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theealbatross · 7 months ago

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fight the alchemy (s.s)

Plot | After a tumultuous year, Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. And he had just almost reached peace – when his brilliant, painfully observant, carelessly crude genius of a friend, Garreth Weasley, started pointing out unnecessary facts that could rip all that harmony to shreds.

or, Garreth asks why Sebastian isn’t dating you. Sebastian spirals.

Tags | fluff, sebastian is a thought daughter, low self esteem, seb is a playboy BUT NOT REALLY, horny thots but we keep it pg, insecurity so deep you try to fight cupid, cupid fights back

An Ashwinder’s wand to his neck and Sebastian could honestly and truly say that he was … alright.

Life wasn’t perfect, by any means. His uncle was murdered dead, an estranged twin sister in Paris who refuses to answer his letters, a mistrustful Ominis that breathes on his neck, and a tattered companionship that was barely hanging on by a thread.

But he was okay.

Thankfully, Solomon was still dead, Anne was still alive, and still cranky Ominis is now open to reconciliation. Plus, if all else had fallen, he at least managed to save your cherished friendship thanks to your forgiving nature.

Thus, as thanks to the people who had not yet given up on him, he had sworn to live the rest of his academic life as a meek, unassuming, law-abiding student of Hogwarts.

And he did such a good job at it.

The professors are now impressed at his steadily increasing grades (so much so that the Ravenclaws are now finally seeing him as a threat again) and he even managed to make Imelda’s team as her beater to keep him occupied.

The latter, however, had a grating consequence – he had become popular.

It was thrilling, at first, he went on dates to make up for the years he had lost, kissed the pretty girls because it felt like he should (as one of the few bastards lucky enough to live every raging teenager’s dream), and accepted the slaps on the face politely when they inevitably broke up.

But now he’s just gotten tired and bored of it all.

Ominis says it’s a genius’ folly, to always find a fault in something and then drop it when it doesn’t quite meet his standard of perfect. Leander says he’s just a bastard.

He cups his face with his hand, wincing. Her fucking ring caught on his skin and he can’t be arsed to suffer through the bitterness of a Wiggenweld Potion for a mere scratch.

Garreth doesn’t bother to swallow his bread before saying, “Really, mate? I thought you liked this one?”

“Liked her rack, more likely,” Andrew quipped from his seat on the stone steps of the boathouse.

Sebastian threw his scarf on his face, satisfied at his squawk.

“No talking about my ex-girlfriends,” he warned. It was one of his few rules when it came to his male friends. He may be a bastard but as someone with a sister and a couple of good female friendships, he makes it a point to never become one of those losers who talk badly about women they have a history with. Just so he can have a moral high ground when he beats up anyone who might do it to his friends.

“All right, all right,” Andrew raised his hands in playful surrender, throwing Sebastian’s scarf back to him. “But as your friend, I think it’s about time you stop swapping out girls every time you get bored of them.”

“I don’t swap them out,” he rolls his eyes. “Breakups are normal.”

“Breakups are normal,” Garreth points out. “Six breakups in 2 years is an issue.”

“Maybe I’m just meant for the bachelor life,” he mumbles, ignoring the pointed accusation from Garreth. Fucking perceptive prick. “Not everyone gets to meet their soulmate in Hogwarts, asshole.”

Garreth grins, “Natty’s great, isn’t she?”

Sebastian and Andrew both throw their scarves at him, the three of them bursting out in laughter and boos.

“To the Three Broomsticks, then?” Andrew stood up, patting his pants.

As 7th years it was nearly impossible to take a breather with the looming threat of exams that will dictate the rest of your life and the inescapable trap of adulthood that awaits them in a couple of months. So, his friends had made it a point to at least go out once every week whenever they could, really take advantage of their last year as students where they had no other responsibility but to survive the week.

In a year’s time, seeing each other as often as they do will be nothing short of a miracle.

“Leander and Everett are already there, saved up a table since it’s a Friday, it’s gonna be packed full,” Andrew explains.

Sebastian looks around, eyes scanning the castle in the setting sun. “You go on ahead I’m waiting for –”

“Sebastian!”

A flash of movement appeared rushing down the stairs towards the boathouse, your face beaming as you waved to the three of them. When you were a foot away from him you jumped into his arms, shrieking energetically when he grabbed your waist and lifted you above his head.

“Sorry, I’m late,” you pant, smiling at your friends once you’re back on the ground. “Professor Hecate asked me to stay back for a minute, something about revisions on my research.”

“I can’t believe you got permission to research in The Restricted Section after the crazy nonsense you pulled in 5th year,” Garreth shook his head. Sebastian wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side, beaming in pride. Nobody knows but the two of you that the very thing you were researching were the technicalities of how you broke Anne’s curse so it could be taught to the nurses in St. Mungos and hopefully spread to the rest of wizardkind.

“It’s exactly because I had the nerve to break the rules that I was given the honorable opportunity,” you dramatically curtsied. “And they said Gryffindors were the brave ones.”

That made Sebastian laugh. Garreth blinks, eyes squinting at him for a second but he doesn’t look offended, more … focused on Sebastian.

“Alright, no more of that House Rivalry. Quidditch Season is over,” Andrew quips.

“Wiped your asses there too, Larson,” he quipped, Andrew’s jaw drops, looking at Garreth for help and receiving none. He was still staring at Sebastian, eyes shifting between him and you.

Andrew groans. “Slytherins are assholes.”

Slytherins are, apparently, also light-weights.

Well, at least one of them is.

He adjusts his hold on your body as the other hand wraps his coat around your body properly. After your last ‘improved’ butterbeer you had slumped into his lap, rudely snoozing off on the crook of his neck and refusing to wake up even when it was time for your group to leave – not that he would’ve allowed that to happen, with your demanding research it was a miracle to get you to sleep let alone let loose.

The rest of the group had gone in first to scope the scenery and bribe the patrolling Head students with leftover chips while he and Garreth were stuck carrying you and an unconscious Amit that they had managed to catch last-minute in Hogsmeade. Poor bastard.

“I was thinking –”

“Please don’t,” he groans.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian stops his fussing, barely able to use his head to ensure he keeps walking, and continue to Act Normal, now using both of his hands to hold you tighter.

“You’re drunk,” he deflects. The puffs of your breath warm his entire body.

