Just a Fan Fiction Blog

Payton // Peter Parker’s girlfriend, Bucky Barnes’ slut and Loki Laufeyson’s bitch // Masterlist

[mypoisonedvine]

no strings webs attached | (dark) arachnid!peter parker x reader

summary | you've been hooking up with peter for a few months, letting him use you and never asking for more. but after he goes through some... changes, you end up getting more after all; unfortunately, it might be more than you can handle.

word count | 5.4k

warnings | HEAVY DUBCON SMUT 18+ ONLY (starts consensual but he ignores the safeword but then she's lowkey having a good time so idk I'm on the fence with the noncon element), breeding kink, biting, overstimulation, choking, some hair pulling, possessiveness, angst!!, unrequited feelings, reader needed therapy before this but will definitely need therapy after this

does this count as brand new day spoilers? not really, it's hardly got any plot anyway but here it is, and yes I feel like a lot of people have done pretty similar things with this general premise but here's my take on it, enjoy ya filthy animals!

This thing you and Peter had, it was better left undefined.  Maybe just because, no matter how you tried to define it, you always ended up looking like a slut.

You show up when he texts, he fucks you, you leave.  That’s… it.  No pillow talk, no dates, hardly any acknowledgement of your existence before or after; ‘fuckbuddies’ isn’t even the right word because at least they’re ostensibly ‘buddies.’  

You honestly didn’t even know each other.  You met once at a party, and it all followed from there.  You had no relationship, you were nothing to each other… nothing with benefits.  There, that’s the best effort you could make in trying to ‘define’ it, if that counts.

A lot of things went unsaid, but you knew more than you let on.  For instance, whenever he blew you off or kicked you out after he made some excuse about ‘needing to work.’  You never asked about his work but you’d deduced it was something incredibly atypical— probably illegal.  He said once he didn’t have time for anything ‘real’ because of it, and you decided not to be offended by the implication that you were, what, fictional?  But you knew what he meant, of course.  Whatever this work was, it seemed to take a toll.  He’d told you not to ask about his bruises and cuts, no matter how bad they looked; they never seemed to bother him that much, actually, even when they looked… very bothersome.

Another thing you figured out was that he was in love.  Not with you, obviously, Jesus— but he loved someone.  Of course you had a lot less concrete evidence for that, it was just a vibe you got… but you could see it on his face sometimes, in his eyes.  That heartbroken look, and more importantly the brave face trying to cover it up: you recognized it because you’d felt it a thousand times yourself.  He probably assumed you weren’t a particularly emotional person considering your openness to such a cold arrangement, but who knows?  Sometimes you felt like he knew more than he let on, too.

But it all was left unspoken, unaddressed, undefined.  Like I said, it was better that way.

“Peter, fuck,” you choked out as he held tighter onto your hips, thrusting harder, faster, deeper all at once.

“Shh, I’m close,” he hissed; he liked you better silent when he came, but you had to bite your lip hard to try not to make too much noise.  Actually, you had to grab hard onto his headboard just to keep yourself steady, your eyes rolling back far enough in your head that you could almost see how empty your brain was at that moment.

How could you think about anything right now, when he was slamming right into that spot that seemed to reset your entire system? 

He was pretty quiet himself, sometimes you couldn’t even really get much of a reaction from him; though you occasionally dared to look back over your shoulder to get a glimpse of him with his lip caught between his teeth, his eyes fallen shut, a loose curl sticking to his face from the thin layer of sweat on his skin…

It was only because you were trying your best to be quiet now that you could hear him, the suppressed grunt through his teeth as he finished; he thrusted just once more, sharply, before relaxing slightly with a heavy exhale through his nose.

It was a good thing he couldn’t see your face like this, or he’d probably notice how much even that little noise from him exhilarated you.  Maybe he wouldn’t care, honestly.

When he pulled out, he quickly grabbed his shirt to catch the come that spilled out of you.  Most of it stayed inside until you fell limply down onto the bed— then you felt it all start to leak out, comfortingly warm but annoyingly sticky.

You could’ve stood to lay there for much longer to enjoy the slight numb feeling, but you decided you’d better get to the bathroom quickly.  You didn’t say anything as you ungracefully hopped up and held the shirt between your legs on your way to the toilet.

After cleaning up as best as you reasonably could in the stereotypically bare-bones bathroom of a single twenty-something guy, you cupped your hands in the sink to drink from them for a moment.  Peter wasn’t necessarily cruel, moreso just neutral, but he wasn’t enough of a gentleman to consistently offer you a cup of water after.

When you emerged from the bathroom, he’d put his underwear back on but was still on the bed; this was notable since he was often already working on something when you returned, at which point he would tell you to let yourself out.  But no, this time he was on the bed, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a glassy kind of look in his eyes.

You figured he would notice you and say something, but you watched him for a little while and he never did.  It was kind of a nice moment, but you had to break the silence.  “Tell me about her,” you requested, apparently feeling a bit more brave than usual.

He sat up slightly to look at you; it looked like it took him a moment to realize what you’d said, and he transitioned from a shocked expression to a dismissive laugh.  “What?” he pretended not to know what you meant.

“Did you think I couldn’t tell?” you smiled back.  “Seriously, I’m curious.”

“No,” he shook his head, laying down all the way again, “I… shouldn’t talk about that, with you.”

You shrugged a bit as you grabbed your shorts off the ground and slid them back on.  (Yes, you’d skipped underwear when getting dressed, you knew why you were coming here.)  “Why not?” you wondered.

A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as he seemed like the answer was too obvious to verbalize, and you turned your shirt right-side-out before putting it on again.  “Isn’t that, like… bad form?” he laughed, just a little.

This was the most you’d talked since you met him.  It made your heartbeat speed up again, after only getting a moment of rest.  “I don’t care,” you assured.  “I mean— I do, I wanna know… I just mean I won’t be offended.”

He sighed a little and you thought he was just going to ignore you at first; the silence went on just a little too long to feel natural, but you let it ride.  “She doesn’t know I exist,” he finally answered, speaking softly.

You smirked a bit, not sure if that was believable.  “Don’t sell yourself short,” you encouraged, “I’m sure she—”

“No, literally,” he insisted.  You still didn’t quite buy it but you decided to accept it if he was so sure.

Your eyes drifted over his body as he exhaled slowly, reaching up to rest his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like he was remembering something.  You figured if he took his shirt off in front of this girl she’d notice him; he was… hard to ignore, when he wasn’t covering himself with baggy clothes like he seemed to normally.

Not that he spent all too long in clothes when you came over, but still.

“Good luck with that,” you broke the silence, and he seemed to come out of a daze; he’d already forgotten you were there, maybe.  “Just text me when you’re free again?”

He watched you get off the bed and go towards the door where you’d left your shoes.  “Y-yeah, sure,” he agreed— he sat up quickly, like maybe it was rude to just lay there while you left, but that was a bit out of character since you could remember plenty of times he hadn’t even looked at you…

Regardless, you left rather unceremoniously, feeling satisfied and yet already wondering how long it would be until you heard from him again.

The answer was, it turns out, longer than usual.  Long enough that you felt a little weird about it but tried not to notice it; long enough that, when he did text you, you were much more relieved than you wanted to be.

Come over.  A little abrupt after two weeks without any contact, but you weren’t too proud.  You slipped on some sandals and headed for the subway; you probably should’ve taken the time to grab a light jacket, you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten since the sun went down, but the buzzy energy that filled you as you prepared to see him again kept you warm enough.

So, it was a bit of a let down when he seemed confused as he answered the door; “Um, hey?” you greeted hesitantly, wondering why he was staring at you and not just letting you in.

“Did I… text you?” he wondered.

“Uh… yeah?” you responded now with a confused look of your own.  “Are you drunk?”

“No, I— sorry,” he sighed a little, “that was a mistake, I— now’s not a good time.”

You swallowed, trying not to take it personally— trying not to imagine why he changed his mind.  He was shirtless already, did he have someone else coming over, was she already there?  Oh, you really didn’t want to know— so why were you leaning to try to see past him into the apartment?

He shifted to try to block your view, leaning on the doorway, but you caught a glimpse— no girl that you could see, but the place looked like it had been turned upside down.  Your fear shifted to concern.  

“What happened, is everything okay?” you asked quickly.  “Did you get robbed?”

You slipped in past him, and he stammered out a protest that he never really finished.

“Oh my god, Peter—” you began, but he turned you around to look at him.

“You need to go,” he insisted again, “I’m sorry, I— I’m really not trying to be a dick.”

You snorted a little, not really meaning to, and he exhaled.

“Okay, I know I’m already kind of a dick to you, but I’m… not myself right now.”

“If you’re normally a dick to me, and you’re not yourself right now, then isn’t that a good thing?” you mused, but Peter just shook his head in confusion.

“What?” he panted, but it definitely just wasn’t a confused look anymore— he reached up and put a hand to his head, his palm pressing above his eye and his fingers starting to curl tightly.

“A-are you okay?” you asked, all the playfulness lost from your tone. 

He winced and bent over suddenly, grabbing his head tightly, making you look at him with wide eyes.  

“Peter?” you continued, trying to lean down with him, but he reached up and pushed you back slightly.

“M’fine,” he choked out, but the whine of pain through his teeth seemed to prove him wrong.

You weren’t sure how to help, you couldn’t tell at all what was wrong, but you couldn’t just leave him like this even if he seemed to want you to.  “How can I help?” you pleaded.

“You can’t help me!” he insisted.

He straightened up again, throwing his head back for a moment, the agony on his face perfectly visible now.  His hands moved to cover his ears, his eyes shut tightly— maybe it was a migraine or something?  You looked around for a lightswitch, hoping turning off anything too bright might make it better, but the second you tried to step away, he grabbed your arm and pulled you into him; you yelped a little and hurried to hold onto his shoulders, nearly losing your balance as he yanked you forward.  

It seemed like he had changed his mind very suddenly about you being able to help him— and had a very different idea of how you could help than you’d originally imagined.  His eyes were scanning your face, his nostrils flaring as they fell on your lips.  You opened your mouth slightly just before he covered it in a rough, punishing kiss.

You couldn’t even remember the last time he kissed you— but he definitely never kissed you like this.  It was hard and fast and dominating, his head forcing yours to tilt back, his tongue handily overpowering yours.

His hand wrapped around your neck and your knees wobbled for a second; fuck, if this was Peter not being himself, then you were starting to like this guy better.

He made quick work of your clothes, too quick actually, you were pretty sure you heard something ripping but you didn’t care at all.  His hands grabbed you anywhere and everywhere they could reach, rough and eager until they all but shoved you onto the bed.  You gasped but went along with it, you weren’t sure what was going on with him but you’d never questioned him before— you just gave him what he wanted.  Even if you knew better than to take it personally, the way he was acting now… could he really want you this badly?

You tried to turn around to get on your hands and knees like usual, but he roughly turned you back to face him; he climbed over you and shed himself quickly of his sweats and underwear— god, when did he get that hard?

His hand pushed your thighs further apart, making you shudder a little just before he shoved his cock into you— all at once, no warning, making you choke on your own breath.  

You couldn’t try to complain that you weren’t ready for it, even if you wanted to, because you were already plenty wet enough despite it all happening so suddenly.  Maybe his new attitude just had that effect on you, maybe you’d been building anticipation since you got on the subway to meet him here; and, both could be true at once.

