#skull shawl

[thefabledweaver]

Skull shawl with detachable hood ☠🖤 Buttons line the bottom of the hood that you simply loop through each ending of a skull.

I can take custom orders for colorways of your choice on my etsy!

Etsy.com/shop/thefabledweaver

Insta: @ thefabledweaver

Facebook: @ The Fabled Weaver

Shawl pattern is by spidermambo, hood is my own addition.

[knottybliss]

Getting back to basics tonight

[portrait0fthem00n]

fun scribbles of harrowhark

[mor-and-more]

Me, way too often: Oh what a pretty thing, wonder where they got a pattern

Link/tags: etsy.com

Me: :'(

(Etsy dislikes me SO deeply, I once had to triple check with the seller if they got the money, and the two times out of three they didn't, and after that instance I never ordered from there (all 3 were taken out of my balance, too!!! at least the unsuccessful 2 returned after a bit of waiting. still Not A Good Experience). Also my 3 purchases have been. An embroidered face mask, a skein of yarn, a skein of yarn+circular sock needles. I have no experience buying patterns off Etsy, and I just know it will get lost... Ravelry is definitely more convenient to me in this regard, with the library with patterns specifically

I guess I'll try and see if I can find something similar on Rav...)

[vampirefreakzx]

[deltaruminations]

i wish i could properly articulate my brainworms about dess and wingdings deltarune having been peers and friends and why i think the idea is fascinating but i just keep getting overwhelmed by the sheer Possibilities and Implications and tripping over myself about it. i’m just. oooouuuuggghhhh ooobh girl ness & teen giygas. non-diegetically ascribed enemies who defy their “purpose” and become friends instead because from their perspective they’re just Normal Kids who complement each other well. and yet they end up fulfilling their fated roles of opposition anyway in spite of or maybe partly because of their care for each other. and maybe they continue to be cosmically at odds well into the timeline of DR the game but the nature of their roles is shifted and jumbled by context or extraplanar shenanigans and/or obfuscated and skewed by narrative manipulation on the part of someone trying desperately to prove to himself that he isn’t doomed to be a villain but is still approaching the problem as if he is one

here’s a thought: at least one of them possibly gains enough metanarrative awareness at SOME point via SOME means (shadow crystal? shattering? word from a FRIEND?) to figure out he’s villain-coded and probably destined to (according to the logic of a video game) hurt and/or murder his best friend over and over until she finally succeeds in killing him. how far would he go to keep that from happening? would he, again, do Villain Shit? would he remove his friend from the game, leaving her in some kind of stasis outside the narrative, to keep her (and, of course, himself) “safe”? would he remove himself from the narrative, so she and the world are safe from him, then task others with picking up the pieces he left behind? what if the narrative needs a hero and a villain — what happens when one or both are missing? will the universe attempt to self-correct, and if so, how?

[cappurrccino]

i want to make mittens. i know what pattern i will use too make the mittens. i cannot decide what yarn to use to make the mittens. i do not make mittens.

[dragoncrochet]

[demonessryu]

I finished the skull shawl!

I’m pretty proud of myself for this because I’ve been wanting to try this from day one when I still struggled with making a chain. I also wasn’t keen on the colors. The pic on the site looks like it’s dark blue and red, but it’s more pink, purple and blue irl, so I was a bit disappointed. But, then I realized that they’re the colors of the bisexual flag, so you know what I’ll take it lol

And now idk what to do with my life

[binkerbelles]

There is a Skull in My Pineapple Shawl

[youaremysunshine-court]

3 skeins of yarn should be enough to get me what I want but it apparently isnt

[knottybliss]

Progress update:

I am almost done with five repeats. Normally a full shawl is somewhere between 11-15 repeats. This, however, has it only as wide as my laptop keyboard.

I am now accepting guesses/suggestions for how many repeats this should/will be!

[genericnamenotkidding]

My lovely lady. And my hidden baby boy, not moving for love or money. Pattern acquired many suns ago from Maryetta Roy, lovely person who also creates YouTube videos to help you out.

