#Magic Wand of Obsession

[borngeniusworld]

Obsession is the Engine

I am Obsessed with Success Quotes 1. “Obsession is the engine that fuels the pursuit of growth and change.” 2. “Hard work is the cornerstone of success; obsession is the architect of transformation.” 3. “In the realm of progress, obsession is the compass pointing towards excellence.” 4. “Dedication is the ignition, but obsession is the relentless drive for continuous improvement.” 5. “To…

[cosmogyros]

Straight up in tears from Jesse Welles' latest song (posted two days ago). We are so lucky to have artists like this guy out there ❤️

Will the Computer Love the Sunset

Some nights I tell the sky our story And I don’t have to say a word Words are useless in the cosmos Words are stupid and absurd

Some nights I tell the stars our story How we raised intrepid generals Taught them to fight for paper money For invisible lines and minerals I tell a tale

Will the computer love the sunset Will we midwife our demise Can it calculate my love and Will it know how to be kind u can't jus rewind

some nights I plead into the skyland some nights I scream into the void some nights I feel like I'm a man other nights I'm jus a boy

in between the time between the time between the time I'm gettin u don't find out much of nuthin ain't that sumthin guess that's the fun in livin

some days I talk to the horizon I do my damndest not to swear some days I plead with the horizon it don't even know I'm there I sure do care

some nights I tell the sky our story I promise her we do our best I think that I might die from laughin at the infinite jest I need some rest

in between the time between the time between the time I'm gettin I don't find that much of nuthin ain't that sumthin guess that's the fun in livin

in between the time between the time between the time I'm gettin you don't find out much of nuthin ain't that sumthin guess that's the fun in livin

in between the time between the time between the time I'm gettin you don't find out much of nuthin ain't that sumthin guess that's the fun in livin

[wordpress-blaze-243800539]

A Deep Dive into Some Deep Thoughts

A Deep Dive into Some Deep Thoughts

In preparation for sharing this post with you, I read an abundance of powerful quotes, interpreted, researched, and included ways to implement their value into your life, or at least that was my intent. It is my hope that you are able to draw your own interpretations and meaning, and most importantly, apply what serves you to improve your mindset, your circumstances, and the quality of your life.

“Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.” – Thomas A. Edison

Interpretation: It is quite easy to quit once resistance or obstacles present themselves, and move on to another endeavor, to most assuredly repeat the same process. Think about how different your life would be if you gave up when things got hard. If you are blessed with the ability to walk, I can assure you that you did not accomplish that on your first try. You are reading or listening to this post right now, which means you endured the undoubtedly challenging process of learning a language. Sure, you might take for granted talking and walking, but what if you applied the same tenacity to learning and mastering anything you choose to spend your time doing?

Implementation: Go into any experience, with the mindset that you are ready to learn, ready to fail, and most importantly, ready to move forwards and keep trying no matter what you face. Anything less than your best effort, is a squandering of your time, and time is your most valuable resource in life. If you are going to do something, do it well and with a sense of pride, no matter how small or big the task is.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below to see how individuals like Thomas Edison embodied the power of second chances, and an unquenchable desire to succeed. How different our world would be if Thomas Edison gave up on his ambitions and ideas?

12 Successful People Who Faced Extreme Hardship But Never Gave Up

_‌________________________________________________________________

"It is far better to be alone than in bad company." George Washington

Interpretation: The people you choose to surround yourself with, greatly determine the quality and direction of your life. Choose wisely, and learn when it is best to disengage, and walk your own path. There is a powerful sense of peace that comes with enjoying your own company. Once you are able to do so, you will not seek validation or approval from others, and will appreciate your time with those who actually deserve it.

Implementation: Think about the relationships in your life, especially the ones you have chosen to invest your time and heart into. Do they reciprocate your efforts within the relationship? Do they inspire you to grow? Do they bring peace and comfort into your life? Does the relationship consistently provide a meaningful and mutually positive experience for both sides? Take the time to ask yourself these questions and evaluate who you spend your time with accordingly.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below for some great insight on navigating friendships and making good, informed choices in your life.

https://brainwavetrail.com/importance-of-choosing-good-friends

_________________________________________________________________

"The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change: the realist adjusts the sails." William Arthur Ward

Interpretation: Think about the last time you complained about something. While spending your time and energy on complaining, did a solution emerge? It is far more likely that clarity came when you decided to stop complaining and began thinking about a solution or reframed your perspective on the situation. The pessimist has a negative, fixed mindset regarding the wind which serves little purpose. The optimist's perspective, although positive, lacks action which will often not get them to where they aspire to be. The realist evaluates the situation, identifies what they can control, and adjusts their actions accordingly.

Implementation: Next time you are faced with a challenge, or uncomfortable situation, remember that wasting your time and thoughts on playing victim, or complaining about the circumstances, will not get you very far. Instead, believe there is a solution that you simply have not found yet, and focus on your energy on determining a first, logical, step you can take to improve your situation.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below for interesting insight on pessimism, optimism, realism, and the importance of a balanced mindset in life.

https://www.happiesthealth.com/articles/mental-health/difference-between-optimism-pessimism-and-realism

_________________________________________________________________

‌"Don't be distracted by criticism. Remember, the only taste of success some people get is to take a bite out of you." Zig Zagler

Interpretation: Do not let other people's opinions of you determine your sense of personal value or impede your path to success. As part of my journey to becoming a life coach, I have posted my work on social media, knowing that I am opening myself up to potential criticism. Unsurprisingly, I have received some negative comments that provide no value or constructive feedback, and were written to just take away from what I am trying to accomplish. I paid them little thought and kept moving forwards. To clarify, you should be open to feedback as that will help you to make progress and refine your product, but you should evaluate the source and intent behind such input. The moment you stop trying to impress others and act out of a need of validation and approval; is the moment you learn that true strength and growth comes from within.

Implementation: Surround yourself with people you trust, you respect, and who will help you to learn and grow. Disregard intentionally harmful criticism and a need for validation, do your best to be your best, and be open minded to who and what you can learn from to assist with this process. Do not let negative people, or circumstances, keep you from getting to where you want to be.

Deeper Dive: You cannot avoid criticism, but you can learn to handle it in a positive and productive way. Check out the article below to do just that.

https://thearisesociety.com/how-to-handle-criticism/

_________________________________________________________________

‌"It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." J.K. Rowling

Interpretation: Life is full of so many different things that are out of our control, however, it is what we choose to do with what we do have control over, that ultimately determines our quality of life. When you choose to continuously seek knowledge and ability, through education, practice, and experience, you are making an investment in yourself that can only help your cause. It is the hard working and resilient individuals that often find success over the naturally gifted. You are not determined by your current abilities and circumstances; you are determined by the decisions you make to change them. Remember that.

Implementation: Your thoughts determine your emotions, and consequently, the actions you ultimately choose to take. The key to changing your life, is changing your thoughts. Learn to think rationally and make sound decisions and choices that are most likely to result in positive change in your life.

Deeper Dive: Check out the article below to see how even the smallest, seemingly insignificant choices, and have a profound effect on your life.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/meditation-for-modern-life/202410/the-butterfly-effect-of-choices?msockid=1a66d616c43c66c825eec3d5c594672b

I hope you enjoyed the post. I truly value your feedback and would love to hear in the comments below if you enjoyed the content, and if you have any suggestions for improvement or additional content in the future. Most importantly, take care, God bless, and be well.

Written By: Man with a plan aka Jeffrey Kalinoski

Citations:

Emma. (2018, October 8). 12 Successful People Who Faced Extreme Hardship But Never Gave Up. Fearless Motivation - Motivational Videos & Music. https://www.fearlessmotivation.com/2018/10/08/successful-people-who-faced-extreme-hardships/

Evans, P. (2023, September 15). Choosing the Right Friends: A Key to Good Well-being. BrainWaveTrail.com. https://brainwavetrail.com/importance-of-choosing-good-friends/

Half full, half empty or…? Understanding optimism, pessimism and realism. (2023, August 26). Happiest Health. https://www.happiesthealth.com/articles/mental-health/difference-between-optimism-pessimism-and-realism

Heath, V. (2021, February 10). How to Handle Criticism in a Healthy Way. The Arise Society. https://thearisesociety.com/how-to-handle-criticism/

The Butterfly Effect of Choices. (2024). Psychology Today. https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/meditation-for-modern-life/202410/the-butterfly-effect-of-choices?msockid=1a66d616c43c66c825eec3d5c594672b

Source: A Deep Dive into Some Deep Thoughts

[adlamu]

god bless this image

[thesaturnyear]

Me trying to explain Chappell Roan to a normal person (aka my wife):

“She’s like a cross between ‘80s hair bands and 2009 Lady Gaga, but with more drag influence… and for queer women.”

[cruel-seduction]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Please like, Reblog, and comment.

[astroyongie]

✗♡✗♡ +18 Next Partner Reading ✗♡✗♡

Note: Hey everyone! February is the month of love and for that I have prepared some special readings and also games! We will start this one with this incredible reading! next up with be soft love, which will be the opposite and focused on romanticism <33 Please enjoy!

-> Reading done with: The Magical Erotic Tarot

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

-> Take a moment to breathe and focus. Choose the image you feel the most attracted to and enjoy!

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ- ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɴᴀᴋᴇ

-> 9 of wands, the chariot, 6 of wands

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: The first thing that strikes me in this reading is the fact that they are obsessed with you in all shapes and forms. They love your lips, your tummy. The way you, speak the way you move. Your future partner will love to show you off to the people yet he keeps things between the two of you quite discreet. They perceive you as someone so soft, so innocent. Might call you "little dove", "my bird", "bunny". You truly are someone they cannot leave without, as they have been manifesting you for longer than you have been.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: There's definitely so much passion in here, and your dynamic has a fun side of two coins. In one moment your partner will be the type to take you everywhere with them, long car rides, soft talks, pillow talks. Them drawing soft patterns in your back while you are relaxing. Yet, they would also not be scared to punish you, push you right into the bed, on your tummy when you are acting like a brat. Spanking your ass if you dare to raise your voice at them. They excel domination and respect and your dynamic would show exactly that.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: A ass person. They won't hide it and their kinks would all be around that. For the dynamic of your intimate sessions there's a lot going on. Body worshiping, spank play, ass dropping, anal, punishment play. but also overstimulation and denial depending on their mood and liking, soft degradation as well. The dynamic in the relationship also shows inside the bedroom. But this person truly would have always their hands one your, as they can't keep it to themselves

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ- ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ

-> 8 of swords, 2 of wands, the magician

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: They probably desire you much than you desire them, and that's because their need of emotional connection is linked to their physical connection. They perceive you as someone who is seductive, someone who has caught them and now they have no issue out of this relationship, this passion, this desire. They perceive you as someone they need to possess, to own, to keep away from prying eyes. That's how much obsessed they are over you

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: You both actually have a very good dynamic, one that is flirty, teasing despite also being able to be serious when its needed. You would be the type of couple that share food, cook for one another. when you go out to eat, you can rub your feet/leg on them and they would respond. there's so much chemistry, passion and romanticism. there's no secrets, you both are able to speak to one another without hiding things

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: This is all about learning things with each other. There's a possibility that this person will have your virginity and you theirs in most cases. in other cases, it indicates someone with a lot of experience, and they will make are to show you everything they know. Threesomes, exhibitionism, voyeurism, body worship, exchange of roles and kinks related to pushing forward and exploring without boundaries. that's how much comfortable you are with them.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ- ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴍᴇɢʀᴀɴᴀᴛᴇ

-> The Lovers, The Knight of swords, The Sun

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: I think they perceive you as the one that will fix their heart, their ego. The one person that they found that will make it all go away and make it feel right. It feels like they would be obsessed with your style, the way you dress and act. they love your chest/breast area as well. For some of you, this person is probably in a relationship but they will leave their partner for you because the chemistry and the attraction toward you is way greater than with who they are currently.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: Okay this dynamic is quite interesting, we have here a partner that is quite dominating in the relationship. the type that will take command on things, that will dictate the relationship and provide for you. It seems like they want the other people know you belong to them, and that they are here for you. It's a dynamic where you are mostly being babied, cared for.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: There's such a good dynamic here, the sex is so hot, so passionate where you feel yourself like the happiest person in there. Some kinks I am able to perceive is hair pulling, whips, voyeurism as well. perhaps some loving missionary, naked skin agaisnt skin smash, because they need to feel you close and there. It's a sex that is truly connected and where you both take care of one another.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜰᴏᴜʀ- ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀɴᴅʟᴇꜱ

-> 9 of swords, The Priestess, 10 of pentacles

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: You are someone they finds very broken yet so sensual. They probably have this idea of "I need to fix them" as they see you as a little person who just needs to feel loved. They get protective of you rather quickly in the relationship, they want you close and crave you. They love your scent and your hips/waist. they would always want to have their hands in there

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: The dynamic is beautiful and the way they put you in a pedestal, you have honestly won this one. To them, you are everything, innocent and young, soft and so fragile. They would are for you, while also giving you your independence and the space to make decisions for yourself. You would mostly lead In the relationship. It's a dynamic where you both respect and learn with one another.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: Definitely calls you "kitten" in the bedroom, very "pussy drunk" type of person when it comes to you. they love to strip you naked, have their mouth in your neck and mark you up. They will worship you, kiss your body up and down for their own amusement and pleasure. feed you fruits, buy you the prettiest sets of lace. Mirror sex or like having a mirror in the roof would be also a thing it seems

ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜰɪᴠᴇ- ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏꜱᴇꜱ

-> knight of wands, the judgment, 7 of cups

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: Their perception of you is quite interesting Ig I must say. the cards show that they see you as someone they can grow old with, someone they want to adventure in the world with, someone they want to share their life with. They love your voice, your breasts/chest area as well. The type to think you are a precious diamond that can only be polish by their own fingers

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: ah, "ride or die" type of thing it seems. Like I said earlier they are the type of person who want you for life so they have made sure they treat you as the mother/father of their children, like a husband/wife material. This person treats you right, provides to a certain extent but their love for you is priority. they will always defend you, no matter what.

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: there's a lot of riding sex in here, also you against their chest with they use their hands and mouth. Breeding kink, bondage and age play can be things they are into. They love making out before and during the sex, their lips on your as there's thrusts coming in and out. they are quite romantic as well inside the bedroom, slow passionate sex is preferred by them than the rough one.

ᴘɪʟᴇ ꜱɪx- ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴘꜱᴛɪᴄᴋ

-> 3 of swords, page of cups, 10 of swords

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 How Do They Perceive You?: they see you as the person that saved them after a heartbreak. It feels like this person has been wishing for love and a partner after a huge disappointment, and the moment they saw you everything made sense. they are obsessed with you. their hand always on your thigh as they talk to you. they will serenade you because to them, you are someone who deserves all the efforts

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Dynamic: Such a romantic dynamic honestly, this person and you are the type to write hand letters, notes, texts often and leave them around/send them when you least expect them to. They might call you "kitten" in some cases. A dynamic where they would stay up late until you come home, until you need them. the type that is jealous and would try to be around you every time, because there's some trust issues alongside the desire they have for you

ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶 Your Smash Dynamic: mutual masturbation can be a thing inside the bedroom, soft music in the background as well, voyeurism or exhibitionism (the fear of getting caught is what I am sensing). Threesomes can be a thing or like you being attached while your partner smashes someone else (this only in certain cases). there's a lot of make up sex, making your cry during it, forcing yourself to look at your reflection as well. boob play, a intimacy that can so times get a little rough depending on both your energy

[lady-luckk]

Can I get more magical girl content? I love magical girls so much :3

lights, glitter, action!!!

