Mattheoriddles-slutt - Tumblr Blog

me n who?🙁

Caught

theodore nott x berkshire!reader

word count: 2111

synopsis: Your best friend urges you to follow your crush, and it turns out for the better

warnings: kissing, but that’s it!

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Light tortured the scene around me, my head blaring from the eager sunlight. My vision ceased to the wooden desk in front, as I struggled to zone into the professor, blabbering on about charms. All I could think of was getting back to my dorm, and falling into an inevitable sleep, leading to me missing dinner and then having to sneak into the kitchens to ask a house elf if anything was saved, eating meagre scraps of an unfinished feast. My robe around me felt like a comforting blanket and the sleep nearly took over me, only the powerful brightness kept my eyes from closing. Finally, after the long thought filled, nothing to do with charms, lesson finished, I was rushing back to my dorm to finally find sleep.

After taking the long walk from charms to the dungeons I muttered the password, and the common room opened. The emerald dazzled and I finally felt at home. I was about to turn the corner to enter the hallway to my room, when I was interrupted by my brother, Lorenzo, his face shone with laughter as he called me over to his group. It wasn't like they hated me, in fact they were always quite nice, although sometimes their conversations with me were filled with crude jokes just to piss of Enzo, but I just wasn’t in the mood to join in. Although I had to comply, for my brothers sake. When he first introduced me to them, I immediately took a liking to Mattheo, although jokes arose when he was around Enzo, he still made sure they didn't have me feeling uncomfortable and granted me a joking smile anytime anything was said. I eventually became good friends with Mattheo, and we began to spend time together, however it didn't come without the rumours. Anytime we were spotted together everyone began to think we were more than friends, which was never the case, he would never be more than my friend. We both knew nothing would arise of that sense from our friendship, we told each other about our love lives, his plentiful hook-ups, and my non-existent love life, due my huge crush on someone who wasn’t available to me.

Unfortunately, this boy was another of Enzo’s friends, which meant he was off limits. Mattheo always told me that I shouldn’t care about my brother’s opinions and that he was a shitty brother if he got into the way of something that could be so good. Matt viewed that Theodore liked me back, however my brain told me otherwise. Perhaps, he was trying to make me feel better, and what made it less believable was that Theodore seemed to have some sort of grudge against me, he’d never speak to me unless I spoke first, and even at that he’d keep the answers to a minimum. Matt said it was down to his shyness, but I didn’t believe him, how was it that the person I chose to like, was so uninterested in me?

Enzo’s group were sitting around the fireplace, talking about God knows what. I sat in between Mattheo and Enzo on the green cushioned sofa, whilst Theodore sat on the floor next to Enzo. His brooding silence made me uncomfortable, and suddenly the sofa didn’t seem welcoming anymore, I fidgeted slightly, and Matt noticed and put his hand on my leg to silently tell me to sit still, whilst he continued to listen to the chatter around him. He, eventually, looked at me with a concerned look, and I simply smiled at him. Although after turning around I saw Theodore walking off, looking annoyed. I frowned in Matt’s direction, who nudged me and nodded towards him, prompting me to follow him. At first, I was hesitant to, but my brain convinced me I needed to check on him. There was a chance he would tell me to go away but it was just a chance, perhaps there was a possibility he’d let me in and tell me what bothered him so much. Although only a slim chance.

For some reason, I decided to make up where I was going, even though everyone pretty much taunted me about my stupid crush on the boy, although Enzo never seemed to mention anything, just stayed deadly silent.

“I am exhausted, so I’m going for a nap. See you all later?” without waiting for a reply I had already left the room, rushing towards where I believed Theodores room was located. Realistically that was a lie, I knew exactly where it was. I was in an almost running pace by now, trying to make it to him as quickly as possible, I stood outside the room for several minutes just thinking of what I could do without embarrassing myself. But also, what sufficient argument I had to actually enter his mysterious room. Although I knew where it was there was no chance, I’d ever gone in it, it seemed completely off limits to everyone but Enzo. Therefore, the chances of me actually being able to enter his room was slim to none at this point. However, I was longing to see if he was okay, after his storming out of the room.

