met them, and you’ve spent far too much of your time with the boys driving them apart. 

After much coaxing, Ominis and Anne take their leave.  You’re finally able to start your rounds.  Rowle is starting to regain his memories and they’ve allowed his wife back into the ward.  Travers still has a nasty gash on his leg that’s festering, but he’s otherwise remembering things from last week.  Cattermole is fast asleep, so you avoid his room to let him get some more rest.

Your hand falters on the handle of room 213, taking a deep breath before you push in.  Just as you thought, Sebastian isn’t asleep.  He’s sitting upright in bed, arms crossed over his chest, frowning at you.

“You’re looking much better,” you offer, shutting the door behind you.

“You gave me a sleeping draught last night,” he accuses you. “That’s not fair.”

“You were getting hysterical, Sebastian.” you remind him, flipping through his chart.  Nothing particularly new, and no memories back.  He’s spent the entire day asking for you, the chart says, and fighting with orderlies.  It mentions Ominis and Anne arriving, and that the two gentlemen had sharp words for one another. Ominis was right—he isn’t Sebastian’s emergency contact anymore. There’s an unfamiliar name, a woman.

“Open your shirt, please.”

Sebastian waggles his eyebrows at you. “Are you sure we’re not together?”

You roll your eyes. “Your cheekiness, I didn’t miss it.” you mutter, hands on your hips. “I need you to take your shirt off so I can check your wounds, you idiot.”

Sebastian gives you a familiar grin as he unbuttons his pajama shirt; he’s flexing his muscles, you can tell.  A pinch to his pectoral has him yowling, and he stops.  You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Perhaps we did break up,” he grumbles.

Sebastian’s breath stutters as your fingers prod at his scars. They’re still ugly and raised, but the color is improving. 

“I’m not sure there’s much more I can do,” you frown. “I think they’ll stay.”

“That’s fine,” Sebastian breathes. “You did always say you preferred when I was roughed up.” 

You give him a strained look. “Sebastian–”

“Please, listen to me.” Sebastian urges. “Ominis…he told me what happened between us. And I really, truly can’t believe we would let it get to that.” Your name is a gentle whisper from his mouth, and he pushes his brunette hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

You swallow thickly, backing up. “We were so young, Sebastian.  Let’s leave the past in the past, please.”

“Ominis and I haven’t spoken in two years.” Sebastian interjects. “He just told me.  Annie says we had a fight, and you were part of it.”

You turn around, shutting your eyes. “I don’t want to hear this,” you admit weakly.

Sebastian is rustling in his sheets; he lets out a low hiss as he adjusts his still healing torso. “If the version of me, the one that got cursed, isn’t talking to you, Anne, or Ominis…I don’t want to go back to that.  I don’t want to be that version of me.” Sebastian pleads. “If that’s the case, I don’t want to remember.”

“You have friends, Sebastian.” You remind him, turning to face him again. “You have friends, your job…” you trail off, picking up his chart again.  You pinpoint the section with his emergency contact; a woman who is likely sitting at home, worried sick over him. “You have a girlfriend, probably.  One who is desperate to see you.” There’s a lump in your throat as you try to imagine her, but your mind comes up blank.

“I don’t care,” Sebastian breathes. “She’s a stranger.”

“I’m the stranger,” you remind him. “Sebastian…I’m engaged. I’m getting married next spring.” 

That’s a lie–you and your fiance haven’t even discussed a timeline, but it seems more official to say it with a season.

The hope on Sebastian’s face crumbles, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“You’re engaged,” he croaks.

“Engaged.” The more you say it, the more it’s real. “He’s lovely.  You would like him.” Now that's an even bigger lie–Sebastian would’ve called him a prat if he met him. You appreciate your fiance’s softness and meekness, especially after having been with a firecracker hothead for most of your teens.

Sebastian is crumpled in bed, twisting onto his side. “I’d like to go to bed now,” he mumbles.  It was textbook Sebastian–whenever something didn’t go his way, he’d turn away from you in bed like a petulant child.  It’s almost a relief to see that he does the same thing at twenty three years old.

“If you ring the bell, someone will come to aid you.” You wave your wand, dimming the lights. “You can ask for someone else, if you’d like.”  

Sebastian doesn’t say anything as you shut the door, and when he does ring the bell for assistance, he requests anyone but you. It’s stupid to be upset over, it’s what you wanted–for him to stop pestering you.  

But you have a nice long cry in the potions ingredient cupboard anyways.  

The rest of your shift goes by uneventfully.  Rowle has regained his memories and will be discharged in the morning.  Cattermole finally woke up from his deep sleep and he’s on the mend, moved out of the intensive care ward. Travers has also been discharged, prescribed a salve to make sure the cut on his leg stays clean.  It leaves Roberts, Jorkins, and Sallow as your only three patients left from the case, and perhaps now your boss will let you take a night off.

Night Four

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Sebastian says sheepishly.

“Whatever for?” You mumble, pressing a strip of gauze to his chest wound.  You’re trying a new salve recipe you’ve been working on, just to see if it’ll help break down the scar tissue.  His bruises are starting to go yellow, and if he works back up on his memory, Sebastian can be discharged from your ward.

“For being rude.” Sebastian sighs. “I’m…it’s starting to come back to me a bit now.”

You look up at him, eyebrows raised. “Is it?”

“We fought that night.” Sebastian swallows thickly. “You and me.  I can’t exactly remember what we fought about, but you threw a book at me.”

“And I hit your eyebrow.” You remind him.

“Lucky shot,” Sebastian rolls his eyes, and you have to suppress a laugh. He winces as you press the salve in; his body is still sensitive.

“I’m sorry for that.  I never got to apologize to you,” you admit, rubbing the mixture in. “But I was embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed about what?” Sebastian asks softly.

“For putting up with all of it,” you pat another piece of gauze over the salve.  Sebastian looks like a mess and he’ll have to sleep sitting up, but you’re hoping to salvage his handsome chest. There are a bevy of flower vases strewn across the room, and plenty of Sebastian’s favorite sweets piled on his bedside table.

“I see you had quite a few visitors today.” 

Sebastian nods, trying not to move too much. “Anne and Ominis again; he’s warming back up to me, I know it.” he brags. “Clopton and Larson too. I can’t believe I was paired up with two Ravenclaws as partners. That’s probably how I got all bungled up in the first place.”

“Everett said you were quite the hero,” you back away, admiring your work (and his muscles, he’s grown quite a bit since you last saw him).  “And they stayed the entire night when you first came into the ward, so I know they’re loyal to you.”

There is a silence between you two for a moment, until Sebastian breaks the tension.

“She visited earlier.” Sebastian echoed. “Rebecca.”

You turn away at the name; at least it’s not the girl you remember from your last argument.  “Rebecca is a lovely name,” you offer.  It’s all you can give him without treading into dangerous waters.  You’re engaged after all, and stuck patting balm into the chest of your former lover.

“She was distraught.” Sebastian hummed. “Hates the scars.”

You turn around, rolling your eyes. “She’s dating an auror, she should get used to it.” you scowl. 

“That’s what I said,” Sebastian laughs, trying not to move the salve covered strips. “But she wasn’t having it.  She was worried I would never look the same, so I broke up with her.”

You blink at him.  He seems completely unbothered.

“Sebastian!” You exclaim. “You shouldn’t break up with her over that alone.”

Sebastian shrugs. “Y’know, the boys filled in a few of the blanks for me.  Apparently, not very many people actually liked Rebecca and I together, so I guess it was impending anyways.”

You put your hands on your hips. “I cannot believe you broke up with your girlfriend because Everett Clopton and Andrew Larson told you to.” you shake your head. “She was your emergency contact, Sebastian.  You’ve probably been dating a while.”

“According to Clopton, I was planning on breaking up with her soon anyways.”

“Idiots, the lot of you.” You tut, washing your hands in the basin.

“We’d only been dating three months.” Sebastian interjects. “I put her as my emergency contact because I had no one else.  Ominis and Anne…well, they weren’t talking to me apparently.”

You don’t say anything, letting the water run over your hands.

“I guess I’ve been a real arse the last few years,” Sebastian echoes. “Everett said I hadn’t been quite myself since we…well, you get the gist.”

“Everyone is an arse when they’re eighteen,” you remind him. 

Sebastian snorts. “I’m sure you weren’t.”

“I think I might’ve been.” You chuckle under your breath. “Poppy always said I had a one track mind.  Only ever thought about myself, my career.”

“Well, it’s done a lot for you.” Sebastian offers. “Youngest lead healer in St. Mungo’s history.”

You roll your eyes. “The others think I’m a show off.”

“You’re gifted,” he shrugs, and a slice of gauze slips from his chest. “That’s all.”

“Lay back darling,” you advise him, stuffing a pillow behind his back to keep him comfortable. 

Sebastian does as you say, his hands balled up in fists at his side. “So, your fiance,” He trails off. “What’s he like?”

You purse your lips, pulling his sheets over his waist. “He’s nice.”

“Nice.  That’s it?” Sebastian snorts. “Surely he has some better attributes, you said yes to marrying him.”

“He’s calm, quiet.” you say, turning your back to put away the excess gauze. “He’s a junior secretary for the Minister of Magic.” turning back to Sebastian, you already know he has a smug smile on his face. “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say,” you warn, wagging a finger.

“What?” Sebastian scoffs. “I would never say anything about an esteemed junior secretary,” he says dramatically. “Besides, you’re the one who thought it…”

“I didn’t think anything!” You laugh. “I just knew exactly what you were thinking.”

“And what is that?” Sebastian asks coyly.

“You were going to call him a pencil pusher,” you accuse.

Sebastian fakes a gasp, holding a hand to his chest. “My stars, I would never say such a thing.” 

“Stop it,” you laugh again, slapping his hand. “You’re ruining my hard work. I’ll have to do it again.”

“No,” Sebastian groans. “It’s cold.  I just want to put a jumper on, I don’t care about the scars.” he pouts.

“I need you to get better,” you hold your hands on your hips. “The auror office will have my head if I keep you here any longer when your colleagues are back home.”

Sebastian fumbles with the edge of the blanket. “And what would consider me healed?” 

“Well, I’d say besides the appearance, your physical wounds are fully healed.” You shrug. “But we can’t discharge you until your memories are back–or at least substantially returned.”

Sebastian is quiet, and he stays quiet until you finish putting away all your supplies.  You’re about to leave him, implore him to get some rest, when he clears his throat.

“Pet,” he says cautiously (he hasn’t used your old nickname since the second night of his stay).  

“Yes, Sebastian?” You ask, slipping your hands into the pocket of your apron.  When you look at Sebastian from the doorway, he doesn’t look like a twenty three year old man.  He looks like the Sebastian you used to know–the hotheaded eighteen year old who only ever got shy around you.

“Would you…could we be friends after this?” He asked lowly. “I know you said we haven’t seen each other in five years, and I know there’s some blame there on my end. But we’ve been through so much together, and you’ve saved my life.” he rambles. 

You once told yourself that if Sebastian Sallow ever came crawling back, you’d slam the door shut in his face.  The first year of your separation had been excruciating; the second had been dreadful.  Once you’d gotten on to your third year without him in your life, the pain had become bearable.  And once you’d gotten on to four years without him, you realized you didn’t think of him anymore.  In fact, you hadn’t thought of him at all until you saw him standing a few paces away from your tea table.

“Of course, darling.” You assure him. “Only if you promise me that you’ll actually sleep.”

Sebastian’s face lights up in a way you distinctly remember–the first time you’d seen it was when you arrived in Feldcroft to meet Anne when you were both fifteen.  He adjusts himself to the pillows as you wave your wand to dim the lights. 

You shut the door behind you, letting out a sigh when you’re out of sight.  You feel guilty calling Sebastian darling again–you’ve never even blessed your own fiance with his own nickname.  And despite your refusal of the situation, you can’t help the shiver you feel at the base of your spine when you hear Sebastian calling you pet again.

Perhaps being friends is not a good idea.

Night Five

Sebastian is asleep when your shift starts, and you nearly skip over his room.  But against your better judgment, you push into the door, knocking lightly.

The brunette man is slumped over, snoring lightly as if he were waiting for you.  At the sound of the door, he jolts, rubbing his eyes. 

“Why can’t you be on the day shift?” he complains sleepily. 

You chuckle. “I can leave you, let you get some rest.”

“No,” Sebastian clears his throat. “I’d like you to stay.” He shrugs off his shirt, proudly displaying his scars. “They still look like hell, but at least they aren’t purple anymore.”

You stride over, running your hands over them.  Your ancient magic was able to overpower the bleeding curse, but Sebastian will forever have a dip in his chest and bubbled over scars.  They’re at least turning pink, a much better place than they were a few days ago.

“They look great,” you pat his shoulder. “And once we get your memories back in order, we can get you home.”

Sebastian gives you a strange look. “Ominis came again during the day…filling in the blanks again.”

“And?” You ask softly, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Why did we break up?” Sebastian asks firmly. “Can you tell me? And don’t give me the whole spiel about us growing apart.  I want the details.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your hands. “We were eighteen, Sebastian. I was careless, you were lonely, we were both focused on our careers and not on each other.” Truthfully, you had spent years thinking of the many ways you’d address this conversation, how you’d confront him if you ever saw him again. Now five years later and after having almost witnessed Sebastian’s death, the downfall of your first love is easily compounded into one simple sentence.

“You started working the night shift,” Sebastian says.

“I started working the night shift,” you echo. “I wanted to rise up quickly in the ranks, so I volunteered. I was working so many hours, and you were gone during the day at your job, so we barely saw each other.”

“I asked you to take time off.” Sebastian adds.

“And I said no.” you admit. “I told you that you were being insecure.  That my job was more important, because I was saving lives.” It’s one of the few shames you’ve compartmentalized over the past few years–that you’d ever downplayed the importance of his career compared to yours.

“I went out that night.” Sebastian whispers, looking at his hands. “And I didn’t come home until the morning.”

“It was my only night off of the week, and you came home at four in the morning, stinking of firewhiskey and perfume.” Your eyes shut, replaying the awful scene in your head.

“Did I?” he croaked. “Did I cheat on you, really?”

“No,” You shake your head, and he lets out a relieved sigh. “You said you could have.  You said you wanted to.” You add, rubbing the temples of your forehead. “That you were tired of living in half of a relationship, and that you’d wanted to kiss that girl.”

“You threw the book at me,” Sebastian says weakly. “And I smashed your mug.”

“I told you to go to her if you really wanted.” You admit. “And you left.”

“I stayed at Ominis’s that night.” he whispered. “I didn’t go to her.”

“I didn’t know that.  So I packed my things and left.” 

The silence hangs between the two of you, and all of the feelings you had at eighteen come flooding back.  After the fight, you apparated to Natty’s place, while Anne and Poppy had cleaned out your bits in the apartment. What was meant to be a one night stay turned into a week, and then more. After a month without word from Sebastian, you committed to the night shift, forsaking your friendships and social life for work.  Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and before you knew it, you were promoted.  Sebastian Sallow was a blip in your timeline, a faded memory of teenage love.  He’d been just a memory until you saw him in Diagon Alley.  Your heart hadn’t felt anything but anger towards him until you saw his shiny black dress shoes.

“Did we throw it all away?” Sebastian asks sorrowfully.

“We became the people we needed to be.” You remind him. “Look at you, an auror.  A damn good one.  The kind that jumps in front of their partner to save them from a curse.” you assure him.

“And you’re a healer,” Sebastian inhales. “A bloody amazing one, that saved my life and five others.  I’m so proud of you.” Sebastian’s lower lip wobbles, and you know your heart is in danger.

“You seem to remember quite a bit,” You point out. “More than you let on.”

“I was talking to Clopton about you.  We thought the ambush was over, we were trying to get to a floo point so we could get Larson’s leg checked out.” Sebastian says. “I told him how beautiful you looked, and that you looked happy.” his voice cracks. 

“Sebastian.” It’s not a warning, just a statement.  A week ago you would’ve never said his name aloud, let alone thought of it.  But it feels right rolling off your tongue.

“Everett said something about you being engaged.  It’s…it’s fuzzy from there on, but I remember the fight.  And I jumped in front of him, but not just to save him.” Sebastian says, his fingers drumming on his stomach.

“Why?” You almost don’t want to hear the rest. It might upend your life entirely.

“I jumped in front of him because I knew I’d be okay.  That you would probably be at St. Mungo’s when I got there.” Sebastian said weakly.  “And I’d get a chance to see you again.”

“Sebastian, we’re different people now.” You remind him. 

“We’re better now.” Sebastian says, giving you pleading eyes. “I was an idiot when I was eighteen; I thought I was being a man, but I wasn’t.  And I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been happy the past five years–there hasn’t been another woman who’s made me feel the way you do.” he confesses.

“It’s been too long,” you try to say, but you know it's no use trying to argue with him.  From your first fight in the Undercroft at fifteen to the fight that broke you two up, Sebastian has never backed down.

Before you even realize it, Sebastian has reached his hand out, taking yours. He’s rubbing your left ring finger–the one missing your large, ostentatious engagement ring.

“Don’t marry him,” Sebastian croaks. “Please, don’t marry him.”

“Why?” you ask.

“Because I understand you now.” Sebastian says. “I understand you in a way I didn’t when I was younger.  And that’s good–it’s good for us now.  It wasn’t the right time then, but we could try again now.” he pleads.

“Four days ago when you saw me in Diagon Alley, you could barely look at me.” You remind him. “I should have you committed to the memory ward at this point.”

“Four days ago when I saw you, I was sick to my stomach with how happy you looked.” Sebastian admits. “I saw you from a distance, smiling at Larson and Poppy.  I couldn’t look you in the eye after seeing you smile.”

You want to tell Sebastian that your fiance is a good man.  That he loves you, cherishes you, and doesn’t fight with you.  But you can’t help being nostalgic as you hold the hand of your first love, who is currently begging you to end your relationship to risk it all again with him. Whatever strength you’ve mustered together in the last five years is about to break as his big brown eyes implore you to stay.