“Peter,” you whined as he filled you, back arching off the bed, but he pushed you back down at the hips to make sure you took it all.

He laid himself down over you, keeping his face close to yours as he thrusted fast but deep, holding you tight enough to make sure you couldn’t rock too far away and would be forced to take every inch.

You felt your face tighten up— actually, all of you, not just your face— in response to him going just a little too far, pushing on something a little too sensitive; you whined, some pain tinting the noise, but he only made sure to press his hips against you even more.

You groaned deeply, feeling pleasure grow from the intensity, though it still had a sharpness to it.

Overwhelmed by… everything, you tried to close your eyes just to focus on the feeling; “Look at me,” he demanded instantly, catching you off guard.  You obeyed, of course, meeting his stare as he requested, though you definitely couldn’t match his intensity.

He grabbed your hips and tilted them up towards him slightly, forcing his cock to press against something that made you shake and grab the sheets under you.  “Oh, fuck,” you gasped, noticing the way he flexed his jaw as he watched you.

You weren’t proud of how quickly he was getting you there; but was there any room for pride in a situation like this?  It’s not like you’d had much in the first place, when you were just coming over for quick thoughtless fucks, but at least then you didn’t say much or look at each other much and you could go through it all without acknowledging much of anything.  Now he was staring right at you, watching your body respond to him so quickly, purposefully making you so desperate for him.

He let go of your hips to slide his hands up the back of your thighs, hooking them under your knees and pushing your legs up towards your chest.  “God, yes,” you breathed, struggling to stop your eyes from rolling back.  You watched him, too: the way his mouth fell slack to let his panting breaths through, his chest rising and falling, his muscles rippling as he fucked into you…

You heard the smallest chuckle and looked back at his face to see a smirk there; apparently he caught you gawking.  Surely he knew already that he had a great body, so he couldn’t be surprised, right?  He’d never seemed to really care that you were attracted to him, or take it as much of a compliment.

But now it made him fuck you harder, which made you whimper and shudder as you clutched handfuls of the sheets under you.  

One hand let go of your leg to rest above where he was moving in you: at the same time, it pushed down right where the tip of him reached inside you, and his thumb circled over your clit.

The added pressure amped everything up and even the slightest touch on your bud made you realize how sensitive you’d become.  You bit down on your lip to try to stop yourself from praising him endlessly— you didn’t need him getting an even bigger ego.  But even still his effect on you was obvious, the way you were succumbing to the pleasure was obvious, though you still felt the need to announce it.

“I-I’m gonna come,” you warned, and he kept his movements and pace exact, eagerly pushing you closer to the edge.

It built up faster with each thrust, his fingers digging in harder under your knee, and you let your head fall limply to the side as it grew and grew within you.

One hand came down and took a tight grip of your face to turn it back up towards him.

“Look at me,” he reminded you, and you swallowed around a gasp but nodded quickly.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “fuck, I— ohh fuck yes—”

He watched you with darkened eyes as it hit you, a heady wave of pleasure that started from somewhere deep within but rippled all over you.  As the feeling peaked and subsided, he kept his grip on your face— not too tight, but far too strong to break away from.

The second you started to relax back into the bed, he pulled out and flipped you over— far too easily— onto your knees.  He was inside you again before you could even find your balance.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, falling forward and barely catching yourself on the headboard in time.  He was thrusting again, fast and hard, like he hadn’t stopped at all; you were still sensitive from the orgasm you’d barely even completed, and the different angle of his penetration into you was even more intense now.  “Fuck, Peter, you—”

He grunted lowly, and you didn’t get a chance to finish that sentence as you moaned desperately.

“Oh my god,” you managed to pant out even as you were getting more and more lost in it— he had never been the gentle type per se but he had always been… restrained, patient.  You never could’ve imagined this kind of brutality, or how perfect it would feel.

You also weren’t used to him being so vocal, and you heard a stream of moans and purrs from behind you that were, for lack of a better word, beautiful.  Filthy and animalistic, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.

“So good,” you couldn’t stop yourself from panting out; your first orgasm had left you so… exposed, every sensation heightened, every touch more electrifying.  Now it was building up again, even faster than before, turning you just as desperate and needy as he sounded.

The curve of him inside you was too perfect, the thick stretch was almost too wide— when he pushed all the way in and buried himself to the hilt you actually felt a little sting— his heavy balls hitting your clit made you feel delightfully whorish; pleasure was coming at you from every angle, overwhelming you, washing all the thoughts out of your head and turning your body into his plaything (if it wasn’t already).

The difference really was that before, you had some autonomy about the whole thing— it wasn’t quite an equal partnership, since he was the one who called for you and you were the one who showed up right away nearly every single time.  But it was at least a mutual dynamic: you were a slut and he was using you like one, simple as that.  

Now, those things may have still been true but it had become so much more.  Now, you were totally at his mercy.  Now, he was asserting a previously-unspoken dominance and proving that he owned you completely… and that you loved it.  It may not have been a particularly empowering feeling, but knowing he could do absolutely anything to you in that moment was fucking addictive.  

“I’m coming,” you blurted out, not even really believing it yourself, “I’m coming again, oh shit—”

You moaned pathetically— well, more specifically, you went silent for a moment as you came too hard to remember to breathe, then you moaned pathetically; but then you started to laugh a little, thinking he would slow down to a stop, give you a little break so you could mumble something about how incredible he was before he used you to finish.

But he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, didn’t give you even a second to breathe as you tried to pull yourself together.  Even when you passed the height of your pleasure into something much more raw and unfathomable, he didn’t falter for a moment.  Your walls tightened repeatedly until they ached, until you whined through your teeth at the soreness of the muscles inside you.

“Peter,” you gasped, “s-slow down…”

He ignored you.

“Stop,” you blurted out; again, he ignored you.  “Peter, stop!  I can’t—!”

A hand wrapped around your throat and your words dropped instantly to silence.  Wide-eyed, you clawed at his hand to try to peel it away, but obviously that didn’t work.  

Your hands fell limply to the sheets— he was holding you up by your neck now, and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat— and they tried to grab hold of something, anything, without much success.

The pleasure he forced on you was excruciating and overwhelming, and totally inevitable.  You tried to force yourself to relax, wondering if that would make it any easier to take all this, but you couldn’t anyways as shocks ran all through your body.  Your toes curled, your legs began to shake uncontrollably— you were saying his name, begging for mercy, but hardly any sound was coming out since you weren’t taking in any air.

You reached back to try to grab his hand, push his hips, anything to slow down this onslaught of sensation; he ignored it at first, before growling a little as he grabbed your hand and pinned it down to the bed.

He was iron, absolute— you could literally fight him with all your strength and he wouldn’t move an inch.  The helplessness made you panic and squirm uselessly, and yet the racing of your heart was more than just fear, even as your vision was getting spotty from how long he’d been choking you.  Fuck, it was good; it hurt like hell, you didn’t think you could take it, but it was fucking good.

The hand on your throat let go to force your head down into the mattress: so, yes, the sound you let out after all that silence was muffled, but still so embarrassingly loud.  A desperate, broken, sobbing scream.  “Oh my god, oh my god,” you heard yourself repeat, though you could hardly recognize your voice at this point.

He slowed down a little, not nearly enough to give you a true reprieve, as he laid over you— you felt his chest press against your back, and he pulled your head up by your hair to lift you out from where you’d buried yourself in the mattress.  “Let me hear it,” he encouraged, as if the whole building wasn’t hearing you even with your face in the sheets.

He bit down hard on your neck until you basically screamed— you’d be surprised if it didn’t break the skin, the way it stung so sharply, but somehow that ache and burn seemed to blend into everything else a moment later.  Chills ran over your skin— pleasure, pain, ecstasy, agony, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His tongue and lips toyed with the spot he’d just marked, before his teeth moved higher to your neck to make another impression in your skin.  You felt a hot tear run down your cheek as a bit of numbness radiated from your shoulder in the shape of his bite.

Apparently satisfied with his work, you felt his breath against your ear as he groaned proudly.  “You belong to me,” he informed you roughly; you sobbed but nodded eagerly.

“Yes, yes,” you chanted, though you never wanted to acknowledge it before— you still didn’t, knowing you were his but he wasn’t yours, but you were helpless to him now.

“Mine,” he insisted again.

“Peter, please,” you whimpered, this time not begging for him to physically stop but for him not to make you admit it anymore.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“Yours,” you breathed, dropping your head down in defeat as tears fell onto the dishevelled sheets below.  “I’m yours, Peter, yours—”

“Gonna fill you,” he promised roughly.  “Gonna breed you.”

“O-oh god,” you choked out weakly.  “Oh my fucking god—”

“If you beg for it,” he added— oh, of course it couldn’t be so simple.

“Please,” you spat out instantly, you probably would’ve said it anyway, you just had to add the next part; you swallowed thickly, fighting the part of your brain that still experienced shame to get the words out.  “Please… breed me.”

He growled proudly, speeding up his thrusts yet again as you cried helplessly.  “More,” he ordered.

“Please!” you screamed, convinced now that at any moment you might just combust from the sheer intensity of all these sensations in your body.  

Right at the moment that you were sure you truly couldn’t take anymore, that it would build beyond what you were able to withstand, he pulled you back onto him and moaned loudly.  He stopped moving, but it didn’t bring as much relief as you would’ve expected; yes, you were able to relax slightly and actually breathe for a second, but you could feel him… pulsing.  

You started to feel a pressure that only soothed when you felt come start to leak from where you were joined— was he actually coming that much?  You shuddered as the thick drop ran down your thigh which, yes, was still shaking.

You heard a long, satisfied sigh behind you, his fingers digging a little too deep into your sides, but it seemed he was finally finished.

This would be the part where you get up and go to the bathroom— you know, if your legs were working— but instead he grabbed you tightly and fell onto the bed, pulling you down with him.  He hummed as he nuzzled into your neck, forcing you to be his little spoon as he seemed to want to keep you as close as humanly possible.  He hadn’t even pulled out, excess come leaking out as he softened a bit, but it gave you no chance to recover from the soreness as he kept you stretched out.

You couldn’t decide if this was more or less weird than everything else that had just happened.

He fell asleep behind you within a couple minutes, you could tell by the way his breathing slowed; you felt exhausted and wired at the same time, your body totally drained but your brain cycling through a thousand thoughts a second.

But even if you couldn’t sleep, there was no way you were getting up— whenever you dared to shift even an inch, his grip on you tightened even in his sleep.

Actually, you did eventually fall asleep, and he did eventually let go of you and pull out of you— but you couldn’t know exactly when any of those had happened, in fact you didn’t even realize they did until he started to wake you up.  

He did so somewhat abruptly; you heard his voice and started to blink a few times to try to come back to reality.

“Are you okay?” he rushed, looking over your body, moving you around a bit to check everywhere for injuries.  “I hurt you, oh my god, I— I’m so sorry—”

You were still struggling to wake up— you definitely hadn’t slept this hard in years, if ever— and you groggily hummed as he fussed over you.  “Peter,” you mumbled, noticing the bright sun of late dawn coming in from the window, and he held your face for a second before gently brushing his fingers along your neck, your shoulder…

“Oh my god,” he gasped, “what did I do to you?”