“Because! When I think about it …”

Please, for the love of the great Merlin stop thinking.

“You’ve been inseparable from the start! I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated. You say your past relationships got boring and got annoying but you’ve never been bored and annoyed with her and you’ve been friends for years!”

Bored with you? He’s had more near-fatal heart attacks because of you than breakups. Sebastian barely had the time to be bored. And sometimes you do get at each other’s throats but it was always fixed after a proper conversation. If his killing his uncle couldn’t turn you away then he doubts anything you do could ever turn him away.

“Plus, with all the respect and love to my beautiful darling Natty, she’s a fucking catch, mate!”

If Garreth wasn’t carrying a sinless half-dead Amit, Sebastian would’ve punched him in his mouth just to stop him from talking.

“I’m just saying,” Garreth walks ahead of him, clearly aware of the fuse he had just lit. Sebastian was tempted to kick the back of his knees just for the satisfaction of seeing him fall. “Maybe you can join the club and find your soulmate in Hogwarts.”

Garreth winks.

“We’re still accepting members.”

He’s decided.

He needs to kill Garreth.

He has not been able to sleep properly for the past week and it’s all because of that ginger prick and his needless remarks.

“Why have you two never dated?”

Sebastian’s pencil cracks in his hand.

“Is he alright?” he hears an underclassman whisper on the other table. He glances at them and they flinch. Quickly, he softens his expression ("You really need to stop scowling at people, Sebastian."), unaware he had glared at them and sent a wary smile in apology. It would just be unfair to aim his ire at innocent people when he could just use it to rip out every strand of Weasley’s hair.

“He’s been staring at that page for an hour. Maybe we should call –”

He stands up, escaping.

Sebastian never realized just how much he spent his time with you until people were looking at him funny when he was walking or sitting alone in public places. At first, he thought there had been crumbs on his face or one of his asshole friends stuck a note on his back like a kid. Plus, he hadn’t been feeling his best since that night but he thought it had been the lack of sleep.

It wasn’t until he had met Imelda on the grounds that he found his answer:

“Where’s the rest of you?”

He blinked at his captain, “I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “Man, it feels weird seeing you alone. Did you guys have a fight? You’re usually shadowing her like a puppy after class.”

Then everything clicks, the strange looks, the feeling of missing something (like a forgotten important homework after he had reached the top of the Astronomy Tower) – it’s been a side effect of avoiding you.

Okay, it’s not that he’s avoiding you per se. He just needs space. He needs to think and he finds that can’t do that once he feels your eyes on him. With his luck, you’re going to see right through him and that would just be unideal if not a fucking catastrophe.

That’s why he’s taken it upon himself to stay off your way until he puts his thoughts in a row and finally screws his head on straight again. Or he could just kill Garreth, get sent straight to Azakaban, and avoid confronting these complicated thoughts altogether.

“I can’t believe it’s escaped my notice you’ve never dated!”

He sits on a bench, hands on his head as he let out a prolonged groan, “The fucking bastard.”

Why did he have to point it out? Why did Garreth have to bring what he, upon reflection, had buried on the back of his head, just waiting for that one little flick of acknowledgment before it blew his brains out.

Because Sebastian is a lot of things but he’s not a fucking moron.

It’s not that the thought of being together is unpleasant. If he lets himself consider it his chest feels like it would escape his ribcage both in excitement and utter terror.

But Garreth was right: he’d never thought about it before – hadn’t thought the idea was conceivable in this reality.

He has a feeling it was his way of preserving whatever pure relationship he had left. He’s not exactly rich with true companionship and he’s not idiotic enough to risk it all over a bloody crush.

And not just any crush – his best friend, the person who saved his life and then helped him rebuild it when he was finished smashing it to pieces. The one who never turned her back even when his blood had given up. The girl who has a line of eligible bachelors following her on their knees for a single chance, ones who could offer her more than he ever could – ones who could offer her the world.

So, yeah – forgive him, but he’s never really allowed himself to entertain the idea of them dating. Sebastian has tested his luck enough.

Unless the roles switch and he gets to save the wizarding world this time then maybe … yeah, maybe -- maybe in another fucking life.

The thought makes him stand up, walking straight out of the campus to hopefully drown the sorrows of the depressing state of his love life with the best fire whiskey Hogshead could offer. How does he even move on from this? How does he make peace with the fact that he has sealed his fate of living the rest of his life alone?

It’s impossible, he’s decided. Even if he graduates at the top of the classes he is taking and gets accepted into the Auror Programme that Sharp had recommended him for, their social standing is still heavens apart. He’s an orphan, with a husk of an extended family and no money to his name.

It wouldn’t matter to you, never really cared for pure bloodlines or lineages and he knows anyone who brings that up when they’re courting you will receive the most disgusted look on your face.

But he cares – you are the most special person in his life. He wants the best for you. And the best is not something he can provide.

His depressing thoughts halt as his steps falter, a familiar scent tickling his nose. A familiar scent that leads straight into the Forbidden Forest. When he looks up to the sky, he realizes the sun has almost finished setting.

She can’t be that reckless, right?

He was barely surprised when he chanted the incantation that triggered the charm they had both put in their necklaces, the sparkling thread leads straight into the forest. And if he knows you half as well as he thinks he does then he knows exactly where it’s gonna lead to.

There goes his late-night plan.

It isn’t exactly his first jaunt in the forbidden space but it still gives him the creeps especially so close to the night. Why you’re so fond of the place is something he’ll never understand.

But that’s just the way you were, just another part of your quirks that makes you so endearing.

How you throw your head back when you laugh, that you get so cranky when you’re studying that no one dares to approach you but him, even the way you messily eat your favorite chocolate pastry of the week yet never fail to share a piece with him.

With this new revelation, he bitterly accepts the reason for his philandering ways. That he simply is another prick who is coping with not being able to attain the love of his life at the expense of those poor girls.

His self-condemnation however was cut short when he heard the waterfall, not being able to help the smirk on his face when he turned the corner and found you just as he had expected: in the middle of the clear, dark, water, floating carelessly on your back.

Gods, you are a beauty. He’s always thought so, the entire male population in Hogwarts thought so too. If they somehow get to break through your walls and manage to get to know you, he might just have to beat them away with an actual stick.

“Sebastian,” you smile, his heart stops. “I knew you’d find me.”

