I struggled a lot with getting his face right, I'm still not 100% happy with it and my friend said he looked yassified LOL
Still wanted to share this cause i worked on it for 2 days and i love him :P
word count: 3k angst; complicated love, seb as quidditch captain
Inspired by: back to friends by sombr
“how can we go back to being friends
when we just shared a bed?
how can you look at me and pretend
I’m someone you’ve never met?”
You hadn’t expected it to be an issue.
For the past month, things with Sebastian had been easy—entirely physical, completely unserious. No expectations, no rules, no awkward post-coital confessions. Just you, him, and whatever empty classroom or abandoned corridor you could disappear into before anyone noticed.
So when you’d been paired with Andrew Larson for your Potions project, you didn’t think twice about canceling on Sebastian. The first night, he hadn’t said much—just rolled his eyes when you told him, muttered something about taking care of things himself. The second night, he seemed more irritated, he wouldn’t have admitted it—probably never would—but the empty space in his bed that night was heavier than usual. He’d had to wrap his own hand around himself, eyes shut tight, imagining the way you’d moan his name. It wasn’t the same.
Not even close.
I mean it wasn’t like you were dating.
But then, the next time you were together, sprawled out on his bed with the scent of sweat and sex still heavy in the air, Sebastian finally said something.
You were pulling your shirt back over your head when he leaned back on his elbows, watching you with a lazy smirk. “So, you and Larson, huh?” You blinked at him, half expecting him to say something filthy, to make some joke but there was an edge to his voice, a tightness to his jaw.
“Yeah?” you said slowly, gathering your skirt from the floor.
“Just funny, is all,” he mused, stretching out, his fingers trailing idly over his stomach. “That you’ve been ditching me for him.”
You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s a Potions project, Seb.”
“Sure.” His tone was light, sarcastic, but something about it made your stomach twist. “Just don’t go making a habit of it, yeah?”
It was a joke. Obviously. Right? But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. and when Quidditch practice rolled around and Sebastian was suddenly all over you, you realized maybe it wasn’t just a joke.
You were out of breath, sweat clinging to your skin, fingers clenched tight around your broom as you hovered in the dimly lit Quidditch pitch. The rest of the Slytherin team had already started landing, some muttering to each other as they stole glances your way. But Sebastian? He was still circling above you, his presence unmistakable, predatory.
You exhaled sharply, dropping to the ground, feet hitting the dirt with more force than necessary. Already in a shit mood from a long night of studying, before you could even turn, his voice cut through the air—sharp, laced with irritation.
“Nice of you to join us,” he said, arms crossed, broom balanced against his hip. “Must be nice to take a few days off.”
You clenched your jaw, are you serious—he was doing this here? now? he was doing it in front of the whole fucking team?
“You know why I wasn’t here.”
“Do I?” He tilted his head. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like someone’s been busy.”
A few of your teammates snickered.
Asshole.
You set your jaw, fingers tightening around your broom. “If you’ve got something to say, Sallow, just fucking say it.”
Sebastian’s eyes darkened. The taunt in his voice turned sharp, dangerous.
“You’re a starting Chaser. You’re expected to be here. So unless you want me to bench you, I suggest you sort out your priorities.”
That. That was bullshit.
Your blood boiled. He knew exactly why you hadn’t been at practice. He was making this a problem.
“As captain,” he drawled, pacing in front of the gathered players, “I expect more from my team.” His sharp gaze flicked pointedly toward you, his lips curling in a smirk. “Some of us have been a little preoccupied lately.”
You clenched your jaw, gripping your broom a little tighter. “Oh, fuck off, Sebastian.”
The team audibly reacted—low whistles, but Sebastian didn’t budge. His broom hit the ground with a dull thud as he stepped closer, forcing you to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.
“I just expected more from you,” he said. “Considering I’m the one who made you good enough to be here in the first place.”
That did it. Your jaw clenched, and Sebastian lived for the flicker of annoyance in your eyes.
“Remind me again, Captain,” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Does it really bother you that I missed practice, or are you just pissed because I didn’t spread my legs for you this week?”
A murmur rippled through the team. Ominis groaned, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment. Imelda looked between the two of you like she was watching a particularly thrilling match.
Sebastian’s grip on his broom tightened. You knew what you were doing—baiting him. You wanted him to snap. But he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction.
Instead, he just leaned in close enough that only you could hear. His breath ghosted your ear, his voice a low, teasing drawl.
“You and I both know,” he murmured, “that if I wanted you on your knees, you’d be there in an instant.”
You clenched your jaw. “What’s your problem?”
Sebastian arched a brow. “My problem? I don’t know, maybe it’s the fact that my best Chaser has missed two practices this week. Do you even care about this team?”
Your fingers curled into fists. He knew why you weren’t there. He knew damn well.
“You’re being a dick,” you muttered under your breath.
“What was that?” His voice was loud, drawing more attention.
You clenched your jaw. He was doing this on purpose. Getting under your skin. Making you react.
So you didn’t give him the satisfaction. You plastered on a fake smile, tilting your head. “Nothing, Captain.”