There must have been bruises and bites all over you, that was no surprise— so why was he acting surprised?  “It’s okay,” you breathed, “seriously, I’m okay—”

“I wasn’t— I swear that wasn’t…” he interrupted himself before trailing off.  “I lost control.”

That explanation was… cryptic.  Slightly disturbing.  And, annoyingly, a little bit hot.  “I’m fine,” you promised.

“You wanted me to stop,” he seemed to remember suddenly.  “You asked me to stop, and I—”

“Peter,” you rested a hand on his shoulder to try to soothe him— it did seem to slow down his spiraling, at least, and he looked at your face again.  If you didn’t know any better you’d say his eyes were watering.  “It’s fine. I wanted it. I just… didn’t know that I did.”

“That sounds kinda fucked up,” he noticed.

“Well, yeah,” you laughed thinly, “this whole thing is fucked up.  Just don’t worry about it, okay?  Yeah, I got a little… overwhelmed, at one point, but um… I didn’t mind it.  In the end.”

He nodded a little, clearly not totally at peace with it but at least seeming to let it go.  “Okay,” he sighed.

“Is… everything okay with you?” you asked nervously; you hadn’t planned to make a habit out of asking him personal questions, but you figured you earned that one.

“Uh… I’m not sure,” he admitted.

“Is this like, a split personality thing?” you wondered, mostly kidding— he laughed a little, thankfully.

“Well,” he relented, “I mean— no, but, maybe a little bit.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided to just nod.  “I… guess if there’s anything I can do…” you began to offer.

“You’ve, uh, done enough already,” he assured as you sat up a bit on the bed.  “I know this kind of isn’t our thing, but I feel like the least I could do is buy you breakfast.”

“Oh!  That’s, um— don’t worry about it,” you shook your head.  “I should head back to my place, actually.”

“N-no, come on, stay,” he pleaded.  This man was just full of surprises, apparently.  “Not long, I mean, if you don’t want to, but… you definitely need a little more time to heal after that.”

He gently guided your legs apart, chest deflating as he looked between them.

“Yeah, you, uh… definitely need time to heal,” he added, but his voice sounded rougher and breathless.

“What— what is it?” you asked worriedly, pushing your legs back together— you felt much too self-conscious now for him to just openly gawk at your pussy like that.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just, uh,” he started nervously, “it’s kinda, you know… I can still kinda see how much I, um, stretched you…”

You swallowed a little, noticing a flush on his face.

“I mean, I’m sure it’ll, like, go back, but uh—”

“Well, you did stay inside for like, a while,” you added, laughing slightly.  “Fuck, um… yeah, that was different.”

“Good different?” he wondered.

“Y-yeah,” you answered, “it was a lot, but, yeah, definitely.  I mean, if you ever need to lose control like that again, just let me know.”

He seemed a little surprised, his eyes drifting over the marks he’d left on you again.  “You’re sure you can take it?” 

You could tell he hadn’t meant it like dirty talk, he said it so seriously— real concern for you, which was sweet— but it still made you bite your lip.  “Yeah,” you promised with an eager nod, “I can take whatever you give me.”  

[sweetpeaaquarius]

Kinktober 2025

Let’s stay sinfully delusional in our fantasy world together.

Welcome to thirty-one days of sin!

Each day will bring a new kink, trope, or temptation, sometimes fun, sometimes a little painful, but always deliciously sinful.

Here you’ll find one-shots, drabbles, and pure chaos featuring our favourite ACOTAR men and women.

Taglist: comment below to be added.

Note: May be continued after October. | 18+ Only: Minors, please do not interact.

1. Throne Room Eris Vanserra x f!reader | Ritual | 2,450 In his court, you follow every command.

2. Vampire Azriel x f!reader | Blood Play | 2,120 | Requested A stormy night, a lost human, and the abandoned house isn’t as empty as it seems.

3. Sex Worker Eris Vanserra x f!reader | Pay for Play | 1,292 He pays for an hour, but what he really wants is to break you wide open

4. Caught Masturbating Rhysand x f!reader | Voyerism | 796 You should’ve locked the door. He should’ve knocked.

5. Experiment Morrigan x f!reader | Girl on Girl | 1,364 Best friends, too many drinks and confessions of your sad sex life.

6. Mind Control Rhysand x f!reader | Daemati | 1,617 One thought, one command, and you’re his puppet on invisible strings.

7. Massage Lucien x f!reader | Foot Play | 1,930 | Requested What starts with aching muscles ends with aching for more.

8. Mirror Sex Cassian x f!reader | Mirror Sex | 386 He knows exactly how good you look, and he wants you to see it too.

9. Punishment Poly!Bat Boys x f!reader | BDSM Punishment | 728 You wanted to make them jealous, and now you’ll face the punishment.

10. Temptation Elain Archeron x f!reader | Voyerism | 455 Innocent? Maybe. Temptation? Absolutely.

11. Hate Sex Cassian x Rhysand x f!reader | Double Penetration | 1,920 When hatred runs this deep, the only release is to ruin each other.

12. Corrupt Me Eris Vanserra x f!reader | Virgin Reader | 1,884 Lessons in sin.

13. Predator & Prey Poly!Bat Boys x f!reader | Hunting Reader | 1,449 The forest is dark, the hunt is on. Can you run fast enough?

14. Pet Play Eris Vanserra x f!reader | Boot Worship & Thigh Riding | 1,077 He doesn’t need fire to make you crawl, just a leash.

15. Face Fucking Rhysand x f!reader | Intense Oral Sex | 712 He says you look prettiest with tears in your eyes and him in your throat.

16. Aphrodisiac Pollen Azriel x f!reader | Dub-Con & Oversimulation | 841 A mission gone wrong… so wrong.

17. Two Are Better Than One Cassian x Azriel x f!reader | Threesome | 1,847 Training leaves you breathless and pinned between two Illyrian warriors.

18. Ending In Ruin Azriel x Eris x f!reader | Breeding & Threesome | 2,268 Two mates, turning their hatred for each other into something… productive.

19. Wing Play Cassian x f!reader | Sub Cassian & Wingplay | 717  You swore you’ll be gentle, but that smile tells a different story.

20. The Other Woman Eris Vanserra x f!reader | Other Woman POV | 3,040 He always got what he wanted, and his bride had never stopped him from wanting you.

21. Nude Modelling Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel x Feyre x f!reader | MMMFF group scene | 2,212 You’re posed, exposed, and they can’t stop tracing the lines of your body.

22. Skinny Dipping Azriel x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober Dark water, midnight laughter, and a hand pulling you under for more than air.

23. Mating High Rhysand x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober “Just one more,” he whispers as he thrusts deeper. Of course, he’s lying.

24. Knife Play Azriel x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober The blade at your throat is cold, but his hand between your thighs is burning.

25. Wet Dream Amren x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober You wake up panting, hands between your thighs.

26. Somnophilia Azriel x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober You sleep, he watches, and every touch leaves you trembling for more.

27. One Night Stand Nesta Archeron x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober One night. No rules.

28. Girls Night Amren x Morrigan x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober Wine, laughter, kisses, and hands that don’t stop wandering.

29. Sensory Deprivation Cassian x Rhysand x Azriel x Eris x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober When you can’t see, taste, or touch, every sensation is ten times sharper.

30. Thigh Riding Lucien x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober He loves nothing more than watching you fall apart on his lap.

31. Secret Identity Rhysand x f!reader | One-Shot | Kinktober The mask hides who you are, but he’ll never forget what you did to him.

[azrielsdove]

Untouched: Rhysand x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+

***

You were angry.

You were hurt.

You were humiliated.

You rushed out of the party, wiping tears from your eyes as the sounds of music and laughter faded behind you. You felt confident you had played off your emotions until you were out of sight, pretending to laugh along as they did.

But nothing was funny about the situation for you.

You groaned, kicking hard at the ground. You couldn’t tell if you were mad at your friends or at yourself. This whole thing could’ve been avoided if you had just lied. One little fib and no one would’ve ever known your dirty little secret. Your hidden embarrassment.

Your feet took you to the library, a room you found the most comfort in when you were at the House. You resided in the townhome, not having the wings needed to come and go from the House of Wind as you pleased. That was fine and a wonderful place to live, except whenever a large party was thrown. Rhysand preferred to host them here, partly for space, and partly for control. He enjoyed being able to ensure no one could come “crash” his plans, and no one would be able to sneak away either.

Which is super convenient for you, who would love nothing more than to sneak away. Alas, you are otherwise trapped here until one of your friends takes you home. And since you would rather never face them again, the library you stay.

You sigh deeply, throwing yourself down onto a chaise lounge by the fire. You burrowed your face in your hands, willing the memories of the last 15 minutes to melt away. To wake up from this horrible nightmare. You felt fresh tears fill your eyes as you recalled what had just happened.

“Alrigh’, Alrigh’,” Cassian slurred, liquid sloshing out of his glass. “We will do an easy one! No one’ll drink, likely.” You rolled your eyes, giggling along with Mor. You’d been playing a game the Illyrian had made up some time ago. It was simple, really more of a way to get drunk fast. Someone would say whatever act they could think of, and you’d drink if you’ve done it. It often started off with targeting your friends, making jokes of hunts they’ve been on or people they’ve messed around with. Usually they’re all too busy laughing at each other to notice you.

You hadn’t been in the Inner Circle as long as the others, allowing you to hide off to the side when you wished. You adored your friends, of course, but you also enjoyed a quieter life. You hadn’t done half the wild things they had, though no one had really noticed before.

That is, until Cassian came up with his “easy” prompt. A statement designed to allow everyone to take a break from drinking. He cleared his throat, making a big show about it all. “Drink if you’ve never had an orgasm.” He beamed at the groans of your friends, Mor shouting out that he knew none of you would drink.

Until you brought your glass to your lips.

You realized immediately that you should have lied. Your friends went still, their eyes all trained on you in shocked silence. Heat flooded your cheeks, a nervous laugh bubbling out of you. “What?” You asked, looking around at them all.

Well, minus one.

You avoided the violet eyes that belonged to your High Lord. You didn’t want to see the pity or laughter in them. Your heart would never recover.

“You mean to tell me, you’ve never cum?” Mor asks, eyes wide. You shake your head sheepishly at her, an embarrassed smile dancing across your face.

“Well, you’ve been with someone before, right?” Cassian follows up, looking as if you just told him you were part dolphin. You shook your head again, face on fire. This was so much worse than you could’ve imagined.

“Been kissed, even?” Azriel spoke, pity dripping off his words.

You cleared your throat, refocusing your gaze down onto your drink. “No. I’ve done nothing.” You shrug as if it’s no big deal, that it’s completely normal to be a century old and have taken zero lovers.

“Enough. Leave her be. Continue the game, Cass.” Your body flushes even deeper at Rhysands tone. As if this couldn’t be more embarrassing, he’s forcing them to stop asking questions. You quickly down your drink before standing up and announcing that you’ll be right back, just refilling your glass.

Though you leave it on the table as you dash out of the room.

You let the tears fall down your face, small sobs escaping you. You knew your friends didn’t mean anything bad by their questions, and honestly you didn’t mind their curiosity. It was Rhys that had you upset. Not even anything he had done, but the fact that he now knows this about you. You didn’t think he’d ever look at you before, but you knew he certainly wouldn’t now.