I knocked timidly on his wooden door, awaiting any sort of answer. However, nothing came. I knocked again, but this time with less patience. Eventually, a person behind the door, murmured, “What?” the tone was cold and brooding.

“It’s me, Y/N, I just wanted to check if you were alright?” I muttered softly, patiently.

There was no answer back, only the door opening more, as a sign of invitation. The sun beamed in his hushed green room, the thought of being in here was exciting to say the least. Finally, I took a good look at him, his face confused and questioning. His features looked gorgeous in the illuminating light; he looked perfect. His hair slightly in a mess, which seemed to be from his hands running through it. His facial expression, however, void of emotion, he was extremely hard to read, and I always fell short of knowing how he felt. The silence began to feel uncomfortable, so I interrupted.

“What happened back there Theodore?” I gently spoke, my face twisting in confusion. I glanced up at him once I’d finished, my eyes glued to the floor as I spoke. His face contorted into sadness to nothing, the twinge of sadness was the first emotion I’d ever seen on the boy, anytime I was around his face would be left in nothingness.

“What’s going on between you and Mattheo,” he breathed, as if it were difficult to say, although before I had the chance to say anything, leaving my mouth slightly opened. He continued: “And don’t tell me it’s nothing, I’ve seen the two of you. You look so happy together, as if nothing could break you apart. You share touches, nobody else can get that close to you. What is it about Mattheo that nobody else has.”

His strained voice procured a feeling of guilt in me that I knew I shouldn’t have felt. I had done nothing with Matt, nothing in that way. Of course, we are comfortable with each other, and slight touches happened but never that often. Everything was always platonic between us. I tried to think of something to say that would help the situation and the vulnerable state Theodore seemed to be in.

“Theodore,” I started although was interrupted.

“Theo” he muttered in a pleading tone, “Please, call me Theo. Nobody calls me Theodore, except those who aren’t close to me. And I want us to be close, I want you to call me Theo!”

“Okay, Theo. I can promise you there is nothing between me and Matt.” His face dropped at the thought of Mattheo’s nickname that came so easily off my lips, instantly I regretted saying it. “Why are you all of a sudden so worried about me and Mattheo?”

“Are you that oblivious, Y/N? Have I not made it obvious enough that I like you?” the words spilled out of his mouth before he could think. He went silent, his hand finding his face, hoping that he would disappear.

I stood in shock, there was no way what he just said was real, I must be imagining or hallucinating. There was no way he had just confessed his feelings to me so casually, I couldn’t believe it. Maybe it was some cruel trick that was being played on me, something Enzo’s friends made up and thought it would be funny, without realising they had gone too far. Maybe he was just lying as he took pity on me, all these thoughts flooded my brain, but somehow my heart was able to say something without my thoughts being able to patronise it.

“Why are you always so cold to me then?” the vulnerability inched through my voice making it quiver.

He stayed silent unknowing what to say, the words felt threatened if they came out his mouth, something his father would never allow, he had already shown me his sensitivity. Perhaps it was too much, he needed to be stronger. He couldn’t let me break down the walls he’d built up. He decided staying silent was the best idea, before he said something he would regret, realising that I didn’t share the same feelings as he did.

“You never speak to me, every time I come in you stop your smiling, and turn off your emotions. Every time I’m near you, it’s like you shut down. Like you hate me. Theo, I have nothing to base this liking off, you have never shown me anything that would say you are interested in me, not as even friends. It’s like you try to get away from me, like I’m such a burden to be around. You’re saying you like me, but I’ve never experienced you in a situation where you don’t act like you’d prefer to be anywhere else.” I spoke, anger seeping in through the end. He’d annoyed me calling me oblivious, like I was some child that could never notice anything. If there was an inkling of hope I would be with him, I would’ve spotted it by now, and there had been nothing.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I wish for nothing more that you’d never feel that way. I thought by being silent you would like me more, the boys always told me to play hard to get, so I did. But now I realise you just thought I disliked you, in which its completely the opposite. There is nothing more I would love than for you to give me a second chance to prove I like you as much as I do.” He pleaded, his voice on the edge of guilt.

