THIS WAS SO SO SO HOT, MAR MY LOVE YOU’RE AMAZING GTFO 😡💞

you never disappoint, do you? this is actually insane work… hello?!?!

"that's what i thought," he mutters, his lips moving against your skin. "can't get enough of me, huh? sneakin' out to see me, lettin' me fuck you like this with your mama's curtains blowin' in the window right there."

bye i died right here 🧚🏻‍♀️

"you don't get to say my name like that unless you want the whole damn street hearin' you. that what you want, sugar? your daddy stormin' out here with his shotgun 'cause his precious little girl couldn't keep her legs closed?"

he’s so irritating, annoying and full of himself… i need him to fuck me until i lost my breath. thank you.

— cowboy!mattheo fucking you in his truck

cowboy!mattheo riddle x fem reader warnings ; 18+ mdni, unprotected p in v, car sex, degradation (?), swearing cowboy!mattheo moodboard

navigation. au collection. m.list. cowboy!mattheo.

“knew you’d let me ruin you like this,” mattheo mutters, voice low and gravelly, his forehead pressed against yours as the truck rocks under the force of his thrusts. “all summer—teasin’ me with that sweet little mouth of yours, those fuckin’ dresses…” his words trail off into a groan, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to bruise.  

you gasp, fingers curling into his shirt, the scent of sweat and cigarette smoke clinging to him like a second skin. “shut up, mattheo,” you hiss, but it’s breathless, your head tilting back against the seat as he hits a spot that makes your vision blur.  

he chuckles, the sound dark and taunting. “oh, i don’t think you want me to do that, sweetheart,” he drawls, one hand sliding down to grab your hip, pulling you harder onto him. “you like hearin’ how good you’re takin’ me, don’t you? like hearin’ how you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.

you moan and your head tips back against the worn leather seat of his truck, the coolness of it a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against yours. “you’re gonna get us caught, makin’ all that noise. family’s right across the damn street. am i making you feel that good?”

your nails dig into his shoulders, and he groans again, his hips slamming into yours with a ferocity that steals the air from your lungs. “you’re so full of yourself,” you bite out, though the way your voice shakes betrays any attempt at defiance.  

“full of myself?” mattheo repeats with a smirk, his dark eyes glinting in the faint light spilling through the truck windows. “nah, baby. you’re full of me.” his lips skim the curve of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he leans in closer. “so long, i’ve been watchin’ you pretend you don’t feel this, like you’re not drippin’ for me every time i’m near you.”  

you clench around him, and the low growl that rumbles from his chest makes your stomach twist. “fuck you,” you whisper, though it’s weak, your hands sliding up to tangle in his messy curls.  

he grins, sharp and cocky, his thumb brushing over your lips before pressing into your mouth. “already are, sweetheart,” he taunts, his free hand gripping the back of your neck to keep you close. “you’re all bark, no bite.”  

his hips roll harder, deeper, and you bite down on his thumb, earning a hiss that quickly turns into a laugh. “feisty little thing,” he mutters, pulling his hand away to cup your jaw instead, forcing you to meet his gaze. “you want me to stop, sugar? tell me, and i will.”  

your fingers tighten around his bicep, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. he’s smirking now; you can feel it, the cocky bastard. you shake your head, swallowing back another sound when he rolls his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

“thought so,” he murmurs, pressing a rough kiss to your jaw before nipping at the sensitive skin. “you talk a big game, darlin’, but you don’t really want me to leave, do you?”  

you shake your head again, your breath hitching as his free hand slides down, gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist. the angle makes you whimper, and mattheo chuckles low in his throat, the sound sending a fresh wave of heat through you.  

“that’s what i thought,” he mutters, his lips moving against your skin. “can’t get enough of me, huh? sneakin’ out to see me, lettin’ me fuck you like this with your mama’s curtains blowin’ in the window right there.”  

“mattheo—”  

“no, no,” he cuts you off, his tone sharp, but there’s a teasing edge to it, like he’s enjoying your desperation a little too much. “you don’t get to say my name like that unless you want the whole damn street hearin’ you. that what you want, sugar? your daddy stormin’ out here with his shotgun ‘cause his precious little girl couldn’t keep her legs closed?”  

