#A Riddle by Lamplight

[keyblack]

Warlord sketches from the plane (Dais, Cale, and Sekhmet inspired by A Riddle by Lamplight bc I can't get enough of that fic)

[starkeysmoon]

ink-stained distractions

pairing: mattheo riddle x gender neutral!reader

summary: a study date with mattheo riddle proves more distracting than productive.

warnings: just pure fluff, playful banter, mutual pining, mild teasing.

words: 1,042

you never expected to find mattheo riddle, the star player of the slytherin quidditch team, skipping practice for a study date.

yet, here he was, sprawled across the table with a devil-may-care grin, pretending to study while doing everything in his power to make sure you couldn’t focus for a second.

“you’ve written that same sentence three times,” he said, the teasing lilt in his voice breaking your focus.

he leaned back in his chair, spinning his quill with practiced ease. the soft lamplight caught the edges of his sharp features, his dark curls grazing his forehead, making him look entirely too distracting for someone you’d roped into a study date.

“because someone keeps talking,” you retorted, glaring at him.

“or maybe,” he countered, leaning forward, “you’re just looking for an excuse to stare at me.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks betrayed you, heating up under his gaze.

mattheo riddle was impossible—infuriating, smug, and entirely too handsome for his own good.

“you’re lucky you’re good at this,” you muttered, shoving your notes toward him.

“good at what?” he asked, his smirk widening.

“explaining,” you snapped, though your voice softened. “i don’t understand this part of conjuration. help me, or i’ll find someone else to study with.”

his grin faltered for a split second—just enough to make you wonder if the idea of you studying with someone else actually bothered him. then, as if to prove you wrong, he tilted his head, his expression smug as ever.

“you wouldn’t dare,” he said, his voice low and playful.

“try me.”

with a dramatic sigh, he grabbed your textbook, flipping to the section you’d pointed out. “you’re lucky i’m feeling generous today.”

“you mean, lucky you skipped quidditch for this,” you said, raising a brow.

“i am sick, remember?” he said, miming a weak cough. “tragically bedridden.”

you snorted. “right. because spending the afternoon in the library with me is such a hardship.”

he didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting to the textbook in front of him. as he began explaining the theory behind conjuration, his tone shifted—calmer, steadier, his words precise and clear.

for someone who constantly got into trouble, mattheo riddle had an uncanny ability to simplify even the most complex topics.

and it was infuriating.

how was he so smart? how was his handwriting so neat, his diagrams so perfect, when half the time he wasn’t even in class?

you stared at him, trying to reconcile the boy who pulled pranks and skipped detention was the one in front of you now, his hair falling into his eyes as he scribbled notes for you.

“you’re staring again,” he said, not looking up from the parchment.

“am not,” you lied, snapping your attention back to your own notes.

he looked up then, a playful gleam in his dark eyes. “it’s okay,” he said softly. “i stare at you, too.”

the air between you shifted, your heart stumbling over itself as his words hung in the space. for once, mattheo didn’t grin or smirk; he just looked at you, his gaze steady, almost vulnerable.

“don’t say stuff like that,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“why not?” he asked, leaning closer.

“because—” you started, but your words faltered when he reached across the table, brushing a stray ink smudge from your cheek with his thumb.

his touch lingered for just a moment before he pulled back, his smirk returning, softer this time. “you’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“i hate you,” you muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

“no, you don’t,” he said, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken.

the next hour passed in a blur of explanations and stolen glances, the tension between you growing with every accidental brush of hands, every lingering look.

and then, just as you were starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, you could focus, mattheo leaned back in his chair and stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach.

“really?” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

“what?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“you’re doing it on purpose,” you accused.

“doing what?” he said, leaning forward again, his curls falling into his eyes.

“that!” you said, gesturing vaguely at him. “existing like... like that.”

he blinked, and then he laughed—a real, genuine laugh that made your chest ache in the best way.

“you’re ridiculous,” he said, his voice warm and soft.

“look who’s talking,” you shot back, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

for a moment, neither of you said anything. the library was quiet except for the faint rustle of pages and the distant hum of students talking. and in that stillness, mattheo’s gaze found yours again, softer this time, his smirk fading into something more sincere.

“you know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t mind skipping quidditch for this.”

“yeah?” you asked, your own voice quiet.

“yeah,” he said, his lips quirking into a small smile. “it’s worth it... if it’s with you.”

and just like that, you knew you were done for.

mattheo riddle masterlist

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Six-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Blackmail, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Angst, Violence, Aggression, Blood, TomRiddle, Slapping.

***FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

"Emily, are you sure I look okay?" You said, your voice a mix of stress and anxiety. "Did you get my baby hairs? The ones in the-"

"Yes, I got them." Emily said, cutting you off as she took a few steps back, focusing her attention on your uniform now. "You look perfect. Beyond perfect."

In the soft glow of your dormitory's lamplight, you moved toward the mirror, your reflection illuminated with a warm, golden hue. You released a long, tension filled breath as you eyed your appearance, your Ravenclaw uniform clinging to your form with tailored precision, the royal blue fabric complementing your complexion and accentuating your confidence. The pleats of your skirt fell in perfect symmetry, and your tie was knotted with care, each fold a testament to your attention to detail.

As you met your own eyes in the mirror, your irises sparkled with determination and purpose. Your makeup, subtle yet enhancing, highlighted your features without overshadowing your natural beauty. With a final, approving nod at your reflection, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the meeting ahead. You wanted to make sure that every element of your appearance spoke volumes about your professionalism and attention to detail. Confident and composed, you spun back around, meeting your blonde-haired friend  with a subtle smile.

"Emily, I can't express my gratitude enough," you sighed, your voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and unease. "I can't fathom why I'm so terribly nervous about this."

"It's Tom bloody Riddle; anyone would be nervous," Emily replied, her tone holding a touch of amusement as she lounged on her bed, her eyes fixed on you. "You know, he could be really good for you."

Your breath caught in your throat, and your eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I'm just saying," she continued, sensing the growing tension in the room. "It's astonishing how you've spent seven years at Hogwarts without really getting to know him. You and he, you're like kindred spirits--both quiet, effortlessly brilliant...I could see you two hitting it off."

You felt a shiver race down your spine at the very idea, yet you quickly dismissed it with a forced, light-hearted chuckle. "Now, that's quite a leap, my friend."

"Make sure to remind me of my prediction when it comes true," she teased, a smirk dancing on her lips as she stifled her giggles. "Off you go now, don't keep Tom Riddle waiting.”

With a grumble of a goodbye, you took a steadying breath before pushing open the door of your dorm room and entering out into the bustling corridor. The familiar buzz of students filled the air, everyone seemingly lost in their own little world as you briskly made your way down to the library, your stride full of a tense determination. As you finally entered, your eyes scanned the room in search of Tom, and when you spotted him--engrossed in books, his demeanour calm and composed at a table in the far corner; your heart rate involuntarily increased.

But then, you spotted movement out of the corner of your eye--and when you shifted your gaze toward it, your pulse plummeted, heart stopping dead in your chest.

Mattheo Riddle, the man who, in his entire seven years at this school, had ventured into the library fewer times than he could count on one fucking hand--was surrounded by his friends on the far couches, a bright-eyed brunette girl seated dangerously close, her eyes glued to him as if he held the universe in his hands. The scene sent a jolt of conflicting emotions through you--creating a visceral reaction that made you want to retch.

You blinked, unable to believe your eyes, witnessing the source of both your irritation and inexplicable attraction, appearing utterly untroubled amidst his social circle. The sight should have been inconsequential--a mere blip on your radar, considering your vehement dislike for him and everything he's put you through.

Yet, as he met your eyes from across the room, that familiar, breath-stealing, devilish smirk teasing the corners of his perfect fucking lips, it felt like a punch to the gut, a twisting turmoil in your chest that you couldn't quite comprehend.

You knew you shouldn't care about who he was with or what he was doing. After all, you despised him, his arrogance, and the way he seemed to effortlessly entangle you in his web. But the inexplicable pang of jealousy clawed at your insides, leaving you both irritated with yourself and unsettled by the intensity of your emotions.

Trying to shake off the feeling, you clenched your fists, reminding yourself of your purpose here--to meet with Tom Riddle and discuss the mentorship guild. Despite your internal turmoil, you focused on the task at hand, determined to ignore the distractions and maintain your composure, and began to make your way across the room toward Tom.

Straightening your posture, you took a deep breath to steady your nerves. As you approached him, you cleared your throat to announce your presence.

"Mr. Riddle," you greeted, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I've heard great things about the mentorship guild, it's been a longtime goal of mine to be a part of it."

Tom's eyes, a sharp contrast to his brother's, held a depth of intellect that seemed to penetrate your very soul. His appearance was the polar opposite of Mattheo's--clean kept, professional; gelled hair and fresh robes--all attributes you'd never find on his messy haired, couldn't-care-less sibling. Tom regarded you with an assessing gaze, nodding appreciatively.

"I'm pleased you're interested," he replied, his voice smooth and composed. "Let's find a quiet spot to talk, and please, call me Tom."

With those words, you gave him a small smile before  following him through the isles of shelves and towards the back of the room, reserved only for quiet studies, leaving the unsettling sight of Mattheo and his entourage behind, unable to ignore the heat of his eyes on you from across the room as you moved. In the hushed confines of the library's quiet study area, you settled into a seat across from Tom, the anticipation of the conversation ahead mingling with a sense of relief.

Away from the prying eyes and distracting presence of Mattheo, you felt a newfound confidence building within you.

"Thank you again for considering me, Tom, you have no idea what this opportunity means to me," you said, your voice steady as you met Tom's gaze. "I've always admired your achievements and your approach to academics. I believe I can learn a great deal under your guidance."

His eyes, a captivating shade of deep brown, held yours in an unwavering gaze. "Please, the pleasure is all mine," he replied, his tone dipped in charm. "I've heard remarkable things about your intellect and dedication, Dumbledore spoke very highly of you. I anticipate our collaboration to be mutually beneficial…I have high hopes for what you can achieve."

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, and you offered a grateful smile. Encouraged by his words, you felt a surge of motivation. "I'm eager to contribute in any way I can."

Tom's eyes glinted with approval. "That's precisely the attitude we value. With your potential and determination, I have no doubt you'll find your place within our guild."

As the conversation progressed, you found yourself immersed in discussions about your academic aspirations, the guild's objectives, and the various projects they were involved in. With every word, you felt a sense of belonging, as if you had finally found a community where your intellect was not only recognized but celebrated.

As you observed Tom while he spoke, it was clear that he was someone you could relate to on a profound level. Like you, he poured his heart and soul into his studies, the pursuit of knowledge a shared passion. His quiet confidence mirrored your own determination, and his dedication to academic pursuits resonated deeply with your own values.

In Tom, you discovered a like-minded soul, someone who, like you, appreciated the sanctity of the library's quietude and the solace found in the pages of a well-worn book. While Mattheo's antics might overshadow his brother's achievements, you recognized Tom's brilliance as a beacon of inspiration, a reminder that there were others in Hogwarts who shared your unwavering dedication to intellectual pursuits.

As the discussions came to a close, Tom straightened his posture in his chair, adjusting his pristine Slytherin robes.

"It's truly refreshing to meet someone as passionate and driven as you," Tom said, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "I believe you have a lot to offer, and I truly look forward to seeing your potential unfold."

You offered a grateful smile, though his lingering gaze left a trail of warmth beneath your skin. "Thank you, Tom. I'm admittedly quite antsy to prove my dedication."

With a charming smile, Tom leaned over the table toward you slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine.

"I must admit, I'm not only intrigued by your dedication to intellect," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "There's something else...something undeniably alluring about you."

"Is that so?" You murmured, head tilting.

His words sparked something inside you that made your pulse increase. You weren't sure what the fuck you were doing right now, but admittedly, you couldn't help yourself. If the Riddle brothers had anything in common outside of their devastating good-looks, it was their effortless bloody charm.

"Indeed, it is," he matched your playful tone, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I'd relish the opportunity to delve deeper into your thoughts...outside of the Thursday evening guild meetings, of course," he said, his eyes glinting with intellectual curiosity. "How about we make it a habit, meeting one-on-one regularly? Tuesday evenings sound splendid, don't you think?"

Internally, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions stirred within you. The idea of regular one-on-one meetings with Tom was undeniably enticing, and would do wonders for your reputation, yet the fear of Mattheo's reaction held you back. As you hesitated, an unsettling vision of Mattheo's disapproving expression flashed in your mind, causing your response to stall.

"I...I appreciate the offer, Tom," you finally managed to say, your voice slightly shaky. "Tuesday evenings should work. I look forward to our discussions."

Your response came out a bit stilted, your internal turmoil seeping into your words, and Tom, ever perceptive, noted your apprehension with a slight eyebrow raise, but clearly chose to dismiss it.

"Wonderful. I look forward to it as well." He said, pushing up from the table and shooting you one last professional nod, "enjoy the rest of your night."

You smiled. "You too, Tom. Thank you.”