“Are we here to practice, or are we here to listen to you whine?” you said sweetly, reveling in your defiance against him in front of his team. But he didn’t respond. Just turned, barked out an order for the rest of them to start warm-ups, and turned back to you.
Sebastian stood tall, arms crossed, watching you with the same look he gave first-years who thought they could duel him and win.
“Ten laps around the pitch. Fast.”
“Are you—”
“Now.”
You scoffed. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” The amusement returned to his face, sharp and cutting. “Since you missed practice, you’ve got extra work to do. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to run drills until I say you’re done.”
You rolled your eyes. He was enjoying this—abusing the fact that he was Captain, working you harder than the rest of the team just to prove a point. You knew exactly what he was doing. Pushing you, testing you—trying to get a reaction.
So, you gave him one.
Whispering a hex under your breath, you flicked your wand just as Sebastian moved to mount his broom. His foot caught, sending him stumbling forward, barely catching himself before face-planting into the pitch.
You grinned as laughter bubbled out of you, tossing a smug look over your shoulder as you took off. “Oops.”
The glare he shot you was scorching. “You think that’s funny?”
“Extremely,” you called back, effortlessly weaving through the sky as you began the drill he’d assigned. You were showing off now, flying with ease—years of his grueling training paying off.
Sebastian recovered quickly, launching himself into the air and closing in behind you. “Keep laughing, sweetheart.” His voice was dangerously low, but you could hear the grin in it.
You rolled your eyes. “I will, thanks.”
He chased you through the course, pushing you to your limits. And you loved it. The thrill of the wind whipping through your hair, the rush of adrenaline as you dodged, twisted, dipped through rings of golden light. You were fast, but Sebastian was faster—always had been.
"Is that all you’ve got?" you taunted over your shoulder, dodging a sharp turn as he closed in. Sebastian grit his teeth. He had trained you too well, and now you were using it against him.
But—
You got too cocky.
You cut a little too close to the goalpost, trying to show off, and your broom wobbled beneath you. You gasped, body tilting dangerously forward, nearly slipping—
Sebastian was there before you could hit the ground.
He dove fast, his arms locking around your waist, catching you with ease. Your broom spun away, abandoned as he pulled you onto his own, pressing you flush against him.
He was too warm, his chest solid against your back, the heat of his body sinking into yours as he steadied the broom with one hand and held you tight with the other.
"Fuckin’ hell," he breathed, voice dark with amusement. "That was embarrassing."
"Shut up," you muttered, your face burning.
Sebastian only grinned, his lips brushing against your ear. "Maybe if you actually showed up to practice, you wouldn’t be so shit."
You groaned, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. "Oh, sod off, Sallow."
"Mm," he hummed, angling the broom into a slow descent. "Yet here you are, clinging to me like I’m your bloody savior."
You hated that he was right.
You hated the way your body melted against his, the way your heart was still racing—not just from the near fall, but from him. But you refused to let him win.
So, as he landed smoothly on the ground, you shoved at his chest, untangling yourself from him before he could say anything else.
"Appreciate the save," you said flatly, brushing dirt off your uniform. "But next time, piss off." You unwrapped your gloves taking them off before rolling out your shoulders trying to shake the lingering feeling of his touch.
“Piss off?” he echoed, taking a slow step closer. “That any way to thank the man who just saved your life?”
You could see it now—the way his fingers curled into fists, the muscle in his jaw twitching. He was pissed. Not just annoyed. Not just teasing.
“What exactly is our problem?” He bit out, voice low. You scoffed, shoving past him, “You don’t own me. I can study with whoever the hell I want.”
Sebastian snapped, stepping back like he needed the space. “You’re right. Doesn’t matter who you spend your time with.” His voice was flat now, distant. “Just don’t expect me to sit around waiting for you to figure out what the fuck you want.”
The words landed heavier than they should have. Like he was saying something else entirely.
And the worst part? You had no fucking clue how to respond.
You hadn’t meant to storm straight to Sebastian’s dorm after practice, but somehow, you ended up in front of his door anyway, fists clenched at your sides. You could still hear his words looping in your head. Don’t expect me to sit around waiting for you to figure out what the fuck you want. Like what kind of bullshit was that?
Your knuckles rapped against the wood before you could talk yourself out of it.
The door swung open almost immediately, and there he was—hair damp from a shower, black shirt hanging loose over his lean frame.
Sebastian leaned against the door, arms crossed, watching you with narrowed eyes. "Can I help you?"
You didn’t answer, just stared him down, walking in like you had every right to be here, like you weren’t the one who had stormed in uninvited.
He huffed out a laugh, but there was no real amusement behind it. "Oh, if you’re here to fuck—yeah, I decided we’re not doing that anymore."
You arched a brow. "That so?"
He nodded, smug. "Mhm. You’ve got Larson now, yeah? So have fun with him."
You should’ve been irritated. Should’ve snapped back at him for acting like that was what this was about. But instead, a slow smile curled at your lips.
Because there it was.
Clear as day.
