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iniquitousyearning · 3 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

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bettymylove · 1 year ago

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Fights

pairing: theodore nott x reader

content: theo gets into a fight and you couldn't help but get turned on.

18+ minors dni

a/n: my theo obsession is showingg<33

warnings: smut

theodore nott was never the kind of person to get into a fight, a verbal fight sure but seeing him punching a guy was a rare sight.

y/n his girlfriend had seen the whole scene unfold how he beat up that guy beacuse he said something about her and no one says a bad word about theo's girl.

y/n knew she was expected to stop him but god was it hard to do so, she wanted him to continue pure anger on his face the guy turning to putty.

however, seeing the amount of people around and how they will judge her if she didn't stop him she did.

she dragged him away to his dorm sat him down got a cloth and started wiping his knuckles.

"can I admit something?" she asked in a whisper.

he nodded quietly expecting to hear a lecture how he shouldn't get into fights.

but instead he felt her sitting on his lap cupping his jaw and whispering about how he looked so hot while fighting and how badly she needed him right now.

"really darling? watching me fight turned you on,huh?

you nodded this time.

"fuck me theo, I want it rough show me how strong you are"

he was about to melt how did he ever get so lucky.

he took off his shirt and you did the same you started grinding on him his clothed boner pushing into you.

he grabbed you and turned you so your back faced him. you arched your back for him and wiggled your butt.

he took off your panties and inserted two of his fingers quickly moving in and out fast.

"theo- please don't stop, oh godd"

"it's theo darling god won't make you feel this good"

he unbuckled his pants and took his throbbing red cock out of his pants.

"you ready?"

"yes, please fuck me teddy"

and he did exactly that fucking you until you couldn't think straight his thrusts so fast the bed was shaking, you were moaning so loudly you were sure someone must have heard you but god you didn't care one bit all you cared about was theo and theo alone and how good he was making you feel.

it didn't take you long to reach your orgasm, you both came together and he pulled out slowly so it wouldn't hurt you.

"this was amazing"

"I know baby, I know"

he pulled you close and you both slept in each other's arms.

please send in requestss!!<33

#theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott fic #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #draco malfoy #slytherin #enzo berkshire #blaise zabini #matheo riddle #harry potter #chitasmut #x reader

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apparentlytheproblem · 2 years ago

Text

d a t i n g m a t h e o r i d d l e

fandom- Harry Potter

pairing(s)- matheo riddle

a/n: i had fun with this cause my boy is'nt even cannon and i've derived this from the show deadly class (its absolutley lovley) and im so sorry i deleted the request baby with love, tiya

requested- yes

warnings- unexperienced writer, not thoroughly edited

i think it would be a slowburn

i think it would take time for both of you to personally acknowledge what you both have

because Matheo Riddle is too high and mighty to have something as low and embarrassing as a highschool crush

my man will be in utter confusion why he wants to stare but looks away to act cool

like you both keep glancing at each other, for what?

y'all just ignoring each other just to avoid a zoo in your stomach

but like you know you're in love, you know he's in love, at this point everyone knows but y'all just don't admit it

because if you do, everything suddenly becomes to real

I have always had such an obsession with him

him, his face, his everything

his eyes are so pretty, they're just gorgeous and that freakin smile would just get me on my knees

I think even though he seems as the cold hearted bitch he's just so sweet to you

I've always had a thing for people who has a soft spot for me ugh

everyone hated him, loved him or wanted to be him

he was the it girl

I don't think he'd be much into playing quidditch as such

but he's pretty darn fit if i must say so myself

he'd be good in combat fighting

hence all the fights, but he'd be winnin my luv

he'd teach you how to play video games

he'd make you playlists and everything

once you both have reached that bond he'd be so obnoxious

he'd be loving, caring and everything

10/10 fr

he loves that everyone knows you're dating

this would be important as he gets jealous so easily

he's just yours and I love that

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

Text

[Chapter 9]

word count: ~4.6k

warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of torture, mentions of traumatic wounds, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v

Mattheo picked up a vase from the table next to him, throwing it against the wall and smashing it into a million tiny pieces. Pansy’s whole body jumped in her place on the couch, Draco squeezing her hand in comfort. “You’re scaring her, Cousin, she said she was sorry and she didn’t know what happened.” Mattheo was seething with anger, his words spitting out of his mouth like venom, “I don’t give a bloody fuck what she says she does or doesn’t remember or how fucking sorry she is. My girl is gone and she’s the only one who can tell us who possibly took her.” Mattheo turned his back to the pair now, dragging his fingers through his hair and tugging at his curls in frustration.

“Well, there is a way for you to see, Matt,” Theo spoke up, giving Pansy a sorrowful look. Mattheo turned back around, Pansy nodding her head, “He’s right. Do it Matty. I can’t remember but it’s gotta be there.” Without hesitation Mattheo took out his wand, pointing it in the middle of Pansy’s forehead, “Legimens.” In a swirl of images Mattheo was thrust back into the club, the edges of his vision slightly hazy. He saw you in front of him, swaying to the beat with your eyes closed. You wore a cheshire grin and he could tell it was when you were talking to him. In front of you was Pansy, body moving similarly to the music. You laughed to yourself as Pansy did another twirl. Just as Pansy’s back turned, Mattheo saw a flash of red, it was like your body was falling in slow motion before a pair of arms wrapped around you, dragging you out through the crowd.

Mattheo pulled back, stumbling back into the sitting room where the rest of the family was watching him intently. Everyone could see Mattheo’s expression darken, worry fitted on all of their faces, “What is it, Mattheo, what did you see?” Enzo was trying his best to stay calm but he was just as angry as Mattheo. Enzo didn’t have any siblings growing up and thus his relationships within the family were of max importance. Mattheo closed his eyes, speaking through gritted teeth, “Someone cast a spell at her. I’m nearly positive it was stupify because-”

“Because she stopped speaking to you mid-sentence,” Theo finished the sentence for him. Mattheo’s jaw clenched as he nodded. Pansy’s eyes started filling with tears once more, the guilt she felt intensifying with each passing moment that you were gone. She opened her mouth to speak once more when she suddenly heard your voice ring in her head, and by the looks of the others she wasn’t the only one. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. 1538 Woodbury Lane, London. Immediately Mattheo’s eyes met his cousins, Draco nodding in silent agreement, “Blaise and I will stay here with Pansy, you three go.” The next sound a simple crack as Theo, Enzo and Mattheo disappeared from the room.

The space the three men apparated to was dark, emergency lights the only source of illumination around them. “Find her.” Two words were all the direction Mattheo gave as the three men started looking through the entire warehouse. Closets, old boxes, under machines were all scoured until Enzo walked into the the back room, breath catching in his throat, “H-here, oh bloody fucking Salazar, SHE'S IN HERE!” The sound of rushed shoes on pavement could be heard as Theo and Mattheo ran to where they heard Enzo’s voice, the latter boy already rushing to your body curled in on itself, wrist still chained against the back wall. Enzo got to you first, grabbing hold of your neck. His first two fingers immediately finding your pulse point, “She’s alive. Pulse is there, it’s strong.” He pointed his wand at the wall, the chain attached to you disintegrating.

Mattheo fell to his knees next to you, hoisting you up to a sitting position and pulling you into his arms. Your head was rolling, Mattheo holding your head in one of his large hands. “Princess,” he tapped your cheek lightly, voice strained, “Princess, can you look at me, please?” Your eyelids felt heavy, but they fluttered open, blurrily catching a glimpse of Mattheo as he held onto you. “M-matty?” Your voice came out horse, scratchy. “It’s me, Princess, don’t worry.” He looked at Theo and Enzo, both wearing looks of worry across their faces. Mattheo stood, holding your body close to his chest as he did so, “Theo take us back. Now.” Theo placed a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder, then Enzo’s. In a whirl the four of you were back at the manor, back in the sitting room where Blaise, Draco and Pansy were waiting.

Pansy’s mouth was agape, tears starting to flow again at the sight of what had become of you in your absence. Mattheo started toward the foyer, you still in his arms, “Come, cousin, she needs your help.” At his words Draco moved immediately, the rest of the family following suit. At the bottom of the stairs Mattheo stopped, turning towards the group, “Just cousin. No one else.” Theo and Blaise let out a huff while Enzo mumbled a “like fucking hell” but Mattheo doubled down, “It’s not a negotiation. Just Draco. That’s it. The rest of you need to start planning.” Through her tears Pansy managed to finally speak up, “Plan for what?” Enzo gripped Pansy’s arm lightly as they watched Mattheo and Draco take you into the room, “Revenge.”

In the room Mattheo quickly laid you down on the large bed, pulling Draco up to the side, “Check her. Do it now, cousin. Just like Aunt Cissy taught you.” Draco glanced over his shoulder nervously, clenching and unclenching his fists before giving a nod. He turned back to you, taking in the sight before him. Your breathing was shallow, but steady. He noted the dry blood on your chin and the edge of your mouth like you had been slapped or punched in the face. The dried blood that seemed to have dripped down your legs worried him as well. A large purple bruise was forming on your shoulder that looked like the heel of a boot. Draco closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath before nervous hands hovered over your body. He started at the top, near your head, just as his mother taught him. He concentrated his thoughts, slowly moving his hands over your body, “Cut lip,” he moved lower, “left collarbone broken,” he grimaced as he kept going, “ribs seven and eight on her right side cracked, right kidney bruised,” he moved down towards your legs, “seems just a few cuts and bruises, cuts are what the blood down here’s from.” Mattheo nodded solemnly, “So he didn’t…”

“No, he didn’t,” your voice was shaky, but you knew what Mattheo was implying, “Just…heal what you can Dray, please.” A tear ran down your cheek as your bottom lip wobbled. Draco leaned down as he wiped the tear with his thumb, a sad frown on his face, “S’gonna hurt a little, darling.” You nodded meekly, “I know, just…get it over with.” Draco nodded, standing back up fully and slipping his wand from his sleeve. He worked backwards this time, knowing your collarbone was going to hurt the worst to heal. Slowly the cuts started to close and heal, the bruises fading to small dark marks that would disappear in a day or two. He healed your ribs with one swift motion, the cracks healing with little pain much like a cramp. He healed the cuts from your lips and mouth next before pausing. “You ready for this last one, darling?” You nodded, closing your eyes in anticipation. Draco’s wand hovered over your collarbone, “Episkey.” The bone snapping back into place was loud, nearly drowning out your own whimper as you bit your lip to conceal how painful it really was. Silent tears slipped from your eyes, Mattheo quickly by your side to wipe them away.