And with that, he spun, making his way down the dimly lit isle of the library, your gaze fixated on him until he was entirely out of sight. And once he was, you slumped back in your chair, releasing a stifled breath, acknowledging that his flirtation added a new layer of complexity to the already intricate web of your emotions--but, considering the fact that Mattheo was nothing more than selfish asshole who was currently cuddled up with another girl at this very moment, you refused to wallow in the thought of him any further.

You pushed up from your seat and delved deeper into the library's hushed corridors--the muted ambiance and the scent of old parchment surrounding you as you moved. With purposeful steps, you maneuvered through the labyrinth of bookshelves, gliding down the dim aisle of your choice, your eyes scanning the titles, seeking the specific astronomy book essential for your upcoming exam.

Finally, you came to a halt in front of the S category, your fingers gently tracing the spines as you read their titles, lost in the tranquility of the moment when out of nowhere, a vice-like grip clamped over your mouth, stifling any sound, and you were forcibly pulled backward--your body colliding with a strong, powerful chest, the abrupt impact momentarily jarring your senses.

As the initial shock faded, and the lingering smell of cigarettes and firewhiskey filled your nostrils, calloused palm tightening its hold over your lips, you knew there was only one fucking man that this could be. Mattheo Riddle's unyielding hand muffled any protest, and the fingers on his free hand dug into the wooden shelf beside your head, his silent strength radiating a chilling intensity that left you frozen in fear.

"Playing with fire, aren't you, Raven?" His hot breath danced on your ear as he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "You know, playing too many little games might get you in trouble, princess..."

Pinned against the shelf, your fingers clung desperately to its edge, seeking stability as your body pressed firmly against the unforgiving wood. Mattheo's presence enveloped you, a low growl escaping him as he tugged your face to the side, pressing your temple against the row of books, his lips grazing your ear--holding you captive like a fragile little bird, ensnared in the coils of the big bad serpent.

"Tuesday nights, huh?" His voice was deeper than you'd ever heard it, your heart pounding in your throat as you realized he'd must have heard your conversation with Tom--and clearly, wasn't very happy about it. "I knew you'd fall for his fucking bullshit, Raven...you seem to have a knack for falling into traps, don't you?"

Rage coursed through your veins, a primal growl building up in your throat as you pressed against his restraining hand, your thoughts ablaze with a multitude of scathing comebacks. The fervent desire to unleash your fury clashed with the harsh reality that he had more to say, leaving you seething in silence.

"You're delusional if you think he's actually fucking interested in you..." he breathed, pressing his lips directly to your ear now. "You're just his new prey...his new little protégé...take you in and make you feel special, just to discard you once he's done with you..."

A chill crawled down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach like a lead weight. His words stung, and you struggled against his grip, his fingers digging into your skin, reminiscent of a snake coiling around its prey. Despite your attempts to break free, his hold tightened like a serpent constricting its victim, leaving you feeling trapped and vulnerable--involuntarily eliciting a sensation between your thighs you wished to ignore.

"Maybe that's what you want though, huh?" He taunted, voice dripping with disdain. "Maybe I've already ruined you...maybe you like being a little slut so much now that you're willing to throw yourself at anyone who offers..."

Your groan of frustration mingled with a futile attempt to break free, but his grip on your mouth remained unyielding. The hand that had been braced against the shelf now shifted to your hip, anchoring you firmly in place, his touch possessive, commanding--sending shivers down your spine, even in the face of his despicable words. The sheer force of his hold had an intoxicating allure, leaving you trapped in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, unable to fully resist despite your burning anger.

"Do you want to fuck him, Raven?" His voice tightened, twisting your head back further to meet his eyes, the painful angle making you wince, your lids fluttering shut as a result. "No, no. Open those eyes. Look at me."

Your stomach churned with unease, and you reluctantly complied, his fingernails digging into your cheek as he forced you to meet his dark, possessed gaze, the smell of alcohol radiating off his breath.

You swallowed. It was a bloody Thursday--why was he drunk on a fucking Thursday?

"Is that what you want?" He muttered, his voice softening, though his grip remained firm. "Because he's going to try...believe me, he's going to fucking try."

In the vice-like grip of his fingers, you growled low, a surge of irritation coursing through your veins like molten lava. How dare he presume to control your actions, as if he held any genuine concern for your well-being? His selfish motives were as transparent as glass, his only interest lying in your submission to his sexual desires. Meanwhile, he shamelessly paraded his affections for other girls, a cruel reminder of his callousness. There was no way you would yield to his manipulative tactics, your determination burning brighter than ever amidst the storm of his toxic influence.

And with a surge of sheer madness, you bared your teeth beneath his palm, sinking them into his rough flesh with a viciousness that mirrored the intensity of your anger, determined to inflict any pain you could in your struggle for freedom--and as your teeth dug into his skin, he recoiled, a sharp hiss escaping his lips as you tried your hardest to draw blood.

His grip momentarily loosened, allowing you a gasp of precious air before he tightened his hold once more--his eyes, ablaze with a mix of fury and surprise, bore into yours, capturing your defiance and turning it into a challenge. With brutal force, he spun you around, your back colliding with the unforgiving shelf; the impact sending shivers of pain racing through your spine, and the back of your head met the harsh wood with a sickening thud--your vision momentarily blurring, your heartbeat echoing in your ears like a war drum, punctuating the silence of the library with the harsh reminder of your vulnerability in his grip.

Your eyelids flickered, blinking rapidly to clear the haze, unveiling his intoxicated form, a menacing silhouette against the dim light. His eyes, blacker than the midnight sky, bore into your face with predatory focus, dissecting every flicker of emotion that crossed your features. Your eyes widened in sheer shock, somehow just now fixating on the new cut over his nose, dried blood trickling down from his nostrils and staining his chin, throat and uniform like macabre tears.

"Yeah, that's right..." he muttered, grin crawling over his lips, "take a good fucking look, princess."

Trapped beneath his unrelenting palm, you pleaded, your voice barely audible amidst the fear that gripped your throat. Desperately, you tried to shake your head, your eyes widening in horror as the sinking, sickening sensation in your chest deepened.

Your heart raced with dread, praying vehemently that the blood staining him had nothing to do with Tom.

"I warned you," he sneered, his head tilting as he leaned closer, his palm pressing your head back against the shelf with savage force, as if he was anticipating your impending reaction. "I told you exactly what I'd do to him if he fucking tried anything..."

Your heart fell, shattered, and scattered into a million shards on the cold library floor. Anguish surged through you, transforming into a fierce, unyielding determination, and without hesitation, your hand left your side, a trembling force of defiance as it harshly connected with his cheek--sending his face whipping to the side, his messy hair bouncing against his forehead with the impact.

The sharp sound reverberated through the silence of the library, and his grip on your lips faltered just enough to allow you to break free. Before he had a chance to do anything else, you gripped his wrist, holding it in place, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions.

Your voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and anger, words escaping your lips in a choked whisper. "I can't...I can't fucking believe you," you stammered, your heart pounding in your chest like a frantic drum. "Mattheo, do you even realize what you've done?"

He blinked, his cheek tinged with a rosy hue from the impact of your slap. "Do you?"

"What the fuck do you mean?" Your lungs seized, anger threatening to collapse them. "How the fuck am I supposed to explain why you fought your own brother over me? How the fuck am I going to justify that in any way? We aren't supposed to...we aren't-"

Your words cut through the air, heavy with incredulity and a profound sense of betrayal. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you at a loss for words as you struggled to comprehend the tangled mess he had created.

"He doesn't know it was over you," he muttered, ripping his wrist from your hold. "It's not the first time I've fought my brother, Raven."

"Oh, so it's just one big coincidence that you suddenly pick a fight with him after he meets with the girl who's been tutoring you one-on-one for the last few months, right Mattheo?" You snapped, your words laced with bitterness and frustration, the tension between you hanging in the air like a storm waiting to unleash its fury. "Do you understand that if anyone fucking finds out about us...literally anyone...my post graduate career is fucking ruined, and all of this has been for absolutely nothing? Do you understand how many rules I've broken, how much I've risked, just to allow you to use me however you’d like? And this is how you repay me?"

With a sudden movement, you brought a hand to his chin--your fingernails biting into the skin of his jaw, the sharp edges of your frustration cutting into him as you held him firmly in place. The intensity of your grip mirrored the storm brewing inside you, the forceful pressure a physical manifestation of your raging emotions.

"You have absolutely no fucking right interfering in on my life like this...not while you're cuddled up with another girl on the couch...not when you've made it clear as day that I'm your fucking toy and nothing more." You seethed, your voice cutting through the air like a knife. "You have no right to paint him as though he's some demon when you haven't once dared to look at your own fucking reflection."

Mattheo's eyes met yours, his usual confidence flickering for just a moment as the weight of your accusation settled upon him. "You have no idea what he's like...you can't-"

"I know what you're like." You hissed, dropping your hand from his jaw. "And not many can be worse than you."

"That's where you're wrong." He retorted, spitting the words through barred teeth. "That's where you're absolutely fucking wrong."

"Admit it, right now, Mattheo." You snarled, words like venom as you spat them off your tongue. "Admit that I'm nothing but your fucking toy, nothing but a naive little slut for you to manipulate...admit that I'm-"

Your words hung in the air, abruptly silenced as Mattheo's vice-like grip clamped onto your jaw, the intensity of his hold promising to leave marks on your skin. He pressed your head back against the shelf, your body stiffening in response to his overpowering force. The heat radiating from his frame enveloped you, intensifying the sense of confinement as his free hand slammed onto the shelf beside your head, adding to the mockery of your helplessness.

"No," he growled, his voice low and intense, the frustration palpable in the air. His grip on your jaw tightened, his fingers digging into your skin, and you winced, the pain jolting through you. "You're fucking not."

"Bullshit," you hissed back, your defiance flaring despite the pressure of his hold.

His eyes narrowed, his gaze locked onto yours with a fiery determination. "If you were just some conquest, just some notch on my bedpost, why the fuck wouldn't I have fucked you already, huh?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, the intensity making your stomach twist in knots. "I've had countless chances, Raven...and Merlin knows I fucking want to."

Your voice trembled, the vulnerability seeping through your words like a crack in a dam holding back a tidal wave of emotions. "Want...to...what?"

"Fuck you," he admitted, his grip on your jaw loosening, his confession dripping with both desire and frustration. "I want to fucking rail you, Raven, what the fuck else would I be talking about?"

"But?" you whispered, your voice barely audible, your heart pounding in your chest, desperate for an answer you already fucking knew. "What's stopping you?"

He exhaled, his jaw tensing. "You're a fucking virgin...I've never...I wouldn't feel right if I-"

"Exactly my fucking point," you said, cutting him off, your words slicing through the tension between you. "It wouldn't feel right because I'm just a fucking toy, Mattheo...I'm just a means for you to get your release and then throw away when you're done, what you said just fucking confirms it..please don't stand here and try to pretend otherwise..."

The truth hung in the air, heavy and raw, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your unspoken feelings, leaving both of you engulfed in a suffocating sense of reality.

"You said you had no interest in taking my virginity." You whispered, reluctantly meeting his eyes. "You fucking said that, before any of this started."

"I know," his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I know what I fucking said.”

"So, let me get this straight." You spat, eyebrow cocked. "You want me to continue being your toy, breaking every rule in the book in exchange for your tutoring cooperation and improved grades in order to help me impress Dumbledore, while you continue to be with other girls, but get controlling and fucking crazy when your own brother comes near me, even though you know we could never be together and you have zero intentions of making that happen away...yeah?"

As he blinked, remaining silent, you huffed, releasing a frustrated breath. "Can you at least do me one little fucking favour and explain that hypocrisy to me, Riddle? Or-"

Cutting you off, Mattheo's fingers gripped your jaw for what had to be the hundredth time in ten minutes, pulling you into a kiss that felt like an explosion of chaos and passion--the taste of blood, firewhiskey, and the lingering scent of cigarettes filling your senses; a potent mix that somehow pulled a low moan from your throat. His tongue brushed past your lips, exploring your mouth with a fervor that left you breathless, your entire body reeling from the raw desperation in his touch. The world around you faded into oblivion as his hands slid into your hair, anchoring you to him, pressing you against the shelf with an irresistible force, neither of you willing to separate despite your urgent need for breath.

After what felt like an eternity, Mattheo's lips reluctantly left yours, trailing a path of fire down to your jawline. His hot breath, laced with the taste of whiskey and desire, washed over your skin as he panted, and the room seemed to pulse with the aftermath of the passionate exchange. The two of you stood there, heaving, as if trying to fill your lungs with enough air to regain composure--the intensity of the moment lingering, leaving you both breathless and yearning for more, even though you both knew it was a stupid, idiotic, dangerous game you were playing.

"How is it, that the one woman I can never get enough of, is the one I can't have..." he whispered, his voice so low you swore there was no fucking way you heard him correctly. "When I think about it, I guess it's a fitting punishment, for a monster like me..." his hands fell to your hips, softly holding you against him. "To hold something in my hands and know beyond a bloody fucking doubt that I'll never deserve it."

Your lungs stalled, your heart stopped, oxygen fleeing you as though it was running from a fucking fire. He took a step back, releasing you fully.

