Can’t Wait To Read What I Missed Ari Should Be A Published Author Btw ESPECIALLY THE PURGE AU MY FAV

can you ask a nagi version of the bachira “no way he pulled that” !! thank you sooomuch

Absolutely!!! And npp!!

Also shoutout to the other people asking for a Nagi version in my requests-you've got taste.

And not to be dramatic, but I love how literally all my current requests revolve around this "No Way He Pulled That" beach idea. Like yeah, I made that concept while pacing around my room, headphones on, blasting my saved TikToks and imagining the wildest daydream ever. I was fully in my own world and now it's lowkey becoming a whole saga.

No Way He Pulled That Pt.5

Ego had declared a rare break from the brutal training sessions of Blue Lock—a full beach day, no drills, no strategy talks, no footballs (unless you brought one yourself). Just the sun, the sea, and your fellow egocentric maniacs trying to figure out how to relax without turning everything into a competition.

Nagi arrived last, of course. Board shorts hanging off one hip, hair messier than usual, a towel draped over his head like a cloak. He made it exactly ten steps before collapsing under the nearest palm tree with a soft groan and his signature phrase:

"Too much effort…"

No one paid much attention to him—because no one ever believed a word that came out of his mouth. Especially not when it came to the mystical, possibly imaginary girlfriend he always mumbled about.

"She's real," Nagi had said one night, mouth full of instant ramen. "Really pretty. Soft, too"

“Is she your body pillow?” Isagi asked, deadpan.

"...No"

Reo had stopped believing months ago. Rin never believed to begin with. And Bachira? He was convinced Nagi had made her up after watching too many romance animes while half-asleep.

But then the beach volleyball game started. And that’s when everything changed.

A group of players had set up a net near the far edge of the shore, and laughter rang out as the match heated up. But one particular sound cut through the air like a melody.

Your laugh.

It was light, breezy, warm like honeyed sunlight—too charming to ignore.

Someone spiked the ball too hard. It shot over the net and landed dangerously close to the lazy white-haired boy under the palm tree.

You chased after it, completely unaware of the dozen Blue Lock boys who had just stopped whatever they were doing to stare at you.

And how could they not?

You were a vision—skin kissed by the sun, hair tossed in a high ponytail with strands flying free, your swim top peeking through a loose-knit tank, shorts that hugged your curves, legs dusted with sand. You radiated sweetness, like something out of a summer dream. A soft energy that clashed entirely with the high-strung testosterone-choked beach.

Reo dropped his smoothie.

Chigiri blinked like he was buffering.

Rin narrowed his eyes, confused and slightly annoyed by the way the sun hit your smile so perfectly.

You bent to grab the ball, tucking it under your arm. When you glanced toward Nagi, your entire face lit up.

"Sei!" you called, practically bouncing as you jogged toward him.

The boys followed your gaze like it was a horror movie reveal.

And Nagi?

He looked up, blinked twice, then broke into the laziest but fondest little grin.

"Hey. You're here" he said, voice low and soft, like you were the only thing in his world.

You reached him, tossed the ball aside, and flopped onto the sand next to him, curling up like it was your usual spot. Then, casually, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his temple.

"Missed you" you said sweetly.

Silence.

Crickets.

Barou’s eye twitched. Otoya took off his sunglasses like he needed to confirm reality. Karasu mouthed "WHAT THE—"

Rin’s glare was sharp enough to slice metal. Bachira looked like he’d just discovered aliens were real.

:Waitwaitwaitwait," Isagi stammered. "That’s her?! That’s the girlfriend?"

Reo nearly combusted. "No way he pulled that. No—no way"

"You said she plays Animal Crossing!" Chigiri accused.

"She does," Nagi replied, already resting his head on your lap.

You?

You just smiled, oblivious to the mayhem behind you, fingers carding lazily through his hair as you fed him slices of cold watermelon from your cooler.

"God, she’s nurturing him," Reo whispered, devastated.

"Like a sea goddess nursing a shipwreck survivor" Karasu added mournfully.

Rin stood, muttered something about touching grass, and walked directly into the ocean.

Nagi yawned, totally unaffected. "Told you she was real"

ʀᴇꜱᴛʟᴇꜱꜱ.

Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: NSFW, p-in-v penetration, swearing, dirty talk, sofa sex, quickie that became a longie, making-out, dry humping, Jace is desperate and he needs to take his frustrations out somehow, theres a brief pussy slap bc it felt right, cream-pie at the end, fully clothed raw dogging; They’re betrothed and this takes place at the start of the DoD, I didn’t make any other specifications cause they were too busy fucking. This is very heavily inspired by his scene in the season finale :3

Hot stuff under the cut. 18+ only. I'm not responsible for the content you choose to consume. ty.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

He’d been pacing in his chambers for the better part of an hour with only his thoughts as company. Jacaerys felt useless, to say the least. Useless, needlessly coddled, suffocating between the walls of Dragonstone. He wanted to be of help to his Queen, to fight for the realm on dragonback against the Greens as was his destiny. His calling. Instead, he was made to spectate at council meetings and wait endlessly for a moment that would never come, it seemed. The ‘what ifs’ kept him spiraling, uncomfortable in his own mind, and he found his feet moving before he could consider a destination. He knew where to go. It was too easy not to. And she wouldn’t mind. His hesitance sent a bit of doubt down to his stomach on whether or not he really wanted to bother her, but she would’ve figured out his sour mood anyway. It was better to face up to himself than keep it locked away inside. The hastening of his footsteps echoed off the spacious corridors, and as if she had sensed he was on his way to her, the doors to her chambers were left ajar—just enough for him to see her peaceful face trained down on her book.

His knuckles gently tapped against the threshold, announcing his presence as he entered. His betrothed glances up, looking twice as she realizes who her visitor is. “Good morrow.” She hummed, legs tucked up and under her comfortably on the divan. His pretty brown eyes took in her room, a place he found himself in considerably often. Depending on the circumstances, obviously. And the hour. Everything was kept neat and tidied, but he could still see the traces of her, where she’d made a sort of home for herself. Books and tomes stacked three or four each on various surfaces, the tea she’d left nearly untouched on the nightstand. He loved it. “Good morrow.” Jace responded, gently shutting the door behind him, head tilted back against it for a moment, unable to hide the frustration that had grown in his own chambers. He said nothing. Unsurprisingly, the words caught in his throat on the way out.

She pats the spot beside her on the divan, the book not yet closed, but her attention had shifted from the pages to his furrowed brows. He obeys, crossing the room to sit by her without second thought. His mind had quieted, at least. Their shoulders brush together lightly as he finally manages to say something else. “What are you reading?” She could tell already that something was off with him, but still indulges in his question, turning it over to show him the cover. Something vaguely historic, he catches, but he was too distracted by her soft hands clutching the book to see much else. “I figured I’d better read a bit more to catch up with the talk of war. This one isn’t entirely as dull as I thought it was going to be, thankfully.” With that, she closes it shut, putting it down on the stand beside the divan, shifting her body just enough to face him. “How are you faring, Jace?”

“I’m well enough.” He muttered, leaning back slightly. It was a lie and she saw right through him without much else. “I just…my mother is worried. She’s trying to hide it behind orders but it's catching up to us now. All this.” He was gesturing to the war, of course, fingers tapping in his lap anxiously. “And I can’t help her. She won’t let me help. I don’t know what to do. I’d much rather be out there, making a real difference to tip the scales, and instead I’m stuck here at Dragonstone doing nothing but waiting.” His betrothed nodded along as she listened, digesting his admittance before considering her own words. “You’re restless, dragon.” There was a truth to it, despite the statement mostly being a gentle tease. The corners of his lips lift just a little at the nickname. “I can’t help it. I feel antsy knowing I have the capabilities to do something, and I’m not allowed to.”

“We’re still in the beginning of this war—and you’re the heir, Jace. Even if there was a battle taking place just outside of Dragonstone, you and the Queen must stay here.” He’d heard that a thousand times before from his mother and the members of her small council, and a thousand times he felt undignified—but hearing it from the lips of his bride-to-be, there was no malice or taunt or scold behind her tone. She was reminding him of a painful candor. His safety mattered. “I feel powerless.” He admits, frustration accompanying the embarrassment that came with the insecurity. “I feel like a little boy begging to add his opinion during council meetings. They respect me because I’m the Prince of Dragonstone, her son, not because I’m good at my responsibilities. What good am I in this war if I can’t help my mother get her throne back?” The last few words exited his mouth with bite, self-loathing and irritation cutting him like a double-edge sword.

“You’re wrong about that.” She reaches out to take his arm, her hand wrapping around his bicep as she intertwines their fingers with the other. “Your living and breathing is the strongest power of all. You’re strengthening your mother’s claim by doing just that. I know you want to fight, to do something that matters. But true power is not just grandiose displays of strength or victories in battle, it's also purpose. The meanings behind our choices. People are raising the Queen’s banners—and those are your banners too. They want to fight for you as much as they do for her, because the two of you are the rightful heirs to the throne. The Greens can try as they wish to Usurp what belongs to the Queen, but their actions are unjustified. King Viserys made his choice and he stuck to it until his passing. That is power.”

