#and then Roses equal Riddle
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NOM!!
#twst#twisted wonderland#twst oc#twisted wonderland oc#oc x canon#Twst Xanthi#Twst Riddle#Xanthi x Riddle#Ridthi#stupid ass ship name#i wanna make one of those fun ship names but im really BAD at it for some reason#ive been thinking GreenRose#cause stereotypical aliens are green#Xanthi's alien form IS green#and then Roses equal Riddle#but im UNSURE about it
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Platonic heartslabyul with fem!Yuu who managed to memorize ALL the rules because she hyperfixated on it. It's a new universe so why not study their customs?
it ended up gender neutral, hope that's okay!
Memorizing the Queen's Rules with Heartslabyul
Ace Trappola
At first, Ace thought your ability to quote the rules on demand was a joke. Then, it became the bane of his existence.
"Hey, it’s not a big deal if I sneak just one tart out of here!" he’d say, already halfway to the door.
"Rule #142: No pastries shall leave the premises of the tea party unless explicitly authorized," you’d insist, crossing your arms and blocking his path like an unyielding wall of justice.
Ace groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. "Why do you even know that? Who memorizes all the rules?!"
"Someone who doesn’t want to end up collared for your nonsense."
He tried to get clever, testing your limits by bending obscure rules. Once, he brought a banana to a tea party.
"You realize Rule #53 bans bananas at tea parties, right?"
Ace stared, mouth agape. "That’s not real. You’re making that up."
"It’s real. Page 47 of the rulebook," you replied with a satisfied grin.
At that moment, Ace realized he could never outsmart you. Begrudgingly, he admitted, "You’re terrifying. I’m never crossing you."
Of course, that didn’t stop him from trying to prank you. But the look on his face every time you countered him with the correct rule was priceless.
Deuce Spade
Deuce was equal parts impressed and intimidated by your encyclopedic knowledge of Heartslabyul law.
"Wait, so… Rule #317 says I can’t use my left hand to pour tea unless it’s Tuesday?" he asked, staring at the teapot like it had betrayed him.
"Correct. It’s Wednesday, so put it down," you replied, barely glancing up from your notes.
Deuce’s determination to follow the rules skyrocketed thanks to you. He started coming to you for advice on everything.
"Is it okay if I use a spoon to eat this tart instead of a fork? I don’t want to mess up!"
You paused. "Technically, Rule #223 says forks are preferred, but spoons are acceptable if no forks are available."
Deuce sighed in relief. "Thanks, prefect. You’re like my personal tutor for dorm survival."
He became your staunchest supporter, often citing your knowledge to back up his own actions. When Ace tried to sneak an extra tart, Deuce would immediately shout, "Rule #142! You can’t do that!"
"Juice, no one likes a snitch," Ace grumbled.
"I like them," you said, giving Deuce a thumbs-up.
Deuce beamed.
Trey Clover
Trey found your obsession with the rules both amusing and endearing.
"You’re the first person I’ve met who rivals Riddle’s knowledge of the rulebook," he said one day as you adjusted the spacing between roses in the garden.
"Someone has to uphold the standards," you replied, squinting at a rosebush. "This one’s two centimeters too close to the other."
Trey chuckled, leaning against his spade. "You know, not even Riddle notices stuff like that."
"Then it’s a good thing I’m here," you said matter-of-factly, pulling out your measuring tape.
Trey quickly realized you were also a fantastic mediator. Whenever Riddle’s temper flared, you calmly cited rules to de-escalate the situation.
"Rule #405: forgiveness is encouraged for first offenses," you’d say, placing a hand on Riddle’s shoulder.
"Fine," Riddle would huff, storming off.
Trey gave you a knowing smile. "You’re a lifesaver."
Cater Diamond
Cater thought you were hilarious. Your ability to recite rules on command made you a walking meme in his eyes.
"So, you’re like, a human rulebook?" he asked one day, phone in hand.
"Pretty much."
"Say something rule-y for my Magicam!" he said, already recording.
You rolled your eyes but played along. "Rule #98: no singing at tea parties unless the Queen of Hearts requests it."
Cater doubled over laughing.
He constantly teased you about your rule knowledge but secretly found it impressive. Anytime he needed an excuse to get out of trouble, he’d turn to you.
"Uh, is there a rule that says I can skip cleaning duty if my phone dies?"
"No, but nice try," you replied.
Still, he loved having you around, especially when you used your rule expertise to put Ace in his place.
Riddle Rosehearts
Riddle was in awe of you.
"You’ve memorized all 810 rules?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Of course," you said, shrugging. "Why wouldn’t I?"
Riddle’s respect for you skyrocketed. You became his unofficial right-hand person, often helping him enforce the rules.
"Rule #327 clearly states that tea must be brewed at exactly 96 degrees Celsius," you said during one tea party.
"Exactly!" Riddle exclaimed. "Finally, someone understands!"
You were the only one who could occasionally talk him down when he went overboard.
"Rule #512 says punishments should fit the crime," you reminded him gently.
Riddle adjusted his gloves, looking sheepish. "You’re absolutely correct. As always."
He even started consulting you for rule interpretations, trusting your judgment implicitly.
"Do you think Rule #600 applies here?"
"Only if you interpret it broadly," you replied.
"Brilliant," Riddle said, nodding.
To him, you were a paragon of order and discipline—a perfect addition to Heartslabyul.
Masterlist
#twst#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland#ace trappola x reader#ace x reader#ace trappola#deuce spade x reader#deuce x reader#deuce spade#trey clover x reader#trey x reader#trey clover#cater diamond x reader#cater x reader#cater diamond#riddle rosehearts x reader#riddle x reader#riddle rosehearts
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Sigma Nu's Sweetheart
summary: A diamond in a house full of snakes. characters: frat boy! mattheo. frat sweetheart! reader. frat boy! slytherins warnings: mentions of alcohol and making pledges do things (not hazing) word count: 2.3k
They called it the Snake House, though its real name-Sigma Nu-was etched in fading silver above the wrought iron gates that led to the manor. Hidden behind ivy-draped columns and shrouded by ancient oaks, the fraternity estate stood on the edge of campus like a secret too dangerous to be kept in daylight. No one quite remembered when Sigma Nu had been founded-some whispered it was pre-dating the university itself, rooted in ancient rites and blood oaths sworn beneath crescent moons. But in the present, it was feared, admired, and envied in equal measure.
The president of Sigma Nu was Mattheo Riddle, a name spoken with the kind of reverence reserved for legends and tyrants. Sharp of tongue and sharper of mind, Mattheo ruled the fraternity not with brutish dominance, but with a silken charisma that wrapped itself around you like a noose. He was all marble and firelight: smooth, cold, untouchable on the outside, yet flickering with something volatile beneath the surface.
His second-in-command, Theodore Nott, was the shadow behind the throne. Where Mattheo set the tone, Theo enforced it. He was quieter, more calculated, with a gaze like cut glass and a voice you only heard when he needed to remind someone of their place. The brothers called him “The Watcher”-not because he hovered, but because he saw everything.
The rest of the inner circle rotated like planets in their orbit.
Lorenzo Berkshire, with his floppy brown hair and wicked grin, handled social affairs-if such a title could be applied to the lavish masquerades and forbidden midnight galas he orchestrated. Enzo was charm incarnate, hiding razor-sharp instincts behind a glass of wine and a well-tailored coat. People underestimated him. That was their first mistake.
Draco Malfoy, heir to a crumbling aristocracy, served as treasurer. But that role was a formality. Draco was the gatekeeper to the legacy. His family had once poured obscene amounts of money into Sigma Nu, and though the vaults ran thinner now, his word still carried the weight of dynasties. Cold and calculating, Draco rarely spoke unless it was to remind others they weren’t worth speaking to.
Then there was Blaise Zabini, the strategist. He didn’t run the meetings or throw the parties. He played the long game-the one that was always three moves ahead. A cigarette always rested between his fingers, and secrets curled around him like smoke. Blaise’s role wasn’t official. It didn’t have to be. In Sigma Nu, knowledge was currency, and he was the quiet king of the underground economy.
Together, they formed the serpent’s head.
The house itself was a relic from another time. Stained-glass windows filtered the sunlight into eerie patterns on mahogany floors. The walls were lined with portraits of brothers past-men with hollow eyes and stories that had been scrubbed from official records. A grand staircase, rumored to creak only when someone lied in its presence, split the mansion in two. The basement was off-limits, except for the highest-ranking members. What happened down there was never spoken of, but the muffled echoes that sometimes rose through the vents kept the rumors alive.
Rituals were everything in Sigma Nu. Pledging wasn't just about endurance-it was a test of will, of loyalty, of how far you were willing to crawl for power. And once you were in, you were in. There was no leaving. Not really. Former brothers found themselves mysteriously blacklisted, their futures erased with quiet efficiency. No one crossed the Snake House without bleeding for it.
Yet every year, the line to rush snaked down the cobblestone path, filled with students desperate to touch even the hem of that forbidden tapestry. Power, after all, is seductive. And Mattheo Riddle’s Sigma Nu had power in spades.
But inside those ivy-covered walls, something was shifting. There were murmurs of a fracture in the hierarchy. An outsider watching too closely. A secret the founders had buried that might be clawing its way back to the surface.
And at the center of it all: Mattheo, with a hand on the throne and another on the throttle.
But between the echoes of old secrets and the weight of a legacy stitched in silence, she was the unexpected constant-soft in a world that was anything but. While Mattheo navigated the shifting loyalties and unspoken rules of the house, she remained untouched by the storm, yet always in its eye. She didn’t need a title to hold power; she had something rarer. Influence, without force. Presence, without demand. And though the throne was his to claim, she was the one they all moved around-the one they’d protect without question, even as the walls whispered of betrayal and the past threatened to rise. Because to the outside world, she was just the Diamond of Alpha Delta Pi. But to them… she was the heart of Sigma Nu.
The Snake House had never known softness before she arrived. But now, the scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through the halls before chapter meetings, and there were always cookies cooling on the kitchen counter beside the whiskey bottles. Her laugh echoed down the staircase, light and melodic, blending strangely well with the heavy bass of party nights and the creak of ancient floorboards.
She wasn't just a sweetheart by title-she was the heartbeat of the fraternity.
Every Friday, three pledges showed up at her off-campus cottage, armed with mops and laundry detergent, ready to clean top to bottom without question. It had become a tradition-Sigma Nu took care of her. Always. It was Theo’s rule. But it was Mattheo’s order.
The pledges were already working by the time the rest of the world stirred. One was sweeping under the island. Another was wiping down cabinets. A third was sorting her laundry into color-coded piles on the dining room table.
“Don’t forget the lavender dryer sheets,” she reminded one of them sweetly, not looking up from her dough.
“Yes, ma’am,” the pledge muttered, blushing.
“You didn’t have to come clean.” She looked over her shoulder at him, a smudge of flour on her cheek.
“I wanted to.” Mattheo walked in, groggy but sharp-eyed, a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“You send pledges to clean my own house every week. My landlord thinks I have a personal cleaning service." She giggled.
“You basically do,” he said, flicking his lighter closed. “You bake banana bread and let Theo cry on your couch. You’ve earned it.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m right,” he replied, and stepped forward, gently swiping the flour from her cheek with his thumb. “You spoil us. Let us return the favor.”
She looked at him for a long moment, eyes searching.
“You don’t have to keep proving things to me, Mattheo.”
He met her gaze, unwavering. “I’m not. I’m proving it to everyone else.”
At parties, she didn’t need to lift a finger. A pledge carried her drink. Another held her coat. If she looked even slightly tired, someone found her a seat. When she danced, people made room.
The party pulsed like a living thing-booming bass, laughter slurred into inside jokes, the thick haze of too much beer and too little inhibition. Lights blinked across the walls, casting silvers and greens on the sweaty crowd packed into the house’s main room.
Then she walked in.
The chatter didn’t stop-but it shifted. Heads turned. A few of the brothers straightened up. Pledges scrambled to make space near the drinks table. And at the edge of the chaos, Mattheo Riddle watched her with a smirk wrapped around the mouth of his beer bottle.
Diamond House perfection. The only sweetheart Sigma Nu would ever need.
She made her way toward the kitchen, exchanging soft smiles and cheek kisses, until one of the guys shouted, “Sweetheart’s here!”
Cheers erupted like a spell had been cast.
Mattheo didn’t move. Just leaned back against the doorway, letting his eyes follow her every step. When a freshman tried handing her a half-full drink, Mattheo’s voice cut sharp and smooth across the room.
“She only drinks vodka cran, dumbass.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
The pledge blinked, nodded quickly, and disappeared.
She found Mattheo seconds later, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You’re going to scare off all the new members.”
“Good.” He looked down at her. “They were getting too bold.”
“You’re acting like I’m made of glass.”
He tilted his head, that smirk deepening. “Nah. Diamonds are tougher than glass.”
She arched a brow. “So I’m tough?”
“You’re dangerous.” His voice dipped, low and dry. “I’ve seen more than a few guys fall stupid over you in five seconds flat.”
“And you?” she asked sweetly. “Still standing?”
Mattheo took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “Barely.”
When she walked into a tailgate wrapped in an oversized Sigma Nu hoodie-Draco’s once, Blaise’s the next, Enzo’s after that-everyone knew it was only borrowed until Mattheo noticed she was cold and quietly handed her his.
He always did.
The wind whipped around the tailgate like it had something to prove. She stood on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd, the hem of her Sigma Nu hoodie fluttering. Not hers, technically-Mattheo’s. Still smelled like smoke and spice and something she couldn’t name.
He appeared behind her like a shadow.
“Cold again?”
“You have a sixth sense for it.”
“No.” He leaned close, lips brushing her ear. “I just know you.”
She turned with a grin, poking his chest. “So, what’s the plan, President? Going to assign a pledge to hold my hand all day too?”
“Don’t tempt me.” His eyes flickered over her, playful. “I’d make it a rotating shift.”
She laughed, full and bright.
“I could carry my own books, you know.”
“And ruin our entire pledging system?” he asked, mock serious. “What would the freshmen do without you assigning them smoothie runs and study session alarms?”
“You love it.”
Mattheo didn’t deny it.
Instead, he stepped back and tossed her his scarf. “Put that on.”
“Possessive much?”
“Practical,” he said with a wink. “And if anyone asks-tell them it’s house policy.”
Mattheo Riddle didn’t smile easily. But he watched her like she hung the stars. Protective wasn’t the right word-it was something fiercer, deeper. He knew the sound of her footsteps before she even knocked. He knew how she took her tea, what time her classes ended, what books were stacked in her bag on any given day.
And when he wasn’t sitting at the head of the chapter table, you could find him leaning against the counter while she stirred brownie batter, sleeves pushed up, hoodie half-swallowed by her frame. She was always cooking for them-baking too-and she stayed through every meeting, sitting on the arm of Mattheo’s chair like she belonged there.
Because she did.
Theo might’ve been vice president, but she was Mattheo’s right hand. She helped organize formals, charity auctions, service hours, and pledge retreats. The boys listened when she spoke-not because they were told to, but because they wanted to.
She had that kind of presence. Gentle, golden. The kind of energy that softened even the sharpest of them.
Draco, for all his cold poise, once spent an hour carving roses out of apples because she needed garnishes for a spring brunch. Enzo stopped calling other girls “gorgeous” in her presence out of some misplaced loyalty. Blaise-usually detached and unreadable-offered up his rare, real smiles only when she sat beside him, asking how his day had been like she meant it.
She wasn’t just a name on the sweetheart paddle or a girl in the stands. She was the heartbeat of the house-the reason the boys cleaned up before chapter meetings, the reason pledges learned to bake banana bread from scratch, the reason the Snake House didn’t feel like just a frat, but like something closer to home.
She made it feel like something worth protecting.
The brothers would say it, loud and proud, beers raised and sloshing at tailgates- “She’s ours.”
She showed up early to help decorate before parties. She stayed late to clean. She knew all their birthdays, their favorite meals, their secret fears. When Enzo got sick, she made him soup from scratch and handwrote the recipe card so he could brag about it. When Theo failed a midterm, she sat up with him until 3 a.m., mapping out a study plan like his future depended on it.
Draco, who rarely showed softness, once told her, “If I ever get married, it’s because you raised the bar so high I finally found someone who reminded me of you.”
Blaise swore she brought peace into every room she walked into. Lorenzo called her their “lucky charm.” The pledges called her ma’am-but with awe, not obligation.
She wasn’t perfect. But she was real. She laughed too hard. She danced barefoot in the house like she didn’t care who saw. She left behind hair ties, lip balm, and the scent of vanilla in every room. And when the world got too loud, she leaned into chaos with a smile like she’d tamed fire.
And Mattheo?
Mattheo watched it all from the edge. Quiet. Unshakable. Unclaimed but not untouched.
She wore his hoodies, and he never asked for them back. He let her take the best seat at every party, made the boys swap their plans if she needed help, silenced a room with just a glance if anyone dared say her name wrong.