Jealousy.
His smirk faltered. "What the fuck are you smiling about?"
You just shrugged. "No fucking? Fine. Let me crash here, then. I’m tired."
Sebastian blinked. "You’re tired?"
"Exhausted, actually." You moved past him again, already pulling your hair out of its clip, shaking it loose over your shoulders.
He was still standing by the door, clearly trying to piece together what the hell you were doing. "You have your own bed, you know."
You didn’t answer. Just wandered over to his wardrobe like you owned the place, grabbed one of his shirts, and started changing right there in front of him.
His eyes were on you the entire time.
You felt them.
Dragging over your bare skin, lingering as you pulled his shirt over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole.
He let out a sharp exhale. "You’re unbelievable."
You turned to him, all innocence. "What?"
His jaw flexed. "You know what."
You just smiled again, crawling onto his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. "If you’re not gonna fuck me, then at least make yourself useful and turn off the lights."
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
And then, finally, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Fucking hell." he turned away, dragging a hand through his damp hair before muttering, “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
You watched as he stalked toward the other side of the bed before turning the lights off, slipping under the covers stiffly, back turned to you.
Oh, he was furious. and you loved it.
Minutes passed. The room was silent except for the steady tick of the clock on the wall. You let the tension simmer—just enough to make him think he was winning—before you shifted, rolling onto your side, your breath ghosting against the back of his neck.
"You really think Larson would fuck me better than you?"
Sebastian's entire body went rigid.
He didn't answer, but you caught the way his fingers twitched in the sheets—caught the sharp exhale through his nose. You smiled against his shoulder, letting your lips brush bare skin.
"Don't worry," you whispered. "I'd never let him."
His breathing quickened. You could feel it—how close he was to snapping—how badly he wanted to flip you over and remind you exactly who you belonged to. But he was stubborn. He always had been.
"You done?" he muttered, voice low and tight.
You traced lazy circles against his arm, nails dragging just enough to leave faint red lines.
"Mm. Not yet."
"Figures."
Another minute passed. His whole body was tense but still, he didn't touch you. Fine. If he wanted to pretend he didn't care—you'd make him suffer for it.
Your fingers slipped lower, trailing down his side—so light he probably would have convinced himself he imagined it if not for the way his breath caught in his throat.
"Sebastian?"
He didn't answer.
"You really done fucking me?"
Nothing.
But you felt the mattress shift beneath you—felt him tense as your fingers dipped under the waistband of his sweatpants, nails scratching lightly against the muscle there.
"I don't think you are."
A sharp breath hissed between his teeth, but still—nothing.
God, he was so predictable.
"You know what's funny?" you whispered, lips brushing his ear. "I think you're more jealous of Larson than I am of Poppy."
You waited for the snap, the inevitable fire that always came when you pushed him too far—but it never came. Instead, he exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the headboard. “Go to sleep.”
You blinked. “What?”
His eyes dragged back to yours, dark and unreadable. “You heard me.”
A scoff left your lips before you could stop it. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, shifting next to you as though he was suddenly over it. “I’m not doing this with you tonight. So either go the fuck to sleep or get out.”
A huff of annoyance left your lips as you flopped onto your back beside him, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re such a prick.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t say anything, really. Just turned onto his side, facing away from you like this was nothing, like your very presence wasn’t making his pulse hammer against his ribs.
You glared at the ceiling for a long moment before shifting onto your side, staring at the back of his head.
“Seb,” you whispered.
Nothing.
“Sebastian.”
Still nothing.
You pouted. “Can we cuddle?”
“No.”
You hmph’d. “Why not?”
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
You sighed dramatically, curling into yourself as you shivered beneath the sheets. “I’m cold.”
No response.
“Seb.”
Silence.
You frowned, your eyes narrowing at the back of his neck before a mischievous smirk curled at your lips. Slowly, you shifted beneath the blankets, pressing your icy feet against the bare skin of his calves.
Sebastian jolted violently, a sharp curse ripping from his throat as he recoiled. “What the fuck?”
You giggled, pressing them against him again. “Told you I was cold.”
“For Merlin’s sake—” He groaned, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “You’re fucking insufferable.”
You just grinned. “So can we cuddle?”
His hand dropped from his face, head lolling toward you with an exasperated glare. But he didn’t fight it this time. Instead, he shifted slightly, his left arm lifting just enough to make space for you.
“Come here,” he said softly.
Your heart gave a traitorous little flutter as you immediately scooted closer, pressing yourself against his side. His arm came down over you, tugging you into his warmth.
The heat of his body was intoxicating, the scent of his skin grounding. He let out a heavy sigh, fingers threading into your hair, smoothing it back as he stared at the ceiling.
“Better?” he murmured.
You hummed in response, pressing your cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, And for the first time, you allowed yourself to fall asleep in his arms. The sound of his breath filled your mind as you drifted off, unsure of where the lines between you and Sebastian began or ended anymore.
But that was the point, wasn’t it? Don’t make me choose.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
a/n: and the crowd is..confused? Tbh I have no idea what they are😭
