#mentions: Riddle

[kodzukay]

i‎ made these edits back when only the heartslabyul‎ manga‎ was out and i‎ LOVE how the manga‎ depicts the‎ inherent horror of overblotting

but the‎n LO AND BEHOLD⁉️⁉️

i‎ had SUCH a "BOOM SHAKALAKA‎ ⁽⁽`o(≧ᗜ≦)o´⁾⁾ YESSSS GAAAAAWWWWDDD"‎ moment when azul‎ fr 'cried' the blot

C'MON‎ LEONA 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏GIMME‎ I TOLD‎ U SO PRIVILEGES AGAIN🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏IM MANIFESTING 🕯🕯🕯

part 2‎ here + a yapfest‎

part‎ 3 here

[cheekinpermission]

Well. At least Ruggie and Jamil are having fun.

[egophiliac]

idia was an absolute treasure this update. you agree.

Idia really went "time for me to be a hero! but in, like, a super meta way" and if that isn't incredibly in-character then what is.

and of course we can't forget

I kinda hope he and Riddle get to do another game jam again sometime! it's nice to see them get along! and now they have, inexplicably...shared skills and interests???

[riddlemelater]

Above Me - M.R

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

masterlist | nav | part 2

summary: It was supposed to be simple—just sex, no strings, no expectations. Mattheo didn’t do attachments, and you weren’t looking to fix him. But the lines are starting to blur, and neither of you are willing to admit it.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: unprotected p in v, smut, slight dom!mattheo, fem! reader, dirty talk, praise, use of pet names, emotional repression, fwb type relationship.

a/n: first time writing for Mattheo, and my first post here! let me know what you think. all likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! ✯

How the arrangement started didn’t matter, only that it worked. You both had something to gain. For Mattheo, it was low maintenance and high reward. You never outstayed your welcome, and he never lingered. Just a wink, a smirk, and a muttered "Same time tomorrow?" That was the deal.

It was guaranteed satisfaction without the risk of raised expectations— and even if they did catch feelings, he'd crush them the next day when he acted like they never existed.

He'd leave them tangled in his sheets and smirking by breakfast, already moving on before their names could stick. You'd seen how he operated — quick, careless, and never around long enough to deal with a morning-after attachment. He didn't want to be fixed, he just wanted someone willing.

And who was more suited for his needs than you.

Of course, no one would suspect a thing — not that he would care if they did anyway, he was practically fluent in attracting unwanted attention. But you, well you were the perfect solution to his little problem. Ever the golden girl of his little band of misfits, all soft smiles and sharper words. You were in a league of your own, far better than he deserved, and Mattheo loved defying the odds.

You suppose Mattheo had become a friend, in the loosest sense of the word. Unfortunately for you, loyalty to Pansy outweighed your indifference to him and his equally debauched friends. And as Pansy and Draco had resumed their on-again-off-again relationship— truly a mystery to all involved— you'd found yourself in his company more often than not.

With Pansy gravitating towards her blonde disaster of a boyfriend, your meals were punctuated by tales of Mattheo's latest sexual trysts. Your evenings, usually spent solely with Pansy, were now hijacked by the overwhelming stench of testosterone and crudeness.

Eventually, you ended up at the very centre of it all—behind everyone else's backs. And really, who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

✯ ✯ ✯

"Psst."

It took his third, maybe fourth, attempt to catch your attention. Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze from the parchment you'd been taking notes on, only to be met with his dark eyes.

You glanced past him toward the front of the room, where Professor Binnes — as lively as ever — was drifting lazily by the chalkboard. The chalk screeching faintly against the board, its dry scratch slicing through his relentless drone.

Clearly, the ghostly professor was either unaware or unbothered that half the class had taken his lecture as an opportunity to doze off, quills abandoned mid-sentence and parchment stained with ink blots where their hands had slumped. The remaining half, which was very few, were barely pretending to care about the painfully dull history of the 1289 Warlock Convention— a truly mind-numbing subject even by Binnes’ usual standards.

Mattheo kicked back in his chair at the desk in front of you, the very picture of disinterest whilst he twisted his wand between his fingers— the cool glint of his Riddle signet ring flashing each time his hand twisted in a hypnotic rhythm.

Beside him Lorenzo looked to be fast asleep, cheek squished against the back of his hand, practically drooling onto the untouched textbook in front of him. The lack of his usual elegance had you fighting back a shaky laugh. Your eyes drifted back to Mattheo, his head tilted against the back of the chair, a lazy sort of grin tugging at his lips.

"What?" you mouthed, lifting your quill in a vaguely annoyed gesture, as if to ask why he was interrupting you in the first place. But you already knew the answer, he was bored and without Enzo to entertain him, you were next in line.

Not that you were a swot. You certainly weren’t a teacher's pet either. But unlike Mattheo, you actually planned on leaving Hogwarts with something to show for it. A goal he openly mocked anytime someone dared remind him he still had exams to sit— Dark Lord’s heir or not.

Mattheo didn't reply, not with words anyway. He just grinned, clearly amused, watching you shake your head and continue writing down names and policies Binnes’ mentioned. Just because he wasn’t working didn’t mean that you had to stop. A fact you reminded yourself of firmly when flipping the pages of your textbook with extra purpose.

And that sentiment lasted… all of thirty seconds.

Before his face reappeared in your peripherals, far closer than you’d have liked, arm braced on your desk, body turned entirely to face you. Waiting with that stupid smirk on his face.

"What do you want, Mattheo?" you sighed, keeping your voice low to not disturb Binnes dulcet groans. You leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes with an unimpressed stare. He smirked in retaliation— of course he did— that same glint in his eyes you’d come to recognise all too well.

Nothing good ever followed that look.

"Why do you think I always want something, hmm?" He asked, idly toying with the corner of your parchment.

His gaze didn’t waver, and you realised almost immediately what this was about but you wouldn’t say it. If he wanted your attention then he could ask for it himself. His lips parted, like he was about to elaborate but you beat him to it.

"Because you do always want something."

Mattheo’s jaw dropped open playfully, putting a hand to his chest in feigned offence. “Harsh. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“You don’t know how to be friendly.” You retorted, shooting him a flat look.

He grinned — wider now, all teeth and trouble. Like you’d walked right into his web. And in a sense you had, falling for his pestering and giving him the satisfaction of stealing your attention, even momentarily.

“Sure I do. I think you’ll find I’m being very friendly right now. Offering you a break. A bit of stimulating conversation. Emotional support during this soul-draining lecture.”

You glanced towards the front of the classroom, where Professor Binnes was still rambling on, utterly oblivious to his wilting audience. Most had committed to sleep now, heads tucked into folded arms. You envied them.

“You. Emotional support. Right.” You scoffed dryly, turning back to your parchment and suppressing the urge to roll your eyes.

But Mattheo didn’t retreat. If anything, he leaned in closer, close enough that you caught the faint mix of smoke and amber that clung to his robes, a scent so unmistakably him.

“You busy later?” He eventually asked, voice low enough not to attract any attention.

You kept your eyes on your notes, dipping your quill into the ink pot impassively. “I will be, if you carry on talking and ruin my notes.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Not very friendly of you.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, knowing he was looking to get under your skin. Instead you hummed, underlined a random sentence in your textbook and forced a blank expression that gave nothing away. The quill scratching at your parchment a welcomed distraction from the brief silence.