He never said it-not out loud. Never told her that she made the world easier to stand in. Never admitted that he memorized her favorite flowers or that he checked if her porch light was on after every party.
She might’ve worn Diamond blue, but she was etched into Sigma Nu like a secret kept under lock and key.
And Mattheo Riddle didn’t share secrets.
#slytherin boys#slytherin#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#harry potter#slytherin aesthetic#my works#au!#theo nott#draco malfoy#enzo berkshire#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle#mattheo x reader#mattheo x you#frat! mattheo#frat bro! mattheo#frat sweetheart! reader#mattheoxreader#mattheo x y/n#mattheo fluff#mattheo imagine#mattheo x oc
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a-yo there, Claudette! how ya' doin'? could I ask a request with the overblot gang like this: they are flirting with reader, in some case is more boldly, another is smoothly or a 'smart'/well thought out flirt, (because i'm SURE that leona and vil don't flirt the same, or blue and idia, for example). reader blushes a lot and looks away. after a second of silence, reader flirts back just as smoothly, slyly or boldly. how do the 7 primors react? 💗💗
thanks in advance! take care<3
oooh- yes, of course!! I had fun with this. it also occurs to me how bad most of them would be at flirting...
*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the boys do a flirt
type of post: headcanons characters: riddle, leona, azul, jamil, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu
anyone here familiar with Victorian courting rules?
well, Riddle is
he is alllll about etiquette
literally "no hand holding before marriage"
the boldest he gets is with... flowers
for what he can't say or do outright, he can convey in floriography
daisies for loyalty, pink camellia for longing...
if he's feeling bold, he may add a lavender sprig or two
now, imagine his surprise when you send him a red orchid...
his face blushes the same color as the flower and he gets all giggly
going around Heartslabyul, saying he's got to send you a red rose back
...as if anyone knows what that means
(everyone in his dorm thinks you're both crazy)
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Leona is the god of avoidance
he would rather crawl on his hands and knees through sewage than be honest with himself about his feelings
so, what does he do when he knows he's falling for you?
bullies you
like, lovingly
it's just easy for him to banter and push you around
he will call you short no matter what your height is, let himself into your room to sleep on your bed and make direct eye contact with you while he knocks your things off your desk
like... petty cat behavior
he was not anticipating you to reciprocate
man, you have a mouth on you
the things you say... color him impressed
honestly, he likes you even more than before
...which now makes avoiding his feelings impossible... crap
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
unfortunately I think Azul's best attempt at flirting is staring at you across a crowded room
he's a flatterer by default, but, like, he actually likes you
he knows how to get someone into a contract, but not how to ask you out on a date
funny, right?
well, not for him
it takes all of his courage just to say you look nice
Sevens, what is wrong with him?
you make him feel like an utter fool... so, of course, he has to compensate
now, when he's around you, he becomes smarter, more interesting, and about three times as pretentious
to impress you. obviously
then you match his energy and he's right back to square one
who knew he could get so easily flustered?
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Jamil doesn't "flirt"
...at least, that's what he tells himself
before you, he'd simply never had a reason to. now...
how hard can it be, right?
and, well, he's not half-bad at it
Jamil knows how to keep his cool, and flattery is his second language
and he gets a chance to show off a little...
perfect, right?
well...
he can never seem to surprise you
every hint he tries, every subtle compliment and little smirk, you have something equally as crafty
...not what he had in mind, but, hey
the psychological warfare makes flirting much more interesting
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Vil is, perhaps, the only person here who actually knows what he's doing
not that he's used to flirting
he just... knows how to talk to people
he's always quite subtle about it
forward advances are tasteless, if you'd ask him
he tends to flirt in subtle, but meaningful ways
that is, he makes his intentions known through touch
nothing aggressive, of course
a gentle squeeze of your shoulder, a brush of his hand against yours, an arm around your waist...
just enough to fluster you (which he so enjoys doing)
imagine his surprise, then, when you start touching him back
wordlessly holding his hand, sitting close enough to him to feel your shoulder against his...
he'll admit, he admires your boldness
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
the only "you" that Idia is flirting with is a chat bot he programmed to talk like you
I mean WHAT who said that
he DEFINITELY does not have that. haha... that'd be like, super creepy...
on that note, he also definitely DOES NOT obsessively study your words and mannerisms to better understand you
...well...
listen, he just doesn't know how to approach you!
you're so... you! and he's so... him
so, he'd much rather watch your every move and fantasize about being able to actually... talk to you...
he is, understandably, terrified when you approach him
...even more so when you seem to know about him and all his interests...
???
...you know what? he's not even going to think about it
*ੈ✩‧₊˚
Malleus can be a little... old-fashioned
and by that I mean Briar Valley old-fashioned
he was taught how to court by Lilia, of all people, so you know whatever he's doing is...
...strange
and he's somewhat aware of it, too
he just thinks it'd be even stranger for him to flirt with you like...
well... you get it
everyone else
he is, however, pleasantly surprised when you seem to know what he's doing
you've been reading up on Briar Valley customs, and recognized his courting rituals pretty much right away
...not that you're going to tell him that
reciprocating his flirtations is more fun when he doesn't see it coming
he makes that one surprised face every time
like this -> o_o
#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#queued#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#jamil viper x reader#vil schoenheit x reader#idia shroud x reader#malleus draconia x reader
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➳ the headwardens as fathers (twst x gn!reader headcanons; separate)
cw: 'a decade later' au, fluff, accurate/canon take on the houswardens' background, angst in some parts (mostly on vil and idia's part)
a/n: decided to post this just to practice the characters as accurate as possible. also, imma be writing some of the housewardens for the first time soo i hope it's good lol
Riddle Rosehearts 🌹

due to his upbringing, riddle can be strict towards his children, whether it's from their grades and their studies alone since he believes that one's studies are very important to a child's future.
but not all the time riddle is like this. as a father, he only wants what is best to his children and refuses to treat them the way their grandmother does to him in his childhood. he even encourages them to take a certain career his kid wants. do you want to be a musician? he can buy his kid an instrument they've always wanted. not a musician but instead a baker? he can tell their uncle trey to give them private lessons to be the best baker in the queendom of roses.
there are certain times the two of you are arguing over a punishment. riddle knew rosabella punched a kid (he had flashbacks when her godfather punched him) stole her tart and decided that his kid will be grounded for a week. you, on the other hand, rebutted that she only did it out of self-defense and that's the last tart she had. this goes on back and forth, even for an hour, and her punishment reduced to 2 days minimum. rosabella didn't like that but at least it's better than to stare at books for a week straight.
riddle is the type of father to teach his children magic early on. not because it's enforced by his mother but because he just wants them to use magic in case of emergencies and for them to have an advantage to their education. he encourages them so much that he offers them sweets and strawberry tarts if they make it through their lesson.
overall, riddle's just protective over his children and knows what's best for them but at the same time is strict towards them.
Leona Kingscholar 🦁

leona didn't expect to have his own children, especially to the prefect of ramshackle dorm who's grown into a sophisticated and loving adult.
he's the type of father to teach his children the concept of fairness. he doesn't want them to have the same upbringing as he had in his childhood and growing up to have an inferiority complex. leona also embedded to them that one's hardwork can signify what kind of a person are they, especially that they're royalty.
when it comes to his children, he's deep down a girl dad but nonetheless loves his children equally. leona loves spending time with his kids, especially when taking walks around sunset savanna or taking them to ivory springs.
his parenting style can be permissive sometimes but thanks to your constant nagging, he steps in to reprimand them on what's wrong and right. sadly, he doesn't mind when his daughter & son can be demanding sometimes but is behaving very well when it comes to you (thanks to the 'stare' you enforced into them in their childhood).
like riddle, leona also helped his children in terms of their education, he might pull a string or two in order for them to attend a really good school. after all, they don't want the crown prince of sunset savanna and a father to be disappointed, right??
Azul Ashengrotto 🐙

hands down, the type of parent who wants his children to pursue the field of finance and marketing. no buts or ifs, he really wants them to pursue such career so that they can take over the business someday when he and their uncles are retiring.
there could be a possibility that his children are half-merfolk since you are human. hence, you and azul wanted to teach your kids both cultures, whether it's on land or water. he can be self-conscious and scared towards his children on the possibility that they inherited his octopus form. what if they didn't like the said form? what if they're being teased because of their body shape? what if they despised it so much that they wished their own father was a merman instead of an cephalopod? you reassured him that the both of you will teach them the importance of self-image and self-love.
speaking of their seaforms, azul is the type of father who will cry when his kid swam on their own for the first time (equivalent to a toddler taking their first steps). it doesn't matter if they're a late bloomer when it comes to their seaform, azul is still proud on the progress his children obtain.
every birthdays & anniversaries or any special occasions are held within the beach. imagine his parents swam on the surface of the ocean just to see their grandchildren. they would gush about how cute their grandchildren were, especially when they're still a little chubby baby.
heavily encourages his kids to fight back just in case they're being bullied by their peers. he's the kind of dad to call them in his office, not to scold them but praising on how they beat up that kid in a pulp (thanks to their uncle floyd ig--)
Kalim Al Asim 💛

husband material + loves children = THE BEST FAMILY MAN OUT OF ALL THE HOUSEWARDENS AND HUSBAND MATERIAL # 1.
probably the type of dad who loves spoiling his children rotten and sometimes gives into their demands but at the same time likes to teach his children the concept of hard work. after all, not all the time everything is handed to them on a silver platter (albeit to their father being raised on a silver spoon).
undoubtedly wants more than 5 children, whether they're biological or not (but will not push through if you are uncomfortable with the idea). this guy is raised having 30+ siblings so it's understandable why he wants that many children and having a huge family.
as usual by kalim, every achievement earned by his children, in academics, extracurriculars or birthdays, holds a grand & extravagant celebration. won the regional spelling bee? a celebration must take place! oh, you hold second place on a swimming completion? here's a parade to celebrate such occasion! a birthday party? that's too plain, how about a 3 day celebration for the birthday kid?
low-key his children would let out an 'aww' when they saw their father kissing you :'33
like leona, kalim would take on a bit on a permissive parenting style since he would give into the demands of his children and saying no makes it difficult for him to say in front of them. thanks to your talks and reprimanding him, he learned to say no directly into them and chose to cool down their tantrums before talking to them again.
Vil Shoenheit 💎

idk how to write vil accurately soo im really sorry if this one sucks and comes across as out of character ;_;;
out of all the housewardens, i believe that vil can be really strict when it comes to his children's appearances but also cares sm for their well-being and is fiercely protective of them. he believes that his children are the splitting of him and his lover (you ofc) plus he's a celebrity and a model so that adds to the fuel on why his children's appearances are really important.
most of his children confided on you on how suffocated they felt due to their father's demands and high standards when it comes to beauty. how they cried, begged and asked you if you still loved them even if they're covered in scars, acne or having oily skin. you reassured them that you and their father loved them so much, much to the children's happiness in hopes that they're father can be less controlling.
of course, you talk about this to your husband regarding this issue and vil can understand the children's point of view. he doesn't want them to be bullied, to be teased or being compared to him since they're the children of the biggest celebrity in the industry. he also promises that he'll talk to the children and apologizes for making them miserable.
on the fluffier side, vil loves spending time with the kids. going shopping or having photography sessions are some of the examples and heavily adores them when his children are being made to be endorsers/models on a children's brand of clothing. when his daughter asked him for tips when it comes to make up, vil didn't hesitate to teach her the basics (also buys her the make up brands she really wanted).
teaches his children the importance of fighting prejudice towards gender norms. vil is the type of father to accept that kind of future his children chose for themselves and does not give a shit when it comes to people's opinions on them; his son wants to wear make up? sure why not, he also wears one during his time as a student in nrc. his daughter wanted to crossdress? why not? it's just clothes and at least she's not waking around naked.
Idia Shroud 💠

to those who voted on the poll and answered idia, ya'll deserve a pat cause he won 😭🙌
as much as i love idia shroud, idia is the houswarden that's least likely to become a father due to his trauma and fucked up family dynamic but what if he does become a father with the only person that he loves and is comfortable to be with?
hands down a helicopter parent fr, like this guy suffered so much that he didn't want his own children to go through the same fate he had in his childhood. man even prohibits his kids to go out w/o telling him first but also values his children's privacy in terms of their gadgets and other private stuff.
when his kids were born, he knew straight up that the kids inherited his flaming blue hair due to his cursed bloodline (and prays that his kids won't hate him for it) but loves it when he saw their (e/c) eyes for the first time (at least his kids looked like the combination of the two of you). aside from that, ortho's excited to become an uncle and wants to be the cool kind of uncle to his brother's children.
as always, when his children were a bit older, he wanted to teach them the basics of coding and video game development. being the children of the director of styx and a professional gamer, he expects his kid to be as good as he is in these kinds of field. if his kids wanted to pursue a different path as he is or a different hobby, he doesn't mind at all but is disappointed to say the least.
due to the shroud curse, at least one of the children has to take over styx when they're now at age sadly. as a father, he really wants them to pursue a future without revolving around in his family's business but they couldn't avoid it.
doesn't care how much his children spent on things due to an immense wealth his family holds. don't be surprised his children's rooms were covered in merch of their favorite video game or fandom. he heavily supports his children having the same passion as he is as a geek.
Malleus Draconia 🐉

HUSBAND MATERIAL #2 FRFRRR
if future malleus told past malleus that he became a father and the husband of the ramshackle dorm's prefect, it's either he'll pass out from happiness or becomes excited so much that he wants to confess his feelings in front of you.
a big family man, aside from his heavy duty as the crowned king of briar valley, he always set aside some time to spend with you and his children on the rose garden by the greenhouse of the castle. he also doesn't care what are the other fae's think about his own half-human faelets, he still loved that the kids are the creation of both of your love to each other.
speaking of the other faes, he will hear a thing or two about children of their ages making fun about their half-human characteristics like having rounded ears instead of pointed ones like their own father. like vil shoenheit, he is fiercely protective about his children and would confront the kid's parents if the bullying had gone too far but he's a really forgiving father don't worry.
adding to the previous statement, his heart would break a bit when he knew either one of his children are either being excluded (preventing them from playing a game with the other kids or isn't invited to a birthday party).
the type of father who let's them sleep in the middle of the both of you when one of them had a nightmare. he can sense it when his children are in dire need of his assistance and wants to sleep beside the both of you for comfort.
really loves it when he sees his children playing on the throne room. he loves the noise they emitted comparing to the quiet and eerie noise the throne room before they were born. one of the playdates you and malleus joined with your children is about a roleplay involving a knight trapped in a tower while a dragon saved them and fell on love with each other. i would imagine them kissing in the final scene as the children gagged from the public display of affection.
Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites.
Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕
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im pretty strong, see? - heartslabyul !
in which a you, someone significantly shorter, carries him like a princess!
author's note: do u ever wanna cuddle trey.
octatrio ver.


riddle rosehearts
riddle is very active, he may look petite for a boy his age, but he can put up some fight. his mother urges him, as always, to be fit and healthy. what is a doctor if there are not healthy? so, riddle never underestimates anyone.
however, despite being aware that looks does not equal to strength, riddle still finds it a big struggle when you casually carry him as if he was just a light flower. you were laughing as you picked him up with ease and swinging him around as if he was some princess in those movies.
"my rose!" riddle yelped as he clung onto your shorter frame. he was flushed and trying to find a rule in his mind to see if there was a rule against just lifting him up; there has to be one!
"put me down! but gently, this is unfit for the image of the queen!"
trey clover
trey is very big, even if he likes to think he is average. he is known to have a semblance of being "built" due to him carrying sacks of flour, kneading big batches of dough, and more physical activities that may entail his daily routine.
even if he was known to be perceptive of everyone's traits at one point, trey was still in for a shock to see you just carry him with no tension, as if he wasn't literally the giant between you two.
"dear, am i not heavy?" trey said as he sees you lift him up with no pain or even complaints. you giggle and shake your head, trying to swing him again but trey yelped and even gripped hard on your frame.
"it might be best to put me down!" trey flushed as ever as he tried to reason. though, even if he was completely blindsided, he was oddly charmed. what other things have you hidden under his watchful eyes
cater diamond
cater wasn't always active nor was he built, but he goes to the gym and he has a whole section and "dump" of photos for his escapades there. cater also looooved to tease you on how your stature was smaller compared to his, he deems himself as "cay the strong"
it would soon be "cay has been defeated" as you carry him to lift him to reach one higher up rose on the tall rose bush. before he can summon another cater to help him, you lifted him up!
"split..! wah!" cater squealed as he wasn't done saying his spell to summon his clone. he saw you lift him up with a smile as you gesture to the rose he had a hard time reaching. cater blushes as he reluctantly paints the rose.
"am... i not bothering you, sweetie? i can..." he blushes as he finished his duties. you smile and brag how you finally defeated the great cay-kun!
ace trappola
ace wasn't that strong, but he bluffs about it. it was something he always does with that grin, alongside kissing his bicep and proclaiming he's "so strong" because "he needs to protect you."
he would soon be eating his words when you carried him as you both run away from another incident grim put you in. ace was clinging but also convincing himself he cast a spell on you so you can be strong.
