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amongemeraldclouds · 7 months ago

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love blooms in strange places

When Mattheo was assigned to help you tend to the greenhouse as punishment, he never expected detention could be so pleasant.

Mattheo Riddle x f!Reader | Based on this request

Warning: fluff, one use of y/n, used my creative license to come up with plant lore and magic to serve the plot.

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When Mattheo Riddle started his day, the greenhouse was the last place he expected he would be. Yet that’s exactly where he was headed, kicking up dirt as he went.

Snape’s words haunted him as he slowed to the door. “Mr. Riddle, you had been in detention several times just this month alone. If you will not learn by reflection, you will learn by deed. As punishment, you will have to help y/n cultivate plants for a week.”

Before Mattheo could open his mouth, Snape raised his hand. “Any protests and we will make it a month.” He knew better than to talk.

He shook his head as he opened the door, eager to get it over with. He took in pots and plants of various shades of green, color sprouting sporadically where flowers and fruits blossomed. Then there was you.

You saw the curly haired boy approach, Mattheo Riddle, you recalled. Everything about him spelled trouble from the frown fixed on his face, to his askew tie, and the way he strut as if the entire world bent to his will.

You smiled and introduced yourself politely. Your mum after all had raised you to give others a chance. To look beyond first impressions.

Still, it didn’t surprise you when his frown stayed glued to his face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he just stated by way of introduction. “Here’s how this will work. I’m going to stay here,” he said, grabbing a chair at the side of the greenhouse and taking a seat. “I’ll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine. When the time is over, I’ll walk away. Nice and simple.”

“So you’ll just let me do all the work?” You huffed, your fists clenched by your side.

“Glad you’re catching on, darling. Go on. Some would say it’s a privilege to be around me but it’s okay if you don’t see that yet.” He flashed you a shit eating grin and propped his legs up the table across him. Such a shame. He’d probably be handsome if his personality weren’t so rotten.

You caught yourself and your expression turned livid. “No, being around you is punishment. I don’t know what I did to Snape to deserve this,” you mumbled to yourself.

Your mum may have raised you to be polite, but she also taught you to stand up against bullies. You strode over to the arrogant boy, plucking a bearded iris on your way. You crushed it beneath your fingers, muttering an incantation.

When you were close enough, you hurled the crushed petals at his feet. Upon impact, sparks burst. Bright searing sprays of light was accompanied by a loud bang.

Mattheo dodged it, losing his balance. His chair tipped backwards. He crashed to the floor.

The bearded iris was otherwise called the firebreather iris. He should have known better than to challenge you.

You towered over him. “You will help me as Snape intended. It’s bad enough I have to spend time with you. You will make yourself useful or that,” you pointed at the ashes of the firebreather iris, “is just the beginning of what I can do. There are poisonous plants around here like nightshade. I will not hesitate to use them and make it look like an accident.”

He looked at you as if he saw you for the first time. The fire was brighter in your eyes than the spark you had thrown. He was silent for a beat as he recalled what Theo warned him about nice girls. You never wanted to see them mad. They were always more clever and therefore more dangerous.

As much as he loved danger, he very much preferred to stay alive. Besides, things just got more interesting. He schooled his face to a bored expression. “Fine,” he said standing back up and dusting the dirt from his clothes and hair. “If you teach me that cool trick, I’ll help out.”

“Stick around and I’ll teach you a few things,” you nodded, satisfied. You tossed him a pair of gloves. “We’ll start here, plant boy.” He suppressed the smile that threatened to break across his features. It was fascinating how you snapped quickly back to your good natured self, as if you weren’t just threatening him moments earlier. If there was anything Mattheo loved, it was a challenge.

As he put on the gloves, he felt detention wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Threatened by the poison and lured in by the idea of learning plant magic, Mattheo had surprisingly been a helpful herbology partner.

Yes, he was stubborn and annoying. But at the end of the day, he was quick to pick up the steps, memorizing which fertilizer to use for what plant, and how much water each plant needed.

The weeks quickly passed and you found a comfortable rhythm. You just had to put up with those terrible lines.

“Are you a flower bed?” Mattheo asked, his face streaked with dirt as he hauled another bag of soil.

“What is it this time?” You rolled your eyes. You found it impossibly adorable and ridiculous how he managed to get dirt all over his face despite wearing gloves and other gardening gear.

“Let’s pretend you asked me why. ‘Cause I want to lay you down and get dirty,” Mattheo said with his signature smirk.

You tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t wipe the silly grin off your face. Mattheo considered it a win. “That seriously works for you?” You pointed in his general direction. “I’d rather choke on a cactus,” you beamed.

Mattheo chuckled, “then I want to be a cactus.”

“Oh why, because you’re a prick?” You retorted, shoveling more soil to the new pot.

“No, you can’t use these lines against me,” he said, narrowing his eyes, grabbing a handful of soil.

“Don’t be such a weeping willow about it,” you quipped. “And I swear if you throw that lump of soil, you’ll have to clean it up.”

“Why don’t we go straight to the cleaning part?” He teased instead, returning the soil. He grabbed the water hose nearby and turned it on, aiming it directly at you.

Before you could react, you felt a steady stream of water hit you, the cold shocking your entire system. “You really did it,” you muttered uselessly, releasing a string of curses as you gathered your wits about you.

You ran after him, but he was quick to deflect, running off the opposite direction, taking the hose with him. Five steps in, you slipped on the mud and landed on your back. The wind rushed out your lungs and you laid there recovering your breath.

“Salazar! Are you ok?” He asked, running towards you.

“Come here,” you spoke softly and he leaned in to hear you.

“My name is not Salazar,” you declared when he was close enough. “It’s an expressio—“ he tried to explain but in one swift motion, you grabbed the collar of his shirt. The surprise was enough to send him down the floor. He slipped in the mud and joined you. You grabbed the hose from him and sprayed him with water.

He flailed for a few seconds before he caught purchase and rolled over you, yanking the hose away and then switching it off. You both found yourselves in hysterics, bodies shaking from the cold and laughter.

“I can’t believe it. You really laid me down and got me dirty,” you managed to say in between laughter.

“This is not what I meant. But if you want to know what I mean,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. But he was rendered speechless, the words and laughter faded in his throat.

He didn’t think it was possible. But up close, you were even more beautiful with your captivating eyes and kissable lips.

His intense gaze stole the laughter and breath from your lungs. You felt his heartbeat drum against yours, your breaths mingled with one another.

It sunk in then that he was on top of you, gazing at you like he wanted to do a hundred and one sinful things to you. He had a forest full of desires and you wanted to explore every corner of it. To go on an adventure with him. So you did.

You weren’t sure who started it, but the next second you found yourselves kissing each other. It was better than any euphoria plants could induce. His lips felt surprisingly soft and he started off tentative, seeing if you were okay with it. You just needed more and he quickly matched your pace, taking in as much of you as he could.

He was no longer gentle and he ran his hand through your mud streaked hair, holding you just where he needed you, deepening the kiss. You tugged on his hair in return and he rewarded you with a groan, his chest rumbling against you. He licked your lower lip, prompting you to open your mouth as his tongue darted in, exploring until you both needed to come up for air. Panting against each other.

“Why are you looking at me like I just kicked a puppy?” He asked.

You shook your head. “You’re just a boy trying to get through detention,” you stated.

“Darling, my detention was only a week long,” he admitted.

Your eyes widened. “But this is your third week helping me.”

“You still haven’t taught me how to make fire with flowers yet,” he said, kissing you on the nose.

“You’re not afraid I’d poison you?” You narrowed your eyes, recalling your threat.

“I looked it up. The nightshade you mentioned that first week isn’t even poisonous. You never meant to poison me, dear.”

“But you fell for it, that’s what mattered,” you insisted.

“Maybe it’s you I’ve pollen for,” he quipped.

“You’re never gonna stop with the plant puns, aren’t you?”

“No, because you’re ivy and you’ve fully crept in my thoughts. Next, you can creep in my—” you kissed him then to shut him up. He didn’t seem to mind at all. You really had had enough of his silly plant puns, even though you couldn’t get enough of him.

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mattnott · 14 days ago

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𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K. 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.

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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’re not wearing a bra.

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.

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, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. 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,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, 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.

— 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: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

#— ; 𝐳𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 🧳#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo smut #mattheo imagine #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #dividers by cafekitsune

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leona-hawthorne · 2 months ago

Text

KINKTOBER #6– MY PRETTY LITTLE WIFE / mattheo riddle

october 21st somnophilia , body worship , overstim

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: one year anniversary with your husband

warnings: unprotected piv, somnophilia, overstim, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, body worship, arranged marriage

words: 4.9k

a/n: the struggle that i had writing this was insane… i just never felt like i could get it quite right, but i’m gonna stop overthinking it. don’t really love it but that’s alright!

navigation kinktober masterlist

Mattheo lay beside you, staring at the ceiling, eyes tracing the same cracks in the plaster as they have for months. The morning light slipped through the curtains in thin slivers, cutting through the quiet of the room like the unspoken words that have hung in the air since the day you both said, “I do.”

It had been a year. A year of stolen glances and lingering touches that never went too far. A year of pretending the hunger in his chest wasn't real, that the way you looked at him sometimes didn't make his heart race in ways it shouldn't. He couldn't deny it anymore, not to himself. He wanted you—had wanted you for longer than he was willing to admit. But want was dangerous, and with it came the risk of exposing everything he'd been trying to keep buried.

So he stayed still, as he had for the past year, his heart pounding a rhythm that only he could hear. The tension remained, hanging over him, heavy and unrelenting, a constant reminder that something had to give. He just didn't know when—or how—it would finally break.

You were still asleep, your body turned away from him, and for a moment, Mattheo wondered if it was better this way—silent. No more venom-laced words. No more walls built so high neither of you could see over them.

His eyes raked over your figure, the rise and fall of your breathing hypnotic, and his fingers itched with the urge to reach out. He wouldn’t, though. Not after the way you’ve pushed him away all this time. And yet, here you were, in the same bed, your presence so close it suffocated him with all that’s left unsaid.

A year. A fucking year, and it felt like neither of you had taken a single step toward each other. But in this quiet morning, something was different. He could feel it, hanging heavy in the air. An anniversary isn’t just a date, it’s a reckoning—a moment to confront what’s been festering between you two for so long.

You stirred, rolling onto your back, eyes still closed, lips parted in a soft sigh. Mattheo’s heart stuttered. That sigh—it wasn’t laced with frustration. It was almost peaceful. For a split second, he wondered if you might wake up and look at him without that familiar disdain.

But then you turned again, away from him, and the moment slipped like sand through his fingers.

Mattheo clenched his jaw. He was tired of this—this endless dance of anger and yearning, frustration and desire. He hated you for how you’d made him feel—helpless, raw, desperate in a way that terrified him. And yet, he wanted you more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.

Today was supposed to mean something. The thought burrowed into his mind, gnawing at him. It’s your anniversary. One year of this madness. One year of pretending like it doesn’t hurt to be this close and yet so far.

He shifted, sitting up, his gaze never leaving you. The silence was heavier than it’s ever been. It was thick with the weight of everything unsaid, every insult, every half-glance, every touch that never happened.

“Happy anniversary, princess,” he muttered under his breath, the words dripping with sarcasm—but also something else, something bitter and almost…sad.

You didn’t stir. You didn’t hear him.

Of course you didn’t.

Maybe that was for the best.

Mattheo’s heart twisted in ways he didn’t want to admit as he watched you sleep. In sleep, you were untouchable, your face a canvas of peace he's never had the privilege of seeing when your eyes are open. No biting words, no tension pulling at the corners of your mouth. You were beautiful in a way that cut him to the core—a beauty that made him ache, made him question if he's ever hated you at all.

Gods, you were unreal.

He hated how easily that thought slipped in, how it consumed him as his eyes drank in the soft curve of your lips, the way your lashes fluttered ever so slightly against your cheek, even in sleep. There was no defense here, no barbed words to keep him at bay. Just you, unaware of the havoc you wreaked inside him.

Mattheo swallowed hard, his hand twitching at his side. He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. But the need was there, creeping up his spine like a poison he couldn’t shake. Just one touch—just to feel you without the wall of tension between you.

His fingers moved before he could stop himself, ghosting over the back of your hand where it lay beside you. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a shiver through him all the same. He watched your face for any sign of waking, but you remained still, lost in whatever dream kept you so blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside him.

His heart pounded in his chest as his hand trailed upward, brushing against the soft skin of your forearm. He couldn’t help it. The urge to feel more of you was overwhelming, drowning out every rational thought that told him to stop. His touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if he were afraid to wake you, to break whatever fragile peace had settled over this moment.

You shifted slightly, and Mattheo froze, his breath catching in his throat. But you didn’t wake. Instead, you murmured something incoherent, a soft sound that tugged at something deep in his chest. His fingers itched to go further, to trace the curve of your jaw, to let his thumb brush over your lips—lips he’d thought about far too many times in the dark when sleep refused to come.

He moved closer, his body inching toward yours, until he could feel the warmth of your skin radiating toward him. His fingers hovered just above your cheek now, hesitating. If you woke up now, what would you do? What would you say if you saw him like this, caught between resentment and something far more dangerous?