Draco chewed his lip nervously as Mattheo consoled you, “There’s one more thing, cousin.” Mattheo turned towards the blonde as you turned on your side, back facing them as your curled in on yourself once more into the covers, “What is it?” Draco peered over at you, grey eyes swirling with sorrow, “They…they used the cruciatus on her, like...a lot, Matty. From what I could feel I think more than one person used it on her at a time.” Mattheo closed his eyes at the information, not wanting to imagine you in that situation, how it must have felt for you. Draco continued, “There’s no healing I can do to take that away from her. You know better than any of us-” Mattheo cut him off, “I know.” Draco nodded, walking over to you once again. Draco leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your head, “I’m so sorry this happened to you, darling.” You turned to face him, grabbing hold of his wrist with a weak smile, “Thank you for healing me.” Draco huffed a laugh, “Not as good as you by any means, love.” But you shook your head, “Might give me a run for my money.” Draco smiled at you lightly, nodding to Mattheo as he left the room to leave you two alone.

Mattheo rounded the bed on the opposite side of you. It was obvious he wanted to grab hold of you but wanted to respect however you were feeling, “What do you need, Princess? Do you want to be alone? Do you want me to go?” You slumped further into the bed, not making eye contact with him as you shook your head, “Don’t go. Will you…” You looked up at him almost shyly, “Will you hold me…please?” Your bottom lip trembled once more. Mattheo gently crawled into the large bed, shuffling under the covers to pull you close. You grabbed hold of him, grasping to whatever you could get your hands on like you couldn’t get close enough to him as the tears started to flow. Mattheo’s heart was shattering, squeezing you so close to his body he feared he might crush you but you relished in the pressure. Lips pressed to your forehead, he mumbled into your skin, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon, Princess. I swear it.” With his reassurance, your body finally relaxed. Mattheo could tell when you finally fell asleep as your grip on his arm and around his neck went slack, however he still held you close.

As you woke up hours later, you were still wrapped up in Mattheo. His scent enveloped you like the most delicious intrusion to your senses. You started to release your grip on him, needing to attempt to stretch away the soreness from everything that happened the night before. Mattheo was apparently already awake, hand sliding down your side as his eyes quickly gave you a once over. As his hand reached your hip you caught his wrist, breath catching in your throat at the memory of what now lay carved in your skin there. “Sorry,” his words came out sheepish but you only shook your head, “No, s’okay. M’just, sore.” Mattheo nodded, anger bubbling back inside his chest, “I get it.” He sat up then, giving himself a proper stretch before turning towards you. “Coming down for food with me?” You shook your head, pulling to covers back up to your chin, “Think I’m gonna stay here for a little longer…if that’s okay.” Mattheo nodded, leaning down and kissing your lips softly, “Course it is, sweetheart.” He stood from the bed, leaning down with his hands on the mattress as you turned to him, “The boys and I are gonna be in and out of the manor for a little while, but you know how to call me if you need me.”

You met his eyes, tone flat as you asked, “You’re going out looking for him aren’t you. For…Damiano.” Mattheo closed his eyes at the name, but nodded. You leaned up, capturing him in a soft kiss once more. Mattheo grabbed hold of the side of your face, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek as he separated your lips. You laid back down as Mattheo made his way towards the door. He turned back once more before exiting, chest tightening as he saw you curl in on yourself again before closing the door behind him.

The days that followed all blended for you. This was due to the fact that you hadn’t left Mattheo’s bed since that first night, the most to use the bathroom. But with how little you were eating, you barely had to do that either. Mattheo and the other boys were gone more than they were home. You knew when they were home because the door would creak open. You knew it was Mattheo, but every time you heard the door open the mark on your leg seemed to pulse and shame washed over you. Pansy came to comfort you often when the boys were gone, laying in bed beside you, rubbing your back as you sobbed. She never asked what happened, never asked for details. The first time she cried with you, apologizing and saying how it was all her fault. You held each other that night, cried together until you convinced her that if he had to, Damniano would’ve taken both of you that night, just to prove a point.

Gimball would bring you meals, smiling sadly as he took the untouched plate from the previous when dropping off the next. After a few days he started changing what he brought you, making you special meals he thought you might be able to stomach versus what he was making for the rest of the family. “Please, Miss, just a few bites. Gimball make special, you don’t have to eat it all to help.” You started to comply slowly, if only for the fact that Gimball had also started begging for you to eat something and that made you feel slightly pathetic for pitying yourself so harshly. Gimball noticed you’d eat more when you thought the others were away or sleeping, therefore bringing you heartier meals at those times.

“Master Mattheo is very worried about Miss Birdie. Asks Gimball every day how she is,” Gimball rocked back and forth on his feet as you slowly ate the sandwich he had brought for you. “And what do you tell him?” you were curious how they were all perceiving you, how sad and helpless they thought you were. “Gimball tells Master she is strong at heart, but hurting in mind. Gimball tells Master that Miss Birdie just needs time.” You smiled at the elf, finishing the last bit of the sandwich and handing over the plate. Gimball bowed, giving you a small smile before disappearing with a crack. You laid back down against the pillows, trying to ease your mind now that your stomach was full. Trying to close your eyes without seeing his face the moment you tried to drift off to sleep. You were nearly there when you heard the shouting.

The voices sounded panicked, shouting at volumes so high you heard it through the doors. You rushed to get up, knotting the silk robe tight around your waist before heading for the top of the stairs. Below the shouts became clearer. “The table, the fucking bloody table, get him up there!” Your pulse quickened, feet rapidly descending down the stairs before you even knew what they were doing. “For Salazar’s sake, Malfoy, hurry, there’s no way he’s going to last this long, you’ve gotta move faster, mate!” Your feet hit the foyer floor, nearly sprinting towards the voices now. Before you could get a look at who was on the table a pair of arms enwrapped you, pulling you back towards the stairs.

“No, Princess. You can’t, not yet,” Mattheo’s voice was stern but you heard the concern laced within his tone. “Who is it? Who’s hurt?” you tried to push him off you but he just held you tighter. “We found him but I think he was expecting it, he had more people with him than we planned. He got away after he attacked us, ran away like a fucking coward.” You knew he meant Damiano. That they were close to catching him and doing what they wanted so badly to do to him. “Let me go, Mattheo. If he’s the one that did this let me help, I’m the one who could do it best.” Mattheo held on tighter, “S’too much, Birdie, you’ve been through enough already, Draco can handle it.”

You shook your head, “Tell me who it is, I can tell Draco needs my help. Tell me who it is. Right now, Mattheo, is it Enzo again?” You peered around his arm, stretching your neck to catch any glimpse of those surrounding the table. You saw Pansy’s black hair, Blaise holding the table by someone’s feet. Draco’s platinum hair flashed in your vision as he moved from one side of the table to the other. As he maneuvered around whoever was hurt there was a brief moment where carmel eyes locked with yours and then you knew. You knew who was hurt, who lay dying on the table as Draco struggled to help heal him.

You looked up, eyes locking with Mattheo’s, “Teddy? It’s Teddy?!” Mattheo didn’t respond, giving you all the confirmation you needed. You started thrashing in his grasp, desperately begging him to let you help. You knew he was just trying to protect you, just worried after what Damiano had put you through, but what Mattheo failed to realize was that not helping was doing more damage. With a final push Mattheo let go, your body rushing towards Theo’s where it lay bloodied on the table. You took in the scene before you, Draco frantically trying to work on the large, deep gashes on Theo’s torso and legs, but constantly having to stop as Theo’s mouth, and presumably his lungs, kept filling with blood from Merlin knows what spell was cast on him.

Theo was in bad shape. You ran your hands along his neck, checking his pulse, your fingers slipping on the blood covering his skin any time you applied pressure. His left arm was clearly broken and whatever spell or spells that hit him left baseball size gashes all over his body, your hands ran along his skin, noting no dark magic attached to him. Turning off all emotion you started giving out orders, “Draco focus on his legs, one wound at a time, the same spells you used on me, okay?” He nodded, stepping aside and quickly getting to work. The sound of Theo beginning to gag again caught your attention, quickly waving your hand over his mouth to make the blood disappear. Enzo looked at you in shock. “Enzo if it happens again, take out your wand, wave it quickly and horizontally, sicco. You got it?” Enzo nodded, hand gripping his wand tightly in preparation.