"hah! like my spell, i totally cast that so we can run faster hahaha... haa" ace say as you put him down. you look at him and played along, and gracefully bowed at him.
but then you picked him up again and he screams, "put me down!" but deep down, ace enjoys it.
deuce spade
deuce is strong, ever since he was training under vargas, he has grown more muscles than before. deuce has those biceps from also lifting machinery stuff. so imagine his shock when the both of you were carrying the same thing, he thought ace was next to him!
after all that work, you still had the gall to carry him too. deuce blushes as he sputters a random sentence, not making any sense.
"uh... uhm.. prefect!" deuce said as you carried him while laughing. he had no idea how you both ended up in this situatio, what was the context? but it didn't matter because you, someone with a significantly smaller stature, carried him as if it was a breeze.
"am i not heavy?!" he asks with the biggest blush
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twst x reader#riddle rosehearts#riddle rosehearts x reader#twst riddle#trey clover#trey clover x reader#twst trey#cater diamond#cater diamond x reader#twst cater#ace trappola#ace trappola x reader#deuce spade#deuce spade x reader#twst ace#twst deuce
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⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ Frigid Waters | Mattheo Riddle ☾⋆⁺₊⋆



Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Fem! Reader
Warnings: characters are 18+, not canon, anger
Summary: Angst, Fluff | Through jealousy and regret, Mattheo finds redemption in an unexpected embrace.
Word count: 10262- needs adjusting
Mattheo Riddle and you had always shared a relationship that teetered on the edge of something that felt almost volatile. From the very beginning, something about him managed to set you off, and it seemed that every interaction you shared was a battle of wit, will, or pride. Your mutual friends were well accustomed to the tension that clouded the room whenever you were both present, a strain that had grown from minor annoyances to full-blown arguments over the years.
Yet, despite all the friction, Mattheo had always been there. He was sharp, observant, and insufferably bold, a combination that left you equally irked and intrigued. But of all the things Mattheo was, critical seemed to be his favourite when it came to you. He had an uncanny ability to notice things most people missed—especially when it came to the people you chose to surround yourself with.
One of the most explosive arguments between the two of you had taken place a month ago, over something as mundane as a date you’d gone on with a boy from Hufflepuff. You’d met him in Charms class, and although he wasn’t particularly flashy or bold, he’d been sweet, the kind of person who made you laugh without trying too hard. You’d looked forward to the evening, finding the simplicity of his company refreshing compared to the guarded, often intense personalities of your Slytherin circle. After the date, you’d returned to the Slytherin common room, feeling lighthearted and content.
But Mattheo had been waiting, sprawled casually on the common room couch with a book in his lap, his gaze fixed on you the moment you stepped through the door. His expression had darkened instantly, and before you’d even had a chance to process it, he’d spoken up, his voice cold and heavy with disdain.
“Really, Y/N?” he’d drawled, not bothering to mask the bitterness. “Him?”
Confusion furrowed your brow. “Excuse me?”
He’d sat up, his dark gaze sharp and accusatory, as if your mere presence was an affront. “That Hufflepuff boy.” he’d said, smirking slightly, though it lacked its usual charm. “I can’t believe you’d waste your time with someone so… bland.”
For a moment, you’d been stunned, caught between surprise and irritation. “Since when do you get a say in who I spend my time with, Mattheo?”
He’d shrugged, a casual, infuriating gesture that only added fuel to your frustration. “I don’t. I’m just saying it’s pathetic. You, out there with someone who doesn’t even know half of what you’re worth. Not to mention…” he trailed off, scoffing, “his personality is as thrilling as a leaking cauldron.”
The condescension in his tone had hit a nerve, and you’d felt a surge of anger you couldn’t quite suppress. “Unbelievable.” you muttered, more to yourself than to him, though your voice rose in volume. “Who I choose to spend time with is none of your business. Maybe I actually like spending time with people who don’t spend every moment judging me.”
He’d let out a dark laugh, low and mocking, and it echoed in the common room, reminding you of just how alone you were in that moment, facing off against him. “Is that what you call it?” he asked, his words like a challenge. “Enjoying time with boys who don’t even see you? You think that’s the kind of attention you deserve?”
The comment cut deep, and you could feel your frustration bubble over, mingling with a hurt you tried to mask. “At least he doesn’t spend his days acting like he owns everyone around him.” you shot back, voice shaking with the effort to keep it steady. “You think you can just say whatever you want and get away with it? Newsflash, Mattheo—you don’t own me, and you sure as hell don’t get to decide who’s worth my time.”
His smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing with something unreadable, and for a brief moment, you thought he might back down. But he’d held his ground, his gaze flickering with a hint of something darker.
“Fine.” he muttered, crossing his arms as he leaned against the couch, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Go ahead. Waste your time with boys who don’t care enough to look deeper. But don’t come crying to me when you realize what you’re missing.”
The argument had ended there, with one of your friends stepping in to mediate, and you’d walked away, fuming and hurt, questioning why his opinion mattered to you at all. But the resentment had lingered, sinking into the very fabric of your interactions with Mattheo. Every conversation, every glance, and every comment held an edge, a simmering tension that had only grown since that argument. It felt as though an invisible wall had been built between the two of you, brick by bitter brick, and neither of you was willing to dismantle it. Each time you found yourself in the same room, you could feel the air grow thick, every word exchanged like a match threatening to ignite the powder keg of emotions that seemed to follow you both.
You were tired of it—tired of the constant back-and-forth, the pointed comments, and the way he always found a way to inject himself into your life. You couldn't understand why he cared so much, why he seemed so invested in your choices, especially when his words were rarely anything but critical. More than anything, you were tired of his scrutiny, the way he seemed to hover, watching and waiting, like he was constantly assessing your every move, every interaction. It was maddening.
In moments of quiet, when you could think clearly, you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. You’d never asked for his opinions or his presence in your life, and yet he was always there, inserting himself uninvited, and treating each of your decisions with a disdain that felt far too personal. Whatever his reasons, you didn’t care anymore. You were done with him.
And yet, for the sake of your friends—the people who were as much a part of your life as the air you breathed—you tolerated his presence. You gritted your teeth through his criticisms, bit back your responses to his sarcastic remarks, and did your best to act as though he was nothing more than a nuisance in the background. It was exhausting, forcing yourself to stay civil when all you wanted was to tell him exactly where he could shove his opinions. You could barely stand being around him, yet every shared friend outing, every party, and every late-night study session in the common room meant enduring his presence.
There were times when your friends would exchange wary glances, sensing the tension between you and Mattheo, and you could tell they were hesitant to take sides. They’d become skilled at diverting conversations before they could escalate, quick to step in whenever your arguments grew too heated. Even Draco, who usually enjoyed a good spectacle, seemed to tread carefully whenever you and Mattheo began to clash. But despite your friends’ best efforts, the strain was there, undeniable and ever-present, a weight that neither you nor Mattheo seemed willing to ease.
Every time you saw him, the resentment flared anew. You’d see that familiar smirk, that cocky glint in his eye, and it would all come rushing back—the anger, the frustration, the complete exasperation of dealing with someone who seemed determined to get under your skin. You found yourself questioning whether he even cared about anyone other than himself, if he found amusement in your reactions, in the little fires he set just to watch them burn.
And yet, there was a small, infuriating part of you that wondered if his interference wasn’t just born of spite. You pushed the thought aside each time it arose, telling yourself you were done wasting energy on him. But even as you tried to ignore him, as you tried to dismiss the meaning behind his constant criticism, he was always there, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know existed.
That night by the lake, though, had finally pushed things too far.
~~~
The chill of winter had fully settled over Hogwarts, frosting the castle grounds with a glistening layer of snow and ice. It was nearly Christmas, and excitement for the holidays was palpable, building up to the night’s event: an all-house winter party, held just before everyone would leave for the break.
The professors and students had transformed the gardens into a dazzling winter wonderland. Evergreen garlands and enchanted holly bushes lined the pathways, their leaves glistening with a delicate layer of snow, while enchanted fairy lights sparkled from tree branches like clusters of stars, casting a soft, magical glow over the gathering. Giant wreaths with shimmering silver and gold accents hung at intervals, each adorned with deep red ribbons that fluttered in the crisp evening breeze.
To ward off the cold, tall iron torches were scattered throughout the gardens, their warm flames flickering and casting inviting glows across the snow-covered ground. The flames danced in shades of orange and gold, wrapping the chilly air in a cosy warmth that lured people to linger and chat.
Tables were set up with steaming drinks, both alcoholic and non, ready to warm the hands and spirits of the guests. There were enchanted goblets filled with mulled mead, spiced cider, and warm butterbeer, each drink casting a sweet aroma into the air. For those wanting to stay sober, there were mugs of hot cocoa with floating marshmallows that danced like tiny clouds, as well as steaming herbal teas enchanted to change colours with each sip.
You’d dressed carefully for the night. Under the glow of the torches, your outfit was striking against the wintery landscape. A fitted black dress hugged your figure, reaching down just above your ankles with a modest side slit. The high neckline and long sleeves gave it a touch of elegance while offering some warmth against the cold. Over it, you’d layered a thick, cropped black jacket, plush and luxurious, the hood large enough to shield your face from the breeze. The jacket’s soft, rich texture contrasted with the smooth fabric of your dress, creating a look that was both stylish and cosy.
On your feet were short black winter boots—simple, soft, and insulated to keep out the biting cold of the snowy ground. They grounded your look with a casual touch, perfect for wandering through the winter gardens while still keeping your toes warm.
You sipped on a cup of warm mulled mead, the sweet, spiced flavour settling pleasantly in your stomach, allowing you a moment to simply enjoy the festive air around you. Snowflakes drifted gently from the sky, and laughter and chatter filled the air as students huddled in groups, swapping stories and celebrating the season.
It should have been the perfect night.The fire crackled warmly in the nearest torch as you stood with Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Theo, and Daphne, exchanging stories and laughing as you all nursed your warm drinks. The group was relaxed, leaning into the cheer of the season as the chill of winter nipped at your faces, kept at bay by the heat of the torches and the laughter that filled the air.
Draco had just finished recounting an exaggerated tale of a recent Quidditch practice, his voice taking on a dramatic edge that drew a laugh from Pansy, who shook her head and rolled her eyes. Blaise chuckled, tipping his glass to Draco in mock admiration. “I’m not sure that story would hold up in court, Malfoy.” he teased, grinning.
“Of course it would.” Draco scoffed, feigning indignation. “If anyone else had been there, they’d tell it the same way.” His gaze swept around the circle, daring someone to challenge him.
Daphne smirked, giving Draco a knowing look. “I was there, remember? You barely dodged the Bludger.” she quipped. “And I believe you squealed.”
The group erupted in laughter, and even you couldn’t help but chuckle, taking a sip of your mead as the warmth from the drink spread through you. It was moments like this that made you forget about everything else—the tension, the drama, and even certain people.
Yet, despite the relaxed atmosphere, there was one member of your group who didn’t join in on the laughter. Mattheo was standing off to the side, nursing his drink in silence, though his gaze occasionally flicked toward the conversation, intently listening to every word exchanged. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set as he raised his glass to his lips, eyes lingering on you each time you laughed or smiled.
You tried to ignore the slight discomfort his gaze brought, though it was difficult to fully enjoy yourself under his intense scrutiny. Every time you made a joke or responded to one of your friends, you could feel his eyes on you, watching, observing. It was as though he was silently taking note of every word you said, every interaction you had with the others.
Pansy nudged you with her elbow, a smirk on her lips. “You must be cold, Y/N. You’ve been huddled by the torch all night.” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Or maybe you’re just trying to hog all the warmth?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Can you blame me?” you replied, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “I’m just trying not to freeze.”
Theo chuckled, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “It’s a good look on you—frozen chic.” he joked, earning a playful swat from you as the group laughed again.
Mattheo’s eyes narrowed slightly at the playful touch, his fingers tightening on his glass. Though he remained silent, the tension radiated from him like a second winter chill, barely hidden under his relaxed posture. The others didn’t seem to notice, caught up in the conversation, but you felt it keenly, an invisible string pulling tighter with each passing second.
Despite his silence, you knew Mattheo’s attention was focused entirely on you, every bit as intense as if he were speaking aloud. It was as though he was waiting for something, watching you with that familiar, infuriating mix of disapproval and something else you couldn’t quite place. You tried to brush it off, to stay in the warmth and cheer of the conversation, but his presence lingered in your mind, a shadow that refused to be ignored.
As the laughter in your group faded, a new voice cut through the conversation. You turned to see a boy from Ravenclaw—Ethan, a friend of yours from Charms—grinning as he approached, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He was tall and easygoing, with a quiet confidence that made him likeable, the kind of person who could effortlessly strike up a conversation. You’d been chatting with him on and off over the past month, enjoying the calm normalcy he brought compared to the relentless drama that seemed to follow your Slytherin circle.
“Mind if I steal Y/N for a bit?” Ethan asked, directing his question at the group but his gaze settled on you with a friendly warmth. The others exchanged glances, but no one objected, and you flashed your friends a quick smile before allowing Ethan to gently pull you away from them.
As the two of you wandered toward the lake, the cold seemed sharper away from the warmth of the torches. Snow crunched beneath your boots as you followed the winding path, laughing at something Ethan said as he kept the conversation light and easy, a welcome distraction from the evening’s underlying tensions.
Behind you, however, things were far from calm.
Mattheo watched you go, his gaze darkening with each step you took alongside Ethan. He took a long, slow drink from his glass, his jaw tight, every nerve in his body tense. As you moved farther away, something in him snapped. His hand clenched around his glass, his usual quiet intensity boiling over into something dangerously close to rage.
“Mate, calm down.” Draco murmured, noticing the shift in Mattheo’s demeanour. He reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but Mattheo shrugged him off, his expression twisting into something fierce and unrestrained.
“Did you see that?” Mattheo’s voice was rough, almost a growl. “She just… left with him.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow, exchanging a wary glance with Pansy, who looked equally concerned. “She’s just talking to him, Riddle. It’s not the end of the world.”
But Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you and Ethan, his face contorted with an emotion that seemed to go beyond anger. It was possessive, a raw jealousy that pulsed through him with every breath. He could feel the alcohol heightening every sensation, every twisted thought, and in his drunken state, he found himself unable to control the wave of emotion that crashed over him.
Pansy stepped in, her voice calm but firm. “Mattheo, you’re overreacting. She’s allowed to have friends, you know.”
But her words only seemed to make him angrier. He glared at her, his fists clenched. “Friends? He’s been sniffing around her for weeks. And now he’s taking her out to the lake?” His voice was thick with bitterness, his eyes narrowing as he watched you disappear further into the distance with Ethan.
Theo placed a hand on Mattheo’s arm, trying to pull him back. “Look, you’re drunk, and you’re not thinking clearly. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
Mattheo’s eyes flicked to Theo, his voice filled with venom. “Regret? The only thing I’ll regret is standing here while he gets to play the gentleman.”
Despite their best efforts, Draco, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo found themselves helpless to stop him. With a final, determined glance at the group, Mattheo shook them off and stormed toward the lake, his pace quick and purposeful, his eyes blazing with fury.
They exchanged uneasy glances, understanding that nothing good could come from this. Daphne sighed, folding her arms as she watched him go. “This is going to end badly.” she muttered, worry etched across her face.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”
But even as they watched him disappear into the darkness, they all had the sinking feeling that Mattheo’s jealousy had finally crossed a line—and that whatever happened next would be impossible to undo.
Mattheo reached the edge of the lake, hidden just out of sight among the trees. His breath was shallow, each exhale mingling with the cold night air in faint clouds of mist, but he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on you and the Ravenclaw boy, his vision tunnelling in as he took in the scene.
You were standing close to the Ravenclaw, your breath fogging the air as you laughed softly at something he’d said. The sound of your laughter, so genuine and relaxed, hit Mattheo like a slap in the face. He felt the jealousy simmering in his chest twist and morph into something darker, more raw. He was close enough to catch snippets of your conversation, each word feeling like a fresh wound.
Ethan leaned in, his voice low and playful. “I can’t wait to see you after Christmas. Maybe I’ll even get to see the whole package this time.” His tone was teasing, the kind of flirtation that felt comfortable and familiar, yet full of suggestion.
You rolled your eyes, but a small smile played at the corners of your lips. “Oh, is that right?” you replied, your voice equally teasing.
Ethan’s hand reached out, gently taking yours, and Mattheo’s fists clenched, his nails biting into his palms. He watched, barely breathing, as Ethan lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, lingering just long enough to leave no doubt about his intentions.
And that was it.
The last threads of control snapped within Mattheo. His vision went red, his mind clouded by a rage so fierce he couldn’t see past it. Every fibre of his being screamed that this was wrong, that no one else had the right to touch you, to make you laugh like that. To him, this wasn’t just jealousy; it was betrayal, a bitter confirmation of his worst fears. Without a second thought, he stormed forward, his footsteps heavy, crunching over the snow-laden ground as he closed the distance between himself and the two of you.
