I’m not a spiteful person but to come back on here months after everything while being in a much better place mentally and happy with several new and old friends and a new boyfriend all of whom I love more than anything and see almost every blog who made me seem like a paranoid freak when I was going through a shit time in life and ptsd without knowing what it was has been deleted in inactive. Well there’s something just so satisfying in knowing that’s gone almost entirely and not going to hurt anyone else then tell them they’re paranoid and making shit up after the bullying and abuse me and more than a few friends were put through by certain blogs on here for those left, you know who you are.
So goodnight tumblr and so long! It was nice knowing you! And in the wise words of Lily Allen - fuck you very very much cause we hate what you do and we hate your whole crew so please don’t stay in touch 😁
yeah, more male pov's. sorry not sorry. mdni . i think i might have my hl groove back xo
I’m sprawled on the edge of the bed; legs spread, jeans tugged down just a fucking enough and you’re on your knees between them, glancing up at me with eyes filled half with hunger, half with tease and fuck. You’re making me twitch before you even touch me. My shirts still on. Of course it fucking is. Half bunched up around my waist and I’m gripping the bedsheets – knuckles white as snow because I just know what’s about to happen. What’s coming. Me. You smirk, slow and wicked; fingers wrapping around me oh so fucking delicately and ugh, you’re like cool against heat and I can’t help but groan – voice low and rough as you give my cock a lazy pump and there’s already precum beating at the tip. “Fuckkk.” I can barely manage out the curse before your mouth is on me. Warm. Wet. Lips kissing my tip, tongue flicking the slit like a kitten would as you taste me for the first time. God damn –
You make me deeper. No hesitation what so fucking ever. Your throat tightens around me as your head bobs, and you suck a little harder than I expected and my hips jerk towards you chasing the high I know I’m about to be blessed with. I tangle a hand into your hair; not to guide, trust me – just more to hold. The soft, silk like strands slip through my fingers as you work me – sloppy, wanting, messy, there’s saliva dripping down my thighs, pooling on the bed. Jesus Christ. A moan you sound vibrates through me; a jolt straight through the cock and I’m cursing again beneath my breath – head tipping back to smack against the headboard; the dorm blurring.
“Merlin, yes baby girl – just – like – that.”
I watch as your lips stretch around me, cheeks becoming hollow, eyes locked onto my own as if you’re just daring me to lose what little self-control I maintain. You pull off for a second; a gasp escaping you. A loose string of spit connecting your mouth to my cock and fuck, just off the sight I nearly cum right there and then.
“Salazar; you taste good. So fucking hard Sebby…”
Taking a breath before you dive back in; you’re sucking me down to the hilt, tongue swirling, hand pumping what you can’t fit inside your mouth, and I’m fucking done. A grunt. A shallow thrust. I spill hot and thick down your throat, and you keep your gaze locked in on my own as you swallow ever single last fucking drop – smirking around my cock like you know you’ve won.
Yeah.
You have baby.
…but you just wait until I’ve got my tongue on you.
Things those Slytherin Boys do during sex that make your mind blank - part 1
that little request for consent; "can we?" "please baby?" "do you want me to stop?"
the way they struggle to control themselves at the very start
kisses; fuck the kisses. slow and passionate turning into barely there nips of your bottom lip to eventually just become their mouths hovering over your own spilling out moans and groans
when they become vocal. bonus points if it's linked with praising phrases. "you like that don't you my angel?" "taking it so fucking well princess" "gonna behave my little slut? yeah thought so."
placing a finger on your tongue to keep your silent while they pepper kisses down your neck and across your chest. bonus points again for when that finger runs down your body and begins to tease your clit
whispering "mine" when they go down on you. along with this; that grab of ownership where they wrap their arms around your thighs and you know you're not going to be able to move
they're never pussy drunk for only a minute or two, they could be down there for hours if they choose to be and your mind is always reset anytime they gaze up to make eye contact with you and murmur into your thighs that they enjoy the view
the way they toss your legs over their shoulders like you're a rag doll
hands roaming your thighs, your stomach, your breasts as they whisper "so fucking soft baby girl.."
heir tongue skimming across your skin to taste every single flavour etched across it
the slow way they tease you out of your clothes to the point you can't remember when your shirt came off or where you left your skirt
the smirk which tugs at the corner of their mouth at how your eyes roll back when they choke you. it's always feather light at first. why rush your arousal?
the way they spell their name out as their thumb draws on your clit. total ownership. totally fucking hot.
teasing your folds with the tip of their cock through your soaked panties. why rush?
