I write about my favorite Slytherin boys. Absolute sucker for EnemiesToLovers, FriendstoLovers or anything angsty that ends with fluff. Feel free to send me requests :)
AU where mc the night before her first day of 5th year (or age them up), she is at the three broomsticks nervous for her first day at Hogwarts. She ends up having to what she assumes is a one night stand with just another guy in Hogsmeade (he wasn’t wearing a robe so he HAD to be someone just passing through, right?). Only to find the next day, before the sorting ceremony, that the very same man is sitting at the slytherin table. And he will refuse to let her live it down, especially where they had shared intimate moments beyond sex (something he never did).
Unforeseen Attachments | Sebastian Sallow x Reader
Words: ~6,900
Tags: Implied Smut, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Fluff, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance
The Three Broomsticks was warm, loud, and filled with the scent of butterbeer and spice. You had chosen it for a reason: to calm your nerves. Tomorrow, you’d finally be setting foot inside Hogwarts for the first time, starting your seventh year at a school that, until this past year, you never even knew existed. You were a newly minted witch, arriving at the very end of your academic career.
You had told yourself you weren’t nervous, but then you had downed two drinks too many, and when a smooth voice asked if the seat beside you was taken, you didn’t hesitate before saying no.
He wasn’t in robes. That was the first thing you noticed. Just dark jeans and a snug sweater. His hair was a tousled mess, his sharp features and freckles accentuated by the dim candlelight, and when he smirked at you, it was the kind of smile that promised trouble.
"New to town?"
"That obvious?" you had replied, eyeing him cautiously.
He chuckled, leaning his elbow on the bar as he studied you. “Just a little.” His voice was smooth, confident—too confident. “You’re drinking like someone trying to forget something. Or maybe trying to work up the courage for something.” His gaze flicked to your mostly empty glass, then back to you. “Which is it?”
You huffed a laugh, swirling the last bit of liquid in your glass. “Both, maybe.”
His smirk widened. “Tell me more.”
You hesitated, but something about him—the way he leaned in like he actually cared about the answer—made you let your guard down, just a little.
“I start at Hogwarts tomorrow,” you admitted, exhaling sharply. “Seventh year. Transfer student.”
For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker across his expression. But then he grinned, and it was gone, replaced by something playful. “Bit late to be jumping in, isn’t it?”
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” he said, gesturing between you. “I happen to be an expert on Hogwarts.”
You snorted. “Oh? Let me guess—alumni?”
He tilted his head, considering. “Something like that.”
He bought you another drink.
Then another.
By the time you reached your third, the nerves that had kept you rigid all night had melted away, replaced by the comfortable haze of alcohol and the easy pull of conversation with the stranger beside you. He was annoyingly charming, quick-witted in a way that made it impossible not to banter with him, and when he laughed—really laughed—it was warm and rich, something that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the firewhiskey.
At some point, his arm had draped over the back of your chair, the tips of his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, each touch a ghost of something deliberate. It made your skin tingle, made your breath catch just slightly, but you never pulled away.
And then neither of you were talking.
You were just looking at each other, the din of the Three Broomsticks fading into the background, the flickering candlelight making the gold in his eyes gleam, his pupils blown wide beneath thick lashes.
He smirked. A lazy, confident thing. And then, he kissed you.
He kissed you like he had already decided you were his the moment he sat down beside you, like he had been waiting for this moment the entire night.
He tasted like firewhiskey and cinnamon, sharp and warm, laced with something decadent and dangerous.
A low sound rumbled in his throat when you kissed him back, fingers curling around the front of his sweater as he dragged you closer, his hands slipping down your waist like he had no intention of letting go.
He nipped at your lower lip and sighed when you let him in, and when his tongue brushed against yours, slow, teasing, entirely in control, your resolve crumbled.
“Where?” you murmured against his lips.
His lips curved against yours into something satisfied. Something certain.
"Upstairs.”
The room smelled of sweat and heat and something unmistakably him. The sheets were tangled around your legs, sticking to your skin, still damp from the mess the two of you had made of each other. Your body was wrecked; thoroughly, deliciously spent in a way that left your limbs feeling like lead, the faintest tremor still lingering in your thighs.
You stared at the ceiling, pulse still hammering in your ears.
You never knew sex could feel like this. It was as if he had known you forever, as if the moment his hands met your skin, he was simply retracing familiar paths. Like in some past life, he had already learned every sound you make, already mastered the art of unraveling you.
Your breath hitched as a phantom sensation rippled through you—the memory of his mouth on your skin, the way he had taken his time, the way he had watched you, dragging it out until you were begging for him. He had been so unbearably confident in the way he touched you, in the way he held you, like he already knew how you were going to fall apart before you did.
You turned your head slightly, eyes trailing to the half-open bathroom door. The sound of running water filled the space, soft splashes as he washed up, and you stared up at the ceiling, the memory of him under the soft candlelight flashing through your mind.
You had known he was handsome. That had been obvious from the first moment he sat down beside you at the bar, but seeing him—truly seeing him—without the barriers of clothing in the way?
Holy. Fuck.
He wasn’t sculpted like some vain, preened gym rat, nor was he delicate and lean like a pureblood aristocrat bred for appearances.
No.
He was broad-shouldered and powerful, all tanned skin and freckles, his strength was earned, not ornamental—the kind built from use rather than mindless training. Muscle softened just enough to feel real, warm, solid.
And then his hands.
Calloused, experienced, fingers that had gripped your waist so tightly you were sure there would be bruises. Hands that had held you down, teased you, ruined you, and then softened just enough when you gasped for breath, like he had needed you to be okay before he kept going.
The memory made heat pool in your stomach again, and you clenched your thighs together, mortified at yourself. You had never reacted like this to someone before. You had never wanted someone again so soon after already being ruined by them.
Your breath caught as you heard the water shut off. A second later, the door creaked open.
And then he was there.
Standing in the doorway, looking like sin incarnate, toweling off his damp curls, still gloriously bare. He wasn’t even looking at you yet, just running the towel over his hair, muscles flexing with the movement, slow and unhurried.
Then he glanced up, and smirked.
"Still here, hm? And here I was, thinking you’d just sneak out while I was in the loo.”
You should have. You really should have. But—
"I can't walk yet," you muttered.
“Oh?” He tossed the towel onto a nearby chair, taking a slow step forward, utterly unbothered by the fact he was still completely bloody naked.
He padded over to the bed, moving with that same effortless grace he had when he’d pinned you down and—
You shut down that thought immediately, heart lurching as he sank onto the mattress beside you.
Because this... this wasn’t how a one-night stand was supposed to go.
He should have been getting dressed, flashing you that lazy, self-satisfied smirk before making some teasing remark about how fun it had been. You should have been making an excuse to leave, pretending like your legs weren’t still trembling, like your skin wasn’t still buzzing with the memory of his hands.
You weren’t supposed to feel attached.
But fuck. How could you not? How could you go back to anything else after this? How could you let someone else touch you, kiss you, have you when he had already set a standard that no one else could ever reach?
You swallowed hard, shifting slightly under the sheets, only to feel the telltale ache between your legs—a reminder of exactly what he had done to you.
He must have caught something in your expression because he smirked again. “Regretting it already?”
Your mouth opened, a retort on your tongue, but the words never came.
Because you weren’t.
You weren’t regretting a single thing. And maybe that was the most terrifying part.
So you turned your face toward the ceiling, exhaling sharply. “You do this often?”
He let out a soft huff of laughter, leaning back into the pillows beside you. "Sort of."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
He folded his arms behind his head, ignoring your question. "What about you? You do this often?"
You wet your lips, gaze flicking between him and the ceiling. "I wouldn't say 'often', but... sometimes, I guess."
There was a beat of silence. The kind that stretched just long enough to feel heavy, not quite comfortable, not quite awkward.
He let out a slow breath. “So,” he said, voice low, casual, but too casual. Like he was about to pry.
You turned your head slightly to glance at him. “So?”
His brown eyes flicked to you. “Why now?”
Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You said you’re a transfer,” he mused. “Seventh year. That doesn’t happen often. So, why now?”
You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening slightly in the sheets. It was an innocent question—maybe. But it still felt like he had reached into your chest and prodded at something raw.
“It’s… complicated,” you said eventually.
He hummed, unconvinced. “I’ve got time.”
You sighed. “Okay, well... long story short, I only just got my magic.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t raised in the magical world,” you explained. “Didn’t even know it existed until this year. Thought I was just some ordinary Muggle with an ordinary life. Then—” You hesitated. “Then things changed.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment. His gaze burned against the side of your face, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer.
“Bloody hell.”
That made you snort. “That’s one way to put it.”
“No, I mean… That’s insane. That almost never happens.”
“Yeah, well, here I am."
He let out a soft laugh. “So, let me guess. The Ministry found you, whisked you off, and now you’re here, trying to cram seven years of magical education into one?”
“Something like that."
He shook his head, whistling low. “No wonder you were drinking like a condemned woman.”
“I wasn’t that bad.”
“You were two sips away from talking to the fireplace.”
“Liar.”
He chuckled, stretching slightly. “So, what do you think of it so far?”
“What?”
“The wizarding world.” He propped himself up on one elbow, his freckled face half-illuminated by the candlelight. “Now that you’re part of it.”
You hesitated. “It’s… a lot.”
He huffed. “Sounds like an understatement.”
You turned your head to meet his gaze. “It’s like stepping into a completely different reality. I spent years thinking I knew how the world worked, and now... Now, I have to relearn everything.”
His smirk faded slightly. “That’s got to be terrifying.”
You hummed in contemplation. Because yes, it was. It was terrifying in a way you could barely put into words. But it was also exhilarating.
You shifted slightly beneath the sheets. "It's scary," you told him honestly. "But it's exciting too… like what if this is where I was always meant to be?"
He studied you for a moment, his expression softening into something thoughtful.
“I think it is,” he said, and somehow it didn’t feel like a simple reassurance. It felt like certainty. And for some reason, that made your chest ache.
You turned onto your side, facing him, searching his expression. He was still propped up on one elbow, his messy curls falling over his forehead, freckles scattered over his nose and cheekbones. He looked so… casual. At ease. As if lying naked in a rented bed, talking about your deepest secrets, was just something he did all the time.
“What about you?” you asked, tilting your head.
He arched a brow. “What about me?”
“How’d you end up at Hogwarts?”
He huffed a laugh. “Oh, you know,” he said airily, “the usual. Grew up in the magical world. Got my letter at 11. Sorted into Slytherin. Got into loads of trouble. Almost expelled—twice. That sort of thing.”
You smirked. “Trouble, huh?”
“Oh, loads.”
“What kind of trouble?”
He grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All kinds. Let’s just say I have a knack for bending the rules.”
You snorted. "Not very specific."
He turned onto his side to face you again. His smirk lingered, but there was something unreadable beneath it, something just slightly off.
"Mostly I'd get in shit for sneaking off places I shouldn't."
You arched a brow. “Like where?”
He smirked, but it was a little too sharp. “Oh, you know… the Restricted Section. Cursed catacombs. The occasional abandoned ruin.”
You let out a huff of laughter. “Sounds like you were more of a treasure hunter than a student.”
He stretched, rolling onto his back again. “Something like that.”
His voice was light, but for all the teasing, all the flirting, there was something about him that felt heavy. Like there were things he wasn’t saying.
You turned onto your stomach, resting your chin on your arms. “You still do that?”
He glanced at you. “Do what?”
“Go looking for things you shouldn’t?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His fingers traced absent patterns into the sheets, expression thoughtful. Then—
“Not as much anymore.”
You frowned. “Why not?”
“Lost my motivation, I suppose.”
"And your motivation was...?"
His dark eyes flicked to you, something unreadable lurking behind them, stormy and distant in a way that made your stomach tighten.
"My sister was sick."
The room instantly felt smaller.
You hadn't expected that.
His voice was calm, almost too even, like he was reciting a fact instead of something that had unraveled his life. His fingers still traced idle shapes into the sheets, though you suspected now it was more about keeping his hands busy than anything else.
"Was?" You asked.
His fingers stilled.
"She still is. But we... don't talk anymore."
He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling, jaw set just tight enough to reveal the tension there.
Your throat tightened. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too."
The silence between you stretched, heavy with things left unsaid.
His gaze remained locked on the ceiling, jaw set, fingers curled slightly in the sheets, and you shouldn’t have cared that he looked so broken. You had no reason to care. This was supposed to be nothing. A one-night distraction. A mistake that would be left behind in the morning.
So why... Why were you scooting closer? Why was your hand reaching out before you could even stop yourself?
Before you knew it, you had pressed yourself into his side, curling against him without thinking, your fingers brushing along his arm, your lips pressing the softest, faintest kiss to his temple.
He tensed, and for a brief, terrible second, you thought he might pull away. That he might make some biting remark, twist this moment into something easy so he wouldn’t have to feel it. But then, he exhaled and his shoulders slumped, the tension in his body easing just slightly.
You didn’t say anything. You just stayed there, forehead brushing against the side of his face, fingers resting lightly over his stomach.
His hand came up slowly, hesitating just for a moment before he curled his fingers over yours.
You weren’t sure how long you lay there like that, holding him. And you didn’t know what had come over you. Where had this protectiveness come from? This strange, overwhelming fondness for a man you had known for mere hours?
This was supposed to be nothing.
But it didn’t feel like nothing.
Not when he let you stay close. Not when his fingers held onto yours just a little bit tighter, as if he needed it.
The realization made something in your chest ache.
And maybe that was why, after everything, after you had given him your body, after you had laid yourselves bare in ways that weren’t just physical—
You finally gave him your name. Softly. Just above a whisper.
He blinked, turning his head slightly to face you, brow raising just a fraction. Then he smiled, soft and genuine. He squeezed your fingers lightly, and for the first time since you had met him, he said, “Sebastian.”
The name settled over you like a spell.
Sebastian.
The bed was empty when you woke.
Sebastian was gone.
Your stomach twisted with hurt, an irrational, stupid sort of hurt that you immediately tried to shake off.
He had no obligation to stay. No promise had been made, no expectation set.
Still, as you ran a hand over the empty space beside you, the sheets cold to the touch, something in your chest tightened.
You let out a sharp exhale, trying to will it away. You knew better than this.
But then you saw it. A slip of parchment, folded neatly and left on the pillow beside you.
You swallowed hard, pulse picking up as you reached for it, unfolding the note with slightly unsteady hands.
The writing was neat, precise, slanted just slightly to the right. You read the words once. Then twice. Then three times.
I had places to be. Didn’t want to wake you—figured you needed the sleep after last night. Try not to miss me too much.
See you soon.
—Sebastian
See you soon? How? How could he possibly see you soon? It wasn’t like he had left a way to contact him—no address, no floo network connection, not even a vague mention of when he’d be passing through Hogsmeade again.
Just see you soon.
Your chest ached, but you ignored it. It was probably just his way of letting you down easily, a casual farewell to smooth over the edges of what was supposed to be a one-night stand.
Maybe this experience would just… live in your mind. One reckless, beautiful, unforgettable night with a stranger. One that would never happen again.
You exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over your face. You needed to move. You had things to do.
The day passed in a blur of quiet errands.
You spent the morning collecting your school supplies—robes, books, parchment, quills. You took your time browsing through Tomes & Scrolls, running your fingers along the spines of textbooks that still felt foreign to you.
You didn’t know why, but you felt restless. Like something was unfinished. Like there was something you were waiting for.
You pushed the thought away and kept moving.
By the time evening rolled around, you were exhausted, and yet, the nerves had settled in your stomach once more.
The Sorting Ceremony.
Tonight, you would officially become a student of Hogwarts. You didn’t know what house you’d end up in, but you weren’t even sure if you cared. You just wanted to belong.
The moment you stepped into Hogwarts castle, you felt small.
The corridors stretched impossibly high, the ancient stone whispering with centuries of history. The flickering torchlight cast moving shadows along the walls, the very air humming with magic.
By the time you reached the entrance to the Great Hall, following closely behind Professor Weasley, your heart was hammering.
Then the doors opened, and you were not prepared for what lay beyond them.
The Great Hall was breathtaking—a vast, candlelit chamber, the enchanted ceiling reflecting the darkening sky above. Hundreds of students were seated at four long tables, their faces curious as they turned to watch you and the other new arrivals.
Your stomach twisted, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared you for what happened next. Because as your eyes swept over the sea of unfamiliar faces—
You found him.
Sebastian.
Sitting comfortably at the Slytherin table, elbow resting on the back of the bench, tie loose around his collar. His brown eyes locked onto yours immediately, and the moment they did—
That smirk.
Your stomach dropped.
He winked.
Realization crashed over you like a tidal wave.
"See you soon."
He knew. He had always known.
You had spent the last twenty-four hours wondering if you’d ever see him again, replaying last night in your head like a memory you’d have to cherish and lock away forever, and he had known the whole time.
You were going to kill him.
Right after you figured out how to survive this moment without combusting from sheer mortification, that is.
You walked on autopilot toward the front of the hall, and all the while, Sebastian watched you. His eyes were fixed on you with unabashed amusement, his elbow propped lazily on the table, his fingers drumming against the wood.
You tore your gaze away. Tried to focus. Tried to ignore the heat creeping up the back of your neck, the way your entire body burned at the realization that the man who had ruined you last night was a student at Hogwarts. Another seventh-year.
Your luck was atrocious.
You inhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as Professor Weasley led you to your seat. The Sorting Hat sat on its stool nearby, looking far too unassuming for something that was about to dictate your entire future.
Then, one by one, the first years were sorted.
You barely heard the names being called, the cheers erupting from the different tables, the applause that followed each new addition. Your heart was hammering too loudly in your chest.
And then your name.
A hush fell over the Great Hall.
You swallowed thickly, stepping forward.
The Sorting Hat was placed on your head, and before you could even prepare yourself, a voice murmured in your ear.
"Ah… interesting. Very interesting indeed."
Your breath caught.
"Curious mind… sharp, determined… a fire in you, yes, I see it… and yet… You long to prove yourself. To carve your own place in the world. Oh, yes… yes, I know where to put you…"
Your stomach twisted.
"Better be... Slytherin!"
The word rang out across the hall. Your entire body locked up. The Slytherin table erupted into cheers. You barely heard them. The only thing you could hear, the only thing you could process, was the sound of one single clap.
Slow. Mocking. Infuriating.
Sebastian was lounging in his seat, his smug, insufferable grin stretching ear to ear, hands coming together in deliberately slow applause.
Your stomach sank. Because of course. Of course this was happening. Of course you were going to be stuck in the same house as him.
For a brief, fleeting moment, you actually considered turning around and walking straight back out of the castle.
But instead you inhaled sharply. Steeled yourself. And with as much dignity as you could possibly muster, you marched toward the Slytherin table, taking a seat as far away from Sebastian as humanly possible.
You had survived the first week.
Barely.
It had been a long, painful, excruciatingly humiliating five days at Hogwarts, thanks to one person and one person alone.
Sebastian Sallow.
The smug, insufferable, walking nightmare who had made it his personal mission to ensure you would never forget what had happened that night in Hogsmeade. And worse, he was having fun doing it.
It was already bad enough that you had unknowingly shagged a classmate before you had even set foot inside the castle, but Sebastian had known. He had known the entire time that you were going to be classmates and he had deliberately chosen not to tell you.
And now he was using it against you.
Every day. Every bloody day, he found new and creative ways to remind you of that night in the Three Broomsticks
You tried to ignore him. You really did. Because Merlin knew you had bigger problems.
Adjusting to Hogwarts was hard enough as it was. The magic, the culture, the sheer weight of it all—it was suffocating.
You were trying to catch up on seven years of magical education in just one.
Every subject felt impossibly advanced, the lessons moving faster than you could process, the spells and theory and history so overwhelmingly foreign to you that it left you exhausted by the end of each day.
You had spent your entire life thinking you were just an ordinary person, and now you were expected to master magic in a world you barely understood.
You didn't have time for distractions. You didn’t have time for him.
And yet Sebastian was everywhere, taking every opportunity to hold this not-so-little secret over your head.
In Potions, when Professor Sharp had assigned you partners for the term, you’d silently prayed to any higher power that you’d be paired with literally anyone else.
You were not that lucky.
Sebastian had grinned when his name was called next to yours, sliding onto the bench beside you, his voice too low, too smooth as he leaned in and murmured, “Guess we’re stuck together for a while, sweetheart. Good thing you’re good with your hands.”
You had nearly dropped your cauldron.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, when you had been paired for dueling exercises, Sebastian had grinned and leaned in close, murmuring, “Not the first time you’ve let me pin you down, is it?”
You had nearly hexed him on the spot.
But Sebastian found your anger amusing, your embarrassment endearing. So when you stomped into the Slytherin common room after dinner Friday night, you were determined to avoid him, determined to find a quiet corner and pretend he didn’t exist.
Except of course he was there. Leaning back on the couch by the fire, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, his gaze already fixed on you the moment you entered.
You froze. His smirk widened. You turned on your heel.
“Oh, don’t be like that, love.” His voice was too smooth, too damn smug.
You ignored him, marching toward the dormitory stairs.
“Running away?” he called after you. "And here I thought you found me irresistible."
You exhaled slowly, whirled around, and stalked toward him, stopping just short of where he lounged on the couch.
“You,” you hissed.
“Me,” he agreed, completely unbothered.
“You have been insufferable all week.”
“I’ve been charming all week,” he corrected. “You, however, have been avoiding me.”
“Because you’re impossible.”
“I prefer relentless.”
You scowled. “You’re an ass.”
“I’ve been called worse.” He stretched, muscles flexing beneath his sweater. “Besides, you’re acting like I did something terrible, but as I recall, you weren’t exactly shy about how much you enjoyed yourself."
Heat flared across your cheeks, and Sebastian barely had a second to react before your fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, yanking him up from the couch with far more strength than he had expected. His smirk faltered for a second before he recovered, letting you drag him toward the exit of the common room.
The moment you stepped into the dimly lit corridor beyond the common room entrance, you shoved him back against the stone wall, your grip still tight on his sweater.
“You let me humiliate myself.”
Sebastian actually had the audacity to look offended. "Humiliate?"
"You knew we were going to be classmates, and you didn't tell me!" you spat, your fingers still curled into the front of his sweater. "You let me walk into Hogwarts completely blind, thinking I'd never see you again. And then you spent the entire week taunting me about it!"
Sebastian’s smirk faltered, if only for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t much, just the tiniest flicker of something uncertain in his brown eyes, but for the first time since this nightmare began, you saw something other than amusement behind his teasing.
Guilt.
His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but then he hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides like he was debating whether or not to lift them, to touch you, to do something other than stand there pinned against the wall.
And then, finally, he sighed.
“I didn’t mean for it to be cruel,” he admitted. “I swear, I didn’t.” Sebastian ran a hand through his curls, looking surprisingly sheepish. “I—” He hesitated again, exhaling sharply before he finally said, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
Your fingers loosened slightly in his sweater. “…What?”
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he repeated, a small, rueful chuckle slipping from him. “How was I supposed to bring that up? Oh, by the way, I’m actually a student too. See you in class.”
Your scowl deepened. "Sounds to me like you just wanted a shag and didn’t care what happened after."
Sebastian winced, his mouth pressing into a tight line, and for a moment, he actually looked hurt.
"That’s not—" He ran a hand over his face. "Merlin—that’s not what it was."
"Could have fooled me."
His jaw tensed. "Do you really think I’m that much of a bastard?"
You hesitated. Because—yes? No? You didn’t even know anymore. The Sebastian you had met at the Three Broomsticks—the charming, charismatic, thoughtful man who had listened to you so intently, who had kissed you like he had already decided you were his—felt like an entirely different person from the one who had spent the past week tormenting you. And yet… was it really so surprising that they were one and the same?
For all his teasing, for all his insufferable smugness, there had been moments where you had caught glimpses of that same man beneath it all. The one who had made you laugh, who had leaned in close like he couldn’t help himself, who had unraveled you with a single look.
And for all your frustration, all your exasperation, you couldn’t get that night out of your head.
The way he had touched you. The way he had looked at you. The way he had made you feel, like you were something to be devoured.
Now, standing here, chest to chest, his voice lower, his smirk absent, the way he was looking at you wasn’t taunting, certainly wasn’t cruel. It was something else entirely.
"I don’t know," you admitted finally.
Sebastian inhaled sharply. He tilted his head back against the stone wall, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to collect his thoughts, like he was trying to find the right words, something he clearly never struggled with. But then he exhaled, his hands finally moving, coming up slowly to curl loosely around your wrists, the weight of them warm and solid.
"I should have told you," he said. "I should have. But it wasn’t because I didn’t care."
You swallowed hard. "Then why?"
Sebastian sighed, a rueful smile tugging on his lips. "Because I liked you. I liked you the second I sat down next to you, and I didn’t want to tell you."
You stared at him, but Sebastian wasn’t looking at you anymore. His gaze had drifted somewhere over your shoulder, jaw tight, lips pressed together in frustration.
"I knew the second I told you, it would ruin everything," he continued. "I knew you’d look at me differently. That it wouldn’t be real anymore. That you'd... pull away from me."
Sebastian’s eyes flicked back to yours. "But that night, before you knew… you looked at me like I was..." His voice softened, almost distant. "Like I was worth your time."
You swallowed thickly, pulse hammering in your ears.
Sebastian’s grip on your wrists tightened just slightly, his thumbs brushing against your skin before he sighed and let go, running a hand through his hair.
"I’m sorry," he muttered. "Truly. I know I... I should have told you, I was an ass, you're right," His mouth quirked slightly, but there was no arrogance behind it now, only something almost self-deprecating. "But, for what it’s worth… this week has been fun."
You huffed, crossing your arms. "Fun for you."
He grinned, but the sharpness had dulled. "And for you, if you’d just admit it."
You rolled your eyes, but the irritation wasn’t quite as strong anymore. He wasn’t... wrong.
The tension between you shifted. It didn’t dissolve, not entirely, but it wasn’t as jagged now. It lingered, softer at the edges, something else creeping in.