Your laughter died as soon as you heard him approaching. You turned, eyes widening in surprise, and saw Mattheo stalking toward you, his face twisted in fury, every line of his body tense and seething. Ethan quickly dropped your hand, glancing between you and Mattheo with a mixture of confusion and mild apprehension.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mattheo’s voice was a low, dangerous growl, his eyes fixed on Ethan like he was a mere insect to be crushed.
Ethan straightened, clearly taken aback but trying to hold his ground. “We’re just talking, Riddle?” he said evenly, though his voice held a slight edge.
Mattheo took another step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. “Talking?” He laughed, though it was a dark, humourless sound. “Looked a lot more than just talking to me.”
You stepped between them, your expression both confused and frustrated. “Mattheo, what’s your problem? We’re just having a conversation.”
His gaze shifted to you, and the intensity of it was enough to make you take a small step back. “A conversation? He’s been hanging around you for weeks, trying to get close, and now he’s…” Mattheo’s voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t think so.”
Ethan huffed, glancing at you, as if silently asking if Mattheo was serious. “Mate, you don’t own her.” he said, his tone turning defiant. “Y/N can make her own choices.”
At that, Mattheo’s control snapped entirely. He reached out, grabbing Ethan by the front of his coat, his knuckles white with tension. “You think you can just put your hands on her like that?” he snarled, his voice shaking with barely-contained fury.
“Mattheo, stop it!” you shouted, your voice sharp with both anger and fear. You reached out, grabbing his arm to try to pull him back, but he barely seemed to register your touch.
Ethan managed to push Mattheo off, stumbling back a few steps, his expression turning to one of frustration. “This is insane. Y/N, I’ll see you later.” He shot Mattheo a disgusted look before turning on his heel and walking away, disappearing into the darkness.
As soon as Ethan disappeared into the shadows, Mattheo whipped around to face you, his chest heaving with the barely controlled fury that flickered in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze was like a storm brewing, wild and unrestrained, and you felt your own anger rise to meet it, every nerve in your body taut with indignation.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you demanded, your voice cracking with a mixture of disbelief and rage. Your fists clenched at your sides, barely able to contain the fury building inside. “You had no right to do that!”
Mattheo scoffed, a bitter, scornful sound as he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing into a glare that cut through the cold night air. “No right?” he echoed, his voice laced with venom. “He was practically drooling over you, Y/N. And you were just standing there, letting him.”
Your anger flared white-hot, each word he threw at you only stoking the fire within. “So what if I was?” you shot back, your voice sharp as glass. “I can talk to whoever I want, Mattheo. You don’t get to decide that for me!”
He stepped closer, his face only inches from yours, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “You really think he cares about you?” His tone was laced with a cruel edge, his words hitting like daggers. “He’s just another fool trying to get close because he thinks you’re easy.”
The insult was like a slap across the face, and you felt a surge of hurt and fury twist inside you, your vision blurring with the intensity of it. “How dare you?” you spat, your voice trembling with rage as you began moving towards him, attempting to remove yourself from the situation. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”
But Mattheo barely registered your intentions, his drunken anger blinding him to your actions. Instead, he pushed you hard, his hand colliding with your shoulder with more force than he realised. The ground beneath you was slick with ice, and your footing slipped, your balance vanishing as you stumbled backward.
It happened in an instant—a heartbeat, a single, breathless moment where the world seemed to tilt. You felt yourself falling, your heart lurching in your chest as the lake loomed closer, and then, in a flash, the freezing water swallowed you whole.
The shock of the cold was like knives piercing every inch of your skin, stealing the air from your lungs in a harsh, unforgiving grip. The icy darkness closed in around you, pressing in from all sides as you sank below the surface, your body seizing in panic as the freezing water pulled you deeper. Every inch of you was numb, the biting cold sinking into your bones as your mind reeled, frantic and disoriented.
But you weren’t about to stay in the lake a second longer than necessary. Desperately, you forced yourself to kick, pushing toward the surface, your arms clawing against the freezing water as you fought to break free. The cold clung to you, slowing your movements and making each breath feel laboured, but sheer willpower drove you upward. Your head broke through the surface, and you gasped for air, the icy sting of the wind hitting you like another wave of shock.
With trembling limbs, you pushed yourself toward the shore, your movements clumsy and desperate. Your fingers reached for the slippery rocks along the edge, but the icy coating made it impossible to get a firm hold. You slipped, the slickness of the rocks pulling you back toward the water’s edge. Panic surged through you again, but you gritted your teeth, fighting against the cold and the fear as you scrambled forward, slipping and stumbling with every movement.
Through your water-blurred vision, you caught sight of Mattheo standing on the shore, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression. He didn’t look panicked; in fact, he seemed disturbingly calm, his face set with a strange intensity as he observed your struggle. His posture was rigid, unmoving, as if he was rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on you, every step you took seeming to hold his full attention.
You hauled yourself forward, every inch of your body aching with the effort, until you finally reached the bank. The moment your hands touched solid ground, you pushed yourself up, crawling onto the frosty grass, your breaths coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Your fingers and toes felt numb, your soaked clothes clinging to you, cold and heavy. You didn’t even have the strength to stand yet; instead, you knelt there, shivering violently as the cold seeped deeper into you.
Still, Mattheo didn’t move. He just watched you, his gaze unwavering, his face shadowed and hard, as if this was some sort of lesson he was waiting for you to learn.
Anger flared within you, cutting through the numbing cold, and you forced yourself up, stumbling as you took a shaky step toward him. “What… is wrong with you?” you choked out, your voice thick with rage and exhaustion. You could barely form the words through your shivering, but the fire in your eyes was clear. “Are you… insane?”
He tilted his head, his gaze steady, unbothered. “You’re the one who keeps making reckless choices.” he replied coolly, his voice calm, unfeeling, as if he wasn’t the reason you’d just plunged into the freezing lake.
The sheer indifference in his tone sent a fresh wave of anger crashing over you, and you staggered forward, your teeth chattering as you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You pushed me in.” you hissed, your words trembling as much as your body. “And you just stood there… watching.”
He shrugged, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “You got out, didn’t you?”
The casualness of his response stunned you into silence. He seemed unaffected, almost as if the entire situation was nothing more than an inconvenience. But as he looked at you, his expression softened—just barely, a flicker of something that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of his gaze, anger and hurt warring within you. It was like you were seeing him for the first time, the dark, cold part of him that lurked beneath his usual intensity. The silence stretched between you, brittle and bitter, before he finally took a step closer, his voice dropping low.
“You were with him.” he muttered, as if that was supposed to explain everything.
Your eyes narrowed, a mixture of disbelief and fury in your voice. “So that justifies this?” you spat, gesturing to your soaked, shivering form. “You’re a coward, Mattheo. You don’t get to act like you care and then do… this.”
He clenched his jaw, but for the first time, his steady gaze wavered, a flicker of something almost like regret crossing his face. He didn’t respond, simply standing there as you took a shaky breath, your body trembling from the cold and anger alike.
Without another word, you turned on your heel, forcing yourself to walk away from him, each step an agonising struggle as the cold cut through your soaked clothes, leaving you shivering violently. Every muscle in your body ached from the freezing lake, and you could barely catch your breath, but you refused to let him see you stumble. Your anger was the only thing keeping you upright, fueling your determination to put as much distance as possible between you and the boy who had caused this.
As you pushed yourself forward, Mattheo stood frozen, watching your retreating figure with a dawning sense of regret and confusion. The gravity of what he’d done settled over him like a weight, each step you took away from him sinking the realisation deeper into his chest. He’d let his anger, his jealousy, get the better of him, and now he was left in the wake of his own reckless actions, unsure how to fix the mess he’d made.
But as he saw you growing smaller, disappearing into the shadows toward the castle, something snapped inside him. Panic flared in his chest, and without thinking, he rushed after you, his heart pounding as he stumbled forward, his voice hoarse and desperate. “Y/N, wait! I’m sorry!” he called, his words cutting through the quiet of the night.
You ignored him, your jaw clenched as you quickened your pace, not sparing him a single glance. All you could think about was getting inside, getting warm, and getting as far away from him as possible. You could hear his footsteps pounding behind you, his voice echoing as he continued to call out.
“Y/N, please—stop! I didn’t mean to—” His voice cracked, filled with an edge of desperation, but you didn’t care. You felt nothing but fury, the cold seeping into your bones and mingling with the anger boiling in your veins.
As you neared the garden, you could see the party still in full swing, warm lights and laughter filling the air. The students around the torches were unaware of the storm that had erupted by the lake, oblivious to the anger and hurt that now trailed behind you like a shadow.
You pushed through the edge of the gathering, your soaked clothes clinging to you, your hair dripping, your teeth chattering as the freezing cold seeped into every part of you. Conversation ceased abruptly as heads turned in your direction. Draco, Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and Daphne all looked up, their expressions shifting from casual interest to wide-eyed shock as they took in the state you were in. Their gazes flickered from you to Mattheo, who was only a few steps behind, his face stricken with a mixture of panic and regret.
“Y/N!” Pansy’s voice was the first to break the silence, her tone laced with concern as she took a hesitant step forward, but you didn’t stop. You pushed past them all, barely registering their looks of confusion and worry. Your only thought was to get to the Slytherin dormitory, to get somewhere warm where you could be alone, away from the prying eyes and judgmental stares.
“Y/N, please!” Mattheo’s voice grew more frantic as he called after you, his footsteps quickening as he tried to keep up. “Just… just let me explain! I didn’t mean for this to happen!”
You whirled around for a brief moment, your voice laced with fury as you yelled back, “Get lost, Mattheo!” The words echoed in the garden, slicing through the stunned silence that had settled over the party. Your friends watched, unable to mask their surprise as you turned back toward the castle, ignoring the looks, ignoring the whispers, and ignoring him.
You stormed into the castle, the warmth of the hallways doing little to soothe the bone-deep chill that had settled over you. Behind you, Mattheo’s calls continued, his voice carrying through the corridors as he followed, each step echoing with the sound of his regret.
“Y/N!” he yelled, desperation thickening his voice as he followed you up the stairs. “Please… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry!”
But you didn’t look back. You kept your head down, refusing to let him see the hurt mingling with your anger, the betrayal stinging far deeper than the icy water that still clung to your skin. You didn’t stop, didn’t let yourself falter, even as his voice grew louder, pleading, a raw edge of panic breaking through his usual confidence.
Finally, you reached the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory, muttering the password through chattering teeth. The door swung open, and without a second glance, you slipped inside, letting it close firmly behind you, shutting out Mattheo’s voice and the cold night air.
The second you stepped into the Slytherin dorm, you felt the weight of the night crashing down on you, the cold from the lake sinking deeper into your bones with each passing second. Your clothes clung to you, soaked and heavy, and a shiver ran through you, violent and unrelenting, as you forced yourself to move. Your mind was a haze of anger, hurt, and disbelief, but the only thing that mattered now was escaping the chill that had rooted itself in every corner of your being.
You stumbled into your room, tearing off your wet clothes as quickly as your frozen fingers would allow. Each movement was stiff and jerky, and the soaked fabric clung to your skin, making you feel even more trapped in the freezing memory of the lake. Once your clothes lay discarded on the floor in a dark, damp heap, you wrapped yourself in your thickest towel, fighting to regain even the smallest bit of warmth.
You made your way to the shower, barely able to feel the handle as you twisted it, letting the water pour down in steaming torrents. You stepped in, and for a moment, the heat was too much, biting at your skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. The warmth seeped over you slowly, each drop thawing the numbness that had settled in your muscles, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how high you turned up the water, no matter how long you let it pour over you, the bone-deep chill remained, lingering stubbornly as if it had become a part of you.
You stood there, shivering beneath the stream, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders, but the anger and hurt refused to dissipate. Your mind kept replaying the scene by the lake—Mattheo’s cold, scornful expression, his sharp, unforgiving words, the sensation of his hand pushing you with that brief, reckless force. It all circled in your thoughts, twisting into a knot of emotions you couldn’t untangle.
Eventually, you turned off the water, stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in the thickest, warmest clothes you could find—a soft sweater that felt like a hug against your still-chilled skin, thick socks, and an oversized pair of sweats. You wrapped yourself in a blanket, but even then, the cold persisted, gnawing at you from the inside.
Your room was too quiet, too empty, the walls feeling like they were closing in around you. Despite the layers you’d piled on, you couldn’t shake the chill or the anger simmering just beneath the surface. The heat from the shower hadn’t worked, and you needed warmth, real warmth, something solid and grounding to erase the traces of tonight.
Reluctantly, you made your way to the common room, hoping the fire there might finally drive away the cold. As you descended the stairs, the crackling warmth from the hearth grew stronger, and for a brief moment, you felt the tiniest bit of relief.
But as soon as you entered, you saw him.
Mattheo was there, pacing in front of the fire, his face drawn, his shoulders hunched with tension. The sight of him, standing there as though he were waiting for you, sent a fresh wave of anger through you, burning hotter than the fire in the grate. He noticed you immediately, his eyes snapping to yours, an expression of regret flashing across his face.
“Y/N.” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
You held up a hand, cutting him off before he could finish. You couldn’t bear to hear his apologies, his weak attempts to justify what he’d done. Without a word, you turned away from him, heading straight to the fire, sinking down onto the floor in front of it. You wrapped your arms around yourself, staring into the flames, letting their warmth seep into you as you tried to block out his presence.
But Mattheo didn’t leave. He hovered nearby, his footsteps slowing as he stopped his pacing, watching you with a look of guilt and desperation. “Please… just listen to me.” he murmured, his voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
You ignored him, keeping your gaze firmly on the flames, focusing on the warmth radiating from them, feeling it ease some of the chill from your skin. But it didn’t touch the cold that had settled in your chest, the bitter feeling of betrayal that refused to fade. The fire was warm, but it wasn’t enough to erase the memory of the lake, the shock of the icy water, the memory of what he’d done.
“Y/N…” Mattheo’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft and filled with a raw, unguarded pain that you’d rarely heard from him. He took a hesitant step forward, as if drawn by something he couldn’t control. “I know I messed up. I know I went too far. But… please. I’m sorry.”
Still, you didn’t respond. The anger simmered in your veins, a fierce, unrelenting heat that fueled you, keeping your silence intact as he stood there, fumbling for words that could never make up for what he’d done.
He moved closer, stopping just a few steps away, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “Please, just say something.” he whispered, his voice raw. “I can’t stand this silence.”
You let out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth from the fire start to thaw your fingers, though your heart remained cold, guarded against his words. Part of you wanted to lash out, to tell him exactly what you thought, to give voice to the storm of hurt and anger inside you. But another part, the part that was exhausted and worn down by the events of the night, didn’t have the strength for another fight.
You shook your head, focusing on the crackling flames, willing him to leave you alone. But he stayed, watching you, his hands clenched at his sides as if he was holding himself back from reaching out to you.
“Y/N… please.” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.”
Without thinking, you finally looked up, meeting his gaze with a cold, unwavering stare. “Sorry isn’t enough, Mattheo.” you said, your voice low and steady. “You crossed a line.”
He flinched, the words hitting him like a physical blow. He took a shaky breath, his eyes filled with a desperate sadness as he struggled to find a response. But there was nothing he could say to fix this, no apology that could erase what he’d done.
The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating, swallowing any attempt at words. For the first time, you saw Mattheo’s usual mask of arrogance and control slip, his expression turning raw and exposed, like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t come back from. His eyes held a helplessness that made your heart ache, even through the anger and hurt that weighed you down. He seemed utterly lost, each second of your silence stripping away his defences, leaving him with nothing but the heavy weight of his own regret.
After a long, shaky breath, Mattheo glanced around the common room, his gaze landing on a thick blanket draped across one of the couches. He took a moment, seemingly gathering his courage, before reaching for it. Moving slowly, as if afraid of breaking the fragile quiet, he wrapped the blanket over his arm, then walked around to sit behind you. You felt his presence press close, your breath catching as he settled in, his legs framing yours.
Before you could react, he gently placed the blanket over your shoulders and pulled it around both of you, wrapping you in its warmth. He shifted, his body pressed against yours, solid and grounding, and as he leaned forward, you could feel his arms around you, hesitant but steady, his hands holding the edges of the blanket close.
The warmth from his body seeped through the fabric, a stark contrast to the lingering chill in your bones. You wanted to push him away, to reject this unexpected closeness, but something stopped you. Perhaps it was the way his arms encircled you so carefully, or the softness of his breath against your neck, barely audible but full of tension and regret. Whatever it was, a small voice inside you whispered not to move, to let the silence and his presence speak for him in a way that his words couldn’t.
He held you there, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath, the warmth radiating from him slowly melting away the last remnants of the lake’s cold grip on you. His body was tense, as if he was bracing himself for rejection, yet he stayed, unmoving, simply allowing you to rest against him.
The anger simmering inside you softened slightly, the edges dulled by the unexpected comfort of his embrace. You felt his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slightly on the blanket as he shifted, drawing you closer. His arms around you felt secure, steady, as if he was trying to hold together what he’d nearly shattered.
