omg not me dropping off the face of the earth hwuaahah ok so i have not been as active here as i wanted to be the past few days! pls take this as a peace offering ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i had the worst creative block known to man and have instead been consuming an ungodly amount of media rather than being productive. also social media has been overwhelming me recently and i just had to take a step back. but today i woke up and said "ok i just gotta shit something out and hope it looks good" ... and this happened rather than working on my dozen unfinished fics...
outline ver. below the cut because i liked both hehehehe
heard someone say archive of our own should install a "dislike" button and I thought I should say this: no, there's absolutely no need for archive of our own to install a "dislike" button.
why? because archive of our own isn't tiktok or youtube or twitter/x where users can monetize their content. archive of our own is a nonprofit site run by fans for fans, which means every content — every fanfic — you see on archive of our own was made out of pure love and passion from the artists/authors.
ao3 authors write because writing about these characters is their happiness and passion. they write for themselves, but they were generous enough to share with you their creations.
they're not "content creators" the way tiktokers or youtubers or instagram models are. they don't "make content" for views and engagements that can be monetized.
so no, you don't get to "grade their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.
you don't get to "say what you dislike about their works" unless they specifically and directly ask you to.
you don't get to "dislike" works that are not made specifically to please you in the first place. you're just a guest in someone's house, a house in which they let you in because they were kind, you don't get to roam around their house and say what you dislike about their furniture. you don't get to roam around their house and say you "dislike their house".
of course, you can have your opinion about the house its host invites you in. but if it's a negative one and you find yourself not liking the house, the polite things for you to do is excuse yourself and leave without telling them you dislike their house.
and just because you personally dislike the house doesn't mean the house is "ugly" either. the house you dislike could be a favorite, most luxurious place to many others.
my point is, don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that you get to enjoy for free. don't be entitled by wanting the rights to voice your disapproval of things that were made out of love and passion — things the artists made for themselves for fun.
it makes you look like an entitled jerk with main character syndrome. the universe does not revolve around you.
now repeat after me: don't like don't read. no one forces you to continue reading a fic you don't like. quietly leave instead of being rude to authors who write for free because writing is their source of comfort.
people are so used to contents that were made because it's a trend / contents like tiktok that were made with the main purpose of reaching high engagement and making profits that they forget sometimes things can be made out of love and be made just for fun. sometimes things are supposed to just be for people to enjoy, and if some people don't enjoy them, then they can simply leave without being unnecessary unkind.
summary: sebastian’s attempt to bend the situation to his favor backfires as he realizes he’s been expertly played by the one person he thought he could outsmart.
word count: 4.6k
warnings: manipulator x manipulator, possessive!sebastian, sebastian has questionable morals, garreth weasley is a menace, some swearing, no use of y/n
a/n: this is far from my best work buttt i’ve been sick for the past few days and honestly i think just putting something out there will make me feel better no matter how dogshit it is :pp i was planning on making something romantic for valentines but… everytime i write sebastian he just fully takes over so idk have some slightly unhinged seb!!
[ao3] [wattpad]
they say all’s fair in love and war.
sebastian lived by that adage—bled by it, burned for it. for him, there’s no price too steep, no means too outrageous to attain his ends. he has never been above a desperate measure or two when it came to those he held close.
and most especially, when it came to her.
the vial felt cold between his fingers, condensation beading against the glass as he turned it in the candlelight. the liquid inside shimmered faintly—murky as mud, but somehow heavier, clinging to the glass in slow, syrupy waves. it looked like poison. probably tasted like it, too. to be honest, he didn’t trust it. hell, he didn’t even trust himself right now. and trusting garreth weasley? that was its own brand of lunacy.
he could still turn around, hand it back to garreth, pretend he’d never even considered it. walk away, save whatever was left of his dignity. it wasn’t a horrible idea—actually, part of him knew it was the smart one, but before he could think twice, the vial was snatched from his fingers.
“oi—give that back!” sebastian snapped, lunging for it.
garreth held it just out of reach, smirking. "not so fast, sallow. before i hand this over, i need some confirmation that this is for a harmless cause. i refuse to be implicated in whatever questionable scheme you’ve cooked up this time."
sebastian cursed under his breath. his patience—what little he had—was wearing thin, and garreth knew it. the redhead had always been insufferably good at needling people, and tonight, it seemed, sebastian was his latest amusement.
he exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to unclench his fists. he hated this. hated being on the back foot, hated that garreth was right to be wary, hated that he didn’t even have a decent excuse to offer.
because it wasn’t harmless. and he damn well knew it.
“i don't see how that's any of your business.” sebastian argued. “you don't see me asking why you have a polyjuice potion of the head boy, do you?"
garreth arched a brow. "see, that’s the thing. when i’m the one providing the suspiciously illicit potion, i’d say it is my business." he made a show of shaking the potion mere inches from sebastian’s nose. "take it or leave it, mate."
sebastian clenched his jaw so hard it ached. he didn’t want to explain himself—didn’t want to lay his cards bare—but he wanted that damned vial more.
"fine," he bit out. "let’s just say fawley’s got something of mine and i intend to get it back."
garreth's smirk sharpened, green eyes gleaming with intrigue. "oh? now that’s interesting. do tell, sallow."
sebastian crossed his arms. "no, i think that's plenty information.”
"right, well. seems you don’t need my services that badly.” garreth twirled the vial between his fingers and turned on his heel with an exaggerated sigh. “goodnight, then.”
"wait—alright, fine!" sebastian exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “he started courting her." his throat tightened around the words, and he hated how they tasted. "i need to put a stop to it. get them to break up by pretending to be him.”
garreth froze mid-step, then turned back slowly, his grin widening like a cat who’d just caught the scent of something truly entertaining. sebastian cursed himself, knowing there's no going back anymore. "merlin’s bloody beard, this is brilliant. so let me get this straight—you're out here spiraling because some poor unsuspecting sod caught her eye instead of you?”
sebastian's glare darkened. "say it again, and i swear i’ll knock your teeth in."
garreth, the bastard, just laughed. "and here i was wondering when you’d step in and do something about it.” he then leaned in, feigning concern. "but, say, have you considered simply talking to her instead of, y'know, committing identity fraud?"
sebastian rolled his eyes. "are you giving me the potion or not?"
garreth hummed, weighing the vial in his palm like he was actually considering it. "hm… i don't know. this has the makings of a true masterpiece, and i do love a good bit of drama… so tell me, sallow, what’s the plan? break her heart, then swoop in to comfort her?”
sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing the heel of his palm against his temple. "something like that."
garreth barked out a laugh. "merlin’s sake, mate, you’re actually insane. your possessiveness truly knows no bounds, huh?”
sebastian shot him a withering glare but didn't rise to the bait. it wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone who cared to notice that he’d staked his claim on her—not in the sense that she was some prize to be won, but in the way the sun belonged to the sky, in the way the tide belonged to the moon. some things were simply meant to be; unspoken but undeniable. and merlin help the poor bastard who thought he could rewrite the stars.
see, sebastian’s jealousy wasn’t just a petty thing. it was greedy. cunning. dangerous. a monster that curled in his chest, waiting to sink its teeth into anyone who got too close. whispers behind his back called him reckless, obsessive, unhinged—as if he didn't already know. but he would let them talk. let them sneer. none of it changed the fact that he belonged there, belonged to her. and if some git had the audacity to threaten his place… that was a subliminal declaration of war if there ever was one. talk about putting a big, glowing target on your back.
and unlike hector fawley, garreth knew better than to stand in sebastian’s way. he shook his head before tossing the vial back to sebastian. "that will last you about fifteen minutes.”
sebastian caught it, rolling the cool glass between his fingers. "and you’re sure this will work?"