“Your memory seems back to normal,” you change the subject, standing up quickly.  You tug your hand out from his, smoothing your clammy palms against your apron. “I’ll put you down for discharge in the morning.”

“Don’t,” Sebastian warns. “Don’t run away.”

“You ran away.” You remind him.

“And I regret it, every day.” Sebastian says mournfully. “You were my first love.  You were going to be my only love, and I fucked it up.”

“We both made mistakes, Sebastian.” You say, staring down at your feet. “You need to get some rest.  I’ll leave you be.”

He’s arguing as you step through the door, wringing your hands together.  The thoughts running through your head aren’t right–no, they’re crazy.  Except your feet keep walking towards the ward matron’s desk, gripping the stone top.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, frowning.

“I need to go home,” you confess, scribbling what little notes you have onto Sebastian’s chart. “There’s something I have to do.”

Thirty minutes later (your on call replacement is displeased to have been woken up late at night) you’re back in your flat.  Your mind is buzzing as you pace in the bedroom, thinking about the idea gnawing at your brain.

It would be insane.

You haven’t talked in five years.

He’s emotional after having been saved from the brink of death.

He broke up with his girlfriend on the spot, because she wasn’t you.

Sebastian is most well known for his unwavering support and adoration.  At least he was when you were younger.  Sebastian had always been encouraging, cheering you on through crossed wands, battles in the highlands, and even when you got your first job offer from St. Mungo’s. He’d been crazy about you–obsessed with you, even.  The two of you had been the couple of your year when you graduated.  

Sebastian had only ever faltered once, and it ended your relationship.

Don’t marry him.  

The words replay in your mind.  It makes you realize your stomach has flipped more in the last four nights than it has in years.  That your even tempered fiance, a kind but boring man, has not once made you feel what you’ve felt in the past week being back in Sebastian’s presence.

It is insane, you think. But you’d rather take feeling than nothing at all.

Digging through your dresser, you pull out the box holding your engagement ring.  

Night Six

It has been a long, long day.

What time you would have spent sleeping is spent assuring your now ex-fiance that nothing untoward has happened.  That you appreciate his kindness and companionship over the past year, but that you cannot lie to yourself. 

You cannot marry him because you don’t love him as you should.

You prepare for the night shift with a spring in your step, because when you get there, you’re heading straight to Sebastian’s room.  You’re going to tell him what you’ve done, and hope that he’s still feeling just as crazy as you. You pull your hair into its usual bun, wishing you could wear something a little nicer to what will be your reunion.  Sebastian used to love when you wore green; perhaps you’ll buy a green dress the next day you’re off.

When you get to the ward, it’s quieter than usual.  Holding your wand between your teeth again, affixing the white apron, your heart beats out of your chest as you approach room 213.  

This is it.  This is the start of the rest of your life.

You push through the doors of 213, but your breath stutters when you see the empty bed.  It’s stripped of any linens, and all of the flowers and candy boxes Sebastian’s colleagues sent are gone.

“Where is the patient in 213?” you whip around, grabbing the closest orderly.

They give you a curious look. “Discharged this morning–you put it in their paperwork.”

You swallow, and it feels like shards of broken glass are tumbling down your throat. “I…I did.”

“Isn’t today your day off, too?” They tilt their head at you. “Honestly, it feels like your head hasn’t been screwed on at all this week. Might want to take some focus potions, ma’am.”

“Uh, right.” You admit, turning red.  You were so excited at the prospect of seeing Sebastian again, you completely forgot that Fridays were your nights off from the ward. You were rather busy after all, imploding your life. “”Does it say who picked him up?”

They shrug, flipping through the charts again. “He was taken to his home in Diagon Alley by his sister and brother-in-law.”

You curse under your breath as you try to plot a plan.  There’s no way Ominis still lives in the small flat he had when you last saw him, and you have no idea where Sebastian lives.  The ward doesn’t have an address either, so you’re shit out of luck.

Unless…unless you were to find one of his loyal partners.

Apparition is frowned upon inside of St. Mungo’s, but you’ll take a scolding from the matron ward on Saturday. You immediately apparate to the Leaky Cauldron, where most of the ministry’s aurors spend their evenings.  You know this because you’ve been avoiding the biggest pub in Diagon Alley for five years, hoping not to run into your ex.

The crowd stares at you in your St. Mungo’s uniform; you push through throngs of ministry employees, all wearing fine suits and dresses from their day jobs.  Your eyes scan the room, heart losing hope by the second, until you spot Everett and Andrew sitting with a gaggle of your classmates from Hogwarts, Natsai Onai included.  Andrew elbows Everett at the sight of you, and Clopton beams as if he’s won a bet.

“Hi,” you say breathlessly, approaching the group. 

“Figured you might turn up.” Larson teased. “Gaunt, Clopton, and I had a bet on how long it would take.”

“What’s going on?” Natty asks, clearly confused. She says your name, tilting her head. 

“I need his address,” You gasp. “He wasn’t at the ward when I got there–”

“Anne and Ominis picked him up this morning.” Everett says, pulling out his wand and a paper napkin.  He aimed his wand at the scrap, delicately burning an address into the paper. “He doesn’t live far from here. Perhaps you’ll keep him from spending too much time at the pub now.”

“Who doesn’t live far?” Natty asks again, elbowing Andrew.

“Sallow, of course.” Larson winks. “You two had enough time to talk it through, yeah?”

“What the bloody hell–they haven’t spoken in five years,” Natty claims with wide eyes. She gives you a look, and you can’t do anything but shrug.

“Near death experiences will change you,” Everett says smugly, taking a sip of his tankard. “Well go on then, what are you still doing here?”

You mouth an apology to Natty; you’ll have to explain it to her someday soon.  For now, you’re pushing through the crowd, trying to get out the door.  Looking down at the napkin, Everett Clopton is right; Sebastian lives maybe a stone's throw away from the pub.  Your feet are pounding on the cobblestone of Diagon Alley, looking like a blue wisp to any passersby.  

Before you know it, you’re turning onto his street, with only the lamps in front of each door illuminating the numbers.  You stop, gasping for air, trying to find the right one.  Of course he’s at the end of the row, a dark green door with a gold knocker.  It’s late now, the sky pitch black, as you start pounding.

It takes only thirty seconds for the door to swing open; Anne is standing behind it, looking shocked.

“You’re here,” she breathes.

“I told you she would,” you hear Ominis yell from the inside. “Clopton owes me ten galleons.”

“Can I come in?” you ask.

Anne bites back a smile. “Of course you can.”

You walk into Sebastian’s home; despite having never seen it, it positively reeks of him. There are touches of him all over the house–from the books stacked in the hallways, to the shoes messily kicked in the parlor room.  He has trinkets from his travels on the mantle, and you can see he still leaves his teacups all over the house (something you once fought over–it seems endearing now).  

Ominis is in the sitting room, lounging on a chaise. “Took you long enough.” he says teasingly. “I was rather surprised you abandoned him last night.  He was absolutely bereft when we picked him up in the morning.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you admit sheepishly, digging your toe into the carpet. “I…I just had something I had to do first.”

“A break up and a make up in one day, you’re a busy woman as always.”

“Shut up.”

Ominis gives you a toothy grin; something he saves only for those he loves. “I missed you.” he stood, pulling you into a tight hug. “I can only hope Sebastian doesn’t bungle it all up and we lose you all over again.”

You press your nose into Ominis’s shoulder; it seems silly you ever thought you could live without this group of people in your life. 

“I thought you were mad at him,” you say, pulling back to look up at the blond.

“I was mad that he was being stubborn,” Ominis says softly. “That he wasn’t being himself, drinking every day and dating girls who weren’t right for him.  I told him he had to pluck up the courage to speak to you again, or get over it and make peace with his life.  He’s been rather stuck, as you can imagine.”

You have been too, you think.

“Is he upstairs?” You ask, turning to the slim staircase. Anne is standing next to the railing, giving a signature Sallow smirk.

“He might be asleep,” Ominis warned. “But he is. First room to the left.”

You squeeze his hand in thanks before walking up the stairs.  The floor creaks underneath you as you push in the door; Sebastian is laying in his bed, sleeping fitfully. You nearly knock a stack of books over as you kneel next to his bed; you also recognize the book on his side table, the spine dented from when you threw it at his face five years ago. It reminds you of the shattered mug you keep on your desk.  Perhaps you two have been subconsciously keeping pieces of each other around.

Sebastian stirs as you brush his brunette hair out of his face.  He opens one eye, then the other, blinking furiously as he tries to sit up.

“You’re here,” he groans, a hand flying to his torso. “Is this a good visit, or just a hospital house call? Because my scars are killing me now that I’m home.”

You give a watery chuckle. “It can be both, if you like.”  You pull the blanket aside, examining his puckered skin.  The scars will stay for good, but that’s fine.  You did always like it when Sebastian was roughed up anyways.

“You’re here.” Sebastian repeats, only this time it's softer.

“I had to go to the Leaky Cauldron to get your address from Clopton.” you admit, blue waves emitting from your fingertips as you try to take away some of the physical pain. “But yes, I’m here.”

“By the sound of our last conversation, I thought you were done.  That we were just going to have to live with our mistakes.” Sebastian breathes.

“I wanted to say more, but there was something I had to do first.” you sit on the bed; Sebastian adjusts to give you more room, taking your hands in his. “I had to give back the engagement ring.”

“You did?” Sebastian asks hopefully.

“Seeing you…being around you for the first time in five years…” You’re trying to compound all of your feelings in a simple sentence, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “It made me realize I just didn’t love him.” You confess. “I shouldn’t feel the way I’ve felt seeing you.”

“Pet,” he murmurs, putting a hand to your cheek. “You’ve saved my life. I can’t ask anything more from you.”

“Then can I?” You ask, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes as you place your hand over his. Sebastian’s hand is warm and familiar, fitting perfectly against you.

“Ask me anything,” Sebastian echoes.

“Let’s try again.” you whisper.  

Sebastian scoots over, making space on the bed for you.  You don’t care if anyone else has slept in it over the five years you’ve been apart; something about the way Sebastian melts against your touch tells you he’s only ever belonged to you in the first place. 

“Let’s try again.” Sebastian whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss to your lips.  It feels positively electric, like it’s awoken something that’s been dormant inside you for five long, sleepy years.  You take good care not to press too much of your weight onto a still recovering patient, but Sebastian does everything in his power to draw you closer.  His hands start pulling pins out of your hair, the tight bun coming unraveled as he weaves his fingers through your tresses.

“You’re still healing,” you remind him as he starts working on the buttons of your dress. “And your sister is downstairs.”

“I don’t care,” Sebastian murmurs into your skin, tugging your collar down to press a kiss at the base of your neck. “We’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?”

You have, you think.  So you let Sebastian ravish you with kisses, blushing when you hear Ominis loudly call up the stairs that he and Anne are leaving.  You only leave the bed to unlace your dress, Sebastian eagerly watching as you strip the fabric from your body.  He groans in a good way when you press kisses to his chest, fingers dancing across the scars on his chest.  Not all scars would disappear, and there would always be reminders of the past.  But it was good to acknowledge them, to know that they were there, and that they were healed.  

The two of you stay awake the entire night reacquainting yourselves with each other’s body; the sun is streaming through Sebastian’s curtains when you realize you’ve been awake since Thursday night, running off adrenaline. Your eyes begin to droop as Sebastian presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Go to sleep, pet.” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

You’ll have to call in again, you think. You need an entire day of sleep after this week.  And the next time you get to the ward, you’ll turn in your official notice, asking to move to the day shift.

[crymsyy]

Theodore Nott

Little fanart of my favourite hot boy

ART POLICY

Please DO NOT re-post/re-share my art unless given explicit permission and appropriate credit is given.

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Use for PERSONAL binds is allowed, but only with permission and credit.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Valentine's Day | Sebastian Sallow x OC

Happy (belated) Valentine’s Day friends ❤️ I’ve been working on this in preparation and didn’t manage to get it done for the big day (was a little busy myself….) but a few hours late isn’t so bad right??? I hope y’all enjoy!!

Words: ~6,500

Tags: Smut, Size Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Chonky Seb Supremacy

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Sebastian blinked the sleep from his eyes as he reached for his coat, yawning as he slung it over his shoulders. It had been a long week—longer still considering how little sleep he and Evangeline had been getting.

Not for the usual reasons, no.

At nearly eight months pregnant, Evie’s discomfort had reached an all-time high, and between the endless tossing and turning, the nighttime cravings, and the occasional sharp jab of their child’s ever-growing limbs, neither of them were getting much rest.

Sebastian didn’t mind, though. If anyone had a right to be miserable, it was his wife.

Still, he hated leaving her in the mornings, knowing she hardly got a moment’s peace.

As he turned back toward the bedroom, he found her exactly where he’d left her—curled on her side beneath their blankets, the soft glow of the morning light making her long dark hair shimmer against the pillow. She stirred slightly when he leaned over her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Mm, you’re warm,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she nestled deeper into the sheets.

He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me, love. I have to go.”

Evangeline cracked one eye open, squinting at him. “But it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Sebastian smirked. “And?”

“And,” she said, stretching, “I had this wild hope you’d stay in bed with me all day.”

The thought alone sent a pleasant warmth through him, but he shook his head with a sigh. “If only. We both know that’s not happening.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way home, yeah? We’ll have a quiet night in.”

It wasn’t much. Not by his usual standards. But nowadays, Evangeline could barely sit through a meal without shifting uncomfortably, and the idea of forcing her into a dress or making her endure a busy restaurant felt cruel.

Evangeline only hummed, eyes fluttering shut again. “Mhm. Quiet night.”

Sebastian took her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her palm before squeezing it gently. “Get some rest, love.”

With one last glance at her, he pulled away and stepped out of the room, completely unaware of the wicked little smirk she wore as soon as he was gone.

Tonight would be anything but quiet.

The moment Sebastian was out the door, Evangeline threw off the blankets and swung her legs over the side of the bed—only to immediately regret it.

“Merlin’s bloody beard,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her belly as their child made their displeasure known with an insistent kick against her ribs.

Right. Moving quickly was no longer an option.

With a sigh, she carefully pushed herself upright, resting a hand against the small of her back as she stood. The house was quiet in his absence, but that wouldn’t last for long—not with what she had planned.

She had one goal today—to remind Sebastian that she was still his wife, not just the mother of his unborn child. Not that he had ever made her feel otherwise, but between the exhaustion, the swollen ankles, and the ever-growing weight pressing on her spine, she hadn’t felt particularly desirable in months.

Tonight, she was going to change that.

And the first order of business? A long, hot soak in the bath.

She drew the water until it was steaming, infusing it with a touch of lavender and chamomile, hoping to ease some of the tension in her back. As she lowered herself in—slowly, carefully—she let out a long sigh, resting a hand over her belly as warmth seeped into her aching limbs.

“Now, you behave,” she murmured to the tiny troublemaker in her womb, who had been shifting and stretching all morning. “Let Mummy enjoy this, just for a little while.”

For once, their child seemed to cooperate, and she took full advantage of the moment, soaking until her fingers pruned and the haze of exhaustion lifted. By the time she emerged, she felt almost like herself again.

From there, it was a matter of putting her plan into motion.

Step One: Sweets.

Sebastian had been indulging all of her strange cravings for months—pickled plums at midnight, treacle tart with extra clotted cream, and that regrettable week where she insisted that everything had to be spicy. He never complained, never refused her, but his favorites had been sorely neglected in the process.

She intended to make up for that tonight.

It had been ages since she’d last baked—standing for too long made her back ache, and even with magic, there were limits to what she could manage. But today, she was determined.

Sebastian deserved something special, and if that meant pushing through a little discomfort, so be it.

With a flick of her wand, the kitchen came to life. Flour sifted itself into a bowl, eggs cracked mid-air, and the rich scent of melted chocolate soon filled the room.

Evangeline propped herself on a stool, watching carefully as the ingredients mixed. It wasn’t quite the same as doing it by hand, but she supposed she could allow a little magic to help her along.

After all, she had plenty more to prepare before her husband got home.

Step Two: The Bedroom.

Sebastian would have a heart attack if he knew she’d been moving around so much. He was protective to the point of hovering, constantly insisting she rest, that she take it easy, that he could handle everything. And while she appreciated it (mostly), tonight need to be perfect.

So, she ignored the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like his, telling her to sit down, and instead focused on tidying their bedroom.

Freshly washed sheets were a must—their usual ones were soft, well-loved, but she wanted something crisp, something luxurious against her skin. With slow, careful movements, she stripped the bed and replaced everything with the set she’d picked out days ago in a rich, deep shade of red,

Then came the lighting.

A flick of her wand sent enchanted candles floating into place around the room, their flames flickering softly, casting a golden glow that made the space feel impossibly warm, impossibly intimate.

She paused, surveying the room as she rubbed slow circles over the curve of her belly. Almost there.

The pillows were next. She propped them just so, ensuring she’d be comfortable later, because if she had her way, she wasn’t leaving this bed for the rest of the night. Sebastian could protest all he wanted, but she knew him well enough to know that once he was sufficiently distracted, he’d forget all about lecturing her.

By the time she finished, she took a step back, admiring her work. The sheets were smooth, the lighting was perfect, and the air held the traces of chocolate and cinnamon from the sweets cooling in the kitchen.

A satisfied hum escaped her lips.

Step Three: Herself.

Evangeline sat at the vanity, regarding herself in the mirror as she brushed through her hair. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her features—softer now, rounder. Pregnancy had reshaped her body in ways she was still adjusting to, filling out her curves even more, her face slightly fuller, her skin more luminous.

Sebastian never said anything negative—never. If anything, he looked at her with something like awe, as though he couldn't quite believe she was real. But she knew him. She saw the quiet concern in his gaze when she struggled to stand, the way he watched her at night when she winced from an ache or a sharp jab from their baby.

She understood. He worried. He always worried. But she missed the way he used to look at her with heat in his gaze and unguarded hunger. The way he used to drag her into his lap at the end of a long day without thinking twice.

Tonight, she was going to remind him.

