#wings au riddle

[sparrow-in-boots]

hey check this cool trick!! [selkies the sphinx]

[providencehq]

Throwing out ideas I have...... plans if you will...... demon/dragon wings for the main bat family but it's just the wings

[liviavanrouge]

Winged AU: Retaliation

???: Those rouge winged beings that attacked our guard patrols should be dealt with

???: Any suggestions?

Azul: *Sighs* Well, why don't you make them walk the plank?

Vil: *Sighs* Darling, that's too easy

Kalim: *Lifts his hand* Prick them with a thousand thorns!

Leona: *Huffs* And what? They'd fall asleep?

Idia: We could burn them to a crisp

Zayto: *Grins* Yeah, let's burn them to a crisp!

Riddle: *Flares his wings* No, it should be worse, worse, worse than all of these!!!

???: *looks at Riddle*

Riddle: *Flies up, beatings his wings* Revenge should be vicious!!

Malleus: *Flies up beside Riddle* And whatever we do to that poor unfortunate soul!

Leona: *Flies up on Riddle's other side* Should be ten times more cruel!!

???: War will begin soon...prepare your tribes

@queen-of-twisted @yukii0nna @zexal-club

[wellpresseddaisy]

On a Wing and a Prayer

The Dark Lord Voldemort came back Wrong.

Or, what happens when @greens-your-color thinks I'm funny. :)

“Hermione, I don’t think I’ve ever been this confused in my life.” Harry worried the infirmary bedclothes between his fingers.

Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him, pressed in tight. Ron barely said a word since they were allowed in, only throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulders and squeezing gently. Harry leaned against him, exhausted after everything he’d been through that horrible year.

“More confused than with Snape’s essay on powdered gemstone as a stabilizing agent in potions brewed under specific zodiac signs or more confused than when you saw Charlie Weasley take his shirt off and choked on your tongue?” Hermione asked, bumping his shoulder with hers.

Harry squeaked and hid his face in his hands.

“Merlin, Hermione, you can’t just go bringing that kind of thing up like that,” Ron scolded, pulling Harry closer. “That gemstone essay scarred us all.”

“More confused than either of those,” Harry admitted, his cheeks flaming. “I’ve no idea what actually happened…a few hours ago? When did I even…”

“It was a few hours ago,” Ron confirmed. “Thought mum might try to strangle Dumbledore with his own beard and come find you on her own. She knew something was wrong from the start.”

“How?” Harry asked.

“Dunno, mate. Mum just knows these things sometimes. She’s worried after you all year.”

Harry sighed. He felt worse, somehow, knowing he’d worried Mrs. Weasley.

“Oi, none of that.” Ron poked him in the ribs. “Mum likes having people to worry over. She said it made a nice change from worrying what the twins might be up to.”

Harry snorted. “Thanks, Ron. It’s…tonight was so weird.”

“You don’t have to tell us,” Hermione hastened to say. “If you really don’t want to discuss it. You can wait as long as you need to.”

She took one of his hands in hers and leaned hard against him. Feeling both of them squishing in helped more than Harry wanted to think about. Something about the steady warmth and pressure helps calm him down.

“But I share everything with you. And…and I do want to. It’s just…tonight was even weirder than finding out Scabbers was actually a person and the basilisk combined.”

“Do you know,” Ron began. “I think we’re all stunningly sane, considering. Who wouldn’t be a gibbering wreck after all the things we’ve seen together. And there isn’t a gibber to be found among the three of us.”

“You wouldn’t have said that if you saw me…” Harry trailed off and then took a deep breath. “The goblet was a portkey. It was meant to go back to the main stand so the winner would be seen immediately, but someone messed with it. Cedric and I got to it at almost the same time and…and I said we should both win. It wouldn’t have been fair, yeah, if I grabbed it first. It took us to a non-magical graveyard. I don’t know where; Dumbledore already tried to find out and even he doesn’t know. We stood up and…and we were stunned.

I came to…I don’t know how much later. My watch broke at some point in the maze. I…I was tied to a gravestone and Pettigrew said something. Something about bone of the father and blood of an enemy unwillingly taken. He hadn’t touched me yet, so I thought as hard as I could that he could have my blood. That I was willing to give it. Maybe my intent would change things? I don’t know if it helped, but it made me feel a bit better in the moment. Then…” he trailed off, gulping, and rubbed a hand over his heavily bandaged forearm.

“Harry, you don’t have to,” Hermione reminded him, gripping his hand tight.

“Pettigrew split my arm with a knife.,” Harry soldiered on. “I think I screamed, but everything went fuzzy. The next thing I knew, there was loads of fog and a figure stepped out of the cauldron.”

Ron made a noise that sounded like ‘eurgh’.

“I kept sort of wavering in and out, but first thing after he had a robe on, he said ‘Oh, Pettigrew, giving into the urge to dramatize everything again?’ and he…he sounded like McGonagall when she’s really done with the lot of us. Or Percy when even Fred and George know to stop.”

“I…what?” Ron asked.

“That’s why it was so weird!” Harry stared down at the bedclothes. “He didn’t try to kill me immediately!”

Hermione sighed and squeezed his hand. Ron budged in closer and Harry wondered if he’d end up in Ron’s lap before the end of it.

“He looked normal, too,” Harry continued. “Like a grown up version of the diary Riddle. He called everyone then, through Pettigrew’s mark. He didn’t seem happy about it, though, and I heard him mutter something about how disgusting it was, branding people like cattle. The Death Eaters arrived slowly, robed and masked. He didn’t look pleased by any of it. There were a few empty spots when they’d all got there and…he didn’t say anything about them. I expected he’d be furious or something, but he just started pacing in front of everyone. I heard…I think I’d lost a lot of blood, but I thought I heard him say they were meant to be the Knights of Walpurgis, to protect and guide, not this…perverted abomination of his vision. And…he said this was the first coherent thought he’d had since he had tea with Abraxas Malfoy in nineteen-forty-two. One of the Death Eaters twitched really violently then.”

“Stop picking at the bandage,” Ron broke in, putting a hand over Harry’s to stop him. “And if it was Abraxas Malfoy who…yeah, that would be why Lucius Malfoy twitched.”

“Would you like to share with the rest of us, Ron?” Hermione asked crisply.

“Oh, yeah. Look, if Abraxas Malfoy dosed him with something that sent him mad, and there are rumors about the Malfoys having some family recipes like that, then the whole of the Malfoy family could be held liable for everything done after. It’s an old law, but it’s one reason mum and dad go spare when Fred and George dose people.”

“Oh…oh.” Hermione tapped at the bedspread in a way Harry knew meant she was thinking things through. “Without the intervention nothing would have happened…but the whole family?”

“Legally it would be the Pater- or Materfamilias. Socially it would be the whole family. No one would ever trust any of them again after that kind of scandal. They can forget influential dinner parties until the end of time.”

“What’s a—no. No, I’ll ask later.” Hermione stopped herself. “Harry, are you comfortable telling us more?”

“There isn’t too much, really. That was about when he turned around and saw me bleeding all over everything and went spare at Pettigrew over, er, harming a magical child.” Harry felt his cheeks warm. “He really got in a twist when Pettigrew bragged that I’d competed in the Tri-Wiz to show I was a formidable enemy despite my age. I…is it really weird that a resurrected Dark Lord is on the list of adults who’ve actually given a damn when I was hurt?”

Neither Hermione nor Ron had an answer.

“I thought so,” Harry muttered. “Anyway, he healed my arm and Madam Pomfrey says it won’t scar as much as it might have because of that. Then he sent Mr. Malfoy to tell Professor Snape everything…he seemed a bit hacked off that no one had told Snape anything—said he was the only one of them with any common sense so of course they bypassed him—and woke Cedric. He pulled a hood over his face before that and had all the Death Eaters except Pettigrew leave. Then he had us hang on to each other and had Cedric summon the cup. And, er, then we landed on the dais with me all over blood and Cedric really confused.”

“Is that the whole of it?” Ron asked quietly and Harry blushed scarlet.

How did Ron always know?

“He said it was clear I wasn’t being taken care of properly and the magical world would certainly hear about it. Last I heard from him before the portkey took us he was headed to Gringotts to settle everything. I don’t think anyone believed me, though. Dumbledore said something about repressed trauma.”

“Merlin’s pants but he sounds like he’d get on like a house on fire with mum,” Ron breathed, ignoring Dumbledore for the moment.

Hermione snorted, choked, and giggled into Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry!” she managed after a moment. “It’s just so…Mrs. Weasley!”

“He came back wrong!” Harry insisted. “Or right…or something. I don’t even know anymore!”

“It’s just you’re used to someone trying to kill you every June and you don’t like the routine being upset?” Ron hazarded, sending Hermione into a fresh bout of giggling apology.

“I don’t want someone trying to kill me, you know. Adults only seem to care once I’ve survived, which sounds incredibly grim and dramatic,” Harry sighed. “It shouldn’t be so weird for me, someone doing his nut over me being in danger.”