"as sure as i am that this is a terrible idea," garreth quipped. "love really makes one batshit crazy.”
sebastian scoffed, the edge of irritation sharp in his voice. “for your sake, i’ll pretend you didn’t say that.” he paused, his gaze hardening. “now, what do i owe you?”
garreth only grinned wider. "believe it or not? nothing, mate. i just can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face."
that sounded ominous, but honestly, sebastian didn’t care anymore.
a man does what he must when faced with war. he strategizes, he sacrifices, he does the unthinkable, and most of all, he doesn't hesitate. and love—well. that was just another battlefield. one he’s willing to fight dirty to win. one that wasn’t waged with swords or spells, but with glances that lingered too long, with stolen moments and whispered promises, with the slow, agonizing realization that someone else might take what should have been yours.
and in matters of love and war, you played to win, or you didn’t play at all. best believe, sebastian wasn’t about to lose.
—
the plan was perfect—at least, on parchment.
owl her, pretending to be fawley. keep it short, keep it cold—we need to talk, something vague enough to plant the first seed of doubt in her mind. ask her to meet somewhere public. specifically, central hall, right in the thick of a bustling school day. and then? under the effects of polyjuice, break her heart. loudly. cruelly. make sure it hurts.
she’d run. bolt before anyone saw her break, before she let a single tear fall where someone could see. and that was where he—as sebastian—came in like a knight in shining armor. he would be would find her, offer comfort. a steady hand. a soft voice. because unlike fawley, he wouldn’t leave her shattered and alone.
and then, as a final, satisfying touch—he’d defend her honor by beating fawley into a bloody pulp on the ground. though that last part wasn’t strictly necessary in the grand scheme of things, but let’s be honest—he already had it coming just for even entertaining the thought of taking her from him.
to anyone else, he probably sounded insane. and maybe they were right. but to sebastian? this was restraint. the merciful option. honestly, they should be grateful because he could have done worse. salazar, he'd thought about worse. if he fired on all cylinders, this castle would be ash by sundown.
he’d let anyone be collateral damage—even her own feelings—as long as it meant she’d be right back where she was meant to be. in his arms. he hated how easy it was to justify. hated that he could twist his own cruelty into something almost noble if he looked at it the right way. but guilt? it was a small price to pay compared to the fear of losing her.
sebastian is machiavellian, sure—but borne out of devotion. not out of some cold, detached ambition. and if he has to play the villain to keep her, then he’ll sharpen his claws and bear his teeth with pride. he would ruin everything—everyone, if that’s what it took, and he would call it love.
because, really, how many people in the world were willing to own that? to strip themselves bare and confess, i will ruin and be ruined for you?
only sebastian ever could.
so he stood there, hidden beneath fawley’s face, his heart a twisted knot of triumph and disgust. the polyjuice had done its work—on the outside, he was hector fawley. his voice, his posture, even the sharp, self-righteous smirk he wore like a second skin.
"think about it. a head boy like me and a delinquent like you?” he let the words sink in, each syllable weighted with contempt. "embarrassing."
he could almost feel the sting as the words landed, could see the hurt in her eyes. he wanted to shed the mask and pull her in now, but no—he needed to stick to his guns. this was war, and he was here to win.
"hector, i don't understand—"
he cut her off, leaning in close as if to inject every syllable with poison. “you don’t understand?” he repeated, the words coated in mockery, dripping from his borrowed lips like a death sentence. “let me say it again, then. perhaps louder so it can get through your thick skull?”
that seemed to pique not only her attention but the crowd’s as well. some slowed their steps, others outright stopped, drawn in like vultures circling something wounded. they knew something was happening, felt the tension thickening in the air like storm clouds. her eyes flicked around nervously, panic flickering behind them like candlelight in a draft. they were waiting. watching. the perfect audience for the spectacle he was about to create.
and still, he didn’t let her off easy. instead, he raised his voice. “you're beneath me,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, sinking deep like a dagger. “and i don't know what i was thinking getting involved with the likes of you.”
the words hung in the air, a brutal weight pressing down on her. he could hear the gasps from the crowd, the hushed murmurs of disbelief. he was doing it. he was winning.
but then, just as the polyjuice potion surged through his veins, he hiccupped—just a small stutter, barely noticeable, but enough to pull his thoughts back into focus. he steadied himself, fighting the sudden wave of nausea threatening to overtake him. his borrowed skin prickled, the shift just barely beginning. his time was slipping now.
“are you telling me you want to end this?” she asked, her voice fragile, shaking.
“exactly,” sebastian shot back, flat, emotionless. a perfect performance that almost made him want to clap himself on the back for. “from now on, stay away from me.”
he could see her lips tremble as she processed the words, and something inside him cracked—a bitter satisfaction. she looked as if the ground had been ripped from under her, just as he’d intended. now, all he needed to do was land the final blow.
it was going all according to plan, until—
“is this some sort of joke?” a voice echoed from the crowd, rising in confusion, breaking the tension. “what’s going on here? everyone, move along now!”
sebastian's stomach plummeted straight to his shoes as he saw hector fawley—the real one—materialized from the crowd like some kind of divine punishment, pushing past onlookers who parted with hesitant confusion. the towering figure of the other fawley loomed in the middle of the chaos, his face a portrait of bewilderment. blimey, even in confusion, he still held the same arrogance that made sebastian’s teeth grind. but this time, his presence wasn’t just an irritation—it was a fatal flaw in a not-so-carefully laid-out plans. merlin’s mercy, he hadn't accounted for this. he’d been so wrapped up in his own mind that he hadn’t prepared for the possibility of fawley actually being here.
her gaze flicked between the two fawleys, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and growing fury.
this was spiraling. fast. what was supposed to be a game of control—of careful manipulation—was quickly turning into a losing battle.
"what in the great gods’—" hector’s voice broke through the spell of silence. he turned to her now, suspicion darkening his face. "care to explain?"