Her fingers trailed over the scattered makeup pots on the vanity, her mind drifting to the most recent Gladrags catalog that had arrived by owl post. The latest Parisian fashion had captured her attention—women with darkened eyes, deep red lips, a striking, elegant boldness that made her want to try something new.

She reached for the small pot of eyeliner first, dipping a careful brush inside before sweeping the dark pigment across her lids, elongating her lashes and sharpening the shape of her eyes. It was bold. Dramatic. Almost too much—until she imagined Sebastian’s reaction.

A smile curled at her lips as she reached for the next touch: lipstick, deep crimson, almost too rich against her pale skin. It made her lips look fuller, plusher.

He wouldn’t be able to look away.

The thought sent a shiver through her as she leaned back, admiring her reflection. Good. Perfect.

From the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, she pulled out the package she’d hidden days ago—lingerie, soft and lacy, designed specifically for her new figure. It wasn’t something she would have ever considered wearing before, but when she’d caught sight of it during a shopping trip with Poppy, something about it had called to her.

And now, she understood why.

Sebastian had been patient. Sweet. Careful. He treated her as if she were delicate, precious—like glass, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep. And while she loved him for it, respected him for it, she was tired of careful.

Evangeline changed slowly, fingers skimming over the sheer fabric as she adjusted it around her belly. The material fluttered over her skin, accentuating every curve, every soft swell that had once made her self-conscious but that Sebastian had always adored.

Her pulse thrummed with anticipation as she settled onto the bed, propped up by pillows, waiting.

Sebastian wasn’t expecting this, but she knew he wouldn’t complain.

Sebastian rolled his shoulders as he stepped up to their front door, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. It had been another long day—paperwork, training drills, the usual Ministry nonsense—but at least it was over now.

And he wasn’t arriving home empty-handed.

In one hand, he balanced a takeaway bag filled with their dinner—roast lamb and buttered potatoes from Evangeline’s favorite bistro, along with an extra slice of treacle tart because he knew she’d been craving it lately. In the other, a bouquet of roses, their petals a deep, velvety red that shimmered faintly in the light.

It wasn’t much. It would have been more in different circumstances.

Before pregnancy, he would’ve planned something grander—a candlelit dinner at some overpriced restaurant, maybe even a weekend away. But that wasn’t an option now, not with Evangeline so far along. She could barely sit through a meal without shifting uncomfortably, and he refused to make her suffer through an evening of forced romance just because of some arbitrary holiday.

No, a quiet night was best.

Sebastian exhaled, adjusting his grip on the bouquet before nudging the door open with his foot.

“Evie?” he called, stepping inside, shaking the lingering cold from his coat. “I’ve got dinner, love. And before you say anything, yes, I got extra dessert.”

Silence.

His brow furrowed. Usually, she was curled up on the sofa by now, dozing in the warm glow of the fireplace, waiting for him with some book half-finished in her lap. But the house was still. Too still.

Something flickered in his chest—not worry, exactly, but something close to it as he stepped deeper into the house.

A faint, sweet scent lingered in the air, a mis of vanilla, chocolate, and cinnamon.

Sebastian stepped into the kitchen, takeout bag in one hand, bouquet still clutched in the other, only to stop short at the sight before him.

The countertop was covered in sweets.

Cookies shaped like hearts, delicate pastries drizzled in chocolate, tiny tarts dusted with powdered sugar—all neatly arranged on red and pink doilies, as if plucked straight from the window of a high-end bakery.

His brows lifted, surveying the sheer effort that had gone into it all.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

Evangeline hadn’t baked in weeks—not since standing for too long had started making her back ache, not since she’d taken to spending more time on the sofa, exhaustion settling deeper with each passing day. He hadn’t minded, of course. If anyone deserved to put her feet up and be doted on, it was her.

Which made this all the more baffling.

Sebastian exhaled through his nose, shaking his head as he stuffed the takeout into the fridge.

Of course she had gone and done this. Baking all of this for him when he would have been perfectly content with a quiet night curled up beside her, rubbing slow circles over her belly while she drifted off in his arms. But no—Evangeline never did things halfway.

His gaze flicked toward the faint glow spilling out from beneath their bedroom door own the hall.

She was probably already asleep, candles still flickering, too exhausted to even blow them out after all the effort she’d put in today. Merlin, he really needed to talk to her about that—what if she set something on fire?

Sebastian sighed, stuffing a bite of cookie into his mouth, his heart tugging as he imagined her curled up in bed, fast asleep, the scent of flour and vanilla still clinging to her skin as she waited for him to join her.

His chest ached with something warm, something fond, something so wholly his that it sent a rush of warmth up his throat.

Still chewing, he padded quietly down the hall, roses in hand, intent on pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering his thanks against her skin before wrapping himself around her for the night.

But when he pushed the door open—

The half-esten cookie nearly fell out of his hand.

Because Evangeline was not asleep.

No, she was very much awake, sitting up against a pile of pillows, watching him with a smirk.

The dim glow of the candles cast a golden halo over her bare shoulders, over the sheer lace that clung to her body, over her winged eyeliner, the deep red of her lips.

Sebastian froze. His brain simply stopped functioning.

His jaw tightened, his pulse roared in his ears, and he barely managed to chew the last bit of cookie before swallowing it down in one dry gulp.

Evangeline’s lips twitched.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

Sebastian said nothing.

He was too busy trying to breathe. Too busy staring at her, the way the sheer fabric draped over the swell of her belly, the way it hugged her curves, the way she looked—

Sweet Salazar.

The bloody cookies were irrelevant now. He was about to have a new favorite dessert.

His grip on the bouquet tightened. “Evie,” he rasped. “What—”

“What?” she interrupted, feigning innocence. “Did you think I’d be asleep?”

Sebastian blinked. “Yes,” he said honestly.

She laughed, soft and lilting, before beckoning him closer with a crook of her finger.

Sebastian obeyed before he even realized he was moving.

His feet carried him forward on instinct, the roses slipping from his grasp onto the nearby dresser as his hands twitched at his sides, aching to touch her.

“Merlin,” he breathed, eyes dragging over her, drinking her in like a dying man crawling toward water. The dark liner around her eyes made her gaze sharper, smoldering. The red of her lips—Merlin’s bloody beard, her lips—was so rich, so inviting, that he nearly lost himself in the thought of kissing her senseless then and there.

And the lace. The damned lace.

It clung to her in ways that made his throat go dry, sheer fabric stretched over the heavy curve of her stomach, teasing at the edges of her thighs, her breasts, her hips. He had seen Evangeline in every state imaginable—soaked in rain, smeared in dirt, draped in fine silks and ballgowns, tangled in his sheets with nothing at all. But this?

This was going to be the death of him.

“Do you like it?” she asked, tilting her head.

Sebastian let out a laugh, but it was breathless, strangled, a little desperate.

“Like it?” His jaw clenched as he reached out, fingers tracing over the lace at her hip before pressing his palm to the swell of her belly as if reminding himself of everything she had given him—was still giving him.

“You—” His voice cracked, rough, raw. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

Evangeline hummed, the corner of her lips tugging up in amusement. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar,” he murmured, his hand finding her thigh, smoothing over soft, warm skin.

She gasped, barely a breath of sound, but he heard it, and hell, if that didn’t set his blood on fire.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers. “You know I love you exactly as you are.”

“I know,” she whispered, her hand rising to cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer. “But I needed this.”

Sebastian let out a low groan, his forehead dropping against hers as his restraint wavered—thin, threadbare, fraying by the second.

"How badly?" He asked, his voice low.

Her nails scraped gently against the back of his neck as she tilted her head, letting her lips barely ghost against his own.

“Very badly.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips—just enough to make his hand press firmer against her thigh—she whispered, “More than you can imagine.”

Sebastian let out a ragged breath, his jaw tightening as he felt her—warm, soft, pliant beneath his touch, the sheer lace doing absolutely nothing to shield him from the heat of her.

“You’re not too tired?” he asked, because even now, even now, some part of him was still desperate to make sure she was comfortable, that she wasn’t straining herself, that she meant this.

Evangeline huffed, her hands gripping the front of his shirt. “Sebastian Sallow,” she murmured, “if you don’t fuck me into oblivion, you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Sebastian choked on a breath, his entire body going taut as a smirk curled at the corner of her lips. Smug. Teasing.

Wicked, wicked woman.

His woman.

Sebastian kissed her—properly, thoroughly, with every ounce of pent-up desperation that had been simmering beneath his skin for weeks. Evangeline gasped against his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, devoured it.

He groaned against her mouth, shifting to cage her in, the sheer fabric of her lingerie teasing against his knuckles as he let his hands roam—from the soft curve of her thigh, up to the generous swell of her belly, then higher still, tracing the edges of lace and silk and sin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You are unfair.”

Evangeline only smirked, breathless, her lips deliciously red and kiss-bruised already. “And you,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, “are wearing far too many clothes.”

Sebastian let out a rough, ragged sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You know,” he mused, as his hands found her hips, “I should be lecturing you right now.”

She arched a brow. “Oh?”

“For exhausting yourself,” he murmured, voice low and teasing. “For standing on your feet too long, for making all of that.” His eyes flicked toward the door, toward the kitchen filled with sweets, before dragging his gaze back to her. “And this?” His fingers skimmed along the lace barely covering her swollen breasts, his thumb grazing her nipples just enough to have her breath hitch. “This is just cruel, love.”

Evangeline hummed, tilting her head, utterly unfazed. “Mmm. I think you like it.”

He huffed out a laugh, pressing his forehead against hers. She was right. He was hopeless, absolutely bloody hopeless for her.

He kissed her again, slower this time, deeper, savoring the way she sighed into him, the way her hands traced over his shoulders, moving to working at the buttons of his shirt.

Sebastian let her push the fabric aside inch by inch until her hands met bare skin.

Her nails dragged lightly down his abdomen, tracing the softer flesh there. He hadn’t looked quite the same since they’d gotten married. Somewhere between settling into their life together and indulging in Evangeline’s baking (when she wasn’t too exhausted to stand), he’d grown thicker, broader. His shoulders had filled out more, his arms stronger, his stomach softer,

And it had only gotten more apparent.

It felt as though her pregnancy had started rubbing off on him, as if all those late-night cravings and extra servings had settled into his frame just as much as hers.

And Merlin, the way she looked at him now. She was completely feral for him like this.

He had figured it out months ago when that old green flannel refused to button properly. He had stood in front of the mirror, frowning, tugging at the fabric like it was the shirt’s fault, like he could will it to fit the way it once had.

He’d hated it.

Until Evangeline had looked at him, taken him apart with nothing but a slow sweep of her gaze and proceeded to ride him within an inch of his life, whispering absolute filth against his lips about how good he looked, how much she loved him like this, how unfair it was that he could gain weight and only get stronger, thicker, better.

So now, when her hands slid over the bare plane of his stomach, when her thumbs smoothed along his waist with something bordering on reverence, he let her.

Evangeline hummed in approval, her eyes dragging over him, drinking him in. "Fuck," she muttered, shaking her head as she trailed her fingers lower, pushing his shirt off his shoulders completely. "Look at you."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening on her hip. “You act like you don’t see me every day.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his, smirking. “Not like this. You’ve grown, Sebastian.”

He let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “What, like I’m the one carrying a bloody child?”

Evangeline laughed, shameless as ever, her eyes dark with something heated, something hungry. “Doesn’t matter. You’re—fuck.” Her hands slid down to his waist, gripping him with a possessiveness that sent heat rushing through his veins.

Sebastian swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over her lips. “You like it,” he murmured, smirking when her fingers flexed, digging into his sides. “You really like it.”

Her lips curved. “Obsessed, actually.”

Her fingers skimmed lower, curling at the waistband of his pants, her gaze dark and hooded as she took him in—half clothed, flushed, breath coming in uneven gasps as he hovered above her.

Sebastian huffed, his hands tightening at her hips, fingers pressing into the softness there. "You’re looking at me like you want to eat me alive."

Evangeline smiled. “And what if I do?”

Sebastian pulled back just enough to look at her, his gaze molten, heavy-lidded. “You sure you can handle this, love?”

She huffed a breathless laugh. “You’re the one who should be worried about keeping up.”

He groaned at the way she rolled her hips up, seeking friction, seeking him.

“Bloody hell, Evie.

She was insistent now, pupils blown wide, her hands tugging at the buckle of his belt like it was the only thing standing between her and salvation. “You’re still too dressed,” she whined.

Sebastian let out a ragged breath and grabbed her wrists, stilling her frantic movements. “Easy, love,” he murmured, voice hoarse, teasing. “You’re going to tear it at this rate.”

Evangeline huffed, her chest rising and falling with each desperate, panting breath. “Then help me,” she demanded, squirming beneath him.

Sebastian swore under his breath, his hands flying to his belt to help her. If she kept whining like that, he was going to lose what little restraint he had left.

"You have no idea what it’s like," Evangeline continued, her voice half a whimper, half a plea. "You can reach yourself whenever you need to. You don’t have a bloody beach ball in the way stopping you—” She let out a sharp, frustrated sound. “You have no bloody idea, Sebastian."

Sebastian stilled, his blood running hot, his cock twitching at her words, at the pure, unfiltered need in her voice.

She hadn’t been able to touch herself. Hadn’t been able to soothe the ache, to take the edge off. Had been suffering with no relief

And yet, fuck, if that wasn’t the single hottest thing he’d ever heard, because she needed him.

“Jesus Christ, Evie,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against hers as his belt hit the floor, careless, forgotten, clinking against the hardwood as he let her pull at his trousers, dragging them down as far as she could before he kicked them off himself.

Evangeline let out the most obscene little moan as her hands found the bare skin of his waist, gripping, pulling, claiming.

Sebastian nearly lost his mind.

“You’re killing me,” he rasped.

“Good,” she whispered, breathless, her fingers already tugging at his briefs.

His hands moved to help her, fingers curling over hers as they tugged at the fabric, working together in frantic, needy little tugs until the fabric wa s gone, kicked somewhere onto the floor, utterly forgotten.

A sharp inhale left Evangeline’s lips, her gaze dropping, her eyes darkening at the sight him. Her thighs trembled, her fingers flexing against his waist like she was fighting the urge to drag him down, to take him without a second thought.

He gritted his teeth, exhaling through his nose as he pulled back just enough, just barely, enough to see her properly, enough to take her in. And sweet Salazar, she was—

Splayed out beneath him, curves plush, full, sheer lace draped over her body in a way that made his chest ache with something more than just need.

Her belly rose and fell with each shallow breath, her thighs pressing together like she was trying, failing, to soothe the ache between them on her own.

Sebastian clenched his jaw, dragging his fingers up her thigh, spreading her open. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Laid out so pretty for me.”

Evangeline whimpered, her hands fisting the sheets.

Sebastian dipped his head to press slow, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, across the tops of herbreasts.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against her skin, dragging the lace between his teeth. “Every single fucking inch of you—mine.”

“Sebastian,” she gasped, voice breathy, trembling.

He lifted his head, locking eyes with her, his lips curling as he braced himself above her, his hand smoothing over the curve of her belly, reverent and possessive.

“How do you want it, love?”

"Hard," she begged, hands fisting against his shoulders, nails dragging down the bare muscle of his back. "Fast—Sebastian, I need—"

The way she looked at him—flushed, desperate, completely at his mercy—sent heat flooding through his veins, scorching, unbearable.

"You're insatiable," he murmured, voice thick with amusement, even as his own self-control frayed, his cock twitching at the way her thighs trembled for him.

Evangeline whimpered, her hands tightening around him, pulling, pleading. "You have no idea."

Sebastian growled, dipping his head, pressing his mouth to the curve of her belly, to her ribs, to her breasts, dragging higher until they found the sensitibe , flushed skin of her throat. "Oh, I know, love," he murmured, his tongue flicking over her pulse "You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?"

She moaned, her back arching, her thighs spreading wider, offering.

"Impatient thing," he murmured, voice full of praise, adoration, his lips ghosting over hers as he lined himself up over her thong, teasing her, drawing it out. "You need me that badly?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Bend over for me, then."

Evangeline let out a soft, desperate little sound, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. "Sebastian—"

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her throat. "Come on, love," he murmured. "You wanted it hard and fast—wanted me to ruin you, yeah?"

She gazed at him through half lidded eyes, her head tipping back as she nodded, her hands tightening in his hair.

"Alright, on your knees for me, then."

Evangeline whimpered as he helped her roll over, shifting her hips, pressing her chest against the mattress, her hands curling into the sheets.

Sebastian ran a reverent hand down the length of her spine, his fingers splaying wide, possessive, before dragging down to the soft, plush curve of her ass.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hands tightening over her hips as he settled behind her, his cock straining, aching, twitching.

Evangeline shivered, letting out a soft, needy moan. “Sebastian, please—”

"Shh, love," he murmured, his hand trailing lower, fingers pressing into the plush, thick curves of her thighs before teasing over the damp lace between them, his breath catching when he felt her, warm and soaked and waiting for him.

“Fuck, Evie,” he groaned. “You’re dripping for me.”

He slid his fingers beneath the lace, dragging his knuckles against her clit, watching the way her body jerked, the way her lips parted in a strangled cry.

Sebastian's cock twitched at the sight. He wanted to tease, wanted to drag this out, to worship her properly, but—fuck, she was so gone, so desperate for him, and who was he to deny her what she needed?

He pulled back just enough to tear the lace from her body, tossing the ruined fabric aside without a second thought.

“Sebastian—”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he muttered, pressing a lingering kiss to her shoulder before tightening his grip on her, lining himself up again, pressing his cock against the slick entrance of her.

“Alright, now deep breath, love,” he murmured, voice thick and dark with promise.

She nodded against the mattress, humming in response, and then, finally, finally—

He rolled his hips forward in one slow, thorough stroke.

Evangeline shattered beneath him, her breath catching in little, broken gasps as she felt him—deep, stretching her, filling every aching, empty part of her.

His hands roamed, feeling and worshipping every inch of her as he buried himself to the hilt, seating himself deep inside her, stretching her in the way only he could.

She was so tight, and wet, velvet-soft, and fuck—he was barely keeping himself in check.

