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slytherizz · 2 months ago

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Fight or Flight - Sebastian Sallow/F!MC

Summary: Sometimes sleeping dogs don't lie.

Two years after his uncles death and with Anne missing the last remaining Auror who scents deception requests a testimony from the only person witness to what really happened between Sebastian and Solomon in the catacombs that day. In a bid to protect those memories and keep him out of Azkaban their marriage is arranged - A marriage Sebastian is hell bent on putting a stop to.

Word count: 15,000 (remember when I said I’d keep it under 10k)

Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, First Time

Link: You can find the complete fic on Ao3.

A/N: Sebastian ‘my wife’ Sallow. To the anon who requested this, I’m sorry it’s so late but it was so much fun to write.

Sebastian is almost certain he’d been on the receiving end of a lethal confundus charm. Either that or he was at present suffering a massive life altering haemorrhage somewhere amongst the sun deceptively warming his cheeks and the familiar groan of the dragon bones anchored above them, as it tilted its great head in greeting when they'd arrived in Hecate's office. Full of mysterious tombs and the lingering scent of smoke. Ash trampled so tightly into the grooves in the floorboards he doubted even the house elves could scour out the smell.

He’d gotten too comfortable. No. Down right complacent as of late and now his psyche in a riotous act of self-preservation was giving him a blistering slap back into reality.

Pull yourself together.

Sebastian dug his nails into the soft flesh of his palm. He hissed at the sharp pain as he broke the skin. Felt the blood prickle hot against his sweat slicked palms as it beaded along the thin superficial wound. Uncomfortable. Stinging. And far, far too real.

“What-?” he managed to croak around a lump in his throat. Praying to Merlin that if this wasn’t a dream it was some elaborate and albeit cruel practical joke.

“Spousal Privileges,” Hecat repeated. Matter of fact. Her features were drawn and to his dismay betraying no hint of amusement.

Sebastian choked violently on his own saliva. A hacked cough, raw against his throat. As if the wind had been knocked out of him by a patient and vindictive phantom.

“What this means is you couldn’t be forced to give a testimony or surrender any memories pertaining to anything to do with Mr Sallow. With his sister still missing, the only people who know what really happened in that catacomb are the two of you. If you can’t be forced to corroborate this theory that has been gaining traction at the Ministry that’s the way it stays,” his professor continued to address the witch beside him, unmoved by the blood draining rapidly from his face.

Her eyes were fixed intently on Hecat, chin raised as she refused to meet Sebastian’s increasingly panicked eye. He shifted in his seat towards her. Turning rapidly back and forth between her and their professor.

Waiting. A heartbeat and then more passed. Mounting up until it became a deafening drum in his ears.

He wanted her to laugh. Let it loose. Burst the dangerous tension mounting with every second this insanity stretched on for. Most pathetically of all - he wanted her to save him. Wanted to watch her face crease with laughter at the absurdity of what Hecat was saying. Cling to some sense of normalcy, her stability by his side whilst the rest of him was spiralling out of control.

She was uncharacteristically still in her chair. As frozen as the statue of the mourning lover in the courtyard. Her fist clenched so tightly in the pleats of her skirt her knuckles blanched. A half finished braid she’d been fiddling with behind her ear hung abandoned. Not a shadow of humour remaining.

“Why now? It’s been years since…” she asked, with a more measured tone Sebastian felt the situation did not warrant.

She spared him a glance which did little to put him at ease. If anything the serious crease to her brow set him on a razor's edge.

Sebastian was unravelling. The thread he’d used to stitch back together a semblance of a life was pulling apart at an alarming rate. And the only two people who had any hope of holding him back together were entertaining this insanity.

“Some of Miss Sallow’s effects were uncovered at the former Feldcroft residence. It seems no one had tended to the home since your Uncle passed…unexpectedly. My contact at the Ministry informs me that there's only one Auror pushing for those memories. Sergeant Tuttle. Old guard. Worked closely with your uncle when they were both juniors in the department. The rest are happy to let Solomon’s memory remain as it has been for the past two years - the heroic final act protecting his young charges from a horde of uncontrollable inferi,” she paused and Sebastian felt the weight of every word. “Personally I am inclined to agree.”

Hecate’s already thin lips pulled so tight they almost entirely disappeared. Her inscrutable brown eyes peeling back the curtain seeing far beyond the truth to the crux of him. Weighing his mettle. And he wasn’t sure she’d be impressed at what she found.

Because what he was - was careless. Sebastian supposed he could argue that his distress over losing his sister had made it too painful to return. Knowing Anne was not there, Feldcroft seemed rather pointless.