"i… honestly, i’m just as confused as you are!" she blurted, voice strained with frustration.
sebastian risked a glance at her, and his stomach twisted. her eyes darted between him and the real fawley. hurt had given way to shock, then confusion, then something worse—recognition, as if the pieces started sliding into place at an alarming speed.
then the hiccup came again, more pronounced this time. a brutal, humiliating reminder that it was all falling apart. by now, a rational person would have seen this as the sign to wave the white flag and accept defeat. but sebastian didn’t feel rational (and let’s face it, he never really was). in fact, he didn’t feel anything but the burning, anxious thrum of his own heart as it pounded in his chest, each beat a countdown to the inevitable.
so he did what any desperate man with nothing left to lose would do.
he turned on his heel and bolted.
his legs moved of their own accord. he could hear fawley losing it behind him—hysterics bubbling up in a strange mix of confusion and anger. even the crowd was erupting into louder murmurs, the whispers now carrying an edge of amusement. the spectacle had officially crossed the line into absurdity.
as he shoved past the crowd, garreth’s voice rose, mimicking the sound of an explosion. the bastard was standing off to the side, his eyes twinkling with an amused, knowing look. garreth's chuckle grated against sebastian’s nerves, his blood boiling in a wave of hot frustration.
sebastian didn’t waste a single moment looking back at him, but he could feel the presence trailing behind him, like a shadow, reveling in the disastrous unraveling of his grand design. the worst part of this whole thing? garreth had been right—this had blown up in his face. and garreth weasley was never right.
“damn, sallow, you almost had me rooting for you there,” garreth teased with a grin, his voice dripping with amusement. “bit of a letdown, really.”
the words landed like a slap, sharp and stinging, but sebastian refused to give garreth the satisfaction of a reaction. his pride was already bleeding out on the floor—he wouldn’t let weasley dance on its grave. instead, he found the first door that promised escape, his hand closing around the handle with the desperation of a drowning man grasping for a lifeline. he yanked it open and slipped inside, the door slamming shut behind him with enough force to send dust swirling in the dim light.
sebastian leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he closed his eyes for a moment, a brief flicker of relief coursing through him. he could still feel the heat of the polyjuice potion lingering in his veins, its effects starting to wear off, but he didn’t have time to savor the victory. he could already feel his form shifting back, the muscles and bones rearranging as his true self began to resurface.
okay, so the plan wasn't perfect. there were a few hiccups—literally and figuratively. it was pathetic, really, how quickly he went from meticulous mastermind to panic-stricken fugitive in the span of a few seconds—no. he knew better than to get lost in the failure of the moment. he’d played his cards, but sometimes the hand you were dealt didn’t lead to victory.
this battle might’ve been lost, but the war? that was still his to win. he would just have to think of another plan...
sebastian exhaled sharply, forcing his mind to settle. he needed to think—to sort through the wreckage and figure out his next move. but before he could, a voice—her voice—filtered through the wooden door, muffled but unmistakable.
“sweet merlin. please don't tell me you had something to do with this, garreth."
sebastian’s fingers curled into his robes. he could hear the suspicion in her tone, the way it sharpened at the edges. he didn’t have to see her face to know she was still trying to make sense of the mess he’d left behind, piecing together what had just unfolded like a puzzle with missing parts.
and of course, the absolute menace that is garreth weasley was enjoying every second of it.
“what ever do you mean by that?" came his feigned innocence, all honeyed amusement, the bastard’s grin practically audible.
"that was sebastian, wasn’t it? polyjuice potion?"
sebastian’s stomach lurched.
"where is he? i saw you follow him out of central hall, so don’t try to lie."
garreth hummed. “ah, well, it seems i’ve forgotten which door he went in… perhaps a few galleons ought to help me remember?”
sebastian’s jaw clenched. of course garreth was milking this for all it was worth. he should have known that little gremlin would still find a way to yield return, because why waste a perfectly good scandal when he could wring some profit out of it? and gods help sebastian—if weasley had ratted him out, sebastian might have to start planning out his murder.
then came a groan followed by the distinct clink of coins. sebastian barely had time to brace himself before he heard hurried footsteps, the sound of someone moving with purpose, closing in on his door.
"best of luck, sallow!" garreth called, his laughter trailing off as he strolled away, no doubt relishing the chaos he’d helped unleash.
sebastian had half a second to curse garreth’s name before the door rattled against his back, the force of it jolting him out of his thoughts.
"sebastian, open the door right now or so help me, i will blast this down to bits. you along with it!" her voice was sharp, a warning laced with frustration and fury.
sebastian knew one thing with cold certainty—whatever came out of her mouth was never an empty threat. she spoke in absolutes, in promises etched with fire and steel, just as he himself did.
he sighed, the sound laced with reluctant resignation, his hand hovering over the door handle as if it burned to the touch. each second he hesitated only fed the inferno building on the other side. he had run out of moved to pull from his playbook—no clever wordplay or sidelong smile that could disarm her now.
he opened the door to the very picture of anger, standing before him like a tempest barely held in check. her posture was rigid, her shoulders squared, and her eyes… merlin, her eyes burned with a fire that nearly matched his own—only hers was a righteous inferno, ready to consume him whole. before he could draw a breath, her wand was at his chest, the tip of it pressing against the fabric of his robes, steady and unyielding. it was a silent declaration that she wasn’t here for excuses or half-truths. she wanted answers, and she wanted them now—understandably so.
sebastian might have been playing war, but now he’s face to face with an opponent who plays to win just as much as he does. it would have been almost admirable if it hadn’t been so damnably terrifying.
"explain yourself," she demanded, her voice thick with an edge that told him this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.
“where do you want me to start?" he muttered, his voice a touch more strained than he intended.
“oh, i don’t know, maybe start by explaining why you were trying to humiliate me in front of the whole student body?"
he opened his mouth, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “that wasn’t my intention—well, okay, maybe it was, but that wasn’t the point—"
she cut him off with a sharp look, her eyes flashing with something close to disbelief and fury. "oh, really? what, then, was the point, sebastian?"
there was no easy way to say it, but the truth, raw and unpolished, slipped out. "i wanted to break you up."
the silence that followed was suffocating. she dropped her hand to her side, her brows basically shooting up to her hairline. and then—merlin, he couldn’t have prepared for it—she laughed, a sharp, ringing sound that echoed off the walls, and for a moment, sebastian couldn’t tell if it was the laughter of someone in disbelief or the kind that hid mockery.
“that’s what this was about?” she said through gasps, her voice laced with incredulity. “and here i thought i was a victim of another one of your horrendous pranks.”