# pairings: yandere batfam x magical girl reader

# synopsis: you randomly fall out of the sky and into the arms of the batfamily. now you get to experience wacky adventures with them.

# warnings: this will contain dark themes such as obsession and possessiveness. if you are uncomfortable, please block me. viewer discretion is advised. minors DNI.

# notes: reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated!

thinking of a drabble about a magical girl (aka you) who crash-lands—quite literally—into gotham, face-first into a rooftop during a red hood stakeout. your transformation sequence sparks brighter than the bat-signal, and jason todd immediately points a gun at you before you finish your glittery intro pose. “i am celestia radiant, guardian of purity and—” click “you’ve got three seconds to explain the sparkles.”

“do not shoot that sparkly person,” dick grayson says through comms, voice full of older brother exhaustion. “that’s not a sentence i thought i’d say today, but here we are.”

you insist your wand only “dispels negativity,” which doesn’t go over well when you try to boop jason with it and his helmet actually falls off. “what the—kid, that thing costs more than your tiara.”

tim drake attempts to scan you with his tech. the scanner explodes in pink glitter. he blinks. “great. now my system’s infected with lisa frank malware.”

“i can sense your inner turmoil,” you tell him, solemnly. “do you even sleep?”

“define sleep.”

“when your soul regenerates through restful peace.”

“yeah, no. i run on coffee, spite, and childhood trauma.”

damian challenges you immediately and calls you “a delusional pastel distraction.” you politely deck him with a glitter beam. alfred bandages him while muttering, “perhaps don’t insult people with projectile sparkles next time.”

you enter the batcave and gasps, “so much repressed emotion... this place reeks of unhealed trauma!” bruce walks out of the shadows and deadpans, “welcome to gotham.”

dick pokes your wand, curious. it responds by turning into a cat. neither of them say anything. they just nod like this is normal.

bruce finally sits you down and says, “are you a threat?”

“only to sadness, injustice, and tight schedules.”

“...”

you’re officially listed in the batcomputer as “magical girl (?) – harmless (???) – very pink (confirmed).”

after months of you showing up to “aid gotham’s bravest hearts,” the batfam starts developing a crushing, all-consuming soft spot for you—like an airborne glitter virus of affection.

jason is furious about it.

“they’re weird, they’re loud, and they smells like vanilla cupcakes!”

“you mean the vanilla cupcakes you keep stealing from them?”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT.”

dick develops a habit of dramatically appearing next to you with his shirt slightly torn. “oops, must’ve gotten grazed again. guess i need magical healing?”

“you’ve got twelve band-aids on and none of them are real wounds,” tim whispers.

“don’t ruin this for me.”

tim claims he’s above it all. “we don’t even know what dimension they’re from.”

“your made them a custom batphone,” jason says.

“for tactical reasons.”

“it’s shaped like a heart.”

“tactical. heartline security.”

damian insists he feels nothing. "you’re a distraction." but when you calls him “gallant” after he saves a kitten, he literally freezes. the kitten escapes. he doesn’t notice. he’s still staring.

bruce has, very clearly, stated:

“i don’t care about you personally.” completely straight-faced. like he’s reading a grocery list. everyone heard it. everyone quotes it.

and yet… every time you so much as glance at something remotely out of budget, he’s already pulled out his black card.

“i’m just funding mission efficiency,” he says.

“that’s a limited-edition 40th anniversary magical cow figure from meow meow doki.”

“you seemed interested. we might need it.”

you mention wanting snacks once during patrol. the next day, the cave fridge is stocked with every brand you’ve ever casually mentioned.

“it’s for team morale,” bruce says, not making eye contact.

“you bought six flavors of celestial-themed ice cream.”

“they were on sale.”

you say it’s cold in your room once.

bruce upgrades the entire manor’s heating system by the end of the day.

“old wiring,” he says. “dangerous.”

over time it becomes apparent that they’ve grown an unhealthy attachment towards you.

whenever dick spots you, he clings to you like he can't bear to be apart. he’ll throw his arm around your shoulders with a grin, holding you a little too tightly. “did you miss me?” he’ll ask, leaning in just a little too close as he whispers in your ear. you can feel the weight of his gaze even when he’s not looking directly at you

jason has a habit of “accidentally” touching you. when you're walking together, his fingers will brush against yours, lingering just a second longer than necessary. he’ll give you a low, almost inaudible chuckle when you flinch. “i know you don’t mind,” he’ll say with a wicked grin, his hand remaining a little too close to yours.

tim loves to stand behind you when you’re busy, too close for comfort. you’ll feel his breath on your neck, his fingers lightly brushing against your back as he "casually" adjusts your chair. “just making sure you're comfortable,” he’ll say with a tone that feels like more than just a comment. when you turn around, he’s already walking away, as if he never meant to invade your space at all.

damian doesn’t shy away from showing his possessiveness. if you're out in public, he’ll stand a little too close to you, his presence always hovering just behind you like a shadow. sometimes, when you’re sitting, he’ll casually rest his hand on your knee, as if to remind you that you’re his responsibility. “stay close,” he’ll say, his voice unyielding.

bruce doesn't need to say much; his actions speak louder. he’ll touch your arm with a hand that's just firm enough to be a reminder. if you're sitting near him, he’ll make sure his leg brushes against yours, the slightest physical connection making it clear he's always aware of your presence. “are you comfortable?” he’ll ask, his gaze unreadable as if keeping you within his reach is the only thing that matters.

something that i've wondered was what people did during those long ass magical girl transformation.

imagine this: the city was in chaos. explosions echoed in the distance. the batboys were in the middle of a high-stakes battle against a villain whose name they still hadn’t quite figured out, but who was throwing around enough toxins and lasers to give gotham a new reason to be paranoid.

dick was leaping from wall to wall, trying to outmaneuver the villain’s henchmen. jason was head-butting a wall, making sure no one tried to flank them. tim was hacking into a control panel, eyes flicking between screens like a caffeinated squirrel. damian was already fighting the villain head-on, his sword clashing against their armor.

then, a voice crackled over the comms, interrupting the chaos:

“hey guys, be ready—i’m just finishing my transformation!”

everyone freezes. like someone hit pause on the action.

dick paused mid-flip, hanging from a ceiling beam. “wait—did they just say ‘transformation?’”

jason’s fist was raised, but he didn’t punch, staring at the comms like he’d been told the laws of physics were invalid. “they’re really doing this now?”

tim blinked. “are they seriously transforming? right in the middle of all this?”

damian, standing with his sword poised and looking perfectly ready to end the villain’s reign, sighed audibly. “this is… highly inefficient.”

but he didn’t move a muscle. not even to attack. he was waiting.

bruce, who had been silently observing the chaos and directing the others via comms, sighed too—his voice just low enough to avoid detection. “if we’re waiting, then wait. no need to rush this. hold positions. let’s see how long this takes.”

there was no mistaking it. he was as much a part of this ridiculous ritual as everyone else.

the villain, who had been watching the absurdity unfold, narrowed their eyes. “what are they doing? are they—waiting? are they—really pausing for a transformation?” the villain scoffed, clearly annoyed by the delay.

they pointed a glowing gauntlet at the group. “you’re all pathetic!”

but the batboys? completely unmoved. they were all still. all waiting. they were locked in place, every one of them silently enduring this ridiculous delay.

jason, gritting his teeth, turned to face the villain for the first time in a few minutes. “we’d love to keep fighting, but... you know. waiting on them.”

tim, flipping through some data on his wrist computer, half-checked out. “i’ll just optimize our schedule for the next one, but... they better have a good reason for this.”

dick was already making a list of things he could do during the wait. "i mean, it’s a whole process. at least we get a breather."

the villain, becoming increasingly frustrated, clenched their fists and began pacing. “no. i will not wait any longer!”

they leveled their weapon toward the batboys, preparing for an attack—but they didn’t move. everyone stood frozen—the batboys too disciplined to break formation, and you?

still getting ready.

there was another long pause. the villain shot a glare at bruce, who was calmly scanning the room, not even bothering to acknowledge the interruption. “are you all seriously letting this happen?” the villain snapped, voice rising. “i can’t believe i’m waiting on—”

and then it happened.

the unmistakable sound of sparkles filled the air. a soft chime echoed through the comms.

“magical girl transformation, initiate!”

dick’s eyes practically sparkled. “here it comes…”

jason let out a low groan, leaning back against a pillar. “this better be good.”

tim was frantically refreshing his mental list of everything he’d need to do to process this information later.

damian folded his arms and glared at the villain. “this delay better be worth it.”

there was a soft flash, a trail of glitter, and—there you were. in your full magical girl outfit, sparkling like a dream—the colors bright, the fabric catching the light, and your transformation complete in all its glory.

there was an awkward silence.

jason blinked, covered in what was still residual glitter from the earlier mishap. “okay, that... took a little longer than i thought.”

tim let out a long sigh. “i swear, the next time we’re scheduling this—everyone gets a 30-second limit.”

“done!” you announced, twirling dramatically. “let’s do this!”

bruce stared at you with a level of composure that barely hid his tiny sigh of approval.

“...now, we can continue.”

dick, ever the dramatic one, clapped. “absolutely worth it.”

jason just groaned and rolled his eyes, but the tiniest hint of a smile twitched on his lips.

“yeah, yeah, but next time, let’s maybe—i don’t know—not do this during a fight?”

the villain, now fuming, was clearly done. “this is your strategy?” they snapped. “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

they swung their weapon, clearly intending to take you down—but the batboys weren’t having it anymore.

in perfect sync, they moved, attacking from all angles.

you, of course, were already ready, using your powers to effortlessly counter their attacks.

the fight lasted all of five minutes after that.

once the villain was down, the batboys stepped back, eyes on you. jason let out a snort. “well, that was... something.”

tim raised an eyebrow. “maybe next time we make a better schedule for these things?”

damian just crossed his arms. “you’d think after all these months, we’d learn not to wait for their transformation.”

dick, flashed a smile. “what can i say? it’s worth it.”

bruce, just muttered, “next time, no delays.”

you, oblivious to their frustration and somehow enjoying the chaos, smiled brightly. “i’m glad you guys handled it without me!”

the villain, now completely defeated and embarrassed, could only mumble as they were carted off. “i cannot believe i lost to these people.”

and the batboys? they’d just endured yet another ridiculous chapter in their lives with you. but they all secretly agreed on one thing.

no matter how much it annoyed them… they’d always wait for your magical girl transformation.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS in Hogwarts AU

AN: Hi anon, thank you for requesting. This was an awesome one to write. Some of these could be multi chaptered but alas I am a woman of few words and even meagre attention span.

Request: a request!! harry potter au :D love and deepspace and harry potter are my two favourites ^^ thank you!!!

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 100% Fluff (damn, this is rare)

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb...this is a trend (tell me which ones you like pls)

Xavier:

He is the legacy Slytherin. Pureblood prince of a faraway kingdom, the kind with a family vault older than the castle and buildings named after them.

He sleeps through class but still scores the highest. Doesn’t take notes, but his potions always come out textbook perfect, somehow even better than the textbook.

Even Snape, ever the grump, seems to favor him.

He was your enemy. At least, he was supposed to be.

The nepo baby. The one who walked into Hogwarts with an heirloom wand and a last name that made professors stand up straighter.

You, who ran away from home for magic, scraping together acceptance letters and scholarships, walking into the castle with nerves and nothing else. You, who earned your place.

You hated him. Hated how the system seemed built for boys like him. How Slytherin’s points climbed every time he so much as blinked. How he didn’t fight for the respect he got. He just had it.

And worst of all? He was nice.

Quietly. Gently. Infuriatingly nice.

He held doors open without thinking. Helped carry books for first-years. Always paired with the struggling students in class because, “Well, they need a win, don’t they?”

He never rubbed it in. Never gloated. Never treated you like you were less, which made it worse, somehow. Because you wanted to hate him. Needed to.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and smiled like you were someone worth smiling at.

And that… was the beginning of the end.

Rafayel:

You sighed when yet another chair was dragged next to yours at the Hogwarts staff table. At this rate, they might just push you off the end completely.

But alas, such is the fate of a muggle-subjects professor in a school where “Calculus” might as well be a curse word. You’re used to the disinterest, the disapproval. The dark arts will always win over derivatives.

You’re halfway through mentally drafting your resignation letter when the new professor takes his seat, by replacing his legs with an enormous siren tail and dramatically splashing half your legroom away.

"Hello," he says, smiling with too many teeth. "Rafayel. Art professor. Lovely to meet you."

You stare. Shake his webbed hand. Stammer your name.

And then it hits you.

Arts. No magic.

Another outsider. Well—not quite the same. But close enough.

To your complete dismay, Rafayel’s subject is met with none of the disdain yours is. Students flock to his class like he’s handing out enchanted paintbrushes dipped in prophecy. Somehow, he’s the cool muggle professor.

You want to be mad.

But he keeps bringing you snacks during staff meetings. And drawing you in charcoal between grading.

So maybe you forgive him. A little.

Zayne:

“Classroom windows need to be elevated above the two-foot mark,” the man drones, leading you through Hogwarts like he built it himself.

The Ministry has to be trolling you. There’s no other explanation for sending him again.

Zayne. The most regulation-obsessed official alive. The man who’s turned passive-aggression into an Olympic sport.

“Yes, of course, Zayne,” you smile with false sweetness. “Filch and I will get right on it.” (Translation: I will do it while Filch glares and mutters about unions.)

He ignores you. Of course he does. Groundskeepers aren’t worth Ministry time.

Then he stops, turns, and hands you a thick folder. “Every storage hinge in the castle needs to be updated to a new spell protocol. Instructions inside.”

You want to hurl it at his head.

Instead, you smile. “Got it.”

What you don’t know: Zayne spent weeks compiling that list. Researching every obscure policy he could dig up.

All just to have an excuse to come talk to you.

He even bribed Filch to stay out of the way.

So that later, when you’re elbow-deep in cursed cabinet screws, he can show up with dinner.

Professionally, of course.

He’s not an amateur.

Sylus:

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… a piece of work.

Many a student, mostly girls, a few brave boys, and one very dramatic portrait on the third floor, called him a work of art.

You agreed.

Which was fair, considering you hired him.

Sylus. Your oldest friend. Keeper of far too many of your secrets. Former war general, occasional assassin, and man bound by an ancient oath not to die. Because of course he is.

Was it an HR nightmare? Absolutely.

Did it matter? Not even a little.

You’re the principal with the most peaceful term Hogwarts has seen in decades. No cursed classrooms. No dark lords. No goblin incidents in the West Tower.

They can’t afford to question your hiring decisions, not when it’s working. Even if “working” currently includes the students placing bets on whether the two of you are dating, dueling, or doomed.

There are whispers. Screams, really. Squeals in the hallways every time Sylus leans a little too close during staff meetings. Every time he calls you, by your name, letting go of the official address, with that knowing smile that turns half the seventh-years into puddles.

