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leona-hawthorne · 8 months ago

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SELFISH. mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; he dreams of you after you leave him because of his addiction words ; 4.4k warnings ; angst, addiction, drug use, swearing, mention of vomit (super brief), established relationship, mattheo and reader live together, post-war

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

The dim light of the kitchen amplified the feeling of darkness threatening to take over your soul as you sat perched on the counter, silk robe slipping off your shoulder. The sweet scent of fresh cookies flooded your nostrils each time you took a breath, the tray resting on top of the stove. An ice pack was pressed to the burn you’d just attained as you were taking the cookies out of the oven.

It seemed baking was one of your many ways of running from your problems instead of solving them.

Mattheo would be home soon. And unbeknownst to the poor boy, you were currently contemplating how to do it. How to leave him.

Maybe you should just leave now, before he returns. No fuss. Or maybe you could spend one more night in his loving arms and then leave a note on the fridge and quietly slip out at the first cracks of light. But that seemed cruel. You knew what you had to do. You had to tell him face to face. That��s what’s right, isn’t it?

If only it wasn’t so hard.

At heart, Mattheo Riddle was a selfish man.

He was selfish when you kissed him for the first time and he greedily pulled you back in. He was selfish the first time he saw you talking to another boy and got his knuckles bloody because you were supposed to be his only. He was selfish when you gave him your body for the first time and he ravished it from dusk to dawn. He was selfish when he continued to love you during the war, knowing his very being compromised your safety. And he was especially selfish when he didn’t flush the powder down the toilet each time after you washed him of his own fucking vomit. He was even more selfish because he didn’t want to let you go.

You were the light of his life, and as much as he wanted to tell himself that he didn’t know how he’d managed to snuff out your bright candle, that was a lie. With each action he took, with each time he ignored your teary eyes as he grabbed the bottle, there was a gust of wind blowing your once fiery spirit out. He felt as though a knife was being stabbed into his chest over and over and over again, piercing the tissue of his heart and breaking him down. He just couldn’t stop.

“Matty, please,” begging, your whispers would break apart, your voice trembling even in the quietest of tones. He’d shrink down to the floor with you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as your palm clamped over your mouth to silence your whimpers, his glazed eyes would look back to the drawer, unable to stop himself from walking to it.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. It was the only feeling he’d known for a long time now. Guilt, eating away at him as he stumbled home with dilated pupils, your beautiful soul straying from judgment and instead leaning his arm over your shoulder. Guilt, gnawing at his quivering fingers as they drew a new line of white, your muffled sobs leaking through the bathroom door. Guilt streaming down his cheeks in the form of tears as he held you in the aftermath, whispers of false promises that both of you knew were fake but wanted to believe anyway.

The sound of the front door creaking open shook you from your daze, furrowed brows relaxing and pulling your nails away from your teeth. You don’t move. You don’t get up to greet him. Even him walking through the door was a rocky road of memories for you. Sometimes, he’d come home with a smile and a kiss. Other times, he’d return with red eyes and arms that refused to hold onto you for help walking.

”Y/N?” His deep, tired voice called out.

”Kitchen.” You yelled, eventually hearing his footsteps approaching you. Still staring at the floor, you see his feet come into sight as he stands in front of you.

”You’re adorable, you know? Making my favorite cookies for when I get home.” He commented, giving you a lazy smile and a long kiss on the top of your head. “What happened to your finger?” He asked, concern filling his eyes as he saw the ice pack on your hand. You ignore his question.

With a shake of your head, you finally look up so your eyes meet his. “Um… Matt, baby, we need to talk.” Your voice is quiet as you contemplate which words to use. His face sours, lips curling downwards into a frown. “Okay…” He swallowed nervously.

You take a moment to really study your boyfriend’s face and lo and behold, his eyes are red. No surprise. Your expression doesn’t morph into shock or horror or concern. This is your usual now.

“What did you and Theo do today, Matt?” The question sounds innocent but Mattheo knows it is anything but.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” He chuckled nervously in an attempt to dodge your question.

”No, but I asked you a question.”

His head tilts down, staring at his feet embarrassedly, and after a long moment of silence, he answers. “You know.”

You huffed quietly, the sound a mixture of a bitter laugh and a scoff. “Yeah, I know… That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

His head snapped back up in an instant, eyes filling with fear that he desperately tried to cover up as his feet shifted around, the wooden floor creaking under him. You averted your eyes, unable to meet his fearful gaze as you just decided to be straightforward with it.

“I can’t watch this happen anymore, Mattheo.”

He stumbled back a bit, as if your words were a physical blow. “What?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continue. “I’m done.” You got down from the kitchen counter to walk away but his hands were already grabbing at your arms. It was like his blood had turned to gasoline, your words the match. He’d been speechless for many moments, his brain going blank as your words settled in and became the only thing occupying his mind, bouncing around the corners of his skull with a groundbreaking echo. Anger, despair, and most of all, fear. Fear that he’d finally pushed you too far, that you were finally leaving. His hands grabbed at you in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to lock you to himself. “No, please—”

“Stop, Mattheo.” You mutter, your voice breaking. His hand froze, his heart clenching in his chest as your voice hit his ears. He hated the way you said his name. There was no love or warmth in it anymore. Just a cold, sharp edge.