You swim to him gracefully, barely disturbing the water with only your eyes above the water but there was no hiding the grin in your face. Like a pitiful sailor seduced by a siren, his feet dragged him to the edge, a short ledge above from where you were looking up at him.

“You left your scent on purpose,” he states, kneeling to get a closer look at you. What a beauty – mischievous, cunning, irresistible. He’s never loved anyone more. “Naughty, naughty, darling.”

She pulls herself up the ledge, their faces inches away from each other. He nails his eyes to yours so they wouldn’t be tempted to look down at your soaking figure cloaked only by a thin chemise “I had to get you somehow, knew you couldn’t resist a damsel in distress.”

“Funny,” he softly glares, chuckling when she preens, clearly satisfied that her plan worked perfectly. “With all the water in the Black Lake, you had to pick the Forbidden Forest to swim in.”

You dip yourself back down in the water, swimming away but still facing him. “Come, Sebastian. I’ve been bored all week since you’ve been avoiding me.”

Guilt runs through his spine at the sudden coldness in your offhanded comment. Clearly, his absence hasn’t escaped your notice as he had hoped.

Like a scolded pup, he follows your command to a T. Eyes never leaving your floating figure as he removed his coat, folding it neatly along with the rest of his clothes until he was left in his underclothes.

He winces at the touch of the freezing water. A heating charm would do wonders but the way your unsympathetic eyes never left his figure gave him a feeling that this was a punishment he was meant to endure.

He steels himself, diving into the water and only resurfacing when he is right in front of you. “You called?”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” you splash the cold water at him, shrieking when he reaches out for your arms and barely managing to slip away.

He dives again, grinning at your confused flounder, until you realize your mistake, looking down just as he catches your waist, your surprised shriek, and his unrestrained laughter breaks through the quiet of the forest.

“You done running now, pet?” he locks his hands on your back, pushing you close until he is carrying both your weight in the water, chin resting on your chest as your hands run through his soaking hair.

Your darkened hair frames your face, like a sheer curtain it drops, teasing his cheeks, and hiding your conversation from the rest of the forest – in the dimness, your eyes have never been more radiant, even if it was clearly pissed at him.

Skinship wasn’t foreign between the two of you. When you’ve saved each other’s lives from certain death more times than you care to count, cuddling is the least of your worries.

But there is something about the forest's silence, the sparse moonlight that peaks through the dense trees, the sound of the droplets falling from your hair to the water, and the distant echoes of the animals that make everything intimate. -- more intimate than usual.

“Are you?” you throw his question back at him mercilessly, your hands on the back of his neck, locking his face to look up at you – finally at you. The weeklong separation had been torture and now that the distance had cut his regular contact with his favorite witch, he finally realized how fast his heart was beating when he was around her.

He smiles.

He was satisfied, he swore he was.

Sebastian’s life was finally okay – passable, up-to-scratch, satisfactory. He shouldn’t strive for more, couldn’t allow himself that luxury – the luxury of love, the luxury of you.

But as he stares at your eyes, as he feels the ice in your skin, as he imagines a future where it wasn't him that gets to bite the plump of your lips – that dirty, greedy part of him crawls out of the hole he had shoved it in.

He feels it win.

“Are you done running now?” you whisper, a droplet falls from the tip of your nose to the space just below his eyes, his breath hitches, like your magnetic presence had sucked out all the air of the forest.

“I wasn’t running,” she raises a brow, and Sebastian presses his lips to your ears. “I was thinking.”

“And?”

Leander was right: he really is a bastard.

But he’s a bastard who will no longer wait for another life to love you. He's a bastard who will get what he wants.

“I think,” he whispers, at peace. “I think I’m gonna marry you someday.”

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy sebastian #hogwarts legacy fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

whizzing-fizzbee · 10 days ago

Note

Okie I sent you a request earlier today about a possible fic around MC ‘coaching’ Seb (lol). But I thought of another one. Same vibe between the two (besties that just wanna love and fuck each other) and same setting, just them two, maybe they’re a little tipsy or more open for some reason. in conversation she reveals that she’s convinced she can’t cum. No other guy has ever managed and neither has she. She enjoys sex but just doesn’t think THAT will ever happen. And Seb just blurts out that he bet he could. Smug bastard. It becomes a whole thing, she’s like you’re insane, but is convinced… and he does.

Also shared with Applin by the way. You two are just amazing!

Oh hey there. 😏 Buckle up because we've got another multi-part series here. Enjoy Part I of two.

Just Once

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, language); all characters are 18+ Words: ~5,800 Tags: friends with benefits, friends to lovers, mutual pining, smut, sexual exploration

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

“Happy birthday, darling.”

You stifled an amused snort as Sebastian Sallow presented you with a poorly wrapped package. The faded brown paper was clinging for dear life and a green bow had been slapped precariously on top. It was clearly a glass bottle of something Professor Weasley would love to confiscate. You narrowed your eyes at it.

“This isn’t one of Garreth’s concoctions, is it?” you asked warily.

“Nope, nothing but pure, 100% firewhiskey,” Sebastian quipped. He plucked the package from your hand and unwrapped it. You watched him uncork the bottle and take a long swig. “See? No poison or wayward potions here.”

“Did you just buy me that so I’d share it with you?” you mused. Sebastian shrugged and took another drink before returning the bottle to your hand.

“Nothing wrong with a birthday gift that benefits us both,” he offered. You rolled your eyes and took a drink. The liquid burned all the way down, blooming spiced heat through your throat. It was a welcome distraction.

You hated your birthday. Orphaned since birth, you hadn’t received many annual celebrations. Some years, you forgot about it entirely. It wasn’t until your sixteenth birthday, the first one you’d spent at Hogwarts, that anyone cared to celebrate with you. You were always grateful for your friends for that.

Still, turning eighteen twisted a knot in your gut. You were an official adult now, meaning you’d be expected to live like one. Your Hogwarts days were trickling to an end, with graduation just weeks away. You’d already lined up a job as an auror in training with the Ministry of Magic. You were set to move to London and share a flat with Imelda Reyes. Your plans were all set in place. Adulthood was just around the corner, and on paper, you were prepared. But inside, terror twisted in your chest and turned your stomach.

You drank until the bottle’s neck was empty.

“Thanks for this,” you said, raising the bottle toward Sebastian. He offered you his signature lopsided grin.