Sebastian Sallow, with all his arrogance and relentless teasing, wasn’t just a menace. He was charming. He was dangerous. Not because he was cruel, not because he was some heartless rake who played with people’s emotions for sport, but because he actually meant it.
Because beneath all the games and the insufferable smirks, there was someone real. Someone who had wanted you, who still did. And worse—Merlin help you—you wanted him too.
You inhaled sharply, pushing past the thoughts threatening to sink their claws into your already-weakened defenses. “I’m not saying I forgive you completely,” you muttered. “But… I guess I understand why you did it.”
Sebastian grinned. “Progress.”
“Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Liar.
But he was watching you carefully now, his expression something almost hesitant, and he shifted slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, does this mean we can start over?”
You frowned slightly. “Start over?”
He straightened, suddenly standing tall, clearing his throat before extending his hand between you.
“Sebastian Sallow,” he said, voice deliberately formal. But his brown eyes were warm, playful, and somehow earnest. “Seventh-year. Slytherin. Excellent duelist. Top of our class in Dark Arts. And, apparently, your Potions partner for the foreseeable future.”
You stared at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Can't be that bad," he mused, still holding out his hand, "you haven’t walked away.”
Your lips pressed together, but you couldn’t stop the smallest tug at the corner of your mouth. You sighed, then reached out, slipping your fingers into his.
You met his gaze. “But for the record, I was trying to walk away from you all week.”
Sebastian smirked. “And yet.”
You groaned, trying to tug your hand back, but he held on, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles in a way that made something dangerous flutter in your chest.
“Alright, alright,” you huffed, finally giving in. “Truce.”
Sebastian’s grin widened. “Truce.”
He finally let your hand go, and you ignored the way your skin still tingled from the contact.
But before you could even process what this meant, what he meant, Sebastian tilted his head, considering you for a long moment.
“Still,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, smoother. “I can’t help but wonder…”
You arched a brow. “Wonder what?”
His gaze flickered, dropping just slightly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.
“If you’d still look at me the same way," he murmured, "now.”
You stiffened.
You knew exactly what he meant. Exactly what he was asking.
That night in the Three Broomsticks, you had looked at him like he was something worth wanting. Like he was someone worth keeping. And now—now that you knew who he was, now that you’d spent the past week despising him, pushing him away, trying and failing to ignore the way he made you feel—did you still want him?
Sebastian tilted his head slightly, his voice lower now, softer. “Well?”
Your breath came a little quicker. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way he was so close but not quite touching, waiting. The way his breath was just the faintest bit uneven, like he wasn’t as unaffected as he wanted you to believe.
You opened your mouth—whether to deny your feelings, to tell him to shut up, or to say something else entirely, you weren’t sure—but you never got the chance. Because in the next breath, Sebastian’s hands were on your cheeks, and then—then he was kissing you.
It wasn’t like in the Three Broomsticks. That had been confident, assured, dripping with the kind of arrogance that came with knowing exactly what he wanted and knowing he could have it.
This was different. This was hesitation wrapped in want. Caution tangled with need.
His lips pressed against yours, firm but searching, waiting—waiting for you to push him away, waiting for you to tell him this was a mistake.
But you didn’t. You couldn’t.
The moment his mouth met yours, the world tilted, and suddenly, you were back in that dimly lit inn room, back to firewhiskey-slicked lips and burning fingertips, back to the way his body had felt beneath yours, against yours.
Back to the way he had unraveled you.
A quiet sound escaped your throat—something between a sigh and a surrender—and in response, Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. His fingers slid into your hair, pulling you closer, kissing you like he had just won something, like he had been waiting all week for you to cave, to crack, to give in.
And maybe he had. Maybe you had too.
Your hands found their way to his sweater, curling into the fabric, holding onto him as his lips moved against yours, slow and deliberate, tasting, savoring.
His fingers curled tighter at the nape of your neck, and you let him tilt your head, let him deepen the kiss, let him tease his tongue along the seam of your lips until you parted for him with a soft, breathless gasp.
His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and Merlin help you, you let him.
The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, the way he kissed you—firm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to learn the shape of your mouth—it sent a slow, delicious heat curling through your stomach, pooling low in your core.
You weren’t sure how long you stood there, tangled in him, lost in the quiet hum of pleasure simmering just beneath your skin.
Long enough that your lungs burned for air. Long enough that your fingers had found their way into his curls, threading through them, tugging just enough to earn another deep sound from his throat.
And then, just as you were about to lose yourself completely, Sebastian pulled back.
Barely.
His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing uneven, his hands still gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go.
His lips were red. Swollen.
So were yours.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
The silence was thick, charged, the only sound between you the soft, rapid inhale of your breaths.
Then finally Sebastian let out a quiet chuckle, low and breathless, his lips still close to yours.
“Well,” he murmured, voice rough with something sinful. “Guess I got my answer.”
You swallowed thickly, still trying to catch your breath, still trying to process what had just happened, what this meant, what this was.
“…Shut up,” you muttered.
Sebastian grinned. “Make me.”
You almost did. Almost kissed him again, almost let yourself fall right back into the warmth of his mouth, his touch, the way he felt against you.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you shoved lightly at his chest, your breath still uneven, your mind still spinning, and turned on your heel.
"You're carrying all my books to class next week," you shot over your shoulder, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control, to pretend like your heart wasn’t still hammering in your chest, like your lips weren’t still tingling from the way he had kissed you.
Sebastian let out a low chuckle behind you. “Oh? Is that my punishment, then?”
“Yes,” you said firmly, still walking away, because if you turned around, you might actually go back to him.
You heard him shift, could practically feel the smirk in his voice when he said, “Hardly seems fair. You enjoyed that just as much as I did.”
You stopped dead in your tracks, fists clenching at your sides. You inhaled sharply through your nose, then exhaled, willing yourself to ignore him, willing yourself not to let him see just how right he was.
Behind you, Sebastian hummed. “Alright, sweetheart. I’ll carry your books.”
You blinked. “…What?”
“I’ll carry your books,” he repeated, and when you finally turned to look at him, he was grinning, mischievous and infuriating and undeniably pleased with himself. “Happy to do it, actually. Gives me an excuse to walk you to class.”
Your stomach did something embarrassing.
“That’s not what I—”
“Oh, I know,” he cut in smoothly, rocking back on his heels. “But that’s what you’re getting.”
You groaned, turning around again, determined to put as much space between you and his smugness as possible. “You are impossible.”
"You still kissed me. Again."
You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. Because even as you left him standing there, even as you stormed away, your lips still burned with the memory of him.
And something told you this was only the beginning.
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I wanted to see them in the game, spending peaceful times together, exchanging silly jokes like this...
(No Sakurako in the magical world of Ominis x MC, so Sebastian is doomed to be single. 🤣)
Headcannon: Sebastian forces his british accent bc he's a little self conscious of his scottish accent (came from his mum btw). However, the drunker he gets, stronger the scottish comes out.
This story contains themes of sexual assault. If you or someone you know has experienced sexual assault, please know that support is available. I’ve included resources below to help guide you toward assistance. You are never alone, and there is always hope. Please take care of yourself as you read.
International Sexual Assault Resource Link
Words: ~14,500
Tags/TW: SA, Violence, Trauma, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Size MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions
The low hum of the bar buzzed like a low-grade static in Sebastian’s ears. A smooth jazz ensemble played in the corner, their music rich and sultry, threading through the room like smoke. Golden light bathed the space, casting everything in soft amber hues that made the whole place feel a little unreal. Along the curved bar, bottles of rare liquors glittered like jewels, and the faint scent of citrus and something floral—lavender, maybe—lingered in the air.
It was a far cry from their usual haunts.
Sebastian ran his fingers around the rim of his glass, trailing condensation down to the base. The whiskey in front of him wasn’t his first, and it wouldn’t be his last. Across from him, Ominis sat with the casual poise that came so easily to him, his chin balanced on one hand while his other traced absent patterns along the bar's polished surface. He looked relaxed, though Sebastian knew better. If the subtle flush on his pale cheeks wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the way his lips twitched faintly every time Poppy’s name came up certainly was.
Beside him, Garreth Weasley was anything but subtle. Loud as ever, he laughed and gestured animatedly, mid-story about some disastrous experiment he’d tried at the pub last weekend.
“…and then, right as I’m about to take a sip, she snatches it out of my hand, takes one look at it, and says—and I quote—‘You have a death wish, don’t you?’ Can you imagine? The nerve!” Garreth threw his hands up in mock indignation. “It wasn’t even that bad. Just rum, peach schnapps, absinthe—”
“One day,” Ominis cut in smoothly, tilting his head toward Garreth with the faintest smirk. “You will be tried for your alcoholic war crimes, Weasley.”
Sebastian snorted into his drink, unable to help himself. He'd need both hands to count the number of times Garreth had walked into a bar and pestered the bartender to mix him something absolutely disastrous.
It was a wonder they still got served anywhere.
Garreth scoffed, taking an exaggerated sip of his neon-colored monstrosity. “You just don’t appreciate true genius.”
Ominis arched a brow. “If by ‘genius,’ you mean ‘reckless disregard for the structural integrity of your liver,’ then yes, I'm terribly ungrateful.”
Sebastian smirked, but his attention flickered toward the entrance—again. The girls weren’t even late, not technically, but every passing minute stretched unbearably. He should have been used to this feeling by now, this sharp-edged anticipation curling low in his chest.
He wasn’t. He never was. It was always like this, wasn’t it?
The waiting. The wanting.
Sebastian had spent over a decade orbiting around you, trapped in some endless, torturous loop of almosts—of lingering touches, stolen glances, conversations that danced too close to the edge of something he didn’t dare name. The worst part? It was his own doing. He’d had every opportunity to cross that invisible line, to tell you what he felt, what he ached for, but he never did.
Because once he did, there would be no undoing it.
Meanwhile, everyone else in their group was paired off now. Garreth and Natty had been inseparable since a Ministry event a few years back, and Poppy and Ominis had been as good as married the moment Hogwarts spat them out. Imelda had ended up with Nerida, to the surprise of no one, the two of them making up a formidable duo—one sharp-tongued and reckless, the other quietly cutting.
Sebastian was happy for them. Truly, he was. It was almost sickening how well it had worked out for everyone. They’d all somehow ended up with their Hogwarts sweethearts, riding off into the sunset with picture-perfect endings that looked like something out of a fairy tale.
And then there was him.
The idiot who’d spent 11 years hopelessly in love with his best friend and done absolutely nothing about it.
At first, it had been easier to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. You were best friends. You had always been best friends. Of course you were close. Of course you knew each other better than anyone. So what if you had a habit of leaning against him whenever you were tired, or if you always reached for him first when something made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe? So what if you touched him more than anyone else, if you let your fingers brush his wrist when you passed him a drink or hooked your ankle around his under the table without thinking about it?
It had always been like that. Until one day, it wasn’t. Until one day, when he was 15, he’d looked at you, and his stomach had flipped, and suddenly, every innocent touch, every laugh, every glance, felt different. Felt like something else entirely.
And now? Now he was fucking trapped.
Ominis’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’ll get wrinkles early if you keep scowling like that.”
Sebastian glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the smirk tugging on Ominis’s mouth. The bastard didn’t even need to see him to read him like an open book.
“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Sebastian muttered, taking a long sip of his drink.
Ominis didn’t respond, just tipped his head slightly, his expression bordering on smug. He didn’t need to say anything. The unspoken truth hung between them like smoke—Sebastian’s feelings for you were obvious to everyone but you.
Garreth leaned in suddenly, jarring him. “Relax, mate. They’ll show up. Natty wouldn’t miss this for the world, and she’d drag the others along if she had to.” He paused to sip his drink, a mischievous grin spreading over his face. “Although, Poppy’s probably the one making them late. You know how she loves to test Ominis’s patience.”
“More like Natty’s,” Ominis muttered, though there was no heat in it.
Sebastian rolled his eyes and turned toward the door again, restless. The moment stretched, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his glass. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t waiting for you—not like that. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t counting down the seconds until you walked through the door, wasn’t anticipating the sound of your voice, wasn’t wondering what you’d look like tonight, what you’d—
And then the door opened.
And everything else stopped.
Because there you were.
You moved through the room with easy confidence, utterly unaware of the way you were undoing him. That dress—fuck, that dress—it wasn’t something outrageous, wasn’t scandalous or overtly suggestive, but it didn’t need to be. It followed the soft curves of your body, hugged your waist, your plush thighs, the full flare of your hips in a way that made his pulse hammer violently against his ribs. Every step you took made it shift, just enough to tease, just enough to remind him that he should not be thinking about this.
And yet, his mind was already lost to darker places, caught in the dangerous, helpless imagining of how it might feel beneath his fingers. The silky fabric sliding beneath his hands, the warmth of your skin under it. How it would be if he were close enough to touch, to trace the shape of you properly, to press his hands into the softness of your waist and feel the weight of you against him.
His fingers tightened around his glass so hard he swore it might crack.
Garreth chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained, “Good luck tonight, Sallow."
Ominis said nothing, but Sebastian didn’t need to see him smirking to know exactly what was going through his mind.
It was humiliating, really, how easy it was for them to see right through him. And you? You just kept moving, oblivious to the chaos you were leaving in your wake.
Sebastian watched as you approached, your laugh bright and sweet as Natsai caught your hand, spinning you once in an exaggerated flourish as if to show you off. You humored her, swaying playfully, rolling your eyes when Imelda cat-called in approval.
Then, before he could steel himself, before he could brace for the inevitable destruction you always left in your wake, your eyes landed on him again.
And fuck, that smile.
It was warm, unguarded, laced with something soft. The kind of smile that was effortless, unconscious, the kind that made his stomach drop because it meant you were happy to see him. Because you looked at him like he was something good, something familiar and safe, and it tore him to shreds inside.
He forced himself to exhale. To not look like some love-struck fool drowning in you.
“About time,” he said as you sidled up beside him, leaning back against the bar in a way he hoped looked casual.
You rolled your eyes, slipping onto a stool, your shoulder brushing his. “I had to make sure you suffered a little first.”
“You’re a cruel woman.”
“I’m a patient woman,” you corrected, lifting a brow. “I got us on the guest list here weeks ago, so if I have to hear you complain about the wait, I will take my very expensive cocktail and pour it directly into your lap.”
Sebastian huffed, feigning offense. “You wouldn’t.”
You turned, propping your chin on your hand as you looked at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Try me.”
His stomach twisted violently. He didn’t know how you did this—how you made him feel like you could see right through him, like you knew exactly how wrecked he was and were enjoying every moment of it.
He forced himself to focus, to shift his attention somewhere safe.
Unfortunately, there was nowhere safe.
Because now, he was looking at your lips, parted just slightly in a teasing smirk, glossed and inviting and fuck—
He needed another drink. Immediately.
Before he could even flag the bartender down, Garreth leaned into your space with a dramatic sigh his arm wrapped around Natsai's waist. “Seriously though, what took you so long? Sebastian’s been brooding all night.”
You shot him a knowing look. “Has he now?”
Garreth smirked, tipping his glass toward Ominis. “Oh, yeah. Gaunt here tried to warn him about wrinkles.”
You chuckled, leaning slightly into Sebastian’s shoulder in a way that sent a full-body shudder down his spine. “I told you, Seb. Stress is bad for you.”
He tried to smirk, to give you some smart remark, but he knew it wouldn’t come out right. His brain was still lagging on the fact that your body was pressing against his.
Garreth, oblivious as ever, continued rambling. “Honestly, it was embarrassing. I think he almost—”
Sebastian elbowed him sharply, causing Garreth to spill his drink.
Natty, taking pity, pulled him back. “Come on, Garreth. Leave the poor man alone.”
“Fine, fine.” Garreth grinned, clearly not remotely deterred, but let himself be steered away.
Sebastian sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before turning back to you. “So? Was it worth the wait?”
You hummed, taking in the warm, intimate atmosphere, the soft glow of the speakeasy lights. The way the gold hues caught in your eyes nearly killed him.
“Oh, absolutely,” you replied with a smile. "It looks so authentic, like just look at the bar, Seb. The design is almost spot on to the real ones from the Prohibition era—mahogany, brass accents, those exact kind of light fixtures..."
Sebastian tried to focus on your words, really he did.
You were onto talking about speakeasy history now, eyes gleaming with excitement as you gestured toward the dim lighting, the low, rich hum of the jazz band. You’d clearly done your research, and you were rattling off facts with that same enthusiasm you always had for things you loved. It was so endearing. You could make anything sound interesting.
“Well, technically, speakeasies originated during the Prohibition era in America,” you were saying, leaning forward slightly, the low L ight catching in your hair. “They were hidden bars—illegal drinking spots since alcohol was banned. They had secret passwords, hidden entrances, all that. Some were even run by gangsters—people like Al Capone—because bootlegging was so lucrative.”
Sebastian nodded, trying to pay attention, but it was impossible. Because, as much as he loved hearing you nerd out, his brain had zero capacity for historical facts when every single one of your friends had immediately paired off around him.
At the bar, Natty was leaned into Garreth’s side, her hand resting lightly on his chest as he ordered her a drink, his voice dipping into something low and teasing that made her smile. A few feet away, Poppy had sidled up to Ominis, fingers barely brushing against his wrist in that quiet, intimate way they always did. Meanwhile, Imelda and Nerida had wasted no time making themselves comfortable, tucked into a plush booth, heads close together, already lost in each other.
And then there was you. With him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you belonged here, beside him. Like you were his.
Except—you weren’t.
Sebastian swallowed hard, fingers curling around his glass.
It was a cruel fucking thing, this closeness you gave him so easily. Because it wasn’t real, was it? Not really. You were just you. His best friend. Close enough to touch, to tease, to wreck him without even realizing it. But never his.
Never really his.
“…they even had hidden tunnels sometimes,” you continued. “The really fancy ones had hidden rooms, secret staircases, all kinds of tricks. Some of them were in basements, some behind fake storefronts. People had to whisper the password when they got in, which is where the term ‘speakeasy’ comes from.”
Sebastian barely registered what you were saying and you sighed, finally noticing the way he was watching you.
“You’re not listening, are you?”
Sebastian blinked.
“No,” he admitted, because what was the point in lying?
You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but there was no real bite to it.
“Well, at least you’re honest.”
Sebastian smirked. “Always.”
You huffed, clearly unimpressed. “So, what were you thinking about?”
He should have said something teasing, something to deflect, but then you leaned in, just slightly, your head tilting, and Sebastian was drowning.
There was too much warmth in your eyes, too much softness in the way you looked at him, and for one reckless second, he thought maybe. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided. Maybe you knew. Maybe you felt it too.
Sebastian cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away, to wave down the bartender like they might save him.
“Nothing important,” he lied.
You studied him for a beat longer, and then, before you could say another word—
“What can I get for you?”
Mercifully, the bartender appeared, their voice smooth, professional.
Sebastian exhaled and leaned against the bar, grateful for something else to focus on. “Whiskey and Coke.”
The bartender nodded, about to turn away when Sebastian jerked his chin toward you. “And whatever she wants.”
You huffed then rolled your eyes. “I can pay for myself, you know.”
“I know,” Sebastian said, smirking as he propped his elbow against the bar, resting his chin in his hand. “But since I’m clearly suffering through your history lesson, consider it payment.”
You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, suffering, are you?”
“Excruciatingly.”
“Fine,” you sighed, faux exasperation in your tone, turning back to the bartender. “I’ll take the signature cocktail then, since it’s on his dime.”
Sebastian smirked, shaking his head. “Figures.”
The bartender chuckled and disappeared to prepare the drinks, leaving the two of you to settle back into the warmth of the speakeasy’s golden glow.
Sebastian let himself relax, narrowing his eyes slightly. “So? This drink of yours—what’s in it?”
You lifted a brow, amusement flickering across your expression. “Trying to impress me with your knowledge of mixology?”
“Absolutely not.” He snorted. “Just trying to gauge how badly I’m about to regret funding your expensive taste.”
You laughed, the sound warm, easy. “You’ll live. It’s gin with elderflower liqueur, citrus, a little honey, some kind of infused vermouth—oh, and a sprig of rosemary for flair. They call it The Whisper.”
Sebastian snorted. “That’s a lot of effort for a single drink.”
“That’s the whole point of a speakeasy, you loser,” you teased, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s all about the craft.”
He rolled his eyes but grinned. “And here I thought we were just here to drink.”
“Well, that too.”
Your drinks arrived, and you lifted your cocktail, inspecting it with a satisfied little nod before taking a sip. The moment your lips met the rim of the glass, Sebastian had to fight back another surge of inconvenient thoughts—the gloss on your mouth leaving the faintest sheen against the glass, the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you tasted it, considering the balance of flavors.
“It’s so good,” you told him, swirling the liquid lightly in your glass. “Floral, a little sweet, but not too much.”
Sebastian hummed, sipping his drink as he watched you. “Glad to know my money’s going to a worthy cause.”
You smirked, tilting your head. “You know, you never did answer my question.”
Sebastian blinked. “What question?”
You gave him a look—one that told him you knew he was dodging. “What you were thinking about earlier while you ignored my history lesson.”
His grip on his glass tightened for half a second, but before he could come up with a clever retort to get out of this, a new voice cut in—bright, excited.
“Hey you!”
Poppy.
She appeared out of nowhere, seizing your wrist before you could protest. “Come dance with us!”
Your eyes widened. “Poppy—wait—”
But Poppy was relentless, already tugging you toward the dance floor with surprising strength. “Nope, no arguments! Come on!”
Sebastian watched, amused and relieved, as you shot him a look over your shoulder—half entertained, half exasperated—before you disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the glow of the dance floor, and just like that, you were gone.
A slow, knowing voice hummed beside him.
“She got away from you rather quickly.”
Ominis.
Sebastian scowled. “Don’t start."
The blonde sipped his drink, the picture of smug amusement. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”
Sebastian shot him a flat look. “You were absolutely going to say something.”
Ominis smirked. “Well, if you insist—”
Sebastian groaned, tossing back a sip of his whiskey and coke before slamming the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “I don’t. I really, really don’t.”
“You’re in rare form tonight,” Ominis continued, swirling the last of his drink lazily in his glass. “I think I might even pity you.”
Sebastian shot him a glare. “I don’t need your pity.”
“No, but you do need a strategy,” Ominis mused, setting his empty glass down with a soft clink. “Because, at this rate, I fear I’ll be married before you confess to her.”
Sebastian scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you. Took you 8 years to say anything to Poppy.”
Ominis simply smirked. “And yet, here I am, in a committed relationship, while you’re still over here brooding into your drink like a lovesick schoolboy.”
Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis.”
“What?” Ominis asked, feigning innocence. “It’s painful watching you, you know. I can hear the longing.”
Sebastian scowled. “I do not long.”
Ominis turned his head toward him, lips curling ever so slightly. “Sebastian. Poppy said you stared at her mouth for a full ten seconds while she was talking about her drink.”
Sebastian flushed, gripping his glass a little too hard. “It wasn’t ten seconds.”
Ominis hummed. “It was.”
Sebastian wanted to slam his forehead into the bar.
This was his own personal hell.
Garreth sauntered over before he could wallow too deeply, plopping onto the stool beside him with a lazy grin. He slung an arm over the bar, casting a glance toward the dance floor.
“Mate, you are so obvious,” Garreth said, sipping his drink. “It’s honestly impressive.”
Sebastian gave him a flat look. “Did you come over just to harass me?”
“Pretty much,” Garreth said cheerfully.
Sebastian exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throw back the rest of his drink.
Garreth followed his gaze toward the dance floor, where you were now laughing at something Natty had said, your body swaying to the rhythm of the music. The warm amber lighting bathed your skin, the movement of the crowd shifting around you in slow, rhythmic waves.
And fuck, you looked good. Too good. Sebastian took another sip of his whiskey, trying to ignore the ache curling in his chest.
“So,” Garreth said, propping his chin in his hand. “What’s the plan?”
Sebastian glanced at him. “What?”
“The plan,” Garreth repeated. “You know—the one where you finally do something about your massive, crushing, soul-consuming love for her?”
Sebastian groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”
“Mate, we have to do this right now,” Garreth said, motioning toward the dance floor. “Because if you don’t do something soon, some other guy will.”
Sebastian stiffened. Because this? This was the one thing he never let himself think about for too long.
For years, he had convinced himself there was time. That things would work out naturally, that you’d both just… fall into place.
It wasn’t as if you had never been with anyone. You had, a few times during school, in the careless, fleeting way that teenagers fell in and out of things. But nothing had ever stuck. Nothing had ever felt like it mattered. And when they ended, Sebastian had always been there.
Your constant.
The one person you always came back to.
It had reassured him, in some selfish, pathetic way. Let him believe that you weren’t really going anywhere. That whatever was between you—whatever was building between you—would always be there, waiting, until you both figured it out.
But then you’d fallen for him.
Your first real, serious boyfriend. The one who had made Sebastian’s life hell for over a year.
He had hated every goddamn second of it. Hated watching you be with someone else, hated the way you had looked at him—like that—like he was yours. Hated seeing another man have what should have been his.
And what had he done? Nothing. Because he hadn’t been brave enough.
He had let it happen. He had let himself smile and nod and pretend to be happy for you. He had let himself sit on the sidelines and watch.
And then, when it was over—when it had all fallen apart—he had been there. Of course, he had. But you never told him what happened, and Sebastian never asked for details. Never pressed, never pried. All he knew was that one day, it was over, and you didn’t talk about it.
And if Sebastian had felt relieved? If some ugly, selfish part of him had thrived in the knowledge that you were single again?
Well. That was between him and the whiskey.
But that was over a year ago now, and Garreth was right.
You were moving forward, and Sebastian no longer had the luxury of time. You weren’t seventeen anymore. You weren’t in school, fumbling through fleeting relationships just for the sake of them. You were a grown woman—beautiful, incredible, desirable—and when you chose someone now, it would be for something real.
Something long-term. Something permanent.
