I Asked For Times Like This, And Kira Heard My Screams And Made Another Smut Masterpiece—we Love To

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

and if? hm, and if?

UXORIOUS — someone who’s totally submissive to their significant other

— michael townsend x fem reader

➳ warnings: major fluff, whipped boyfriend, kissing, soft behavior, bad writing (english is not my first language and i didn’t edit…ups).

The moment he laid eyes on you, Michael Townsend fell in love with you.

He knew it was strange; after all, he was one of the people who screamed at the top of his lungs that love at first sight was pure nonsense and only existed in clichés and fairy tales, which, in his opinion, only little children and naive people believed in.

But for some reason, you changed that, which practically left everyone open-mouthed.

The truth is, Michael, even though having a photographic memory wasn’t his ability, he remembered every little detail of the day he met you and every word you said, not to mention how those little things made him feel.

He remembered the hot sun at 3:07 PM on July 19th, which had made his neck sweat and had also made some of his hair stick to his forehead. He remembered Agent Tanner’s voice when he announced a new member to the natural’s theme, and he certainly remembered how his throat had tightened and his heart had started to pound the moment you walked through the door.

Fuck, you were so beautiful; you are so beautiful.

He still remembered the white dress that had hugged your delicate curves, leaving his mouth dry, the way the summer sun had made your skin glow, making him feel stupid in front of everyone, how your slightly messy hair had made him bite his lip to hide a smile, and how his body had frozen when your hands touched, and when you had finally said your name.

From that day on, Michael knew he was completely whipped, and honestly, it was one of the first times he had expressed excitement about feeling emotions so openly.

And that’s exactly what he did.

Sitting in one of the chairs in the small office of the FBI’s naturals’ room, you let your tired eyes wander across the screen of the small laptop in front of you, which displayed some notes on the case you were trying to solve, while you fought against the drowsiness that seemed to be pushing you to close your eyes and fall asleep.

11:42 p.m.

Michael was leaning against the doorframe, his muscular arms crossed, and his messy brown hair swaying slightly as he watched you in silence, what felt like the thousandth time that night.

He knew you should be asleep. In fact, anyone who’d worked as hard as you did that day would already be out cold by now. But you never knew when was the time to stop, and that left him torn between thinking you were the most determined and intelligent person he knew or the craziest.

The cold light from the laptop screen illuminated your face even more, highlighting the small crease between your eyebrows and the fatigue taking over your already sleepy eyes. He recognized that look; he had seen it too many times, more times than he liked to admit. He knew you were fighting against sleep, insisting on staying awake, even though your body was begging you to do the opposite.

Michael let out a soft sigh, finally pushing himself off the wall and walking over to you, stopping behind your chair, leaning slightly forward to better see the face of the person who made his heart almost leap out of his chest.

Your hair was a bit messier than usual, one of your hands resting on your head while the other lazily slid across the laptop’s touchpad, and you didn’t have the most pleasant expression at that moment. But even so, to him, you were still so beautiful that he could feel his knees starting to weaken.

Fuck, sometimes it was hard to believe that you were his, or rather, that he was yours.

Without saying a word, Michael placed his hands on your tense delicate shoulders and began to massage them slowly, his thumbs pressing into the tight spots on the sides of your neck while he placed soft, gentle kisses on your head. And he couldn’t help but let out a little laugh when he felt your body flinch reflexively before you finally relaxed under his touch, letting out a sigh falling from your lips.

That felt so good.

“It’s almost midnight, baby,” he murmured against the top of your head, leaning down to place another soft kiss there, another smile slipping out of his lips when he heard your giggles. “I think that’s enough for today, or would you rather stay here frying your pretty brain?”

You mumbled something unintelligible—something that, to him, sounded suspiciously like a curse—but you didn’t protest when he calmly reached for your laptop’s mouse and closed the document before you could even complain.

“Michael…” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep as you turned slightly to look at him, your face flushing when you realized he wasn’t wearing a shirt and how close he was.

Damn these teenage hormones. And damn your insanely handsome, unbelievably hot boyfriend.