He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a rawness you’d never heard from him before. “You’re freezing.” he murmured, and you could feel the tremor in his tone, the guilt that seeped into every word. “I didn’t… I didn’t realise…”
The words hung in the air, unfinished, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud what he already knew—that he’d pushed too far, that he’d let his emotions cloud his judgement in a way that had hurt you. His hand shifted, pressing gently against your arm as he felt the lingering cold beneath your layers, a physical reminder of his mistake.
You felt a surge of conflicting emotions—a part of you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the hurt he’d caused, but his touch, so careful and remorseful, made it harder to keep your walls up. You stayed still, your heart beating a little faster as you leaned back, just slightly, allowing yourself to rest against him, his warmth a balm against the remaining chill.
After a moment, he spoke again, his voice rough, like he was struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry.” he whispered, his breath warm against your neck. “For everything… for letting things get so out of hand. I was angry, but that doesn’t make it right.”
His arms tightened around you, and he rested his chin gently against your shoulder, his closeness grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to explain it.” There was a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before, a crack in his usual confidence that left him exposed.
You swallowed, feeling the last of your anger wane as you listened to him, sensing the weight of his remorse. His head rested against yours, and you could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, as if he was willing you to feel the sincerity in his words through his touch alone.
For a moment, the common room was silent, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the soft, even rhythm of his breathing. You sat there, wrapped in the blanket, cocooned in his warmth, and felt the chill finally start to fade, replaced by an unexpected sense of peace.
“Why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a question weighted with all the confusion, hurt, and disbelief that had built up over the night. You felt his arms tighten around you, his grip growing more secure, as if he could keep you there simply by holding on a little closer.
Mattheo took a deep, shuddering breath, his chest rising and falling slowly behind you. His hesitation was palpable, and for a moment, you thought he might not answer. But then he spoke, his voice low and strained, as if he was forcing himself to admit something he’d kept buried for far too long.
“I can’t bear seeing someone else touch you.” he murmured, the words barely a whisper. “It drives me insane. I want to be the only one to… to be close to you.” He paused, and his hand gently pressed against your arm, as if to make his point clearer. “The thought of someone else being the one you look at, the one you laugh with... I just can’t stand it.”
A quiet sigh escaped him, the sound soft but laced with regret. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, his touch lingering with an intensity that held all the things he struggled to say. “I know I went about it all wrong. I know I hurt you.” His voice dropped, quiet but steady. “But I don’t know how to… how to want you and not ruin it.”
You took a shaky breath, his words sinking in, a strange mixture of relief and frustration settling over you. “If that’s what you wanted…” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of sadness, “then you went about it in the worst way possible, Mattheo.”
He nodded, his head dipping against yours, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek. “I know.” he whispered, his tone filled with a raw honesty that made your heart ache. “I know I messed up, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I don’t want to lose you.”
Your chest tightened, the remnants of your anger softening as you sensed the vulnerability in his words, the way his grip on you seemed to hold a quiet desperation. For all his flaws, for all the anger and tension that had passed between you, there was a part of him that wanted to make things right, even if he didn’t fully know how.
Slowly, you shifted, resting your head gently on his shoulder, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting weight. You turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze, your eyes meeting his in the flickering glow of the firelight. His expression was guarded, but his eyes held a depth of feeling, a storm of emotions he could no longer hide.
He stared at you, his gaze intense and searching, as though he was trying to understand what you were thinking, what you were feeling. His eyes drifted down, and he bit his lip softly, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that revealed his uncertainty. His fingers tightened their hold, pressing into your arm gently but firmly, as if anchoring himself in the moment.
The tension in the air was thick, and your heartbeat got a little faster, each beat echoing in the silence that had settled between you. You watched as his eyes flickered to your lips, the faintest glimmer of hesitation crossing his face before he met your gaze again, something unspoken lingering in his expression.
He swallowed, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “I don’t deserve this chance… but I want it.” His hand gently traced the curve of your arm, his touch both hesitant and possessive, as if he feared losing you yet couldn’t resist the urge to hold you closer. “I want… us.” he whispered, barely above a breath, his eyes never leaving yours.
You felt the vulnerability in his words, the fragile hope beneath the weight of his regret. The warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, made it hard to hold onto your anger, to resist the quiet yearning in his expression. With a soft sigh, you leaned into him, letting your forehead rest against his, feeling his breath mix with yours in the small, shared space.
“Then show me.” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm. “If you want this, show me that you can do better. Show me that you can be the one… without hurting me.”
A spark of determination flickered in his eyes as he held you close. “I will,” he promised, his voice raw and unsteady, carrying a weight that seemed to settle in the space between you. His hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he cupped your face, his touch warm and grounding. He held you there, close and steady, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet, unyielding intensity that left no doubt—he meant every word.
Ever so slowly, he leaned in. His eyes never left yours, as if giving you a moment to pull away, to say something, to stop him if you wanted to. But your breath caught, and despite every instinct in your mind screaming for you to pull back, you stayed. You could feel his warmth, the softness of his hand cradling your cheek, the gentle brush of his lips as they closed the distance, capturing yours in a kiss that was tender, hesitant—almost as if he were afraid of breaking something fragile.
Your heart pounded, a rush of emotions flooding through you, a confusing tangle of anger, longing, and vulnerability that left you unsure. Part of you wanted to pull away, to hold onto the walls you’d built to keep him out, but another part, buried deep, wanted to melt into the kiss, to allow yourself to feel something other than the hurt he had caused.
His lips moved softly against yours, patient and unhurried, and the gentleness of it surprised you, easing some of the tension in your body. You felt his hand tighten ever so slightly on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that made your heart ache. There was a vulnerability in his kiss, an unspoken apology in the way he held you, and you felt yourself caught between wanting to give in and wanting to guard yourself from any more hurt.
The conflicting emotions churned within you, and your mind remained torn. Every rational thought warned you to pull back, to protect yourself from him and the mess he’d made. But as his lips lingered on yours, soft and sincere, you found it harder to resist the pull, to ignore the gentle urgency in his touch that seemed to plead for forgiveness, for something new.
For a heartbeat, you allowed yourself to lean into him, letting his warmth melt away some of the bitterness and hurt that had settled between you. His other hand moved to rest on your stomach,his touch grounding you, his kiss growing deeper but never forceful, as though he was waiting for you to decide, to choose whether to close the distance or pull away.
Slowly, hesitantly, you shifted, adjusting your body to angle more toward him, opening yourself just slightly, allowing yourself to lean into his touch. The tension in your chest eased bit by bit as you deepened the kiss, surprising him. You felt a subtle, almost inaudible gasp from him, a momentary pause, as if he hadn’t expected you to respond with such openness.
But he didn’t resist; instead, he welcomed you, his hand tightening slightly on your stomach, pulling you closer. His lips softened, responding to the shift in your movements with an eagerness that was barely restrained, as though he, too, was savouring each second, afraid it might slip away.
His fingers brushed gently towards your jaw, trailing down to your neck as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours in the warm, shared space. The world around you faded, leaving only the steady beat of his heart against you, the warmth of his hands, and the gentle, growing intensity of the kiss.
You could feel the weight of his feelings in every touch, each small movement laced with something raw, something real that left you both vulnerable and secure. The hurt and anger that had kept you guarded all night seemed to dissolve with every lingering moment, replaced by a fragile trust, a quiet hope that maybe this was something worth holding onto.
As the kiss deepened, his thumb brushed against your skin in soothing circles, his touch tender and sure, in a way that made your heart race and calm at once. You allowed yourself, for the first time, to let go of the hurt, to let yourself trust the sincerity in his touch. And as you pulled him closer, you felt the edges of something new taking shape between you—an unspoken promise, a chance for something real.
The warmth from the fire, combined with Mattheo’s steady embrace, chased away the last lingering traces of the cold that had seeped into your bones. The biting chill of the lake was a distant memory now, completely overshadowed by the comforting heat radiating from him. Slowly, you felt your muscles relax, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up to you as you leaned against him, your head nestled against his chest. His heartbeat was a gentle rhythm, soothing in its constancy, and as your eyes fluttered shut, you surrendered to the quiet peace that had settled between you.
Mattheo stayed perfectly still, his arms steady around you as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm you’d found together. His hand moved lightly, his fingers tracing a soft, calming pattern on your arm as he watched you begin to drift, your breathing slowing with each passing second. He didn’t say a word, his gaze softening as he took in the peaceful expression on your face, a stark contrast to the tension and anger that had filled the air just an hour ago.
As he felt you lean more heavily against him, he realised you’d fallen asleep, your breath warm against his chest, each exhale slow and steady. For a moment, he simply held you there, savouring the quiet intimacy of the moment, a sense of protectiveness rising within him that he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. The thought of you being hurt, of you feeling even a fraction of the pain he’d caused, stirred something deep within him, something he wanted to make up for, to mend.
With a gentle touch, he shifted, adjusting his position so he could cradle you more comfortably. He moved with the utmost care, sliding his arms beneath you and lifting you slightly, guiding you so that you rested more fully against him. Slowly, he pulled you up onto the couch, his movements tender, cautious, as he settled you on his lap. The blanket was still wrapped around both of you, cocooning you in warmth, and he adjusted it so that you were completely covered, nestled close to him.
You stirred slightly in your sleep, shifting to settle into him more comfortably, your head resting against his shoulder, and he instinctively tightened his hold, cradling you gently. His hand came to rest lightly on your back, his fingers brushing over the fabric of your sweater in a rhythmic, soothing motion.
He let out a quiet breath, his gaze lingering on you with an expression of pure tenderness that he’d rarely allowed himself to show. The walls he’d built, the armour he wore, all of it had faded in this moment, leaving only the raw, unguarded feeling of wanting to keep you safe, to make up for the hurt he’d caused, and to hold you as though you were something precious.
For the first time, he understood just how much you meant to him, and as he sat there, with you asleep in his arms, he made a silent promise—to protect this fragile trust, to be better, to be the person worthy of the trust you’d given him tonight.
He stayed like that, unmoving, his own heartbeat slowing to match yours, as the fire crackled softly beside you. The night stretched on, quiet and peaceful, and he held you close, letting the silence speak for him, his heart holding the words he couldn’t yet say.
The warmth of the fire wrapped around you, lulling you deeper into sleep as you lay comfortably in Mattheo’s arms, his hand resting protectively on your back. He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on you, every inch of his attention focused on the gentle rise and fall of your chest. The common room was peaceful, the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the soft murmur of your steady breaths.
But the quiet didn’t last.
The heavy door to the common room creaked open, and Mattheo’s head snapped up. In came Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Theo, and Daphne, their voices low but filled with curiosity and concern as they stepped inside. They seemed to be in mid-conversation, muttering about the way you’d rushed off earlier and Mattheo’s strange behaviour at the party.
As soon as they saw the two of you on the couch, however, they fell silent, their eyes widening as they took in the sight: you, fast asleep in Mattheo’s arms, wrapped up in a thick blanket with his hand resting gently on your back.
Pansy’s mouth dropped open, her eyebrows shooting up as she nudged Draco, who looked equally stunned but managed to mask it with a small smirk. “Well, isn’t this a sight.” she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Blaise exchanged a quick look with Theo, both of them looking thoroughly amused. “I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” Blaise murmured, a grin creeping onto his face. “Riddle actually being… soft?”
Mattheo shot them a warning look, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he tightened his hold on you protectively, silently begging them not to wake you. But Theo, never one to let a good opportunity slip by, leaned closer, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“Did we miss the part where you finally confessed your undying love, Mattheo?” he whispered, barely able to contain his laughter. “Or was this just a spur-of-the-moment cuddle session?”
Mattheo’s face flushed, and he shot Theo a glare, his voice low and firm. “Shut it, Theodore.” he muttered, his fingers gently tracing your shoulder, as if reassuring himself you were still asleep.
Daphne, usually one to tease, softened as she took in the sight of you nestled peacefully against him. She stepped forward, offering him a small, understanding smile.“It was about time you two figured this out.”
With that, she placed a hand on Pansy’s arm, guiding her toward the staircase. The others exchanged a final round of amused glances, Blaise giving Mattheo a playful salute as they turned to leave, their footsteps fading up the stairs.
Once they were gone, Mattheo let out a quiet sigh, his gaze returning to you. His hand resumed its gentle tracing along your back, his expression softening as he took in the calm, content look on your face. Despite the teasing, he felt a rare sense of peace, as if, for the first time, everything was exactly how it was supposed to be.
He leaned his head back, pulling the blanket tighter around you both, and let the warmth of the fire and your presence lull him into a quiet calm, the world around you slipping away, leaving only the unspoken promise he held in his heart.
Likes, reblogs and comments are always very much appreciated! ♡
© slytherinsmuse. please do not copy, claim, translate or steal any of my works as your own.
#mattheo riddle imagine#slytherin boys#slytherin boys x reader#mattheo riddle x reader#hogwarts#fanfiction#harry potter fandom#slytherin boys imagines#one shot#mattheo riddleone shot#mattheo riddle x female reader#slytherinsmuse#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle angst#mattheo riddle fluff#not canon
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For what it’s worth, Draco tries not to be in love with him.
Once the war ends, the world is dim and hazy and wild. For two months, it rains incessantly in Wiltshire. Draco watches his mother’s rose garden flag and flutter, run amok with weeds and ivy from his bedroom window. He spends May and June not doing much of anything but staring— out the window, at his ceiling, at his parents when they try to coax him to dinner. House arrest is not a death sentence, but Draco is empty and vacant and a little dead anyway.
He thinks of Harry sometimes. Harry, limned in fire on a broom, reaching for him, Harry, dead, not dead, clambering to his feet, wand raised, calling the Dark Lord Tom, Harry, who had met his eyes over the Aurors’ shoulders as they handcuffed him to accompany him to the Manor until the Wizengamot had the time to figure out what to do with the Malfoys. Harry, and the world winces into sharper focus, bleak and dull and unbearable. Draco tries, for all he’s worth, not that it’s much, to stop thinking of Harry when that happens.
There’s the trial. Harry Potter is in a suit, his hair damp and brushed and unfamiliar. He speaks for Draco and his mother. Draco recognises the image of Narcissa emerging in Harry’s testimony— haughty and determined and fearful and loving, a mass of contradictions worthy of exoneration after the payment of some hefty fines. His own image he recognises in snapshots and flashes— scared, yes, Merlin, yes, indoctrinated from a young age, that too, in the grip of something bigger than himself, yes, he’s never felt so small. There are other things Harry says, new, like an ill-fitted outfit hanging off him— brave when it mattered, really? and never killed anyone, technically true but the intent was there all through sixth year, doesn’t he deserve to be punished for that? and helped in bringing down the fall of Tom Riddle at great personal risk, a tall order at best, an embellished lie at worst.
Harry believes in a man Draco isn’t sure he ever was. The Wizengamot seems to believe him, and he’s exonerated too, with a magic-monitoring charm on his wand for eighteen months.
No one testifies for Lucius. He goes to Azkaban. Draco watches, dispassionate, as the Aurors handcuff his father again. Lucius watches him back, equally dispassionate. “Take care of your mother,” he says before he’s pulled away, and Draco manages a short, tight nod. That’s that.
Love, or the situation about Harry Potter as Draco takes to calling it, begins two more months after the trials.
“Malfoy,” says Harry, the picture of wide-eyed surprise. They’re in a bar on Knockturn. Pansy, Blaise and Theo finally dragged him here, Draco you need to leave that stuffy old Manor for your own good.
“Harry Potter,” Draco says, because he can’t bring himself to call him Potter anymore, and Harry sounds awkward outside his head.
“It’s good to see you,” says Harry, a sudden grin stretching across his face. Draco has to blink the light of it out of his eyes. “You’re looking better.”
It starts then, in the bar. The stirrings of life in a dead man. It’s annoying and brutal and the kind of thing that keeps Draco waking up and getting himself out of bed every morning and the nightmares occasionally at bay.
They run into each other at the bar, over and over, and each time, Harry begins conversation. Each time, it lasts a few minutes longer, until they’re spending half an hour or more chatting over drinks at the counter. Or, rather— Harry chats, Draco listens and tries not to let his heart spring out of his chest. Each time, Pansy looks considering, Blaise rolls his eyes and Theo peers studiously into his drink when he comes back. Draco wonders if Harry’s friends have their own set of patented reactions and if they’re half as lenient as his friends’.
Draco starts sleeping with Theo about it, eventually. Which is to say Draco starts sleeping with Theo hoping the sex will take his mind off dark hair and green eyes and that rapid, quicksilver smile. It doesn’t help that Theo has dark hair and blue eyes, and smiles at Draco like the sun. It makes him ache with want and loss, and the sex is great, but Draco has to end it within a few weeks.
“It’s Potter, isn’t it,” Theo says when Draco tells him.
There’s no point denying it, so Draco doesn’t. “It’s not you,” he says, and Theo’s lightly amused baleful glare is enough for their friendship to remain stable, if a little stilted.