"You're right, I had no right doing what I did." The words slammed your chest like a fifty pound brick. You couldn’t do anything except blink. "But I couldn't control myself, and it's not your fault, it's mine. I can’t get over myself. Just be my tutor, and let’s forget anything ever happened between us…I hope my brother makes you fucking happy.”

Without giving you a chance to respond he shifted, making his way down the isle and disappearing around the corner before you even had a singular chance to decipher what the fuck had just happened.

————-

Chapter Seven->

[lustlovehart]

HI

Che’nya. In the Monster AU. I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO PUT HIM IN BUT TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO SEND AN ASK. BUT HERES A VERY LONG IDEA ASK

So heres my idea: A Kitsune / Cheshire Cat Combo, and considering he’s already canonically overpowered, it’s safe to say he’s insanely op with the Kitsune bonus.

The GOD LEVEL Illusion magic he must have bro, plus the LONG LONG list of the Cheshire Cats abilities with the shorter but still lengthy list of Kitsune abilities? Plus Feline senses? He may be breaching Malleus tier.

But just like in the original game, he’s so unassuming that you don’t notice.

——-

You originally meet him as a stray, strangely colored (purple and magenta obvs) cat and take him in.

However you failed to notice his shadow had nine tails instead of the one.

You were usually more focused on convincing Rollo to stop trying to throw hands with the cat over what seemed like normal (orange) cat shenanigans, although he was convinced the feline was a devil of some sort.

Neige is genuinely….too frightened to say anything? One look into those lamplight eyes and he changes the subject at rapid speed. Maybe he was hoping the cat didn’t lunge for his wings. Yea, thats totally it.

Jacks no better, mostly having staring contests with it and giving you gruff hints that “that cats not what you think it is”, only to be met with the obvious Cat VS Dog (joking) accusations.

It’s not until it follows you to the Hospital that you begin to find out what it..he…both work…truly is capable of.

The shortcut route through the forest usually seemed never ending, slowly warping more and more, only slightly.

On a night you don’t particularly wish to walk, A small door appears in a red oak tree, the Hospitals looming figure on the other side. As you take a cautious step across the threshold, you feel a swirling in your stomach, and a drop.

But sure as hell, you’re at your destination in record time.

Riddle nearly pops a stitch in shock when you throw out the jest on it after a couple months of using it after the incident , that he should of told you there were portals so you didn’t have to walk all the time, and you were grateful for it.

A sinking feeling follows after you discover that there are no portals near the forest, nor nearly any average monsters capable of creating one.

Leona? Maybe. Azul? 60/40 at best. Kalim? Perhaps yes, if someone wished it. Vil? He has to access the hells somehow. Idia? Is it a question, the Underworld doesn’t have an portable elevator, you know. Malleus? Likely but doubtful if he would find the need to. Lilia? Also likely.

But creating portals that are long lasting takes much preparation and choice of location is VITAL.

Making a “casual transport” portal on a whim from a tree? One leading to the hospital? Theres only one person he can think of that’d do such a thing.

You haven’t met anyone named Che’nya, have you? Or Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker?

Are you certain? Positive?

Well, one can never be sure with him. He’s the one, and only, Cheshire Kitsune. A master of magic capable of bending reality itself. He’d seen the man project his face onto the moon itself as a prank. No, he’s entirely quite serious! With Trey as another witness!

After some time, you leave through the portal again, but instead, find yourself in a different forest. One with glowing butterflies, floating lanterns and candles, windchimes and singing flowers.

In a small wooden pavilion, a being waves a clawed and painted figure as he orchestrates their song, humming along and floating casually as the long striped tails of Lavender and Magenta sway in the wind with the long sleeves of his yukata.

On fluffy ears, several earrings rattled as he turned to you, grinning, a mysterious smile within those lamplight eyes that simply screams “I know something you don’t”.

Huh. Where have you seen those eyes before?

Once the “illusion” fades, you’re back where you began, on the other side of the portal.

That night, as you lie awake trying to remember where you’ve seen those eyes, you remain blissfully unaware they belong to the creature purring away in your arms.

——————-

SORRY I YAPPED BUT THERES MY IDEA :D

ENJOY.

AHHH CHENYA KITSUNE CONTENTTTT. I love when people write stuff like this in my inbox, do it more, I’ll eat the writing(⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃. I like the idea of Chenya being on par with Malleus, the contrast is actually kinda funny! Imagine looking between a majestic Kitsune glittered with tails and fancy ornaments. Meanwhile there’s a moss-covered gargoyle next to him. They’re both op in this scenario, yet somehow the latter still has more power??!!!

(Writing under cut)

(Sprinkling some ideas of the Nekomata from last ask…) Kitsune + Nekomata is truly a fun mix.

I imagine here, your first meeting with Chenya isn’t actually in his cat form, but rather when you come across a wounded civilian slumped against a tree. If you looked down his shadow definitely would’ve betrayed his true nature, but you’re much too caring to pay attention. He’s immediately hooked the moment you touch him, his once round eyes quickly slimming into slits before reverting. Your touch is so soft… but all humans are. What truly attracts him… from the smell of it he can tell you’ve hunted low ranks monsters before. Yet here you are, restoring the health of a mysterious monster NRF hasn’t even documented!

When you leave him, he’s quick to follow the trail, appearing as a purple cat the moment you step foot on Rollos doorway.

The add ins of other characters is so fun!!! Imagining Rollo and his work husband monster hunter reflexes immediately having him reach for his weapon and swatting at the feline like a fly. You watch as it dodges with a speed and precision so unlike a cat. Rollo being jealous over the stupid pest you took in… It’s truly unfair, now all your attention is given to the wretched monster instead of bathing him with your affection. (He knows simply bc he’s one too, but telling you that would most definitely give him away.) Rollo acts more like the neglected wet cat that it does, it’s quite funny. If you attempt to cheer him up, resting your head on his shoulder like usual, he’ll smile before getting clawed by the magenta animal that splits you up.

“Truly… You actually enjoy this thing??”

Neige, Neige, Neige… He feels some sort of connection to the purple fur that lays in your lap, as if he’s met the thing before… Perhaps in another life? But, he can’t help but feel a little scared when he mistakes the cats cuddly ministrations for affection, instead of deception. He tries petting it and instead it jumps on his wings, as if attempting to claw off all the white from his wings. Neige has never been hated by animals before, so he feels guilty when he has to throw it off, but… if it went any further there’s not doubt you would notice black feathers hidden among the ivory. He stares at it dead in the eye ready to sweeten his transgression with an apology. He backs off when yellow eyes peer at him with the intelligence of something much higher than a cat. Oh yeah no that’s definitely a monster.

“Uhm, maybe we should find a different owner…? I don’t want you to overwork yourself! You have so much work in yourself from your job and and…! Oh, you don’t want to…? I see…”

Jacks a funny case, he doesn’t have the traits of a werewolf as he’s entirely human (totally), but the countenance of a dog still could be used to describe him. The way he guards you, the way he seems so happy when you appear (despite his face, if he had a tail, everyone knows it would be wagging the moment you get there.), even to the way he responds to your praise.

“Amazing job Jack! The way you got rid of them so fast was so—!”

The purple cat you took in jumps out into your arms, shutting your compliment down as quick as it came. You left it at home… How is it in Jacks room??

Jack doesn’t realize the way he snarls at the feline with a ferocity you only see when he’s working. It’s only when you pull his ear does he snap out of it.

Ahhh!!! Riddle fawning with worry at your confession. Portals?? His doctorate skills have him vicariously checking all parts of your body. Looking at skin for any sign of bruises, lumps, possibly even curses. You’re left dazed wondering how him just touching your body has anything to do with these portals, but then he cautions you with flick of the forehead (If you were anyone else he would’ve done something much harsher, but this is you).

Going through the list of Monsters capable of magic is an exhausting endeavor… Then the name Chenya appears and you’re wondering if it’s some demon.

AHH! and then meeting him? The area is so tranquil, and then you see some man standing on water, multiple tails flailing around.

Before you know it, the ominous saying leaves his lips, and he stands only inches away from your face, those sharp claws tracing a light pattern on your cheek. Disappearing quickly into the night…

And then you wake up, but rather than finding the stray cat you’ve been caring for… there’s a knock on the door, and when you open it, a familiar magenta man stands at the entrance. You can’t quite place it… but you recognize him. Thought you swear he wasn’t a human, you think.

Also, Don’t ever worry about yapping in my inbox!!! It might take awhile for me to answer, but I promise i see your rambles and love them!!!

[bryan-writes]

The witch in the woods// prologue

Prologue// the witch in the woods

At the edge of town, where the cracked pavement surrendered to tangled roots and wildflowers, stood a house unlike any other. It wasn’t haunted— though some gossiped otherwise— but it carried a soul, woven into its creaking beams and ivy-laden eaves. Your apothecary had stood there for decades, though no one quite remembered for how long. It seemed eternal, like the forest that embraced it, its windows glowing faintly with lamplight even on the darkest nights.

Inside, the air was a heady mix of dried lavender, smoldering sage, and the faint whisper of something sweeter, more elusive. Shelves bowed under the weight of glass jars filled with oddities— moss-green tinctures, preserved blossoms, powders with names that rolled off the tongue like incantations. An old radio hummed softly in the background, playing folk that melted into the house’s rhythm, and somewhere near the fireplace, you yourself lounged in a tangle of mismatched cushions, smoking something that smelled suspiciously illegal.

You were everything your shop promised— wild, unkempt, and a little dangerous. Your hair was always loose, spilling over your shoulders with a mind of its own, and your clothes thrown around with equal parts chaos and whimsy. Today, you wore a loose-knit sweater riddled with holes and a long skirt dusted with ash— likely from the cauldron bubbling lazily in the corner.

You weren’t a witch in the storybook sense. There were no pointed hats, nor black cats perched on broomsticks. (Though to be fair, a scrappy tabby named Thistle was sprawled across the counter, ignoring the “customers only” sign with typical feline disdain). No, your magic was quiet, soft, seeping into the cracks of people’s lives like rain into thirsty soil.

Some came for cures— a balm for aching joints, a tonic to mend a broken heart. Others came for guidance, spilling their troubles like loose change onto your weathered table. You listened with a kind of patience reserved for the perpetually stoned, nodding at the right moments, your answers delivered with a sly, knowing grin. You never claimed to have all the answers, but what you offered was enough.

“Try this,” you’d say, handing over a small vial. “It’ll fix your headache— or give you the best nap of your life. Either way, you win.”

The forest around you whispered its approval. The trees bent low, their branches cradling the house like an old friend. Birds nested in the eaves, and deer often wandered close enough to peer into your windows. The locals said the forest was alive, and you never argued. You liked to think the trees had adopted you, in their own way, sheltering you from a world you’d long since decided was too loud and too cruel.

But the forest wasn’t all kindness. Sometimes on quiet nights the wind carried something darker— a low hum that sent shivers racing down your spine. The shadows beneath the trees stretched too far, their edges sharp. You brushed it off, the way you brushed off most things that didn’t fit neatly into your world.

After all, you’d always been good at ignoring signs.

And so, life continued, the way it always did in your little slice of nowhere. Potions brewed, herbs dried in the sun, and you moved through it all with a grace that was equal parts magic and chaos. But the forest had secrets, and secrets you knew had a way of finding their way to your door.

As you lit a cigarette and leaned back in your chair, the shadows outside seemed to shift, just for a moment. Not enough for you to notice.

Not yet, anyway.

Credit to @strangergraphics for the dividers!

[cannedpickledpeaches]

Insert Your Name (12)

Mafia!Jade Leech x Mafia!Reader

Link to series masterlist!

Notes and TW: Last chapter! Side stories will follow. Thank you for sticking with this series for so long! This series will have mentions of blood, violence, crime (kidnapping, attempted assassination, extortion), and harassment, as one might expect from a mafia AU. Please enjoy!

Tags: @guava-enjoyer @itszzmoon @twstsandturns @myteacupisempty @rou-luxe @chikitasmol @night-shadowblood-writes2 @haveneulalie @owodi

7:30 P.M. DD/MM/YYYY

I thought I knew the truth for a while—that this world existed inside a story. That this was a world which revolved around a nameless, faceless, flawless main character. This entire world around me existed to serve one purpose: to present trials to the main character until she eventually finds a happy ending with her one and only. This world was created for “(Y/N).”

I was Friend A. Friend A was never mentioned again after page two of that story.

It turns out that I was sort of wrong. This world is made for stories, from stories, and (Y/N) happened to be the main character at the time. Now that I’m the author, I made myself the main character.

You wrote “story” and “world” so much that they hardly look like real words anymore. The tip of your pen hovers over the first page of your journal. It’s your first time keeping one, and you aren’t certain how to proceed. What tone do you use? Should it be informal or professional? How long should each entry be? How detailed should you make it?

The trapdoor to the attic flips open. Floyd’s head pokes through it like a garden eel in the sand.

“Whatcha doin’ over there? Still lookin’ for that manuscript?”

You shake your head. The manuscript for (Y/N)’s story disappeared without a trace after your meeting with Hans. No matter how hard you searched, nothing turned up, so you could only assume he retrieved it.

“No use in looking for it. I’m starting on my journal.” The pen twirls in your hand. “I’m not really sure how I want to write it.”