“No, it shouldn’t.” Hermione sobered at that. “You should be used to adults being angry you were hurt.”

“But they aren’t usually, unless it’s inconvenient. Er, my relatives are like that. Dumbledore just seems sad it had to happen. It’s just…it’s Voldemort. I didn’t think he had feelings that weren’t rage.”

“Harry,” Ron started, thoughtfully. “Have you ever had your family tree done?”

“Er, no. Why?”

“Him saying he was going to Gringotts to get things sorted. If...there are two ways to do things like family trees. One is the Ministry Hall of Records, but you only go there if you like having your business as lunchtime conversation in the canteen. Most people go to Gringotts. They can do all the family records and trees and things only they don’t gossip. What if you show up somehow for him? Sounds like he’s keen on you living, but you could wind up his ward or something.” Ron bit his lip.

The three of them snugged closer reflexively.

“And since I didn’t know I should have it done, we don’t know what he might find.” Harry’s voice shook. “But there’s Sirius.”

“He isn’t free to take you in and I don’t think they’d find him a fit guardian right now. You’re in limbo, a bit, with your guardianship. The courts may not even recognize your aunt’s right to have you if someone powerful can show a magical relationship,” Ron explained. “Mum kept pouring over her and dad’s family trees to see if she could find any way to get you away from them after we met, but they don’t show any of the squib lineages and without that it isn’t close enough.”

Harry ignored the undercurrent of ‘the squib lineages are extra’. That Mrs. Weasley would go to so much trouble warmed something in him.

“Would it have to be a relationship through the Potters?” Hermione asked.

“Most likely, they don’t always recognize squib lines, but they might have to get Harry back to the magical world. I think a couple of the Death Eater families tried, but they weren’t related closely enough.”

Harry shuddered. His aunt and uncle were bad enough. What would have happened if a family like the Malfoys got him?

“It’s going to be a long wait,” Harry murmured. “Until we know.”

“I’m going to ask mum tonight and see if she’ll take us to Gringotts after we get off the train,” Ron decided. “She said they’re staying until morning and I can explain everything to her.”

“Do you think I…” Hermione trailed off. “Does your mum know how much a family tree might cost?”

“I’ll ask. And…maybe it would be best to ask your parents to come, too. We can make our own plans.” Ron nodded as if comfirming everything to himself.

“I hate waiting,” Harry groused.

Far below magical London, a man sat with two goblins in a stuffy, little-used office. The filing cabinets lining the wall barely closed against the reams of paper inside. Files stacked deep across their tops threatened to spill onto the floor. Dim lights cast a fitful glow over everything and hummed terribly. The whole environment, Thomas Riddle thought, reminded him of one of those crime films from the States. He half expected detective in a crumpled fedora to come bursting in, spouting nonsense. They probably kept this room in this state purposefully. It was the sort of pokey corner where he’d stick a nutter asking for a new identity if one came up to him.

“And why would Gringotts go to the trouble of assisting you?”

Thomas looked around the office for a moment as if deeply interested in Goblin filing systems. He’d been in this sort of situation before, only he’d been seventeen and without any leverage. Not that he wanted a new identity then, but they’d turfed him out of the bank before he could get half his family tree request out.

“Slytherin, Potter, Peverell, and Gaunt,” he said. “Accounts that have lain dormant for far too long. And that, gentlemen, won’t do at all. No account fees collected, no transaction fees collected…it’s a terrible thing for a bank to be considered just a repository.”

“Gaunt has nothing.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps that vault holds something you’d like to have back. It’s an old family and old families often had Goblin-made items. Pity that dormant vaults can’t be entered by Gringotts staff until, ah, yes, until the Family is declared officially extinct by the Ministry. Amazing what information you can find these days, isn’t it?”

The Goblins stared at one another for a long minute. He knew it was risky, coming here, but they offered certain services regarding identities that could be difficult to obtain elsewhere. You could find any number of chaps loitering in Knockturn who’d swear on their mother’s graves that no one would ever know, guv, not no way. They were usually proved false in five minutes or less. He didn’t sigh though they’d been going in circles for the better part of three hours.

“I suppose for a reasonable fee of thirty percent of each vault and an ongoing fee we could—”

Thomas rose and started for the door. “I will not be treated like an imbecile. I thought to keep my business with Gringotts, but I suppose I can go to the Ministry just as easily. Pity that will close the Malfoy accounts. I expect you do rather well out of those.”

“We haven’t heard anything about the Malfoy accounts, Mr. Riddle.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob.

“That’s because I haven’t yet sworn out a complaint against the Malfoy family. While Abraxas is no longer with us, his actions against me have a longer tail than one might expect. The Ministry does take dosing people with madness-inducing elixirs seriously. The fines and reparations alone…”

“My colleague spoke hastily. I believe we can come to some accord. Perhaps a flat ten percent fee taken only from the Slytherin and Gaunt vaults and…three Goblin-made items, to be agreed upon after an audit?” the other Goblin broke in, clearly booting his compatriot in the ankle under the table.

Thomas sat and smiled at the Goblins before him (he had to get their names before he left as they never bothered to give them…he hadn’t had so much fun negotiating in quite some time).

“I believe we can come to an agreement, gentlemen. Now, shall we begin with my family tree? We may need to go quite a way back and branch out considerably to find an identity rooted in some truth, but I believe we should begin with the Gaunts.”

They produced a ceremonial blood quill and specially treated parchment and got to work.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

pinning to the workshop corkboard: you've heard of winston "i'm cassandra" billions clairvoyance concepts for fun & profit, hear also of winston billions sphinx concepts (you must be This understanding of what he means to proceed)

[lowkeyclueless5137]

Rollo's BooChat shenanigans in Scalding Sands!

This is from the NBC Sebek oneshot I did! Og au belongs to the awesome @sbk-zgvlt and I just added the infamous dragon Riddle au. And since I wanted to be in tow with one jp event period, why not? :3

And if you think Rollo's headpiece looks familiar:

Oh this would be one hell of an event :'3

[starlit-eudemonia]

This gives off a Vere vibe- beautiful but unsettling and haunting.

Giant Vere Reference Sheet!

He used to be so beautiful (so he claims sarcastically)

Always has his crystal ball with him(whether he likes it or not-), for reference sake it's been removed for this

Extra information;

Roams Realm 3, was banished from Realm 1

This Realm has no policies what so ever, it's a dead Realm

Easiest giant to find

Lives in a mountain-snow biome

Purposely gate-keeps the portal of the Realm, player may have to bribe him to pass into another Realm

Fortune teller, will give the player their outcome of chosen future event by giving them riddles. -If answered correctly, the player receives the full truth of their outcome. -If answered slightly wrong, the player receives a mix of the truth and lies of their outcome. - If answered wrong, the player receives a lie of their outcome. When receiving a result, Vere will not tell the player if they were wrong, right or half right. It's very useful if guessed correctly however.

Will drop legendary loot such as; Internal heart, sacred skin, abyss eyes, corrupted essence, ect

When gifting, the player must be aware of the risk. The only gifts Vere will accept positively (besides boss loot) are materials that will be able to free him from his shackles, gift with caution.

Will go on a kill on sight if you carry the 'scent' of Mhin, Leander, Kuras and Ais

If killed, the player will gain positive reputation for Kuras, Mhin, Leander and Ais

[illbegottenfaith]

in sweetness (inspired by robin by t. swift)

visiting theo's childhood home grants you a deeper understanding of his inner workings (theo nott x reader)

a/n - I haven't genuinely loved a piece of writing like I do this one in a loooong time, I'm aware of how it strays away from the conventional flow/storyline of fanfic but I feel like that's what makes this so special! this is kind of the backstory of Theo I have in my head for pretty much any fic I write, regardless of the tropes/au's involved.

tropes/warnings - love?? hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending, friends to lovers

word count - 2.7k

In their third year, Theodore Nott broke the nose of his then-teammate Mattheo Riddle. The fight had broken out on the Quidditch pitch after a practice; over what, no one could remember, least of all the boys themselves. Mattheo had said something undoubtedly incendiary in that arrogant, goading voice of his, and Theo had lunged at him, knocking the pair down. The brawl had come to a surprisingly quick end once he had decked the stockier boy in the face.

Years on, most people put it down to a culmination of red-hot emotions and pubescent testosterone. But it was more than that. Even then, you found the incident more telling than most others. Friend or foe, Theodore Nott never hesitated to exact justice by his own means, as he saw fit.

Perhaps it was his only means of control in a world that had treated him unforgivingly all his life.

You put down the photo of a bloody-nosed Mattheo sitting next to a busted-lipped Theo in the Hospital Wing, a photo taken to commemorate, as Blaise Zabini cheerfully put it, 'Baby's first fistfight.' You are standing in Theo's bedroom in his childhood home while waiting for him to return. You wanted to surprise him, but as his aunt had told you, he had popped out to drop by some old friends in the area. Still, she said that he would be returning soon and that you were welcome to wait in his room.