The sound of the library doors opening broke you out of your pity party. You stood suddenly, brushing away the tears still on your face. Your heart dropped when you realized the very male you didn’t want to see was standing in the doorway, staring at you. You sighed, waving your hand for him to come in. You turned and faced the fire, still too embarrassed to look at him.

You were shocked when he moved to stand directly behind you. His hands ghosted over your waist, before deciding to rest upon your shoulders. He gave a gentle squeeze, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. “I am sorry,” he murmured, thumbs drawing circles on the base of your neck.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” you said, shaking your head. “It was a silly game. I let it get to me is all.”

Rhys hummed thoughtfully behind you. There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again. “Is it true?”

You froze under his touch. “…Yes,” you responded, voice barely above a whisper. You prepared yourself for his laugh or a cheeky joke, or even for him to simply walk away. What you did not prepare for, however, was his lips meeting your neck.

“I fail to see how that is possible,” he spoke softly against your skin, one hand moving to cup your neck while the other carefully moves down your front. “No one has ever touched you?”

Your heart was racing as he continued to press slow, torturous kisses along your neck, moving to where it connected to your shoulder. His fingers brushed by your breast as they made their way further down, heat sparking through your body. “N-no,” you stuttered out, moaning softly as his teeth grazed your pressure point.

“A shame.” He accompanied his words with a harsh suck, your head falling back onto him as you gasped. “Though it brings me great pleasure to be the first to hear those sounds.” His hand flattened against your stomach, pressing you tight against him. His lips moved to your ear, teeth biting the sensitive skin. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, every moment stretched into infinity.

The only sound was your heavy breathing as he stilled against you, waiting for what you were going to say. You knew you should tell him to stop, that this was too much, that you didn’t even know he ever saw you in this way. You knew, logically, there needed to be several conversations before it ever got to this point. You knew that this was rash, hasty, and likely wrong.

You also knew that you were tired of always playing by the rules.

“Keep going.”

He growled against your ear, a sound that went straight to your core. His fingers started toying with the waistband of your pants, torturing you with their slow movements. “Rhys,” you whined, shifting your hips to try to hurry their journey.

“Impatient,” he murmured, the hand on your neck squeezing pleasurably. “Let me play. I’ve waited far too long for this moment.”

You chose not to dwell on his words, instead focusing on the feeling of his fingertips ghosting over your clit. You rocked back against him at the light sensation, so foreign to your body. You turned your head slightly, desperate to feel his lips on yours. He moved close enough that your breaths mingled, but still refused to fully touch you. You hung in that space of “almost” for what felt like ages, before everything changed forever.

Rhys pressed down hard on your clit at the same moment his lips captured yours. You moaned into the kiss, mind going blank as he began circling you. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, biting down gently. You opened for him gladly, reveling in the way his tongue stroked against yours.

Fire was already licking up your spine as his fingers worked you. He slipped them down farther, carefully pushing one inside you. You gasped loudly into his mouth, arching off of him at the sensation. He chuckled against you, adding another finger. He curled to two deep inside of you, pulling pathetic cries from your lips. His thumb resumed the slow circling on your clit as his fingers began to thrust in and out, playing your body as if he was made to.

You pulled back from the kiss as your pleasure grew, your head rolling back on his shoulder. He wasted no time in kissing your exposed throat, leaving little bite marks wherever he could. “Rhys,” you moaned, “I-I’m close.” He hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t stop any of what he was doing to your body. You began to shake in his arms, unsure of how to handle the feelings he was giving you. His fingers pushed deeper inside, hitting a spot that made you shout his name. His thumb sped up ever so slightly, and it was all too much. “Oh, oh!” You cried out, embracing the warmth that was rushing over your body.

“That’s it,” Rhys said against you, “cum for me.” As if waiting for his command, your orgasm washed over you. Your vision went black as the air left your lungs, pleasure overtaking every inch of your being. He prolonged the feeling as much as he could, not stopping until your gasping breaths begged him to.

He held you in that moment, savoring each second of what had just happened. You felt you could live there, in his arms, until the end of time.

But all things must come to an end. He pulled his fingers out of you, your body aching at his absence. He straightened your pants and pressed a final kiss to all the marks along your neck before scooping you into his arms and carrying you over to the lounge chair. He laid down upon it with you, holding you as if you were something precious.

You had a million questions as your mind began to calm, though only one you wished to ask now. “Was it real?” You asked, a slight tremble in your voice. Rhys shifted behind you, tangling his legs with yours.

“Of course it was,” he answered, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I have wanted you to be mine since the second you stepped into my life.” Tears brimmed in your eyes once more, though different from the ones from earlier.

“Why now?”

His fingers flexed against where they held you, and you could hear the slight smile in his voice. “I couldn’t allow you to continue on in my home, untouched, now could I?”

***

just a little teeny smutty rhys piece ❤️ i hope you all enjoyeddddd

[i-will-arise-and-go-now]

— 𝑺𝒄𝒐𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒚 𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒍𝒆.

𝓟𝓱: 𝓐𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓪

[red-garden]

“Do dishes” and “take out trash” both require the use of a spell slot, vs “use phone” is a cantrip, and brother, I am a level one wizard

[andy-15-07]

You Fell Asleep First

Pairing: Garrett Graham  x Reader

Word Count: 886

Request open!

Off campus masterlist

Garrett Graham had a very important rule about movie nights.

If you fell asleep on him, he was legally required to remain exactly where he was.

He had not announced this rule to the world, obviously. He had simply decided it for himself and acted accordingly the first time it happened, when you drifted off halfway through some terrible rom-com and ended up with your head on his shoulder and your legs tangled with his on the couch.

He had not moved for three hours.

That had been the first clue.

Now it was happening again.

The two of you were in the hockey house common room with the lights low and a stupid movie playing in the background that neither of you was really watching. Garrett was leaned back against the couch, one arm draped along the back of it, while you were curled into his side with your blanket around your legs and your head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

He had been talking to you ten minutes ago.

Then the talking had stopped.

He looked down and saw your eyes closed, your breathing slow and even, one hand resting lightly against his stomach like you had fallen asleep there on purpose.

Garrett froze.

Then, very carefully, he looked around the room.

Tucker was nearby and immediately noticed his expression.

“What?” Tucker asked quietly.

Garrett lowered his voice like he was dealing with a fragile situation. “She’s asleep.”

Tucker glanced over and smiled. “Yeah, she is.”

Garrett stared at him in alarm. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like she’s just asleep.”

Tucker looked confused. “What else would she be?”

Garrett looked back down at you like he was trying to make a life-altering decision. “If I move, she’ll wake up.”

Tucker’s face cleared. “Oh.”

Garrett nodded once, already committed. “Exactly.”

Tucker laughed under his breath. “So don’t move.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good.”

Garrett settled deeper into the couch with all the care of a man trying to avoid setting off a bomb. Your head remained on his shoulder. Your hand stayed where it was. He did not breathe too loudly, just in case.

Dean walked in five minutes later and took one look at the situation.

“Oh, no,” Dean said.

Garrett barely glanced up. “What?”

“You’re stuck.”

Garrett shot him a warning look. “I am not stuck.”

Dean nodded toward your sleeping face. “That’s why you look like that?”

Garrett frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you’d rather die than shift your shoulder.”

Garrett gave him a flat stare. “She’s asleep.”

Dean nodded, understanding immediately and clearly enjoying it way too much. “So you’re trapped.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes. “You say that like it’s funny.”

“It is funny.”

Garrett ignored him and looked back down at you. Your face was relaxed now, your mouth slightly parted, and every few seconds you shifted a little closer in your sleep until there was almost no space left between the two of you.

Garrett stared at you with an expression so soft it nearly made Dean gag.

Dean noticed, because of course he did. “You’re smiling.”

Garrett looked up sharply. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Garrett tried to look annoyed, but it didn’t really work because he was still looking at you like you had just become the most beautiful thing in the room.

“Telling me I’m smiling,” he muttered, “is really rude.”

Dean laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Garrett said quietly, still not moving. “I know.”

The movie kept playing. Somebody in the kitchen dropped a plate. Somebody else laughed too loudly. Garrett heard none of it.

Because you shifted in your sleep, making a tiny sleepy noise, and his entire body froze again.

Tucker looked over immediately. “You okay?”

Garrett’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She moved.”

Dean looked amused. “And?”

Garrett stared at him like he was insane. “And now I’m not sure if I should wake her to make sure she’s comfortable or just sit here forever.”

Tucker shook his head, smiling. “Don’t wake her.”

Garrett looked down at you again and swallowed hard because the sight of you asleep against him made him feel strangely helpless in the best way.

So he stayed.

Even when his arm started to tingle. Even when the movie ended. Even when the room got quieter and the guys started filtering out or heading to bed.

He stayed exactly where he was.

An hour later, you stirred just enough to realize where you were and blinked up at him sleepily.

Garrett looked down immediately. “Hey.”

You frowned softly. “You didn’t move.”

He smiled. “You fell asleep.”

You looked at him with tired confusion. “You didn’t wake me?”

“Why would I?”

You blinked again, then let out a tiny breath and settled right back against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “But I’m comfortable.”

You laughed softly, still half asleep. “You should’ve moved.”

Garrett kissed the top of your head. “Absolutely not.”

That made you smile against his shirt.

He felt it immediately and almost melted on the spot.

“See?” he whispered. “This is why I didn’t move.”

You made a sleepy sound that might have been agreement and might have just been you drifting off again, but Garrett took it as victory anyway.

And he still did not move.

[thebriarbunny]

In the Hockey House Kitchen… 𝔀𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓳𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮𝔂

𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴ 𝓍 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚌𝚑’𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

2.4K words

c/w ᝰ.ᐟ coach’s daughter!reader, secret relationship, possessive!garrett, praise, risk of getting caught; in the hockey house kitchen, fingering, handjob, briefff oral (m.) language, teasing, edging, pet names (baby, pretty thing, my girl, gorgeous + no y/n), oh && he refers to himself as a good boy + refuses to leave ☺︎ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

You’re barefoot in the kitchen, hair still damp from your shower as you measure out some sugar with the little spoon. A to-go cup for Garrett. And a mug for you.

You stir without really thinking, watching the little sugar crystals disappear into the swirl as you hum some song from the bar last night, lingering in the back of your mind. Ding!

The toast pops out of the toaster. You walk over to the fridge to pull out some jam. You bend at the hips, reaching for the little glass jar tucked behind the mess.

A whistle cuts through the kitchen. You already know who’s standing behind you.

You glance back and sure enough, there he is, caught mid-stare, duffle slung over his shoulder, dressed head to toe in Briar U Hockey workout gear. His dark curls are sticking out from beneath his hat, still messy from sleep, and the gold chain around his neck catches the kitchen light when he shifts.

He looks at you like you’re something he’s not supposed to touch, always seconds away from getting walked in, but that's half the fun at this point. He takes his time looking you over, his hand lifting to turn his hat from the front to the back with a lazy flick.

He’s on you in a second, big hands sliding around your hips as you straighten up; his body pressing into yours.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with sleep—the kind that always gives him away when he’s stayed up too late the night before and woken up too damn early. “What are you doin’ down here, huh?”