But you didn’t wake. You stayed still, serene, and Mattheo’s fingers finally grazed your cheek, the softness of your skin like fire under his touch. His thumb brushed just below your bottom lip, and his heart stuttered in his chest. He was too far gone now. The beauty of your silence, your stillness, had him unraveling.

For a moment, he let himself imagine a world where this wasn’t an accident, where you wanted his touch. A world where you turned toward him, those lips parting beneath his thumb, inviting him closer instead of pushing him away.

But that world wasn’t real. And he knew the second you woke, that wall would slam back up between you, higher than ever before.

Still, in this stolen moment, with you so close and unaware, Mattheo let himself fall—just a little further.

"Just a dream, princess..." he whispered, voice low and sultry, as if the very words could tether you to this moment forever. It was a lie, but one he relished—the illusion that this was safe, that you wouldn't wake up and shatter it all with your reality.

He leaned closer, just inches from your face, his breath mingling with the morning air. Your lips were soft, slightly parted, and he felt an overwhelming urge to taste them. Instead, he pressed a gentle kiss against the corner of your mouth, his heart racing at the intimacy of it, but the touch was still too innocent, too soft for what he craved.

"Mattheo..." you murmured, stirring slightly but not waking, and the sound sent a thrill racing down his spine. That voice—so full of vulnerability, so beautifully unguarded—made him ache in ways he didn't know he could.

"You don't even know," he breathed, his fingers trailing down to your neck, the warmth of your pulse thrumming against his skin like a live wire. He wanted to mark you, to claim you in a way that was irrevocable, but he held back, letting the reverence of the moment wash over him instead.

But the longing grew insatiable. With a slight hesitation, he slid his hand lower, fingertips brushing against your collarbone, down the slope of your shoulder, and over the soft swell of your breast, barely there but electric all the same. The connection sent shockwaves through him, a heady mix of need and desire surging like wildfire beneath his skin.

You shifted again, breath hitching in your throat, and Mattheo's heart raced. He leaned closer, lips hovering just above your ear, whispering like he was sharing a secret that belonged only to the two of you. "Just let me touch you... just like this."

His fingers curled gently around the curve of your breast, a cautious exploration, but the warmth spreading through him ignited a deeper hunger. He longed to feel every part of you, to drown in the intimacy that had always felt just out of reach. The feel of the soft fabric of your nightgown beneath his palm only fueled the fire inside him.

You stirred once more, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The sound cracked through whatever restraint he had left. With a sudden rush of desire, he pressed his palm firmly against you, feeling your heartbeat.

"Stay still," he murmured again, his voice thick with something almost raw. "Let me have this."

He wanted to hear you say his name, to see the look in your eyes when you realized this wasn't a dream. He wanted you to respond to him, to melt under his touch, and it drove him wild, the thought of making you unravel.

Mattheo’s other hand came up to cup your cheek tenderly, angling your face toward him as he deepened the pressure of his palm against your breast. He was drunk on the sensation of you against him—the warmth, the softness, the quickening rhythm of your heart beneath his fingers.

A part of him feared waking you now, fearful of losing this ethereal contact before it faded away. Somnolently, he tilted your chin upward, his thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip, tracing the delicate curves. His own breathing grew ragged, punctuated by low, steadying exhales.

The darkness of dawn clung to the edges of the room, yet in that moment, illuminated solely by the glow of the sun seeping through the curtains, they might have been lost in some alternate realm where such actions were permissible.

Slowly, deliberately, Mattheo leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips, teasing them apart just enough for his tongue to graze your inner flesh. The gesture, though chaste, buzzed with unspoken promises.

His gaze flickered down to your nightgown, the lace edges calling to him in a way he couldn’t resist. Before long, your eyes fluttered open to the feel of his fingers skimming your damp folds, prodding and poking at your entrance, his touch feather-light and hesitant. His eyes darkened as they met yours, a soft hum escaping his lips as he noticed the drowsy lust in your dazed eyes.

With agonizing slowness, his fingers traced your slit, gathering the dewy evidence of your arousal. “Shh, sleep a little longer,” he coaxed, voice dripping with desire, circling your entrance with his thumb. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just sleep. You’re dreaming, princess.”

Then, without warning, he sank a finger deep inside you, reveling in the tight heat that welcomed him. He moved languidly, savoring the slick glide as he pumped in and out in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. Your body reacted instinctively to the invasion, tiny gasps spilling from your lips, though your mind lingered in the haze of half-sleep.

Confusion swam in your half-lidded gaze as you stared up at him, your brow furrowing slightly as you struggled to make sense of the sensations assaulting your senses. A soft whimper escaped your throat, part protest, part plea, as your hips canted upwards almost imperceptibly into his touch. “What are you… Stop…”

But even as you whispered the denial, your body betrayed you, a fresh surge of wetness coating his invading digit. Mattheo swallowed hard, his free hand coming up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing over your parted lips in a gesture meant to soothe even as his touch between your thighs grew bolder, a second finger joining the first in their relentless quest to unravel you completely.

His fingers stilled momentarily, the contrast between his touch on your cheek and the intensity between your thighs palpable. “Don’t fight with me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and raw. “For once, please don’t fucking right with me.”

Desperation lingered in his plea, a vulnerability he rarely showed. “Let me take care of you… just this once. Let me show you how good it could be between us.”

Your chest rose and fell with each shaky breath, your eyes drifting shut as you surrendered to the unfamiliar sensations, the resistance in your muscles melting away.

With a tender kiss to your forehead, he resumed his gentle assault, pumping his fingers in and out of your slick heat with increasing depth and purpose. The wet sounds of your heat filled the room, punctuated by your own ragged pants and the occasional whimper that escaped your throat.

"You're so beautiful like this, sleepyhead," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against your skin. "So perfect..."

As he continued to stroke you with deliberate slowness, he could feel your walls beginning to flutter around his fingers, a sign that you were nearing the precipice of release.

"Come on, baby," he coaxed, his tone a seductive purr. "Let go for me. I want to see you fall apart. For once, let’s use this bed for what it was made for.”

Your climax crashed over you in waves, nails digging into the sheets beneath you, fisting the fabric as you rode out the aftershocks, shuddering with the force of your orgasm.

Mattheo watched you intently as he withdrew his fingers from your spasming channel, bringing them to his mouth to taste your essence. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he savored the flavor of you, his eyes darkening with renewed hunger.

"Do you have any fucking idea what you do you me?” His voice was raw, a broken show of the desperate man he’d become. “Prancing around the house in those tiny little silk shorts, cursing up a storm at me anytime you got the chance," he muttered, his voice roughened by need. "So fucking hot. Wanted to touch you, taste you, take you in every position possible."

His lips trailed a searing path up your inner thigh, pausing to nip at the tender flesh before continuing his ascent. "Can’t count the amount of times I’ve imagined bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking you raw every time you’ve screamed at me for leaving my dirty clothes on the floor.”

Mattheo's words painted a vivid picture, each filthy promise igniting a firestorm of desire within you. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined your cold, distant husband harboring such primal urges towards you.

He paused as his lips reached your cunt, breath fanning over your wetness. "Tell me to stop, Y/N,” he growled, his voice a low challenge. "Order me to leave you alone, and I will. But if you don't..." His tongue darted out, licking a broad stripe up your center, tasting the lingering proof of your recent climax. "If you don't say 'stop', I'm going to devour you whole."

Mattheo's threat hung in the air, a tantalizing promise that sent shivers down your spine. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to push him away, to reclaim the distance that had grown between you over the past year.

Instead, you felt your hips twitch upward, seeking more of that intoxicating contact. A soft moan escaped your lips, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat. "Please," you breathed, the single word a plea and a surrender all at once. "I...I don't want you to stop."

A triumphant growl rumbled in Mattheo's chest as he claimed your submission, his mouth descending upon your dripping core with unbridled hunger. His tongue delved deep, lapping at your folds with reckless abandon, savoring the unique taste of your arousal.

“Mmphh—” You tried forming coherent words but they wouldn’t come out. Your hands flew to his head, tangling in his hair as you held him close, encouraging his relentless assault.

Mattheo sucked gently on your clit, flicking the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue before moving lower to lap at your entrance, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. "Fuck, you taste incredible," he rasped, his voice muffled against you. "Can't get enough."

As your moans grew louder, more frantic, he slipped two fingers back inside you, curling them just right to hit that spot that made stars explode behind your eyelids. His name fell from your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea for more, for everything he could give you.

He obliged, doubling his efforts, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from your quivering body. "That's it, baby," he urged, his words vibrating against your core. "Let go. Come for me again."

Your second climax slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, stealing the breath from your lungs and rendering you boneless beneath Mattheo's ravishing mouth.

But Mattheo didn't relent, not even when you went limp, your body thrashing in the throes of ecstasy. If anything, he redoubled his efforts, suckling harder on your oversensitive clit, dragging out another orgasm from you.

His actions bordered on cruelty, yet you couldn't bring yourself to protest, too lost in the overwhelming sensations he evoked.

Despite the blissful haze clouding your mind, a faint thread of panic began to unfurl, urging you to put a halt to this merciless onslaught before you shattered completely.

With a shaky hand, you managed to grasp Mattheo's hair, attempting to gently push his face away from your throbbing sex. "S-stop," you whimpered, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea. "Too much, can't take it..."

Mattheo ignored your feeble attempts to push him away, his mouth continuing its ruthless assault on your oversensitive sex. He pulled his fingers out of you and hooked your legs over his shoulders, only burying his face deeper in your cunt. "Not gonna stop," he groaned against you, his words a heated whisper against your slick folds. "Making up for all the times I didn't touch you. That's my job as your husband, right? To make you feel good. Let me make up for all the times I denied you that."

"Oh god, oh fuck, please..." you gasped, your hips bucking erratically as Mattheo drove you to new heights of ecstasy.

Tears streamed down your face, the overwhelming sensations threatening to tear you apart at the seams. Yet, even as your body trembled with exhaustion, you craved more, desperate for the release only Mattheo could provide.

"P-please," you sobbed, your voice raw and broken. "I n-need...I need..." Words failed you, your mind too fractured to articulate the depths of your desires.

Mattheo seemed to understand, his gaze locking onto yours with fierce intensity. "Shh, I know,"

He murmured soothingly, his warm breath caressing your fevered skin. "Just let go, baby. Give it to me. I've got you."

With those reassuring words, he sealed his lips around your throbbing clit once more, sucking hard. The sensations proved too much to bear, and with a keening wail, you surrendered to the torrent of pleasure crashing over you.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck.” Your orgasm ripped through you like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. You convulsed wildly, your vision blurring as waves of ecstasy washed over you in relentless succession.

Slowly, he lifted his head, his lips glistening with your essence. "Beautiful," he breathed, his eyes burning with a possessive heat. "So fucking beautiful when you come undone for me."

With gentle hands, Mattheo reached for the hem of your nightgown, slowly peeling the fabric upwards to reveal inch after inch of smooth, unblemished skin. His gaze followed the movement, drinking in the sight of your bare flesh as if it were the most exquisite treasure he'd ever laid eyes on.

"God, look at you," he whispered, his voice thick with awe and hunger. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

He cupped your breasts, thumbs grazing over sensitive nipples, coaxing them to peak under his gentle touch. "And these...fuck, these are gorgeous. So responsive, so eager for my attention." He leaned in, capturing a nipple between his lips, suckling softly as he rolled the other between his fingers.

Every part of you was adored, worshiped, cherished—from your soft throat to the dip of your waist, from your round ass to the delicate skin of your inner thighs.

"You're stunning," he murmured, his hands gliding over your body with a reverence that took your breath away. "Every curve, every shadow...all mine. You’re fucking incredible."

His touch was tender, almost shy, as if he feared you might vanish if he wasn't careful. But there was a hardness to his gaze, a wildness that promised untold pleasures.

Mattheo trailed his lips across the landscape of your body, his mouth worshiping every swell and hollow with heartfelt devotion. From the elegant column of your throat to the tantalizing curves of your tits, he savored each inch with tender care.

Kisses peppered the valley between your breasts, his hot breath fanning across your skin. Downward he moved, tracing the gentle arc of your ribs, the dip of your navel, mapping the secrets of your body with lips and tongue.

Your skin tingled under his ardent attentions, each brush of his lips stoking the embers smoldering low in your belly.

He continued down your quivering body, trailing open-mouthed caresses along your thighs as his strong hands gripped your calves, kneading the supple flesh with appreciative murmurs.

"You temptress," he chided gently, pressing fervent kisses to the arches of your ankles. "For months now, you've been driving me mad without even realizing it. Sleeping in your tiny shorts, bending over just so, glaring at me with those eyes..."

"You're not serious," you mumbled, your voice laced with disbelief even as your heart raced at the thought. Could it really be true that he'd been craving you for so long? That you had unwittingly tormented him with your mere presence? You couldn’t bring yourself to believe it.

Yet, as you looked into Mattheo's intense gaze, saw the hunger and admiration etched on his features, a small spark of hope flickered to life within your chest.

"You have no idea what you do to me. One glance from those gorgeous eyes, and I'm putty in your hands. I’m fucking defenseless against you."

He brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your skin with a feather-light touch. "Look at you, spread out like a feast before me. My God, you're breathtaking. Every curve, every freckle, every goddamn thing about you is perfection incarnate."

