#less!reader

The quiet of Heartslabyul on a Friday evening felt different from the rest of the week. The corridors were calmer, the usual tension of rules and responsibilities softened just a little, like the dorm itself was finally taking a breath.

Inside Riddle’s room, warm lamplight spilled across polished furniture and shelves lined with carefully organized books. Everything was neat, precise - very Riddle - but there was a gentler atmosphere to it tonight. You sat beside him on the large couch, knees almost touching, each of you holding a book.

The faint rustle of pages turning and the distant sound of the wind outside were the only noises for a while. You’d known Riddle since childhood, long before Heartslabyul, long before rules had become both his shield and his burden. Because of that, silence between you was never uncomfortable. It was familiar. Easy.

You glanced sideways at him over the top of your book, watching the way his brows knit together in concentration as he read. His glasses - which he usually only wore around those he was close to - sat perfectly on his nose, posture straight as always. It was endearing - especially considering what you’d witnessed earlier that day.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “By the way,” you said casually, lowering your book just a little, “I heard that someone tripped over their own cloak during potion studies today.” Riddle stiffened. Just barely, but you caught it. “I did not trip,” he replied quickly, eyes still fixed on the page, “the hem merely… caught on the edge of the desk.”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, “and the way Ace laughed so hard he nearly fell over too- that was definitely unrelated.” A faint pink crept up Riddle’s cheeks. “It was highly unprofessional of him.” You couldn’t help yourself. You closed your book and leaned a bit closer. “Still,” you teased, “it was kind of cute.”

That did it. Riddle snapped his book shut and turned to face you, flustered. “There was nothing cute about it!” Grinning, you reached out and poked his side lightly, just under his ribs. The redhead made a small, startled sound before clapping a hand over the spot. His eyes widened, then narrowed. “…You did that on purpose,” he accused. You laughed.

“Maybe.” Before you could poke him again, Riddle lunged forward. With surprising speed, he pushed you back against the cushions, your book tumbling to the floor as he pinned you there. He hovered above you, hands braced on either side of your shoulders, a rare, mischievous smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh?” you said, looking up at him expectantly. “If you’re going to break the rules, then I suppose I have no choice.” “What rules?” you asked, trying - and failing - not to laugh at the sight of him like this.

Riddle straightened just enough to look properly authoritative. “Queen of Hearts Rules Number 287,” he declared, “If one attempts to tickle a friend on a Friday evening, they must be tickled in return.” You blinked. Then burst out laughing. “You totally just made that up!”

“Absolutely not,” he said primly, though the smile lingering on his face betrayed him. “Now hold still.” His fingers moved to your sides. The moment he squeezed, laughter exploded out of you. “Pfft- R-RiHihiddle! HahaHAhaha! St-StoHohop!”

He froze for half a second, startled by how easily you reacted, then continued, fingers pressing and wiggling into your sides with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, as if he were testing how effective it would be. “Rule enforcement is necessary,” he said, though his own lips were twitching, “and you are clearly guilty.”

You squirmed beneath him, trying to twist away while laughing helplessly. “You’re! Such a! Liar!” You reached up, fingers darting toward his ribs in retaliation. Riddle yelped as you caught him, a genuine laugh slipping out before he could stop it. “H-HeHey, (Y/N)! That’s-!”

He quickly grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. His cheeks were flushed now, redder than before, eyes bright behind his glasses. “Queen of Hearts Rules Number 417,” he said, voice wavering just slightly, “During a tickle fight, one is not permitted to fight back.” You stared at him, then smirked. “That’s the main fun of a tickle fight, though.”

Before he could respond, you wriggled, managing to slip one hand free. You caught his side again, fingers squeezing sharply. “HaHAHAHAhahAha.” Riddle laughed outright this time, a clear, melodic sound that filled the room. You loved to hear him laugh; it was a pure and innocent sound that suited him much better than his usual expression he showed to others.

“T-ThaHaht’s! Against the ruHuhules!” “And yet,” you teased between giggles, “you’re still laughing.” The struggle turned clumsy and playful, the two of you rolling slightly on the couch as each tried to gain the upper hand.

Riddle tickled you whenever he could reach, hands darting to your sides and stomach, while you returned the favor, delighted by every rare laugh you managed to pull from him. Despite his protests, Riddle wasn’t really trying to stop it. His movements were careful, controlled - but not forceful. Eventually you managed to shift your weight and flip the situation around.

Riddle landed on his back with a soft “oof”, eyes wide as you straddled him, hands planted on either side of his shoulders. His face went bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. “…You,” he said breathlessly, “are such a kid.” The fact that you were the older one didn’t seem to bother him - neither you. You grinned down at him. “Maybe.”

You then leaned closer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Queen of Hearts Rules Number 603,” you whispered, “If one loses a tickle fight, they must be properly punished.” Riddle’s eyes widened. “T-That’s not-!” You didn’t give him time to finish. Your fingers dug into his sides again, merciless but playful, finding the spots that made him laugh the hardest.

Riddle burst into laughter, high and uncontrollable, hands flying to try and grab your wrists. “S-StoHop! (Y/N), that’s-! HahAhAHhaha!” “You lost,” you reminded him cheerfully, “rules are rules, right?”