[sparrowsnest]

Skulls Cuffed Shawl

I finally finished my Skulls Cuffed Shawl! It has taken me so long,between surgeries and other health issues ,but I’m very happy with how it turned out. It’s made with a worsted 4 yarn. I used Caron One pound on the main color and Vanna’s choice for the trim. You will need a 5.5mm/I crochet hook. I highly recommend using stitch markers to mark your beginning and ending stitches so its clear…

[love-that-we-were-in]

indelible scars, pivotal marks

pairing: luke castellan x implied apollo!reader

summary: you might be the only person who actually knows luke castellan. you don't think anyone else is willing to try.

a/n: what if i told you i got yelled at a lot after writing this. enjoy! oh this is also my first x reader in the 5 years i've been writing who cheered. have fun !

Luke is fourteen the first time he can remember sleeping through the night. He’s barely been at Camp Half-Blood for three hours, skin still splotched purple and blue, Thalia’s yells echoing in his skull. There’s no silence, a steady hum of nature that’s leveled by the voices of people he doesn’t know, and he knows he shouldn’t sleep. They’ve lost Thalia, left her just beyond the borders of an unknown place, and it’s a risk to welcome the flimsy pillow they gave him. He does it anyway, eyes closing to the sound of Annabeth’s soft breaths. 

The respite lasts one night.

By morning, he’s recounted the last five years more than he ever wanted to. Annabeth clings to him then, a known comfort. She knows the broad strokes of the story, could recount them herself, but there’s gaps from before her time, and there’s things Thalia made him swear not to tell. If she notices, she doesn’t comment, just keeps her fingers close to her side. He knows that’s where she keeps her dagger - he wonders if Chiron can tell as well.

Chiron brings them to Thalia, explains what happened and how lucky it is. Luke looks at the tree, the first time Thalia has stood taller than him since they met - something she always swore she would do one day - and leans back against it as Annabeth sobs into his shoulder. 

Mr D sends Annabeth to the Athena cabin before lunch. Luke doesn’t need to be told to make his way to Cabin 11. He knows who his father is. His backpack is left at the base of a bed in the far corner of the room, a group of boys gathered around the area turning to watch him the second he walks in. They move away but they don’t stop their stares.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to him that night.

*

You meet Luke Castellan when you’re fifteen, standing on the edge of the lake as a golden sun rises in the horizon. It’s your first morning at camp, your first morning admiring the sunrise in months, and you think you could find a home here. Within the hour, you’re sure the calm won’t be the same – too many kids in the same space, swords and satyrs and strawberries guiding the day along – but for now there’s sunlight. 

“Breakfast isn’t for two more hours,” someone says from behind you. It should be scarier than it is, put you on high alert with the way he creeps into the space without a sound. “Just in case someone forgot to mention that.”

He’s pretty. Strong chin, dark eyes. On most people you’ve met, that’s where pretty ends. Not him. There’s this way he stands in your periphery; comfortable in his worn camp t-shirt, like he was made to live in it, to have it define him for an eternity. Very few people are pretty in a way that speaks of forever.

“I like to watch the sunrise.” 

He hums. “I’m Luke.”

He waits, steps away, until you offer him a seat beside you on the grass. It was something you were told once, an eclectic art teacher draped in shawls and chunky jewelry, how the sun is only as beautiful as it is when shared with another. As Luke sits next to you, you enjoy the quiet you’re positive isn’t built to last.

*

Luke becomes a counselor that summer. Everyone saw it coming, the way he’s known to everyone and not just the Hermes kids. Whispers of a legacy, of a potential legend in the making, followed him already, two years at camp creating grand ideas for his future – counselor status just helps to further them. It’s not that big of a deal normally. It’s potentially defining when you’re the best swordsman in almost three hundred years.

You find him on his way back from the Big House that evening, heading in no particular direction but with a clear idea of where he doesn’t want to be. It’s something you’ve learnt to read in the last few weeks, the way Luke fluctuates. How he dips in and out of personas as if it’s possible to switch them out. It comes with renown, you suppose. 

