✦✧✦  name : sara

✦✧✦  zodiac : scorpio

✦✧✦  hogwarts house : slytherin

✦✧✦  height : 4'11 (?) 150cm

✦✧✦  orientation : straight

✦✧✦  ethnicity : portuguese?

✦✧✦  favourite fruit : green grapes

✦✧✦  favorite season : spring

✦✧✦  favorite book series : once upon a broken heart

✦✧✦  favorite fictional characters : natsu, lucy and gray from fairy tail

✦✧✦  favorite flower : rose (basic, i know)

✦✧✦  favorite scent : coconut!

✦✧✦  favourite color : black

✦✧✦  favorite animals : cats

✦✧✦  favorite band / artist : bts

✦✧✦  coffee, tea, or hot cocoa : hot cocoa

✦✧✦  average sleep hours : around 5 maybe

✦✧✦  number of blankets you sleep with : 2/3, depends on the cold

✦✧✦  dream trip : santorini!

✦✧✦  last thing googled : finances website

✦✧✦  account created : maybe 2014?

✦✧✦  how many blogs followed : 52

✦✧✦  number of followers : 59

✦✧✦  what you usually post about : harry potter ahaha

✦✧✦  do you get asks regularly : no :(

✦✧✦  what’s your aesthetic : ghibli mostly

✦✧✦  name : yunari

✦✧✦  zodiac : virgo

✦✧✦  hogwarts house : gryffindor

✦✧✦  height : above 5 feet

✦✧✦  orientation : straight

✦✧✦  ethnicity : silly goose

✦✧✦  favourite fruit : citrus & berries

✦✧✦  favorite season : winter

✦✧✦  favorite book series : inheritence games & jasad heir

✦✧✦  favorite fictional characters : mattheo riddle & far too many anime ones

✦✧✦  favorite flower : lily of the valley

✦✧✦  favorite scent : lavender

✦✧✦  favourite color : turqoise + yellow

✦✧✦  favorite animals : cats

✦✧✦  favorite band / artist : michael jackson & ado

✦✧✦  coffee, tea, or hot cocoa : iced coffee

✦✧✦  average sleep hours : 5 hours

✦✧✦  number of blankets you sleep with : 1

✦✧✦  dream trip : to my besties

✦✧✦  last thing googled : pinterest

✦✧✦  account created : mid-2024

✦✧✦  how many blogs followed : 78

✦✧✦  number of followers : 617

✦✧✦  what you usually post about : Harry Potter

✦✧✦  do you get asks regularly : nope boohoo

✦✧✦  what’s your aesthetic : water n' light aesthetics

The size of the castle does not help, either. Your walk to your dorm takes around 10-15 minutes surely and spans across half the castle. It leads you past the Great Hall, countless portraits of famous witches and wizards, the kitchens, and classrooms. 

If you weren’t so caught up in your thoughts and regrets about signing up for Astronomy in the first place, you might’ve noticed the shift in the air around you. How the torches’ flames dim slightly as you turn the corner, how the owls’ hoots from the Owlery a few hundred metres away fade into the tranquillity of the night. 

Instead, you shake your head at a comment your professor made this night, eyebrows pinched together in annoyance. He could’ve just cancelled the lesson for bad weather—but instead, he insisted, only to then be a nuisance when students couldn’t make out constellations.  

If you weren’t so damn inattentive, you might’ve been able to draw your wand in time when a door to your right flies open, one strong arm circling your waist, the other clamping over your mouth as you’re pulled into a classroom before you can even react properly. 

Might’ve been, you think, but when notes of sandalwood and myrrh flood your senses, that small chance dissolves into nothingness. 

What could he possibly want from you this late? 

He lets go of you when he’s put a sufficient amount of distance between you and the door and spins you around to face him. 

Moonlight is drowning in from outside, the only source of light in the classroom besides a few candles—still, the resentment edged into his features is as evident as ever, and your mind races through all scenarios where you may have insulted Slughorn’s favourite boy. 

And yet, you cannot recall such a moment. You are smart enough to keep distance between him and yourself, even though you sometimes would do nothing rather than smack him across his stupidly handsome face. There's no word in the whole English language to describe the sheer audacity of this man—starting with the way he treats his friends and ending with his perfect-student act in class. 

Sometimes, you wonder if you are the only one seeing right through the facade he puts up. And even if you can’t quite place it, beneath said facade shimmers nothing good. That, you are sure of—and one of the many reasons why you prefer staying away from trouble rather than giving him that deserved slap across his cheek he is practically begging for. 