You pretend not to notice. You also pretend not to see the doodles left behind in your healing arts studies classroom, little hearts drawn in ink, a chemical formula twisted cleverly into your ship name.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," you murmur with a smirk, holding up the notebook for him to see.

Caleb:

They called it the sweetest story in Diagon Alley.

The Quidditch coach who kept showing up at the same little pub after every match, “for the butterbeer,” he claimed.

(He absolutely couldn’t handle it. Turned red after two sips. Giggled after three. Once tried to do a victory dance and knocked over an entire broom display.)

And the innkeeper, you, who always kept a room open. “Just in case,” you said, as if he wasn’t the reason you looked out the window every Friday night.

Together, you became the unofficial mom and dad to every half-injured, half-homesick player who passed through. Post-win snacks. Pep talks before tryouts. Holiday dinners for those who didn’t go home.

You weren’t just a couple. Your relationship was a blessing.

So of course, when Caleb finally proposed, it had to be with the team. After a big win. Pub packed, cheers echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

He slipped the ring into your butterbeer. A cute idea, in theory.

But you’d just taken a deep sip when he got down on one knee.

Cue: choking, gasping, sputtering.

Half the league panicked. Someone shouted, “She’s dying!” And Caleb, red-faced and frantic, performed the Heimlich in front of two full tables of junior league athletes and at least one reporter.

The ring did come out. Eventually.

You said yes, coughing.

He cried anyway. Ugly, happy, overjoyed tears.

[misserabella]

SICK LOVE

perv! obsessed ellie x fem!reader pt.2

pt1

summary; after catching your best friend ellie in a compromised situation, the two of you leave behind the ‘friend’ status to become a couple. if only you knew there was much more under the surface…

cw; +18 content, really perv!ellie, dark themes, somnophilia, breeding kink, daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, squiring, oral sex (r and e receiving), dom ellie, strap on sex, use of toys (dildo and magic wand), masturbation (r and e), edging, slapping, orgasm denial, cum eating, voyeurism, dacryphilia, dirty talking, hair pulling, knife kink, (mentioned), blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

If Ellie was absolutely and sickly obsessed with you…, it sure wasn’t the worse it could get.

Her mind was in a haze since the first time she made you hers. It had been before, but now? It was just fog all over her brain, a fog under your name.

She could only think about you, dream about you, talk about you… It was all you.

And now that you were hers, her whole heart seemed to have been ripped out of her chest. She would love to make a necklace out of it for you, so you and anyone who would try and approach you would know that she was as much yours as you were hers.

But because she could not do that, she had made her personal mission to found other ways to do the same with no… Hanging hearts. So she had to conform with just marking you everywhere. Hickeys on your neck and chest, fingertip bruises on your thighs and hips, bites on your shoulders… She’ll put them everywhere and do them anywhere too, whenever and wherever she had a chance.

At first, she thought that you’d be scared by her possessiveness, but you surprised her yet once again when you’d just let her, loving her lips and marks on your skin as much as she did. She’d drag you to the closest empty classroom in free period just to pin you against the wall and attack your neck in mouth open wet kisses that had you rocking your hips against the leg that she had pushed in between your own, her cold fingertips against the warm skin of your thighs and ass, squeezing . “Looking so pretty today, baby.” she’d say, her breath against the wet of your skin, making you shiver. “Fuck, I love it when you wear this little skirts of yours, got me all wet on my pants.” you’d moan when her hand would leave your skin just to fell harshly against it in a spank. “Love to see all those fuckers watching you, drooling over you yet still unable to get closer to you because they know you’re all mine...” her mouth was intoxicating, her tongue inside your mouth making your eyes roll and pussy throb. “Wear anything you want baby, anything you want.” she’d whisper, her fingertips trailing along your lower stomach just to bump against the hem of your panties and snuck under them, rolling your clit and making your head fall backwards and against the wall she had pinned you to. “I’ll make sure to mark you all up and pretty for them to know that they will never have what they so want.” and then, she’d choke you to stay quiet as she’d eat you out on top of the teacher’s table, sneaking your wet panties in her back pocket for later.

Her obsession enhanced. Now that you were a couple, she didn’t have to hold it in anymore —at least that much…—. She’d sneak in your bedroom in the middle of the night to wake you up with her strap deep inside of you. You’d end up crying on her chest as she would fuck you dumb, filling you up for hours on end and using you as she would use her toy. Then, she’d stay inside, keeping her cock warm and your pussy full for the rest of the night. She’d even use the soft spot you had on her to make you sit on it in your stupid study dates, while napping, watching films…, saying that she wouldn’t concentrate if you didn’t.

She was a sucker for you, always tying up your shoes when the laces would come undone —taking the chance to stare at your clothed pussy—, braiding your hair for you —so she could get a sniff of your sweet shampoo—, putting on your makeup first thing in the morning when you were still half asleep —when she could steal some chapsticks for him to use and taste when she’d miss you— and softly taking it off for you when night time came… —sometimes she’d make you cry it out, fucking it out of you—. Anything she could do for you she would do, that and more.

She would often find herself in your room after telling you that she had to take a quick trip to the bathroom, looking for some new panties and little trinkets for her sweet collection and to touch herself buried in your sheets. She’d dry hump your pillow too, leaving it damp in cum for it to dry. The thought of you sleeping on it that night would have her whimpering in her own bedroom, fucking her fingers into her cunt while watching a bad porn in where the girl’s moans sounded like your own, groans falling from her broken and bleeding lips, for constantly biting down on them. ‘Oh god, baby, so good… shit, you like that? Shit, just like that, fuck, you drive me insane…’

Her photo collection had grown… Really grown. Her favorite new acquisitions were the ones in which she had captured your perfectly used cunt, —your cum dripping out of it and onto your pink sheets— or the ones in which she could see her cock thrusting in your pussy, drool dripping down your chin, since her fingers where down your throat, and chest, neck and tits full of her marks. ‘Yeah, baby. Look at me. Just like that. Stuck your tongue out for me.’

She could not imagine herself nor pussy being away from you for even just a day. And who is it that you want to trick? You couldn’t either. Not when she sounded so fucking pretty every time you rode her, her usually soft groans becoming loud whimpers and moans, hips thrusting upwards in seek of more. ‘Fuck, ah, ah baby, please, please baby harder. Just like that, fuck, yes yes, shit, I love you. Love you so much… I’d do anything for you, baby, fuck, anything. Just let me stay like this, fuck! I’m gonna cum baby, fuck, fuck, fuck…’

Something she loved to do every chance she could get was taste you after cheer practice —something you’ve decided try as of late, and Ellie was all for it—. You had whined about it, saying that you were all sweaty and disgusting and that it wouldn’t taste good, but she wasn’t having it. She had been watching you turn, jump and shake your hips for almost two hours in that fucking little cheer skirt that actually drove her crazy. And she had to say that the splits that you’d do every now and then really didn’t help the throbbing in between her thighs. So, after your head leader had announced the end of the session, you’d find yourself holding for dear life to her hair as she kneeled in front of you, pulling up one of your legs for it to rest on her shoulder as her tongue laped at your soaked pussy, eating you out against the lockers of the girls’ changing room. The scent was stronger after your night practices. The taste? Mind blowing. Additionally, you had to admit that the shower sex after that was enough to make you fall asleep on your way back home. Not that she found it a problem, she loved to carry you to her bed just to kiss your forehead and hug you tighter in your slumber. Watching you sleep would get her so horny sometimes that she couldn’t help herself by dry humping against your ass, hands on your tits as she kissed your neck. She loved it when you would yell at her the morning after about the new hickeys all over your skin —since she always seemed to push it too far those nights—, but she wouldn’t care less, not when your tits bounced like that and your pretty lips called her name over and over again. At the end of the day, she’d have you screaming her name in another type of scenario, and you wouldn’t be that pissed about love bites on your neck.

She also loved to tease you. Pushing your panties aside and fucking you with her fingers while in a gathering with your best friends. Your squirming and tries to not show having her rocking against your ass. Sometimes she’d even drop something under the diner’s table where you’d be eating together to get a taste of your dripping juices, making you almost cum in the spot. Or those movie nights with your group, where she’d have you crying in the nook of her shoulder due to the amount of times she had already made you cum with her fingers, deliciously overstimulating you. ‘Is she okay?’ You’d hear one of your friends ask, and Ellie would just say that you were too sensitive or too scared depending on what type of movie y’all were watching that night.

The best sex came later, when you would follow her to the bathroom and she would fuck you so harsh on her strap your cheek would end up press against the sink mirror, fingers down your throat to make you shut up, since your cries were so loud it almost got the two of you caught… Not that she’d care, just the thought of someone stepping in to her fucking you senseless had her cumming against the back of the strap… Cum that she’d push inside your cunt with her fingers as she pushed your panties back up for it to stay there.

“Be a good girl and I’ll eat it out of you once we are alone, hm?” and she actually would, making you come two more times with just her tongue, leaving you clean.

Something she had started to look into was a little bit more…, darker. She had feared herself when the thought of you bleeding with her initials carved on your skin almost made her faint. Just thinking about you completely to her mercy, all tied up and open for her unable to move, got her unable to sleep for almost a week. She could almost hear your pleads and cries as she fucked into you with already a little vibrator bullet inside.

But the dream you both where living in had to end someday. She just wished it never had to.

That night, the two of you were returning from a day on the Jackson’s pool with Dina and Jessie, your hair still wet since you had been begging her to stay for a little longer, having to pull you out of the water when the sun had gone down and you were shivering, fingers all pruned due to just how many hours you had spent in there. The skin of your cheeks, chest and shoulders was sun kissed, flushed even if Ellie had made sure that you had sunscreen applied every hour. “Woah! Careful babe.” she smiled when you had slipped against the wooden tiles, giggles leaving your lips when her strong arms pressed you against her chest to avoid you falling and hurting yourself.

“Sorry, I guess I can’t help falling for you, Ellie.” she chuckled, your burning skin against her colder one making her slightly dizzy, her pussy throbbing inside her blue short jeans when your nails scratched her chest, doe eyes looking up at her as you bit your bottom lip.

“That’s my line, baby.” she muttered, leaning in ‘till your breaths met, lips brushing and hips pressing against each other. You moaned when her tongue pushed inside your mouth in a hot yet lazy kiss, the hands on your hips sliding down, to your ass, where her fingers hardly dug, squeezing and pressing you against her.

The temperature of the room quickly changed, gasps filling the air with every new kiss that you shared, her fingers tugging on the towel that surrounded you and getting it to fall to your feet. You let out a chuckle that quickly tuned into a moan when her mouth latched to your neck, bitting down hard on the flesh and leaving marks. “Els…” you called out for her, hearing her hum against your skin as one of her legs pushed in between your thighs. “We need to shower.”

“I’ll clean you up baby.” your cheeks flushed when her tongue made a long strip up your neck and towards your ear. “You know I’m good at that.” and you knew what she meant, but you still wouldn’t give in, hearing her groan when you pulled her away from your neck by her hair. “Baby…” her lips tried and go back to yours, but you shook your head.

“I need to go wash up.” her hands pulled on your hips to keep you closer.

“I could wash up with you.” she suggested and you chuckled, shaking your head, to what she whined, almost in pain to have to be away from you for… 10 minutes.

“I’ll be back.” you promised, giving her a little peck on the lips, leaning on her ear so only she could listen to what you whispered. “Keep this warm for me, alright?” she whimpered when one of your hands came down to the crotch of his jeans, giving a light squeeze to her drooling cunt, quickly leaving upstairs and scaping her hands.

Normally, Ellie was pretty patient. Hell, she had been patient with you for years on end, hoping for the day that she got to finally fuck you. But there was something about you after that first taste that had her all hot and bothered. You were like a drug. She’d always want more and more after each overdose. She couldn’t help it, you were all she had ever dreamed of. That’s why she found herself silently sneaking up stairs and straight to her room —which was connected to her private bathroom, where you had eventually brought little bottles of your own shampoos and conditioners for this little occasions where you had to shower at her house—. She had hoped to catch you stripping, maybe even looking for some of her clothes to change into, but never in a thousand years she had imagined this…

You were frozen, completely frozen. Standing in the middle of her room and beside her desk, which’s last drawer was fully open and exposed. She felt her blood run cold. That was supposed to be locked. You weren’t supposed to see what was inside, weren’t supposed to be eyeing her little collection of your naked pictures nor porn magazines with your face glued on top of the model’s. You had seen it all. All the little trinkets she has stolen from you…, all the panties that had misteriously disappeared from your drawers, the new and untouched toys she had bought in hopes to someday use on you: mouth gags, dildos, vibratos, handcuffs…Everything.

“Baby…” she stuttered, your eyes still fixated on the little polaroids and sticky pages of the magazine. It hadn’t been long since the last time she had masturbated to them. Maybe that’s why in a little slip she had forgotten to lock the drawer, the magazine sticking out far enough to catch your attention and leaving you out of words when you’d found her little dirty secret. “Shit.” You had even found her fucking diary, in which she described the dirty things she dreamed of you, that she’d love to do to you… Fucking hell.

She didn’t know what to say to not seem like the creep she was. She had fucked up big time. And now you were going to leave her, you were going to probably call the police and get her in jail with a little restraining order as a welcome gift. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, fuck, you weren’t supposed to see any of this, you weren’t supposed to…” she was trailing off as her feet quickly approached you, trying so hard not to cry that her heart fell to the pit of her stomach when a little whimper came out of your rosy and fully lips. Her eyes widened when she saw the look on your face and state you were in: half-lided and glossy eyes looking up at her, cheeks and ears fully blushed and thighs squeezing and pushing flush against each other. You were supposed to feel disgusted, terrified. And yet there you were, wetter and needier than ever. “Look at me.” the low of her voice almost made you cum, walls clenching and breath hitching.

“Ellie…” you whined when her thumb and index finger harshly took your chin, making your head turn towards her. Your voice was a mere whisper, but it still had her blood rushing to her head… and south.

“Look at me.” she repeated, this time taking her time with every word to make sure you heard the warning on them. It was not a plead, it was an order. You gasped when your eyes met hers, completely fucked out of your brain and feeling dizzy, Ellie made you feel dizzy, the words on her diary had. It was just so much need in them, so many promises of tears and pleasure… Her eyes were just two black holes, pupils blown and breathing slow. “Look at you. You’re getting off on this?” she chuckled, unable to believe any of it. You whimpered when her hand left your chin to grip your neck, pulling you against her chest and caging you against the wall on your back. You were boiling up, almost evaporating when her lips brushed against the conch of your ear. “Did my little secret turn you on, baby? Did that little pussy of yours got all wet while reading my diary?” you moaned when her leg pressed in between your thighs, she could feel the heat of your core against her bare thigh. “Aw of course you did, you love it, don’t you? Love to know just how much I crave you. How much I want to hurt you and make you cry on my cock. Make you bleed… Fuck you all up and pretty for me until you’re nothing more than a hole for me to fuck into, hm?” you nodded, your head falling backwards in a whimper when she pushed upwards and against your clit, making you rut on her. Her lips were all over your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot that got you begging her for more. “Is that what you want, baby? Want me to fill you up on my cum? Use you? Cut you?”

“Fuck, Ellie, yesyesyes please, anything you want. Anything.” she groaned against the skin of your shoulder, biting hard enough to leave a mark. It hurt, badly, but it only made you crave her more. Crave it more. Your hands tangled on her air, her half-lidded eyes on yours, which were fixated on her lips.