“Counselor Castellan, is it?” 

He smiles something bitter. “So they tell me.”

Without hesitation, you take hold of his hand. It’s warmer than yours and you feel the difference in your bloodstream. Luke doesn’t look at you, doesn’t comment, and you lead him away from the cabins and down to the lake. 

There’s maybe an hour until sunset. You’re almost attuned to it now, mornings spent watching it with rapt attention. Luke normally joins you, sword dropped between you. Some mornings, the thud of metal onto stone is the only reason you know he’s arrived, still so silent in his arrival that you wonder if it’s on purpose. 

“Does it make you anxious?” You ask when the silence stretches on for too long, when Luke stares unblinkingly at the horizon for longer than he should. He blinks, irises shifting from a glassy bronze and back to muted brown as the film clears. “Did they even ask if it was something you wanted?” 

He scoffs and you wonder if this is where everything changes. Luke always has things he wants to say, balancing on the tip of his tongue until he figures out how to swallow them down and burn them. It’s like you can see it play out in real time, his jaw shifting, arm tensing.

“Mr D told me it was a great honor. Chiron told me it was long overdue.” 

“You weren’t given a chance to say no.”

It’s a pattern you’ve noticed, not just within camp but with all the Gods. Clarisse was sent a spear with no note, but everyone knew who had sent it. Annabeth’s hat was exactly the same. Gifts. All gifts. No receipts or return addresses provided. Life at camp was something to be grateful for, always, considering the alternative most of you had already been forced to live. To comment on it would make you an enemy of those too powerful to consider.

Looking at the tense set of Luke’s shoulders, you kind of want to say it anyway.

“I’m about to have all the glory Camp Half-Blood could offer me,” Luke says and the sun begins to dip below the surface of the lake. His palm is warm in yours again. “Why would I complain?”

*

There’s a flurry of new arrivals no one anticipated the next summer They come in pairs, mostly, with the odd trio. Always one unclaimed within the group. Always one who gets marched to Cabin 11 in the middle of the night, sometimes after hours of questioning.

You know the nights that it’s happened, taking in the way Luke’s movements are less sharp, the way he breathes more shallowly. A conservation of energy. It doesn’t affect you much until it does, the sharp sting of Luke’s sword on your arm as he loses his footing, turns too suddenly at the sound of your footsteps. 

“This is insane,” you say as you press your shirt into the cut. It’s not bad, something that will heal quickly and fade into nothingness, but Luke locks his gaze on the red dotting your skin as if he doesn’t understand how it got there. “They can’t keep waking you up in the middle of the night for this.”

“The only other place they can go is the med bay and none of them have been beaten up badly enough to be worth waking an Apollo kid.”

“I’ve seen some of the kids when they’ve gotten here, Luke,” you mutter, shirt hem dropping as the wound stops bleeding. You glance up at him. “They could do with being patched up.” 

He sinks down to the floor. You stay on your feet. “This is what I signed up for when I took the position.”

There’s this way Luke’s voice gets sometimes, sharp and low and just a little spiteful. A build-up of years with little mercy granted. That’s how it is now, speaking through clenched teeth, completely biting back the vitriol and pretending there’s no heat to his words. 

He’s always been pretty in the sunrise, from the day you met, but you think he might be prettiest right now – lying to himself more than he can lie to you in the moments before there’s any sunlight at all. When you would let darkness spill into itself, Luke forces light to filter in. If you caught him at the darkest hour, you wonder if that would remain.

Taking in the way he digs his nail into the fabric of his pants, you doubt even he would know how to stop himself then. 

*

You aren’t chosen for Luke’s quest. He finds you after the ceremony, face pulled taut and bag thrown over his shoulder already. There’s no regret in his eyes, no determination either. You stand straighter when you hear him approach, grateful that he cared enough not to take you by surprise for once. 

“Don’t be mad at me.” 

“Why would I be mad?” You say. It’s disingenuous to your own ears, the way it pitches, so you fold your arms across your chest. “Chris and Ethan will be great questmates. A band of brothers.”