Blaise takes him shopping and Pansy brings him alcohol and when Greg starts stepping out of his house again, he tells Draco awkwardly, “Well, Potter’s missing out, isn’t he?” Millicent, who starts coming to pub nights gives Draco a once-over and tells him he needs to get a job. Daphne tries to set him up with her sister, and takes it astonishingly terribly when Draco tells her he’s sure Astoria’s lovely, but has an entirely wrong set of bits.
“You should be more open minded,” she tells him, sniffing. “Astoria‘s open minded!”
Draco can only think to blink at her.
Harry’s in the papers almost every day. Sometimes because he gives speeches, but mostly because The Prophet’s society section can’t think to write anything better than “Harry Potter spotted in Diagon’s Sunday Market, with turnips! Turn to page 6 for seven delicious recipes that make fresh and inventive use of the Chosen One’s Chosen Veg!”
It’s all well and good except for the part where the accompanying photos of Harry, scowling or blank or frustrated or very occasionally, smiling at children, sends Draco’s body into overdrive. He finds himself tracing the line of Harry’s mouth, the tops of his cheekbones, his hairline. He thinks his mother notices, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Would you like to get a drink sometime?” Harry asks.
They’re not at the bar. They’re in a cafe and Draco is reading a horrible romance novel at the window.
“We get drinks all the time,” Draco says. He wants to step on his own toes.
“Yeah,” Harry says, laughing. He runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, course, just— I was wondering if you maybe wanted to. You know. Just us.”
“Just us?”
“Forget it,” Harry says, and sighs. He turns away and turns back. “It was good seeing you, Malfoy.” He turns away again.
“Harry,” Draco says. The look on Harry’s face when he turns back again is wide-eyed surprise again, like that first time in the bar. “I— a drink sounds lovely.”
Harry looks uncertainly pleased.
“Just not on Knockturn,” Draco says.
“We could go to Hogsmeade,” Harry says. He’s— the ridiculous man— bouncing on the balls of his feet, fidgety and buoyant and beautiful. “Or London. The Muggle bit. Or Diagon, really, but the reporters—” He grimaces.
I’ll go anywhere with you, Draco wants to say. “Anywhere,” he says instead, hacked short and inadequate.
But Harry smiles at him like he’s the sun. The persistent ache throbbing through Draco abates for a moment.
So this is peace, Draco thinks. Meets Harry’s smile with his own, wonders how Harry thinks it looks. There you are.
for the @drarrymicrofic prompt, “cranes in the sky”. this is a little all over the place and i’m not particularly happy with it, but here’s a decidedly-not-microfic about failing at not being in love with harry james potter. oh draco, you’re exactly like me.
#drarry#drarry fic rec#drarry fic#drarry recs#draco x harry#hpdm fanfic#hpdm#draco malfoy#harry james potter#drarry microfic#geets microfics
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Can I request Riddle rosehearts with a s/o that has a big inferiority complex 😫? for example they didnt confess to him (until he did) because they thought he was too good for someone like them. Pleaseee!
— riddle : x gn!reader. Self-esteem struggles, Emotional distress. dividers: uzmacchiato
Heartslabyul's rose gardens were usually where you felt the most at ease. Maybe it was the scent of fresh blossoms or the meticulous rows of red and white that spoke of control—perfect and orderly, everything in its right place. Things you never felt about yourself. You weren’t sure when your admiration for Riddle turned into affection. At first, it was simply respect. He was brilliant, confident, articulate—everything you weren't. Even in his strictness, there was a sense of purpose. People either feared or respected him, and in your case… it was both. But quietly, as time passed, something softer took root.
You loved the way his expression softened when he talked about the Queen of Hearts’ rules, how he sometimes adjusted his collar when flustered, and especially how hard he tried to be better than the boy he'd once been. You knew the stories—Trey had told you some, Cater had filled in the rest with dramatic flair. Riddle wasn't perfect. But he was trying. And that made him feel even further away.
But you? You weren’t strict or smart, or powerful. You struggled with things others breezed through. You often second-guessed your own existence in a room. And what did you have to offer someone like him? A heart too small, a voice too hesitant, and eyes that rarely met his. You could never be his equal. So you stayed quiet. Until he didn’t.
You hadn’t expected him to show up at the garden that afternoon, red robes fluttering in the wind and an expression unreadable. You were watering the roses. You barely registered his presence until his shadow crossed over yours. “I’ve been looking for you.” Your heart jumped. “I... I didn’t break any rules, did I?” looking back heart still beating. He blinked. “No. This isn’t about rules.” Then, with a short breath: “It’s something I would like to tell you.” Your grip on the watering can tighten.
“I wanted to speak plainly. I've thought about this long enough.” Riddle stood straighter, his voice calm but betraying a tremble of nerves. “I’ve admired your gentleness. Your quiet dedication. Your way of listening—not just hearing, but understanding. You see things in people that others miss. I—” He hesitated, eyes burning crimson, “I thought I’d made it obvious.” The silence that followed wasn't romantic. It was suffocating. You stared down at the ground. “I like you,” he repeated, more softly. You almost dropped the watering can. Your chest caved in on itself. “You shouldn’t.” His head tilted slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re... ,” you said painfully. “You’re brilliant and respected and strong. And I’m—” “Stop.” His voice was sharp, commanding, but not unkind. “Don't say that about yourself!” You flinched. “But it’s true. I’ve always been behind everyone else. I can’t cast spells, I’m not clever in class, and I mess up when I speak. I’m nothing like you. You’re the top student in the dorm. Why would someone like you ever look twice at someone like me?” The words spilled out like poison, old wounds you’d kept buried for too long.
Riddle stepped forward, slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. “Is that why you never said anything? Why you avoid me when I tried to speak with you more... personally?” You nodded, eyes brimming with tears you hadn’t realized had formed. “I thought you were just being kind. Or... polite. I didn’t think I was even an option for you.” Riddle was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke with a clarity that made your breath catch. “I never cared about status, or power, or magic ability—not when it comes to you. If anything, I envied how you made people feel at ease, how even the first-years come to you for comfort. You carry warmth in a way I... struggle to.” You looked at him then. Really looked
“I’ve made so many mistakes thinking everything had to be perfect. But the truth is, I like you because of how you are, not despite it.” His gloved hand reached for yours, tentative, but not trembling. Your breath hitched as your fingers curled into his. “I don’t expect you to believe it right away,” he said quietly. “But I’ll remind you every day if I must. Until you can see what I see.” You choked out a laugh through your tears and leaned into the warmth of his palm. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe—maybe you weren’t too little. Maybe you were just enough.
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst headcanons#twst x reader#riddle rosehearts#riddle rosehearts x reader#riddle x reader#twst riddle
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Blot!reader pt. 8
Part 8 to this
This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.
The days blurred together, spinning like a carousel that had lost its rhythm—too fast, too bright, too sweet in all the wrong ways. It was beautiful, almost nostalgically so, but nauseating. As if time had decided to move forward with a cruel sort of cheer, indifferent to the heaviness you carried with each step.
After that night, no one asked questions.
Perhaps they didn't know how. Perhaps they feared the answers. Or maybe, deep down, they understood that no explanation offered could make any of it easier to bear. No truth would be gentle enough to soothe the ache or clean enough to satisfy curiosity.
The Blot, once a constant presence—whispering in corners of your mind, teasing you, luring and lamenting in equal measure—had gone quiet. It had curled into some hidden recess of your mind and fallen silent. No more murmurs. No more laughter. Not even sorrow.
Just stillness.
And in that silence, the days continued. Time didn't heal so much as it dulled. The pain didn't vanish, but its edges softened, becoming something you could carry without crumbling.
Word of your circumstances had reached others too. Rook, ever the optimist, had suggested involving more minds might help—perhaps a collective pursuit would bring clarity, or even a solution. But all it did was wrap you in an uncomfortable awareness. You weren't a mystery to solve. You were a burden to be managed.
A melancholy settled over campus like mist, creeping into everything and everyone. Even the most powerful students, the most composed individuals, wore subtle changes in their expressions. It was like ripples in still water—small, but undeniable. You noticed them. And worse, you knew you had caused them.
Ruggie caught your eye in passing once. His ears drooped, not out of fear this time, but something gentler. Understanding, maybe. He shifted his weight like he might walk toward you—might say something—but in the end, he turned away. He didn't blame you. He knew what happened was terrifying. But he also knew you were terrified too. Still, things weren't the same, and that subtle drift between you stung sharper than outright blame ever could.
Then there was Riddle.
He said nothing. But you caught him watching you in the reflection of your teacup—eyes focused not on your face, but on the quiet tension in your hands, the way you rubbed the edge of the porcelain like it might fray under your touch. Your tea had gone cold long ago, but you remained seated, fingers tracing delicate swirls as if hoping to anchor yourself in something familiar.
In a quiet, grand gesture of hope—or maybe desperation—Heartslabyul's signature rose guardian had been unearthed. The flowers replanted, replaced with blooms of your choosing. Riddle hadn't mentioned it aloud. He didn't need to. Somewhere beneath his rules and routines, he hoped you'd still be around when the first buds opened. As if time itself could become a clock, counting down not to an end—but to a beginning.
One late night, as you lay motionless in bed, half-present and barely breathing through the static of your own thoughts, a soft ping from your phone flickered through the silence. The shadows in your room flickered, signaling that the Blot had also been startled by the sound. Idia had sent you a message—long, rambling, awkward, and painfully sincere. He apologized for the last tense interaction, for the things he'd said and the things he hadn't. Attached were coordinates.
Curiosity, or maybe something gentler than that, stirred in your chest as you followed them in-game.
What waited for you was a massive, underground bunker built block by block with obsessive care—stocked with everything you liked and needed, every silly item you'd once casually mentioned, every rare collectible he knew you adored, and even every animal—tamable and untamable—neatly confined in entity-friendly spaces as well. It was a digital sanctuary, crafted with shaking hands and a quiet breaking heart. He didn't say he missed you. He didn't have to. The base was the confession.
Idia: I just want you to keep going. Even if it's not for me.
His last message read, surprisingly written with perfect grammar.
Meanwhile, outside your actual window, Malleus continued his nightly rituals. The gentle tap of wind or the faint glimmer of magic was all that marked his passing. The gifts he left behind were unique and otherworldly—small fae tokens: a branch from his favorite tree, a stone somehow carved into an intricate small gargoyle, a piece of glass shaped like a tear that never fell. Each one left in hope, in helplessness, in longing. He was trying to help. Trying to understand. But even the great faerie prince could not comprehend the wound inside you, only mourn that he couldn't soothe it.
Silver never said much. His silences were eloquent and graceful. He continued his quiet patrols past Ramshackle, watching from a respectful distance. He'd always been a guardian of dreams and peace—but he couldn't guard you from yourself. Or the Blot. So instead, he left small flowers woven into crowns and rings on your doorstep when he could, humble blooms from his walks. But they were always wilted by morning. As if even nature understood the fragility of his offering.
You never mentioned the state you often found them in, not wanting to see the boy wilt himself.
The Yuus were gentler now, but more intense in their presence. Always hovering, always nearby. They didn't speak of the truth—but it haunted the spaces between your conversations. The weight of your confession clung to them like a second skin. They smiled at you as if afraid the wrong word might shatter the air around you.
You hated the way they all looked at you—as if you were glass set on the edge of a high shelf. As if breathing too hard might tip you over.
But the truth?
Nothing had changed.
Not really.
Somewhere deep down, you had already made your choice—long before any of them noticed the fracture. It sat inside you like a quiet star: constant, cold, inevitable. You didn't know when the moment would come, only that you'd know it when it did.
And for all their efforts—sweet, sincere, achingly kind—you couldn't be saved in the way they hoped. But overtime it became painfully clear how difficult that goal truly was.
And it wasn't their fault.
It only made the guilt worse.
Like a debt you wished they'd stop trying to repay.
Because the person they were fighting to save—the one who had held them all together—was slipping quietly out of reach. And no one, not even you, knew if they could come back.
The news spread like fire on dry grass—swift, bright, and impossible to ignore.
A way home had been found.
Reactions rippled across campus in a tangled mess of emotions: elation, sorrow, disbelief, anxiety, longing. Some students whispered with hope in their voices; others stared blankly at the walls, caught in a strange limbo of what-ifs and memories. And through it all, one truth remained: you had changed them.
The way people looked at you—the way they felt about you—had shifted. No longer were you just a strange newcomer from another world. Somewhere along the line, you'd become theirs. A friend, a rival, a confidant, a source of chaos and comfort.
And now you were all leaving.
Headmage Crowley called a formal meeting, though even he lacked his usual flair. He stood a little straighter than usual, voice more solemn than usual. The mirror home was open, stable. The stars had aligned in a rare cosmic arrangement. The gate thrummed with raw energy—ready to bring you back where it all began.
Your world. Or... was it?
Because deep inside you, a whisper lingered. Faint. Familiar. The Blot's story. The idea that this—this—was your real world. That your soul had bloomed here once before. Perhaps that's why the ocean reached for you on calm days, why the wind danced with you when you in lonely moments, why the snow and sun kissed you with reverence instead of indifference.
The world here didn't just accept you. It welcomed you. Embraced you. And so did the people within it.
And as the final day drew nearer, fleeting moments played in your mind like petals caught in a breeze:
Deuce had leaned over during class, whispering urgently as if trying to catch time by the tail. His teal eyes shimmered with quiet urgency, like deep ponds stirred with emotion. "You should text me if you go," he said, lips tugged into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "All of us. Even if it's like... cross-dimensional." It wasn't meant to sway your choice, just a promise: you are loved here.
Leona dropped his thoughts at lunch like they didn't weigh as much as they clearly did. He sat across from you, lazily pushing a tray your way. "Ordered too much." he muttered—though you both knew he didn't. As you ate, his gaze lingered, not on your face, but on the simple fact that you were still here. Still present. Still real. "You're stronger than you think. Even without all that Blot junk." The lion gave a soft scoff, one ear flicking. "You'd fit in at the Sunset Savanna. People respect lions there. And you have the strength of a Lion." You knew what he meant: There was a place waiting for you.
And Kalim? He couldn't sit still. Ever since the news broke, he'd been rushing around like a whirlwind of joy and dread, putting together elaborate gift boxes for each of you. Trinkets, silks, spices, ornate keepsakes—things that would make jaws drop back in your world. He said it was so you'd never forget him. And oddly enough, Jamil never once protested. He simply helped. Quietly. Carefully. Like he, too, wanted to give you something that could never be repaid.
The hour before your departure arrived too quickly, yet dragged with unbearable weight.
Within the quiet hush of the Mirror Chamber, everything was illuminated by an eerie softness—like the world itself knew this was a moment it should handle delicately. The usual chatter had fallen to a hush. The air was heavy with unsaid things.
Trey approaches first, carrying bags loaded with care. You could tell he'd packed them himself. Neatly arranged inside were tarts—your favorites—alongside sweets he'd made over the years. Some were crumbling a little from being hastily prepared. Others were packed carefully in tins or paper to preserve their shape. Between them, he'd slipped in small, handwritten notes. Jokes. Memories. Reminders. Pieces of a life he can't follow.
"For the road," he said, voice rough and cracked, like he hadn't spoken all morning. Not quite the easygoing Trey you remembered. As Yuuken reached in to quietly take one of the signature sweets, there was a shared understanding—this was the last taste of Heartslabyul you would have. The last sweetness made for you.
The Mirror Chamber had filled with those closest to you, all huddled in a makeshift half-circle, as though any moment now they'd try to block the mirror with their bodies. A final attempt to keep you here.
Confessions clung to the walls like mold. Unspoken apologies floated like dust in the morning light. It felt like being at the edge of something vast—something you couldn't see beyond, but could feel.
Vil approached you next. Always composed, always immaculate, his heels clicked quietly against the floorboards as he came to fix your collar. His fingers moved with precision, but his touch lingered just a second longer than it needed to.
"You've always made an impression," he said, eyes narrowing though the edges of his expression faltered, "Now make an even better one when you go back. Hold your head high. Don't cry in front of that portal." His voice lowered, the gentleness slipping out against his will. "You deserve to leave with dignity. After everything, you deserve it."
You stood surrounded by uncharacteristic warmth, by familiarity, by those you'd once hated, distrusted, or even feared—only to later realize their cruelty wasn't personal. They'd simply been broken in their own ways, the reality around all of you unknowingly manipulated by something beyond comprehension. And still, you had come to matter to them.
The mirror at the center of the room pulsed gently, casting an otherworldly green glow that flickered across their faces—across your face. The kind of glow that seemed to hum with power, with promise.
Beyond that glass: a world you had once called home. You could almost hear it—distant sounds, the hush of a subway station, the hum of the bus, rain against a window, a fan left on all year. You could smell it, too—concrete warmed by the sun, your favorite food spot down the street, old paper and familiar detergent.
It called to you like a siren, and inside, something shifted.
The Blot was silent now. Dormant. Patient. Maybe it hoped to return with you. Maybe it simply waited to see what you'd choose.