And the idea of someone else—some faceless stranger—walking up to you on the dance floor, flashing you a grin, letting their hands wander over your waist, pulling you close like they had any right—fuck. That alone was bad enough. But the thought of someone keeping you, of some other man being the one you turned to at the end of the day, the one who got to wake up beside you, touch you freely, know you in ways Sebastian never had the chance to—
It made something inside his chest splinter, burn so hot and fierce he swore it might ruin him.
Across from him, Garreth was watching, expression infuriatingly smug.
“So,” he said, lazily swirling the ice in his drink. “How’s that plan coming along?”
Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to groan.
“Garreth.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
Garreth grinned. “See, I would, but you’re being so fun to watch right now.”
Sebastian scowled, about to say something sharp and unhelpful, but his tongue turned to lead the moment he caught sight of you again.
You had slowed, your dancing shifting into something softer, something more. Natty had turned away, distracted by Poppy tugging her toward another group, and now you were swaying on your own, hands drifting absently down your sides as if lost in the rhythm. Your body moved without thought, your dress hugging the curves of your hips in ways that sent something dark curling in Sebastian’s stomach.
He watched as your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the music, the soft golden glow of the lights painting your skin in honeyed warmth.
And then, like clockwork, it happened.
Some man—some fucking man—noticed you.
Sebastian saw it before it even began, could feel the exact moment the stranger’s gaze landed on you, lingering.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of polished that came with old money, and he was looking at you like he wanted you.
And you—unaware, oblivious—were still dancing. Still open. Still approachable.
Sebastian’s blood ran hot.
Garreth, always a shit-disturber, let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, this is gonna be good.”
Sebastian didn’t even register him, because the stranger was already moving, crossing the floor toward you with intent, cutting through the slow sway of bodies, an easy grin sliding into place.
Sebastian barely heard Garreth mutter, yep, there it is, before he was already moving.
Not thinking—just moving, standing, glass forgotten, feet carrying him across the floor with single-minded purpose.
The stranger reached you first, but Sebastian wasn’t far behind, and he saw the exact moment the man’s hand started to lift—reaching for you, moving into your space.
And he saw the way you instinctively leaned back, a subtle but unmistakable recoil, your easy smile dimming as you shook your head, declining whatever offer the guy had just made.
And before the bastard could press further—before he could try again—Sebastian was there.
His body cut smoothly between you, stepping into your space so fast and close that you had to tilt your head up in surprise, your eyes widening at him.
The stranger hesitated, thrown off by his sudden arrival, but Sebastian didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t even fucking blink in his direction.
Because you? You were looking at him. And only him.
Your lips parted slightly, something caught between confusion and surprise, but Sebastian didn’t give you a chance to question it.
Sebastian held out a hand.
“Dance with me.”
Not a request. Not a suggestion. A command.
Your brows lifted slightly at the shift in his voice, but you didn’t hesitate. Because of course you didn’t. You trusted him.
Your fingers slid into his, warm and soft, and Sebastian nearly exhaled in relief.
Because just like that, the moment was over.
The stranger lingered for only a second longer before turning away, disappearing into the crowd.
Gone. Good.
Then you sighed—a small, quiet thing, barely noticeable over the music—and glanced up at him, a flicker of something unreadable in your expression.
“Thanks for that,” you murmured, voice lower now, more serious than it had been all night.
Sebastian’s brow furrowed slightly. “For what?”
Your lips pressed together for a second, as if debating whether to say anything. Then, finally:
“That guy was talking to our group earlier, too.”
Sebastian’s grip on your waist tightened, his mood immediately souring. Because how had he not noticed? How had he been sitting at that bar this whole damn time, so hyper-focused on you, so obsessed, and not seen some asshole lurking around you and the other girls? A slow, simmering anger curled in his gut.
“Did he say anything to you?” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be.
You shook your head. “Just… you know.” You made a vague gesture, rolling your eyes slightly. “The usual.”
Sebastian’s jaw flexed. No, he didn’t know. Because he wasn’t you.
He didn’t know what it was like to be someone like you—gorgeous, open, effortlessly magnetic—constantly dealing with men who thought that just because you were kind, just because you smiled, just because you laughed and danced, it meant they had a chance.
It made something dark coil inside him, something ugly. Something possessive.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying—failing—to push it down.
“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice quieter now, lower, but hard.
You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the edge in his tone.
“No,” you said after a beat, shaking your head.
Sebastian didn’t realize how much tension he had been holding until the word left your mouth. Didn’t realize how furious he had been, how much his hands had itched to grab that bastard by the collar and drag him outside just for thinking he had the right to put his hands on you.
“You don’t have to look like that,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly.
Sebastian raised a brow, his smirk automatic but strained. “Like what?”
You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re about to storm out of here and commit a felony.”
Sebastian didn’t deny it.
"You should let me fight someone for you at least once," he muttered, only half-joking.
You grinned. "Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?"
"More than you know."
"Violence isn’t the answer, Sallow," you sing-songed.
He smirked. "It’s a good answer, though."
You shook your head, still laughing, still entirely too light while Sebastian was over here barely holding himself together. And then, just to kill him, you leaned in, pressing your forehead lightly against his chest.
"I’m okay, Seb," you murmured.
Just like that, the anger drained from his body. Because if you weren’t upset, if you weren’t shaken, if you were still smiling up at him like this—like he was something good, something safe—then how was he supposed to hold onto his fury?
The song slowed, the deep bass fading into the last lingering notes of the melody. The hum of conversation filled the space again, bodies shifting, moving apart, laughter rising over the murmur of the next song beginning.
Sebastian barely noticed because you were still close—your forehead resting against his chest, your breath warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. And just as easily as you had leaned into him, you pulled back and reached for his hand, fingers sliding against his.
“I need another drink.”
And Sebastian—who would have followed you anywhere, who always had—went without question.
He let you lead him through the crowd, past shifting bodies and hushed conversation, back toward the bar where your friends had gathered, voices raised in lively debate.
Garreth was the first to notice your return, his grin downright wicked as he clocked your joined hands.
“Look who decided to grace us with their presence,” he drawled, handing Sebastian a pint of beer. “Have a nice dance?”
Sebastian ignored him, but you just rolled your eyes, releasing his hand as you slid onto a stool. “I did, actually. What’s all this?”
Nerida, perched beside Imelda, snorted. “They’re making bets on what Poppy has gotten Ominis into this time.”
You blinked. “Where've they gone?”
“She dragged him off about twenty minutes ago,” Imelda said, smirking over the rim of her glass. “Into one of the side rooms.”
Sebastian felt your laughter before he heard it—the way your shoulders shook, the way you leaned slightly into his side, your warmth pressing into him once again.
“Oh no,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Poor Ominis.”
Garreth grinned. “Poor Ominis?” He gestured wildly with his glass. "That man's probably having the time of his bloody life right now! In fact, Natty, I'd be more than happy to—"
Natty cut him off with a sharp look, arching a brow. “Don’t finish that sentence, Weasley.”
Nerida, still nursing her drink, smirked. “So, what are the odds? Did she lure him in with something harmless, or is Ominis about to lose all dignity?”
“Fifteen galleons says he’s getting head at this very second," Imelda said with a grin, tapping her fingers against the bar.
Garreth howled with laughter, nearly spilling his drink. “Oh, Merlin, I wish I had that kind of faith in Poppy, but in public?! I don't know, Mel.”
Natty groaned, covering her face with her hands. “For the love of God—”
Nerida just smirked, tilting her glass toward Imelda. “Bold bet. You really think Poppy’s got it in her?”
Imelda snorted. “Look, I’m just saying—quiet ones are always the freakiest.”
Sebastian choked on his beer.
Garreth, still grinning, wiped at his eyes. “Ten galleons says she is at least getting handsy.”
“Five says he’s just standing there awkwardly while she tells him fun facts about kneazles,” Natty countered, shaking her head.
Sebastian smirked, shaking his head. “I’d put twenty on him hexing us all into oblivion if he knew what was going on right now.”
Garreth cackled. “A safe bet.”
The conversation was rapidly descending into chaos when, right on cue, Ominis’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and unimpressed.
“I hate all of you.”
The group collectively turned to see Ominis standing there, looking thoroughly unimpressed, Poppy at his side looking suspiciously pleased with herself.
Garreth, delighted, clapped his hands together. “There he is! So… how’d it go, lover boy?”
Ominis’s expression darkened. “I will hex you.”
You grinned, still trying to contain your laughter. “Tell us what happened, Omins.”
Ominis’s face went red. Not just a faint flush—fully red, the kind of embarrassment that spelled immediate entertainment for everyone involved. And Poppy, the absolute menace, lifted a hand to her mouth, failing miserably at stifling her laughter.
The group lost it, and Ominis looked like he wanted to die.
Garreth cackled, nearly spilling his drink as he clutched his stomach.
Nerida slammed a hand on the bar, wheezing. “Oh my God."
Imelda, grinning like the devil herself, leaned forward. “Right, then. Who’s paying up the fifteen galleons?”
Ominis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear to Merlin, if one more person so much as suggests—”
Garreth clapped him on the back, grinning wildly. “So, that’s a no on the getting head, then?”
Ominis’s expression darkened so fast it was almost impressive, but before he could truly commit to murder, Nerida—ever the peacemaker—tilted her head toward the back corner of the bar.
“Alright, alright—before Ominis does something irreversible, who’s up for a round of pool?”
This was met with general agreement—mostly because the alcohol was settling in enough that no one felt like sitting still anymore.
Sebastian, still thoroughly amused, tipped back the rest of his drink before pushing away from the bar, waiting for you to follow.
And you did. Of course you did.
In fact, Sebastian was pleased—very pleased—when you stuck by his side for the rest of the evening.
You could have easily wandered off, flitted between groups, danced again. But instead, you leaned against the table, sipping your drink, laughing at Garreth’s terrible pool skills, rolling your eyes at Imelda’s trash talk, nudging Sebastian with your hip whenever he made a particularly cocky shot.
It was good.
The night stretched on in a golden haze, full of too much laughter, too many drinks, and the kind of warm, buzzing atmosphere that made it far too easy to forget that the outside world existed at all.
Except.
Sebastian noticed—drunkenly, hazily, slowly noticed—that something was off.
It wasn’t obvious, but it was there nonetheless. The girls were still laughing, still drinking, still teasing them mercilessly over every terrible shot at pool. But they weren’t leaving. And that was weird.
Because usually—after enough drinks, after enough games—the girls always migrated. They’d get bored of pool, tired of darts, and drift off to dance, or find a quieter table to sit at and gossip.
But not tonight. Tonight, they were sticking close.
Poppy, usually the first to suggest another round on the dance floor, was still here, sitting comfortably at Ominis's side, chatting animatedly with Natty while Garreth ordered them drinks.
Nerida and Imelda, who normally found excuses to disappear for a bit, were locked in an intense conversation while still staying within view of everyone else.
And you were still beside him.
And maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was the way the room had tilted slightly when he stood up earlier. But Sebastian’s brain, slow and sluggish, finally caught up to the creeping thought that had been lurking in the background since you'd danced with him.
Was it because of him? That man from earlier?
Sebastian turned his head slightly, scanning the bar. He hadn’t thought about him in hours, but now that he was... where the hell did he go?
Sebastian’s fingers tightened around his drink, a slow, simmering anger curling back into his gut. Because if you—and the others—had been sticking close all night, had been keeping within reach of them instead of doing what you usually did…
Then what did that mean? Had that bastard scared you?
But then—
“Seb?”
Your voice cut through the haze, your fingers curling around his wrist, tugging lightly. He turned, and whatever dark, brooding thoughts had been creeping into his mind vanished.
Because fuck, you were drunk. Not messy, not too far gone, but just enough. Your eyes were hazy with warmth, your grin lopsided, and when you pulled him slightly closer, there was the faintest slur in your words.
You swayed slightly. “D’you wanna sit? M’legs feel all… floaty.”
And just like that, Sebastian forgot about everything else. The man. The unease. The lingering feeling that something was wrong. Because now? Now he was only looking at you.
You, standing just a little too close, your body warm with alcohol, your hair a little mussed, your expression soft.
You, blinking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted like you were trying to work through whatever lazy, meandering thought had just slipped into your mind.
Sebastian smirked, setting his drink down. “Those cocktails stronger than you thought?”
You huffed, swaying slightly as you nudged his arm. “So much stronger.”
Sebastian barely bit back a laugh. “Lightweight.”
You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “How dare—”
Sebastian grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders before you could wobble too much.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding you toward one of the plush loveseats behind the pool table. “Let’s get you off those floaty legs.”
You hummed, leaning into him a little too easily, like it was natural, like this was where you belonged. And fuck, if that wasn’t a dangerous thought.
Sebastian exhaled slowly, guiding you down before sitting beside you, letting his arm rest along the back of the chair, leaving just enough room for you to lean into him if you wanted to.
You let out a small hum, tilting your head back slightly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, hazy with alcohol. Then—out of nowhere—you reached for his hand.
Sebastian blinked, watching, completely dumbfounded, as you grabbed his wrist, pulling his palm toward yours. You pressed your hand flat against his, comparing sizes, your fingers barely reaching the first knuckle of his own.
And you beamed.
“Merlin,” you murmured, like you were discovering something truly profound, flexing your fingers against his. “Why are your hands so big?”
Sebastian swallowed hard, staring at the sight of your palm against his, at the way your much smaller fingers curled slightly around his own.
He barely found his voice. “Dunno. Why are yours so small?”
You giggled, tilting your head at him. “D’you think if I had big hands, I’d be better at pool?”
Sebastian huffed a laugh, his chest tight. “You’re already better than Garreth. No changes necessary.”
You gasped dramatically. “Poor Garreth.”
“He deserves it.”
You snorted, then curled your fingers between his, lacing them loosely together. Just resting there. Just holding. Sebastian nearly blacked out.
You didn’t even seem to realize what you were doing, just looked down at your intertwined hands with an easy, alcohol-softened smile before shifting again, tucking yourself even closer into his side.
“You always smell nice, too."
Always. That meant you’d noticed before. You noticed him.
Sebastian forced himself to clear his throat, trying for something casual—something to keep from absolutely combusting.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “What do I smell like?”
You didn’t even hesitate.
“Like…” Your brows scrunched slightly, like you were trying to pinpoint it exactly. “Something warm. Like... like… cinnamon. And cloves. And something kind of… smoky? But not in a bad way. Just… cozy.”
Sebastian was about to die. Right here. Right fucking here, in this speakeasy, drunk with you pressed against him, completely unaware that you were absolutely wrecking him. And then, because you weren’t done ruining his life, you sighed. All content and pleased and nestled against his side like you belonged there, like this was normal, like you weren’t setting his entire fucking world on fire.
“And you’re always so warm,” you murmured.
Sebastian’s throat bobbed as he forced something out.
“You cold?” he asked, trying to sound unaffected.
You hummed, nuzzling slightly into his shoulder. “Not anymore.”
Sebastian was dangerously close to losing his mind, and he needed a distraction. Immediately.
“So,” he said, shifting slightly, trying to ignore how easily your body moved with his, “since I did such a terrible job listening last time, how about another speakeasy lesson?”
You perked up instantly, blinking at him in adorable surprise, then huffed, amused. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”
Sebastian smirked. “Figured I should at least pretend to be an attentive student.”
You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly in your seat to face him better—though, in your drunken state, that mostly meant you leaned even more into his side.
“Well,” you began, slipping into a more thoughtful tone, “like I was saying before you zoned out completely, speakeasies got their name because people had to speak easy—keep their voices down so they wouldn’t get caught.”
Sebastian nodded like this was brand new information, even though he vaguely remembered you mentioning it earlier. Meanwhile, you draped your arms over your lap, tilting your head against the back of the loveseat as you spoke, your words a little slower, your thoughts a little more meandering.
“But what’s funny,” you continued, your finger tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your dress, “is that even though the entire point was secrecy, some speakeasies were huge. Like, big bands, huge dance floors, completely over-the-top. They wanted the allure, the glamour, y’know?”
Sebastian did not know.
Because he was too busy watching the way your lips moved around your words, the way your lashes fluttered when you got lost in a thought, the way your entire body seemed to sway slightly with the rhythm of your own storytelling.
This was not helping his situation.
At all.
“So some of them weren’t hidden?” he asked, if only to remind himself to keep his brain functional.
You shook your head, a little slower than usual. “Not really. Like, technically, you still had to know someone to get in. They had passwords, secret entrances… but everyone knew where they were.”
Sebastian hummed, watching the way you twirled a loose strand of hair around your finger. “So what you’re saying,” he mused, smirking, “is that criminals are just show-offs?”
You snorted, rolling your head to the side to look at him. “That’s what you took from that?”
He grinned. “Am I wrong?”
You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “No, you’re not wrong, but historically speaking—”
Sebastian could have stayed here forever. You, curled into his side, talking about some random bit of history you’d read in a book. Your voice laced with alcohol, your words a little softer, a little slower, but still so full of excitement. It was so easy. So perfect.
His fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of your dress, twirling the soft material between his fingertips, completely absorbed in the warmth of the moment, in the way you looked at him, in the way—
Then you let out a heavy sigh, shifting against him.
“I need to break the seal,” you muttered, groaning dramatically.
Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown from his thoughts.
You pouted, stretching slightly as you tilted your head toward him. “I have to pee,” you clarified. “And I don’t wanna move.”
Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “That is a tragedy.”
You groaned, snuggling further into the cushions, making no move to actually get up. “Ugh, this sucks. I'm so comfy.”
He nudged you lightly. “Go on, love, I'll be right here when you get back.”
You whined, literally whined, before finally, reluctantly pushing yourself up. You stretched as you stood—your dress shifting dangerously as you straightened yourself—and Sebastian was definitely not looking. Not at the way your dress shifted up the curve of your thighs, not at the way your arms lifted over your head, making every inch of you somehow even more tempting.
Nope.
He was absolutely looking straight ahead, nowhere near you.
But as you turned away—taking slow, slightly unsteady steps—something in his chest twisted. Not the usual ache, the fuck-I’m-in-love-with-her feeling he’d been drowning in all night.
Something else. Something wrong.
He tried to shake it, tried to tell himself it was just the drinks, just his dumb possessive instincts making him hyperaware of you.
But still.
His smirk faltered slightly as he watched you make your way toward the washrooms.
It wasn’t far. Just across the lounge, past a few tables, through a hallway.
But still.
Sebastian shifted in his seat, his foot tapping idly against the floor. You’d be back in a few minutes. Everything was fine.
Except it wasn’t.
Sebastian knew it the second too much time passed.
At first, he kept himself distracted, letting Garreth and Imelda pull him into their bickering over pool shots, letting Ominis make dry, unimpressed comments about their collective lack of skill. Sebastian nursed his drink, felt the warmth of the alcohol hum through his veins, tried to tell himself you were just taking your time.
But then a song ended. And another. And you still weren’t back.
Sebastian’s fingers tapped against the rim of his glass, his brows pinching slightly.
Then he checked the time. And the wrongness that had been sitting, low and uneasy, in his chest all night curled tighter.
He straightened in his seat, setting his drink down, his entire body suddenly too alert.
It was fine. You were fine.
Maybe you’d just gotten distracted. Maybe you were reapplying your lipstick, or fixing your hair, or—
No. No, something was wrong. And suddenly, Sebastian wasn’t drunk anymore.
He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just moved, ignoring the way the others glanced at him in mild confusion.
“Be right back,” he muttered, already walking away.
His heart picked up speed as he cut across the bar, past the lounge, weaving through groups of people, gaze sharp as he scanned the room.
The hallway to the washrooms was dimly lit, tucked just slightly away from the main bar, just enough that it made something uncomfortable roll through his stomach.
He stepped into the corridor, his footfalls suddenly too loud in the muffled quiet. The wrongness in his gut went from unease to something razor-sharp.
Where were you?
Sebastian glanced toward the entrance to the women’s washroom, waiting—listening—for any sign of you. Nothing.
His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides. He turned his head—
And froze.
Just past the corner of the hallway, tucked slightly out of view, a sound. A muffled whimper. Quiet. Shaky. Then a voice. Low. Murmuring. Unfamiliar.
Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists, he rounded the corner so fast he nearly slammed into the wall, and there you were.
Pressed against a door, your shoulders curled inward, hands shaking as you tried to push him away. Your dress, torn at the strap. That man—his hands on you, gripping your waist, his body too close, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured something low, coaxing, like he was trying to convince you, like you weren’t already crying.
Sebastian’s mind went blank. One second, the bastard was pressed up against you, gripping you like he had any fucking right, and the next—
Crack.
The man hit the opposite wall, hard, eyes blown wide as he let out a stunned, choked gasp, lip split and bleeding.
Sebastian was already on him.
His fist caught the bastard’s shirt, dragging him forward, shoving him so hard the walls rattled.
Sebastian was breathing too fast, seeing too much, his pulse roaring in his ears. The man let out a pained groan, hands grabbing at Sebastian’s wrist.
“Hey—”
Sebastian slammed him back again.
“You think you can touch her?” His voice was low, deadly, his face so close that the bastard flinched.
“She was asking for it,” the man spat, mouth bloody, words slurred. “Didn’t say no, just got shy—”
Sebastian snapped. His fist came down hard—one, two—again—
“How fucking dare you?”
The man gasped, wheezing, hands scrambling to stop him.
Sebastian was going to kill him. Was going to beat him into the fucking floor.
And then a hand. Light. Shaking. Fingers curling around his arm.
“Sebastian?”
Soft. Trembling.
Sebastian’s lungs seized. He turned his head, still breathing hard, still shaking. And fuck—
Tears streaked down your cheeks, your lip trembling, your eyes too wide, too stunned, too afraid.
Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His grip tightened for a breath, then, with a sharp, ragged exhale, he let go.
The man hit the floor hard, scrambling back on his hands, panting, nose crooked.
Sebastian didn’t even look at him. Because you—
You were still standing there, your hands clutching your torn dress, fingers shaking, chest rising too fast, breath uneven.
Sebastian felt sick.
And then voices. Footsteps. A sudden surge of noise as the dim corridor flooded with people.
Sebastian barely turned in time to see Ominis, Garreth, Natty, Imelda, Nerida, Poppy—the whole group—rounding the corner at full speed.
Garreth’s face twisted into something Sebastian had never seen before, his usual easy demeanor vanishing as he took one look at you, then the man on the floor, then Sebastian—still fuming, still shaking, still breathing too fast—and understood immediately.
Natty sucked in a sharp breath.
Nerida froze.
Poppy clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and horrified.
Imelda’s knuckles cracked from how hard she clenched her fists.
And Ominis—
Ominis, usually the calmest among them, took one step forward, and his voice came out cold. “What the fuck happened?”
Sebastian didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was too tight. You hadn’t moved.
Then another voice, unfamiliar, but undeniably authoritative.
“Out. Now.”
Sebastian turned his head to see the bouncers push through the group.
One of them grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt. The bastard let out a choked noise.
“You’re done,” the bouncer growled, dragging him toward the exit. “Get the fuck out of here.”
The man spluttered, voice slurred from his split lip. “I—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Sebastian watched. Watched as the man who had his hands on you got ripped away, thrown out like trash, shoved into the night where he fucking belonged.
And yet Sebastian still wasn’t breathing right. Still wasn’t calm. Because you were still shaking, still—
“We’re leaving.”
Ominis.
His voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Sebastian nodded automatically. They all did.
The group moved quickly, no hesitation, no time for words as they all started toward the door, the bouncers giving them a wide path through the crowd.
Sebastian barely noticed the murmured whispers around them. All he noticed was you. Still silent, still staring down, still breathing too fast.
The cold air outside hit like a shock, cutting through the drunken haze that had lingered over the night.
Sebastian barely felt it, but the moment the chill hit, you shivered violently. Ominis moved instinctively, shrugging off his jacket in one smooth motion.
“Here.” His voice was still tight, still controlled, but softer than before.
But when he stepped forward, offering it—
You flinched. Sharp. Instinctive.
And Sebastian—watching it all unfold—felt something deep inside him break.
Because it wasn’t just anyone you flinched from. It was Ominis. One of your closest friends. The gentlest, kindest, least-threatening person you knew. And if you recoiled from him—
Sebastian swallowed hard, his throat tight as the entire group went silent, the weight of it suffocating.
Ominis stilled, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the fabric of his jacket before he pulled back, his face unreadable, his mouth pressing into a thin line.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t try again. Just exhaled slowly, fingers twitching once before he let his arms drop to his sides.
Poppy, who had always been the most gentle of them, shifted half a step toward you, lips parted like she wanted to say something—but stopped herself. Because she saw it, too.
You weren’t just shaking. You were wrapped up inside yourself, arms clutched around your middle, shoulders drawn in tight, like you wanted to disappear.
Sebastian’s chest ached. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. Didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know how to make the world feel safe for you again.
He wanted to grab you, hold you, whisper that he would never let anyone touch you again—but he couldn’t. Because what if you flinched from him, too?
Ominis—always steady, always rational—was the first to move.
"Let's go, we need to get off the main street," he said, voice measured, composed—but there was something else beneath it. Something tightly wound.
No one argued. The group moved as one, huddled close, protective.
Imelda and Nerida flanked either side of you like an unspoken shield, while Natty and Poppy stuck close behind.
Garreth, for once, was silent, his face set in a rare, grim seriousness as he cast sharp glances at every single person still lingering outside the club, as if daring someone to look at you wrong.
And Sebastian stayed right in front of you, hands curled into fists, jaw aching from how tight he had clenched it.
Together, they moved toward the nearest side street, somewhere quieter, somewhere out of the open. Only once they were tucked into the dimly lit alleyway, far from the club and the weight of watching eyes, did Ominis finally speak again.
"Who’s flat is closest?"
"Mine," Sebastian said instantly.
That wasn't technically true.
Natty and Garreth’s place was closer—objectively the better option. If this had been any other night, any other situation, logic would have dictated the choice. But logic didn’t mean shit right now.