“Not every day my best friend turns eighteen,” he said.

“Don’t remind me,” you sighed dramatically.

“Oh, come on, it’s not so bad,” Sebastian said. “I turned eighteen last month and haven’t turned into a stuffy adult yet.”

“That’s because you spent your eighteenth birthday piss drunk until you ended up in bed with Violet McDowell.”

“Best birthday I ever had.”

You snorted and took another swig.

“Speaking of piss-drunk debauchery, where’s that boyfriend of yours?” Sebastian asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” you groaned. It felt like the firewhiskey was already surging to your brain, though talking about your love life – or lack thereof – was enough to make you feel drunk and disheveled.

“Fine, fine. Where’s that bloke you’ve been messing around with?” Sebastian continued.

“He’s spending the weekend with his family.”

“And he’s missing your birthday?” Sebastian tutted.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Sebastian,” you repeated, your tone edging with warning. “I don’t expect him to celebrate my birthday. We’re just friends.”

“Friends,” Sebastian repeated. “Right.”

“What’s wrong with that?” you demanded with narrowed eyes. You wanted to claw the smirk off his face. Or kiss it.

“Nothing,” Sebastian shrugged innocently. “Just thought Northcott would try a little harder to lock you down now that you’re an adult and all.”

“What on Earth does that have to do with anything?” you snorted.

“We’re all graduating soon. People are starting to pair off,” Sebastian explained. “Everyone else is starting to think of marriage and families and the future.”

“Oh? Who are you proposing marriage to then?”

“Professor Garlick.”

You snorted into the whiskey bottle. “You wish.”

“That I do.” Sebastian sighed longingly for dramatic effect.

“But really,” you continued. “Who are you courting for forever? Haven’t seen you with anyone since that time I saw you and Charlotte stumbling out of Sharp’s potions cupboard.”

“I said everyone else is starting to pair off,” Sebastian noted. “Not me.”

“Oh, think you’re too good for everyone at Hogwarts?”

“Not at all. To the contrary, I think my reputation has tainted my chances with any ladies here at Hogwarts.”

“And whose fault is that?” you teased.

“Not deflecting any blame,” Sebastian said simply. “I just don’t think any of Hogwarts’ eligible bachelorettes are interested in someone with my track record.”

It was true, Sebastian had developed a reputation for being rather… experienced. Or as Ominis Gaunt put it, Sebastian had “dipped his quill in far too many inkwells.” But it wasn’t because Sebastian wanted to run through every girl at Hogwarts. You’d watched him stumble and fumble his way through attempts at relationships with honest intent. He was simply too messy for most people.

It took a special kind of patience and understanding to maintain any kind of relationship with Sebastian Sallow, be it friendship or something more. The thing about Sebastian was he didn’t always get things right, but he was always sincere. You knew that about him. In fact, you knew most things about him. But Sebastian had never looked at you with the same kind of lust and intrigue he’d looked at other girls. You were his best friend and confidant, the keeper of his deepest secrets, not his deepest desires.

You’d accepted that ages ago, but every now and then, you couldn’t help but eye your best friend with a wistful kind of melancholy. Just once, you wished he’d see you as a woman rather than an anchor. Sure, you loved being his safe space, but you also wanted him to feel the dirty draw of sinful desire when he looked at you. Just once.

“Well, maybe someday the great Sebastian Sallow will find a woman willing to tolerate his antics,” you finally teased. Sebastian plucked the whiskey bottle from your fingers and took a drink.

“Maybe someday,” he said simply. Silence settled between you, a cozy kind of quiet that often indicated you were both mulling over some thought you were reluctant to share. It was rare – you and Sebastian spilled nearly every thought that came to mind – but sometimes you enjoyed the intrigue of withholding from him.

“Can you imagine us, married?” you wondered aloud. “I mean, not to each other, of course, but in general- to other people.”

Your face flushed and you cursed yourself for being stupid enough to bring up the topic of marriage in the presence of Sebastian when alcohol was currently coursing through your system.

Sebastian grinned at you. “What, don’t think I’d be husband material?” he quipped.

“I think I’d end up hexing you before we even reached the altar,” you shot back.

“Oh, interesting. I’d love to honeymoon while covered in bruises and boils.”

“Keep talking and maybe you will.”

“Yeah? And where would you like to honeymoon, dear?”

“Someplace warm and romantic.”

“How whimsy. Tell Northcott to pack swimwear.”

You elbowed Sebastian in the side in annoyance. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Ow! Alright, fine. He’s not your boyfriend. No need for violence.”

“No need to be so daft.”

“Merlin, adulthood makes you awfully mean,” Sebastian whined. You scowled at him and he chuckled. “I suppose it’s my own fault for giving you firewhiskey.”

“You trying to get me drunk?”

“I don’t need to try.”

“Touche.” You raised the bottle again and chugged until your cheeks burned. The boathouse fell quiet again, the sound of the lake’s surface gently lapping against the docks as a pair of boats bobbed in the water.

“Didn’t you have plans tonight?” you finally asked. “I thought most everyone was going to the Three Broomsticks.”

“They were,” Sebastian sighed. “And I was supposed to bring you there as a surprise.”

“Surprise?”

“Poppy and Imelda wanted to surprise you with a cake or something.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You seemed pretty intent on staying here,” Sebastian shrugged. “But I’m sure everyone’s still there if you want to head into the village.”

“No.” You shook your head. The liquor had seeped into your bloodstream and the notion of walking, or even standing, seemed overwhelming. Truthfully, you had no interest in singing or cake. You were happiest sitting in quiet seclusion with Sebastian. “You can blame me when Imelda inevitably tries to take your head off. Tell her the truth – I drank too much and didn’t make it outside the castle.”

“Whatever you say, birthday girl.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” you continued. “Didn’t you have plans tonight?”

Sebastian shrugged a shoulder. “Not really. It’s your birthday. My only plan was you.”

“Oh. I thought I overheard Nerida saying the two of you were meeting up.”

“Nerida says a lot of things,” Sebastian muttered. You watched him take a long drink from the bottle.

“Oh, come on. She’s not so bad,” you giggled. “If you can get past the fascination with merpeople, she’s pretty nice.”

“Fascination?” Sebastian snorted. “It’s much worse than that. She once tried to hook up with me near the far window in the Common Room, said it would feel like she’s underwater. Normally that might be kind of hot, but she clearly wanted to do some kind of merperson roleplay.”