“All this book reading is making you wiser than me.” He grumbled, although there wasn’t any malice behind it. “I’d still rather be swinging a sword at some idiot knight instead of sitting within these walls looking pretty—but I understand that you’re right.” He concedes, a small smile gracing his handsome face. She chuckles at that. “I’m sure you’d be pretty no matter what, even muddied and bloodied on the battlefield.” She sighs though, glancing out at the daylight swarming into the room through the window, hand still nestled in his. The gentle touch sent goosebumps up his neck, tightening his trousers with every second her warmth continued to seep into his leather doublet. “The meeting is likely starting soon.” Her voice interrupts his thoughts of nipping at the supple flesh at her neck.

Jace groaned aloud, head dropping back against the divan in pure annoyance, good mood spoiled at the reminder. “I’d honestly rather get swallowed by dragonfire than sit in that room for the next three hours, listening to those old fools drabble on about who knows what.” He turns his body—not unlike a roll—to shield his face on her shoulder, unwilling to part from her. “I want to stay here with you, alone and in peace as we were.” She snorts lightly as he inhales deeply, arm snaking around her waist in want. “The Queen will be expecting us, my prince.” She looks down at his dark curls, twirling one around her finger. His breeches certainly tighten now. “...My interests are elsewhere.” He murmurs, annoyed at the thought of being pulled away, face inching closer to her neck until his lips press against her smooth skin. “Jace.” She warned, although there wasn’t as much resistance in her tone as he’d expected, and a quiet sigh flows past her lips. “We can’t be late. That’s disrespectful to the council members.”

“The denial of devouring you because of those ancient rats only serves to make me want to go even less.” He shifts in place, head still dipped by her jugular, hands bracing the back of the divan with newfound purpose, trapping her between the corner of it and his own scalding body. She gasps as his teeth sink into her skin, earning a low sound of pleasure from his throat. “We can be quick if the meeting matters to you that much.” He mutters against her, a slight tease as he nips at her harder this time, his nose nudged into her jaw. “I don’t need to wait until nightfall to make you see the stars, my Lady.” Her remaining restraint crumbles at that, hands coming to undo the lacings of his breeches. “..Fine. But you can’t touch my hair.” He seemed like he wanted to protest at the idea of limited touching, but that gleam in her eye meant she was serious, and it was likely they’d miss the meeting as a whole trying to figure out how to braid her hair that way again. “Okay. Deal.”

His mouth returns to her throat, biting and sucking greedily with reverence, his hands finding purchase at her hips to start bunching her skirts up. “Jace..” She exhales, shuddering at the way he was marking her skin—he wasn’t leaving any stones unturned, and they were going to show. Her fingers plucked at the lacings with success, tugging him closer to her now by the waistline of his breeches. His fists clench around the fabric of her gown, a deep grunt echoing from his chest as his clothed cock pressed into her plush inner thigh. “Gods—I need more.” Jace retracts himself from her neck, pulling her body down the divan, just enough to lay her flat on her back. She wraps her thighs around his hips, a strangled moan failing to come out as he kisses her, pushing himself against her core. He rolled his hips down with a fury, nothing deliberate about it—just to feel something, to get out the pent up desperation he’d felt for weeks since his return.

His tongue explores her mouth with an eagerness that made them both flush, using her skirts as purchase to buck himself harder into her cunt. “You make me this way.” He grunts against her lips. His stomach was already tightening with every bit of friction they could get. “Do you understand? You’re just so pretty and you smell divine—fuck.” Jace grits his teeth, biting at her lower lip. She was a panting mess beneath him, unable to do anything other than take it, digging her nails into his shoulders to cope with how good it felt. His weight pinned her down deliciously, hips still incessant and rubbing against her with enough force to make the divan squeak. It was like music to his ears. “I’m already close just feeling your sweet cunt, my love.” Jace pulls up her gown a bit more, almost up to her ribs, to watch the tent in his pants glide up her glistening folds like a man bewitched. “You need to see it–” He grunts, bracing himself on the armrest behind her head, lifting himself just enough to make a space between their bodies. The sight was a wicked one.

“Look at the way you take me.” He urges, voice hoarse this time, eyes meeting hers from above. “Soaked enough to wet my breeches—and I’m not even inside of you yet.” Her nails dig harder into him, a breathless whine at the disbelief of it all. “Please Jace!” She mewls, shivering, and he grins, snapping his hips against hers with reverence. “Please what, my love? Use your words.” His tone was mocking, teasing, and eager to make her squirm. The quiet shuffling of their clothes was driving her to insanity—and she wanted more than anything to pull it all off, but they had places to be very soon. “I need—Gods! I need you, Jace!” He was more than pleased by that, and he somehow carries enough restraint to stop himself from finishing right there. Jacaerys pulls himself back to tug down his breeches down just enough, his cock momentarily springing back to hit his stomach.

She melts at the sight of his tip—red and leaking shiny precum back toward his shaft. He was the perfect size for her; not too big or too small, and pretty just like the rest of him. Jace hisses quietly as the sensitivity hits him, dipping himself between her folds just to savor the moment. “Mmm look at your pretty cunt, my love. So beautiful.” He murmurs, his own thighs trembling as he slides his shaft through your slick. “Thighs up, sweet girl.” Her eyes roll back as his tip presses into her little bud, the motion agonizingly slow, and she nearly hadn't heard him. She braces her thighs to her chest as much as her bunched up gown would allow, gaze locked on Jace's angled face that was furrowed in concentration. She watches, face reddened, as he spits down onto himself, lubricating the way even though it probably wasn't needed with how soaked she was. Suddenly, his palm comes down on her clit, surprising her with equal amounts of pain and pleasure—she nearly came with a meek gasp of his name, inadvertently yanking his hair. “Jace!”

“Sorry. Couldn't help myself.” He grins, lips meeting hers in a sweet peck. “I want you to look at me when I slip it, love—look nowhere else but right here.” As he guides his tip inside, her breath hitches, captivated by the stretch of him and the glossy brown eyes staring down at her, hazed with lust. A growl erupts from his throat, feeling suffocated now by her walls, and he couldn't get enough. Jace wasn't one to swear often in front of his wife-to-be, but the obscenities flew from his mouth like she was his prayer, sinking himself slowly inch-by-inch. Not that his betrothed was in any better condition. She was clawing at him now, whining and squirming uncontrollably at the delectable sting that came with taking Jace. It hurt so good, and she was sure she'd throw a fit if he dared to pull out for whatever reason. Meeting be damned. Seated fully in her hot cunt, Jacaerys grips the back of her right thigh, pacing himself to allow her to adjust first.

They wait in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, no noise in the room other than their soft pants, and a few breathless giggles as Jace shields her eyes from the attacking sunlight. Silently, she cues him to continue. “Good girl.” He murmurs, starting slowly with gentle strokes that make her stomach warm. “Taking me so well, my love.” He hovered over her still, his other hand braced against the armrest as he watched himself disappear inside of her, a shiver rolling down his spine. “So good.” She mewls, leaking around his cock. Jace leans his head down to connect their lips again, tongue darting into her mouth like he owned her, his free hand taking a greedy handful of her breast through the gown. Moans swallowed down between kissing and breathing, the only sounds that could be heard were the chirping birds and the vulgar slapping of skin as the pace quickened. She could only hope no one would come looking for them—or walk down the corridor even. She couldn't recall Jace locking the door behind him. “I'm close—” He grunts, pulling back from her lips to rock his hips with fervor. “I'm so fucking close, love.”

The divan beneath them was far more noisy now than it had been when they were grinding. Jace had half a mind to let the damned thing break, especially with how tight she squeezed around him, sucking up every inch he provided. Outside, the bells of Dragonstone rang, signaling high noon was upon them—Gods, the meeting. “We need to hurry up!” She pants, thigh hooking around him, just as eager to come. “You promised this would be quick!” Irritation bubbles up in his stomach, and Jace gathers her in his arms, fed up with the thought of having to sit through yet another council meeting. “You want me to hurry up?” He grunts, although it came out as a hiss more than anything, his left foot planting firmly on the floor beside the divan. “Fine.” She couldn't make herself regret her demand even if she tried. Jace stood up straight as a board, his sweet girl being gripped by her gown as he fucked up into her with reckless abandon. She couldn't even remember what it felt like to breathe when her release came, senses flooding with pleasure like she'd been numb her entire life. His cock was hitting that spot like a bullseye, not stopping even after she started yanking on his hair from the overstimulation.