“Mattheo,” he says, lowly. Nothing else. No explanation, just his brother’s name. 

What about him? You nearly ask, but then it dawns upon you. 

Oh. 

Oh, fuck. 

Over the years, Tom Riddle has acquired many titles. Prefect, Head Boy, top student, but most of all, protective older brother. 

And you may or may not have gotten involved with the younger of the Riddles. Involved as in... hooked up with. 

In your defence, you were quite drunk. More than usual. And those pretty brown curls, those freaking gorgeous doe-eyes—they led straight to your demise. Mattheo asked so sweetly too—how was your drunk self supposed to abstain from that? 

It was just a one-time thing. Or, well, if you count the other two times it has happened after that—a three-time thing, perhaps. 

You decide not to tell him that. “That’s none of your business, Riddle. He’s an adult and very well capable of making his own decisions.” 

He scoffs with his signature condescending tone and shakes his head. 

“Perhaps if he didn’t go after someone like you. But he can’t seem to keep his hands off women who are clearly bad for him.” 

Bad for him? Someone like you? Who on earth does he think he is? 

“Someone like me? What is that supposed to imply?” you ask exasperatedly, crossing your arms over your chest when a breeze sends a shiver down your spine. 

Tom’s eyes drop to the now strained buttons of your blouse, a muscle ticking in his jaw before his eyes return to yours. 

“You have quite the reputation regarding... that.” 

“And you, you, Riddle—” you laugh in disbelief, closing the distance between the both of you, poking his chest with your index finger. “You’ve got quite the reputation for being an absolute asshole, which you’ve just proved right once again—contrary to me, because I don’t have said reputation.” 

You don’t miss the flame lighting up behind his guarded eyes when your skin touches the fabric of his shirt. For a long moment, silence falls between you two, and your hand drops to your side again, swallowing the lump which has built in your throat. 

You are too close. So close, you see how his jaw clenches and unclenches, how the crease between his brows fades. So close, if you shut your eyes and breathed in, you’d find yourself in a dark forest after rain—intoxicatingly good, but also just as dangerous. 

Did he bathe himself in perfume?

Before you get to say anything else, a hand wraps around your throat. Firmly, but not enough to hurt or stop you from gasping. Tom walks you backwards until you’re pressed up against one of the tables, trapped between his body, taller and broader than your own, and the oak currently biting into your skin. 

“You’ve quite the mouth on you. Careful, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want to do anything I might regret later.” 

His thumb brushes along the side of your neck then, his eyes—a darker brown than his brother’s—following. The touch of his bare skin on yours efficiently short-circuits your mind. You shouldn’t let him do this. You should ridicule him and flee to the sanctuary of your dorm—but something in his voice makes you curious. Makes you stay—right there, a breath away from him, your pulse hammering beneath his fingers on your neck. 

“Is there anything mighty Tom Riddle could possibly regret? Here I thought you live a regret and carefree life. Guess I was wrong.” 

His grip on your throat tightens the slightest bit. “Oh, there are plenty. Though I will make sure I won’t regret staying up late for this.” 

You raise a brow at him. “Riddle missing out on his beauty sleep for me? The greatest tragedy of the 21st century, for sure.” 

“Quiet,” he snaps, his hand leaving your throat. Tom places them on the back of your thighs instead, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the table. “You’ve said and done enough.” 

Enough? You were just getting started. A warm-up, you could say. 

You never thought arguing with him could be this much fun—especially when it riles him up to the point he gets fucking hard from it. 

Because no, you haven’t quite missed the tent in his trousers, which was poking into your hips until a few seconds ago. How could you have? It was scarily evident. Knowing that you have this effect on him, a guy who you’ve never seen leave a party alongside a girl, is more satisfying than you’d like to admit. 

He makes quick work of his belt, and that, on the other hand, is something you did not expect—not from him, at least. 

It’s not only the fact he initiated this—but time and place. A classroom, of all places. Anyone could hear you. Prefects on duty, professors walking past. It was dangerous. Reckless. So unlike him, you wonder whether someone slipped him a potion during dinner. 

Good that you don’t necessarily mind reckless. 

He steps between your thighs, wrenching them apart. 

“Someone could walk in, Riddle. You are insane,” you scold, though not entirely sincere, eyes darting between the unlocked door and him. 

He flips up your skirt in response. 