You turned forward now, hands hovering over Theo’s torso. Just as you instructed Draco, you hovered over each gash, one by one starting at Theo’s chest. You moved down his torso, healing the wounds on his side and stomach just as Draco was finishing up his legs. You could tell Theo’s breathing was starting to even out again, finally able to take full breaths. “Hold his shoulders Enzo, this parts gonna hurt him.” Enzo did as instructed, watching as your hands hovered over Theo’s arm. With a flick of your wrists everyone heard the crack as his bones snapped back into place. “Fanculo tutti, Uccellina! A cosa diavola serviva!” Theo groaned out, pulling his arm to his chest and rolling to his side. You pointed a finger at him, “Don’t you take that bloody tone with me, Theodore or I’ll break your arm all over again!” Theo merely groaned, lying back on the table with his arm covering his eyes. Your breaths were heavy, pushing Theo's hair from his eyes and placing a kiss on his forehead, "Amo tu fratello."

Walking away, Mattheo was quick to follow you. “Where are you going?” He was hot on your heels as you ascended the stairs. You stopped at the door, not to his room, but to yours. Turning towards him your face was blank as you spoke, “I’m going to wash my brother’s blood off my skin.” Speechless, Mattheo watched you walk into the room. He followed close behind, watching you walk into the bathroom. He stood by the door, observing as you undid your robe. That’s when he saw it, what you had been so ashamed of for the last week and a half, what you didn’t want him to see but was currently too lost in thought due to what just happened. The sun etched on your skin, just below your hip where you wouldn’t let him touch before.

Mattheo waited on your bed for you. You had expected him to leave, to walk out when you had been so cold to him, but there he was, waiting at the edge of your bed. You walked towards him, towel tied around your body and hair wet. He didn’t speak until you were stood between his knees. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your head tilted in confusion, only for your mind to be cleared when you felt Mattheo’s hand quickly slide under your towel to grip your hip, thumb pressing into the mark. His other hand gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “I’ll ask again, Princess. Why did you not tell me he did this to you?” You closed your eyes, tears threatening to spill. His grip on your face tightened, asking for your answer. “I was ashamed. I thought…I figured you wouldn’t want me once you knew.” Mattheo tsked his tongue, “Oh, Princess, we’ve been over this haven’t we? You think something like that would change things?”

A tear threatened to fall as he spoke again, “Tell me what you know to be true, Princess. Say it for me so I know you understand.” Your eyes met his, speaking on a shaky breath, “I’m yours.” Mattheo grinned slightly, “Again, like you believe it.” You spoke firmer now, “I’m yours.” Mattheo nodded, eyes flicking to your lips briefly, “One more time.” You watched as his tongue darted over his lips, your pulse quickening under his touch, “I’m yours, Mattheo.” You watched his mouth upturn into a smirk before you smashed your lips to his, taking him slightly by surprise. His hand grips the back of your neck as you climb onto his lap, deepening the kiss, turning it heated and passionate. As the kiss breaks you stare at one another, catching your breath. “I need you, Matty, please.” He was hesitant, not wanting to push your limits after all you'd been through, "You sure, Princess?" You nodded. Mattheo cupped your cheek, "I need words, pretty girl." You took a deep breath, "Yes, Mattheo, I'm sure."

At your words he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing, flipping you both around so you’re now lying down on the bed. He peppers kisses down your neck, the air in the room cool on your skin in his wake. His hands gently caress every inch of your skin, leaving a trail of fire in it’s wake. “Mattheo,” you moan, need evident in your voice. He chuckles, the sound sending shivers up your spine. His lips trail lower, making his way down your body until they reach your core. In one swift motion he flattens his tongue, giving a long, slow lick. Your back arched off the bed, body seeking more of him in such desperation, you can nearly feel him smirk between your thighs.

Mattheo takes his time, worshiping your body with his tongue like you were his salvation, his lips singing your praises against your skin. “Please, Matty,” you beg, desperate for more of him. A whimper leaves your throat as he gives you what you crave, two fingers thrusting into you as he sets a pace that has your thighs trembling. Your fingers tangle in his curls, gripping tight and pulling him impossibly closer. He moans against you, the vibrations taking you to a new height of pleasure, each thrust of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. Then his fingers slow, his mouth on your neck now before connecting your lips once more. His fingers hit that spot deep inside causing a mewl to leave your lips.

You bury your face into his neck and make another noise. “S’okay,” Mattheo comforts, “ ‘ve got you, Princess. Al’right? M’right here, yeah? I’ve got you.” His thumb circles your bundle of nerves, figure eights causing your hips to buck as he whispers in your ear, “This all for me, Princess. Mine to play with. Mine to taste.” You whine, head nodding, “Yes, fuck, yes, Matty, all yours. Always yours. Forever.” Mattheo slowly pulled out his fingers, you whining at the feeling of loss inside you as you watched him suck his fingers clean before undoing his belt and freeing himself. He pushed your knees down, spreading you open and pinning your legs to the bed so you had nowhere else to go. Slowly he guided his cock to your cunt, watching as he eased into you, your walls swallowing him to the hilt.

“Bloody fucking hell, look at that, Princess, feels good doesn’t it?” He grinned devilishly at your slacked jaw, breath catching in your throat as he began rocking into you. Your nails dug into his ribs, scratching down his skin. He hissed at the pain, hips snapping into you harder. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs, using them as leverage as he rammed his hips against yours. “Fuck, Matty, yes, please don’t stop,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you grabbed onto him for dear life. “Uh, uh, Princess, eyes open, look at me,” he tutted, grabbing your jaw roughly, kissing you deeply and grinding his hips against yours, stimulating your clit perfectly. You gasped as you fell over the edge into your orgasm. Your walls fluttering around him had Mattheo following soon after. His lips trailed your neck lightly as he slowly pulled out, lying down on his back beside you.

He slid an arm under your waist, pulling you into him. Your head settled on his chest comfortably, Mattheo’s fingertips trailing up and down your back lightly. You laid like this for a moment, enveloped in all that was him and all that you two were together. Mattheo was surprised when you broke the silence, not by the sound of your voice but by your words. “When you find him, don't kill him right away.” He made a noise of confusion, causing you to lift your head, chin settling on his chest to look up at him. “When you find him, because I know you will, don’t kill him right away. I want you to call me, have Theo or Enzo get me and bring me there.” Mattheo’s brows furrowed, a mix of anger and confusion written on his features, “Why the bloody fuck would I do that?” You pressed your lips to Mattheo’s skin, feeling his heartbeat beneath your lips before looking at him once more.

“Because I want to watch him die.”

#protego series #mafia!slytherin boys #mafia!theo nott #mafia!pansy parkinson #mafia!draco malfoy #mafia!enzo berkshire #mafia!matheo riddle #mafia!blaise zabini #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut

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stargirlv0id · 6 months ago

Text

Surprise, Surprise.

pairings: Mattheo Riddle x F!R

synopsis: You were walking home, when suddenly it starts raining and you enter a vacant pub.

warnings: flirting; sexual innuendo; no SMUT)

a/n: english isn't my first language, sorry for any mistakes

A harsh gust of wind hits you, rain soaking your clothes as you scramble into a pub that's vacant due to the storm warning you'd ignored. You wonder if the bartender saw it, and if that's why he's likely tucked away in his home, warm and not drenched by rain— *unlike you.*

You sigh in relief as you shut the door behind you and take in the heat of the building. Maybe this isn't so bad—

"You're not supposed to be in here." Mattheo's voice rings out, sending a chill down your spine.

"Umm. What?" You turn, surprised.

He raises an eyebrow skeptically at you as he steps closer, his gaze flickering over you like an inspection. "It's past closing time," he says, his tone flat and unimpressed, as though you should have known that already.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I just wanted to escape the storm." You frown. His expression softens a tad at your excuse, but he doesn't look convinced.

"You shouldn't be out in weather like this anyway," he scolds, folding his arms across his chest.

"I was taken by surprise, actually. I was heading home and the storm came." You answered rapidly, wanting to sound believable. You weren't lying, but you could tell he wasn't an easy person to convince.

He studies you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the way your clothes stick to your body, your hair damp and clinging to your face. It's a look full of scrutiny, as if evaluating whether your excuse is valid.

Then, finally, he turns his attention to the downpour outside, the rain hitting the windows harshly. "It's coming down hard," he admits, his voice somewhat softer. "Yeah." you nodded in agreement.

You smile softly . "I'll leave soon, I promise."

Mattheo's lips twist into a subtle smile as he considers your promise, but it's hard to tell whether he truly believes it. "You better," he says, his voice holding a hint of skepticism.

His eyes continue to linger on you, studying your face for a few more seconds before he breaks his gaze away and heads over to a small fireplace. "You should sit down. Unless you want to stay wet, and cold?" "Sure." You sit, your body craving warmth.

As you settle down, you notice that the pub is small and cozy, the crackling of the fire adding a touch of warmth to the atmosphere. Mattheo busies himself with tending to the fire for a moment before he eventually takes a seat across from you, his eyes never leaving your figure.

There's something about the way he looks at you—it's intense, captivating almost. You can't help but feel a bit self-conscious as his gaze lingers on you, as though he's trying to figure you out.

"You work here, right?" You ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice still holding that same hint of skepticism from earlier. He leans back in his chair, his arms resting on the armrests as he studies you.

"What about you? What brings you here at night, and in the middle of a storm?" he asks, arching an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I just came from a friend's house." You reply, Mattheo nods in understanding, the skeptical look slowly fading from his eyes. "Must be a close friend if you stayed there past dark," he observes.

You nod, not wanting to reveal too much to a stranger.

He seems to sense your hesitation, but instead of pressing further, he simply leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he continues to regard you. He's silent for a while, his gaze flickering over you as though still trying to figure you out.

After a few moments, he breaks the silence. "How do I know you're not some dangerous criminal or something?" he asks bluntly, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I should be the one asking you that." You smirk.

Mattheo smirks, amused by your response. "Touché," he concedes, a hint of humour in his voice. "Maybe I should frisk you, just to be sure," he teased, a glint in his eye.