“oh my god, shut up,” you snap, your face burning even hotter than before, but the way you clench around him gives you away.  

“mmm, i don’t think i will,” he drawls, dripping with smug satisfaction. “you love it when i talk dirty to you, don’t you? gets you all worked up, makes you wanna—”  

“mattheo, please,” you interrupt, your voice trembling, and his smirk softens just a little, something like affection flickering in his dark eyes as he leans in to kiss you.  

“please what, baby?” he whispers against your lips, his thrusts slowing just enough to drive you insane. “you gotta tell me what you want. i’m not a mind reader.”  

“don’t stop,” you manage, your voice barely more than a breath. “just— don’t stop.”  

“wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a grin as he picks up the pace again, each movement drawing a strangled gasp from your throat. “not ‘til you’re screamin’ for me, darlin’. let’s see if we can make that happen before the porch lights come on, yeah?”  

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

| Riddle's Temptation

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

words: 7,717

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

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

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

But he was far more than that to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But his hand moved higher.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This wasn’t over.

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

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

“Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tom—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach twisted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can’t just—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

"You’re insufferable," you hissed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

i feel disappointed with myself bc i’ve been clean for 2 years and then that shit happened, and now i can’t do anything properly

— mean ex boyfriend!enzo;

coming soon; what’s better than a mean ex-boyfriend? a bitter ex-girlfriend.

mean ex boyfriend! enzo x mean fem reader.

Lorenzo Berkshire was a snake, the worst of them all; he cheated, he lied, and he made your life a living hell, but the worst part was that no one wanted to believe you. No matter how hard you tried to expose the truth, the world only saw what they wanted to see—his charming smile, his words always with fake sweetness; to everyone else, he was just the façade he created. But you knew the truth; you saw past the mask; you used to live under it, and now you were willing to prove to everyone what a disgusting person he really was.

But toxic habits never die, and no matter how hard you tried to cut ties with Enzo, you two always found your way back to each other.

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

navigation. masterlist. you’re responsible for your own media consumption.

FIVE. scissoring — pansy parkinson

warnings — smut 18+. drunk sex. scissoring. praise.

kinkmas mlist. more.

out of all the many possibilities of how the night would go, this is the one you’d least except…

the night started like any other. it was one of those regular sleepovers with your longtime best friend, where you were simply chatting in your cosy dorm room, a terrible romcom softly playing in the background, drinking some well-deserved red wine, laughing about your date that went horribly wrong— nothing out of the ordinary.

but then… well, things did start to feel out of the ordinary as the intoxicating red wine eventually kicked in, temperature rising as both of you began shedding more and more pieces of clothing, her stares lingering on your soft lips…

fast forward to now—since much of the night is a blur thanks to your intoxicated state—pansy, your best friend, is fully naked on top of you with her pink lips pressed against yours, tongues dancing hungrily against each other. her soft hands eagerly roam over your body, exploring every inch that she’s secretly longed to touch all these years. you can feel the deep urgency in her touch as she squeezes your tits, before sliding her hand lower to your core, rubbing slow, tantalising circles on your aching clit.

“i bet i can make you feel so much better than all those stupid boys ever could.” she whispers breathlessly in between the fiery kiss, your hand on the back of her head desperately pulling her closer, craving more of her. her familiar, flowery perfume fills your senses as you taste her cherry-flavored lipgloss, her plump tits pressed close against yours.

“oh yeah? show me.” you mischievously murmur against her lips, feeling more aroused than you’ve had ever been, your aching cunt dripping already. pansy then hastily kisses her way from your senstive neck down to your tits, briefly sucking on your hardened nipples before impatiently straddling herself on top of you, her core pressing right against yours.

“you look so pretty under me like this... fuck” she praises as she slowly starts grinding her hips, her swollen clit rubbing so perfectly against yours, causing you to let out a hitched breath at the feeling. your eyes don’t leave her for once, though, because, god, she looks breathtaking— her pretty tits bouncing in sync with each rhythmic movement as she stares down at you with her pink, glossed lips slightly parted.

her hands hungrily snake up to your tits, firmly squeezing them as her pace suddenly quickens. the pressure on your sensitive clit increases and the pleasure only heightens, making you slowly flutter your eyes shut, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets. you’re so close to your release, and by the way her movements become more frantic, you can tell she is too.