He hoists himself up and saunters over to where you’re curled up at the window. He peers at your handwriting. Flippantly, he flops on the floor next to you and yawns.

“Who caaares. Write whatever ya feel like writin’. It’s not like the one before was any good.”

The previous author’s manuscript was riddled with inconsistencies, plot holes, and grammar mistakes. It wouldn’t be a massive problem. Hans would simply have to work harder to fill in the gaps.

“The previous one failed, though.”

“Then just don’t fail.” He grins up at you. “Easy, right?”

You pinch his nose, laughing when he swats at your hand.

“Easier said than done.” Despite that, his words ease the burden on your shoulders just a bit. You don’t need to overthink this. It’s your story, yours to tell however you’d like. “Thanks for the advice, though.”

“Sure, sure.” Your name rolls off his tongue dismissively. “You worry too much.”

You glance at him. “You’ve been calling me ‘Red Handfish’ recently, why’d you switch back to my name?”

The lamplight glints in Floyd’s eyes briefly, then he closes them. A lazy grin spreads on his lips.

“I was calling ya ‘Red Handfish’ ’cuz I was hopin’ you’d get your hands all red and bloody again.” A huff of air escapes him. “Shoulda been there when you beat up the security.”

“Typically, you’re supposed to not hope I’m beating up your men.”

“It’s fine. Not like Jade and I need much protectin’.” His voice quiets down to a mumble. “You’re enough for security or whatever.”

His voice trails off at the end. Soon, quiet snores fill the attic. Seeing that he isn’t planning on disrupting your writing, your attention returns to your journal. Following his advice might not be a bad idea.

My main priority was to break the curse on Mr. and Mrs. Leech. I thought I’d have to ask (Y/N) to reach out to Vil Schoenheit or write something in this journal, but it turns out I didn’t have to do anything. Hans went ahead and nudged the odds in my favour already. At least, I suspect he had a hand in it. But I’m never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I’ll happily accept that Walrus’s team and our own people have found a way to break the curse.

Azul was slightly disappointed that he didn’t manage to find a method on his own. He really wanted to put the twins in his debt, but I guess he’ll have to sulk. His specialty is potions, after all. Not curses. He’s also a little salty because this implies Vil Schoenheit is still more skilled than him on the subject of curses. His competitive nature never dies down when it comes to other competent people, even after all these years.

Anyway, the curse was undone three days ago. They’ve woken up perfectly stable and healthy, if a little tired. The twins have spent nearly every waking hour in their room. I’m glad they’re all looking much more lively.

Their parents wanted to go right back to work, but Jade and Floyd have been very insistent on making sure they rest. Right now, Jade and his parents have decided to split up the work equally, but Jade plans on eventually relinquishing his position as the temporary head of the Leech Mafia. He doesn’t want it back anytime soon. His parents might want him to keep observing their work, but I think he’ll take a long breather after the Carpenter Mafia dissolves. He says he wants to join a research lab on fungi. I’m sure he’ll enjoy himself there.

Speaking of Jade’s interests, Floyd owes him quite a bit for breaking his terrariums. You cast a glance at the twin dozing off on the floor. Jade’s been working him hard. Just as you’re about to pull a knitted blanket off the window seat and drape it over his torso, Jade climbs up to the attic.

“Ah, I thought I might find you two here.” He ignores your shushing motion, speaking nearly louder than his usual conversational volume. “Have you made any progress on that journal?”

“Keep it down, Floyd’s sleeping.”

“Oh? I suppose he is.” He smiles as though he’s entirely innocent. “Even though he should be running an errand on the west side of the city right now. Isn’t that so, my dear brother?”

Floyd stirs, brows furrowing as he grumbles. “Fuck off, man.”

“I’m afraid you’re late. Why don’t you head out? It wouldn’t do for you to procrastinate.” Jade leans over him, his shadow eclipsing Floyd’s face. The latter gripes some more before rolling away and hopping right through the trapdoor. His footsteps echo through the halls, eventually leading to the sound of the front door.

“He’s tired. You should let him rest.” You close your journal and set it beside you.

He kneels by your seat and rests his head on your knee. Gingerly, you reach out and comb your fingers through his hair. His entire body melts against the wall and your knee.

“I am also tired.” His eyelids drop halfway, a pitiable pout on his lips. “Much more so than he is, I’m sure.”

“And what? You want a gold medal for the Fatigue Olympics?” Despite your words, your other hand holds his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek. “Come on, get off the floor. It can’t be comfortable.”

He sighs in contentment. “With the way you’re touching me, I have half a mind to stay where I am.”

You’ve come to realize that Jade acts this way when he’s looking for attention, and he only actively looks for attention from you. With a sigh escaping the smile on your lips, you ease his head off your knee and move your legs so that your feet touch the floor. He has the gall to look like a kicked puppy.

“You’re so dramatic.” You pat the cushioned space next to you. “Sit up here.”

It’s like his fatigue disappears as soon as you extend the invitation. He wastes no time in sitting next to you, his thigh pressing against yours. One of his hands reaches behind you. You feel it causing the cushions to shift under you as he uses it to support his weight. Strangely, it feels more intimate than if he had touched you directly. The knowledge that his arm is there creates a sense of security. Sturdy, safe, like the face of a cliff that has your back. He’ll never be a threat to you. You think back to what you once thought of people who trust Jade, and you wonder if you’re a fool, desperate, or if you have something on him.

It might not be so bad to be a fool once in a while.

You lean into his side and rest your head on his shoulder. A pause, followed by the light pressure of his cheek against your hair. His body is cool to the touch like always, and you find comfort in it.

“I’ll help you make new terrariums to replace the ones Floyd broke.”

“How kind of you.” The hand behind you lifts, only to find its place on your waist, securing you to his side. “In that case, I should consider what I’d like to grow in them. Lichen would decorate some surfaces well, but I doubt it would be possible.”

“Lichen?” You often see it back home near the shore. “Why not?”

“It cannot survive in a closed system like my terrariums.” His voice lowers to a soft, almost sweet tone. “It requires clean, fresh air, outside the confines of a box that I control. The charm of keeping a terrarium is that I control every factor within it, down to what lives or dies. But despite the fact that it eludes my grasp, I adore observing its beauty in the environment where it thrives.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s talking about lichen anymore.

“Lichen grows on trees and rocks, right?” You think about the cliffside. Patches of pale green life covered the rocks where you met Jade. It brought a sort of earthy, rustic quality to the area. “It’s pretty. I think I’ve seen a few of your photos focusing on it.”

“Yes, it needs to be anchored to a sturdy surface.” He adjusts his grip on your waist. “Unassuming, allowing other elements of the scenery to shine, but charming and effective in its own right.”

You don’t want to ask if he’s referring to you. He’ll surely tease you for being self-absorbed. However, you are not so prideful as to not acknowledge what he’s trying to say.

“I sort of understand wanting to be anchored to something.” You place one hand over his. “It’s easier to let my guard down when there’s something that can protect my back.”

“Allow me to assist you with that.” He intertwines your fingers. “If you must be anchored to something, I’ll be more than happy to provide you with support forever, until you ask me to stop.”

“All this talk about ‘forever.’” A grin pulls at your lips. There’s no harm in teasing him once in a while. “It’s like you’re trying to marry me. What’s with that, huh?”

His entire body freezes. You lift your head from his shoulder, trying to look at his face.

“Jade? I was joking—”

He gently presses against your temple, his wrist blocking your eyes as he guides your head back down to his shoulder. What a letdown. This time, you really wanted to see his expression.

“Incidentally,” he says, “would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

“You changed the topic way too abruptly.” Laughter bubbles in your throat. “I thought you were better at making conversation than that.”

“I’m inclined to disagree.” He doesn’t elaborate. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We can book a reservation for that restaurant you wanted to try.”

Usually, you wouldn’t turn it down. But . . .

“Sorry, I’ll be out with (Y/N) all day.” You’ve missed her. And after she called you in distress over losing the polaroids you took together, you promised to replace them with new ones. There’s so much you have yet to do with her. “Maybe the day after?”

Jade sighs loudly, as though he’s the most pitiful being in the world. Amidst teasing laughter, you close your journal and focus your attention on him. It’s alright to take your time writing it. Your story is a process that does not need to be rushed. It may only be a page at the moment, but one day, you’re sure this journal will fill with your experiences, plans, and thoughts. You will continue on living as your own person—not a side character or a main character in a grander scheme, but as yourself. To live as a human being with your unique experiences—that is your story.

[crow-stars]

❝RISES THE MOON❞

❦summary; under the moon's gentle light, a bond can be strengthen and affections shared ♪the characters in this story; gn!reader, riddle rosehearts ✎word count; 1,336 ❀what do the ghosts say?; romantic, very fluffy, sleeping next to each other, reader is stubborn, riddle is also stubborn, stubborn together🌈 ☛the author's notes; hi, hello. do not mind i haven't written in 6 months. ☪look at the catalogue?

It was cold tonight, the breeze a bit stronger than normal. A blanket was brought along for the journey to accommodate for the colder air. It was dark, so you brought along your flashlight. Footsteps echo in the empty corridors, shadows stretching as the light you hold hits the columns. 

You had never been out in the school when it was dark before. If you were younger, the fear of ghosts and ghouls that come to snatch you away would be present in your mind. Now though, you know that the ghosts here wouldn’t snatch you away. Or at least won’t hurt you. There was a thrill to all of this though, almost like you were a teenager sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. The feeling of it all makes your heart race, your legs carrying you through the halls. However, a mundane act of teenage rebellion isn’t the reason why you’re here tonight.

Your goal tonight was the library. Though there was a slight difficulty due to the different environment, but you make it there in due time, the lights dimmed to a more soothing and less harsh color. Your eyes are drawn to the only light source that wasn’t a gentle green, the glow of the orange lamplight drawing you in. At that table lies a head of red hair reminiscent of roses, hunched over a project he no doubt is trying to do as perfectly as he can. 

“Riddle!” 

Riddle looks up in confusion, swiveling his head until he sees you, who was already walking over to him. He stands up quickly, a mix of confusion and a hint of a frown on his lips. Of course, Riddle was never too pleased when you would break any rules, big or small, and being awake at night when you’re supposed to be asleep. Though, one would suppose that he was more worried about what his partner was doing up so late than mere rules. 

“What are you doing up so late?” Riddle’s hands go to hold yours, trailing up to adjust the blanket around your shoulders. “And why are you wearing a blanket around your shoulders? Are you cold? This is too thin for you.” He doesn’t even allow you a nod before Riddle is taking off his blazer, pulling the blanket from your shoulders to replace it. Riddle makes sure to put the blanket back on, an added layer of protection against the cold. 

An expression of thanks slips from your lips, much warmer with the added layer. The only response you get is a soft “of course”, which is better than his usual flustered expression. Riddle leads you back to his area of operating, sitting you down first before he does the same. For a moment, it’s silent, the two of you staring at the other. “Now, what are you doing up so late? You shouldn’t be roaming the halls so late. Students shouldn’t be roaming the halls during night and it’s bad for your health.” Ah, there it is. You were wondering how long it would take. 

You turn your head away, a light grin on your lips as you turn to look back at Riddle, though it’s obvious he’s none too pleased with you. “Well,” You begin, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his blazer. The fabric wafts the gentle scent of soil and flowers, a smell that you associate with the one you call your partner. You have to take a moment to just let it envelop you, to breathe it in and allow yourself to relax. “I wanted to see you.” A simple and sweet answer. The truth too. 

This, however, doesn’t seem like a suitable answer for Riddle, because he lets out a long exhale, gloved fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. His forehead wrinkles in the way he does when he thinks for a long time or when he frowns. “You can see me in the morning. I don’t understand why you would sneak out of your dorm to simply ‘see me’.” Riddle responds, brows furrowed as he gives you a stern expression. He isn’t angry, no. More worried for your well-being or this becoming a common occurrence. Of course, it isn’t everyday that the Riddle Rosehearts is staying up late to finish homework. He was too busy today to even begin to think about his homework. 

Riddle’s response makes you frown, an expression that could almost be called a pout on your lips. “But you’re staying up too. And you’ve been too busy for us to actually spend time together.” 

Riddle is quick to retort with, “I talked to you before class.” Though, this is quickly countered with, “You asked me how my day was and left.” 

“We spent lunch together recently though.” 

“Yes, we did. Last week. And we barely talked!” 

Back and forth, each example is quickly refuted. Back and forth, you and Riddle fuss at each other almost endlessly. 

“Well–” Riddle pauses, thinking about his words before he continues. “You shouldn’t be up so late at night.” 

“Well you shouldn’t either! You said you would go easier on yourself!” 

Riddle opens his mouth, likely to return the remark so that this argument could end, more like squabbling, but pauses. He takes a moment to breathe, hands planted firmly on his thighs before he exhales. After a moment, Riddle takes one of your hands into his own, a shy little peck pressed to your knuckles. An apology, of sorts. Or maybe to sate your wanting for his attention. Either way, it’s enough to calm the air, 

“You know you shouldn’t be up so late.” Riddle says, hand still holding yours. You nod and squeeze his hand. 