“Knowing you, you would most definitely enjoy that, slut.” 

The retaliatory insult sits on the tip of your tongue but never makes it past your lips. His eyes are focused on the wet spot soaking through the cotton of your panties. His thumb presses down on it, tracing it upwards until he finds your clit, and you moan in response, meeting his touch. 

He pulls away. “You get wet from just this? From arguing?” 

You grin up at him. “Only when I am winning.” 

Instead of asking you to lift your hips so he can slide your panties off, he hooks his fingers beneath the damp fabric, ripping it along the middle with a sharp tearing sound. 

Those were expensive, you want to tell him, but his hand clamps over your mouth instead. “I would’ve considered going easy on you. If you weren’t such a goddamn brat who doesn’t know when it’s better to shut up, that is.” 

Your eyebrows pinch together, because how could they not? It’s him who pulled you into this classroom just to what? To fuck you because you dared to have sex with his brother? Even if you tried making sense of it, you doubt you’d succeed. 

But for now, for now you are curious whether he is bluffing or if he actually knows what he’s doing—and the answer, you find just a moment later. 

His trousers are left to pool around his ankles, and he takes one last step forwards—groaning lowly as he coats himself in your slick. Tom doesn’t prepare you any more than a few bumps against your aching clit. Doesn’t use his fingers to work you open and get you to relax your muscles and give in to pleasure. 

Instead, he nudges against your entrance and pushes inside. Not slowly, either. With one mean, sharp thrust, he splits you open around him, hands on your hips keeping you in your place. The sting is overwhelming at first, blinding. Your scream is muffled by his hand over your lips, and he stills for a moment—giving you enough time to stop him if you so wished. 

When you don’t, your thighs closing around his lower body, he has the answer he needs. And though your vision is blurry with unshed tears, you feel the smirk on his lips. The satisfaction radiating off him is sickening, and thoughts about smacking it away return. 

“So fucking tight. If you can’t take it, just say so. I wouldn’t hold it against you.” 

“How considerate of you, Riddle.” you murmur with a fake smile, meeting his gaze. “I am not backing down, though. Now show me what you’ve got before I change my mind.” 

He eases your legs apart, keeping them spread wide for him as he sets a rhythm. Fast, deep, unrelenting. His hips slam against your own with a loud smacking sound which echoes off the walls and—you are quite certain—can be heard from outside just as clearly. 

God, perhaps that ego of his is rightfully as massive as it is. 

His hand leaves your mouth and instead wraps around your throat again, more tightly this time. Your eyes flutter close, losing yourself in the feeling of him so close, so deep. Tomorrow will be soon enough to hate yourself for this. Now, now, you want to feel. Feel as he fucks his hatred into you. 

But Tom—Tom isn’t quite happy with that. He wants to see you. Wants to see your eyes roll to the back of your head as he stuffs you full over and over again, wants to see you tear up each time he thrusts deep enough to brush against your cervix. He wants you to focus on him during it all. 

“Eyes on me,” he rasps, voice low and thick with resentment. He grasps your chin and tilts your face towards his. “Look at me when I fuck you.” 

You obey. And you hate that you do. You hate that he walks around the castle like he owns it. You hate that he’s making you feel like this. 

Most of all, you hate that he always gets to have his way. 

Your fingertips tickle with want, and what you do next isn't entirely thought through. 

“I hate you, Riddle.” you whisper, eyes glaring up at him just as he wanted. And then, in one swift motion, your palm connects with his cheek, a loud SMACK! reverberating between you two. 

His head stays turned to the side, and you clench your hand into a fist, dropping it to your side. 

Damn, that hurt—but also, fuck, that felt amazing. 

Tom stills his movements, buried all the way inside your velvety walls, his tip nudging uncomfortably against your already-sore cervix. You can’t say you’re not scared of what comes next. Did you hurt his ego? Will he stop? Will he—and you much preferred this option—do the same to you? 

You could’ve frozen time, thought about every possible outcome for days, perhaps weeks, and what comes next wouldn’t have crossed your mind in that time. It wouldn’t have crossed your mind at all, not in a thousand years. 

His head dips, and at the same time he uses his grip around your neck to pull you upwards. Tom breathes in, a mere inch from your lips—once, twice, his dark eyes staring at yours so intensely, the room around you starts spinning—and then, his lips collide with yours. 