You choked on your latest sip of firewhiskey and began to laugh until you hiccuped. It was a deep, belly laugh that echoed through the boathouse.

“Merlin,” you giggled. “Did she want you to talk dirty to her in Mermish too?”

“It’s not funny,” Sebastian chided, though you could hear the laughter in his voice.

“Oh, Sebastian!” you teased in a breathy, suggestive tone. “Pin my fins down!”

You erupted with another bout of uncontrollable laughter, so loud Sebastian finally had to clamp a hand over your mouth.

“Someone’s going to hear you!” he hissed. You pried his hand away and rolled your eyes.

“Who? No one comes down here at night. Unless Nerida’s trying to get you in the water for a rendezvous.” You snorted at your own joke, the firewhiskey making it difficult to keep any composure. “Though from what I remember after helping her during fifth year, she’s not much of a swimmer. Hope you can keep her afloat. Maybe there’s a useful spell for that. Or maybe she’d let you fuck her on the beach over there.”

Sebastian shot you a deadpan stare as you grinned at him. “Messing around with her in the showers was bad enough,” he said. “She likes the water ice cold.”

You cackled at the confession. It was the only way to reduce the sting of Sebastian fooling around with other girls. “Stop it,” you wheezed, tears welling in your eyes. “You really are her magic merman.”

“Not after that,” Sebastian muttered. “I’d rather not catch pneumonia during sex.”

“Aww, where’s the fun in that, Seb?” you teased. “Too sensitive for a cold shower?”

“More like too sane.”

“Poor Nerida,” you cooed in a taunting tone. “All she wants is a merman to make her happy.”

“Yeah well, it’s not going to be me.”

“It’s not nice to kink shame, Sebastian.”

“You’re the one laughing!”

Your banter sent you into another fit of drunken giggles, leaving you laughing so hard you slumped against Sebastian for support. He shook his head at you, his eyes glinting with fond amusement.

“I suppose it’s fair,” you continued once you caught your breath. “Awfully hard to enjoy any nude activities when you’re numb to the bone. I personally can’t tolerate a shower that’s anything short of damn near scalding.”

“Should’ve guessed a demon from the depths of Hell likes her water hot,” Sebastian muttered, drawing a glare from you.

“I find it relaxing!”

“Whatever gets you off, darling.”

Perhaps it was the irony of his words. Perhaps – or most certainly – it was the alcohol. Something sent you into your worst fit of giggles yet, laughing controllably until you were flat on your back on the stone floor.

Sebastian blinked downward at you when the outburst finally subsided.

“Nothing gets me off,” you snorted. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.

“What on Earth does that mean?” he asked.

“You know what I mean,” you babbled on, still on your back as your gaze met his from the floor. “Like, I can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That. Get off.”

Sebastian stilled. He clearly thought he knew what you were implying, but was afraid to make any assumptions. Sure, the two of you talked about sex, but not like this.

“And by get off, you mean…” he led, hoping you’d finish the sentence.

“During sex,” you said stupidly. “I can’t get off.”

“You can’t… finish?” Sebastian finally managed.

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” Sebastian pressed. Had you not been so intoxicated, you might have noticed how alarmed he looked by your revelation.

“I don’t know,” you answered simply. “I just can’t. It physically doesn’t happen.”

“You mean ever? Or recently?”

“Ever. Never ever.”

“Never? What about… you know, when you’re on your own?”

“Nope.” You shook your head and winced as it rocked against the cold, hard ground.

“So let me get this straight,” Sebastian said, straightening in his seated position on the ground, his long legs outstretched. “You’re trying to tell me that you’ve never had an orgasm?”

“Nope.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why the fuck would I lie about that?”

“Because that’s mental!”

“It’s true!”

“But you… you’ve been with… people.”

“I’m aware of my sexual history, Seb.”

“But… but none of those blokes have… you know…”

“They do. But I don’t. It’s okay, really,” you rattled on. “I just assume my body is incapable or something. Like some kind of defect. But I still enjoy sex.”

Clearly your inhibitions were spent. You’d never have revealed your secret so readily had you been sober. In the morning, you’d be mortified at yourself for revealing such details to Sebastian of all people.

“But what’s the point?” Sebastian blurted out incredulously. You blinked upward at him, utterly confused why he appeared so offended that you were incapable of a climax.

“It’s not a big deal!” you insisted. “Sex can still be fun and enjoyable. It still feels good.”

“But don’t you want to know how it feels to… you know?”

“Well, obviously!” you snorted. “Of course, I would. But if I can’t do it myself – and believe me, I’ve tried – then I can’t expect anyone else to be able to do it either. It’s no one’s fault. The blokes I’ve been with have certainly tried. It just doesn’t work.”

Sebastian’s brain stuttered. He was stunned that you’d never known how it felt to fall apart in such a blissful manner, but he was also furious that any man would allow you to believe it was impossible.

“They must not have tried hard enough,” Sebastian said.

“They have, really,” you said, sitting up on your elbows as you eyed him with amusement. “It’s really no big deal, Seb. No need to get worked up about it.”

“It’s unacceptable!”

You couldn’t help but snort at his insulted demeanor. “Seb, relax,” you laughed. “It’s just an unfortunate fact of life. I can’t get off and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“I bet I could do it.”

“Huh?!” You sat up so fast, your head spun.

“I could do it,” Sebastian repeated so boldly, you began to wonder if someone had placed him under the Imperius Curse. “I could make you… you know.” He swallowed. “I could make you orgasm.”

The boathouse’s cool air no longer felt refreshing against your flushed face. It became heavy and oppressive, suffocating as you searched for something to say.

Instead, you threw your head back and laughed this time, deflecting the need for words. After all, Sebastian had merely been joking, right? And the polite thing to do was to laugh when someone made a joke. Nevermind the fact your head was reeling from the mere thought of Sebastian offering to touch you.

But Sebastian had been quite serious, though he decided to drop the subject the moment you began laughing. He’d play along and pretend it had all been in jest. After all, you were too busy laughing to notice the way his eyes shifted nervously to the ground.

You were also too busy laughing to notice the arrival of Professor Weasley, who promptly scolded you for drinking on school grounds and gave you detention.