“I made your coffee,” you murmur and he groans.

“Saw your text,” he hums, grazing his mouth over your cheek. “You’re too good to me.” His chain brushes your collarbone when he leans in, cool against your skin.

Garrett lets you go, reluctantly, and you start to walk toward the counter. His eyes trail up the length of you.

“It’s just coffee and toast, baby,” you smile, tilting your head slightly.

“Considering everything you did for me last night… I should be the one making breakfast—you don't owe me anything.”

Your cheeks burn, suddenly shy under all this attention as he walks closer. His hands rest on the counter on either side of your hips just as you lean over the counter, reaching for the butter, your ass arching back, right onto his lap. On purpose. You don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes, his voice low and amused as he plays along with the accidental contact, his bag falling heavy to the floor, looking over his shoulder for his roommates. “Real sorry, baby.”

You let out a bubbly laugh as he grabs your body and turns you toward him, lifting you up to set you down on the cool counter.

“What if the boys see you down here, huh?”

His smile’s smug; the man stepping between your thighs as his hands slide up the back of his jersey. His rough thumbs slip under the band of your panties, gripping your hips in his big hands.

Garrett reaches up a little higher, squeezing your breasts before his thumbs brush softly against you. “And what if they did?”

“See you?” His grin widens. “Coach’s daughter wearin’ forty-four and not much else.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, arching into him a little more.

“Well, damn,” he murmurs, looking at you like he’s just remembered he has somewhere to be. “I’d be fucked—I mean, it's pretty risky. I could stop,” he grins against your skin.

“No, you couldn't,” you dismiss it with a teasing laugh.

“No shit. Wearin’ my jersey. No bra… Panties. Textin’ me telling me you made me coffee and breakfast. You honestly think I wasn't gonna thank you a little. Thank you, baby,” he breathes as he leans in, pulling the fabric up, his mouth finding your breast.

He circles it once with his tongue, then again before sucking down, rough enough that your breath hitches and your fingers thread through his dark hair, his curls tangling between your fingers as you hold him there.

“Wish we lived alone,” he grumbles, turning his face further into your chest as his curls tickle your skin.

“Yeah?” You ask breathily as your thighs widen on the counter.

“Whole house to ourselves?” He says, letting the words vibrate against your skin.

He tilts back in, greedy mouth following the curve of your neck as his hands clutch your thighs, holding you open as he leans in close.

“I’d lift up the back—bend you over the counter.” His fingers shift around your body, tracing down your spine, landing on your ass, kneading your flesh.

He smiles against your lips, snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin. “Couldn’t have put on some shorts, or somethin’?”

“More comfortable like this,” you whisper, turning his words back on him when you say, “I mean, it's pretty risky. I could run upstairs and put some on.”

“No, you wouldn't,” he hums. “You did this for me and I fuckin’ love it. Just walkin’ around here like you own the place. What if Tuck and Logan see you, huh? Dean?”

“Oh, Dean?” You ask, because suddenly this conversation makes a lot more sense.

“Don’t start,” he scoffs. “You know he likes you.”

“None of you are subtle,” you answer and he lets out a laugh.

“Yeah, well you got no idea how many conversations I’ve sat through, baby.”

Then his hand slips forward, grazing over the thin material between your legs, pressing soft little circles onto your clit until your hips twitch at his touch.

“They think they know what it’d be like to be with you—they got no fucking clue,” his voice breaks a little when he softens it. “How perfect you are—how much you do for me. To me.”

You hook a hand around the back of his neck, thinking about how easy it would be to have him press himself in and lay you out across the counter, but the both of you would never recover from being caught like that.

You pull him closer and his lips suck down on your neck, rough enough to leave a mark.

“Kept my mouth shut. Haven't said shit. It kills me…” He breathes over your collarbone right where the collar of the jersey meets your skin. “I've been such a good boy for you.”

“So good,” you whisper. “And yet, you stopped telling what we would do if this house was ours,” you breathe, nails tracing over the thick bulge in his shorts.

He laughs, liking the sound of that. “Got you bent over this counter. One hand on your hip, the other gripping this jersey in my fist while you cry out that name on your back.”

His fingers trail even lower, dipping just barely between your folds, right above your entrance, the barrier of fabric only adding to the ache between your thighs. So much for all that teasing he accused you of. He’s worse.

“Too bad you have a workout.” Your fingers card through his dark hair. “We could stay back.”

He grins as he chuckles warmly against the column of your neck, dragging your panties to the side. “Fuck, you wanna get me in trouble, huh? Won’t be able to play tonight if I don’t show—you know that. After the game, though. Boys’ll go to the bar,” he breathes as his fingers mimic the tempo of his words.

His breath catches in his broad chest as your finger slips under the band of his shorts, pulling him closer before you slide your hand inside.

“Christ,” he grits through a smile as your fingers wrap around his cock, finding him hard and heavy. You stroke and he hums deep against your lips about all the things he wants to do to you when you're alone.

“Trying to get me all worked up just to send me off,” he whispers. “That’s fucked, pretty.”

He works you with his long thick fingers, slow enough to tease. “How fast do you think I could get you off, huh?” He chuckles, his laugh buzzing against your lips. “Pretty close right now, huh?”

Garrett breathes those words against your jaw. Your hand slaps over your mouth, muffling the sound of his name.

Your pussy squeezes around his fingers and you lose the rhythm of your strokes, but he doesn't, leaning into the counter a little more. The wet sounds of his hand darting in and out suddenly, too loud but it's replaced by the pounding of your heart in your head.

“Come on, baby… Cum on my hand,” he mutters, teeth scraping your neck and your body releases, fluttering around his fingers.

Your thighs squeeze together as he keeps going, whining against your hand, before he slows his pace.

He brings his fingers to his mouth, cleaning them with his heavy gaze locked on yours, the watch on his wrist glinting.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles as you slip off the counter and into his arms. “I love you—”

“I love you too,” you whisper as your lips find his again, hands sliding down his chest. Your hands slip lower. His shorts are already halfway down his hips, cock trapped beneath the waistband.

“What are you up to, huh?” He asks like he doesn’t already know as you back him into the counter. “Yeah?” He laughs softly. “Bet you won’t.” That challenge barely leaves his mouth before he kisses you again, eyes flicking toward the stairwell mid-kiss before dropping back to you as you sink to your knees.

“In my jersey,” he mumbles as he tilts back, hands resting on top.

He sucks in a sharp breath when the air hits him, shivering when your tongue glides up the side of his cock, tossing back his head as he bites down on his lip, holding back a moan—BANG!

“Fuck me,” he hisses, hanging his head between his shoulders when a bag drops in Logan’s room above you.

Your tongue swipes against his tip and he blows out a sharp breath through his nose, his sticky wet precum catching on it.

“Just—Just a little more,” he mutters, holding your head, following you as you take him in your mouth. You bob back and forth and his grip tightens, eyes fluttering shut—THUMP!

You draw away when you hear some more motion upstairs. He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, watching as you kiss the tip.

“That’s how we’re playin’ this, huh?” Looking back at you in playful frustration, he tugs you up fast, muttering bitterly under his breath as you tug his shorts in place.

“Sorry, baby,” you smile.

“Teasin’ me, baby. Just wait until later,” he warns with a smile, grabbing his workout bag, walking with you back up to his room.

His fingers find yours automatically as the two of you step into the hallway.

Garrett walks a half-step behind you, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your knuckles. You glance over your shoulder and catch him already looking. He drags a hand across his mouth, trying and failing to hide his smile.

You step up one stair, and by the third he already knows he’s in trouble. His number stretched across your back. His last name stamped over your shoulders. The curve of your ass peeking out each time you take a step higher.

The intrusive thoughts win without effort. His other hand reaches out for you, pulling you back and into his strong arms. “Garrett Graham!” You whisper-scream and his deep laugh echoes through the stairwell.

“You are drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles like he's pissed—smiling like he's in love. “I’m just a man, alright? What do you want from me?” Your arms curve loosely around his neck, your legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you, carrying you the rest of the way. “Plus you were walkin’ up the stairs too slow, you needed my help.”

“My hero.”

“Good thing I'm riding by myself. I need some time alone with my thoughts.”

“You’re dramatic,” you cut in, but that only encourages him.

“You know one hand on the wheel, the other doin’ what you started and didn't finish… you're lucky you're gorgeous.”

“So are you,” you smile and he scowls.

By the time he sets you down inside his room, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt, shutting the door before anyone can see. “I mean…” Garrett shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “Maybe I could stay.”

You give him a look. A long look. And his shoulders slump.

“I know,” he mutters. “Goddamn, baby. You run a tight program.”

“Workout,” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Hockey,” you remind him.

“Mmm… Mhmm,” he hums, so dreamily you laugh. “Fuck, I love when you boss me around—”

“We’ll have all night—”

“How am I supposed to focus now? All I can think about is how pretty you looked trying not to make a sound.” His finger hooks under your chin, lifting your lips to his. “But you... you gotta be careful, baby. These boys are gonna hear you one of these days. They could have caught us down there.”

You look up at him through your lashes ever so slightly and he melts.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, blowing out a tired breath. “You own me—don’t even know why I try.”

He reaches out, grabbing the jersey on your body, pulling you closer. His nose brushes against yours—his lips doing the same, drawing back and leaving you chasing them just enough to notice before he kisses you.

“You don't have class until ten, yeah?” He murmurs between kisses.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Wishin’ you were me right now, huh?”

“Wishin’ a lot of things honestly.”

Garrett groans, dropping his forehead to yours, his voice dripping honey-sweet as he takes a different approach. “Shit, baby… what about your coffee? I should probably go get that for you, hmm?”

“Seriously—”

“Then, I don’t know…” He continues when that doesn’t work. “Maybe not get my ass beat at the gym. Sweat here instead. Do something better with my time.”

“You’re gonna be late—”

“And, I wonder why,” he cuts in. “Running out of excuses.”

“What are you gonna tell him, Captain?”

He thinks about it for a moment, stalling still. “Pretty thing. Wears my number. Torments me. Tells me I have to stay or else—”

“Or else, huh?” You giggle, and his eyes fall to your lips. “She sounds like a bitch, baby.”

“—Don’t talk about her like that. That’s my girl.”

“Such a charmer, Garrett Graham,” you hum, twirling one of his curls with your finger. “Leave—” Smack! His hand claps against your ass, the mesh barrier, just another reminder that he can't have you how he'd like.

He batts his hand against the door handle, still unwilling to let you go for another moment.

“Send me a picture or somethin’,” he mumbles against your lips. “You know, for the car ride there.”

“I don’t know, baby. You look extra pretty when you suffer,” you whisper, and he chuckles deeply, the sound going straight through you.

“Gonna ruin you later.”

“M’counting on it…” You smile and his groan breathes against your lips when he pushes open the door.

“Jersey stays on.”