“Do you like it when I hurry, love?” He rasped breathlessly by her ear, one arm around her middle now while his right hand cradled the back of her neck. “You certainly like when I take out all my frustrations on your pretty cunt—Gods, I'm coming. I'm fucking coming sweet girl.” Jace chokes, exhaling sharply through his nose as his hips began to stutter, losing his brutal pace. “Can I come inside of you? Please?!” The beg falling from his plush lips sent a thrill down her spine, and she moaned out her agreement even after he asked twice for confirmation. That's all it takes for Jace to press her into the divan again, fucking her hard, fast, and sloppy, his body laying over hers in the desperation of chasing his release. He buries himself against her chest, coming deep within her as a long, drawn out groan escapes him. The relief was instantaneous; anxiety gone, frustration fucked out of him, and only bliss was left behind. Balls deep, he couldn't tell where she began and he ended. Silence. Rapid breaths. Stilled hips, other than an occasional twitch as they reeled from their orgasms. He lifts his face from her chest weakly, a lazy, sated smile gracing his handsome features. “Sweet girl..” He starts. Her eyes flick up to look at him, equally as spent and satisfied. “Mmhm?”

“I think we're late for the council meeting.”

TWENTY-TWO. voyeurism — new girl au (in which you live with theo, mattheo, enzo)

warnings — smut 18+. voyeurism (spying on reader). male and female masturbation. thank you so much my girl @rafescvntyclubgf for helping me with this idea ily!!!

kinkmas mlist. moodboard. more.

finally… back home. you plop down onto the shared couch in the common living room, your tense body immediately relaxing after a long, difficult day. you momentarily close your eyes, taking a few big breaths as you try to unwind— but you instantly crave more to fully relax.

thankfully, your annoying roommates are out today, giving you the privacy you need. slowly, you slip your hand into your pants, fingers dipping into your panties. a relieved breath escapes you as you gently rub your aching clit, your whole body instantly melting into the comfort of the couch.

“hmmm, just what i needed.” you gasp softly, biting your lip as your back instinctively arches, hips bucking slightly in desperation. you’re so lost in sheer pleasure, your lips parting in ecstasy and your wetness soaking through your panties— until you’re suddenly snapped back to reality when you hear low groans and feel multiple eyes burning into you.

these fucking idiots. you instantly realise that your roommates aren’t out today, noticing their presence when you see all of their previously closed doors slightly ajar. what you don’t see, though, is that each boy has their hand wrapped around their throbbing cock, slowly pumping it while intensely watching you— but you’re not stupid. you know exactly what’s going on.

your first instinct is to tell them off, but instead, you decide to have a little fun before you do. you spread your legs a little wider and increase your sensual moans, giving them a show. from all their bedrooms, you can hear the rhythmic, slick sounds of them stroking themselves and low moans growing louder, causing a sly smirk to appear on your flushed face as you continue to eagerly finger yourself.

right when you sense they’re close to their release, you quickly pull your hand out of your panties and grab your phone from beside you, opening the group chat with the four of you. from their bedrooms, you hear surprised gasps and ‘oh fuck’s, realising that they’ve been caught.

you: stop spying on me you creeps.

enzo: it wasn’t me.

you: you bring a different girl over every night, you whore. i think i know what your moans sound like.

mattheo: 👨🏻‍🦯‍➡️👨🏻‍🦯‍➡️👨🏻‍🦯‍➡️

you: i’ll kill you as well matt.

theo: sorry amore. i’ll make you some pasta to make it up to you.

you: thank you theo 😇

mattheo: this is unfair. im moving out.

enzo: i’ll snap the spaghetti right in front of your eyes, nott.

theo: with those skinny ass arms? shiver me timbers.

enzo left the group chat.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K (ups). english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you didn’t have your bra on.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk faltering for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show.

You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second. 

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, the connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes intense. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again.

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you took control of Mattheo, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: i hate english bc my hard lines in portuguese didn’t make sense :(

| Riddle's Temptation

warnings: MDNI, characters are 19+, P in V, fingering, unprotected sex, smut, spanking, scratching, rough sex, age gap.

words: 7,717

The dining room shone with opulence, a sort of grandeur that appeared to be the property of the old money and of long lineages. Crystal chandeliers cast soft shards of light across the walls, while the grand tablecloth lay over a table covered in ivory fabric with golden appliqués. In the ambient soft murmuring of people, conversation trailed into the noise, punctuated by the clinking of utensils against porcelain.

There you were, on the edge of the table, poised, yet paying careful attention to the fellow across the table. Tom Riddle.

It wasn’t just his presence—though he commanded a room effortlessly with his sharp cheekbones, dark hair slicked immaculately, and a piercing gaze that seemed to strip bare anyone it landed upon. No, it was the posture that he inhabited, languorous yet always master of himself, with a charm that was irresistible. Your father had always been telling stories of his intelligence, charm, and cleverness. A trusted confidant, a man of remarkable intellect.

But he was far more than that to you.

The first time you had met him, you were barely out of school, just turned 18. And there was something about the fact that his dark eyes always lingered and, meaning to be critical, knowing and utterly smug, that was just off-putting enough. You had caught him looking at you on more than one occasion, his gaze burdened with a feeling you had the temerity not to reveal.

And tonight, right there next to each stolen look, tucked under the cotton of his every crisp piece, all felt like a game of roulette.

"You've really gone all out with this evening's meal," Tom drawled softly to your father, his rich voice piercing the background a smooth surgeon's blade cutting through steel. “The perfect balance of indulgence and refinement.”

Your father laughed, pride shining in his crinkles. “Coming from you, Tom, that’s quite the compliment.”

You tried to pay attention to the conversation, the flow of other voices in the background. But Tom shifted in his chair, his arm brushing yours ever so slightly, and suddenly the air felt stifling. Your pulse quickened, though you fought to appear unaffected. He looked at you and then, his lips gave a slight tilt into a smug smile and he spoke to you, in a low voice, barely audible.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight, sweetheart.” The epithet sent a tingle up your back and you grabbed for your wine glass, wishing for something to anchor you. He was always like this, weaving a spell of subtle provocations and leaving you teetering on the edge of composure. Dinner flowed, laughter building up as mutual acquaintances reminisced and told tales. You kept a veneer of polite nods, and would get in on the conversation from time to time, but your thoughts drifted far and wide. Each moment spent near Tom felt like a tightening string, the tension building with every passing second.

The tablecloth covered much, draped thick fabric over thighs and knees. Your hand rested in your lap, idly sketching patterns into the napkin that laid out before your thighs. Tom moved forward a little closer, confiding in your father about a future business plan. His hand moved under the table edge as he talked.

At first it was only a very faint stroke, as light as, almost, you thought to be hallucination. But then his fingers pressed firmly against your knee. You stiffened, glancing sharply in his direction. He didn't stare at you, not even comment on what he was doing. His expression remained perfectly neutral, his tone measured as he engaged in casual conversation.

But his hand moved higher.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you reached down from under the table and put your hand over his hand, in vain effort to stop him. His fingers did not slide, but stroking along a focused manner on your thigh. You felt the chill of his ring on your skin, amidst the heat building up in your abdomen.

"Darling," he murmured under his breath, tilting his head just enough so his words reached your ear alone. “Relax.”

Relax? Was he serious? Your father was only inches away, chuckling over something one of the others had said. You were surrounded by people, yet Tom’s touch made the entire room fade into irrelevance.

He squeezed your thigh gently and your stomach churned. His hand didn’t wander further—he wasn’t reckless, not Tom. No, that was computed, a bait to unseat you little by little. His thumb drew small circles against your skin, maddeningly slow, as if testing how far he could push you before you broke.

You turned your head to glare at him, your cheeks burning. At last, he locked his eyes with yours, his face unapologetically serene, yet his dark eyes sparkled with smugness and an even deeper, something unsettling, something that set your heart racing.

“Careful, he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent heat flooding your cheeks. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene, would you, doll?

The endearment trickled from his mouth like honey and your hand around the glass of your wine became tighter. He smirked, victorious, before finally withdrawing his hand. It was almost as negative not to have his feeling of touch in comparison to having it, as it left your skin with a feel of pricking and your mind in chaos.

Tom leaned back on his chair, perfectly relaxed and went on discussing as if it had never occurred. But when his knee brushed against yours under the table, a silent promise lingered between you.

This wasn’t over.

The rest of the dinner felt like a fever dream. You responded when spoken to, nodded when required, and kept your eyes fixed on your plate far more than necessary. But Tom, in contrast, was infuriatingly rational, and could be very sweet as he spun both jokes and personal stories. He looked just how the upstanding fellow your father worshipped would appear, but you knew better.

At long last the dinner came to an end and the guests made their way down to the adjacent drawing-room to have drinks. Your father went out to chat with a friend by the fireplace, and left you briefly by yourself. And you sighed happily, able at last to let out a full exhalation. But the reprieve was short-lived.

“Sweetheart.”