Luke swallows. “Is that really what you think this is? That I wanted to make my quest a guys trip?”

“I don’t think anything of it, Luke.” 

In the middle of the day, you can see him clearest. See the golden boy of Camp Half-Blood the way everyone else does. In broad daylight, there’s few things more noticeable on Luke Castellan. The slope of his nose, the straightness of his back, the comfortable weight of his sword on his hip – almost a tether to who he proclaims himself to be. It’s your least favorite version of him.

“I would’ve chosen you. In a heartbeat, I would’ve chosen you,” he says, brown eyes shifting from dim to desperate in moments. A plea to be heard. You know you’re the only one to ever truly listen when he speaks.

“Doesn’t really seem that way.”

“I just needed a reason to come back when it’s over.”

It stills the air around you. The words tangle themselves together in your brain, drown out the archers in the distance, the birds overhead. They echo and twist and they maintain their tone, the low pitch Luke uses when he’s decided to say something he doesn’t want to be heard. They bury themselves in the corner with the other times he’s used it, forever ingrained, and you don’t know what to make of them. How to define them at all.

He waits, gaze firm, until you nod slightly. You keep your chin low, determined to give little satisfaction to the situation. To Hermes giving Luke a reused quest, to the possibility of losing him because you aren’t there. It curdles deep in your gut, refusing to remain unknown.

There’s a moment where Luke hesitates, his hand twitching slightly, arm moving minutely higher from where it hangs down by his waist. Instead, his fist clenches and he exhales long and low. 

“Promise to be here when I get back?” 

“I’ll be really annoyed if you’re not the one knocking on my cabin door.”

He turns back to face you after he joins Chris and Ethan at the border. They’re all capable, with a history of working together. They’ll succeed, return to praise and glory and everything they deserve to have. The sun beats down on Luke as he nods goodbye and you wonder if it shines on anyone else at all.

*

The scar becomes a part of him. 

It fades into his skin with time, going from raised and rotten to a streak of pale across his cheek. You overhear some of the Ares kids praising it as symbolic of his win, a prize of sorts, and some of the Aphrodite kids saying it makes him more appealing, makes him look stronger. You’re not sure what you think of it, tracing it with gentle fingers as it heals. 

It becomes a habit, running a knuckle down Luke’s cheek each morning. Feeling where the skin tied itself back together. He never comments. You want to ask if he minds, that you’ll stop if it’s too much. The first few times you did it, in the days right after his return, he had flinched, features pinching together. Your hand had dropped, all too aware of the matted skin, how it probably still ached but Luke had taken your hand and placed it back where it had been. 

His scar becomes a statement, a badge of skill that everyone at camp can recognise. There had been little debate on the truth of his swordsmanship before but now it hardly existed, undeniable proof the first thing people noticed when introduced to him. 

Most people don’t bother to ask Luke about it. Percy Jackson isn’t most people.

“You got attacked by a dragon?” 

It’s the first time in years that anyone has joined you and Luke at the lake this early. Annabeth used to, on the rare occasions the worst of her nightmares returned. It’s different with Percy, like being close to the water rewires him completely. It makes sense days later when you watch him push open the door to the empty Cabin 3.

“Last year,” Luke hums, one hand resting softly in yours and the other keeping a loose grip on the sword handle in his lap. Percy had wanted to see him in action after hearing the stories, so you’d both obliged. “I made a wrong call and I paid for it.”

“At least it looks pretty cool.” 

The way Percy says it is different to everyone else. It’s not ingrained with this odd lust, whether for adventure or the story or Luke himself. It’s more muted, a fact of life. He’s not saying it to make anyone feel better – he’s saying it to disregard. A scar is just a scar to Percy Jackson, as if he’s known too many to care.

“I guess it kind of is,” Luke says and the three of you listen to the morning begin.