“We can talk about this.” He pleaded, his voice becoming low and desperate. “Please, Y/N. Just let me explain.”

“This isn’t something we can fix with a fucking conversation, Mattheo. Not anymore.”

“We can try!” He insisted, his grip on your arm becoming a little firmer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, and he wasn’t going to let you go without trying to fix this.

“Mattheo, we have tried.” You let out a broken sob.

“I know I messed up. And— and I’ll do better. I’ll stop, I’ll do anything.” He said, the desperation seeping into his voice. “Please, Y/N, I’m begging you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d heard similar words leave his mouth many times before, you may have broken and given in.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” You utter quietly, teary eyes darting back up to his.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling a mixture of anger and hurt wash over him. “You’re not even willing to fix it.” He spat, his grip on your arm tightening.

He hated the way you spoke to him, like it was so easy for you to walk away. It tore his heart out of his chest. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than me, because you’re not. You’re just a coward, running away instead of facing this like an adult.”

With a sniffle, you bit your tongue and said, “Maybe. But I can’t take this anymore, so I don’t care.”

He flinched at your words, the pain stabbing at his heart as he realized that to you, it was that simple. A part of him wanted to say something more, to convince you to stay, but he knew he couldn't do anything to change your mind. He didn’t deserve for you to change your mind.

And so, with a frustrated, heartbroken glare into your eyes, he abruptly took a few steps back away from you, the walls he’d spent ages lowering for you closing back up, the years worth of trust and progress shattering within an instant.

“Fine. Go ahead. Run away. See if I care.”

You swallowed and walked to your guys’ shared bedroom to pack your things, hoping the walls are thick enough to muffle your sobs.

He watched you walk away, feeling like a dagger was plunging deeper and deeper into his heart with every step you took. He wanted to run after you, to hold you in his arms right then and there and sink down to the living room floor with you, but the cold reality of everything that had happened hit him, and he stayed rooted in his spot, unable to move.

Sitting against the gray wall, he couldn’t even look at you as you walked out the door with your bags clutched in your shaking hands. After you left, he sat there for what felt like hours. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His mind was filled with an overwhelming mix of anger, resentment, betrayal, but most of all, an excruciating amount of just simple childlike sadness. It felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

And hours later, still in the same dumbstruck position, in the hazy depths of his mind, he could swear he heard your pretty voice, felt your gentle fingers tracing the outline of his face as they’d done so many times before.

Finally, he decided that he needed to do something, anything to distract himself from the painful emptiness. So he did the only thing he knew how: he went to the white nightstand beside what used to be the both of yours’ bed to take out the one thing he knew would quiet his pounding head.

His fingers brushed against the bottle, and his heart leaped as he recognized the familiar feel of its cylindrical shape. He pulled it out, his eyes widening with relief as he held the bottle in his hands. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hastily opened the bottle as he walked towards the door leaned against it.

Soon enough, a sudden lightheadedness washed over him, and he sat there for a moment, enjoying the light fuzzy feeling inside his head. It helped to erase all the terrible thoughts that were plaguing his mind, making him feel like he was floating. He reached for another pill, but as he was about to take it, a voice at the back of his head started scolding him.

“What are you doing?”

He flinched as he heard the voice in his mind, his hands still clutching the bottle. He looked around, even though it was clear that the voice wasn’t coming from anywhere in his room. He tried to ignore it, shaking his head and popping another pill into his mouth.

But the voice didn’t go away. It grew louder, demanding he listen to it.

“Stop!”

He began to recognize the voice as yours.

He let out a frustrated groan, rolling his eyes at the voice. “Please shut up, I need this right now!”

But the voice kept echoing through his head. “But Mattheo, you’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting me. Don’t do this to us.”

Jesus, had he really gone so crazy to the point that he started hearing voices and talking to himself in an empty room?

Reluctantly, he laid the bottle back down beside him.

“Good job, pretty baby. Go drink some water.” Your voice murmured in the back of his head.

He felt a pang in his heart at the way you spoke to him. He missed having your hand gently soothing his cheek, your soft kisses planted on his skin. He missed you, even though he was trying his best not to, to just be mad. Hearing your voice in his head, so soft and gentle, was making him crave you even more.

He sniffled loudly, blinking away his tears before they could fall. He couldn’t help but obey.

Without wasting another second, he stood up and huddled off to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. As the cold liquid flowed down his throat, he couldn’t help but feel like you were there with him. He could almost imagine you standing beside him, softly stroking his hair like you had done countless times before.

Sauntering back to the bedroom with his eyes glazed over, he laid back down in the bed, pulling the quilt over his body. The fact that it was riddled with your scent didn’t help to soothe his aching chest. A tired, defeated sigh escaped his lips as he sunk into the soft mattress. His body felt heavy and fatigue washed over him, making it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t help but wish it was you beside him instead of your pillow, your body pressed against his like it usually was every night.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, the voice spoke up again. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll watch over you.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up a bit straighter, his heart racing. God, you’re not really here, are you? You can’t be.