pinning your wrists high above your head and instructing you that you can "look, but not touch."
gripping your chin to force you to look at them; into their eyes, not breaking the gaze as they slide deep into you and your eyes widen a smidge before they roll back
their first few thrusts are heavenly but then they pause and stop and your body shudders beneath them, that little whine of plea eluding from you begging them to move again
that chuckle from deep down in their chest when they know they're in total control
how they don't wait for you to keep up with them, tossing you around like a doll into the next position they want you in
they'll edge you for hours followed by "nuh-uh princess - did I say you could come?" every single time they feel you close to undoing
if you're into it; slaps and spanks. out of the blue when you least expect it there's also hair pulling, but none of that animalistic shit; we're talking they weave their fingers deep into your messy locks and will use that to guide you around
while you're still at Hogwarts, they'll use their wand as a paddle and whip. ha, that's a lie - they'll use it way past graduation
Date nights with Tom have always been simple – a bold choice of red wine, curated cheeseboards and black and white foreign films usually of his choosing but tonight; he’s feeling something different. He’s asked you to go and put on the prettiest thing that you own; and your heart skips a beat when he’s done the same thing too. A suit and tie combo that has made you swoon. That evening, you spend hours upon hours admiring precious works of art in museums you had only dreamed of visiting hand in hand, because Tom is utterly smitten over the fact that you should be able to look at something as beautiful as you are.
𝓁𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓏𝑜-
He'd been snapping pictures all day, for weeks – of what? You could only imagine. However, any time you looked Enzo’s way his camera was always pointing at something he would later mumble was ‘of interest’. You’d begged and begged for weeks for a romantic date night by a lake the two of you would frequent with family when you were kids and eventually, he gave in – bonfire, picnic, ready to watch the stars shine overhead. Just as the first twinkle came into the sky, Enzo took one last snap before handing you, his camera. ‘Take a peek.’ He was never one to share unedited images but he pre-faced by stating that everything he’d snapped didn’t need editing and was already perfect. The memory card; filled of pictures of only you.
𝓉𝒽𝑒𝑜𝒹𝑜𝓇𝑒 -
Theo had organised meticulously the perfect date night which is why he was ever so sour when the weather caused him to have to postpone his plans. You, however, were enamoured – there was just something so romantic about the rain that reminded you of those Austen and Bronte novels you had read as a child. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he noticed you standing by the balcony windows; watching the world darken as the clouds floated by and instead of reaching for a cigarette; took your hand and led you outside. It was cold but the two of you couldn’t care. His eyes matched perfectly the colours in the sky and the dance he twirled you around in was nothing short of perfection.
𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒽𝑒𝑜 -
You affectionately referred to Mattheo as impulsive while he twisted the word to the slightly more romantic ‘spur of the moment’ phrase; meaning you never quite knew what to expect for date nights. Last week he’d taken you hiking, the week before that to a paint and sip, the week before that sky diving. A summer carnival shouldn’t have surprised you at all, yet it brought out the romantic side in him. He was insistent on one ride in particular – the ghost train. A little safe for his usual thrill-seeking side but it allowed the perfect opportunity for him to wrap an arm around you close, intertwine your finger through his and pepper you with kisses every time you closed your eyes in fear of being frightened by something unexpectedly.
𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑜-
Draco had insisted on a cab home from the cinemas seeing as how late it was and you – no, you insisted on walking to enjoy the time you had together, which meant after little deliberation, he gave in. As always. Stoic, proper, a gentleman – it surprised almost everyone that the two of you were a match made in heaven particularly when it came to your playful side. Draco tried to comprehend it but never quite could to the extent he felt he should have. “Twirl with me.” “What?” It took only seconds for laughter to take over, the childish manoeuvre bringing out an innocence in you both which didn’t seem to end after he caught you from falling; perhaps he shouldn’t have though, because then you’d have experienced just how hard he had fallen for you.
𝒷𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓈𝑒 -
Blaise couldn’t take his lips off yours; not that you wanted him to. It was the first time in a long time that the two of you had managed to get away from the endless chaos your lives were filled with, and he wanted nothing more than to indulge himself on you. The beach had been the perfect date night idea – familiar yet new. Initially, you’d both agreed to just walk along the shoreline until the sun decided to set; but when tiny waves pooled at your feet, and you smiled contently at the fondness the water would bring; it didn’t long for either of you to strip down and swim in. There was something calm, something inviting, something provoking, something alluring about how both strong and dangerous the ocean could be – and to Blaise, all these qualities reminded him of you.
i'm feeling delicate - so here is some delicate tom because god i can't get enough of this man xo for @darkmarkmarauder <3
You’ve insisted that he not stay up late – that you can make your way back home after a night out perfectly fine; so instead of arguing, instead of fighting, instead of begrudgingly giving into your requests he’s watching his phone. He really does care; he just sometimes struggles to show it. Eyes intricately monitoring your ride-app to make sure your travels are safe, whatever the time may be. When you’re fifteen minutes away, he checks that the heating is turned on – a placid temperature somewhere between comfortable enough to stay up and chat for a few minutes versus slipping straight into bed because he knows all too well that what you really want to do, is come in, whisper a few tipsy hellos and head off straight to sleep.