“Anyway,” he pressed, still frustratingly close, “Thought you might want to come by tonight. Usual time.”

At this, your gaze finally raised from your parchment, mouth agape. “Is that what this little performance is about?”

He shrugged. “Can’t a guy check on what’s his?”

Sometimes you really couldn’t believe the gall of him. His. Heat rose in your cheeks. Part of you wished to retort sharply, to remind him nothing about you was his, but the words stuck in your throat.

“Not in the middle of class.” You said quietly, a little feeble in comparison to what you wanted to say.

“See, love, that's where you're wrong.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep up the mask of indifference, but your lip twitched just slightly. You cursed yourself for it, but it was already too late. He noticed of course, he always noticed.

Mattheo leaned back at last, victory written all over his face. “I’ll take that as a yes."

Immediately you wanted to say no, to cut him dead and laugh him off. Deny him the satisfaction of being right, but as you deliberated he could already see it in your eyes.

"I'll see you later, darling,” he said resolutely, and with that he turned back around, not waiting for your response. You could practically see the smugness radiating from him as he rested his chin on folded arms and fell still. Meanwhile, you tried not to stare daggers into the back of his head, or let your gaze linger on his dark curls too long.

✯ ✯ ✯

It was past midnight when you slipped through the dungeon entrance, an old quidditch jumper thrown over your clothes to guard against the castle's evening chill. The halls were quiet, eerie almost, but that didn't calm your racing pulse as you padded through the corridors, footsteps echoing off the stone floors.

You knew the route like the back of your hand. Left at the suit of armour, down the hallway where the sconces flickered more than glowed. A familiar path to his secret little hideaway— one of many, you'd learned. Merlin forbid Mattheo Riddle ever be predictable.

Your hand pushed one of the doors on the left open, the hardly used hinges creaking as they worked, revealing an old classroom that wasn't in use much anymore, forgotten and dusty until Mattheo had stumbled upon it — or so he said anyway.

He was there already, sprawled out across a transfigured leather couch, legs stretched out like he owned the place. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough that his collarbone peaked out from behind the crisp white material, and his sleeves were pushed carelessly up to his elbows. He looked relaxed, carefree almost. Like he hadn't interrupted your entire evening because of something so trivial as he was bored.

"You're late." He said, not looking at you as he flicked his wand lazily toward a cluster of objects on the desk beside him. An ink pot, a feather quill, and what looked suspiciously like one of your hair ties hovered in the air, slowly orbiting each other like planets. His wand spun idly between his fingers as if there was barely a thought behind the magic.

"I wasn't aware you were timing me," you replied, shutting the door behind you with a gentle push. "You asked. I showed up. Don't push your luck."

At that he finally looked up, smirking at your deadpan expression. "You know, most people are a bit happier to see me."

You scoffed. Typical Mattheo arrogance. "Keep dreaming, Riddle."

He didn't reply. Instead, he flicked his wand and let the objects fall one by one— the ink pot thudded against the armrest, the quill floated down to the floor, and your hair tie was caught lazily between his forefinger and his thumb. He flicked it aside with a grin, watching your lips part, every inch of him smug and lethargic. Then, he patted the spot beside him on the couch like he was coaxing a dog to jump up beside him.

You stayed rooted to the spot. In half a mind to turn around and walk straight back to bed. But you didn't move an inch despite yourself.

"I don't bite," he said, lips twitching with amusement like he could see the conflict in your eyes, "...unless you ask nicely."

"I'm fine here, thanks." Your eyes rolled.

"Suit yourself then," he shrugged, leaning his head back against the armrest, eyes fluttering shut. "Rough day?"

You blinked. Since when did he care how your day was? You studied him for a moment, the sharpness of his jaw softened by the flames that danced in the small fireplace. He didn't open his eyes.

"Just... long." you admitted after a pause, voice quieter than you meant it to be. Still a little startled by his sudden interest in how you day had been.

He hummed in response, a mix of acknowledgement and a noncommittal invitation to say more. But he didn't push, just let the silence settle, surprisingly comfortable despite the tension.

After a moment, and an intense inner debate, you crossed the classroom and dropped onto the couch beside him, making sure to leave just enough room between you. He cracked one eye open and smirked slyly.

"Change of heart, love?"

"Oh, shut up." you hissed but there was no malice in your words, leaning back into the leather and letting the plush cushions absorb you. Your own eyes fluttering shut and exhaling a deep sigh.

You both sat there in the thick quiet, the flames painting restless shadows across the stone. Neither one of you spoke and you weren't sure who was more stubborn, him for not breaking the silence, or you for refusing to ask what he was thinking.

It was always like this between you. Charged, flirty, messy— but when all the noise fell away, all that remained was this gnawing stillness. The kind that burrowed into your stomach, sickening even to think about.

Eventually, he exhaled sounding both sharp and tired. “You know, you don’t have to keep showing up.”

You didn’t look at him, eyes still firmly shut. “Is that your way of uninviting me?”

You couldn't see him but you could picture the expression on his face, and when he scoffed you knew there was no real bite to it. None of the usual malice or teasing. "I'm just saying... if you're expecting anything— anything more. Then don't."

It was your turn to scoff, peeling your eyes open and turning your head slowly to face him, his eyes meeting yours instantly. "I'm not."

“Good,” he said in a flat tone. He turned his head away again, but the silence that followed didn’t feel easy this time. It pressed in from all sides, too loud, too sharp. You didn’t know what you hated more—that he meant it, or that you did too.

"Good." you reiterated with a slight nod of the head, letting the silence burn for a moment longer.

You leaned in first, perhaps it was out of spite but more likely because you were tired of talking. He met you halfway, mouth crashing against yours in that now-familiar kind of desperation. His lips were bruising, and so were yours, like it was a silent competition where both of you were trying to win something.

His hands quickly found their place, one skirting up to grasp the side of your jaw whilst the other settled at the curve of your knee, dragging your body closer to his. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe across your bottom lip, demanding entry and you opened to him without hesitation.

Mattheo hummed approvingly, sinking himself backwards till his head hit the armrest once more, pulling you down with him till you were straddling his hips. You panted softly, pulling away from his lips for just a second whilst dragging your core against his jeans hazy and slow.

Your fingers fumbled blindly with the buttons of his shirt, pulling till the fabric parted, bearing him to your hungry gaze. He let out a hiss at the feeling of your nails dragging across his abdomen slowly, teasing him.

Still, his mouth was glued to yours, tongue lapping eagerly against your own, another unspoken fight for dominance. His hips bucked impatiently against you, drawing a moan from your lips that had him smirking into the kiss.

Your hands roamed instinctively, mapping the taut lines of his chest like you'd done a dozen times before — only this time it felt different, sharper somehow. Like each brush of his skin was dragging something raw from you.

He pulled back just enough to speak, breath ghosting over your slightly swollen lips. "Still not expecting anything?" he murmured, voice rough and teasing.

You exhaled a sharp laugh, leaning forward and mouthing at the curve of his jaw, dragging your teeth across his skin, down his throat until you found that spot that drove him insane, and sunk your teeth into it. Hard. With a low groan he tilted his head back, his fingers tightening at your hips as he cursed.

"Didn't think so." he breathed with a dry laugh, groaning once more as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin.