He smiled against your head at your reaction, feeling satisfied knowing he had the same effect on you as you had on him. Then, he slid his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against his bare chest, hugging you from behind. Making you feel the warmth of his skin against yours and sending a familiar rush of butterflies through both of your stomachs—just like it always did, no matter how many times you’ve done this before.

Your body molded perfectly against his, like it was meant to be there—and honestly, it was. And Michael took his time, appreciating the moment, letting himself hold you just a little longer. His nose brushed gently against your hair, and he inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo, a quiet sigh leaving his lips as he tightened his hold around you.

“No excuses,” he murmured, his voice full of affection but with a firmness you knew all too well. “Come to bed with me. You promised I’d be your personal heater, remember? Or do you want to break the deal and crush my poor heart?”

You chuckled softly at the usual drama, tilting your head back against his shoulder.

“And what if I say I need five more minutes?” you teased, fully aware that there was no point in arguing with him when it came to you or your well-being.

You were his top priority since the moment he saw you.

Michael rolled his eyes, pretending to be irritated, though it was clear that wasn’t the case—at least not with you. The truth was, he loved this little game between the two of you.

Well, he loved everything that involved you, especially.

“I’d say you’re the most annoying person I know,” he replied, his lips brushing against your hair as he spoke, as if he couldn’t imagine being apart from you. “And still, I’m completely in love with you, just like a good boyfriend I am.”

You smiled softly, your fingers lazily intertwining with his, as if you were finally ready to surrender to the exhaustion.

“Okay… okay I’m going to bed but just because I’m almost dying.” And because, honestly, you didn’t know how to deny him anything when he said such sweet words.

Michael smiled back, feeling satisfied. But before letting you stand up, he turned his face slightly and pressed a soft yet firm kiss to the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, making you hold your breath.

Your poor heart.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered against your skin before he stood on his feet, gently pulling you up with him, making you grumble at the loss of contact. “Let’s go to my… ups, our bed,” he corrected.

11:59 PM.

But just before you two reached the door, you stopped suddenly, causing his bare chest to bump slightly into you. He looked down at you, curious, and when he saw that little smirk on your pretty tentatively lips, he knew something was about to happen.

Without a word, you gently pulled him by the neck, bringing him closer until your bodies were pressed more tightly together than they had been just moments before, your warm breath grazing his skin. Michael felt his heart race even more—not only because he was so close to you again, but because he genuinely didn’t feel brave enough to ask what you were planning.

You looked into his eyes, smiling softly. And before he could say another word, you pulled him into a kiss, as gentle as it was, making him melt under your touch.

The taste of your lips made him lose himself in the moment, his fingers finding your waist, while the kiss deepened and you both felt your tongues touching again and again…

“Okay, I’m definitely not complaining, but what was that?” he asked when you finally broke the kiss, blinking slightly, his cheeks flushed.

You smiled at him, a mischievous yet genuine grin that thank God he knew well, but that still made him swallow hard.

“Happy birthday, Michael,” you murmured softly, still close enough for him to feel the vibration of your voice in his ears and chest.

He stood there, speechless for a moment, the world around him disappearing as he allowed himself to feel the love of simply being with you, feeling you. But before he could respond, you whispered in that relaxing tone only you had…

“And now, we can go to our bed.”

He smiled, his heart racing 200 beats per second. Yes, he was definitely completely whipped, but in a way he would never trade.

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

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! ♡

I WANT TO DELETE THAT SHIT OMFG

| 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!

𐙚 ˙ ⋆.˚ BOYS OF TOMMEN MASTERLIST

➳ navigation. main masterlist.

➳ GERARD GIBSON;

[…]

➳ PATRICK FEELY;

[…]

➳ JOHNNY KAVANAGH;

[…]

➳ JOEY LYNCH;

[…]

➳ AOIFE MOLLOY;

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➳ HUGHIE BIGGS;

[…]

© gibsluv 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢

OK THIS ONE IS MINE GTFO I’M SO DUMB

but you write so beautifully (this one is for me actually)

have written yours a thousand times. in the margins of books. in the still air of the night. on the inside of my skin.

I WANT THIS ON MY SKIN 😾😾 lowkey need a man like this

letter 2 — a spell in ink and blood

── . ❥ letters m.list

this letter was found hidden beneath your pillow. the ink is rich, deep red. it smears slightly when you touch it, as if it has not yet dried.