He can hear your heels clicking up the stairwell. It’s early Sunday morning – he knows that you use the first breeze of the day to try and sober up although he remains consistent in advising that it won’t help. Cool air against your rouge cheeks; he’s unlocked the front door before you even have time to fish out your keys and you fall forward into his arms, and he feels like he could be almost dreaming. You utter good morning – he asks how you’re feeling. He holds up three fingers; you count them as four and he smirks as he helps you in.
The next fifteen minutes are like clockwork – almost ceremoniously ritualistic. You’ve always insisted that black coffee helps you to think straight after a night out but he knows that this actually translates to milky tea and a melted cheese waiting beside you in the bathroom counter as he stands between your thighs and hums gently as he takes your make up off with small, delicate wipes. He used to hate hearing about your nights out; see red and stir over the antics you’d recall, stew internally when explained what was mumbled to you on dancefloors from seedy guys wanting little more than your undivided attention for a few minutes but then came to the realisation that regardless of what happened, what happens; you always make your way home back to him.
Ever so careful with the way he deftly unzips the back of your dress, the once skintight material pools down to the floor in a mess and he takes your hand to help you step out of it and your heels. You curl yourself into his chest mumbling a thank you and he relishes the way the shadows through the apartment dance across your skin, highlighting every breath your take, every move you make. It isn’t long until you reach the bedroom. It’s always his, never yours. Your skin skims along his bedsheets fluidly; textbook romantic. Your fingers knot into his hair as he climbs over you, and you pull him into a kiss that would drown out the most hostile of thoughts and ill wishes to replace your lackadaisical considerations with marvels and fantasies. He tastes better than the vodka you shot during the night. To him you taste heavenly.
There’s little hesitation in your deliberations but a clear vulnerability stained into your eyes when your lips part – breathing ragged. He hates the fact that he shouldn’t want what he can’t have and yet the pinning he tortures himself with, wondering if you notice all the little things he does to show that he cares becomes non-existent when your thighs fall apart, and you welcome him in with a soft touch and whispered plea of ‘I need you.’ Sex for him as always been about dominance, requirement, control, the ultimate ego stroke when it comes to superiority but with you, he feels sensitive, it feels tender, you’re affectionate and he’s almost fragile and he’s unmistakably infatuated with you – the idea of you, the sense of you. He adores it when you moan his name, when your legs quiver, when your nails rake along his skin, when you give in.
You are his ultimate aphrodisiac that is well aware is only temporary. Until morning. Until you untangle yourself from his limbs. Until you pick yourself up. Until you make your way back to your own room where your boyfriends always waiting – who hasn’t stayed up, who hasn’t worried, who hasn’t taken care of you. This morning is different though. You pepper kisses along his shoulder, up his neck, behind his ear; whisper his name like the angel that you are, and he blissfully starts to wake – edging into the consciousness that this is real. That you’re still beside him. Where you should be. Where you always should have been. You don’t leave his side. Your fingertips tracing your name effortlessly across his chest for hours on end as the two of you silently agree that today marks the start of something new. Something terrifying. Something you’ve both craved and he is as content as he can be knowing that you want him, just as much as he wants you.
You wrote something ages ago about Sebastian and MC working in an office together. Any chance you have more of that fic?
I apologise in advance for how long it has taken me to get around to replying to this ask - i feel like I've had it sitting there for weeks now. I know what fic you're talking about. Like a lot of my stuff I ended up abandoning it due to lack of creativity but... here's a short drabble that came to mind you may enjoy xo
Fuck.. your skirt couldn’t come up fast enough. Office appropriate tight material restricting your thighs just the way he fucking liked it as Sebastian pinned you up against the photocopier and swiped your already drenched lace panties to the side, his fingers long and lean teasing your as he chuckled darkly into the crook of your neck. It was after hours. The building near empty apart from the two of you; security and the janitor who was doing the rounds floor to floor, but you still felt like there was a chance of being caught. 72 more fucking pages to print and you knew he’d be done with you by their end. You could barely keep yourself upright as he thrust into you. When his trousers dropped you weren’t sure but hell you were fucking grateful. He was panting heavily across your lips and you swallowed each one with a groan as your body quivered to every single feeling and tension he rode into you. Was this the first time? No. Should it have been the last? Probably. The way he gripped your jaw and instructed you to look at him with those come to bedroom eyes that you so desperately craved had you in pieces. You felt the ring his finger swipe cold against your skin and fuck – he was your boss. You just a lowly secretary on minimum wage but god if his cock didn’t make you feel like a million fucking dollars you’d be damned. During the day – he’d barely look your way, but after hours well… you were fair play.