You would've laughed if you weren't so focused, heart beating quickly and a familiar ache building between your thighs. Your teeth nipped at his collarbones, hands sliding down to the waistband of his jeans, fingers dipping just low enough to hear the satisfying sound of his breath catching.

He bucked his hips up once more, more desperate this time, and you relished the power you had over him, watching him lose that razor-sharp composure he always wore. It might've been intimate if it was with anyone else, but Mattheo Riddle didn't do intimacy, this meant nothing.

"Insufferable," he mumbled, dragging his lips down the side of your throat teasingly. "Fucking— impossible."

"And yet," you whispered lowly, voice dangerous and sultry, "You keep letting me in."

His breath hitched. Another low groan. And there it was again— that flicker of something just beneath the surface, something dangerous. Vulnerable. Real. You felt it like a thread between your bodies, pulled taut and impossible to ignore.

But before either of you acknowledged it, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing any words that might've slipped out in the heat of the moment. It was frantic, less like kissing and more like trying to consume each other. Like he was trying to erase whatever had just threatened to bubble to the surface.

His mouth moved feverishly against yours, all tongue and teeth, until suddenly he pulled back, panting. Your breath caught, lips swollen, eyes blinking open in confusion. Staring up at him with furrowed brows.

Mattheo's gaze was heavy, dark and lustful. His hands tightened against your hips, but he didn't move, he just stared like he was trying to figure out whether to devour you now or drag it out till you were begging.

"You done showing off, princess?" he asked in a low voice, rough with arousal but edged in something cooler. More dangerous.

You blinked, tilting your head innocently. "What?"

He chuckled, slow and wicked. "Acting like you're in charge. Cute, really. But you and I both know how this ends."

You didn't get the chance to argue back. One moment you were straddling him, the next he was pushing himself upright, shifting you easily onto your back against the couch, and looming over you. All in one fluid motion.

You let out a noise as he pushed a palm against your chest. Not harsh, but just enough to remind you he could pin you against the leather if he wanted to. And Merlin, judging by the look in his eyes, he wanted to.

His head dipped down again, kissing up your throat. "Open your legs for me," he murmured against your throat, tongue dragging across your pulse point. "That's it. Atta girl."

The praise fell effortlessly from his lips as you moved beneath him, sending a shiver straight through you intensifying the ache between your thighs. He noticed, of course, and his grin widened.

"Always so good for me," he continued mockingly, sliding his hand beneath the fabric of your jumper, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. "Always act like you don't need this, like I don't own every fucking inch of you."

Your moan cut him off as his fingers slipped a little lower, dipping under your skirt and teasing the edge of your underwear. He chuckled darkly like that sound alone confirmed everything he already knew.

"That's what I thought, princess."

He kissed you again, but slower this time. Lethargic, almost. Like he wanted to savour the control he had over you. His fingers curled under the fabric of your clothes like he had all the time in the world. Like he was the only thing that mattered.

And if the way your body was reacting to him now was anything to go by, he was.

Your world narrowed to the weight of his body pressed on top of you, the heat of his hands, the drag of his lips across your hot skin. Mattheo’s teeth scraped just below your jawline and paused there as if marking the spot for later. His hand splayed out across your stomach. Fingers moving in slow, taunting circles, not quite giving you what you wanted.

“You know what I like about you?” He spoke, words slurred into your skin as he peeled away at the layers covering you. “You’re always trying so hard to pretend you’re above this… above me.”

You let out a shaky breath and his lips curved against your collarbones, listening to your needy whimpers as his fingers stroked closer and closer to where you craved his touch most.

“But then you come crawling back every time, don’t you?” He added, his voice tinged in faux sweetness that made your stomach flip. “So fucking needy for it… even if you won’t admit it.”

His hand finally breached your underwear, skimming over the wet fabric of your panties with a maddeningly light touch. The pads of his fingers swiped across the dampness that had gathered, and he knew he had you then. Light touches that were just enough to make your hips rock against his fingers, your pupils blown wide with lust.

“Look at that,” he cooed, smirking at your trembling lips. Smugly basking in the gasp that came from somewhere deep in your throat as his fingers pressed light circles around your clit.

At the same time he leaned down and pressed his lips to your throat, kissing and nipping the skin as he went. His nose brushed against the hollow of your neck, and you knew he could feel your pulse— fast and erratic— which only made him chuckle against your skin.

“Please,” you whispered hoarsely, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. It was maddening how easily he could get you like this. How simple it was to have you trembling and greedy for him.

A wrecked-sounding curse tore from his throat at your plea, his hand curling under your thigh and tugging it around his waist so he could settle between your legs, pressing his still-clothed, hardening cock flush against you. Then he rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, dragging a broken moan from you.

“Begging already?” He smirked, pressing his forehead to yours his chest heaving. You knew he was savouring this, enjoying how you crumbled from a few swipes of his fingers.

“Mattheo…” you moaned impatiently, meeting his darkened eyes as another string of plea’s left your lips.

That was all it took to convince him. Sitting back quickly, his hands worked at his belt to free his cock from its constraints. The sight of him before you, all needy and desperate, had you whining. Eyes fixed on the bead of pre-come already gathering at the tip as he stroked himself eagerly, hissing at the feeling.

“Merlin you look perfect like this… so wrecked for me.” He muttered, tugging your panties down your legs with little care for where they landed. You could only gasp in anticipation, watching his face as he guided his cock towards your aching cunt.

You hissed as he rocked his hips forward in one sharp motion, your walls pushing against him as he pressed forward. Groaning as he sunk deeper into you, his eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to the stretch.

“Fuck, look at you— taking me so well.” He praised leaning down to press a messy kiss against your lips. You clenched around him, feeling the pain receding.

Mattheo groaned softly as he pulled out then thrust into your cunt once more, sending ripples of pleasure through your body and coaxing another moan to tumble from your mouth. Slowly he found his pace, hips rutting in a lazy rhythm against yours.

Sighing softly he fucked into you, his face buried into the crook of your neck, sucking bruises onto the skin you’d have to hide tomorrow. His steady pace made you see stars already, but you needed more. He made you insatiable.

“That all you got, Riddle?” You choked out when his hips stuttered for a beat, temporarily losing his rhythm. And you regretted it immediately.

“Oh,” he retorted, breath hot against your ear, “Is this not good enough for you, Princess?” He mocked, punctuating his words with a hard thrust, pleased with himself when you whined at the sudden change of pace.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, and then his hips snapped forward, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. His grip tightened and he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Another sharp thrust had your back arching off the couch, a strangled sound catching in your throat. He didn’t give you a moment to recover—his rhythm turned punishing, relentless, like he was trying to make a point with every motion.

“That better?” he growled, eyes flicking down to watch the way you writhed beneath him, the knot in your stomach building. “That what you wanted, sweetheart? For me to remind you who you belong to?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging. But your body betrayed you—hips tilting up into his, quiet gasps slipping from your lips. He chuckled low in his chest, satisfied that he was the only person who could see you like this.

“Thought so,” he breathed, releasing your wrists so his hands could trail down your sides, slow and deliberate. His large hands brushing across the curve of your hips. “All that attitude, and now look at you…” he tutted. He caught your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His gaze burned into yours, full of heat and something hungrier underneath. All his attention focused on watching you shatter beneath him, and you did. Hard.