Instantaneously, the voice was unmistakable, deep and resonant, making a quivering shiver run up your back. You swivelled round to find Tom behind you, his countenance inscrutable, yet his dark eyes flashing with something you dared not to acknowledge.

“I believe we need to talk," he said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You glanced around, your pulse quickening. The room was filled with people, yet none paid you any mind. He put out his hand and although you knew you should refuse, an entirely unspoken push moved you to accept it.

His hold was strong, his palm was warm as he led you through a narrow passageway to the side of the crowd. The noise of laughter and clinking glasses faded with each step, replaced by the pounding of your own heart.

He came to a halt in front of a door of heavy oak construction, and slid the door open with no effort. The room beyond was dimly lit, a study or library of some kind, its walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books. The air smelled faintly of aged paper and mahogany.

With the door shut with a click, the silence went on and on and on. You faced him, your throat tight, every urge pushing you back a few paces. But Tom stepped closer, his movements unhurried, deliberate.

“You’ve been avoiding me all evening," he whispered under his breath, amusement mingled with a deeper, darker tone. “Was it something I said? Or perhaps something I did?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but the speech failed to get out. He took another step forward, his presence overwhelming, and suddenly he was close enough that you could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, the cool glint of his signet ring.

“You shouldn’t have touched me," you managed, though the words came out far weaker than intended.

He cocked his head, his mouth forming the infernal smirk. “No? Then why didn’t you stop me, darling?”

Your breath caught as his hand went up and rubbed a stray piece of hair out of the way across your face. The sensation was warm, almost tender, yet it set your nerves on fire.

What do you think you are doing to me? he intoned, as his eyes lingered at your mouth for only a second before returning mine. “Sitting there, looking so lovely, so untouchable. It’s maddening.”

“Tom—”

He covered the gap between you in one smooth movement and his arms came to rest on your waist.

Your protestations, tentative and feeble, became nothing more than mumble on your tongue as his thumb grazed against your hip, his caress both possessive and forlornly tender.

"Tell me to stop" he choked, his breath a hot caress on your cheek. “If you want me to, tell me now, doll.”

But you couldn’t. The sentences just wouldn't appear, caught in the middle of your brain reels and the tingling, heady draw of his figure. He watched you very closely, his gaze searching, and when you did not answer, he came closer.

His lips brushed against yours, feather-light, testing. It wasn’t enough to claim but enough to ignite. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second.

His fingers then went from the very centre of your waist to the lower part of your back, pulling you closer and you gave in, every grammatical notion melting away under the power of his hand.

"Sweetheart," he whispered into your lips, his tone husky with control. “You’re going to ruin me.”

The words sent a thrill through you, a dangerous mix of exhilaration and fear. But you didn’t pull away. Intead, you moved in closer, your fingers grasping the material of his suit jacket as if to tether yourself.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor pulled you back into the real world. You pulled away suddenly and breathlessly. Your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Tom stared at you, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of frustration passed through his dark eyes.

“Go back,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Before someone notices.”

He paused, his eyes meeting yours for only a beat longer before backing away. He adjusted his suit, composure returning with disconcerting rapidity.

"This isn't over," he murmured, his voice hushed yet promising.

And as you got out of the room, your heart beating, you realized he was right.

The laughter of the living room enveloped you as a wall when you turned back into the happy crowd, the cheer conflicting with the storm inside you. Your father stood near the fireplace, engrossed in a story that had everyone around him roaring with laughter. There, to the side, Tom was waiting.

A woman hovered near him—a brunette in a sleek, emerald dress that clung to her like a second skin. She was beautiful, poised, and entirely too close. Her fingers brushed against his forearm as she giggled at some joke he made, a laughter which was, clearly, far too rehearsed and too predictable.

Your stomach twisted.

Tom looked unflinching, his dark pupils bouncing for a split second to hers then back to your father's group. However, there was a certain ease in his stance that set off a shock wave of anger in your heart.

You locked eyes on him, and for just a moment, something undecipherable came across his expression. Then his lips quirked into a faint smirk, as though the scene unfolding between him and the woman meant nothing. However, it told a different story when her fingertips brushed against the fabric of his sleeve.

Disgusted, you contort your expression—pain mixed with rage—while you make eye contact with him. His smirk faltered ever so slightly. Good.

“I’m not feeling well," you announced, directing your words to your father but loud enough for the others to hear. “I’m going home.”

Your father glanced at you with concern. “Are you alright? Do you need someone to escort you?”

Tom moved confidently to the side, his voice a silky caress which gave your skin a tingle. “I’ll take her. It’s no trouble.”

You made a sudden right turn, forcing him off before he could get in the position to finish the closing distance. “No, thanks, you said coolly, letting your gaze dart pointedly to the woman lingering near him. “I’m sure you’re busy with far more important matters.”

The silence stretched for just a moment too long, but you didn’t care. Ignoring the response, you turned on your heel and walked away from the room, the pressure of Tom’s eyes burning your back.

When you got there, it was dark in the manor, the imposing hall in shadows illuminated by moonbeams streaming in through the window arches. Your footsteps silently led you to the study, where you had to retrieve a book left there some time ago.

You heaved the massive door open and the smell of old leather and paper welcomed you. But as you stepped inside, you froze.

Tom Riddle sat in the chair near the fireplace, cloaked in shadows, his posture relaxed yet commanding. With one hand resting on the armrest and with the other hand holding a glass of brownish dark liquid that sparkled down in the dim light.

“What are you doing here?" you demanded, your voice sharp as you flicked on the nearby lamp.

The light revealed his face, his expression unreadable but his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “You left so abruptly. I thought it best to check on you.”

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him see how much his presence unsettled you. “How considerate,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “Shouldn’t you be with your date? She might miss you.”

Tom chuckled quietly, a reverberant, resonant sound only added to the annoyance. He swirled the glass in the palm of his hand, staring into you, maddeningly. “She means nothing," he said, his voice calm but edged with finality.

His indifferent manner just made the fire in your chest grow bigger and bigger. "You expect me to believe that?" you snorted as you took another step towards her. “After she practically threw herself at you all night?”

“You’re jealous," he said simply, as if stating a fact.

Your anger surged, hot and unrelenting. Instinctively, you lifted your hand to hit him, driven by the strongest, consciousness of that infuriating smirk of revenge retaken. But he moved faster.

His hand shot out grasping hold of your wrist with a firm grasp before your hand could get hold of it. The force of it jarred you off balance, and he sprang up from the chair in a single contoured turn, towering over you.

“Careful, doll,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You don’t want to test me.”

"Release me," you snarled, struggling to break free from your armrest.

Your chest visibly strained to maintain your composure, yet your gaze never wavered. “You’re insufferable,” you hissed.

A dark smile spread across his lips. “And you’re in need of a lesson.”

Before you could answer, he got back in the chair, pulling you back in a single fluid, easy movement. As you yelped, you saw yourself lying across his laps, your belly against his thighs.

“Tom!" you protested, trying to push yourself up, but his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back, holding you in place.

"You've had a quite a bit of attitude tonight," he remarked, deceptively neutral. His free hand rubbed against the backof your hip, his contact intentional and provocative. “It’s about time someone corrected it.”

“Let me go,” you demanded, though your voice wavered.

He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear. “Not until you’ve learned some respect, sweetheart.”

His words gave a chill on the back of your neck, a peculiar feeling between anger and an unexplainable type of emotion. He moved just so, his hand sliding up your back in a slow, steady swipe, and his touch set off every nerve it crossed.

“You can fight me all you want," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “but we both know how this ends."

Tom's hold on your waist squeezed a little tighter against his lap as you wriggled, your heart pounding in your ears.

"Stay calm," he said, his voice quiet but bearing an imperative tone. It wasn’t a shout—it didn’t need to be. The implied control in his voice caused your suffering to fail, your breath to become faster in the freeze.

“Tom, this isn’t—” you started, your voice wavering.

“Isn’t what?" he interrupted smoothly, his hand resting just below the curve of your hip. The heat from the inside of his hand flowed through the fabric of your gown and set even your already frayed nerves on high alert. “Isn’t appropriate? Isn’t deserved?”

Your jaw clenched, refusing to answer. That provoked a barely audible chuckle from him, a sound that was both irritating and seductive.

“I’ve let you push me too far tonight," he said, his hand sliding lower to rest on the curve of your thigh. His fingers pressed gently, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt of heat racing through you. “But that ends now.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you spat, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Am I?” he mused, tilting his head slightly. Or are you just terrified that you enjoy it when I run the show?

His words were like a spark to dry tinder, and you twisted in his hold, attempting to wriggle free. But his strength was implacable, his grip firm but not painful, a silent reminder of just how much he held the upper hand.

“Stop squirming,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. “You’re only making this harder for yourself, sweetheart.”

Your face burned from the double meaning, and you stared at him over your shoulder. “You’re insufferable.”