But really all he’d been was too eager to turn his back on that hovel that had never been his home. Ivy grew thick over its stones and he hoped one day it would pull it down entirely. No one had touched the wards in over a year. Perhaps when he’d boxed up his feelings and shoved them away in his desperation to move past what he had done, he didn’t consider the possibility that there were others out there who, unlike him, may not want to move on so hastily from Solomon's death.

Anne certainly hadn’t.

“With you two being so close, this is the cleanest option-” Hecate continued.

“I don’t bloody care about clean!” Sebastian broke from his stupor. Fist slamming on the table rattling the spoon from where it rested against his saucer. “Tell me the other options. I don’t care how messy they are. I’ll do them.”

“Perhaps I should rephrase,” Hecat said sharply. “This is your only option. And you’d do well not to leap to such dramatics if you want this to work, Mr Sallow. In particular I’d advise against taking such a tone with me.”

Sebastian didn’t care. He’d already geared up to argue back against this preposterous idea when the statue of the witch beside him suddenly came to life. As if Pygmalion himself had loved her into life just to spite Sebastian.

“We’ll do it,” she said firmly.

Sebastian choked again, head snapping to look at her. “You can’t be serious!”

She simply glared back at him, as if he wasn’t the only reasonable person left in the room. “I’ve kept you out of Azkaban this long-“

Their professor cleared her throat, having little patience for the squabblings of teenagers that was beginning to unfold in her office. It set Sebastian even more on edge. She’d thrown a bomb into their lives and was now regarding him as some petulant child causing a scene. As if instead while he was scrambling to hold it together she expected him to thank her for it.

“I’d choose your words more carefully in front of an audience but I admire the passion. If you want this to succeed you’ll have to make them believe this. Believe you. You can’t cast any doubt on the reason for any of it. A young couple, so in love they simply cannot wait to be married.”

***

It was like taking a match to a forest doused in kerosine. How quickly word could spread overnight when students kept such close quarters and they were eager for anything to save them from revision. Whispers billowed up from steeped mugs. Steam laced with secrets curled around their lips. Huddled so tightly together they looked like hydras. Each set of eyes alight with amusement. Teeth bared ready to feast on their speculation.

From the moment Sebastian had stepped into the Great Hall he’d felt it. The oppressive shift to the atmosphere that usually welcomed him each morning. Clouds dark, heavy with the foreboding rain swirled on the enchanted sky. At least it was fitting.

Instinctively he sought her out. Looked for hers amongst the hundreds of eyes turned towards him. Which he pointedly ignored instead following the remaining half who stole glances towards her.

Blue. Green. Brown. Shifted between them assessing to see what they might do.

She was boxed into the middle of the table by Onai and Sweeting with Reyes taking up the spot across from them. A vicious hound guarding her flock ensured even the most brazen little wretch who considered interrupting would think twice - give her wrath a wide berth.

Reyes to her credit - snarling banshee that she was - looked as deeply horrified by the pathetic silver band on her friend's finger as Sebastian felt it deserved.

They’d transfigured it hastily from a pair of silver spectacles once they’d stumbled out of Hecat’s office the previous evening. One she kept in an odd tangle of items in her satchel and the rushed magic had already begun to tarnish its appearance. It was a wonder anyone actually believed them with how dull and thoughtless it looked sitting on her hand.

If her smile wasn’t so tight, or her laugh a little too airy she would be executing Hecat’s ludicrous scheme to perfection.

Sebastian swallowed around the lump in his throat and sheepishly changed course. Rerouted himself away from the group of witches throwing his bag down on the bench and slumping into a seat at the Slytherin table. Which seemed to delight some of the onlookers. Clearly humiliation was a good seasoning for eggs, he thought as he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot and took out his potions essay in an attempt to look busy enough no one would suspect exactly why he was sitting alone. Or worse, try and talk to him. Not that they would dare when his face looked as thunderous as the sky overhead. It didn't, however, stop him from overhearing their animated gossiping.

‘Do you think she’s…you know?’

‘Obviously! Who in their right mind gets married a month before they leave school? Clearly they’re in a rush before she starts to y’know...’ one girl smirked with an exaggerated flourish over her stomach.

Sebastian shot a glare across to the gaggle of Ravenclaw’s in the year below. Who giggled even more loudly when they caught his eye, one turning pink from the tips of her ears to well past the neckline of her jumper. Sebastian on the other hand felt like someone had doused him in a bucket of water from the lake.

If Reyes didn’t skin him for the insulting piece of jewellery she certainly would if she suspected he’d gotten her favourite flying partner up the kyte.

Sebastian tried to focus on his potions essay. List even a single ingredient of ‘Felix Felicis’ which was proving to be impossible when behind him a brazen fourth year proclaimed and loudly he’d caught them sequestered away between the stacks of the restricted section - her body bent over a desk. Sebastian’s grip on the quill tensed as he strained himself to write the differing effects between wyrm and dragon scale on a potion - and not a very vivid description of what he apparently looked like on his knees buried between her thighs. Ink blotted on the parchment.