Eventually, the frantic rhythm slowed. Mattheo's breath was hot against your bare shoulder, his chest heaving with exertion as he dragged his lips across the side of your neck one final time and came with a near-animalistic growl.

Neither of you spoke. Panting, he collapsed on top of you, sweaty and spent. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire that had burnt down to embers, and the rush of blood in your ears.

You stared up at the ceiling, a hand resting in his damp curls, your chest still rising and falling in shallow waves. Mattheo hadn't moved, hadn't said a word— just lay there with his face buried against your neck like he didn't want to face the aftermath.

Your fingers twitched in his hair, and you knew you should say something. That you should shove him off and make a joke, brush it off with a biting remark that made him smirk like usual. Make it easier for yourself.

"Mattheo," you said softly, not a question or a plea. Just his name. He shifted at that, enough to pull back and glance down at you. In his fucked-out haze, his eyes were softer— less shielded. Like there was something fragile in his face, buried beneath all the sharp edges and scars.

Then his jaw clenched and he pushed himself up without ceremony, pulling out of you like his body suddenly weighed too much. He didn't look at you as he reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it on with jerky, irritated movements.

The silence was thick between you, loud and obtrusive. You sat up, wincing slightly, and began gathering your clothes. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air and his back was to you— deliberately. You could feel it in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his posture, like he was holding back.

As you made your way toward the door, you glanced back once. He was leaning against the mantel now, head bowed, cigarette perched between his swollen lips, gaze fixed on the dying embers in the grate. He didn't look at you.

You knew you had to leave. The tension was suffocating, and the silence between you had stretched too thin. Your chest tightened, but you forced the words out before you could lose your nerve.

"I'm not here to fix you," you said quietly, barely loud enough over the crackle, and for a moment you didn't think he'd heard you. He didn't flinch, but something in his posture shifted— just a flicker, then it was gone.

“Didn’t ask you to,” he murmured, the words rough and worn at the edges like they cost him something to say. And somehow, that hurt worse.

The smoke curled around him like armor as you reached for the handle and walked out into the darkness, leaving the door open long enough for the silence to follow you out.

©️riddlemelater 2025.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Cater Diamond - Trick King Jacket Voice Lines

Trick King Jacket Cater does not have a vignette.

We don't need none of those stiff formalities! Just feel the vibes and keep it pumpin'!

Summon: I gotta say, Cay-kun's imagination's pretty awesome～ I'm not talking about the dream itself, but this dorm uniform! Don'tcha think I got stellar sense?

Groovification: All these bad little fakers need to be put in their place. 'Sides, I gotta show off just what an upperclassman is capable of ♪

Home: Yahoo! Here comes Housewarden Cay-kun!

Swap Looks: Oh, should I take my hat off?

Home Transition 1: That super spicy pizza that Trey-kun made was so tasty... I should ask him to make me the same thing once we wake up from our dreams!

Home Transition 2: Sure, I've thought about using a skateboard to get around the dorm. 'Cause, my dorm's pretty big with all sorts of places to go, y'see.

Home Transition 3: We could take down trial testimony on our phones, huh... Nah, that'd never happen～ In real life, we use chalkboards. Don'tcha think that's kinda retro and cute of us?

Home Transition - Login: The Housewarden's commands are absolute. Riiight? Heheh, just kidding! But man, I could get used to giving orders like this.

Home Transition - Groovy: Did I seriously want to be Housewarden? No, no, definitely not! Because then I'd have to do all the annoying stuff like go to meetings and whatever.

Home Tap 1: How did I not realize that was a dream at all? You'd think I'd do a double-take at seeing Riddle-kun DJing... Or, more like a quintuple-take!

Home Tap 2: Hamburgers on Tuesdays and late-night lemonade were both allowed. I guess seeing those rules be lax made it a pretty good dream.

Home Tap 3: There's times I feel like the Queen of Hearts' laws are a paaain to deal with, but honestly, it's a lot better now than it was when I first came here. Seriously!

Home Tap 4: I can't believe all my cute little underclassmen came to my dream to save me... I'm moved to tears at how you all are maturing!

Home Tap 5: All these medals on my chest look pretty cool, huh? Feels like it's saying only the Queen of Hearts and the Card Soldiers stay winning, don't it?

Home Tap - Groovy: Hey, hey, take a pic of me wearing this outfit. I'll make sure to pick a perfect pose for it. Make sure it comes out killer ☆

Duo: [CATER]: Ruggie-kun, let's end this guy! [RUGGIE]: Let's do it, Cater-san.

Requested by @thelonepearl and @farfalla049.

[kyurochurro]

troubles that come with tribbles...

(aka a good excuse to draw one of my fav episodes and fav crew members while coming back from a heavy week at uni ;D)

[r-aindr0p]

Magic jail for the first years

[julezo]

not to be insane but in a realistic tomarry/harrymort fic with good characterization it’s very difficult for them to not change one another.

a good fic acknowledges that harry only survives their canon interactions (and overall, his many different in-story challenges) from being tricky and clever. like it or not, harry is much weaker in magic, strength, mind, and political influence than voldemort.

so when he’s getting out of the third task, he doesn’t win, he cheats. when he’s getting out of malfoy manor, he doesn’t win, he calls dobby and gets out though a minor oversight. he doesn’t defeat umbridge in a dual, he instead helps run a covert defense club and repeatedly goes under her nose to do what he wants!! he doesn’t save sirius in book 3 because he fought peter and won, he used a time turner (albeit with help), broke ministry rules without anyone else knowing (bar hermione and dumbledore) and saved him.

that’s so slytherin!!!

it is my belief that Voldemort thus inadvertently pushes Harry to be more cunning. Harry is at his most slytherin during his daring but clever escapes from Voldemort and the indirect issues caused by Voldemort.

though it has less text evidence, i would also go so far to throw out that because of how pissed off Harry makes voldemort, it’s the same in reverse. Harry pushes Voldemort to be more reckless and daring in his effort to capture/kill him, as if a gryffindor.

i guess there’s a lot of poetry there. the more polarized they get from one another, the more alike they become. as they clash, they transform themselves into the other.

idk

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

THEODORE NOTT— a popular slytherin, an introvert at heart, despite his reputation as a womanizer. theodore nott, who has a big, terrible communication problem.

with the pure terror of displaying his vulnerable emotions, theodore smokes cigarettes to force his emotions to disappear with the wind; bites his inner lip and cheek until his mouth bleeds, so no tears threaten to make way to his eyes.

when theodore nott cries, he stares blankly into the wall. he doesn't sob— sobbing would make him even weaker, more vulnerable, less capable and definitely useless, in his father's eyes.

silent tears are the epitome of theodore's sadness, because other than that, his sadness, stress and troubled thoughts are never known. hidden by a mask of stoic expressions.

theodore nott is 'stupid' smart. if he wasn't a slytherin at heart and soul, then he'd be a ravenclaw, or at least that's what the professors comment amongst them. theo enjoys reading, and would easily spend his afternoon on a silent, vacant corner of the castle, devouring a book in few hours.

he lies, saying that it's simply because knowledge is a good weapon. he'd be saying the truth, if theodore confesses that he reads this much, because whether be it fiction or not, he can escape his thoughts to fully concentrate on the book's contents.

theodore nott is knowledgeable, theodore nott is a good, straight-A's student. theodore nott is quick-witted; you wouldn't want to banter with him, because usually, he gets the last word with a victorious, cheeky smile— an insufferable cocky grin.