☕️🧸 taglist on my pinned post 🏒 @rafesthroatbaby @liss2709-blog @sushi-girl04 @judesgfirl @cdiaz18 @fiercetigerpoison @obsessedwrafe @vanillaiceyhot @maialopez23 @rexit-mo @georgiastars13 @princessaaa13 @dragonvalyria @livlovesfastcars @thebitchylibra @corvusmorte @st8rkey @imperfectlyperfect78 @winchestersbgirl @glitterandviolence13 @miramindlesslywriting @slut-4-rafey @emelia07 @maybankslover @archxve @jujuonthatbeat1357 @parker-barnes-af @aria1108 @magcon7280 @kristenm74 @dancerbailey3

[write-on-world]

[rinasaurusrex]

every time sweetie wakes up and stretches she bleps and i FINALLY GOT A PICTURE OF IT

[rinasaurusrex]

they’re bullying my child in the facebook comments 😂

[theladyofshalott1989]

The blood runs red 🩸 🥀 🕯 🪦 // Vampire Sebastian Sallow One-Shot

Rating: Explicit (for violence, not smut)

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence; Major Character Death

Synopsis: Sebastian would cross the ends of the earth to save his sister. But what if that's not enough?

Or: Sebastian Sallow forsakes the light and embraces the shadows, eternally.

Word Count: 4,357

Tags: POV Sebastian Sallow; POV Third Person Limited; Set Post-Hogwarts Legacy; Vampire Sebastian Sallow; Dark Sebastian Sallow; Death; Blood and Violence; Non-Consensual Blood Drinking; Child Murder; Cursed Anne Sallow; Possessive Sebastian Sallow; Bad Decisions; Angst; Vampires; Hurt No Comfort

Author's Note: I wrote this one-shot in January under my pseud (ohmerlin), which I created primarily to experiment with the concept of Dark!Sebastian. This was the first work I posted to that account. I've since edited it a tad, and I'm now happy enough with it to crosspost it here (woo!). Mind the rating, warnings, and tags, please. To set the mood: “Dies Irae” (“Day of Wrath”) from Verdi’s Requiem, as conducted by Claudio Vandelli. Enjoy.

[ AO3 Link ]

//

🩸 I. Dies Irae, dies illa (That day of wrath, that dreadful day)

Drip, drip, drip.

The broad-shouldered man blinked down at the crimson pool forming on the cold stone floor, entranced by the repetition of the sound, the metallic scent of it, recalling how his mouth had once watered at even the faintest whiff of chocolate.

Well, that was gone now, drowned out by a far saltier compound. He could no longer abide by anything he once considered sweet; he could no longer abide by anything he once loved to chew and swallow—so rudimentary, so uncivilized.

Ah, but blood… Blood, yes. He salivated merely thinking about it. Blood was the perfect meal. Clean, too. No chewing required. 

He ran his tongue down the back of his long, sharp teeth; the incisors he’d grown, that he still wasn’t quite used to. Yet. Oh, but the power these teeth bestowed upon him, the beaming pride he had in them. His teeth were the bringer of life… and death. The bringer of life to him; the bringer of death to the people he consumed.

“Sebastian,” his latest victim whimpered as he lay spread eagle on the ground before him, limbs askew—he had been a fighter—one of his arms now twisted into an unnatural angle.  

Sebastian sneered down at Ominis, his former friend. “Let me go,” Ominis said. “Please, Sebastian. I have a wife and children at home. Please.” 

“Ah,” he clicked his tongue, “do you now, Ominis?” He drew out Ominis’s name, a long, syrupy drawl, lingering on his unforgiving lips. 

Not a twitch from Ominis. Sebastian laughed darkly to mask his growing frustration. 

“And begging now, hm?” he continued, pacing the floor, his black eyes, the pupils blown wide, never once taking leave of Ominis’s face. “How utterly pathetic.” Ominis’s neck, still hemorrhaging blood, was completely eviscerated; jagged pieces of skin protruded out, marring his once pristine complexion. 

Frankly, it was astounding Ominis hadn’t died yet. But it was only a matter of time.

Sebastian’s willpower was waning. He could have ended it right then and there. But no. He wouldn’t give Ominis the satisfaction of a swift death. Ominis needed to suffer. Suffering was the point.

“Sebastian,” Ominis tried again, sputtering up blood, “why?” 

Why? Ominis was testing him, surely. He knew why. He knew why, didn’t he? 

“She was my sister,” Sebastian hissed, “and you took her from me. She was mine, and you turned her against me! And now, because of you, she’s dead.” Sebastian descended sharply to the ground, rejoicing in his supernatural gracefulness, which ensured his drop hardly made a sound. He hoped that it would startle Ominis’s exasperating cool-headedness, even on the brink of death. 

It, in fact, did not. 

Well, Sebastian could always try a different method…

“It’s your turn to die,” Sebastian said, bringing his merciless fingers forward, the points of his nails long and razor-edged. He thrust them into the scruff of Ominis’s shirt. Ominis’s face remained stoic; he didn’t even flinch. A hot flare of anger sparked deep within Sebastian. 

Sebastian seized Ominis up, hoisting him into the air. Ominis didn’t utter a word. The simmering rage coursing through Sebastian flickered and flashed; he snarled, fanning the flames of hatred, the flames of desperation, the flames of revenge.

Ominis didn’t fight back. Had he lost too much blood? No… no, that wasn’t it. While his face was white as snow, nearly as pale as his milky eyes, Sebastian could still hear the incessant beating of his heart—too strong. This was sheer willpower. Ominis was goading him. 

The thought was too much. “Enough!” Sebastian roared as the fire inside him erupted, blazing bright like an inferno. 

When Sebastian Sallow ripped out his throat, Ominis Gaunt remained silent as the grave. 

🩸 II. Quantus tremor est futurus (What horror must invade the mind)

It began with the teeth.

And then...

A horrified gasp, which awakened Sebastian from a deep slumber.

“Sebastian!” That would be his wife. Her strangled cry. The ruffling of the bed sheets as she, presumably, slipped out of them, out of bed, away from Sebastian. Away from the creature he had become. 

Sebastian didn’t open his eyes. Not at first. He knew this was coming. He had known there would be consequences for what he had done. But it was too late for regrets now. Far too late.

He inhaled, then slowly opened his eyes. 

Yes, there was his wife pressed against the wall, her green eyes wide and haunted, the soft curve of her belly pronounced. Not very far along, but expecting, yes. Their first child. 

No, the timing of his transformation was not ideal, but when had anything he’d ever done been at the right time? The right place?

His chin was wet. There was a dull ache giving his bottom lip its own heartbeat. His mouth felt heavy, full. He licked his lips; his whole body reacted. Ambrosial delight. So delectable. He licked again. Mmm, positively divine. His wife’s whimpers echoed against the walls of their bedroom. He didn’t pay them—he didn’t pay her—any mind. 

Sebastian brought the tips of his fingers up and wiped them against his bottom lip. There was a brief twinge of pain. Hardly noticeable. He brought his hand back down for inspection. Yes, it was red, as he expected. Blood ran red, after all. He must have bitten through, injuring himself. Well, no matter. 

“What have you done?” his wife wailed, sliding against the wall, down, down, down to the floor. A quiet thump followed. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she sobbed. Sebastian didn’t feel anything at all. 

She had known he would go to any lengths to save his sister. This was the price. Shouldn’t his wife, his kindred spirit, have known? She should have known. She should have known. “Silence, woman!” he said. They were the last words she ever heard fall from her once darling husband’s lips. That man was gone now, replaced by a creature with a greater objective, a greater purpose. 

He set out that very night, free for the first time in a decade. Free to find Anne and make her well. 

For oh, what life, what power, now coursed through his veins! It pulsed like fireflies zipping around a jar, bashing their bodies against their glass cage, stimulating the hairs on the back of his arms, sharpening the edges of his mind, and with it, his resolve. 

Anne would be so grateful. Not just well, but enhanced. She’d surely forgive him now. Anne and Sebastian would be united once more. The glorious thought consumed him utterly. 

🩸 III. Cum resurget creatura, iudicanti responsura (Behold the trembling sinners rise, to meet the Judge’s searching eyes)

Ominis was a thorn in Sebastian’s side, as always.

Sebastian’s wife must have sent Ominis an owl. He’d let her live—sentiment hadn’t fully fled him when he took flight from their home. A pity, an unfortunate oversight, for Ominis and his entire family had gone into hiding. And, most bothersome of all, Anne had disappeared with them. 

But Sebastian had his new senses, his preternatural hearing and a keen sense of smell. They didn’t fail him now. 

The night shrouded him. No moon, just the stars, and barely them at that, for it had rained all day and the clouds had not yet dissipated.

Ominis stood before him now, soaking wet, his dirty blond hair now brown and plastered to his face. His wand was raised, his face drawn. “Who’s there?” he said. His tone was steady, composed. 

Sebastian laughed. “Come now, Ominis. Who else would it be?” 

“Sebastian,” Ominis breathed. His wand arm quivered slightly. Blink and you’d miss it. 

Ominis tensed as Sebastian stalked forward. A mere whisper away from Ominis’s ear, he said, “Where’s my sister?”

“I’ll never tell you.”

Sebastian brought a fingernail to Ominis’s neck and sliced it across. Quick, but barely a nick. The minutest sliver of blood welled up where there was once porcelain skin. Sebastian somehow managed to refrain from licking it away. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“This isn’t you, Sebastian. Anne wouldn’t want this. She doesn’t want to be what you’ve become.”

“Hah! And how would you know?” Ominis had said that he’d stopped corresponding with Anne over the years. Once he married his wife and had his three children, time seemed to slip by. They ‘lost touch.’ Sebastian should have known it was a lie. “You’re a liar!” he shouted, slamming his hands into Ominis’s chest. Ominis flew backward, his wand slipping out of his grasp and clattering to the cobblestone street beneath him. 

“Ominis!” someone shouted from further down the way. It was dark as pitch, but Sebastian’s now perfect eyesight could make out the freckles splayed across her cheeks, her mousy brown hair, those dark brown eyes.

Anne. Had she been here this whole time? Good. 

“Anne,” Sebastian said, grinning. “I’m glad you’re here.” He rushed forward, toward his twin, his arms outstretched to embrace her, only for her to jerk back and whip out her wand.

“Get away from me, you… you… demon!” she cried out. The tip of her wand lit up—she’d lit its tip nonverbally, something that Sebastian had only ever seen her do once before: when she was deathly afraid. When her life was in danger. 

But Anne knew he wouldn’t hurt her… didn’t she? Sebastian nearly laughed aloud. “Anne,” he said, “I’m here to make you well.” 

She shuddered. “How? By making me like you?” Flecks of spittle flew from her mouth.

Sebastian’s resolve was suddenly doused entirely. What? What was happening? He had gone to these lengths—literally transformed himself—to save his sister, and she was rejecting him? Again? 

It was too much. Too much!

He sputtered out something incomprehensible, shaken to his core. He glared, breathing hard. He took one deep breath in, one deep breath out, then shouted, “What are you saying? I did this for you!” 

Anne didn’t have a chance to respond, for the moment the last word lanced out of Sebastian’s lips, Ominis tackled him from the side, wrangling him to the ground, coating their bodies in mud which squelched beneath them. 

They grappled with each other, Sebastian’s sharp nails making loud scraping sounds against Ominis’s coat as he stripped it, long lines striating the black wool. Anne stood helplessly behind them, her wand still aloft, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to cast a spell to end whatever was happening now: a disagreement, a squabble… no, a fight to the death. 

