#quidditch beater

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Finally done with the Secret Santa, Christmas may commence 😁

Aubrey © @thriftstorebabayaga

Art © this weirdo lmao

[unholywriter]

less messy version of a winning kiss 😌

[morelikeravenbore]

Feigning Indifference

"— And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference."

 (I promised Quidditch!smut for the girlies a literal year ago, oop. 🐢🐢🐢 Anyhoo...)

Rated: Explicit. MDNI. NSFW. 🔞

Content warnings: f!reader, no mention of house or appearance, size difference kink, semi-public sex, voyeurism/exhibitionist fantasies, possessive!Sebastian, Beater!Sebastian, feral!Sebastian, excessive use of the word fuck, p in v, unprotected sex.

Word count: 1.8k

[MASTERLIST] [WATTPAD]

Sebastian descends onto the Quidditch pitch, wind-swept, sweat-soaked — victorious.

Like a stone in quicksand, he's swallowed up by the cheering throng of admirers before he's even fully off his broom; Slytherin's mostly, their faces painted emerald, scarves transfigured into woolly snakes around their necks — they crowd around him, beside themselves with the thrill of Sebastian's triumph, back-slapping, hand-shaking, cheek-kissing. Sebastian is glad to be wearing his protective gear against the most enthusiastic among them — not that he's weak without his shoulder pads and arm guards, but some thump him so hard with their congratulations that he wonders if they're Gryffindor’s in disguise trying to put him out of action before the next match.

Once he's past the worst of it, he shirks off his Beater's gear: pads, guards, helmet (even cup, which he unashamedly yanks right out of his pants) hit the ground in quick succession, discarded for the teams’ first-year assistant to collect in his wake (provided his rabid fan club doesn't get to them first.)

Thanks to his seventh-year growth spurt, Sebastian is hardly any smaller without his bulky gear on — a fact he uses to his full advantage to shoulder through the crowd. It takes him several minutes to wind his way through; supporters and haters in equal measure jostle for his attention, girls squeal and find excuses to touch him, Imelda criticises his technique as he passes (even though he just won her the bloody match), and somebody lets off a series of explosions overhead that shower the crowd with green and silver sparks. — And on the edge of it all, standing alone by the stands, there's you: arms crossed, little pout on your cute face, feigning indifference. 

He wants to kiss the frown right off your face. 

‘There you are.’ He grins down at you. You glare up at him.

‘Seven different girls touched your shoulders just now,’ you grumble, scanning your narrowed eyes over the crowd. ‘Two more touched your chest, and that last one tried to climb you.’

Sebastian's grin widens, delighting in your jealousy. ‘Did they?’ He affects a look of innocence. ‘I didn't notice.’

‘Liar.’ You shoot him a deeply contemptuous look. ‘Maybe I should take up Quidditch, see how you like seeing your girlfriend being groped after every match.’

His amusement drops faster than a fumbled Quaffle. Usually, he finds your little jealous streak endearing — after pining after you for two long years, convinced his feelings were one-sided, your possessiveness makes him embarrassingly gooey-eyed and lovesick. But today he's too jacked up on adrenaline to let that comment slide: nobody touches you but him. Not even in your imagination. 

With no more effort than he expends on waving his Beater's bat around (less, even), he lifts you with one arm, bringing your face level with his. 

‘I wouldn't let you play Quidditch,’ he says lowly, his voice deep with authority.

Authority which you completely ignore, like always.

Incensed, you scoff and wiggle and squirm for freedom (‘Ugh, put me down, you brute! — You can't tell me what to do! — If I want to play Quidditch, you can't stop me!’) but Sebastian only waits, watching your little tantrum with a mix of resigned patience and wry amusement. 

‘You're not the boss of me!’ you wail. You’re tiny in his grip, slender limbed and delicate, but you’re agile enough to break free if he doesn’t handle you right. His arm tightens around you, pinning you so firmly against his chest that you squeak. 

‘Yes,’ he growls in your face, ‘I am.’

Despite all the height and the strength he’s gained since you met in fifth year (or the physique if all the giggles and whispers about his shoulders are to be believed), Sebastian is, generally speaking, an unapologetic softie when it comes to you: the most precious thing he's ever beheld, there's not a girl alive more loved than you. But fresh off the field, bolstered by the dizzying rush of glory and adrenaline, all his usual gentleness eludes him. — Suddenly, he wants to do more than kiss the frown off your face. 