“What is it baby? Want a taste?” she leaned in, a smirk on his face. You whined at her teasing, pushing her against you when her lips brushed against yours, still not giving in. She clicked her tongue, the hand on your neck pining you harshly against the wall, making your head bump slightly against it. “If you want something… You just need to ask.” your back arched when her free hand snuck down to your chest, tugging on your upper part of your bikini, making your tits pop out. You gasped at her harsh grip on one of them.

“Please Ellie, kiss me, kiss me…” you craved it so bad it hurt.

“Poor thing. Why don’t you open your mouth for me, hm?” you didn’t wait to follow her words, moaning when her tongue entered your mouth, hips stuttering as you dry humped her thigh. She kissed you to the verge of tears. It felt so good, her right hand on your neck and her left leaving your nipples to slowly stumble down your stomach and slip inside the bottoms of your bikini, which laces she quickly unmade, throwing the piece of clothing aside. Your mouth fell open in a cry when her fingers bumped against your clit, a harsh slap being given to your cunt when her name fell from your lips. Your hips buckled against her hand, the sting bringing new tears to your eyes. “Be good baby, you know that’s not my name, is it?” you shook your head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry daddy…” a smirk tugged on her lips, and she rewarded you with her fingertips back on that sensitive spot, when your mouth fell open in a whimper taking the chance and spitting inside of it.

“Now swallow.” you gratefully did, gasping for air when the hand on your neck pushed in your mouth, fingers making you whimper. “What a beautiful mouth you have…” you moaned when she thrusted her fingers in your throat. And you took it, tongue swirling and sucking on them as you rocked your hips against her fingers and thigh. “Yet no one has yet showed you how to properly use it.” you felt like crying when she took a step back, leaving you squirming and in need of her touch, which came back, harshly than ever to make you sink to your knees, fingers in between your locks. “You know your safe word, right?” you nodded as you heard the ruffling of her jeans and underwear, zipper and button unbuckled leading the denim to fall and pool around her ankles, her soaked underwear came shortly after. She looked into your eyes as she stepped out of them. “Good… If it’s too much just let me know, okay sweetheart?” You moaned affirmatively when she parted her legs, letting her soaked folds and throbbing clit show, her slick staining her inner thighs. “Open.” she didn’t have to ask twice, lips parting ready to receive her on your mouth, which was watering at the thought of a taste of her, of swallowing her cum. She cursed when you kitten licked her from her hole to her clit, the tangy taste of her arousal making your eyes roll to the back of your head and your hands eagerly push her hips closer, head leaning in to completely take her as you pushed one of her thighs over your shoulder, just to whimper when she tugged harder on your hair, not letting you get any closer. “Such a fucking slut hungry for pussy.” she chuckled, loving just how needy you looked to have her on your mouth. “I bet that’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t that right? Want me to fuck that little and pretty mouth of yours, hm?” you nodded, a ‘yes, please daddy, want your pussy so bad…’, leaving your lips, what made her click her tongue, tongue slightly gracing her core when you pushed it out of your mouth. “Then fucking take it.” you were moaning when she thrusted her hips against your mouth, the hand in your hair pushing you against her cunt, nose buried in her pubic hair as your nails dug on her thighs. You couldn’t breath. “What is it, baby? Isn’t this what you wanted?” you whimpered when she started to grind onto your tongue, picking up a pace that had you short on air. But the feeling of her cunt fucking your mouth had you only begging for more of that harsh treatment, making you impossibly wet. You were crying in pleasure and pain, tears running down your cheeks as you sucked on her clit. “Aw, you crying?” the sight of your tears only made her buck her hips harder and faster against your face. “I couldn’t care less.” Ellie could feel her hole twitching around your tongue every time you fucked it deep inside her. “Yeah, baby, shit, just like that… What a dirty girl…” one of the hands that stood on her thighs travelled down in between your legs, fingers circling your clit in search of a release that you so desperately wanted. “Are you touching yourself?“ you nodded against her pussy, your nose bumping against her clit and a whimper leaving your lips when she gave you a harsh slap. “Such a desperate little bitch… Who told you you could make yourself cum, huh?” she pulled away from your mouth and you gasped for air, which didn’t actually last long since there was already a hand around your neck as she kneeled with you.

“I’m sorry daddy!” you quickly apologized, taking your hand away from your soaking pussy.

“Yeah, you’ll be.” next thing you knew? Your back was making impact with her bedsheets, getting a moan out of your lips when her body pressed against yours, lips latched to your neck.

“Fuck!” you screamed when two of her fingers harshly pushed inside of you, fucking you as she sucked on your nipples, fully erect.

“Is this what you wanted, hm? Tell me baby, is this what you wanted? My fingers fucking your brains out and making you cum? I’m sure you do, you dirty whore…” you thighs trembled when she hit that sweet spot in your gummy walls, thumb circling your clit.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you nodded, unable to talk, unable to fucking open your mouth. All you could focus on was on Ellie, on her long fingers fucking in and out of you, of her teeth on your tits, on her pussy fully pressed against one of your thighs, leaking and ready to cum.

“Fuck Ellie, i-i’m gonna cum, i’m gonna…” and as your walls clenched, you cried out when she left you with nothing. Making your high never reach its peak as she pulled his fingers out of you. Your whole body was trembling due to the denial of your orgasm, hands quickly reaching out for her, but she pressed them against the duvet, fingers digging in your wrists. “Please, Ellie, daddy, shit, I was so close…”

“I didn’t say you could come yet, sweetheart. Only good girls get to cum.” oh, she was playing you. You knew this was her little vengeance for that day you had caught her touching herself. Her eyes shone with lust when you whimpered due to the spank her hand gave to your soaked cunt. “Look at that. You really want it, hm? So needy for me…” your back arched when her thumb was back to your clit, toying with the little nub enough to edge you but not to make you cum. She relished in the little pleads that left your lips. ‘Please daddy, let me cum, please? I’ll do anything, anything. Ellie, shit, please…’ “Anything?” you nodded, too lost in that sickening pleasure your body succumbed to even notice the subtle change in her gaze. “Okay, then don’t regret it later…”

And then she was gone, leaving you completely alone in her bed as she stood up, looking for something before she would come back to you. Your half-lided eyes could get a glance of what she was holding in between her wet fingers: a dildo. On her left hand stood a magic wand.

You moaned when her lips found yours, teeth clashing and tongues brushing each other as she sucked on your bottom lip. “If you’re so desperate…, why don’t you show me how much you want it?” she said once she had pulled away, tongue outlining her swollen lips as her hand —the one that held the toy— rose up to your eyes, you whined when you understood what she was doing; swapping places.

“Ellie…” you whimpered, your cries being shut out when— after having left the wand aside— her hand cupped your face, making your lips pout out a little bit, brushing against her own.

“Come on, you said you’d do anything.“ she was smirking when her thumb pressed against your bottom lip, dragging it downwards and then sticking her thumb in your mouth. “Good girls get to cum, and maybe, if you put up a good show for me… I’ll fuck your just how you need it, hm?” she clicked her tongue when you nodded, tongue swirling around her finger. “Then go ahead, let me see you use the toy, sweetheart.”

She leaned backwards, letting you have your own space as she handed you the dildo. It was heavy in your hands, and pink, with just the perfect girth and length —there’s no need to say that Ellie’s strap was bigger in both ways, and much more beautiful…— with even veins on its sides.

Her eyes never left you as you neared it to your gushing cunt, letting your soaked lips surround it to lube it up. You sighed at the feeling of its tip pushing against your clit, using its head to tease yourself up and down, sometimes slightly pushing around your hole. “Yeah, that’s right. Touch yourself for me… That’s a good girl.” you moaned as you saw her hand reach in between her folds, sliding up and down, slowly, as she observed you. It only made you want her more. Your back arched as you slowly pushed it inside you, eyes falling shut when you felt the burning stretch, gasping for air when you finally bottomed out with a raspy moan. “Fuck, baby, just like that… So pretty.” her praising made your walls clench around the silicone as you slowly started to fuck yourself with it. “Look at you…” she chuckled when you started to pick up the pace. “Needy, honey?” your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you hit that hidden spot, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip when a scream tried to leave your chest. “Don’t silence yourself, baby. Let me hear you.” her hand matched your pace, fucking herself on her fingers, a groan leaving her lips at the sight of the toy disappearing in between your sticky folds.

“Ellie, fuck, please, need you so bad, need your cock Ellie, shit…”

“Fuck, you’re such a fucking slut…” she moaned, getting on top of your body once again, her soaked toys meeting your hand at the base of the toy to harshly push it inside of you, making you scream. “You like that, hm? Like fucking yourself while I watch, yeah? Fucking whore, you love the attention, don’t you?” you were a babbling mess, drooling all over the sheets as the tip of the toy mercilessly pushed against your g spot, making you see stars behind your close eyes. “You want my cock, hm? Want my cock, sweetheart?”

“Yes please, Ellie, pleasepleaseplease, fuck me please…” your hips were bucking against her hand, begging for more. And just like that she left you there, touching yourself as you watched her put on her strap, clicking it close around her hips. You were burning up, craving her in ways you’ve never craved anyone before. Craving for her to use you, destroy you. You moaned when the top of her cock pressed against your clit, making your head spin as she continued to pound inside of you with the dildo before pulling it out with a squelch, you moaned when you felt her align the strap with your hole. “Need it so bad…Then take it, take my cock, baby.” You hands quickly came up to her shoulders, finding leverage and moaning when the tip went in, tears pricking at your eyes when you felt her start to push inside of you. Finally. You were so painfully full and stretched that your nails dug on her shoulder, making her moan against your neck. It was always a stretch. So fucking big… “Fuck. So tight. Shit. Fuck, I love you.” he said, kissing your lips. “I love you so much…” you both moaned in each other’s mouth as her hips pushed further, slowly bottoming out and gasping when she was completely in, the back of the strap brushing against her clit. “What a good girl…” you whimpered on her hands as she praised you. “So tight for me.” your back arched when she started to move. It was slow at first, trying to get you accustomed to the feeling while making your mind drift off from the slight pain to the stimulation of your clit and nipples —which she sucked and bit down onto—.

“Shit, Ellie…” she smirked when your frown smoothed out, mouth falling open when she hit your g spot, legs surrounding her hips and fingers digging in her messy and silky hair. “Just like that, don’t stop, please…”

“Look at you… You love the feeling of my cock inside you, don’t you? Filling you up so good you can’t even breath, hm? What a whore…” you moaned, exposing your neck to her lips.

“Ellie!” you screamed when her thrusts became harder, relentless and merciless, hands tugging on your nipples.

“Do you feel it baby? Feel your pussy all stretched out for me?” she almost came in the spot when her eyes connected with the bulge on your stomach. “Fuck, look at that. So full of me…” you didn’t mean to, but you were cumming all over her cock when her fingers pushed against it, making a scream rip out your throat as your walls clenched around the strap. Everything was white and the world went absolutely quiet as you dissolved in her arms, unable to even breath at the intensity of your orgasm. “Shit, that was so fucking hot…” her hips stuttered when your walls fluttered around her. “Don’t clench on me that hard baby, feels like you are trying to milk my cock dry…” she chuckled just to curse moments after.

You were drooling on your shoulder as she thrusted inside of you. You were feeling so good…

Ellie started to fuck your brains out of you, hands on your hips as she slightly sat up, bringing you down on her cock with each new thrust. “Ellie, shit, so good…, fuck, daddy, more!” she moaned, the muscles below the skin of his arms flexing as he pushed you harshly down on her dick, making the tip torture that spot that always made you cum in a matter of seconds. “Fuck, I’m gonna— I’m gonna…”

“Hold it.” she ordered, one of her hands leaving your skin to get a hold on the magic wand, turning it on and putting it against your throbbing and swollen clit. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your back arched. “That’s it. Feels good doesn’t it?” she smirked. You couldn’t speak, dirty moans leaving your lips as you felt your high increase. She could tell by the way you clenched around the silicone and your thighs shook. “Go ahead baby, cum all over my cock. Want to see it drip down your thighs.”

“Shit, Ellie, fuck I’m coming!” you screamed when you felt your climax wash over you, making your body go rigid just to go limp after a couple of seconds.

Ellie continued to fuck you through it, cursing at the tightness of your soaked and swollen cunt. Fuck, she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t get enough.

“Ellie, ‘s too— too much, fuck, I’m gonna cum again!” new tears travelled down your cheeks at the constant stimulation, vibrations never stoping overstimulating your clit and dick harshly fucking into you, your nails dug on her back, drawing blood as you gushed all over her cock, squirting so hard you dampened your thighs and the sheets below you. “Ellie, s-stop…” you stuttered. You were crying so hard, unable to stop squirting at her constant fucking, unable to form an actual goddamn sentence, babbling in between sobs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Ellie couldn’t stop her hips, fucking you so good you swore you were fucking dying. The feeling of the strap stimulating her clit and seeing you fall apart below her was like stepping in heaven, the dirty wet sounds of her cock pounding into you and the splashing of your juices making her lose his mind. “I’m gonna cum, shit!” she moaned when she spilled against the back of the strap and harshly pumping inside your abused walls, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Fuck, baby, so good…” she muttered against your neck as she fucked herself down her climax, hips stopping while she was still buried deep inside of you, putting away the wand as her arms failed to keep her up right, making her fall on top of you.

The two of you tried to pace out your breathing, you moaning when little pecks were given to your neck, chest and shoulder before her lips found yours, tongue entering your mouth in a lazy kiss. You fingers lazed on her locks, pulling and playing with her hair as her teeth slightly bit down on your jaw, and then your neck, and your collarbones, and your chest, and…

You hissed when she pulled out of you, cum dripping and meeting your juices on the sheets as her lips trailed down your stomach.

“Hurts?” she questioned, to what you nodded, making a slow smirk appear on his face. “Want me to kiss it better?” you let out a little gasp when she nibbled on your hip bone, lips extremely close to your heat.

She took the tugging on her hair as a ‘yes’, positioning herself better and raising your legs up on her shoulders as she left open mouth kisses on your inner thighs, little sighs leaving your lips as she neared closed and closer… “Poor baby, fucked so good it’s all sore and swollen now.” You moaned when she finally got lost in between your thighs, humming at the taste of your cum dripping out of your cunt. Your head fell backwards as you gave into the pleasure, into her lips, into her name and fingers.

Into her sick love. Into Ellie Williams.

-

a/n; hope this gets love this time.

[holybibly]

Unholy thought of the day, my sugar bunnies:

Your loser, shy, cute roommate Hongjoong can't think of anything else but eating you like there's no tomorrow.

He's literally obsessed with the idea of you riding on his face. Hongjoong dreams about it all the time, watching you with sweet, wet eyes. He watches porn about it all the time, imagining you with him instead of the actors in the videos, and explores cam sites that focus on close-up pussy-eating videos. It should be disgusting, but Hongjoong can't resist stealing your dirty panties so he can suck on them while he jerks off. He spies on you in the shower, sits outside your bedroom with the door closed and enjoys the sounds you make when you touch yourself, or brings a guy over to fuck you.