Looking around at every little photo, artifact, and piece of evidence of the years gone by feels like you are watching him grow up in front of your very eyes. And just like his life, something about the room feels disjointed and unharmonious. Other than a few obligatory photos or trinkets, most of the room appears sparsely decorated. The air feels heavy, as if it carries an unbearable silence even when he is home for the holidays.

There are posters of some vaguely familiar professional Quidditch players decorating one wall. Looking at the years printed in the corner, you glean that they must have been from before you met Theo. Although a layer of dust now sits on the untouched but otherwise pristine posters, it's clear that they were once highly beloved by their owner.

You see something similar in the rest of the room - different phases of his life cluttered different corners of his room. It was as though the room itself never changed; rather, he learned to grow in whatever space was left. You tilted your head up. There, hanging from the ceiling above his bed, appears to be a slightly misshapen, dusty baby mobile made of flimsy, plasticky dragonflies. It looks handmade. It sticks out like a sore thumb in what is otherwise a tidy room.

You wander over to the window on the other side of the room. You pick up another picture frame, this one containing a photograph of a toddler Theodore at the very windowsill you were standing in front of, taken from the garden just outside his window.

Back then, with a face that small, his dark curls seemed to overwhelm his tiny stature. He was laughing with a twinkle in his eye which he seemed to have lost over the years, unabashed with a face overflowing with love for whoever was behind the camera. You peer through the crooked window and imagine him scrambling up, not yet three feet tall, towards the photo-taker who humoured his nonsensical babbling with the forgiving kind of maternal patience. What had she looked like? Did she have his hair? His nose? His dry wit? His temper? His unexpected, if endearing, touchy side? It was a fragmented sort of picture in your head, but it was better than nothing.

You look back at the photo and your heart twinges with regret. Theo didn't talk about it much, but you knew he had lost her when he was very young - far too young. This had to be one of the last few moments when he was blissfully unaware of the horrors that waited for him in the real world. And even after that, how could he have anticipated just how much worse things could get? You bite your lip. No, you decide, he had no idea.

After the Quidditch pitch incident, unlike his newest best mate, Theo's penchant for violence was short-lived. Yet his ruthless efficiency remained almost cutthroat - whatever Theo wanted, he got, everyone else be damned. In fact, he hadn't really understood what it felt like to care for someone else until he met you.

With your round, trusting eyes and irrationally lovable affectations, you had somehow wormed your way into his otherwise cold, distant heart, and there you stayed. Your friends hadn't held back on the teasing, especially in the early days, but you couldn't bring yourself to care when an electric kind of thrill would run through you as he'd duck his head oh so slightly to better hear whatever spiel you had chosen to grace him with between lessons that day over the din of the moving staircases and their unfortunate victims. The electric thrill of having a friend, of course.

But that didn't stop you from noticing how his past seemed to hold him back, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. With his father's less-than-exemplary background, you saw him struggle to not follow him down that same path. After all, how did one break free of the only world they've ever known? Sometimes you could feel his frustration, as if he felt stuck or stagnant. While everyone else busied themselves with orchestrating life plans as graduation grew nearer, Theo seemed woefully encumbered by the one thing he could never rid himself of, shackled by the chains of his lineage.

You had picked up on this the time he had come down with a bout of the flu. "Maybe I should take your temperature again," you had said, anxiously looking at his wan face as his skin burned the back of your hand.

"I'm fine, really," he had repeated, as he dragged your hand down to his chest, eyes lidded. "I'll sleep it off."

You had pressed your lips into a thin line, highly conflicted over how much you wanted to argue with a clearly sick patient. Your other hand had drifted to his scalp as you had distractedly started raking your fingers through his hair. Theo's lips had parted as he sighed in relief, melting further into his pillow.

"Just...just stay. For a while." His eyes had been fully closed by then. "I get the worst dreams when I'm sick."

You had run your thumb along your clasped hands. "What do you dream about?"

Theo had paused. "Terrible things," he had said after a moment, in a pleasant, light voice, as if you were merely discussing the weather. "Terrible things that I can't change."

He had no idea.

The least you could do was let him feel free when he was with you. You knew just what to do to tug a smile onto his face, no matter how reluctant, on the greyest of days. It helped that it didn't take much for you to amuse him. It wasn't always easy, keeping spirits high enough for the both of you, but you managed. Anything to make his life a little brighter, a little sweeter.

And so the time he spent with you only served to further mellow him out, soften his sharp, unrelenting edges. His bloodlust moulded itself into something kinder, something that didn't itch for retribution for every wrong-doing or misdeed. A compassion that presented itself in the oddest of ways - like the time you had found Theo entertaining one of the toddlers from the annual gift donation drive in the Slytherin common room over the holidays. Your eyes had nearly fallen out of your head when you had seen him sitting cross-legged on the floor, highly engrossed with a bunch of plastic dinosaurs.

You had shot Mattheo a mystified look as you walked by, and he had shrugged from his place on one of the armchairs. But you had noticed how the crossword he had allegedly been pouring over had gone slack in his hand. Clearly, he had been just as intrigued as you were.

"I thought you never liked playing with toys," you had started, fixing a lock of hair falling into Theo's eyes as he looked up at you. He had looked so earnest as he put the toys down that you had had to fight the urge to laugh - not at him, but at how disconcertingly happy he looked. Why, Theo would have mocked anyone who looked half as delighted any other day of the week.

You had let your thumb run along his cheekbone. Perhaps it was an unintentional reclamation of the childhood he had been robbed of.

"I didn't. But maybe I just needed more time." He had glanced back at the child crudely now scribbling in his sketchbook and winced. "Erm, fourteen years more time."

You had nodded, trying to be more discreet about your staring at the smear of dirt you had just noticed on the side of his face. He had no idea. Over Theo's shoulder, you had frowned questioningly at Mattheo. Sand pit, he had mouthed back at you.

"You always were slow on the uptake," you had murmured. Something must have shown in yours or Mattheo's expression because he had started glancing between the two of you, gingerly touching his face.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

"No," the both of you chorused.

"I don't see anything on your face. Mattheo, do you see anything on Theo's face?"

"Not a speck," Mattheo had agreed, nonchalantly returning to his crossword. You had tapped Theo's face, making him flinch.

"You need to stop being so obsessed with your looks. Vanity doesn't become you."

And before he could catch on - as he was dangerously close to, if that suspicious frown of his was any indication - you excused yourself to put your coat away. Neither of you had wanted to snap Theo out of whatever weird trance he was in. A moment like that deserved to be preserved.

Standing in Theo's room, you suddenly felt claustrophobic, overwhelmed by memories you hadn't given a second thought in years. There was so much tragedy written in every crack in the wall. How did Theo bear it? Did he simply not see it?

You walked out of the room and explained to Theo's aunt that you were just heading out for a bit of fresh air. If she noticed how upset you looked, she didn't comment on it. Once you left, you started walking very quickly very blindly, anything to put as much distance between yourself and that house of horrors.

Eventually, you walked until there was nowhere else to walk, ending up at an old, slightly grimy playground. You sat on one of the swings, replaying those scenes you couldn't seem to move on from. The pallor on Theo's face as he shivered from that fever. The blood-soaked rag he had held to his mouth to stem the flow of blood. The grit that had decorated the side of his beautiful face. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear the leaves crunching under the footsteps that approached you.

"Oh, my days," a familiar voice crowed from behind you, "is that Y/N L/N I see before me?"

You froze. He must have spotted you on his way back. You couldn't bring yourself to turn around to face him just yet.

"You're in my spot, you know," Theo continued smoothly. "That's the best spot on the swing set right there."

Reluctantly, you glanced behind to see Theo standing behind you, wearing a thick denim jacket, his teasing expression slightly shadowed by his stupid hair that was always falling into his stupid face, and all you can think is, he has no idea.

As soon as you turned, his face softened into something more concerned.

"Are you...crying?"

You brushed a hand against your cheek and realised he was right. You sniffed, turning away from him. Theo moved to kneel in front of you almost immediately, gently clasping your elbows when you refused to meet his gaze.

"Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? Who hurt you?"

You shook your head. "No one hurt me."

Theo stared at you unrelentingly. There it was, the bloodlust. "What happened, cara mia?"

"Nothing," you said unconvincingly. "I was waiting for you at your house but I wanted a bit of fresh air."

"Was it my aunt? Did she say something? Honestly, the things she says about my hair -"

You laughed through your tears abruptly, and you could see Theo relax fractionally at your smile. You bit your lip hard enough to almost draw blood. Anything to stop the crying.

"No," you were saying, "your aunt was very sweet. She let me wait in your room."

"Okay."

"And there were -"

"- magazines?"

You frowned at Theo, who looked unreasonably panicked. "You have magazines in your room?"

He hesitated for a moment, before delicately clearing his throat. "No, of course not. So what did you see?"

"Pictures. From years ago."

"Oh, yeah. What about them?"

You stared back at him, fidgeting restlessly. How could you explain why you were suddenly so upset when you didn't fully understand it yourself? The pictures in his room were nothing revelatory - in fact, wasn't that why it was so heartbreaking? You knew what his life had been like, and you knew how it had shaped him. But maybe something about seeing unflinching proof of it firsthand made it all the more unbearable.