The first time I saw these emotions from him, and probably the best conversation I’d ever has with him, since it was probably the first where he’d spoken to me in full answers. The sincerity of his voice flushed away the thoughts of it being a prank or pity and I fully believed what he was saying was true. Without another thought in my mind, I slowly stepped closer to him, until I could hear him breathing. Our faces were the closest ever, the closest I’d been to anyone. My heart pounded in my chest, as the severity of the situation closed in on me, and immediately I realised Theo liked me back.

I leaned up to his ear, grinning “I like you too, idiot!”

Then slowly put my hands around his face, and gently locked our lips together. The kiss was gentle and passionate, it was all I dreamed of. My heart raced further when he finally kissed me back, only a few moments but the panic of him not wanting this settled in quick. But the reassurance of him kissing back, quickly dissolved the fear.

Our kiss was, rudely, cut short by my brother storming into the room. After realising what was happening, only took him this long.

“Absolutely not!” he pushed us away from each other. An angry look on his face, at the fact his best friend and sister were kissing.

“Enzo, just leave, I can handle myself.” I walked over to him, pushed him out the door, and locked it. Then immediately rushed back to Theo, kissing him eagerly. Finally, I thought I can have my long awaited nap.

I grabbed Theo’s hand, leading him to the bed, and lying down cuddling his figure. And easily falling into a much needed sleep.

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a.n. thank you for reading!!

i fw this heavy🫡

What do you think slytherin boys smell like?

ohhh, that’s an interesting question, and one i have thought about before.

so, first of all, theo. he smells like cologne that he picked out once years ago and doesn’t plan on changing it, something spicy. my hc is givenchy gentleman boisée. then, of course, we have cigarettes, can’t really get away from this one. but i don’t feel like it’s putrid because he changes his clothes pretty often, so it doesn’t cling that badly (the laundry detergent is citrusy, so it cancels out the smoke pretty well). and finally, coffee, because in my mind, he’s a coffee addict, one of those ‘don’t touch me before i’ve had my morning coffee’ types of people. so naturally, he smells like it. him and mattheo also reek of weed on weekends. they just do.

mattheo is the sweaty guy of the group. sorry, i don’t make the rules, he just is. he doesn’t necessarily stink, but there’s the underlying hint of sweat on him practically at all times (if you’re dating tho, you don’t mind ‘cause that’s ur boy <3). smoke clings to him more than to theo bc he doesn’t really care about not smelling like it, he just goes with it. he has cologne, too, and also doesn’t care about changing it. probably has the same one as one of the other guys, having grabbed it during one of the shopping trips together, so it really depends on who he shops with.

i wholeheartedly agree with most about draco smelling like mint. the guy cares a lot about his breath, and just how he smells in general (which has been ingrained in him since childhood; narcissa’s boy won’t go around smelling like shit). expensive af cologne, the classic woody notes + something fresh. jo malone london wood sage & sea salt is my personal hc. in general, his scent isn’t that strong, so you wouldn’t know it’s him approaching you before you see him (which makes it that much more special when you’re dating, and you can finally smell him vividly while burying your face into his neck).

lorenzo is the dior sauvage kind of guy, which is really fucking annoying in the quidditch locker room, especially to draco. everywhere he goes, he leaves a trail of himself in the form of dior sauvage. also, lorenzo loves lollipops. the stick hangs out of his mouth all the time, which is why his scent is complemented by whatever the lollipop of the day is (his favs are watermelon or coke). has a hint of apple pie on him in the autumn, because he just loves it and has it whenever it’s served or whenever he’s at hogsmeade.

as for blaise, i feel like he’s the one who has at least three different colognes and changes them out depending on his mood. it’s mostly warm scents, though, the ones that leave a whiff around him, so when he’s standing or sitting next to you, you just want to lean closer and breathe it in. there’s a minty hint to him as well, like with draco. sometimes on the weekends smells like weed too, having been hanging out with theo and mattheo, but actually tries masking it.

i swear my clothes were just on!!!