Mattheo's eyes burned into yours, his gaze heavy with lust and need. His hand slid up your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he urged you closer.

"Tell me, Y/N," he purred, his voice low and seductive. "Are you going to let me fuck you? Are you going to let me be your husband properly?”

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke. "I want to do this shit right. Just give me a do-over. Let me fuck you. Please let me fuck you. Let me love you like you deserve to be loved.”

After a moment of hesitation, you felt your resolve crumble under the intensity of Mattheo's gaze. A shaky exhale left your lips as you nodded, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Show me," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your own heartbeat. "Show me what it means to be your wife."

Your words seemed to ignite a fire within Mattheo. In an instant, he was hovering over you, his body a delicious weight pinning you to the mattress. His lips crashed against yours in a searing kiss, desperate and hungry, as if he were trying to devour you whole.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin until you were writhing beneath him. "Fuck, baby," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

He rocked his hips against yours, the hard length of him grinding against your core through the thin fabric of his boxers. The friction sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins, stoking the flames of your own arousal.

With a rapid urgency, Mattheo yanked his boxers down, freeing himself from their confines. His erection sprang forth, thick and hard, the tip glistening with precum. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your slick folds.

"Are you ready for me, princess?" he rasped, his voice strained with barely contained restraint. "I promise I'll make it good for you. So fucking good."

Without waiting for a response, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat. A guttural moan tore from his throat at the exquisite sensation, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the feeling of finally being one with you.

Mattheo's hips snapped forward, driving deep into your welcoming warmth with each powerful stroke. He set a relentless pace, his thick cock stretching and filling you completely with every thrust.

"Oh, fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his forehead pressed against yours as he battled to maintain control. "Tight little thing, aren’t you? Just relax, breathe."

His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulled you onto him, meeting each of his deep, punishing drives. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, punctuated by your moans.

Mattheo's movements became more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he neared the edge. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped down the sides of his face, mingling with the strands of hair that clung to his forehead.

"You feel...fuck, you feel incredible," he panted, his breaths coming in short gasps. "Like heaven wrapped around my cock."

With a final, brutal plunge, Mattheo buried himself to the hilt and held there, his pulsing cock throbbing inside you as he rode out his orgasm. A hoarse moan ripped from his throat, his body shuddering with the force of his release as he emptied himself deep within your welcoming depths, but your own peak still remained frustratingly out of reach.

"Don't stop," you pleaded, your voice a breathy whisper against his sweat-slicked skin. "Please, Mattheo... I need..."

You trailed off, unable to find the words to express the aching emptiness that still gnawed at your core.

A wicked grin spread across Mattheo’s face, his spent cock still buried inside your fluttering sheath.

"Mmm, greedy girl," he purred, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "So eager for more."

He rolled his hips, grinding against your sensitive clit as he began to move again, his strokes languid and deliberate.

"That's it, baby," he coaxed, his breath hot against your ear. "Give it to me. I wanna feel you fall apart on my cock."

Mattheo's words, his fingered squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise, the way he moved inside you—it all combined to push you closer and closer to the brink.

"Yes, oh god, yes!" you cried out, your voice high and urgent. "A-ah, don't stop, please don't stop!"

Your nails dug into Mattheo's back, scoring his skin as you arched up to meet his thrusts. The coil of tension inside you wound tighter and tighter, until finally, with a sharp cry, you shattered. Waves of ecstasy washed over you, your pussy clenching around Mattheo's still-moving cock as you came hard. His gaze softened as he stared down at you.

"Precious girl," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your quivering lip. Slowly, he withdrew from your slick heat, allowing your tender folds to flutter closed around the departing intrusion.

Rolling onto your side, you tucked a pillow under your head and turned to face Mattheo, who was now propped up on one elbow, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"What does this mean, Mattheo?" you asked quietly, reaching out to trace a finger along the ridges of his abdomen. "For us, I mean. What happens now?"

Mattheo's gaze drifted from your face to the path of your wandering fingertip, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. He reached out, capturing your hand in his and bringing it to rest over his heart, which thumped steadily beneath your palm.

"We’ll figure it out.”

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-slutt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @c3liaaaaa @sleepiibunniiii @chemtrailsoverhogwarts @daenerystorgaryen @catching-fire-in-the-wind @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #smut #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin #benjamin wadsworth #kinktober #husband!mattheo #wife!reader #leona-hawthorne kinktober

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catscidr · 8 months ago

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// taking care of your dogboy (hsr edition!) //

i. note — sry i havent been posting yall i got a job + ive been working on three cosplays at the same time bc my local con is coming up lmao (´ཀ`」 ∠) however the brainrot never stops. it only takes a break. a little break of approximatively. a month. ish. ......... anyways dog hybrid hsr boys brainrot !!! lmk if we want more of this with more boys •ᴗ• comments and asks are appreciated hehe ii. includes — blade, gepard, boothill and gn!reader iii. cw — slice of life stuff turning into smut, possessive behaviour, overstim, slight dom/sub dynamics, real messy stuff, manhandling. use of the word "hole" to keep reader gender neutral iv. wc — 1,9k

blade is a mutt riddled in scars and dirty bandages from living on the streets and fighting to survive.

you think he might be some german shepherd mix, but he refuses to let you swab his teeth n gums for a dna test (last time you tried you narrowly avoided a punch to the face. he apologized in his own way afterwards), so whenever people ask, just say he’s a rescue to avoid revealing that you actually just… don’t really know what breed he is. they usually drop the subject and simply go on their merry way, seeing as he wasn’t the type of pup to appreciate affection from strangers anyways– it’s rare for you to leave the house in the first place, though.

you had to switch to a remote job because blade is just so persistent when it comes to you. although possessive is a much better descriptor, because he doesn’t let anyone near you. whenever you leave to get groceries he ends up practically breathing down your neck from how close he gets— acting as if he were your literal shadow— glaring at everyone that gets too close to you. you’ve made it a habit to always go to self-checkout lane so blade doesn’t scare off the cashiers.

the second you get home he’s all over you, determined to rid you of that outside stench and replace it with his own. you started packing your grocery bags in a way that nothing will break if (read: when) you suddenly drop them on the floor, all because you’re so familiar with blade’s impatience.

he holds you still by engulfing your body with his, knees caging your hips as he grinds into you, shallow and deep. blade’s growls and huffs fill your ears just as much as his cock fills your hole, his knot kissing your tightness from the outside.

“do you like this? like how i have to fuck you every time you decide to go outside again when you could stay here,” with me blade omits, his tail swishing back and forth on the bedsheets behind him, the sound just barely grounding you to reality.

your grocery bags were long forgotten on the foor (as they usually are), your mind too foggy to function. clawing at the sheets, you try to crawl away from blade’s grip— to no avail.

he tuts, craning his head to bite down onto the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. “i might just need to mark you for extra precaution,” he bucks into you, knocking the air out of your lungs. you hear squelching, the constant plap! plap! plap! from his thighs smacking against your ass and whine, broken babbles leaving your kiss-bruised lips.

“b-blade, y’can’t- ah,” he shushes you by plugging you full of his lengthy cock, his knot almost threatening to press inside of you. you whimper, feeling lightheaded from a mix of both nervousness and arousal.

he soothes the hickey he left on your neck, licking it languidly as he stills to bask into the way your hole throbs around him. warm and tight and oh so tempting.

“shit, wanna fill you. wanna… have everyone know they can’t have you. you’re mine, mine to love ‘n mine to fuck,” you’re not lucid enough to process his thinly veiled confession, too busy writhing your ass back against him in a feeble attempt to get him to continue moving.

you might want to invest into some good concealer or into those skin coloured tattoo patches to cover the bruises and bite marks blade’ll leave on you if you want to continue being a functioning member of society. you can’t really be walking around in public as if a dog had just mauled you right before you left the house, can you?

gepard is a golden retriever because of COURSE he is. similarly to blade, he likes to invade your personal space a lot— not because he’s possessive, but because he’s extremely protective of you.

the random bruises you used to randomly notice on your body faded as soon as he came into your life. gepard’s soft, lingering touches healed them; gently placing a hand on your hip before you bump into sharp furniture so it doesn’t hit you, redirecting your head to his shoulder as you nod-off in the train before you bang your head, and so on.

it’s a full-time job and he’s working 24/7, always on the lookout for anything that could possibly hurt you as you saunter off… wherever, without a care in the world— because he took care of everything!

he would clean the apartment for you, cook (though you usually insist you do the cooking; a human doesn’t have the same taste in food as a hybrid), and even act as your own personal alarm clock. gone were the days of being woken up by loud, blaring beeping. gepard woke you up with forehead kisses instead, making your mornings much more pleasant.

but poor geppie, he’s always taking care of you; so take care of him, won’t you?

every so often you’ll sit in his lap to help him get rid of whatever stress he held in his body. your hands will knead at the muscles in his broad shoulders, all while you simultaneously kiss away the strain in his face. his brows are furrowed as you do your best to soothe his muscles; you never forget to smooch his cheek, nose and the corner of his lips.

though the attention and gentle acts of affection always ends with your hands lower than they should be.

“ah ah, no touching, remember?” you murmur in his ear playfully. you had been at it for what felt like hours; gepard’s cock and abdomen was smeared with the remnants of his cum, skin tacky from his previous loads. your hand shows no sign of stopping, not even when he begged oh so sweetly.

“c-come onn. just… jus’ wanna kiss…” and who were you to deny your sweet boy? your lips find his in a heartbeat, his tongue swiping over your own sloppily as he breathes you in like a depraved man.

the only condition you had when you did this was for him to keep his hands to himself— at least until you both decide to move on to something else. until then, his fists clench the sheets beneath the both of you, and his ears stay flat on his fluffy head.

“i’m… i’m close again, g- aah, please, please…!” he begs, cock weeping precum as you continuously jerk him off. you smile, absentmindedly rocking your hips to the rhythm you held him prisoner to— gepard was too engulfed in the warmth of your hand to notice, anyways. “cum whenever you want sweet boy,” you purr, and he keens as he buries his face in your neck, his hips lifting off the bed ever so slightly as they meet your hand and he thrusts, riding the high of his orgasm.

sticky cum coats your hand for the nth time; you relent your grip on his cock for his sake, instead choosing to shower him with chaste kisses all over his face. gepard whines, taking ahold of your waist weakly as he breathes into the crook of your neck.

“geppie, your han-“ he cuts you off, swiftly switching positions so you’re now laying on your back as he hovers over you, chest rising and falling quickly, catching his breath from the intensity of his orgasm. gepard’s tail wags slowly behind him as his hands creep up from your waist to your chest just as slowly- you feel his cock harden against your pelvis, precum spilling from his pinky tip.

“‘ts my turn now,” he huffs, leaning down to nip at your neck.

boothill is the most obnoxious dalmatian hybrid you’ve ever seen (not that you’ve seen many, or at all). but he’s made your life so fun so you can’t be too mad at him

he’s always dragging you out of bed to go do something— could be going to the park nearby or sit in the living room playing video games on your dusty console, it doesn’t matter because he’ll MAKE you step out of your cozy nest!!

you’re glad he’s friendly, because you’re not sure how you would handle such an excited hybrid when you left the house. people come up to the both of you to chat and he indulges their questions, essentially leading the conversation (while you stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to say).

boothill is also great with kids, unexpectedly. 9 times out of 10 when you go to the park he ends up playing with someone’s child, bright smile on his face as he messes up their hair with a rough hand. they’ll throw a frisbee for him to go catch and he’ll do it happily, or he’ll even… teach them how to beat people up.

(you stare mortified as he teaches a little girl how to throw a proper punch only for her to then punch her parent when she leaves boothill’s side. you go up to them and apologize profusely, forcing boothill to bow with you.)

he also loves to help you out, even though he’s not the greatest at household chores— but he definitely tries! though he is a stellar cook, which never fails to surprise you whenever he’s on dinner duty. he just… really sucks at everything else.

it’s… mostly because he just has so much energy. he sweeps the floor? nope, he’s picking off the pieces of the broom off of the floor because he accidentally broke it. he’s fixing your bed? nuh uh, you’re throwing out the ruined bedsheets because he accidentally tore them to shreds somehow.

so, with all of these accidents happening because he’s just brimming with energy 24/7, you started purposely exhausting him. or, rather, gave him the green light to exhaust you until he tires himself out.

“booth-aah, w-wait, you’re being too…!” you fall over on top of his hard chest, keening at the new angle his cock reached inside of you. he repeated his assault on the spot that made you see stars as your jaw gaped, broken moans leaving your lips.

“don’t tell me y’re tapping out.. haa, already!” boothill grunts, his grip on your hips tightening. he throws his head back with a loud moan, abs tensing as he nears yet another climax— the 5th one of the night. maybe, maybe not. you lost count after the third one.

you bury your face into the crook of his neck, focusing on the feeling of his cock plugging you full instead of the soreness, the burn in your muscles that came from your knees holding you up on his lap.

watching you riding him will always be his favourite thing in the world, even if he always ends up fucking up into you and taking back control at the end of the night.

“gonna cu-uum…” you whine, clenching around his length almost painfully tightly, hearing his breathing hitch as an orgasm is ripped out of him in consequence to yours. boothill’s fingers dig into your ass, his hips lifting off the bed as he cums deep inside of your sloppy hole again, sticky fluid building up beneath the sheets.

you collapse on top of him fully, chest heaving against his own as you come back to your senses, slowly but surely. boothill’s ears perk up, hearing how your breathing had evening out.