But he had to.

She was pregnant, swollen, full with his child, and as much as his instincts screamed at him to move, to take her, he needed to make sure she was comfortable, that she relaxed, adjusted—

Evangeline let out a frustrated little sound, "Move," she demanded, er hips rolling back against him, trying to force him deeper.

"Easy, love," he tried, voice rough, wrecked. "Need to make sure you're—"

Evangeline snapped.

“Sebastian fucking Sallow, if you don’t start moving, I swear I will—"

He hips flicked forward.

Evangeline moaned, her body jolting, her back arching as he filled her, as he gave her exactly what she was begging for.

Sebastian growled, his hands steadying her, holding her, making sure she had nowhere to go, nothing to do but take him.

"That what you need, love?" he managed, his voice breathy, dark and dangerous.

Evangeline let out a wrecked little whimper,her ass pushing back against him. "More," she gasped. "More—"

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers digging into her waist as he rolled his hips into hers again, this time harder, this time sharper, enough to pull another sweet, perfect moan from her lips.

The rhythm he set was devastating, pulling out just enough to feel the tight, wet drag of her before pushing back in, seating himself all the way inside her, making sure she felt every thick, aching inch of him.

“You’re taking me so well, love,” he breathed. “So fucking tight for me.”

Evangelin groaned as his fingers slipped beneath her belly, feeling the soft, round swell of it, the warmth of their child nestled between them. And Sebastian felt it—the way she was melting beneath him, surrendering, letting him take everything she had to give.

"Doing so well, love," he murmured, dragging his hand lower, his fingers finding the most sensitive part of her and rubbing tight circles.

“Sebastian—" she sobbed, "fuck I'm—"

“Come for me, Evie,” he whispered, his fingers pressing harder against her clit. “Come for me, love.”

And like the good girl she was, Evangeline fell apart.

Her whole body shook, her thighs trembling as her climax crashed over her, pleasure wracking her in sharp, overwhelming waves. She gasped, choking on a sob as her fingers clawed at the sheets, her back arching, her body clenching down around him, dragging him deeper, holding him tight.

Sebastian swore, his grip on her bruising, his own control snapping like a frayed wire.

"Fuck, that's it," he groaned, his voice rough, reverent, ruined. "That's my girl—

Evangeline moaned, her breath catching in little, shaky gasps as he kept moving, rolling his hips into hers, working her through it, drawing every last bit of pleasure from her until she was nothing but a boneless, shaking mess beneath him.

Sebastian was right there, hanging on the edge, teetering, his whole body taut as he chased his own end, lost in the heat of her, the feel of her.

"Evie," he ground out, his fingers sliding up her belly, his palm splaying wide over the curve of it—

Fuck.

With a deep, shuddering groan, he followed her over the edge, his vision blurring, his body shaking as pleasure crashed through him, hot and overwhelming as he spilled inside her, filling her in the way he knew she loved.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, the aftershocks rippling through them both as Evangeline melted onto her side, warm and sated.

He followed her into the sheets, his arms wrapped securely around her, pulling her against his chest, and Evangeline sighed a soft, contented sound

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love," Sebastjan murmured against her skin, pressing the softest kiss to her shoulder.

Evangeline let out a breathy little laugh, tilting her head just enough to catch his lips with hers in a slow, sweet kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Sebastian grinned against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip before pulling back. His hand smoothed over the swell of her belly, fingers tracing slow, reverent circles over her skin, feeling the warmth of her, the weight of them, of the little life growing between them.

His.

His Evangeline. His wife. His home. The mother of his child. His everything.

"You doing alright?" he murmured, voice thick and lazy.

Evangeline hummed, her body melting further into his. “Mmm. More than alright.”

Sebastian chuckled, pressing another kiss to her neck. "Good. Because you're not moving for a while. You've done enough today."

She huffed a laugh, threading her fingers through his where they rested over her middle. “You act like I could, even if I wanted to.”

Sebastian grinned, utterly wrecked in the best way possible.

They stayed like that for a long moment—warm, tangled, utterly content, until—

Her stomach let out a loud, insistent growl.

Sebastian snorted, burying his face in her hair, his chest shaking with laughter.

Evangeline groaned. “Oh, fuck off,” she muttered, pouting as she tucked herself further into the pillows.

Sebastian grinned, pressing a teasing kiss to her shoulder before rolling away, dragging his briefs back on and padding toward the kitchen.

"Stay put, love," he called over his shoulder, smirking as he went back for the takeout bag he'd abandoned earlier. "I've got dinner—and extra dessert."

[the-colourful-witch]

Pretty Portraits

I’m so happy to share these pieces with you! I created four portraits for @boundbyliv on Instagram who is writing a very special Luna x Ginny fanfic :) It’s about Quidditch, mystery and romance ✨🩷 I believe the work is an ongoing process, so check out Liv’s page for updates. I loved making these, I think they turned out really well😊🧡

I have more really cool commissions in the works and they’re all amazing. Thank you to everyone who has commissioned me so far. My commissions will remain open for as long as I can keep up with the requests, so if you have an idea but it’s not yet the right time, don’t worry. I’ll be here :)

With that said! Enjoy these portraits!

[matchavellichor]

All My Riches for Her Smiles

Ominis Gaunt x f!pureblood!MC - NSFW/Angst - 4.7k words - ao3

Tags: Ancient Pureblood Bonding Rituals, Post-Graduation, Arranged Married, Loss of Virginity, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Post-Coital L-Bombs, "Un"requited Love

Summary: Forced into an arranged marriage for the benefit of their pureblood families, Ominis struggles to make his closest friend-turned-wife feel less like a prisoner.

For as long as she could remember, there had always been a special sort of familiarity between her and Ominis. A comfortableness that only came from some morbid form of trauma-bonding, a shared understanding of just how horrible their respective pureblood families were. 

Plights and sorrows shared under the blanket of moonlight with their feet dangling off the edge of the Astronomy tower. Laughs drenched in the smoke of shared Muggle cigars after they’d snuck off to some secluded terrace together during another ridiculous high-society event. A passive form of rebellion. They’d confide in each other about every expectation placed upon their shoulders, the weight suffocating at times.

He knew her inside out, just as she knew him. Knew her dreams and aspirations. Listened to her rave on and on about how after graduation she’d gladly leave it all behind, run off to pursue being an Auror, regardless of if she was disinherited and left without a sickle to her name. He’d just laugh and make her promise she’d take him with her. 

Even if they were just tall tales, words without real action behind them, he’d never admired anyone more than he admired her. Just how much braver she was than him, a vivid fire inside of her that hardly ever even flickered. He never had the courage to do half of the things she did. Never had nearly as much fight inside of him that she had, always falling quiet and obedient at the hands of his family.

Despite all of their years of friendship, it felt as if a complete stranger led her through the morose, darkened halls of the Gaunt Manor. A vaguely recognizable figure with lean, broad shoulders and neat, blonde hair.

Ever since the bonding ceremony, the both of them had hardly spoken a word. Exchanged less than meaningful glances, faces schooled into careful stoicism throughout the entire ordeal. There was an almost unbearable ache in his chest at just how hollow she sounded reciting her vows, that everlasting fire inside of her seemingly snuffed out. He felt he could be sick with remorse.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as soon as he closed the door to their now-shared chambers. He stood frozen near the door as he thought of a way to make any of this even remotely right. He could offer her empty platitudes, express his apologies, but he knew none of it would do any good. Nothing could change what had already been done, what the both of them had been subjected to. 

Whatever he was feeling, he knew her enough to know she was feeling indescribably worse. 

Trapped. Suffocated. Her hopes and dreams following graduation cruelly stolen from her, replaced instead by a future her parents had carved out for her. A wife, a mother. Quiet, submissive, and obedient. A mere possession for some powerful pureblood scion.

It was a role he could never envision her in. His headstrong and steadfast best friend, who’d drag him on every single one of her thrill-seeking adventures. Who’d fight acromantulas and poachers all day and still make it in time for dinner at the Great Hall.

He wanted to reach out, comfort her the way he had done for years when things with her family had gotten especially difficult, but considering the circumstances, he felt he had no right to even touch her.

Instead, he wrung his hands together and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

The first genuine words he’d spoken to her throughout the entire procession of the wedding ceremony, that had stretched for several, long days. She glanced up from where she had been staring at the carpet.

“Why are you apologizing?”

His mouth set into a rigid line. “Because I never wanted this to happen to you.”

“Well, it’s happened.” She said bitterly. “Not much use in wanting anything, is there?”

A pit of guilt carved itself into his chest. He repeated himself, regardless of the lack of good that it would do. “I’m so sorry.”

She made her way over to the ornate vanity situated on the adjacent wall and began undoing the intricate chignon her hair had been styled in for the wedding, pulling out pins and pearl-crusted hairpieces. Her voice was quiet, tired. 

“This isn’t your doing, Ominis.”

His guilt burrowed itself even deeper into his chest, sinking into his heart like the dull blade of a knife. 

She stared down at her perfectly manicured nails on the mahogany surface, such a stark contrast to the haphazard, chipped manner they were normally kept in, a byproduct of her unladylike hobbies —as her mother referred to it.

“If it weren’t you, it would’ve been someone else. I never would’ve escaped this fate.” 

His mind stumbled over a million possibilities of how to rectify this, of how to make his new bride not feel like such a prisoner, not feel even more trapped than she’s felt her entire life. He felt just as trapped in his inability to correct this, bound and gagged by his own powerlessness. He took a fortifying breath. 

“I’ll make this work. I’ll find a way to send you to Auror training and– and we can—”

“We both know that’s not happening.” She interrupted. “My job is to be nothing more than arm candy at high-society events and produce your next heirs.”

His heart ached at just how easily she seemed to have given up. Her fate sealed. He was willing to do anything to make her happy, but deep down he knew the only way to do so would be the dissolution of their marriage, something that was out of his hands. He couldn’t give her the freedom she craved.

Some selfish part of him hoped that one day she’d learn to accept his devotion. That she could learn to love him the same way he loved her. He knew it was a sick thing to wish for out of something born of coercion, but he was desperate for it.

“I’ll do everything in my power to make this as easy as possible for you. I swear it. Anything — whatever you desire, it’s yours. Just say the word.”

The corners of her lips twitched, pulled into a rueful smile, her fingers twisting the Gaunt heirloom ring around her finger. “Not everything can be fixed with money. Some things are simply out of your control, Ominis.”

Deep down he knew she wasn’t the kind of woman to be acquiesced with riches and luxuries, even if he was more than willing to give her every last sickle. What he didn’t tell her was that he was prepared to give himself to her just as wholly, devote mind, body, and soul to making her happy. It wouldn’t change anything.

He felt just as hopeless as she did. 

Forced to witness the woman he loved become a prisoner in his own home, knowing he was the very lock and key that restrained her. He couldn’t bear the thought of one day being the object of her resentment. Of her slowly growing to despise him.

She broke him out of his dismal worrying by rising from her seat and walking over to where he was still planted near the door, turning her back to him. “Will you help me with my dress?” 

“Oh,” He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His fingers reached out to feel for the laces of her corset, running tentatively down the length of her spine. He pulled softly at the ties and they unraveled easily in his hands, one-by-one, trailing down her back. 

He seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, and took a sharp inhale when she finally stepped away after the last of the laces had been undone. He heard the ruffling of fabric as she divested herself of her gown and suddenly he was acutely aware of the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

They both knew what they were expected to do now. What they had to do to finalize the bonding ritual, a consummation of their eternal union. Neither spoke a word. 

She moved silently to the lush, king-sized bed poised in the center of the room, decked in creamy jacquard linens and comforters. He followed just as quietly and sat beside her, hands clasped nervously in his lap.

Of all the times he’d fantasized about a moment like this with her, this one was a horribly twisted act of fate. A morbid joke being played on him by some higher power with an awfully sick sense of humor. He felt nauseous at the thought of what he’d have to do to her, what she’d probably resent him for. 

He flinched when he felt her reach over to squeeze his hand in his lap, her fingers warm over his. Her tone was sympathetic, reassuring. “It’s alright.”

He cleared his throat and tried to ignore the anxiety coursing through him, the unsteadiness in his voice. “I won’t kiss you.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Or touch you anywhere, or–”

She breathed a huff of amusement. “I think you might have to touch me, Ominis.”

“Right, I– I just meant—”

“I know.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. He heard the sound of the comforter underneath her ruffling as she shifted to face him more comfortably. 

“Should I lie back?”

He nodded. “Please.”

She laid her head back against a mound of pillows, soft and faintly-smelling of vanilla. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the circumstances were different. 

That the bedding underneath her was just a bit scratchy and a vivid emerald green. That they weren’t in the Manor, but tucked away behind the curtains of her old four-poster at Hogwarts, like the world outside didn’t exist.

That this wasn’t something forced on them, but something soft and kind and tender, born of confessions of true love and not forced matrimony. 

That when she opened her eyes, Ominis wouldn’t look faintly horrified and sickly pale, but instead she’d be able to see the soft creases in his eyes that only appeared when he smiled.

She couldn’t bear to look at him as he began on the buttons of his outer robes, divesting layer by layer with a practiced slowness. When he was stripped down to his undershirt and briefs, he grabbed his outerrobes to rummage through the pockets in search of his wand. 

She finally picked her head up to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, er— lubrication charm.” He reddened as he said the words.

“Put your wand away, Ominis.” She sighed and took hold of his hand, urging him to drop the garment and make his way over to her. 

Her entire life had been stolen from her by her family, she refused to have them steal this from her too. Her first time wouldn’t be something cold and rigid and unfeeling, with lubrication charms and calming draughts to ease her through it. She wanted to at least have this. To at least share something pleasant, something genuine, even if his only love for her was platonic.

He let her guide him to kneel beside her on the bed, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, an oddly grounding gesture. She parted her legs slightly and he felt the skin of her bare thighs brush against his. 

“Here, just—” He gasped when she brought his hand down to make contact with her clothed center, strikingly warm under his fingertips. “You can touch me, Ominis.”

He froze, his fingers unmoving. She half-expected him to pull back. His voice was quiet, nervous. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s alright.”

He swallowed hard and gently, tentatively, ran his fingers over the heat of her with feather-light touches. He had always been so careful with her, and she should have expected he’d be just as tender now.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, just like that,” She sighed in content. “A bit more, maybe.”

He noticed her voice had developed a slightly breathier quality, her breathing having grown heavy. The sound coursed through him, lighting every last one of his nerves on fire, and leaving him with the desire to coax even more soft noises out of her.

He applied a bit more pressure, his strokes becoming more focused, swirling tenderly against the little nub he could feel through the gusset of her knickers.

The softest moan escaped her parted lips and he couldn’t help himself. He leaned closer to her, one of his hands coming to part her thighs wider for him, the other continuing to rub tight, focused little circles. 

Her breathing hitched at the change of pace and her hand came up to brace herself on his forearm that was parting her legs, her nails digging little crescent-shaped marks into his wrist as her head fell back against the pillow. He had quickly grown achingly hard in his trousers.

Before long, he could feel wetness seeping through to his fingers, dampening her knickers and clinging the fabric to her cunt. He cursed under his breath at the sensation and resisted the urge to climb down her body to tongue at the slickness, the same way he’d fantasized about doing for the longest time.

Even though the original aim of touching her had already been accomplished, he found he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He continued to hold her thighs parted for him, to rub at her in a desperate quest to hear her come apart at his fingers, to pull more pretty noises past her lips.

He could feel her tense underneath him, her hips instinctively coming up to grind against his hand, desperate for more friction. Shamelessly, he brought his own hand to palm at the almost painful ache that had grown in his trousers, rubbing himself through the fabric while he continued to swirl his fingers around her dripping cunt.

She let out a strangled gasp and then she was pushing at his hand between her thighs, a frantic pleading. “S-stop, stop, stop, please—”

His hand shot back like he’d been burnt as soon as he heard the word. His eyes widened, guilt washing over him immediately, that maybe she hadn’t wanted it, that maybe he had hurt her. “I’m — I’m so sorry.”

She took a moment to catch her breath, panting as she tried to compose herself, having been brought so close to the edge with just his fingertips. “It’s…It’s alright.” When she sat up to look at him, his face was pale, blanched with remorse. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

She reached over to give his hand another reassuring squeeze, her voice quiet and faintly tinged with embarrassment. “I…enjoyed it.”

“Oh.” There were soft splotches of pink painting his pale skin, peeking out from the white linen of his undershirt, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushed a bright red. 

She couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing. “I think I’m ready now.”

“Right.” She watched the lines of his throat bob as he swallowed down his anxiety, wiping his hands nervously on the front of his trousers.

It was a bit too dim in the faint glow of candlelight that was bathing the room, but she glanced down to his lower body and tried to make out if maybe he’d like her to return the favor. 

“Do you need…help?”

His cock throbbed in his briefs, a sticky bead of precum bleeding a damp spot through the front. He shook his head sheepishly.

Slowly, he made his way closer to her, settling himself in between her legs. He placed his hands on either side of her on the pillow, hovering over her for a moment as he tried to compose himself as best as he could. 

Finally, he tentatively brought his hands down, skimming faintly over the chemise covering her torso, and down below it to rest at her hips. His fingers paused at the hem of her knickers, an index hooked on each side. 

“May I?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He pulled the fabric down her legs, and she felt her cheeks warm as she realized just how wet he had gotten her, a glistening string of slick painting the inside of her thighs. 

She brought her hands to the waistband of his briefs. “Would you like me to—”

“No.” He pulled her hands away immediately, mortified at how she would react if she realized just how much he wanted her. “It’s…it’s alright, I can do it myself.”

She nodded and tried to not let her curiosity get the best of her, keeping her eyes trained on his face as she heard the sound of fabric rustling as he unsheathed himself.

She gasped when she suddenly felt him pressed against her, slipping under where her nightgown had slightly ridden up, warm and throbbing against her stomach.

He closed his eyes at the feeling of her soft skin, his lips parting in a faint, shaky exhale. He noted with shame that all it would probably take was a few, pathetic ruts against her stomach and he’d be painting her skin in milky white.