It’s messy, rough, uncoordinated—as it has been. He steals your breath away, but you don’t complain. His other hand finds your blouse, again, ripping instead of opening, one button after another popping off, leaving your chest bare for him. 

Only when his lungs too run out of oxygen does he part from you, a whole new expression written over his face. 

I hate you, but I can’t get enough either. 

Tom seems to realise what the latter may mean, and God, if he was rough before, he is feral now. 

His cock pistons into you at a pace you have a hard time keeping up with, every thrust making the table squeak and sending your hips backwards—so harshly, he has to pull you back multiple times. 

“This is what you wanted? Getting fucked like a slut? Don't even bother answering. We both know.” 

You shriek when he angles his thrusts just right, gripping his forearm. “Riddle— Tom, I—” 

He looks at you, taking in the mess he’s made of you. Torn blouse and panties, mascara smeared, whining and moaning so sweetly beneath him. This is so much better than he imagined it to be. 

Similar thoughts cross your mind. Beads of sweat on his temples, one dark curl hanging loosely over his forehead. He breathes heavily, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. He looks gorgeous like this—even more so than usual. Human, almost. With real feelings. Fuck.  

His thumb finds your swollen clit, briefly—pulling away before it starts feeling good. He scoffs when you whine at the loss. 

“You thought I’d allow you to come? Pathetic. Think again.” 

You want to argue with him, beg, if you really have to—but he pushes you down onto the surface of the table, leaning over you—an angle which allows him deeper, and that, he uses to his advantage. 

Low grunts and groans begin spilling from his kiss-swollen lips, and with a few more deep thrusts, he spills himself inside you, painting your walls white with his release. 

Tom stays there while he catches his breath—buried deep, keeping you full of him for a moment longer. 

When he does finally withdraw, you hiss at the friction—God, you aren’t looking forward to the walk back to your dorm. 

Tom doesn’t speak a word while he dresses himself. Only when he is about to exit the classroom does he turn around one last time, a small, satisfied smirk tugging on the corner of his lips when he realises you haven’t moved, thighs slick with your combined arousal. 

“Don’t come near him—us—again,” he says, keeping his tone as strict as he could—though failing. “Trust me, I will know.” 

・・・ 

You are glad it’s the weekend, because for the last two days, after returning to your dorm, you haven’t moved much. Your whole body aches, and a part of you wishes you smacked him twice instead of just once. 

With your latest read in your hand, you prepare yourself for bed—though sleeping has been rather difficult when all you can think about is him. How he felt inside you, how pretty he looked when his guard was down. 

A few minutes later, a sharp knock on your window startles you. The bed just got warm, and you sigh deeply as you swing your legs over the edge and cross the room to the window. 

Who in their right mind sends an owl this late? 

You open the window, a chilly breeze greeting you. Taking the letter from your owl, you pet her, and she flies off into the darkness of the night again. You sink onto the chair at your work desk, studying the envelope. 

The seal looks familiar, and yet you can’t quite place it—only when you open it do you recognise the handwriting. 

It’s Tom’s—and the content makes you huff a laugh. 

Tuesday, after Herbology. The classroom I use for tutoring. Don't be late, or I’ll make sure you won’t be able to walk for another three days. 

You cringe at the thought of him seeing you limp to the Great Hall for breakfast and quickly shove that thought away. Most importantly, he reached out to you. After just two days, he’s the one breaking his own rule. 

You sensed it was a lie back when he told you to stay away. It didn’t come with the usual authority, with the finality you’d expect from him. 

A smirk spreads across your face, slow and sweet realisation dawning on you. 

You got both Riddle brothers addicted to you—and your pussy. 

A/N pt 2: THREESOME WHEN WHEN WHEN????

thank you so much for reading! <3 feel free to reblog and leave feedback! :3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2026 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own

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Slightly surprised, he furrowed his brows, turning around his chair to get a full view of you, sulking, face-first on his bed. "Why? What happened?" he questioned.

"Didn't even show," you sniffled out, not looking up.

Concern washed over his face as he got up, readjusting his pants for the second time, before sitting gently beside you. He placed a palm on your shoulder, pushing slightly to get a view of you. You didn't resist, turning your body around, and giving him a clear look at you.

His heart ached at the sight of you; your dried-up tears, the red hue in your eyes, and the remnants of tears clinging onto your bottom lashes.

Mattheo brought his thumb to your face, swiping away at your cheek. "He didn't?" he asked softly. He meant to sound comforting and understanding, but his voice had a subtle tone of hope that you didn't catch over your small hiccup.