and yet, shamefully, theodore nott has no idea how to verbalize his feelings.

every good liar is like this, he'd argue. in exchange of spilling the most atrocious lies with a straight face and nonchalant tone, theodore finds it awfully hard to tell the truth.

ask him what's wrong— you can do that, sure. now, if theodore will answer you, that's another story. and to give you a genuine answer, if he doesn't snap? then an angel must have fallen down its altar.

then, if he can't verbalize or trust anyone, not even mattheo riddle or lorenzo berkshire on a good day— what does theodore nott do, to deal with his full mind and empty heart?

theodore nott destroys.

he destroys other living beings,

being the first one to join mattheo riddle, with a smile on his face, when his best friend snaps at the smallest hint of disrespect. throwing a (not really) deserved punch at a guy that honestly, if you ask him afterwards, theodore has no idea what he done wrong.

when lorenzo scolds mattheo for starting a fight and reprimands theodore for indulging it, the slytherin simply shrugs. he's "looking out for his bro", he says. that's only partially true, as much as he deeply cares for mattheo.

everytime that he starts fights, like a rabid dog. theodore doesn't really know when he stopped being il dolce ragazzo of his madre. when he became a dog that bites without thinking about barking first. "so much for claiming to be the logical one," — lorenzo muses.

... he destroys himself.

which would explain the concerning amount of muggle, wizarding, flavored, all shaped packs of cigarettes he owns. there isn't a brand that he didn't try, at least once— the more harmful, the better.

smoking until his lungs become as black as his heart, as his dark thoughts. smoking, until he drops dead with his worries. smoking, until theodore nott becomes a better man (something that he doubts he could do, for he was born a broken man— born from a couple that should have never crossed paths with each other).

consequently, damaging his hands. skin that becomes calloused and slightly scarred from the cigarettes. knuckles constantly bruised from throwing punches at gryffindors or smartass ravenclaws.

so, theodore nott starts believing that he's unlovable. that loving him— oh, that would be torture. pure masochism, that he wouldn't wish to anyone, not even the witch he dislikes or rolls his eyes at the most.

and that becomes a creeping fear of his. oh, theodore is terrified, when the thought of becoming like his father plagues his mind.

to think that he'd become such a disgusting man, the man who brought so much pain to his mother, that killed the only person who truly loved him.

what would his mother say, if she saw him like this?

would she be disappointed, would she be ashamed to even spare a look at him? would her beautiful porcelain face become a frown, would she walk away, disgusted?

theodore consumes three more cigarettes on that thought alone.

... or would she give him a sympathetic look, gazing at her dolce, bravo ragazzo with those tender eyes of hers? a shade of blue, that theodore was fortunate to inherit.

a sad smile makes its way to his lips. because now, even for a brief moment, theo is himself again. he's not a casanova slytherin, he's not the heir of the nott family. theodore nott is simply his mother's little boy, her teddy.

in honor of such bittersweet memories, theo drops his cigarette and doesn't smoke for at least 24 hours.

theo doesn't know how to deal with comfort. genuinely tender touches, fingertips grazing his skin so lightly—

of desperately needy, lustful touches, he knows. he knows them very well, from all those times he slept with a woman, ruined her for the next guy. from the times a slytherin girl gripped and pushed his hair, needing, begging more of his mouth on her; or when a gryffindor got so lost in pleasure that she left the mark of her nails on his back; when a hufflepuff senior clenched her fingers on his torso, hips and shoulders, screaming for more, deeper, faster; that time when he found a way to shut up a particularly insufferable ravenclaw know-it-all by fucking her mouth, and when he felt the back of her throat on him, the stubborn ravenclaw gripped, scratched, protested on his thighs.

of harsh, violent, cruel, merciless touches, everytime mr. nott decided that a disgusted, disappointed gaze wasn't enough to educate his son. when those knuckles adorned with rings curled into a fist, and theodore was beaten into discipline. all those times he started fights and consequently got hit by a punch or two, even though theodore is a good fighter, and makes sure that even if he does get hurt, the receiving end is in worse state, in need of more than one night in the infirmary wing.

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

... but comforting, meant to soothe, gentle touches? oh, theo is terrified of them. rather than flinching away from a fist coming his way, theo looks like a scaredy cat when fingers come to brush his hair away from his face, with all the love and care of the world.

theo doesn't know those touches. to be fair, yes, he was acquainted with them once— but that was long, long ago, when his mother was still alive. a life ago, really, because sometimes theodore wonders if he's the same teddy he once was, under the protective but loving arms of his mother.

so at first, theo panics when you hug him, when you physically bring comfort to his broken, damaged heart.

but then?

then, after he gets a taste of how heavenly it feels to be held by someone he loves? then, theo embraces the fact that he is indeed a touch starved man. then, theo completely and shamelessly melts under your touch, relaxing in your embrace, wishing to never leave this safe haven.

( or maybe he does. a little voice on the back of his mind, menacingly suggesting that this safe haven, this loving harbor — you — might disappear into thin air by the cruel hands of his father, the same he did with his mother. )

but before his truly prodigious brain dares to overthink once again— your hands comb through his hair, brushing it back along with his worries, massaging the scalp and melting the troubled thoughts away. that's when theo closes his eyes. that's when he, finally, is in peace with himself.

and if you'd ask him; this is when and where theodore nott is the happiest. this is when theodore nott is teddy again.

౨ৎ these voices in my head screaming ♡ ͡

run now. i'm praying that they're human . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— my motivation? it's a silly little drabble, about my favorite slytherin. theodore nott deserves love, seriously.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

I love thinking about an AU where: Pete Mitchell is eight years old and used to being bounced around from foster home to orphanage to group home to foster home. An eight-year-old Pete who is scrappy and world-savvy and angry, just imagine a Maverick before he's Maverick — all that Maverick-ness balled up in this pint-sized Pillsbury biscuit can of whoop-ass. He runs the show wherever he goes with his loud mouth and sense of righteous fury. 

But then there's this new boy at the group home, this chubby nine-year-old blond boy with broken glasses held together with duct-tape and a big sweater with patches that covers his hands and half his face. He doesn't talk and spends most of the day hiding in his bed or reading an old Chemistry textbook that he brought from wherever he came from. Pete doesn't get him, thinks he's weird and the fact that the boy always looks so scared makes his tummy feel squirmy. 

So, he starts to sit next to Blondie, shares his food — basically the only thing of value he has, and starts talking, and talking, and talking and talking if only to fill up all the space that Blondie doesn't with his own words. Eventually, Blondie starts scooting closer to Pete, leans against him and starts to talk in a small whisper that only Pete can hear. 

Blondie’s name is Tommy. 

They grow up together in that group home, they bond to each other in a way they've never bonded to anyone else. They make plans to get out and join the Navy together one day, to fly; and they promise to never be apart or alone again.

Then Tommy gets adopted. 

Pete cries; Tommy screams. They might be teenagers now but it takes three men to get them to pry their hands off of each other. Tommy gets carried down the hallway howling, hands outstretched, yelling louder than Pete’s ever heard him speak before. Suddenly, the world is meaner and colder than it has ever been before and all he has left of his Blondie is that same scuffed up Chemistry textbook and a pair of broken glasses.