Not that anyone protested. Because of course it was going to be Sebastian. Of course he was the one taking you home.
Garreth let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Right. Let’s get you a cab, then."
"Fuck that," Sebastian muttered. "I’ll Apparate."
That stopped everyone in their tracks.
Ominis immediately frowned. "Sebastian, we’re in Muggle London—"
"I don’t give a shit." His voice came out sharp, barely restrained. "I’m not making her sit in some goddamn cab, not after—" He cut himself off, exhaling hard, trying to shove down the fresh wave of anger clawing at his throat.
It was the last thing you needed right now.
The group exchanged uneasy glances.
Apparition was dangerous under the best circumstances—let alone when he was like this, let alone when you were like this. Not to mention, doing magic in a heavily populated Muggle area was risky as hell.
But fuck that. He wasn’t going to make you wait. Wasn’t going to let you sit through some excruciatingly long cab ride, squirming in silence, trapped in a moving metal box.
No. He was getting you out of here. Now.
Natty stepped forward, voice level. "Sebastian."
He clenched his jaw. "Natty, I swear to—"
"Sebastian."
She was stepping in front of you now, her dark eyes steady, sharp, cutting through the thick, suffocating tension like a blade.
Sebastian knew that look.
Natty had always been practical—calm, calculated, always thinking a step ahead. And right now, she was looking at him like she was measuring him, like she was assessing him.
"You're not going anywhere with her," she said, her voice even, "unless she wants to go with you."
Sebastian’s jaw tightened. His gut reaction was to be offended. To snap that of course you wanted to go with him, because who else would it be?
But Natty’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t waver. Because this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about what he thought, what he wanted, what he was sure of. This was about you, and whether you still felt safe with him.
Sebastian swallowed hard. The thought that you might not be wrecked him, made his stomach twist, made his ribs feel like they were caving in.
The idea that you—his everything—might not want to be anywhere near him right now. Might not trust him. Might not even be able to look at him after what had just happened. But if that was what you needed then he wouldn’t fight it. Wouldn’t blame you. Wouldn’t say a damn word.
Sebastian nodded, and Natsai turned to you slowly, her movements deliberate, careful. Her voice softened, but still held its steady, grounding weight.
"Do you want to go with him?"
A moment passed. Sebastian held his breath.
Then you nodded. It was small, barely more than a twitch of your chin, but it was everything.
Sebastian exhaled, something sharp and unbearable unwinding in his chest. He stepped forward, slowly, his movements deliberate, careful.
Held out his hand and waited.
Your fingers trembled, but you reached for him, sliding your palm into loosely into his.
"Ring us when... when you have a minute," Ominis said, his voice level, steady—but heavy. There was something unspoken in it, something Sebastian understood immediately.
Sebastian nodded once. No words. No drawn-out goodbyes. He didn’t have it in him.
Then, without another thought—he turned on the spot, pulling you with him.
The world twisted. The sharp pull of Apparition coiled around his ribs, wrenching them through the dark, until—
Home.
Sebastian’s flat was silent. Dark. The shift from the crowded club to the emptiness of his space was jarring.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was your breathing. Uneven. Shallow. Sebastian’s stomach twisted.
His hand was still wrapped around yours, and he didn’t want to let go, but after a second, he forced himself to loosen his grip. A silent offering. A choice. And after a beat, you pulled away.
Sebastian felt it like a wound. The warmth of your skin slipped from his grasp, and the absence of it left something hollow in his chest.
But he didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t let it show. Because this wasn’t about him.
He unsure of what to do now, though. How to talk to you, what he was even supposed to say. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of something sharp, a thin, precarious line between giving you space and giving you what you needed—except he didn’t know what you needed.
So, he did the only thing he could think to do.
“Come on,” he murmured, voice hoarse, heavy. “Let's sit you down. Get you comfortable.”
He turned toward the living room, motioning toward the couch as he moved. “I’ll—” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “I’ll get you something else to wear.”
But before he could take more than two steps, you shook your head.
Sebastian hesitated. “You don’t—”
“I’ll go with you,” you murmured.
Your voice was quiet. Unsteady. But certain.
Sebastian blinked, thrown off. He didn’t understand. You had to be exhausted, had to be drained, and the couch was right there, waiting.
But you weren’t moving toward it. You were waiting for him. And something in your expression—something small, something subtle—made the words click in his mind.
You didn’t want to be alone.
He swallowed hard then nodded. "Okay, come on.”
When he turned toward his bedroom, you followed.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping inside first, letting you follow at your own pace.
Sebastian’s room was… messy. Books stacked haphazardly on his nightstand, a half-open wardrobe in the corner, a few stray clothes abandoned on the chair near the window.
He ignored it all. Went straight for the dresser.
He rifled through the drawers, trying to find something soft, something comfortable. Something that wouldn’t remind you of tonight, that wouldn’t feel like a weight pressing against your skin.
A worn sweater. Sweatpants. That would work.
He turned, holding them out for you. “Here.”
You hesitated. You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was down, locked on the clothes in his hands like you weren’t sure what to do with them.
He softened his voice. "If you want something else, just say the word.”
Then, quietly, almost too soft to hear.
“Can you... will you help me?”
Sebastian stilled. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.
Help you?
His first instinct was confusion. You’d flinched from Ominis outside. You hadn’t wanted him near you. Hadn’t wanted to be touched. After what happened, Sebastian had assumed you’d want privacy, that you wouldn’t want to be seen at all.
But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and he understood.
Maybe, right now, this wasn’t about not wanting to be touched. Maybe it was that you didn't want to touch it. Didn’t want to unfasten the dress yourself, didn’t want to peel the fabric from your skin, didn’t want to register the places it had been touched, gripped, pulled by someone who had no fucking right.
Sebastian exhaled, slow and careful, schooling his expression into something even.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Turn around for me?”
You hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling where you clutched the hem of the sweater he’d handed you. But then you did, shifting slightly, your back to him.
Sebastian took a slow step closer, hands hovering just behind your shoulders, giving you the chance to change your mind.
But you didn’t move away.
So he gently, carefully, reached for the zipper at your back.
And fuck, he’d imagined this before. Ten thousand times, maybe more. Peeling the layers off you slowly, seeing what was underneath, watching the fabric slip down the curves of your body. His hands, his, mapping the warmth of your skin as he uncovered inch after inch, drinking in the sight of you like he’d been starving for it.
But this—this wasn’t like that.
This was the first time he had ever done this, maybe the only time he ever would if he didn't get his shit together, and the circumstances were so utterly, sickeningly wrong that it made his chest feel hollow.
He wasn’t looking at you with desire. He wasn’t seeing the expanse of your skin the way he would have if things had been different.
Seeing you like this just hurt.
The fabric was still warm from your body, but that wasn’t what made his stomach twist. It was the broken strap, the torn seam, the evidence of what had happened—of what he hadn’t been able to stop sooner.
Slowly, he dragged the zipper down.
The dress loosened, slipping slightly off your shoulders, the weight of it threatening to pull away completely—and for a second, he panicked, his brain scrambling to make sure he wasn’t making this worse for you, that he wasn’t exposing more than you were comfortable with—but you stayed still.
So, with a deep breath and slow, careful movements, he tugged the dress down, guiding it past your arms, your waist, your hips. The fabric slipped easily, pooling at your feet.
His stomach twisted. Seeing it like this—abandoned, discarded—it felt like something sick and wrong. Because that dress had looked so fucking beautiful on you. Had clung to you like a dream, had made him ache. Had made him stare.
And now... now, it was nothing but a reminder of what happened.
“Step out of it, love,” he murmured, voice low and gentle despite the ache in his chest.
You obeyed, lifting one foot, then the other.
Sebastian grabbed the discarded fabric from the floor and tossed it far away—out of sight, across the room, like it didn’t deserve to be near you.
Then he picked up the sweatpants from the bed.
"Step in," he murmured.
You did. The sweater came next.
"Arms up for me."
You obeyed again, and he tugged the sweater over your head, guiding it gently over your arms, down your torso, covering you, shielding you from whatever still lingered on your skin.
The moment it was on, Sebastian exhaled deeply.
"All done."
You let out a breath. A slow, shaky thing. Then, for the first time since entering his flat, you met his gaze.
And Sebastian felt his chest cave in. Because you still looked so shaken. Still looked wrecked. But the difference was, you were here now. Fully.
"Thank you."
Your voice was small. Quiet. But present.
He swallowed hard, forcing down the unbearable ache in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Of course.”
You shifted slightly, like you wanted to say something else, but the words didn’t come. Instead, your arms wrapped around yourself, small, like you were still trying to make yourself disappear.
Sebastian’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to touch you. Wanted to reach out, wanted to pull you into his chest and hold you there until the shaking stopped.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
So, instead, he exhaled carefully, ran a hand through his hair, and nodded toward the doorway. “Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let me make you some tea.”
You blinked at him, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to you. But after a second, you nodded.
So, he turned, leading you back into the dimly lit apartment, moving toward the kitchen. And you followed. Because you still trusted him.
Sebastian pulled open the cabinet and reached for your mug—the oversized one printed with tiny blue flowers, the one you always used when you visited. It had been a birthday gift from him last year, and after unwrapping it, you’d immediately set it in his cupboard and said, This one stays here.
He set it down on the counter and filled the kettle, flipping the switch with the practiced ease of routine. Something about the motion, the normalcy of it, settled the restless tension in his chest.
His hands worked on autopilot—pulling down the tin of loose tea, measuring out just the right amount, stirring in the fixings the way you liked. Far too much sugar and milk for his taste, but he didn’t hesitate, mixing it the exact way you always did.
By the time he turned around and pressed the mug into your hands, steam curling between you, he finally caught the way your fingers trembled as you curled them around the ceramic.
And then—soft, broken, barely above a whisper—
“I’m sorry.”
Sebastian went completely still, something sharp, something furious, coiling in his chest.
“What?”
Your gaze dropped, staring into the depths of your tea. “I—I don’t know. Just for all of this. For ruining your night. For—”
“Don’t.”
He took the mug from your hands, just for a moment, long enough to force you to look at him. His brows furrowed, his mouth tight, like the words physically hurt to say aloud.
“You don’t apologize. Not for this. Not to anyone.”
You swallowed, hard, but you didn’t look away.
“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice quieter now, but no less fierce, his grip tightening briefly around the handle of your mug before handing it back. “Not one single fucking bit of it. Do you understand?”
You hesitated, like you weren’t sure you could understand. And fuck, that made something ugly rise in his throat.
Sebastian had never felt anger like this—like something helpless and raging, burning at the back of his skull, at the hollow space in his chest where you had been hurt and he hadn’t been there to stop it.
You sniffled, swiping your sleeve across your eyes, shaking your head like you were mad at yourself. “I should’ve—” Your voice was thick, strained. “I should’ve pushed him away harder. Been more assertive. Asked one of the other girls to come to the bathroom with me, or—or been more aware, or not drank so much, or—”
“Stop.”
You shook your head again, watery, miserable. “I just—”
“No.” His voice was hard, unyielding. “This wasn't your fault, there's no magic combination of things you could have done differently to make someone else not be a fucking piece of shit. It wouldn’t have mattered, because he's still a monster. And you—” His voice softened, just a fraction, his chest aching. “You did nothing wrong.”
You swallowed, throat bobbing.
“It wasn’t even that bad.”
Sebastian’s chest tightened.
You let out a wet, unsteady laugh, shaking your head. “It could’ve been worse. I just— I just froze because of Tyler.”
The second the words were out of your mouth, Sebastian saw it—the way your face froze, the way your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t meant to say that. Like you wished you could take it back.
But it was too late.
Sebastian’s brain snapped back to a year ago.
The breakup.
How you had shown up at his door, quiet and withdrawn, a forced little smile on your lips as you told him your relationship was over. No details. No explanation. Just done.
How he had asked if you were okay, and you had nodded, too quickly, and said you didn’t want to talk about it.
And he’d let it go. Because you always told him things when you were ready. But now—now he was seeing it, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way you were smaller, like you wanted to disappear.
And something inside him snapped.
What the fuck had happened back then?
He exhaled through his nose, sharp and controlled. “Tell me,” he said, voice low, but steady.
You blinked. “What?”
“Tell me what happened. Please.”
You hesitated, curling your hands around the mug like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. “It’s not—” You swallowed, eyes darting away. “It’s not important.”
Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Minimize it.” His voice came out rougher than he meant, but he couldn’t help it. “I need to know, love.”
At the nickname, your fingers tightened around the mug, just slightly. You opened your mouth, then closed it. Sebastian waited.
He’d wait all fucking night if he had to.
And then, finally, you exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. “It was at a party,” you murmured, not looking at him. “I—I don’t know why I froze tonight. It wasn’t even the same. Not really. I just… the moment he grabbed me, I was back there.”
Sebastian hated how softly, how passively you said it. Like it wasn’t something that had haunted you. Like it wasn’t something that still had its fucking claws in you.
He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t push, because you were still talking, and if you stopped, he didn’t know when you’d let yourself say these words again.
“I told him no,” you whispered. “Tyler. I told him I didn’t want to go upstairs with him, that I was tired. But he kept—” You broke off, shaking your head. “He just kept talking, kept trying to get me to change my mind. And I just—I shut down. I just let him. I didn’t fight, I didn’t—”
Sebastian couldn’t take it anymore.
“I swear to God,” he said, voice hoarse, pained, “if you say you should’ve done something differently, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
Your throat bobbed, eyes flicking up to his.
“He was supposed to stop," Sebastian insisted. "That’s it. That’s the only thing that was supposed to happen.”
You just stared at him, wide-eyed, like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. Like no one had ever said it to you so plainly before. And then, finally, you spoke—so softly, so small.
“But I let him.”
Sebastian’s hands curled into fists. “No,” he said, voice firm, unwavering. “You didn’t.”
He exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, trying to say the right thing, because fuck, he couldn’t mess this up.
“If someone keeps pushing, keeps coaxing, keeps pulling you in when you’ve already said no—you didn’t let them. They took advantage of you.”
The words sat heavy between you, and Sebastian saw the way they hit you. Your grip on the mug went white-knuckled, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, and then you were crying.
Silent at first—just the shake of your shoulders, just the quiver in your lips. But then your breath shuddered, and your face crumpled, and the first broken sob escaped.
Sebastian stood there, feeling useless. Helpless.
Should he reach for you? Should he give you space? Did you want to be touched, or would it only make things worse? His hands hovered, twitching at his sides, unsure. And fuck, he hated it. Hated not knowing what to do, hated feeling like he was just standing here while you broke apart in front of him.
But then—
You set the mug down too quickly, tea sloshing over the rim, spilling onto the counter, and Sebastian barely had time to react before you collapsed into him.
His breath hitched, his arms automatically wrapping around you as you buried yourself against his chest, shaking, small.
And then he wasn’t thinking anymore. He just held you. Tightly. Protectively.
One arm wrapped firm around your back, the other cradling your head, fingers threading gently into your hair, like maybe if he held you close enough, it would put you back together.
Your fingers fisted into his shirt, and Sebastian closed his eyes, exhaling shakily against the crown of your head.
What the fuck do I say?
What words could he possibly put together that would make any of this better? He quickly realized there were none.
So he didn’t speak.
Didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless reassurances, didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t tell you it would be okay. Instead, he just held you, strong and steady, like a wall—one you could press into, lean against, fall apart against.
Your breathing was uneven, shaky against his chest. Each sharp inhale like it was trying to hold back the flood.
Sebastian pressed his cheek to your hair, gentle, careful. “I got you,” he murmured, voice raw. “I got you.”
You let out a sound, a soft, aching thing, half a sob, half relief, as the tension in your shoulders cracked, your weight fully sinking into him, like you’d been trying to hold yourself up all this time and just couldn’t anymore.
“I got you,” he whispered again, like maybe, if he said it enough times, you’d believe him.
You stood there for a long time. You didn’t pull away, and Sebastian didn't let go. He would have stood there all night if you needed him to.
The tea sat abandoned on the counter, growing cold, the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the air while the kitchen clock ticked away the minutes.
Your breathing—ragged at first, gasping, uneven— slowly, so slowly, steadied, fading into quiet sniffles. And that was when Sebastian finally moved. Carefully.
He slid one arm under your legs, the other holding you steady against him. “Up we go, love.”
You let out a soft noise of surprise as he scooped you up, pressing your face instinctively against his shoulder.
“You don’t—”
“Shush” he murmured gently, affectionately, and you didn’t fight him as he carried you across the room, lowering you onto the couch.
But the moment he tried to pull back, your fingers tightened in his shirt again.
Sebastian obeyed, sitting down and letting you tuck yourself against him, curling into his chest. His arms wound around you again, warm and solid. His hand moved instinctively to your hair, fingers slipping through the strands, slow, soothing strokes.
It had always been this easy, hadn’t it?
Sebastian wasn’t sure how long you both stayed like that. Long enough that your breathing evened out. Long enough that his own heart stopped pounding with anger and ache.
And then, after a long silence—your voice, quiet, hesitant:
“I’ve been stupid.”
Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “Don’t—”
Your hand shot up, pressing lightly against his mouth, and whatever Sebastian had been about to say died instantly.
His breath caught. His lips parted slightly against your palm, startled, thrown completely off balance. But it wasn’t the touch that had him frozen.
It was your eyes.
Raw. Red-rimmed from crying, but so fucking clear. Like you had figured something out—like whatever had been sitting between you for so long, uncertain and unspoken, was now suddenly blindingly obvious.
“...You know I love you, don't you?”
Sebastian froze.
He did know. At least, sort of.
He’d always known you loved him as your best friend, as your constant, as the one person you always turned to. He had felt it in the way you sought him out first in a crowded room, in the way you always made one too many cups of tea just in case he wanted one. He had seen it in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, in the way your hand lingered when you touched him.
But he didn't know if you loved him as more.
Of course, he'd imagined your confession the late hours of the night, when exhaustion blurred the edges of his thoughts. In the quiet spaces between glances, in the way his chest always felt too full when you laughed. In the way he always waited for you to arrive at his door.
But he always imagined hearing those words for the first time in a moment of joy, in the golden hush of a summer afternoon, in the warmth of a stolen moment where nothing hurt, nothing felt too heavy.
His throat bobbed. “You—are you saying—”
But the words felt too big, too heavy.
You huffed a laugh, sniffling softly as a stray tear rolled down your cheek. “I was so stupid. Maybe if I had just told you how I felt, if I had just—”
Sebastian cupped your cheek before you could finish your sentence, his palm warm and steady against your tear-streaked skin.
His mind was racing, his chest too full, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something so fierce, so all-consuming, so fucking relieved that it almost hurt.
Because you meant it. You loved him. Not just as his best friend. Not just as his constant. But as something more.
He searched your face, memorizing everything—the way your lashes were still damp, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your breath trembled under his touch.
And fuck, he didn’t know what to say.
He hadn’t been ready for you this moment to happen like this. Not when your voice was still raw from crying. Not when your hands still shook in your lap. Not when he had spent the last hour trying to piece you back together after something that should have never happened. Not when you deserved so much better than this moment.
He couldn't stop his mind from imagining what this would have been like if things had been different.
If tonight had just been another night.
If you had just come over, curled up with him like you always did, nudged your socked feet against his under a blanket, laughed at something stupid on TV. If he had turned to you and just fucking said it, just let it be easy.
But it wasn’t easy.
And yet, his the words left his mouth in a breath, like they had been waiting there, like they had been sitting at the back of his throat for years, clawing at his ribs, aching to be spoken. Because they had.
"Fuck, I love you too."
And the second they were out—
Relief.
Like something had cracked open inside him, something tight and suffocating finally letting go, leaving his chest too light and too full all at once. Because it was the truest thing he had ever said.
But right behind that relief came the guilt, because he should have said it sooner.
He should have said it a thousand times before now—should have said it when you were laughing, when you were happy, when you were light and warm and untouched by pain.
He should have said it last week, when you had fallen asleep on his couch, curled up with his sweater wrapped around you, mumbling something incoherent before sighing in contentment.
He should have said it months ago, when you had grabbed his hand without thinking at the crowded market, weaving through people like you had never once considered not holding onto him.
He should have said it years ago, when you kicked his ass in that very first duel.
Sebastian huffed a humorless laugh, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "God, I wish I’d just told you sooner. Over a bowl of popcorn, some dumb movie playing in the background.” The corners of his mouth twitched, a rueful little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I imagined it a thousand times—telling you. Watching your eyes light up, seeing you smile like you do when you think I’m being stupid.”
Your lips quivered, the hint of a smile breaking through the tears.
“I wish it had been easy," he said. "Because you deserve easy. You deserve soft and gentle and everything good.”
You leaned into his touch, your hands reaching up to cover his. Your eyes searched his—gentle, knowing, certain.
“Easy’s never really been on brand for us, has it?”
Sebastian blinked, caught off guard for half a second. And then a breathless, broken sound left him, something between a scoff and a laugh, something small and raw and achingly fond.
Because you were right.
Since the very beginning, since the moment you had first collided into his life, it had never been simple. Never straightforward. There had always been something else—a complication, an obstacle, an unsaid feeling caught between glances and lingering touches that neither of you were ever brave enough to name.
You sniffled, wiping at your face with the sleeve of his sweater—the one you were drowning in, and fuck, you were so beautiful even now, despite the weight of the night still lingering in your shoulders.
“Do I wish none of this had happened?” Your voice was quiet, raw. “Of course I do. But fuck, Sebastian, you were there. You're always there." You gave a watery laugh, the smallest, softest thing. "When I'm at my best, when I'm at my worst. It's always been you. And I—"
You exhaled shakily, voice thick with too much. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there tonight,” your voice dropped to a whisper, eyes locked onto his. “There's no one else I would have gone to. No one else I would have let see me like this. No one else I trust the way I trust you.”
Sebastian’s throat felt tight, his breath coming uneven, chest aching under the weight of realization.
This wasn’t just about tonight. Or last night. Or last week.
It was about every night. Every stolen glance, every quiet moment, every time you had reached for him first. It was in the way you always found him before anyone else, in the way you always chose him, in the way you always trusted him—with the good, with the bad, with everything.
When things went well, when they didn’t, when you needed comfort, when you needed a co-conspirator, when you needed someone to just be there—it had always been him.
It settled into him all at once—the weight of years pressing against his ribs, filling every empty space inside him that had ever questioned what he meant to you.
Because it had always been this. Not a revelation. Not a shift. Not something new.
It had simply always been.
And you must have seen something in his face—the way he looked at you like he wanted to fall apart, because you gave him a small, wobbly smile, something barely there, something hopeful, something real.
“Say something, Sallow," you teased.
Sebastian let out a breathless, unsteady laugh, shaking his head. His eyes burned, his own tears threatening to fall. He let his hands move—one tangling in the fabric at your chest, the other sliding to the nape of your neck.
He leaned in, slow, deliberate, like he was giving you the chance to pull away, like he was making absolutely sure—but your hands curled into his shirt, pulling him in the rest of the way, and then—
Then you kissed him.
It was soft. Hesitant. Testing. Like neither of you could quite believe this was finally happening.
But then Sebastian felt you melt into him, felt the warmth of you, the way your grip on him tightened, the way your lips parted—
And suddenly, it wasn’t hesitant at all.
A soft sound rumbled in Sebastian's throat, something relieved, something grateful, something aching with all the things he had never let himself say, and he kissed you like his life depended on it, because maybe it did. Like he had been waiting for this for years, because he had. Like you were the only fucking thing in the world that mattered, because you were.
When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync.
Sebastian huffed a soft laugh, his lips brushing yours. "…'bout time, huh?"
You let out a wobbly, teary laugh, nuzzling closer. "About time."
And Sebastian held you—tightly, unshakably, like letting go wasn’t even a possibility, like something fundamental in him wouldn’t allow it.
Because maybe this wasn’t how he had ever imagined this moment. Maybe it wasn’t wrapped in golden light, in laughter, in the warmth of an easy, stolen moment where everything was simple and good.
Maybe he hadn’t gotten to plan for it, hadn’t had the chance to say it first, hadn’t gotten to look at you when you were smiling, when you were happy, and tell you what had been the truth for so damn long.
Maybe you weren’t supposed to be saying I love you in the aftermath of something that had hurt you.
But this was still you. And this was still him. And that was all that mattered.
Because love wasn’t just about the easy moments. It wasn’t just about the days when the sun was shining, when your laughter came freely, when things felt light.
Love was this too—love was holding on, love was being there, love was standing in the wreckage of something awful and saying I’ve got you. I’m here. And I’m not leaving.
Sebastian pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, his grip tight, his fingers curled against the fabric of his own sweater on your frame, holding you close, keeping you safe.
And he knew, with every piece of himself, that he wasn’t letting go.
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summary :: very very soft smut of virgin Sebastian and MC reader. With plot! With feelings!
warning :: seventh year. Very soft, virgin Sebastian and reader, touching over clothes, dry humping, oral f receiving, raw, references to the angst that happened in the game, purity culture (yes, it's the 1890s), lots of love and fluffy stuff. Also there's a spider bite. Possible mistakes, I wasn’t able to check over the entire thing.
note :: I’m forever a hater of rough smut, ‘you like that, you dirty slut?’ uhm no, why are you calling me names!!
“Sebastian, down here.”
“Found something?”
“There’s a cave connected to her home.”
Isidora Morganach's home, or at least one of her homes. You weren't quite sure. It had plenty of notes and discoveries on her adventures travelling after graduating from Hogwarts, some keepsakes from other countries, and plenty of chests already emptied out. The home was ancient and very worse for wear, the roof had long since cave in, allowing the rain from above to patter against both you and Sebastian. You had spotted a deep cavern within the corner of her living-room. Big enough to fit the both of you.
"After you," said Sebastian, gesturing to the dark, black entrance.
You would've retorted, if you hadn't felt so seriously. It had been two years since you'd dealt with anything related to Isadora and the sudden discovery that one of her homes was merely a broomstick flight away from Hogwarts felt troubling to your intuition.