[oliver-quick-ens-my-pulse]

Lust

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

WARNING: 18+ smut, dark!sebastian,

NOTE: Anon request for "Seb + lust potion". Everyone is aged up! Tbh I don't know how I feel about how this turned out

Sebastian wasn't innocent at the beginning or end this quest. He had taken an interest in the dark arts since his 4th or 5th year at Hogwarts. He was driven by his parents ceaseless curiosity while they were alive and later in life by trying to cure Anne. After everything happened with his uncle and everyone involved chose to spare him the justice of the wizarding world, he toned it down.

That didn't mean he let go of it entirely. He continued to explore things that could be considered "dark arts" but things that could be used day-to-day or at least when it was convenient. Currently, he was in his home at Feldcroft, alone without Anne or Solomon to be his keepers.

He drank a bit too much Dragon Barrel brandy, especially for someone trying to accomplish what he was. He wanted to modify a draught of Amortentia in a way that made it more than some temporary infatuation, but a way that made someone painfully lustful. And the someone he wanted to give it to was you.

You were the only person who was really in his corner anymore, but he hadn't been able to think straight since he'd officially lost everyone else. He hadn't been able to settle with all of the guilt and fear that any day one of you would just turn him in. So, he had taken to drinking and being a degenerate no matter how much you tried to save him.

If you knew his secrets, maybe you would finally turn your back on him for good, but for now, you couldn't help that you loved him all these years.

Sebastian's problem was now that in the midst of his drinking and scheming, he took the Amortentia himself as opposed to having more of his brandy. He passed out shortly afterward, at least making it to his couch. Which is where you found him in the morning.

You had come as you did every morning to make sure he at least ate one meal without booze. You came over sleepy and with just a knitted shawl to cover your night dress. It wasn't as if Sebastian was ever aware enough to notice you anymore, not like the hungry glances you used to see from him. And it was always dark when you wandered over from your stay, getting ready for the rest of your day in Sebastian's home.

When you came in the first thing you noticed was that he hadn't even made it to bed last night. It made you let out a sad sigh. You weren't cleaning up the mess of potion bottles he left out for god knows what, he could deal with that on his own, but you at least planned to wake him up.

"Sebastian..." your voice was soft as you shook his shoulders, unable to be anything but tender with him despite everything.

He heard you and groaned. He expected his skull to be throbbing from last night, but he felt really confused when the blood rushed to a different head. His eyes shot open and he startled the both of you, making you stumble to a seat right next to his knees.

"Sebastian?! What the hell did you drink last night?" He figured that out about as soon as his eyelids felt heavy looking at you. He could see the outline of your breasts, your hips, your curves; he could see everything through your thin gown and felt like he was going to explode. Did you always come over here like this? Is he that stupid to not have taken you yet?

His thoughts wandered all over the place as you placed a hand on his chest in worry. "Sebastian? Are you in there? What's wrong?" You hadn't seen him look this sober in a year or two honestly.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, running a hand threw his hair before he propped himself up, face just inches from yours.

"I-yeah, I just had some really strange dreams. I don't know what happened last night."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the lure of his rough morning voice before scolding him, "Well, I'm not cleaning up whatever all this is. I'm not your maid."

His maid? Is that really how you felt? You stood up, shuffling over to his kitchen to get hot water started. His jaw nearly fell to the floor as he saw your entire silhouette through your gown; with the way, the sun was shining it was like you were delivered to him on a silver platter.

He couldn't think straight. He was thinking about how constricting his pants felt, how hot his skin was, how much he wanted to practically eat you alive.

He stood up to stretch before he followed after you like a puppy. He peeled his old shirt over his head without a care. He felt like he was going to melt with it sticking to him.

When you turned around to meet him you had to work hard to contain your expression. You were looking right into his chest with how tall he'd gotten. All you could see were fleshy arms and chest just absolutely covered in freckles.

"Wait," you looked up at him, unable to contain your surprise as he spoke, "I know you're not my maid. I know how much you take care of me here," he used his fingers to swipe some loose hairs from around your face, "let me be your maid today."

You couldn't contain your laughter at how goofy he sounded. It made him a little bit angry, he just wanted to say whatever would get you to let him ruin your soft skin and he couldn't even manage that right anymore.