“You’re so busy lately.” It’s a plain statement, a fact that has been true for the past couple weeks. Of course, Riddle has felt the lack of time spent with you, though his mind has been more preoccupied with other matters that, unfortunately, didn’t involve you. 

Silence takes the two of you for minutes, what seems like hours. Hands intertwined, eyes locked. It was romantic, in a way. But romantic enough.

Then, a sigh is heard from Riddle and he scoots his chair closer to yours. In almost an instant, your head is on his shoulder and a pen is in his right hand again. This time, his left hand is preoccupied with holding your hand, his head slightly tilted towards your own. He doesn’t say anything, pen hovering above the paper in wait for something. It takes a moment before you respond by squeezing his hand once more, an exhale escaping you as you lean your head’s weight on his shoulder. That was apparently the confirmation Riddle needed, as the sound of his pen against the paper is heard, a calming noise that can be heard along with Riddle’s soft breathing. 

Your ears are filled with the sound of the pen scratching against paper, the scent of roses and strawberries filling your nose, your hand held in the tight and reassuring grasp of your partner. This was what you wanted, to be near him. Even though this wasn’t what you imagined when you came here tonight, then again what else would you have expected, but it felt enough. Not enough to make up for the weeks of being without Riddle, but it was a start. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, or even when you closed your eyes, but you do. And Riddle notices it, with the way your body leans its weight against him a bit more. It’s what signals him to take a break, if only to fix the blanket around your shoulders. Riddle can feel himself already relax in simply your presence, eyes fluttering in an attempt to not fall for the allure that is sleep. No one can resist the call and, soon, Riddle’s eyes slip shut. 

There the two lay, a picturesque scene of two lovers leaning against one another as they sleep.

[falling-star-cygnus]

saw a comparison between Bennett and Aventurine and how they were both burdened by their luck and felt compelled to write them meeting -> note: im not really that far or that in to Star Rail. So if Aventurine's characterization is off, i do sincerely apologize

takes place after meeting Sparkle :D {and if it's obvious im bullshitting in some places, no it's not <3} pry Lichtenburg Bennett out of my bony dead hands

{An ornate chip sparkles in the dazzling lamplights as it's flipped high in the air}

{It lands in the palm of an irate blond, one that smiles as he strolls along the pathways of the deserted night. The chip repeats it's flight.}

"That crazed Fool..."

{Aventurine's nose scrunches despite his efforts to keep an elated face. It's not like anyone's around to see him, but- still. The first step to living a lie is to fool yourself first. The chip is weighing heavy in his palm, so he flicks it up again.}

{And again. And again. And again. Sparkle's words echo in his head.}

"- are you from Sigonia?" "I say you belong to the space under the manhole cover, not in a dream." "...the lapdogs of the IPC."

{Lapdog.}

{The next few moments feel wrapped in honey, sticky sugar thickening his mind to a snail's crawl. His fingers brush a blackened code on his neck, a sigh breezing out a clenched jaw}

{For the first time, the chip lands wrong in his hand. It's pinched between the junction of his pinkie and palm, rocketed to the side as Aventurine's fist clenches}

"Ack-!"

{...}

{Who was that?}

{Aventurine hadn't made that sound.}

{Slowly, like his head was moved by marionette strings, he turns his gaze to the side. The sight of a boy with ashy blond curls greets him.}

{He's clutching his nose in one hand, the chip Aventurine had accidentally shot at him [seriously- what are the odds?] nestled in the other.}

"Ow... where did that come from? I almost wish it was a rock."

{The older man shakes himself out of his daze, quickly but casually making his way over. This boy was young- or at least looked and sounded young- so... a gentler persona should be the ideal approach}

{Fuck if he knew how to approach kids though.}

"Hey there! So sorry about that, it slipped from my hand!"

{Bright emeralds snap to attention. It actually gives Aventurine pause, how bright they are. Pure. He would almost believe them unburdened if it wasn't for the snarled scar speared through his bicep and Lichtenburg figures peeking out around his neck}

"No, no- it's ok! I probably shouldn't have been walking so close anyway.. It's just- I'm kind of lost?"

{Aventurine blinks.}

{He wasn't lying of course, for once the chip quite literally slipped from his hand. Which- almost never happens, he'll admit. An unlucky incident that... was kind of thrilling. To be unlucky- not to hit a scar riddled kid in the face.}

{But still, was this new blondie really going to take him at face value? Not even a suspicious side eye? Talk about naivete...}

{And- lost? How do you get lost in a dream. That takes some serious skill...}

{Unless he was lying. Penacony was full of those after all.}

"Sir...?" "I was wondering why I hadn't seen someone like you around here before!"

{The sudden switch from quiet introspection to enthusiasm startles the kid back a step. Minor setback, that was fine. He could still salvage this encounter.}

{He offers his hand to innocent emeralds}

"Lost, huh? That's unfortunate, kid. What's your name?" "Oh- I'm Bennett!"

{Bennett fumbles for a second, going to shake Aventurine's hand with the one still holding the poker chip before switching to the one over his nose.}

{Poor kid pulls that one away too when he sees the speckles of blood on it. Shit, did he really hit him that hard? He knew the chip was heavy but he didn't think it was that heavy.}

{There was already a bandage pressed over his nose too...}

{Aventurine shakes his bloodied hand when he notices the boy growing increasingly distressed. They were both wearing gloves anyway, so it's not like it was a major issue.}

"Well, nice to meet you, Bennett. Even if it's under... unlucky circumstances."

{The older man was hardly ever unlucky. There was a reason he was called Aventurine, damnit. He never lost a game of chance. And he never made a losing bet. Something else was afoot here, he was sure of it.}

{The once white bandages over Bennett's nose slowly gets swallowed by red as the kid gives a weak little laugh}

"I'm pretty notorious for unlucky circumstances, actually. No matter where I go, my bad luck always seems to cause problems for other people..."

{...}

{Aeons, he looked so sad. Aventurine's chest actually hurts a little just looking at the boy. After all, he wasn't the one with a bloody nose. Fake as it was in this dream world.}

"Nonsense, friend. You've hardly caused me any problems. If anything, I owe you an apology for nailing you in the nose."

{Unintentionally.}

{The older man wraps an arm around the kid's shoulder's to steer him towards one of the many shops in Dreamville. They didn't actually have any vendors in them at this time, but they had to at least have one bandage somewhere. Right?}

{Although with Bennett's luck, maybe not.}

"Let's get you a new bandage, yeah?" "Oh-! I have one right here!"

{And lo and behold, he produces a near identical bandage from one of the pouches hanging from his belt. The only difference was the rounded corners.}

{Aventurine plucks the bandage from between Bennett's fingers to apply before the kid can insist on doing it himself}

"You must get hurt a lot to just have this on you, huh?" "Ah, heh. I guess? But that just comes with the territory of being an adventurer! And- with being unlucky too..."

{An adventurer, huh? That explained the scars, at least a little}

{He slowly peels the ruined bandage off Bennett's nose and flicks it off to the side. To his surprise, it doesn't cleanly make it into a trash can. No, the wadded up thing bounces off the side and, for a second, Aventurine resigns himself to having to walk over and pick it up}

{But it does go in- having bounced straight up instead of back at the blond duo- so he won't actually have to pause in treating his new friend's injury. That feeling of anticipation that fluttered in his throat though... was that how normal people felt? Unsure that something would go there way but hoping it would?}

"Woah... that was so cool!" "...It was, wasn't it?"

{For once, Aventurine felt genuine. Like he earned this bout of boasting. He felt... normal around this kid. ...Huh.}

{The older man smooths the new bandage over Bennett's nose, careful with the pressure he applies. The waxy paper slips between his fingers before he can throw the backside away}

{The boy catches it, innocent emeralds widening when it lands secure in atop the poker chip still in his palm}

"Maybe our lucks are rubbing off on each other, Benny." "Ah-! No, I'm sor-"

{Aventurine ruffles Bennett's hair before he can finish}

"Don't apologize, it's a good thing. I happen to have spectacular luck, I'll have you know. It really takes the fun out of winning." "It does?" "Completely."

{Bennett looks thoughtful at that, glancing down at chip in his glove. Innocent emeralds widen again as he shakes the backside of the bandage into his other glove to hold the disc out to Aventurine}

"I never gave you your chip back!"

{The older man reaches for it, but- he doesn't know if he'll ever see this kid again. Hm...}

{He plucks the waxy film out of his other hand, completely ignoring the chip}

"Please, I have hundreds of those. Keep it."

{Bennett sputters, but Aventurine can't see him as he walks to throw the film away}

"I can't take this-! It looks expensive!"

{It certainly can be exchanged for a lot of credits.}

"Think of it as... a memento of our friendship." "But- I didn't give you anything."

{The older man laughs, startling even himself.}

"Give me something next time we meet then, Bennett."

{It isn't until Aventurine is almost out of sight that he realizes he never gave the kid his name.}

{Well. There was always next time.}

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Magnolia - Chapter Eight

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Original Female Character, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Dark Themes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Loneliness, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

A/N: More tags will be added as chapters are updated. Please be mindful of the tags and warnings at the beginning of each chapter, as they will tell you what you need to know about the content within.

Minors, DNI.

Thank you, Saint Kendall @strawberrystepmom for being my beta for this chapter and rescuing me from the insanity of looking at the same draft over and over again. 💙💙💙

Summary:

Everything, she thinks absently, the feeling behind the thought so strong that for a moment she worries she has actually spoken it aloud. If you asked me for everything right now, Suguru… I would give it to you without question.

Suguru, for his part, can’t help but to take all that she’s offering him. The clock in his head is winding down, keeping him cognizant of how much more he can drink from her without putting her in danger.

He is lamenting every second that brings him closer to the point where he has to stop. He knows that the stronger his feelings are for the person he’s feeding on, the sweeter the blood.

Chapter Navigation 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter Warnings: Biting, blood drinking, fondling

Chapter Eight: To Bloom Under Moonlight

One drop of midnight in the dawn of life’s pulsating stream Marks her an alien from her kind, a shade amid its gleam. Forevermore her step she bends, insular, strange, apart-- And one can read the riddle of her strangely warring heart. -Georgia Douglas Johnson, The Octoroon

--

I wanted to be loved for something. I wanted… to be useful, to be needed, to be happy in knowing I was finally doing something worthwhile. 

I want you to have this. 

I want to be useful to you. 

The thoughts are her own, but they feel distant and faint. Her eyes are on the ceiling, staring up at the muted yellow lamplight coming through the pretty fixtures in Suguru’s bedroom. 

They’d moved there at his suggestion. “Are you trying to seduce me?” Lia had asked, half-jokingly. 

“Only if you want to be seduced,” Suguru had answered. And though he’d offered her a teasing grin, there was something in the tone of his voice that suggested he would oblige her if being seduced by him was what she was aiming for. 

For now, he is taking his time treating himself to the taste of her skin, and it reminds her just how long it’s been since anyone has touched her in an intimate way… and just how long prior to him anyone had touched her at all. He isn’t exactly delicate in the way he’s kissing and nipping at her neck, but she is discovering that she likes him less than gentle. 

He pulls back a little, bringing one hand up to rest on her throat. Two fingers pressed to her pulse point, where the blood flow is the strongest. “Here,” he murmurs, looking intently at her. “Is that okay?”

When she swallows he feels the motion of it, fluttering beneath his hand. “Yes,” she answers belatedly, and now her pulse has quickened under his fingers. Suguru searches her face, looking for anything even remotely resembling fear. He finds none. There is only nervous anticipation, deep curiosity, and a strong undercurrent of lust.

He tucks that last one away, pushing it to the back of his mind. 

He would like to revisit it later. 

“Ready?” He whispers, as he dips his head down, tracing the path he wants to take along her skin with his tongue. She nods, and it’s all the assent he needs. 

“Oh,” she gasps, when she feels his fangs puncture her. It momentarily knocks the breath out of her, and she is strangely reminded of all the times she’s had her ears pierced. Absurd, she thinks, the ridiculousness of the comparison striking her as humorous. She has little time to dwell on it though, as Suguru begins to gently draw blood from the place where he’s penetrated her skin. 

This, she can compare to nothing. 

There is no experience in her mental reservoir, no recollection of anything that has ever been done to her that even comes close to this. 

It isn’t just the feel of his lips and his tongue and his teeth on her skin, although she sifts through the memories of past lovers - few though they are - and finds that this feeling is leagues ahead of anything she’s felt before. 

It’s in the way she can feel every drop of blood that leaves her body, beckoned onto his tongue like it’s being called home. As if her blood has always belonged to Suguru, and she has merely been keeping it safe for him.

It’s in the way he drinks from her; he does not devour her the way she imagined that he would. Instead, he is unhurriedly savoring the taste of her, as if she is a feast full of courses set before him purely for the purpose of his enjoyment. 

He has one hand braced on the mattress below her head, holding himself up so as not to put his full weight on her… and she wonders if he realizes where his other hand has wandered to, cupped around her breast, thumbing at her nipple through the thin fabric of one of his t-shirts that she’s claimed for her own.

Not that she minds.

She arches into him, offering more of her breast to his touch, more of her blood to his tongue. 