—

The following morning, you found yourself spectacularly hungover and embarrassed. You could deal with the first of those dilemmas with some pastries and a pepper-up potion, but the second one could only be resolved by flinging yourself into a stampede of wild hippogriffs.

Instead, you sulked around your dorm room in hopes of avoiding Sebastian until you couldn’t stand the confines of the small space anymore. You slunk into the Slytherin Common Room, where you spotted Sebastian and Ominis chatting in the chairs by the fireplace.

You swore under your breath and scurried toward the exit.

“Oi!”

You swore even louder at the sound of Imelda calling after you. You stopped in your tracks and sighed, turning to face her as she approached.

“Professor Weasley was looking for you,” she said. “Told me to let you know you and Sallow have detention tomorrow evening.”

“Fabulous,” you muttered. Imelda eyed you with a smirk.

“What’d you two do this time? Does it have anything to do with you bailing on your own birthday?” she asked.

“Got a little too drunk in the boathouse,” you answered. Imelda rolled her eyes.

“You do know you could have done that at the Three Boomsticks without the detention?”

“Ah, but then she wouldn’t have been able to spend some quality time with her best friend.” Sebastian appeared beside you and draped an arm around your shoulders. You inhaled sharply as his fingers played with your hair.

Imelda shook her head and returned to her chess match.

“Come with me to the Undercroft,” Sebastian said in your ear.

“Seb, I need to study-”

“It’s Saturday.”

“So?”

“So, in the nearly three years I’ve known you, you’ve never wasted a Saturday with studying. Now let’s go.”

You sighed and followed him quietly to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower, your arms folded cautiously across your chest. Sebastian turned around to frown at you when he noticed your silence.

“Alright?” he asked.

“Alright. Just a little hungover.”

“Need a pepper-up?”

“I drank one. Just still a little groggy, is all.”

As you continued toward the entrance to the Undercroft, he didn’t address the revelation you’d made last night. You prayed he’d been too drunk to remember.

That prayer was short-lived as you stepped into the Undercroft.

A large mirror was now leaning against the far wall and the sofa you’d conjured your fifth year had been moved in front of it.

“Sebastian…” you started slowly as you eyed the changed room. He didn’t respond. Instead, he led you toward the sofa, where he stood and lingered, his hands stuffed in his pockets. That was when you noticed the tension in his jaw.

He was nervous, you realized, and you couldn’t help but suspect it had to do with the confession you’d made the previous night.

“Sebastian,” you repeated as you stood behind the sofa, gazing at your own reflection in the mirror. “What is this?”

“I thought about what you said,” Sebastian said in one breath. “That thing you confided. And I meant what I said. I want to help.”

Oh, fuck.

“Seb, that’s… this… you don’t…” You began to wonder if your heart had ascended into your throat. “You don’t need to do that.”

“But would you let me?”

“Huh?”

“Do you… would you let me? Would you let me try?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Why not? I mean, you don’t have to do anything in return. I’d never ask that of you.”

“Oh.”

“Look,” Sebastian sighed as he dragged a hand through his hair. His eyes were very decisively avoiding yours. “I just think… you deserve to know how it feels. And I genuinely think I could help you.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at him. “Awfully confident of you to assume that,” you mused.

“Awfully disheartening of you to assume I can’t.”

“I didn’t say that,” you said. “It’s just that it’s never happened before.”

“That’s because you’ve never been with me.”

A flush crept up the back of your neck and you felt faint. But even a situation as awkward as this couldn’t keep you from matching Sebastian blow-for-blow.

“And you always leave every girl you’ve been with completely satisfied?” you challenged. Sebastian smirked at you.

“No one’s ever filed any complaints. If anything, they become repeat customers.” He chuckled when you shot him a look of disgust. “Only joking, darling.”

But you were out of smart words and quick retorts. Now, your head was reeling with the decision you faced. You could say no and leave the Undercroft, and likely the remnants of your friendship with Sebastian. Or you could agree. And at the very least, you’d learn how it’d feel to finally be touched by him, just once. At best, he’d live up to his word and show you the glimpse of heaven you never thought your eyes would meet. Just once.

“Alright, fine,” you finally agreed. “If you’re so sure of yourself, let’s see that magic touch.” You couldn’t believe you’d just agreed to something so reckless and bold

Sebastian blinked. He hadn’t necessarily assumed you’d say no, but he’d been trying to censor his expectations – and hope.

“A-alright, good,” he said with a nod. He gestured toward the sofa and cleared his throat. “I figured maybe this could help.”

“A mirror?” you asked warily.

“Yes.”

Sebastian’s confidence hitched as reality ensnared itself in his head. The two of you were about to do something far more intimate than he ever could have envisioned. Of course, he certainly had pictured you in all states of undress, folded beneath him, perched on top of him, and every position in-between. But those were all fantasies, preserved for the quiet sanctity of Sebastian’s mind.

Now, he’d talked himself atop a pedestal and had to prove himself. But this was more than a notch in his belt and another girl to impress. This was you.

But Sebastian was just as stubborn and just as determined as you. And, like you, he always fought tooth and nail to keep his word. Especially when it came to matters that concerned you.

He studied you for a moment, your spine far straighter than usual and your cheeks flushed. You blinked back at him with wide eyes that made his trousers tighten. He felt like a predator waiting to sink his teeth into his prey.

Once he’d gathered the confidence to convince his legs to work, Sebastian moved toward the sofa and sat smack-dab in the center of it. His arms were draped across the back, his knees parted, while his eyes met yours in the mirror’s reflection. He'd never looked more alluring — or more intimidating.

“Come sit.” It took a fleeting moment for you to understand he didn’t mean for you to lounge next to him. He wanted you to sit between his legs.

“O-okay,” you breathed. You moved at a glacial pace, terrified to appear too eager, eyes locked on the floor, before you stood above Sebastian. When you finally met his gaze, he licked his lips. The ache between your thighs blazed.

“I was thinking,” Sebastian continued as he spun you around so you were looking at yourself in the mirror. He peeked around you to see your reflection as he spoke. “I’ve noticed you’re a visual learner. You always master spells and potion brews as soon as you see them in action. So I thought maybe it’d help you to see yourself. Maybe if you can see what… you like, it’ll make it easier for you to… fully enjoy it.”

“Oh.”