"And you," he said, putting his free hand gently on top of your thigh, stroking it in a disturbingly slow cadence, “deserve a bit of a lesson.

Before you could think of a comeback, his hand lifted and came down in a sharp yet measured smack against the soft curve of your ass. It wasn't a painful sensation at all, that's more of a shock than such, but it sent a jolt of heat flooding through you nonetheless.

You gasped, twisting to glare at him. “Tom!”

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “That was for your attitude earlier,” he said simply.

“You can’t just—”

Another light smack silenced your protest, his touch deliberate but not rough, as though testing your reaction. "I can and I will," he said, voice even, uncanny and unsettlingly composed. “Unless, of course, you’d like me to stop?”

Your heart beat frantically against your ribs in a conflict between outrage and something completely inexplicable. His question floated in the space, a proposition as much as a call.

When you didn't reply, this hand lingered on top of your thigh, his finger grazing in repeated deliberate circles onto your skin. The emotional weight of the movement ran through you, your body saying the millions of words the should be silent.

"Nothing to say right now, hm?" he mumbled, lowering himself to where his lips grazed the hair of your ear. Perhaps, after all, I've finally found a way to tame that sharp tongue of yours.”

You tightened your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. However, when his hand ascended further and his fingers spread across your upper thigh, a soft gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.

"Careful darling," he said in a low voice, his voice sibilant, combining threat and seduction. “I might start to think you’re enjoying this.”

Your head snapped up, and you twisted again to face him, your cheeks flushed with indignation. “I’m not.”

“Liar," he said simply, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts infuriating and devastatingly alluring.

His hand settled on your thigh, his grip firm but not cruel, holding you in place as though daring you to challenge him further. His weight on your hand sparked your thoughts to fly into a dizzy spin and every prick of his fingers faded the border between rage and something far more threatening.

The room was silent save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint crackle of the fireplace. His gaze bore into you, intense and unyielding, as though he could see every thought racing through your mind.

"Tell me to stop," he said, for a second time, in a soft but insistent tone. “And I will.”

But you didn’t.

You remained silent, your breath shallow and uneven as his words hung in the air. His challenge was clear, yet you found yourself paralyzed, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to end this dangerous game.

Tom’s smirk deepened as the seconds stretched, your silence speaking volumes. "That’s what I thought," he said, in a tone red with contentment.

His hand, still soft against your thigh, shifted a bit, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes higher and higher. The motion was maddeningly light, his touch both comforting and infuriating, and you hated how your body responded despite your better judgment.

“Look at you," he said softly, his voice low and intimate. “So defiant, so determined to push me away. And yet…" His thumb pressed a fraction harder, a small movement that sent a jolt of sensation racing through you. “…here you are. Perfectly content to stay exactly where I want you.”

Your breath hitched, and you struggled to muster a retort, but the weight of his hand, the steady cadence of his voice, unraveled the edges of your resistance.

"You’re insufferable," you hissed.

Tom chuckled, the voice a low, resonant and smooth rumbling vibration through the air in between the two of you. “You’ve said that already, darling," he replied, leaning down so his breath ghosted across your ear. “It’s almost like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

His other hand then settled flat on the small of your back, pressing you down harder against his lap. The shift in position left you breathless, the heat of his body seeping into yours, and you felt every inch of his cock hard beneath you—his strength, his control, his relentless presence.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" he asked, his voice a low hum that made your spine tingle. “A spoiled little girl who’s never had anyone dare to put her in her place.”

Your eyes flashed with indignation, and you twisted in his hold, trying to push yourself up. “And you think you’re the one to do it?”

His grip tightened slightly, keeping you firmly in place. “Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, his tone laced with amusement, “I know I am.”

Before you could argue, his hand went up once more coming down with another smack against the curve of your ass. The sound was sharp in the quiet room, but the sensation was more surprising than painful—a mix of heat and pressure that sent a flare of something unfamiliar coursing through you.

You gasped, your fingers curling into fists as you turned to glare at him over your shoulder. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted with a faint smirk. “But I think you like it.”

His hand had evened over the point where he had landed as if to comfort it. The contrast left you reeling, your body at war with your mind as every nerve seemed to come alive under his ministrations.

“Admit it,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent. “You crave this. Someone who won’t back down, who won’t let you hide behind that pretty little mask of yours.”

You tightened your jaw, refusing to provide him with a response. But the way your body betrayed you—the flush in your cheeks, the quickened rhythm of your breath—was answer enough.

Tom's hand moved up higher, gliding over your waist, the feeling of his touch both possessive and calculated. "You can try to win this fight the way you see fit," he said, his voice dropping close to a hush. “But we both know the truth.”

He bent down and his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “You belong to me.”

The words sent a shiver through you, your resolve wavering as the weight of his presence threatened to consume you entirely. Yet, as your physical body did so, your mind refused to yield to that defeat with debilitating obstinacy, refusing to be taken down easy.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze with a glare that was equal parts anger and vulnerability. “You don’t own me," you said, your voice trembling but firm.

His eyes darkened, his expression hardening ever so slightly. “Don’t I?”

The challenge hung between you, heavy and charged, as his grip on your waist tightened imperceptibly. He didn’t strike again—he didn’t need to. The mere appearance of his was quite enough to make you gasp, every caress, every utterance, a preconceived manoeuvre in this ceaseless war of minds.

He shifted his hand, pulling your panties aside. His fingers hovered just inches from where you needed him most, but he didn’t touch—he lingered, waiting.

"I'm not moving my fingers until I hear you say you need me," Tom said, his voice cold and controlled, his dark eyes burning with an intensity that left no room for refusal. He talked in a sharp, calculating tone, as if he enjoyed having the power over you.

Your arousal was evident, as he could perceive your glistening form illuminated by the soft light in the room. You were undeniably wet for him, though reluctant to acknowledge it. "Tom, please…" you uttered.

"Please, what?" he whispered, his fingers drawing closer to your arousal.

"Please, just touch me," you said, having reached your limit with his teasing.

That was all it took. Tom's fingers brushed against you ever so lightly, trailing down your folds and gathering your arousal. "Look at me," he commanded, as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting the evidence of your desire.

You gasped when his fingers trailed up to his lips, Tom's gaze held yours as he tasted you, evoking a tingle through your cunt.

He withdrew his fingers from his mouth with a soft pop, then tipped them towards your aching pussy. "If I'm doing this, I need to make sure you're ready for me, sweetheart," he mumbled. Softly, he began to slide a finger in, and with a soft whimper, he stretched your cunt.

He cautiously moved his finger, testing your response to gauge if it was too much for you. You wriggled a bit, not accustomed to the sensation, and your cheeks flushed with shame as a gentle moan slipped out of your mouth.

"Don't be shy, sweetheart," Tom commanded. "Let me hear it all." You could feel him growing harder beneath your stomach.

He added another finger, curling them both inside you. That sensation induced a maelstrom of bliss, churning your guts in ways you hadn't even imagined were real. The slow, deliberate movements of his fingers inside you set your body on fire, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. As your moans grew louder, he quickened his pace, each motion bringing you closer to the edge.

"Tom… that feels incredible," you whispered, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment.

You wanted to look at him—at his face—feeling slightly insecure about the unfamiliarity of it all. Turning your head awkwardly, you tried to catch a glimpse of him, despite the compromising position of being sprawled on your stomach across his lap. His fingers moved inside you, pushing you closer to the edge of your climax.

"Not so fast, sweetheart," he drawled, pulling his fingers back and leaving you whimpering in rebellion. Come on, get up," he said softly, and you complied, rising with a few hesitations to your feet.

"Come here, doll," he coaxed, pulling you closer by the waist as you straddled his lap. "Taste this for me—taste how wet I make you feel." He raised his fingers to your lips. You hesitated, looking up into his eyes. The focus of his stare challenged you to disobey him. At last you parted the rim of your mouth and allowed his fingers to enter your mouth.

"That's my good girl," he whispered, a proud grin crossing his lips. Tom's fingers slid out from under your mouth, and a warm sensation that wouldn't go away remained on your jaw as he delicately held your chin. His was a firm but gentle pressure that led your face toward his and his lips captured yours in a lusty, passionate kiss.

He got to his feet and held you tight with his strong arms around your thighs, supporting you while your legs instinctively encircled his waist. Your lips stayed closed, lips and breaths commingled into a sensual kiss increasing in depth with every passing moment. With careful precision, he carried you to the couch, lowering you gently onto the soft cushions. His body moved seamlessly between your legs, drawing you closer as the intensity of the moment surged.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice low and filled with awe as his eyes traced every feature of your face.

Your eyes shifted down to his lips, and a soft heat emanated up to the tops of your cheeks.

"Thank you, Tom," you said, your voice a bit shaky, but full of sincerity.

He shivered at the sound, his breath hitching. "Say my name again," he pleaded, his tone raw with longing.