“congratulations, sebastian. you’ve set a new record—what, a week? a week before you chased another suitor off. ominis bet me five hundred galleons you wouldn’t last a month… of course i had faith in you—" she smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "but i should’ve known better.”
sebastian stood there, his breath stuck somewhere between a laugh and a curse. his stomach twisted itself into knots, a sick, tangled mess of emotions he couldn’t quite name. embarrassment? anger? hell, maybe both. maybe neither. it was all bleeding together, one big, ugly blur of what the fuck just happened?
and she wasn’t done yet.
“with such an elaborate scheme too. but did you really have to do it in front of everyone?” she tsked, her voice laced with mock disapproval, like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. “honestly, sebastian. i’ve half a mind to hex you into next week for that.”
he swallowed hard, struggling to keep up. “alright—now i’m confused. you bet on me with ominis?”
“hey, mind you, i bet for you,” she corrected, lips curving into a knowing little smirk. “ominis was the one betting against you.” a lazy shrug, as if that somehow made this less insane. “and honestly? i’m glad i lost. i was starting to miss you.”
“oh, please. like you weren't having a grand old time with fawley.” sebastian argued, trying to grasp back any semblance of control.
her lips quirked into that small, almost pitying smile, the one that always made him feel like the punchline of some joke he hadn’t even realized was being told. “oh, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” she said breezily, as if the words themselves were nothing more than idle chatter, a passing thought. “he ended it with me right after you ran away.”
“and when you think about it, it’s actually kind of sad for me, isn’t it? being broken up with twice in a single day. in front of a whole crowd, no less. thanks for that, by the way.” she added sardonically.
sebastian blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and something dangerously close to amusement. this wasn’t how he’d envisioned things unfolding—hell, he hadn’t imagined much at all, other than his own selfish drive to drive her to him—but the end result? not too far off. the pieces were shifting in ways he hadn't planned, and yet, he found the outcome strangely satisfying.
his lips quirked, eyes glinting as he tilted his head ever so slightly. “i would say sorry,” he murmured, voice smooth but edged with something sharper, something smug. “but i’m really not.”
“oh, my sweet seb,” she drawled, her voice dripping with that mixture of affection and mockery he was far too familiar with. “i was only with him to make you jealous anyways, just like with any other suitor before him. and let me tell you, it works every time. every time.”
“oh, really?” he shot back, arching a brow, words dripping with challenge. “and what about all those times you came to me, crying your heart out over broken suitors?”
she sighed then, the sound almost condescending, like he was the one who’d missed the most obvious thing in the world. it was as if she pitied him, this strange, delicate sympathy for someone too blind to see the game.
she took a step forward, slow and deliberate, each movement like the winding of a thread pulling him closer. her voice dropped, turning into a low whisper that slid down his spine with the unmistakable chill of danger. "all part of the plan."
a shiver ran through him, and despite himself, he held her gaze. the words hit him with a weight he wasn’t prepared for.
"you’re not the only one who can play this game, sebastian. " she murmured, her voice a honeyed poison that wound its way into his chest, each syllable curling around his heart in a grip he couldn’t escape. "i’ve always been yours, you know that. i just can’t help it if i like to remind you in my own twisted, unconventional ways."
a sick realization crawled up his spine, leaving a cold trail in its wake. he’d been a pawn in her game, manipulated without even realizing it. all this time, thinking he was orchestrating some grand masterplan, when in reality, he was just playing right into her hands.
he should be furious. should be embarrassed. but there was something about the twisted symmetry of it all that made him want to laugh. he’d spent so much time plotting and scheming around her, trying to control the narrative, to bend her to his will. but here she was, doing the exact same thing to him, and what could he do but admire the audacity of it? she had played him just as expertly as he’d tried to play her.
of course this was how it had always been. of course, this whole time, they had been at war all along, caught in a game of endless, tangled power plays, one neither of them had ever truly been willing to admit. a battle of wills and emotions, and somewhere along the way, they'd both fallen in too deep to pull back.
sebastian's eyes darkened, his lips curling into a sly smirk. "you didn’t need to remind me," he said, his voice rough with something between annoyance and reluctant admiration.
she cocked her head, the edge in her voice sharp, but playful. "oh, i think i did. after all, you’ve been so busy pretending you’re the one in control. i thought it was time to remind you who really holds the power here."
sebastian chuckled darkly, rubbing his jaw. "alright, alright, you win.” he sighed, conceding—though only because he was enjoying this too much to end it. “how about a truce?”
she raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "a truce?”
the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he leaned in, his gaze locking with hers. “no? how about a date, then?”
for a moment, her eyes flared with that unmistakable challenge—the same look he’d seen so many times before, the one that made him feel both like a moth to the flame and the one wielding the match, but it was quickly masked by that teasing, almost predatory smile she always wore when she knew she had the upper hand. when she knew she had him right where she wanted him.
the war was far from over. they both knew that. but, honestly? neither of them would have it any other way.
okay I just imagine mc phoning it in in her divination class being like I'll see a handsome man playing with our three children in a large back yard bla bla bla and years later seeing the same thing with sebastian and being like hun whatda know.
bonus points if they are mad because they should of gotten a better grade
HELLO!
When I say I cackled writing this, I mean it.
This was so much fun to think about and write, THANK YOU very, very much for the cute, light-hearted prompt and letting me write your idea!
I hope it makes you smile!
Word count: ~3800
This Wasn't In My Five Year Plan
She had long since decided that Divination was a load of absolute bollocks.
That opinion had not changed in the two years she’d suffered through the subject, and it certainly wasn’t changing now, as she sat in the sweltering, incense-filled tower classroom, staring into a scrying mirror that refused to show her anything more exciting than her own increasingly irritated reflection.
The only thing that made this torment even remotely bearable was that Sebastian was equally as miserable.
He sat across from her, elbow propped on the table, chin in hand, gazing into his own mirror with a half-lidded expression of utter disinterest. His wand tapped lazily against the wooden surface, the rhythmic thudding just quiet enough to avoid Professor Onai’s attention but loud enough to let his Divination partner know that he was at his limit.
“We should have taken Ancient Runes.” She muttered, scowling at her mirror.
Sebastian snorted. “I’d rather swallow a live doxy.”
“Doxy venom is toxic.”
“Exactly.”
She smirked despite herself, but her irritation returned as Onai’s soft voice cut through the hazy air.
“Now.” Their professor intoned, drifting between the rows of students. “As you gaze into the mirror, allow the vision to come naturally. Do not force it. The truth will reveal itself in time.”
She bit her tongue to stop herself from blurting out something deeply unkind to Natty's mother.
She stole a glance at Sebastian, who caught her eye and immediately exaggerated his movements - rolling his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, waving his fingers over his mirror as though he were about to summon a grand revelation.
She snorted, kicking him under the table. He barely stifled his grunt.
“Focus, Mister Sallow,” Onai instructed without even looking at them.
She sighed and propped her chin on her hand, staring blankly into the mirror again.
Feeding off Sebastian's immature energy, she decided to play along.