“so… got another round in ya?”

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honey-milk-depresso · 28 days ago

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Heartslabyul: what makes you “the most beautiful being on earth” to him

HAHAH- I HAVE RETURNED (somewhat-) FROM THE DEAD >:DDDD

How long has it been?? Two years maybe?? Idfk, AND IDC IM BACK (for now-)

Ace Trappola

He thinks you’re the most beautiful being your laugh makes him laugh too.

Ace, as well all know, a bit of a clown, really. He likes doing stupid shit and making stupid jokes that really makes people crack up and laugh sometimes, intentionally or unintentionally.

But something about the way you laugh makes him laugh along. Like yeah, it was kinda stupid huh? But now he doesn’t have a reason to be annoyed or mad about it because you made it feel better. All because of the way you sound when you laugh to him (even when it’s a little gremlin laugh).

One time, he tripped over a pebble in the Heartslabyul rose garden, face first as he cursed slightly with a grouchy face. He was upset and annoyed at first, but then you laughed. Somehow… the fall from him tripping wasn’t so bad.

In fact, it made him think it was pretty funny (in a stupid way) as he slowly laugh along as he got up. He gently squished your cheeks in a teasing manner. “Alright, alright. You’re not telling anyone I tripped as stupid like that!” He huffed with smirk as you continued laughing gleefully.

He smiled softly, cheeks slightly warm as he looks at you. You’re everything he could ask for. <3

Deuce Spade

He thinks you’re the most beautiful being because of your patience and dedication to help him.

Deuce is… a bit dumb. Sometimes, not all the time. When he’s really trying his best to do math or stay awake during Trein’s classes and then wakes up to the end of it and realised he’s suddenly three chapters behind.

Coming to Ace or Grim for help is not the best, and Trey, Cater and Riddle make it feel like studying and asking for this kinda help is tiring and a bit demoralising sometimes despite his fierce determination.

But you… it’s a lot different. You’re so patient and dedicated to help him: using your free time to help him catch up when you could’ve just said no and enjoy your break, pulling all-nighters with him with snacks from Trey-senpai to keep awake and study with him, lending him your notes while helping him go through what he’s missed…

Deuce kinda feels bad for asking you for help. You’re always putting him before yourself that at one point of time he tried finding somebody else, only to realise that you genuinely like helping him which never fails to make his cheeks flushed and heart constrict. If you ever need help, you can count on him too, he’ll do his best for you! <3

Cater Diamond

He thinks you’re the most beautiful being because he can be “low energy” with you.

Cater’s always that chatty, social butterfly on Magicam and in real life, mostly when he’s in front of people.

But sometimes, he just wants to just stay low and not be that “hype man” people known him for and without them being disappointed when he’s not that.

When it comes to you, he can just be. It’s like you give of this welcoming and accepting presence and aura, that it makes he can just lie down with you on a beanbag in his room, being lowkey with his hair down, in normal, ugly home wear and he knows, you wouldn’t judge.

Cater likes a change of pace despite usually being so active, it’s just so he can chill and recharge.

He has his arms wrap around you, and for once, his phone is tucked away just for the moment. He rests his chin on your shoulder and sigh, grinning with content as he closes his eyes.

Yes… this is nice… <3

Trey Clover

He thinks you’re the most beautiful being to him is because he can be as playful as he wants.

His reason is practically the same as Cater’s but opposite: is that he always had to be that responsible, reliable, no-nonsense Vice Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul. Even when he’s mastered the arts of it, it can still be tiring.

But you help him get into his own true (somewhat) colours, whenever you’re alone with him in the kitchen, he lets his walls come down.

Trey’s actually a lot more mischievous and cheeky than he lets on: smearing frosting on your nose, pretending he’ll feed you a tart only to put it all in his mouth and watch you get all huffy, and when he’s really loose, has a bit of a flour fight with you.

It’s really a break for him, how you make him feel like he doesn’t need to be guarded, at least with you. He doesn’t need to be that picture perfect reputation he’s built and he could just be.

Although Trey still keeps himself level-headed and what not, he’ll slyly slip in a prank or two and knows you’ll do it back to him behind closed doors.

Trey has never smiled this much in a long while, be this loose in a long while… and it’s solely because of you. <3

Riddle Rosehearts

He thinks you’re the most beautiful being in the world because you make him experience what it’s like to have child-like joy.

For all his life, Riddle’s childhood was… not childhood. Being raised by his strict mother, his days, weeks, his whole life being planned and never allowed what he really wanted to do, Riddle’s life was undoubtedly quite pitiful and dull.

And that being said, him being a dorm leader and all makes him feel that he should live up to a prim and proper role model to his fellow dorm mates, forcing himself to be uptight and obey all the rules and never to play around.

Not to say, he foolishly does so but it’s also not fair for him to deprive himself like this.

And then you came along, and showed him a world where no matter what age you are, you can dream big, with your wildest imagination. He’s really only experienced that when he was a child when he played with Trey and Chenya before his mother found out and made it bitter.

Little by little, he took baby steps with you to slowly explore what was kept away from him: going to festivals with you, trying out food he’s never had before… it’s incredible, really, how much he doesn’t know when he felt like he should’ve much earlier.

It’s pure joy for him, and he has never been this happy before… he’s so glad you came to this world because you were the happiness he was searching for so long. <3

reblogs help! ^^

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alice-everafter · 9 days ago

Text

"Is the room to your liking?"

Riddle's tentative voice rings through the peaceful silence. He's stood like a stranger, unsure and hesitant in his crimson pajamas. Which is ironic given the fact that it’s his own room that the two of you are in. Really, that should be you standing around awkwardly. But instead here you were, sat on his king sized bed in similar pajamas without shame.

"Riddle," you don't have to fake the giddy grin as it stretches across your face painfully wide. "Any room is to my liking considering the shack I currently call home."

He gives you a concerned little smile in response. You couldn’t help it, you were excited to finally be able to sleep on a mattress that wasn’t lumpy. Or creaky. And or slightly moldy. The point being you’re excited to get some good sleep.

Riddle flicks off the lights and starts to settle into bed. You follow his lead, because if there is one thing Riddle Rosehearts can do is be a commanding presence even in satin pjs.

He turns on his side, staring at you from across a reasonable gap given the fact that you were currently sharing a bed. A really big one at that but a bed regardless.

And then continues to stare as a questionable silence occurs.

“Do you always go to bed this early?” You blurt out before you can think any better of it. The awkwardness was just asking to be broken.

“This is early?” Riddle’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I’ve always gone to bed at this hour, even as a child.”

You can just vaguely make out the light of the still setting sun from the window behind you.

“Well, I mean, what time do you normally get up?”

“6 am.”

“Oh,” well. Maybe he’ll let you sleep in, enjoy the luxury of a non-lumpy bed while you still can.

“You seem apprehensive.” Riddle fiddles with the blanket in his hands where it rests right below his chin. You try and shoo the imagery of a small child being tucked in out of your brain.

Thank god his unique magic didn’t have to do with reading minds, otherwise you’d be thrown to the streets with a collar as a parting gift.

Speaking of collars and lack there of, today had marked a month since Riddle’s “big summer blowout” as you have codenamed it as. And what started as a “1 month of sobriety” joke by Ace turned into an actual celebration by Cater. So, naturally, you dragged yourself along and helped yourself to Trey’s mouthwatering pastries. But then one thing led to another and somehow you were roped into playing a Twisted Wonderland version of Monopoly that led to Grim melting all the plastic house pieces in a fit of firey tantrum to then being forced to fix them by Riddle in an impromptu magic lesson/lecture and—

Yeah, so a lot happened. And next thing you know, you’re being surveilled watched by Trey as you meticulously brush your teeth along to his direction… for some reason? Turns out Ace wasn’t spewing complete lies about Trey’s “fetish” for teeth. You wouldn’t call it that, personally. It was more like a… slightly uncomfortable passion.

But anyway, here you are. Sleeping over at Heartslabyul because Riddle had insisted you and Grim stay the night since by the time you had realized, it was past curfew. Though, surprisingly, Riddle insisted that you share his bed. And Grim, still more than a little apprehensive about the Dormhead, scampered off to sleep with the other freshmen. Cramped dorm rooms be damned.

“Prefect?”

You shake yourself from your thoughts, realizing you had left Riddle hanging for your answer.

“No, no. I’m just… difficult to get up in the morning.” You settle on saying, fiddling with the comforter much like Riddle was.

“Oh, well you can’t be worse than Ace. He’d sleep the entire day away if I allowed it.”

You can see that familiar spark of disapproval flare up behind his eyes and you instinctively tense up. Though as quick as it was there, it fizzles out. Reminding you that yes, this was Riddle, but not the same one that nearly decapitated you with a rose bush.

This is the one that you saw break down in tears on the Heartslabyul lawn after treating it like a playground sandbox. The one that nearly did it again—the crying part, not the sandbox bit—as he pulled you aside and apologized for nearly killing you.

You remind yourself that as you decide to take a small leap of faith with your next words.

“I was also sort of hoping to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Oh,” is all he says. Which isn’t terrible, but not exactly good either.

“Since, you know. It’ll be Sunday. And, you know, still the weekend so. Good to get caught up on sleep while you can… you know.”

He’s analyzing what you’ve said, you can tell by the way his eyes get wide and concentrated. Oh, he’s biting his lip now. That means he’s actually considering your thoughts. He’s thinking, he’s about to speak—

“Alright.”

“…Alright?”

“Yes, alright.” He seems to solidify his answer with a nod. “Let’s sleep in.”

Those words settle in your chest like the sweetest relief.

“Brilliant idea, Riddle!” You can feel the excitement as it grows in your chest. So much so you reach over and grasp his hand, shaking it in emphasis. “You won’t regret this, I tell you.”

“You’re acting like I’ve just done something revolutionary.” He titters, cheeks pink from the unexpected contact as you basically start shaking his hand like an eager businessman after a hard won deal.

“How many times have you slept in before?”

He opens his mouth to respond, ponders, and then slowly shuts it.

“See! So it's basically revolutionary. Why do you think we threw you a party?"

"Oh, and that's another thing." He seems to remember something at the mention of the party. "The fact that Ace and Cater kept congratulating me on my '1 month of sobriety' is pure nonsense. I've never had a lick of alcohol my whole life, so why would I be sober if I never got not sober to begin with?"

As he rambled, you could see his confusion slowly shifting towards indignance. His cheeks were beginning to flush, eyebrows knitting together. His fingers were clenching and unclenching in the sheets pulled over his body.

He looks at you now with pursed lips, bordering on pouty, waiting for a reply.

"...Well, it's a, um..." You stop yourself from saying joke. If you wanted Riddle to not possibly get offended, you'd need to overexplain as much as he can overthink. "It's supposed to be ironic. As in like, 'haha get it? Riddle would never get drunk and therefore sobriety makes no sense and therefore is funny!' kind of ironic."

You subconsciously ended up avoiding eye contact throughout your entire explanation. And also leaving out the comparison of his... "moments" with alcoholism, since you didn't think that would go over very well. So when you finish and decide to just bite the bullet and look, his expression is one of... disappointment?

"Oh," he says, simply and softly. "I see, I guess that... makes sense."

...Maybe you should explain the comparison. "If you need me to elaborate, I can."

"No," he quickly responds with a shake of the head. "That won't be necessary. Your explanation was more than enough."

His eyes are trained on a loose piece of thread near the edge of his pillow yet it's like he's staring straight through it.

"Is there... something else then that's on your mind?"

"I guess I am just... realizing a few things about myself. Especially in regards to these past few months. All those times when I overheard a student comment that I 'couldn't take a joke' were, in essence, correct."

"What?" Talk about a topic shift. "Wait, hold on a second, where did this come from?"

"From just now, actually." He begins picking at the thread he's been zoning out on. "I mean, you saw me. I almost talked myself into a tizzy over, what? A harmless phrase that had no intention of demeaning my character? That ended up turning into a party meant to congratulate me?"

"Well, I mean, there is an underlying comparison between your 'tizzy' moments and alcoholism so—"

"Ace was right."

You blink, momentarily wondering if the person laying across from you is actually Riddle or not.

"How?" You don't bother with hiding your incredulousness, too confused to sugarcoat.

"When he said that everyone around me only panders to my behavior." He huffs, a small humorless laugh filled with self deprecation. "I, all that time, was just silencing thoughts and behavior that I viewed as wrong even though it would've been right. It's no wonder some of the freshman are still hesitant with me. Why it feels like everyone is walking around eggshells when they talk to me."

"Even you, Prefect." He looks... small, truly like a child. Curled into himself like he wishes to disappear from sight. Blinking rapidly like he's trying not to cry. "Even you do it. You let me do what I want, you're never 100% honest with me, and you justify my responses. Like just now."

You open your mouth to rebuttal, but he shakes his head, smiling sadly.

"Don't bother, I can give you examples. Asking me if we could sleep in, expecting me to disagree. Only half explaining the meaning to me since it'd be directly referencing my anger. Which you have yet to actually name for what it is, not once."

You... hadn't even realized you were doing that. It was all just, natural. Instinctive.