Hongjoong even secretly uses your sex toys, hoping that one day you can use them on each other. But Hongjoong is invisible to you, you walk past him, always smiling sweetly and politely, like a good roommate should. And this would continue if one day, when Hongjoong thinks you've gone out for the evening, he isn't sitting on your bed with your dirty panties in his mouth, your magic wand pressed against his cock and another dirty video on his phone. But he couldn't even imagine that you would come home earlier than usual and find him in your bedroom like this.

[bernardsbendystraws]

｡˚ʚ Bubble .ᐟ Reader x Chris

⤷ au masterlist

─────── ⵌ Christopher Sturniolo made a post!

[ @/bubble.reader ] tell your girl to watch her mans! oh wait... 🫢🩵 ╰ [ @/christopher.sturniolo ] literally gonna kiss you 😤🩵 ╰ [ @/bubble.reader ] not gonna complain about that 😌✨

_ LOADING MORE COMMENTS . . .

[ @/sturnfan03 ] idk who i want more 😔 ╰ [ @/christopher.sturiolo ] hands off my girl ╰ [ @/bubble.reader ] don't touch my man

[ @/matthew.sturniolo ] bros bragging with his magical wand 🤨 ╰ [ @/christopher.sturniolo ] why you so obsessed with my wand 🤨🤨🤨 ╰ [ @/matthew.sturniolo ] alr. ╰ [ @/christopher.sturniolo. ] not even denying it. kinda sus...

[ @/triplesack4 ] she looks like she smells so good ╰ [ @/christopher.sturniolo ] she does 😁

[ @/nick.sturniolo ] bubs is cute. chris is mid tho ╰ [ @/bubble.reader ] don't insult my man tf ╰ [ @/christopher.sturniolo ] what my girl said 💯

[godricgryffinsnore]

Heyyyyyy Della!

I have a request, go on if you want.

Here it goes:

Y/n is a transfer student from any random country/magic school and her and Hermione are immediate friends because of shared traits.

The thing is- Harry and her have a 'I love you but I will pretend I hate you' relationship.

If you actually write it — I am goddamn excited.

Yours,

V ;༊

She Came in Like Thunder ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : A fiery transfer student shakes up Hogwarts, instantly bonding with Hermione and clashing with Harry in a whirlwind of witty insults, stolen glances, and unresolved tension. Amid snowy chaos, glittering banter, and accidental confessions, two love-struck idiots slowly realize that maybe “hate” was just their favorite disguise for love.

warnings : Light profanity, Mild magical mischief, Flirty insults / teasing, Excessive pining and fluff, Secondhand embarrassment from two idiots in love, Truth potion chaos, Mentions of blushing, kissing, and heart-thumping feelings. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : I was giggling and laughing the entire time when I was plotting out this request. I hope you do enjoy it <3 AND THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

word count : 0.9k

main master list <3

banners : @fawndollie and @saradika-graphics

Hogwarts had seen its fair share of chaos: trolls in bathrooms, flying cars, Quidditch riots, and Fred and George Weasley’s existence in general. But it was woefully unprepared for you.

You arrived on a rainy Tuesday morning with wind in your coat and fire in your stride, eyes sharp as phoenix flame. A transfer from Castelobruxo, the Brazilian wizarding school nestled in the jungle—where students tamed magical beasts before breakfast and performed wandless magic with the grace of dancers.

You were thunder wrapped in charm.

Hermione Granger liked you immediately.

“She reads three books a week and corrects professors when they misquote theory,” she whispered in awe to Harry at breakfast. “We’re practically soulmates.”

Harry, whose spoon had been halfway to his mouth, dropped it and scowled.

“Brilliant,” he muttered. “Another overachiever. As if one wasn’t enough.”

Ron blinked. “Jealous much?”

“No,” Harry snapped too quickly. “She just… looks like she’d hex someone for sneezing too loudly.”

“She saved Neville from a rogue Bludger yesterday.”

“She also called me ‘Scarboy Supreme’ in the library.”

Hermione hummed. “Yes, but she smiled when she said it.”

And that was the problem.

Because every time you tossed a smug quip Harry’s way, you smiled like a secret. And Harry, poor boy, kept falling for it.

── .✦

You were infuriating.

You hummed while working, corrected his wand grip without asking, and once said, "Your disarming spell is cute. Like a kitten trying to roar."

You left feathers in his inkpot. Charmed his robes to sing Celestina Warbeck when he got too cocky. You always looked too amused, too untouched by his scowls.

And the worst part?

You were brilliant. Better than him in Charms. Equally sharp in Defense. Fast on a broom. And you laughed like the sun got caught in your throat.

Harry couldn’t stand it.

He also couldn’t look away.

── .✦

“She’s annoying.”

“You’re in love with her,” Hermione said simply, not looking up from Advanced Arithmancy.

Harry sputtered. “Excuse me?”

“Anyone with a functioning brain can see it,” she added, underlining a line. “You hate her like a Victorian poet hates the moon—loudly, obsessively, while penning love sonnets behind a curtain.”

Ron choked on his biscuit. “He what?”

“I do not write sonnets!”

“Please,” Hermione said dryly. “You literally wrote ‘Her eyes are like bottled lightning’ in the margins of your Transfiguration notes.”

Harry turned red.

“That was metaphorical!”

“Sure, Potter.”

── .✦

And then came the snowball incident.

It was the first snowfall of December. Students frolicked. Couples kissed under enchanted mistletoe. Hogwarts looked like a greeting card. And you were perched on a bench in the courtyard, scarf draped like you were posing for an autumn fashion catalogue.

Harry was watching you again.

He didn’t mean to. His eyes just gravitated toward you like they were bewitched.

You were reading—of course you were—and twirling your wand in that dangerous way that made boys stupid and girls swoon. He scowled.

You looked up.

Smirked.

And flicked your wand.

BAM—a snowball slapped him directly across the face.

Harry sputtered. You grinned.

“Oh dear,” you said sweetly. “Did I hit something important?”

He stomped over, red-cheeked, snow in his hair. “You are a menace.”

“And you are terrible at ducking.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“I know,” you said, too brightly. “Because I like seeing you flustered.”

Harry opened his mouth. Closed it. Considered his life choices.

And then, before he could talk himself out of it, he flung a snowball at you.

It missed.

You laughed.

God, that laugh.

Harry swore his heart was no longer his own.

── .✦

Later that evening…

“You’re smiling,” Hermione said, her eyes not leaving her book.

“No, I’m not.”

“Snow in your hair. Glitter on your robes. And you’re humming. Harry, be serious.”

Ron nodded solemnly. “Only two people make you this weird: Cho Chang and Butterbeer. And you don’t look sticky.”

Harry buried his face in his arms. “I hate her.”

“You love her.”

“Do not.”

“She called you pretty.”

“She called me a sentient broomstick.”

“She also asked you to walk her to the Owlery.”

Harry groaned. “She made me walk her to the Owlery. Said I had ‘stalker energy’ and might as well make myself useful.”

“And you went.”

“…Shut up.”

── .✦

Confession came by accident.

Well, by accident and a rogue Truth Charm gone wrong during Slughorn’s New Year’s Party.

“Tell us your deepest desire,” Seamus challenged Harry with a giggle, waving the glittering vial.

“Don’t drink that—” Hermione warned.

But it was too late.

Harry, flustered, dramatic, utterly cursed, downed the potion like an idiot.

“I’m in love with her,” he blurted.

The room froze.

“Merlin’s pants,” Ron whispered.

Harry looked horrified. “I mean, I hate her. Violently. With feelings. That live in my chest. Like traitors.”

You—standing nearby—blinked.

Then walked right up to him.

And kissed him.

It was soft. Hot. Terrifying.

Like finally touching fire you’ve stared at too long.

“God,” you whispered. “You’re so slow, Potter.”

“You knew?” he asked, dazed.

“I've been in love with you since you tripped over your shoelaces and called me a 'hex-hazard.'”

Harry smiled.

He was doomed.

He was delighted.

── .✦

The Aftermath

You still called him Scarface. He still charmed your books to hum. But now, there were stolen kisses in hidden alcoves, smirks behind held hands, and whispered “I love you” spoken like dares.

“I still hate you,” he said once, breathless, forehead against yours.

“I hate you more,” you replied, kissing him again.

And somehow, that meant forever.

[houseofaegon]

ENCHANTRESS ╱ BOB REYNOLDS SERIES

✷ ─── +18 MINORS DNI 𓏲  ◟ ♡ ˖ ࣪ emotional trauma, mentions of death/grief, witchcraft, blood magic, violence, necromancy, ritual magic, body horror (mechanical corpses), mental manipulation, emotional intensity and tension, supernatural possession, canon-typical violence, found family themes, bucky being a big brother, psychological instability (enchantress/void dynamic), unspoken desire, sexual tension (non-explicit), battle trauma.

✷ ─── AUTHOR'S NOTE. i cooked served and ate yall!!! damn okay chapter 2 came fassssstttttt im so excited and so inspired to write arabella and bob omg ughhh i love my babies. my soul probably left my body while writing this chapter because wtf just happened!! i'm sick. i want void so bad and i'm so obsessed with the whole enchantress x void dynamic filled with sexual tension and obsession and need. and yet they still haven't even touched each other. i'm crying. i'm pacing. i'm shaking with anticipation and anxiety. all of the above. we're already deep into the spiritual feral monsterfucker territory and i fear it's only gonna get worse from here. void is obsessed with enchantress, and i am obsessed with them both. i'm unwell. grab your tea, your candles, your crystals because it's about to get darker and hungrier. more chapters coming soon!! i love you all smm and thank you for letting me being unhinged and insane and always cheering for what i write. i appreciate you all so so so so damn much. thank you for reading and giving this unhinged little series a chance. love always, bri.

✷ ─── ENCHANTRESS SERIES. chapter one: beauty in tragedy. chapter two: the devil you know. chapter three: the witch. chapter four: moonlit waters. chapter five: divine hunger. chapter six: to burn & be burned. chapter seven: of teeth & tenderness. chapter eight: bound by blood. chapter nine: ashes between us. chapter ten: salt in the wound. chapter eleven: blood moon. chapter twelve: whispers in the dark. chapter thirteen: the witch and the void.

Life in the Watchtower was easy.

Or maybe Arabella just made it look that way.

Two weeks in, and she was already barefoot in the hallways, leaving salt trails behind her like breadcrumbs. Crystals littered every windowsill and shelf. Vinyls spun on her old record player each morning, Fleetwood Mac echoing through the tower as she cooked breakfast barefoot—black silk robe, bedhead curls, and a wooden spoon in her hand like a wand.

The lights stopped flickering when she passed. The air smelled like herbs and something sweeter. The walls stopped groaning. Dead plants came back to life.

It wasn't magic.

Or maybe it was.

She adapted faster than Bucky ever thought she would.

He’d built her a room the day she arrived—no questions, no ceremony. Just like Tony had done years ago. It wasn’t as high-tech, but it was safe. Warded. Quiet. Full of windows and her favorite things. And it felt just the same.

Felt like home.

Arabella had looked at it once, eyes shining just slightly, and said, “You remembered the salt in the corners.”

And Bucky had replied, “Of course I did.”

Because he did remember. All of it.

The way she couldn’t sleep without her crystals arranged just so. The smell of her cleansing incense, like pine and burnt clove. The soft hum of her chants in the dark, the way she muttered in Spanish when she was half-dreaming.

She slipped back into his world like she’d never left.

Yelena adored her.

Of course she did.

From the first day, they were chaos and fire, two halves of the same wicked coin. They sparred in the gym, Arabella casting misdirection charms mid-fight while Yelena laughed and tackled her anyway.

They had a running tally written in chalk on the kitchen wall. Yelena: 6. Arabella: 7. The last win was a draw, after they both ended up hexed, bruised, and breathless with laughter.

At night, they painted each other’s nails in wine-dark colors and gossiped in three languages. They danced barefoot on the roof under the moon, music blasting, hips swaying, Arabella’s dark hair catching the light like smoke.

“You’re my favorite war crime,” Yelena whispered one night, drunk on cheap vodka and found sisterhood.

“Right back at you,” Arabella replied, clinking their glasses together.

Ava was different. Quieter. Sharper. But not distant. She didn’t speak much—but with Arabella, she sat.

They trained together in silence, matched in precision and grace. Arabella stitched protective sigils into Ava’s gloves and never mentioned it. Ava slipped her protein bars and flowers in return and said, once, quietly, “Your presence is... grounding.”

Arabella had smiled, slow and soft. “So is yours.”

Sometimes they sat on the balcony together, watching the sun rise. Neither said a word. Neither needed to.

Alexei was absurd and endearing.

He doted on her like a second daughter—called her "my little shadow witch" and brought her strange, wonderful gifts from his past: pocket knives with history, books with blood-stained corners, a hand-painted flask from the Soviet years.

He taught her how to shoot with antique pistols even though she didn’t need to.

She taught him how to ward his whiskey with a hangover charm.

Once, she asked him why he always brought her things.

“Because daughters should have gifts,” he said with a shrug. “And you? You are special. You are mine now.”

She’d laughed and hugged him, just long enough to make him sniffle and pretend it was allergies.

Walker surprised her.

Not because he was charming. Because, honestly, he wasn't. He was irritating, loud, too rigid, always a little bit out of sync with her energy.

But there was something… earnest beneath it. Something human.

They argued constantly.

She called him Walmart Captain America or Walker-Red-Flag. He called her Witchypoo in retaliation. But there was a rhythm to it. A low hum of mutual tolerance that slowly grew into something more.

She read his tarot one night after he muttered something about not believing in “that bullshit.”

The next morning, he left an extra cup of coffee on the table for her. Black. Just how she liked it.

He still groaned when she walked into a room.

But he always walked in after her.

And then, there was Bob.

Bob Reynolds, who barely spoke above a whisper.

Bob, who watched her like he was trying not to fall apart. Like he already had.

He was quiet. Almost scared of her at first—not in a way that made her bristle, but in a way that made her ache. He looked at her like he knew she could destroy him.

And he kept showing up anyway.

Bob started coming to her room after midnight.

He started sitting with her at night. Quietly. Without words. She’d be pulling her tarot cards under the moonlight, charging her crystals on the sill, Stevie Nicks humming in the background—and Bob would just be there, reading a book in her chair.

Sometimes he fell asleep on her couch. Curled up like he was afraid he’d take up too much space. She never told him to leave. He never asked to stay. They didn’t talk about it.

But he started bringing his own mug for her tea. Started asking her what the cards meant when she shuffled them slow, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

He never touched her. Never tried. But he looked at her like she was something holy. Like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.

And the Enchantress?

She whispered. Not in hunger. Not in warning. But in awe.

“He sees us.”

Arabella didn’t answer. She never did. But she felt it—deep in her bones, under her skin, in the quiet hum of her breath when Bob looked up from his book and met her eyes.

There was no fear there. Not anymore. Just… recognition.

Like they were made of the same broken thing.

And when he fell asleep on her couch, breath even and hands unclenched, she watched the rise and fall of his chest and whispered ancient words beneath her breath—not to keep him out.

But to keep him safe.

One night he broke the quiet.

“What does it mean,” he asked softly, “when—when the uh, cards keeps showing up upside down?”

Arabella didn’t look up. She was lighting a candle. Her fingers moved with purpose.