A hot lick of desire alights in his belly, as familiar as it is impossible to ignore. Without another word, he hoists you higher and carries you off beneath the stands; game forgotten, celebrations be damned, he only has eyes for you, little doll, little bunny caught in his hungry gaze, so small and soft and devourable. 

You yelp when your back meets the wall, but hidden now deep in shadows, Sebastian only grins, wolfish. Grateful he'd thought to discard his cup, he pins you there with his hips, making sure you feel every sudden aching inch of him between your legs. 

You're his now. You both know it. 

‘How can you be jealous when you're the only one who does this to me?’ He leans in close enough to spill hot words right into your pretty, parted mouth. ‘I should fuck you standing. Right here,’ — he punctuates with a sharp thrust that makes you gasp, — ‘right now.’

Your eyes go wide, but whether you're scandalised by his audacity or desperate for him to keep whispering filth, Sebastian doesn't particularly care.

He wants to fuck the shock right off your face. 

‘R-right here?’ The wobble in your voice makes him twitch. He grinds into you again, sloooowly this time, rolling the entire length of himself against you while he watches you shift from stubborn brat to good fucking girl; no matter how many times he's seen you like this, flushed pink and panting, he's still utterly obsessed with the moment you finally give in. 

Because you always give in. 

‘Why not?’ He begins the careful crumbling of your resolve with the top button of your blouse, then the second button, third, fourth… But by the fifth his patience snaps and he yanks — hard; no need for a vanishing charm, he rips your shirt clean open. Buttons pop off in all directions; he knows you'll scold him for that later, but right now you only have strength enough to whimper. 

‘What if they see?’ You palm his shoulders — but you're pulling, not pushing. 

‘Let them.’ His lips are on the hollow of your collarbone, sucking shivers out of you. ‘Let them watch me fucking ruin you.’

Yanking you away from the wall, he spins you around and envelopes you from behind, one arm curled so tightly around your waist you couldn't wiggle free even if you wanted to. Not that you do want to; that much is clear when his other hand slides beneath your undies. Fingers slick, he fucking moans his way down the side of your neck, his tongue laving a hot, wet stripe down to your shoulder. 

‘You think I want to touch any of them like this, huh?’ He bundles your little body against him like a blanket, his arms taut and muscles straining as he works your moans free with his hands and his tongue. You buck obediently against his palm, and when he slides two thick, long fingers inside you, your knees give out. He holds you up, pinned pretty to his chest, your tits heaving in the open air, nipples begging to be painted wet by his hungry mouth. 

Sweat drips from his hair and lands on your face. ‘You think I want to fuck any of them the way I fuck you?’

Through the gaps between the stands, the Quidditch pitch is empty, quickly abandoned for post-match festivities (or commiserations if you're a Gryffindor). He imagines marching you back out there right now fucking you in the middle of it, stripping you bare and pounding you silly while the teams debrief in the changerooms and the Slytherin's celebrate their win in the dungeons. — He'd never do it for real, of course, but the fantasy of claiming you so openly, having you exposed and babbling on his cock for anyone to see makes him dizzy. 

He wants everyone to know you're his. 

The thought makes him fucking — lose — it. 

Hot and thick in his hand, he strokes himself free from his trousers with frantic pumps and a long, drawn-out whimper. If he's teetering on the edge of control, then you don't stand a chance; he hoists your leg up and rubs himself desperately against your underwear, mouthing your neck from behind, palming your tits with his big, calloused hand. Never has he been more grateful for all the grueling training sessions that have granted him the strength to manhandle you onto his cock whenever the mood strikes.

Undies bunched to the side, you arch your back and reach an arm around his shoulder, begging, begging, begging even as he's pushing in, in, into you. The sound he makes when he's fully sheathed is nothing short of feral; he stumbles forward, that hot, tight squeeeeeze of you so good it makes him weak in the knees. 

It's fucking unbearable what you do to him, the way you make him dribble and buck and moan all sorts of dirty things in your little ear — the way you make him lose control. 

‘Look at you,’ he slurs, anchoring you to his body with the full, hot length of his cock. ‘S'fucking good, s’all fucking mine.’

Holding your leg up, he sets a slow, deep rhythm and imagines himself watching you: a last-minute straggler drawn to your hiding place by your sweet moans. He imagines how pretty you'd look all stretched out and stuffed full of himself, tits bouncing, mouth agape with pleasure, too fucked out of your mind to realise how loud you are. He'd touch himself to it — oh fuck yes he would, edging himself to time his climax with yours. And maybe you'd notice him, a pair of dark eyes burning with desire. Maybe you'd like it. Maybe it'd make you cum harder. 