"I can't say that i would mind that." You shrug.

Mattheo's eyes flicker with surprise, not expecting you to flirt back. He raises an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Is that so?" he asks, his voice lower than before.

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his gaze lingering on you with newfound interest. "And why is that, princess?"

You raise your eyebrows "Wanna find out?"

Mattheo's smirk widens at your bold response and he leans forward slightly, his eyes locked on yours. "Maybe I do," he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

He watches you intently, his gaze roaming over your figure once more before he speaks again. "You sure you want to test my limits?" His words makes you smile and his eyes flicker with amusement at your lack of retreat from his challenge, and he lets out a low chuckle that rumbles in his chest.

"You've got quite the attitude, pretty girl," he murmurs, his voice laced with a hint of desire.

"Maybe i should learn to behave." you said.

"Maybe you should," he agrees.

He moves then, his tall frame crossing the space between you in just a few strides. He stops in front of you, towering over you as he looks down at you with a mixture of desire and curiosity.

"You think you can handle someone like me, princess?" he asks, his voice low and rough.

"It wouldn't hurt to try." You bite your lip. His gaze flickers to your lips as you bite them, a low growl slipping past his own lips in response. "You like playing with fire, don't you?" he teases, his voice slightly hoarse.

One of his hands moves to your chin, his cold fingers gently yet firmly tilting it up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"You've got guts, that's for sure," he muses, his thumb gently tracing the contour of your bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

He steps even closer, his body mere inches from yours, his presence overwhelming and intoxicating. He leans down, his breath ghosting against your ear as he speaks.

"Or are you all bark and no bite, princess?"

"Oh, I'll be to bite." You smile.

Mattheo lets out a low, guttural laugh at your response, his eyes darkening. "I look forward to it," he murmurs, his hand still holding your chin firmly in place.

He leans in, his nose almost touching yours. "But remember," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I bite back."

"That's what im counting on."

#hp #fluff #slytherin #matheo riddle #marcus lopez x reader #x reader #mattheoxreader #smut #writing #writers on tumblr

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sureallavnder · 1 year ago

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me: desprate for good slytherin boys smut and expecting it to apear out of thin air

#harry potter #harry potter fandom #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #theodore nott #matheo riddle #smut #draco imagine #draco malfoy smut

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thatgirlsworld36 · 24 days ago

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About what we have here

Hi to you all! I'm a new account here and I will try to post some images(fluff or smut) about some football players and maybe some Harry Potter boys. I have absolutely no idea how to do anything here but i hope i will learn. English is not my first language, so i don't promise there won't be mistakes but i will try my best!(who am i lying to? Everything is gonna be full of them but we are all human so it's okay)

I will be writing about: Jude Bellingham, Jobe Bellingham, Kylian Mbappe, Pau Cubarsi, Gavi, Pedri and as i said some random Harry Potter boys(i don't have any special to my mind). The list about who i can write might get bigger as the time passes by.

I will be more than happy to take your requests to feel absolutely free to leave them. I will try my best to make them all. My messages are always open and i'm more than willing to get to know all of you.

So this is for now from me. I would be happy to get some comments from you(positive or not, that's how we grow) so don't be scared of leaving feedbacks. Hope to see you soon. Bye! <3

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sunkissedscribbles · 6 months ago

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You Get Me So High*

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

genre: smut x teeny tiny fluff

tw: smut, unprotected sex, mdni, nsfw, not exactly proofread

word count: 1361

summary: a friends with benefits relationship with only one rule; don't fall in love

song: You Get Me So High - The Neighbourhood

a/n: guys this is soooo short, my heart's aching for not making it longer

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

It is supposed to be a casual arrangement with Mattheo, you know it, nothing more than that. A cycle; back and forth between your bed and his. Back and forth between inside jokes and feverish kisses. All back and forth, like the movements of his hips against yours every night as he thrusts so deep into you that you feel his size in your stomach while you squirm under him out of pleasure with your fingers digging deep into the flesh covering his thick trapezius muscles, leaving marks for the next day. It's a routine at this point, one you know you should give up on because you have broken the only promise set.

You both have agreed to this friends-with-benefits setup under the condition that if either of you fell for the other you'd have to stop. And hell had you broken the agreement before it was even set. But how could you not possibly fall for him when he's on top of you every night, peppering your neck with kisses and by your side every day like the supportive friend he is?

"You have to confess, Y/N," you reminisce about the conversation you had with Pansy the other day.

"I know but if I tell him we have to stop he'll know I've fallen for him and that'd only lead to him not wanting to be my friend anymore because it would be awkward," you groaned as a response. "And I'd rather have him as a friend than not have him at all."

"Or," Daphne chimed in with yet another suggestion as she stepped back from her closet, "you could just wait until he confesses."

You snorted at that, rather unattractively. The thought of Mattheo ever falling for you just sounded hilarious in every sense to you. "He's not the committing type."

"He's been shagging you for the past two months and you already act like a couple with all those inside jokes and dates-"

"Those aren't dates," you insisted but Pansy ignored you and continued.

"-you two go out to Hogsmeade. He bought you Chocolate Frogs when you told him you had cramps. He's never done that to any of his girlfriends."

"Pansy's right," Daphne added. "People would call this a relationship."

Your friends made valid points yet here you are again only a few days later, sitting in the library, still thinking about their words over your Transfiguration essay you've been desperately trying to get done in the past hour but Mattheo, sunk into your thoughts didn't let you because for your teenage heart it is more important to make the right decision when it comes to your love & sex life.

You suddenly feel a hand tap your shoulder and when you turn to your left to see who it is, you don't see anyone but turning back, you sense someone sitting on your right on the chair next to yours. "Hey, princess," Mattheo grins at you, his hand resting ever so casually on your thigh already.

A smile creeps upon your lips when met by his pretty face. "Hey, pretty boy."

"When are you done here?" he peeps over to your essay and when he states you've barely even started writing a dissatisfied pout appears on his face. "Princess... it's Friday, there's a party tonight and you seriously want to spend your time with the homework instead of me?"

You roll your eyes at his words of feigned offence and shake your head. "Of course not. I'll be at the party, I promise."

"Good, good. Don't forget to wear something nice for me," he grins again before leaning in for a kiss. He's not dumb, he knows you want more of that, so he's certain you'll be at the party, wearing a nice dress just for him to rip it off you once you two reach his dorm in the hurricane of heated kisses and risky touches.

Without anything left to say, he leaves and you stay there, with your forehead hitting the desk in despair once he's out of sight. Oh, you're fucked.

The party's a blast, that's for sure, you wouldn't argue about it but you still ditch it with Mattheo after a few shots with your friend group. His hands are tangled in your hair as he shoves you against the wall. "Look at this nice skirt. I love it when you dress for me," he mutters into your ear as he rips your tights off you without a second thought about how they cost you money or how maybe those were your favourite pair with the silver stars on them. Not even bothering with the zipper of the cargo mini skirt you are wearing, he picks you up and after pushing everything on the floor, he sits you down on his desk he spreads your legs for himself, grinning at the sight of your exposed thighs. He slides his hand up your inner thigh until reaching your thongs which he pushes to the side to find your entrance, still with your skirt on. You gasp the moment he inserts two fingers at once, not teasing you or torturing you with long foreplay tonight. "That's it, don't hold back," he whispers into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, then starts covering your neck with kisses and the prints of his teeth. He's not one for leaving hickeys on your neck, not when you two are in a casual arrangement, at least. He prefers marking you under your breasts and just above your hipbone.

You squirm against his touch, letting out soft moans as his fingers move in and out of your pussy, his palm brushing against your clit here and there. He knows your body like the back of his palm, knows every reaction. He knows he has to switch the moment your back arches, so, he pulls his fingers out and frees his hardened length from the captivity of his pants before positioning himself between your legs and inserting himself. You take him with yet another moan and he grins against your neck in satisfaction, murmuring something unintelligible and incoherent as he thrusts deep inside of you. Your bodies melt together and fade into each other as your skirt rides up your hips the more he gets it on, giving you practically no chance to get your part of the act and move against him. He's fucking you mercilessly, gripping your hair and you have nothing to say against it.

You get driven over the edge sooner than usual, but he's been rougher and more demanding than usual, too. He watches your pretty face as you come around him, feeling you tighten which is the last string for him before his body gets overwhelmed by you and comes, moaning your name. He knows he has to end things between you two but why would he do it without fucking you goodbye saying goodbye?

He pulls out and lets out heavy exhales into your neck before muttering into your hair almost inaudible, snapping you out of this state of euphoria. "We have to stop doing this."

Your heart skips a beat and starts beating faster in fear, breath still ragged because of the excitement of the previous minutes. He fucks you senseless then exclaims you have to stop doing this? Your brain gets foggy now by being overwhelmed with a mix of frustration and confusion, it's not the haze of what you've engaged in just now. "Huh? But why?" you manage to muster.

"The agreement, Y/N," he shakes his head, searching your face.

You feel like your heart is thumping in your ear as you lean in for a kiss, now a slow, romantic, less desperate one. He's taken aback a little by your sudden actions, he has not expected you to kiss him like that after he has practically told you he'd broken the only rule you two had set by falling in love with you somewhere in the lines between being your best friend and enjoying your advantages like a man.

"Why did I get that?" he asks, confused after you pull back from him.