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.

Always manage to amaze me more and more🙏💚

KINKTOBER #4– CAUGHT BETWEEN THE GLASS / lorenzo berkshire

october 10th predator/prey , semi-public + mirror sex

lorenzo berkshire x fem reader

summary: a night of tension and innocent fun turns into a challenge between you and lorenzo at the carnival. if when he catches you in the mirror maze, he fucks you.

warnings: unprotected piv, fingering, semi-public sex, predator/prey dynamic, both lorenzo and reader are both a little high, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, 18+ content

words: 4.1k

a/n: idk how i feel about this one but here!

navigation kinktober masterlist

The carnival lights flickered like distant stars, casting multicolored hues that danced over the sprawling grounds, their glow stretching into long, dreamy shadows. The sounds of laughter, distant screams from the rides, and the hum of a lively tune blended together, as if submerged underwater.

Everything moved in sync with your heartbeat, your limbs loose and your skin tingling with a strange, buzzing warmth.

God, how many blunts had you and Enzo smoked?

Lorenzo walked beside you, his hand brushing yours occasionally, each fleeting touch sending sparks through your veins. You wiped the sweat from your brow, the sights around you blurring and blending together. “I think you’ve officially dragged me to every ride here,” you muttered.

Lorenzo laughed, the sound low and lazy, his grin stretching wide as he slung an arm over your shoulders. “Tapping out already?” He leaned in closer, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, come on, love. We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.”

You rolled your eyes, though the grin tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “The good part? We’ve done the rollercoaster twice, and you threw up on the ferris wheel.”

“Details,” he shrugged, his hazy eyes sparkling with amusement. “Besides, I had to— too much sugar.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Your voice was drenched in playful disbelief. Stepping away from him, you scanned the carnival, the cool air against your flushed skin a welcome reprieve. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, you let the breeze settle your racing pulse.

When you opened them, Lorenzo was watching you, his grin more dangerous now, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”

You raised a brow. “That’s never a good sign.”

He pointed toward a towering, twisting structure in the distance, neon letters glowing above it: ‘Mirror Maze.’ The distorted reflections within flickered like ghosts, the sight sending a thrill through you. Equal parts excitement and dread.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Scared?” he teased, his voice laced with challenge.

“Of a maze?” you scoffed, lifting your chin. “Don’t think so little of me, Berkshire.”

“Then I’ll make it interesting.” Lorenzo stepped in front of you, his smirk deepening as he blocked your view. “I’ll give you a head start. Five minutes. Then I’ll come find you.”

Your heart skipped, and for a fleeting moment, your mind spun in a thousand directions.

“And what happens when you find me?” Your voice was softer than you intended.

His eyes darkened, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You’ll see.”

The way he said it, the way his gaze locked onto yours, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. You bit your lip, trying to steady the weakness in your knees. “You think you can actually catch me?”

“Oh, I know I will.”

The challenge hung in the air, and you never could resist one.

Squaring your shoulders, you lifted your chin defiantly. “Alright, you’re on.”

Before you could take a step, Lorenzo’s hand shot out, catching your wrist and pulling you back to him. He leaned in close, his nose brushing the curve of your cheek as he whispered, voice thick with anticipation, “You should know… when I catch you, I don’t play fair.”

Your breath hitched, pulse spiking at the weight of his words. They lingered between you, heavy and full of promises you weren’t sure you were ready to unwrap.

“One minute, love,” he repeated, releasing your wrist, though his touch still burned on your skin. He nodded toward the maze. “You better run.”

Your eyes locked on his, the playful danger in them egging you on. Without another word, you turned, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted toward the maze, weaving through the crowd.

The neon lights grew brighter as you approached the maze, and with every step, the world seemed to spin just a little faster, the edges of your vision warping. You didn't look back. You couldn't. You weren’t sure what you'd feel if you saw him behind you, closing in already.