—

darling,

did you know that words hold power? that a name, when written carefully, can bind two souls together?

i have written yours a thousand times. in the margins of books. in the still air of the night. on the inside of my skin.

you are a spell i have cast over myself, a curse i wear willingly.

you should not trust letters written in ink so dark, in a hand so familiar. but you will read this to the end, won’t you?

it is already too late.

yours, forever. t.m.r.

—

💌 this is letter 2 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.

— underground fighter mattheo fucking you on a break;

(+18) mini drabble.

➳ nav post. masterlist. moodboard.

mattheo riddle x fem reader. warnings: smut (mdni), pnv, mattheo being a dick, orgasm denial, pussy slapping, mentions to blood, swearing, degradation, violence (he’s a fighter).

mattheo’s breathing was out of control, his chest was rising and falling as his fists pounded his opponent. the adrenaline was taking over his body so violently that his blood seemed ready to explode from his veins; he could barely hear the screams of the crowd, who seemed furious as soon they realized they were going to lose yet another bet and money because of him.

you were a little further away than usual, clutching the small microphone between your fingers as you sat among the other organizers of the event, observing the bloody fight before you. you looked at the fight, thinking if you should feel intimidated by the force mattheo was using to give blow after blow on his opponent, or by the poor man now on the ground beneath mattheo, coughing up blood and desperately trying to get the possessed champion off of him.

the two options seemed interesting enough for ya, but from the crowd's point of view, the fight was already getting repetitive.

he always won, and it was getting tiring for everyone.

you massaged your temples, cursing under your breath, ignoring the confused looks the other organizers shot your way, the gears of your brain grinding as you thought about a way to make the fight more interesting. but nothing came. with no better option, you quickly got up and made your way toward the center of the ring with determined steps.

some of the angry people in the crowd turned their gazes to you, their eyes almost stripping you naked and making you shift uncomfortably as you made your way. yet, they knew better than to do something to you. your connection to the underground and your strange connection with mattheo—who now was pressing his opponent’s head against the bloodied floor—was enough to scare them away.

mattheo’s smirk widened when his eyes met yours, almost like he was saying that the victory and the money were already his.

at least that was what he thought, until he saw you bringing a microphone to your lips and heard the words that would make him furious. “let’s take a short break.” you said, trying to ignore mattheo’s murderous glare and focusing on the sighs of relief from those worried about losing money. “the fight will be back in 15 minutes.”

mattheo was beyond pissed, his bloody fists clenched at his sides before he gave you one last look and stormed off the ring. the crowd was still buzzing, but you could tell mattheo wasn’t interested in the break in that moment, so as soon as he entered one of the dark hallways of the cage, you followed him, calling out his name and receiving angry shouts in return.

and before either of you realized, mattheo’s cock was inside your wet folds, fucking you hard while you struggle to catch your breath.

“fuck, mattheo!” you bite back a moan, your thighs shaking from the force of his strong thrusts into your cunt and the way his fingers kneaded your flesh, leaving bloody handprints on your soft skin—handprints that would probably bruise later, but you didn't seem to care; his cock felt too fucking amazing opening your walls for you to do so.

“you like this, don’t y’a, bitch?” mattheo’s callous fingers dug even deeper into your thighs, his blood-soaked bandages tracing your curves with crimson as the pressure of his hips against yours increased more and more. “you like it when i fuck your desperate cunt, even after what you did? like you actually matter, don’t y’a?”

mattheo let out a raspy chuckle against your ear, his cock sinking even deeper into your silky folds as you nodded eagerly in response.

both of you could hear the screams of the crowd and the loud music coming from the ring at the other side of the hallway, the anxiety of being caught sending shocks of pleasure straight from his cock to your sensitive cunt—almost as if he had transmitted all the remaining adrenaline in his body to yours through the violent thrusts of his hips, tearing your inner walls apart.