"For breaking the agreement."

tag list: @mqstermindswift @reys-letters @inksoakedparchment

comment to be on the tag list <3

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jjsbaby · 1 year ago

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nineteen! cancer. she/they. currently in love with all men w daddy issues and that are slight losers. stoner loser crybaby gf! jj maybank’s lover girl. rafe’s bimbo whore.

nsfw blog: @nymph0man11ac

MASTERLIST•ABOUT ME•RULES

currently watching: pretty little liars

currently reading: nothing

[ this blog & its posts are intended for a mature audience 18+ ]

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mommynott · 1 month ago

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Naughty List

12 Days of Dickmas - Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: Deciding to pass the time before your enemy heads over to work on a paired project…You lose track of time, resulting in some mind blowing fun with Mattheo👀

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, college au, enemy!mattheo, toxic!mattheo, ewb!mattheo, voyarism, legilimency, masturbation, orgasm control, degrading, dirty talk, tension, clit stim, jerking off, mutual masturbation, mutual orgasms, Mattheo controlling you with just his mind

An hour. You had an hour until god-awful Mattheo would show up to your dorm to work on the project together. You hated him. Couldn’t stand the idiot. But fuck— Did he get you hot and bothered.

—Tick tock-tick tock—The clock above your bed was loud, but nowhere near as vocal as your mind was. Your legs spread as you laid naked on your bed, flicking your swollen little bud.

Pictures of Mattheo on top of you- Banging into you at full force danced across your mind while your fingers effortlessly swirled around your clit. “-Mmmm…Just…like that…” You whimpered to yourself, your eyes shut as you envisioned it perfectly.

One hour. You had time. Or so you thought…Stuck in your blissful trance— Mattheo barged in like he usually did. But you didn’t notice. Didn’t even hear him over your loud thoughts.

His eyes widened at the sight of you sprawled out on your bed. Fully nude— Fuck me. Matt didn’t say a single word. Watching you…Feeling his cock start to pool with blood and harden. “Mmmm- Matty…Yes-“ Another whimper left your swollen lips.

When he heard his name being slipped from your sexy moans- His dick fully hardened. Rock hard. A breath escaped from his lungs as he took a step forward.

“Naughty girl…Huh? Moaning my name? Thinking of me?…. Someone’s certainly on the naughty list this year.”

Mattheo’s voice echoed through your mind, at first thinking it was something you had done yourself, envisioning it. However, you were curious, your eyes fluttering open to see his stare burning into your leaky slit.

“Fuck— Uh, Mattheo?!” Your voice rasped through as you scurried to sit up and try to cover yourself. A low chuckle emitted from your enemy as he stalked over slowly, standing right at the edge of the bed.

What the fuck? I had an hour…why is he here early? You cleared your throat, your glossed-over eyes flickering between his own. “Keep touching yourself— Don’t stop.” Again, his voice growled through your head.

The use of legilimency. You knew he was a skilled and powerful wizard but fuck- Not with this. Although, it only turned you on more. Merlin— how could you hate someone so much yet want to fuck them? It didn’t make sense, not to you, not to Mattheo.

“I-I…Why are you…here so-so early?”

You finally asked as you relaxed against the bed once more, your palm reaching over your little slit but not moving your fingers just yet. “Early?— If anything I’m a few minutes late—“ The cockiness of his words chimed through your head.

“O-oh…I thought- I—“

You were tripping over your words, stuttering like crazy. But his domineering tone cut you off. “Shut up and keep fucking touching yourself, whore—“ the vulgarity of it, the degrading, you were practically a puddle.

Abiding to Mattheo’s demand, your fingers started to swirl in small and fast little circles yet again. Your gaze fixated on him while he started to shuffle down his sweatpants.

Taking out his massive length, he slowly started to stroke it. His eyes devoured you in unimaginable ways. “Mattheo…f-feels so good—“ croaking out in a small little cry, a satisfied smirk painted across his smug face.

“Keep moaning my name- Fuck— You look so hot playing with your pussy like that—“

He growled through your mind, jerking himself off faster and faster as time went on. “—Such a dirty…Pathetic little whore.” Mattheo was speaking through your head- almost as if….if he didn’t physically vocalize them, they didn’t mean anything.

Hearing the splashing of the growing wetness between your slippery folds, your moans only progressively got louder. Feeling the euphoric sensations right before an orgasm would start to hit you.

“So close— Fuck! I’m so—“

Before you could even finish your screams, you heard Mattheo’s voice shout within your brain. “Not- Fucking- yet.” He meant business. You quickly stopped, gawking at him with big eyes.

“W-what?” You asked softly, watching as he tilted his head back and let out a loud groan. Still stroking his precum-covered cock, his darkened gaze locked with yours. “You cum when I say you can, got it, slut?”

Goosebumps Erupted over your delicate skin before taking your fingers and circling them slowly once more. Giving your enemy a slight yet submissive head nod.

You kept your pace slow and smooth- not wanting to risk finishing early and pissing him off. But then yet again, he spoke into your head. “Faster- I know what you’re doin’”

Fuck. You swallowed, glazing your fingers around your clit faster. However, you knew you wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Not with how he was looking at you.

“I-I…It feels so good-“Squeaking out through a muffled cry, Matt seemed to move his own hand even faster. His gaze going from your cunt, to your tits, to your eyes.

“Fuck it— I’m close…Cum with me, you dirty…little…-fuck…whore”

Groaning through each word, you finally got the go-ahead. God, why was I even listening to him? Fuck. It was too hot though. You could hardly handle it.

Slipping your dainty fingers with ease, that familiar feeling built up quickly with ease. “I’m gonna cum, Matty- fuck me! I’m gonna cum—“ Screaming out in pleasure, your climax finally hit. Feeling your juices squirt out all over your bed sheets.

“A fuckin’ squirter? Fuckin’ Hell—“

Stroking his dick even harder, he let out a low groan before his seed shot out, cumming all over the soaked bed sheets and a tiny trickle hitting right across your mound.

Both of you hitting an intense orgasm at nearly the same time felt strange. Having only loathed each other for so long- this seemed off.

The two of you sat basking in the afterglow. Staring into each other's eyes with jagged breathes. Not knowing what to do or say…

One the 9th day of Dickmas we get…Mattheo and legilimency😈🎁

Hope y’all liked this one of matty hehehe👀 Make sure to check out more yummy fics from @nottswitch @nottsangel and @slytherinslut0 ❄️

Dividers pinned in my masterlist🌙

Love my naughty nymphs bunches 💋

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iniquitousyearning · 3 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 15th. mattheo — brat taming / daddy kink.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: play bratty games, win…uh, your boyfriends cum down your throat?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, glove kink, fingering under the table at a family dinner, dom!mattheo, denied orgasm, SLIGHT mutual masturbation, an absurd amount of dirty talk, daddy kink, ROAD HEAD (how tf does this man keep the car steady? idk), blowjob.

Malfoy Manor has always been stunning—the kind of stunning you've grown used to over the years of being with Mattheo, but that somehow still manages to take your breath away every time you step foot inside. It's perfect in a way that almost feels oppressive, the heavy weight of generational wealth clinging to everything.

The chandelier, the delicate flowers in the center of the table, even the soft scent of roses in the air—it's all so much. Too polished. Too grand.

You pick at your dinner, the taste lost on you.

On any other night, maybe you'd let the beauty sweep you up. But not tonight. Tonight, everything grates. The low hum of formal chatter, the fake, forced laughs that drift through the air—you hear it, sure, but you don't care. You can't care. You're too pissed off to care. It all sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

And the cause of your irritation? He's sitting right beside you, perfectly at ease. Mattheo's been charming the room for hours now, playing his part, all smooth smiles and well-placed comments. He was crafted for this. Moulded into it. He can waltz through these evenings like it's second nature, like he doesn't even have to try.

And that pisses you off too. Truthfully, everything about him tonight pisses you off.

But you sit there anyway, like the dutiful girlfriend you are, playing your role—smiling when you're supposed to, making small talk when you're supposed to—all while on the inside, irritation is bubbling, simmering just beneath your skin.

And maybe it's stupid—trivial—but you're mostly just mad that he dragged you here. Ignored your exhaustion. Dismissed it with that look of his, the one that said you'd survive, as if surviving was the same as being fine. And now, you're stuck in this perfectly orchestrated evening, playing a part you never wanted.

And you'd almost hate him for it—if it weren't for those fucking gloves.

Leather, black, soft and sleek. They move with him, something that masks his ruggedness and makes him almost look presentable—graceful—hiding cut knuckles and the strength within them as he picks up his glass, adjusts the napkin in his lap, brushing his fork like it's nothing.

You almost scowl in frustration of it all. Who the fuck let him wear those? You've been staring at them all night. You don't even want to, but it's like they've trapped your attention, pulled you in without asking.

You're mad at him. The gloves don't change that. But they do something. They make everything harder.

And still, you fight it.

It starts small. The attitude. A quiet, sharp kind of rebellion that only he'd catch onto. Your fingers tap your glass a little too hard when you set it down. Your words come out flat when he leans over to make some passing comment. You give him clipped responses, not looking at him, not giving him what he wants. You can feel the brittle edge of your smile, and you know he can too.

Mattheo notices everything. He always does.

After a while of this, a gloved hand slips under the table, brushing your knee.

A question without words; what are you doing?

You don't react. Not at first. You just shift your foot, barely nudging his ankle, pushing back in the smallest way. He tightens his grip on your knee—a warning, a silent conversation between the two of you, invisible to everyone else at the table.

"Dinner's been nice," he's prodding, testing, his voice smooth as ever. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You feel him watching, feel the weight of his gaze as he picks you apart, dissecting your mood. He knows you too well for this. You finally meet his eyes, and for a second, the room fades into the background. Just him and that damn hand on your knee, the soft leather brushing your skin in a way that makes your pulse stumble.

You try to shake it off, shrug it away like it's nothing.

"Hmm," you hum, pretending you're not affected. Your fingers tap your plate, and your eyes drift again—down to his other hand, resting on the table, playing with the edge of his glass. "I suppose."