"Sebastian, I don't know what's going on today, but just go do whatever you do."

You waved him off, attempting to turn back towards the kitchen when he grabbed your wrist tightly, "I can run your bath for you?"

He dropped to his knees in front of you, looking up at you through his lashes as he brought your hand to his cheek.

"Please. I know I've been a burden, I've been - I've been bad, but I want to help. I want to do better by you."

You eye him strangely, unsure of what is going on. You've seen his charades and empty promises before and this definitely sounded like that. If you didn't know better you would almost think he was trying to seduce you in some weird way, but that would be a first.

"Seb. I love you dearly, but I don't know what you're doing and you know I don't trust you."

He groaned, dropping your hand, leaning his head against your legs. He was completely unable to resist running his hands along the back of your calves.

"Okay, you know how I go to Penny's Pub."

"Yes, Sebastian, unfortunately I do."

He started speaking again, standing up slowly as he did and caressing your curves the whole way up, he decided to play the helpless card, "I'm embarrassed," he intentionally avoided your gaze, " some woman I never met bought me a drink and I didn't feel so good so I came back here."

He was really trying to playing it up as he ran his fingertips up and down the back of your neck, "But I, I think she slipped me a lust potion. It's some gross modification of Amortentia."

He avoided your gaze, the redness in his cheeks in ears made it seem like he wasn't lying through his teeth.

"O-okay and what am I supposed to do?" The rise and fall of your chest came quicker, "You got yourself into this mess, it's nothing to do with me."

You did your best to brush him off, not wanting to give in to whatever game this was. Even if it was true, it didn't mean you owed him anything. He wasn't the Sebastian you used to know.

You attempted once more to turn away from him, but his grip along your jaw tightened. "I need you," he spoke aggressively before his lips met yours in a crushing kiss.

You placed your hands on his chest in attempt to push him back, but he responded by pinning you to the counter, tilting his head so he could speak low into your ear, "I know you need this too," his hand drifted to your skirts, dipping beneath to trace the skin of your thigh, "you can fight me, but I know I'll find you dripping underneath of here. I need the tight little pussy I've never been strong enough to take."

You could feel him drifting closer to the wetness you were ashamed of, you squirmed, but it made no difference. You could feel how stiff he was against you, how his hot commanding breath felt on your neck. "I can't hold back anymore," he whimpered, almost sounding sorry and pathetic for what he was about to do. His fingers passed through your slick folds, smearing it around to press a lubricated thumb to your clit.

"Sebastian..." You gave yourself to how good it felt, hands turned to fists as you clenched onto his pecs.

"I've been so stupid. Could've had you drooling on my cock like this the whole time." You let out a sharp moan of disappointment as he took is hand away before hoisting you onto the counter top.

He looked at you sinfully, your flushed demeanor of want and fear, your rumpled clothes splayed out over your legs you didn't even know you were spreading. He couldn't contain himself as he growled low in his throat, taking the collar of your gown and tearing through the buttons. He yanked harder still until the skirt tore straight in half.

There you were, naked, swollen, soaking, torn between the "no" you know you should give him and the fact that you can't seem to open your mouth open.

"You're so fucking perfect," for a few moments he couldn't bring himself to do anything besides stare and drink you in, "I'm going to leave bruises here," he palmed the skin of your hip, over the curve of your belly, continuing upwards, "and here. Maybe bite marks, maybe I'll leave my seed here to stain you," he flicked his fingers across your nipple, massaging the warm flesh.

He took the step forward to be directly between your legs, pinning your wrists to the counter top. He looked right into your eyes, "I might tie these up to mark them up too. So everybody can see what you let me do."

He knelt in front of you, his blown pupils never looking away from yours as he grabs you by the thighs and pulls you into his mouth. His lips cover your mound, tongue tracing your folds before flicking across your clit.

Your mewls and moans drive him to keep going and work harder, sucking on the sensitive nub and digging his fingers into your thighs. He looked beautiful between your legs, a mess of auburn hair with freckled fingers holding you hostage to his assault.