"I can... I'm not the most perceptive but, I can tell when you tense up, Prefect."

He meets your gaze, and that's when you process the tension in your shoulders. You had been tensing them, for who knows how long.

"I don't blame you," he speaks before you can begin to try and say anything in response. "Not after everything I did, not after I overblotted and nearly got us all killed."

He looks defeated as he turns over to lie on his back, staring up at the canopy of his bed.

"Ace and all of them were right, I'm just a baby tyrant."

The two of you lapse into silence, you with nothing to say and him having said it all. You don't know how long you stare at his profile for, just scraping the recesses of your brain for the words to say. But eventually, you decide "fuck it" and just let him have it. Like he deserves.

"So you're a bit of a control freak." His head snaps to you but you force yourself to ignore it, barreling onwards. "Scratch that, you ARE a control freak. Can you blame yourself? What with that shitty mom you have, I'd be surprised if you didn't turn out some form of fucked up."

"My mother is—"

"Nope," you abruptly hold a finger up right to his face. "None of that, I'm talking. You want the truth so I'm giving you the truth. Your mom sucks, severely. She basically made you into the baby tyrant that you are. And we, as friends and as your dormmates, have perpetuated that attitude. Thereby continuing the cycle of tyranny until when someone eventually called you out on it, you exploded."

All that momentary fight dies out the more you went on. Every new statement was like a lash across his face. Now he refuses to look at you, too disappointed to meet your gaze. Eyes glossy with unshed tears.

You cross the invisible wall between you two and reach out, grabbing his hand once again in yours.

"But that doesn't mean you can't change." You squeeze his hand, whether to reassure yourself or him is beyond even you. "The fact that you're acknowledging your behavior is proof enough that you're on your way to fixing it. But even then, healing isn't linear. If you take a few steps back, just get back on it again. It's going to be a while but there's nothing you can do about that except let it happen and be patient. Don't let every reminder of your faults be a dissuasion, let it be a motivator to keep going."

You take a moment to breathe, but also to gauge his reaction. Wide eyed and staring at you in wonderment, Riddle lays unmoving. Nothing but the dim impression of street lights outside to illuminate his form in the darkness of his bedroom. Looking at you and only you.

"I'll do better," you tell him, resolute. "I'll hold you accountable. I'll remind myself more to say what I mean, or even call you out on your shit if I need to. And if not me then someone else will, especially Ace. Consequences be damned with him."

He's lying once more on his side, mirroring you like before. His fingers have since found their place around your hand, holding it in kind. His grip tightens with the lull in your speech. You don't know whether it was intentionally or not but it's enough to encourage you to let that last little thought out.

"And for what it's worth, I think you're doing as good a job as any, Riddle."

Silence settles in, him with nothing to say and you having said it all. Well, almost having said it all.

"So," you pipe up before those tears you can see in his eyes decide to fall. "I think this call for a concluding hug, what do you say?"

So, so many emotions fly across his face as you hold open your arms as best you can while lying on a bed. Eventually, what he settles on doing is laughing. Watery and in disbelief, Riddle laughs and leans forwards into your arms.

"Honestly," he chides without an ounce of real intent as he presses his face into your shoulder. "That's how you decide to end your thoughts?"

"I don't see you doing any better, Mr. 'I'm just a baby tyrant.'"

A month ago, that response would've gotten you a one way ticket to collar town. But tonight, he only laughs and holds you tighter.

"Touché, Prefect." He leans back enough that you're able to watch as a smile spreads across his face, unabashed and bright like the sun.

It's one of the firsts of its kind that you've ever seen on his face. You hope you can keep producing more just like it.

#merry f-ing christmas #here's some food #yes i know it's been a while college tried to eat me alive #never take 20 credit hours in one semester #but anyways i'm back and with riddle this time #this was meant to be more lighthearted and less actual coping advice but idk what happened my finger slipped or smth #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #alice writes twst

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lymtw · 4 days ago

Text

Birthday Shenanigans

What business do you have outside of bed—outside of Toji's arms—so early in the morning, on your day off? It never feels right to wake up without you by his side, but today, it feels worse to wake up alone. He's been sleeping on his side of the bed for hours, staying warm, yet, at the discovery of you missing beside him, he almost gets whiplash with how quickly it feels like he's been tossed onto a bed made of snow. He's freezing, and you're to blame. There's a heaviness in his chest that only worsens as he drags his hand back and forth over your side of the bed. None of your warmth remains, meaning you've been gone for a bit. You couldn't have woken him up? Today is supposed to be about him, yet, all he wants to do is spend the whole day with you.

Once Toji fully wakes up, he sits up and prepares to go to the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast. A sticky note that is stuck to your pillow grabs his attention. He peels it off your pillow and takes in the simplistic drawing consisting of two stick figures resembling you and Toji, lying in bed, kissing. This already brings a little smile to his face, but when he reads the caption written in your handwriting-- (Since we didn't get to share our morning kiss, please enjoy this renaissance painting I made of what I think that would've looked like <3) --he lets out a small chuckle and folds the sticky note, before putting it away in the first drawer of his nightstand. He puts on a shirt and some sweatpants and leaves the room, not even bothering to make the bed.

As he's walking past the front door, it aggressively swings open and scares the hell out of him. You're there with your hands and arms riddled with bags. Grocery bags filled to the brim, a few bags from some clothing stores, and one smaller bag from a fragrance store. You have a small box in your hands with the logo of the bakery that is a few streets away from the house.

"Oh, hi, baby! Happy birthday," you say, standing on your tippy toes, which Toji understands as the signal for him to lean down a little. You place a quick peck on Toji's scar, and before he can get a word in, you run off to the kitchen, not even closing the door behind you. Toji shakes his head with a grin and shuts the door, before going after you. He silently watches you scramble to put the bags down in an organized manner. You set the small box from the bakery and the groceries down on the kitchen counter, while the other bags are temporarily set down on the ground.

"Hmm... Oh!" You grab the small box and the pack of small striped candles and take it with you to the counter by the sink. You carelessly rip open the pack of candles and open the box, smiling when you see the single, chocolate flavored cupcake, decorated with a blue flower made of frosting. All is going well, until you can't find the lighter that is usually in the drawer you store the dishrags in. You lift all of the small stacks of towels and can't find it anywhere.

"Where could it be?" You mumble to yourself.

"What's up, ma?" Toji asks, curiosity getting the better of him when he sees you continue to rifle around the drawer, clearly in search of something.

You sigh, defeatedly, and shut the drawer. "Turn around, please."

Toji does as you say and turns around, not wanting to stress you out. He has a feeling this is something for him, too, so he wouldn't want to ruin whatever it is you have planned.

You put the cupcake on a plate and grab one of the blue and white striped candles, taking it with you to the counter by the stove. You turn on the stove and put the candle wick to the flame, watching it quickly light up, before turning the stove off, again. You put the candle on the cupcake and slowly make your way over to Toji, who is leaning on the opposite side of the counter, facing away from you like you asked him to.

"Baby," you call, smiling when his attention goes to you before it goes to the flame you are indirectly holding. He smiles softly at the small pastry you present to him. "The lady at the bakery tried to sell me a cupcake with a red rose and I told her, 'no, he likes blue'. Then she still tried to sell me one with a sunflower on it and I said, 'no, it has to be blue'. So, look, I got you a cupcake with a blue flower, baby. Their specialty is definitely flowers, because I promise you, that green cupcake did not look like a Stegosaurus." Toji chuckles at the rambled, silly recap of your experience at the bakery. "Now, make a wish, before the wax melts and gets all over it," you say, holding up the plate for him.

Toji's gaze remains set on you as he mentally makes his wish. He looks at you for a long time, long enough for the blue and white wax to start dripping down onto the cupcake. A few of those seconds were spent just thinking, because what is there to wish for when he has everything he needs? A home, a job that pays the bills and puts food on the table, something to get around in, and best of all, an unlimited source of love and support.

Then, he knows it.

He considers who you are to him. You lit up his life, again, and he can't wait to spend all the years to come, with you. Because of his big, beefy, tough guy appearance, he knows it would give you a good laugh if he ever told you that being around you makes fluttering little butterflies flood his stomach. He'll say it out loud to you someday, just to hear you laugh. Frankly, you deserve it, because before you, he could count on his hands the amount of times he had laughed so hard and for so long that his stomach felt sore. Being around you has turned it into almost a daily occurrence, and all he can wish for is years, decades, and the appearance of grey hairs and wrinkles with you.

You laugh. You laugh at how he ignored your warning about the candle wax, you laugh at the utterly soft look on his face. You feel giddy as you watch those green eyes of his, tracing your face and taking in every feature on it. Like anybody who can't read minds, you wonder what he wished for, even when you know it's something that is never meant to be said out loud.

Before you can even process it, the candle is blown out and the plate is being taken out of your hands and placed on the counter. Toji wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close enough to rest his forehead against yours. He knocks his nose against yours a couple times, a gesture that lures an unfaltering grin onto his face at the sound of your giggles.

"You're the best, doll. You didn't have to--"

You shut him up, instantly, with a kiss. It's soft and warm and delicate. It's everything that he loves about you, wrapped up in the sweetest touch.

"Yes, I did. Don't even, my love," you assure, smiling as you rub his chest. "I'm so lucky to get to celebrate you, baby. I love you, and i'm happy you're here. Those two reasons are enough on their own for me to willingly wake up at five in the morning and run around store to store like a headless chicken, so I could get home before you woke up. Clearly, you had different plans," you say, reciprocating his smile. Your hand raises to cup his cheek and your thumb strokes his soft skin, tenderly. "All of this is from me to you. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

It didn't take much convincing. Toji was on board the moment you killed his denial of these extra things being necessary to celebrate another day of living, another year of getting older. Your trying little kisses don't hurt, though. If this is your way of begging to show him extra love—by showing him extra love—then who is he to reject your affection?

"Please, pretty please, please, pleaseeeee, please-"

"Shh, baby." His index finger goes over your lips. He smiles at how obedient you are—birthday treatment. Normally, whenever he does that, you try to bite his finger in a playful manner. "I woke up alone in bed this morning. That kinda sucked."

"I'm sorry," you say, against his finger.

"I liked your renaissance painting," he says, a smirk forming on his lips when he feels a breath of a laugh from you on his skin. "Couldn't help but feel a little jealous that a few scribbles got more lip locking action, first thing in the morning, than I did." He sighs, almost like he's wounded by the remembrance of reaching for you and being met with an empty space. "How ever will you make it up to me?" His finger slides down your lips, causing the bottom one to bounce back after he pulled it down.

"I'll give you all the kisses and a bonus kiss." You nod, proudly, at your offer.

"Mhm, that's pretty good so far. What else?"

"What else do you want? I'm up for anything today."

You don't miss the movement of his hands on your waist, subtly maneuvering so that his fingers lift your shirt the slightest bit, allowing him to graze your bare skin. The glimmer of mischief that almost immediately appears in his eyes and the unfaltering smirk on his face, make it so that it's not necessary for him to word what he will eventually want to do with you. Your face goes warm at the thought, but you just laugh it off.

"Do you know what time it is, right now?" Toji asks, more to chide you for being out of bed so early, than for the purpose of knowing the time.

"Almost eight, no?" You take your phone out of your pocket and check. "Seven thirty," you confirm, showing him your screen.

"It's seven thirty in the morning, ma. What are we doing awake at seven thirty in the morning, on our day off?"

"I was on a mission, I don't know about you."

He scoffs. "Oh, kill that. You do know about me."

Simple. Toji doesn't like sleeping without you. He likes knowing you're getting your rest next to him and he loves the ongoing, intimate, physical contact. Even if he's not full on spooning you, he's always touching you. Whether it's his face buried in your chest, his legs tangled with yours, his elbow digging into your back or even his head pressed into your shoulder, he's always touching you.

"Let's go back to bed," he says, placing a peck on your forehead, before resting his chin on top of your head. "Just for a little longer."

"You don't want breakfast?"

He shakes his head, in response. "I want you to sleep with me."

"I can make something quick," you insist.

"Do I have to throw you over my shoulder and drag you away?"

"No, sir," you say, with mock seriousness. "I'm going." You wiggle out of his hold and barely manage to take two steps, before you feel his hand swat at your ass. You gasp, dramatically, and turn around to look at him, your widened eyes being the most prominent feature of your surprised expression.

Toji snickers, unable to stay serious when you look at him like he did something life altering to you. "Run. If I catch you, we're staying in bed all day."

Nothing else needed to be said for you to start sprinting towards the room. You've been awake since five in the morning to ensure that these celebratory plans are followed through with, properly. You can't stay in bed all day, so it's a good thing Toji didn't chase you to the room.

Once Toji slides into bed and finds your body under the covers, he completely encompasses you in his hold. His front is flush against your back, his arm strewn across your waist, and his face is pressed to the nape of your neck. He's made himself comfortable, having gone as far as to slightly overlap your leg with his. It doesn't take very long for Toji to fall asleep this way. You're his own personal cuddle bug and the reason he sleeps like a hibernating bear every night, down to the brief snoring he makes you endure before he wakes himself up with the loudness.

You wake up a few hours later, pulling Toji out of sleep as well, because of all your movement. You smile when he grunts and buries his face in your chest, in an attempt to go back to sleep.

"Was that not enough time?" You ask, running your fingers through his hair.