As you vanished into the twisting labyrinth of glass, Lorenzo watched until you were swallowed whole by the kaleidoscope of reflections. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

This is gonna be fun.

He counted down under his breath—three, two, one—and set off after you, weaving between the crowds of screaming carnival-goers. The acrid scent of cotton candy and grease clung to the air, mixing with the haze of smoke still lingering on his tongue.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the ground tilting beneath his feet like a ship in rough seas. But he pressed on, driven by the thrill of the chase, the intoxicating promise of catching you in the endless hall of mirrors.

As he approached the entrance, the pulsing neon signs seemed to blur and distort, mirroring the erratic rhythm of his heartbeat.

Fuck, he was really stoned.

He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the cold door frame as he peered into the swirling vortex of reflections. A distorted version of himself grinned back, his own eyes glazed over with a hazy sheen.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed past the initial disorientation and stepped inside, immediately losing sight of the entrance behind him. The air inside the maze was heavy, almost suffocating, and the constant echo of footsteps reverberated off the mirrored walls.

Lorenzo squinted, trying to pierce the veil of reflections, searching for any glimpse of you. The longer he stood there, the more his senses began to warp, colors bleeding into each other, sounds morphing into strange, discordant melodies.

His patience wore thin, the competitive fire within him igniting once more.

The maze seemed to shift and change with every step, the mirrors twisting reality into an endless labyrinth of confusion. Your heart raced, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you navigated the dizzying array of reflections.

The tantalizing image of your figure kept showing between mirrors, only for a second or two each time, and it was driving him insane.

“I can see you, baby. You can’t hide,” he echoed, the crazed smile in his voice audible.

You heard the thudding of his footsteps somewhere in the maze, and you didn’t know whether to speed up or slow down your pace. You both knew you wanted him to catch you, but should you have given in so quickly?

You shook your head, trying to clear the cobwebs from your mind. The music from the carnival outside seemed to fade away, replaced by a dull roar that echoed through the corridors of glass.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught your eye, a flicker of color amidst the sea of reflections. You whirled around, your heart leaping into your throat as you caught a glimpse of his silhouette darting between two mirrors.

"There you are," he growled under his breath, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

Without hesitation, he moved forward, his footsteps echoing loudly in the confined space. The mirrors seemed to blur around him as he ran, his blood pounding in his ears, fueled by a potent mix of adrenaline and desire.

He could hear your footsteps ahead, always just out of reach. The game was far from over, and he wasn't about to let you slip away so easily. With each passing second, the anticipation built within him, a primal hunger gnawing at his insides.

“You know what the deal is, pretty girl. Do us both a favor and stop running.” He gave a dark chuckle, his amusement palpable.

Up ahead, he spotted you again, a tantalizing glimpse of your curves as you weaved between the mirrors. His gaze lingered on the swell of your ass, the way your dress clung to your thighs as you moved.

With a final burst of energy, Lorenzo launched himself forward, arms outstretched to grab hold of you. The mirrors seemed to close in around him, distorting everything until he was surrounded by a dizzying array of reflections.

He collided with you in a tangle of limbs, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you hard against his body. The impact sent a jolt of pleasure through him, his cock twitching eagerly in response to the feel of your soft skin against his.

"You little tease," he panted, his lips brushing against your ear as he spun you around to face him. "Thought you could outrun me, huh?"

His fingers dug into your hips, kneading the flesh as he ground his erection against your belly. The mirror's cool surface pressed against your back, a contrast to the heat of his touch.

"I've got you now," he murmured, his hot breath fanning over your neck. "And I'm going to take my reward for catching you."

His hands roamed your body possessively, mapping out every curve and dip with greedy fingers. He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear as he whispered huskily, “Such a naughty little girl. Of course this shit turns you on.”

One hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulled your hips flush against his own. The heat of his arousal was evident even through the layers of clothing separating you.