Sebastian could practically see the tension in your body when you first told him.
"I heard rumours of a home that could've belonged to Isadora nearby the castle."
“Isadora?” He choked on the food he’d served himself.
"Yes. I'm going to go and search it after dinner." Something troubling swirled in your eyes and Sebastian jumped to distract you from it.
"I'll come with you." He said.
"This might be something I'll have to do on my own, Sebastian." You stated. If there was a trial or something related to ancient magic, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Professor Fig never could. You'd be better off alone.
"You won't even take me as a chaperone?" Sebastian asked, grinning at you.
It was that grin that had him coming with you to the half rubble household, in the pouring rain, at the dead of night.
Your search was cut short when the moment you reached the end of the slope into the cave, a six legged beast jumped you. You recognised it as a hatchling, small for its kind but big enough to knock you off your feet. You attempted to reach for your wand but the large pincers found your arm, the hollow fangs sinking into your tissue. A sharp wail escaped you as the venom soaked into your muscle.
"Incendio!" The spider was thrown off of you with a quick ball of flame and Sebastian replaced it, kneeling at your side and pulling you up.
"It got me." You hissed, revealing your torn up sleeve.
He cursed, then took your wrist in his large hand and pushed back the fabric of your sleeve, bringing your numbing arm to his mouth. He latched on before you could quite make sense of his actions, he sucked twice against your raw skin and then spat to the floor next to him. Again, he sucked on the bite then spat out what you hoped was most of the venom, and what looked to be some of your blood, and perhaps some rainwater.
You couldn’t be sure the flush falling over your face was from the venom or not, but the dizziness that followed suggested the first.
Through the haze of the sickening poison flooding your system and the feverish puffs of air you let out, you could hone in on Sebastian’s final part from your irritated skin. A thin, watery string of spit connected him to your arm before it broke and he turned to gauge the effects of the venom on your face.
“Wiggenweld?” You had some faint idea he had said something else, but you weren’t sure.
“My pocket.” You huffed, eye-line peering up at the dark, rocky ceiling dripping rain.
You recalled another flush passing over you, whilst desperate hands pat over your sides, legs and chest. Soon enough, the hands found what they were looking for. After that, a vile pressed to your lips and you felt yourself return to your pained body. Your legs must’ve given out, because Sebastian held you against himself, one hand cupped around your jaw.
“I’m alright.” You croaked, his hold loosening and giving you space. Your stiff legs ached at your weight and you patted your pockets for another wiggenweld potion, but came up empty. You let out a tired groan.
“Let’s head back.” He said.
"But we've yet to look everywhere." You gazed around the dark and rocky cave, slithers of other spiders echoing through the darkness.
"The house won't be going anywhere, we can come back when you're well again."
Still, you shook your head. “It’s the middle of the night, we’ll surely be caught by some prefect if I’m in this state.”
“It’s worth it, we’ve got to get you another potion and get you right.”
So reluctantly, you let Sebastian help you out of the cave and onto your broom, keeping a weary eye on you until you snuck back into the castle.
Sebastian muttered something about peeves when you entered, your arm around his shoulder and a light hand on your side, keeping you steady as though he was a friend helping you home after a night of drinking. You needed a brewing stand to rid you of this horrid, sickening ache and the fuzziness behind your eyes.
"What in merlin's name..." A nearby wall began to shift, swirls of a door began to form and you had never been so relieved to see the entrance to the room of requirement form for you. It felt like a dear friend coming to your aid.
"Inside, come on." You ushered, pulling Sebastian along. He held you closer, mumbling 'careful.' at your quickness.
Sebastian sat you down carefully on the closest thing he could, which happened to be a plush settee that you couldn't remember placing when you were last here. Perhaps the room had conjured it up just for you.
"My brewing stand, it should be over there." You blurted.
"You've really decked this place out." He muttered and behind you, you could hear the sizzling of a potion brewing. Sebastian had followed you into the room once or twice before, but not enough to be acquainted to it like you were. An uncomfortable minute passed before Sebastian handed you the potion which spread relief through your body once you drunk it.
He watched your eyes keenly for any haze or sickly glossiness. "Another?" He asked.
"No I'm alright." You nodded. He sighed thankfully and you smiled at his relief. “I’ve never known you to be the doting type, Sebastian.” You uttered contently, placing down the empty vile.
“Well, you’ve never needed doting.” He rounded the large settee and sat beside you.
"I never thought you had it in you to be so… gentle."
The word stunned Sebastian, but only for a moment. "Me? Not gentle? How could you ever come to think so low of me?" He jested, an eyebrow raised your way.
"Apologies, I don't know what could've convinced me otherwise." A lot lurked behind your retort, and although you could still see a grin on his face, Sebastian's shoulders deflated. "I'm only joking." You quickly added. "You've always had a soft side, I've been especially reaping the benefits of it in our recent time spent together."
"Well, I'd ought to start treating you well some time in our friendship." He continued, a playfulness added to his somewhat serious statement.
You hummed, although awkwardly. After fifth year, Sebastian had somewhat clung to you. Soloman was dead, Anne had left and his relationship with Ominis had never been so broken. All his time, his loyalty, his effort and his love was directed to you because, plainly, you were the only one who stuck around. You were the only one he'd give it all to, whether you were completely aware of it or not.
So when the two of you tipped around his less than stellar actions towards you, you could see the guilt wrack him. See his regret. Inwardly, Sebastian wished to scrub the memories of his slights against you from your brain. He wasn't that boy anymore. He wasn't so obsessed with finding a cure for Anne, driven by his one-track mind. No, now you had become his obsession. His motivations now revolved around you and he pursued you just as relentlessly as he pursued that cure for Anne, maybe even more so. Perhaps he is the same boy from two years ago.
You glanced at him, his eyes downcast to the marble floor. "I know you always cared for me. Just... Sometimes you had a funny way of showing it." You played with the hem of your skirt, rubbing the fabric between your index and forefinger. "You're a true friend Sebastian, don't doubt that."
"You're one to talk." He suddenly grinned, arm stretching out on the camel back of the sofa, close enough anyone else would consider Sebastian had his arm around you.
"Am I?" You smiled, less wary.
"The entire cohort is deeply in love with you. Perhaps some of the teachers too. I'm sure Professor Wesley would give just about anything to adopt you, and I've never seen Sharp so kind to someone. Truely, it's terrifying."
You shook your head, laughing. "Oh stop, there are plenty who don't like me. What about Imelda?"
"Don't be daft, she'd drop just about anything for you I'm sure." He hummed, smiling at the idea (although it made his affection towards you feel slightly less significant. Still, you were here with him, not Imelda or any other adoring fan you had. That must've counted for something). "You might consider me a charmer, but you're like an Amortentia potion given life."
"Compliments like these are precisely why I enjoy spending time with you Sebastian." You said. Sebastian chuckled lowly.
"Cheeky." He commented.
"So then, can I consider you deeply in love with me too? You did say everyone in our cohort." Daring, but you enjoyed the rush of flirting with Sebastian whenever the opportunity arose.
"Imelda, the teachers, even Ominis and yes, me."
The space between you somehow lessened, the teasing drawing your faces together. In a moment of weakness, yours eyes darted to his smiling lips. He’d caught the glance, igniting a wild tinkle in his eyes. He knew where your thoughts lie and you could see it in the way he looked at you. He took your cheek in his hand and you retracted into nervousness, opening your mouth to say something before Sebastian leaned in to pressed a kiss to your lips.
It felt curt at first, because Sebastian broke away too soon, perhaps because he realised to gravity of his action. But you trailed after him, following his lips and giving him the desire to kiss you again. So he did.
This time, with the assurance of you kissing him back, passion bloomed.
He rested an eager hand on your side, his other still holding your face. His fingers threaded through your hair as his lips pushed into you, with longing and need. It wasn’t messy, nor sloppy, just long moments of intimacy between quick breaths.
After a quick separation, Sebastian dove into you again, furthering his weight into you until you relented and laid back against the sofa, pulling him down with you whilst you kissed.
You utterly lost yourself in the swirls of emotions, drowning in the desire to just be with him, and feel him. It felt hot, light, but above all it felt natural.
Both hands now cupped your sides, pressing you into the pillows. His mouth moved to your cheek, then jaw and you attempted to breath out and slow your racing pulse but the sound that left you was much more vocal than you wanted it to be.
Sebastian stopped and you quickly sobered from the passion. He raised himself off of you, and you jolted up.
He wiped a hand over his mouth. “This is… compromising.” He muttered whilst you were being brought back to the reality of what you were doing.
Kissing Sebastian— kissing anyone!—Alone in a room together, with wandering hands and hot bodies. It was completely and utterly shameful. It wasn’t as though you were innocent children who could get away with linking arms or coupled rendezvous, the two of you were about to graduate and enter ‘proper society’ and however forward thinking the magical word was compared to the muggle word, hooking up with your dearest friend with no ring was still considered dishonourable.
“It is.” You nodded, wide eyed. Would you still be able to wear a white wedding dress after this? Was it allowed? What even was ‘being unclean’? Did making out count? The dizzying feeling returned. All you wanted to do was rewind time and stop yourself from ever making a peep so that Sebastian would’ve continued his journey down your body.
And clearly, Sebastian didn’t want his exploration to end either because his hands lingered around your uniform vest.
“Are you hot?” He asked, eyes dark and utterly taken by you.
“A little, yes.” You nodded, keenly watching his hands encompass the first button.
"May I?"
"Yes." You sighed shakily.
He was slow to thread the black buttons through their slits, opening your chest up to the cool air inside the room of requirement. It seemed the rain had also dampened the fabric underneath the vest, clinging it to your skin. The sight elicited a rough exhale from Sebastian whose reflex was to avert his gaze. He slid the vest off of you and rested his hands at your torso.
"Are you alright?" You asked in hopes to catch his eyes.
"Yes. I'm more than alright, actually." You would laugh if the comment hadn't made goosebumps rise on your skin. He finally returned to face you. “Can I kiss you again?”
“Yes.” You replied, with an embarrassing eagerness.
He returned from where he left you, kissing your jaw and then ear with such lightness it could’ve been a peck from a pixie. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the way he held you cried love and devotion. Treating your skin like porcelain, and your lips like a favourite dessert he needed to savour (lest he never eat it again). You supposed Sebastian would be a fast lover, a man who would take as he desired and give his all.
This was slow, relaxing, gentle and kind. Almost melancholy. As though with every simple kiss he pressed to your lips, he was apologising.
However you were done with apologies from Sebastian. You wanted his love without guilt.
So you took his face in your hands and kept him locked to your lips for a rhythmic kiss which had his hands clenching and his head feeling light from the rush of blood south. Now you could feel him adjusted to you, taking your lead.
Sebastian decided, when you whimpered at the sensation of his tongue sliding across your lip, that this moment would forever vex him during nights of loneliness.
You weren’t sure when, but his hand had found itself on your inner thigh, below the safeguard of your skirt and squeezing your leg in assurance. His thumb dragged over the dip on your stocking, so close to where you longed most.
As your tongue met his in a long swipe, he squeezed you again but this time the squeeze portrayed a promise, that he was going to touch you and draw pleasure from you.
Your heart skipped a beat, and the butterflies became too much to bear.
“Sebastian— I’m, I’m worried.” You gasped, breathing out a shaken breath.
His hands were away from you, almost in an instant and most unfortunately so was his mouth. “Then we should stop.”
“But I—” You couldn’t allow yourself to truely express you wanted more, wanted to continue and be enveloped by him. But he knew, like he always did, what you wanted.
So against his better judgment, Sebastian mumbled a quiet “Sorry.” To your previously untouched maidenhood, then found your body with his lips again.
He needed this. He loved you too much to stop.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” You asked meekly, as he kissed and sucked at the skin that peaked from your collar.
“I can’t say I’m experienced, but I know what I want to do.”
“What’s that?” You dared to inquire.
“Show you how dear you are to me.”
You whispered a too-soft 'okay' before laying down on your back, like a cat showing its belly to signify its trust. The gesture and the sight of you sprawled out for him, made Sebastian grab his clenched jaw and hide the red settling under his freckles.
You could see a reservation form— or perhaps it was an anxiousness to please swirling in his eyes. You couldn’t tell, but he watched you intensely as his hand traveled down, past your beating chest, over the knobs of your ribs until he dived under your skirt and made his stop at where you burned for him.
His thumb glided over your core and the space between you two felt as though you were on a stage and Sebastian was the only audience member. You had gasped and excitement flickered in his dark eyes. Again, he dragged his thumb over you but with more weight and your previous gasp turned into a whimper. You held onto him, pulling him down into you to avoid his excited stare. His body blanketed you, his scent enveloping you along with the masculine weight of him.
You could feel his hand shift, dulled by the fabric of your stockings then the force of his palm rub against your clothed bundle of nerves. Your legs attempted to close at the sensation, but Sebastian's body kept them open to him. Your chest pounded uncomfortably, so fast and so heavy with the weight of your first-time arousal.
His lips locked to your neck again, his free hand pulling at your tie and unbuttoning the first button on your blouse. Now he kissed a lower, new, more sensitive territory. He moved to the second button and you thought it was impossible for your chest to thud any faster until his wet lips reached a particular sweet spot between your shoulder and neck whilst his other hand worked your sex.
“My heart.” You whimpered, tugging at his robe. His hand halted, resting around your thigh. The sigh he exhaled lingered on the skin of your neck before he leaned to press his ear against your chest.
He listened for seconds, long enough for your fingers to find their way to his hair. You hadn’t realised he held stiffness until his body relaxed into you at the tender rake of your nails through his soft brown locks.
“I’m sorry, I can’t control my nerves.” You said, catching your breath and willing your anxious heart to slow.
“Don’t be.” He countered, lifting his head from your thudding chest. “I’m affected by all this, too.” He took your hand and pressed it into his chest. You quickly felt the thick beats of his pulse, in a rhythm that easily matched your own.
He returned to lay over you, between your legs, with his head beside your own. You clung to his body that draped over you like a blanket along with his wet, wood smell that you'd only ever caught brief whiffs of before this. You felt guilty, leaving all the pleasing to him, especially since he'd been so kind to your hesitations. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing much, am I?"
"Is sorry your favourite word, love?" He asked, his warm hand caressing your cheek. "You deserve someone doing something to please you for once. Besides, your little sounds are doing enough for me as it is."
You pushed a hand to his face, covering the grin that turned you a deep plum shade. He chuckled and kissed your palm. "And what of you, Sebastian?" The kisses began to lead up your arm but you stopped him. "Sebastian."
"Your selflessness never retires, does it?"
You ignored him, propping yourself up to loosen his tie in a simple show that now, it was his turn. You did so smoothly and so gently that it made Sebastian's jaw tighten. You tossed it to the pile where your vest lay, then moved to his robes, sliding them off him. His expression seemed hard, annoyed almost but you continued. He took your wrist only when your fingers edged to undo his third button.
"Don't do this for me." He muttered, clearly thousands of thoughts buffering his mind, but that horrid guilt resurfaced on his face.
"For you?" You somewhat gaped. He must truly think of you as a saint (a push-over, but a saint) to believe you so innocent in your motives. "Not for you. With you, Sebastian." The words were enough to ease his hold on your wrist, so you continued.
Just as Sebastian, you had little to no experience on any sexual matters. You were hardly familiar with your own body, let alone a male's. So ever the improviser, you lifted yourself over him and sat gently, feeling the poke of his arousal against you. You shivered, and had to look away from him for a brief moment.
His hands snapped to your hips, and he looked at you with some kind of warning in his eyes. Tread carefully. The look said.
With Sebastian below you, you finally got a clean look at him; red lips, flushed face, rustled hair. You'd never seen him in such a state. It allowed you to understand why he enjoyed watching you whilst touching your most sensitive area.
With your hands on his chest for balance, you gently swayed your hips against him. His fingers curled around you, his knuckles blanching, and he let out a grunted curse that melted your insides to molten.
Again you moved against him, finding your own pleasure in the movement, prompting you to do it again. Sebastian was unravelling beneath you, eyes creased shut with his head thrown back and mouth letting out choked moans.
You began to notice Sebastian's hips joining you, rolling up with a feverish need. You dipped down to him, deciding the space was too much. His arms envelop you in a strong hug, tightening when you began to leave kisses across his skin.
“Does it feel good?” You asked insecurely whilst already knowing the answer.
“Hng— yes.” He nodded desperately.
The following exchange between you two was nothing more than writhing bodies, quiet moans and shallow breaths.
At some point, appearing fed up with your pace and control, Sebastian had shifted you off him and to his side, where he then mounted you. Finding his rightful place between your legs and returning his core to yours, grinding against you in a manor that reminded you what was to come once the layers between you were gone.
It made your insides plea for him, his hand. Anything.
So you took his face, and guided it back to your lips. It was messier now, not fast or rough, just messy as his mind strayed between his deep rolls against you and the way your tongue met his bottom lip.
But he stoped, retracting his hips but not yet his mouth. You broke from him first.
"Sebastion." His name was a plea, a whine against loosing the sensation of him finding friction against you.
"If we continue like this, I... I won't last. You should find your release before it's over."
You wondered how Sebastian might've known you were even capable of climax, then consider what other kinds of books were available in the restricted section of the library he might've come across. The thought didn't linger in your mind for too long, because he had sat up and had begun removing your stockings.
"Sebastian..."
The familiar sound of your nervous unease halted him.
"Just don't stare." You asked, looking away from the sight of him undressing you.
"Of course." It was a shotty promise, but you allowed him to take off your puffy drawers and settle over you again. He kissed your lips briefly, then your cheek, jaw, neck, collarbone and the plush of your breast that peaked from your halfway unbuttoned blouse.
You gazed up at the ceiling you'd designed two years ago, finding comfort in its familiarity. You wondered briefly that if you had told your younger self that Sebastian Sallow would one day see you half undressed, flushed with lust and be kissing his way down your ribs, abdomen and stomach until he reached your sex, what she might say. You had some faint idea, younger you would've responded with "Sounds about right."
The kiss he pressed against your knee was unhurried and deliberate, even more-so was the one he pressed to your inner thigh. When his mouth finally found you it drew a sharp intake of breath from your chest, suspended in the heavy quiet of the room.
Your hands, awkward and alone, grabbed at your skirt and shirt, clenching the fabric until your knuckles went white. One of them instinctually reached for his hair when his hot, wet tongue slowly swiped you for the first time. Another gasp joined the symphony of echoed silence, aside for the occasional rustle of clothes.
His tongue explored you carefully and too light but with each vocal exhale or quick tug at his hair the experimental licks became sure as he uncovered what made you react the most.
You could feel a simple quake in his hands as they held your thighs open and your trembling body steady. You reached to the fingers that created craters in your flesh, brushing across them in a plea for him to hold your hand. And he did.
You had never imaged it could feel like it did, so warm, so encompassing, so vulnerable yet so rewarding. It was all utterly overwhelming. You couldn't think of anything else other than the sensations. His wet tongue sliding across your nerves, the softness of his chestnut brown hair, the puffs of his hot exhales against your skin and the loving hold of his hand.
The builds of pleasure had begun to undeniably form, and the incoming reality that Sebastian would made you climax quickly sent a storm of butterflies within your stomach.
"I think I'm close." You uttered.
Sebastian's eyes fluttered at your heavenly admission, but he didn't allow the swirling of pride in his chest to sway him from your pleasure. His tongue and mouth moved with such deliberate care, that you whimpered to consider how much he must've loved you, to want care for you this way. No, Sebastian was not a fast lover by any means.
The building peaked, until it snapped and you unravelled. Sebastian had known it by the shiver that ripped through your body and the way your fingers tightened almost painfully around his hair. All that, and the moan you let out was the loudest you'd made yet.
You felt the warm cavern of his mouth seperate from you however you were well past the point of reaction as you sobbed and gasped for oxygen to feed your rapturing heart.
Sebastian's eye's glazed over your now glistening skin "You finished." He stated, almost asking in such bewilderment. You didn't reply, still catching your breath. He picked you up from your weak lay on the sofa and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly.
You wondered when he kissed you, if that sweet tang on his tongue was the taste of you.
The intimacy lingered, guiding you into a heat you didn't expect so soon after your peak. Your hand reached the rim of his trousers, index finger curling around his belt and ever so lightly tugging at it.
Sebastian seemed to hesitate, separating from your lips and gazing at you. “We can stop here. There's no rush—” he began, his voice low and warning, but you silenced him with a soft shake of your head.
“I don't want to stop,” you whispered, the words shaky but certain. The way his breath caught at your words sent warmth bloating your chest.
His hug around you faded as he fumbled with the button of his trousers, his hands trembling slightly as his usual confidence slipped for a vulnerable kind of focus.
Your gaze rose at the ceiling instinctively, to avoid an image so lewd your heart might explode.
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours again. The kiss was softer now, as if trying to calm both of your nerves. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be nervous.”
“I’m not,” you lied, the tight weakness in your throat betraying you.
Sebastian smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “I think you are,” he countered, “but that’s alright. This is... I’m nervous too.”
“You don’t seem it,” you admitted, and he let out a breathy laugh.
“I’m good at pretending,” he confessed, his tone light but honest. He kissed you again, slower this time, and the warmth of his lips helped steady you.
As he positioned himself, his movements slowed, almost hesitant. His brow furrowed slightly as though searching for the right way to proceed. “If it hurts, or if you want me to stop, you’ll tell me?”
You nodded.
When he began to push forward, he braced himself with a groan you only recognised Sebastian let out when he'd been in pain, though this was something else entirely. The exhale that followed seemed to have winded him. It was as though sliding into you was like sliding into some exquisite oil.
Despite what you might've expected, no pain flooded your body. There was an uneasy pressure, but no incredible discomfort. As his size slid across your nerves you couldn't help the sharp intake of air through your teeth
Sebastian froze immediately. "Too much?" He asked.
"No," you managed, although sounding as if you were holding back a sob, "It's just.. new." His shoulders sagged with relief.
You shifted beneath him, angling your hips instinctively, and the change made him groan, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Gods, you feel… perfect,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.
He halted a slow jut into you, experimenting with each gentle motion, balancing his desire with your comfortability. That uneasy tightness had lifted almost completely as he massaged your insides, spreading a melting warmth that eased any tension in your mind.
His name fell from your lips and it shattered what composure he had left. "Does it feel better now?" Although the question sounded worried for you, Sebastian wanted more, to go further and harder and needed the permission from your pleasure.
"Yes," you gasp, "Its— ah— Sebastian it's so much better."
Now he had a newfound confidence and his movements grew surer but still achingly gentle.
It was all becoming smoother, more instinctive, and you found yourself matching him, your hips rising to meet his. He groaned at this. The sensation of him filling you, of your bodies moving in perfect sync, was intoxicating. You could feel his hands sliding up your sides, his touch gentle yet tight as he held you close.
The feel of him gliding inside you, slowly and shallowly pleasing you send spark dancing underneath your skin and another tension, similar to the one you felt with Sebastian's mouth around your sex, although not the same, began to build. “Sebastian,” you gasped, your voice laced with urgency. “I—”
“Just a little more,” he coaxed, remaining loyal to the kind rhythm of his thrusts. “I can feel it, too.”
You held yourself together for only a moment longer, unravelling too soon and too fast. This one was intense, flooding your body and contracting your muscles, even the ones that surrounded Sebastian. It had pushed him over the edge, too.
A warmth flooded you and the hands clutching his back became sharp nails digging into his shirt and skin. You didn't forget the way he moaned at the rake. Both of you shuddered, Sebastian at finding his release inside you and you feeling it merge with the aftershock of your own climax.
For a moment, there was only the sound of your breaths mingling in the stillness, the world outside forgotten. Sebastian lowered his forehead to yours and collapsed breathless at your side.
You could've drifted off into a deep slumber, you might've for a single moment, if Sebastian hadn't removed his blanket of warmth by lifting himself from the sofa. He took his robe off the pile of strewn bits of clothing, and draped it over you.
Through tiredly lidded eyes, you heard the rustle of clothing as he buttoned up the loose pieces hanging off him.
"Sebastian?" You weren't done basking in the aftercare yet.
"I'm going to brew the potion."
"Potion?"
"A... preventative."
You sat up. "Preventative?"
Although he'd been deep inside you just a moment ago, he attempted to avoid crudeness. "To, you know, stop you from being.. with child."
You weren't sure if you should laugh, or freak out, so an odd mix between the two emotions emitted from you. "Sebastian how do you know so much about all this?"
"Why? Did my skills exceeded your expectations that much?"
"Please, be serious," you begged.
"Well, you know how much I like to read." He seemed to shy from the confession. "After a while, one gets curious about certain things and... as for the potion, I found it in a book about married couples. Said it was 'to only be used to prevent further conception after having too many children' although I think we can bend the rules for this occasion."
"Children? Oh merlin, what have we done." The afterglow had faded too soon and you were left with the cries of a culture that told you sex before marriage was unacceptable. "I'm going to have to wear a black wedding dress..." You despaired.
Sebastian only laughed.
"Don't laugh! I'll have to lie to my future husband, and—"
"I'll be marrying you," he stated, as though you were slow for not already knowing this.
"What?"
"Love, don't think for a moment I'd let you share yourself with me like this and not marry you," any words you could've hoped to say were buried deep in your pit of a gut, "besides, I've always thought you looked quite pretty in black."
You weakly laughed, the other option being to cry from overwhelm of it all.
"I'll tell you a secret though—we're quite late to the party."
"What do you mean?"
"Weasley, Prewett and Plummly."
"You're joking." You gaped, "with who?"
"None of them will tell. Suppose they might be lying, though I'm sure I did spot Weasley snogging a Hufflepuff once. Might've been her."
"Huh." You supposed that if you had to have guessed, Garreth Weasley would've been the first name you called.
"Pretty sure word got out about it too, that's why he's been in detention for so long. The teachers can't prove it happened, but they can still punish him for it."
So that's why you hadn't seen Garreth as often anymore. With his aunt as a teacher, she'd surely be on his tail about anything scandalous. Then stress twanged your heart.