"Tom," you murmured, the sound a feather against his ear as you brushed your fingers through his strands. Gently, you got entangled in the silky fibres and pulled him towards you until without a space between the two of you the breath of your lips collided in a shorthand of passion and longings.

His lips gently but intensely travelled the whole of your face, never leaving unmarked. He creeped down to your neck, bouncing between quiet, wet kisses and playful, teasing bites that produced chills up and down your spine. Each kiss ignited a flutter of butterflies in your stomach, a sweet ache of longing and excitement. As he continued his journey, his teeth and lips left a trail of delicate bite marks, little symbols of his possessive affection—marking you as his in the most intimate way possible.

He murmured something under his breath, his voice low and unfamiliar, laced with a power you couldn’t comprehend. Even as you were processing it, clothes were vanished, perfectly stacked to the floor, like they'd been conjured up by some force unseen. A shiver ran through you as the cool air caressed your now-bare skin, your mouth falling open in both shock and awe at the sudden display of magic—magic he performed effortlessly, without so much as a wand.

"How–how did you do that?" you stammered, your voice shaking from both excitement and shock.

"Shh," he mumbled, lips grazing yours as he kissed his way slowly down your chest. His hand tightened about your waist, possessively, a feeling impossible to shake, a promise of the marks you’d find in the morning—a reminder of this moment, of him.

His warm lips wrapped around your sensitive, hardened nipple, his teeth grazing it gently before his tongue soothed the spot with slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sent a delicious shiver racing down your spine, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes, surrendering to the pleasure coursing through you. His eyes lifted, locking onto your face with an intensity that felt almost tangible, tracing every curve, every nuance, as if memorizing you in that fleeting moment.

Your breath caught in your chest as you sensed the heat and pressure of his strong cock pushing hard against your wet little cunt, a sensetion that made a shiver run up and down your spine. His lips broke away your taut, sensitive nipple with a wet plop, leaving it it throbbing and wet from his focus.

Unbroken, his mouth moved on down, the scrape of his teeth grazing your skin as he left a trail of bite marks blooming across your tender flesh.

The sight of his handiwork—of Tom staking his claim in vivid, undeniable marks—made your pulse quicken, a wave of need pooling deep within your pussy. The thought of his mouth exploring every inch of you, claiming you so intimately, pulled a soft, involuntary moan from your lips.

“Enjoying yourself already, doll? His voice was low and teasing, dripping with cocky confidence as his eyes locked with yours. There it was, that signature smug grin on his face, in part arrogant and part intoxicating. “I haven’t even started yet.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a sarcastic remark, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “I hate that stupid smirk of yours," you muttered, unable to stop the small hitch in your breath when his thumb brushed across one of the marks he’d made.

“Sure you do,” he drawled, the grin widening as he leaned in closer.

He paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, his body pressed close to yours, radiating heat. His hand brushed against your hip, grounding you as he lined himself up with your entrance. Slowly, he pressed forward, the slickness of his precum mingling with the evidence of your arousal. The head of his length stretched you in the gentlest way, teasing you as he slid just the tip in and out, building an unbearable tension.

Then, in one swift motion, he pushed all the way in and burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness wrenched a soft scream from your lips, your body arching instinctively in response.

The stretch was overwhelming, the sensation brought tears to your eyes, hot streaks rolling down your cheeks, unbidden, as you tried to catch your breath in the midst of him filling you completely.

Tom's face fell into the hollow of your neck, his breath hot and deep on my skin as a deep, booming groan echoed from Tom. The tightness of your pussy around him made him lose composure for a moment. “You’re so tight," he murmured, his voice thick with need.

Instinctively, your pussy clenched around him, and he let out a low chuckle, though his tone was edged with warning. “If you keep squeezing me like that, darling, I won’t be able to stay gentle,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck in a teasing bite that sent a shiver through you.

When he pulled back slightly, his gaze met yours—softened now as he caught the pained grimace that flickered across your face. You felt stretched, almost impossibly so. His brows furrowed with concern, and he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he whispered soothingly, “It’s okay, shh… it’s alright. I’ve got you." The reassurance was a mantra, spoken over and over as his thumb stroked your hip, grounding you.

“T-Tom, it’s too big. I can’t,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with uncertainty. His lips closed into a subtle little smile, and tilted his forehead against yours while his eyes held forth deep quietness. "Yes, you can," he whispered, voice firm and resolute, a vow in the incantation. Slowly, carefully, he moved, his actions deliberate and measured, letting you feel every inch of his patience and devotion.

“I’m going to move now," Tom murmured, his voice low and husky as he drew in a steadying breath. His gaze met yours, darkened with desire, as he crashed back into you. The sensation tore a sharp moan from your lips, the sound echoing in the charged space between you.

“Oh, fuck, Tom." you gasped, your voice trembling as his slow, deliberate movements made every nerve in your body ignite. The initial sting began to fade, melting into a swelling warmth that coursed through you, each thrust drawing you deeper into a haze of pleasure. He moved with an almost reverent tenderness, as though afraid to hurt you, and the care in his actions tightened something sweet and aching in your chest.

But soon, restraint gave way to raw need. His pace quickened, each thrust sharp, deliberate, and impossibly deep. Instinctively, your arms wrapped themselves around his back, grabbing hold of him, and created faint indentations in his flesh.

“Shit,” Tom hissed, his breath hot against your neck. He gasped softly as your nails made their mark upon him, his urge to resist falling apart. Then, with a muttered curse, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. Before you could object, the smooth fabric of his tie wrapped them around you, binding you with a grace that made your heart thud in your chest like a drum.

"As soon as you move your arms I’m stopping," he warned, growling voice. His gaze burned into yours, challenging and tender all at once. He shifted slightly, his hand slipping to your throat, the pressure firm but not unkind. His thumb brushed along your jaw as his eyes roamed over you, drinking in the way your body responded to him.

"Fuck," he mumbled, rolling his head back as he thrust into you again, the impact rippling up his body. Every time he went inside you, you could sense him straining, feel him getting harder, feeling the sensation of himself being consumed by sight and touch of you.

“You look so damn good taking me, princess," he rasped, his voice thick with reverence and need. His movements became almost frantic now, a primal rhythm driven by the way your body welcomed him so completely.

The way he moved, the way his intense gaze locked onto you, and the way he made your entire body hum with pleasure—everything about him was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Your breaths came shallow, your body vibrated with the anticipation of the tightening of the coil of your climax within you.

Tom noticed instantly, his sharp eyes catching every telltale sign. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he shook his head, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest.

“Not so fast, doll,” he murmured, pulling out of you suddenly. The emptiness was unbearable, drawing a desperate whine from your mouth. He chuckled at your response, a deep, teasing sound that only deepening the ache in your core.

“Tell me, darling,” he croaked, the sound a grating rasp as he drew in and out sharply. He was losing himself, you could feel it—the deliberate control in his movements betrayed by the way his breath hitched when he looked down, captivated by the sight of him disappearing into you. “Are you going to misbehave again?”

“No! I won't, I won't—I swear", you choked, your words choked out into a whisper as the need consumed you. “Please, Tom, please…” You uttered with desperate pleading, almost a gasp, with every syllable wet with yearning.

That's my good little slut," Tom snarled, his voice dripping with dominance as he thrust into you with unrelenting force. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, pulling a moan from your lips that carried his name like a prayer. Your back arched instinctively, offering him more, needing him to take everything you could give.

"Yes—please, just like that,” you gasped, your voice trembling with desperation. His hands gripped your hips, strong and possessive, his fingers digging into your flesh as he guided your body to meet his every thrust. The wet sounds of your connection filled the room, each movement driving you both closer to the edge.

His pace quickened, every stroke hard and deliberate, his breathing ragged and shallow as he neared his limit. Without warning, his palm cracked against your ass, the sting sending another wave of heat pooling in your cunt.

“Just like that," he snarled, through gritted teeth, the strain in his voice revealing how close he was. “Such a good girl for me.”

You could feel his control slipping, as his movements became less controlled, more desperate. Wanting to push him further, you tightened around him, squeezing him with every ounce of strength you had.

Fuck," he grunted in a low, breathless tone, barely a human sound. Suddenly, a spark of magic pulsed through the air, unseen but unmistakable. A new sensation bloomed at your most sensitive spot—an invisible force rubbing precise, deliberate circles. The pressure was overwhelming, dragging you to the precipice with dizzying speed.

A scream tore from your throat, his name spilling from your lips as the climax hit you like a tidal wave. Your body shuddered uncontrollably, your release spilling over him, coating him in your ecstasy.

Tom followed moments later, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrust deep one final time. His body quivered, a deep groan pricking through him as he came, his warm cum filling you. His pace slowed, his each shallow thrust until he finally collapsed against you, careful not to crush you beneath his weight.