“It depends on the card,” she murmured. “But usually? It means something’s resisting.”

Bob swallowed.

She glanced up then, sharp and knowing. “Are you resisting, Bob?”

He didn’t answer. But inside his mind, The Void stirred.

“She’s not afraid of you,” it whispered. “She’d let us in.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

Arabella tilted her head. “You okay?”

He nodded once. Too fast.

She smirked. “Liar.”

The Void purred.

“She’s ours,” it whispered slowly. “Let me speak to her. Just once. Let me see how much her darkness glows.”

Bob gritted his teeth. Looked away.

Arabella didn’t press. She just reached out and gently placed a crystal in his palm—warm from her skin.

“For when it gets too loud,” she said.

Bob didn’t let go. Not for a long time.

Three months had already passed, and life seemed easier for Arabella. The kind of ease that came slowly, after years of unrest. The kind that settled in her bones like warm tea and candlelight.

She still walked barefoot through the halls. Still lined doorways with salt. Still played Fleetwood Mac on her record player every morning like it was a ritual—because it was. Still danced under the moonlight like no one was watching, even though Bob always did. She laughed more. Slept better. She was healing, quietly, completely.

But The Enchantress never slept. She whispered, always. A constant thrum beneath Arabella’s skin. Like wind at the back of her neck.

And every time Bob walked into a room—every time his eyes found hers across the kitchen, across the training mat, across the quiet of her candlelit room...

The Enchantress screamed. Not in pain. Not in rage. In want.

“He carries so much darkness and pain in him,” she hissed. “Let me taste it.”

Arabella had kept her buried. Chained beneath crystal grids and ancestral spellwork. But Bob made everything crack open. Bob felt like her. And the Enchantress was starting to see freedom.

Not to destroy him.

To touch him.

To speak to the Void and be spoken to in return.

It was warm in the kitchen. Sunlight spilled across the floor, soft and golden, washing over the table where the team had gathered.

Arabella was humming under her breath, barefoot and wrapped in a black silk robe that fell off one shoulder. Her hair was a halo of curls, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. A record played in the background—Stevie, again.

The table was loud.

Yelena was trying to argue that vodka counted as a breakfast food while simultaneously sneaking bacon off Alexei’s plate.

Walker rolled his eyes. “You people are unhinged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Ava muttered, sipping her coffee.

Alexei grinned over his mug. “In Russia, we ate meat for breakfast. And sometimes men.”

“Okay, Hannibal,” Yelena shot back.

“Enough,” Bucky said, laughing into his cup. “Let the witch serve the food in peace.”

Arabella smirked as she walked over with a plate of pancakes—perfect, golden, stacked high, topped with warm berries.

Then—she stopped.

Her body went still mid-step.

The plate slipped from her hands. Fell. Shattered against the tile at her feet like a crack in the world. Syrup and fruit and ceramic scattered across the floor.

Silence slammed into the room.

Bucky shot to his feet. “Bells?”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes glazed—then turned black for the briefest second. A flicker. A flash.

“Arabella.” His voice sharpened. “What’s wrong? Bells, talk to me.”

She blinked slowly. Her voice was barely a breath. “There’s something happening.”

Yelena was on her feet. “Bella—?”

But Arabella was already moving.

She crossed the room like she was sleepwalking—barefoot across shards of porcelain, bleeding but unaware. Her eyes locked on the console in the corner.

The tower’s tech wasn’t hers—but her fingers moved like it was. Smooth. Instinctive. Like the codes were written in her blood.

“Arabella,” Ava said, voice tight. “What are you doing?”

"You're bleeding," Bucky whispered.

She didn’t answer.

Everyone followed—hovering behind her as screens lit up, one by one. Her eyes flickered, scanning feeds, fingers dancing like she wasn’t even thinking.

And then—

The screen froze.

And her heart dropped.

Security footage from an old, sealed-off subway station. Flickering light. Smoke curling from the stone. Runes—her runes—scratched into metal. Twisting. Burning.

And in the far corner—machines.

Half-dead. Half-alive.

Stirring.

Moving.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Yelena grabbed her arm. “What is that?”

Arabella stepped back, hand pressed to her lips.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream.

But her voice was hollow when she said, “They’re using dark magic. Twisting it.”

Her pulse thudded through the room like a war drum.

Bucky looked at her. “What do we do?”

Arabella turned toward him slowly. Her eyes still rimmed in black. “We stop it,” she said. Her voice was calm.

But the floor beneath her feet had already begun to hum.

The energy was different now. The warmth of the kitchen was gone—snuffed out by what Arabella had seen. What she felt. The shattered plate still lay back on the floor, forgotten. Everyone filed into the briefing room in silence. Even Yelena, usually muttering curses under her breath, said nothing.

Arabella stood at the head of the room now. Not Bucky. Not this time.

The screen behind her glowed—static-edged footage looping in jagged, grainy frames. The subway station. The runes. The machines.

Her runes.

Bucky leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed. His gaze never left her.

“Tell us,” he said.

Arabella’s jaw was tight. Her hands didn’t shake—but her voice was colder than it had been in months.

“There’s an old network of sealed tunnels under Brooklyn,” she began. “The MTA shut them down decades ago. No access. No cameras. But something got in.”

She clicked the screen forward.

Close-up footage. A sigil burned into metal. Corrupted lines of spellwork. Smoke curling in unnatural shapes.

“This isn’t just tech. It’s necrotic magic—dark, ancient, and bound to blood.” She looked up. “My blood.”

The room went still.

“They’re using resurrection rites. The same one's I learned from my grandmother. Something’s trying to merge death magic with..."

She hesitated. Her hands hovered above the console, fingers trembling.

“Merge it with what, Bells?” Bucky asked gently, stepping forward.

She swallowed. And then she clicked one more frame forward. The screen froze.

A metallic body, half-rebuilt, cables woven through bone, its chestplate still glowing with a dull, rust-colored arc reactor.

Stamped in silver, unmistakable:

Stark Industries.

Arabella’s mouth parted. Her eyes filled instantly. A sharp breath caught in her throat, and her knees wobbled slightly. She reached for the table like it might hold her up. She stared.

At the logo.

At what it meant.

At what it was

And what it wasn’t.

“They’re using his work,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Tony’s work. They’re—he’s gone, and they’re using what he built to… to raise the dead.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I spent years learning how to put spirits to rest. How to honor them. And they’re using his code to trap them. Trap the souls of the dead. To force them back into metal and ash like—like it’s a tool. Like it’s not sacred.”

She shook her head.

“It’s not just my magic,” she breathed. “It’s his name. His legacy. They’re twisting everything.”

Bucky moved without hesitation. He reached out, gently rested a hand on her back. Didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

Arabella didn’t cry—not fully. But her shoulders trembled.

And when she finally looked up, her eyes were dark. Not black, not yet.

But close.

“I’m going down there,” she said, voice low. “And I’m burning it to the fucking ground.”

The silence held like breath.

Arabella stood in front of the screen, her shoulders squared, her hands still shaking. Not from fear. But from rage. The kind of fury that lived in bone and had the power to crush them. The kind passed down through the blood of women who had always been told their power was too much.

“We’re going with you,” Bucky said, his voice stern.

Arabella blinked. Her mouth parted. “No,” she said, voice hoarse. “You don’t understand. This magic—it’s not meant for you. It’s old. It’s dark. It’s not made for you.”

She turned to face them all. Her eyes shimmered, rimmed with black. “It wants to hurt. It feeds on what you love. You step into that circle unprotected and it will devour you. I’m the only one who can walk into that circle and survive it. Alone.”

Bucky’s expression didn’t change. His voice didn’t waver.

“You’re not going in alone, Bella.”

She exhaled, sharp. “Bucky—”

“No.” He stepped forward. Firm. Grounded. “We’re a team. A family. And family sticks together.”

Arabella opened her mouth—but Yelena cut in before she could speak.

“You think I’m going to let you crawl into hell without me? Bitch, please.” She crossed her arms. “If you die and I’m not there, I’m going to hex your ghost. Badly.”

Alexei nodded solemnly. “I will bring vodka and blessed grenades.”

Ava’s voice was soft. “I'm in."

Walker looked like he wanted to protest. Arabella raised an eyebrow.

He immediately nodded. “I’ll… drive.��

Arabella almost laughed. Almost.

Then—he stepped forward.

Bob.

He didn’t speak at first. Just moved, slow and deliberate, until he stood beside her—close, but not too close. Not touching. Never touching.

Arabella didn’t turn her head, but she felt him like a second heartbeat. The weight of him. The pull. The thrum of his power bleeding into the air between them, brushing against her skin like smoke.

Too close.

Inside her chest, The Enchantress stirred.

“He’s here,” she purred, velvet-smooth and low. “Let me taste his darkness.”

Arabella’s breath caught. She held herself still, fingers curling tight at her sides. If she reached out, even a fraction of an inch, she knew she wouldn’t stop. She knew the Enchantress would rise with want, not war.

And in the stillness between them, The Void whispered inside Bob’s mind.

“She burns. I want to feel how hot.”

He didn’t move either. Not even a breath out of rhythm. But his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on something distant, her, and his hands flexed once like they ached to lift and couldn’t.

"I'm going with you. You can't do this alone," Bob whispered.

Arabella didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. The words hung between them like smoke, like a spell half-cast and waiting.

She exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the glowing screen. Her jaw clenched. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “You don’t understand what this kind of magic does, Bob.”

Inside her chest, the Enchantress curled tighter, more awake than ever.

“Let him come,” she whispered. “Let him see what I can do with a god in my hands.”

Arabella blinked hard. Shut her eyes. Shut the voice out.

“I’m still coming with you,” he whispered. The Void stretched just beneath the surface of him like it recognized her.

And Arabella, after a beat, nodded. Just once. She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say don’t.

She said, “Then stay behind me.”

And prayed to everything she knew that he would.

The tunnels beneath Brooklyn were colder than they sould have been, not the kind of cold you could feel on your skin, but the kind that settled into bone and memory. Haunted. Like a nightmare. The air was thick with rot and cooper, and the deeper they went, the more the city above felt like a distant dream.

Ava and Yelena took point, flashlights flickering across crumbling tile and twisted metal, weapons steady. Bucky and Walker kept a slow, even pace behind them, eyes always moving, always watching. Arabella hung back with Bob, her steps silent. She didn't speak. She couldn't. The walls were already whispering.

They’d passed the third tunnel junction when Bucky turned his head just slightly, enough to glance back, voice low. “You sure you wanna do this?”

Arabella didn’t even blink. “I’m the only one who can.” Her voice carried, calm and sharp, no room for argument.

The further they went, the worse it got. The walls began to hum—not with electricity, but with something else. Something dark. Something old. The kind of hum that lived in ritual circles and the mouths of the dead. Arabella’s fingers twitched at her sides, power prickling just beneath her skin. Her breath shortened as she walked, every step dragging her deeper into the echo of magic that felt too much like her own.

Bob shifted beside her, breath stuttering, his hands flexing open and closed. He didn’t say anything, but she felt it—his power swelling beneath the surface like a wave waiting to crash. And then came the sound. Not footsteps. Not breathing. Scraping.

They didn’t have time to react before the tunnel erupted around them—metal shrieking, bone cracking, a dozen bodies dropping from the shadows like meat puppets sewn together with cable and magic. They moved wrong—jagged, broken—eyes glowing red, limbs clicking as if trying to remember how to be human.

Yelena cursed under her breath, blade already drawn, her voice snapping out like a gunshot.

“Well, shit.” Ava phased just in time to avoid a clawed hand, her body flickering with static as she reappeared behind it, driving a blade into the base of its neck.

"What the fuck—" Walker muttered, firing his gun. It did absolutely nothing.

Bucky barked out orders, trying to pull them back, keep the team together, but they were splitting—forced apart by sheer chaos.

Arabella didn’t move.

She walked into the center of it all, slow, deliberate, untouched by the panic around her. One of the creatures lunged and froze midair, stopped by a sudden, invisible force—its body cracking in place like glass. Her voice was quiet. Almost kind.

“Enchantress.”

It wasn’t just a name. It was a summoning.

Her eyes flicked black, her pupils blown wide, and the transformation rolled through her like a flood. Her body straightened, her hair lifted in a wind that didn’t exist, her lips curled into something that was not a smile but close enough to frighten. Glowing sigils ignited across her skin—runes carved into flesh, ancient and burning.

The Enchantress rose with her breath, her voice shifting into something layered, rich, older than anything alive in that tunnel. She didn’t blink as the corpses charged again.

She lifted her hand and whispered in Spanish, a language soaked in blood and moonlight. “Your magic doesn't belong here. Give it back to the earth were it came from."

The wave of enemies collapsed like dominos, falling with a sound like wet bone and shattering metal. One screamed, high and broken, before bursting into smoke. Another reached for her and disintegrated mid-motion. Enchantress didn’t flinch. She smiled.

Bob staggered back a step, eyes locked on her, chest heaving like he couldn’t quite breathe. Inside his head, the Void surged awake, not angry, not violent—fascinated.

“She’s like us,” it whispered. “No—she’s better. She was born like this.”

His hands sparked with light, gold bleeding to black, his vision dimming at the edges. The storm within him pulsed, and he reached toward it, toward her, even if his hands never left his sides.

Enchantress turned her head, eyes glowing black. She looked at him and smiled.

Enchantress didn’t speak, but Bob heard her anyway.

“I see you. I see what's inside you. The darkness. Let me taste it.”

And inside him, the Void growled in response.

“Take it. I want to see what you’ll become when you touch me.”

The words weren’t said aloud, but Enchantress heard them. Felt them.

Her smile deepened, slow and sharp, and she tilted her head like a cat watching prey twitch.

“Oh,” she purred, voice a syrupy echo only he could hear, “you’re going to beg for it.”

And Bob, shaking from the inside out, didn’t dare say a word.

Bucky moved, boots crunching over scorched stone and broken machines as the smoke settled. His voice was low, careful. “Bells, come back to me.”

But she didn’t move.

She was still standing in the center of the carnage, still Enchantress, still glowing faintly with that ancient, seductive light. Her eyes, black as ink, weren’t on him—they were still locked on Bob. Fixed. Fascinated. Her mouth was curved, wicked and slow. The runes on her skin pulsed like a heartbeat.

“She doesn’t want to come back,” the Enchantress whispered, gaze still locked on the man who hadn’t moved, who looked like he was barely breathing.

Bucky stepped closer, steadier now. He’d done this before—held her through magic comas, pulled her back from the edge more times than he could count—but this was different.

She’d never resisted.

Not like this.

“Arabella,” he said again, firmer this time, closer now. “It’s me. It’s Bucky. Come on, baby witch. Don’t make me beg.”

The Enchantress tilted her head, almost curious, but didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. She was too deep in it, too close to something she hadn’t felt before, and Bucky’s chest twisted.

He took another step. “Bells. Come back.”

And then—Bob moved.

One slow, shaking step forward. Not threatening. Not demanding. His voice was rough and low. “Bring her back.”

Her eyes flickered. Just slightly. The light dimmed.

The Enchantress blinked, and for a moment, there was something soft behind her expression—like a memory. Like regret. She looked at Bob as if she were memorizing him, and then she smiled. It was all teeth and hunger and something ancient and beautiful. Her lips parted, breath curling in the air between them.