He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you thoroughly. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging lightly as he angled your head to grant him better access.

Breaking away, he fixed you with a smoldering look, his eyes dark with lust.

The intoxicating mix of lust and power coursing through him took hold completely as he gazed down at your upturned face. Your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the pleading expression in your eyes were enough to send him spiraling into a frenzy of desire.

"On your knees," he commanded gruffly, his voice low and rough with need. “Wrap those pretty lips around me.”

As if entranced, you sank to the floor without protest, your dress riding up your thighs as you went. Lorenzo watched intently, his cock straining painfully against his jeans, aching to be freed.

You giggled softly, a mischievous glint in your hazy eyes as you pressed a kiss to the bulge in his jeans. “Oh, so now you're punishing me for playing along too well?”

You looked up at him coyly, tracing a finger along the zipper of his jeans before slowly pulling it down. “Not much of a punishment to make me taste you, but I’ll take it.”

A groan escaped his lips as you freed his straining cock, the sight of it springing free almost too much to bear in its erect glory. He couldn't help but thrust slightly into your touch, already craving more of your attention.

"Fucking brat," he muttered, a smirk playing on his lips despite the intensity of his arousal. "You think teasing me is cute, huh?"

Reaching down, he gripped the base of his dick, guiding it towards your open mouth. "Open wide then. We both know good and fucking well you were waiting for me to catch you."

The commanding tone left no room for argument, and you obediently parted your lips, letting him slide the thick length past them. Lorenzo closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sensation of your warm mouth enveloping him, before looking back down at you with a satisfied grin.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, holding you steady as he began to rock his hips, pushing deeper into your mouth. Your wet heat engulfed him perfectly, the velvety walls of your throat massaging his sensitive tip with each thrust.

"That's it, baby," he praised, his voice strained with pleasure. "Take it all like a good girl."

The obscene sounds of your sucking filled the air, mingling with his grunts and groans of ecstasy. He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, his balls tightening as you worked him expertly with your tongue.

"Fuck, just like that," he gasped, his grip on your hair tightening. "Don't stop, keep going just like that..."

Your muffled moans vibrated deliciously around his shaft, spurring him on further.

As he continued to piston his cock in and out of your mouth, he reveled in the feeling of control, of owning your body so completely. The sound of your muffled whimpers only served to heighten his pleasure, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

Suddenly, he slammed into the back of your throat, hitting that sweet spot that made stars explode behind his eyelids. Your gag reflex kicked in, and you struggled to breathe around him, but he didn't relent, driving forward relentlessly.

"Aww, looks like my little brat needs air," he taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Too bad, so sad. Funny thing, isn't it? You said this wasn't really a punishment," he taunted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "But here you are, face-fucked and drooling all over my dick. Looks like you were wrong, baby."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as Lorenzo pounded mercilessly into your throat, but you refused to tap out, determined to prove yourself worthy of his brutal affections. Your jaw ached from being stretched wide around his girth, saliva pooling in your mouth and dripping down your chin and onto your thighs.

You looked up at him with watery eyes, silently begging for mercy even as you hollowed your cheeks and sucked harder. Your hands came up to grip his muscular thighs, nails digging into the taut flesh as you steadied yourself against his relentless thrusts.

A particularly harsh snap of his hips had you choking violently, your throat constricting around him as you fought the urge to gag.

He reveled in your struggle, the way your throat spasmed around his cock, trying desperately to accommodate his punishing rhythm. The tears streaking down your face only fueled his dominant side, urging him to take you harder, to claim you utterly.

"That's it, baby," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Take it all like the good little slut you are."

He held your head still, buried deep in your throat, relishing the flutter of your muscles as they tried futilely to expel him. Your nails raked across his thighs, leaving angry red welts in their wake, but the sting only heightened his pleasure.

After long moments, he finally withdrew, allowing you a gasping breath before plunging back in. He set a brutal pace, using your mouth like a personal cock sleeve, chasing his rapidly approaching climax.