"Mm-mm," he hums, quietly. He's starting to move around more, mostly pawing at you to keep you close, so you don't leave him.

"We have to get up soon. We slept through the rest of the morning," you say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The tenderness of the gesture just makes him want to stay in bed with you for longer.

"Mm," he hums, once again, the sound coming off as dismissive.

"Sounds like you don't want your morning-turned-afternoon kisses, before we get up. You would rather stay asleep, huh?"

Now, that grabs his attention.

He moves away from your chest and just stares at you with his sleep ridden eyes and a pout that you know he would deny is a pout if you mentioned it.

"Oh, you're awake. I knew it," you say, with a teasing grin. You know he's ready when his eyes keep flitting between your eyes and your lips, silently signaling to you what he wants. "Alright, alright. Don't yell at me," you jest. You lean in and press a quick peck on his lips, then another, and another, until it's quick bursts of kisses that make him want to laugh. "Come on. Keep up. You know I try my hardest when you do this to me."

As if he's insulted by your taunting, he rolls on top of you and traps you beneath him, returning all your kisses while you're distracted, laughing at the sudden crushing weight of his body on yours.

"Keep up," Toji throws at you, this time, in his slightly raspy voice. "Come on, kiss me back. Keep up," he repeats, not even giving you a chance to respond before he's back to smothering you, again. He laughs when you end up surrendering, welcoming defeat by just lying there in a giggle fit. "It's like... a million to nothing, ma."

A few more giggles flow past your lips, your smile lingering once you somewhat collect yourself. "Best million to nothing ever. I'll get you, tomorrow." You don't promise or swear it, because just by looking at his face, now, you think you just might lose, again. You have a very strong feeling about it.

Toji simply gives you a low "mhm" and smirks, confidently, because he knows that you will be in this position, again, tomorrow morning.

"Well... now that you're awake, we can finally leave the bed." Toji's reaction to that is the most dramatic groan ever, but when you tell him that he can stay in bed while you "do stuff" in the kitchen, he refuses and follows you. It's great, but he almost makes you burn the food a couple times.

"Toji- Baby." You laugh, when he clings to your back and buries his face in your neck. "Go sit down and eat your cupcake."

"Mm-mm. Saving room for you," he mumbles.

"You're so..." You can't even finish the sentence, the shaking of your head and the curl of your lips doing wonders to reveal your flustered state.

"Romantic?" He asks, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, as if to give you more proof. He smirks against your skin when you freeze, like you're lost in thought. "Keep stirring, mama," he says, grinning when you snap out of your very brief daze and stir quickly to make up for your lack of focus.

"You're gonna make me burn your food," you chide. You reach behind you with your free hand and try to push him back, but he doesn't budge.

"Nah, nah. I'm looking out for you," he corrects.

You turn off the stove and turn to him. "Listen. You're a very handsome distraction, but you're going to make me burn the entire kitchen down if you keep doing what you're doing."

"Which is?" He questions, standing right in front of you. He loves how easy it is for him to have you cheesing.

"Being romantic. You know what you're doing! Stop being cute," you say, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from giggling and egging him on.

"Just say you need my help, pretty," he says, his voice and the placement of his hands on your hips, indicating that there's a double meaning to the sentence. For now, you choose to ignore the one that doesn't involve cooking.

"Okay, then. Help me wash, peel, and cut the potatoes, please."

It's hard not to laugh at his reaction—the quiet 'tsk' sound and the subtle twitch of his lips. He looks like he was expecting you to stop cooking, to take a brief intermission with him. The disillusioned look on his face is quickly traded for an expression that says 'i'll get you'. It's a smirk and something feral hidden in those dark eyes.

"Sure thing," he replies, squeezing your hips a couple times between his enormous hands.

You would think having help in the kitchen would expedite the process of getting things done, but it was the opposite when it came to Toji helping you out. If he's not distracting you, he's distracted by you.

Instead of finishing the task you gave him, he turns around and watches you cut vegetables like it's one of the most interesting things he's ever seen.

"Damn, ma. Look at you go," he says, watching the smooth, back and forth motion of the knife you are using and listening to the consistent, rhythmic sound of the blade on the cutting board. He's mesmerized—you make it look like art.

You put the knife down, unable to contain your laugh when he keeps watching you. "Almost done, Toji?" You ask, turning to look at him.

"Yeah, yeah," he responds, before turning around, again.

Somehow, after all the pauses and distractions, and the swatting at Toji's hands when he would pick at the food, claiming multiple times that he was doing a taste test, the food was finally finished.

"The house smells fucking amazing, doll. We did that," Toji says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you as you finish washing the cutting board.

"We did," you agree, grinning at how proud he is of the results of your conjoined efforts. "How does it taste?" You ask, washing the dish soap off the cutting board.

"Perfect," he murmurs, in your ear. "Not as good as-"

"Don't say it. Don't say it." You turn off the water and turn to look at the menacing smirk on his face.

"-you," he finishes, without hesitation, and almost instantly, you smack his chest, earning a chuckle from him. "What? You don't wanna be my dessert?"

"Oh my god, Toji," you groan, walking away from him to grab some plates.

The cupcake you got him did not go to waste. You both had one of those 'I need something sweet' moments, once you finished eating. After a couple more eye rolls from you towards his suggestive remarks, Toji being the kind soul he is, shared the dessert. He took one enormous bite of it—bits of candle wax and all—and then gave you the rest. It definitely hit the spot, and watching Toji get frustrated every time he asked if his lips and teeth were still blue, has become one of the many core memories you have with him.

"Gifts?" You ask, drying your hands after washing your plate and putting it away.

Toji sighs. "What did you do, ma?"

You smile at him, mischievously, and beckon him to come with you. You pick up all the bags you left on the floor and lead him to the couch, where you set them down. The second he sees how many bags there are, he shakes his head, and you know what he's thinking—'you didn't have to'. It's written all over his face, so in an attempt to steer away those thoughts, you rub his chest, like you did before, and smile.

"Open them."

For someone who was iffy about receiving gifts, he sure went through the opening process quickly. After pulling out the paper tissue you awkwardly fluffed and placed in each bag to hide what was in it, he scanned what was at the bottom of each bag before pulling the items out as well. Shirts, pants, gym shorts and sweatpants, a new coffee mug—he inspects all of the items, closely, with a soft smile on his face.

"Everything else is in black, why the navy blue jacket?"

"You look hot in navy blue."

Case closed.

"Oh shit. What is this, doll?" Toji asks, picking up the smaller, gift bag with the crispy, bold font on it. This gift in particular caught his eye, because it's something he knows for sure both of you like. You watch with a beaming smile as he pulls out the blue box, a low chuckle leaving him when he reads the name of the elegant cologne. "Remember that time you said just sniffing this would get you pregnant?" He asks, as he rips the plastic covering off the box and opens it, bringing out the even more elegant looking bottle.

"Yeah, you have to stay away from me if you're gonna wear that. From here to the kitchen, that's the distance you have to-"

The fragrance lands like mist on your face. It immediately overpowers the smell of the food you and Toji made, and fills your nostrils with the manliest, sexiest, most perilous scent you have ever smelled. It has your heart racing. It's Toji. You smell it and all your thoughts lock in on him. Toji, Toji, Toji, like a siren blaring in your head.

"How you doing, mama?" Toji asks, grinning fiendishly at your stunned reaction. "Smells real nice, huh?"

You stop buffering and take in the teasing smirk on his face. This would be the second time, today, that you look at him like he did something life changing to you.

"We should go to the beach," you suggest. You're calm and collected on the outside, frenzied and bouncing off the walls on the inside. A trip to the beach sounds good.

"That's random. Why do you wanna go to the beach?" He asks, putting the cologne back in its box.

"Let's catch a sunset and get you out of the house for a while," you elaborate. "Do you really want to spend the whole day in here?"

"I do wanna spend the whole day here," Toji responds, stepping towards you. "Just me and you, relaxing in bed together. Doesn't that sound way better than the beach?" He asks.

You can't even pretend like he's wrong when he looks at you like that. Like going outside after getting so comfortable and reveling in the warm atmosphere created in your home, would be worse than when he woke up alone in the morning.

"Let's stay here and keep each other warm," he says, pulling you into him. His arms act like vines around your waist, tightening to keep you close.

"Sure," you respond, a soft smile on your face as you look into his eyes. "We can stay inside."

When Toji leaned in to peck your lips, he really considered turning it into another competition to see who could get more kisses in. He was going for another win, aiming to overpower you with speed and quantity, to end it the way he always does—smothering your entire face with kisses, while you laugh through your sweet defeat—but when he felt your fingers drag over his back, right before you balled up his shirt in your hands, he decided to mind your gentleness and reciprocate it. He even smiled into a few of the kisses, to settle down the urge he felt to laugh, because he could smell his cologne on your face.

Toji took your hand and dragged you with him to the bedroom, once he broke the kiss. There, you spent your time cuddling, kissing, talking, and making love, each act done separately, but just as easily melted together into one act. You even got to see your sunset through the bedroom window, with your cheek and your hands pressed to the glass that kept fogging up.

By the end of the day, you were both spent, but still remained inseparable—not even a shower called for being apart. When it was time to go to sleep, you kept your face buried in Toji's neck. You pressed so many gentle kisses to his skin, while mumbling quiet, sleepy 'I love you's, that he hummed in response to, when he was't tiredly saying it back.

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solxamber · 1 month ago

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haii can i req octotrio, malleus, and leona (all seperate!) with a reader like kokomi from genshin thats also a jellyfish? romantic or not it doesn’t matter to me ^_^ also feel free to add more characters the more the merrier :3

Leona, Octatrio, Malleus, Riddle, Vil, Rook, Rollo x Kokomi!Jellyfish!Reader

a/n; i felt pretty inspired so i added quite a few <3

Leona Kingscholar

Leona pretends he’s indifferent, but your serene and calculated demeanor throws him off.

The first time he sees your glowing form under the moonlight, he blinks twice, convinced he’s hallucinating. “Tch, what’s with the light show? Trying to blind me or something?” But secretly, he’s mesmerized.

Your habit of calmly handling disputes in the dorm (often between Ruggie and others) frustrates him. “You can’t just talk people into behaving,” he grumbles, only to watch you succeed every time.

Leona’s competitive side comes out when he learns about your strategic mind. Chess games with you become a weekly ritual, and losing to you annoys him more than he’ll admit.

Despite his gruffness, he’s deeply protective of you, especially when someone comments on your jellyfish-like features. “Say that again, and I’ll show you why you don’t mess with jellyfish.”

Sometimes, he watches you float gracefully in water, pretending he’s there for a nap. “Stop staring at me, Leona.” “Who’s staring? I’m just resting my eyes.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul is immediately intrigued by your jellyfish traits and calm demeanor—after all, you’re a marine creature, and that’s his territory.

Your bioluminescence is something he secretly envies, though he’ll never admit it. “A marvelous ability,” he says while scribbling notes for future contracts.

Your strategic thinking makes you one of the few people who can keep up with him in negotiations. He offers you a job at the Lounge almost immediately, “to better utilize your talents.”

Whenever Floyd or Jade annoys him, Azul uses you as a buffer. “Perhaps you could… calm them down?” And, to his astonishment, it works. Even Floyd listens to you.

He’s absolutely fascinated by your glowing hair and jellyfish-like appendages. “Do they serve a specific function, or are they purely aesthetic?” he asks while trying not to sound overly eager.

Azul secretly finds your tranquil nature soothing. After a long day of scheming, he’ll seek your company under the guise of “strategic discussions,” but really, he just wants to hear your voice.

Jade Leech

Jade is utterly fascinated by you from the moment he meets you. Your resemblance to a jellyfish sparks his curiosity.

He constantly asks you questions about your biology, glowing abilities, and lifestyle. “Do you use your bioluminescence to lure prey, or is it purely decorative?”

Jade enjoys teasing you, especially when you’re peacefully floating in water. “You look so serene. It’s almost a shame to disturb you.” Then he splashes you.

He respects your calm and collected demeanor, but he’s determined to find out what flusters you. Watching your serene mask slip is his new favorite pastime.

If someone dares insult you, Jade’s smile grows even sharper. “I wouldn’t recommend making an enemy of a jellyfish, you know. They’re far more dangerous than they appear.”

He enjoys your company during his hikes, fascinated by how your glowing presence adds an ethereal beauty to the forest.

Floyd Leech

Floyd is absolutely obsessed with you. You’re a jellyfish, and jellyfish are cool—end of story.

He immediately nicknames you “Jelly,” much to your mild exasperation. “C’mon, Jelly! Let’s go do something fun!”

Floyd loves poking at your glowing features. “What happens if I touch this? Will it zap me?” (You have to swat his hand away repeatedly.)

Your calm nature intrigues him. “How do you stay so chill all the time? Don’t you ever wanna, like, flip out?” He sees it as a personal challenge to get you riled up.

He’s oddly protective of you. If anyone messes with you, Floyd’s mood sours instantly, and you have to calm him down before he does something drastic.

Floyd loves dragging you into the water to “swim like real jellyfish.” His playful nature contrasts hilariously with your serene floating.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus finds you absolutely enchanting. Your ethereal glow and calm presence remind him of a fairytale.