“Next time, I’ll let you touch me.”

And then she collapsed.

Bucky was already moving, catching her before she hit the floor. Her body went slack in his arms, her head falling against his chest, her breath shallow but steady. He crouched with her, cradling her like he’d done too many times before.

“Bells,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face, “hey, come on—look at me.”

Her eyelids fluttered. A soft groan slipped from her throat. “What… happened?”

“You stopped it,” Bucky murmured, voice rough around the edges. “You brought it down. You did good.” Her lashes trembled, her eyes opening slowly, brown again. Human again. But tired. So tired.

Behind them, Bob stood frozen, hands still trembling at his sides, gold and black flickering faintly beneath his skin. His throat was dry. His pulse too loud. He couldn’t move—not yet. Not when the echo of her magic still clung to the air like perfume and fire, not when her voice—her other voice—still rang like a bell behind his eyes. He could still feel her. Like a storm on the edge of touch.

And then, deep in his mind, the Void stirred.

It didn’t roar. It didn’t rage.

It purred.

“You brought her back. Why?”

A pause. A shiver up his spine.

“I would’ve let her stay. She wanted to stay. She wanted us.”

Bob swallowed, jaw tight.

The Void curled around him like a shadow, low and amused.

“You’re lying to yourself, Robert. You want her too. The way she sees you. The way she smiled.”

Bob clenched his fists. Didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

But he didn’t deny it either.

And the Void laughed—soft and satisfied.

“Next time, you won’t send her away.”

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐅𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍 © 2025. DO NOT STEAL, REPOST, OR COPY THIS STORY TO TUMBLR, WATTPAD, AO3, OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM. Moodboards and graphics made by @houseofaegon DO NOT repost or reuse without credit. chain divider by @cursed-carmine

♱ ˖ ࣪ . taglist: @the-a-word-2214 @favestxrboy @uraesthete @abbysbenchpr @sammystarswrite @pey2618 @qardasngan @lunaoieoie @orithyia-eriphyle @amatiswayland @madzzz6958 @all-by-myself98 @dark-silhouette @ghost-ghost-13 @wyvernthekriger @gayfiretruck @watermeezer @lvmxla @novausstuff @mommymilkers0526 @natureartisian @feralgoblinbabe @misaki-evans @uracowboylikemee @sxlsvv @stillinracooncity @deltamel (if you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know in the comments. love, bri.)

[ddejavvu]

Something about Remus doing your lip combo for you after he kissed it off the first time…obsessed

"I don't know why you're complaining," You goad, gleeful at getting the chance to hear Remus's seldom-uttered grumblings, "I told you you'd have to fix it if you messed it up."

"'Thought it was gonna be two swipes of the wand," He mutters, hyperfocused on the bowing of your lower lip, "But this is- shit, I've gotten some on your chin again."

You hand him a q-tip that he takes from you with a rather nasty curse at the thing.

He dabs away at the gloss he's managed to smear just below the line of your lip, and he raises the applicator once more to continue his quest.

"-This is magic," He concludes, "Not wand magic, not spellbook magic, this is some level of sorcery that Dumbledore can only dream of."

"It's really just blending, Rem," You take pity on the poor fool, snatching the lip gloss out of his hands, "Look, you've smeared this all over, but you're supposed to concentrate it in the middle and put the darker shade on the outsides. That way, when I rub my lips together, they blend into each other and look like a gradient."

"All that fuckin' work," He watches as you gently wipe away his well-meaning but truly lackluster attempt at glossing your lips, "And it somehow looked better when it was on my mouth."

[corollaservant]

Introspect // Dabi x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: The past never dies. But it can often be forgotten. (3.4k)

Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, captivity, stalking, violence, noncon/dubcon, jealousy, delusion, denial, implied PTSD, deterministic and nihilistic philosophical paradigm, Dabi's POV—stream of consciousness type fic

A/N: wrote this in 3hrs. majorly inspired by (and dedicated to) my fave tumblr writer, new magic wand by tyler the creator and this dabi art 🖤

Happy. You looked happy, that’s what he thought when he saw it.

Not in a way you’d been with him anyway. He didn’t know whether that was for the better. The first thing he thought was you posted him. Of course you would. He was not patched, burnt or looking like someone who escaped the psychiatric ward. Without proper clothing, jumping out of a window, frantically running towards the opposite direction. Was it a matter of appearance? Or did you just not like him enough? He wouldn’t know, you hadn’t spoken in a month. And some days. That’s when you told him you needed space. Seriously, people needed to come up with better excuses, this one was over-saturated. Was it bad he clung onto you? It’s not like you had many friends, all he had asked was more of your time. Your stupid job wasn’t even that important—he never bothered finding out what you did exactly, it’s not like he didn’t care, he just wanted you there. The rest of your whereabouts were none of his business as long as you were not conversing (excessively) with anyone else. Because even then, why would you need to do that? He could do it for you.

He had no actual job, well, classifying as a villain doesn’t get you far in life, he called himself a freelancer. Freelancer in murder and theft, maybe. But he felt like he had a share in serving divine justice. A modern vigilante so to say. Any accidental death was a misfortune, a predetermined fate. He didn’t want to pretend to be integrated in society for you to like him, he was lucky because he didn’t have to. Which then reminded him of how he met you.  

Petting strays at night wasn’t careful of you, especially with the crime rates in the city. But you had done so regardless, he remembers it vividly: You in an alley, on your knees, not caring about the dirt coming in direct contact, extending your hand. The cat was barely visible, he could only make out its yellow eyes. But then, the cat saw him, he knew cats had brilliant vision and it left you, perhaps in thought he had food you didn’t. You turned your head only to take a step back. Not smart, you landed on your ass as you opened your mouth. Did he scare you? Of course, what a stupid thing to ask. Under other circumstances he’d leave. Making fun of strangers wasn’t really his thing, not unless they deserved it, but the cat seemed to take a liking to him. Animals loved him, his mom used to tell him not to trust people who repelled them, it was a bad sign. Animals had instinct, animals could tell. He decided to pet the little guy (or girl?), as he kneeled down and softly touched its head. That was another thing about cats. They didn’t give a fuck about the staples or burnt odor, they just wanted food and the occasional touch. He liked cats. He could see himself in them. Something in the domesticity of the situation must've calmed you down because you fixed your posture and to his surprise approached him. It was still dark, you were still a woman and alone in an alley. 

‘’He likes you.’’ You told him. Had you already figured out it was a male stray? Dabi must’ve underestimated you. Your voice hid a whine, a soft protest but it was not annoyance and he shifted his gaze.

‘’Yeah.’’ was all he said. 

‘’Can I?’’ You asked. Why were you asking for permission, this wasn’t even his cat. 

‘’Sure.’’

You were so close, trying not to scare the cat and also touch him, he noticed. Your finger tried to avoid his but the cat’s head was unfortunately not that big so you eventually grazed a digit over him. You hadn’t flinched back then, hadn’t even scrunched your nose, were you not afraid? Didn’t the smell and appearance repel you? Apparently not, you seemed so invested in getting the cat to like you. It wasn’t like it didn’t. The stray ended up loving you, purring at your touch and looking in your eyes, like a man in love. And maybe it wasn’t just the cat. 

-

Within three days of your first encounter he had you on his chest, in your apartment of course, where else could he have you? He wanted to fuck you the first time he saw you, but the urge wasn’t that violent, which had taken him by suprise. You also did not seem like the type to give it up easily. He’d have to do some mental jumping jacks to get you, he didn’t worry about revealing too much though; he didn't have a lot to say, his old identity long buried away with his sensitivity. He still didn’t feel like hurting you. The first night he told you his name, Dabi, and it was so convincing, he too had believed it. You exchanged trivial information neither cared about and he offered company on your way back. He scolded you for being alone in the neighborhood, like some good samaritan, he laughed as he guided you through dimly lit alleys with zero traffic. 

‘’Want to come inside?’’ You had asked. Already? Were you that easy? But who was he to say no?

Your place was small, as expected, neat and tidy, with a few clothes on the bed, nothing bad. It smelled nice too, he noticed a small plant on the coffee table. How gullible to let him in like that. Dabi imagined how many times you must’ve been wronged in life. But you being you—it was probably something that flew over your head daily. You’d call it compromise, he’d call it stupidity.

He had fucked you in missionary that night, a true gentleman, easing his way inside and slightly towering, making sure the stapled skin under his sternum didn’t touch your sensitive one. You were soaking by the time you stopped making out and he slid a finger inside, warm and enticing, his cock hardened in primal ways. He had softly thrown you on your bed (his definition of soft wasn’t exactly soft, you had let out a groan, was it bad?) and climbed on top. You were looking at him expectantly, your eyes glassy, was that pain or excitement, Dabi would bet bucks on the latter. The way you had shyly parted your legs, not for his cock, but to fit him in between was sickeningly pretty, he could swear he was almost…nervous to slip his cock inside. And he was right, trying to fit it inside failed him two or three times while he pretended to toy your clit with his cockhead. You didn’t seem to mind, his act must’ve been convincing, you were softly moaning and your eyes dared to look at the sight of his swollen tip against your lower lips, was it pretty? He had fucked you as hard as he would allow himself—your body could take it, he had to be honest, the more he stuffed you, the more he needed to drive his cock further into your soft walls, there was no room for play pretend romance here. But you seemed to like it too, wrapping your arms around the bare part of his back, fingers accidentally trailing the stapled skin and groaning near his face. ‘’Fuck.. right there.. D-Dabi! More!’’ More? Sure, you could have more. A patched arm strongly pinned a leg above your head, touching the bed frame, as his stiff and pained cock violated your cunt, he could feel how deep he was and constantly fought the urge to spill already. As for you? Tears from your eyes fell down your now stained sheets as you screamed. Pleasure, pain, honestly he didn’t care much about what it was, your pussy clamping down on him the last thing he felt before he bit down your neck, almost ripping out the skin tissue. His cum slowly trickled out, while both of you panted, each exhale synchronizing with the clock ticking in the kitchen. 

There were no voids you could fill, he knew it, interacting with others proved to be a daily reminder. But there were voids you soothed, pain you healed just with your head resting where a heart used to be. Heart beating irregularly, like his feet in his childhood, with excitement, with a different type of eagerness. These weren’t thoughts he made that night and that’s how he knew he liked you. That night his mind was blank for the very first time, carefree from reality, from the ugliness of living—you had sex with some stained villain, who hadn’t only stained your cunt, but your sheets too, your morals indirectly and heart along the way. These thoughts came to him when he saw the photo. Space. You said you needed space. There wasn’t any relationship established, what the fuck you needed space for? Because now he had found something to give waking up a reason. Someone to regularly satisfy his cock with, someone to take away his thoughts and halt his aimless wandering. And you needed space. How lame. You know what? He could give you space. Indirectly of course. He’d still follow you around, check the whereabouts and conversations, sit outside your house and watch you get undressed. But you looked happy. And he couldn’t decipher in what way. Was he a friend? Who gives a fuck about the guy anyway, why were you smiling like that? You never posted him, that's for sure, you knew in the three months of irregular hanging out (to call it dating would be a joke) that he hated it. And so you never did, even though he wanted you to deep down. Something small. A grocery store visit, one you made when he said he’d cook dinner (he had burnt it). But you never did and now here you are posting with someone irrelevant. 

Murder wasn’t the answer. Stupidly enough it was always associated with morality. But you’d think Dabi would have none of that. He thought murder was stupid. No second of his time ought to be wasted for the next guy. Though he had to admit, he often contemplated whether you’d want this. You didn’t know shit about him. But a sudden murder would definitely have you crawling for protection. And who better than the one who committed it? He honestly wouldn’t go out of his way to do all that. He wanted you organically. It had been a long time since he wanted someone. But you sufficed. You were enough. You never asked, never complained, not even when you’d come home from work, exhausted and dirty and he was waiting at your door. Not even when you were shoved against the cupboards and fucked without remorse—you still wrapped your legs around him and whimpered on his neck. And fuck if that didn’t feel good. He hugged you in your sleep. You’d both sleep in opposite directions, you first of course, so you’d never notice he switched sides and brought a leg over yours, resting his head on your throat, feeling each breath, each pulse. You’d wake up confused at the position, he’d say he didn’t remember. These were the few nights he could reach REM state. No vivid dreams of course, a shipwreck maybe and some elevator descending, lack of control or whatever bullshit he read once. He could still dream though, a miserable reminder he was still human. 

He was always mean. The world didn’t care to mold someone into being nice. What would that even be? He thought nice meant exchange. Be nice and you’d get a pair of shoes. Act nice and you’ll get to watch TV. Treat others with respect and you’d be the family’s topic of discussion over Christmas. Sure, there were selfless people, he wasn’t crazy to think there weren’t a few of them left. You’d be his prime example. And you weren’t even stupid. But your willingness to help and give bordered exploitation. It hit him like lightning. You needed to get away, the real world was doing damage to people like you. If you were with him, you wouldn't have to think twice about being taken advantage of. He’d still be mean, you wouldn’t change that. But at least you’d sleep assured knowing that he’d never, ever demand something from you. Well…besides your presence, though he’d take you as you are, so in retrospect you’d come to appreciate him for the service. 

When he came to pick you up (abduct sounded rough—you’d also want this eventually) you had just finished work. To others you seemed fine, to him you looked exhausted. No need for mask, no need for clothes, he had everything arranged. You hadn’t objected much, he tried the kind approach first, he had only asked you to go for a ride with him in a car he stole, something you’d never know. The place was a dump, a couch covered in dust and a rusty kitchen, but you’d both make it work. It wasn’t like he couldn’t find money. He would, eventually. He remembers the way your eyes widened, what were you expecting, a trip to the countryside for some mimosas? You should’ve known better. ‘’What are we doing here?’’ You had asked, looking him in the eyes, you seemed frightened like the first time you saw him in the alley, it all ends in the beginning of the cycle, such a paradox, he thought. ‘’This is our new place.’’ He cooed as he approached you, you took a step back. There really was no reason for you to be scared, you’d grow to understand the only thing scaring you would be losing him. 

He had tried to kiss you but you protested, pushing him away, a shame really and he wanted to continue with the nice approach. Well then again nice didn’t really exist so it wouldn't have worked anyway. He kissed you, your mouth was closed but not for long before it was forced open, arms snaking around your waist and pinning you to a wall collecting condensation since god knows when. He was on your neck, kissing, biting, frenzied moves really, he needed you more than he needed whatever kept him alive. Three months ago, he stopped thinking. Now, the only thing he thought was you. He dragged you to the dusty sofa, he thought of using his quirk to burn the fabric, but ripping it out came naturally. You were laid out naked and shivering, his hands grabbed your waist—was this warm enough for you? You whispered something, maybe it was louder than a whisper, stop or whatever but he couldn’t listen. He found your cunt immediately, he was almost drooling at the sight, when was he that hungry ever again? Something about your life. People behind. You said something, he didn’t listen. You weren’t that wet like the first time, he understood. Women, they need emotional connection. Maybe a sloppier kiss to get them going. He found your mouth again, forcing you to kiss him back while he gorged on yours, a small movement in your hips, a pad of his finger back on your cunt. Wetter, perfect. He slid up a finger, curling it while his thumb grazed over your clit, you whimpered. That was a sound he could finally register. He’d bring back that smile, but it’d be for him only. One finger turned to two and eventually three, he needed to stretch you out to take him, nothing had changed since the first time, just his eagerness. His cock throbbed in his black pants, he wanted to taste you. 