Everything, she thinks absently, the feeling behind the thought so strong that for a moment she worries she has actually spoken it aloud. If you asked me for everything right now, Suguru… I would give it to you without question.

Suguru, for his part, can’t help but to take all that she’s offering him. The clock in his head is winding down, keeping him cognizant of how much more he can drink from her without putting her in danger. 

He is lamenting every second that brings him closer to the point where he has to stop. He knows that the stronger his feelings are for the person he’s feeding on, the sweeter the blood. 

Satoru is the only person whose blood is sweeter than hers. 

The thought should surprise him, but it doesn’t. 

The invisible clock in his head ticks one last time, and reluctantly he withdraws his fangs from her, lapping gently at the puncture marks to stem the flow of blood. He presses a kiss to her skin, gentle and sweet, before raising his head to look at her.

“Ah,” he exhales, when his gaze falls on where his hand is still cupped around her breast. Quickly he pulls his hand away. “Sorry---”

“You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t apologize for things you don’t need to apologize for,” she manages. The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement as she bites back a laugh, even as her skin tingles hotly from the afterimage of his touch.

“I got carried away,” he sighs. “I should be sorry about that.”

“I didn’t mind,” she admits softly. Her ears and cheeks are burning, and she fights the urge to look away from him. She realizes that she doesn’t quite know how to express what she wants, but she tries anyway. “Suguru… I don’t really know how it works with you and Satoru…”

Puzzled at why she’s bringing his husband up right now, he blinks at her. “Me and Satoru…?”

“You’re married,” she blurts. She winces, understanding that it must sound like an accusation. “I meant--- I know you two have had other relationships, but… I don’t know how he would feel about---”

“Ha,” he laughs wryly, catching her meaning. “Satoru’s not the jealous type.” He shifts to sit up on his elbows and look at her properly. “And you can bet that he’s having more than his fair share of fun where he is.”

She absorbs this silently. Then, “So he wouldn’t be upset about this?”

“He wouldn’t,” Suguru offers her a reassuring smile. “But if you’re worried, we can call him so you can ask for yourself.”

Her face goes hot again at the thought of such a conversation. Up until now, even knowing that Satoru may return any day now, she has only ever been in the peripheral of any conversation the two men have had. She doesn’t think she wants this to be the first thing she talks directly to Satoru about. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” she laughs. Her laughter subsides, and she takes a deep breath. “In that case…” He’s so close, right there in front of her, and she can’t hide her face. You’re an adult, she chides herself silently. There’s nothing wrong with asking for sex.

But what if he doesn’t want to? What if he’s not attracted to me in that way, and I just end up embarrassing myself by even mentioning it? What if---

“Are you going to let me in on whatever the secret is, or should I start guessing?” There’s amusement in his eyes when she looks back at him, but there is also that kindness that she’s grown so fond of. It gives her the courage to speak plainly. 

“Suguru, I want… to have sex. With you.”

Chapter Navigation 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter Nine: The Question Answered (Coming Soon)

[dangantums]

Sweet Tooth

very short drabble,,, sorry for the silence, been uber busy. here's a w.rightworth fic -- sorry stuffedronpa folks

this fic contains: bloating, burps, hiccup, belly rubs, SFW content

ship: w.rightworth, n.arumitsu (p.hoenix w.right x m.iles e.dgeworth)

TLDR: m.iles has a sweet tooth, and rarely gets to indulge. so phoenix surprises him.

Miles Edgeworth had a sweet tooth. It was undeniable.

It was a quiet evening in the upscale apartment shared by Miles Edgeworth and Phoenix Wright. The city lights glittered outside the window, casting a warm glow on the room. Miles sat at his desk, engrossed in paperwork, surrounded by stacks of legal documents, the soft glow of lamplight casting a soft ambiance on the papers. Busy as ever. However, something unusual was happening in the other room. Phoenix, Miles' boyfriend, had decided to surprise him with a selection of his favorite sweets. Miles had always been known for his disciplined and serious demeanor, but Phoenix was determined to bring out the softer side of the stoic prosecutor.

Or, the sweeter side.

As Miles diligently worked on his cases, Phoenix tiptoed into the room, holding a tray filled with an assortment of delectable desserts—chocolates, pastries, and a variety of candies. He placed the tray on the edge of the desk, causing Miles to look up in surprise.

"Hey there, babe. Thought you might need a little pick-me-up." Phoenix Wright presented the assorted goodies with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Edgeworth arched an eyebrow, the look of surprise fading. "And what, pray tell, is the occasion for this sudden act of generosity?"

Phoenix leaned against the doorframe, a sly smile playing on his lips. "No occasion, Miles. I just love you. Consider it a distraction from all the stress – you've been working too hard.”

Miles’s gray eyes narrowed slightly. "I appreciate the sentiment, Phoenix, but I am quite busy at the moment. I can’t just stop working.”

Phoenix let out a snort, ready to turn around and leave, but Miles let out a sigh. The attorney watched as the prosecutor gave in to the temptation – Miles reached for a chocolate truffle and took a bite, savoring the rich flavor. Phoenix watched with delight as Miles' expression softened with chew. The rich flavor instantly captivated his taste buds, and the stern gaze that riddled his face softened. His shoulders relaxed, as if tension was being directly lifted off his shoulders at that very moment. Phoenix watched with delight as Edgeworth slowly gave in to the sugary temptation. 

"See? Not so bad, is it?"

“Mnnff,” was all the attorney got as a response, the prosecutor's mouth full of chocolate. Miles, despite sweets and sugar being his favorite, was not one to indulge in such foods often. At the moment, he found it difficult to stop.

The irresistible treats beckoned him, and he soon lost track of how many he had consumed. Phoenix, who had been gazing at Miles, now noticed how Miles' sweet tooth had gotten the better of him – and he couldn't help but chuckle. Running a hand through strands of black hair, Phoenix approached the desk again. Peering over the mahogany wood, he watched as Miles shifted uncomfortably in his leather seat, one hand rubbing the side of his now distended gut. The buttons of his suit jacket slightly strained against the pale flesh. The prosecutor hissed and tried to get himself out of his boyfriend's line of sight. But the sudden movement only resulted in an unexpected side effect – a series of soft burps escaping from his lips.

Phoenix burst into laughter at the unexpected sound. "Looks like someone enjoyed the sweets a bit too much."

“Wright,” Miles growled, his eyes shooting daggers at his partner. But he couldn’t suppress the twitching of his lips, a smile threatening to appear on his face.

Phoenix sauntered over and playfully patted Miles' belly. Which only resulted in a soft hiccup. So, the attorney's hand flattened, rubbing Miles' stomach gently. It felt drum-tight. "Don't worry, babe. I'll take care of you."

Miles Edgeworth rolled his eyes but couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him. As Phoenix rubbed Miles' stomach, the tension melted away, and Miles couldn't help but relax. Perhaps a little sweetness in life, both literal and figurative, wasn't such a bad thing after all.

[keyblack]

"I'll be sure to give your regards to Master Talpa, whelp! Ahahahaha!"

(X)

[robin-writes-and-such]

The night is my friend

My companion in solace

Oh, how I hate to be torn from her grasp

Falling into the thrashing waters of rest

Night and I sit there for hours

Not exchanging a word

Smiling in lamplight and etches on paper

Night dances to the music that echoes around me

She understands

When I’m taken by the exhaustion

And I must lay

The dreams riddle me

They plague my bones

Good or bad, I wake in a panic

And the night cannot comfort me

For she has no arms

And all I can feel are her eyes

Watching me

Like daggers in my back

Night is free of judgement

She is safety

And lonesome may she be, but comforting is her solitude

Do not take me from her once again

Into a dream for a world that is not mine

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twelve-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Sexual Aggression, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, (slight) Knife!Play, Teasing, Alcoholism, DubCon, CNC, TomRiddle.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Under the veil of night, Saturday descended, and despite the persistent sickness that weighed you down, you refused to succumb to the confines of your bed for even a second longer. The piercing ache in your head and the relentless runny nose served as mere whispers against your willpower. Ignoring the protests of your body, you ventured out, guided by a flickering determination.

The castle, shrouded in darkness, seemed to echo with your footsteps as you moved. A hushed, mysterious atmosphere enveloped you as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors. Your steps were purposeful, leading you to the heart of intellectual refuge: the library.

As you entered, the soft glow of the lamplights revealed a haven of knowledge, where ancient tomes and modern texts stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting to divulge their wisdom. The familiar scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, soothing your senses.

Amidst the quietude, you found a secluded alcove, a sanctuary within a sanctuary. The soft light bathed you as you settled into the embrace of an overstuffed armchair, its fabric worn by countless readers before you. The weight of the books in your hands felt both grounding and exhilarating, as if the knowledge contained within could lift you from the heaviness of your illness.

The hours slipped away, the silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of pages and the distant ticking of an ancient clock. Lost in the world of words, you found solace, momentarily escaping not only the physical discomfort but also the emotional turmoil that had plagued you since your clandestine encounters with Mattheo.

Gods, why the fuck were you always thinking about him? Regardless of what you did, that man was in your head--there was no escaping his ghost. Every thought of him wrapped around your mind like a suffocating vine, an inescapable plague that refused to release its hold. His touch, a lingering memory etched into your skin, haunted your senses--the way his hands roamed your body, the warmth of his breath against your neck.

His eyes, a deep, intoxicating brown, transformed in the sunlight, creating ripples of amber like liquid chocolate. The memory of his lips, plush and knowing, ignited a storm of conflicting emotions within you, a potent blend of desire and resentment. Your stomach churned with a strange concoction of yearning and frustration, especially when you recalled the sensation of his messy, curly hair brushing against the sensitive skin between your thighs.

Damn him, you thought--the intensity of your emotions amplifying with each passing moment. You loathed him with a passion that had become entangled with an inexplicable longing. The line between hatred and desire blurred, leaving you entwined in a web of conflicting emotions, unable to escape his ghostly presence in your thoughts. You knew you hated him, you just couldn't really remember the reason why anymore.

Deciding to finally call it a night, you pushed up from the chair, moving back into the shadows of the library as you meticulously returned the book back to its designated shelf, the profound words of the author echoing in your mind. Just as you were about to spin around, a sudden shift in the library's atmosphere sent a shiver down your spine, and an all-too-familiar presence seemed to materialize behind you.

The scent of whiskey filled the air, its subtle aroma enveloping your surroundings, and before you could react, a pair of unsteady arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into an unexpected embrace. The touch was rough, not a huge departure from the usual Mattheo, but enough to be entirely noticeable--and his warm breath brushed against your ear as he spoke, his words slightly slurred but not entirely incoherent.

"Raven," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "What a delightful surprise to find you here at this hour...how utterly unexpected."

You inhaled sharply, his hands snaking around your waist, pulling you back against him with surprising force. Instinctively, your fingers gripped the edge of the bookshelf in front of you, the polished wood cool against your skin. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you breathless and lightheaded, the overwhelming scent of Mattheo's cologne mingled with a hint of alcohol surrounding you.

Your voice trembled as you tried to keep it steady. "Mattheo...what the hell are you doing here..."

"Why so shocked, princess?" He breathed, his warm breath sending goosebumps cascading down your neck. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending an electric jolt through your body. "Can't a man of my caliber simply grace this library with his presence whenever he pleases, without arousing suspicion?"

His voice dripped with a mix of confidence and mischief, his hands tightening their hold on you, making it clear that he had no intention of letting go anytime soon. A familiar knot tightened in your stomach, signaling the imminent loss of control. If you didn't gather your composure swiftly, you knew he would once again reduce you to powerlessness, just as he always did.

"Oh, pardon my ignorance..." you responded, your voice thick with sarcasm. "I just never thought I'd witness such a rare event...it's not every day we see a man of your 'caliber' roaming the library, never mind past midnight on a Saturday..."

Mattheo's deep, rumbling groan resonated in the narrow space between you, his hands abandoning your sides to pin you against the shelf. His lips, warm and demanding, brushed your ear with a possessive hunger.

"There's that mouth," he growled, his voice laced with raw need. "Fuck, I've missed that mouth...”

"Matt-" a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your throat, but your protest was abruptly stifled by an unfamiliar sensation. "What-"

Something cold, unyielding, and metal pressed against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. Panic clawed at your senses, urging you to gasp for air, but his palm closed around your throat, silencing you with a ruthless grip. Desperation flickered in your eyes as you tried to make sense of the situation, your gaze fixated on the glint of the blade he was dragging up your arm.

"Mattheo-" you managed to croak, fear and disbelief mingling in your voice. "Is that...a fucking knife?"

Mattheo's silence hung heavy in the air, his warm breath ghosting over your ear as he loomed over you, pinning you forcefully against the shelf. Your hands clung desperately to the wooden edges, the pressure turning your knuckles a pale, ghostly white. With deliberate intent, Mattheo tugged you back against his chest, only slightly, as he directed the switchblade toward your bust and pressed the sharp edge against the fabric of your shirt--the metal biting into the soft material as he cut a precise horizontal line just above your breasts.

"Fuck," the word was almost a guttural moan as it left his inebriated lips. "I've definitely missed those more..."