The first time he sees you glowing in the dark, he’s convinced you’re some sort of spirit. “Are you a creature of the night, summoned by the stars?” You laugh, which only confuses him more.

He adores your serene demeanor and often seeks your company when he’s feeling lonely. “You have a calming presence. It is… soothing.”

Your strategic mind impresses him. He occasionally consults you on matters of state, and your insight leaves him in awe.

Malleus is enchanted by your glowing features and bioluminescence. He often compares you to the stars and moon. “You shine as brightly as the night sky,” he says, his voice soft.

He’s protective of you, especially when others don’t understand your unique traits. “Anyone who dares mock your beauty will answer to me,” he declares, his aura dark and foreboding.

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is equal parts fascinated and exasperated by your serene and dreamy nature.

He struggles to reconcile your gentle demeanor with the strict order he upholds. “You can’t just let them get away with breaking rules.” But you always seem to handle things so effortlessly, he can’t help but feel a little envious.

The first time he sees your bioluminescence, he’s stunned. “W-What are you glowing for? Is that some sort of trick?” He secretly thinks it’s mesmerizing.

Your calmness has a soothing effect on him during his temperamental moments. When you gently suggest he take a deep breath, he can’t find it in himself to argue.

Your strategic mind earns his respect, especially when you help him resolve dorm conflicts with minimal drama. He finds himself seeking your counsel more often than he’d like to admit.

He tries to deny how much your presence comforts him, but when you glow softly under the moonlight, he’s reminded of the beauty of following one’s heart.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil finds you utterly captivating, both for your glowing beauty and your ability to remain so composed under pressure.

He immediately notices your bioluminescence and praises it as “natural elegance.” He may even use it as inspiration for his next photoshoot.

Vil admires your calm demeanor but insists on refining your presentation. “Grace comes naturally to you, but you must carry it with intention.”

Your ability to remain poised even under stress makes him jealous sometimes. He spends hours perfecting himself while you seem effortlessly radiant.

The two of you often engage in long conversations about leadership and balance. He’s impressed by your thoughtful insight, though he won’t always admit it.

He pretends not to care when others praise your ethereal glow, but he can’t help but feel proud, especially when you stand by his side at events.

Rook Hunt

Rook is absolutely enchanted by your jellyfish-inspired traits and ethereal aura.

The first time he sees your bioluminescence, he dramatically declares, “Magnifique! You are a creature of the heavens, a glowing gem beneath the sea!”

Rook constantly watches you, fascinated by the way you move and speak. He calls it research, but it’s really just admiration.

Your calmness intrigues him. He frequently tests your patience with his flamboyant antics, but you never falter, much to his delight.

He adores how your strategic mind contrasts with your soft demeanor. “You are as cunning as you are serene, ma chérie méduse.”

Rook writes poems inspired by your bioluminescent glow, claiming that no words could ever truly capture your beauty.

Rollo Flamme

Rollo is conflicted about you. Your calm, composed nature intrigues him, but your glowing features remind him of magic—something he loathes.

The first time he sees you glowing, he’s visibly unsettled. “Is this some kind of magic trick? I don’t trust it.” Yet, he can’t look away.

Your tranquil demeanor softens his usual disdain. He begrudgingly admits that you’re… tolerable, though his fascination with you grows daily.

Rollo’s jealousy flares whenever others praise your ethereal beauty. “They’re only bewitched by appearances,” he mutters, trying to convince himself he’s not affected.

Your intelligence earns his respect, though he won’t openly say it. He finds himself relying on your calm judgment more than he’d like.

Despite his feelings about magic, he catches himself enjoying the way your glow lights up dark spaces. It’s almost… comforting.

Masterlist

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ageofstarkey · 1 year ago

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lucky i love you ✰ m. riddle

summary: you and matthéo had an argument the night before, and he still hasn’t apologized.

pairing: bf!matthéo riddle x reader

warnings: hmmm maybe slightly toxic matthéo?? lowkey?? idk y’all can decide for yourselves!! slight angst, nothing else really??

note: okay i don’t love the ending but i still think it’s cute so i’m posting anyway!!! i’m such a sucker for slightly toxic matthéo who’s soft for u and u only :’)

masterlist

reblogs & comments are so appreciated! <3

✰ ✰ ✰

“is there a reason you’re not talking to me?”

you startle softly at the sound of matthéo’s voice. you’d been intently ignoring him since he found you in the library, still quietly hurt about what he’d said the night before.

every inch of you longs to give in - you were never very good at staying mad at him - but you stubbornly refuse to move a muscle, lips turned downwards in a barely-there pout. you flick your eyes upwards, but only for a moment, offering him a shrug.

matthéo sighs in this defeated way that tugs at your heart. “i can’t make things better if you don’t tell me what i’ve done wrong, sweetheart.”

it’s your turn to sigh. when you look back up, you let your gaze linger - far past the point of caring if matthéo sees the stubborn little tears that pool in your waterline. “you should know what you did wrong, théo. i shouldn’t have to tell you.”

he’s silent for a few moments, before a look of understanding settles on his handsome features. “are you still upset about last night?”

another shrug. you can’t bring yourself to respond. you want him, no - you need him to piece it together for himself.

suddenly, matthéo’s chair scrapes loudly against the floor. he’s behind you in a few quick steps, and then you’re gasping sharply as he drags your chair away from the table. “matthéo! what are you-” he spins the chair suddenly towards himself, before crouching on the ground at your feet.

“darling - i’m sorry.” his hands find your thighs, fingers gripping firmly at the soft flesh as he looks up at you. “i’m sorry for being an arse, and i’m sorry for not apologizing sooner.” his thumbs trace absentminded circles into your skin as he speaks. “you haven’t done anything wrong - merlin, i don’t think you could ever do anything wrong - and i’m sorry for treating you the way i did.”

you open your mouth once, twice - trying to respond - but you can’t seem to find the right words. a lone little tear rolls slowly down your cheek, and matthéo’s quick to swipe it away with his thumb. with a sad little smile, and a softness in his eyes that seems to be reserved for you alone, he continues. “i know i’m not good at… at this - at being a boyfriend - but i am trying. and i promise that i’ll get it right it eventually.”

you’re silent for a few moments, but your lips tug upwards in a fond little grin you can’t seem to suppress. with a shake of your head, you place your hands on either side of matthéo’s face, leaning down to kiss him softly. “you are so lucky i love you, riddle.” your words are murmured softly against his lips, but you feel his smile and know he hears you.

“i know”

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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The Vow 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father's murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

"This is how we stay safe," your mother tugs the laces so your lurch.

Your eyes widen at your reflection. The gown is tight yet too big. The bodice pinches as your mother yanks and yanks. The skirt is full and fluffy. Layers and layers of tulle.

You can't breathe but you don't think its the boning. You touch the front of the gown, feeling the delicate embroidery, and shudder as you exhale. Strange how days before you wore black and cried, now you're in white in what many deem the happiest day if your life.

"Hasn't he taken enough--"

"Shh!" She whips her finger up. "He can always take more. Your father didn't think so but he can, god rest. There's always something to lose."

"Mom," you croak. You've never seen her afraid. She's always been pompous, always unfazed, but now her eyes are like sparklers, flickering and frantic. "I'm scared."

"Be scared but be obedient. And smile," she moves around you and frames your face, "smile. Please. He can always change his mind. Don't let him. If he does, we are lost."

"How do you know? Daddy's gone. We can leave--"

"The vultures are waiting," she snarls. "Don't you understand? It's only the wolf that keeps them at bay."

"Why... why would he want me? If daddy--"

"Hush, I won't tell you again. Do not speak of your father. Especially in front of him." She dabs your lip with her thumb as she fixes your make up, "from this day forth, he is the only man in your life. Understand?"

You pout. That night comes back. The echoing bang the woke you, your mother's scream, and the barrels that pointed through your doorway. Quick, clean, horrifying. As if your father never was.

"Yes."

"You better. You know this man is cruel. Do you want to test him?"

You shake your head and she lets you go. You back away and heave. You won't mess up the hours of work put into your hair and face. If you look in the mirror again, you will.

You stare at your skirts as your mother pins the veil on your head. She pulls on it, arranging it around you. It drapes almost to your feet.

A knock at the door. She goes to it. Whispers. The door stays open. Your mother calls your name. Your soles stick before you can make yourself move.

As you get to her, your mother takes you by your wrist. You feel her warmth through the lacy gloves. She guides you behind a party of women. Some you recognise, some you don't. Their makeup is thickly caked on and their hair teased.

"Look up," your mother snaps under her breath and lets you go. "You will not shame your family by hiding."

You raise your head. Your head is light and bobbly. You march down the hallway behind the train of solemn women.

You’ve never met the man who killed your father. The very same you are about to face. The one you are to marry. It’s the sort of irony that hurts.

You’re stopped as the other women keep going. They leave you, one by one, until it is only your mother. She gives your hand a final squeeze and goes. You wait alone, uncertain.

The music changes and you flinch. You know you have to go but you don’t want to. You don’t want to die either. And you don’t want to lose your mom. She’s all you have left.

You can picture the house. Ransacked, bullet-riddled, crowded with strange men. You push away the memories and step forward. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. That’s what this life will be. Do what has to be done, not what you want.

You enter the large hall. Peaked ceilings, music echoing off the walls, full pews, and a man waiting. You look ahead to the figure at the altar. Two, but the shorter one fades into the background. The priest is a blue as your eyes fixate on the man in the white suit.

As you get closer, his features come into focus. Dark curls, a shadow of a beard and a thick line of hair over his lip. The cleft in his chin adds to the chisel of his jaw and he’s tall. Very tall and broad. His blue eyes meet yours.

You trip as you try to step up beside him. He’s quick to catch you. His grip is iron on your arm. He helps you up and stands you across from his. Your eyes cling to him. You can’t look away. You’re terrified. He can’t look away from you either.

You stand facing each other; you trapped him shock, him in triumph. This day is the first day of the rest of your life. The end of the empire and the birth of another. A vow to seal your fate and those of all watching.

#august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #dark august walker #mission impossible: fallout #mob au #drabble #series

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osarina · 10 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 WANNA GET HIM BACK!

FEATURING: nakahara chuuya

SUMMARY: after an argument with your boyfriend and two weeks of no contact, you finally decide to make your first move by stirring up trouble at one of his bars. it can't possibly be that bad of an idea, right? you just want him back, and maybe get a little revenge while you're at it.

(wordcount: 3.6k; ņsfw; fem!reader; m!receiving oral; chuuya gets a bit violent but not with reader; jealous!chuuya; pet names "doll", "baby"; reader is a shit stirrer!!; maybe some implications of toxicity but up to interpretation. lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: eheheh

You knew the moment you stepped into the bar that you were going to be playing with fire tonight. The lights are dim and the music is low, setting a type of intimate ambience that has your head dangerously dizzy even without alcohol. It’s been weeks since you last set foot in the establishment, but all of the regulars still recognize you, giving you a wide berth and casting you suspicious looks as they whisper amongst each other. You know that by now, Chuuya would know you’re here, informed by one of his many subordinates currently keeping an eye on you from the corners of his bar—it’s only a matter of time before he finally shows up.

Most of the patrons know better than to entertain you, so you’re forced to seek out the outsiders who are blissfully unaware of your connection to the infamous Port Mafia executive who owns the bar. Your options are limited—two men that are twice your age who seem to be foreigners, a man closer to your age but with such a twisted and uptight expression that you think you might prefer one of the older men, and another man who’s also around your age, his eyes are a bit too sharp and calculating for your liking and he’s playing with something in his pocket, but you eventually decide on him, if only because all of the other options are subpar in comparison.

You rest your chin on your hand, elbow propped on the bar as you look up at the man through your lashes, lips curled up in a sultry smile as you listen to him drone on about his business back in Tokyo. You watch him stammer over his words every time he glances down and his eyes meet yours, unable to stop himself as his eyes dip down to trace your collarbones and then further.

Each time his gaze dips down, you feel even more riddled with anticipation, and you'd feel sorry for the unlucky man, knowing you're just using him to piss off your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, currently, you remind yourself—but you think maybe he shouldn't be so unsubtle about being a lecher. Your thoughts drift off to Chuuya as you mildly entertain the man's conversation. It's been two weeks since the argument that led to your break up. You're not even really sure how the argument began, and you don't even remember who broke up with who, all you know is that violent words were exchanged by the both of you until Chuuya ended up storming out. You've been staying with one of your friends since then, and he has tried to get in contact with you since the argument, but it took him nearly a week to call and text you, and you think he deserves to wait just as long to hear from you as you had to wait to hear from him. And it's been a week now, and you miss him, so you think it's about time to get him back—but who are you to ever make anything easy for him?

Poor guy, you think to yourself, watching absently as he babbles on about some thing or another. For this to happen the first time he sees you in almost a month? Chuuya's temper is going to be volcanic, and the oblivious man is front of you is going to be caught right in the crossfire of it. You hate the way it lights up your nerves, you know you shouldn’t be giddy over making him mad, but you can just picture his expression already, you can feel the way his blunt nails dig into your skin.

You see the bartender step away to pour a familiar glass of wine without request, and your smile widens just a bit, knowing that Chuuya is almost here. The man you’re talking to—you can’t even recall his name –takes your smile as a sign that you’re enjoying his company, and you keep up the charade, absently giggling at whatever he said and letting your hand fall on top of the bar, brushing his.