Pete runs away that night, glasses in his pocket and that heavy book stuffed into his backpack, but he never finds Tommy again… he finds Nicky Bradshaw instead. 

He starts to move on from the hope of ever seeing Tommy again… until Top Gun and Animal Night at the O Club, when Pete catches sight of the first boy he’s ever loved, hiding with shades on and a vodka glass in his hand, instead of a patchy sweater and a Chemistry textbook. 

Pete’s still a pint-sized Pillsbury biscuit can of whoop-ass and the world has changed them both into new people…

But when Iceman comes at him with bravado and snapping teeth, stinking of the alcohol that used to scare him when he was Tommy, regaling Maverick with tales of a father who loved a bottle more than him…

Pete reaches up to slip a little boy’s pair of broken glasses onto the blond’s face with a gentle, “Hi, Blondie.”

And Iceman crumbles away, leaving a crying Tommy in his place.

“Pete.”

He still says it the same way, like he's saying home.

[mellosdrawings]

What's that? I finally took the time to make an actual character sheet for my Yuusona?

Yuu

17 years old, 1st year

They/them, probably on the aro/ace spectrum though they never really thought about it (they do get weird when people show interest in them)

Half Japanese half french

Probably has some flavor of AuDHD

Back home: Before they were kidnapped forcefully moved to Twisted Wonderland, they were the main caretaker of four younger siblings while their parents were busy working. One of their main worry now is whether their siblings are doing alright without them. Their deepest wish is to at least be able to phone call their family to reassure them that they are ok.

Personality: They usually prefer to stand to the side and observe rather than talk and engage with others. They tend to be very prudent with their actions, up until their patience runs out. They're actually pretty perceptive and great at reading others, they just keep everything to themself without realizing.

They make up their absence of magic with their fists and wits. People tend to underestimate them due to their size and quiet demeanor, but they can be vicious and ruthless when push comes to shove. They are not very expressive physically.

At school: Yuu has a terrible focus so they struggle a lot, even when the subject interests them. They are very fond of History of Magic but also hates it because learning a whole world's history in a few months only is a nightmare and a half. They also hate flying with a passion since they are scared of heights. If they could choose a club, Yuu would go for photography and/or filming.

At Ramshackle: Yuu cleans the dorm as a past time, it keeps their body moving while they're thinking about what problem they currently have. They hate cooking though, so when the cafeteria isn't accessible they try to cram themselves in whichever dorm will have them to enjoy someone else's cooking. They aren't very time savvy so they and Grim keep leaving late in the mornings.

Relationships (with Housewardens/OB)

Yuu has a soft spot for Riddle. Unless it's some rule they find completely nonsensical they tend to do whatever Riddle asks. Whenever Yuu comes to class with a clean uniform, it's because Riddle was around to correct their appearance.

Yuu and Leona's relationship is peak siblinghood. Once Yuu figures out that Leona won't act on (half of) his threats, it's over for him. He's one of the first Yuu comes to when they have a problem.

Yuu and Azul regularly try to outsmart each other. At first their interest with Azul is very transactional since he can help with everything Crowley can't be bothered to do (ie give Yuu an actual legal presence in this world) but since they have somewhat similar mindsets they end up getting along very well.

Yuu values Kalim's presence a lot. He's one of the rare pure hearted people at school so Yuu doesn't have to be hyper vigilant around him. It's a breath of fresh air. He is a bit too active for Yuu though, so they tire very fast around him.

"It takes one liar to know another" would be Jamil and Yuu's relationship starter. They had weird vibes from each other from the very start but Jamil did end up underestimating Yuu. Yuu is obsessed with Jamil's hair and regularly takes pictures of him.

Yuu is kinda scared of Vil (in a good way). If they were a tad more outgoing they'd be asking Vil to pose for their camera 24/7. Instead they quietly worship him.

If Yuu could, they'd adopt Idia (and Ortho). Yuu tends to miss their siblings all the time so they get a bit emotional around them both.

Yuu loves to observe Malleus. He's some kind of very strange entity that they can't get enough of and they don't understand half of what he talks about which tickles their curiosity a lot.

Yuu treats Grim like their own cat and plushie. They hold him in their arm as much as possible (until Grim gets tired of it and wanders off somewhere else) because it reassures them. They do fight a lot, a bit like siblings, but they also look out for the other all the time. Yuu sometimes agree to cook for Grim despite hating it.

Relationships (the less fun kind):

Since they're in a world they don't know with students who try to kill them every couple months, Yuu is very defensive in how they approach relationships. Everything starts as transactional and about how "useful" someone can be to keep around. They try to keep even the people they don't really get along with close for this reason.

They are actually very emotional (despite not showing it) so their heart takes precedence over their brain eventually. Despite not being particularly proactive they do go out of their way to help the ones they're close to.

[merakiui]

the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly. 

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious,  places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline. 

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

[violenteconomics]

antithesis.

[sleepyorchidmonster]

Okay, but what if Riddle attempts to fight Malleus alone to buy Idia some time?

Like, we know Riddle is both reckless and confident in his power, also, if timed correctly, Off With Your Head can be make a difference in a fight, and even Leona was having trouble with it (granted it was normal not-overblotted Leona and this is Malleus we're talking about).

It can also play with the reveal that Riddle thinks everyone hates him, so he convinces himself that the least he could do is make sure Idia stays safe, both for the mission and Ortho (and maybe he's feeling guilty because last he checked Ortho required urgent repairs and it's his fault). Or maybe Riddle just feels like his lack of understanding of technomancy is not being helpful enough andhe is eager to actually do something right (he doesn't understand the situation and, as far as he can tell, everything went wrong after his dream).

And then Idia has to stop his doomed typing with a side of panicked ramblings to take a deep breath and tell the 17-year-old kid to "Calm Down. We're not dead yet, and I'm not letting you go on a suicide mission."

And before Riddle can make a counter-argument, Idia is already following up with some extra points:

1) "Yeah we're both housewardens and troublemaking SSRs. I'm also older so I'm supposed to be the responsible one here."

2) "Technomancy is my domain, so if I say you're doing okay, you're doing okay. It's natural for veteran players to carry the noobs when they're just starting out!"

3) "You're a powerful DPS, but you're also a glass canon. Meta dictates that good DPS units need great supports, and I'm trying to summon them with negative gacha pulls and a dream here!!!!"

4) "If we open the door to let you fight Malleus, then the door will have been opened anyway, and that guy can multitask like a PRO..."

5) "You know chess right? Great. We're currently in check, with the only thing between total anihilation being a Rook (A.K.A. my precious door) and the Queen (A.K.A. you). The lil' pawns may have metamorphosized into a murderous army, but there's still a whole board between us, so we have to hold on!!!"

6) "And before you get the chess analogy wrong, I am NOT keeping you around just because of your magical power. You're a TEENAGER not a weapon, for crying out loud. Did you really think I'd be that stupid?? Ortho is literally my brother and I'd rather DIE than treat him like a weapon!"

7) "Is it really that hard to understand that I don't actually hate you? Sure, you have zero E.Q. and is in my "Top 5 Most annoying Students in NRC", but I don't want you dead! Who would drag me to dormhead meetings then? Vil and Ortho need a buddy who's not afraid to break the doo- NOT NOW MALLEUS"

8) "I actually like being alive and don't want Trey and Cater to kill me, and neither that freaky cat friend of yours. Or Floyd, Kalim, Sebek, Silver, Vil..."