He shook his head, trying to convince himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But the voice continued, growing even more fond.

“Relax, darling. Don’t overthink it. Just rest and I’ll see you in your dreams.”

Your voice in his head was so gentle, a soothing balm over the wound in his heart. He hesitated for a few moments before laying back down. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into a deep sleep.

But before he lost himself to the dream world, he could have sworn that he felt a gentle pair of lips grazing over his face.

In his dream, he found himself in a beautiful garden, surrounded by bright, colorful flowers. The air was filled with the sweet, fruity scents, and the warm sunlight danced on his skin softly. He stood there, taking a moment to drink in the beauty of his surroundings, before seeing a familiar figure in the distance.

You were walking towards him, dressed in a simple sundress. Your hair gently moved with the wind, and your eyes shimmered under the sunlight, resembling a star in the night sky. You were gorgeous, more beautiful than any flower in the garden.

He couldn’t help but smile as you approached him. He reached out for you, wanting to touch you and see if you were real. But as soon as his fingers brushed against your skin, you vanished, leaving him standing alone in the garden, all silent except for the sound of the gentle breeze.

His heart sank with confusion and disappointment as he realized he was alone again. He let out a frustrated scoff, kicking the grass as he began to look around the garden for you. Finally, he spotted you again, standing under an elegant archway.

He quickly closed the distance between the two of you, his hands reaching up to cup your face. He was relieved that he could touch you again. He softly caressed your cheeks, staring into your eyes with admiration. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing.

But before he could say anything else, you vanished once again. He gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling within him as he yelled out your name. He began desperately running around the garden, searching every corner until he spotted you sitting under a cherry blossom tree.

His heart leaped in his chest as he ran towards you, but as soon as he reached the tree, you disappeared once more. He felt his frustration reach its peak and he let out a groan of annoyance, his fists clenching as he yelled angrily.

“Stop disappearing on me! Let me hold you, damn it!”

Just as he was about to give up hope, he suddenly noticed you standing behind him. You were smiling, a kind and loving smile gracing your lips as you said, “Catch me if you can, pretty boy.”

His eyes widened as soon as he heard your voice. He slowly turned around to face you, his heart thumping rapidly as he realized you had really appeared. He reached out to grab you, but just as he was about to wrap his arms around your waist, you suddenly sprinted off, your laughter filling the air.

Despite the initial shock, he broke out into a huge, boyish grin. Without hesitation, he began chasing after you. He was laughing, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. As time flew by, the two of you ran through the flower garden, chasing each other like little children.

Finally, after a long chase, he managed to catch you. He pulled you close, wrapping his strong arms tightly around your body. He let out a satisfied laugh, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he whispered, “Got you now.”

His heart swelled with happiness as you wrapped your arms around him too, your body pressed securely against his. He buried his face into your hair and breathed in your scent, feeling overwhelmed with contentment.

He let out a gentle sigh before pulling away just enough so he could look down at your face. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before murmuring, “I love you, darling.”

You pulled away slightly to look into his eyes, mirroring his look of contentment. “I love you too, beautiful boy,” you whispered as you gently caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, relishing the feeling of your fingertips against his skin.

But when he opened his eyes, he was met with the image of your figure fading away, a startled gasp escaping him. “No! Come back!” He called out, but you were gone. He frantically looked around the garden, only to find that he was alone once more. He felt your absence like a physical ache, and a sense of longing washed over him.

He stood there, his heart feeling heavy and lonely as he whispered your name, hoping for you to come back. But there was no sign of you, no response to his calls. He sank down onto the grass, feeling lost and desperate. The sun continued to shine, almost as if mocking him and his misery.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to regain a sense of comfort, but it wasn't the same. He missed you, longed for your presence. He couldn't bear being alone anymore. The garden around him, which had been so beautiful and filled with life, now seemed empty and boring without you.

He closed his eyes as he lay flat on the ground. Suddenly he felt a kiss on his cheek. His eyes snapped open to see you standing above him with a teasing smile.

A mix of disbelief and happiness washed over him as he saw you standing there, a playful smile gracing your lips. He sat up straight, looking up at you with a mixture of relief and confusion. “You’re back,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“What do you mean? I never went anywhere?…” Your voice echoes through the garden as you tilt your head in confusion, looking down at him.

He furrowed his brows, a bit confused by your answer. He looked around at the garden, which was now eerily quiet, then back at you. “But you disappeared. I was chasing you and you vanished.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve been here the whole time.” You giggled, toying with the straps of your dress.

The confusion in his eyes only deepened as he listened to your words. He was starting to feel a bit disoriented, like he was stuck in a twisted dream. “No, you weren’t,” he insisted. “I lost sight of you for a moment, and then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Oh, beautiful boy. Are you seeing things again?” Your gentle voice echoed throughout the open field.