You don’t even really know what he’s saying, you don’t care to know, honestly, but he doesn’t seem to notice your lack of interest—or maybe he also doesn’t care, just hoping to get a quick fuck out of the night. Your eyes keep flickering behind him to the door, waiting for the imminent arrival of Nakahara Chuuya, and you’re pleased because you don’t have to wait long before the door is opened roughly and said executive is standing in the doorframe, presence commanding the attention of almost every single person in the establishment.

Almost. The exception being the man sitting in front of you.

Chuuya is taking a drag from a cigarette as he steps into the bar and you know that his reaction is going to be even worse than you initially thought because he only ever smokes when he’s already aggravated. Your tongue scrapes against your teeth as his eyes meet yours, dark and promising as he takes in the scene in front of him, realizing what’s going on.

You smile distantly before returning your attention back to your dark-haired companion, catching the tail end of his sentence, “... resort in Kyoto.”

“Oh? Kyoto? I’ve always wanted to visit—never got the chance,” you say, but it’s hard to focus on him as Chuuya purposefully sits a few seats behind him, making sure to stay in your field of vision as he watches the two of you, waiting to see how far you would take this.

“I’ll bring you,” the man promises.

You can’t help but notice as he shifts, his hand reaches out to try to brush your thigh. You’re able to move subtly enough for him to miss, and you hope that he takes the hint, but you withhold a grimace when he goes for a second attempt—this time you’re unable to get out of the way in time, feeling the pads of his fingers brush your outer thigh before resting firmly on your knee, sliding up just a bit.

Chuuya’s eyes zero in on where the man has made contact with you, but you only give the man another lazy smile, watching as his pupils dilate and his gaze tracks down your chest once more.

The end of your game is approaching—the man has evidently tired of small talk and wants to take this somewhere private, and you aren’t going to take it any further, of course. But more than that, you know that Chuuya isn’t going to let this last much longer, as irritated as he already is on top of having to watch the man feel up your thigh, you can see the way his body is tense and how his gaze promises violence as it pierces into the back of your unsuspecting companion’s head.

Chuuya looks down at the bar and idly picks up a corkscrew laying on the wood where the bartender had left it next to his favorite bottle of wine. You watch curiously as he lazily twirls it around his gloved fingers, your eyes dragging along each of the lithe digits almost longingly because it’s been far too long since you’ve felt them against your skin and you miss his touch desperately.

Your eyes widen just a bit when a familiar red aura coats the corkscrew and in a split second, it’s flying from his grasp and driving through the hand of the man, who had lifted his other hand to reach out to cup your cheek. The bar goes silent and you swallow thickly as you feel a few splatters of the warm, red liquid against your face; the man stares at his hand in abject horror, shock preventing the pain from taking hold.

Your gaze darts back to Chuuya, who still hasn’t moved from where he’s lounging on the barstool, expression eerily empty as he tilts his head back and exhales a long stream of smoke before putting out the cigarette on the bartop and sitting up straight. That, evidently, is a signal because almost instantly one of Chuuya’s subordinates rips the man from his seat and manhandles him to his knees in front of him, ignoring his loud protests.

The man quiets down as he looks up at an unimpressed Chuuya, trying to figure out what’s going on. “What-”

“You’re lucky I didn’t take your whole hand for touching what’s mine, you fuckin’ mutt,” Chuuya says lazily, eyes dragging back up to you as if to ask: is this what you wanted?

You forget, sometimes, that through all of the gentle touches and adoring words that Nakahara Chuuya casts your way, that he’s still a mafioso with a list of crimes so long that if the feds ever got their hands on him, he’d never see the light of day again. Heat pools in your lower stomach, lips parting; you don't know what Chuuya sees in your expression but it has the corner of his lip curling up into a slow smirk.

“What?” the man gasps, looking between you and Chuuya, fury and incredulity painted on his face. “That bitch came up to me, you can’t possibly-”

Chuuya’s eyes cut back to the man, leg shooting out so quickly that it’s nearly a blur to your eyes as the tip of his boot cracks against the underside of the man’s jaw. He would’ve gone sprawling were it not for the grip his subordinate had on him, holding him still as his head hangs and blood spills from his lips.

“What’d you just call her?” he asks, voice low and dangerous, and you think that the was your thighs instinctively press together is kind of fucked up, but how are you not supposed to be turned on by Chuuya calling you his and defending your name even when you know he’s pissed at you? “Say it again.”

He doesn’t—he can’t, actually, because you think he’s unconscious, and Chuuya clearly realizes it too because he lets out a noise that’s nothing short of disgusted as he looks up to the door and nods his head.

Immediately, a familiar black tendril shoots out to wrap around the man’s waist and drag him out of the bar. You follow it to where Akutagawa is standing, expression stiff as ever as he turns to leave with the man.

Well, you think to yourself, that's a painful death on your hands.

You watch as all of the other occupants of the bar begin to funnel out after Akutagawa and dread pools in your stomach as you realize that they’re going to leave you with Chuuya. You’re half tempted to make your escape with them, but one glance at Chuuya’s face and you know if you do that, it’ll be a mistake.

“C’mere,” Chuuya says to you as soon as the last person leaves the bar, leaving the two of you alone. His voice is deceptively soft, but his eyes are burning. You don’t move at first, so he says again: “C’mon, doll, I don’t bite.”

You let out a breath, rising to your feet and numbly making your way over to him until you’re standing directly in front of him, between his spread legs. He doesn’t speak at first, eyes studying your face, and you can barely stand to look him in the eye but you force yourself to, no matter how fast your heart was racing in your chest.

Chuuya’s touch is gentle as he reaches out, gloved knuckles grazing your cheek to wipe off the droplets of blood before his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, lips parting for him—he pushes the tip of his thumb into your mouth, the earthy taste of the leather seeping onto your tongue, lashes fluttering. “You’re gonna come into my bar, to get my attention, while you drape yourself all over another man? I knew you were up to no good when I heard you were here, but this was bold even for you, baby.”

“I-” you begin, but Chuuya clicks his tongue, cutting you off and pointedly glancing down to the floor. You know what he wants, and you hate the way your body heats up as you lower yourself to your knees in front of him, eye-level with his crotch. You look up at him through your lashes. “I was just playing, you know I wasn’t gonna actually do anything-”

“Yeah?” Chuuya asks, eyes mirthful as he looks down at you. “Why do you gotta make things so difficult for me, doll? Couldn’t have just answered my texts? Had to make a scene about it, make me lose my temper in front of my subordinates?”

You nuzzle your face into his expensive black slacks, hiding the smile that starts to tug at your lips. “I’m sorry?” you offer, not really sorry at all and he knows it.

You feel Chuuya’s gloved fingers grab your chin, tilting your face up, eyes flashing in amusement when he sees the very much unapologetic expression on your face.

“Prove it.”

You don’t even waste a second, hands darting up to fumble with his belt. He doesn’t help you, a rare glimmer of cruelty in his bicolored eyes as he watches you struggle. He only tilts his hips up when you finally manage to undo his belt so you can yank down his pants, freeing his cock from its confines. You press your lips to his inner thigh, teeth grazing his skin, listening as Chuuya lets out a soft sigh when you lift your hand to wrap around his half-hard cock.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when you slowly glide your hand over his cock, thumb pressing down lightly on his slit, just the way he likes it. You can feel his cock hardening in your hand, the weight familiar and comforting as you suck bruises into the pale skin of his inner thigh. “Just like that, doll.”

You hum against him, lashes fluttering when you feel his lithe fingers intertwining with your hair, blunt nails scraping your scalp. His thighs tense when you squeeze the base of his cock gently, smiling before kissing back up his thigh to press your lips to his tip. His breath hitches as your tongue darts out to swipe his slit, lapping up the beading precum.

“Missed the way you taste,” you breathe out against him, tilting your head to the side to lay messy, open mouthed kisses against his length, sucking gently at the vein on the underside of his cock.

“Could’ve been doing this for a week.” Chuuya has the nerve to sound disappointed with you, so you make sure he can feel the way you pout against his cock. “Don’t go making that face, doll. This didn’t have to be drawn out so long, you know it.”

“I’m stubborn.” You sulk as you look up at him, but before he can respond, you make sure to finally wrap your lips firmly around the tip of his cock, swirling your tongue around it.

He chokes over a low groan, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. You watch as his throat bobs as he tries to steady his breathing, grip on your hair tightening. You wonder if he’s going to push you down so that your lips are flush to his pelvis but he refrains.

“Yeah, you are,” he exhales softly. “Too stubborn, baby. Love you for it, though.”

You let out a pleased hum around him, sliding your lips down the length of his cock until his tip is pushing against the back of your throat. It’s a bit uncomfortable, it takes all of your willpower to not gag around him as tears begin to pool in your eyes.

“Been thinking about you all week.” His breathy voice grounds you as your lashes become wet and heavy, teardrops hanging off them as you swallow around him just so you can hear the way his voice falters. You force yourself to take him deeper, ignoring the burn of the stretch as your throat spasms around him. “Been dying to feel you cum on my tongue again, craving the taste of you. Tried to fuck my fist but it’s not as good as you, could barely make myself cum. You spoil me too much, doll, makin’ me dependent on you like this.”

You brace your hands on his thighs as you push yourself up a bit more to take him at a better angle, mind a bit fuzzy as he slides down your throat all the way. Chuuya lets out a moan of your name, pitched and shaky as it always gets whenever you take him all the way, the base of his cock sensitive to the way you purposely graze your teeth against the skin. You think you could suffocate right now, and you’d die happy with the sound of him moaning like that ringing through your head—you don’t think he’d be so happy about that though, so you make sure to breathe as best as you can through your nose.

“Called you last night, y’know,” Chuuya says, voice wavering over another moan as your lips glide up and down his cock. You suck hard on his tip, reveling in the way his hips jerk and thighs tremble. “Was tryna get myself off. Couldn’t. Just needed to hear your voice once, should’ve picked up for me.”

Oh, you think to yourself—you remember the call, you’d let it go to voicemail because you figured he’d been out drinking and you wanted him to leave you another message in your inbox. Your nails dig crescents into his thighs when you realize what you’d missed out on, picturing him laying back in his massive bed—too big and too lonely for just one person—fisting his cock with one hand and twisting the silk black sheets with his other, hair matted to his forehead, sweat beading at his skin, lips bitten raw in frustration and phone resting on his chest as he fucks his hand, praying that you pick up.

You curse yourself, wishing that you hadn’t been so damn obstinate, bobbing your head a bit faster as an apology. Chuuya lets out a sharp hiss, head falling forward so he can watch you raptly as your tongue teases his slit again before swirling around his cock.

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps, and his words shoot right to your core, heat spreading through you like a wildfire. “So damn beautiful, could look at you forever. Make me so fucking mad at you sometimes, but how am I supposed to stay mad when you look like this, huh?”

You let out a soft keen at the praise, and he must feel it, considering how his breath hitches and his thighs tighten again beneath your fingers. You think you can get drunk off of the taste of him, high off of the sound of his voice; you think that Nakahara Chuuya is like a drug that you’ll never be able to get clean of, and you don’t know why you tortured yourself by depriving yourself of him for an extra week.

“Y’take me so well, doll,” he continues, panting as his fingers twist in your hair and his hips jerk upward again, pushing himself impossibly deeper down your throat. Only sheer determination stops you from gagging again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks that he promptly wipes away, his touch gentle as always even when he’s nearly fucking your face. “It’s like you’re made for me, yeah? You made for me, baby?”

You try to hum in agreement around him but you’re not sure if it translates.

It does, evidently, if the obscene moan that escapes his lips has anything to say about it. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees breathlessly. “Shit, I’m so close, just like that, keep-”

His voice cracks over another groan, lashes fluttering as a positively wrecked expression crosses over his face when you flatten your tongue along the underside of his cock, right up against the sensitive vein. His grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place, and the only warning you get is a borderline incoherent babble before his hips rock up and your nose is pressed against his pelvis.

You can’t breathe, you can hardly think, all you can focus on is making sure you don’t choke on the cum spilling into your mouth, warm and sticky and so much of it that it’s dribbling out of the corner of your lip and over your chin. Your lungs burn so badly that you think you might die, and your head feels fuzzy and faint.

You wonder if you’re about to pass out.

But you don’t pass out. Right when your vision begins to go spotty and you really think you’re done for, he loosens his grip so that you can pull off of him. Chuuya hardly wastes a second before he’s hauling you to your feet and pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is hot and messy—you’d barely even swallowed all of his cum before he was pulling you up and you still don’t have enough air in your lungs, but his hand caresses your face so softly that you can’t even bring yourself to care. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay like that, lips moving slowly against one another as his tongue gently traces the inside of your mouth, tasting himself on you, but when you finally break apart from one another, your breath is nearly as shaky as your fingers, instinctively chasing after his lips to steal one last chaste kiss.

“Did I prove it?” you finally ask with a teasing smile, tongue darting out to lap up the remaining mixture of cum and saliva pooling at the corner of your lip as you look up at him through your lashes, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“Undecided,” Chuuya finally tells you, hand sliding from your cheek so he can reach out to trace his index finger on your bottom lip. You capture the gloved digit between your lips, sucking on it gently. “Guess I’ll just have to take you home so you can try again, doll.”

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