And then you started bawling again.

"I just -" you choked out, "you had such an awful time as a kid- no mother, a good-as-dead father -"

Theo had this strange look on his face like he was desperately trying not to laugh.

"Y/N," he was saying gently, "they're just pictures. And all that was such a long time ago. I'm fine." He grinned. "Really."

You glared at him. You had half a mind to shove him away.

"Well, I'm not fine. How do you expect me to turn a blind eye to your hellish childhood? When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that I care for you and I love you and it hurts to think about all those years you spent unloved?"

That sobered the both of you fairly quickly. After all that, Theo had the audacity to blink at you like some half-wit goldfish.

"...what?"

You pressed on impatiently. "You have to understand," you muttered through gritted teeth, "I cannot help but wish you didn't have to deal with - with any of this. Year after year, I see you trying so hard, trying your best even with all the odds stacked against y- and you're amused. Honestly, you're impossible. I'm baring my heart, sobbing my fucking lungs out, and you look like you want to laugh."

"It's just..." Theo shook his head as he trailed off, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I haven't thought about any of that in a while."

His eyes crinkled, and suddenly the runt of a boy from the picture and the long-legged nineteen-year-old in front of you were one and the same.

"I don't feel unloved." He dragged his thumb down the vein in the crook of your elbow, all while looking at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen. "Not anymore."

Your hand crept up until they were holding his face. He stiffened slightly, not like he wanted to pull away, but like he didn't know what to expect. You leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours, feeling his warm breath tickle your face. He wasn't pushing you away. If anything, his grip on your elbow turned more vice-like as his eyes fluttered close.

Maybe you misread his signals. Maybe he'd hate you for this afterwards. But you couldn't bring yourself to care at the moment.

A sweet memory to balance out all the bitter ones his home held.

[yanderecrazysie]

A Dragon's Hoard Part 1 (Yandere! Malleus)

Title: A Dragon’s Hoard (Part 1)

Pairings: Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Reader

AU: My Fantasy AU

WARNINGS: yandere themes

Notes: Malleus's story was voted for first! (BY A LOT) So here you go!

Part 2: here

Mt. Diasomnia’s peak pierced the night sky, cutting the full moon in half. As intimidating as the impossibly tall mountain was, it symbolized hope for you. There were plenty of caves to hide in and a surrounding forest for hunting.

If any place would hide you from King Riddle’s court, it would be this mountain. After all the rules you had broken, the king of the fae would surely clip your wings permanently if you were found. You were a hunted woman so the sooner you disappeared the better.

You spread your transparent wings and took flight. The wind was strong tonight, lifting you higher and higher. The freedom of flying was intoxicating and, for a moment, you allowed yourself to forget the weight of your circumstances.

But then the memory of King Riddle’s cold stare cut through your mind, as sharp as a blade. “Rulebreaker”, he had called you in such a cold voice. You might as well be a traitor to your kind.

The mountain loomed over you as you scanned it for any sign of shelter. A sudden gust of wind caught you and threw you off course for a moment. You gasped as you realized it wasn’t the elevation making the air unpredictable, but magic.

Your wings faltered- you knew this feeling. This was ancient magic, the same used in the time of The Great Ones. Something powerful was stirring inside this mountain. Still, there was no turning back. This was your only hope.

You spotted a wide, dark mouth of a cave yawning above a set of cliffs. You folded your wings and descended towards it. As soon as you set foot inside, a series of chills ran down your spine. It was cold and the air was strangely still. You could hear the sound of dripping water and took that as a good sign.

A faint green glow, barely visible at first, pulsed from the darkness deep within the cave. Something’s here… But anything was better than the fae court finding you, so you pressed on despite the fear rising slowly within you.

You stopped walking suddenly, your heart stopping altogether. A tall figure emerged from the shadows, two glowing, emerald eyes locked on you, piercing through the darkness and causing an otherworldly glow.

“You trespass upon my mountain,” the figure’s deep voice rumbled like thunder.

He stepped into full view and you gasped. He was much taller than you, draped in dark robes, with black horns that rose from his head like a crown.

A dragon in humanoid form!

You couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything, couldn’t breathe. 

A knowing smile curled on his lips, “What have we here? A little fae, wandering into my domain?”

You opened your mouth to speak- to apologize maybe- but no words came out. He began to close the distance between you.

“Tell me,” he said as he drew close, “What brings a rulebreaker to my mountain?”

You flinched like you’d been slapped, “How did you-”

“I know many things,” he hummed.

You stumbled backwards, trying to get away from his approaching form, your wings twitching as if you were about to take flight. But for some reason, you couldn’t move.

He raised a hand and a ribbon of green magic slithered towards you, curling around your wrist like a snake. “You don’t need to be afraid. I will not harm you. On the contrary…” his voice was like silk, “I offer you my protection.”

“Protection?” Stunned, you stopped trying to back away.

“Yes,” he stepped closer until you were forced to look up, “In exchange for something small.”

“What is it?” you asked, voice trembling.

“Companionship.”

You tilted your head in confusion, staring at the mysterious man. Companionship? Is he serious?

“You are hunted, are you not?” he asked, “King Riddle’s court will find you eventually. Unless, of course, you accept my offer.”

You hesitated, looking down at your hand, which was encircled with green magic, “What is this for, then?”

“Proof of our agreement,” he replied, “If you agree, I will mark your wrist with the symbol of a promise.”

“I…” This mysterious stranger had ancient magic, perhaps the only thing that would keep you from being taken in to King Riddle and losing your wings. If companionship was all you had to offer… “I agree.”

There was a sudden pain on the back of your hand and you cried out in pain. The green magic tendril retracted and a strange green symbol was left glowing faintly on the back of your hand. It reminded you faintly of a dragon.

“It is done,” he said simply, “You are now under my protection. None shall harm you.”

“And what does this companionship… entail?” you asked.

A faint smile tugged on his lips, “It is simple- you stay with me, here on Mt. Diasomnia. You speak with me on a daily basis and you do not leave without my consent.”

Your wings fluttered instinctively at the last part, but you nodded. It was a fair trade- if anything, you were getting the better end of the deal.

“You may call me Malleus,” he said, inclining his head, “I am the Dragon Prince.”

“I’m…” Giving your name to someone with such powerful magic was dangerous, but you couldn’t hide it forever, “(Y/n).”

“A fine name,” Malleus said. He gestured deeper in the cave, “Come. I will show you to your quarters. You must be tired from your flight.”

You hesitated, glancing back toward the cave’s entrance. It was almost as dark as the inside of the cave. What was waiting for you, if you were to change your mind? Endless rules? The promise of clipped wings?

With a deep breath, you turned away and followed Malleus deeper into the cave. Somehow, the cave grew warmer the deeper you went. Green crystals jutted out of the walls, casting magical light over the two of you and vibrating your wings with energy.

“This is my sanctuary,” Malleus told you, “Few have set foot here. Consider it an honor.”

The cave opened into a massive chamber with stone walls lined with shelves. Ancient artifacts gleamed under the green light, most of which you’d never seen before. But what was truly amazing was the hoard. Piles of golden coins and gemstones reached towards the ceiling. Silver cups and golden crowns and all sorts of treasure littered the area around a huge, golden throne.

A smaller alcove off to the side held a simple white bed. “That will be your space,” Malleus said, “You will find it comfortable.”

“Thanks…” you said softly. You looked back at the gold towers and watched them shimmer in the green light.

“All dragons have a hoard, little one,” Malleus said. Something about the way he said it made you shiver. His tone softened as he continued, “Sleep now, I won’t keep you from your rest. We will speak more in the morning.”

You hesitated for a long moment, watching him return to his throne, before finally retreating to the alcove. The bed was indeed comfy and, overwhelmed by the day’s events, you fell asleep quickly.

Even with the pain on the back of your hand.

[slytherinslut0]

-> mattheo riddle

disclaimer: hogwarts uni au always. chars are always 19+.

-> LEGEND

(*) indicates smut

(•) indicates wip

-> SERIES

✰ beg for me *

- my baby. my pookie. my heart fic. i poured my soul into this book, 30 whole chapters of it. this book is pure filth for a solid 27 of those. a very rocky road to a beautiful love story between mattheo riddle and you, his ravenclaw tutor. it’s story of growth, of learning how to love and be loved, for everyone involved. (starts out where you’re literally his fucktoy but *insert kermit drinking tea emoji here*)

-> ONESHOTS

✰ we aren’t over *

- one of the first shots i’d ever written. fwb (matty) gets jealous seeing you kiss another guy at a party after the two of you had called things off.

✰ we are done *

- mattheo ended things with you after a fight over your concern for his safety, and when he lands himself in the hospital wing due to his recklessness, you pay him a visit, eager to get your revenge. (sub matty afff. also bloodplay)

✰ couldn’t help yourself *

- after teasing your boyfriend during a lecture, he drags you into a broom closet and fucks you brainless. (extremely feral angry dom mattheo in this one.)