With an exaggerated sigh, she leaned forward, placing both hands on the mirror’s frame, her voice adopting a dramatic, ethereal quality.
“Oh, I see a handsome man.” She divined theatrically. “He’s outside in a lush, green backyard, playing with - oh, what’s this? Three children? Oh, how picturesque!”
Sebastian snorted beside her.
Professor Onai exhaled sharply through her nose but paused and regarded the spectacle with an unimpressed arch of her brow.
Emboldened, she continued. “Yes, yes, I see it now. It’s all very romantic. There’s a house, and the sun is shining, and he’s just so devastatingly handsome -”
And then, quite suddenly, something shifted.
The mirror’s surface rippled like disturbed water, and her words died in her throat as the teasing, hazy image she’d been pretending to see became something real.
She didn’t mean to, but she leaned closer, breath catching as the vision came into focus.
The backyard was real.
The children were real.
The summer warmth, the laughter, it was all so vivid. And the man…
She couldn’t see his face.
There was something blocking it, something her mind refused to process. She could see the dark hair, the way he moved, the way he felt so familiar, but her brain refused to give her the final piece.
She reeled backward like she’d been burned.
The mirror stilled, and the vision was gone.
Sebastian, unaware of her momentary existential crisis, let out a low whistle. “Three kids? Planning for a rather fertile future, are we?”
She blinked at him, still disoriented, her heart pounding unreasonably fast.
“I -” She swallowed thickly. “I was joking.”
Sebastian smirked. “Did you see who the handsome mystery man was? Or shall I assume it was me?”
She choked on her own spit.
He grinned, smug, leaning forward on his elbows. “Well, I am handsome.”
Her brain was short-circuiting. No thoughts. Just panic.
“It wasn’t - it wasn’t you!” She sputtered, face burning.
His smirk only widened. “You hesitated.”
She gaped up at him, completely and utterly scandalized. “I - fuck off, Sebastian!”
Several students turned to stare.
Onai sighed deeply.
“That will be detention.”
She let out a strangled noise of frustration and slammed her forehead onto the desk.
Sebastian, completely unbothered, was still grinning.
She spent the rest of the lesson glowering into her mirror, refusing to so much as glance at Sebastian.
Not that it stopped him from staring at her.
He was still smirking, still far too pleased with himself, lounging in his chair like the absolute menace that he was. She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, waiting for her to crack, to react, to give him something he could use to wind her up even more.
She would not.
She was a pillar of self-control.
A paragon of restraint.
Except for the fact that her face still felt hot and her pulse still hadn’t settled since her actual vision had so rudely forced itself into existence.
Because that’s what it was. A vision.
Not some fabricated nonsense she'd conjured to mock the class.
She’d seen something real.
And the fact that she hadn’t seen his face - that was the worst part.
Her brain had blocked it out.
She hadn’t been able to see him clearly, but the rest had been so vivid - the feeling of happiness.
Of belonging.
And she knew the man had been familiar.
Too familiar.
So familiar, in fact, that her subconscious had refused to process it.
And that was terrifying.
Because if she couldn’t even admit to herself who it had been…
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will away the spiraling mess of her thoughts.
It doesn’t matter. It was just a vision. Doesn’t mean it’s real. Futures aren't even set in stone - I can just be a bog hermit and not get married at all...
She inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth.
You are fine. Everything is fine. You are not losing your mind over this.
She finally opened her eyes, feeling slightly more composed -
Only to find Sebastian still watching her.
Her composure shattered instantly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?!” She hissed, whipping her head toward him.
Sebastian blinked, all innocence. “Like what?”
“Like that!” She gestured wildly at his entire smug existence.
He grinned. “Oh, you mean like I’m wondering why you’re so flustered over a vision about a handsome man and three children?”
Her eye twitched.
“I am not flustered.”
Sebastian tilted his head, humming, unconvinced. “Could’ve fooled me.”
She let out a slow breath.
Do not commit a murder in the middle of class. That would be frowned upon.
But he wasn’t letting it go.
“So…” He continued, clearly enjoying himself, “if it wasn’t me, then who was it?”
Her mouth opened, then closed like a gaping fish.
She had absolutely nothing, which only made his grin widen.
“It was no one.” She snapped, crossing her arms. “It was vague and indistinct and meaningless.”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t sound vague.”
She clenched her jaw. “It was.”
He tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “Funny. Because you sounded very sure about the whole ‘three children, idyllic backyard, devastatingly handsome husband’ thing.”
Her face was on fire.
“I was mocking the process, Sebastian.”
He nodded sagely. “Right. And in the process, you happened to have a vision about your future family.”
“I swear to Merlin.” She seethed, gripping the edge of the desk so hard she thought she might snap the wood.
“Do you think I was in it, and that’s why you panicked?” He asked, tone far too casual, his grin positively wicked.
“I did not panic!”
“Oh, you definitely panicked.”
“I hate you “ She hissed, her face burning.
“You hesitated, love.”
“Fuck off, Sallow!”
Onai sighed from across the room.
“That will be another detention.”
She groaned, slumping forward onto the desk.
Sebastian, meanwhile, was grinning like he’d won the House Cup.
-
Later that evening, she sat in an empty classroom, aggressively polishing the already-pristine wood of the student desks, her muttering just barely audible.
Sebastian, sitting his ass on the desk next to the one she was polishing, was watching her with the same amusement that he had been all day.
“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” She snapped, glaring at him.
He grinned, stretching out lazily. “I am. I’m enjoying the sight of you suffering.”
She threw her rag at him.
He caught it effortlessly before tossing it onto another desk.
“Honestly, you brought this upon yourself.” He said, tutting. “Swearing in class? Such reckless behavior.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You deliberately provoked me.”
He placed a dramatic hand over his heart. “Me? I would never.”
She scowled, resuming her furious scrubbing.
Sebastian watched her for another moment, his smirk softening slightly as he tilted his head. “You are flustered, though.”
She froze, her grip tightening on the rag.
Sebastian slid off the desk, stepping closer, his voice lower now. “You saw something, didn’t you?”
She said nothing.
His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Something real. Something you’re afraid to admit.”
She positively glowered at him.
Sebastian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “You know, for someone who hates Divination, you’re taking this very seriously.”
She turned slowly, glaring up at him. “I don’t take it seriously.”
He studied her for a moment, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.
“Sure.” He practically sang. “Whatever you say.”
-
She was going to murder Sebastian Sallow.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Possibly with the very rag she was still clutching in her hands.
Her knuckles were white around it as she violently scrubbed at the already gleaming surface of the desk, trying - and failing - to ignore the smug bastard still very much present in her detention.
He wasn’t even pretending to help her clean anymore.
No, Sebastian had made himself perfectly comfortable on a desk, legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his chest, watching her with a lazy, insufferable smirk.
Watching.