Fuck. Lust roils thick and luscious in his stomach and he makes a mental note to fuck you in front of a mirror next time. 

He's gasping now, slamming into you so hard your foot almost leaves the ground with every thrust.

‘If only —’ he groans, ‘— they could — see you —’ He drops his head to your shoulder and bites. ‘You're the — ngh — only one — oh, fuck —’

Surely you know — surely you understand that it's always been you; that the way you surrender makes him feel strong; that being inside you makes him feel less broken. Surely you know that he uses his body to say the things he can't put into words. 

It's more than sex: he fucking loves you. 

Your peak hits you first: a long, slow, wet release that Sebastian rides out as best he can without falling over. He moans along with you, echoing ecstasy into your ear, holding you up while your body succumbs to the overwhelming love he gives and gives and gives over to you. And when you're done, spent and shivering in his arms, sweet and limp and loved to the extreme, he follows. 

[drunkdumbfucker]

Here's the two art pieces I did for @emlovessid 's wonderful fic written in the context of the wolfstar bigbang, and if you're curious there's tons of awesome fics and art to come in the following weeks, so check out @rsbigbang for more!!

Fic's Summary:

"Being promoted to full time sports journalist at the Daily Prophet is a dream come true for any quidditch fan.

But for Remus Lupin, the 2024-25 season of the British and Irish Quidditch League Cup has more in store for him than he ever could have imagined; namely Puddlemere United's star beater, Sirius Black.

Between pre-match interviews, post-match drinks and social media banter that borders dangerously on flirting, Remus is only one swing of the beater's bat away from falling for him. And he can only hope that when he does, Sirius is there to catch him."

FIC'S LINK

[littleyellowtangerine]

Reggie attends all of James' games even though he always says he is forced to.

[my-maehem]

Yo Yo Yo If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ma shut it for you Punk

[uhhlifeig]

Snitch - September 27 - word count: 577 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius Black, grinning like a madman, had just knocked a Bludger out of a Slytherin Chaser's path and was already eyeing his next target.

"Nice one, Black!" Marlene McKinnon shouted from the other side of the field, her bat raised in a mock salute.

Sirius returned the gesture with a wink, his broom tilting slightly as he dodged a second Bludger. 

Up in the commentator’s booth, Remus Lupin filled the commentator role. And, naturally, he had his own way of adding some fun to the commentary.

“And McKinnon with a spectacular hit- looks like that girl’s got it out for Slytherin today!” Remus called out. “As for Black, he’s still managing to stay on his broom. Miracles do happen, ladies and gentlemen.”

The teasing lilt in Remus’s voice, and it made Sirius’s heart race faster than the wind rushing past him.

"Focus, Black!" James yelled from ahead, zipping by with the Quaffle under his arm. "Save the flirting for later!"

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head. He was supposed to be knocking Slytherins off their brooms, not blushing at Remus from across the pitch- but could anyone blame him? 

“And there goes James Potter- Quaffle in hand, looking smug as ever,” Remus narrated. “Let’s see if our captain can actually get it through the goalposts this time, or if his infamous ego gets in the way.”

Sirius smirked. His friend was relentless today.

James soared toward the goalposts, dodging an oncoming Slytherin Beater, and threw the Quaffle through the hoop with a triumphant shout. The Gryffindor crowd erupted into cheers.

With a swift, powerful swing of his bat, Sirius sent a Bludger hurtling across the pitch towards Regulus, who was getting a little too close to spotting the Snitch for Sirius’s liking.

Marlene whooped from the other side of the field. “Nice hit, Black! That’ll teach ‘em!”

“And it seems Black and McKinnon have made it their mission to terrorize Slytherin today,” Remus said with a chuckle. “Not that anyone’s complaining. Except, maybe, the Slytherins.”

Sirius swung back around, narrowly avoiding a Bludger that had been sent his way. He could hear the smack of Marlene’s bat behind him as she sent it back towards the Slytherins.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back!” Marlene called.

Sirius grinned and sent her a mock salute, then caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. A flash of gold.

The Snitch.

His eyes darted to Gregory Morrison, who had yet to spot it, and then to Regulus, who was looking in the wrong direction. Sirius tensed, ready to act as soon as needed.

“And... no sign of the Snitch just yet,” Remus said in a teasing tone, “but Black is flying around like he owns the pitch- again.”

“And there it is!” Remus’s voice suddenly rang out, excitement rising. “The Snitch has been spotted near the goalposts- looks like Morrison is on the move!”