Idia: And that would be all! Thank you for coming to my TED Talk! Now, I know the Final Boss is right outside that door, but why don't you read a manga or two to pass the time? You've already helped me A LOT, so why don't you rest a bit?

Malleus, from the other side: You should listen to Shroud, Rosehearts. I will even refrain from tearing the door down while you read, rest assured!

Malleus: Also, who gave you the idea that everyone hates you? I just want to have a pleasant chat with them! Lillia taught me the importance of understanding the point of view of others! :)

Meanwhile the others are trying to use Meet Me in a Dream while driving a gigantic Blastcycle so they can speedrun the dream hopping and get back to Idia's dream so they can make sure Idia is okay (Ortho), complete the final stage of the plan (the others) and locate Riddle (Heartslabyul and Equestrian Club mostly, but everyone's at least worried that he's MIA). Also Silver is resting while Ace uses his UM and Deuce drives.

Leona got what he wanted (a better mean of transportation between dreams) but at what cost (two freshmen at the wheel, and they're not the competent robot kid).

[mysteryshoptls]

R Malleus Draconia - Nightmare Suit Voice Lines

Nightmare Suit Malleus does not have a Vignette.

Summon: This is Halloween! What strange magic, and what a strange place... I find it astonishing that I could be taken so aback.

Groovification: If you wish to avoid the horror, avert your eyes... From every single thing that lurks in the darkness.

Home: Instead of a blessing, I shall bestow fear.

Home Transition 1: I often find myself in situations where I dress in black outfits, yes... However I am not accustomed to wearing designs that look stitched up like patchwork.

Home Transition 2: I saw Leech humming away. He seems to be rather relaxed despite having come to an unknown town.

Home Transition 3: So, Graves had also come to the secondhand book market. It's not often you'll find someone with an interest in antique books. I think I would enjoy finding topics to speak to him about.

Home Transition - Login: As I was walking through the graveyard, I saw the ground past the hill start to move by itself. Is the land sentient in this town?

Home Tap 1: Rosehearts was helping to re-wrap a bandaged-up townsfolk after it came undone. As always, he sure is a punctilious young man.

Home Tap 2: I must admit, I was startled when Finkelstein itched his brain with his fingers directly. My, aren't the denizens of this town utterly fascinating?

Home Tap 3: I was not expecting the spider on the mayor's collar to move... Schoenheit also mentioned that he thought it was mere decoration. It's amazingly camouflaged, indeed.

Home Tap 4: Skellington is close and amiable with his subjects. Despite being called their king, it seems it differs wildly here from what is expected of the Draconia family.

Home Tap 5: ...Were you attempting to play a trick on me? How amusing that you think you could surprise me. As a testament to your bravery, I'll overlook that bit of impertinence.

Requested by Anonymous.

[meelusinee]

TO A NEW YEAR | M.R X READER

word count \ 2.3k | fluff and stuff | slash / mattheo riddle x reader

in which you and mattheo spend new years morning together

part one | part two | part three | part four

TO A NEW YEAR | MATTHEO RIDDLE X READER

Lorenzo was setting up the drinks, Theo was decorating the different areas of the dormitory, different strings and bits of tinsel hanging around the place. Draco and Blaise had bought vodka, Firewhiskey and Butterbeer for the night, with Blaise bringing fruits and juices to make cocktails. 

And Mattheo was sitting in the Slytherin Common Room. Waiting.

He had asked you to spend time with him at the party, if you could. He knew that you were busy with whatever it was you planned on doing, though he wasn’t sure exactly what yet. You had research you wanted to get to, more for fun rather than for schoolwork. He also knew that it was raining though, which meant you’d probably get distracted. Mattheo wouldn’t have minded going with you into the rain, wearing a yellow poncho and dancing in the middle of the courtyard until the fireworks went off in the night sky.

Unfortunately, he owed Theo a favor. 

So, here he was, sulking in the Slytherin Common Room. At least he was hidden behind the couch, he thought, able to play off his sulking as nothing more than a bad dream after a nap. 

“Mattheo?” Theo called out, tinsel in his hand. “Are you even awake right now?”

Mattheo sighed softly as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He did have a rather bad dream last night, and his head was pounding from his lack of sleep.

“Kind of,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why?”

“You wanna help Enzo test drinks?” he asked, leaning against the side of the couch. “He said he needs a guinea pig to experiment on.”

Mattheo sighed, looking at the bar. It was better to drink than whatever he was dealing with right now, at least from a forgetting standpoint. So, he nodded, walking over to the bar silently and sittimg down at the end.

“Matt!” Enzo smiled proudly, two shots already in hand. “Vodka mixed with a Butterbeer and a Firewhiskey to start.”

Mattheo took the vodka Firewhiskey shot and chugged it, chugging the second right after. “Thanks, Enz.”

“Rough night?” he asked, voice more quiet as he made the second one.

“Yeah,” he muttered, nodding.”Rough.”

“Here, this one’s sweeter.” he said, handing Mattheo a larger glass of vodka and Butterbeer mixed with some fruit juice. Mattheo chugged it easily, used to the burn of vodka down his throat. 

“Thanks,” he whispered softly.

You arrived at the Slytherin Common Room before the party truly got into swing, not wanting to deal with crowds of groups preventing you from walking around. Your studies on magical beasts had been tiring but rewarding, and now you were ready for a break from it.

Panay had also dragged you away from your books before you could continue, but that’s besides the point.

So, you walked up to where the bar area was, a small smile on your face as you saw Lorenzo. “Hi there Lorenzo!” you chirped, Pansy right behind you as you spoke. “Do you have anything strawberry flavored?”

“Oh yeah, plenty!” he said, looking down at his menu. “Strawberry daiquiri, a strawberry cocktails and margaritas, strawberry rum,”

“You have alcohol?” you asked incredulously, looking at him with a stern expression. “Lorenzo, there’s kids in this house!”

“They’re not allowed in the party,” he reminded her.

“And what if they were smart and figured out how to sneak in?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. “This is not a place that should be so easily accessible to them. You couldn’t at least do the Room of Requirements or something?” 

“Girl,” Pansy said, chuckling behind you. “It’s just a party! Let loose!”

You looked at her even more incredulously before sighing softly, looking down at the juice bottles he had. Your mouth felt dry like sandpaper, already feeling silenced. “Just a strawberry lemonade.”

Lorenzo’s eyebrows furrowed them, looking at you just as intensely as you looked at him. “No alcohol?”

“No thanks,” you mumbled quietly.

“Y/N, it’s a new year party!” Pansy said behind you, shaking your arm slightly. “C’mon, just one drink?”

“I said no.” you said more sternly, watching as Lorenzo made the drink to make sure he didn’t sneak anything in there. “Where’s Mattheo?”

“Theo dragged him to the bathroom just now, don’t know why.” Lorenzo shrugged simply, making Pansy a drink of her own along with one for himself. “He was testing my drinks.” 

“Kay,” you nodded, looking around before waving them goodbye. “See you guys.”

“You’re not gonna stay?” Pansy asked, a small pout on your face. But by the time you heard the question, you had already left to find Mattheo.

“Mattheo?” you called, turning around the corner to see if he was in the bathrooms like Lorenzo said.

Instead, you were greeted by Theo.