✰ let me fuck you *

- worried that mattheo was just going to use you for sex and leave, you had him agree to courting you first until you felt you were ready to take it to the next level. after months of this, mattheo finally can't take it anymore, and lands himself on his knees at your feet. (he’s beggingggg)

✰ focus *

- you and matty are exhausted after a long, chaotic day. you just wanna watch your show, but your insatiable ass bf has other plans.

-> HEADCANNONS

✰ slytherin boys • jealousy

✰ slytherin boys • teasing

✰ slytherin boys • enemies w/tension

✰ slytherin boys • nightmare

-> ALSO FEATURED IN

✰ why not both?*

- mattheo x reader x theodore. yes. this is a filthy ass threesome. nuff said.

✰ everyone wants to fuck mattheo riddle until*

✰ req: mattheo riddle x plus size reader

✰ req: overstimulation*

[lustlovehart]

HI

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

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

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

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

——-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you certain? Positive?

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

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

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

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

Huh. Where have you seen those eyes before?

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

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

——————-

SORRY I YAPPED BUT THERES MY IDEA :D

ENJOY.

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

(Writing under cut)

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

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

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

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

“Truly… You actually enjoy this thing??”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[finalgirllx]

bartender mattheo riddle

i'm a slut for AUs and this one quickly shot up to being one of my favorites for mattheo.

for @thatdammchickennugget's hogmarch challenge, the prompt i went off of was 'firewhiskey/butterbeer'

3.7k words | nsfw | minors dni | f!reader implied | drink responsibly | wrap it

As you tread the once-familiar cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the rhythmic click of your shoes provides a temporary distraction from the storm swelling inside your thoughts. For such a lively village, the action around you feels distant, too far in the past to offer any respite similar to the steady cadence beneath your feet. 

To outside viewers, you appear as any young person donning a modest party dress and looking for a casual spot to unwind for the evening. They wouldn't know this was your first visit to Hogsmeade in over five years since you finished your schooling at Hogwarts. You had left the highlands, your small hamlet, for bigger, better things—or so you had thought. 

Reality didn't guarantee such promises you had dreamed of in those few years. Currently barely making ends meet and running on a general sense of uncertainty, you decided it was as good a time as any to revisit your hometown and the magical communities surrounding it, including this cheerful wizarding town you had frequented throughout your adolescence. 

You first tried your luck with the Three Broomsticks, but the bustling atmosphere proved too overwhelming for the discreet return you aimed for. With the decision between the rundown Hog's Head inn and a newer, more upscale establishment called 'Celestial Sips,' you opted to see what this new 'fancy-schmancy' spot was all about. 

You stealthily step through the polished entry doors to scan the venue, which is dimly lit beside faint golden lights. It is adorned with oddly shaped furniture more suited for artistic expression rather than usability. It appears far more modernized than the traditional charm most common with Hogsmeade’s businesses, young wizarding folk undoubtedly curated it with heavy inspiration coming from muggle cocktail lounges. 

The existence of the bar itself in a place such as Hogsmeade wasn't the most earth-shattering part of this night out. It was when your eyes met with the lead bartender, and a flood of memories filled your senses as you realized it was none other than Mattheo Riddle.

His dark curls were unruly as ever but fell in such a way that made him irresistible. His piercing dark gaze caught yours, sparking with recognition. The scar across the bridge of his nose was just as prominent as it was six years ago, as vivid as the day you had dragged him to the hospital wing to get his split nose mended after a particularly grueling fistfight. 

That memory also reminds you just how close you and him once were. While you had never officially dated, you did everything a couple would and then some. You shared countless fun late nights, as well as having been there for each other during the more trying ones. And although sexual intimacy didn't come until after graduation, the passion of those post-school days also remains etched in your memory. It was your decision to pursue "bigger things" that had cut that short, leaving you with a lingering sense of what might have been.

Despite the distance between you as you reeled from the shock of encountering him here, you couldn't help but notice the changes in Mattheo over the past five years. Mattheo exuded a confidence far from the troubled boy you once knew at school. He had grown taller, broader, and even more handsome than before. He was also now littered with tattoos that only added to his allure, tempting you to bridge the distance separating you further. 

Your knee-jerk reaction would have been to flee the scene, but since you had already met eyes and he was actively beckoning you forward to the bar as you battled with your thoughts, you had no choice but to participate in the unexpected reunion. 

You sat at a bar stool, and Mattheo quickly welcomed you with a warm but distinctively husky tone. It was clear that Mattheo was struggling to mask his excitement over seeing you as he tried to maintain some professionalism while behind the bar. 

"The greatest stroke of luck I've encountered since taking the job at this fancy joint," Mattheo started with genuine delight, "I can't believe it's you. You look fantastic," his quick work of sweet-talking you did the trick as your cheeks flushed, though still totally sober. Mattheo was also swift in amending that, sliding a vodka cranberry before you with a nod, "On the house. Let me know if you want something more 'refined' for the setting; I just went with an old favorite." 

You let out a soft giggle, drawing the straw to your lips to sip the drink. The sweetness of the juice masks the burn, perfectly balanced to not overwhelm from either end. 

With Mattheo's excellent job of putting you at ease, you finally replied. "Indeed, you always teased me for not being a whiskey drinker. Old habits die hard," you quipped, taking another sip before continuing. "But, look at you! A bartender? Mattheo, I must say, I'm thrilled to see you here and not, well.." your words lingered away at the implication, realizing it might not sound as encouraging as intended. There were all sorts of rumors of him headed to a life of dark wizardry, so seeing him here was a relief. But he didn't have to hear about any of that, not now. Quickly shifting your approach, you perked up to suggest, "And at this luxurious place? While I appreciate the old favorite, I would love to see what magic you could conjure up in a cocktail glass."  

Mattheo laughed and shook his head momentarily before piping up again. "Seems your confidence has skyrocketed. I'm glad to see that, princess," he teased with a cheeky smirk, earning an eye roll from you that only amused him further. You again feel a little heated at the nickname, opting not to question it. You could see that the mischievous glint in his eyes was alive and well as he began meticulously combining various expensive-looking drinks and mixers just for you. Simultaneously, Mattheo tended to other existing patrons, expertly traversing the sprawling bar to ensure everyone's needs were met and drinks stayed filled. 

Observing how Mattheo carried himself with such assuredness only heightened your attraction. Each movement he made to speak with patrons and craft drinks allowed you to appreciate his muscled physique. You were no better than a groupie ogling his toned, tattooed arms, his hands still bearing faint scars from his past. The sight of his veins flexing with every motion ignited a fire in your stomach that you hoped wouldn't consume you entirely.

His broad shoulders and slim waist were accentuated by his dark button-up dress shirt. That caught your attention, as did when your gaze moved downward and drifted over his perfectly sculpted behind. You were abruptly snapped from your desirous stupor when the object of your admiration set a much fancier cocktail before you. 

"Like what you see?" Mattheo asked with a smug, teasing tone, causing you to want to disappear into the ground beneath your stool. You must have been less-than-subtle about checking him out, but he didn't seem to mind as he continued without further ribbing. "Try that. It's the Mattheo special," he said, watching you intently to see how you reacted to the first sip.

You smirked at the oh-so-creative name and then inspected the drink itself. It was rather extravagant, a lavender purple hue with swirls of gold shimmering with every swish of the glass. 

Without hesitation, you lifted the glass and took a small sip. A delightful combination of blueberry and lemon overtook your tastebuds, almost completely shielding the strength of the alcohol in the drink. Hell, you were prepared to question if it was mixed at all had you not watched him pour at least a shot's worth of vodka into it.

You gave him a smile of approval, to which Mattheo grinned widely, clearly pleased to see you liked it. With the other patrons momentarily tended to, Mattheo rested his elbows on the counter, surprising you with his sudden proximity as he leaned forward, suggesting he had something enticing to say. 

"I hope this isn't too forward, but I'd really like to catch up," Mattheo spoke in a hushed tone. It sounded innocent enough, but the question, paired with his gaze lingering on your figure, told you he meant anything but. "Would you consider sticking around till close?"

Yes, yes, yes! Your internal monologue screamed. On the outside, you locked eyes with him and smirked, your expression conveying you understood his intentions well. "I don't have anywhere else I want to go; I can stick around." 

-----------------------

You were cautious with your drinking to avoid getting too intoxicated for your later plans with Mattheo. As the closing time for Celestial Sips approached, you remained near the counter, bantering with other patrons. Mattheo delegated cleaning duties to other employees while he called for final rounds and closed tabs. Each time your eyes met, a shared twinge of excitement passed between you.

After another hour or so, Mattheo finally shut down the lit 'open' sign, leaving you two together alone. While this is what you wanted, your nerves welled up upon the realization that it was just the two of you here. A hint of insecurity came over you. He had grown to be such an attractive, confident man, and you could only hope he found you equally appealing. That line of thought was interrupted when Mattheo began approaching you. His expression, filled with hunger, was directed at you. His captivating eyes combined with the deep-brown locks drooping over his forehead implored you to swoon from where you sat.