Because that's what this moment truly was: a choice.
You, standing between two lives. Two worlds. Two versions of yourself. Whole, but scattered. Loved, but always longing.
The mirror ripples.
And somewhere behind you, someone whispered—maybe it was Azul, perhaps Jamil—"Are you really going to leave?"
With Lilia's assistance, Grim carefully raised the old ghost camera to capture you all in a final, treasured moment. For once, the lens faces the Ramshackle Prefects and not their subjects; A final keepsake for those you're leaving behind.
You swallow down a lump in your throat as you watch the Yuus all leave one-by-one, your feet now rooted to the ground.
Your decision, chosen long ago, came into play now.
Break the contract.
Remain with the Blot.
Reach for him.
Go home.
Thank you all so much for following me on this journey through my second posted story since I was a kid.
I hope I wrote this well and many doubts still linger about it. Some parts I'm proud of, others I'm a little hesitant to admire.
Reading your comments and asks always made my day better and writing this gave me something to do. I apologize if the endings seemed shitty. The fanfic writer curse really got me while I was trying to write the endings and they're written pretty far apart from everything.
I hope I can keep improving on on writing, maybe I'll post another long fic like this but I'll likely do requests for smaller things if anyone would like.
All these endings took me a whole month. This part began on April 17th and it's now May 17th. I hope the long wait has been worth this for you all.
Again, thank you.
I've been thinking about writing my own original story if anybody would be interested. Though everything is rough in drafts.
taglist: @tachibubu @shirp-collector-of-fixations @goatsmilksblog @iris-arcadia @pumpkindevil @gabile18 @sugarxrt @fancyhawk45 @mewchiili @olxh @muffinenergy @citrus-cinnamon @boredselkie @tipsyon-tea @blerp-22 @is-it-night-or-day @xinfinityx @ashieeeesh @b0nesandskin @texas-fox @owl778 @ghostlysyntaxed @youwannatrade @jar-03 @brights-place @pebble-bb @boredwithlifeatthispoint @casperandcats @rinart89 @raineondrugs @o-ffic @chloemari-e @roseinbloom02 @mandalay7y @s0up-good @the-unhinged-raccoon @cecil-the-crybaby @mr-crawlings-wife @ironsaladwitch @kiki-kuku @annexblogs @linaaeatsfamilies @pokedragon7 @dondonrulerofall @heavy-blanket-enjoyer @bluewolfangel01 @m1lly69 @yesthisisrookhunt @sarraisme @blueberriesblueberri @gracegarnet @kttgwsh @yapper-and-dapper @kashasenpai
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst angst#twst fanfic#twst x reader#blot!reader#twst blot#blot x reader#rook hunt#ruggie bucchi#riddle rosehearts#idia shroud#malleus draconia#twst silver#twst yuu#leona kingscholar#kalim al asim#jamil viper#trey clover#vil schoenheit#azul ashengrotto#deuce spade
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Helloo! I've been binge reading ur work and GAHHH I LOVE IT SO MUCHHHH!
if its alright can I request a Lili De Rochefort! Reader (she's from tekken btw! )
With either the overblot bois or with the first years? (With Idia) if it's alright? ehehe ^^;;
lets go overblotters
Overblot Boys x Lili De Rochefort!Reader
General Concept:
You, the elegant yet formidable Yuu, are known across NRC not only for your refined manners and impeccable fashion sense, but also for your deadly skills in combat. Whether it's a magical duel, physical confrontation, or ballroom etiquette contest—you're at the top. Some call you spoiled. Others call you untouchable. Either way, you're fabulous.
Riddle Rosehearts:
At first, he thinks you’re infuriating. You're always late, you act like you're above the rules, and you gently refuse to bow to his authority—but in such a polished, refined way that it makes it impossible to punish you.
Until he sees you take down an enraged monster in one strike—in heels.
“You’re reckless! But… effective. I… admit, your talents are admirable. Just don’t flaunt them so… excessively.”
You: “My dear Riddle, elegance and ability are meant to be admired. You wouldn’t hide a rose, would you?” Cue the vein popping on his forehead—and the blush right after.
Leona Kingscholar:
He was unimpressed at first. Another pretty, pampered noble? Whatever. But after you flipped Jack (literally) during a training demo, Leona had to reevaluate.
“Heh. You’ve got claws under that silk. Maybe you’re not as useless as you look.”
You: “Darling, I never look useless. You just weren’t paying attention.”
He smirks. Now he watches your every move—like a lion intrigued by a glittering blade.
Azul Ashengrotto:
Azul underestimated you once—and only once. You danced circles around him in a duel, humiliating him in front of the Lounge staff. Now he tries to get on your good side through… business.
“You know, I could offer you an exclusive partnership. We’d be quite the power duo.”
You: “Azul, I don’t sign contracts. I negotiate empires. But I’ll consider dinner.”
He's sweating—but also simping.
Jamil Viper:
You get Jamil. The act. The hidden sharpness. You recognize a fellow masked blade.
You both end up in a sarcastic, deadly pas de deux—matching in wit and intensity.
“You don’t trust easily, do you?”
You: “Neither do you. But you’re welcome to try and earn it.”
There’s a glint of mutual respect. Maybe even a smile.
Vil Schoenheit:
Rivals. Allies. Foes in fashion and finesse. You’re the only one who can match Vil in both looks and raw power—and he knows it.
“Try not to outshine me on stage.”
You: “Oh, Vil. I don’t try—I do.”
You’ve had full-blown beauty duels over lipstick shade choices. It’s intense. Epel watches from the sidelines like it’s a gladiator match.
Idia Shroud:
He didn’t know what to do with you. You’re like a video game boss—elegant, powerful, and terrifyingly pretty.
When you approached him in the lab, he nearly short-circuited.
“U-uh... p-p-please don’t kill me… Wait, why are you smiling like that?!”
You: “I just wanted to know if you liked this new outfit. You’re so cute when you panic~”
Now he refuses to open his door without checking the hallway first. You scare him—and he has the biggest crush on you.
Malleus Draconia:
You're one of the few people who treats Malleus like an equal—no fear, no reverence. Just elegance and charm. He’s intrigued.
“Most fear me. You don’t.”
You: “I’ve danced with demons, darling. A dragon? How refreshing.”
Malleus is enchanted. Literally. He offers to walk with you under the moonlight—and if anyone threatens you, they're ash.
#twst#twst x reader#twst wonderland#twst headcanons#riddle rosehearts x y/n#riddle x yuu#riddle x reader#twst riddle#riddle rosehearts#leona twisted wonderland#leona kingscholar x reader#leona x reader#twst leona#leona kingscholar#azul ashengrotto x yuu#azul x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#azul#twst azul#azul ashengrotto#jamil x yuu#twst jamil#jamil viper x reader#twisted wonderland jamil#jamil x reader#jamil viper#vil schoenheit x you#vil schoenheit x reader#vil x reader#vil
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Since it's Father's Day at the time of typing this, how would the babies celebrate Father's Day? For example, the peachicks trying to make a crown for Vil out of their shed feathers, or Mailk having the Human's help to cook something for Kalim, or how about Petal making a flower crown and necklace for Riddle.
Warnings: Half-Humans being cute with their fathers, platonic yanderes,


Impisa begs The Human to help her make a good feast for Ruggie, doing everything she can to make food for her papa whom she loves so much. She snacks throughout cooking on the food and Ruggie- because he knows she is trying to surprise him- keeps his distance and acts surprised so Impisa feels like she has succeeded in getting him a gift and surprising him with it. They spend all day playing chase and rough-housing.


Vil's chicks actually surprise him on set while he is filming. He completely forgot it was even Father's day, but the chicks didn't and Eric didn't. Eric is the primary baby sitter, but the entire shoot stops the second any of the producers notice the chicks and begin cooing over them. They are quick to swarm Vil and cuddle into him, wishing him a happy Father's day. No more filming gets done as Vil spends the rest of the day with is babies. The other actors, producers, and directors are all head-over-heels for the little chicks and indulge the tiny terrors any time they want something.


The Royal Clutch don't know it is Father's day, but they are always ready to bother their father and hang off of his tail/wings no matter what time it is or what he is doing. He could be in the middle of heated meetings with Queen Helena from the Queendom of Roses in an attempt to strike up a close alliance with Briar Valley, and in come the Royal Hatchlings, as precious as can be, waddling their chubby little legs over to their father with indignant squeaks and cries for attention. Queen Helena feels nothing but sheer maternal instinct upon seeing the veritable rainbow of dragons screaming at their father for attention. Malleus puts the meeting on hold and cuddles the babies until they have their fill and run back to the Human. There is no telling infant Dragons 'no' because they don't care and don't understand anyways.

Selene is making drawings, cards, and food, for Lilia. She is thrilled to show him what she can do and he is happy to praise her for it. She already spends so much time with her Papa, she is just happy to spend time with him. Lilia is equally happy to have so much time with his little girl, he will dress up in a tutu and have a tea-party with his little girl. The whole day and night is just for Lilia to spend time with his daughter and it is clear he loves her all the more for it.


Petal makes flower crowns for herself and Riddle, so excited to show him she almost trips on her little hooves and almost falls because of how excited she is to give him the gift. Riddle cries. He flat out sobs in joy at the little gift Petal has made for him and spends all day playing games with her and nearly having a heart-attack when Trey shows up to teach Petal how to swim. He is the definition of a stressed father and will pace the bank of the lake while squealing at Trey to be careful with Petal.

The Human is both mother and father to Grim, so he will be spending the day with the Human and cuddling them happily. He adores the Human no matter what. If anyone questions Grim as to why he insists on Mother's day and Father's day being spent with The Human, Grim will scream that the Human is his Mother AND Father. he just wants to be around the Human he sees as his parent.
#kiame-sama#humans are extinct twst au#tw yandere#platonic yandere#hae grim#hae malleus#hae lilia#hae Riddle#hae Vil#hae Ruggie#hae hatchlings#hae gnoll cub#hae peachicks#hae unicorn foal#hae bat pup
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ive been relistening to the villains' songs like be prepared and poor unfortunate souls and it got me wondering if i could request for the overblotted boy reacting to a reader, whos usually pretty docile and a textbook example of a "good person", singing their respective villains' songs. Except that reader's extremely expressive through their voice and movements. so much so that they look and sound so villainous that its a complete 180 from their usual self. maybe reader was just vibing to themselves and their inner theater nerd came out and was just having the time of their life and the boys just so happen to be around and heard them. how would they react? :D
Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil reacting to reader singing their Villain songs
a/n; i know overblot gang was requested but evil queen, maleficent and hades don't have villain songs so i hope this is fine!
Riddle Rosehearts
Riddle wasn’t sure what drew him to the courtyard that afternoon. Perhaps it was the faint melody drifting through the air, or the infectious energy radiating from the sound. But when he turned the corner, what he saw rooted him to the spot.
There you were, standing on one of the stone benches with an invisible spotlight illuminating your every move. Your normally calm, good-natured demeanor was gone, replaced by a commanding presence that demanded attention.
You sang “Who’s been painting my roses red?” with a voice that was equal parts theatrical and menacing. Your gestures were grand, your expression shifting effortlessly between outrage and cruel amusement as if you were a monarch addressing trembling subjects. It was captivating. It was terrifying. It was… perfect.
Riddle’s breath hitched as he watched you embody the very spirit of the Queen of Hearts. The fervor in your movements, the intensity in your voice—it was as though you had stepped out of one of his cherished childhood storybooks. You pointed an accusatory finger at a nonexistent offender, your voice dripping with venom as you declared, “Off with their heads!”
His heart pounded against his ribcage. Was this the same person who handed out snacks to dormmates without asking for anything in return? Who was always ready with a kind word, a helping hand, or a soft laugh?
And yet… this was you too. A side of you he’d never seen. Bold, commanding, unyielding.
Riddle swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up his neck. It was almost unfair how effortlessly you seemed to channel the Queen of Hearts he revered. How could you embody such power and poise when you were usually so… so… docile? His admiration mixed with a bewildering flush of pride.
You didn’t notice him, completely immersed in your impromptu performance. With a dramatic flourish, you ended the song, holding an invisible scepter aloft as if ruling over a kingdom of trembling subjects.
The silence that followed was deafening.
It was only then that you spotted him, his wide eyes and flushed face a dead giveaway that he’d seen the entire thing. Your mouth fell open, and you scrambled off the bench, your cheeks burning as you sputtered, “Riddle! I-I didn’t see you there!”
His lips moved as though he wanted to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, after a long moment, he managed, “That… was remarkable.”
“Remarkable?” you repeated, unsure if that was a compliment or a polite way of saying What on earth was that?
Riddle stepped closer, his expression torn between awe and embarrassment. “You—you truly embodied the spirit of the Queen of Hearts. Your intensity, your conviction…” He paused, his voice softening. “It was admirable. Inspiring, even.”
You blinked, stunned. “I was just messing around… You really think so?”
His cheeks burned brighter as he averted his gaze. “It’s… rare to see someone honor her so… naturally. I admire your passion. It’s…” He hesitated before meeting your eyes. “...beautiful.”
Your breath caught, and for a moment, you both stood in awkward silence, the weight of his words settling between you. Then, with a nervous laugh, you scratched the back of your head. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show, Your Honor.”
Riddle’s lips twitched, almost into a smile. “I did.” Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “I always do.”
Leona Kingscholar
Leona wasn’t the type to eavesdrop. Not intentionally, anyway. But when he heard a low, familiar melody echoing from one of the quiet courtyards, his ears twitched involuntarily. Curiosity got the better of him, and he sauntered toward the sound.
What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
There you were, pacing back and forth on the edge of a stone fountain like a monarch surveying their pride. Your voice rang out—low, powerful, dripping with calculated malice—as you sang “Be prepared!” You punctuated the words with dramatic gestures, your arms sweeping through the air as if commanding an invisible army.
Leona’s tail flicked, his sharp green eyes narrowing. Where was the soft-spoken person he knew? The one who gave others the benefit of the doubt even when they didn’t deserve it? The one who, annoyingly, always had a kind smile ready for anyone in need?
No, this was someone else entirely. Someone confident. Dangerous. Mesmerizing.
“Meticulous planning, tenacity spanning, decades of denial…” Your voice grew stronger with each line, rising and falling in time with your movements. The sneer on your lips, the glint in your eyes—it was uncanny. You weren’t just singing the King of Beasts’ song. You were the King of Beasts.
Leona’s chest tightened as he watched you embody everything he admired about his ancestor. The cunning, the ambition, the audacity to demand a throne that should have been his by right. He knew those feelings well, knew the fire that came with them. And yet, seeing you channel them so effortlessly… it struck a chord he hadn’t expected.
And damn, if you didn’t look good doing it.
You reached the final verse, throwing your arms wide with a triumphant grin. “Yes, our teeth and ambitions are bared—be prepared!” Your voice echoed in the empty courtyard, the last note lingering in the air as you struck a dramatic pose.
Silence followed. Then—
“Didn’t know you had it in you, Herbivore.”
You jumped, nearly toppling into the fountain. “Leona!” you yelped, whipping around to see him leaning against a pillar, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his face.
“How long were you standing there?” you demanded, your cheeks heating up.
“Long enough.” He pushed off the pillar and strolled toward you, his gaze sharp and appraising. “You’ve been holding out on me, huh? All this time, you’ve been playin’ the meek little herbivore act, and now I catch you out here auditioning for the role of a lifetime.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I was just goofing around! It’s not like—ugh, I can’t believe you saw that.”
He chuckled, low and deep. “Relax. I’m not complainin’. You nailed it, by the way. The whole ambition thing? Kinda suits you.”
You peeked at him from between your fingers, unsure if he was teasing or being sincere. “You’re not… weirded out?”
“Why would I be?” He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “You were channeling the King of Beasts, weren’t you? ‘Course you looked good doin’ it.”
His words made your heart skip, but before you could respond, he leaned in closer, his green eyes glinting. “Still, you’ve got guts pullin’ that off. You keep surprising me, Herbivore. I’ll give you that.”
Your face felt like it was on fire, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Well… thanks, I guess.”
He straightened, hands sliding into his pockets as he turned to leave. “Don’t stop on my account. You wanna belt out another song, go for it. Maybe I’ll even join in next time.”
And with that, he walked away, his tail swaying lazily behind him.
You stared after him, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t quite understand. “Join in?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”
But the thought of Leona singing Be Prepared with you? You couldn’t help but smile.
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul always prided himself on keeping a calm, collected demeanor. It was part of the image he'd cultivated—smooth, sophisticated, and utterly unflappable. But today? Today, he felt his composure teetering on a knife’s edge.
He hadn’t meant to stumble across you in an empty classroom, where you apparently thought you were alone. The soft hum of music drew his attention as he passed by, and curiosity had compelled him to take a peek.
And there you were.
The typically sweet, mild-mannered person he knew had vanished, replaced by someone utterly commanding. You were perched on the edge of a table, one hand gesturing grandly as your voice rang out:
"Poor unfortunate souls, in pain, in need!"