As he heard the echo of your voice, he felt a pang in his chest. There was something amiss, something that didn’t feel right. “I don’t understand… Are you really here, or is this just my imagination?” he asked, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” You murmured, looking out at the swaying flowers with an innocent smile.

Frustration started to bubble up in him as he heard your ambiguous answer. “That’s not an answer. I need to know if you’re really here or if you’re just a figment of my imagination.” He stood up from the ground and stepped closer to you, his eyes fixed on your face, searching for any signs of truth in your expressions.

Your innocent smile morphed into a playful smirk, angling your head up to look at him. “Catch me,” You say before running again.

He watched you run away, a mix of frustration and determination now etched on his face. He let out a huff and began chasing after you once more. He was tired of feeling powerless and confused, and he was determined to catch you this time.

As he ran through the garden, the flowers of different colors and shapes passed him in a colorful blur. He pushed himself harder, ignoring the occasional thorns and leaves that clawed at his skin. His focus was solely on you, his eyes locked onto your figure as you darted through the garden.

He tried to strategize as he ran, trying to anticipate your next move. You were nimble and elusive, like a butterfly fluttering just out of reach. But he refused to give up. He zigzagged through the garden, trying to cut you off. He was getting closer, he was sure of it.

Finally, he saw an opportunity to cut you off as you headed towards a narrow path between two rows of tall bushes. He pushed himself to sprint even faster and managed to get in front of you, blocking your escape route.

He stood there in front of you, panting heavily from the chase. His chest was heaving, his eyes locked onto yours. “Caught you, darling,” he said breathlessly, a hint of triumph in his voice.

“Come back to me, Mattheo,” You whispered.

The sound of your voice was like a bandage to his tired soul. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. He reached out and gently took your hands in his, his fingers intertwined with yours. "I'm right here, darling," he whispered back.

“No… You’re not. This isn’t real.”

He furrowed his brows, confusion and a tinge of hurt evident on his face. "What do you mean? Of course, this is real. We're here together, talking, touching. How can it not be real?”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers and lightly brushed his thumb over your knuckles, as if trying to convince himself of your tangible existence. "I can feel you," he murmured. "I can feel your skin against mine. How can that be unreal?"

He lifted one of your hands to his chest, placing it over his heart. It was hammering against his ribcage, his pulse strong and steady. "Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. "Can you feel my heartbeat? That's real. I'm real."

“No, you’re not, sweet boy,” You whisper, your body slowly fading away.

His eyes widened in alarm as he watched your form start to disappear once again. "No, no, no, no, you can't leave me!" He clutched at your hand tightly, unwilling to let you go. "No, you must be real. You have to be!" Panic and despair welled up inside him as he saw your body fading. He gripped tighter onto your hand, desperately trying to keep you with him. "Please, don't disappear," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "I need you. Don't leave me alone again."

“Wake up,” is the last thing you whisper before disappearing from his grasp.

His eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright in his bed. He was bathed in sweat, his heart racing and his breaths coming out in pants. He sat there for a moment, disoriented and confused. It had all felt so real, yet now he was back in his cold, empty room.

He raked a hand through his messy hair, raking his mind over the dream he had just had, searching for answers.

He couldn't shake the feeling of melancholy that had settled over him. He could still remember the way you had felt in his arms, the warmth of your touch and the sweet melody of your voice. He could still see your captivating smile and the sparkle in your eyes. But it was all just a dream.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted. He looked around at his room, which now seemed even more hollow without your presence. He let out a deep sigh, feeling more lonely and empty than ever.

It was clear he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in the bed you once shared so he ambled back to the kitchen sleepily and grabbed one of the cookies you’d left in one hand, a bottle in the other, chugging it with no reaction to the sting.

Stumbling to the sofa and collapsing down, now with his system in overdrive, he couldn’t help but selfishly hope you’d come back and save him from falling deeper into oblivion.

But he knew you wouldn’t and most painfully of all, he knew that he deserved it.

i went to the melanie martinez concert yesterday! yay! anyways here’s a depressing fic for you <3 also this fic was very much inspired by that one line in chloe or sam or sophia or marcus by taylor swift lol

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maccreadysbaby · 16 days ago

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Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: graphic violence, death

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

so... redemption arc???? yes???? does he even get a redemption arc???

part fifty-one

❝ VICTIM ❞

MONDAY — OCTOBER 31 — 12:02AM

“WAKE UP, BABYBIRD. LET’S PLAY A GAME,”

Bentley blinked rapidly when he was suddenly forced back into consciousness against his will. He was surrounded by white — but it wasn’t the white abyss where the Secret Keeper took him. It was a room; with walls and a floor and a ceiling, all white, and a big metal door off to the side that had two keypads next to it.

Bentley, with a jolt of panic, jumped upright and looked down at himself. He was in one of the white jumpsuits from the facility, and both of his wrists were shackled to the floor on opposite sides of the white room by big, thick chains.

He couldn’t feel the water. He couldn’t see anything but the walls. He was trapped.

"No," He muttered, pulling against the chains, which did nothing more than make noise. "No!"