You shut your eyes, feeling new tears form as he pulled you up off your back, allowing you to sit against his headboard. Kicking off his slippers, he brought his feet onto the bed and sat beside you, placing your head on his shoulder with his arm slung over yours.

You both stayed in that position, silent, for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was something familiar to make you feel better. Mattheo fidgeted with his sheets with his free arm and you felt most of the tears come to a stop. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you turned towards him.

"You're a guy right?" you asked.

"I'm pretty sure."

You stifled a small giggle before resuming your more solemn mood. "Do y'know why he wouldn't come?" you asked tentatively. Met with silence and his gaze set straight ahead, you prodded, "Like... think he saw me and left?"

"No. No way."

Mattheo had answered you quickly, even surprising you. You had expected a teasing yeah or a reluctant no from him, but he seemed dead serious. It wasn't like Mattheo was rude to you, merlin, you were probably the one person he was the nicest to, but he'd usually never pass up on an easy opportunity to make a joke.

Moving closer beside him, you peered curiously at his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm, but there wasn't any. "Really?"

The sight of your doubting eyes, the slight quiver in your lips, and the feel of your body pressed against his arm as you sat on his bed was all too much for Mattheo to handle. He wanted to scoop you up and mumble reassurances into your ears, but a part of him that he so desperately wanted to push away, wanted to fuck you senseless and show you how serious he really was.

Fuck. He knew it was wrong to feel this way when you sought comfort from him and nothing more, but he could hardly suppress his thoughts. Not when you stumbled into his room as he was about to relieve himself-- especially not in the strapless dress you wore for your date.

"Mm, yeah," he barely got out. "You're... beautiful."

You hummed appreciatively, feeling an unfamiliar blush creep up your face. Mattheo was your friend, and he had complimented you a few times before, but this was strangely... intimate. Grateful for him, you let your head sink past his shoulder and onto his chest and allowed one of your hands to play around with the material of his shirt, the soft cotton rubbing against your fingertips.

Tracing patterns on his shirt, his toned torso underneath; so close to your touch, you allowed yourself to be mesmerized while drawing swirls and stars on his shirt until you felt his body go taut and he cleared his throat.

"Oh-- sorry," you said sheepishly, retracting your hand. You sat back up, having your head properly rested against the headboard.

"No, don't be," Mattheo said. "I'm just, just a bit out of it right now," he told you, turning to face you.

"Yeah..." you noted. "You look a bit flush." You examined his face, his cheeks lightly dusted with a rosy hue and a very tiny bead of sweat on his forehead. You pushed yourself off the headboard, sitting straight up on the bed and your eyes wandered over him. "Are you," you began to ask in concern before your heart leaped into your throat from the sight of his very obvious boner. "...okay?" you finished, swallowing thickly.

"Don't even worry 'bout me," Mattheo shrugged off, oblivious to your wandering eyes. "Feeling better now?" he asked you, your tears from earlier no longer apparent.

Your brain still short circuiting from the sight of his boner, you paused before snapping back into reality.

"I-- uh, I don't know..." you said biting your lip. "I was really excited to go, but I guess he wasn't."

Mattheo searched for the words to say before you spoke again.

"Maybe I got the date wrong. Oo, oh! Maybe the place wrong?" you tried to convince yourself. "Merlin, who am I kidding? He saw me and decided not to show," you groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress, I was kind of doubting buying it when I was at the store and-" you rambled before being cut off by a cool hand on your chin turning your head around.

"Hey- what are you doing?" you smiled sheepishly, caught off guard.

"Stop talking about yourself like that. You know it's not true."

You chortled, confusion etched onto your features, but nothing on his face resembled a joke.

"Stop joking, I'm actually sad," you finally drawled.

"M'not joking," he said. Before you could retort, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss.

Your mind clouded for a brief moment before you began to kiss him back.

For such a seemingly rough guy, his lips were soft and welcoming. You could go days without pulling away, your hands running up his back as he cupped your face. Kissing him felt natural, something that you didn't have to work very hard to do.

You let your body take over and kiss him without worry and he seemed to do the same as he slipped his tongue in, taking you by surprise.

Knowing he already crossed a line by kissing his best friend, Mattheo couldn't hold back the amount of arousal coursing through him at the moment. Without thinking, he allowed a hand to trail down from your face, feeling the lines of your waist until it found your thigh. Pushing the blue silk dress upwards, his hand rested on your ass.