“Are you alright?”

He nodded, embarrassed. “Yes, I just…need a moment.” A sticky bead of his precum dripped out to wet her skin, coursing even more mortification through him.

He took a deep breath before he reached a hand down between them to position himself at her entrance. His mouth dropped open when he felt just how wet she was, coating him so easily.

“Fuck,” He gritted under his breath, rubbing himself slowly through her folds.

She couldn’t help but tug up her chemise the rest of the way over her waist, filled with the strong desire to expose more of herself to him. Her nipples pebbled as they came in contact with the cool air of the room and she let out a breathy pant at the sensation.

His voice was strained when he finally managed to speak. “If I hurt you, tell me, please. I’ll — I’ll stop.

She nodded, and even if she felt safe with him, she couldn’t help but tense as she felt him slowly press against her entrance. She gasped at the sensation.

“I’m sorry,” He brought a hand down to stroke soothingly at her skin, his fingers splayed broad and warm over her waist, a gesture strangely grounding and comforting. “Try to relax, I know it’s difficult.” 

He was so soft-spoken, so tender with her, that she felt herself ease immediately. He pushed in a bit more, letting out a quiet groan that he tried desperately to stifle.

He paused, brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.”

He continued to sink into her, his thumb rubbing gentle, soothing circles on the soft skin of her stomach, calming her with reassuring whispers. She felt so full already, yet she knew she’d barely taken even a quarter of him, a delicious sting around where he was stretching her out so achingly slow.

He looked almost pained when she looked up at him, his features pinched and strained, his hand fisting the pillow beside her head, the other digging into her hip. 

Tentatively, she brought a hand up to soothe him herself, smoothing her thumb over the tense lines of his brows, his lips. “It’s alright, you’re not hurting me.” She whispered. “You can give me more. Give me all of you.”

He shuddered, at the feeling of her hand caressing him, at her soft, encouraging words. He lost himself in the sensation, bringing his palm up to keep her hand pressed to his cheek, before he brought his hips down to connect with hers, sheathing himself completely inside of her. 

They both let out sharp, strangled gasps in unison. 

His head dropped down to her shoulder, overwhelmed by the feeling of her squeezing so tight around him. She brought a hand to run her nails down the nape of his neck, equally as overwhelmed by the feeling of being so full.

His voice was destroyed when he spoke. “Okay?”

She nodded fervently. 

Slowly, he eased his hips back, and just as slowly, eased them back against hers. She could feel his warm breath, panting heavy where he had his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing her in. He nosed at her throat softly as he settled into an excruciatingly languid pace, terrified of hurting her. 

“More,” She breathed out against his ear. “Please, Ominis.”

His hand on her waist tightened at the sound of her pleading. “I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t,” She begged. “Please, I just want to feel more of  you.”

He let out a groan, his composure crumbling, and then he was bracing himself over her, hitching one of her legs up until her knee was pressed to her chest, and thrusting himself fully inside her again. 

He let out a guttural, depraved moan at how the new angle felt, his cock pushing right up against her walls. 

“Oh my gods,” She cried out, feeling him so much deeper inside her like this, her head falling back against the pillows.

He pressed his forehead against hers as he continued to rut into her just as she asked, her smaller body jolting as his thrusts became more forceful, more unrestrained, ones he couldn’t stop himself from giving her. He could feel every little whimper he tore from her, every soft pant ghosting his lips. 

He resisted the aching urge to kiss her. It would be so easy, to just tilt her chin up slightly for him, to lick into her parted lips and taste her the way he’s always wanted to taste her. To have her moan into his mouth while he continued to thrust into that sensitive little spot on her walls that made her see stars.

Thankfully, she didn’t make him resist any urges.

He nearly broke down when her hands came up to thread her fingers through his hair, bringing his lips down to crash into hers. The groan he let out against her mouth was utterly starved, a sound stemming from years and years and years of longing.

Her tongue tangled with his in a frantic quest to taste him just as eagerly, leaving them both spit-sticky and kiss-bruised, a messy desperation, too hungry for any sense of decorum. He wanted to completely drown himself in her, until his lungs were filled with only the air that she allowed him, until he was filled with nothing but her.

Having her moan into his mouth, feeling her lips start to falter against his when he rutted into that sensitive little spot deep inside her that made it overwhelming for her to kiss him back properly, was enough to push him straight to the edge.

His thrusts grew sloppy, on the verge of spilling inside her. He hurriedly brought his hand down to rub focused swirls on the spot he already knew she liked, desperate to feel her cumming around his cock while he filled her.

She let out a strangled moan, her walls fluttering around him, and he could tell she was just as close as he was. Right on the precipice of it, dangling over the edge. He’d never wanted something more, and feeling her writhe underneath him, he wasn’t above begging her for it. 

“Please, please—” He brought his other hand up under her dress to rub at her nipple, kneading the little nub between his fingers while he mouthed hungrily at the soft skin under her jaw. “Let me have this. Please let me have this.”

She obliged happily, in that moment willing to give him just about anything he asked of her. 

He tore her orgasm out of her with a few final ruts of his cock inside of her, hitting up into that spot that made her whimper. She came apart around him with his name spilling from her mouth, over and over again, as if it was all she’s ever known.

“Fuck, fuck—” He groaned at the sensation of her tightening, pulling him over the edge along with her, milking him until he was painting her insides with his cum.

He had never experienced greater euphoria, feeling her tremble against him from the aftershocks while he continued to pump inside of her until he was spent. 

“Thank you.” He kissed her sweat-damp cheeks as if in worship, trailed his lips to press against her hairline in gratitude, breathless. “Fuck, you did so well. Thank you.”

Her response was a lazy hum of acknowledgement, her eyes half-lidded, limbs syrupy and loose from the way her climax destroyed her. 

He kissed her then, sensual and slow, as if he wanted to prove his devotion to her with his lips. Head buzzing with endorphins, still buried deep inside of her, he whispered against her lips what had been playing through his head on a loop the entire time he’d fucked her.

“I love you. I love you so much.”

She froze, her eyes opening, as if all of the air had just been knocked out of her lungs. He noticed the way her body immediately tensed underneath him. His stomach sank. 

“I’m so sorry. That was — I shouldn’t have said—”

“Do you mean it?”

There was a heavy pause, as if he was considering carefully how to respond. Weighing his options. Ultimately, he decided there was no use in denying how he felt for her now. He noted wryly that he had little reason to worry about ruining their friendship with his confession when they were now married. 

“I’ve meant it for years.”

Suddenly, she laughed. A delighted exhale, incredulous. His brows furrowed.

Then, she said it. Words he’d wanted to hear from her for years, words he’d fallen asleep to countless times fantasizing about coming from her mouth. She said it so easily, as if it were a simple thing to admit. “I love you, too.”

An anxious, dreaded feeling settled in his stomach. He grimaced. “You don’t have to say it if you don’t—”

“Ominis,”  She interrupted him. “I mean it.”

His breath caught in his throat. “Swear it.”

“I swear it.” Her hands cupped his face. “I love you.”

He huffed his own soft, incredulous laugh. Then, he broke into a smile.

Stupid and giddy, the kind that made her stomach do somersaults, and left her with a warm, syrupy feeling all over. The kind where little creases showed up at the corners of his eyes. 

“Say it again.” 

She repeated it happily, as if it were natural. “I love you.”

He took her face in his hands and peppered kisses all over her face, overwhelmed with every little thing he was feeling for her in the moment, filled to the brim with nothing but relief and glee and satisfaction, his heart feeling like it might burst out of his chest with how full it was. He paused at her lips.

“Again.”

She laughed, amused, before she grinned and humored him anyways. “I love you.”

He kissed her again. Sweet and soft, enough to make her head spin, and she felt in that moment like she had been suddenly dragged under the warmth of a sunbeam. 

A soft, amber glow that shone itself on the dreary, dark future that she had envisioned for herself. That melted away her anxieties and replaced them with images of gentle caresses and smile lines and blonde hair threaded through her fingers. 

When he finally broke away, there was concern etched over his expression. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

“Then trust me and let me make this right.” He brushed his thumb across the line of her cheekbone, traced her features with feather-light touches. “I’ll turn this into something good, I swear it to you. Whatever it takes, just let me make you happy. Please.”

She smiled then, hopeful. A flicker in her eyes. That little spark reignited inside of her, the everlasting fire. “We’ll make this into something good together, won’t we?”

He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, pulled her into him until she was tucked safely into his chest, enveloping her in layers and layers of adoration that he prayed she could feel in his embrace. He closed his eyes. 

“Just like we always have.” 

[enweasley]

Restricted Section ; Finn Weasley x Sallow!Reader

AN: HII! So I haven't seen this being done much (or even at all but I barely looked) where people would write fanfics of their own characters in Hogwarts Legacy, so I decided to do so! Quick introduction to the character:

This is Finn Weasley; He's in Gryffindor and has a very loyal but mischievous personality. He's also pansexual! He LOVES herbology but he loves solving mysteries and exploring secrets even more - even if it's super dangerous. However, he will go to any extent to keep others out of danger (ironically). Finn can be really harsh to people if someone hurts him or the people he cares about. He's not perfect, though, he has some flaws. He does have a short temper and can say pretty horrible things without meaning to. He can also be quite reckless and finds it hard to accept other people's love and care, leading him to forget to keep himself from getting hurt.

That's all for now, but I'll probably add more to his story as time goes by!

(Please excuse any grammar mistakes, I'm trilingual and grammar from 3 languages can mix me up a lot C:)

--

Summary: The new student needs your help sneaking into the restricted section for something 'very important'. However, he doesn't expect you to cover for him when you get caught.

Warnings: Swearing, small panic attack, gets a little heated at the end. Kinda cheesy but we love that :)

Reader's gender is never specified!

--

"Excuse me! Y/n Sallow, right?" Interrupted from your game of wizard's chess alone, you turn around to be met with a pretty tall red-head. You couldn't help but think about how gorgeous he is, but you swallow your excitement.

"Yeah, that's me. You're the new kid aren't you?" You disenchant your chess game and give him your full attention. "I watched your duel with Sebastian in the Clock Tower, you're really good!"

Finn seems to flush at your compliment. During his short time starting in 5th year here in Hogwarts he's gotten plenty compliments on how he's been able to learn and execute spells so quickly, but for some reason your compliment had a special affect on him.

He chuckles lightly. "Thank you, I'm just trying to catch up quickly." He couldn't seem to keep his eyes from wandering over your features. "It's Finn, by the way. Finn Weasley."

"Oh, another Weasley! Well it's lovely to meet you! Did you need anything?" You ask politely.

Finn almost forgot why he was talking to you in the first place, but managed to remember before already humiliating himself in front of you. "Right, yes. This may sound quite forward, but Sebastian told me you're really good at sneaking around. Is there a chance you can help me sneak into the restricted section of the library tonight? I can't say why, but it's very important."

You were a bit surprised at his request, but kind of prideful that you were the first person he was led to for it. You smiled widely. "Of course! I'm surprised my brother didn't take you himself. Meet me at the grand staircase at 9. Don't be late!"

"Wait- Don't you wanna know more about why I need to sneak in?" He asked perplexed.

"Nope. I'll take any opportunity for sneaking around. Either way, you don't seem the type to burn down the castle or anything. Plus, you said you can't say why you need to sneak in."

He mentally facepalmed himself. How could he forget he just said that? Maybe he just wanted to talk to you longer. "I'll see you at 9!" You smile at him and walk away.

You take a long breath after turning away from him. Holy shit he's cute.

-

You're both crouched at the railing of the stairs looking down onto the central hall at exactly 9pm, analysing the prefects walking around and guarding the doors of the library.

"Okay," you whisper. "First of all, we need to go invisible. Have you learnt the disillusionment spell?"

Finn looks at you like a lost puppy, his head slightly titled. You almost had to tell him how cute he looked, but held back.

You pull your wand out and whisp it over your head and body. The wand leaves a blue trail of light before all there was left was your aura.

You continue whispering to the lost boy in front of you. "This is the disillusionment spell. It doesn't turn you completely invisible but it's better than being completely exposed."

You point to his hand holding his wand. "May I?" He nods hesitantly.

You slowly hold his fist clenching onto his wand and do the same movement you did on yourself over him. Finn could barely focus, the feeling of your soft hand on his summoning an army of butterflies in his stomach. You couldn't help but feel the same tingle in your stomach too.

Clearing your throat, you speak. "That's the movement for the spell. Just think of it and do the movement."

He did as you said, and suddenly you were both just two ghosts staring at each other's remains.

Finn chuckles enthusiastically. "This is awesome!" He whisper yells.

You laugh at his excitement, wishing you could see his freckled face through the spell.

"Okay, let's go. Stick close to me." You begin to sneak down the stairs, through the hall, and quickly side past the prefect turned away from the library door. You can feel Finn following closely behind.

After you both get into a safer corner of the library away from Madam Agnes's sights, you remove the spell off you.

"Here's the plan," you start. "You go get the key from Madam Agnes's desk draw over there, I'll distract her."

Finn nods. As you start to turn away, Finn grabs your arm gently and looks at you with his adorable puppy eyes.

"What if you get caught?" He sounds worried. You can't tell why he'd be worried about you, though.

You give him a cheeky smile. "Me? Get caught? You should worry about yourself, Weasley." He chuckles, shooing away the blush creeping into his cheeks after hearing you call him by his surname. "C'mon, let's go."

As you throw a book across the room, Finn conceals himself and scurries to grab the key. You quickly do the same and meet him at the entrance of the restricted section.

Exposing yourselves from the spell, you watch him unlock the gate before you walk in.

"YES!" Finn cheers, surprising you both with a tight hug. There's a pause before he realises what he's doing and slowly pulls away, taking his warmth away with him. "Sorry... Got excited."

You laugh sweetly at him. "I don't mind." He continues walking down the stairs of the forbidden room, but not before shooting you a relieved smirk.

"Lumos." You cast, making the eery room brighter and less intimidating.

As you squeeze between abandoned bookshelves and over piles of junk, you reach a collapsed set of armour. "Repai-" Finn begins to cast before a loud screech interrupts him.

Almost out of thin air, Peeves flies through the wall in front of you. He almost knocks you down, but Finn's quick reflexes catch you before you hit the ground. You find yourself wrapped in his arms, yours tightly around his neck.

"Shit, are you okay?" Finn asks you breathlessly, his worried eyes glaring into yours.

"Yeah yeah, I'm fine-" But once again you were interrupted by the same squeaky, loud voice of the poltergeist.

"I'M TELLING, I'M TELLING," Peeves squeals mockingly before flying straight upwards towards the main floor of the library.

Your heart squeezes into itself. You've never been caught before, why now? Your uncle is going to kill you if he finds out you were sneaking around the castle, and in the restricted section of all places.

You didn't realise your breath was quickening until you felt arms lowering you onto the floor and rough but warm hands palming each side of your neck.

"Hey, hey. You're alright, sweetheart. Take a breath." You hear Finn's soft voice whisper in your ear. A little voice was in your head screaming How do you expect me to breathe when you're making my heart beat even faster??

You breathe deeply before letting out a small chuckle. "I'm okay. I'm fine. Just go get whatever you need to get. I need to deal with Peeves before he gets us both in trouble."

Finn looks at you as if asking you if you're sure. You just nod and sprint after Peeves, the last thing you hear is a distant "Repairo" before making it back to the library.

"PEEVES YOU STUPID POLTERGEIST." You try catching him, forgetting he's a literal ghost as your arms flail right through him.

"Y/n Sallow." You jump at the voice of Madam Agnes behind you. You slowly turn around while Peeves chuckles menacingly at your head hung low in shame. "And to think I'd get a break from the Sallow siblings, you come running along. Wait until your uncle hears about this."

"No. No no no-" You get interrupted by her. "That's enough. You're a bright student, you should know better than to go sneaking around the restricted section especially after curfew."

"But Madam Agnes-"

"And Peeves here tells me you were with someone else." Peeves twirls and rolls around mid-air, celebrating your punishment. "Please tell me you were forced to come here by someone's hand instead of it being your own choice."

There's a pause. You could never snitch on Finn like that. You only just met him but you know better than to put his record at risk on his first week of school here. This was your own choice anyway, you weren't forced. Finn helped you down there, so you're gonna help him.

"No. I came here all alone." You said in a low but stern voice.

Madam Agnes sighs at your lie, but she knew how stubborn you and your brother were, so she let it slide.

"Detention after classes tomorrow. You're going to sort the books to their respective places until they're all done. It doesn't matter if it takes you all night." Your shoulders slump. "Peeves, escort her to her common room, please."

With a sigh from you and an evil chuckle from the poltergeist, you begin your walk to your common room. At least Finn's in the clear now.

Little did you know, Finn saw the whole thing from behind one of the shelves. He couldn't help but let a grateful smile reach his lips.

--

The next day, Finn runs to the library to find you after his classes. It's already dark out by the time he finishes his extra tasks and from talking to Professor Fig. He doesn't know why he's in such a hurry, but he won't let his confidence escape him just yet.

Once he's in, he find the library to be completely empty, not even Madam Agnes in sight. He hears distant curses and shuffling coming from the second floor and he can only assume the source being your complaining.

As he follows the sounds of frustrated mumbles, he finally finds you at the end of the second floor in a dark corner holding a bunch of books to shelf up. He smiles at the sight of you awkwardly balancing everything in your one hand and walks over to you, taking a pile of books from you.

"Need help there?" He looks at you with a teasing smirk.

You look at him with a grumpy face. "Oh haha, Weasley. I can handle this on my own, thank you very much." You snatch back the books he took from you, instant regret flooding your features as you immediately struggle to balance them.

Finn immediately takes them back from you and effortlessly holds them over his head, extending his arm upwards far from your reach.

"Hey- Hand those back, Weasley." You try hopping to reach the books he so graciously stole from you.

He chuckles at your efforts while you claw up his chest and shoulders, trying to tug down his arm. After a harsh tug, Finn loses balance of the books he's holding and he tries catching them but ends up stumbling forwards.

The books fall to the side as Finn catches himself on the bookshelf, trapping you between it and himself.