His head was absolutely pounding, throbbing with every passing second, and he felt like passing out and throwing up and dying.

“Good morning! Glad to see you’ve finally woken up!” The Secret Keeper’s voice chided, sending a stab of pain through his already throbbing skull. “I’ve made up a game I think we should play. Y’know, just to pass the time. It’s called: guess which of Bentley’s friends is going to die first!”

Bentley squeezed his eyes shut, shifting around on the white floor until he could pull his knees up and bury his head in them. He couldn't move his hands very far, so he rested them on his legs. “Leave me alone.”

The Secret Keeper laughed. “Don’t you wish it was that easy.”

And suddenly, a feeling came, almost like vertigo even though his eyes were closed. The brightness of the room changed against his eyelids. He forced his eyes to stay shut, forced his body to stay eerily still, forced his focus to remain on the legs of the jumpsuit he had balled up in his hands.

“Let’s introduce our contestants, shall we? There’s a whopping ten of them! I didn’t know Bentley Whittaker was able to make so many friends!”

“Wayne,” He corrected quietly.

“Look up!” The Secret Keeper suddenly roared, and Bentley felt a tug in his chest that drew his head up even though he didn’t want to. The chains were suddenly gone, and he was standing. He was standing in… the hallway of Gotham Academy? It was empty, and all the doors were closed but one, a few feet to his left. “Our first contestant, the obvious fan favorite, the one and only of the ten who’s been with you even longer than myself… Asten Evans!”

Two pillars of smoke were kicked up in the hallway, spinning for a few seconds before they became people. One of which Bentley would’ve been thoroughly pleased to never see again.

Jesse Todryk.

“Looks like someone found the Wayne. Doors open,” Jesse said, glancing back at whatever minion was following him with a smirk. His voice was louder than Bentley remembered, and it sort of echoed. He remembered him saying that exact sentence. Way back when Jesse had-

“Probably Damian,” The minion replied.

Bentley stepped forward, glancing into the open hallway door only to see… himself. His little self — what was he, ten? Eleven? — trembling on the floor of the school’s closet. Nico was right by his side, holding his arm but panicking all the same, his wide blue eyes stuck on-

Asten. He looked a lot younger. (How old was he when Bentley met him? Twelve? Thirteen?) He was on Bentley’s other side, but he rose slowly from the floor, moving for a nearby shelf and sliding a thick, heavy textbook off of it.

Jesse Todryk stopped in the doorway, spotted Bentley and Nico, and laughed sinisterly.

“Well! Isn’t it little mister-“

Bentley saw his little self flinch hard when Asten swung the book with absolutely no hesitation, the spine colliding with Jesse’s head with a terrible thunk.

“Vá queimar no inferno, seu filho da puta!” (Go burn in hell, you son of a bitch!)

Bentley watched in silence — his now self and his little self — as the bully slammed into the closet door and hit the floor with another thump.

“Jesse!”

“Oh my God, you’re going to get so suspended!” Nico exclaimed, still holding onto little Bentley, looking at Asten like he might cry.

Asten shrugged, letting the textbook thud on the floor. “It was self defense.”

“He wasn’t hurting us!”

“He was gonna!”

“The first friend little Bentley Whittaker ever had who was willing to hurt someone for him,” The Secret Keeper’s voice chided, sounding sickeningly sweet. “How cute, am I right?”

The school scene faded into a large swirling mass of smoke, only to be replaced with… the woods?

Bentley did a spin, glancing around. He was standing in a forest, a dark, nighttime forest. Smoke spun in the distance until it became people. Three of them, running full-speed through the trees, right at him.

He stepped out of the way when they got close — it was them. Little him, and little Asten, and little Nico. He and Nico were both bawling their eyes out, and looked like they were on the verge of absolute panic attacks, while little Asten was ushering them on from behind.

Was this when they were escaping the cabin? Didn’t Asten get caught in a-

Bentley flinched when a resounding metal SLAM! came, and little Asten hit the forest floor behind little Bentley and little Nico with a scream so shrill and agonized it still made his skin crawl even today.

The other Bentley and Nico rounded on him immediately.

“Oh my God!” Nico shrieked.

Asten, bear trap clamped down tight on his leg, only muttered under his breath: “Get it off.”

Bentley watched himself self stand uselessly off to the side, before dropping next to them, holding Asten up to the best of his ability.

He remembered being shocked that Asten wasn’t crying. If he had known back then just how much Asten cried to him now, how much closer they were, that they’d become brothers and lived together-

“These are freaking illegal-“ Nico muttered. Big and little Bentley watched him fiddle with the trap with nearly identical cringes on their faces, blood absolutely everywhere, coating everything.

That’s when the beam of a flashlight started panning through the forest. Glancing up, big Bentley saw a figure that looked freakishly like Dr. Keene stalking through the woods. (What would’ve happened if they were faster? Or if Asten had missed the trap?)

“Oh my God, oh my God,”

“Just…” Asten mumbled Portuguese under his breath. “Just take it out of the ground, and… and we’ll get it off later.”