"Sebastian, Sebastian, I -" Your legs clenched and he gripped you hard to keep you from closing them, he knows your close. He's nearly done in for himself with your taste and scent, he felt like you could be his last meal and he would die a happy man.

When he feels the final tension from your legs he completely releases you, standing up and holding you by the hips. You nearly have tears in your eyes from how close you were when he denied you of it. You could see his damp mouth and chin just inches from your face.

You flinch when he swipes a finger through your folds before bringing it up to your lips. You feel embarrassed to smell and see your arousal. He uses his clean hand to drag your chin down and force your mouth open, "Taste how dirty you are, Y/N. You've been so needy for me this whole time."

You can feel the tears of frustration about to come out as you let him pop his finger into your mouth, forcing you to clean it all off.

"I bet it hurts to be so pent up, so close, but not able to get what you want," a wet slap echoes through the room as you bite your lip to hold back your pleas, "that's how you've made me feel this whole time. Trouncing around in a harlot's clothes, waiting for someone to stop being a gentleman," he chuckled darkly, "but I bet you didn't expect it would be me who would torture you."

You can't find any words as you see the look of nothing but lust on his face, he has no compassion for you right now, he's thinking only of doing all the things he's wanted for so long.

You find yourself slightly surprised as he lifts you up to carry you into his bedroom where he tosses your bare form onto the bed. You feel like prey with how he looks down at your form.

Yet you can't find it in you to look away as he pulls his belt from his trousers first, then unfastens the button to allow the to hit the floor, taking his undergarments with them.

He's bigger than you anticipated. His cock is swollen looking as if it's about to burst at any moment as he crawls between your legs to pin you down. You yelp as he pulls you by you hips to meet his cock, grinding against you while he covers your lips with his.

The kisses are sloppy as his tongue traces patterns on your lips before you let him in, he pulls at your lips with his teeth leaving bitten flesh before you finally let him inside. They're suffocating and intoxicating all at the same time, every sensation feels like it's magnified at this point.

You wrap your arms helplessly around him, feeling his pulse through his biceps and the tensed muscles along his back. He moves down to your breasts leaving a trail of bites while you rut against each other for relief.

He pulls back to take in the full site of you before positioning himself at your entrance. He wants to see you fall apart when you have the full force of him inside of you. Without any time to react he thrusts himself into you, the room filling with the sounds of moans and wet skin.

All he cared about was how you practically swallowed his cock. You were wet and needy and he felt like he could have cum on the spot, but he wanted to hold back. He wanted to make you sore, to show everyone what he had done to you.

He fucked you relentlessly with one hand braced on your hip and another he moved down to play with you once more. He needed you to like it whether you wanted to or not. He needed to know he made you finish with the full force of his cock and his fingers.

You could see how flushed he was in the face and chest, clearly holding back. You couldn't deny how attractive he was as he pounded in and out of you. As you noticed all the freckles on his body in place you had never imagined they'd be; the way his hands looked pressing into your skin almost painfully.

The way he looked down at you with hooded eyes, intent on leaving you destroyed as he fucked you and fought to give you the orgasm he so abruptly took from you earlier.

You felt it building in your stomach and pulled Sebastian down on top of you, feeling greedy to want to feel his weight all over you when you came crashing down. You felt it through your stomach like electricity as you squeezed your legs around him crying out nonsense from the pleasure.

When he realized you were there he picked up his pace, allowing himself the permission to release right inside of you. He grunted and you could feel him so deep inside that you thought you were going to fall apart. He had wanted to shoot his ropes of cum all over you and see you as his crumpled-up little mess, but he didn't have the strength to do it.

He collapsed against you and you both breathed heavily together. He didn't know if the potion made these things any more intense, but he felt like he could see stars from how hard he had just finished. He clutched at you a little more gently than before, nuzzling into your neck.

"Y/N..." your name fell off of his lips in a deep sigh. The smallest bit of guilt settled in with him now that he was 100% not under the influence of anything else.

You let yourself play with his hair softly as he spoke up, "I need to tell you something."