“Hey Y/N!” he said, smiling at you as he leaned against the wall. “What are you doing over here?”

“Lorenzo said Mattheo was here.” you mumbled.

Theo nodded, pointing to the door behind him. “Bathroom. Give him a moment though, he needs to freshen up. Whatever Lorenzo gave him really did a number.”

“Is he sick?” you asked, worry seeping through your voice.

“He’s a little under the weather.” Theo said, before shrugging simply. “But he’ll be fine. It’s nothing too big, so don’t worry.”

“I’m going to worry if my boyfriend is sick.” you deadpanned, frowning at him.

Theo chuckled softly. “I know you are. But you don’t need to.”

“I want to.” you said, walking past him and knocking on the door. As much as you wanted to go in, you wouldn’t invade his privacy.

“You know I’m not trying to be mean, right?” Theo asked, his voice calmer as he switched how he leaned against the wall. “I just don’t want you to worry. Lord knows Mattheo would kill me if I worried you more.”

You looked at him before sighing. “I know.”

“Did something happen out there?” Theo asked.

You debated telling Theo. He seemed like a good guy, all things aside. But he probably sided with them on the alcohol issue. Maybe even Mattheo would as well. “Not really. Just tired.”

Theo was about to say something more when Mattheo opened the door, his signature smirk present on his face. “Y/N!”

“Hi, Matty.” you smiled quietly, hugging him gently.

“Oh, this is the best Christmas present.” he smiled brightly, peppering your face with kisses. “I can’t believe I was blessed with this.”

You chuckled softly, giggling as his lips found anywhere on your face they could land on.

“Okay Mattheo,” Theo said, patting him on the back. You could tell there was something calculating in his gaze, though you weren’t sure what. “By the way, I left your gift upstairs.”

“You did?” he said, smiling even brighter as he kissed you a final time. “I’ll go get it.”

Theo smiled before turning to you as soon as Mattheo left, his face dropping to a more serious expression. “He had a nightmare last night. I don’t think that him being at the party would be a very good idea.”

“I could convince him to stay in his dorm?” you mumbled quietly.

“I’d really appreciate that.” he said, smiling at you. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

You shrugged. “I didn’t really want to be at this party anyways.” 

Theo chuckled a bit louder at that, patting you on the head before walking off to finish decorating. You smiled softly before walking off to Mattheo, glad that at least one of his friends seemed to care.

“Mattheo?” you called out gently, knocking on his dormitory door.

Mattheo opened the door then, smiling softly. He had recently been upgraded to get his own private room, mainly due to his money. “Hey, love.”

“Hi,” you smiled softly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course you can,” he smiled softly, opening the door and letting you in.

You waddled closer to his bed, laying down on it and cuddling up in his bed. It was always extremely comfortable, way more than yours ever was. You had doubts on whether it was charmed to be more comfortable than it really was.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he chuckled quietly. “You have to get up for the party, remember?”

You looked at him with a small pout, not wanting to go back to the party one single bit. “I really don’t want to go to the party.”

“No?” Mattheo asked, looking at you.

“I don’t like Enzo and Pansy right now,” you mumbled quietly, mostly to yourself.

“Why not?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he moved to sit down next to you. “Did something happen between you three?”

“Earlier,” you muttered quietly. “About the drinks, at the party. I said that it wasn’t safe for them to be there, especially if kids snuck into the party. Enzo was trying to say that he would be fine with kids drinking alcohol, I guess. I don’t really remember his deal with it.”

“What does that have to do with Pansy?” he asked quietly. running his hands through your hair as you explained what happened.

“Pansy tried to force me into drinking,” you mumbled quietly, huffing. “Don’t like them.”

“I don’t like them either right now,” he said, his face visibly darkening as he heard that. He didn’t like it when people pressured drinks onto him, much less his girlfriend.

“Can we just cuddle?” you asked quietly. You looked so innocent asking, it melted his heart into two in less than a second.

“Of course we can.” he smiled softly.

You and Mattheo had snuggled up into his bed about two hours ago, both of you having fallen asleep a couple minutes after you laid down. The bed was warm, and you didn’t want to leave even if it was closing in on the new year. 

“Are you awake?” Mattheo asked you quietly, voice soft and gentle as he spoke to you.

“Unfortunately.” you mumbled, cuddling him closer.

He chuckled softly at that, kissing the top of your forehead and rubbing your back. “I love napping with you.” he whispered softly, tilting your chin up.

“Really?” you smiled softly, nibbling softly on his nose. 

“Yes, really.” he smiled. His nose scrunched up playfully as you bit it, a smile growing on his face. You smiled softly as he smiled at you, nuzzling your noses together.

“I have a gift for you.” he said, smiling softly at you.

Your eyes lit up at that, sitting up a bit straighter. “Really?”

He smiled softly, sitting up with you and smiling. His hands reached for his drawer, sifting through it to find whatever he was looking for. “Coure I did. It’s the new year, you deserve something good.”

“I have you, I think that’s enough.” you giggled.

He smiled at that, his eyes crinkling and eyes glossy as he looked at you. You pulled him in for a gentle kiss. He still wasn’t used to your affection much, even after over a year of dating.

Even still, he soaked it in like sunlight.

“I still want to give it to you.” he whispered softly, handing you a small box. It was wrapped in newspaper and tied with regular twine, which you thought was rather cute.

“For me?” you asked him happily.

“For you.” he smiled gently.

You opened it to find a couple of things. The first was a book you had been wanting for a while. There was a small book on creatures in there as well, no doubt for your research.

There were a couple of poems, written in ways that made tears fall down your cheeks. A small stuffed animal was sitting on the bottom along with a small letter, one that you opened with a small smile.

My love, I have loved you ever since the moment I saw you. I’m surprised Theo never told you about how many times I stayed up writing about a girl I had never even met yet, how many days I spent imagining you with me when I didn’t even know your name. I want to spend my days and nights with you. I want to go to war for you, anywhere from hell and back that would make you happy. On days that you are and days that you aren’t, no matter how hard things get. I’ll love you, my darling, as I promised you and myself the moment that my eyes found yours in the courtyard.

Will you stay with me forever?

You looked down at the box and gasped gently, noticing as he pulled out a small box. It was green with silver engravings, most likely for his house colors. Inside was a thin band, your favorite gemstone laying in the middle of it.

“Will you marry me?” he asked quietly. There were small tears in his eyes, as were yours.

You sniffled softly, not sure if you could even get the words out. How could you? This was the most romantic thing you had ever done with him, and you felt that milestone could never be topped every single day of your life.

“I,” you mumbled, sniffling softly. “Yes! Merlin, yes!”

He smiled brightly, sniffling softly himself as he put the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly, just as you expected it to. “I love you.”

You smiled softly, pulling him in for a kiss. You poured everything inside it, hoping that it would give him some semblance of how you felt.

Then came the fireworks, one after another. They lit up his face and eyes like the prettiest constellation you had ever seen. There was cheering and lights, fires in the sky you didn’t know how to process just yet. All you knew was that you were happy, happier than you had ever been.

“I love you too.” you smiled.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU FOR SUPPORTING THIS LTTLE SERIES!! if you have any requests for it, let me know in either the comments or my suggestions box :D i shall be posting semi regularly i'm assuming? i'm planning once or twice a week.

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog! have a happy new year everyone!