You lock eyes with him, your hands clutched tightly onto the thin material of his shirt over his chest. You're both breathing heavily, chests almost touching with every breath.

You can feel Finn hesitate as his hands slowly reach to cup the back of your neck, his thumb over your cheek. No matter how much you willed yourself to, your simply could not take your eyes off him.

"Thank you." He whispers. Your eyebrows furrow.

"For what?"

"For covering for me." His stare snapping between your eyes and lips. "I heard you in the library after we got caught."

"You mean after I caught got?" You tease.

Finn smirks at your remark, his hold on your neck squeezing for a second. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." The nickname melts into your ears and into the rushed beats of your heart.

"Hey, Finn?" The use of his first name makes the blood rush to his cheeks, his breath hitches.

"Yeah?"

"You dropped my books."

"Shut up." Finn lets out in a desperate breath before pulling you into him, his lips roughly but passionately meeting yours.

His other hand shifts from the side of your head to tangle into your hair, tugging it lightly. You let out a little whimper, but that's all it took for Finn to deepen the kiss even more, his tongue slightly grazing yours. Breaths were escaping through your noses, desperate for air but never desperate enough to separate from each other.

Your fingers weave through his long, soft ginger locks. Your other hand clutches desperately onto the collar of his shirt.

You both finally pull away from each other, your hands gliding down to rest on his chest.

"Fuck." Finn leans his forehead on yours, leaning in for another quick peck. His hazel eyes are glazed over, looking into yours like they hold the world. He slowly brushes a strand of your hair behind your hair, memorising your face as you memorise his.

"I was hoping you'd do that." You chuckle breathlessly. Finn laughs with you, his eyes holding nothing but love as they stare into yours. "Oh yeah?" You nod, your nose lightly touching his.

"Now help me with these books, Weasley. You're still responsible for my detention." You playfully push him away and start picking up the books he previously dropped.

"And I'd do it again as long as it ends like this every time." He smiles at you cheekily.

"Do it again and I'm telling Sebastian you used a love potion on me."

And with that he got to work helping you sort the books out.

[thesongthesoulsings]

I had to...

[sp7-mr]

𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐 𝑹𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆

❥he smokes very often, but it helps him stay calm when he is angry or stressed

❥he loves drawing and writing little poems but will never admit it

❥even if he doesn't seem like it, he would be very insecure because of his family and his father, and the judgment of others would ultimately count

❥loves hugs

❥ he wouldn't want you to know Tom or his father to protect you from that world

❥if someone else talked to you or looked at you, he would hug you from behind and kiss your neck

❥to make sure you always say yes to him, he would make puppy eyes

❥he would hate to see you cry, he just wants you to feel safe

❥he would hate his brother Tom with all his heart, because he flirts with you

❥he would spend the evening with you just looking at the stars on the astronomy tower

❥he would love it when you play with his hair

❥he wouldn't want to appear weak or lost in front of you, as he wants you to always feel safe with him

❥to protect you he would do anything, for example if his father blackmailed him by threatening you, he would even pretend to cheat on you to break up and keep you safe, it doesn't matter if you hate him, he would feel terrible about it, but it's to protect you

❥you ask and he gives

❥he would consider you a little princess, to be protected from the darkness, from his father and if necessary from himself. He would do anything

❥physical touch

Is he or isn't he the perfect boyfriend??!!

if he would be real....

(I used the translator to write so if it's not perfect sorry)

[darkmarkmarauder]

Sibling War - Riddle Family Affair

The Riddle Manor had seen many battles—duels of power, wars of ideology, the clash of darkness and light.

But nothing—nothing—was as violent as the rivalry between Delphini and Mattheo Riddle.

"You absolute dumbass! You took my broom without asking, and now it's snapped in half!" Delphini shrieked, brandishing the broken remnants of her prized Nimbus 2001 like a murder weapon.

Mattheo, sprawled lazily across the velvet couch, didn't even look up from flipping his dagger between his fingers. "Relax, Del. I’ll get you a new one. That thing was ancient anyway."

"Ancient? Ancient?" Her voice climbed an octave, dangerously close to shattering the chandelier above. "That was a collector’s edition, you half-brained, ego-inflated, insufferable—"

"Oh, here we go." Mattheo groaned, rolling his eyes. "Merlin’s balls, you’re such a drama queen. Maybe if you weren’t so busy obsessing over a stupid broom, you’d actually have a life."

Delphini launched herself at him.

Mattheo barely dodged, leaping over the back of the couch as she swung the broken broom at his head. He laughed, dodging her second strike. "You really think you can take me, little sister?"

"You absolute prick—"

Marvolo sighed from his seat by the fireplace, flipping a page in his book. "You know Father is going to kill you both if you destroy the sitting room again."

Delphini hurled a hex. Mattheo dodged, and the spell obliterated a marble bust of Salazar Slytherin.

Marvolo just sighed louder. "And there it is."

"YOU’RE PAYING FOR THAT," Delphini screeched.

Mattheo smirked. "Make me, baby sister."

The house shook as another hex exploded against the walls. The family tapestry burst into flames. An entire bookshelf rattled, and somewhere, a window shattered.

And then—

The temperature dropped.

A sharp, suffocating chill filled the room, and the lights flickered out. Every candle in the manor snuffed out at once. The only sound was the heavy, deliberate click of polished shoes against the marble floor.

The hairs on the back of Marvolo’s neck stood up.

Mattheo and Delphini froze mid-duel.

From the darkness, Tom Riddle emerged.

His robes billowed behind him as if he were some ancient shadow made flesh. His gaze was slow and deliberate as it raked over the ruined room—the broken bust, the smoldering tapestry, the shattered window.

Neither Mattheo nor Delphini moved.

"Would one of you," Tom’s voice was silk stretched over steel, "like to explain to me why my home currently resembles the aftermath of a war zone?"

Silence.

A pause.

Then—

"Delphini started it," Mattheo said immediately.

"You unhinged, gaslighting bastard—"

"Enough." Tom didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

The air thickened, pressing down on all three of them like gravity itself had turned against them.

Delphini swallowed. Mattheo shut his mouth.

Marvolo, wisely, stayed out of it.

Tom folded his hands behind his back. "You will clean this entire room before dinner. You will repair every inch of damage done to this house." His voice lowered to something far more dangerous. "And you will do so in absolute silence."

Delphini opened her mouth.

Tom’s gaze flickered to her.

She snapped it shut.

"Good." Tom turned, his robes sweeping behind him as he left the room, leaving nothing but cold fear in his wake.

The moment he was gone, Mattheo exhaled, rubbing his face. "You’re so lucky he didn’t Crucio us."

Delphini shoved him. "You’re so lucky I didn’t Crucio you."

Marvolo just flipped another page. "Idiots."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: I changed my font guys, IDKKK I liked the old one it just made me copy and paste my writing into a font changer and then have to paste it onto here and it just took me forever to get anything done. also I found it a lot harder to read bc the font is bolded so im gonna try this out, maybe I’ll go back but idk 😭 I like this font so far it’s easier on the eyes

[writing-intheundercroft]

Only You - S. Sallow

AO3 Link

Word Count: 5,034

Rating: E (Smut, Oral and Vaginal Sex, NSFW, MDNI)

Summary: You decide to surprise Sebastian with lunch at the auror office.

A/N: I said I'd do a smutty follow up to The Night Shift, and here it is!

“You didn’t have to come, you know.” Sebastian says, gently guiding you into the elevator.

“I wanted to,” you insist. “You’re always supporting everyone around here–someone has to support you.”

Sebastian gives you a soft, shy smile as the door shuts behind you both. He’s been utterly dedicated to helping you get adjusted to your new daytime schedule, his career taking the backseat in your daily conversations.  The two of you were leaving the courtroom, where several surviving ashwinders were just sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban. You knew he was nervous about the Wizengamot trial, having to confront the offenders who’d set up a surprise attack for the aurors all those months ago. Sebastian had recovered quite well in the months that followed, but you’d caught him trembling at the thought of sitting in the stands, identifying each one. Trials had always made Sebastian nervous, knowing deep down that Azkaban had almost been his fate, if not for you and Ominis.

You push that memory out of your mind. Sebastian is now an upstanding member of society, a decorated Auror who you’ve just found out is up for promotion thanks to his heroics.

“Dinner, tonight.  You and me.” Sebastian declares, leaning against the wall. “I’ll pick you up straight from the hospital.”

“I’ll be disgusting.” you remind him.  You’d taken a few hours off to attend the trial, and were already dressed in your uniform to go to St. Mungo’s.  You wouldn’t be off until the late hours of the evening, but it didn’t seem like Sebastian cared.

The doors to the elevator opened and you politely stepped to the side, letting the woman who’d entered step into the center.  As the doors shut, she turns to Sebastian, a saucy grin on her face.

“Sebastian Sallow, it’s good to see you.” she says sweetly.

You immediately frown, taking note of her casualness around him.

“Marlene, nice to see you again.” Sebastian is polite and gentlemanly, keeping his eyes glued to her face.  

She steps towards him, completely ignoring you in the elevator with them. “Glad to have that trial over then?” she asks.

Sebastian lets out a puff of air, nodding gratefully. “Very glad.  Was a nightmare to relive the whole situation.” he admits.  His eyes flit over her shoulder to you, but you pay her no mind–she must be a coworker in the auror office.

To your shock, the woman steps forward towards Sebastian, placing a hand on his chest. “I was so sorry to hear about you and Rebecca.  You know, I still haven’t forgotten about that night–”

Steam was about to pour out of your ears, no pepper-up potion needed.  Mortified, Sebastian pushes her hand away, gesturing to you on the other side of the cab.

“Marlene, this is my…” Sebastian trails off.  The two of you hadn’t quite put a label on your relationship yet.  Despite the time that had passed since your reunion, and the fact that you’d all but moved into his tiny flat, you had yet to call him your boyfriend.

The woman jumps back, blushing. “Oh!  I’m so sorry, Tony had said you were unattached at the moment.”

“It’s nice to see you, Marlene.” Sebastian says quickly, grabbing your hand as the door opens to the ground floor. “I’ll see you around the office.”  he quickened his pace, tugging you out from the elevator.

You yank your hand out of his, brushing your now sweaty palms on the front of your dress. 

“So, Marlene.” You seeth. “A friend of yours?”

Sebastian’s face turns scarlet red, scratching at the freckles trailing down his neck. “Come on, now.” he strains. “We both have histories, we know that.  It was five years, we can’t pretend there wasn’t anyone in between.”

You feel guilt pooling in your stomach; Sebastian is right, after all.  Up until a few months ago, you had an entire fiance–someone you were going to marry, raise children with, spend the rest of your life with.  You also couldn’t lie that there had been men before him.  Imelda Reyes had said it best–the only way to get over Sebastian Sallow was to get under someone else. 

“I at least avoided anyone I worked with.” you grumble, crossing your arms.

Sebastian lets out a low sigh. “You’re right.  It wasn’t the smartest move of mine, but I assure you–you’re the only woman for me.” he says gently, his hands finding your hips through your unflattering St. Mungo’s uniform. “Forgive me?” He pouts.

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. For as much as you want to be mad at Sebastian, you can’t resist the puppy dog eyes he gives you anytime you even remotely disagree. Not that there have been many disagreements lately anyways–Sebastian has been nothing but entirely amenable since you’ve returned to his life.  There was only one time you thought you might actually fight over Sebastian littering used teaspoons all over the flat, but he’d more than made up for his behavior by spending the better half of an evening with his head between your thighs.

“Fine.” You purse your lips, hiding the smirk you know Sebastian is searching for. “I’ll meet you outside of the hospital at eight o’clock.”

Sebastian Sallow’s boyish grin will be the cause of your downfall someday, but not today.  His beaming smile and flushed freckles makes your heart beat a little faster, and you feel completely alive.

You walk tentatively into the auror office, clutching the basket of lunch you’d just made for Sebastian.  His favorite–a ham and pickle sandwich on sourdough bread, apples you’d picked up together at the market, and some homemade cookies (Anne’s recipe, obviously–you’re rubbish with baked goods).  After feeling quite homely in your St. Mungo’s uniform, you decide to dress up today.  The move is inspired completely by the way you’d caught Sebastian admiring the dresses you’d moved into his now fully stuffed wardrobe. You’re wearing one he spent a good minute looking over, likely imagining how low the neckline could possibly lay.  You’d swatted him, scolding his cheeky glance, but had decided to wear it anyway after he’d left that morning.

You hear your name over your shoulder; turning around, it’s Everett Clopton, a big grin stretched across his face. His dark curls are tucked behind his ears, sporting his classic gold wire glasses.

“I was wondering when we’d see you here.” Everett bowed his head slightly, hands in his front pockets. “Bringing a snack for Sebastian?”

You blush, gesturing to the basket. “Where is he?” you crane your neck, looking over the office.

“Lucky bugger just got promoted after the trial,” Everett rolled his eyes. “Something about bravery or whatever. Got his own office and everything.  I think he was moving his things in.” 

Even more of a reason to celebrate, you think.  Sebastian had been toiling over the prospect of the potential promotion over the last two weeks, and all of his hard work was starting to pay off.  You thank Everett, sauntering your way over to the door at the end of the hall, a little gold plaque marked S. Sallow on the front.

“Surprise,” you call out cheerfully as you push the door open.  Your smile fades into shock when you see a pretty woman perched on top of the desk, flicking through a box of Sebastian’s belongings.  

Marlene, you remember.  The woman from the elevator.

She smiles at you as she slides off the desk, pressing creases out of her dress. “I didn’t know Sebastian was expecting any visitors.” she says kindly. “And how sweet, you brought him lunch.”

You clear your throat. “I have.  Do you know where he is?” 

Marlene presses her lips firmly together. “Off to the loo.” 

You fidget with the basket in hand. “Right.”

“You two haven’t been together long, have you?” Marlene asks, walking slowly towards you. “I would’ve heard about it, I should think.  Sebastian and I do spend quite a bit of time together.”

You can feel your ancient magic bubbling over with your anger. “Do you?” you spit out.

“Working, of course.  Amongst other things.” Marlene nods, patting your shoulder. “Sebastian can be such a sweetheart,” she purrs. “Yet such a fickle lover, don’t you think?”

You turn on your heel, bolting from the small office.  Tears are pricking at the corner of your eyes; clearly, Sebastian hasn’t spoken about you to his colleagues yet.  It makes you feel quite silly, considering all the other healers in your unit are constantly fawning over the daily flowers Sebastian sends.  Yet you cease to exist in the auror office, with only his two partners and your former schoolmates knowing of your existence.

You could hear your name being called, but nothing could stop your feet from hitting the ground, nearly breaking into a sprint in your effort to remove yourself from the vicinity. Before long, you’re in the main lobby, heels clacking on the black tile as you make your way to the floo flames. Just as you’re about to floo to your own home for the first time in weeks, you run into a solid body.

“I’m so sorry–” you begin, blinking rapidly as you recognize the suit in front of you.  Eyes trailing up, you see a familiar set of eyes, and a smile you thought you’d never see again.

“Hello you,” your former fiance proclaims, his hand on your elbow. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

If there could be awards for terrible days, this one would take the cake.  Not only are you running from Sebastian’s former fling, you’re now faced with the man you utterly destroyed a few months ago. It isn’t a fond memory, but you can recall the distraught look in his eyes as you arrived at his flat in the wee hours of the morning, clutching his engagement ring. He still looks just as handsome as you remember him–dark hair, a well groomed mustache, and bright, sparkling blue eyes that could even rival Ominis Gaunt’s (not that you’d ever let Ominis hear that you’ve made a comparison).  

For as handsome as you find him, his face is still not the one you crave the most.  

“Pet,” you hear from behind, Sebastian gasping for air. “Did you not hear me?”

Great, you think. This makes your day even better.

“Who is this?” Your ex-fiance asks, a slight frown on his face.

You turn to look at Sebastian, who is slightly panting as he puts a hand on your shoulder.  He looks slightly disheveled, his crisp white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the top unbuttoned.  He looks at you, and then the man next to you, trying to put the pieces together.

“This is Sebastian Sallow,” you gulp. “He was my patient.”

Your ex-fiance gives him a full glance over. “You’re one of those aurors from the ambush, aren’t you?” his eyes narrow. “Freshly promoted by the minister himself.”

Sebastian frowns at him, eyes trailing down to the grip he has on your elbow. “And you are?” he sneers at the stranger. 

Your ex-fiance keeps his hand on your elbow. “Eric McNair. Junior secretary to the minister.” he grits.

Sebastian stands tall. “A pleasure, Eric.  If you don’t mind, the lady and I have somewhere to be.” his hand remains on your shoulder, and you find yourself sandwiched between two men you’ve loved–each for very different reasons, and in very different ways.

“This is him, isn’t it?” Your ex-fiance says flatly.  His blue eyes pierce your soul, clearly in pain.  It’s almost as bad as the way he looked at you when you shoved the pretty red velvet ring box back into the palm of his hand.  You had lied that night, claiming there was no one else that had changed your feelings–it was your fault, not his.  That had only been partly true, considering the freckled bastard beside you had planted the seed of doubt.

“I’m sorry,” You wince. There’s no dancing around the subject, especially with the way Sebastian has his hand curled around your shoulder.

Ever the gentleman, your ex-fiance lifts his grip on your elbow. Bowing his head slightly, he purses his lips as he backs towards the floo flames. 

“I hope you two are happy together,” he says curtly, before disappearing into the green fire.

Taking in a sharp breath, you turn to Sebastian.  He’s looking down at you, slightly stunned. 

“Will you please come back with me?” Sebastian nearly wheezes. “You and I need to talk.”

You nod dumbly, letting him guide you back to the elevator.  The two of you are silent, Sebastian’s hand lightly gripping your gloved hand.  Once you’re back on the fifth floor, Sebastian guides you through the office to his.  Larson is now sitting on Everett’s desk, giving you a goofy wink as Everett complains about his crumbs dusting the tabletop.  You glance sideways, seeing Marlene looking quite frustrated, sitting at her own desk now.