“You’re going to drag a bear trap on your foot where? Onto a bus? A taxi maybe?!”

Bentley watched Asten pull the crowbar out of the tool-belt he’d been wearing and hand it to the other Bentley.

“Bentley,” Asten said seriously. “When he gets here, beat the hell out of him.”

Little Bentley stared at the crowbar with his eyes blown wide.

“The first friend to ever trust Bentley Whittaker with his life,” The Secret Keeper cooed. “Asten Evans was a lot of little firsts for you, Babybird. First partner at school. First sleepover.”

The forest faded away, and he was left standing in the white abyss, alone.

“But the question remains: will he be the first to die?” She giggled sinisterly. “He dies in so many ways across all of your futures, Bentley. Which do you want to see? Maybe simply freezing to death in his cell?”

Smoke swirled in front of his feet, spinning until it turned into Asten, laying on the floor, his lips purple, skin white, green eyes staring but unseeing. He had chains on his wrists that disappeared into the white, and a jumpsuit that matched Bentley's.

“Or maybe he’ll die right next to you, when they start extracting all of your blood to get what they need out of it,”

A stretcher appeared next to the frozen Asten. A stretcher with him laying on top, his eyes wide but unseeing, both of his arms hooked up to machines that were whirring, sucking blood out. They were spluttering now, like there wasn’t much left. There was a heart monitor off to the side, sounding a steady, long beep.

Bentley’s eyes started burning. He’d almost gotten them out of that place, but he didn’t. Then he’d almost gotten them out again, but he didn’t. What if this was really it? What if everyone really was going to die now? What if he'd failed for the last time?

He looked down at the white floor, distorted through the tears that gathered at the bottom of his eyes. “Please stop.”

“What? We’re only one contestant in! Let’s move on!” Both of the Asten’s swirled into smoke and vanished. “Why don’t we jump to… Valor!”

The white around him melted away, replaced by the blissful campus of Redwood Academy, outside of their building. The fountain and willow trees that he’d talked to Chloe under were there, in the distance, far enough that he could see it, but couldn't hear the water running. Smoke swirled on the benches there until himself and Valor took its place.

“All he ever wanted to do, all he ever did, was be a support system. He cares too much. Always has,” The Secret Keeper chided. Bentley watched Valor rise off of the bench and turn to past-Bentley. That Bentley stood, and Valor held out his arms. (Why did he think it was so stupid back then?) Valor hugged him.

“He was the strong one. The protector. You never got to see what went on behind closed doors.”

Suddenly, the campus moved and swirled and changed colors until it became a really fancy house, bustling with teenagers and loud music and bright lights. There were kids everywhere. It took a moment for Bentley to find Valor in the chaos, but he was there. In the home’s lavish living room, on the floor with his back pressed hard against the side of the couch, his wings wrapped around himself… shaking. The music died down and faded into the background so Bentley could hear the way he was gasping for air, the way he kept choking and coughing on sobs that no one else in the massive place seemed to hear. He was trembling, he couldn't breathe, couldn't seem to gather himself. A panic attack?

Bentley almost stepped forward to him, but she continued-

“He was the first friend to ever take a bullet meant for you,”

The scene swirled and changed to when they were in their dorm a short week ago, Valor standing in front of everybody with his wings outstretched as a shield against all the white-armored men. One of said men shot their gun, and Bentley hadn’t noticed then, but he was peeking out at the armored guys around Asten’s head and if Valor's wing wouldn’t have been there, it would’ve hit him.

“Maybe he’ll die when his blood gets drained,” The Secret Keeper started, and the scene faded away and the white nothing returned. A stretcher that looked just like Asten’s appeared, but with an unmoved Valor on top, staring, with the beep of a flatline next to him. “Or maybe he’ll go down fighting. That’s more his style.”

Another Valor appeared a few yards away. His wings were solid red and wrapped around himself, and the deafening, constant bam, bam, bam of assault rifles came, hitting his wings and ruffling the feathers. Blood was going everywhere. Bentley couldn't see who was shooting him.

His wings finally seemed to give out, and they fell completely limp, leaving his whole body exposed. For a second, he looked scared. He was already covered in blood and scrapes and bruises, and his jumpsuit was crimson. And then this... expression crossed his face. Something like realization. Like contentment.

Bentley looked away and covered his mouth when the sound of the assault rifles came back, more than one of them, sending probably over twenty or thirty bullets directly into his exposed body with no hesitation. Bentley flinched hard when he heard the thud. Valor’s whole body turned red in his peripheral.

Bentley choked on his own sobs, not even trying to make the tears stop flowing now. (Were they all going to die because of him?)

“Please stop," He choked, and his legs seemed to stop working, his knees buckling so he ended up on the white floor again. "Please stop."

“Let’s move on, shall we?” The Secret Keeper completely ignored him. “Contestant three — Summer!”

The Valors melted away again, and the white morphed until Bentley was sitting in the hall of Redwood Academy.