"Merlin, princess, you have no idea how much I've missed you," Mattheo murmured, his voice brimming with seduction as he closed the distance, his hands finding their place on the curve of your waist. “Please let me know if you want me to slow down at any time." His words echoed in your ears, bringing you comfort even though you felt wholly prepared to surrender to all of his desires. 

Mattheo advanced until your back pressed against the front of the counter. His lips found the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with a trail of wet kisses in their wake. A moan escaped your lips as his actions ignited your longing for more; everything you had wished his hands on you would feel like coming true. However, the heat was cut short far too soon when Mattheo suddenly took a pause from all of the heavy petting.

"You seem tense," Mattheo remarked with a hint of concern. You promptly reassured him with affectionate pecks to his cheek before admitting, "I just hope I'm good for you." His eyes briefly darkened as if displeased by your hesitancy. Suddenly, both of his hands moved to cup your cheeks, and he gazed deeply into your eyes.

"You are the most beautiful person I've ever laid eyes on. I meant every word when I said I fantasized about a moment like this with you for years," he confessed. The sincerity in his voice compelled you to trust him, leaving you with no doubt about whether he wanted this. 

Seeing you take his words to heart, Mattheo's expression then lit up, clearly having a lightbulb moment. "If you're ready, this place is chock full of drinks to help us both loosen up a bit," As soon as he mentioned it, you felt almost silly having overlooked the idea, realizing that some liquid confidence was the answer to easing your nerves. You nodded, and Mattheo took his hand in yours and gently guided you behind the bar counter.

"Do you trust me?" He asked, and you instantly replied, "I do."

In one swift motion, one hand made its way to the back of your head and the other to the small of your back so he could pull you into a passionate kiss. Your tongues found each other in a dance, his dominant side quickly winning over as his tongue protruded into your mouth. When you briefly pulled away to catch your breath, your cheeky side showed itself when you gently tugged on his bottom lip with your teeth. He moaned slightly, to your satisfaction, and you took advantage of the moment to run your hand over his chest, feeling the muscles underneath that dress shirt. You finally had Mattheo Riddle all to yourself, and you wanted all of him.

Without warning, he grabbed you by the hips, pulled you close, and spun you around to bend you over the counter. One hand curled around your hair to create a makeshift ponytail, the other wasting no time grabbing a bottle of fire whiskey within arm's reach and placing it beside you. 

"I'm sorry, doll. I know you love vodka, but whiskey is perfect for tonight." 

You looked up at him with doe-like pleading eyes as he gripped your hair, nodding as much as you could though restricted by his hold. He grinned wickedly over your enthusiastic consent before looming over you with a dominating presence. "Open up that mouth, princess."

Your lips slightly parted as Mattheo brought the open bottle of whiskey to your mouth. He poured a shot's worth down your throat, the intense heat burning on your tongue without anything to chase it down. Yet, as Mattheo force-fed you the drink and whispered praises in your ear about how you 'take it so well,' the burn of the whiskey transformed into a divine sensation, exhilarating in the best way. The bar counter was the only thing stopping you from melting to the floor as you became weak in the knees, your aroused state especially susceptible to his praise.

Mattheo lifted the bottle away from you to take a swig, holding you to the counter with a heavy palm against your back. He sighed, satisfied by the burn.

After a moment, he turned his attention back on you and pulled your hair to the side, hastily marking your neck with suctioned kisses and nibbles. At the same time, Mattheo's fingers ghosted down your back, caressing your ass and jolting you with a swift spank, finally reaching underneath your dress to stroke your cunt through your slick panties.

"Merlin, princess, after seeing the way your lips wrapped around that bottle, I wanted to fuck that pretty mouth so bad. But feeling how goddamn wet you are for me, I'm not sure either of us can wait for my cock to be inside your perfect, tight pussy."

His long fingers moved away from your aching core, reaching up and now brushing against your lips. "Will you wet my fingers a little more for me?" he asked in a voice too enticing for such an indecent request. You immediately allowed him to intrude your mouth, his fingers already covered in your taste though he had just barely begun to touch you. "We have to prepare that pussy don't we?" he groaned into your ear. You were distracted as his hardened cock ground into your ass between the fabric of your dress and his trousers.

You could tell he was beginning to lose himself as he seemed enamored by the way your mouth slipped over his fingers, swirling your tongue around them in a show of desperation to please.

Once content with your wetting of his fingers, he pulled them from your mouth and went back to exploring your panties, pushing them aside to tease your folds before slipping the first of his fingers in. It was seamless, not surprising for you, having lusted over him the entire night.

"Fuck, you're still so tight, doll. I have to stretch you out, so this feels as good for you as it will for me."

After a few moments, he introduced a second finger to your soaked cunt. He didn't move at first but gradually began pumping them inside. He could have cum on the spot witnessing your frenetic response to just two fingers.

"Careful, princess. If you want to come on my fingers, you need to beg for it." The words sent a shudder of desperation through your entire body, legs threatening to give out from underneath you as the artful use of his fingers in tandem with his dirty talk brought you toward your first orgasm, unable to resist it even if you tried. Mattheo kept his movements steady as your eyes rolled back and your walls clenched around him, a deep voice leaving the back of his throat to growl, "that's it, ride my fingers, you little slut," His tone this time was demanding, you knew he was displeased by your disobedience. His untamed, hungry expression evolved into something more conniving as he contemplated how to punish you for cumming without permission.

"You like that, huh? A slut who couldn't wait to beg? I should put my cock inside you and make you cum until you can't stand it anymore, then, hm? Do you want that? Cry for it, princess, or you're not getting it." 

You quickly fulfill this command with desperate pleas, "Please, Mattheo, please, fill me with your cock." 

"Fucking hell, princess--if I wasn't about to bust, I'd have you begging more. Desperation sounds fucking delicious rolling off your tongue," Mattheo growled against your ear as one of his hands haphazardly moved back to his trousers, hastily unbuttoning them to allow his needy length to spring free and press against you. The relief of finally freeing himself caused a deep groan to slip past his lips which only seemed to increase his urgency as his hands quickly found their place on your body again, yanking your dress up over your ass and delivering a forceful slap to your exposed flesh. You yelped and squirmed reflexively from the sting, much to his delight. "That's my fucking ass, don't forget it," he groaned with a certain smugness at the sight of his handprint forming on your skin.

"Please, Matty, please fuck me," you pleaded with a nearly pathetic level of desire. With that, Mattheo decided not to waste another second before indulging you. He took hold of your hips, guiding his cock to your slick folds, and slowly started to ease himself inside of you. 

You gasped at the intrusion, reveling in the stretch, but Mattheo cooed praises to relax you enough so there was little discomfort as you adjusted to his size. "Fuck, you fit around me so well. perfect pussy, perfect girl." he groaned as he could feel your wet warmth surround him. “is this okay?"

"Yes, please keep going."

Mattheo used the makeshift ponytail of your hair to lift your head and press his full weight against you onto the counter. His hips began to move, thrusting slowly to start until he was absolutely sure you could take him. With you now sandwiched between his body and the cold surface, he worked up to fucking you at a relentless pace, the base of his cock clashing against your ass as he bottomed out inside of your cunt. The hand steadying you by the hip reached up to wrap around your throat, squeezing at the sides enough for you to feel his strength but not enough to cause pain. It seemed almost to be a reminder for himself not to completely lose to the animalistic urges as he continued to increase the intensity. Your pelvis clanging against the bar didn't matter; you always like it rough, and he knew it.

"Princess, oh gods, I don't know if I'll last." He moaned into your ear paired with short, hot breaths. "You feel so fucking good; I wanted this for so..fucking...long." he sang his praises between each punctuated thrust that hit just the right spot inside of you again and again. The repeated stimulation triggers your second orgasm, your walls clenching around his cock as a choked moan barely escapes your lips- the sound being caught by his firm hold on your neck. 

"We're fucking meant for each other, babe," Mattheo grunted as you rode through your wave of pleasure. All you could do in your cockdrunk state was mewl in response, which fueled his ego. "Perfect dumb slut for me, you love taking my cock, don't you? Tell me how much you love my cock," his dirty talk turned more degrading as your most depraved desires inched closer to showing themselves on the surface. 

"Love your cock Matty.. mhm so good..." 

"Good slut. Now, say you're mine," he commanded, completely frenzied with his pacing. 

"I'm yours." you babbled with complete devotion. Mattheo groaned as you so willingly gave into his possessiveness, the very idea of owning every part of you being the tipping point to let his release out inside of you. His rutting became erratic and slowed as he rode through his orgasm, the last few pumps matching your third orgasm in stride. 

He then laid limp on top of you, letting out heaving exhales to regain his composure. For the moment, he left his cock to twitch inside of you, relishing in the warm feeling. Once convinced he could get up properly, he pulled out, leaving your pussy dripping with his cum as his entire body lurched over you.