His breath fanned against your neck as he rested there, the rise and fall of his chest soothing you as the aftershocks coursed through your body. He cradled you as if you were a treasure, bringing you back into the calm feeling of intimacy that remained after.

After a few moments, he slipped off of you, his movements unhurried but purposeful. Stooping to the desk, he reached for a few tissues, putting himself in order first, before returning to clean you with the same meticulous care he always seemed to embody.

You turned onto your side, your gaze drawn to him like a magnet. Tom Riddle was many things—terrifying, enigmatic, commanding—but in this moment, as you watched him, he was utterly human. His usually immaculate composure had unraveled. Sweat beaded on his skin, his dark curls plastered to his forehead. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, and there was something undeniably intimate about seeing him like this—disheveled, undone, because of you.

He returned to your side and knelt down, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The shift in his expression made your pulse quicken, your breaths shallow with a nervous kind of anticipation.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low, intimate. “Open your legs for me, just a little.”

You complied, the shivering in your body unmistakable as you spread your legs apart. His caress was soft and his fingers touched you with utmost care when he was cleaning you. There was no rush in his movements, only a quiet tenderness that made your chest ache.

Unable to help yourself, you stared at him, the perfection of his features more striking than ever in the dim light. Before you could think better of it, the words spilled from your lips “You’re beautiful.”

He came to a halt, his hand stilling as your sudden confession hung in the air between you. His gaze snapped to yours, and for the briefest of moments, Tom Riddle looked genuinely surprised. His cool veneer cracked, revealing a hint of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to see.

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and you turned your face away, wishing you could take it back. However, at that moment he smiled—a guttural, deep laugh quite different from the crisp, parsimonious chuckles you'd heard before. It was a genuine laugh, warm and unguarded, and it made your stomach flutter.

“Thank you, darling,” he murmured, his tone laced with humor but also with something heartfelt. He finished cleaning you with the same deliberate care as before, then rose to his feet. Bending down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

As he turned to dispose of the tissues, you couldn’t help but smile, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. In the silence, the truth of it all settled in: Tom Riddle wasn’t just beautiful—he was devastatingly so, in ways he probably didn’t even realize.

With a soft hum of magic, he made sure you were clean, the warm tingle of his spell a gentle caress over your skin. He went and grabbed something soothing out for you to wear, his actions relaxed, as if utterly at peace with the silences that surrounded him. Carefully, he carried you to your bedroom, his arms steady and protective, and tucked you beneath the blankets with such tenderness it made your chest ache.

As he turned to leave, your hand shot out to grab his wrist. Your grip was weak, but your expression said everything—you didn’t want him to go. A shadow of guilt flickered across his features before he gave you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and edged with a wry humor, “your father would kill me if he found out about this." He paused, brushing a thumb over the back of your hand, his gaze softening. “How about I stay until you fall asleep?”

Exhausted and too tired to say anything you could only nod, relief flooded through you. At that moment, a smile crept across your mouth as he crawled into the bed next to you and embraced you. His warmth enveloped you, the steady up and down of his chest relaxing you into a feeling of tranquility. He kissed your forehead, the press of his lips lingering for a beat too long, and whispered soft, unintelligible words that carried you into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, there was quiet as soon as you got out of bed. You hadn’t expected him to stay, but his presence lingered in subtle traces—the scent of him still clinging to the pillow where he’d rested. It was heady, a blend of deep, sweet notes of sandalwood and amber, with a subliminal, bracing quality of cedar. You couldn't help but bury your face right into the pillow and take in deep breaths. The smell was unmistakable, his—a mixture that was all its own, as mysterious and alluring as the man was.

A/N: Wow, this took me a while to put together! I'm really nervous about posting it, but I hope you enjoy it!

every time i see you posted, i have to wait to sit and read because i can’t let anyone see my reaction reading your masterpieces (i don’t act like a proper lady), and you fucking ate every time. i swear that if you write a one-shot the size of a bible, i would read it in two minutes.

"it'll feel so good baby, trust me." he reaches his hand to your head that's turned towards him, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek as his soft brown eyes stare deeply into yours.

i would 💦 on the spot—bye (i need him so bad)

"does that feel good? hmm?" he asks, but you are so drowned in pleasure

idk mattheo, we need to try it out :(

"gonna fill you up so good, princess, make sure you're leaking my cum from every. single. hole, all day long."

OMFG, WUGAYSGSHAG BYE —

i need a cup of tea

this was AMAZING, thank YOU.

SIX. anal — mattheo riddle

warnings — smut 18+. anal sex. mentions of (unprotected) vaginal sex and creampies.

kinkmas mlist. more.

“hey, i promise i’ll go slow.” mattheo reassures you, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you, because the sight in front of him—you on your knees, your ass inches away from his erection, and your pussy dripping with his cum from the round prior—makes him lose all his self-control.

“it’ll feel so good baby, trust me.” he reaches his hand to your head that’s turned towards him, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek as his soft brown eyes stare deeply into yours. your own hazy eyes look back at him, your hair tousled and your legs trembling from mattheo fucking your cunt until it’s sore and leaking his cum— but still, he isn’t done yet.

you aren’t new to anal play at all, though. mattheo occasionally buys you all kinds of cute butt plugs, expanding your already extensive collection, slowly pushing them into you while he’s fucking you. and god, it always felt incredible. so you are more than thrilled to try anal sex, although logically, you still feel a small twinge of nervousness.

“i know it will matt, and i’m ready. please, fuck me.” mattheo groans at your eager words while gazing down at you impatiently wiggling your ass in front of him, a smirk spreading on his face and his lust filled eyes darkening. his hand instantly flies to the bottle of lube on the nightstand, clumsily knocking everything else over, making you shake your head in amused disbelief.

“fuuuuck.” he drawls in a raspy tone while eagerly spreading your cheeks, his pupils dilating at the sight. you shiver when the cold lube makes contact with your skin, as mattheo spreads a generous amount of both lube and his sperm—gathered from your dripping cunt—all over your tight hole, preparing you for his cock.

you then feel his erection nudge at your entrance, causing your muscles to instinctively tense up at the new, intimidating feeling. mattheo notices immediately and gently runs his soft fingers over your bare back, his feathery touch making you let out a deep breath as your body begins to relax.

with both hands on your hips, he slowly pushes into you, entering you inch by inch, your tight hole wrapping tightly around him. your nails instinctively rake along the delicate fabric of the satin sheets, desperately tugging at them at this new, overwhelming sensation you are experiencing.

you immediately notice how different it feels from vaginal sex— yet so heavenly. an undeniable, sharp pain at the stretch courses through your body, but the pleasure quickly overshadows that, prompting you push your ass back against him, craving more until he’s completely inside of you, so incredibly deep.

“holy fucking shit. look at you baby, takin’ all of me like a good girl. and so… fucking… tight.” mattheo growls, as clouded by sheer ecstasy as you are, his hands gripping your hips in a way that will undoubtedly leave bruises on your skin, before carefully thrusting into you. with each deep thrust, more cum drips out of your pussy, making a mess all over your trembling thighs and the bedsheets.

“does that feel good? hmm?” he asks, but you are so drowned in pleasure, you can’t even seem to form a coherent sentence, humming into the plush pillow with your eyes squeezed shut. noticing that you’re enjoying it, mattheo quickens his pace, his balls lightly smacking against your dripping cunt and clit with each thrust, only intensifying the immense pleasure coursing through your body.

“that’s it, baby. good girl.” mattheo praises, his hand firmly pushing your head deeper into the pillow, while his other hand occasionally slaps your ass, your loud, high-pitched moans muffled by the soft fabric. your back arches as every thrust hits parts so deep inside of you, causing your cunt to clench around nothing as his balls continue to roughly slap against it, his hips snapping harshly against yours.

“gonna fill you up so good, princess, make sure you’re leaking my cum from every. single. hole, all day long.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡

I FOUND A AETHELSTAN ONE SHOT OMFG, I WANT TO READ IT

OMFG OMFG OMFG THIS WAS HOT, SO HOT!!! I’M ACTUALLY SPEECHLESS I MIGHT SCREAM?!?! HELLO??! THE SPACE THE WRITING THE WAY THIS MAN KNOWS HOW TO USE WHAT GOD GAVE HIM, YEAH GIMME MORE

Then his gaze moved over to the ice bucket. A sinister grin twitching on his lips.

i’m sat, SAT. speak to me, theo. speak. to. me.

With that, he flicked the candle swiftly, finishing with it as he set it to the side of you two. Theodore took his fingers, tracing over the wax across your throat. "T... h...e...o-" His voice came out in a possessive whisper.

i actually moaned. BYE.

That you were his and only his. As if you didn't know that already.

i actually didn’t—show me again.