“fuck, pansy, feels so good! just like that” you moan, panting and biting your lip as you eagerly thrust your hips up against hers from beneath, the intense pleasure fully clouding your mind. when you slowly open your eyes again, you see a sly smirk spreading across her beautiful, flushed face, clearly relishing the way you respond to her touch as you’re completely falling apart under her.

“that’s it, baby, cum for me. do it.” she orders while toying with your hardened nipples, and fuck, you immediately obey— your back arches off the mattress as your orgasm hits, loud, high-pitched moans slipping from your lips. she follows right after you, her legs trembling while moaning your name as your juices mix together, coating your goosebumps-covered skin.

she pants, breaths coming out ragged and uneven, before she aggressively cups your face and places a long, firm kiss on your swollen lips. “mmm… we should definitely have sleepovers like this more often.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

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

۶ৎ riding boyfriend’s brother!mattheo in your room

boyfriend’s brother!mattheo x fem reader warnings ; 18+ mdni, unprotected p in v, face slapping, choking, dirty talk, finger sucking (?), cheating boyfriend's brother!mattheo moodboard

navigation. au collection. m.list. bfb!mattheo.

mattheo's fingers dig into your thighs, the heat of his palms branding your skin as you grind down on him, the weight of what you’re doing lost somewhere between the haze of arousal and the sharp edge of knowing you shouldn’t. knowing this is wrong. knowing you’re on top of your boyfriend’s brother, his hands gripping your ass like he owns it, his cock buried so fucking deep you can barely breathe.

"you should be fucking ashamed of yourself," he murmurs against your skin, voice dripping with mockery, his breath hot where it ghosts over your jaw. his fingers are bruising into your hips, keeping you where he wants you, dragging you down onto his cock at a pace that has your nails digging into his shoulders, useless in stopping him.  

"shut up," you hiss, even as your thighs shake from how deep he is, even as your body betrays you and clenches around him like it’s starved for it. mattheo chuckles, low and taunting. 

and then it happens. a sharp knock at the door.

“love?” tom’s voice is right there, on the other side of the wood. “why is the door locked?”

your heart slams into your ribs, your body going rigid as mattheo smirks up at you, completely unbothered. he’s still inside you, still hard, and now his hands are sliding up your waist, like he’s daring you to move, daring you to react.

tom knocks again. “are you in there?”

mattheo fucking smiles.  

you barely register your own voice when you respond, breathless and high-pitched. “y-yeah! just—just changing, tom, one second!”

mattheo’s amusement is damn near palpable. you can feel the low laugh rumbling in his chest, the way he’s seconds away from ruining you, from saying something that will have your entire life crumbling at your feet. without thinking, you slap a hand over his mouth, the other wrapping around his throat in a desperate attempt to shut him up.

“don’t,” you whisper with wide eyes, your voice just loud enough for him to hear, just soft enough that tom won’t.  

his lashes flutter. he fucking moans. it’s quiet, muffled against your palm, but you hear it. you feel the vibration of it against your skin, the way his adam’s apple bobs under your fingers as his smirk deepens, those dark eyes gleaming with something downright depraved.

and then his lips part, his tongue flicking out to drag wet heat against your palm.  

your stomach twists.  

"you don’t want him to hear, huh?" he mumbles when you pull your hand away, smug and cruel, eyes dark with something lethal.  

"obviously," you snap, but you already know you’ve fucked up, because mattheo's grin stretches wide like a predator who’s caught its prey, head tilting against the pillows as he watches you, eats up the way your chest rises and falls, the way you’re still fucking seated on his cock while your boyfriend stands just outside the door.  

"gag me then," he taunts, his voice nothing but pure sin. "if you’re so desperate to keep quiet."  

it’s the way he says it. so easy. so casual. like he isn’t already pushing every single fucking limit. like he isn’t already unraveling you piece by piece. you snap before you can think twice, shoving your fingers into his mouth, pressing down against his tongue in warning.

his reaction is immediate. his lips wrap around them, a hot, wet heat as his tongue swirls, slow and deliberate, teasing like he has all the fucking time in the world, making a show of it just to watch your face twist in something you refuse to name. your thighs involuntarily twitch where they’re straddling him.  

his lashes flutter, gaze hazy as he watches you, eyes so fucking smug it makes you want to slap him.

so you do.

your palm collides with his cheek, the sharp sound of it echoing through the room. mattheo groans, half-lidded eyes darkening as his hips jolt up into yours, dragging a choked noise from your throat. his hands tighten on your waist, his nails biting into your skin as his smirk deepens.