"That was perfect, you were perfect. Best stroke of luck in ages," he mused with a throaty chuckle, recalling his first words when you locked eyes at the beginning of the night. "Can you walk?" he asked, mostly teasingly because the shaking of your legs answered that question without a doubt. 

"No," you spoke softly, the giggles you had at the beginning of the night starting to return even if your mind wasn't still fully there from the back-to-back stimulation. 

With this, Mattheo decided to hold you for a while longer. You had a lot of catching up to do and piecing together both of your stories to find out how, after so many years, you still ended up right here. But for now, the shared presence was enough. 

------------------ huge thankies to @slytherinslut0 for coaching me through this. i was very spooked to share. love y'all <3

[kiame-sama]

Can we get Headcannons for the next three Monster guys you've drawn for your Monster AU? (Vil, Rook, and Leona look so cool)

Ask and ye shall receive (so long as my ADHD riddled brain plays nicely).

Warnings: yandere behavior, yanderes, my monster AU, Humans Are Extinct TWST AU, Drider Rook, Harpy Vil, Nemean Lion Leona, stalking, web building, venom, display dances, mention of Humans being food,

- Rook's spider fur is extremely soft and comfortable to the touch. Vil makes Rook deep condition the fluff which has resulted in it being softer than kitten fur and Rook is extremely proud about this fact, especially whenever his darling Human pets the fur. Where he would have teased them for their act of petting his spider body, he is enjoying the gentle affection far too much to make a sassy comment.

- Rook is a Drider and will often spin webs in various locations so he can watch others mostly undisturbed. He never uses his webs to hunt because that just removes the fun from hunting for him. Usually his webs are clear or a very faint white, but Vil can still see them with ease and will often berate Rook for yet another web on the Pomefiore ballroom ceiling. Sometimes Rook is so busy building his web he doesn't even realize he has been caught before Vil nails him in the head with the heel of his shoe.

- Rook sleeps either face down or on his back given he has to accommodate the spider body. He can lay forward over his fangs and when he sleeps like that, he leaves his legs splayed out in whatever direction feels the most comfortable. When Rook sleeps on his back, the spider legs curl up like many spiders do when they die. Sleeping on his back has frightened Vil once or twice as the Harpy is not keen to lose his best friend and the curled legs make it look like Rook has died.

- Rook is venomous and Vil will frequently use Rook's venom in his various potions and poisons. He often gathers his own silk and milks his venom for Vil to use as he sees fit. In Rook's mind, anything he can do to aid his Roi du Poison is worth the struggle and hassle of collecting. Rook likes that he can assist the Harpy with his venom and he thinks the clothes the Harpy makes out of his silk is nothing short of divine. It would drive Rook into a state of pure euphoria to see his Human dressed in clothes made from his personal spider silk.

- Rook is fascinated by his Human's hands and feet, as most species don't have Humanoid feet the way his Human does. He himself has spider paws with small claws on the ends of them for web walking and clinging purposes, so the delicate feet of a human are just adorable to him. Rook will offer to paint his Human's nails just so he can hold and marvel over their hands and feet without coming across as extremely weird or unusual given his fascination with them. (Most think he is still weird as hell for this, but he is shameless in his interests)

- Rook has built a web on the ceiling of Ramshackle's common area and has yet to be caught any time he is occupying that web. Most of the time he is just silently observing his little Human bustle around and go about their daily life, smiling whenever they do something particularly cute. Naturally, Rook thinks that almost everything they do is cute so he will be smiling rather wistfully as he watches them move around, oblivious to the monster that is observing their every move. He will try to flee or conceal himself if it ever seems like his Human is going to look up, wanting to continue this act of stalking the endangered species without his Human realizing it.

- Vil is extremely proud of his feathers- wing feathers, crown feathers, tail feathers, ect- to the point he takes long hours out of his time just to preen them to perfection. Given he is so serious about making his feathers look perfect, he is very selective for who he decides to display them for. Vil has gone as far as refusing to display on command for movies he has acted in, meaning the few times he does give his feathers a shake, he means it whole heartedly. He will display and even begin to dance to gain the attention of the few he feels are worth showing off for, his Human taking first place on his list of those he will actually display his train feathers for.

- Vil refuses to let anyone see him or get near him while he is molting. The only one who he will allow into his room is Rook as the Drider has always been a good friend and support for the prideful peacock. He will gather up the shed feathers and will even gift the prettier ones to those he cares about- his Human and Rook, primarily- or he will use them in his next ensemble. He needs to look pristine and even one feather missing is a tragedy to him. His crown feathers are the only ones he will flat out cry over when he sheds them and he is very particular about having only seven of them as his own way to honor and respect The Seven founders of NRC.

- Vil's wings and feathers keep him nice and warm so he typically doesn't need to wear jackets or coats even on snowy days. He is actually very fond of snow as the white background is perfect for him to show his many colors off even when he isn't trying. He can use his wings as blankets due to the insulation they provide and will be so bold as to wrap his Human in his wings should he ever witness them shiver.

- He is an extremely proud Harpy- more so than most due to his peacock lineage- and he doesn't really care who knows it. Those he tends to be in conflict with are other Harpies- especially the mourning dove Harpy Neige- and those with strong personalities- such as Leona- due to his prideful nature. Neige is actually very fond of Vil but Vil despises the drab mourning dove and will go out of his way to oil his feathers and give them that shine that overshadows the boring grays and browns of Neige's feathers. Vil would come completely unglued if his Human ever showed the other Harpy preferential treatment or affection in his presence.

- Vil is either extremely gentle or harsh when it comes to his favorites and will not pull any punches when it comes to making them improve themselves. He is not above throwing things, slinging insults, and generally being unkind in order to push others to be a better version of themselves. The only one he isn't overly rough towards is his Human because he likes the fact his Human is weaker than him and it gives him a huge stroke to his pride to know he is in a position of power over them.

- Vil will fight and get messy when it comes to others trying to win over HIS Human. Not only is he a brilliant mage but his physical ability in a fight is nothing to scoff at either. Graceful practiced moves and poses almost make him look like he is dancing while he fights and it absolutely pleases him if his Human is watching the fight. Can't you see how perfect he is? He is not only soundly beating his enemies but he is so beautiful while doing it, there is no question he wouldn't be the most ideal mate for anyone to possibly have. Praise him after a fight, he will display his feathers and dance for you.

- Leona comes from a Kingdom that suffers every day from the actions of their ancestors. Sunset Savana is a large Kingdom but it is also colloquially known as the Kingdom of Savages due to the rather large Human meat market that drove Humans to extinction. Most other sentient species adored Humans, so the crimes of Sunset Savana have put a clear strain on the goodwill of these other species and other Kingdoms in regards to allying themselves with them. Leona in particular has been a thorn in the Kingdom's side due to his natural aggression and dislike for how others treat him. Falena has been one of the few Kings to start pulling Sunset Savana away from the 'Kingdom of Savages' title but Leona has rarely made a similar attempt.

- In many ways, Leona both adores and resents the little Human he now has to deal with. He resents that such a weak species dying out still has a negative impact on his Kingdom, but he also sees how good this Human can be for the Kingdom as a whole. He has considered telling Falena there is a Human in NRC, wondering if getting that Human on his side and in the Sunset Savana Kingdom would make other Kingdoms/Queendoms change their view of the Savage Kingdom. It would be a genuine Godsend for either Leona or Falena to befriend this Human as it would help the Kingdom prove they are not as savage as the others view them. Though Sunset Savana is in no way a starving Kingdom, there is still the clear resentment others treat them with- Fae ruled Kingdoms/Queendoms especially given the long lives and even longer memories of the Fae- and bringing a Human safely into the Kingdom could help break down those societal walls for generations to come.

- Leona will be gruff and have a poor attitude in an attempt to scare his little Human away, knowing that few others would ever trust him to be alone with the soft species. He doesn't like the fear his Human has when he does this aggressive act and it does lead to him being particularly gentle towards the soft Human- especially if the Human is female gendered- when he realizes how much he hates the fear they attribute to him. From making himself be a pillow to covering his Human with his scent, he will try to make up for his aggression and behavior so that Human doesn't resent him. Where Leona will be patient with those younger than him- an adult Lion has no need to harm cubs, even if they are annoying as hell- he will extend that unusual patience and even temper to his Human.

- Leona is 'King' of Savanaclaw and will ensure his subjects don't lay a single fang, claw, or paw on the soft Human because he knows how the other species will react to such an act. He even threatens the other Savanaclaw students so effectively that most will flee upon any physical contact or close proximity with the Human in question despite their usual readiness to fight others. Ruggie does not heed these warnings- despite being a Gnoll- and Leona is actually somewhat pleased the quick to submit Hyena-man has managed to extend an olive-branch of peace to the Human. He won't be thrilled Ruggie is so close with the Human when Leona would rather be in his place, but he will take the offered boon of befriending the Human through Ruggie.