"What if someone finds out about us, about tonight?"
"They won't."
"What if they do?"
His mouth quirked into a half-smile, equal parts reassuring and mischievous. “We’d get scolded, thrown in detention, and likely forced to marry sooner than we’d like. Expulsion would be threatened, but I reckon most of the professors have enjoyed watching our so-called ‘budding romance.’ I’d wager they’d let it slide.”
"Professor Wesley would have you strung up by your ears for taking me to bed," you muttered, finding humour in the image, but also horror in the truth of it. "Oh Merlin she'd be so disappointed in me..."
"You're right," he muttered with an exaggerated sigh, "if it was Ominis who'd taken you, she'd be so much happier."
You couldn't help the laugh that left you, or how it quickly dissolved into a groan. "Sebastian please, I— what if this was a mistake?"
His amusement faded and he softened. "Think for one moment, with no one else's judgement, did it feel like a mistake?"
"No..."
“You think I’d do this with anyone else?” he continued, his voice softer now. “That I’d risk everything—us—for something fleeting?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Sebastian let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you really don’t give me enough credit, do you?”
“It’s not that,” you protested weakly.
“Then what is it?” he pressed, his gaze intent but not unkind.
"You're not just saying all this to make me feel better, are you? To make me think you want me?" The words felt stupid the moment they left your mouth.
Sebastian blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a laugh—warm and disbelieving—escaped him. “You’re daft if you think I’d ever not want you. Have you met me?”
You swatted at his arm halfheartedly, your cheeks burning. “This is mortifying.”
“Mortifying?” He scoffed, pulling you closer. “The only thing mortifying about this is how much I love kissing you, everywhere. Truely, I won't be able to think about another thing."
"If we get married, I think I'll die of a heart attack."
Rating: Explicit / MDNI (smut, language); all characters are adults
Words: 4,473
Tags: second person POV, reader insert, no y/n, smut, aged up characters, adult characters, post-Hogwarts, friends to lovers
Summary: Ominis Gaunt needs some inspiration to finish writing his novel. You suggest he play some piano for inspiration; instead, he plays you.
Notes: I've always headcanoned Ominis as being an excellent pianist, which is mainly what inspired this — as well as that scene in the 1990 film "Pretty Woman." This is literally just shameless, silly smut.
Read on AO3 or below the cut.
Ominis Gaunt didn’t miss his eyesight — at least not most days.
He’d lived like this for years and, like most aspects of his grim childhood, he had learned to adapt.
The only times he truly missed his vision was when you came around.
You stirred something special and secretive in Ominis. You always had. In fact, the first time he met you — the morning you wandered into the Slytherin Common Room to meet your housemates on the first day of fifth year — Ominis could feel the air change.
The common room was always cool, the windows casting shadows from the Black Lake’s frigid waters across the floors. Even the spot in front of the fireplace felt abnormal, as if the crackling flames were fake.
So when you approached Ominis near his favorite spot near the far windows, his guard went up. The air became oppressive; heavy like morning dew but warm like steam bursting from a kettle. But Ominis greeted you with kindness. Despite the polished, poised demeanor that often made him appear pretentious, he was a soft person. He only became hardened with life reminded him of its cruel capabilities. But in spite of his own arduous memories, he preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt.
Of course, that nearly changed when you befriended Sebastian Sallow. At first, Ominis thought it might be good to welcome a new friend to their severed trio. Sebastian hadn’t been the same since Anne was forced to leave Hogwarts. Ominis was hopeful you might distract him from his relentless research for Anne’s cure. He didn’t realize you’d be the one to encourage it.
Still, something about your presence intrigued Ominis. You made his porcelain cheeks flush and the milky whites of his eyes glimmer. You took that pale, ghost of a boy and breathed new life into him.
So even after Sebastian initiated you to the Undercroft, even after you elected to allow Sebastian to use Crucio on you in the Scriptorium, and even after Sebastian’s downward spiral led to Solomon’s demise, Ominis couldn’t shake the feeling that he should appreciate you despite all the agony that occurred since your arrival.
He wanted to hate you; wanted to blame you for the ways his fifth year unraveled. But you weren’t perfect. You tried your best to reason with Sebastian, and that was your common thread to Ominis — you were both too good to know how to stop something so sinister.
So despite the devastating manner in which you failed Sebastian, Ominis understood, and he did not blame you. Especially once he saw your efforts to help Sebastian resurrect himself.
When Ominis had wanted to turn Sebastian in, you thought of Anne. And you reminded Ominis that Sebastian was still good; he had acted out of love that manifested into desperation. Neither you nor Ominis understood that. Your family abandoned you as an infant. Ominis’ family robbed him of any chance for affection. You were both strangers to the pull of unconditional love.
You stuck by Sebastian and helped your misguided friend remember the person he really was. You showed him empathy and understanding, but you also inflicted him with tough love when he needed it. You made it clear he’d lose everything if he dared to ever dabble in dark magic again.
Since then, Sebastian had returned to his former self. He graduated from Hogwarts and became an Auror. You and Ominis could not have been more proud of him.
Meanwhile, you were a Healer at St. Mungo’s and Ominis became a novelist. The two men moved into a townhome together while you shared a flat with Natsai Onai. You spent more time at Ominis and Sebastian’s than you did your own home. The three of you liked it that way.
That was the case this evening, as you stopped by their townhome and let yourself in. You hadn’t planned to stay long — you were tired from work — but you wanted to hear how Ominis’ latest story was coming along.
“Evening,” you greeted as you tossed your coat and bag on the kitchen table. You kicked your shoes off and settled onto the sofa as your eyes lingered on Ominis, who was seated at a desk pushed against the wall. Parchment was scattered over the desktop while a charmed quill hovered over an ink pot.
“Evening,” Ominis sighed. You frowned as you shifted deeper into the sofa cushions to make yourself comfortable, your legs tucked beneath yourself.
“What’s wrong?” you asked as you took in Ominis’ appearance. His eyes looked cloudier than usual, and even his skin appeared dull and parched. This wasn’t the man whose beauty could only be described as striking. This was a man who had been drained by life’s unrelenting demands.
Still, he was stunning to you. You’d always been painfully attracted to him. At first, it was because you found him distinguished, albeit intimidating. You knew very little about the Gaunt lineage or its nefarious history when you met him. You merely wanted to learn more about the dignified boy who wore elegant robes and whose eyes swarmed with a thousand mysterious stories.
Then you came to know Ominis on a much deeper level, beneath the pomp and propriety. You lifted his veil of assimilation and unmasked a boy who merely wanted nothing more than the chance to be good.
It made you love him even more.
Most people would have caved under Ominis’ circumstances. The other Gaunt children gave in and became just like their parents – cruel, conniving and driven by hatred. It would have been easier for Ominis to do the same.
Instead, he defied his family, and on his eighteenth birthday, he set himself free. You were thrilled for him – so much so, you and Sebastian threw him a celebration. It wasn’t Ominis’ style to party, but you’d never seen him smile so much as that night.
But now, Ominis looked exhausted.
“It’s this damn fifth chapter,” he sighed. “I just can’t work my way through it.”
“Oh, come on now,” you encouraged, your lips curving in a knowing smile. “You always sort it out.”
Ominis’ writing also left you in awe. Perhaps you were a tad bit biased, but his prose was perfect in your opinion. He weaved sentences that sang off their pages. Every thought, every word was crafted with careful precision that only someone as perfectionist as Ominis could conjure.
It’s why you’d often commiserate over his work with him. You didn’t know why Ominis stressed so much – he’d already penned two wildly successful novels that catapulted him to the top of the wizarding world’s pyramid of esteemed writers. But you also knew Ominis cared so damn much about his craft that anything short of spectacular would be deemed an utter failure by him.
“Tell me, where are you at now? Last time we chatted, the main character was about to reveal the story of how he survived the drowning,” you recalled.
“Now I need to convey how that experience has shaped him to this point,” Ominis explained. You blinked.
“Well, I imagine surviving something like that would be quite traumatic,” you mused. “And I surmise it might alter one’s outlook on life. You and I both know how surviving a perilous situation plays out.”
Ominis’ lips thinned. It was a combination of a grimace and smile you’d come to recognize often.
“I just don’t want to be cliche about it,” he explained. “Everyone suffers trauma. Everyone deals with it differently. I don’t want to write another story about a bloke who survived something awful and used it to overcome whatever internal agony eats away at him.”
“But Ominis,” you said carefully. “Isn’t that what tends to happen? People survive, and then they grow from it? It’s what happened to me, to Seb, to you.”
“But doesn’t that feel a bit expected?” Ominis asked. You shrugged as your fingers toyed with the edge of a sofa cushion.
“Perhaps it does,” you answered honestly. “But perhaps that’s what people want to read, Ominis. Sometimes it’s nice to relate to a character.”
Ominis considered your words carefully, but it was clear his mind remained at war. He groaned and pushed himself away from the desk, standing to pace the living room in search of answers.
“Where is Seb anyway?” you asked curiously.
“Still on assignment in Belfast,” Ominis answered absently. His shoes clunked against the wood floor as he paced lines, back and forth, with his wand guiding him in one hand.
“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggested as you studied Ominis’ manic state. This happened more often than he’d ever admit. He’d become frantic over his work, spiral until he was struck by some brilliant idea, and then all would be right in his world again.
“I can’t take a break,” Ominis sighed. “I need to get this done.”
“You need to preserve your sanity,” you laughed. “And mine. And probably Seb’s.”
Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers as if he were trying to squeeze the tension from his head. You gazed around the room, your eyes falling on the black piano tucked away in the corner.
It was always a comical contrast to you – the sight of Ominis’ opulent grand piano positioned next to the old shelves that held Sebastian’s collection of faded, grubby books, strewn haphazardly with no sense or order. It was a fitting reflection of the two men and how their differences managed to coincide comfortably.
“Maybe you should play some piano,” you suggested. “You’ve always said it inspires you.”
Ominis stopped his pacing and turned toward the corner. His brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Yes, alright,” he sighed in agreement. “Perhaps that will help clear my head.”
You nodded in approval as Ominis paced to the piano bench to sit. Though he could not see them, your eyes sparkled with excitement.
You watched in silence as Ominis’ fingers hovered over the keys. He seemed to be quietly deciding on what to play until finally, the quiet ping of the first note rang throughout the room.
If writing didn’t work out for Ominis, you were certain a career in music would. He played beautifully, with a stunning command over the keys. They became an extension of his spirit; steadfast and smooth, yet peppered with intriguing obscurity. The notes started as slow chirps before they ascended toward a brisk pitter-patter that preceded a sweeping symphony that soared around you.
Ominis sat at the edge of the bench, his back straight as a board, a sign of his classical training. But the piano portrayed his emotion with much more livelihood than someone merely moving in scripted patterns. The keys felt his every pulse and danced in response.
Ominis played with his eyes closed. You typically listened to him with your own squeezed shut to savor the sound, but this time, you couldn't help but watch him.
The crescendo was clean and crisp, a dazzling declaration of drama that surged with rich power. Each note seemed to emphasize Ominis’ heartbeat. It raised goosebumps over your skin, and you wished he’d touch you with the same mastery as those piano keys.
When the song ended, the room stilled again. You smiled. Ominis remained stoic.
“That was beautiful,” you breathed softly.
“Thank you.”
“What was it? I didn’t recognize it.”
“Just something that came to mind,” Ominis said quietly.
Maybe it was the way Ominis’ song had made your pulse race. Maybe it was the way he looked next to the piano – so handsome and refined – or maybe it was merely your waning self-control. Something made you rise to your feet and pace toward Ominis.
You slid carefully onto the bench next to him. It was built for one person, meaning you were far too close, the sides of your thighs pressing against his. Ominis inhaled sharply. You pretended you didn’t notice.
“Will you teach me to play?” you asked innocently. Ominis straightened as if he was holding his breath.
“Of- of course,” he answered. You smiled at him, though he couldn’t detect it as his wand rested atop the piano.
You reached for the keys, the pads of your fingers tracing gently over their cool, slick surface. “Show me,” you said softly. Ominis nodded and you were almost certain you could see the muscles of his throat constrict.
“Start here,” Ominis instructed, his fingers resting atop the keys at one end of the piano. He pressed down, drawing a faint clink. You reached across him to repeat the pattern and smirked as you felt him shift beside you. It triggered something much more sportive within you.
“And what about this one?” you asked innocently, using your hand to guide Ominis’ over the ivory planks. You pressed his hand downward over a series of keys, though you couldn’t care less about the notes. Your palm was warm as it rested atop his.
The contrast was nearly comical. Your hand was delicate, but covered in scars from the scrapes and scratches of your past; nails bitten down to the skin; cuticles dry and cracked from washing your hands so much at work. Ominis’ hands were smooth and elegant, unblemished except for ink stains on the pads of his fingertips.
Your hand controlled Ominis’ as you dragged it slowly across the key tops so that the piano sang an erratic scale. When you realized his hand was trembling, you released it. It clanged against the keys as you dipped your head.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, your eyes cast downward. A flush surged from the back of your neck to your cheeks as you contemplated a million different ways you could die. Your heart continued its assault inside your chest while your muscles seized in shame. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“It’s alright,” Ominis said gently. “I just… you just…” He trailed off, leaving you both unsure what he intended to say. So you said nothing.
The silence seared within your skull and you scolded yourself for daring to believe Ominis might reciprocate even the faintest feelings for you. There was no mutual sexual tension, no unspoken declarations of desire. This delicate dance you dreamed up was exactly that – a figment of your own personal fantasies.
You rested your hands in your lap and remained rigid.
“I’m sorry.” Ominis finally broke the silence and his flustered tone caught you off guard.
“No, it was my fault-” you started.
“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Ominis continued.
You froze. Your fingertips pressed into the tops of your thighs while the temperature in the room spiked. Your brain began to fail you, all vocabulary vacating its Broca’s area.
“Oh,” was the best you could manage. You were desperate to look anywhere but at him. You couldn’t. This was your friend. This was Ominis Gaunt, the spitting image of virtue and sophistication. This was a man you admired and respected… and a man you wanted to ruin you.
When it became evident you were considering flinging yourself from the third-story window, Ominis sighed.
“Give me your hand,” he said, holding out his own.
You obliged, and your breath hitched as he guided it with a renewed quiet confidence. Once your hands were placed over the keys again, Ominis stood. You frowned in confusion until he shifted to stand behind you, his spine curving as he leaned over your right shoulder.
“Like this,” he said gently, his hands taking control of yours. The piano chirped beneath your hands, though it was clear Ominis had no particular song in mind.
As he leaned in more to manipulate your hands over more keys, you could feel his breath against your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the warmth and your knees drifted closer together. Soon, you were clamping your thighs tight as you fought to steady your breathing. Your body was failing you.
“Ominis,” you breathed, your eyes still closed. His hands drifted slowly from yours, snaking their way over your forearms. His thumbs traced gentle circles across your skin as his lips brushed the notch between your neck and your collarbone. A traitorous whimper escaped your throat.
Ominis' hands were on you in an instant, pulling you to your feet. You spun around to face him and he knocked you backward against the piano. Its keys clanged against the backs of your thighs while Ominis stepped around the bench, moving past the remaining barrier – physical and metaphorical – between you.
You guided him toward yourself until you could wrangle your arms around him. It wasn’t the dignified first kiss you often envisioned with Ominis, but it was anything but ordinary. He didn’t seem to mind.
His hands snapped to your waist like they were always meant to be there, and he kissed you until you had to crane your neck for air. He had you pinned against the piano, your ass pressed against the keys.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered as Ominis’ teeth grazed your earlobe. You screamed at yourself in silence, wondering how you could be stupid enough to say such things. This was all you wanted to be doing.
Ominis left a trail of kisses down your neck to the exposed skin of your chest as he ignored your performative protest. Though he couldn’t see your breasts, you knew they were next.
His hands flattened across your back and edged their way upward to the hook and eye closures of your dress. He kissed you with composure as you felt his hands fiddle with every brass clasp until the fabric slackened around your torso. Your dress fell to the floor and you kicked it away impatiently. Ominis smiled at the sound.
His hands explored the curves of your waist, thumbs dragging over the ridge of your hip bones with care. He couldn’t see you, but my god, could he read you.
You squirmed beneath his touch as his palms drifted to your bare breasts, index fingers reading the braille of your nipples. He dipped his head to kiss your shoulder as his fingers peeled away the fabric of your panties. They floated to the floor, leaving you completely bare.
Though Ominis couldn’t see you, you’d never felt so exposed. He seemed to sense your vulnerable state, because he shushed you as he leaned in to circle his arms around you.
“Relax,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ll take good care of you.”
One submissive nod from you was all it took for Ominis to lift you backward, the piano banging beneath you as you became seated atop it. He sank into a seated position on the bench, his head between your thighs as he pressed a trail of kisses between them.
Your chest heaved and your core contracted in anticipation. This was a scene that far exceeded any expectation or reverie you could have imagined. No mirage could conjure the blazing ache between your legs.
Ominis’ fingertips skimmed the tops of your thighs, as if seeking confirmation to continue. You gnawed at your bottom lip and whined in response.
The moment his tongue made contact with your clit, you unleashed the moan you’d been fighting to quell. Ominis would have deemed anything less a disappointment. Arms hooked around your thighs, he pulled you to the edge of the piano top, your legs dangling against the key fronts.
It didn’t take long for your heavy panting to become sharp gasps at the way Ominis’ tongue devoured your cunt. It flattened against your clit and rolled in brisk patterns until he was coaxing a climax from you. Your hands fisted his hair, making him a sinful paradox. You’d tamed the heir of Slytherin and turned him into your pet snake. But like most predators, he needed his prey.
He continued to feast on you until you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your hips bucking and feet fidgeting in response to his mouth’s every movement. When he sucked against your clit, you cried out, fingers tugging his hair taut while you threatened to fall apart. He hummed his praises for you, refusing to break contact with your salty, slick flesh.
And when you finally snapped, your back arching off the piano and your strangled shriek signaling the spasms coursing through your nerve endings, Ominis didn’t relent.
He left you a whimpering, sensitive mess as he stood, calmly loosening his tie while he allowed you to recover. Ever the gentleman – for now.
His tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned, Ominis offered you his hand. He eased you from the piano to your feet, where you stood with a hazy head. But the vision of Ominis looming over you, chest exposed and hair now a tousled mess, made you lick your lips with lust.
Your hands raked over his torso and chest as you slid his shirt from his arms to the floor. His skin was fair and pale, dabbled with a scattering of beauty marks. You wanted to study them, memorize them until you could point them out as easily as Orion in the night sky. But not now. Now was the time for a different kind of intimacy, one that was much more unchaste.
Ominis stirred quietly as you fiddled with his belt buckle. It had barely clinked apart before you were shoving his pants and undergarments to the floor in haste. His smile told you he was enjoying your frantic state.
You weren’t quite the epitome of composure like he was, but he certainly had never seen you like this. He didn’t seem to mind, judging from the erection that was presently aching in your hand. Ominis’ chest caved as you stroked him, your eyes studying his every expression.
“Fuck,” he moaned as your thumb rolled tiny circles across his tip. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”
“Pretty sure I do,” you murmured into his ear.
“What kept you for so long then?” he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut.
“You aren’t exactly the type to wear your heart on your sleeve,” you noted with a smirk, your hand pumping faster around his shaft.
“This house doesn’t need two emotional and impulsive men. One Sebastian is enough,” Ominis muttered. You grinned in response as you leaned in closer, your hand still tugging at his length. “You’re sure about this?” he asked gently.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“I’ve heard that too many times from you and Sebastian to be genuinely convinced,” Ominis noted. You smirked into his eyes, certain he could sense it.
“You know, with all this talking, you’re starting to sound like Seb.”
“You take that back right now.”
You laughed as you pulled Ominis into a long, slow kiss. His hands were everywhere, drinking in every bit of your skin available until his cock was twitching with greed.
Soon, you were pinned against the piano again, this time with the keys digging into the fronts of your thighs. You gasped as Ominis fisted your hair with one hand, shoving your head forward. The piano clanked as you bent over, your hands catching your weight as they pressed against the piano top.
“I’ll show you what it means to really make some noise,” Ominis growled in your ear. Your arousal swelled instantly.
Ominis’ hands held your hips as you could feel the tip of his cock searching for your slick entrance. It nudged its way past your folds until Ominis sank his hips forward, filling you slowly as you held your breath.
“Shit,” Ominis hissed from behind you as he stretched you apart. Your eyes watered and your teeth clenched, your cunt already threatening to tremble at his mere intrusion. Once he reached the hilt, you could hear him sigh with satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “You take me so perfectly.”
You bucked your hips backward in response. Ominis understood your message. His hips pulled back, drawing his cock from your passage until only its tip lingered in your entrance. When he rocked forward again, you moaned as he drove into your walls.
The piano unleashed a barrage of scattered sound, an ode to the ongoing debauchery happening above. You paid no mind, your focus solely on the bliss that currently bewitched your body. Your fingertips pressed hard against the piano top, leaving fingerprints from your crime.
Ominis’ cock found a steady rhythm that soon left the piano singing along with your sins. Its keys rang out with each slapping thrust while your moans provided the vocal component. Together, the two of you created a symphony for your seventh heaven.
“Ominis,” you panted. “Ominis, please. Don’t stop.”
He wouldn’t dream of it. Not when you looked so fucking euphoric laid out before him, your bare backside curved over his precious piano while your skin rippled with its melodies.
You squeezed yourself tight around his cock, the strain causing your walls to quake until you could feel your body reaching its own high note. You wailed Ominis’ name just before your rigid frame relaxed, your orgasm rolling within your walls until it left you flat across the piano top, your knees threatening to give out.
Meanwhile, the surge from your core sent Ominis hurtling toward his own climax. He grunted as he slammed into you, spearing your core with his cock once more until he pulled your hips flush with his to fill you with his release.
When it was over, he collapsed above you, his hands splayed against your back for support.
“Alright?” he asked once he had the strength to straighten himself up. The moment he did, you missed the warmth of him pressed against your back.
You nodded in confirmation and straightened, too. Your sweaty body left streaks on the dark piano top, one last imprint of what you’d done. As Ominis pulled himself from you to gather his clothes, your eyes lingered on the piano.
A bashful blush crept across your cheeks as the reality of your act settled with clarity. You dressed in silence, averting your eyes from Ominis as you searched for the right words to fill the silence.
Ominis appeared to be doing the same. Once you were both decent again, you decided the rug was the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen.
But Ominis moved toward you, an act of reassurance and affection, one hand finding your waist as the other brushed your cheek with the backs of his knuckles.
“Are you okay?” he asked so gently, you almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who had just defiled you on a piano. You smiled softly at him and reached for his hand to give it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m fine,” you said reassuringly. “You?”
Ominis smiled, his eyes bright and clear now.
“Much better,” he said. “I’ve never been so inspired in my life.”
Summary: Even though the two of you are not on good terms after a certain event, you and Ominis decide to go and explore Salazar Slytherin's Scriptorium in order to help Sebastian.
But you know what they say, danger helps to reconcile… but also to bring out the truth.
Alternative : My take on the Scriptorium incident.
Word Count: ~5.5k
Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while... I haven't had much time for myself lately, so I've put writing aside. But summer's here, so I took the opportunity to finish this draft that I've had for far too long. And what better way to come back than with some Ominis fluff? Enjoy!🌞
Warnings: Major spoilers for the "In the Shadow of the Study" quest
“I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ‘I love you.’”
You felt a wrench in your heart as you read those few words written by Shakespeare. It was astonishing how a few drops of ink on the page of a book, a simple garland of lines and curls drawn in different directions, could trigger disproportionate reactions. Did everyone else feel the same way, or was it just that you were too sensitive?
Or perhaps it was simply that these damn love stories reminded you that you had not had the right to your own, that the boy to whom you had offered your heart had given it back to you completely mutilated?
Another wrench in your heart.
‘It’s simple and concise for a declaration of love… but at least she had the right to one, and one that had the merit of being clear and direct to boot’, you could not help thinking as you reread your book.
Time had passed, but you still felt it all. The disappointment, the humiliation, the resentment that came with the sensation of having had your feelings played with, the hatred you felt towards yourself for having let yourself be fooled, not to mention the torrents of tears you had shed. But the most devastating feeling was undoubtedly the despair you felt when you remembered that you had absolutely ruined everything with one of the most important people in your life.
Ominis… Sweet, caring, beautiful Ominis… Your best and closest friend. And to think that three little words of love spoken a couple of weeks ago – the same ones you had just read – had been enough to destroy the strong bond between you two.
Once again, it was astonishing how a series of letters, a succession of various sounds, could trigger such a disproportionate reaction and write over months of shared moments of laughter, of little attentions to one another.
“So!”
You abruptly lifted your head from your book – which you were only skimming through – after Sebastian abruptly dropped down next to you on the sofa in the common room.
“Still moping around?”
“Nah, I’m in tip-top form, can’t you see?” You deadpanned, your voice brimming with irony.
“My, my. No need for the attitude.” Sebastian smirked at your feisty character.
Sebastian had got used pretty quickly to this new dynamic. He would have breakfast with you because you were both late risers. During the day, he would sit next to either you or Ominis depending on the class, making sure to maintain an equity. For example, he would sit with you in Defence Against the Dark Arts because he loved duelling you, and he would sit with Ominis in Potions so that he could help him. As for the evening, he would have dinner with Ominis, and then come back to see you once the blond had gone to bed.
In fact, without even exchanging a single word, you and Ominis had concocted a shared custody schedule of your best friend.
Sebastian continued, entirely oblivious to your reveries, “Anyway, I’ve got something to take your mind off things!”
You could not hold back the sigh that left your lips, “Another brilliant idea of yours, I presume?”
“And your presumptions couldn’t be more right.”
Sebastian proudly explained his latest discovery, that Salazar Slytherin had a secret Scriptorium here at Hogwarts. He was evidently determined to explore it, insisting that it might hold answers as to how to heal Anne.