Waiting.
Baiting.
And she knew exactly what he was waiting for.
“Do you ever just… stop?” She snapped, finally slamming the rag down onto the desk and whirling to face him.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence once more. “Stop what, exactly?”
She narrowed her eyes, fists clenching at her sides. “The bloody harping.”
His grin widened. “Harping? I wouldn’t call it harping -”
“Oh, I would.” She shot back, stepping closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. “All day, Sebastian. You’ve been on about this all bloody day.”
“Well, excuse me for having a healthy sense of curiosity!”
“No, no. Curiosity is fine. A bit of teasing? Fine. But this?” She gestured wildly between them. “This is obsession.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, it's just a bit of teasing.”
“No, seriously.” She continued, her hands landing on her hips as she fixed him with a glare. “Why are you so invested in this? Why do you care so much about what I saw?”
He opened his mouth - probably to deflect with more of his usual smarmy nonsense - but she wasn’t having it. Not today.
She pointed at him again, her voice rising. “Why does it matter if I saw some hypothetical handsome man playing with some hypothetical children in some hypothetical backyard?”
Sebastian’s smirk faltered.
She scoffed, folding her arms.
“What, are you actually worried you weren’t in it?” She let out a laugh.
That was supposed to shut him up.
That was supposed to win the argument.
Instead, something in Sebastian’s face shifted.
The smirk disappeared entirely.
The humor drained from his features.
Brown eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, he looked like he might say something flippant - joking, like he always did. But then, instead of the expected snark, he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of her, his gaze unyielding.
“It better be me.”
The words alone knocked the wind out of her.
She blinked, her brain screeching to a halt. “What -”
“It better be me you saw.” Sebastian repeated, his voice lower now. “Because I swear, I will make sure of it.”
Sebastian stood up straighter, towering over her.
She should move.
She should say something.
She should hex him, or shove him, or at the very least breathe.
But all she could do was stare up at him, her entire body locked in place, pulse frantic.
She could feel the warmth of his body, close enough that if she leaned forward just a fraction… just a little…
No.
“Sebastian…” She started, but her voice betrayed her - breathless; unsteady.
He tilted his head, his gaze flicking between her eyes, her mouth. “Yes, darling?”
Oh, fuck him.
She scowled, forcing herself to glare up at him, to fight whatever the hell this was. “You’re taking this joke too far.”
“No.” He replied simply. “For once, I’m not.”
His hand came up to rest on the side of her face.
“You can’t just decide that it’s you.” She snapped, willing her voice to stay steady.
His smirk returned. “Can’t I?”
“No, you can’t.” She hissed. “That’s not how this works, Sallow.”
“Well…” He said, his voice deceptively soft, “It is now.”
And then, without warning, he leaned in further, just enough that she felt his breath hot on her cheek, and his lips grazed the shell of her ear when he spoke next.
“Because no one else will do for you besides me.”
And she forgot how to function.
Her brain ceased all operation.
She needed to leave.
Immediately.
She shoved him - hard, hands flat against his chest. Not because she was angry (though she wanted to pretend she was), but because if she didn’t, she was going to do something monumentally stupid.
Sebastian barely budged, but he let her push him away.
And the bastard - the absolute bastard - just smiled.
She gaped incredulously at him, her face burning, her heart pounding, and he had the audacity to look proud of himself.
“You!”
“Me?” He asked, grinning.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You really don’t.”
She made a furious, inarticulate noise and turned on her heel, storming toward the door before she hexed him into next week.
“I refuse to engage with this any longer.”
“See you in my backyard, dear.” He called after her, amused.
She flipped him off over her shoulder and slammed the door behind her.
-
She was a witch of great patience.
A remarkable level of patience, really.
But even she had her limits.
And Sebastian bloody Sallow was pushing every single one of them.
From the moment she stepped into the Great Hall the next morning, he had not stopped.
He was waiting for her - because of course, he was - lounging lazily at the Slytherin table with his usual air of self-satisfaction, already grinning like he had been expecting her to walk in just so he could ruin her morning.
The moment their eyes met, he lifted his goblet in a slow, mocking toast. “Morning, darling.”
Her eye twitched.
She turned sharply toward her own table, determined to ignore him, but he did not allow that to happen.
“Oh, don’t run off now.” He called, loud enough for nearby students to turn and look. “What, afraid to sit with your future husband?”
She choked.
Sebastian just smirked.
Nearby, Imelda Reyes spat out her juice.
She took a slow, deep breath.
You will not kill him. You will not cause a scene. That is what he wants.
She should have walked away.
Instead, her feet carried her straight toward him.
Sebastian’s smirk widened as she approached, leaning back with mock innocence.
“What’s this?” He mused as she came to a stop beside him. “Coming to talk about our future, love? How soon do you want the wedding? I suppose we should get started on those three children sooner rather than later -”
She clamped a hand over his mouth.
A mistake. A terrible mistake.
Because Sebastian Sallow had the audacity, the unmitigated gall, to press a slow, deliberate kiss to the center of her palm.
With tongue.
She yanked her hand back, mortified.
“Oh, darling.” He sighed, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “I know you’re eager, but please, contain yourself.”
“Sebastian.” She growled. “I will end you.”
“But why, love?” He asked, looking far too pleased with himself. “I’m just trying to plan our future.”
“You don’t have a future.” She snapped. “Not if you keep talking.”
“See, I disagree.” He continued, completely unfazed. “Because you’ve already seen it.”
He tapped his temple, smirking.
She blanched.
Sebastian leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, his grin turning downright wicked. “Say, love, if we’re having three children, do you think they’ll all be as devastatingly attractive as us, or will our good looks compound?”
She whispered his name in low warning to quit while he still had a tongue to wag.
“Because personally…” He continued, not stopping, “I think at least one will inherit your hair but my -”
She grabbed him by the collar and kissed him roughly.
It wasn’t some hasty, desperate thing done simply to shut him up - though, Merlin knew, that was a massive perk.
Sebastian froze for half a second before making a low, pleased sound in his throat and promptly melting into it, his hands sliding up to grip her waist, fingers gripping the fabric of her robes and holding on for dear life.
She kissed him like she had already decided.
Like the future he was so smugly certain of was real, and she was finally just letting him know it.
Someone definitely gasped. There was a clatter of a dropped fork behind them.
By the time she pulled away, Sebastian was stunned silent for the first time in his entire life.
His eyes were wide, pupils blown, breath unsteady.
She smirked and leaned in, her voice low in his ear. “Shut up now, Sallow, while I'm still of a mind to leave you with your ability to give me those three kids.”
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode away.
Sebastian sat there, blinking.
Processing.
His brain was empty, blood having gone somewhere south.
He finally exhaled, running a shaky hand through his hair, still mildly shell-shocked.
“Yeah…” He muttered in a daze but still deeply, deeply smug. “That’s definitely my wife.”