Sod Hecat on ‘selling it’. Why did they need to go to such lengths when apparently every gossiping vulture was content to click their beak and do all the work for them?

Surely Azkaban couldn’t be worse than this?

Well, that was delusional - but if he overheard one more person comment on if her robes looked bigger he was more than likely going to do something that would get him thrown in Azkaban regardless.

Sebastian had anticipated suspicion but he still wasn’t prepared for how much it would chafe.

He knew if they were not at the centre of this farce, the two main players on the stage they would have jovially picked apart their performance too. She would have speculated over their sanity as she picked idly at her cauldron cake. Made some snide comment about being too eager to get his leg over. He’d bet her a galleon they’d see the proof in nine months and she would have snorted, undignified unladylike into her pumpkin juice.

Being the subject of this speculation however was mortifying.

Would that be next? Bringing a child into the fucking mess he’d made just to cover his own back? If the thought of dragging her into a marriage him feel ill it paled in comparison to the feeling of crippling dread that conjured.

But would she want that one day? In a young witch's sacrifice to keep him had she truly considered all the things she was giving up in his stead. Things she may not know she even wanted until the opportunity had already been bartered and sold off for the price of his freedom. What kind of man was he to take the hope of any kind of family from someone who already had none to show for it? Take away the chance for someone to love her.

Or maybe she never intended to give up on that particular dream. And Sebastian would be expected to play his part - the cuckolded husband.

Work late until the candles burned down to the wick to give her lover time to retreat. Share her with one; or with many.

Vow now to never let her go without.

Even go as far as to raise her children as his own. Glamour their cheeks with foreign freckles he’d wish were inherited. Brand them with the Sallow name with ink on thin parchment but not their blood; their ties to him just as flimsy and performative as hers.

Her easy smile as she lathered honey onto her toast set his teeth on edge. Sebastian felt in that moment like he never really knew her at all. Head pounding Sebastian stuffed his ink pot and notes back into his bag. Abandoned his breakfast in a rush to get out of the stifling hall. Away from the whispers that he knew would also be deafening in her ears. Perhaps even more so.

‘I didn’t even know they were courting. It’s a shame he’s off the market.’

‘Here’s the thing - I don’t think they were. Clearly, he’s marrying her to do the right thing. Now that she’s trapped him with a baby.’

She caught his eye, her eyebrows stitched together in concern but it did not offset the rigid lock of her furious ticking jaw. Teeth set, clamped together as if Hecat had clamped a muzzle on a fucking dragon and then handed her chains to Sebastian.

Shamefully, he couldn’t bring himself to hold her gaze. Couldn’t even bear to face her in that moment despite knowing he was the reason she had to listen to these lies spread. He should tell her he was sorry. But instead he fled.

Complete fic can be found on Ao3.

#if you're the anon who requested this I'm so sorry it took so long #this brought out the writing gremlin and it would not behave and got way too long #my angsty ass loves arranged marriage tropes #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow fanfic

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toxintouch · 24 days ago

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hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat. A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way. Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention. It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you. On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort. You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips. His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs. “Your lips are so cold.” He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering. His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?” He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours. “Not that it matters. It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to. Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building. I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling. You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.” He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things. However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?” He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore. Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable. A pity. By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday. Good wine, music, dancing. There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces. But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself. Some of the dances were very scandalous. You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer. It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say. He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share. In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage. Though, I admit. I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you. Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?” He purrs. “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes. It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady. Dizzying.

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up. It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den. He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist.

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth. The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you.

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet? You really do try your luck…”

#Foxes purr btw!#i await more purring Vere fics I hold out my sickly little claws for them (a prompt from me for other fic writers)#You and I get to know that Vere was touching on Sparrow’s face sm bc he caught a peek at Mhin doing it in Cold Spots #and he got territorial #I decided that the narrative pointing it out was laying it on too heavy. but you and i know.#Hopefully this fits the bill ok of what u described anon! A liiittle spice but mostly wholesome??#i’m ngl I was going for more spice but ...Deicide!Flavored Vere... he took all of it #AAA SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG THO ANON AAAAuuughghhh #also ur so right anon u gotta have a sequel (since I was talking about horror tropes lol)#the thought of Vere & Mhin being down bad for the same person is sooo funny to me btw. i think of it often.#vere x reader #touchstarved x reader #toxintouch writing #touchstarved game fanfic #no pillow fight i'm osrry #this fic. fought me. this fic stole my wallet in the denny's parking lot #toxintouch: {pick} prompt {your poison}#wtf tumblr why did u do this to my image i thought i got my dimensions right the file can't be that big...#i have 2 ways of choosing titles btw on the nose and “you'll have to google this/have me explain”

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