So far, it seemed to be just another of Sebastian’s plans…
“…The only problem is that only a Gaunt knows where the entrance is… So we have to ask Ominis.”
You raised a dubious eyebrow at him, “This… is your brilliant idea to take my mind off things?”
“Oh, come on! It’s important to me! And if you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for Anne! You can tolerate his presence for a few minutes, can’t you?”
As you looked down and pinched the bridge of your nose, another sigh escaped you. It was becoming an unfortunate habit when you were around Sebastian.
You sighed once more, this time in capitulation, “Okay… I’m in.”
When a beaming smile started to tug at the corners of his lips, you immediately interrupted him with a menacing finger pointed at his chest.
“But! You do the talking. The less I talk to him, the better I feel.”
“Deal.” He replied with a mysterious glint in his gaze. “Come on, let’s get this over with. I’ll lead you to him.”
“What? Now?” You exclaimed with wide eyes. It had to be said that you had no desire to go, and that postponing the fateful moment until as late as possible sounded fabulous at the moment.
“Of course, now! Do you really want to do this in broad daylight and get busted by the teachers?”
“When you put it like that… Let’s go.” Without wasting another second, you got up from the sofa with a newfound determination that you had not suspected, but which Sebastian always knew how to awaken using the right words.
After climbing the spiral staircase leading out of the common room, Sebastian led you – if not dragged you – through various corridors of the castle which you were not used to venturing into, and which were very rarely frequented.
If you were reluctantly following, the boy accompanying you was as cheerful as could be. You could tell by the way he moved with haste, his steps almost bouncing. He looked like a young child who had just had one of his whims indulged (and, in a way, he had).
Sebastian suddenly stopped in his tracks and nodded his head towards Ominis who was standing on the other end of the corridor, “Go on, go convince him.”
You turned sharply towards him, giving him a disapproving look, “You said you’d do the talking!”
“Exactly, the talking, which I already did, and it didn’t work. So now, you go do the convincing.”
“Sneaky bastard.” You muttered under your breath, sending him one last murderous glare.
As you approached the mysterious blond, you could not help but analyse him from head to toe. His silky hair was as well-brushed as ever, giving him his typical elegance. He was leaning against a wall, the features of his face impassive, making you wonder what could be going on in that impenetrable, but undoubtedly fascinating, mind of his. Merlin, everything about him was so adorable…
Fuck. You could not go on thinking like that. You had to move on from him, even if it was going to take a colossal effort.
But… that did not mean you had to stop watching him categorically. No, you could continue to observe banal things about him, like the way he suddenly took a deep breath before his shoulders relaxed, while you were only a few steps away from him.
Before you could announce your presence, Ominis called your name.
“U-Um yes, hi… How… How did you know it was me?” You stammered awkwardly, still mentally unprepared to start a conversation with Ominis.
“Your perfume. I’ve got used to it. I could recognise it in a million.” He declared easily, as if it were the most banal thing to say to someone you had recently rejected.
“Oh…”
Upon hearing your long and awkward silence, his serene and composed appearance was quickly overwritten with his own discomfort, “Listen, about last time… I wanted you to know that I sincerely apologise. I should not have avoided you for so long and–”
“Let’s not talk about this, alright?” You cut him short, physically pained just by the memory of your last conversation. “I just want to forget this ever happened… Besides, that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”
“I’m listening.”
It did not take long to convince him to reveal the location of Salazar Slytherin’s secret room, just a few minutes at the most. After all, you knew Ominis like the back of your hand, so it was child’s play to find the words he needed to hear.
But that didn’t mean you kept talking to him afterwards.
Once you entered the Scriptorium, you did not utter a single word. Your demeanour, which had been warm and understanding a few minutes earlier, was now nowhere to be seen. Seeing you acting so silent, cold and detached, Ominis must certainly have thought you were unrecognisable. If that was the case, he did not show it. On the contrary, he was always trying to get as close to you as possible, all the while scratching the back of his neck, or running a hand through his hair nervously, as if he wanted to start a conversation but did not dare. For some reason that eluded you, he also insisted that you stay behind him whenever you entered a new room.
The only thing you knew for sure was that he was desperate to reweave the invisible string between the two of you that had been the source of your formerly close friendship. But there was a problem… it was still too early and too painful for you to mend it on your end.
So you simply solved the various challenges you came across, and eventually silently handed the letters you found from Noctua to Ominis, so that he could read them for himself with his wand (admittedly, you wanted to avoid him, but you still had enough compassion left to give him what was left of his late aunt). Meanwhile, you let Sebastian do the talking to lighten the mood (he had kept his promise after all). Everything was going well so far.
That is… until you entered a new room, and the stone door slammed shut behind you three, producing a loud crash that bounced off the walls.
“Merlin!” You cried out in fear.
“Yeah, I think we’re locked in.” Sebastian agreed nonchalantly.
“No! Merlin!” You repeated in panic but, this time, pointing at something on the ground with a trembling finger.
Sebastian looked down, and quietly gasped before holding his breath. Never in a million years would you have imagined that you would stumble across bones, and therefore be confronted with the fact that someone had died right in this very spot.
It was only then that you realised that the three of you were potentially next in line, that there was a possibility you might never get out of this room. At this morbid realisation, you froze entirely. You were unable to move, to think, to speak. It was impossible for you to react. It was as if, in a panic, your body had already accepted its fate and was getting used to the fact that, soon, it would no longer respond to anything.
The silence in the room lasted a second too long, and Ominis too began to panic, “Well, what is it?”
“…A skeleton.” Sebastian said coldly, although the grimace on his face betrayed him and showed that he too was in turmoil. “And Noctua’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here – blocked by an Unforgivable Curse.”
Because of the shock, you had not even registered that you had the remains of Ominis’s aunt in front of you.
For fear that your words would be clumsy and worsen the despair Ominis must be feeling, you decided it was better to remain silent and act instead.
Slowly but surely, you approached him. While he had his back turned to you, you wrapped your arms around his slim figure and hugged him from behind. It was not a gesture you would normally have made towards Ominis after what had happened between you two. But in view of the gloomy circumstances in which you found yourselves, you had found the strength to put your resentment aside.
And it had to be said that, underneath your unaffected exterior, you still had a huge soft spot for this boy. Letting him go through this ordeal on his own would simply have broken your own heart, as well as his.
“Ominis…” His name rolled off your tongue by itself.
You felt him stiffen at your touch, and you took in a sharp breath. In your eyes, it was just another rejection. He obviously did not want you by his side, both literally and figuratively. So, in an attempt to protect your fragile little heart, which had mistakenly let its guard down, you decided to let Ominis go.
But he stopped you.
“No. Stay.” He said firmly, though his voice sounded obviously shaken.
He held you back against him by grabbing your hand. He squeezed it, then pressed it against his chest with his own, just above his heart. His heartbeat echoed in your palm. You could feel it speeding up, matching the rhythm of yours, as if they were connected.
In response, you surrendered to the embrace by resting your head between his shoulder blades. However, once again, your touch had the effect of a painful electric shock on him, and he abruptly pulled away from you. This was just another example of how exhausting Ominis could be. He had always acted like this with you: one moment he was giving you hope that he was returning your feelings, and the next he was pushing you away.
Ominis moved away from you to get closer to Sebastian, shouting in a distraught manner, “This – is where she died. This is where we’ll die. I shouldn’t have listened to either of you!”
“Ominis, I’m truly sorry about your aunt. But I know what to do. It’s going to be difficult.” Sebastian replied in a calm, composed voice that contrasted radically with that of his friend.
Sebastian subsequently proceeded to explain his plan, that the Cruciatus Curse – the incantation for which was written on the floor – was to be used to open the next room. Knowing that Ominis categorically refused to be associated with the Dark Arts, and that you were unwilling to learn any of the Unforgivable curses, Sebastian’s last remaining option was to cast Crucio on you.
Ominis stared at him, speechless and dumbfounded, as if he had just uttered the most grotesque of abominations, “Are you out of your mind? Do you even realise what you’re saying? You want to torture your friend? Our friend!”
Sebastian raised his voice to match Ominis’s, “And you, can you think for two seconds? It’s either I hurt her temporarily, or I let her die in that shithole! And us with her! There’s no need to think about it, it’s a no-brainer!”
“And I’m telling you it’s out of the question! I won’t let you hurt her!”
“So what, then? We wait for you to come up with some wonderful solution where no Unforgivable Curse is involved? You know very well there’s no such thing! It’s Salazar Slytherin we’re talking about, you should have expected it.”
Sebastian paused, making the atmosphere even heavier. His tone had subsided, but you knew all too well that it did not mean that his anger had subsided along with it. Quite the contrary.
“You know something? For a guy who likes to control everything to the point of dictating other people’s choices, I think you’re being awfully passive right now.”
Though unseeing, Ominis’s eyes glared at Sebastian, looking daggers at him, “What exactly are you insinuating?”
“That you’re a control freak who’s got no balls.”
“Boys, stop it.” You tried to calm things down as you heard their voices escalate and their words sharpen.
But Ominis ignored you blatantly, to the point where you wondered if he had even heard you, “Oh, really? Do you want me to tell you what I think of you?”
‘‘Just you try!”
“You’ve become a complete nutter ever since Anne has been–”
“ENOUGH!”
Your outburst seemed to be just what was needed to put an end to the two boys’ cockfight. They both turned brusquely towards you, their eyes wide open. It had to be said that seeing you angry was already a rare event, so to see you furious with them was even more staggering.
“Enough.” You repeated firmly, sweeping your eyes over the two boys to make sure you had fully regained control of the situation. “Sebastian, shut up. You’ve gone too far. And you, Ominis, I don’t need you making decisions for me. It’s not your job to defend me.”
You gave Ominis a black look. It was foolish because he could not see it, but something told you that, somehow, he could still feel it. Especially with the double entendre in your words, which implicitly referred to how Ominis had rejected you, as well as all the bitterness you retained from it. It was petty, but you could not help yourself.
You then turned to the other boy, looking determined, “Do it, Sebastian. I’m ready.”
The brown-haired boy nodded and positioned himself in front of you. He raised his wand in your direction and concentrated.
“Crucio!”
A bolt of red light came out from the tip of Sebastian’s wand, and hit you square in the chest, right in the heart.
“NO!” You heard Ominis’s voice protest.
Was it really Ominis though? Maybe you had just dreamt it. You could not be sure, for every single one of your senses was overstimulated by an electric shock running through your body, and causing you to collapse to the ground on all fours. It was brutal but manageable, you thought.
Little did you know, that was only the preamble. The worst was yet to come.
Rapidly, every muscle in your body contracted, including those in your chest and throat, preventing you from breathing. The spell slowly left you suffocating, while the pain took care of absorbing what little energy remained in your body. It was as if a billion needles were sticking into every inch of your skin, sinking deeper and deeper with the aim of piercing your soul and finishing you off.
It seemed to you like this hell lasted for an entire hour, even though you were confident Sebastian would never let you endure this kind of torture for more than a couple of seconds.
And then it stopped. Though the remnants of the curse remained.
You had suspected that such a cruel curse was not going to leave you alone so easily. Still, you were not prepared for how agonising it felt.
Your ears ringing. Your vision fogged with black spots. Your anarchic breathing. Your body crumpling to the ground, inert. And all of this because of the lack of oxygen. All your senses were rendered nonfunctional, leading you to believe that you would remain in this state for the rest of your life.
“Are you alright?” Sebastian asked you with genuine concern in his voice, to which you nodded silently, your strength gradually returning.
Of course, Ominis was unable to see you, and began to get upset, thinking that you were still unresponding, “Of course not, Sebastian! Do you really think anyone can be alright after receiving the Cruciatus Curse?”
You wanted more than ever to say something to shut Ominis up. Or was it to reassure him? Probably a combination of both. Either way, the reality remained the same: you were still too weak to utter a single word. Your vocal cords were still paralysed from the agonised screams you had let out.
Thankfully, the door opening put an early stop to the boys’ bickering.
“It worked!” Sebastian exclaimed and immediately entered the room to explore it, leaving you alone with Ominis.
Ominis had no idea what to say to ease your pain. Unfortunately, he had already endured the Cruciatus Curse himself – and at the hands of his family to boot – so he knew how you might feel. However, no one had ever comforted him, so he had no idea what words would be likely to soothe you.
But if there was one thing his beloved Aunt Noctua used to tell him, it was that words come from the mind, and gestures from the heart. And it was always better to speak from the heart.
So Ominis let his heart guide him.
He knelt down beside you, and helped you to lie on your back, so that you would be more comfortable. But to your surprise, he did not stop there. He made you rest your head on his thighs, then stroked your hair with a hesitant hand. It was only after a moment that he spoke again.
“Can I be of any help?” He whispered, as if afraid of disturbing your repose while you were recuperating.
“H-Help–” Your weak voice got caught. You had to cough a couple of times before you could start again. “Help me stand up, will you?”
“You should take your time and lie down for a while. You just went through a lot–”
“I’ll survive.” You cut Ominis off abruptly, in a clearer but above all more irritated voice. You had had more than enough of his constant mood swings towards you, where one moment he could not be more doting on you, and the next he was acting as if he had never met you.
Ominis remained silent. You did not get the impression that he was hesitating over his next words, but rather that he was taking the time to digest how you had harshly refused his advice.
“…If you say so.”
“You know, I’m tougher than you think.” You kept the same cold, distant tone.
While he kept the same nonchalant and stoic tone, “I know.”
“Good.”
An awkward silence settled in, where you could do nothing but contemplate the ruins of your friendship. Where once stood a fortress of shared complicity and happiness, now remained only the vestiges of two acquaintances who were unwilling to rebuild what they had once known in the past.
To put an end to this heart-wrenching moment, you headed for the next room, without adding a word. Ominis followed suit, guided by his wand which pulsed red light at its tip.
“Guys? Care to lend me a hand, or do I have to explore this room all alone?” Sebastian called out without ceasing to rummage through Salazar Slytherin’s belongings.
You were about to answer when you suddenly saw Ominis stride resolutely in front of you. The frown on his face was unmistakable, as were his tense features.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve asking us for help! Not only did you just cast the Cruciatus Curse on your friend, but you didn’t even have the presence of mind to ask me if I was all right after finding my aunt’s bones!”
Ominis’s anger only seemed to have the effect of amusing Sebastian, “I thought it was stupid to ask someone if they were okay when it’s obvious they’re not.”
“It’s a question of common sense, Sebastian! If you had any, you would have realised that it would be best for you to lie low for a while and fend for yourself.”
“Excuse me for not being perfect. Not everyone can be a saint like you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian.” Ominis visibly cringed upon hearing his friend’s words.
But it only made Sebastian’s smirk grow wider, “For once, you’re right. I’m being ridiculous. You’re far from being a saint, because if we’d listened to you, we’d be rotting in the previous room, and we’d be letting Anne die too, since you’ve also given up on the idea of curing her, just like everybody else.”
“Don’t start that again. You know perfectly well I haven’t given up on her, or else I wouldn’t be here having this nonsensical conversation with you.”
Sebastian’s arrogant smile fell, “Oh, stop it, Ominis! We both know you’re not here for Anne, but you’re too shitscared to admit it to yourself. Which goes to show, even when you’re already blind, you can still be blinded by fear.”
“SHUT UP!” Ominis roared in a deeply enraged way that you had never heard before, to the point where it made you recoil. “You’ve gone too far this time, Sebastian!”
Still frightened by the turn this argument was taking, you decided to intervene, “Guys, please don’t start fighting again. We’re all on edge and–”
“Come. We’re leaving.” Ominis announced sternly, holding out his hand for you to take.
“W-What?” You stammered, bewildered.
“You heard me. Are you coming, or not?”
You had never heard Ominis give you or anyone else an order in this way. Confused as to where this excess of chauvinism was coming from, your instinct advised you to go with the flow. You took his hand – not without shooting Sebastian an apologetic glance – and let the blond boy guide you out of the Scriptorium.
Except that once outside, he continued to drag you through the corridors, towards what you recognised as the direction of the common room. Holding your hand so tightly to the point where it was almost painful, he walked ahead of you at a run.
“Ominis, not so fast.” You requested, but your plea fell on deaf ears.
“How dare he speak to me like that, and insinuate things he has no knowledge of? After everything I’ve done for him! He truly deserves to be left alone; it would surely teach him a valuable lesson. Although… if he was left unsupervised, I’m afraid he’d do even more stupid things. I don’t know what more I can do to get him to listen to reason– What am I saying? It’s not my duty to keep an eye on him. He should just fend for himself for a change!” The blond Slytherin kept rambling, spiralling out of control.
At this stage, nothing and nobody could stop him from getting worked up over Sebastian. He was so consumed with his anger that he was completely oblivious to your distress at walking, your legs still suffering from the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse. You found it hard to keep up with his rapid pace without tripping over your own feet.
“Ominis–”
What was bound to happen did happen. Your legs gave out, and you found yourself on the cold, hard stone floor, which was undoubtedly going to leave several bruises on your skin. A blush of embarrassment crept up on your cheeks. The only good thing was that the sound of your fall had startled Ominis, who stopped and turned towards you.
He came dangerously close to you, “Pardon me if this is improper, but I can’t let you go on like this.”
Next thing you knew, you were off the ground, lifted by Ominis’s strong and protective arms. He held you securely against his chest, and with a newfound reflex, you wrapped your arms around his neck.
Your blush intensified, but this time it was because of your racing heart. You were speechless, taken aback, and mind going blank at the realisation that one of your dreams – to be in Ominis’s arms – was coming true, but not in the right circumstances.
“I’m sorry. I was too worked up to notice you were having trouble walking. I should have paid more attention to you.” He apologised as he resumed his walk.
Once in the common room, you thought he was going to put you down at the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls’ dormitories, so that you could go and rest, but instead he went and settled himself on one of the leather sofas opposite the fireplace, the exact same one where you had been sulking a couple of hours earlier. He sat down, cradling you in his lap, while his arms tightened around you a little more, as if he feared you might suddenly decide to break free of his embrace.
Assuming you were going to stay in that position for a while, you rested your head on his chest. You could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ribcage. Your best guess was that he was still on edge after what had happened with Sebastian.
Trying to soothe him, you murmured, “Don’t be too hard on Sebastian… He’s only ready to do anything to help his sister.”
Ominis let out a long, fed-up sigh, before replying, “And can’t you see that this is precisely the problem? He’ll do anything – even hurt you – and I can’t let him.”
“He hasn’t hurt me, Ominis.”
A frown was beginning to form between his brows again, “Oh really? Because receiving Crucio was a pleasure cruise for you?”
“He had no choice.”
“We always have a choice. This time it was Crucio, but what will it be next time? How do I know he won’t cross the point of no return?” Ominis raised his voice. He got so carried away with his anger that he failed to notice that he had started stroking your thigh with his thumb.
“He told me he would never hurt me.” You answered in an unwaveringly serene tone.
“And yet he already did. He’s a hypocrite.” He snarled. “Actions speak louder than words.”
You quirked an eyebrow, “Does this apply to you as well?”
“What do you mean?”
“Here you are, caressing my thighs after carrying me in your arms, and yet you still claim to see me as nothing more than a friend.”
Caught in the act, Ominis’s hand froze, as did the rest of his body; he even seemed to be holding his breath. He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if trying to seal them shut, for fear they would say something that would put his life on the line.
“Come on, Ominis. Now’s the time to tell me what you really think, don’t you think?” You said, giving him the last little push he needed to confess everything.
“…All right. I lied. Of course I have feelings for you… How could I not? You’re so considerate and graceful… But those feelings come with fear. Fear that you’ll be disappointed in me, that you’ll realise I’m nowhere near good enough for you, that you could find a thousand men better than me. But what I’m most afraid of is being with you. Because believe me, darling, if one day I have the honour of tasting your lips and your caresses, I know that I’ll never be able to live without you ever again.”
For the umpteenth time that evening, Ominis blew your mind in ways you had never imagined. And the worst part – or rather the best part, given the circumstances – was that he had no intention of stopping there. He had so many feelings in his heart that begged to be verbalised and brought to light.
“You made me want to get up in the morning again, if only to hear your voice for a split second. Before I realised it, you hadn’t just become more than a friend, you’d become my reason to live.”
With infinite delicacy, Ominis took your dainty hand in his, feeling the warmth of your skin against his. Slowly, as if to prolong this magical moment, he brought your hand to his lips and placed a light kiss on it, full of tenderness and respect.
“You are both my greatest desire and my greatest fear. Don’t you see how illogical this is? You’ve made me lose control, and I happily let you. I hope this is proof enough of how enamoured I am of you.”
Although you had regained your composure and your vocabulary, you still kept quiet, but this time it was on purpose. You had a very specific idea in the back of your mind.
“I’m begging you, love, say something.” Ominis’s trembling voice implored.
You replied, without the slightest hint of what you were thinking in your tone, “Actions speak louder than words, Ominis. Your words, not mine.”
Ominis did not need to be told twice, although he did take his time to make sure he did things the right way. His hand, which was still resting on your thigh, was trembling from the torrent of emotions running through him. With his fingertips, that same hand skimmed the contours of your body, and moved up to cup your cheek, sending shivers down your spine at the same time. You closed your eyes to savour the contact and understand a little better what the boy in front of you was feeling.
With his thumb, he sought out your lips, before tracing them to fully appreciate their voluptuousness. He felt the smile that had just appeared on your lips. Encouraged by this sign, Ominis leant towards you, his heart beating wildly. As he drew closer, your breaths mingled.
At last, your lips met, timidly at first, then with a passion that had been held back for far too long. This kiss was a moment suspended in time. The world seemed to stop around you, giving way to the magic of that perfect moment.
And suddenly, all the Shakespearean love stories you had ever read seemed derisory. Mere words of love were not enough, were no longer enough, now that you had tasted the unctuous proof of love from the handsome, touching blond boy who electrified your skin with the slightest touch.
Who needed a trite, dull ‘I love you’, when you had the loving touch of Ominis?
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Hello! I’ve been reading all your fics and honestly I love your writing. Thank you for making such quality HL content. I saw your requests are always open, so I thought I’d leave mine in case you ever feel like you wanna write it. For this ask I envision Ominis, but feel free to edit him out with whoever (I understand you’re a Sebastian girl at heart).
Canonically, it’s the late 1800s, and seeing so much as an ankle is quite scandalous. Physically interacting with the opposite sex? Preposterous! However, through one impossible way or another, Ominis keeps finding himself in tight, enclosed spaces with MC in the dead of night while they sneak around Hogwarts.
And she’s so close, so warm, and he can hear every breath and feel every whisper. He tries to hide how much his hands are shaking. He’s a gentleman. His hands are not meant to go anywhere near her, but he doesn’t have enough room to shove them in his pockets. A gentleman would not be thinking about the feel of her hands so much. Nor would a gentleman dream about the feel of her hands elsewhere.
Ominis sighed in frustration. Maybe he really wasn’t one after all.
Outside of their adventures, he was a mess. He jumped every time she brushed against his shoulder. When they sat next to each other all he could focus on was the warmth of their legs pressing against each other.
One thing leads to another and the next time they end up in a tight space with faces only inches away, they’re surprised to find themselves kissing.
Personally, I’m a sucker for this trope where they’re so attracted they just wanna hug and kiss them but can’t because it’d be so improper. Anyway, just wanted to drop this and say how much I enjoy your work and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful, amazing day :)
HELLO!!!
First of all, THANK YOU SO SO MUCH. You are so sweet, and I appreciate your kindness.
SECOND, thank you for such a delightful and fun prompt!
I giggled and blushed and kicked my feet like a goober daydreaming about Ominis getting increasingly flustered and trying (and failing) to keep his composure and dignity.
I had an absolute blast with this story, and I hope it hits what you were looking for and brings you a smile today.
Word count ~3600
The Undoing of Ominis Gaunt
The Gaunt lineage demanded composure, as did his upbringing. He was a gentleman. A young man of restraint. A figure of dignity and decorum, even among the more unruly elements of Hogwarts. He had been trained to maintain his composure in all things - difficult conversations, duels, even the unbearable reality of being Sebastian Sallow’s closest friend.
But the new student, apparently, was determined to ruin him.
Not intentionally, of course. That was perhaps the worst part of it. She wasn’t trying to torment him. She was simply there. Far too often, and in circumstances that made it increasingly impossible for him to behave as he ought to.
It had started as all poor decisions did: with Sebastian.
“This passage is brilliant.” Sebastian said, practically vibrating with excitement. “Takes you from the Astronomy Wing all the way to the bell tower. Circumvents the Prefect patrol entirely.”
Ominis should have declined right then and there. He should have made some excuse, feigned exhaustion, anything to avoid what would inevitably happen next. But the castle's newest student had agreed immediately, and for reasons he could not quite explain, that had been enough for Ominis to not object.
That had been his first mistake.
His second had been stepping into the passageway after her.
Because now, here he was, pinned against a narrow stone wall, barely able to breathe, his entire body wound far too tight as she shuffled awkwardly against him, trying to make space where there was none.
“This is a bit tight.” She murmured, voice apologetic.
Ominis clenched his jaw so hard he thought it might crack. “Yes. I’d noticed.”
Her hands brushed against his waist as she adjusted herself, trying to squeeze past without - Merlin help him - pressing up against him any more than necessary. But there was no use. They were utterly, horrifyingly close, and Ominis had never been more aware of another person’s body in his entire life.
She was warm. Too warm. The heat of her body was pressing against his chest, her breath fanning across his throat as she huffed in frustration. He could smell her hair - something light and soft, like lavender, or maybe vanilla, or maybe he was just losing his damn mind.
And then her hand landed on his chest.
Not purposefully. Just a brief, unthinking attempt to steady herself as she maneuvered past. But it was there, right over his heart, fingers splayed across him, and Ominis was not prepared for the violent spike of sensation that went shooting down his spine.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. A gentleman would not react to this. A gentleman would not be thinking about the scorching warmth of her hand, or the press of her thigh against his, or how she smelled when she was so close. A gentleman would -
She slipped.