Sebastian shuts the door behind you; the office is still empty, Sebastian’s meager belongings in boxes around the room.  He mutters a quick locking and silencing spell, so that others might not hear you if you decide to argue.

“I wish you’d told me you were coming,” Sebastian huffs. 

You set the basket down on an empty shelf, whipping the gloves off your hands as you rest them on your hips. “So you would know not to have a pretty little coworker sitting on your desk when I arrived?” you snip at him.

Sebastian rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.” he says bitterly. “I just…I would have made things nicer for you, that’s all.” He’s fidgeting now, which is most unlike him.  

“Do your friends know about me?” You snap at him.

“Everett and Andrew know, but it’s no one else's business. They’re not my friends, they’re my colleagues.” Sebastian argues. 

“Colleagues you’ve slept with,” you retort.

“That’s ancient history, and you know it.” Sebastian declares. “Marlene is a colleague–she’s one of the secretaries in the office, we have to work together.  Besides, it was over a year ago when it happened, and I’ve turned down every advance since.”

“Well, she clearly thinks she still has a chance.” you bite back.

“And what about that man in the lobby, then?” Sebastian argues. “Just a friend of yours? The two of you looked fairly chummy.”

A frown settles into your lips. “Really, Sebastian?  Surely you’re more perceptive than this.”

Sebastian’s frown turns into confusion, and then clarity once he’s put it together. 

“Your fiance?” His eyes widened. “The pencil pusher?”

“Ex-fiance, thanks to you.” you grumble. “And I told you not to call him that.”

Sebastian’s face turns red as he begins to pace around his office.  Now that he knows, his head is surely filled with all the scenes of your past relationship.  Eric was a man you’d known well–well enough that you’ve laughed with him, slept with him, even agreed to marry him. 

Sebastian falls into his chair, blinking at you rapidly. “He looks nice,” he admits.

You are frozen in place, looking down at him and his sheepish face. “A perfectly nice man whose heart I broke.” You echo. “Because like the massive arse I am, I fell back in love with you within five days of seeing you.”

Sebastian holds a hand out to you, and your body reacts instantaneously, feet shuffling towards him.  He hooks his hands behind your thighs, pulling your body close.  Digging his face into your skirts, he grumbles his apology.

“I didn’t even mean for her to be in my office,” Sebastian strained. “She offered to help carry boxes.”

You know he’s telling the truth, but that’s not what’s really bugging you. “She didn’t even know who I was, Sebastian.” you bite your bottom lip. “I’ve told everyone who you are, how important you are to me.  Yet she feels like she can put her hands on you.”

Sebastian looks up at you, his big brown eyes filled with remorse. “What can I do to fix this?” he asks, slightly panicked.

“Tell me what I am to you,” you ask gently, tipping his chin up towards you.

“You’re everything,” Sebastian breathes. 

Ruffling his hair, you roll your eyes. “Be more specific.”

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “Bit juvenile to call you my girlfriend, isn’t it?” He pulls you in tighter, pressing a long, languid kiss to the front of your bodice. It sends shivers up your spine, wishing there were several less layers of cloth between you two.

“You can call me that for now,” you murmur, nimble fingers moving towards his chest.  You give him a coy smile as your fingers start playing with the buttons of his vest. “But I would much rather you change my title sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, madam.” Sebastian’s eyes start roving over your body. He leans back, letting you slip your knee between his legs. You plant your hands firmly on his shoulders, looking down at him.

“I was hoping to see this dress on you soon,” Sebastian licks his lips. “Bend over for me, will you?” 

You roll your eyes, swatting at him. “You brute,” the laugh rolls off your tongue, but there is no hiding how badly you want him.  

Sebastian pinches the fabric of your dress between his fingers, eyes dancing over your decolletage. “I’m the luckiest bastard in the world,” he murmurs. “A promotion, my own office, and my dream girl.” You feel his hands slide around, squeezing your bottom through the fabric. “I’m quite tempted to take you right here, right now.”

It’s indecent, you think.  His coworkers are right behind the door.  But your baser urges drive you to pull away, making quite a show of sitting on his brand new, empty desk.  Sebastian watches you, slack jawed, as you cross your legs, pulling the fabric of your dress over your knees to expose your silk stockings.

“Tempting, you say?” you murmur, uncrossing your legs to show your body underneath the petticoats.

Sebastian launches himself off the desk chair, groaning as he tangles his hands in your hair.  You laugh against his lips as one of his hands trails up your leg, stopping where the lacy edge of your stockings meet your soft thighs. 

“You’re mad, woman.” Sebastian pants. “Only you could drive me to this.”

You bite back a moan as Sebastian’s fingers slide against you.  He gives you the filthiest smile when he feels how wet you are for him–he knows no matter how mad you are, he can reduce you to a trembling mess with his hands.  Always has been, you think.

“I want to hear you beg for it,” Sebastian urges you, curling his fingers inside.  You gasp as he adds a third, clutching onto his shoulder while he gives you the cockiest look you’d ever seen on him.  No, it’s Sebastian who should be begging.  Sebastian who should be quaking beneath you, begging for your forgiveness after the conversation you’d just had.

Even though you whine at the loss of his fingers, you push him backwards.  Sebastian is slightly shocked until he lands into his desk chair, bouncing into the leather seat.  Again, he’s at a loss for words as you surge forward, one hand on the chair back, the other popping the buttons of his trousers.

“What would you call me?” you ask him innocently, brushing your fingers against his clothed cock.

“W-w-what?” Sebastian sputters, looking down at your hand.

You tilt his chin back up to look at you. “What would you say I am to you?” You murmur, sliding your hand under his undergarments, tightly gripping his length.  He feels so soft and smooth, yet impossibly stiff at the same time. “Answer me, darling.”

Sebastian let out a stuttered groan, his head falling back against the chair.  When he doesn’t answer, you lighten your touch; he whines in response.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he moans.

“Hmm, I thought you said that wasn’t good enough.” Your thumb swipes over the crown of his cock, spreading a glistening bead of precum against his skin.

“My lover then,” Sebastian pants, tilting his head down to look at you through darkened eyes.

You smile sweetly at him, slowly kneeling between his legs. “You’ll tell all of your colleagues I’m your lover?”  You keep your eyes on his face as you press a sweet kiss to his tip, and Sebastian might just explode right then and there. “Seems like you’ve had quite a few.”

“The only one I’ve ever loved,” Sebastian moans, patting your hair as you slip your mouth around him, rolling your tongue against his cock. "Only you."

You hum in approval as he chokes out his praise for you, sweet names of endearment for you spilling out of his mouth as you hollow your cheeks.

“Sweet little thing– fuck, the sexiest witch I’ve ever laid my eyes on,” Sebastian rasps, looking down at you with pupils blown out in pleasure.  He chokes as he pushes you off of him, blinking while you wipe the saliva from your lips on the back of your hand.

“On the desk,” Sebastian’s voice falters. “Now.”

His mouth crashes against yours as you scoot your bottom onto the desk; Sebastian rucks your dress up to your waist, desperate to reach your hot skin underneath.  Your hands tug his trousers down, palming his round bottom as he groans into your mouth.  You can feel his cock pressed against your thigh, wet and throbbing.  Teeth smashing, tongues tangling–you simply cannot get enough of one another.

You’ve had months of sweet love making since your reunion, you think.  The urgent, feral fucking you’re about to receive is quite welcome.

Sebastian wastes no time sinking his length into you, pressing his forehead against you as his breath stutters. Looking up at you through his dark lashes, Sebastian has never looked more beautiful. You wrap your legs around him, allowing as little space possible between your bodies.

“I love you,” Sebastian grunts, thrusting his cock into you.  “ Only you.” The sound of those words coming out of his mouth again has your head rolling backwards. You’re thankful for the silencing charm Sebastian has cast on the door; the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the small office.

“Sebastian,” you moan, falling back against the mahogany desk.  Your hands splay out against the surface, back arching as he rolls his hips just the way you like.  You’re both moaning with every hurried thrust; Sebastian’s hands are wrapped around your thighs, nails digging into the lace edges of your stockings. 

“I love the way you look sprawled on my desk,” Sebastian growls. He leans forward, kissing the tops of your breasts. “You’re a dream come true.”

“Am I?” You gasp, arms thrown around his neck. “Tell me more, Sebastian. Use your words.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been dreaming of this since the night you showed up at my bedside,” Sebastian warns, his sweaty forehead pressed against yours. “Merlin, I want to feel you come around me so badly.”

“What am I, Sebastian?” You murmur, fingers lightly wrapped around his neck.  He’s broadened with age, your small hands barely fitting around his neck.  But in this position, you can feel his quickened pulse, which makes your stomach flutter.  You feel the coil inside of you tighten, waiting for him to say the magic words that will push you over the precipice. 

“You’re the love of my life,” Sebastian rasps, eyes glued to yours. “Always have been. Gonna–I’m gonna make you my wife someday.” he whimpers.

You let out a satisfied cry as you finish around him, hands trailing up to grip his unruly hair at the root.  Sebastian is not far behind you, cursing as he spills his seed inside of you. His hips stutter against you on the edge of the desk, whispering filthy promises alongside the sweet reassurances of your future together.

After a long, passionate kiss, Sebastian pulls away, tugging his pants back up.  You blush, dropping your skirt hem back over your legs.

“Christened my desk,” Sebastian winks cheekily. “I was thinking we needed to, but I wasn’t quite expecting it to take place today.”

You roll your eyes, laughing as you slap his shoulder.  You’ll never stop loving him for his attitude, you think.  Sebastian can be so serious, chivalrous and determined.  The next, utterly depraved and passionate.  But underneath it all, Sebastian is filled with laughter and sweetness–something you’d forgotten after five years of trying to hate him.  It’s a sweet reminder of the boy you met when you were fifteen, who’d raced you to Hogsmeade on your first day of classes.  The boy who’d so bravely taken the fall for you when you’d snuck into the restricted section, and had swept you off your feet at sixteen.  

He’s a grown man now, you think.  But he’ll always be that Sebastian in your heart.  And one day, he’ll be your husband–you’re positively sure of it this time.

“Ham and pickle, my favorite.” Sebastian smacks his lips.

You smile at Sebastian as you unpack another box.  After your frenzied lovemaking, you actually started helping him with the task at hand.  His files are now meticulously organized, and you were working on his box of desk trinkets while he sat against the door, tucking into the lunch you’d packed for him.

“Still your favorite,” you remind him, carefully taking out a wooden picture frame.  You thumb over the glass; it’s of him and Anne as children with their parents.  You set it on the corner of the desk, next to the lamp.  There’s another small frame–Sebastian standing next to Ominis and Anne on their wedding day.  It pangs your heart to realize that you missed it, and that you’ll forever be absent in their photos. In fact, there are no photos of you in the box to display on his desk.

“What can I say?  I’m a creature of habit.” Sebastian says with his mouth full. 

“Y’know, I rather think my picture belongs on this desk.” You say, putting your hands on your hips. “I should think I’d get top billing.”

He beckons you; you fall to your knees, shuffling towards him, and you snatch the sandwich out of his hands, taking a large bite for yourself.  Surprisingly, Sebastian doesn’t protest–instead, he dips his hand into his trouser pockets.

“I keep a photo of you a little closer,” he confesses, digging out his wallet.  You remain stunned as he fishes through it, pulling out a creased photograph.  It’s the two of you on your graduation day from Hogwarts; you’re laughing at the camera, pointing at whoever was aiming it (it’s been so long, you can’t remember who).  Sebastian’s eyes remain glued to you, completely ignoring the photographer. It’s the last time you’d ever worn your Hogwarts robes, pointy black hats adorning your head as you both clutched your diplomas.

You swallow thickly, taking the photo in hand. “I can’t believe you still have this,” you murmur.

“One of my favorites.” Sebastian gulps, pressing his lips in a tight line as he tucks you into his chest. “Fished it out of my memory box, right after we got back together.  Should I find a frame for it?”

You feel silly for ever doubting him.  Sebastian has always known what you are to him–no title needed.  Blinking back tears, you look at the brunette, pressing your palm against his cheek. 

“I want you to keep it on you at all times,” you declare. “Right in your pocket, you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am.” Sebastian purrs, kissing the top of your head. “Perhaps we’ll have a more formal occasion to take photos soon.  Wedding photos, I think.” he teases.

The two of you finish unpacking his belongings, polishing off what remains in the lunch basket.  The hem of your dress is torn from dragging against the splintered edge of his desk, so Sebastian casts a hasty reparo charm on it.  You double check that you’re both decent before opening the door to his office, confidently striding out hand in hand.

It must be late afternoon already, as most of the desks are abandoned.  Marlene’s eyes are glued to whatever file she’s reading, ignoring the two of you.  You smile haughtily to yourself as Sebastian wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in tighter.

“You two are disgusting,” Everett rolls his eyes. “As if we didn’t know what you two were up to all afternoon.”

“I beg your pardon,” Sebastian scoffs. “The lovely lady was helping me unpack my office.  And that’s no way to speak to your senior officer now, is it?” 

Larson lets out a booming laugh as he pulls on his jacket. “Well, should we all hit the Leaky Cauldron then?  Rest of the office is bound to be there already.”

Sebastian looks down at you proudly. “No, I think I’ll take the missus home.”

You can’t hide the blush on your face when Sebastian looks at you in such a way.  The two of you bid a hasty goodbye to Everett and Andrew as you walk hand in hand to the elevators, swinging the wicker basket.  When the elevator doors close, Sebastian pushes you up against the wall, putting a hand on your waist.

“Speaking of home, I think it’s time we start looking for a bigger one,” he announces. “I’ve found a few listings for new places, considering we’ll have to get a separate bedroom for your clothes. Plus, we should live a bit closer to the hospital for you.”

“Braving the London housing market together,” you sigh gloomily. “The next test of our relationship.”

Sebastian lets out a sparkling laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “Pet, after everything we’ve been through, I think this will be an easy task.”

You bite your lip, smiling up at him.  He’s right, you think–nothing these days seems too difficult with Sebastian back at your side.

“I can’t wait.” You admit.  

The doors open, and Sebastian pulls you out into the light.

[imagrindylow]

Hi (Amit request here again hehe ) but if you’re comfortable with doing like short stuff or like headcanons could you do like the HLC reactions to you petting their hair like they’re just doing some thing or talking while sitting beside MC and theyre like zoned out a bit (MC is ) and decides to just start playing with their hair plz and thanks 😁

Hi again!! Thank you for this! I went with a little drabble of a fic for each of the guys, having each of them react to a different situation where they were frustrated and MC comforts them by petting their hair. This was fun! Hope you enjoy :)

Sebastian, Leander, Ominis, Garreth & Amit react to MC comforting them by stroking their hair.

Sebastian Sallow: The two of you were in the library where you’d spent many late evenings together, both of you reading through thick and dusty books, still in the endless search of anything that might lead to a cure for Anne. Your eyes were tired, your mind was tired, and if you felt like this, you couldn’t imagine how Sebastian must be feeling.

Closing the last book in the stack he’d combed through tonight, Sebastian let his head fall forward to the table in frustration, forehead pressed to the leather cover of the book. He thumped his head against the book a few times with a low growl of a sigh slipping through his lips in exasperation. No amount of time spent searching had brought you anywhere closer to an answer. You reached a hand out towards him, your fingers running over his hair slowly, again and again. He turned his head towards you, still resting it against the book, his other cheek laying against the cover. You remind him that he isn’t alone in this and that feeling is everything to him. He gives you a half smile and the most subtle nod, and he thanks you quietly. When he collects himself and sits back up, he leans in and kisses your cheek, making plans to meet back up tomorrow at the same time to keep on searching.

Leander Prewett: He was sitting outside in the clock tower courtyard after a rough round of crossed wands, in which he had gotten beaten quite badly – yet again – by Sebastian Sallow. You noticed him from across the way, looking worse for wear. You crossed the yard and sat beside him, offering to let him vent his frustrations on you, as he really looked like he needed someone to listen. He immediately took you up on your offer and started talking your ear off about the mistakes he thought he made in his spell combinations, and what he could have done differently that he didn’t see in the moment. He was clearly taking the loss hard. You got the feeling that he could use more than a listening ear, he was rather quite worked up, berating himself with self depreciating jokes that were getting progressively worse. You wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him in towards you, guiding his head to rest on your shoulder with your fingers in his hair. His immediate reaction was confusion and he stopped speaking when you continued gently running your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath before relaxing into your touch and resuming chatting with you, giving you a sweet smile and changing the topic to something sweeter. He was suddenly not feeling quite so down on his luck. He was truly appreciative of the gesture, and that you cared enough about him to want to calm him. Ominis Gaunt: You were awake in the common room reading late one night when Ominis emerged from the dorms and made his way silently through the room and sat on the sofa near the fireplace. You knew he had frequent nightmares, but hadn’t ever been awake yourself to see him still taken in the panic of whatever he had just been through in his sleep, until tonight

He didn’t know you were awake too, and you startled him further when you moved to sit beside him. You apologized, and he nodded, his body language stiff, and closed off. He didn’t say anything when you asked if he wanted to talk about it. Maybe the silence of your company was enough to help?

When you saw tear run down his cheek, your heart ached. This sweet boy did not deserve to feel like this, it was unfair. You wasted no time in trying to comfort him, brushing his tears away with your thumb before letting you hand slip back and into his hair and massaging his head softly. It only makes him tear up more, physical comfort like this was not something he was used to, but he loves it. He turns to you and wraps you in his arms, letting you carry on petting his hair. When he calms down and eventually heads back to sleep it’s you he’s dreaming of now. Garreth Weasley: The two of you were serving detention together. This evening’s task was writing lines. 12 inches of parchment, both sides, “I will respect the value of potions ingredients” to be written in fine, neat calligraphy. The two of you sat together at a desk in the detention chamber, supervised by Professor Sharp.