He blinked the tears down his face and hiccupped, trying to get ahold of himself. It was getting kind of hard to breathe. This wasn't real, she was just scaring him. This wasn't real, it wasn't real, it wasn't-

“Poor little Summer. What a precious little girl,”

Two pillars of smoke spun far off in the Redwood Academy hall, and past-Bentley and Summer appeared there. They were the only two in the corridor, and she was touching his face, gently. “All she ever wants to do is save.”

The scene swirled into a different Redwood hallway, but Bentley and Summer were there, too — it was near the art classroom, after Tyler had attacked him.

“Wanting to save will be her fatal flaw. It always is with people like her,”

Bentley watched her move just like she had that day — gently touching his wrists, his neck, asking if he was okay. He lied to her. Why had he lied to her? Why wasn’t he just honest?

The scene melted away and changed to one of Summer running down the halls of the facility they were trapped in, kneeling next to various bodies and students laying around, healing them one by one, telling them where to go to escape and to yell if they needed her. She was crying, too — because lots of the kids she tried to heal, she couldn’t get to wake up.

Her blonde-ish hair was a wreck, half stained with red, and her hands and jumpsuit were, too -- though she wasn't injured. Maybe it was the blood of everyone she was trying to heal. She knelt down next to a limp girl on the floor, in a jumpsuit, too, and touched her, moved her hands around. When after a few quiet moments, the girl didn't move, she stood up with a defeated scream of: "Shit!" Muffled and thick with tears.

That's when four armored men rounded the corner into the hallway, where she was standing, alone.

They wasted no time.

Summer didn't even have time to turn and look at them. One of them lifted a pistol, and BANG!

Bentley closed his eyes when the bullet hit her right in the left temple, and a few seconds later, there was a sickening thump that made Bentley gag.

“She never gives up,” The Secret Keeper said. “She always tries to make everything better. Like you.”

Bentley sobbed into his hands, wiping rigorously at his eyes, trying to force the urge to vomit away. “Why do you have to torture me when... I’ve already lost?”

“Because it’s fun!”

Suddenly, the scene died away and the Secret Keeper materialized in front of him, sick and twisted looking, alone with him in the white. She reached down and grabbed his hair, forcing his head up to look at her. “Because you’re the reason my family keeps failing! You’re the reason my father is in prison! I’m not going to leave his goals to rot when I could be carrying them out myself!”

She was screaming merely three or four feet from him, but he hardly paid any attention, just looking at her from where he was sitting. Crying quietly, trying to make sure he was still breathing, quieting the urge to throw up on her shoes.

“You ruined my life! You took my dad away!” She roared. “Contestant four — little Vera Levante!”

The Secret Keeper shoved him so hard he almost fell over, vanishing from his sight again. Their surroundings changed without his consent -- the white room slowly becoming their dorm. His and Asten’s bedroom.

“You two certainly have something special,” The Secret Keeper's voice crooned, sounding especially twisted now. “No matter how much you want to deny it. No matter how innocent and inexperienced and detached from it all you claim to be. I can read your mind, Bentley. I know parts of you that you don’t even know.”

Bentley said nothing as his and Asten’s bunk beds faded into view. He and Vera were sleeping in his bed, her arms closed around him even though he’d been a disgusting sick disaster back then.

“You saw each other at some of the lowest, hardest times,” She continued, and the dorm fizzled away, replaced by another dorm. An empty one, where he and Vera were sitting on the couch, taking a selfie. “She’s the reason you’re here. The reason you met your friends.”

The dorm melted away.

“The reason you’re going to die,” She chuckled. “Maybe she’ll die protecting you. Maybe I'll kill her myself, right in front of you, just to torture you even more."

Three pillars of smoke swirled and spun in the white a few yards from Bentley. Two became him and Vera -- and the third, a little ways away from the others, became the Secret Keeper.

Vera was in front of him, between him and the Secret Keeper -- she was twitching oddly, like she'd been electrocuted. Was Vera in her head again?

Vera was in a white jumpsuit, too, her black and purple hair in a half-fallen ponytail that kept brushing the other Bentley's face. Vera's hands were behind her back, and it took him a second to realize its because she was holding both of his.

The Secret Keeper only twitched for a second.

Then, with a laugh that sounded more like an animalistic growl, she stalked over to them and grabbed Vera by the face, and her brown irises turned a sickening amber.

"Stop breathing," The Secret Keeper muttered.

"No!" The other Bentley shouted.

Bentley looked down at his hands when Vera started to choke, tugging at her clothes and clawing at her throat, trying to get whatever was blocking her airway out. He saw the Bentley in the scene trying to help in his peripheral, but it didn't seem to work. And that Bentley just held her until she choked to death.

The real Bentley, the now Bentley, the only Bentley, sobbed pitifully, bringing up his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, burying his head there to cry.

Everyone was going to die because of him.

"Everyone's going to die because of you!" The Secret Keeper screeched, probably reading his mind. The scene disappeared, leaving just her and him together in the abyss. "Everyone you love is going to die and there's nothing you can do to stop it! It's all your fault! LOOK AT ME!"