And Ominis caught her.
It was instinct. His hands shot out before he could think better of it, gripping her waist firmly, holding her steady. And then - sweet Salazar.
He had not thought this through.
He was holding her. Hands around her waist. Very small waist. His fingers burned where they touched, through layers of fabric that suddenly felt far too thin. He had never held a witch like this before, not properly, not so intimately, and the realization made something in his stomach tighten so suddenly he thought he might be ill.
“Oh!” She said softly, just as surprised by the contact.
Ominis willed himself to let go.
Release her. Let go, Gaunt. You are a man of principle. A man of dignity. A man who does not -
She shifted. Just slightly. Just enough for his fingers to graze the curve of her waist.
Ominis’ brain ceased function.
There was nothing improper happening. Not really. They were just standing close in an impossibly narrow passage, out of necessity. He was merely ensuring she did not lose her balance. It was not, by any means, an embrace.
So why, in the name of all that was holy, was he gripping her like a man drowning?
Horrified, he withdrew his shaking hands immediately, shoving them behind his back. Damn it. There was no room to shove them into his pockets, nowhere to put them that did not feel inappropriate. He pressed his palms against the cold stone wall instead, forcing himself to breathe.
Mercifully, she did not comment on it.
Instead, she adjusted herself with another small huff, finally managing to slip past him. He did not move until he was absolutely certain there was a respectable distance between them. Only then did he breathe, steadying himself.
After a long pause, she said, “Well, that was… inconveniently tight.”
Ominis bit back a strangled sound.
She had no idea.
He straightened his coat with a terseness that belied his nerves. “Perhaps next time, we take a wider passage.”
She laughed softly. “What, and make sneaking about easy?”
He turned his head toward her, expression flat. “That would be ideal, yes.”
She laughed again, and Ominis told himself he did not enjoy the sound as much as he did.
The passage finally opened into the bell tower courtyard, the crisp night air a blessed relief against his overheated skin. Ominis exhaled, forcing himself to ignore the way his hands still trembled slightly at his sides.
It was fine.
It was one unfortunate moment.
It would not happen again.
Except -
It did.
Again. And again. And again.
Somehow, impossibly, fate itself seemed determined to force this girl into his personal space. Hidden alcoves, secret doorways, under desks in abandoned classrooms as they narrowly avoided patrolling prefects. Every damn time, there she was. Close. Warm. Soft.
And Ominis…
Ominis was beginning to suspect he was not a gentleman at all.
-
Never once had he thought himself weak. He had endured years under his family's rule without breaking. He had resisted their cruelty, their doctrine, their expectations, and carved out his own path. He had suffered through Sebastian’s harebrained schemes and reckless disregard for rules. He had even, with no small effort, managed to maintain his composure in the face of Hogwarts’ most insufferable students.
And yet, for all his patience, all his resilience, their new friend was unraveling him.
It was happening in slow, torturous increments, whittling away at his carefully maintained propriety with every whispered conversation in the dark, every too-tight hiding place, every accidental brush of her hand against his sleeve.
And the worst part? He was certain she had no idea.
Take tonight, for example.
Sebastian had, as always, convinced them both into another evening of mischief. There had been talk of an abandoned storeroom on the third floor, some nonsense about hidden relics, and then, before Ominis quite realized what was happening, he had found himself once again in an impossibly small, enclosed space with their witch.
The room was smaller than anticipated, its shelves still packed with forgotten supplies, and when the door creaked open unexpectedly - probably Peeves - there had been no choice but to dive behind an old cabinet, pressed far too close together.
And so here they were.
Again.
Her back was against the wall, Ominis bracing himself against the wooden shelves beside her. Their arms touched, their legs knocked together, and dear Merlin, he could hear everything.
Every breath she took. Every shift of fabric as she adjusted. Every single tiny movement that sent heat coursing through him like a slow-burning ember.
She was so, so close.
His hands ached to be somewhere. In his pockets, at his sides, anywhere but suspended uselessly in the air between them, trembling with restraint.
She, of course, remained utterly unbothered.
If she was at all aware of his predicament, she gave no indication. She merely leaned in slightly, voice barely above a whisper. “Is he gone?”
Ominis barely heard the question.
He was too busy waging a silent war with himself.
Move away.
That was the obvious, proper solution. Put even the smallest amount of distance between them, enough to breathe, enough to think.
Except, there was nowhere to move.
And worse still, she really did smell so lovely, like floral and sweets.
Why, in the name of all things decent, did she have to smell like that? It was subtle but overwhelming at this distance, wrapping around him like an unseen tether. But it wasn’t deliberate, was it? No. Because she had no idea, none at all, how profoundly, painfully improper this all felt.
Ominis swallowed hard. Composure. He had survived worse. He would survive this.
“I -” His voice came out too tight, too strained. He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness into his words. “I think so.”
She sighed softly, relieved, and in doing so, her breath brushed against his jaw.
Ominis flinched.
It was barely a movement, barely a reaction at all, but she must have noticed because she hesitated, tilting her head ever so slightly.
“Are you alright?” She whispered.
No.
“Fine.” He managed, though he doubted he sounded it.
There was a pause. Then, oh, God help him. She placed a hand on his arm. Just a light touch, reassuring, nothing improper at all. Except Ominis was losing his mind. His entire body went rigid, every nerve hyper-aware of where her fingers rested against his sleeve.
His pulse was a traitorous thing, pounding in his ears, drowning out all rational thought. A gentleman would not notice the warmth of her hand. A gentleman would not imagine what it would feel like without the barrier of fabric.
A gentleman would certainly not think about how much he wanted her to touch him.
Her hand lingered for only a second before she withdrew, entirely unaware of the havoc she had wrought. “I think it’s safe to move.”
Ominis very much doubted that.
But he nodded because what else could he do?
They stepped out, brushing past each other in the cramped space, and that should have been the end of it. They had done this before. It was nothing new.
Except when she moved past him this time, something changed.
Maybe it was the way she hesitated just a fraction of a second too long.
Maybe it was the way he felt her breath catch as her arm brushed against his.
Or maybe - maybe - it was the way neither of them moved away immediately.
For a single, suspended moment, they stood there, inches apart, the air between them thick with something neither dared name.
Then -
Footsteps echoed in the corridor beyond.
Sebastian’s voice, careless. “You two alright in there?”
Ominis jumped back so fast he nearly stumbled.
“Yes!” She called back, steady as ever.
He was in trouble.
-
Ominis had never been accused of dramatics. That title belonged, undoubtedly, to Sebastian. And yet, as the days passed, he could not shake the increasingly certain feeling that he was in the midst of a catastrophe. It was no longer just the late-night escapades, the cramped passageways, or the hiding places barely large enough for one person, let alone two. It was everything.
She had become an inescapable presence in his life. And worse still, Ominis was now painfully aware of her.
Not just when they were pressed together in the dark, not just when her breath ghosted against his skin or when her hands found him in moments of necessity. No, this was worse. So much worse.
Because now he noticed her everywhere.
At breakfast, when she sat beside him in the Great Hall, legs tucked politely beneath her, her humming as she set to work delicately breaking apart a piece of toast. He noticed the soft clink of her spoon against the porcelain when she stirred her tea.
In the library, where she sat close going over their notes, her voice quiet in concentration. When their shoulders brushed as she leaned toward him, when her hand hovered just barely over his wrist as she reached for her quill.
In the common room, when she sat beside him on the settee, the heat of her body just there, just close enough that he could feel it through the layers of his uniform. When their knees touched, just barely, and she did not pull away.
He had never paid much attention to things like this before. Not until her.
And now he could not stop.
Ominis had spent years curating a certain kind of existence, one that did not allow for distractions of the romantic sort. It was not as though he were immune to attraction, but it had always been something distant, something easily dismissed.
This, however - this was not distant.
This was tangible, devastatingly present.
And it was making his life hell.
Because she was still unaware.
Completely, utterly unaware of what she was doing to him. She did not mean to be cruel, and yet, every casual touch, every innocent brush of fabric against fabric, every whispered word near his ear was an agony.
And while Ominis had never been prone to nervousness, now, every time she so much as existed near him, he felt himself grow unsteady.
Take today, for instance.
A perfectly ordinary afternoon in the library. Nothing scandalous. Nothing compromising. Just the two of them sitting at their usual table, books open, studying in a companionable silence.
And yet…
Ominis could not focus on a single word.
Because she had just shifted beside him, adjusting in her seat, and in doing so, her knee pressed fully against his.
He froze.
It was the kind of touch that should have been meaningless - thoughtless, even. But Ominis had been worn thin by weeks, months of these torturous little moments, and now, this simple, unthinking contact felt like ruin.
His fingers froze where they rested against the pages of his book.
Do not move. Do not react. Do not -
Oblivious, she sighed prettily.
Ominis nearly swallowed his tongue.
That was it. He was going to die here. In the Hogwarts library. Cause of death: a witch shifted in her seat and breathed.
“Are you alright?” She asked, and, Merlin’s bloody beard, he had not realized she was looking at him.
His breath caught.
He needed to respond. Now.
He cleared his throat, tightening his grip on the book in front of him. “Fine.”
A pause.
Then, “You don’t sound fine.”
Because I am not fine. Because your knee is touching mine, and I am gripping this book so hard I might snap the spine, and I am losing my bloody mind because of you.
Instead, he forced that signature haughty frown onto his face. “I assure you, I am quite well.”
She hummed, unconvinced, but mercifully let it drop. The pressure against his knee remained.
Ominis did not move for the rest of the afternoon.
-
Ominis had spent weeks fighting this.
Weeks pretending he was unaffected. Weeks maintaining a careful distance, even when there was none to be had. Weeks convincing himself that he was better than this - better than the way his hands shook when she brushed against him, better than the heat coiling in his stomach every time she leaned too close, better than the raw, aching pull in his chest whenever she spoke his name.
He was a gentleman.
And then she ruined him completely.
It had, predictably, started with Sebastian.
“Come on!” Sebastian said, far too chipper for what was undoubtedly an awful idea. “This shortcut will save us loads of time.”
Ominis had been skeptical, as he always was. And yet, once again, he somehow allowed himself to be led into one of Sebastian’s misadventures - this time involving a narrow passage behind the old Arithmancy classroom.
Sebastian had gone ahead, his two victims friends to follow.
And that was his third mistake.
Because the moment they stepped inside, the passage sealed behind them. A sudden burst of dust and crumbling stone, the unmistakable sound of old magic snapping shut. She gasped, whipping around, but the way back was gone.
“Oh.” She said, blinking at the now-solid wall. “That’s unfortunate.”
Unfortunate indeed.
Sebastian was going to die.
But that was a problem for later.
Right now, this was the problem.
The passage was small. Not just tight, like the others they had found themselves trapped in, but barely-wide-enough-to-turn-around small. The ceiling was low, forcing them to duck slightly, which meant her breath was brushing against his collar.
Ominis swallowed thickly. Not now. Do not react. Do not -
“A bit cozier than normal - I believe we are stuck.” She mused, unbothered.
Ominis closed his eyes. “I had gathered.”
“Sebastian did say it was a shortcut.”
“Yes. Pity we won’t live to see where it leads.”
She laughed softly, and damn her, the sound was nice.
Ominis focused on breathing, but it was difficult. Because she had shuffled slightly, turning to glance down the passage, and in doing so, her body pressed fully against his.
His brain stopped functioning beyond the most base instincts.
He could feel every point of contact - the shape of her waist, the press of her soft chest against his, the very small space between her lips and his own.
She did not move away.
Neither did he.
It was only a second. Maybe two.
And then, she tilted her head ever so slightly, and whispered, “You smell nice.”
Ominis broke.
It was instinct, raw, and impossible to stop. His hands moved before he could think, grasping her waist, pulling her closer, until there was no more distance, no more restraint, nothing left between them at all.
She barely had time to inhale before he kissed her.
He had spent weeks resisting this, weeks pretending he did not want this. But now, with her pressed against him, her hands fisting into his robes, her mouth warm and soft as the rest of her, he could not fathom why he had ever denied himself in the first place.
She sighed into him, something pleased, and the sound urged him on.
Ominis deepened the kiss, gripping her tighter, desperate and hungry in a way he had never allowed himself to be. And she, bless her, let him. Matched him. Stood up on her toes to chase him when he pulled back for breath.
It was improper. It was reckless. It was everything he should not be.
And yet, for the first time in his life…
Ominis did not care.
It had barely been two minutes.
Two minutes of Ominis entirely abandoning his dignity. Two minutes of a witch in his arms, her breath warm against his lips, her hands tangled in his robes like she never intended to let go. Two minutes of sheer, blissful recklessness before -
Click.
The unmistakable sound of a locking mechanism shifting, followed by the very smug voice of Sebastian Sallow.
“Well, well, well.” He drawled from the other side of the newly opened passage. “What do we have here?”
Ominis jerked back from her so fast he nearly hit the wall.
She gasped softly, barely regaining her balance before Ominis was gripping her shoulders, straightening her uniform, as if that might somehow erase what had very obviously just transpired.
Sebastian, of course, was having none of it.
He was leaning against the open passageway, arms crossed, grin so wide Ominis could feel how smug he was. “Took me a bit to find the release mechanism, but it seems I got here just in time. You two looked positively cozy.”
To her credit, she kept her composure - mostly. She straightened, smoothing her hair in a completely futile attempt to look composed. “We were simply waiting.”
Sebastian snorted. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it?”
Ominis clenched his jaw. He could feel how he must look, flushed, disheveled, misbehaved. He cleared his throat, desperate for normalcy. “It was… a tight space.”
Sebastian’s grin widened. “Oh, I bet it was.”
Ominis wanted to die.
Sebastian was going to make a meal out of this. He could hear the delight in his voice, the sheer glee at catching them like this. And then, the bastard pushed further.
Sebastian mused further, feigning deep, apologetic thought, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I rudely interrupted something. Did I, Ominis?”
Ominis glared at him. He didn’t need working eyes to see Sebastian was enjoying every second of this.
“No.” Ominis’ voice came out clipped, stiff, deeply unconvincing.
Sebastian turned to their third, utterly delighted. “Did I?”
Damn her, she had the audacity to blush so fiercely Ominis could feel the heat radiating from her. Ominis swore he heard Sebastian choke back a laugh.
“Oh, this is rich! ” Sebastian crowed. “Absolutely scandalous. Our very own Ominis Gaunt, caught compromised in a hidden passageway. If only your family could see you now.”
“Sebastian.” Ominis said flatly, expression murderous, “I do still know my way around a Cruciatus.”
Sebastian cackled.
She sighed, rubbing her temple. “Are we free to go, or are you going to stand there gloating until sunrise?”
“Oh, I’ll be gloating forever.” Sebastian said happily, stepping aside. “Please, don’t let me stop you. Feel free to step back inside. I can make myself scarce.”
She gave him a tired look before stepping past him with all the poise she could muster. Ominis, however, did not recover so gracefully. Sebastian clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed, leaning in far too close.
“I knew you’d crack. Just needed to give you a little extra nudge.” He whispered gleefully.
Ominis jerked away from him with a sharp scowl, storming past without another word.
Sebastian laughed all the way back to the common room.
Of course he had planned it all.
Still, maybe being a gentleman was just a touch overrated.
One Shots/Drabbles
Distractions - Sebastian Sallow
Study Session - Sebastian Sallow (18+)
Boy at the Rock Show - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6
Restricted - Sebastian Sallow (18+)
The Goodbye Box - Sebastian Sallow
Christmas Wishes - Ominis/Sebastian/Garreth
Attention - Sebastian Sallow (18+)
Dads!Blurb One - Ominis/Sebastian/Garreth
Broken - Ominis Gaunt
Quidditch Bleachers - Garreth Weasley (18+)
Two Sugars - Ominis Gaunt
Fireworks - Ominis Gaunt
Dirty Little Secret - Sebastian Sallow (18+)
Boyfriend Benefits - Ominis/Sebastian (18+)
Boyfriend Benefits 2 - Ominis (18+)
Tease - Sebastian Sallow
Misery loves Company - Ominis Gaunt (rough nsfw)
Promises - Sebastian Sallow
Happy Birthday - Sebastian Sallow (18+)
The Blush Game - g/o/s
Forbidden Fruit - Sebastian Sallow x f!Weasley sibling (18+)
I got this prompt in my request and kind of got carried away a little bit, I feel like there is more to write about this story!
I hope you all enjoy and my request are still open, I do so enjoy writing your ideas.
Prompt: Heyy please do a ominis angst to happy ending, where we are the mc and its maybe sixth or seventh year (established relationship) but he's been close to another girl for a while so mc gets jealous and insecure. You can choose how the story goes but i NEED SOME GOOD ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING PLEASEEEE
💫 Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC (named Olivia, but feel free to self-insert!)
⚠️ Warnings: Mentions of abuse
Please leave a comment, that motivates me greatly.
I’ve never been the jealous type.
Truly, I haven’t.
When I was dating Garreth Weasley in fifth year, and he cozied up to Imelda Reyes after a Quidditch match, I thought nothing of it. Free will is important, I told myself. But then I found them shagging in the dressing rooms a few days later, and my world shattered.
Since then, I’ve tried my best not to let past betrayals cloud my judgment.
But watching her—Eleanor fucking Rosier—lean into Ominis, brush her delicate hand along his sleeve as she whispered something in his ear…
It made my stomach twist painfully.
She was always around. A perfectly bred, poised, pure-blood princess. We had been in the same year since first year, but suddenly, now in our seventh, she had attached herself to Ominis like a sickeningly charming parasite.
And worse?
He let her.
I knew Ominis. Knew the way his lips curled in irritation when someone invaded his space, the way his fingers twitched when he wanted to pull away. But with her? He didn’t.
A shrill laugh rang through the Great Hall, and my gaze snapped to the Slytherin table. There she was, sitting beside him, practically pressed against his side. And Ominis? He looked… blank.
Not uncomfortable. Not anything.
“Are you even listening?”
Poppy’s voice dragged me back to reality. She had been rambling about a rumored phoenix sighting near the Forbidden Forest, but I hadn’t heard a single word.
I blinked, realizing I had been glaring across the hall, my untouched pumpkin juice growing room temperature beside me.
"Sorry," I muttered, forcing myself to look away. "What were you saying?"
Sebastian, sitting across from me, followed my gaze. He sighed, setting his fork down with a dull clatter.
"Just go talk to him."
"There's nothing to talk about." I stabbed my eggs harder than necessary.
Sebastian scoffed. "Right, because brooding and sulking is a much more mature approach."
I glared. "He's the one acting different, not me."
"You know Ominis," Sebastian said, leaning forward. His voice softened. "If he's keeping close to her, there’s a reason."
I hated that he was making sense.
But I hated even more that Ominis hadn’t spoken to me properly in weeks.
He was mine. We had been through heaven and hell together. From reluctant allies to friends to lovers to… this.
I had held him on nights when his nightmares were too much to bear. I had taken care of him when his family pushed him to the breaking point. We had shared everything.
And yet, now?
He was slipping through my fingers.
I tried to ignore it.
Tried to tell myself that Ominis wasn’t avoiding me. That I was being dramatic, insecure, paranoid.
But then he stopped meeting me in the Undercroft, like we did every night.
At first, I assumed he had gotten caught up in prefect duties, but night after night passed, and still—nothing.
It wasn’t until I caught him alone in the Astronomy Tower that I snapped.
"You’re avoiding me."
Ominis turned at the sound of my voice, his expression unreadable. The moonlight carved soft shadows along his sharp features, but there was no warmth in his gaze.
"I’m not," he said simply.
Liar.
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t respond.
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "Is it her?"
He froze. "What?"
"Eleanor." I took a step closer, watching his face carefully. "Is that why you've been avoiding me?"
Ominis remained silent.
"You spend all your time with her," I continued, my voice wobbling despite myself. "You listen to her. You let her touch you."
That last sentence stung.
Ominis hated touch. It took months for him to let me in. I had been patient. I had taken my time, waiting until he felt safe enough to reach for me.
Now, he let her do it so freely.
"I don’t—" he started, but stopped himself.
"Why?" My voice cracked. "Why won’t you talk to me? What’s changed?"
Ominis turned away, running a hand through his platinum hair. His posture was rigid.
"You wouldn’t understand," he muttered.
I scoffed. "Try me."
A silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. Then, finally, he spoke.
"My father," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He… set up an arrangement."
My breath caught in my throat.
"What?"
Ominis swallowed hard, his fingers clenching into fists.
"I’m betrothed."
It felt like the floor had been yanked out from under me.
He kept going, his voice hollow. "Eleanor’s father is close to mine. If I don’t… cooperate, if I don’t spend time with her, they’ll make sure I regret it."
I stared at him, disbelief crashing over me like a wave.
"You—You’re saying they’ll hurt you?" My voice trembled.
A bitter smile twisted his lips. "They already have."
I sucked in a shaky breath, eyes darting over him desperately as if I could see the damage they had done.
"Why didn’t you tell me?" I whispered.
Ominis laughed softly—but it wasn’t real. It was sharp, pained, hopeless.
"Because I knew what you’d do." His pale eyes—those beautiful, haunted eyes—found mine. "You’d try to stop it. And if you tried… they’d hurt you too."
Tears burned at my eyes.
I wanted to tell him I didn’t care. That I would go to war against the Gaunts if it meant keeping him safe.
But then I looked at him. Really looked at him.
And I realized…
He was terrified.
Not for himself.
For me.
"Ominis," I choked, stepping closer. "I don’t—There has to be another way—"
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
"I can handle it," he murmured. "I just need you to… trust me."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
"How can I, when it feels like I’m losing you?"
Ominis reached for me then, finally, his fingers grazing mine. It wasn’t enough.
"It’s not forever," he whispered. "It can’t be."
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the sob rising in my throat.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
As long as the Gaunts had control over him, this wasn’t something we could fight.
And that terrified me.
The days that followed were torture.
Ominis still spent time with Eleanor, still walked beside her in the corridors, still let her touch his arm as if it meant nothing. But now I knew why.
Now I saw it differently.
His posture was stiff every time she spoke to him. His hands trembled slightly when he thought no one was looking. And the worst part?
He barely spoke to me.
Not because he didn’t want to—but because he was protecting me.
But what he didn’t realize was that his silence was hurting me more than the Gaunts ever could.
I found him in the library late one evening, tucked away in the farthest corner, a single candle flickering beside him. He was hunched over, one hand gripping his wand, the other clutching his ribs.
I froze.
"Ominis?"
He stiffened at my voice, his head tilting slightly. He hadn’t heard me approach.
"You shouldn’t be here," he muttered.
My chest tightened. "You’re hurt."
Ominis didn’t respond. But as I stepped closer, I saw it. The way his breathing was uneven, the way he flinched just slightly when he adjusted his posture.
I dropped into the seat beside him and reached out instinctively, fingertips grazing the fabric of his robes.
He flinched.
My heart shattered.
"Let me see," I whispered.
Ominis sighed heavily, as if every part of him was breaking under the weight of this secret. Then, without a word, he unbuttoned the top of his vest and pulled up his shirt.
I had to bite back a gasp.
Bruises. Deep, ugly, fresh. Dark purple and yellow, spreading across his ribs like an artist’s cruel brushstrokes.
I felt sick.
"How?" My voice shook as I reached out, fingers hovering over his skin. "When?"
Ominis swallowed. "I got another letter. I didn’t… respond the way they wanted. They summoned me home, like a fucking puppet"
My hands curled into fists.
His family did this to him. His own blood.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the absolute rage coursing through me. Then I stood abruptly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him up.
"O-Olivia—?"
"Come with me."
He hesitated but didn’t resist.
We slipped out of the library, down the dim corridors, and through the tapestry leading to the Undercroft. Our place.
The moment we were inside, I turned to face him.
"This has to stop."
Ominis exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his platinum hair.
"You think I don’t know that?" he whispered. "You think I don’t want to—" He cut himself off, turning his face away.
"Then let’s end it," I pleaded. "Together. I don’t care about your family, Ominis. I don’t care about the Gaunt name or their stupid, twisted rules. If they cut you off, fine. Let them. You’re more than their legacy."
His breath hitched.
"You think it’s that easy?" His voice was bitter, laced with exhaustion. "If I walk away, I have nothing. No home. No name. I’m just… gone."
I grabbed his hands, gripping them tightly. "You will always have me."
Ominis stood completely still. His fingers twitched in my grasp, as if he were memorizing the feeling.
Then, slowly, he squeezed back.
"...Say that again."
I stepped closer. "You have me. You will always have me."
His breath shuddered.
Then, without warning, he crashed into me.
His arms wrapped around me, desperate, unrelenting. His forehead pressed against my shoulder, his entire body shaking.
I held him just as tightly, running my fingers through his hair, pressing soft kisses to his temple and then finding my lips. It was soft and tender, but the kiss grew desperate and hungry. Finally, I had him all to myself again and I loved every second of it.
For the first time in weeks, Ominis wasn’t holding back.
"I don’t want to do this anymore," he whispered, voice cracking. "I don’t want to pretend. I don’t want to let them control me."
I pulled back just enough to cup his face, thumb brushing against his cheek.
"Then we fight," I said firmly. "We tell them no. We end it. Together."
A tear slipped down his cheek.
Ominis Gaunt never cried.
But now? He let me see him.
He leaned forward, and I met him halfway, our lips crashing together again
It was desperate, raw, full of every unsaid word, every moment that Elanor had stolen from us.
When we finally pulled away, breathless, I pressed my forehead against his.
"No more hiding," I whispered.
Ominis let out a shaky laugh, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.
Heyy please do a ominis angst to happy ending, where we are the mc and its maybe sixth or seventh year (established relationship) but he's been close to another girl for a while so mc gets jealous and insecure. You can choose how the story goes but i NEED SOME GOOD ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING PLEASEEEE
Hi!
Thank you so much for your request. I absolutely adore writing for you guys, so I hope you enjoy.
They story will be posted on my blog as a Gaunt arrangement.
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