You moaned and attempted to touch his hair. He didn’t mind but this wasn’t the time. He moved his head lower, spreading your thighs open and spitting on your clit. Spittle dripped down your slit and his index finger trailed it along the entrance, earning him a moan. See, you already enjoyed this too much. This would be your life now on, he’d fuck you till you wouldn’t want another thing. Captivity had a good side after all. He’d treat you so well, he wouldn’t even have to force all that domestic bullshit on you. You’d do it willingly. He eats your cunt out like it's the most sacred meal, sloppily and without coordination, pushing his tongue inside and gripping your thighs forcefully and what is this? You buck your hips up, wanting more, needy little slut. Perfect, so perfect for making him stop thinking. Making him forget. His cock must leak precum, it feels uncomfortable and he wants you to coat his tongue, he really does, but please understand, he needs you. Now. To bother removing his pants fully would be hilarious, he has neither time nor desire to do so, they’re slid down half way, his cock jumps on his abdomen and he gives it an impatient stroke—looking at you always. Let me go. You say, what? Were you stupid? Right before the best part? Right before the start of a new life? Of a life you should be living years ago? Delusional, you’re delusional. ‘’You love me, baby.’’ He tells you and lets his cockhead slip in your entrance, bit by bit until he’s bottomed out and you wince, he doesn’t move just for a second, this should be enough and then starts thrusting without consideration. Like it’s an incentive, like you’re a hole that needs filling, a mere means to an end. You protest a bit more, if you get louder he might have to get violent on you, please understand he doesn’t want this. You’ll get it, eventually. He can’t decipher the look on your face, it certainly doesn’t scream happy like in the photo. 

And then he’s reminded of the photo and a rage is born. ‘’Did he fuck you this good?’’ He spears his cock inside, you are hitting against the arm of the couch, your mouth contracts and you dampen his cock, so he must be doing something right. ‘’Tell me, did he fuck this cunt?’’ He asks and you just moan—are you dumb? Why aren’t you answering? His arms envelop your throat, pressing on the carotid artery as your muffled moans get even more constricted, he spits on your face and demands an answer. Dirty. Slut. Dirty. ‘’N-o’’ comes out your mouth. He hadn’t tainted you? He hadn’t touched you. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He wipes the saliva off your cheeks, it’s so...wet? Are you crying? Why are you crying? He hates it. ‘’I’m sorry.’’ He kisses you while he plunges deeper, you groan and try to avoid him, stop doing this, you’re his now, it’s final. ‘’I’ll make you feel better, alright?’’ He breathes out, he knows you like his fingers, he knows. His thumb circles achingly, longingly even on your puffy clit while you clench around him, your breathing is labored, you have to cum—cum now! On his cock, show him how much you love him. A few more strokes and he has you clamping down, more tears, so many tears and you moan out his fake name, with anger maybe or an orgasm high, he can’t tell and he doesn’t care either, it’s enough. He needs to steal a kiss one last time and feel the way you squeeze and soak all around to let his load paint you white, maybe he is like a woman after all, longing for emotion, even when he has to fulfill plain instincts. You don’t talk after it, you don’t even blink, you aren’t passed out, are you? He wasn’t that hard, come on now. He has to remove himself, clean you up, the couch and he the least of his priorities. You need to get accustomed. You’ll love it. 

You never ask. About the photo. About your family. About anything prior. But that’s not something he dwells upon, he doesn’t like to look back. You still sleep next to him, well, there aren’t many other options available, yet you do. You still breathe softly in your sleep, he still hugs you from behind. You’ve become a sedative, a very much needed one. He dreams some days, an elevator falling, a shipwreck. Only, you’re there this time. 

The few days he remembers the dream, he appreciates the company. He can only hope you do, too. 

[libellule-ao3]

Hey,

I really like your Ominis' NSFW Alphabet. Can I request one for Sebastian?

Hello,

I had some random HCs about Sebastian in a file. Your request prompted me to organise them a bit. So thank you. 🙏💖

I hope you will like them.

As always, I hope you will forgive any potential language mistakes.

NSFW Alphabet | Sebastian Sallow 🔞

⚠️Sexually explicit content | 🔞 | Smut | HC |2,5k words

Summary: Some of my smutty HC about Sebastian Sallow, collected under the "NSFW alphabet" template.

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Other NSFW alphabets: Ominis Gaunt, Dark!Ominis

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sebastian can fuck you relentlessly, make you scream his name, and push you over the edge, but afterwards, he remains extremely attentive. He holds you close, kisses you softly, whispers praise, and caresses you slowly while you catch your breath. Sometimes, he murmurs how much you mean to him, as if afraid to lose you like he lost his family. He may also massage your tired muscles, apply soothing lotion to areas reddened by blows or bites, and make sure you’re well hydrated. His need to protect and care for you is almost obsessive. He loves to see you relaxed, exhausted, and satisfied, so he’ll shower you with kisses, sometimes until you’re ready for another round.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Sebastian is particularly proud of his hands, which are just as good at wielding a wand as they are at making you come. He loves their versatility: caressing you tenderly, spanking you hard, penetrating you deeply, pinching your nipples, all to play with your pleasure. He also loves to feel the vibrations of your moans under his palm as he grabs you by the throat, controlling your breathing and arousal.

As for your body, he’s obsessed with your bottom. He loves to touch it discreetly as he walks past you, grab it firmly or slap it as he takes you from behind or as you ride him, or simply caress it as you lie against him. What’s more, nothing turns him on more than seeing your bottom redden under his strokes or bounce up and down with every thrust.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Sebastian prefers to cum inside you, deep inside, to mark his territory in the most intimate way possible. The sensation of your walls contracting around him as he pours himself into you is incomparable. But if you want him to cum elsewhere, he also loves to watch you on your knees, mouth wide open, tongue outstretched to receive every drop, or see your body splattered with his cum, especially on your breasts or face. It awakens a primal instinct in him, a pride in seeing you marked by him in this way.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’ll never admit it openly, but the idea of fucking you in a public place, where anyone could catch you in the act, excites him to no end. The thrill of the forbidden, combined with the fear of being caught, increases his desire tenfold. He fantasises about taking you against a wall in a corridor, an empty classroom, or a dark alley. He also dreams of discreetly caressing you under the table, without anyone knowing, leaving you unable to concentrate on anything other than the pleasure he’s giving you.

Finally, he often imagines screwing you so hard that you can hardly walk afterwards, and that everyone can tell.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Contrary to what you might think, he didn’t have much experience before you. Sebastian's life was entirely governed by his quest to save Anne, his obsession with dark magic, and the scars left by Solomon's death, Anne's rejection, and Ominis' estrangement. Burdened by so much suffering, he never had the time or emotional space to think about romance or physical pleasure before you. However, his natural curiosity and passion for learning have enabled him to be an attentive lover, experimenting and honing his skills to find out what makes you tick. So, his fingers, his tongue, his cock—he tested everything on you to understand how to make you come repeatedly.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Sebastian loves to possess you in doggy-style. He loves to see you on all fours, arched over, exposed to him. One of his greatest pleasures is to grab your hips firmly and pull you against him, sinking deep into you again and again. He relishes the way your body trembles under the impact of his thrusts. But what he loves most of all is wrapping your hair around his fist, pulling it back to force you to lift your head, all the while whispering obscene words in your ear. The total control he has over you in this position excites him like never. He never gets tired of your buttocks slamming against him, the sound of your bodies colliding and your muffled moans.

Then he loves it when you ride him. Seeing your body move on top of him, your tits bouncing with every movement, drives him absolutely crazy. He watches you rub up against him, guiding you up and down his cock, adjusting the angle to get to the places that make you scream. He loves the way you think you’re holding the reins, when he always ends up gripping you by the hips to go faster, harder, until you’re both overwhelmed with pleasure.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Even though he’s often intense and serious during sex, Sebastian has a mischievous side that also comes out when he’s intimate. He can’t help teasing you. He laughs softly when you become impatient, or when you beg him to go faster. He may also tickle you or tell a joke at the worst possible moment just to throw you off balance a little before fucking you even harder.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Sebastian doesn’t really have strict rules about this. He keeps his private hair neat, but doesn’t touch the hair on his chest, or the fine line of hair that runs from his navel to his bush. Also, he doesn’t care whether or not you’re waxed. As long as he can lick you, fuck you, and make you come, he’s perfectly happy. However, he does like to grab your hair during the act, pulling it slightly to force you to tilt your head, exposing your neck to his possessive kisses and bites. And he loves it when your hands grip his as he eats you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.)

Sebastian loves to see you vulnerable, especially when you’re under him, breathless and trembling with pleasure. He likes to whisper dirty words in your ear as he thrusts deep inside you, just to feel your body react to his every word. Even in his most brutal moments, he still looks at you with that all-consuming desire that shows you mean the world to him.

J = Jack off (HC masturbation)

Sebastian has no problem with pleasuring himself when you’re not around, especially if he’s overwhelmed with desire for you. He may even let his mind wander to the intimate moments you’ve shared to increase his pleasure (your lips around his cock, for example, or your throbbing pussy as he impales you against a wall). When he’s particularly excited, he may even masturbate in front of you, enjoying watching you become eager and aroused as you watch him pleasure himself.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Sebastian loves to dominate. He loves rough sex, making you bend under him, seeing you on your knees sucking him off while he controls the pace and depth by grabbing your hair. He loves that you’re totally at his mercy, whether it’s through handcuffs or orders. But he also likes the idea of a brief resistance, forcing you to give in to him, and the moment you let go makes him even harder.

Sebastian has a strong breeding kink. The idea of filling you up and knowing he could get you pregnant drives him mad. He gains a primal satisfaction from the thought of you carrying his child, especially after everything he’s lost. It’s not just about marking you as his, but more about creating something permanent, a family—something he’s craved ever since losing his parents and Anne.

The way your body changes during pregnancy only intensifies his desire. He finds you even more irresistible, the sight of your round belly, where his baby is growing, exciting him beyond reason. He loves being the one to satisfy all your needs while you’re vulnerable, taking special care to ensure your comfort but never holding back on intensity. During sex, he loves trying new positions that suit your changing body, and Sebastian can spend hours worshipping your pregnant form, telling you how beautiful you are and how much he desires you.

He also has a weakness for role-playing games, especially those where he can reverse the dynamic and explore scenarios where one of you is in a position of weakness or submission.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

As much as he enjoys the safety of your bedroom, Sebastian can find carnal pleasure in unexpected places. Whether it’s in an empty classroom, against a tree in the Forbidden Forest, or even in a cramped bathtub, every place has its charm as long as he can hear you moan his name without restraint.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Everything about you is a source of motivation for Sebastian. Your perfume, the way you run your tongue over your lips, the subtle movement of your hips, it all drives him crazy. But what probably turns him on the most is when you turn into a naughty girl. He loves the defiant look in your eyes when you try to take control, or when you provoke him, knowing full well he’ll punish you for it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He likes to push your buttons, but respects your limits. He’s a possessive guy who doesn’t like anyone else intruding on your intimate moments, either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Sebastian is as talented with his mouth as he is with his hands. He’s obsessed with making you come using his tongue. He loves to hear you moan under the deft movements of his mouth, watching you writhe in pleasure as he licks you relentlessly. Of course, receiving oral pleasure is just as enjoyable, especially when he sees how much you love having it in your mouth, your eyes gazing into his as he reaches down your throat.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sebastian is an intense and passionate lover, often preferring a fast and determined pace, as his desire could wait no longer. That said, he knows how to adapt to your needs, slowing down if he senses you want something gentler.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Sebastian loves quickies, especially when the urge is too strong. He won’t hesitate to shag you quickly in a dark corner or a broom cupboard, his hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans as he penetrates you with brutal urgency, reaching orgasm in a matter of minutes before you go back to business as usual.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Sebastian loves risk. Whether it’s trying new things or pushing the boundaries of what’s socially acceptable, he loves exploring with you. For him, sex is as much about pleasure as it is about challenge, and he loves pushing the boundaries with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Sebastian is tireless, capable of satisfying you several times in one night! Even after he’s released, he’s often ready for another round after a brief rest.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sebastian is open to using toys to increase the intensity of your sessions. He likes to use enchantments on you, placing his vibrating wand of magic against your clitoris as he penetrates you, or using it to torture you during foreplay. Ties, light whips, and even gags are also among the accessories he uses.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease?)

If you’ve been a bad girl or provoked him, Sebastian can be terribly unfair, loving to torture you slowly, make you beg and cry in frustration. He often does edging, bringing you close to orgasm several times, then depriving you of your pleasure just before you explode, until you’re a desperate wreck, begging for release.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Sebastian is quite vocal, groaning and grunting with every move. When he’s close to orgasm, his moans become hoarse. But his favourite part is hearing your screams, moans, and every sound that escapes your mouth. He wants you to be loud, to let everyone know how much he’s driving you crazy.

W = Wild card (a random HCs)

-Sebastian likes to surprise you. Whether it’s initiating an unscheduled session in an unlikely location, using a prop you weren’t expecting, or dominating you in a new way, he always likes to maintain an element of mystery and surprise. For example, he might walk into the room, pin you up against a wall and fuck you without warning, or wake you up by eating or fucking you, just to see your face overcome with pleasure as you wake up. He also knows you like it when he loses control, and sometimes he lets you dominate him and do what you want with him.

-When Sebastian is overwhelmed by anger or frustration, especially due to memories of Anne or the guilt of having killed his uncle, he sometimes turns to sex as an outlet. In those moments, he is more intense, even bordering on brutal, but always in control of his actions. Afterwards, he becomes extremely tender, almost guilty for having let himself go, but also deeply grateful that you're there to soothe him and that you accept him, even with his darker sides.

-One of the consequences of the losses he has suffered is that he becomes very possessive. He likes to mark his territory on your body, whether with bites, scratches, or ensuring you bear the marks of your sessions the next day. He needs to know that you belong to him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Sebastian is slim and toned, with skin covered in freckles, more concentrated in areas that are often exposed to the sun. He also has a few scars, left over from duels and training sessions. He’s not particularly imposing, but he has charisma to spare, with an intensity in his gaze that melts you completely. Down below, he’s well proportioned, with a tail of average length but thicker so you can feel every movement and pulse. He loves to see how your body reacts when he penetrates you, to feel your drenched walls stretch around him. It’s an attribute he’s proud of because he knows exactly how to use it to get you where he wants you.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Sebastian has an uncontrollable libido, especially with you. Sometimes he’s so obsessed with making love to you he can’t concentrate on anything else until that need is met. He wants you constantly, and his body reacts to the slightest of your provocative gestures. Even a simple smile or caress can make him hard, and he’s often ready for action at the first opportunity. Also, he’s not afraid to express his desire for you, even in inappropriate situations. He’s sometimes amused to see you embarrassed, knowing full well that he’ll get what he wants in the end.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sebastian can be exhausted after sex, especially if you’ve spent most of the night making each other come. But he refuses to go to sleep unless you’re satisfied. He always makes sure you’re comfortable, that you’ve got everything you need before finally drifting off to sleep, often with you snuggled up against him, his hand still possessive over your body.