Azul froze, the words sending a shiver down his spine. Your tone was rich, dripping with confidence, and paired with the way you moved—calculated, fluid, like every motion had a purpose—you were magnetic. You swept your arm out with a flourish, mimicking the sea witch herself, your voice curling around each word with wicked glee.
"This one longing to be thinner, that one wants to get the girl..."
Azul’s breath caught. You weren’t just singing the song. You were the song. The sly glances, the theatrical gestures, the sharp, knowing smile—you were embodying the Sea Witch in a way that made his heart race.
How had he never seen this side of you before?
"And do I help them? Yes, indeed!"
Your voice climbed, bold and commanding, and Azul’s mind raced. The way you seemed to channel the Sea Witch—the cunning, the control, the sheer power—it was breathtaking. You reminded him of everything he admired about the Sea Witch. The very traits that he also had.
But seeing you like this? It felt... dangerous.
"Now it’s happened once or twice, someone couldn’t pay the price...”
You leaned forward, your expression devious, and Azul’s chest tightened. He suddenly felt like one of those poor, unfortunate souls, utterly captivated and completely at your mercy.
The song ended with a flourish, and you threw your arms out, basking in your imaginary spotlight.
That’s when you noticed him.
“Azul?!” you yelped, nearly toppling off the table. “What are you doing here?”
He took a moment to collect himself, smoothing his expression into something neutral—though the faint pink dusting his cheeks betrayed him. “I was just passing by,” he said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Your face turned red as you scrambled to stand. “Oh, I was just... uh, messing around! It’s nothing serious.”
“Nothing serious?” His voice came out sharper than he intended. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That performance was incredible.”
You blinked, startled. “You think so?”
“Without a doubt.” His voice softened, but his gaze remained intense. “You… embodied the role perfectly. The confidence, the cunning—you channeled it all flawlessly.”
You laughed nervously, rubbing the back of your neck. “Thanks, but I was just having fun. I didn’t think anyone would actually see me.”
“Perhaps you should reconsider,” he said, his tone almost too casual. “If you ever decide to pursue a career in theater, you’d be quite formidable.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “You really mean that?”
Azul’s smile was small but genuine. “Absolutely. Though, if I may… I’d suggest not showing that side of yourself to just anyone.”
“Why not?” you asked, puzzled.
He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Because power like that can be… intoxicating. And there are those who might exploit it.”
You stared at him, unsure how to respond. The way he looked at you—like you were a puzzle he desperately wanted to solve—made your heart skip.
Azul cleared his throat again, stepping back as if realizing how close he’d gotten. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your… ‘messing around.’”
As he turned to leave, you called out, “Azul?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not going to, like, hold this over my head, are you?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Now, would I ever do something like that?”
You groaned, throwing your head back. “Why did I even ask?”
His laughter echoed down the hall as he walked away, leaving you to wonder if you’d just made a mistake—or if you’d unintentionally gained his admiration. Either way, the image of Azul’s flustered expression was one you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.
Jamil Viper
Jamil had long mastered the art of blending into the background, observing the world from the sidelines without drawing attention to himself. It was how he kept control, how he stayed one step ahead. But today, his usually composed exterior faltered.
He wasn’t sure what compelled him to stop by the empty classroom, but when he pushed the door open, his entire world shifted.
You were there.
Gone was the gentle, kind presence he had grown used to. Instead, you were standing atop a low table, your expression sharp and commanding, your hands sweeping through the air as if conjuring storms with your words.
"Prince Ali? Yes, it is he, but not as you know him!"
Jamil froze. Your voice was rich, dripping with mockery and power, a far cry from the sweet tone you usually used. You stalked across the small space, throwing your arms out dramatically as you continued the song, your movements perfectly embodying the calculated, theatrical confidence of the Sorcerer of the Sands himself.
"Read my lips and come to grips with reality!"
Your voice curled around the words, biting and sardonic, and Jamil felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. You were into it. Every gesture, every word carried weight, as if you were performing for an audience of thousands instead of an empty room.
He had always admired the Sorcerer of the Sands—not just for his cleverness, but for his ambition, his cunning, the way he refused to settle for the scraps the world threw him. Watching you now, it was as if you’d plucked that same spirit from the pages of a storybook and breathed it into life.
"His personality flaws give me adequate cause..."
You spun dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at an imaginary audience, your expression fierce. For a moment, Jamil almost believed you were chastising him, and his heart skipped a beat.
He should look away. He should leave before you noticed him. But he couldn’t. He was rooted to the spot, utterly captivated.
"To send him packing on a one-way trip, so his prospects take a terminal dip!"
You ended with a flourish, holding your arms out as if soaking in invisible applause, a self-satisfied smirk curling your lips.
And then you saw him.
“Jamil?!” you yelped, nearly losing your balance in surprise.
He stepped forward, trying to look impassive even though his heart was still racing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever that was.”
Your face turned a deep shade of red. “I was just, uh, messing around! I didn’t think anyone was here.”
“That much was clear.” His voice was calm, but his eyes betrayed him. They lingered on you a moment too long, taking in the faint flush on your cheeks, the sparkle in your eyes, the way your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath.
You fidgeted, smoothing your clothes. “It’s nothing, really. Just a silly song.”
“Silly?” He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “That performance was anything but silly.”
Your embarrassment deepened. “You don’t have to mock me, you know.”
“I’m not mocking you,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat, glancing away. “It was… impressive. You captured the essence of the character perfectly.”
“Really?”
Jamil sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yes. The confidence, the control, the edge of menace—it was all there. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were plotting to overthrow a kingdom.”
You laughed nervously. “Guess I just got carried away.”
“Carried away...” he murmured, his gaze softening. The truth was, watching you like that had shaken something loose in him. Seeing you embody the cunning, ambitious traits he admired so deeply—it was almost too much.
“Anyway,” you said, hopping off the table. “I’ll just pretend this never happened if you will.”
Jamil smirked faintly. “As you wish.”
But as you walked past him, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, watching the way you moved, still radiating the energy of the sorcerer you’d been channeling moments ago.
Masterlist
#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twisted wonderland#riddle rosehearts x reader#riddle x reader#riddle rosehearts#leona kingscholar x reader#leona x reader#leona kingscholar#azul x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#azul ashengrotto#jamil viper x reader#jamil x reader#jamil viper
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Since the NRC Nightmare cast is trapped in Halloween Town with nowhere to sleep, they all end up camping out in the Assembly Hall and have to sleep on the pew benches 😭
The reason I want to talk about this is because it reveals a lot about some of the character's morning routines we didn't know yet which I find funny and cute
It starts with Sebek, who has been awake since before the sun rose, becoming everyone's alarm clock

He makes it a point to wake up early every morning so that he can be presentable as early as possible lmao (also he has no problem sleeping in hard places, so long as he has a roof over his head he's content. It's all that training he does lol)
Jamil can't even fathom how Sebek can wake up refreshed without an alarm clock (because Jamil always needs an alarm clock to wake up) and Sebek's just like 'I'm built different'
He also reveals that Skully left earlier to watch the sunrise and will be back.


Of the people Sebek woke up with his yelling, there's MC, Grim, Jamil, Epel, Idia, Riddle, Trey, Vil and Azul
The people who DIDN'T wake up are Leona, Malleus, and Jade.


Malleus sleeps like a vampire lmao
One moment he's asleep, the next moment he's instantly completely awake (Trey also comments that he wakes up looking perfect too like damn)

Jade finds hard surfaces oh so comfy from his many camping trips and is also just equally unbothered by Sebek's screaming.

Then there's master eeper Leona who, despite complaining, sleeps well literally anywhere to other's jealousy

When Skully comes back it's revealed he straight up didn't sleep at all. What was he doing the whole night before getting up to walk around and watch the sunrise 🤨
Either way, I thought this interaction was fun and I learned something new about everyone, hopefully they can get actual blankets soon.
#twst#twst nightmare before christmas#malleus draconia#leona kingscholar#jade leech#sebek zigvolt#NEWS TO ME Sebek is always up bright and early naturally and Mal is a deep sleeper#or Mal probably sleeps in the early morning hours because he seems to be up late at night in the main story and vignettes
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conquering fears | soft!mattheo riddle | flufftober masterlist | 1.1k words
You crouched at the corner of the room, arms wrapped around your knees as if you could make yourself invisible from the zombies and serial killers that were out to get you. Masked men just playing a role, you reminded yourself.
Whose bright idea was it to voluntarily pay to walk through a dark building filled with everything that nightmares are made of? Oh, it was yours. You groaned inwardly. This year's Halloween was supposed to be a time for conquering fears. Yet all you mastered was the art of cowering. You sighed and set a new goal for yourself: set smarter goals.
Movement in the corner of your eye brought you back to the present. You had been spotted. Your breathing grows ragged as your muscles stiffened. Tears pricked your eyes, but you paused when he raised his hands, signaling he was not a threat.
"Hey hey, it's okay," he said, his voice so gentle you forgot for a moment you were at a haunted house. Slowly, he removed his mask, tousled hair spilling down his forehead. You looked over his face, eyes bright and jaw sharp. He's cute.
He approached you cautiously as he lowered himself to meet you at eye level. "I'm Mattheo," he said, offering you a small smile. You introduced yourself, trying to find your voice.
“Let’s get out of here, okay?” He asked, his voice soft, as he extended his hand towards you.
You eyed it suspiciously, face burning with shame, “you probably think I’m a coward.”
“I may be wearing a mask, but those dolls,” he said, pointing to the shelf across you, “also freak me out. This whole thing is designed to frighten you, so of course you’re scared.” He shrugged as if it was no big deal.
A small smile broke across your features, “but you work here for fun.”
His eyebrow quirked at your remark, “and how can you tell?”
You leaned in closer to the space between his neck and shoulder. You sniffed to confirm your first impression, “expensive cologne,” you said pointedly. “You’re not in it for the money, you’re here because it’s fun.”
He tilts his head so you’re looking at him again. As your eyes met, you realized how much closer he was. You could feel his warm breath on your face as he smiled at you to confirm you were right. His heat radiated towards you, melting the chill down your spine. You felt yourself relax in the presence of this stranger and it sparked your curiosity. “Why do you enjoy it?”
“Okay, Sherlock,” he said, moving back. His sudden distance echoed in the space between you and you already missed how close he was, how safe you felt with him. You nearly reached your hand out. Instead your vision went dark, “I’ll show you why.”
You felt his arms around your head and delicious jolts of electricity moved through you as he adjusted the straps to your face, fitting it to you. “Be my parter in crime?” He asked with a twinkle in his eye, hand outstretched once again.
“However could I refuse?” You asked, gesturing to the mask that was already on your face. Your heart sped up, in excitement this time as you took his hand and rose up off the ground. He brought you towards him, bodies flushed together as he leaned in to whisper. “You’re a monster out to hunt your prey. You’re in control here, now go show them just what you’re made of!” he said, by way of a pep talk.
You were made of jelly legs and rosy cheeks. That was probably not what he meant. You were grateful this time when he stepped away. You took a moment to gather yourself, channeling your inner fire.
He brought you to another corner of the room where you could hide together and scare unsuspecting visitors. The first time you both leapt out from your hiding space, you screamed at the same time the guests screamed, equally frightened by their terror. Mattheo wrapped an arm around your waist instinctively, to remind you that you were perfectly safe.
When they ran off, still screaming, you found yourself laughing off the adrenaline and how silly it all was. “Fine, I get it,” you said after a while, when you lost count of just how many you had managed to scare. “This is fun,” you grinned beneath your mask. While he couldn’t see you, Mattheo grinned back.
“Come on,” he said, taking your hand once again as he led you through the haunted house. You were fearless this time, managing to scare other actors in masks. The hallways were filled with yours and Mattheo’s laughter, adding a layer of mischief to all the screams around you.
Before you knew it, you reached the end of the haunted house and you were not yet ready to say goodbye to this stranger. This could be the start of something. You led the way this time, shoving his shoulders back into the wall. He laughed in surprise, his eyes searching yours.
It felt good to conquer your fears, but you couldn’t have done it without Mattheo’s help. You took the mask off in one swift motion as you strode towards him. You needed to conquer your fears all by yourself and there was one thing that only the fearless version of yourself could do. You clutched the mask as you steeled yourself, smirking. As you closed the distance, your lips came crashing down on his.
You felt him freeze for a second before he smiled against your lips. His hands found its way to the back of your head and neck as he pulled you closer towards him. Your hand snaked through his curls, they were even softer than you imagined and you tugged at them. He moaned in response, of course he was a masochist. Your lips moved in sync as if you had been practicing for years. And of all the things that took your breath away today, this was your favorite.
When you both came up for air, you admired your handiwork - his messy hair and crumpled shirt. “That was to say thank you, for helping me,” you explained.
“Well, then I’ll give you more reasons to thank me,” he declared, his hand still playing with your hair. “Have dinner with me?”
Your brow furrowed, “don’t you have to finish the rest of your shift?”
He grinned, “I don’t actually work here, I was just a knobhead who wanted to scare the actors.”
“So you don’t just conquer your fears, you fight fire with fire,” you nodded. “A knobhead, in short.”
He raised his hands with a scoff, “hey, at least I’m self aware.”
“Can’t hold that against you,” you agreed.
“I know other things you could hold against me,” he quipped.
“Hey,” you smacked his shoulder, “at least buy me dinner first.”
“That’s the plan,” he said, leading you out. “Enough tricks for today, it’s time to get you a treat.”
#flufftober on emerald clouds#flufftober#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle fluff#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle x you#mattheo riddle#slytherin boys#amongemeraldcloudswrites#amongemeraldclouds fluff
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Since we have Kaveh and Veritas as a poly couple. What about Alhaitham and Argenti? It might be a little stretch but, seems like a fun and interesting dynamic.
Anyway headcannons for a relationship with Alhaitham and Argenti!
Roses and Riddles
Tags: Argenti x Reader x Alhaitham, Polyamory, Headcanons, Slow Burn, Opposites Attract, Fluff, Domestic Moments, Protective Lovers, Philosophical Debates, Sword Fights & Sparring, Soft & Subtle Affection, Found Family Vibes.
Warnings: Mild Bickering, Protectiveness, Different Love Languages, Slight Angst, Emotional Whiplash.





You're caught between two vastly different yet equally devoted lovers—Argenti, the poetic and chivalrous knight, and Alhaitham, the pragmatic and intellectual scholar. Despite their contrasts, they form an unexpectedly balanced trio, each complementing the other in unique ways.
Argenti expresses his love through grand gestures, poetic praise, and unwavering devotion. Alhaitham, on the other hand, prefers quiet acts of service, logical discussions, and an unspoken understanding that speaks volumes.
While Argenti cherishes beauty and righteousness, Alhaitham values knowledge and reason. You're often the mediator when their philosophies clash—though deep down, they respect each other immensely.
Mornings are a mix of chaos and tranquility. Argenti wakes up early, eager to greet the sun with poetic musings, while Alhaitham groggily pulls you back into bed, muttering about how it’s "too early for theatrics." You’re left to decide whether to bask in the sunrise with Argenti or steal a few more moments of sleep with Alhaitham.
Sparring sessions between Argenti and Alhaitham are a spectacle—one fights with passion and righteousness, the other with calculated precision. They may argue over techniques, but both agree on one thing: making sure you can defend yourself.
Evenings often consist of soft moments—Argenti strumming a lute, attempting to compose a ballad in your honor, while Alhaitham sits beside you, absorbed in a book, one hand absentmindedly tracing circles on your palm.
When Alhaitham and Argenti argue (which happens often), it’s usually about their vastly different approaches to life. Alhaitham dismisses overly sentimental ideals, while Argenti sees him as too cold. You have to remind them that love exists in many forms.
Despite their bickering, both are fiercely protective of you. If anyone dares to insult or harm you, Argenti will challenge them to a duel, while Alhaitham will dismantle them with cutting words (or, if necessary, a well-placed attack).
Stargazing together: Argenti waxing poetic about constellations and destiny, Alhaitham explaining the science behind the stars, and you caught between admiration and amusement.
Argenti teaches you both elegant waltzes, twirling you effortlessly, while Alhaitham—reluctantly—learns, only for your sake.
Late-night intellectual and philosophical debates where Argenti passionately defends the ideals of beauty, and Alhaitham challenges them with logic, only for the discussion to end with you pulling them both into bed, sighing, “Enough, you two.”
In the end, despite their differences, Argenti and Alhaitham love you in their own ways, and your relationship is one of balance—poetry and logic, passion and reason, devotion and quiet understanding.

#x reader#honkai star rail#hsr#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#argenti x reader#argenti x you#argenti x y/n#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#alhaitham x y/n#fluff#opposites attract#polyamory#domestic moments#protective lovers#philosophical debates#sword fights and sparring#soft and subtle affection#found family vibes#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin x y/n#argenti honkai star rail#alhaitham genshin#argenti hsr#alhaitham gi#headcanons#slow burn#x you
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