“oh, you little minx,” he murmurs around your fingers, voice rough, wrecked.

“you’re fucking sick,” you hiss, but your thighs are trembling and he fucking knows it.

“oh, i know.” his hands slide lower, squeezing your ass, dragging you forward until you can feel every inch of him pressing into you. his breath fans against your skin, words thick with satisfaction. your saliva covered fingers draw out of his mouth. “but i also know that you fucking love it.”

your breath stutters. your chest tightens. because he’s right. you do. and when his grip tightens and he pulls your hips down again, forcing you to move, forcing you to keep going, your resolve shatters completely.

“tell me, baby,” mattheo purrs, rocking into you slow, teasing, dragging the pleasure out until your fingers are curling against his jaw. his smirk is still there, lazy, smug, victorious. “are you sick too?”

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

♡ Assassin!Mattheo - First meeting

Summary: Mattheo got assigned the mission to end you, and he would find you at every price. But what he didn’t know was that you already knew about him.

Warnings: mentions of violence, dark themes, blood, stalking

Mattheo held the photo of you in his hand, studying your features thoroughly. Your coffee-colored locks falling down your shoulders, crystal clear eyes that could make any man drown. Sharp jaw, plump lips, and a small button nose. A beautiful creature, but he had been taught they were the most dangerous. Charming with their looks, devil in their soul.

For weeks he had been studying you, tracing your every step during the day. Keeping himself in the shadows to not be seen, keeping a distance between the two of you. He made sure to know your exact locations during the day, tracking down where you lived, where you worked, what gym you went to. Keeping the time of when you woke up in the morning, when you went to work, when you had lunch, when you got off work. He followed you to the gym, kept tracking what you trained. He had it all written down and made sure he wouldn’t miss a single damn detail.

Tonight was the night. The night where he was supposed to take your life, the night where he would see your blood pool around your feet, the night when he was going to witness life leaving your eyes. 

Mattheo pulled on his black cargo pants, together with his black leather holster. A pitch-black, tight t-shirt clothing his tense torso. He pulled on a black zip hoodie, pulling up the hood to cover his head. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, running his hand through his locks. Adjusting his holster, he placed a gun with a silencer  together with five throwing knives. His eyes still locked with his reflection, he picked up a throwing knife and spun it around his finger before putting it back in the holster together with the other four. 

Somehow, a strange feeling pooled in Mattheo’s stomach this night. Usually, he was never nervous going on his missions. But this time, it felt different. It was something with you, something with the picture of you, something with the way you were. Somehow, it didn’t feel right. He shook the feeling quickly and went out the front door. 

Walking down the pavement, Mattheo kept his mind on the one thing he had to do tonight, and then he saw you. And you saw him. Eyes locking for the shortest of seconds before you disappeared into the shadows. Mattheo followed shortly after, trying to comprehend the small and first interaction the two of you had ever had. You couldn’t know about him, could you?

Mattheo found himself in a dark, old, abandoned warehouse. He looked around but couldn’t see you. Only your footsteps echoing in the dirt of the empty warehouse walls. Mattheo looked around but couldn’t see even a glimpse of you in the shadows. 

“Mattheo… Riddle? Correct?” 

Mattheo’s eyes widened, twisting and turning his head. He could still hear your footsteps on the dirty floor, circling around him in the shadows. 

“You didn’t think I knew, did you? To be fair, you’re not so subtle when you stalk people. I’ve known your presence for the last few weeks.” 

Exasperation grew like a knot in Mattheo’s stomach. The thought of you knowing he had kept track of you all this time was damn near bewildering. It felt almost like a bad joke, and he couldn’t understand how he could’ve missed something like this.

“And if you have known all this time, why haven’t you done anything to prevent it?” Mattheo’s voice was firm. He felt calm, though the uncomfortable feeling of you knowing about him still lingered.