Sebastian reached a hand toward you and you inhaled sharply. He paused, his outstretched hand lingering near your waist. “May I?” he asked. You nodded, unsure your tongue could craft a coherent response.

Sebastian’s hand rested on your waist, his fingers dragging across the fabric that covered the top of your thigh as his hand drifted downward. It snaked lower and lower until his fingers found the hem of your skirt. As his hand disappeared beneath it, cotton filled your mouth.

You could feel both of his hands retreat upward, grazing your thighs until he could feel the seam of your panties. You swallowed a whimper.

“Can I take these off?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” you rasped. The pads of his calloused fingertips felt rough against your skin as they tugged at the waistband of your panties and slid them downward. You watched your reflection as your panties pooled at your feet and your thigh muscles twitched.

Sebastian removed his hands from beneath the hem of your skirt and cleared his throat. “Sit,” he murmured.

Your racing heart threatened to crack your ribs inside your chest as you willed your knees to bend. You lowered yourself cautiously until you were seated between Sebastian’s thighs. But you sat at the very edge of the sofa, terrified to move any closer, and certain the ringing in your ears would leave you deaf.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian murmured in your ear. His breath was hot against the nape of your neck as he hooked an arm around your waist to tug you closer. Your breath hitched when the warmth of his body met yours. His chest pressed against your back. “Alright?”

You nodded in response, terrified to look him in the eye via your reflections. Instead, you stared at the floor as Sebastian began inching the hem of your skirt upward until it was bunched around your torso, exposing everything you had to offer.

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian breathed against your neck.

When you finally gathered the courage to look in the mirror, you were certain you had tripped and fallen face-first into one of those dreams that you never dared to speak of. There you were, splayed out in the most obscene pose imaginable with Sebastian peering over your shoulder at your sacred pink flesh. You’d never seen something so sinful, and you’d certainly never thought you’d be front and center in such a scene.

Sebastian stared back at you with dark, heavy eyes that might have petrified you had he been anyone else. You could feel his chest heaving against your back, his breaths much more labored than usual.

You could also feel something that was most certainly not his wand pressing into the small of your back. Arousal seeped from your entrance. You squeezed your eyes shut to steady yourself.

But a hand roamed to your chest and your eyes shot open as Sebastian unbuttoned the top half of your blouse.

“Can I… touch you?” he said in your ear. Another nod in response.

Sebastian’s left hand disappeared inside your blouse and you swallowed a moan as his fingers grazed your right nipple. He cupped your breast fully until you had to squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the pressure between them.

“Hey now,” Sebastian purred, his free hand reaching to pry your knees apart again. “You’re supposed to be watching.”

You bit back the urge to scold him for not doing more, to beg him to touch you in all the ways you’d only envisioned when left to your own thoughts in private. But Sebastian sensed your waning patience. His hand drifted up your leg and you watched the fingers of his reflection trace the crease of your thigh. The slickness pooling at your entrance was a dizzying paradox to the heat that scalded your nerve endings.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you rasped with much more gusto than you’d intended. Your resolve had withered and you weren’t above begging Sebastian to do something, anything to put a stop to your suffering.

“Just… tell me if you want me to stop,” Sebastian said. And before you could beg him to continue, his index and middle fingers skimmed your folds. They met your clit and pressed until a whimper finally escaped your throat.

Sebastian’s fingers swiped gently until you were digging your nails into the tops of your own thighs. The delicious friction was enough to make you wonder if Sebastian really would live up to the hype he’d created for himself. Other boys were good, but this was Sebastian.

As his fingers inched closer to your entrance, you whined and bucked your hips.

“So that’s where you like it,” Sebastian murmured in your ear. “See?”

You hummed in agreement and watched as Sebastian’s fingers pressed more before they finally sank inside of you. You moaned as they disappeared, then reappeared, dipping into your core until you could hear them parting your walls.

You clenched yourself tighter around them, begging them to show you what they could do, while you watched, half-lidded, in awe at the erotic scene that had unfolded. Sebastian’s brow was furrowed in concentration, a vision you would have found endearing had you not been on the cusp of unraveling in his arms. Instead, you merely marveled at the masterpiece framed in the mirror before you; your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as Sebastian's thighs flanked your sides. Now wasn't the time for sentimental discoveries, but you couldn't help but notice how perfectly you fit in front of him.

When Sebastian’s fingers pulled against your front wall, his other hand thumbed your nipple. You gasped at the dual sensations and Sebastian smirked at your reflection. “See? You like that, don’t you?”

When he pulled his fingers from you, you whimpered at the loss of pressure and the sight of your own arousal clinging to him. He groaned at his coated fingers and returned them to your clit. They pressed and prodded until you moaned again. “Right there,” Sebastian said as he ensured your eyes were still watching in the mirror. "See? This is the spot that drives you wild, isn't it?"

More and more pressure, scraping and swiping against that spot you liked; your eyes clinging to the reflection of your swollen cunt as Sebastian’s fingers danced against your flesh, his other hand squeezing your breast.

"Sebastian, please," you begged.

It all felt far too good to be true.

“I’m going to try something,” Sebastian said in your ear. “It’s going to feel like a lot of pressure. I’ll stop if it gets to be too much, but if you can, try to relax your body, okay?”

“Okay.”

Sebastian’s middle finger sank inside of you and his hand jerked upward in quick, sharp motions, the heel of his palm dabbing against your clit. You heaved a resounding moan and your eyes finally clamped shut.

Something was happening within your core. You’d felt it before, scraped its surface, but never pierced the barrier. It was a low simmer turned scalding, reaching a rolling boil that begged to breach its confines.

“Relax,” you heard Sebastian command. You exhaled violently, willing the tension and air to vacate your body as your eyes squeezed tighter and your chest caved. And when it did, the mounting pressure in your walls released. You cried out in surprise, stunned at the dizzying pleasure that pulsed through your core as your back arched and thighs quivered. It shocked your body until you were so sensitive, you were gritting your teeth.

Sebastian’s hand didn’t stop until you did, and when your high finally subsided, you slumped into spineless submission, still whimpering at the foreign feeling between your legs.

When your eyes finally dared to glance toward the mirror, you caught a glimpse of your fucked out reflection, hair plastered to your crimson face while Sebastian stared at you in awe.

You wanted to praise him, worship him at an altar of the utmost holiness; crawl on your knees atop a bed of nails just to prove your gratitude and worth; declare your unwavering devotion to him, a god among mere mortals.