Whatever Anne was about to attempt, Sebastian wouldn’t allow it. He clambered over Ominis’s slender body, and latched on. He should have bitten him then and there, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to abstain from draining him dry. He needed more time. 

“Ominis, go!” Anne yelled through the frenzy. Ominis shoved him off. There was a crack and he was gone. Disapparated. The coward’s way out.

It all happened so quickly that Sebastian’s arms were still stretched out before him, bared hands now grasping at nothing but air. He growled in frustration, until he noticed that Anne was still standing before him, a few paces ahead. 

She stumbled backward, horror in her eyes. “Don’t ever come looking for me again,” she commanded. Then she, too, was gone. 

Anne was mistaken if she thought he’d agree to stay away. She was his twin. They were meant to be together. No, her words only strengthened Sebastian's purpose. The next time he saw her, he’d make her well, even if he had to force her to submission. 

Sebastian knew what was good for Anne, even if she didn’t. Anne would be well if it was the last thing he did. 

🩸 IV. Ne perenni cremer igne (Into the fires of endless woe)

An owl carrying a letter came for Sebastian one night as he drank the blood of his latest victim. She was sprawled out on his dining room table; not a lick of blood dripped upon Sebastian’s creamy white tablecloth. He was rather meticulous about his meals.

He also enjoyed making a grand presentation of them. Candles graced the table as he invited his victim in. The young Muggle woman had seemed impressed, and then totally captivated when Sebastian lit them with the flick of his wand.

“How did you do that?” the brainless girl had asked.

Sebastian had winked and replied, “Magic,” then strode forward purposefully, grasped her by her shoulders and kissed her. It was the best way to make them willing, to subdue them. She, of course, kissed back.

When the kissing escalated to clothing being stripped off, and the girl relaxed into Sebastian’s arms, he extinguished the candles with a wave of his hand, guided his meal to the table, pressed her down firmly upon it, and sunk his teeth into her neck. 

The girl didn’t even blink. Once Sebastian had his victims in his thrall, they never fought back. Whether this was common among vampires, or not, Sebastian couldn’t say, as he stayed clear of his kind. The only other vampire he’d met was the one who turned him. He hadn’t even known his name.

Sebastian’s victim was still alive—just barely—when the owl tapped on Sebastian’s window. It was Ominis’s owl. The owl’s name started with an ‘A,’ if he was remembering correctly. Athena or Artemis… Sebastian couldn’t recall. It didn’t really matter anyway.

Once he opened the window, the owl didn’t stay long. It released the letter, then flew away in a flurry of feathers, as if it knew how dangerous Sebastian was. Sebastian chuckled to himself as the letter fluttered to the ground. The owl was smarter than most, if not all, of his past victims, including the one now gasping for air before him.

Sebastian was done with her. He drifted back to the table, took one last long drink, hoisted the girl off the table, crushed her windpipe with his bare hand, and tossed her body to the floor. 

There, done. Not a drop spilt. Excellent. 

He’d deal with body disposal later. It was time to read whatever Ominis needed to say. Sebastian admitted to himself he was curious. It had been at least a year since he’d last seen or heard from him, or Anne for that matter. They'd been better about avoiding detection, having learned from their prior mistakes. Sebastian vaguely wondered what the letter could be about. Probably nothing overly important. Although… it did seem rather odd to be hearing from him after their... falling out, for want of a better phrase. 

Ah well. 

He ripped the letter open and began to read. 

Sebastian -

Anne died this morning, shortly before dawn. Please don’t come to the funeral. Please don’t come looking for us. We have nothing for you anymore. If you can grant me one small mercy, for old time’s sake, please leave us be. Leave us be.

- O. Gaunt

The letter slipped from Sebastian’s fingers. He collapsed to his knees. The terrible words rang through his head like the booming tolls of a bell. 

Anne died. Anne was dead. Anne was dead! No. No, no, no! It couldn’t be…

“Leave us be,” Sebastian droned, his hands in his hair, tugging, tearing at the strands, which came up in clumps in his hands. “Leave us be,” he repeated, a desperate cry, a strangled refrain. “Ominis, you daft fool. Leave us be! Hah!” 

He set forth that very night, teeth bared. He knew precisely where to go. 

🩸 V. Lacrimosa dies illa (Full of tears and full of dread) 

Ominis wasn’t home. 

Ominis had turned Anne against him. And what had come of it? Anne, cold and buried in a grave. Dead. When she could still be alive, with him. 

This was all Ominis’s fault. All of it. He would pay for it. He would pay. 

Sebastian killed the children first. He let Ominis’s wife watch as he slit their throats, one by one by one. Their choked screams resonated in his ears. Ah, so very sweet, like music.

The littlest one, a toddler—he couldn’t have been more than two or three years old—even greeted Sebastian with open arms. The stupid boy didn’t understand what was happening. Well, he was dead now. Good riddance. 

When it was done, Ominis’s wife, utterly bereft, prostrated herself before him. “Please, please.”

An image flashed through Sebastian’s mind. Fleeting, but there nonetheless. Ominis’s wife, resplendent in her flowing white gown on her wedding day, long black hair running in rivulets down her back as she grinned. A happy day, not a worry in the world. All three of their children shared the color of her hair: black as midnight.

Had shared. Ah, look at them now. 

“Please, please,” Sebastian parroted back in a mocking tone, crouching down and tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Her wild-eyed gaze drifted past his shoulder, too afraid to look death in the eye. A shame, that. A real shame. 

Sebastian didn’t overthink it.

Crunch.

Neck thoroughly snapped, Sebastian cast her useless body to the floor. A waste of a meal, but he didn’t require nourishment now, and certainly not from Ominis’s now very much deceased family. Anyway, the scene splayed out before him—broken corpses scattered across the floor—was only the start. 

Sebastian was Death, looming in the shadows. Vengeance, personified. Ominis would never see him coming. 

🩸 VI. Qua resurget ex favilla (Is that day that wakes the dead)

When Sebastian snuffed out Ominis’s life, he hadn’t been certain what to expect. 

It had been far less climactic than he’d hoped. Dissatisfying, to a marginal degree. But time passed and life, or, in his case, the lack thereof it, dulled his discontentment. Besides, there were other things, other meals, to preoccupy his mind.

A decade passed. Then two. Hundreds, thousands, of living, breathing lives were spent in Sebastian’s deadly embrace. 

Sebastian mostly kept to himself, hiding himself away in Feldcroft, haunting his Uncle Solomon’s old home, reveling in the fact that he had become the monster that Solomon had foretold. Embracing it, even. 

Every so often, if only to amuse himself, Sebastian would hold imaginary conversations with Solomon. 

“Boy! What have you done?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, old man?” 

“Why Sebastian?"

“Because I can, you bastard. You can’t stop me. You couldn’t then, you certainly couldn’t now.”

“THERE IS NO CURE! When will you accept that?” 

“Never! I’ll never accept it!”

If only Solomon could see him now. Sebastian could murder him twice over with the mere flick of a finger. 

AND SO, the years went on like this. Year after year after year. 

Until... the Aurors came knocking.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

“Mr. Sallow!” 

Sebastian was rudely awakened from his daily slumber. No coffin for him. He was far too civilized for that nonsense. He still slept in a massive four-poster bed—forest green sheets, naturally—with the curtains drawn. 

“Mr. Sallow! We have a warrant!” 

Sebastian roused himself lazily from sleep as his front door came crashing in. He retreated to the shadows, where he belonged, as the Aurors came streaming in: three of them. Only three? He’d make quick work of them.

But wait…

A glimmer of recognition. 

Ah.

“Prewett," Sebastian said with a mock-bow, adding a theatrical flourish of his arm to complete the charade.

Leander Prewett stood before him, older, probably not any wiser—maybe even less so, on account of where he was standing, who he was confronting, and with only two other colleagues. 

“Sebastian?” he replied, eyes wide. “You haven’t aged a day…” He trailed off.

“Why, thank you. If only I could say the same for you.” Sebastian tread closer, where light met shadow, creeping on the edge of oblivion, death mere inches from his face. 

Leander recoiled. “I’d heard rumors… but—”

“The rumors are true,” Sebastian cut in, baring his fangs and whipping out his wand. His wand was still necessary in the daylight, when he couldn’t attack, upon risk of annihilation.

Speaking of wands, Leander had dropped his. “Wands down,” he said to his baffled colleagues. 

Well, that was entirely unexpected. Sebastian’s wand still trained on Leander, he let the scene play out, waving his free hand impatiently before him. 

“What do you need, hm? I presume you’re here for something,” he said.

Leander’s eyes darted around the room. “We’re here for Anne. Where are you hiding her?” 

Anne? They were here for Anne? How could that be? Anne was dead.

“Anne’s not here,” Sebastian replied, schooling the surprise that threatened to cross his usually stoic face. “What has she done?” he resumed, testing the idea of Anne still being alive, living her life, instead of where Sebastian knew she really was: dead and buried in an unknown—at least to him—grave.

“She murdered a Ministry official.” 

“What?” Sebastian’s brows raised, his body utterly betraying him.

Confusion clouded Leander’s face. “You didn’t know?” 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes and spat out, “Anne’s dead.” 

“You didn't know.”

This conversation was spiraling out of Sebastian’s control. He had to put a stop to it. “What didn’t I know?” he growled. 

“Sebastian,” Leander began delicately, stepping back, his wand raised high once more, “Anne’s alive. And she's like you. She’s a vampire, too.”

🩸 VII. Iudicandus homo reus (Calling all, with solemn blast)

Unfortunately, Sebastian had to wait for night to fall. But, once it did, he leaped over the three bodies littering his floor, and headed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Leander and his unnamed colleagues had put up a fight, as expected—Leander had been a Gryffindor, after all—but the Killing Curse was not easily reckoned with. And, naturally, Sebastian had used it. Judiciously. 

Anne was a vampire. She wasn’t technically alive—neither was he—but she was well. And she was like him! If Sebastian could still form tears, he would have weeped from joy. 

Better yet, Anne was here, somewhere. Surely, if Aurors had come calling, she must be nearby. 

And where else to find her but through the vampire who had created him? He’d avoided his fellow kind all these years, not yet ready to mingle, not yet ready to serve another purpose as he continued to mourn Anne’s death. But now…

Now, Anne was still on this earth, so the time had come. The hour was at hand. Sebastian would, finally, track down his maker, perhaps even join his coven, and, in the process, find his sister.

Anne and Sebastian would be reunited once more. As it should be, so it would be done.

🩸 VIII. Huic ergo parce Deus (To be judged for all their past)

This wasn’t Anne.

“You’re not Anne,” Sebastian managed to stammer out. 

The young woman standing before him had the same freckles painted across her cheeks, her neck, the back of her hands, but her eyes were green, not brown. She had Anne and Sebastian’s hair, thick, unruly, a mousy brown, but it was worn long and loose, streaming behind her, ethereal-like, in the cool night breeze. And she was tall, taller even than Sebastian.

Who was she? She couldn’t be Anne.

“Last I checked, my name was Anne,” she snapped back, the corner of her lips curled into a contemptuous smirk. She should have been beautiful, but the expression made her ugly, exceedingly so. But, to be fair, it seemed as if she wanted it that way. “Who in Salazar’s name are you?”

There was something to her voice. A sweetness hidden beneath brick upon brick of the walls she must have built over the years.