The Silent Treatment. It was all a game that it shouldn’t have been. You just wanted to get some things back that you’d left in his dorm after the split and ugh – it was like talking to a fucking brick wall every single god damn interaction. You could have sworn that someone had glued his mouth shut whenever you attempted even the most well mannered of conversations but no; this was just towards you. With everyone else, he gossiped, laughed and spoke as if he was the most sociable bloody Slytherin the castle had ever housed – and it got to you. Fuck, you don’t know why, but it got to you. You’d end up going out of your way; asking his friends to relay a message or writing notes which turned more into incidental love letters than you’d have liked. He didn’t relent though – not until you caved in, gave in; started to beg and then and only then, would he begin to respond. With a freaking smirk pulling at his lips and of course, only ever in single word responses. Blaise’s ignorance and forcing you to draw out a response from him as he desires no matter how long it takes to do so is absolutely fine as he knows the end result with you – grasping at any word he says, will be worth the wait.
𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕠 - ♡♡♡
Emotional Manipulation. Even months after the relationship had ended; Draco and his words were still tightknit beneath your skin. You’d distanced yourself, or at least tried to as best you could but the sweet honey like sound of his voice always drew you back in. Stupidly. “Oh don’t be so dramatic, it’s not a big deal.” The twist in your psyche when you heard this particular favourite phrase of his did nothing but churn you up from the inside out. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and you were just over thinking. You were always over thinking – weren’t you? “You are the most amazing person I know. Honestly, I can’t bear to live without you.” That hot and cold relationship the two of you shared was suddenly back on for only Merlin knows how long. His words would praise to control. They would isolate. Draco would use every single tactic in the book that he knew and at one stage – you could have sworn that the book was actually written by him. When he wanted you – he had you and when he didn’t – oh boy, he still kept you within arm’s reach. Because why would he get rid of someone so naïve; someone who would cave at his words, someone weak; someone like you. “Sweetheart, I think you’re imaging things.” Maybe not, but maybe… you were.
𝕖𝕟𝕫𝕠 - ♡♡♡
Irrational Possessiveness. He was obsessed with you. No obsessed wasn’t even the right word to begin to describe the devotion or better still insecurities Enzo had entangled within his mind about you over past experiences he’d had with relationships. When the two of you were together; it felt like heaven on earth – truly. But when he became too much – when Enzo began to cross the line and you declared mid-argument that you ‘needed time out from him’, it seemed like he would break. First came the constant questioning; the why’s and how’s and raised eyebrows. Then came the fake accusations, the ever so subtle stalking, he’d prevent you from making your own decisions, he’d pressure you into sex, he’d demand proof of your commitment. He’d monitor you. If not him, then people he knew. Every interaction you had always involved the phrase ‘I love you’. He’d check your phone, read letters, blame you for never telling him enough although Enzo never really had the whole picture – just titbits in his brain that he’d let his crazed imagination fill in the gaps of. When you finally thought you’d managed to distance yourself from him enough to find a healthier relationship – he’d threaten anyone who care come near you with words so fathomable; they believed it was you that was the problem. You were the walking red flag. All because he knew if he could isolate you – you’d come crawling back.
𝕥𝕠𝕞 - ♡♡♡
Co-dependency. Power – Tom thrived on it. However this wasn’t particularly obvious to you at first. He had convinced you, right from the start that his philosophy on relationships was that if it worked for you, it worked for him and yet this couldn’t have been further from the truth. Six weeks into the relationship – your smitten self was eagerly planning your entire life around pleasing Tom. Six months into the relationship, it seemed your self-esteem and self-worth only came from the sacrifices you made which you would have happily continued to do so, if Tom reciprocated, which he never did. You began to feel worthless unless you were needed. You became stripped of your personality, of your interests, of your values, of your desires. You’d begun to go to extreme lengths to please him; feeling guilty if you didn’t. He made you feel that self-care was selfish. He convinced you that you needed his approval for even the most simplistic of choices. He ensured that if he wasn’t around – you felt lost without him. Your friends after some time, convinced you to see the writing on the wall about him and Tom seemed far too unaffected by the first break up. And the second. And the third. He knew he had you wrapped around his finger. Had convinced you that you were potentially able to ‘fix’ him and that the only way of doing so was absolute devotion and neglect of yourself. He loved the way you had difficulty saying no. He lusted over the way you were always in denial. Somedays, even the devil would sit back and admire Tom’s work because no matter how far you wanted from him; the rescuer mentality he had instilled and trained into you, always brought you back.
𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕠 - ♡♡♡
Excessive need for attention. If Mattheo Riddle was an entry in the dictionary his description would read – boy who needs constant attention and validation. Did the exhibit of this kind of behaviour indicate anything that should have set off alarm bells for you? Well no, not a first. If anything it was actually a little sweet. Could he have been diagnosed with having something like histrionic personality disorder? Maybe. However deep down it just seemed that he was misunderstood, a little unloved and just needed an ounce of validity. It started out innocent – just one more kiss, just one more hug, just one more I love you, just one more anything Mattheo could ask for as it seemed you were overly willing to please. But then this compulsion, this fascination, this infatuation with you, with your relationship, with himself, becoming fucking unbearable. He’d interrupt your conversations to steer the focus back on himself. He’d exaggerate achievements to seem more impressive to anyone who would listen. He’d create unnecessary drama or conflict to not only get attention but to have you rely on him because he made sure no one would ever take your side or give you the attention. He was never wrong; he was forever jealous; he was always absent when you really needed him. He’d never let you have your own time, your down time, your sanity. Just attached to you at the hip because he wanted you not to know anything else, only him. Eventually, he convinced you that you were like this too. That you needed him, his attention, his affection, his validation, his support, his lust, his infatuation. That he couldn’t live or function without you and you, not without him too – a lifeline that it seemed, would never be broken.
𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕠 - ♡♡♡
Boundary breaking. He’d intimidate, he’d isolate, he’d control; and all with a smile that could convince anyone that Theo was just too good to be true. Let’s be honest – when you first started dating, he was. You were smitten, he was the guy that every single girl could have hoped or dreamed of getting attention from and so you fell hook, line and sinker into his world of passion, fixation and sin. You knew what boundaries were. You knew that you had some. Or at least you thought you did. Theo it seemed just had this almost dominating way of breaking your so called ‘non negotiables’ and you, fell for it in every way. Even when not together; he’d check in on you numerous times a day. He’d block your exit if you ever tried to leave a conversation. He’d pin you to the nearest wall just to get a word in. He’d ghost you if you ever tried to set the record straight on his behaviour. At first you tried your best to communicate your discomfort, tried to compromise with him regarding your integrity, tried to modify his behaviour – but only ended up changing yourself to suit. Your “no’s” were always ignored. He’d pressure you into doing things you were uncomfortable with. He’d share photographs you’d send him with the rest of the boys without your consent. You felt like there was a complete lack of autonomy within your relationship – but if you ever, ever, ever dared to try end things with him; he always had just enough ammunition tucked up his sleeve to play you back into his game, his arms, his heart and that is how he kept you about.
You can read it here - or the prologue is under the cut! I was in a bit of a slump creatively so any feedback positive or negative I'll accept xoxo
Katherine's POV
Monday 24th March. I couldn’t tell you why I’d decided to wear blue. Purpose, security, loyalty, trust? No, I do believe it was because the skirt I was currently in was the only clean thing in my wardrobe this morning. Speaking of mornings; mine was rushed. A blur of incident choices made one after the other leading to consequences which had me presented as a discordant mess, seated silently in front of my new employer. The office was dark; just like the coffee I’d spilled on my shirt during the bus ride here across town. Now there was a waste of 6 galleons. Stupidly bitter, overly strong, hot to the touch – a little like the man sitting across the other side of the desk from me.
Tall, dark, handsome – fuck, it’s a cliché I know, but with a jaw line that looks like it’s been carved out by Michaelangelo himself my mind defaults back to the basics. He’s surrounded by shelves filled within an inch of their structure of classic texts, leather bound spines and artefacts which seemingly make up a curated collection of what I can only presume are the inner workings of his mind yet know better than to judge. A flair for oddities and intricacies doesn’t exactly have to equate to thoughtful or reasonable. Aside from all this, the office is flanked by men hidden within the shadows – faces unseen. There’s a snicker every now and then which escapes one of them as they talk in carefully selected whispers amongst one another.