“what now? y’a can’t handle the consequences of the shit you did?” his voice was raspier than usual, and he chuckled when he heard your whimpers—whimpers that, from his perspective, were nothing more than pathetic excuses to make him stop fucking you like the slut he knew you were. “what excuse of a pathetic bitch you are, huh?”

you nodded stupidly, only to feel a wave of embarrassment wash over you at your own pathetic attitude. your head spun as the burning sensation in your soaked folds grew stronger with each thrust, his cock slamming into you at a merciless pace.

he fucked you and tore you apart like you were nothing more than a doll, something to be used for his pleasure—nothing more than an outlet for the adrenaline he couldn’t shake off in the ring.

your only purpose was that.

“mattheo—”

“shut up, fucking slut,” he hissed between gritted teeth, clenching his bloodied hands on your thighs even more, his cock fucking you harder as he felt your pussy squeezing him desperately with each clumsy but precise pushings of his length.

mattheo’s bloody hands released your thighs, already marked by his blood, to move to your covered waist, pressing down and leaving crimson stains on the white fabric of your white shirt, but he only squeezed your waist tighter, burying his hips harder against your wet cunt, as if he was trying to distract you from the marks he’d left.

a smirk curled on his lips, knowing you’d be furious when you saw the dirty shirt.

“do you think it’s fair?” he began, each word being accompanied with another thrust. “making me leave the fucking ring when i was about to win the fucking fight?” he asked, trying to put his cock even deeper into your dripping pussy, though he knew it was already impossible—he was buried so deep that he was sure his dick could stay there, lost in your heat.

you didn’t respond, too focused on the sensation of being filled so good.

mattheo let out an irritated growl, his hand gripping your chin forcefully, smearing blood onto your skin and spreading it down to your neck. “when i ask you something, you fucking respond!” he snarled. each word came with a thrust—each thrust a new sensation of pleasure and pain for your pussy and a fresh wave of dominance for his cock.

“no.” you managed to respond between moans, your eyes closing as you tried to find the right words while you felt your pussy being filled, your orgasm almost there. “i don’t think it’s fair,” you said, almost cursing yourself for how ridiculous you sounded.

this man made you lose your goddamn mind; you fucking hated him!

“fuck yeah~,” he began, moving his cock inside your pussy more slowly. “just like i needed to hear,” he murmured, and without waiting for another word, he pulled his cock out from inside your tight walls, making you gasp at the lack of contact.

you blinked confused, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath. slowly, your eyes to meet his, and even though his pupils were dilated, they still carried that cynical, almost eager look, a look that only seemed to increase as he caught the furious look you were giving him.

“why did you fucking stop?” you asked angrily, your pussy clenching around nothing in a desperate attempt to stop the frustration. “i was about to cum, fucking asshole!”

mattheo let out a dry, amused laugh, almost as if he couldn’t believe your audacity. you had interrupted his fight, and now you were mad that he had interrupted your orgasm? a little hypocritical on your part—if you asked him.

“well, you have fingers,” he mocked you, bringing his hand close to your pussy before slapping your soaked cunt. the sound echoing through the room, making you whimper as a red imprint stained on your skin, “use them, since you’re so fucking desperate.” he chuckled.

without another glance, he put on his pants and turned on his heel, ready to walk away.

“are y’a fucking kidding me, riddle?!” you asked angrier than before, knowing the other organizers would make questions if they didn’t see you in the ring at time.

“i’m fucking serious, miss,” he purred over his shoulder, a mocking smirk playing at the corner of his lips, and he almost laughed when he saw your fingers teasing your greedy cunt for some sort of relief.

“oh, and before i go… just a little warning,” he stopped in his tracks, his eyes locking onto yours.

“what, now?!”

“before you enter the ring, change your shirt,” mattheo said with mockery. you blinked confuse, making him laugh as he pointed to the bloody handprints on the white fabric. “it's a little dirty, y’a know?” his smirk widened, making you look down at your shirt. your blood boiled when you saw the prints staining it.

“you son of a bitch!” you screamed in his direction, the words practically burning with anger. but he didn’t even flinch. with that same smug smirk playing on his lips, he turned around and started walking away, completely ignoring your shouts.

mattheo’s focus was on winning the fight, and maybe, just maybe, making you lose some clients in the process.