Sirius watched as Morrison dove toward the goalposts, his broom cutting through the air like a knife. Regulus was quick to follow, and for a moment, it looked like they were neck and neck.

“Come on, come on...” Sirius muttered under his breath, fingers tightening around his bat.

“And- the elder Black to the rescue!” Remus shouted as Sirius sent a Bludger rocketing towards his brother, knocking him just off course enough to lose ground.

Morrison reached out- and caught the Snitch.

The stands exploded with cheers as Gryffindor secured their victory.

[yourmom2505]

Late night quidditch practice 🧹🦁

Practicing as one of Gryffindors beaters… dare I say hogwarts FIRST Australian beaters?? 🇦🇺

the MUSCLES 👀

[hogwartslegacypics]

the closest we’re gonna get to seeing beater!seb

[drowsygoose]

yet another round of sebastian sallow headcanons, this time about quidditch (because, I'll admit, the idea of him and a few other characters playing has grown on me):

Anne and Sebastian were super excited for tryouts their second year, though neither made the team. By third year, Sebastian had become more interested in duelling (and found that he was Really Fucking Good at it) while Anne was quick and really good at shifting her weight on her broom, serving as an alternate Beater and learning from the sixth and seventh year starters

(She was definitely going to be a starter the following year, spent all summer practicing and exchanging letters with Imelda about their respective progress—until Rookwood happened)

Quidditch didn't feel the same without Anne. While he still enjoyed game days, Sebastian didn't try out fourth year and chose instead to throw himself into Crossed Wands (as a second year Lucan Brattleby followed him around and learned he had a knack for organizing duels and, of course, making and managing bets). He did, however, use her broom to visit Feldcroft every weekend

He, like other students, was upset about the lack of quidditch during fifth year; he'd gotten better on the broom though, faster and unknockable and more adept even in terrible weather, thanks to his Feldcroft trips

So by the time sixth year rolls around and quidditch is restored, Imelda practically corners him in the Slytherin common room after the Great Feast

"Not sure what you did over summer, but you've got the build of a Beater, Sallow. Tryouts are next week."

"Imelda, I'm not—"

"Tuesday, 3pm. If you're late, I'll kick your arse."

And they both knew she meant it

So, the following Tuesday at 3pm, Sebastian got his arse on a broom and performed the Beater drills: laps around the pitch while balancing the bat and again with no hands, knocking bludgers out of the way, and giving/taking a few checks without falling off the broom

Imelda wasted no time in granting him a spot on the team and also announcing he was a starter

(I also like to think Anne is back by sixth year and is doing everything she can to feel normal again, so she's on the team and uses all that RAGE from the last two years as Beater fuel. Imagine the way Lucan and Everett Clopton announce those games??? "The Sallow twins strike again!" Like??? My HEART)

If MC plays, especially if they're in another house, game days are particularly interesting lol

[randommmthoughts]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Zahri 🍉 (@wolfstar_zahri)

Normally I don’t share reels here but just THIS SONG?!?

It is not only fitting, but it just gives me that feeling you get from music sometimes

AND THE ART?!?! <3

[immortalbutterflycos]

Cancel everything my friend just told me that the titles of Quidditch player positions sound like A/B/O dynamics and I don't know how I can recover from this.

[fandomfrenzy97]

And with that, the Legacy House Heroes Event is complete (moreorless - except PVP tasks but I’m not gonna bother with them) and with 12 days 9 hours and 45 minutes remaining…I honestly thought it was gonna be impossible to unlock all 4 Hogwarts Legacy Heroes in 2 weeks but honestly, competing in 25 Matches per character didn’t seem so bad…it’s just a massive relief that they’re now a part of my Quidditch team.

I’ve made Amit a Keeper, me, Poppy and Natty are Chasers (#girlpower), Sebastian has been a Beater since the game’s launch and Ominis is a Seeker…I’ve definitely picked the right Legacy Heroes for their perfect Quidditch positions, so no regrets there 😅.

[jadedblack]

hp fandom is there a rule that another Beater can’t just hit the snitch with their bat? like if their own Seeker is too far way and the snitch is just there, can’t they just… bat it away?

[theladyofshalott1989]

No, I didn't make Damien and Sebastian in Quidditch Champions. No, siree. 👉👈

OK FINE, I DID. No one said I couldn't do it, okay????

Also, why is Sebastian cross-eyed? ...

[amethystandemma]

GUYS WHAT IS SEBASTIAN’S QUIDDITCH POSITION?

He gives off Beater vibes and Chaser vibes for me