“Because… Where would the fun in that be?” Your voice was still echoing between the walls. You stood in the shadows, having Mattheo right where you wanted him. You aimed your gun towards him; the bullet would hit right in the middle of his forehead. But then he spoke again, and you lowered your gun.

“Yeah, you’re right. Where would the fun in that be? Bet you love the thrill, don’t you?” Mattheo’s voice took on a taunting tone. “Like you wanted to be followed.”

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head. Not in his wildest dreams could he believe in his own words. But right then and there, a throwing knife flew right beside your head, cutting your cheek, if only so slightly. With the tips of your fingers, you wiped away the blood. But when you looked up again, Mattheo was gone. Your blood ran cold in your veins because now you knew he had turned the tables, and with a sudden pull, he dragged you out of the shadows and into the middle of the room. 

“If we’re going to play this kind of game, we’ll play it fair.” Mattheo’s eyes bore into yours. You had only seen him from a distance before, except for the photos you had of him. But his features? Oh, he was handsome; his chestnut hair, his deep dark eyes, sharp jawline. You two weren’t so different from each other––both had experience in the same field, assassins. But it didn’t seem like Mattheo knew about that. 

You stood in the middle, and Mattheo circled around you like a wolf ready to eat its prey. His eyes roamed up and down your body, but his eyes were glued to the cut on your cheek. He reached his fingers to the cut, tracing it with his fingertips. “Such a shame…” he said with a low and husky voice, though a smirk tugged on his lips. “What is?”

Mattheo leaned into your ear, moving a strand of hair before whispering, “That I have to kill you.”

© cvrcingjonnie 2025. Please do not copy, translate or repost any of my works. Reblogs, likes and comments are welcomed though ♡ you are accountable for your own media consumption.

i’m so lonely it’s not even funny bye 😞

i like you, i do, from vi

ᰔ pairing . . . m. townsend !

ᰔ in which . . vi shows you random chats between the emotion reader & his partner

ᰔ . . . michael townsend + bf texts !

ᰔ category . . . fluff , smau , requested!

ᰔ tags . . . emotionally unreadable but secretly soft. sarcastic flirting. established relationship. smug boyfriend lol. reader being done™ but smitten. cereal is not soup discourse. emotionally intelligent teasing. chaotic texting. “shut up” means “i love you”. michael knows your tells. flustered!reader agenda. late-night banter. slowburn energy but post-burn. michael being annoying in love. use of "and" because "&" did not look good.

ᰔ look around . . . m. list && the naturals m. list

────── vi whispers . . . ᰔ

001. i only made four bc it's three in the morning rn💔💔

002. the naturals girlies... wake up... your uh. idk. mommy is back

003. tbh lercyswlrd is the mom

004. but let's pretend it's me..

005. im sorry for leaving y'all... i bought wine..

© MINORLYATFAULT 2025

i have placed something on you, just beneath your skin, just deep enough that they feel it when they come too close. a whisper of warning, a quiet hum of possession.

i’m actually unwell… this is so beautiful

letter 3 — i cursed the ones who touched you

── . ❥ letters m.list

this letter appeared in your coat pocket. it was not there this morning. you do not remember putting it there.

—

sweetheart,

tell me, have you noticed?

how they forget you so quickly? how their interest in you fades before it can truly begin? have you ever wondered why their affections wilt, why they hesitate when they reach for you, why their eyes never seem to linger long enough?

you thought it was something you did. something wrong with you.

it was never you.

it was me.

i have placed something on you, just beneath your skin, just deep enough that they feel it when they come too close. a whisper of warning, a quiet hum of possession.

they will never love you, because i have decided they will not.

and i do not regret it.

yours, the only one who ever will. t.m.r.

—

💌 this is letter 3 of 6. new letters will appear every few nights. you shouldn’t read them. you will anyway.

✒️ taglist? reblog & whisper his name in the tags to be notified. he will hear you.

“i hope you like it”—and oh, i definitely did. teena, this was such a cute one-shot, i’m genuinely blushing so hard right now. i loved everything about it! the way he still had his flirty side, even in a fluffy setting, was truly a 🧑🏻‍🍳💋 masterpiece.