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

in my drafts since december :p comments and reblogs are super welcome and they motivate me a lot, so feel free to interact! 💘

i'm here - joey lynch x reader

pairing: joey lynch x fem!reader

warnings: flufffffff, swearing + a lil angst

a/n: BELLE BELLE BELLE DO YOU SEE ME?? IM WRITING JOEY LYNCH FICS FOR YOU!! LOVE YOU POOKIE <33 (i've kept this surprisingly spoiler free as well!!) also pls ignore my delusional ass over here writing fics late at night-

joey lynch is a protector.

its his way of being. he's been that way all his life. constantly looking after his siblings when their parents couldn't.

so you take it upon yourself to be joey's protector - much to his disgruntlement.

so when you find the space next to you on your bed empty and cold. you know he's having nightmares again.

fighting with your very sleepy brain - which should shut up by the way - you roll out of bed, wrap a discarded blanket from your shrek movie marathon earlier and go in search for joey.

the nightmares aren't a regular thing - not anymore at least, that you are very grateful for - but when they do plague joey he falls into the downward spiral of think he's not good enough for you. which of course is absolute nonsense.

pulling the blanket tighter around you, you slip out through the balcony door and out into the crisp night where a shirtless and haunted looking joe sits with his head in his hands on a half broken chair - curtsey of the hotel you were staying in.

"hey you," you say softly approaching him. you're eyes definitely don't stray down to his bare chest... not at allllll.

joey's head snaps up, noticing you for the first time. "hey, what are you doing out here? go back to bed baby."

shaking your head you determinedly open the blanket and wrap it around him wincing at the coldness of his skin. how long has he been out here?

"nahh, if you're out here so am i."

joey already knowing that there is no point in arguing with you, stands up and picks you up bridal style, blanket and all bringing you back inside and gently places you back on your bed before closing the door again.

he busies himself fixing the duvet cover and pillows on the bed ignoring the knowing looks you're sending him.

"joe."

he looks at you. "y/n."

"do you want to talk about it?"

"no."

"joe."

he's quiet for a bit probably contemplating what he should tell you.

"it was the same one." his voice is quiet, soft. you know joey doesn't like talking about these dreams so you don't push it. "but different this time." he takes a deep breath and looks at you with resigned eyes. "i lost you. cause of the... cause of the...."

"i know," you whisper. unwrapping yourself from the blanket, rounding the bed and coming to stand in front of the broken boy in front of you.

"but hey," your eyes fill with tears as you look at the defeated look in his eyes. he really believes that it could be true. he really believes that you would- could leave him. "i'm here. and i'm not going anywhere. joe- joe look at me." when he refuses you step closer between his legs and cup his face. "joseph lynch, you look at me."

joey's pained eyes meet yours and your heart breaks for him. for the amount of shit he's been through. for all the years he had no one to turn to. now he has you, and you have every intention of making sure that joey lynch is fucking loved and cared for.

"i love you. and it would take a very very very big group of people to take me away from you- even then don't get your hopes up because believe it or not joey there is something in my soul that is connected to yours and in every life time, every life time i will find you." you press a soft kiss to his forehead. "so don't even think for one second that i'm going to leave you. you're my joey. and i don't plan on giving you up. so im sorry but you're kinda stuck with me."

joey's eyes shine with barely restrained love as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in, squeezing your waist tightly.

"i love you baby," he whispers against your midriff. "so much."

running your hands through his blonde hair you press a kiss to his head, "love you too baby."

you stay that way for a while, joey wrapped tightly around you and you pressing soft kisses to his head until joey leans back taking you with him.

"joey!" you laugh toppling over on top of him.

"yes?" he hums as he adjusts you both so you're facing each other with your legs intertwined.

"nothing," you smile and press a kiss to the tip of his nose, his green eyes shining beautifully in the moonlight.

joey grins and pulls you closer by the waist pressing a soft, yearning kiss to your lips.

you both fall asleep to your hushed whispers in the dark, promises and loving kisses.

"love you baby..."

[taglist] @lxvebelle

a/n pt2: THE WAY I NEED ME SOME JOEY LYNCH IS UNFORGIVABLE sleep delusion reaaaally got to me at the end there- hope you liked it babes <33