“You shall address me as Lord Voldemort. You will not ask questions, but do as you are told. You are here to work for me as an assistant until your parents’ debt is paid. In the likely event that this does not occur, you will continue to work for me until such a date as I no longer have use for you. Is this understood?”
Fingers twitching in my lap; my gaze lifts off the stationery sprawled neatly across the desk and I manage a forced nod, followed by a swallow as rough as sandpaper before responding.
“Yes Sir.”
“I beg your pardon.”
Raising his head, my boss looks at me – a wash of concentrated apathetic tones wading across deep brown eyes. His expression is a mix of scepticism and intrigue towards my next words. I notice the way he holds the quill in his grasp – delicate; a complete juxtaposition to what his voice sounds like. Authoritative, with a dash of supercilious arrogance.
“Yes Lord Voldemort.”
I swear that I see a minute tug at the corners of his lips curling into a smirk but before I even have a chance to register the potential expression; it no longer exists. The office falls back into silence. A minute passes. Then three. I fidget in my seat – crossing my ankles and brushing down my blouse in an attempt to keep myself from both overthinking and doing something stupid. Not that the fidget is able to deter me. With a disregard for hesitance and forethought, I lean forward from the hips, reaching out to straighten out the name plaque on the desk ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ – the sound of metal and wood screeching like a banshee at the adjustment causing me to flinch – eyes shut for a second to reset. They shut again for a second time; this prompted by a snap of Tom’s fingers which slice through the silence of the office, almost like a knife through salted butter.
“Mattheo – show Ms Sterling to her office where she will remain until needed.”
I have just enough time to lick my bottom lip which has gone dry before one of the men flanking the office walls pushes off to step in toward the light. He’s my age – give or take a year or two; and possesses similar aesthetic qualities Tom does. His features are softer though – as if not burdened by the trauma of adulthood. Their eyes though – the same; a catastrophic shade of unruly brown; a trait it seems shared down the line in a hereditary fashion – in this case father to son. As if I’m not underprepared and overwhelmed enough already by the situation, I’m in; Mattheo makes a ‘tsk’ sound as he begins to walk out of the room; an indication of dismissiveness towards the time I’m taking to react to him.
“Follow me.”
His voice is softer, like silk. Yet still firm.
“Now.”
I scramble out from the seat; reaching down to scoop my purse off the ground and follow eagerly – a flurry of short, quick steps to catch up as my heels pitter patter along the polished floors of the building. Mattheo’s strides are purposeful. They hold a certain gracefulness to them which appears to teeter on the side of hypocrisy used to hide a lesser quality I can’t quite put my finger on. The corridors we walk through are lined with portraits of wizards of yesteryear; illustrated with a penchant for glory.
The room I am led to is both quaint and comfortable. Walls lined with a thick burgundy paper; furniture all a dark stained wood, antiques and archive boxes littered about without any rhyme or reason. I take a step in; eyes scanning where to possibly start but also contemplating if I should even touch anything at all. Mattheo rests himself up against the doorframe; a hearty scoff exhaled as he allows himself permission to brush some hair loosely off my shoulder.
“You got a first name, Sterling?”
Immediately, the inside of my mouth dries up, tongue tasting sour. I half turn to glance over my shoulder, hazel eyes meeting with his own.
“Katherine.”
It’s not information that I’m unwilling to share. A few moments pass in which Mattheo allows his gaze to wander down; tracing my silhouette from head to toe; a sly sneer appearing to buy him the opportunity to think.
“I think I’ll call you Kitty. Or kitten... whichever you prefer.”
Attempting to think of a reply for retaliation seems pointless at this stage as he steps in closer – closing the gap and proximity between us both to stand behind me, breathing warm against the side of my neck. If I hadn’t already sweated beneath my collar sitting across from Tom earlier due to fear and anxiety; now I’d be sweltering just off nerves.
“Kitty”, I decide upon. Not up for the fight. Not on my first day.
“Mhmm, Kitty is cute, isn’t it? Just like you.”
His voice stings prickles along the shell of my ear and induces feelings I’m not sure are real or just figments from the deepest reserves of my imagination. Heart racing. Pulse bulging. I feel faint. As if my blood sugar levels have dropped suddenly. I’m meant to be here to do a job. To pay back a debt. To work. Not faint.
“But you know how you’d look cuter?”
I shake my head – unable to think in any capacity. My comprehensive skills for basic communication are temporarily disabled as he presses a teasing kiss, warm yet unexpected, into the crook of my neck.
“ --- with your legs hooked up over my shoulders.”