His brow arches, just enough for you to catch it—another challenge posed to your audacity. He knows exactly what you're doing—you can see it in the way his lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement. He's letting you play your game, but you know he's already winning.

"You're mad at me." His voice is low, slipping beneath the hum of dinner conversation.

You blink, keeping your gaze trained on the flicker of candlelight rather than him. It's not a question, not even a statement—he says it like a fact, just a certainty, a declaration dripping in the smugness that comes so naturally to him. And that pisses you off even more.

He’s always too goddamn sure about everything.

"Mm, no." You lift your glass, cool rim kissing your lips as you take a slow, languid sip, the taste biting your tongue. You let it hide the smirk threatening your face. "Nothing to be mad about."

His hand shifts higher, fingers tightening just enough to remind you he's there—dipping into your skin, the silent warning you can feel vibrating up your spine. You should be used to this by now, should be used to the way he takes you apart—but you aren't. How could you ever get used to this?

"Uh huh." He's not buying it. He never does.

His eyes flicker around the room, yours follow, mirroring his movements in a habit you loathe as you let him have that win. Everyone's busy—forks clinking, soft laughter bubbling up like champagne, far enough away to give him the nerve to push you harder. Your breath catches when you glance at his free hand again—black leather tapping idly against the tablecloth like it's got all the time in the world.

Gods, what's wrong with you tonight?

When had his gloves become the focus of your desire? They're just fucking gloves. Stupid, soft leather molding perfectly to those big hands—you’re chewing your lip without realizing it, and his eyes catch yours before you can look away—

Fuck.

"You keep staring at my hands," he's leaning in again, and your pulse skips, trips over itself like it's running from something. "Got something you'd like to say?"

The pit of your stomach tightens, twisting with a familiar dread, a sick kind of anticipation. Of course, he's noticed. The bastard catches everything. Nothing slides under his radar—not when it comes to breaking your attitude.

He likes to say he was born to tame brats—and you, of all people, make him prove it. Sometimes you hate him for it. Most times you don't.

"No, actually." You shift in your seat, trying to shake his hand off your knee, but he's relentless—doesn't budge, doesn't even flinch. "I don't."

Christ. His grip is ironclad, like those gloves were made for this kind of hold. For making you feel every fucking inch of them. You exhale as you gather yourself—you hate him tonight, hate him for dragging you here, for dismissing you so easily—and you want to let him know it. Want him to feel it.

"No?" His fingers slip higher. You glance down the length of the table, nausea curling at the edges of your vision when you spot Lucius' blond head gleaming under the chandelier. Mattheo's voice is low, just for you. "Nothing at all?"

"Mattheo." Your voice is a hiss now, strained, your composure hanging by a thread. You want to slap the smug look off his face, but you don't. You can't. "Leave me alone, okay? I'm here. For you. I'm not happy about it, but I'm here. Just let me be. You're being—"

He cuts you off with a tilt of his head, jaw clenching at the exact moment his hand slides further up your thigh.

Your words catch in your throat, suffocate on themselves, die there.

"Maybe you're being a brat because you want me to choke you, huh?" The words land heavy, like an accusation, but worse because it isn't a question. He knows. "Maybe that's why you keep staring at my hands?"

Your body goes hot—alive in ways it hasn't been all night. The room erupts into laughter, some joke you missed, but it only heightens the tension wrapping tight around the two of you. His fingertips are teasing dangerously close to where they shouldn't be, and you're suddenly very thankful for the tablecloth draped over your lap—

"No." The word slips from your lips, barely a breath, lacking conviction. "No, I—"

"A brat and a liar," he hums, not letting you finish. He's enjoying this now. "You're really racking up the bad decisions tonight."

Salazar save you—his fingers slip higher still, and you clamp your thighs shut, a last-ditch effort to keep him from pushing this into dangerous territory. He responds by hooking a foot around yours to spread you back open—you bite your lip so hard it hurts.

"Maybe I'm just annoyed because I had better plans for my evening," you can't let him win so you spit the words out, voice quiet, hoping he doesn't catch the tremor in it. “Not that you care.”

You don't look at him. You can't. More laughter fills the room. Drowns out the shake in your breath.

He huffs, wine breath brushing your ear. "Keep this up and you may just end up with the evening you deserve."

"And what evening is that?" You spit back, ignoring the way the leather sticks to the heat of your thigh. "The one where I'm stuck here, listening to Draco prattle on about his latest Quidditch practice? Or perhaps another mind-numbing dinner, this time with Dumbledore and friends?"

The flicker of irritation in his eyes is subtle, but you see it. Oh, he's seething now. Dread pools, thick like syrup. You drop your eyes to the table.

"Oh no, not even close," if anger was a voice, it'd be his. Right now, in your ear. "I was thinking more of the one where I keep you cuffed to the bed all night. How does that one sound?"

Your pulse hammers, too fast, too loud—you can feel everything—the candlelight burning your skin, the way the chandelier's glow twinkles overhead, the way his hand is still, still so high on your fucking leg.

No one at the table notices. No one cares. But the feeling is crushing you, pulling you deeper into this private hell of his creation.

"You lost the chance for that when you brought me here," you bite out, hand darting under the table to try and pry his fingers off your thigh.

But his grip only tightens, his foot hooking tighter around yours, keeping you in place. He's relentless. And you hate it. You hate how much you don't want him to stop.

"If you're going to act like a brat, just say so," he growls, his voice a low rumble, "you know I'll deal with you later."

You roll your eyes. "Promises, promises."

You can't help it. You're baiting him now, pushing him just as hard as he's pushing you. The inevitable looms over you, and you know you've already lost. He's not budging. He never does. And you know—God, you know—you're in for it.

If this is the hell of his creation, you were the muse.

"More than a promise," his patience is gone, you can feel it. You wonder just how close you are to him dragging you from the room by your hair, not caring who sees. "Count your blessings."

“Oh, I'm counting."

And with that, you reach for your wine glass again, taking another slow, deliberate sip, letting the bitter liquid slide down your throat—you're oblivious, don't even notice the line you've crossed until it's too late—

His hand moves fast, leather fingers slipping past the last scrap of dignity you were clinging to. You choke on the wine you'd barely had the chance to swallow, the world tipping, spinning, crumbling as his thick, gloved finger glides through your slick folds, sinking into your cunt without a moments hesitation. You hadn't worn panties tonight—a decision that felt normal in the beginning but now screams of poor foresight—but there's no time for regret.

Not now, not with your boyfriend fingering you under the table at a family fucking dinner.

"Quiet, brat," he mutters, eyes twinkling as you cover your mouth, still half-choking on your drink. "Keep making sounds and someone is going to notice.”

Your heart skips, the pulse between your legs responding to the threat, clenching involuntarily around him. You're soaked, the heat of it spreads shame across your cheeks, burning like wildfire in your veins. Why are you this wet? This shouldn't turn you on—it's humiliating, degrading—

"Then maybe don't make me make sounds," you hiss, gripping the table so hard you think the wood might crack. "This is on you—"

He cuts you off, slipping a second finger into your cunt—and the sentence dies in your throat, swallowed by a sharp whimper you disguise as another cough.

"I said quiet." His voice is thin, dangerous. His fingers slide deeper, knuckle deep, and the heat threatens to tear you apart. "Bite your tongue or so help me—"

You bite down, but on your lip instead, trying to school your expression into something neutral, something that won't betray the war raging inside you. You two haven't fucked in days—you're more sensitive than usual—and this forbidden thrill only makes it worse, heightening every nerve, every pulse, as his fingers move in slow, deliberate thrusts inside you.

"You can’t," you breathe, the words coming out weak, a poor imitation of protest. "Mattheo—"

"Shhh," he replies, voice low, a quiet storm gathering in the pit of your stomach. He leans closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Keep your sounds for later."

You snuff a groan, mind racing a million miles a minute—eyes darting around the table in a panic, scanning the faces for any sign that someone might notice. But no one does. The conversation moves on, unaware, the oblivious hum of normalcy in stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath your skin.

This is crazy. It’s crazy in a way that only Mattheo Riddle could manage and you’re so fucking lost in it you don’t ever want it to stop.

He's not even looking at you anymore, fingers moving steadily, thumb brushing over your clit with the kind of casual cruelty that makes your body shudder. He's laughing, speaking to Draco as though he's not knuckle-deep inside you. The audacity of it makes your head spin. You're teetering on the edge—so close, dangerously close—and if you fall now, if you let go, you'll be too loud—you won't be able to stop yourself—

"Mattheo—please," you whisper, your voice trembling, barely holding on. His thumb rolls over your clit again, teasing, torturing. "You're gonna make me—"

"Yeah," he hardly looks at you. "I am." He crooks his fingers, pumping in slow, agonizing drags that send your brain spiraling into static. "Gonna make you lose the attitude. Gonna make you be good.”

Oh, you loathe him right now, deliciously. "Matt—"

"And you’re going to take it, like it’s not killing you." He continues—leaning in slightly now, examining the way your breath is coming in shallow, broken gasps. “Just like I’ve had to take seeing you in that dress…and pretend it hasn’t been killing me.”

Your eyes flicker around the table again, still desperate for any sign that someone might notice, just to give him a reason to stop—but the conversation continues, oblivious. The leather of his gloves is slick with you now, a wet sound breaking through the steady hum of voices with every movement of his hand.

You part your lips to hiss another pathetic plea—a warning to stop before you explode—but he cuts you off—

“One more word and I'll make sure not a single person at this table leaves without hearing you scream.” He pulls his fingers out nice and slow, rubbing some of the wetness down your thigh before he moves back and pushes back in. “Do you want that?"