Your religion was Sebastian Sallow and you were the ultimate disciple.

“I…” You didn’t know why you were bothering to try for words. Nothing you said could restore your dignity – not that you wanted it back. Not after that feeling; that precious jolt of new euphoria. Sebastian had earned his rightful place as God in your eyes.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked, still eyeing you in the mirror.

You wished you could fire off some sort of witty response. That was your best defense when left in a vulnerable state, and you’d never felt more vulnerable than in this moment. Hell, you were still slumped against Sebastian with your skirt hiked around your waist while his hand lingered against your soaked entrance.

The comedown from your climax felt like the worst celebration ever – a birthday party held in a funeral parlor. Your nerves lingered with elation but your brain filled with panic, especially as you realized Sebastian’s hard cock was still pressed into your lower back.

You reached behind your own back for it and heard him hiss when your fingers curled around its outline, still straining against the fabric of his trousers.

“Not tonight, darling,” he said, wrapping his own fingers around your wrist to stop you.

“But-”

“No. Remember our deal?”

“That was hardly a deal,” you said, meeting his gaze in the mirror. Your knees had fallen shut and the front of your blouse was askew, making it difficult for you to take yourself seriously. “It was more of a declaration on your behalf.”

“And it seems my declaration was correct, was it not?”

“Obviously, it was,” you admitted. You were in no state to claim otherwise. Not when you were still panting, your cunt still twitching from the aftermath of your first orgasm that came at the literal hands of Sebastian Sallow.

Sebastian’s reflection flashed you a proud smirk. You knew he'd likely hold this above you forever. What you didn't know was how eager he was to relieve himself at the memory of you falling apart for the first time around his fingers. He couldn't believe he'd been the one to achieve that honor.

"Then perhaps you can make it up to me some other time,” he said.

“Some other time? You plan on doing this again?” you challenged as you began to button your blouse.

Finally, that vulnerability you’d been feeling coursed its way into Sebastian. He swallowed and dropped his gaze. “Only if it interests you,” he said, feigning nonchalance with a shrug. “You know, if you still find those other sorry blokes are unable to leave you satisfied.”

"I suppose you're pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?" you murmured.

"Not nearly as pleased as you, it seems."

You wanted to roll your eyes at him or call him a rude name, but how could you possibly aim any harsh words at the man who had just introduced you to utopia?

Not wanting to appear too eager to linger between his legs, you begrudgingly rose to your feet to adjust your skirt and panties. Sebastian remained seated and you couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the tent in his trousers, which you noted looked much more impressive than Eric Northcott’s. You decided there would absolutely be a next time.

#mdni #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow smut #whizzing fizzbee fanfic #whizzing fizzbee requests

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 months ago

Text

Somewhere Safe | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

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

International Domestic Abuse Resource Link

Words: ~9,500

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

Beta: @newdreamlove95💚

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

K-something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I don’t actually want this.

He ignored it.

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

And then—

A thunderous pounding on his front door.

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

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

Something was wrong.

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

Then—

“Sebastian, are you there?”

Your voice. Hoarse and desperate.

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

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

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

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

What the fuck happened to you?

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

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

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

"Fuck," he breathed. "What—"

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

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

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

Oh, hell no.

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

A voice from behind him cut through the moment.

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

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

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

Sebastian barely heard her. He didn’t care.

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

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

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

But here? Now?

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

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

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

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

And he was going to make them pay for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something sharp lodged itself in his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His stomach turned.

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

But he didn’t voice any of it.

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

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

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

Sebastian’s jaw clenched.

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

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

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

Sebastian didn’t let you finish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian exhaled slowly, nodding once in return.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And fuck, seeing it up close was worse.

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

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

Breathe. Focus.

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

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

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

Soft. Open. Trusting. Loving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me see your hands," he murmured.

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

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

He felt his pulse slam against his ribs.

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

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

Sebastian inhaled sharply through his nose.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to be alone.”

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

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

Sebastian turned back to you instantly.

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

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

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

But because this wasn’t about that.

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

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

A moment of silence stretched between you.

“Okay,” you murmured.

Sebastian turned back.

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

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

You gave the smallest nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not exactly ideal.

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

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

“…Seb?”

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

“Yeah?”

“…Will you lay with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He ignored it.

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

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

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

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

Sebastian hummed, tapping the order in without question.

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

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

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

But fuck it.

He’d deal with that later.

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

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

But Sebastian didn’t need words.

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

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

The food was here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, finally, you spoke.

Your voice was soft, quiet, but clear.

“…Sebastian.”

He glanced over immediately. “Yeah, love?”

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

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

Sebastian’s fork stopped midway to his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

“It was him.”

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

Sebastian knew who you meant. It was him.

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

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

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

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

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

His fists clenched in the blanket.

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

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

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

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

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

It made no fucking sense.

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

But then the relationship had lasted. For months.

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

But deep down, it wasn’t just that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

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

Sebastian swallowed, his throat dry as fucking sandpaper.

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

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

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

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

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

But you weren’t done.

“And then he grabbed me.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fucking break something.

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

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

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

Sebastian felt sick.

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

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

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

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

“He what?”

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

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

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

Sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head. Small. Quick. Immediate.

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

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

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

“Where is he now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian couldn’t sit still.

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

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

But he didn’t get far.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian didn’t give you the chance.

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

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

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

You swallowed hard. “But—”

Sebastian shook his head.

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

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

“…Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian's stomach dropped.

Fuck—

What did he say? What did he do?

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

Your hands were reaching for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And something inside him cracked.

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

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

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

No.

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

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

Sebastian never cried.

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

But this—

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

This was terror.

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

He could’ve lost you.

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

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

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

“Sebastian—”

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

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

But you did. You just held him.

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

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

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

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

"Sebastian—"

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

"Seb—"

"I love you."

It ripped out of him.

Messy. Raw. Completely unfiltered.

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

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

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

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

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

"Seb—"

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

And that was when it hit him.

He said it.

Again.

For the fourth fucking time, actually.

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

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

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

And then you kissed him.

Sebastian’s mind blipped.

Just shut off completely.

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

It was like slamming into a wall at full speed.

Every thought cut out at once.

The rage. The panic. The terror.

Gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips twitched—small, barely there—

But there.

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