Nymphadora Tonks was a very sexy lady—effortlessly, dangerously so. She didn't even try, yet everything about her body and style seemed designed to fry Nova's self-control.
Her punk outfits certainly didn't help.
Ripped jeans hugged her thighs like they were painted on, every tear flashing smooth skin that made Nova's imagination spiral immediately.
And that ass—perfect, round, high, the kind of bubble shape that bounced with every careless step she took.
He had lost count of how many times he'd caught himself staring, imagining exactly how it would feel under his hands. How easy it would be to grab, pull, squeeze… or bend her over something and take his time, spreading those firm cheeks to see the tight, puckered hole hidden between them, a forbidden entrance he wanted to claim.
Her waist was slim enough that he knew his hands would fit perfectly around it, pulling her back into him, forcing her to feel the hard length of his cock pressing insistently against her.
Her shirts—tight, cropped, or torn—always showed just a hint of cleavage or a peek of her stomach.
Her breasts weren't enormous, but they were full and firm, the exact size that made his thoughts tilt in a very specific direction, wondering how her nipples would pebble and harden under his tongue, how they'd feel in his mouth as he sucked and nibbled them until she was gasping his name.
But it was her Metamorphmagus ability that truly drove him to the brink of insanity. The thought that she could change anything about herself at will was a constant, tantalizing torment.
He'd watch her hair shift from a violent, shocking pink to a deep, sultry purple, and he'd wonder if she could make other parts of her body change, too.
Could she make her lips fuller, more plump and perfect for wrapping around his cock Could she make her tongue longer, more agile to tease and lick every inch of him?
The sheer, limitless potential of her body was a dirty secret he obsessed over. He pictured her on her knees, her eyes looking up at him as her hair bled from black to a fiery red with every thrust of his hips, a living, breathing visual of her arousal, her body flushing with color as he used her for his pleasure.
Tonks had no idea the effect she had on him.
She'd bend down to pick something up, and those jeans would stretch so tight over the curve of her ass that Nova would have to force his gaze away, his cock already thickening and straining against his trousers.
She'd stretch her arms above her head, her shirt lifting to flash smooth skin and the delicate line of her hip bone—and Nova's brain would short-circuit for a full second.
He would picture her naked and writhing beneath him, her hair a chaotic, shifting halo of color as she came undone on his cock.
Maybe sensing his perverted thoughts about her niece, Narcissa immediately stepped in between them and said, "Tonks dear, I will be teacher. Nova have too much responsibilities."
Nova froze for half a heartbeat, a wave of playful frustration washing over him. He couldn't help but be impressed by her speed, by the casual, almost graceful way she inserted herself as a barrier.
The look she gave him was a masterpiece—a pointed, knowing smirk that was both a warning and an invitation to a game he hadn't realized they were playing.
Her eyes danced with a wicked light, a silent, teasing communication that said, "I see you, you naughty man, and you're not getting anywhere near her."
It was less of a threat and more of a flirtatious challenge. A stay away from my niece delivered with a wink and a promise of a much more interesting distraction.
He had to physically stop himself from grinning like an idiot. Because even as Narcissa stood there, a glorious, protective gatekeeper, a wonderfully filthy thought slithered through his mind.
Oh, Narcissa… you think this is a wall? This is an invitation.
One day, I'll bury myself to the hilt in your niece's tight little pussy and pump her so full of my cum it drips down her thighs.
And you, my dear, will be the one to clean her up. I'll hold your head and make you lick every last drop from her used, swollen cunt before you wrap those perfect pureblood lips around my cock and suck me clean.
I'll make you taste us both until the only thing you can think about is the next time I let you watch.
Nova smiled to himself, the expression slow and wicked. He could feel it now—this creeping shift inside him. Day by day, his mind wandered into darker, filthier places. And the unsettling part? He didn't mind it at all. If anything, he welcomed it with open arms.
Lately, every passing thought dipped straight into depravity. Every sway of hips he saw, every exposed bit of skin, every pretty face instantly transformed into a fantasy he wanted to act on. He'd imagine bending a woman over something sturdy, gripping her waist, feeling her gasp as he drove her past her limits again and again. It was becoming second nature—effortless, instinctive, addictive.
He couldn't even pretend restraint anymore. He wanted to ruin beautiful women. Every single one of them.