-
The air was warm and mingling with the scent of sun-warmed grass and the faint perfume of wildflowers blooming along the garden fence. A light breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, and the day was truly blissful.
She stood on the back porch, arms crossed, watching him.
Sebastian was in the yard, effortlessly entertaining three unruly children, laughter spilling through the garden. Eleanor and Oliver had wrestled him into the grass, determined to subdue him, while little Thomas tottered toward the chaos, gripping a half-eaten biscuit like a weapon.
The moment the toddler reached them, Sebastian turned, scooping him up with ease and tossing him into the air. Thomas shrieked in delight, kicking his legs wildly before being caught and swung onto Sebastian’s back, clinging to his shirt like a bowtruckle.
Warmth settled in her chest as she observed her darling family.
It wasn’t just the scene before her. It was the rightness of it.
She had seen this before.
Not exactly - there had been no names, no details, no certainty. But the warmth, the ease, the sound of their children laughing, the light and love drenching the garden…
She had seen it.
She had mocked it.
And yet, there it all was.
Sebastian must have noticed her watching because he turned his head, catching her eye with a wink and a lopsided grin.
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as realization settled over her.
Sebastian, ever attuned to her moods, raised a brow. “What?”
She shool her head as she took a sip of her lemonade. “Nothing. Just remembering something stupid.”
He rolled his eyes and turned back to the children, but she knew he wouldn’t let it go.
And, predictably, the moment he managed to escape the clutches of their giggling horde, he was making his way toward her, shaking bits of grass from his hair like a dog.
She leaned against the railing, waiting.
Sebastian reached her, placing his hands on either side of her as he leaned in, crowding into her space.
“Alright, spit it out.” He demanded, warm as ever. “What were you thinking about just now? And I do mean besides how you're just chomping at the bit for a fourth.”
She hummed, taking another coy sip of lemonade.
That was true, of course. A fourth, certainly. And a fifth, sixth, and tenth.
But ultimately, not the point of her musings.
“Oh, nothing much. Just a vision I had once.”
His brows lifted slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “A vision?”
“Mhm.” She swirled the glass in her hand, enjoying drawing it out. “Divination. You remember our twinned suffering?”
Sebastian snorted. “Vividly. Onai gave you detention constantly.”
“Well…” She said, eyeing him. “One time, I looked into a scrying mirror, and I saw a handsome man playing with three children in a large backyard.”
Sebastian blinked, the words sinking in.
Then -
“Oh, fuck off.” He breathed, eyes widening.
She beamed.
Sebastian groaned, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. “No.”
“Oh, yes.”
He tilted his head up, eyes alight with amusement.
“You mean to tell me…” He began slowly, “that after all that mocking, after two full years of calling Divination absolute bollocks, you saw this?”
She shrugged. “Apparently.”
Sebastian exhaled dramatically, running a hand through his hair before pinning her with a dry look. “I told you it was me.”
She rolled her eyes. “You were insufferable about it.”
“And right!” He pointed out, smug as ever. “You divined our future, Mrs. Sallow.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, don’t say it like that.”
“What? Like the truth?” He grinned, leaning in even closer, his nose nearly brushing hers. “Didn't need to consult a Seer to know you wanted me.”
She groaned, shoving him back playfully. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
Sebastian caught her wrist before she could pull away, tugging her flush against him.
“Too late, love.” He murmured, his smirk turning softer now.
She sighed, exasperated but fond, pressing her forehead to his. “I love you.”
“Likewise.” He whispered before kissing her, slow and easy and wholly deaf to the protests of their only daughter who had the immense misfortune to look up at the porch just then.
When she pulled back, her lips curved into a dazed smile. “Maybe I deserved a better grade in Divination after all.”
Sebastian laughed, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll be sure to inform Onai at the next alumni event.”
But he was already laughing, already dipping and kissing her again, already pulling her back into the future she had never believed in.
“Don’t you dare.”
Maybe there was something to Divination after all.
if you wanna hurt think of a ominis fic where mc and sebastian sit him down and are like we want you to be godfather and if it's a girl we are naming it after your aunt if that's okay if it's a boy we are naming it after you.
smash cut to ugly crying
Namesake | Sebastian Sallow x OC
EEEEEK THIS WAS SO CUTE AND SOFT AND SWEET THANKS FOR THE IDEA ANON HOPE U LOVE IT
Words: ~2,000
Tags: Post Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff, More Fluff
Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline
Ominis Gaunt was a patient man.
At least, that’s what he told himself. Years of childhood conditioning had instilled in him the art of controlled silence, of waiting, of enduring. He could sit through excruciatingly long pure-blood dinner parties with nothing more than a polite nod and a thin, restrained smile. He could withstand the tension of courtroom proceedings without shifting in his seat. He had mastered the ability to conceal even the deepest of emotions behind an impassive mask, a skill that had served him well.
And yet, for all of his so-called patience, he was failing miserably at it now.
He had no idea why Evangeline and Sebastian had summoned him here tonight—only that it was "important," a word that, in Sebastian’s hands, could mean anything from we’ve uncovered a conspiracy at the Ministry to Evangeline finally perfected her bread recipe, and you’re going to sit here and eat it.
But this time, something about the request had set his nerves on edge.
Because he couldn't even guess what it was about. He had already endured the biggest shock of the decade when they'd told him Evangeline was pregnant—though, in retrospect, perhaps “shock” wasn’t the right word for it.
Shock implied surprise. Shock implied that this revelation had been something he had never considered before. And yet, Ominis had always known, in some quiet, unspoken way, that Sebastian and Evangeline would build this life together. Tat they were the kind of people who would find joy in something as terrifying and miraculous as a child.
So no, he hadn't been shocked.
But he had been thoroughly, playfully outraged that he'd been the last to know.
Because Anne hadn’t seemed remotely surprised. In fact, she had reacted with a knowing smile and absolutely none of the wide-eyed astonishment Ominis had expected, which, upon further interrogation, had quickly made sense.
Because of course Evangeline had gone to Anne first. Anne was a Healer, after all. If anyone was going to confirm the news, it was her.
"You mean to tell me that I was the last to find out?" he had asked, indignant.
Evangeline had only smiled, reaching out to squeeze his arm, her warmth cutting through his dramatic sulking. “I promise it wasn’t personal.”
Anne had snickered. “It’s a little personal.”
The four of them had laughed, and Ominis, despite himself, couldn’t find it in him to continue feigning irritation—not when Evangeline had looked so utterly happy, her fingers resting over her stomach in quiet wonder, and not when Sebastian had been seconds away from tearing up like a sentimental fool.
In fact, Ominis had been thrilled. Excited. And just a little bit terrified.