The slick sounds of your gagging echoed obscenely off the mirrored walls surrounding you, a lewd symphony of depravity that only served to drive him wilder. He could feel his release barreling towards him like a freight train, body tensing up as he neared the edge, a hand tangling in your hair.

With a final moan, he buried himself to the hilt in your convulsing throat, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself directly into your stomach. Thick ropes of cum painted your insides, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

"Fuck yes, swallow it all," he demanded, grinding against your face as he rode out the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. "You like it when I put that smart ass mouth of yours to work?”

He pulled out of your abused throat with a wet pop, watching with satisfaction as you gasped for air, coughing and sputtering. Strings of saliva connected your swollen lips to his softening cock, and he swiped a thumb across your cheek, collecting some of the mess there.

"So pretty," he murmured, bringing his thumb to your mouth and pressing it between your lips. “Stand.”

You managed a weak smile as he helped you stand, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Despite the lingering soreness in your throat, a sense of pride swelled within you.

"You're such an asshole," you joked hoarsely, rubbing your tender jaw.

His chuckle sent a shiver through you, and you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable bulge reappearing in his pants. You bit your lip, a wicked grin spreading across your face.

"You're insatiable. Can't get enough of me, hm?"

He smirked at your words, his eyes darkening with renewed desire as he pulled you flush against him. "Guilty as charged."

To punctuate his statement, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving past your teeth to tangle with yours. He swallowed your gasp, one hand sliding down to palm your ass possessively.

Breaking away, he nipped at your bottom lip before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jawline. "And trust me, baby," he purred, his voice low and gravelly. "We're far from done here."

He turned you both around, pinning you chest-first against a gleaming mirror. Your reflection stared back, tits flattened against the cool glass, cheeks rosy. A deliciously perverse image that he savored for a moment before attacking the slender column of your neck.

His lips and teeth left a blazing trail, nipping and sucking at your tender skin. "You look so hot like this," he growled against your ear, one hand slipping under your dress to hike up the fabric and expose your soaked panties. "Want to feel you come undone in my arms."

His fingers deftly hooked into the waistband of your panties, pushing them down your thighs before dipping into your slick folds. Two thick digits plunged inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot deep within your core. "Mmm, always so ready for me, aren't you?"

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as his fingers delved into your heat, your back arching instinctively to press your center more firmly against his probing digits. Your knees nearly buckled at the intensity of sensation, and your hands pressed against the mirror for support.

"Yes," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "Fucking clearly.”

You could feel yourself teetering on the brink of climax already, his skilled touch stoking the flames of your desire to new heights.

He continued his sensual assault, alternating between slow, deep strokes and quick, shallow thrusts. His free hand slid up your body to cup your breast through the fabric of your dress, kneading the supple mound roughly.

All the while, his lips never ceased their worship of your neck, painting your skin with open-mouthed kisses and teasing flicks of his tongue. He lapped at your pulse point before grazing it with his teeth, sending electric sparks of pleasure-pain racing through you.

"I want to feel you fall apart," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "Come for me, baby. Let go."

A keening cry tore from your throat as his words and actions pushed you over the edge. Your inner walls clamped down around his pumping fingers, quivering and rippling in a violent climax.

"Yes, fuck! Oh god!" you wailed, your hips jerking erratically against his hand as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of your release.

As the tremors slowly subsided, you slumped against the mirror, panting heavily. Your legs felt like jelly, barely able to hold you upright.

He gentled his touch as your orgasm subsided, slowly withdrawing his fingers from your twitching channel. A smear of your arousal glistened on his digits, and he brought them to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.

Turning you around, he claimed your mouth in a deep, languid kiss, tasting the salt of your tears and the sweetness of your spent passion. His hands roamed your curves, soothing and caressing, until you were limp and pliant in his embrace.

"You're incredible," he whispered against your lips, brushing a stray lock of hair from your flushed face. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm never letting you go."

With a low growl of possessiveness, he swept you up into his arms, hoisting you effortlessly by the waist to press your back against the mirrored wall. His strong hands gripped your thighs, parting your legs to accommodate his growing erection. He ground his hard length against your slick heat, the friction deliciously torturous.