"Mattheo-" you stammered, your voice catching in your throat. There were a thousand questions swirling in your mind, but the words refused to escape. "What on earth...what's gotten into you? This...this is sick, even for you."

Mattheo's movements were swift, almost serpentine, as he seized your shoulders and spun you around. Before you could react, he pressed you back against the shelf, your hands instinctively finding his chest for support until he captured both your wrists with one hand and pinned them firmly above your head. Speechless and utterly bewildered, you were paralyzed, unsure of how to process the situation.

He smirked, the expression predatory, leaning in closer. With deliberate slowness, he placed the flat edge of the knife beneath your chin, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. The cold steel against your skin sent a chill down your spine, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, trapped in his intense gaze and the menacing glint of the blade.

"I thought you were the sick one, Raven..."  he purred, his eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and intensity as he observed your reactions, his grip on your wrists tightening. "Isn't that why you bailed on me last night, hm?"

Any semblance of control you had tried to maintain had now entirely crumbled, dissipating like smoke in the wind. Pinned against the shelf, your hands held captive above your head, and a cold blade pressed against your jaw, you felt a surge of exhilarating helplessness wash over you. You knew, at this moment, your sanity was hanging by the thinnest thread, and you questioned your choices more profoundly than you ever had in your entire life.

If you allowed him do this to you, what else will you allow? Anything?

Anything...

Speechless, you nodded in compliance, unable to form any coherent words. Mattheo's huff of satisfaction sent a shiver down your spine, and his sadistic tone remained as sharp as ever.

"Yeah?" he purred, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Poor thing...let me take a look, hm? Stick out your tongue."

Before you could fully comprehend the situation, your lips parted involuntarily, and Mattheo deftly slid the cool blade between them, tugging down your jaw with a chilling precision. An electric surge coursed through your entire body, every nerve ending tingling under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes darkened, and his lips parted, both of you suspended in the charged atmosphere.

He pulled the knife away, and as if in a trance, you slowly extended your tongue, the tension between you crackling like static in the air.

Mattheo's jaw tightened, his eyes locked onto your face with a relentless focus, not a blink daring to interrupt his scrutiny. With a steady hand, he pressed the blade against your tongue, his gaze piercing, as if he were a meticulous doctor inspecting a patient, peering down your throat with unsettling precision.

"Seems fine to me, Raven..." he murmured, a flicker of something unsettling dancing in his eyes, sending a twist of unease to your stomach. "But perhaps you're right...perhaps I am sick..."

With deliberate slowness, he lifted the metal off your tongue, tracing it along your jaw before withdrawing it entirely. The blade disappeared into his back pocket, his unwavering gaze never leaving yours, leaving you with a lingering sense of dread and confusion.

"I'm sick and the only cure for my illness are those sweet fucking lips of yours..." he confessed, his free hand caressing the side of your face, the other maintaining a firm grip on your wrists. He drew closer, his eyes fixated on your mouth. "And I'm not talking about these ones..."

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart thundering so fiercely it echoed through your entire body. Your thighs ached with a desperate longing.

"Although..." Mattheo leaned in further, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. "They could certainly help..."

With an excruciating slowness that felt like torture, Mattheo leaned in, his lips tantalizingly close to yours. The lingering aroma of whiskey swirled around you, intoxicating your senses and making your head spin. Despite your attempts to resist, an involuntary whimper escaped your throat, the sound echoing your helplessness in the face of Mattheo's relentless seduction.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the rhythm almost deafening in your ears, as Mattheo's lips finally met yours. His hand slithered under your jaw, his touch both possessive and electrifying. His lips moved over yours with a devouring hunger, as though he aimed to consume not just your mouth but every ounce of your being, leaving you breathless and utterly ensnared in his kiss.

When he drew back, just enough to lock eyes with you, his gaze glinted with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Your entire body thrummed with anticipation, yearning for his touch.

He blinked. "You still want to call this off, Raven?"

"We really fucking should," you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the charged atmosphere. Your heart raced, the tumultuous conflict within you mirrored in your eyes. "But...I..."

Your words trailed off, swallowed by the intensity of his gaze, his eyes resembling swirling depths that threatened to drown your resolve. A smug smirk played on his lips, his arrogance palpable as he anticipated your next words, relishing the moment. He leaned in closer, releasing his grip on your wrists and bracing his hand against the wood next to your head. You hesitated, caught in the mesmerizing pull of his gaze, a fleeting battle of wills that seemed impossible to win.

"You...?" he prodded, his tone dripping with confidence and challenge, as though he knew he had already won.

"But...I can't," you admitted, your voice a fragile whisper, barely audible against the backdrop of your thudding heart.

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your desires and the weight of what you knew was right.His smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing with amusement.

"Can't, or won't?" he challenged, his tone teasing and infuriatingly confident.

His hand on the wood beside your head tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of his strength, his dominance. The proximity between you crackled with tension, the air thick with the unspoken, the moment hanging in the balance like a fragile thread stretched to its limit.

"What we're doing is sick, Mattheo..." you murmured, glimpsing his lips. "I...I never thought we'd be this close...I still smell you on my clothes..."

His eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and desire, his lips curving into a devilish smile. "Sick, perhaps," he admitted, his voice a low, seductive purr. "But you know it's pointless to try and fight it..."

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his chest, tracing the outline of his shirt straining against his powerful shoulders. A shuddering breath escaped you as you felt the undeniable pull, the magnetic force that seemed to bind you to him. With a huff, he gently lifted your chin, forcing your gaze back to meet his intense eyes. The proximity was suffocating, electric, and he leaned in slightly closer, his warm breath mingling with yours, until your lips brushed in a tantalizing whisper.

"Every time you meet my eyes...we both know that you're mine..." he murmured against your mouth, hand falling from your chin and trailing down the front of your chest, slipping through the cut in your shirt he'd made just a few minutes earlier. "I think it's about time you admitted it, princess..."

You gasped at the skin on skin contact, goosebumps raising on your skin, and Mattheo hummed, lips trailing toward your jawline and softly nipping at it.

"Am I all that you think about, Raven?" He whispered, and you could tell that his question wasn't really a question, more of a rhetorical statement. "Did it get too loud, and that's why you tried to shut me out?"

You winced in wake of his words. You wouldn’t be surprised if this man could read your mind at this point.

"You're a constant thought," you whispered, your words hanging in the charged air between you. "It’s fucking overwhelming, Mattheo...I can't keep allowing myself to be consumed by this..."

"Just let go, Raven..." he murmured, his voice a velvet caress. "I've got you..."

Your mind buzzed with irritation, his seductive tones grating against your patience. The audacity to believe he could ever truly possess you sparked a simmering anger within. He didn't have you, he couldn't, and his delusions only served to fray your nerves to the brink.

"No, you don't...you can't..." your voice trembled, a fragile protest as his breath caressed your ear, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt. "Stop manipulating me with your pretty fucking words, Mattheo...you're only making everything more difficult for both of us."

Mattheo's demeanor shifted, tension hardening his features. His hand found your jaw, gripping it tightly as he pulled back, locking eyes with you.

"Do you want me to stop, Raven?" he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Tell me to stop right fucking now, and I'll walk away, won't bother you until Wednesday's session." He drew you closer, his jaw clenched. "Just one fucking word, princess...that's all you need to say."

Your silence hung in the charged air, a battleground where your desires and your convictions clashed. Every fiber of your being screamed for his touch, the magnetic pull between you undeniable, yet your mind raged against the chaos, yearning for simplicity and an end to the torment.

Mattheo's eyes searched yours, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. He held your gaze, his grip on your jaw tightening imperceptibly. The unspoken tension hung heavy, the weight of your unspoken words suffocating in the charged space between you. The choice, the power to end this dangerous dance, rested on the tip of your tongue, yet you found yourself unable to utter the one word that could bring it all crashing down.

"And that's what I fucking thought..." he husked, the words flowing from his lips with a dangerous poison, one that you wanted, more than anything, to get a taste of. "Don't pretend like you're some meek, innocent little girl when I see that vicious mind working behind your eyes, Raven...you've never been afraid to use that mouth before..."

"You're right," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm not meek, and certainly no longer innocent...I left my fucking innocence on your stupid lips..."

"And my hands...my cock..." he purred, his voice low and husky, Mattheo's lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes ablaze with desire and triumph. "...let's not forget my tongue..."

That tongue--infuriatingly adept and unforgettable. How could such a maddeningly skilled tongue ever escape your memory? Curse him, you thought, curse him to the depths of hell.

"All I have left is my virginity, Mattheo..." you said, fingers tightening their hold on his shirt, tremors rumbling through your limbs. "If I give you that, too...I'm scared of-"

"I don't want it, Raven..." he cut you off, leaning closer, his voice holding a rare gentleness, the smallest flicker of humanity under his suffocating power and arrogance. "Don't feel like you need to give it to me."

Your pulse leapt, throat constricting. "Then what do you want?" You struggled to keep your gaze on his eyes, resisting the pull of his delicious lips. "What do you fucking want from me?"

"I want you to need me like I need you." The answer was quick, almost involuntary, as though he needed absolutely no time to think about it.

Your brows pinched, your lungs hitching, oxygen fleeing you. "Like you need-"

"Wet, breathless, and moaning my name..." he murmured, his lips tracing a path along your jawline, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His free hand mapped your curves, finding solace on your hip. "That's how I need you."

Your eyelids fluttered uncontrollably as his wet lips trailed down to your neck, assaulting the sensitive skin. His tousled curls brushed against your cheek, setting your flesh ablaze, an uncontrollable fire sparked by his touch. Gods, he was fucking infuriating, in the best way possible. This man possessed a way with words that felt unparalleled, a skill that left you defenseless against his magnetic pull.

His hand started to inch lower, tracing a path down your thigh, and a surge of panic shot through you.

"Not here, Matty..." you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper, urgency coloring your words.

"Who's around, princess?" he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting over your neck, finding the hem of your skirt. "Just be quiet for me, pretty girl..."

Your lungs sputtered, nails digging into his skin, his hand slowly trailing upwards on your inner thigh.

"Please, Mattheo...someone could-" you whispered urgently, your words catching in your throat as desire and fear collided within you.

"Walk me back to my dorm," he said sharply, a plan forming in his eyes. "I'll pretend I'm plastered, and you can sling me over your shoulder. If anyone sees, it'll just look like you're doing me a favour..."

Your jaw fell open in incredulity, but before you could utter a protest, Mattheo took charge. He let go of your waist, pulling you off the shelf with a swift motion. His arm encircled you, feigning a drunken stumble, as he leaned heavily against you, weaving a convincing facade of inebriation.

You took a second to button up your cardigan, hiding the cut in your blouse that Mattheo had made with his blade--and without waiting even a second more of time, he urged the two of you down the isle and into the heart of the library. Fear gripped you like a vice as you made your way through the silent library, Mattheo pretending to be completely intoxicated, his weight bearing down on you with every step.

Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening in the silence, and your heart raced with the dread of being caught in this reckless charade. With each step, you prayed that you would go unnoticed, your mind wrestling with the gravity of the situation and the potential consequences of your impulsive actions.

As you tiptoed out of the library and stepped into the silent corridor, the nighttime air flowed through the stone walls, cooling the fevered heat in your cheeks. The tension in your shoulders lessened, but the fire in your core raged on, fueled by Mattheo's intense proximity. His cologne, intertwined with the scent of alcohol and cigarettes on his tongue, seemed to possess a hypnotic allure, drawing you in with an inexplicable pull.

You shot your head around, ensuring no one was within earshot, before stealing a furtive glimpse at Mattheo. Your voice emerged as a mere breath, carried away by the night breeze as it left your lips.

"How did you know I'd be there?" You questioned. "In the library."

Persisting in his flawless portrayal of the world's most inebriated wizard, Mattheo barely cracked his eyes open at your question, his response delayed as though he were lost in his own haze. For a moment, it seemed like he might not answer at all, leaving you hanging on the edge of anticipation. Then, a sly smile tugged at his lips, and your stomach twisted with a mix of curiosity and unease.

"I asked your friend," he drawled, glimpsing you with the worlds most fleeting glance. "Emily."

Your heart stopped. "No you-"

You began, but your words were abruptly cut short as the sharp click of polished shoes echoed through the corridor. Your gaze shot to the source of the sound, and there, with an unsettling glint in his eyes, stood Tom Riddle himself, adorned in his pristine prefect attire. His darkened narrowed eyes bored into you, suspicion and sadistic amusement flickering in their depths.

"Evening my dear witch…Mattheo," he purred, his voice dripping with sinister charm as he advanced, each step deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey under the moonlit night. "What might be going on here, if you don't mind me asking..."

Your heart seemed to freeze, its rhythmic beats replaced by an echoing silence that engulfed you. Time slowed to a crawl, every second stretching into an eternity, giving you ample opportunity to feel the weight of the situation sinking in. The world blurred at the edges, leaving only Tom's penetrating gaze fixed upon you, like a raptor locking onto its target.

Under the burden of Mattheo's seemingly unconscious form against your shoulder, you let out an irritated grunt, trying to maintain an appearance of nonchalance. You met Tom's eyes with a forced composure, your every movement calculated to appear casual despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

"I found him passed out on a bench outside the library as I was leaving..." each word hung in the air, carrying the weight of a carefully constructed lie, a fragile facade concealing the complexity of the truth beneath. "He's bloody wasted, I couldn't just leave him there..."