You shoot him a glare, but shake your head nonetheless.

"Didn't think so," he mutters, his voice dropping even lower, fingers working deeper, faster. "Look at them," he hisses in your ear, and your gaze flicks over the table again. "They don't even care. Too caught up in their own bullshit to notice, aren't they? But I see you. I see how flushed your chest is—" his thumb presses harder, sending a shockwave through you—"I know what that means."

"I'm not—" your thighs tremble, you’re denying it as though you have any power to stop it. He’s just too goddamn good at this. "I'm not going to—"

"You are," he whispers, and you almost let your eyes roll. "I can feel you soaking my hand. Little cunt is begging me to finish this, isn't it?" His fingers thrust deep, hitting a spot that makes you work to choke down a sob. "You and that fucking attitude can deny it all you want, but I feel how close you are.”

The room erupts into laughter, a sudden burst of noise that pulls all eyes to the other end of the table. Your breath comes out in a trembling exhale, letting out a whimper you know won’t be heard over the commotion—the distraction your only saving grace as you fight to keep still, to keep from rocking against his hand and giving him what he wants.

You lean into him, pleading. "Mattheo, please—if you don't stop, I'll—"

"You poor thing," he hums, his thumb circling slower now, torturously precise. "Sounds like a you problem, princess. Shouldn't have been such a brat tonight."

"I'm sorry," you choke out, words barely coherent but you see the flash in your boyfriend’s eyes. It’s the two words he’s been looking for all night. "Please, just—"

And then—his fingers slip out of you. As abrupt as a cold bucket of water over your head.

You blink, almost gasping at the loss, just as the table erupts into another fit of laughter and you're left aching, disoriented, while everyone begins to stand. Merlin help you—dinners over and you had no goddamn idea. You feel like a robot moving in slow motion as you watch Mattheo wipe his slick fingers off on his thigh, smirking. The room is a blur of goodbyes and handshakes, and before you can even catch your breath, he's got you by the wrist, pulling you away from the scene, dragging you out to the car.

The passenger door of his blacked-out Audi flies open, and you're urged inside, your legs trembling, the evidence of everything he's done to you still slick between your thighs. The leather seats beneath you remind you all too well of the feel of his gloves, of the fingers that had just been inside you, and your cunt clenches at the thought, still throbbing with unfulfilled need. Mattheo slides into the driver's seat, a silent inferno of fury, not sparing you a glance as he throws the car into drive, tearing out of the Malfoy estate.

His leather-gloved hand rests on the stick shift, and you stare at it, unable to look away.

"You're staring again," he breaks the tension, his voice tight.

"Yes." This time, you don't even bother denying it. Not after what he'd done. He’d long tamed your attitude. You can’t fight it anymore. “I am.”

His chest rises sharply, his grip on the gear shift tightening. You bite your lip, feeling your core throb painfully in response.

"Learned your lesson, I hope," he mutters, eyes focused on the dark road in front of you.

"I suppose," you murmur, still breathless. The wetness between your thighs is impossible to ignore, and so you reach for his hand—tracing your fingertips over the smooth leather before curling your fingers around two of his, stroking them. "I suppose I learned something."

His breath catches when you jerk his fingers, and he sucks in a shallow breath of air through his teeth. You clench at the sound of it. Oh, how you goddamn love being a little tease.

"Mm." His voice is gravel, rough and uneven—you notice the bulge in his pants, his cock straining against the expensive fabric. "You want to cum, don't you?"

You nod, your fingers still stroking his. "Yes."

"Yes?" His voice lowers, a prompt you recognize all too well.

"Yes, Mattheo—daddy—" you correct yourself, your breath hitching. God, you’ve been here so many times with him. You know what he’s looking for. "I want to cum."

His jaw tightens, and he wets his lips. "You want my cock. You need it."

"Yes, daddy," you repeat, the words spilling out easily, exactly what he wants to hear, and exactly what you want to say. "I want your cock. I need it."

"Then finish yourself off," he growls, his gaze flicking toward you for a brief moment, his eyes blazing. "Make your filthy little cunt cum, and if you’re a good girl, I'll let you suck me off."

The command sends an insatiable fucking thrill through you, and without a second thought, you move to obey him—night air biting your skin as you shift your dress up and your fingers find the slick mess between your thighs. A long, long over-suppressed moan escapes you the moment your fingers graze your clit, and Mattheo‘a eyes flash over, jaw working as he watches for a split second before focusing back on the road.

"Fuck," you groan as you push two fingers into your soaked cunt, your head falling back against the seat, back arching. "Oh, fuck—"

"That's it," he murmurs, free hand moving from the gear shift to palm his erection through his pants. You swear you hear him moan. "You wish it was me, don't you? Wish it was my cock inside you."

"Yes, daddy, I do," you whimper, your hips rocking against your hand, fingers fucking deeper into your pussy, lewd sounds filling the steamed space within the car. "I wish it was your cock…inside me."

"Fucking brat with a dirty mouth," he hisses, his fingers working at his belt, eyes darting between the road and you. "Cum for me. Show me how you’re good for me.”

You groan, unable to believe how fucking wet you are, slick coating your hand and thighs, dripping all over your boyfriends expensive leather seat—Gods, you’re so close, the edge that he'd left you teetering on earlier now drawing closer with full force. You add another finger, curling them against your throbbing walls, and Mattheo's breath stutters, his focus wavering as he watches you unravel.

"Look at you. So fucking shameless." His hand slips inside his pants, and he starts stroking himself, his cock already leaking. "I bet you wish I’d pull this car over right now, huh? Fuck you like you deserve to be fucked.”

You moan at how goddamn wrecked he sounds—forcing a smirk through your open mouth, words coming out shaky. "And how do I—ah—how do I deserve to be fucked, daddy?"

The car jerks, just slightly, Mattheo groans.

"Like the nasty little slut you are," his eyes flash to you again, his grip tightening on his cock, pumping faster. "Until you forget how to talk. Until you can't say anything but my fucking name."

Your world spins, orgasm roaring in. "Mattheo—daddy—oh fuck—"

"Earn it," he snarls, his voice raw. "Earn my cock."

One, two more deep pumps into your cunt and you erupt, finally—body seizing, orgasm crashing over you with violent force, leaving you gasping, your back arching off the seat as your wanton moans fill the steamy car. Mattheo watches you through hooded eyes, stroking his cock faster as you whimper and moan his name, orgasm intensified due to him edging you all through dinner—somehow managing to keep the car steady throughout all of this.

Part of you wonders if he’s charmed it.

"Good fucking girl—there we go," he purrs, and his hand reaches over, seizes the back of your head, urging you toward his lap. "Now take your reward."

You’re buzzing—breaths scattered, but there’s no hesitation, no argument. You shift to your knees on his seat, your mouth watering as you wrap a hand around the base of him, tongue teasing the tip before his hand in your hair directs you deeper—lips wrapping around his throbbing cock as he slides into your mouth, hot and heavy. He groans, his hips thrusting forward, just barely, and you gag slightly as he hits the back of your throat.

"Fuck, that's it," he grunts, his voice low and strained. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be choked on my cock. To be shut up like this."

You can't answer, your mouth too full of him as he directs your head to bob along him, as he thrusts into you, each movement deeper, harder. Tears prick your eyes, but you don't stop, your hands gripping his thighs as you suck him down, hollowing your cheeks and drooling.

"Fuck—yeah, that’s it. Choke on it," he snarls, other hand keeping the car impossibly steady. "Wanna see those tears, baby. Wanna hear you gagging on it."

You moan around him at those words, the heat of them shooting straight to your still-soaked cunt, tears spilling from your eyes as his hips buck up, slamming the back of your throat. Mattheo is the most impatient man you’ve known, and it shows in moments like this, when he’s sick of your attitude—when he drops the seat back, one hand in your hair and the other gripping the wheel, his knee keeping it steady as he thrusts deep into your throat. You’re gagging and moaning, working your tongue along the length of him, until with a final grunt, he spills into your mouth and you swallow every drop, his shaking breaths and gutted groans filling the car as he rides out his release.

"Fuck. That’s my girl. My good fuckin’ girl," he pants, his voice rough with satisfaction as he releases you, your lips swollen and wet as you slump back in your seat. "You earned that."

You know you did.

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bettymylove · 11 months ago

Text

tease

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

content: you try flirting with a man, and mattheo tells you what happens when you do such things. 18+ mdni

a/n: This was requested, but it was in messages, so I can't post.

Mattheo was seizing, the veins in his neck looked like they were about to pop, while you smiled at his reaction finally gaining his attention. You paid no mind to the boy in front of you but leaned in a bit closer, tried tp touch his arm occasionally until you were pulled away.

"You're a fucking brat, you know." His hands were around your throat in an instant. He pulled you closer and began kissing you harshly.

His fingers delved beneath your panties to find what he was looking for, though he suddenly pulled away. "What's wrong?" You were confused as to why he suddenly stopped.

He took out a strange looking object from the drawer and once again pulled you closer. "I think you deserve punishment for what you just did."

He pushed the object beneath your panties and then you understood what it was. He clicked a remote and it buzzed inside of you and you flinched.

"Dinner will be interesting." He left you there, whining for more and you did not know how you wiuld survive dinner.

Mattheo was sitting right in front of you, smirking, that bastard. How could he just sit there, while you felt like you would die if you didn't come right away.

He increased the pressure once again and you let out a gasp, your hand grabbed the table harshly, hands going pale and he just grinned at you.

"Can you tutor me?" Theo sat down right beside you. You didn't listen to what he said, and he could not wait, shaking you slightly he repeated the question.