I’m done. Brain and body are overloaded to maximum capacity rendering me still and speechless. I have no comeback. I have no chance at revival. Thank God my knees are strong enough to only just barely keep me up right as a murmured mewl of desperation leaks past my lips. I’m being toyed with. I know it. There’s nothing I can fucking do to stop it.
“My office is 3 doors up to your left – come and find me if you need anything”, Mattheo mentions before leaving me in my own disordered solitude.
What I need right now is a fucking cold shower and a shot or two of whiskey.
♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── For once, Mattheo is silent – consumed by thought. A minute passes; then two. He sweeps his tongue over his bottom lip once; quill in his hand twirling lightly between his fingertips – a practiced, wasteless talent. He should be focusing on study. First thing in the morning he’s got an upcoming quiz on the medicinal properties of fungi, but right now, he had a more pressing dilemma at hand. Mattheo hated making decisions – his c'est la vie lifestyle causing a constant battle with them. Now though – he was torn. Torn between deciding whether he wants you vocal – the whole castle hearing what he’s capable of making you feel, or forcing you to be silent as you ride and grind against his thigh; bringing yourself to ecstasy. He could gag you – shove a few fingers into your mouth and press down firm against that pretty wet tongue of yours to make you choke on a few breaths; or the alternative is that he let everyone within a mile radius of his dormitory listen in on how much of a dirty little whore you are. Either way – he’s got decisions, decisions… ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── Draco’s touch is that oh so perfect blend of both tender and considerate which you’ve been craving for god knows how long as his hands caress your hips; fingertips eagerly tracing the dips, the scars, the stretchmarks all etched so daintily across the softness of your skin. His breath is warm, inviting, alluring all at once – he mutters compliments into the crook if your neck that you weren’t ever expecting to hear. ‘Just perfect. So pretty. All mine.’ With a smirk and behind those luminous light grey eyes he holds you close; observing you with both a grace and complexity in his gaze as he drinks up every single inch you’ve got on offer laying beneath him. Every insecurity. Every self-doubt. Every uncertainty he wishes you’d stop over thinking and torturing yourself about. He had caught you crying earlier in the prefect’s bathroom – a date gone wrong you’d tried to explain. Youd been stood up, lied to, sold a dream that would never have happened, and you were stupid to believe by a boy you considered out of your league. Draco was cautious in the way he swiped tears off your cheeks which had trickled from your eyes. He was cautious in the way he reassured you that you shouldn’t cry. He was cautious in his suggestion of helping you get over tonight. Tonight – tonight had shifted from self-loathing to approbation. You weren’t meant to kiss him; nor he kiss you, but in the heat of the moment; in an attempt to get your brain to stop over thinking – he’d done just so. And you… you were cloud nine before you even knew it, melting right back into him. The kisses painted to the corner of your mouth, across your jaw, down your neck, over your collarbone. Each layer the two of you wore stripped off and tossed away without a single care or hesitation for what you were both getting yourself into. You were both no strangers to intimacy, but for the first time, each other’s friendly touch make you feel like you were exactly where you belonged. He could feel your body shake, tremble, quiver with the overflow of emotions sweeping through you but knew better than to question, better than to push, better than to ponder. Your response, moans and whimpers all that were required as consent from you. Friends? Mhmm, the two of you would always be friends – but right now; you were shifting towards being lovers instead. ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
you can read tom, mattheo and lorenzo here. and yeah; sorry, not sorry for draco being so soft and sweet and cute xo
YAY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE TAG @lilac-ravenclaw!!
(I was screaming because they had Rayna's goggles LMFAOO)
Me vs my OCS (I'm the superior of course B))
ROWEN CHILLING IN THE RIGHT CORNER IS SO ADORABLE LOLL RAYNA LOOKS SO PRETTY AND WILLIAM IS IN THE MIDDLE LIKE: :/
SHIP RAYNA X WILLIAM GANG
NPT :3 XX: @greenbean43 @shyamanuensis @light-of-the-room @rypnami @amethystandemma @huangtuwww
I don't know who has been tagged already, so imma go with only a few ppl ♡: @honeyxmooncalves, @honeyed-blossom, @kismaguskaboca, @newdreamlove95 and you if you see this! 🫵🥰
Thanks for the tag @light-of-the-room ❤️
I finally managed to make this work :D
Bee Everly from What Remains is on the left and I'm on the right.