Because this was Sebastian and Evangeline they were talking about. A baby born to those two was bound to be either the most brilliant or the most dangerous child in existence. Possibly both. Ominis had already resigned himself to years of damage control, and the baby hadn’t even been born yet.
It had been weeks since then, though, and now that Ominis was here in their sitting room, he had no idea what to expect. Sebastian and Evangeline weren’t exactly the sit-you-down-for-a-serious-talk type. They were blunt and affectionate, prone to teasing and honesty without preamble. So the fact that they had summoned him for something—and without Anne, who was conveniently working late at St. Mungo’s—was making his nerves prickle.
“Alright,” he said carefully. “I can tell you’re both trying not to make me panic, which only makes me panic. Just get on with it, whatever it is.”
Evangeline and Sebastian exchanged a glance, and that was when Ominis knew he was well and truly doomed.
It wasn’t that they were being particularly suspicious—at least, not outwardly. But Ominis had spent years attuned to their every shift, their every nuance. He knew Sebastian’s nervous ticks just as well as he knew Evangeline’s soft hesitations, the way she measured her words when something truly mattered.
And that was what set him on edge.
Because Evangeline was measuring her words now.
She exhaled, slow and steady, then reached for Ominis's hand, her fingers curling lightly around his wrist. Warm. Steady. Comforting.
It did nothing to calm him.
"Ominis," she began, voice gentle but intent. "You know how much you mean to us. You always have."
That was it. The moment his stomach dropped.
This was bad.
There was a “but” coming—there had to be.
Because no one ever started a sentence like that without following it up with something dreadful. His entire childhood had been filled with those phrases. You know how much we care for you, Ominis, but your disobedience cannot go unpunished. You know you are valued, but your behavior has left us with no choice.
He braced himself. He clenched his free hand into tight fist in his lap, the tips of his fingers pressing into the fine wool of his trousers. He was sure he looked impassive, but internally, his mind was spiraling into the depths of every possible worst-case scenario.
Sebastian, for once in his life, wasn’t jumping in with some remark to defuse the tension. That was another bad sign.
"You're our family," Evangeline continued, squeezing his wrist lightly, her voice so full of certainty that it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. "And we trust you and Anne more than anyone."
Sebastian finally spoke then, a touch rougher than usual, as if he were trying to maintain his usual nonchalance but failing. “Which is why we... we want you to be our baby's godfather.”
Ominis froze.
The words should have made sense, but for some reason, his brain refused to process them.
"I—" He swallowed, utterly lost. "What?"
Evangeline let out a small breath of laughter, and Sebastian—Merlin damn him—sounded smug when he said, "You do know what a godfather is, don't you?"
Ominis turned his head toward Sebastian so fast it was a wonder he didn’t snap his own neck. He should have known—should have known—that even in a moment like this, Sebastian would find a way to be insufferable.
“I know what a godfather is,” Ominis bit out, his voice barely holding steady, “I just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, trying to drag himself back to the present before his emotions completely derailed him
Sebastia, continued, as if he weren’t sending Ominis into the early stages of an emotional breakdown. "Well then, if... if you're willing, we truly can’t imagine anyone else."
Ominis’ lips parted, but no words came out. He felt like he was suffocating, but not in a bad way. More like… like he had been dropped into the middle of an ocean with no warning, waves closing over him before he could even breathe.
"And if it’s a girl," Evangeline said softly, hesitantly, "we were thinking of naming her Noctua. After your aunt."
It took all of Ominis’ control not to flinch.
Noctua. Noctua.
His aunt, the only person in his family who had ever shown him kindness, who had tried to help him, who had died trying to show him their family could be more. The only Gaunt he had ever loved.
His throat closed up.
"Only if you're okay with it," Evangeline added quickly, as if sensing the way his world had just tilted off its axis. "We don’t want to bring up painful memories, but—"
"I—" Ominis' voice cracked, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. His entire chest ached with something raw and terrible and beautiful. "I don't— I mean, I—"
And then Evangeline kept going, not knowing she was about to destroy him entirely.
"And if it’s a boy," she murmured, softer now, "we’d like to name him after you."
Silence.
It stretched thick and unrelenting, pressing against Ominis's ribs, filling his lungs with something he didn’t have the words for.
The first breath he took came out in a broken, stuttering gasp, and before he could even try to stop it, his face was in his hands, and—oh, Merlin, he was crying.
Not the kind of restrained, dignified tears he had occasionally let slip in private moments of grief.
No. This was ugly crying.
It was full-body, unrestrained sobbing, the kind that stole his breath, that made his shoulders shake and his chest hurt.
Somewhere through the haze of overwhelming emotion, he felt Evangeline shift, felt her arms wrap around him in a way that was warm and secure and safe. She murmured something soft, something meant to soothe, but the words were lost beneath the sharp, impossible ache of it all.
Sebastian, the bastard, let out a wet laugh. “Merlin, mate, we thought you’d be happy about it.”
Ominis tried—tried—to say something in response, but all that came out was another strangled, half-choked sound that barely resembled human speech. Which was fantastic. He was making an absolute spectacle of himself, and neither of them had the decency to pretend he wasn’t.
Sebastian squeezed his shoulder, his touch grounding but careful—a rarity for him—while Ominis buried his face further into his hands, laughing helplessly between broken sobs, and shook his head.
"I—I am happy, you idiot," he managed to choke out.
Sebastian let out another breath of laughter, this one softer.
"Good," Sebastian said again, his voice quieter now, like he was trying to play it off as casual, like he wasn’t two seconds away from getting choked up himself. But Ominis knew him too well—knew that the slight tremor in his voice, the way his fingers tightened against his shoulder, was just as much a betrayal of emotion as Ominis’ own wrecked state.
Evangeline still hadn't let go, her arms firm around him, her hand smoothing up and down his back in slow, grounding strokes. And Ominis—who had spent a lifetime holding himself apart, who had learned to flinch away from touch before he ever learned to accept it—could do nothing but sink into it.
Because it was safe. Because it was real.
Because it was his.
It was a family of his own making, built from the ruins of the past, from the people who had chosen him despite everything.
And it was the most precious thing he had ever been given.
Ominis took a shaking breath, tried to steady himself enough to speak properly. It didn’t quite work. "I—" He swallowed hard, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes like that might somehow stop the flood of tears. It didn’t. "You absolute nightmares."
Sebastian snorted, the sound thick with emotion. "Well, we're your nightmares."
Ominis let out something between a sob and a laugh, shaking his head. "I—Merlin’s beard, I don’t even know what to say."
"You don’t have to say anything," Evangeline murmured, like she was grateful for him, as if this hadn’t just completely undone him from the inside out.
Sebastian leaned back into the couch, sighing dramatically. "Yeah, the crying pretty much said it all."
Ominis didn’t even have the energy to glare at him. "Shut up."
Sebastian grinned, bumping their shoulders together, and Evangeline only held him closer.