Tom's eyes flickered with disappointment, his sharp scrutiny never wavering as he glanced over Mattheo's apparently intoxicated state. There was a subtle sigh of resignation, as if he had expected nothing less from his wayward brother.

"Very well," he said, his tone holding a hint of exasperation. "Take him back to his dormitory, I trust you can manage that. And do remind him that his actions won't go unnoticed, even in the cover of darkness..."

His gaze drilled into you, a silent warning echoing in his eyes, before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the corridor. With a lingering sense of foreboding, you guided Mattheo toward his dorm, the weight of the night's events pressing down upon you like an invisible burden.

——————-

Chapter thirteen->

[ruiniel]

WIP whatev-day

...

The lampshade flickers weakly behind them, and his knees barely brush hers as they face each other on the tatami. His fine, pale hands rest on them. He is so still, he might as well be an enchanted statue guarding a forgotten temple, though his eyes burn with that familiar blue fire beneath red-tinted eyelids. 

No, the time of fear has long passed. Ochō meets his gaze as her own hands reach, slowly undoing the knots at the back of his headband. 

He dips his chin down briefly while the material comes unfastened, staring back at her as strands of rusted gold roll down his shoulders in waves, as her fingers slip through warm silkiness. She’d never seen his like before, but for a similar ghost in old, sickly fantasies and imaginings the demon had laid in her mind. And the lamplight gleams behind him, hallowing the crown of his head like the sun does the sea when it dies. 

Ochō holds her silent breath—he is beautiful in ways that could lead one to despair, but something strikes her differently about him now. A memory, barely acknowledged. 

The chamber slowly melts away and Ochō wonders: what are they doing here, the merchant and the runaway? She nearly speaks, yearning to ask, but loses the will when he reaches for her.

He easily removes the bamboo comb, then one pin, and the next, setting them aside with a reverence that quickens her heartbeat. His touch barely grazes the nape of her neck when the last tie comes undone, freeing her hair to billow down her body, heavy and shining like a raven’s wing.

What are they doing here? Does it matter? 

He watches, lips parted as his hands rest on his knees again. Is this admiration? A rather modest display for one so hidden, but she feels imbued with life. None had expressed pleasure at the sight of her before, not in this way.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Her voice, small on the backdrop of night.

“But we have met, and will again.” The upper lip curls in a genuine smile. “Because of who you are.”

His hands are yet on his knees. He’s barely touched her since they retreated, but Ochō feels his presence enveloping her in warmth, inescapable. “You still speak in riddles.”

No, he is no mere merchant, no matter his past words; this she knows. “And you know the answer already, Ochō-san.”

His silence is no longer the suspicious affair from the past punctured by a hardened stare. Now it is that smile, drawn over her heart like a talisman.

By impulse, she reaches for his pendant next, attention set on its golden glow. Her hand coils and shakes upon the cold surface, her mind caught in remembrance. Ochō bites down on her lip: the last time she looked, the mirror shattered a world and showed her true face. What if… 

She glances at him, finds the same detached light in his eyes as in the ravaged cell of her mind, when he’d first asked her what she’d done.

“You need not look again.”

His words are different, carrying a tenderness like birdsong through barred windows.

Ochō slowly turns the amulet over, and gazes into the mirror. 

Nothing happens. But she, too, is changed. She is no longer garbed in finery, her hair is plain and long, unadorned or shaped by wax, her teeth are not blackened and she is surrounded by the barest necessities.

Her eyes are the same color, that of bruised evening skies, but unshaded by misery. She is—free.

...

[honorhearted]

The excursion had been a successful one. Although Bradford fought back -- had even tried to use his wife as an excuse for sparing his life -- Benjamin and Caleb overpowered him and returned to camp with both traitors in tow.

Despite the triumph, there was a pall in the air that Benjamin immediately disliked. It was dark, cold, and foggy that night, with silvery plumes dusting the ground and making it akin to wading through a hellish landscape.

Doffing his shako, he tucked it underneath his arm and ducked inside his tent, adorning a smile since he expected to meet Rebekah. But once it became clear she was nowhere to be found, he lost his smile and realized she must be with Dr. Weston. Although not ideal, she often stayed out late with the physician, ensuring that proper care was delivered to the needy.

Setting aside his helmet and saber, Benjamin set back out amongst the grounds, knowing Rebekah would wish to know of their good fortune -- and yes, because he'd also missed her. Regardless of his efforts to keep his heart guarded, protected, safe, he couldn't erect a wall big enough to stave off his feelings.

"Bekah?" Moving into the medical tent, Benjamin's brow furrowed once a familiar figure stepped into the lamplight, Dr. Weston's features dark and sobered while he wiped his bloody hands over his apron.

Although he'd never been a man of a jovial temperament, the grave look in his eyes immediately made Benjamin's stomach dip. "Sir? Is Bekah...?"

"In the back," Elliott cut in, approaching with a stiff jut to his chin. "Whatever you've got goin' on right now, Major, I suggest you leave it at the door."

Benjamin blinked, startled. "But-"

"Men come and go -- they defect and betray and don't always get their comeuppance -- but they ain't more important than the ones we love." Elliott's mustache twitched. "So I'm tellin' you now, Major: whatever happened out there with Colonel Lobcock, it ain't important."

When the doctor failed to chuckle or smile, the knot in Benjamin's stomach worsened. "All right, that's enough," he admonished. "You may be my elder, sir, but I still outrank you. I'd like to see-"

"You ain't seein' nothin' 'til you get your stubborn, mush-brained head out of your arse!" Elliott snapped, jabbing a finger against the major's chest for good measure. "What happens between you and my assistant...well, it ain't my business. But Miss Bekah's a good girl, and a nice girl, and quite frankly, one of the best nurses I've got. And you've been muddling her head somethin' fierce over the past several weeks, and I've about had it."

This time, Benjamin did laugh, though the sound was perplexed and strained. "It's as you said: it's none of your business."

"It sure as hell is my business when it comes to my patients!" Elliott snarled. "And I say you're not seein' her 'til you've got a good attitude, son! She needs someone who'll hold her hand -- she needs support. Hell, what she needs is you, if you're man enough to own up to it!"

Benjamin blinked in wordless agitation, not accustomed to being spoken to in riddles. Elliott was normally so clipped and forthright; why was he withholding?

"Sir... You're saying Bekah's a patient?" Swallowing, a sensation of sickening dread took root in his chest. "Is she all right? W-when did-?"

Dr. Weston clapped a hand onto his shoulder, silencing the major as he looked up into his eyes. "It was a boy," he softly revealed. "It's as I said: if you ain't ready to be a man, don't you dare go in there."

It felt as if an errant branch had slammed into Benjamin's chest, the air momentarily stripping of his lungs. He wobbled, his vision pitching and wavering as he struggled to remain upright.

A boy...? A son?

With a panicked breath, Benjamin broke away from Elliott and pushed his way into the back divider, his heart in his throat as he found Rebekah lying on her side, her sheets bloody and evidenced with her loss -- their loss.

Unsteady, Benjamin fell alongside her and banged his shins against the earth, his hands fumbling for her shoulder as he pleadingly tried to rouse her from her stupor. He knew he was speaking words, but he couldn't process them -- couldn't think beyond the pain ensnaring him with dull, rusted shears, each wave of agony slashing through his heartstrings.

"Bekah," he croaked, his chin wobbling. "Please..." Nudging his forehead between her shoulder blades, Benjamin crumpled with a soft sob, his frame shaking as his fingers twisted through her short gown and tugged. How long have you known? Why didn't you tell me? "Please talk to me..."

Elliott was right. With what was so dear and revered to his heart breaking right in front of him, Benjamin realized that the plight with Bradford wasn't important -- not anymore.

Artillery Park. September, 1778

Three months had passed since the Battle of Monmouth. Washington's forces had made all the difference as Lee had dared to order the battlefield to be abandoned.

Even so, the overwhelming presence of deception and betrayal within their very ranks had clearly taken its toll on Benjamin. Rebekah could see it, the bitterness building in his chest, the anger behind his eyes. She recognized it because she too had felt it before.

Just like Levi and Samuel, the last of Benjamin's ideals were dead.

Rebekah didn't try to talk to him about it, instead doing her best to be there for him, to support him as he spent his days sifting through the chaos and weeding out the parasitic traitors from those who were loyal.

Though he'd promised to not push her away again -- that there would be no more lies, she could still feel the distance between them even when they shared a bed. Benjamin was lost and no matter how she reached for him, she couldn't pull him out of the dark abyss he found himself in.

Her days were still spent under the watchful tutelage of Dr. Weston, finding it easier to lose herself in the work each day offered rather than worrying herself sick over her heart's devotion. Rebekah needed to let Benjamin worry over himself, and despite the bleakness of it all, she knew somehow he'd figure it all out -- even if it took some time. She trusted him to do so, even if he hadn't any faith in himself.

Finally, after weeks spent stewing in uncertainty and careful examination, Benjamin had managed to gather the incriminating evidence he needed to condemn Colonel Bradford and Thomas Hickey of being paid by New York Governor Tryon and Mr. Matthews for intelligence against the Continental Army. For that, both men would hang.

Bradford, however, had sensed his impending destruction, taking his wife and fleeing into the night quicker than Benjamin could reach his quarters. Bent on bringing him to justice, Ben and Caleb had ridden after him.

That had been almost two days ago, and Bekah couldn't help but worry over the matter. Bradford wasn't clever, but he did have enough military experience to be formidable in a fight. Seeing as his wife was with him, she could only hope that it wouldn't come to that.

All this kept her mind anxiously occupied, but not so much that she didn't immediately acknowledge the sudden searing pain in her abdomen as she'd stood over a washtub cleaning the medical utensils.

Heart beating quicker with apprehension, she paused in her work and waited a moment, trying to determine what had just occurred, only for the pain to strike again tenfold. She dropped the sutures she'd been holding onto and doubled over in a wave of terrible agony strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. That's when she noticed the blood seeping from under her skirts. It was too copious to be her monthly-- wait...when was the last time she'd bled?

She cried out both in pain and sudden anguish as the realization of what was happening began to weigh on her chest like a cannonball, her vision blurring with tears as Dr. Weston hurried to her side.

The rest had been hazy, speeding by as though she'd blacked out in between. Maybe she had.

As Weston cared for her, she'd lost herself in a stupor of guilt and torment, unable to speak beyond a few simple words like yes or no whenever Weston prompted her. Her eyes burned from the saturation of salt as she lay there, face reddened from her violent sobbing as she'd been forced to come to terms with losing a child -- her child -- Ben's child.

Now she was just numb...hollow...a shell that had been picked clean by shameful culpability.

Once again, Rebekah had failed.

[imagine--if]

Okokok but Riddler with an S/O who cannot for the life of them put 2 and 2 together and realize the love of their life is actually a serial killer. Like "Oh yeah Eddie loves riddles and stuff-- what? The Riddler? He could never." "We were both freaking out over killing a spider last week i doubt he's some crazy mastermind" "oh wow you have the same glasses as him. Weird." Like they're not completely dumb but he's just their blindspot or smth even when the evidence is just in their face.

(A/N: Just finished the first week of film school which is why I haven't done any longer imagines yet, but there'll be some for this weekend!! 💚)

IMAGINE...

Being completely oblivious to your boyfriend, Edward Nashton, being the infamous Riddler in the middle of his attacks on Gotham.

"Have you seen the news recently?" your coworker had asked, her phone streaming the channel. "There's a maniac out there killing all the elites. Some kind of Riddler, apparently. Doesn't your boyfriend like riddles?"

"Yeah he does," you'd smiled ad nodded in agreement, the thought of such a sweet but smart man waiting for you at home, probably with another puzzle book to go through and try to get you to join in with. He's ecstatic when you get them right, which is not very often, but even then, Edward's always so adoring. 'You're you,' he's answered many times after you'd brought up his extreme loving behaviour, 'why wouldn't I adore you so?'

"Well, I guess you're fine with it," the coworker shrugged, shutting off her phone with a sigh. "I don't know what to think. I'm no elite, but if there's some terrorist on the loose..."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," you'd told her, so confidently, making your way back to your shared apartment with Eddie. "The Riddler can't be anyone we know, anyway. Edward's just a quiet, lovely person, not some criminal mastermind. Did I tell you what he did for me yesterday?"

"Yeah, um, he made some scavenger hunt in your apartment block that led to a bunch of Polaroid shots of you from random places, a 60s 'angel' card, and a video file without a passcode?"

"He'll probably tell me about it more later on," you specified with a giggle. "Ed's kind of odd, but in an endearing way. I know he loves me. He tells me enough times."

Your coworker smiled slightly. "Well, that's not a bad thing. Look, just stay safe okay?"

"Course."

A man's silhouette stands observantly at a high-up apartment window, murky green eyes scanning the streets, smudged, half-dried blood around his fingers. When your figure's caught by the soft, yellowy lamplights of the streets, he sees it, and grins, stepping back inside and out of sight.

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