Bee is meant to have dark auburn hair (kind of like this) but that wasn’t an option so I tried mixing three different hair colours 😂
I'm not 100% sure who has or hasn’t done this, but I'm gonna tag some lovely people 🫶 @shyamanuensis @whizzing-fizzbee @writingsoftarnishedsilver @sunnyrealist @kelseyreads22 @applinsandoranges @spookybriecheese @writing-intheundercroft
Headcannon: Sebastian forces his british accent bc he's a little self conscious of his scottish accent (came from his mum btw). However, the drunker he gets, stronger the scottish comes out.
♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── You’re the kind of girl he wants to toss up on the kitchen counter with a smirk before announcing that he’s ready for dinner like the delicious fucking tease you are; but he knows he can’t. Not tonight. Not when he’s promised his best friend that he’ll make sure you get home alright. Yeah – some promise. He’s got you home alright. You’re both in your bedroom. You’re sprawled out on the bed with hair in a mess, makeup worn in and those come to bed eyes he secretly wishes were reserved only for him. He watches the way your chest rises and falls with every breath you take; quickening as he loosens his tie and walks towards the bed, crawling on it and up between your legs and like magic, they both apart to welcome him in. The best sight he’s ever seen. One that he shouldn’t. One that he wants as a dirty little secret. Dress hitching around your soft thighs; panties drenched. He wants to devour you. Run his fingers and lips along every inch of skin you have to offer. Dip his tongue in to consume you in such a way that your head will tilt, a soft moan will fill the room. He wants to make your back rise up off the bed. He wants to make you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. He wants to hook and wrap his arms around your thighs while they tremble and shake. He wants your fingers knotted into his hair guiding him to where you need him most. He wants to kiss you and touch you and worship you in ways that will force a heat to sweat across your skin; flood your cheeks with a scarlet colour; wet the sheets of your bed. But no. He couldn’t. He could never. You’re just friends. You’re his best friend’s girl and he promised that jerk he’d take care of you tonight. Get you home safe. Attend to your every need. Like the gentleman that he is. You whisper something about needing to feel wanted in that angelic voice you have, and he cracks. He hesitates for a fraction of a second. It’s too much time wasted and not with you, not in you, not tending to you the way he’s wanted to for oh so fucking long. Friends? Yeah – you can go back to being friends when the sun rises in the morning. ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡
♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── Tom doesn’t want sex. Well, that’s a lie – he fucking does; he’s been craving it all day. He’s smitten and addicted and obsessed with every single inch of you and can’t wait to have his way, pounding into you while the headboard of your bed smacks rhythmically against your dorm walls in the middle of the night. As much as he wants this though – he wants every single other thing that comes along with it. That leads up to the temptation of you. The final prize he’s keen on winning every single time. At first, it started out as a game for you. You’d ask him to take things slow knowing that patience was never his best virtue and that he’d snap at the sound of your chuckle when he knew that request was coming. These days though – no; he craves all the little things which you’ve taught him to. Trained him to. Cause him to become accustomed to yearn for.
At first, it’s those slow, soft, barely there kisses when you first become engulfed in each-others presence that he begins to enjoy. It allows him to focus, to commit to the moment, to expel any ounce of haste impulse he may have. This is closely followed by grabbing and pulling you close. Hands pawing at your wrists, your hips, knotting effortlessly into your hair to bring you against him, onto him, one with him. There comes that whimper you let out as he purposely breaths down your neck in order to wipe your thoughts before peppered kisses along your sensitive skin turn to nips, turn to bites, turn to ownership and he uses the way your body is reacting to grind up against you – to have you melt into him. You're like ice-cream in summer and he’s starving for a taste.
Once silent - his whispers of ‘jump’, ‘up’ and ‘please’ all words once so foreign to slip off the tip of his tongue Tom now wields almost as a weapon, knowing that you’ll comply to his desires, his requests. He’s gotten use to how he sounds but you can’t seem to control yourself when you hear him begging almost like a prayer. Suspiring your heavy breathing, Tom has become more tolerant at allowing you to pause and catch your breath – the time savoured to gaze into your eyes, notice the vulnerability etched within them; how they’re tinted with trepidation, with passion. How they darken as the tinge of blush across your cheeks becomes scarlet, begins to match your skin as he delicately unwraps every layer of clothing you wear until your completely bare before him. Admiring a view that he’s seen a hundred times before but is still just as unique and exceptional as every sunset he’s ever witnessed.
Yeah, sex is the end goal, but it is no longer just about that. He wants all of this. He wants all of you. He wants to experience the tenderness you’ve so unashamedly taught him that its okay to feel. He wants permission to admire you, devour you, engulf you, savour you. He wants you; because you’re worth more to him than just the sex. ── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ─── ♡
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