Not protesting at all, you leaned closer, with his hands beginning to guide you onto his lap. You both sunk on the bed, having you straddle him. The cool air hit your bare skin as he brought your dress even upper, the dress folding inside out on your waist. His hands ran up and down your ass, stroking the lace of your underwear.

He slipped his hand underneath the material, feeling the skin of his palms on your unclothed ass, groping and grabbing blindly. You continued to kiss him, resting on top of him warmly until you felt his hand ghost over your bare folds causing you to pull away from the kiss and elicit a moan.

You looked at him curiously, parting your lips before he asked, "Can I?"

Before you could contemplate, your body was already deciding as you immediately nodded up and down. His fingers trailed lightly on the outside of your slick cunt and you could hear him murmur to himself but the sound was blocked out of your ears as your mind was clouded with thrill.

Burying your head beside his head and into his pillows, you let out a shrill whimper as you felt him insert one finger. Slowly, he pumped it in and out of your cunt, slowly increasing in speed.

Entering another finger, your whimpers grew into moans and he turned to look at your heated face.

"Fuck, you're cute."

Unable to respond, you attempted to give him a sheepish smile that sent him over the edge.

His fingers pumped in and out of you with uncontrollable fervor, your fluids coating his fingers as you leaked out. You writhed around on top of him, small squeals escaping your lips as you felt your orgasm near.

"M-Matt..." you mewled. "I'm gonna-"

"Shh, shh," he said, bringing his free hand to caress your head. "You can come. Come on my fingers for me." He buried his fingers deep inside, curling them slightly as he found your g-spot.

No longer able to contain yourself, you let your orgasm happen, your cunt tightening over his fingers. Panting, your body went limp which gave him time to flip you over so you were below him.

Watching the look you sported as your orgasm washed over you, the way you were beneath him, and how your lips were swollen from your previous make out, Mattheo could've sworn he was going to come right in his pants.

Wasting no time, he pulled down his pants, boxers following, allowing his cock to spring out, the tip already leaky with precum.

Pulling down your soaked underwear, he positioned himself between your legs. He pushed in slowly, each agonizing second torturing you as you desperately wanted him.

He rocked his hips and you had expected him to go slowly like he did with his fingers, but he quickly set a pace, hardly waiting for you to adjust.

The world felt unreal to you, having your best friend's cock inside of you when just moments before you were moping about some mystery guy...

Mattheo tugged down the top of your dress, the lack of straps allowing your tits to pool out. Fondling greedily, he couldn't even contain himself.

"Can't believe he lost this before even getting it," he groaned under his breath. "Fucking clown."

Unable to get a word out through your whimpers and mewls, all you could do was blush bashfully at his words.

He brought his hand to cup your jaw, slipping his thumb into your mouth. Teasing, he pulled his thumb to the edge of your mouth, contorting your lips as he laughed to himself. "You look adorable."

He continued to tease, finding the faces you made amusing as he continued to use his cock to kiss your cervix. You were about to unravel again, your cunt gripping onto his cock as your cries grew louder, your hands scratching his arms. "Gonna come?" he asked. You nodded quickly, a sign for him to slow down.

"Are you?" you asked tentatively.

"Not yet. Wanna savor my time with my favorite girl," he cooed, leaning into your ear.

Your surprise couldn't last long as you came for a second time, your face scrunching up. You breathed heavily, still allowing your body to process while Mattheo took the time to pull out and turn you around, your knees sinking on the bed.

Mattheo wanted to frame that moment right there and then. Capturing the sight of you; back arched down, ass up in the air practically inviting him inside your glossy cunt, face buried into the sheets.

"I hope you're forgetting about that guy. I would throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if I skimped out on a date only to find out it was with you."

Entering once more, he threw his head back before letting out moans of his own. Unlike during missionary, he went in patiently, admiring the view of his cock sliding in and out of your folds.

"I'm going to come just looking at you like this, I swear. Want me to? Want me to come inside?"

"Y-yes!" you managed to sputter out. "Please..."

"The day I say no to you; just know I'm under the imperius curse." And with that, he came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside to coat your walls. "Shit..."

He pulled out, leaning down to watch the remnants of his arousal seep out of you. He pulled you upwards to sit on your knees on his bed before hugging you by the head, caressing you with his hands roving your body.

"Bet you're glad he didn't show now, huh?" he joked gloatingly.

"Yeah."