You each pulled your parchment, ink, and a quill from your respective satchels and got to work writing as quickly and neatly as you could. You finished just a few moments before Garreth, and watched him write the last line onto the page. The two of you got up together, to hand your lines in, Sharp looking over your parchment first, and giving you an approving nod. When he looked over Garreth’s parchment, he looked disgusted, the two of you watched in disbelief as the lines started to vanish from the parchment, slowly but surely. He had accidentally grabbed his bottle of Zonko’s Vanishing Ink from his bag rather than his standard ink. Sharp chose to be cruel, and insisted Garreth start the punishment over.

He sat back down, so furious with himself for his careless error. You sat back down beside him, which in and of itself shocked him, you were free to go about your evening! With a huff he slammed the correct ink bottle down on the table an muttered under his breath while starting his lines over, his hand shaking in anger. You stilled his hand with yours and brought your hand to his hair, combing the curls back and out of his face. You promised to wait for him, you’d gotten in trouble together after all. He leaned into your touch, suddenly this wasn’t the worst punishment. He finished writing quickly, hoping to spend more time with you and get your hands back into his hair. Amit Thakkar: He had spent the better part of his evening studying for an exam that he had the follow day after lunch. He carefully went over his text book chapter by chapter, reviewing all of the material that he knew would be on the test. He ended up falling asleep studying, his book in his lap and papers strewn on his bed, slumped back against his headboard.

When he woke up in the morning, he took a last scan over his notes and felt good about the exam this afternoon. As he got his books and parchments in order, he noticed an assignment due this morning that he had totally forgotten about in the midst of his exam prep. This was terrible! He had no time to complete it now, and receiving a failing grade on the assignment would surely bring down his grade overall in the class.

You knew something was wrong when he didn’t greet you first period when you sat beside him. When the professor came round to collect the assignments, you were shocked when Amit had nothing to turn in. His head was buried in his hands. You stroked his hair gently, whispering to him that he was more than just his grade in a class. He gave you a soft smile, but the disappointment was still clear on his face. Though he appreciated your efforts, and as much as he loved your affection, he was still going to beat himself up over this. He brushed your hand away gently, he wasn't going to let himself get further behind by letting you distract him.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

The Blood of the Covenant

Foreword:

(Below) A note presumably written by one Sebastian Sallow, dated 1922.

To whomever may find themselves reading this, I regret to inform you that the pages in your hands may very well be the only documentation in the world detailing the truth concerning The House of Gaunt. This tale you're about to read won't be written in the history books. Alas, as I write this the Ministry and all the rats that didn't go down with the ship are hard at work scrubbing away any and all proof of just how deeply their corruption truly ran. But even if it costs me my freedom, I will not allow my friend's suffering to be forgotten. This time, I'll speak the truth - no matter the cost. And if you, dear reader, are the only soul who ever reads this, so be it. Maybe I'll finally have done something right. - Sebastian Sallow

Continue to Chapter One: First Steps (Toward White-Faced Cliffs)

[wildflowerlinds-blog]

Sebastian Sallow Wand Replica

Photos taken by me

[matchavellichor]

okay huge fan of your dark!seb but hear me out…… dark!ominis

A.N: I absolutely adore dark!ominis omfg—I have like five diff dark omi drabbles in my google docs that i've abandoned bc i feel like no matter how i write it, it seems too out of character for him, then i end up hating it LOL. This isn't as bad as my dark!seb but here's Ominis doing some.....uhhhh questionable things to MC under Imperius.

Just This Once

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.1k words - ao3

Tags: !!Non-Con!!, Pining, Obsession, Inappropriate Use of Imperius, Unconsensual Kissing/Touching, Masturbation, Omi Being a Lil Pervball

Summary: Ominis' infatuation leads him to break some of the principles he's held dear to him for the better part of his life.

Part 2, Part 3 (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The fireplace in the Slytherin common room has long gone out for the night, only a few crackling embers to fill the silence. Moonlight seeps in from the windows, through the murky waters of the Black Lake, casting the room in a palid, green hue. 

Despite the hour, he knows he’ll find her there. 

He wonders if it’s one of the rare nights where she’s asleep by the time he arrives, curled into herself on one of the armchairs with her book forgotten on her lap. 

One of the rare evenings where he can afford himself a bit less self-control. Indulge in the silkiness of her skin, trace his fingers over her features until the point she inevitably stirs, and he’s forced to retract himself as if he’d never touched her. 

It doesn’t matter if it is. Tonight, he’ll touch her the way he wants to, either way.

His skin prickles with warring emotions as he makes his way soundlessly down the steps of the dormitories. Shame, guilt, disgust—overwhelming anticipation.

The dizzying feeling of want overshadows them all.

An ugly, marred tug of obsession claws its way under his skin like a parasite. He can’t escape it, can’t make it stop—hasn't been able to for a while now.

He’s grown accustomed to it. Grown used to the way his nerves burn when he touches her, the way his lungs scream for oxygen when he catches her scent.

He always wants, yet he never gets, and he’s so, so tired of wanting.

Just this once. 

The reminder eases through him like a breeze, quelling the incessant pounding of his heart in his ears, the thin sheen of sweat settling itself over his skin.

His hand trembles when it dips into the pocket of his robes as he approaches the familiar set of lounges in front of the fireplace. He feels for his wand and tightens his hand around it, the wood biting into his skin, a sensation almost comforting in nature.

Just this once.

“Was wondering when you’d show,” her voice is warm and sleep-rough, a hazy melody that proves just as useful in easing his nerves. “Long day?”

“Something like that,” he murmurs. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, weighted with attrition for something he has yet to do.

She waits for him to sit down beside her, but instead he stays in place, hovering over the side of the couch.

He clears his throat, nerves stiffening his voice. “Do you think we could read in the Undercroft tonight?”

She looks at him perplexed, until her lips curl into a smile.

“Since when did you become such a rule breaker? Sebastian finally rubbing off on you?” She humors, stretching her sore limbs.

“I’d just prefer it. Change of…scenery.”

She snorts. “Change of scenery, huh?”

He nods sheepishly, cheeks burning. Change of scenery? Really, Ominis?

He can feel her staring at him, contemplating. He’s half-convinced she can hear the way his heart is nearly beating out of his chest.

“Please,” he adds for good measure.

His fingers find his wand again, tucked surreptitiously behind layers of fabric. He supposes he could cast it here, even if that isn’t part of the plan. The thought makes anxiety trickle up his skin. He doesn’t want to stray from the plan.

When she rises from her seat with an acquiescent sigh, his entire body sinks with relief.

“Alright, fine, let’s go…but we’ll have to be quiet.” 

The walk to the Undercroft is spent in the silence of disillusionment spells and muffling charms. Inside the darkened cellar, with only the soft sound of her humming as she settles onto one of the old chaises, a flurry of second-thoughts numb his brain in white static. 

Disgust settles itself like a boulder in his gut, the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat as he takes a seat beside her, as he considers over and over again what he’s about to do. 

He can feel her thigh press against his when she shifts in her seat. It’s strangely grounding. He feels the taste rescind.

She’s so incredibly warm, so terribly close, that it buries any trepidations he holds deep into an untouchable part of himself, until he can think of nothing but the prospect of more of her skin on his, until desire overshadows any inkling of guilt he might possess.

The urge to touch, and taste, and caress, subjugates the contrite voice in his head that repeats a litany of you promised, you promised, you promised.

His nausea blends into something else as he quietly slips his wand from his pocket, and any vows he’s made to himself about never doing what he’s about to do, dissolves into inexistence as the spell passes through his lips in a whisper.

“Imperio.” 

The incantation takes effect with such fluidity, with such little effort, that in that moment, despite all his years of fervent resistance, he has never felt more like a Gaunt.

He resists the urge to double over and be sick on the flagstone floor. 

He can barely hear the sound of the book in her hands falling to the floor, nor his own wand slipping from his fingers with a dull clatter. The ringing in his ears is far too loud to allow it.

His core buzzes with the thrum of dark magic that washes over him, a mordant reminder of what exactly he’s done, one that he can feel impress itself on his very soul. He takes a fortifying breath.

Just this once.

“Turn to me.” 

The command works over her immediately, and though he can’t see her, he can hear her shift in her seat to face him. He’s never been more grateful for his blindness than in that moment, that he can’t see the glazed-over appearance of her eyes, her vacant stare. He’s certain it would break him.

He shifts forward himself, and when he touches her for the first time with trembling hands, the incessant ringing in his ears ceases. The drove of self-reprehension comes to a halt, replaced by something starved, replaced by the instinct to take.

He drags his fingers unsteadily over the ridge of her cheekbone, traces the contours of her brows, down the bridge of her nose, the same way he’s done before only briefly in her sleep, though this time with more unabashed exploration.

The thrill of not having to be careful awakens something in him. He wants to commit every millimeter to memory.

His thumb brushes over the gentle arch of her cupid’s bow, then over the plush pillow that is her bottom lip. 

He doesn’t even realize he’s been holding his breath until his lungs burn for oxygen. His hand takes hold of her jaw and he dips forward, so that his first inhale is made up of nothing but her, his nose pressed to the soft hair at her temple. 

He tilts his head and lets his lips land on the smooth plane of her cheek. Her skin is warm and silky, just as he remembered from the brief bits of contact he’s allowed himself in the past. He lets out a contented sigh. 

Slowly, patiently, he works himself up to his destination, planting tender kisses along her face, reveling in every little sensation, until he reaches the corner of her mouth.

Her mouth.

He’s almost convinced he’s dreaming. 

He takes a shuddering breath and connects their lips the way he’s wanted to for an agonizingly long time.

If he’s ever known softness before, it’s incomparable to what he receives from her lips, from her face cupped in his hands.

He’s filled with the insatiable desire to know more, to drown in it, to suffocate on the feeling of her against him. 

His tongue brushes over her bottom lip, tentative and a bit too cautious. He’s not exactly sure how to kiss her, but he notes rather morbidly that she won’t mind either way. It’s not like she’ll remember.

He tries again, experimenting, prodding at her lips softly at first, but she doesn’t part for him the way he expects her to, doesn’t grant him entrance. It’s… not right.

His brain blares with alarms in deafening repetition that it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong.

She’s stiff against his lips, frigid and unmoving. It’s not how it should be. It’s not how he wants it to be. It’s askew and breaks him out of his fantasy and it makes him angry. 

Makes his fingers dig too harshly into her skin, makes him crowd her against the armrest of the lounge and press his mouth to her more forcefully, as if he can brutalize the compliance out of her. 

A whimper escapes her, a brief breach in her trance-like state, and he’s snapped out of his overwhelming frustration. He breaks the kiss and pants against her skin, the reminder of the power he has over her surging back. 

“Kiss me.”

Relief oozes into him like the trickle of a downpouring stream, cooling his blood and letting him melt into the feeling of her lips finally moving against his. His touch retreats back to tenderness. 

There’s a clumsy sort of uncertainty in the way his mouth moves against hers, an unpracticed mess of tongue and teeth. He doesn’t mind, doesn’t let himself dwell on the chagrin that is his first kiss.

It’s all he’s ever wanted with her. She tastes sweet on his tongue, the culmination of all his desires being fulfilled, and yet still, somehow, it’s not enough.

Even as he kisses her deeply, tenderly, until his lips feel raw and kiss-bruised, and there’s a delicious soreness in his jaw — he can’t shake that little, driving pain in his chest of want. 

No, not of want. Of need. 

There’s a part of him that he doesn’t quite understand, a part of him that aches for more without being conscious of just what more is. 

He’s aware of it, though. He feels it in the tension pulling just below his navel, the heat pooling in his blood. He recognizes it in the depraved instinct to slip his hands up her blouse, to hike up her skirt, and— and—

He contemplates straying from the plan for the second time that night.

All he wanted was to kiss her, just this once, just this once— but as he tips her back onto the cushions, as he hovers over her with his lips never leaving hers, he realizes that isn’t true.

He lets himself sink against her. Her body molds with his, presses against his own, plush and warm and indescribably perfect. He pins her down with his weight—even if he’s aware he doesn’t have to, he finds some sick sense of security in knowing she can’t escape.

He wants more.

He slots himself between her legs and tugs one of her thighs around his waist. It’s almost too much, his breathing scattered and uneven. 

He wants more.

Even if he isn’t sure what more entails, he possesses some idea as his hips begin to rut against hers of their own accord. The whimper he lets out makes him burn with shame.

He buries his face in the crook of her neck to hide his mortification. He inhales, until the dizzying scent of her perfume numbs his brain.

He’s subtly aware of the fact he’s grinding right against her knickers, her skirt bunched up haphazardly at her hips to accommodate him between her legs. He tries not to think about it.

His thoughts feel hazy as he contemplates the fact that only a thin piece of cotton separates her cunt from rubbing right against the front of his trousers. It would be so easy to—

He can’t.

He forces himself to keep his hands above her waist, far from temptation. He doesn’t force them not to wander, though.

Just this once, he repeats, as his fingers hover over the front placket of her blouse. He muffles his breathing with his lips pressed to her throat.

He trails his hand up to her collar and unclasps the first button with trembling fingers. He tries not to think about it, either.

He concentrates on how she tastes when he dips his tongue out to lick a stripe just under her jaw, and for a moment he doesn’t care how lewd it is, doesn’t care how utterly debased he’s acting.

Her breath hitches, just the subtlest change in pitch, but it’s enough for him to pretend that she wants this. That she wants him.

Little, brass buttons clatter to the stone floor of the Undercroft in quiet clinks, byproduct of his impatience, of his self-restraint slipping from his fingers in the hasty manner he undresses her. 

The same hasty manner he fumbles with his belt—before he can think too long about what he’s about to do—until he’s gripping his weeping cock and biting down on his lip to stop the shameful noises threatening to escape his throat.

He palms himself shakily, remorse adling his unsteady movements, while he tries to work the courage to actually touch her. It isn’t long before his hand is slick with his arousal, and the skin of her neck is damp with his heavy breathing.

His hand hovers over the bare skin of her midriff, fingers twitching with the desire to sink them into her soft flesh, to trace over her curves and memorize the contours he’s only felt in daydreams. 

His voice is raw when he commands her, riddled with shame. “Ask—ask me to touch you.”

She obeys in a whisper. “Please, touch me.” 

It’s wrong, it’s all wrong, it’s not—

“Ask me to touch you and say my name.” 

“Touch me,” she breathes, and he can feel the vibration of her voice where his mouth is still latched onto the base of her throat. “Please, Ominis.”

There.

His name on her lips strikes his nerves on fire, lights the very blood in his veins alight. He caves.

Her skin is warm under his fingertips. He can feel her heartbeat where he presses his palm to her sternum, a frantic pounding— undoubtedly a reflection of her subconscious beneath the influence of the spell.

He doesn’t allow himself to feel guilty, he can’t. Not now. 

Instead, he indulges. Pushes the sheer material of her chemise the rest of the way up, until it’s over her chest, and he can feel.

Her nipples pebble as they come in contact with the cool air of the Undercroft and he runs his hand over the stiffened bud, rolls it between his thumb and index. 

She’s overwhelmingly soft. It disgusts him how badly he wants to defile her for it. 

He notes wryly how revoltingly weak he is, if all it took was some poorly-placed obsession for him to do away with every last principle he’s spent the better part of his life cultivating. How easily an Unforgivable spilled from his lips at the prospect of feeling hers.

He’ll scrub his skin raw afterwards in the shower in a desperate attempt to forget all of this, he promises himself. He won’t do this again, he can’t—

Just this once.

His head sinks to her chest and he murmurs against her skin, “Again— Say, say it again.”

“Please, Ominis.”

He sighs in blissful relief. “Yes.”

He counts the rows of her sternum with a drag of his tongue. Her chest is already sticky with his saliva when he takes hold of his cock again, the dripping tip sullying her untouched skin.

His hips rut into his own hand and the Undercroft fills with the sounds of his quiet grunts. He squeezes his eyes shut and imagines it’s her he’s thrusting into as he fucks his fist, his other hand groping blindly, fondling and squeezing her supple flesh until he’s sure he’s left marks in his carelessness.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, because he likes to pretend it’s real. “So–so good, angel.”

She lets out the softest whimper, and it’s enough to make his jaw fall slack, a pleasured groan escaping his parted lips. 

He presses his forehead to hers. “I love you. I love you so much. Tell me— tell me you love me. Please say it.”

“I love you.” 

She obeys too fast, her voice too vacant. It’s unnatural. He doesn’t care. Those three little words are enough to wrench a strangled sort of sound out of his chest.

“Again,” he begs, voice hoarse, and he’s only distantly aware of the wet tracks running down his cheeks. His thrusts are sloppy and frantic, so close to his undoing. “Say my name.” 

“I love you, Ominis.”

“Fuck,” his voice cracks, his head dropping to her shoulder.

He’s pushed over the edge with a sob, painting her stomach and chest in ribbons of milky white. An endless litany of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry pours from his lips as he shudders through his climax.

Shame sears through him like fiendfyre and he moans his forgiveness on a cry against her lips, kisses her tenderly as if it’s an act of retribution.

His hand finds her stomach, his palm rubbing into the incriminating mess of his seed on her skin, and the satisfaction he feels with it only serves to amplify his self-disgust. 

He kneads the sticky flesh beneath his fingertips, as if he can make it so that even after the scourgify, some part of him will be there, a memory only he’s aware of. He doesn’t want to let her go, he can’t— he—

He does so anyway. He forces himself off of her on unsteady legs and tucks himself into his trousers. 

He cleans her with all the care in the world, as if his tenderness will somehow make up for how crudely he’s violated her trust tonight.

Everytime his hand brushes over her skin as he redresses her, he repeats to himself that it was just this once. Brands it into his brain, lets that contrite voice repeat it over and over again until he might go mad. 

He takes her back to the common room and sets her down gently into that same armchair she was waiting for him in at the beginning of the night. Brushes a lingering kiss to her forehead that stretches for a moment too long.

He mutters a reluctant finite incantatem under his breath, pairs it with a heavy sleeping spell, and retreats to his own dorm before he can fall to temptation again. 

Only then, behind the drawn curtains of his four-poster, skin still prickling with the memory of every way he’d touched her, is he made certain of something he’s been trying desperately to deny all evening.

This was the first time, but it certainly won’t be the last.