His mind conjured them one by one: Lily on her knees, flushed and breathless; Tonks, that punk rock slut, her wild hair spilling everywhere as he grabbed her from behind, her tight ripped jeans failing to hide the perfect bubble-shaped ass he ached to claim; Narcissa, elegant and cold, arching beneath him as her pureblood composure shattered into helpless moans; Gwen, her superhuman body trembling as she wrapped herself around him, desperate to keep pace.
Even sweet, maternal May—soft, warm, and unsuspecting—who he wanted to corrupt until she couldn't remember what innocence felt like.
Names turned into visions. Visions turned into cravings. And the worst part? He felt no guilt. None at all. Not a shred of hesitation. No whisper of shame. Only hunger—pure, simple, primal hunger.
He wasn't descending. He wasn't losing himself. He was evolving—into the kind of man who took what he wanted, claimed what he desired, and left beautiful women trembling, unable to stand afterward.
He was building a harem—a multiversal collection of breathtaking women. But even within all that desire, his feelings were tangled.
The woman he genuinely loved: May, Lily, Narcissa, Gwen, and Celise. With them, the connection ran deeper than lust. It was raw, binding, emotional, and fierce.
But the others? They were a different story. Jean Grey, Rogue, Elara, Emma, Tonks. He didn't love them, not a single shred of genuine affection. They were just breathtaking bodies, perfect vessels for his depraved hunger.
He didn't want their hearts or their minds; he wanted to fuck them, to stretch them wide and ruin them for any other man, to pound them until their tight pussies were permanently molded to the shape of his dick.
He wanted to fill them to the absolute brim with his cum, pump them so full it would leak out for days, a constant, sticky reminder of who owned their bodies.
Maybe he would love them in future, afterall love is something beautiful, that happens at unexpected moment with someone unexpected.
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He knew his thinking was wrong. He knew he shouldn't view women just as conquests, as trophies to be won and used. But he wasn't a monster who forced himself on the unwilling.
A crucial, twisted part of his code was honesty. Every woman in his orbit, every one he desired, would know the truth of his nature. He would tell them exactly who he was—a man with an insatiable appetite, a collector of beautiful bodies, a man who loved some but lusted for all.
He would lay bare his desires, his other lovers, his depraved ambitions, and leave the choice to them. If they chose to stay, to step into his world, then they did so with open eyes, accepting the glorious, filthy reality of being his.
In fact, Jean and Rouge knew that he was fucking them both. He had taken their virginities within the same week, stretching their tight, untouched cunts open for the first time, a conquest that still made him smirk.
But they still fought over his affection, despite knowing full well that he didn't love them. This fact drove half of the male population of Xavier's school to a murderous rage, especially Scott, whose hatred for him was a palpable, bitter thing he wore like a second skin.
Meanwhile, the other half of the female population wanted to climb his bed, or to be more precise, his dick. Though this was partly due to his wealth and strength, the true reason was his raw power.
The entire school population knew that he was the strongest mutant there, a fully realized Omega-level mutant, a fact that resonated deeply within the halls of the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters.
His dominance was an open secret, a primal truth that bypassed logic and spoke directly to desire, making him an object of envy for the men and irresistible lust for the women.
He doesn't know when he became this depraved. Maybe all this started on the day he killed Malfoy and almost forced Narcissa to suck his dick just after. Although he stopped himself at that time, fearing that he would become depraved, the question now seemed almost laughable.
Did he really stop? He realized he hadn't. He hadn't stopped the descent; he had only paused to admire the view before taking the next step. That moment of restraint wasn't a victory for his morality; it was the moment his morality died.
The fear he felt wasn't of becoming a monster, but of the thrill he felt at the prospect. Stopping himself was just a cognitive strategy, a brief moment of moral disengagement before he fully committed to the path.
He had told himself he was holding back, but in reality, he was just redefining his own limits, pushing the boundary of what was acceptable until there was no boundary left.
The act of killing, the raw power he held over Narcissa in that moment, hadn't corrupted him—it had awakened him. He hadn't fallen into depravity; he had walked into it with his eyes wide open, and now, he had no intention of ever looking back.
x------x
[CHAPTER 151: (HARRY'S NEW MAGIC) IS AVAILABLE ON MY P@TREON]
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