Your head lolled back against the cool glass as he pinned you there, a moan escaping your parted lips at the exquisite pressure of his cock rubbing against your aching core. The heat of his body enveloped you, making you feel small and delicate in his grasp.

"Yours," you agreed breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him closer. "Just fuck me."

Your hand fisted in his hair, guiding his face to capture your mouth in another searing kiss. You lost yourself in the taste and scent of him, your other hand reaching down to guide his tip to your entrance.

With a primal grunt, he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. Your wetness enveloped him like a velvet vice, and he paused for a moment, savoring the perfect fit.

Then, with a snap of his hips, he began to move, driving into you with powerful, relentless strokes. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, punctuated by your wanton cries and his guttural groans.

He angled his thrusts to hit that sweet spot deep inside you, determined to push you over the edge again, his hands moving down to your ass to support you.

"You take me so well," he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "Such a good girl."

Your nails dug into Lorenzo's shoulders as he pistoned into you, each forceful thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The way he filled you, stretched you, made you feel owned and desired in the most primal way possible.

"Oh fuck, yes!" you sobbed, your hips rising to meet his, eager for more of that delicious friction. "Harder, baby, fuck me harder!"

The filthy words spilled from your lips unbidden, your inhibitions shattered by the intense sensations coursing through you. You were completely lost in the rhythm of your joining, driven by nothing but the all-consuming need for release.

Your reflections danced across the labyrinthine mirrors as he pounded into you, creating an endless array of perverse images, all while your combined moans echoed through the narrow space. Perks of being in the house of mirrors.

His pace became brutal, almost punishing, as he chased his own release. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickling down to mingle with the dusting of stubble on his jawline. The lewd slap of skin against skin reverberated through the confined space, interspersed with your fevered pleas and his ragged breathing.

"That's it, Y/N, let go," he urged, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Come for me again, now."

With a final, savage thrust, he sent you hurtling over the precipice once more. Your sex clenched around him, milking his cock as your orgasm crashed through you in devastating waves. The feeling of your pussy spasming wildly around him was enough to send him careening after you, his own climax ripping through him with a deep groan.

He collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. His softening cock slipped out of you, a rush of mingled fluids following in its wake.

For a long moment, he simply held you, his heart pounding against your chest, his arms wrapped securely around your trembling form. Slowly, the haze of lust began to clear, replaced by a warm, sated glow.

"You okay?" he murmured, pulling back just far enough to search your face with concerned eyes.

You leaned into his embrace, relishing the comforting weight of his body pressed against yours. Despite the lingering ache between your thighs and the sticky evidence of your actions dripping down your leg, you'd never felt more content.

"I’m okay," you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Gently, he set you down on shaky legs, keeping a steadying arm around your waist. He took a moment to admire the disheveled state you were in - hair mussed, dress askew, lipstick smudged, and skin flushed with exertion and satisfaction.

"You look insane," he teased, brushing a stray curl from your cheek. "But also ridiculously beautiful."

His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, pulling you in for one last kiss, this one softer than before.

Your lips moved lazily against his, savoring the gentle affection. As the kiss broke, you smiled up at him, still basking in the afterglow.

“Next time, you won’t catch me. I guarantee it.”

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

🙏😭😛

The fact that this man looks so fucking good with blood on him makes me physically fucking ill.

Like, LOOK AT HIM. UGH. 🥵😚

Edit: I may or may not have a blood kink. 🩸

🙏🙏 stand by that!

mattheo riddle is the type of man to simply not allow you to get out of bed in the morning until he’s peppered every inch of your face with kisses (and until you do the same to him!!)

^^ mattheo sleepily looking for his kisses the second he wakes up:

realest shit i’ve seen all day

cr: alexadorex on tiktok

“Wow, you’re looking a little skinny?”

Thanks! i made sure of it.

I’m not arguing with a guy that looks like this

whatever u say beautiful💋