Bentley's head was forced up again. The Secret Keeper turned away from him and began to swing her arms wildly, in a manic, almost psychotic manner. Smoke began to billow and blow everywhere, and hundreds upon hundreds of little scenes began to materialize as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of little scenes of people... dying. Varian getting stabbed. Koa getting shot. Asten jumping in front of a bullet. Bellamy getting drained of his blood. Damian falling off a roof. Valor getting his head beaten in. Rockie getting his blood drained out. Bruce getting in a crash in the Batmobile. Jason getting his throat slit. Layla getting thrown off a Redwood Academy balcony.

Gently, someone grabbed Bentley's hand.

He flinched and whirled around, choking on his own tears and panic. Charlie was there. Crouched a mere foot from him, and as soon as their eyes locked, she lifted her finger to her lips in a shh motion.

Bentley stayed quiet, forcing his sobs down, his gaze flicking to the Secret Keeper, who was still flailing wildly in the distance.

He turned back to Charlie, her blue eyes only meeting his brown ones for a split second before she lifted her hand, a small tornado of smoke materializing in her palm.

He watched it spin there for a moment before it floated away from her, settling only a foot or two in front of him, on the floor. It spun and warped until it looked exactly like him, exactly like he did now -- sitting on the floor in his jumpsuit, crying, head tucked in and knees pulled up.

"I'll simulate your thoughts and reactions to stall her for as long as I can," Charlie said softly, reaching forward and grabbing Bentley's face to force him to look at back her. To lock eyes with her. "There's not much time, Bentley. He's coming." She said quickly.

"Who?" Bentley hiccuped, bringing a hand up to grab her arm. "Who's coming?"

Charlie looked up at the Secret Keeper in a panic, like she was waiting for her to turn around. "Listen to me, Bentley. He's coming, okay? I'm going to let you out of here. He isn't a bad guy, you have to trust him, okay?"

"Trust who?!"

"Just promise me you'll go with him, Bentley!" She shouted, frantically, eyes flicking back up to the Secret Keeper. "Promise!"

"I promise!"

As soon as he said that, he jolted back into reality with a small shout of terror, the white room coming into focus around him.

He was choking on his own sobs and could hardly breathe, forcing himself to sit up off of the white floor. It felt like forever that he coughed and spluttered and sobbed and choked and cried until a slam came from his door.

He looked up at it, dread pooling inside of him. Was this who Charlie told him to trust? Or people coming to kill him? Was he about to die or was he about to be saved?

Slam!

He forced his breaths to slow, his heard to calm. He forced his tears to stop and he sat still in the center of the room. If someone was coming to kill him, he'd have to fight back. Somehow, he'd have to.

Slam!

He couldn't let everyone else die because of him. He wouldn't. He was going to get out and he was going to get everybody out and everything was going to be fine.

Slam!

The screen next to the door, the one that scanned keycards to open the cells, suddenly glitched out, the screen malfunctioning and flickering a bunch of different colors until it finally went black.

The door slid open.

Bentley wasn't sure what he expected. He wasn't sure if he expected some random scientist, under Charlie's influence, or one of his friends that had been captured alongside him, or an armored guy coming to shoot him, or Dr. Keene's brother, or Batman, or The Secret Keeper herself. He didn't know who was coming, or how much longer he'd be alive, or if he was going to be tortured, but...

The person that came inside was the last person he ever thought he'd see again.

Bentley's eyes followed him carefully. He had a fire extinguisher in his hands, and he quickly made for the screen that opened the shackles on Bentley's arms and beat it and beat it and beat it with the metal canister until it was nothing more than a useless heap of metal on the wall. The shackles let go of Bentley's arms, hitting the white floor with a clack.

He rounded on him, then, his inhuman green eyes bright in the whiteness of the room. "Bentley..."

Bentley forced himself off of the white floor, every emotion he'd just shoved away coming back full force as he all but throttled himself forward, hugging Rockie so tight he thought he might strangle him. "I hate you!" Bentley sobbed into his shoulder.

"I know," Was all Rockie said, his metal-gloved hands coming up and holding onto Bentley, too. It felt so good at the same time it felt so... so...

"I hate you!" Bentley all but sobbed, choking on his own tears, balling up the back of Rockie's black hoodie in his hands. "I hate you... I hate you..."

"I know,"

Bentley couldn't even begin to comprehend everything happening inside of him. The sheer rage he felt being next to the one who betrayed them, the overwhelming relief that washed over him when he learned Rockie was okay. The far off urge to punch him across the face, and the more prominent one to hold onto him and never let go ever again.

"I'm so sorry," Rockie muttered, voice thick, muffled from the shoulder of Bentley's jumpsuit. "I fucked up. I picked the wrong side because I'm stupid, but I'm back now. I'm back now and I promise I'll get you out of here. I'll die to get you out."

"I hate you," Was all Bentley could manage to say, dissolving quietly into a crying disaster, and Rockie only held him tighter.

"I know,"

tag list that KINDA works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy @bookwarm0-0

@custommadeazula