He was really good at that, too good.He gave you a soft smirk and you felt your heart start to beat hard against your chest.

girl that’s so real, bc if he smirked at me, y’all would have to call the doctor or worse.

"Any time, any place, Bambi." He whispered back as he leaned forward a bit more. You could feel your breath shuddering while he grew closer and closer to you.

watch me fall 24/7 until my leg falls out 🤠

THE FINAL LINE, THEY HAD 526362 children after that and pow pow

as an ice skater i was giggling the hold time love this, jsjsjshshsh so good

Crashed | Mattheo Riddle

Summary: While skating with your friends, you meet someone in the most unexpected way. It's a meet that will warm up your cold winter season.

TW: Tension, slight blood mention, chars 18+, mdni

Word count: 1.7k

“Come on! It’s not that difficult. One foot in front of the other.” Your friend said as she skated in front of you. She had a grace about her, something that made it seem as if this was the easiest thing in the world to do.

You, however, did not have grace. You looked like a newborn baby deer trying to walk and that was putting it nicely. Your arms flailed out at your sides as you tried to balance yourself on the slippery ice. 

“It’s not as easy as you make it seem.” You said with your eyes glued to your feet. Your friend had already lapped you once, going around the wink with ease. She stopped beside you and let out a sigh. There were a few other people on the skating rink but not many. It was the perfect time to learn, or so you thought. 

“Seriously? You’re making it harder by being so scared.” Your friend said, grabbing your hands and forcing you to look up at her. She gave you a soft smile as she started to skate backward. You could hardly move and she was going backward. Show off.

“Keep your eyes on me and one foot…in front…of the other.” She said with slow pauses as you pushed one foot then the next. You did this a few times, slowly swaying your body side to side as you pushed against the ice. 

“I-I’m doing it!” You said excitedly with the softest giggle. Your friend let go of your hands and you felt that slight wobble but only for a second. You continued pushing one foot in front of the other and skating around the rink. 

“Look at you, go pro!” Your friend shouted from the other side of the rink as she took off. Was she embarrassing? Sure. But she was your friend. You couldn’t help but laugh as you continued skating around the rink. 

The more you moved, the easier it got. You were learning how to turn corners, moving a bit faster than you could. The soft wind brushed through your hair and, for just a moment, everything felt magical. 

There was a sense of wonder in the air as you skated around the rink. The twinkling lights that strung above you sparkled against the night sky. There was a dusting of snow on the ground outside the rink. Everything felt perfect.

Everything was perfect until you decided to go a tiny bit faster. You pushed your feet some more, trying to balance your body when your skate hit the tiniest bit of ice that had clumped up near the side. 

You started to wobble and reached for the first thing you could feel. You fell to the ground, going backward as you pulled the thing you reached for down with you. Except it wasn’t a thing. Not at all. It was a person. A man, to be exact. 

“Fuck!” He shouted as you fell to the ice. He crashed down with you while your heads bumped together. The pain shot through you instantly. Your hand reached up for the back of your head that had pounded against the ice while your other one held onto the man's arm.

“I am so sorry. Are you okay?” You groaned through the pain before finally opening your eyes. This wasn’t just any man. This man was…fuck. He was something else.

You met his chocolate-brown gaze and felt your heart skip a beat for a moment. You noticed how the corners of his lips seemed to naturally upturn so that even though he was wincing from pain, he still looked as if he was smiling. 

“I’m fine.” He groaned but that’s when you saw it. A trail of blood slowly fell down the side of his head. Your eyes widened and you felt even worse now. Not only had you busted your ass on the ice, you just injured another person. 

Great fucking job.

“Oh God, you’re bleeding.” You said as you pointed towards his head. He reached up, his hand grazing against the scarlet liquid that was near his cheekbones at this point. He pressed his finger into it, pulling it back just a touch to see the bit of blood that rested against his fingerprint. 

“That’s wonderful.” He muttered and you felt terrible for it. He seemed annoyed and you couldn’t exactly blame him. You used him as a human shield except he shielded nothing and only injured himself somehow. 

“I’m so sorry. I can help you clean it up.” You said softly and that’s when he finally looked at you. For the first time, his eyes met yours. He seemed to concentrate a bit more. His face turned from a scour to one of interest. 