Suddenly, a vision of simpler times raced across Sebastian's mind's eye.

Green eyes sparkling in the sun; blonde hair crowning a pretty smiling face, teeth the whitest Sebastian had ever seen; dimples on her rosy cheeks; a laugh, ebullient and innocent; a kiss in the rain, droplets lightly dusting both of their cheeks; Sebastian’s hand in her hair, stroking, stroking, gently stroking.

It all clicked into place.

She had her mother’s eyes. 

“Anne,” he said, stumbling forward, arms instinctively reaching out to embrace the woman, the creature, the vampire, before him. Anne, his daughter. 

Sebastian had so many questions. When had she become a vampire? Who had turned her? How old was she? But first, she needed to know who he was. 

“I’m your father,” he said, gripping her shoulders tightly, breathing her in. 

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to expect, how she’d react, but it certainly wasn’t what followed.

His daughter shouted an expletive and shoved Sebastian away, propelling him backward with the preternatural strength she shared with him.

Sebastian ended up on the ground, arse-down, far too stunned to react. Her rejection pierced through him like a shard of glass, too similar to the one he had received from his twin, so many years ago now. So long ago, yet still so fresh in his mind. 

“You abandoned us!” Anne hissed. “She’s dead, you know. My mother. She’s been dead for years. Did you even know? Do you even care?” She spat at his feet. 

“Anne, I—”

“No! You have no right,” she said, turning her back on him entirely. “No right,” she repeated as she left him in the dust, groveling on the ground, utterly forsaken. 

Anne. His daughter. His sister. Two Annes, now one in his mind. Two Annes, but neither one wanted him. Not in any iteration. And he would now have to dwell in that fact… forever. 

Sebastian dropped his head into his hands. He screamed so loudly his ears popped. His fingernails cut into the sides of his head, the blood of his victims spilling out, soaking his hair, washing him in his own sins, of which there were many, and many more to come. 

The blood dripped down to the ground beneath his feet. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

🩸 IX. Pie Iesu Domine, dona eis requiem (Lord, have mercy, Jesus blest, grant them all Your Light and Rest)

There would be no more rest for Sebastian Sallow. Not in this lifetime, or the next. Or the next. Forever and ever. 

So be it.

🩸 X. Amen. 

[gatheringbones]

tbh a lot of my advice boils down to “hey you know that terrible horrible looming thing you’re doing your best to avoid and distract and escape as much as possible but no matter what you do it just keeps looming and looming and ruining your life”

“just, fuckign, run straight at it screaming.”

[quasarkisses]

i needed this as a background

[spectrexviiii]

[nocek]

I love the headcanons of everybody on earth reaction to the beetles. but please imagine like 100 years down the line some random school kid being forced to do history (because that teacher managed to get to the topic first) homework on the whole thing.

like the regular kid enthusiasm of yeah that Grace guy met an alien, cleaned the sun blah blah blah. Eridians are regular visitors on Earth and it's boooooooooring.

and then the kid opens Wikipedia and that asshole is all over the thing. no easy essay of important person invented important thing that is so important that I have to write some bullshit on it. nope.

guy pops up all over the history section. yeah sure. diplomacy? wait wasn't he an astronaut. biology? what? oh he had PhD in something biology. oh he named astophage "astophage"! is that the end of an essay? oh no it continues. xenobiology, xenolinguistics, all the space exploration and, oh, a first contact! are we done yet? no. fuck. wait, metallurgy???? wtf is this dude doing in the metallurgy section. wasn't he a biologist?

and then some kids would get a little bit into it and read through early life section to find oh he got kicked out of his field for being a weirdo alien guy. oh that's a great story! with the hard work and the incredible strength of the will he proved everybody wrong!

no wait

he was just some scrungly guy that got dragged kicking and screaming into this whole bs just to pull the most lock tf in in the history of locking tf in

wtf?!

and then they dig deep enough to find the video logs

so every year. without missing the beat, few kids get totally obsessed.

[houujin]

A relatively messy study/fanart for project hail mary, the last month has really awakened my inner space loving child again

Also fun fact, while drawing Man of war by Radiohead started randomly playing which i think is very veru fitting for this

[mori0427]

Stratt... have many thoughts about her, all of them leave a gutwrenching pit in my stomach <3 love herr

[wadigrove]

you are the wind’s beloved .𖥔 ݁ ˖༄

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; aang x reader

you feel like you’re being carried away by the wind itself—weightless and grounded all at once, every breath pulled from your lungs by the steady, relentless rhythm of aang’s body against yours. you feel warm and hazy like midday light; like soft golden rays spilling across tangled sheets that smell of clean air and him. 

but all that exists now is the heavy press of him along your back, the way his broad, beefy chest molds to your spine like he was carved to fit there, muscle and warmth and that endless, boundless energy he carries even in moments like this.

your hips are propped up by a thick pillow, tilting your body just enough to let him sink impossibly deeper, and his large hands grip your hips firmly, pinning you down to the mattress with gentle but unyielding strength. he is so big above you—taller now, broader from years of mastering the elements and the weight of the world—his shoulders wide enough to eclipse everything behind you, his arms cording with power as they cage you in. 

sweat slicks both your bodies, making skin slide deliciously against skin, and you feel clingy, overheated, every nerve alight as if lightning dances just beneath your flesh. with each powerful thrust, he carries the clean, airy scent that always clings to him, like open skies and mountain winds after rain.

“aang—” you gasp, trying to reach back with one trembling hand to press against his chest, to urge him to ease just a little, to give you a moment to catch the breath he keeps stealing. 

but the words fracture the instant his hips smack firmly against your ass again, the wet, rhythmic sound echoing softly in the chamber alongside your broken whimpers. his heavy balls tap against your swollen clit with every deep plunge, sending harsh, electric shocks of pleasure straight through your core—sharp and bright and overwhelming, each impact making your thighs quiver uncontrollably.

he isn’t letting up. 

his thrusts are deep and fast now, not cruel but driven by the same unstoppable force he brings to everything: the way he once glided through air, the way he laughs with his whole body, the way he loves with every piece of his gentle, ancient soul. you feel him everywhere—his thick cock stretching you open, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you with devastating precision, the blunt head kissing so deep it feels like he is touching the very center of your being. 

the pillow beneath your hips keeps you perfectly angled for him, letting him grind and pound in a rhythm that builds like a gathering storm, relentless yet somehow still tender in its intent.

your body is a live wire, sweaty and trembling, walls fluttering desperately around his length as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your belly, threatening to snap. you need a second—just one—to think, to feel, to gather the scattered pieces of yourself through the endless moans and whines spilling from your lips like prayers to the spirits. 

but aang is lost in the moment, chest pressed so heavily to your back that you can feel every rise and fall of his breathing, every low rumble of pleasure vibrating through his ribs into yours. his frame surrounds you completely, strong thighs bracketing yours, hips snapping forward with controlled power that makes your ass ripple with each collision.

“aang,” you try again, voice cracking on a high, needy moan as your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. 

your thighs shake violently, knees digging into the mattress for purchase that keeps slipping away, and then he grinds into you—slow and deliberate this time, circling his hips so the thick base of his cock rubs perfectly against your most sensitive places while his balls press firm and warm against your clit. the sensation pulls a squeak from your throat, sharp and helpless, your fingers clawing at the sheets as pleasure crashes through you in bright, sparkling waves.

he reacts instantly to the sound; aang’s breath hitches beside your ear, warm and ragged, a soft moan of his own betraying how close he is to the edge despite his words. his forehead drops to rest against the back of your neck.

“you can… oh—you can take it,” he pants, the words tumbling out between heavy breaths, his hips never fully stopping but slowing just enough to let the grind linger, drawing out the pleasure until it borders on too much. there is no arrogance in his tone, only pure, reverent belief in you, the same unwavering faith he holds for the balance of the world. 

his hands slide from your hips to wrap around your waist, one arm banding gently but securely beneath your stomach to hold you closer, the other reaching to intertwine his fingers with yours against the mattress. he squeezes softly, grounding you even as he keeps moving—deep, rolling thrusts that make your body jolt and bloom beneath him.

“good girl, just breathe… just take it,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice thick with affection and a hint of playful awe, like he still can’t quite believe he gets to have you like this. “you always can for me…”

his own moan slips out then, low and sweet, vibrating against your skin as your walls clench around him in response. aang shivers above you, his broad chest pressing heavier for a moment as he fights to keep his pace steady, not wanting to overwhelm you completely but unable to stop the natural rhythm his body craves—the same fluid, powerful motion he uses when he bends air, now translated into the intimate dance of loving you. 

he is not rough for roughness’ sake; every thrust carries the lightness of his spirit; the joyful determination to bring harmony, to make you feel cherished even when he is buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him in your soul.

you feel treasured beneath his weight—surrounded, protected, adored in the way only aang can adore: with every fiber of his being, with the ancient wisdom of a thousand lifetimes wrapped in the earnest heart of a man who never wanted to fight but learned to love fiercely anyway. 

the electric shocks to your clit continue with each smack of his hips, building pressure that makes your toes curl and your breath come in short, desperate gasps, but his words wrap around you like a warm breeze, soothing even as they push you higher. sweat drips from his temple onto your shoulder, mixing with yours, and you can feel the faint tremor in his thighs where they press against the backs of yours—his own pleasure mounting, yet he holds back just enough to focus on you.

his free hand drifts up your side, calloused fingertips tracing the curve of your ribs with reverent care, as if mapping the constellations of your body the way he once mapped the stars from appa’s saddle. 

he noses into your hair, inhaling deeply like you are the freshest air he has ever known, and whispers more soft praises against your skin—broken little murmurs of “so good for me,” and “feel so perfect,” and “i’ve got you, just let go when you’re ready.” there is a sweetness in how his voice cracks on the words, the same awkward sincerity he shows when trying to mediate peace talks or when he blushes at compliments, now laid bare in the intimacy of your shared bed.

pleasure coils tighter inside you, a storm gathering under your skin, every deep thrust and teasing grind against your clit pushing you closer to the edge. your moans blend with his, the room filled with the slick sounds of your bodies meeting, the soft creak of the bed, the occasional playful huff of laughter that escapes him when your walls flutter particularly hard around his thick length. 

he reacts to every sound you make—hips stuttering when you whine his name, a bright, boyish grin you can feel against your neck even if you cannot see it, his chest rumbling with quiet joy at being the one to unravel you like this.

you are floating in him, carried on winds only he can command, your body trembling and open and utterly his in this moment. aang holds you through it all—beefy arms wrapped secure, cock buried deep and relentless yet endlessly caring, heart beating strong and steady against your back like a promise that he will always be there to catch you when you fall apart. 

and when the pleasure finally crests, threatening to sweep you under, his voice is there again, soft and encouraging, full of hope and lightness that has guided the world through darkness.

“that’s it… breathe with me… i’m right here with you.”

he is the avatar—balance made flesh, joy made manifest—and right now, in the heat and sweat and overwhelming fullness of him, he is simply yours: big and gentle and devastatingly devoted, loving you with every powerful thrust and every whispered word until you bloom like a sky flower opening to the sun, scattering light and pleasure and love across the endless blue of his spirit.

[effinbirds]

[sayspeaknow]