"Come on, answer him, darling, he's asking you a question." Mattheo could not stop smiling. "Yes, Theo I will." You offered him a tight lip smile.

Going back to the dorms, a hand pulled you towards him and into a broom closet. "Aren't you a good girl, sitting there like that, letting out your pretty little gasps."

He kissed you almost immediately, and your hands found themselves at home in his curls. He pushed you towards the wall and kneeled in front of you.

"Hopefully, this teaches you not to flirt with other men." He took off your panties, along with the plug, and pinched your puffy clit.

You moaned and relished in the feeling of finally being able to let out a noise after a tortuous evening. His lips found your clit and he kissed all the way up to your clit.

Your hands pulled his hair causing him to grunt and the vibrations had you moaning his name. His fingers teased your slit, entering just the tip and then retracting.

"Come for me, pretty girl." You kissed him tasting yourself while being on a euphoric high. His hard on pressed into you, humping you while still having his pants on. "Ready for my cock baby?"

#harry potter #slytherin #draco malfoy #theo nott #enzo berkshire #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle imagines #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle #matheo riddle #matheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #chitasmut

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apparentlytheproblem · 1 year ago

Text

credit: @dear-november19 <3

M A R C U S L O P E Z M A S T E R L I S T

M A T H E O R I D D L E M A S T E R L I S T

currently playing- forever favourite

annoying face

The readers on her phone relaxing after spending all Saturday on homework, and she opens tiktok and watches edits edits of her boyfriend and watches some for like hours and then he walks in- (stay with me bestie-) and she dosent notice, and she’s gotten really horny, needy and turned on *cough* maybe she goes on character ai to try to make her miss him less and she’s just super horny- he sees her watching edits of him and it’s just super smutty? [by annon]

warnings-

modern au, he's famous, smut, undergarments [help], previously annoyed reader, sitting on his face-, what are you even doing here? go study or touch grass or smthn

dating matheo riddle

just basic head cannons, there aren't any warnings, pretty sfw :)

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olivianott · 6 months ago

Text

WHITE CURTAINS

ꕤ Theo Nott x fem!reader

ꕤ part two to WHITE DRESS

ꕤ warnings: enemies to lovers, pure smut, unprotected sex, explicit content not for minors, 18+ please don’t kill me, I don’t speak italian

It’s 3am again. Sometime around lunch you decided that you were not going to meet Theodore tonight. But here you are, in another very thin, almost sheer floor-length dress, slowly steping down the stairs to the pool.

He is already there, thankfully, sitting on one of the big, four poster beach beds with cushions and curtains and everything.

After spending the whole day thinking about last night, replaying every touch and kiss that happened, it still feels like a dream, not real, like it wasn’t even you. But you can’t deny the desire you felt for him. And the pull you feel now. Not allowing yourself to feel pathetic about lusting after a boy that was constantly mean to you the whole time you have known him, you tell yourself that you were made to be worshipped, and yesterday Theodore looked like he was ready to do that.

His back is facing the entrance when you reach the pool area, but he turns when he hears your footsteps in the quiet of the night. You see the relief in his features. He was worried you weren’t coming. Good. His gaze then drops to your dress, all the way to the ground and his face hardens for a second. His smirk starting to match yours, he gives a little laugh: “Of course.”

“What? You think I’ll just do whatever you say? Think again. You have been nothing but asshole to me since the day we met.” You respond, with a little glare, slowly walking closer to him.

“Now now amore, you obviously don’t remember the first time we met, do you?” He grabs your chin with his fingers and makes you look into his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you, brought you a drink, and you ignored me, looking all around me searching for someone else as if I wasn’t even there. Remember? Matheo’s birthday party?”

Shit. Mattheo’s party. Of course you didn’t remember it until now. You were still in an angry heartbroken stage, pining after your ex, drunk off your ass.

Theo sees the realization dawn on your face.

“My ego was hurt. I was mesmerized by you from the first moment I saw you and you ignored me so hard, you didn’t even say one word to me. When I saw that being mean got your attention, I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, it was childish of me, I admit.”

You see a little bit of embarrassment in his eyes. Wow. So you were the asshole first.

“I was not in the right mindset at that party.” You bite your lip, and turn your eyes down instinctively, feeling a little ashamed too.

With a hand under you chin, he pulls your face up, his eyes fall to your lips, all the embarrassment gone in an instant. His thumb swipes your lip out from between your teeth. He is bold again. “You’re trying to kill me, princessa? Like last night? Salazar, the view of your body, that wet dress sticking to you. I thought I died and gone to heaven.” While he is talking, his hands travel from your face, down your neck and sides until they settle on your hips, playing with the delicate fabric of your dress.

“I hope you know I keep my promises, diavolina.” With that he fists the material and you feel it strain against your skin.

You shiver at his words, the feeling of his hands, and the promise of ruining the dress. That’s why you wore it. To spite him. To show him you are in control. But are you? With the look in his eyes suggesting he imagines you without the offending fabric, you wish you weren’t wearing it.

The air around you grows thick and heavy, it feels charged somehow.

“I have thought about kissing you since I first laid eyes on you at that party,” Theo says while his hand comes up and rests on the back of your neck, fingers tangling in you hair. ��but kissing you yesterday? Better than anything I could have imagined.” You feel the hint of possessiveness in his touch on your neck and in the next second he crashes his lips against yours. He is not gentle, his tongue exploring your mouth, your whole body is on fire from his touch.

His hands travel down and settle on your hips again, fingers walking the delicate material of the longest dress you own up, higher and higher on your legs, until the length is gathered up in his fists against your hips. He does that so slowly, while still kissing you deeply and you feel like you’re gonna combust. Finally, you feel his long fingers against the skin of your thighs and you feel lightheaded.

“This ok, princessa?”

With the fog in your mind you can only nod your head at him.

“No that’s not good enough, amore, tell me that you want this with me.” Fingers on your hips tighten to the point of bruising your skin and he grabs you and sits you up on the mattress of the beach bed. He stands between your legs, the curtains flowing in the wind around you and you feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t kiss you again.

“Yes, Theo, please!” His face is so close to yours and you feel delirious from the intense look in his eyes.

“Good girl.” He takes off his t-shirt, while you open his belt and fumble with a button on his trousers. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, princessa?”

Theo whispers and you love hate his smirk so much. “Asshole.” You can’t help but dig your nails in his chest. It makes him hiss and you smile at him sweetly.

Theo’s hands inch closer and closer to where you don’t have any panties on. The way his face looks under the realization makes you burn again. He looks positively feral.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” With that he scoots you further back onto the soft bed while getting on as well, hovering over your body under the night sky, curtains all around you. Your dress rolls back down over your legs and that is the last straw for him.

With a hard tug of his hands, the delicate material loses against his strength and the dress is ripped almost all the way up only hanging on its collar around your neck.

“Finally.” He breaths while already kissing the exposed skin of your thighs. Grabing your knee and pushing it up, he opens your legs before his ravenous gaze and teases you with kisses all around the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

With his eyes holding yours, he sinks his face into your core like a hungry man that he is. His tongue is working you so deliciously, murmuring and groaning and moaning into you like a man obsessed. Your body already tightening up.

“I could kiss you and drink from you for all eternity, amore, but now I’m too hungry for you.”

Coming up to hover over your almost naked body, he starts his kisses under your breasts, slowly inching higher and higher. Finally sucking on one pebbled nipple, your moans fill your ears, pressure building between your legs. When he pushes up to his knees looking over you like he can’t get his fill, you can’t help but stare at him with open mouth, too. He’s carved like an ancient statue, except for his beautiful cock that looks… heavy… is the only word that comes to mind.

“You can close your mouth now, amore.” He throws your words from last night back at you.

Suddenly his hand comes under your back and he pulls you up to straddle him, his cock aligned with your core already and you can’t help but moan loudly from the sensation.

“When you are looking at me from above like this, it’s my favorite view in the whole world, princessa.” Impatiently you push yourself onto his cock and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth. But the sound he makes when you take him all the way in will forever be burned into your mind.

You hold on to his strong shoulders as you move on top of him, enjoying the sensations of him filling your pussy, his eyes burning patterns on your chest, face, his strong hand gripping your hip.

“Lord, the sounds you make. I’m not going to be able to forget those anytime soon.” His voice is raspy in your ear.

While you are lost in the clouds of bliss, he grabs both of your hands and holds them behind your back, changing the angle and causing you to arch your back, pushing your tits into his mouth.

As if floating on clouds, you feel the breeze pick up and see the thin curtains flying all around you, exposing you to the outside world, but you can’t focus on anything else, just the pleasure filling your soul.

The feeling of his cock so perfectly filling you, your wrists held behind your back with his hand, the floating curtains caressing your sensitive skin, his gaze worshipping you from below, your world shatters and you fall into your orgasm, trusting him to catch you and hold you through it.

He hugs you close when he feels your pussy clench and your body shivers subside, burying his face into your neck. You feel his short breaths, quiet growls and whimpers as he loses himself in you too.

You stay tightly entwined for a few moments, then he looks up at you and says:

“You are divine when you cum on top of me like that, principessa. I hope this is not the last time you give me the honors of seeing that look on your face, because I might be addicted already.”

I struggled a little bit with this one, but I still loved writing it. As always, thank you for reading, hope you liked it. 🖤

@wxnterwidow333 hope you are not crying now and thank you to everyone for the encouragement on the first part of the story. 🖤

If you want more: 🖤here🖤

Divider by me: @hereindreamlandpng

#harry potter fanfiction #drabble #theodore nott #hp fanfic #theo nott x reader #theo nott smut #smutty fanfiction #smut #slytherin boys #slytherin

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