“Shit, here. Let me help you up.” He said before finally lifting his body off of you. He reached down and pulled your hand with such strength that it actually shocked you. The sudden force of being pulled up caused your head to spin. You wobbled, feeling yourself start to fall again.

What the fuck?

“Whoa! No need to do that again.” The man said as he carefully caught you in a dipped position. He held you that for a moment and the two of you made eye contact again. He was really good at that, too good. He gave you a soft smirk and you felt your heart start to beat hard against your chest. 

“Thanks. Sorry.” You mumbled as he stood you back up. He took your hand in his and nodded his head to the exit of the rink. 

“Come on, Bambi. Let's get you off this ice before you fall again.” He said through a charming tone. Who the hell was this guy? You had hurt him and he was acting as if the two of you were close personal friends. 

Something about him exuded confidence. Your eyes were glued to his features as he slowly skated the two of you off the rink. You took notice of the way his hair curled perfectly. The chiseled feature of his jaw, the way his brows lifted just a touch when he looked back at you with that smirk again. 

Once you were finally off the rink, you shuffled to the nearest bench where your bag was resting. You opened it up, pulling out some wipes and a bandaid that you always kept in there. 

“You’ve come prepared.” The guy said and you felt a giggle escape your lips. There was a natural charm about him when he wasn’t wincing in pain from smashing his head of course. 

“I had these to use for myself. I wasn’t exactly planning on injuring anyone but me.” You said a bit jokingly as you reached up and started to dab the wipes against his skin. You were so focused on the cut that you didn’t notice the way his eyes were observing you.

You couldn’t have known it, but he was tracing every inch of your body with his eyes. He was making a map of all the places he could mark you up for injuring him. And fuck, he was going to have a great time doing it too. 

“I’m Matt, by the way. Mattheo but you can call me Matt.” He spoke out as you wiped up the blood, cleaning it down to the single source of the crimson liquid. 

You told him your name before taking the bandaid and placing it over the cut. Once you were done, your hands dropped to your lap. It suddenly hit you how close the two of you were sitting. Your breath was visible against the cold air as you stared up at him. 

“Sorry again, for crashing into you.” You spoke out through the softest tone. Matt leaned forward just a touch and gave you that charming smirk you were growing to know all too well with this absolute stranger. 

“It’s alright. Not exactly complaining that a pretty little thing like you took me down.” He spoke out and you could feel your body shivering. He was coming on and strong. It took you by surprise but you liked it. You really liked it. 

“Maybe I’ll crash into you again sometime then.” You whispered back, surprised you could even muster up a line like that. It was a bit awkward but hell, you were trying. And Matt really liked that. He chuckled a bit, letting his eyes wander over your body once more but this time with your knowledge. 

“Any time, any place, Bambi.” He whispered back as he leaned forward a bit more. You could feel your breath shuddering while he grew closer and closer to you. He took one finger and placed it under your chin, tilting your face just a touch. 

“Just give me your number first and we can make it happen.” He spoke out flirtatiously while his warm breath danced across your lips. Oh, he was good. Really fucking good. You simply nodded your head, giving him a little ‘mmhmm’ before closing your eyes.

You were anticipating a kiss. His lips were right there, you could practically feel them. Matt looked at your now-closed eyes before going to your lips and he thought about it. He thought long about kissing you. But then his friends called his name. 

He pulled away and you felt the disappointment as you opened your eyes. Your heart was racing now, the air stuck in your throat as you stared up at him. He dropped his hand and pulled out his phone, handing it to you.

“I’ll text you.” He said as you quickly entered your number. You handed him the phone back and he gave you a wink before standing up. He made it back to the rink, turning to look back at you one more time before skating off. 

As you sat there, you thought about the interaction you just had. What started as bumpy and wincing turned into flirting and an almost kiss. What the hell was that? You sat there for a little while longer until finally heading home with your friend.

Part of you thought perhaps you’d never see him again. Maybe Matt would forget about you, forget he had your number, forget to ever even text you. You were laying in bed, going over these thoughts, when suddenly your phone went off with a text message. 

“Hey, Bambi.”

As always, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated. Thank-you for reading!