Fire and Ice

12 Days of Dickmas - Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: A cozy fireside evening with your boyfriend ends up getting hot to the touch, of course he can always make you melt👀

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, chars 18+, modern au, bf!theo, dom!theo, fireside fuck, clit stim, oral, PIV, wax play, ice play, temp play, dirty talk, teasing, rough sex, slight choking, possessive, praising, marking?, Theo showing you every sensation from hot to cold

Taking a sip from your glass, the champagne bubbled on your tongue. Theo placed the bottle back into the silver ice bucket. A great different from the fire flickering in front of you.

“Sei bellissima, mio ​​dolce amore—“

His hot breath ticked right against the crook of your neck. Softly smiling over to your boyfriend, a giggle escaped your lips. “You know what Italian does to me, Teddy…”

Teasing him right back, your faces were inches apart. A sly smirk grew on Theodore’s face. “I don’t believe I do…care to enlighten me, amore?” Growling right against your cheek, he stole a quick kiss of your rosed flesh.

The sparkling champagne was clearly giving you both a flirtatious buzz. Setting a romantic atmosphere around you both. “Oh, I’d love to enlighten you…” Breathing those words of seduction, you pressed your lush lips to Theo’s.

Instantly deepening the kiss, his hands roamed down your waist before gently laying you down. Climbing on top of you in front of the crackling fireplace.

“I can never get sick of kissing those lips of yours…”

Breathing into your mouth, he rocked himself on you. Feeling his throbbing bulge against the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. “Good…You better not-“ Moaning through the kiss, you tugged at his t-shirt.

Feeling a smirk grow on Theo’s lips, he pulled away for a moment. “Someone’s needy, hm-?” He teased, sitting back to throw his shirt off. His hands carefully unbuttoned your pajama blouse.

Helping you slip off your top, your breasts perked out. A hunger forming within his ocean gaze. “So…Fuckin’…Perfect….” Muttering in a low whisper, Theodore’s eyes glanced over to the fireplace for a moment.

There sat a sparkly crimson candle. Something of a Christmas decoration. Then his gaze moved over to the ice bucket. A sinister grin twitching on his lips. “What?” You asked, clearly confused about why your boyfriend’s attention was roaming around the room instead of on you.

“Why don’t we…Do something a little different tonight?— Whatchya think amore?”

Theo’s voice came out growl like almost, only igniting a heated flame within you. “S-sure…What do you have in mind, Teddy?” Questioning him in your usual submissive tone, he reached over, grabbing the candle.

“How about…Some fire and ice, hm?” A deep yet seductive chuckle freed raggedly from his throat. Temp play. Fuck. You had always wanted to try it. Slowly bobbing your head, you swallowed.

Biting back a smirk that wanted to form on your own lips, Theo held the wick of the candle over the fire. Getting it ready. “This is hot…Quite literally…Hot-“ A sea of giggles washed from your lips as you shuffled your shorts off.

With a sarcastic shake of his head, Theo laughed along with you before seeing your juicy cunt on full display for him. “—Cazzo…Fuckin’ Hell, Tesoro-“ He mumbled, holding the burning candle in one hand.

Gliding down his free hand, he immediately gave your throbbing little bud a few slaps, feeling your wetness splash against his palm while pleasurable yelps released from you. “F-fuck—“

Massively turned on already, Theo could hardly contain himself. “So wet for me, huh? So eager to get this wax all over this pretty body of yours?” Taunting you with his words, your back arched with a burning need.

“—Mhhmm…I want it, baby-“

Hearing your sensational begging, Theodore tilted the candle. The reddened wax dripping right between your tits. “Lookin’ so sexy covered in it—“ His darkened eyes traced over the wax while you Hissed from the intense warmth of it.

Quickly using his other hand, he grabbed an ice cube from the champagne bucket. Holding it between his pointer finger and thumb, teasing it along your pulsating little bud.

“S-so cold—“ A shiver ran down your spine from the icy yet sensual touch. However, almost instantly, Theodore let more of the crimson wax drop. This time across your nipples.

You could see the pride that washed over his face while you were lost in the icy hot sensations across your body. “So cold yet so hot- Huh, amore?” Teasing you, he swirled the ice cube around.

Feeling how it started to melt between your folds, the coolness mixed with your juices as you felt the wax atop your body hardening. “—Mhmmmm…I-I love this-“

Breathing out, the cube was practically melted at this point. Theo taking this time to circle his fingers around your clit. “Fuck— Yeah, you do…Such a good girl— Lookin’ so pretty…Painted in red for me-“ His voice becoming more and more growl-like.

The raunchy yet beautiful combination of the compliment made you shudder more than the Ice ever could. Your moans only progressively getting louder. He tilted the candle once more, this time over your abdomen, the wax splashing across your delicate skin.

Pain, pleasure, burning, all of it seemed to swish together to create a fine mixture of unusual bliss. Almost making your head fuzzy. “Let’s see…How fast you can make this melt-“ Theo clicked his tongue against his teeth, shooting you a cheeky wink

Reaching over to the silver-lined bucket once again, he grabbed a larger ice cube and plopped it in his mouth before kneeling between your spread legs. Your brows shot up, but then it hit you-

“T-Theo! Fuck- Feels so good- so cold!”

His lips immediately suctioned around your cluster of nerves, his tongue lapping around sloppily. The chillness of the cube causes goosebumps to erupt over you.

Now practically crying out from the intense feelings of ecstasy, Theo didn’t say a word. Instead focusing his tongue to flick as fast as it could against your achy clit.

One of his strong hands still held the half-used candle. Letting it pour over your mound this time. The wax spreading seamlessly around your sensitive skin. “G-gods— So close…So- fuckin’ close!”

Your body didn’t even know how to react anymore. Under the trance of your boyfriend, Theodore Nott. Indulged in the fire and ice going on.

However, His darkened gaze burned up into yours, his tongue moving in unimaginable swirls. The cube almost melted, but the coldness of it remained all around his mouth. Theo wanted nothing more than for you to be overstimulated with euphoria.

“D-don’t stop— p-please..Gods— I’m-“

Just as you were going to hit an intense climax, he made sure to pour down another layer of wax across your mound. Only igniting a more intense orgasm. Your screams echoing off the walls.

He slowly pulled away, his chin wet from not only the ice but from your juices as well. Wiping it away with the back of his hand, he smirked down at you. “So bloody beautiful when you finish for me-“

A cherried blush spread across your cheeks, Theo shuffled down his pants and pulled out his massive length. “Fuck me…please…fuck me-“ Begging out through a breath as if it was your last, you Physically saw his dick twitch.

“Cazzo— Don’t have to ask me twice, amore-“

With that, he slammed his thick and needy cock deep inside your juicy pussy. A loud groan guttering from his throat. “Each time I fuck you— God- I swear…You feel better each time-“

Through his thrusts, you were lost in a sea of moans, feeling Theo drive into you even harder. Just then, a lightbulb went off in that head of his. Reaching over to grab the flaming candle.

“Mmm— Theo-“ The babbling mess of you could hardly make out a word let alone a proper sentence. His pumps started to slow down, hitting smoothly against your cervix. Your gaze danced with the flame. Watching as he carefully dropped the wax. Moving it slowly.

“…Almost…Done-“ His tongue poked between his lips, the concentration painted over his chiseled face. “D-done with what?” You asked through a soft whimper.

With that, he flicked the candle swiftly, finishing with it as he set it to the side of you two. Theodore took his fingers, tracing over the wax across your throat. “T…h…e…o-“ His voice came out in a possessive whisper.

It hit you. His name. He spelled his name with the dark wax, right along your throat. “Oh? Marking me up as yours?-“ You managed to tease your boyfriend back. His hand now gripping around your neck.

“Just marking what’s mine—“

A possessive growl freed his lips before he mercilessly began to pound into you again. Showing exactly why you belonged to him. That you were his and only his. As if you didn’t know that already.

On the seventh day of Dickmas we get…Some fire..Some wax..and Some ice 👀🎁

Eeekkkk! This was so fun writing and I hope y’all enjoyed this as much as I did hehe🖤

Make sure you’re catching up with the other juicy fics from @nottsangel @nottswitch & @slytherinslut0 🎄

Dividers pinned in my masterlist🌙

Love all my sexy smut sluts 💋

UNDERGROUND FIGHTER AU

𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗻; 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝘆 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗼 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘆 — 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗻𝗼𝘄, 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻, 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

fighter mattheo riddle x fem reader

— Mattheo didn’t need violence to lose himself; maybe because violence was where he found himself, the only place he knew he was good, the only place where people feared and respected him. In the ring, in the underground, he had control—he was control. It was between the punches and the blood that he felt alive, that he could be the monster he wanted to be, with no one to challenge him.

But with you, the story was different. Your touch broke him faster than any punch he’d ever taken, made him bleed in ways he never had before; you took away his control, made his breath falter, and his thoughts turn to chaos; he hated how you made him feel small and vulnerable, but at the same time, he couldn’t resist any part of you. Violence made him feel found, but you, you made him feel lost, and so it was only fair that he'd do the same to you, right?

© mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

masterlist.