[comfortless]

Everything you write leaves me breathless <333

Sorry in advance for my English

I was thinking about König, (maybe in an ancient rome/Greek settling) being so alone and desperate for connection that he turns to religion: one day he's walking in the woods, deep in thought, when he finds an abandoned temple. The inside is small but lavish, with a life sized statue of what must be its goddess. He sees this lovely sculpture, abandoned and alone and sees himself in her. He becomes a dedicated, fanatic and soso lovestruck worshipper. Unknownly to him his goddess, woken by his prayers, has been watching him and listening to him. One day while he's praying in front of her her statue moves and talks and now his deity is in front of him. Looks like he has an opportunity to worship her like she deserves ;)

granting you ten million kissies for this prompt and your sweet words! your English is perfect, little wisp! <3 also… giving me an excuse to write more loner/loner and mutual worship?! you have spoken to my heart…

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical/myth au; vague time period, brief mentions of violence, fluff, pining, not very explicit smut, mutual worship.

The spirit of the temple feels disorienting, though the architecture is a still, white marble, the floor riddled with leaves and dirt, creeping up the sides of the building as if river water had washed the entire thing ashore… Something feels very alive here, feathered out on the air, a pulse of thunder, the breeze beneath dove’s wings, enthused and yawning. Hungry.

It only becomes more apparent the closer he steps to the statue.

She is unlike any he has ever seen before, carved with the same skill, but so much smaller than the other statues in their temples, so much more lifelike that he almost thinks to greet her. She’s been painted unlike most, a perfect vision bathed in color where she stands out amidst the sea of white and green surrounding her. The temple has not been stained with blood, no offering strewn before her bare feet, left for the rot or dragged away by the dainty hands of this very goddess. No maidens sit in prayer, no men lower there swords to her…

There’s nothing to tell him just who she is, either.

Despite his better judgment, his hand does find her side, a swift draw up from the vision of her thigh peeking from her robe upward to curl over her hip. Her beauty is unmatched, impossible to describe and the call seems almost tangible, shrieking at him in whispers to bend a knee and let her in. So, he does. He prays to her in the silence, alternating between whispers and his own thoughts.

He tells her of his struggles: a soldier brought in from a small tribe up north, robbed from his parents as a boy, how all he knew now were the Roman ways yet could rarely comprehend their customs and deities. Maybe she could offer him some counsel or solace…? Make the weight of his blade feel less heavy as he struck down men that could very well be his own brothers? Give him something to return to when old wounds reopened and he bled, hurt with no one but himself to tend to his heart or his injuries.

The goddess only blesses him with silence: the wind does not pick up outside, there is no disembodied laughter, no sudden thought of an offering or new words to speak to her. She is void of an answer just as the very temple she waits inside is empty of all else.

This does not dissuade him from returning.

Returning to the city after another battle some months later, his first thought is to return to her, to leave the things he’s taken from dead men at her feet, to paint the temple with the blood lingering on his weapon. There is honey, wine, meat and jewelry made of stones from the sea. There is brittle, dried flakes of blood polished from his blade and left to settle onto the floor like the leaves of late autumn. He presents these things to her with a grin, thinking that assuredly this goddess would call back to him then, grant him with a love so consuming that all of the evasion and emptiness cursed upon him would be untwined.

He kneels before her statue, presses his cheek to her thigh, sighs content at the feel of cold marble against the ever-burning of his flesh, gazes up at her like an adoring dog.

Assuredly, if this temple were built for a being that did exist at all she would know just how she was all that this lonesome soldier had, would know the way that he loved her and waited with bated breath and heartstrings pulled taut for her to love him in turn. A greedy, begging muzzle that utters his prayers, words he’s never spoken to anyone whether deity or mortal, only to her in the quiet of the forest.

It’s not madness that provokes him, but the gentleness of her face and the tender look in her eyes, an expression that no other had ever offered to him, no one but this little forgotten goddess. Whether pitying or loving, he did not know. It was only enough to keep him returning: for many days, his path from the city led straight to her feet, even some nights were spent lying upon her floor, finding peace finally being able to sleep next to something apart from lonely walls.

The sun rises and sets each day where he sits and speaks to her as though she were a living, breathing woman. Occasionally he reads aloud to her in the stillness, cheekily tells her when another goddess’ name is brought up within the lines of poetry that they could never hope to compare.

It’s ridiculous when he does not even know what purpose she serves, but this silent figure is his only companion, the only thing that sets his heart ablaze and mind focused in battle because above all else, he has to return to her. Though she can not share his words, he knows somehow that she shares in his loneliness.

Finally, he thinks to ask her the question that has been burning at the tip of his tongue for weeks and months. One, that he has tried to hold back, display a patience that he lacks. It’s after a night of sleeping on cold marble, an ache in his neck from its hardness and his own refraining from bringing a cushion from his own home in his desperation to return to her.

“Why won’t you speak?,” he asks, somber as he makes his way to leave the temple, only halting in place to cast her a fragile look from over his shoulder. He has read the epics, heard the stories and seen the blessings of other deities… Yet no matter what he does or how often he tethers himself to her leg and dotes upon her, she still meets his devotion with nothing but her silence in return.

König is left with the thought that his gifts are not enough, that he, himself, is not enough, even as her sole devotee. To keep his mind preoccupied, he keeps to the city for a time. The bed is cold, the people still see him as a barbaric outsider, and the horrible coil wound around his heart only seems to tighten its grip further. He feels as though he has left a part of himself out there in the forest within the four chalked walls of her temple.

This loneliness does not feel like one he is forced to swallow down, it feels like a vicious sort of ache, the twisting of a dagger beneath ribs to sink in and steal away what little of a life he does have.

He returns to her the following night, with a furrowed brow and a grave look upon his face. There’s an intent to demand she free him of her, that this longing finally pass, but as his sandals reach the entrance to the temple, those thoughts fall away from his mind like droplets of rain, a cool drizzle that begins to fall outside the very moment he is sheltered.

The statue— the goddess moves.

She tilts her head and inspects him fondly, the perfect mouth he has envisioned speaking to him so many times prior tilts upward in the gentlest smile as her bare feet move to carry her body forward.

“A test,” she explains as though answering his question from only the past day, almost saddened by her own words as her gaze lowers to the space between them.

König’s heart does not roar then, it only melts with the knowledge that someone like her has been left alone for so, so very long that she felt the need to prove to herself that he would return to her side. He would. Time and time again he would. When she raises her head to look him in the eye, her own clouded and misty, he only silently prays that she could see such a vow upon his face.

“I am worthy then?,” he questions, forcing himself to remain rigidly in place despite the call- the urge, to circle her, just once, drop at her feet to then feel her pulse beneath his fingertips. Anything. Even an assurance would be reward enough, but there is always a greed in the hearts of men, one he feels burning a hole through his very being even now.

Her lips press to a line and her gaze seems faraway, lost in her own thoughts that must be as mighty as Olympus itself. After a time, she only answers in a soft whisper, “It is I who am unworthy of you.”

All discordance in his chest pulls to a halt at this, all apprehension and sadness are whisked away when she instead comes to kneel before him. She curls her arms around his leg, presses her cheek to his thigh as he had done so many times before. The goddess gazes up at him with not just affection… but reverence, as though he were the strongest warrior of myth, deserving of even the love of something only as ethereal and sweet as she could provide.

His breath catches for a mere moment before he lowers himself at her side. The stares exchanged from both are full of an unspoken wonderment, all of the things that words alone would fail to speak in truth.

He waits out the rain there, sat beside her with the air surrounding them charged with such a great and unspoken affection that even Venus would taste a bitter envy on her tongue should she pass by to see.

She tells him she can not recall what she was the goddess of… or if she was ever truly any goddess at all. The marble surrounding her was put up for a purpose, but she’s never seen the Elysian Fields or climbed Olympus on her own. Her memories are scattered blurs, and she confesses that she feels tired when she tries to parse things together in a way that he will understand.

He listens while he tends to her by offering the honey and dried meat left in offering for her here, then fetches fresh water from the stream that brooks several yards away and returns to her side with a face both damp and flushed.

König tells her of his life too, how during every battle since stumbling upon this sacred place he has kept her in mind; he has no wife to return to, no other women to bed, that since their meeting his life has become hers. He confesses he had the intention of returning only to force a curse upon this madness that had enveloped him, but… he could never have brought himself to do so, even if she had not appeared to him warm and breathing.

Her laugh then could have prompted waves of flowers to bloom and birds to sing in tune, whimsical and so precious he only begins to feel himself fall, truly. Not out of sheer desperation, but with genuine affection.

When her exhaustion does take her, she does not mind the way his arm curls around her middle to tuck her body closer to his own. The goddess has no fury within her, only mirrors his own feelings with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh.

So she sleeps, pulled close to him like a lover rather than a stranger. When dawn breaks, when König knows he’s to be called back to train and fight with the other soldiers, have dull talks about what land to cross and take for their own next, she tells him she will wait there for his return.

He can not concentrate as well on his training this day. The plans for future wars and battles do not send flurries, hot excitement through him. The world is an endless gray, reflected above with darkened clouds threatening further rain. There is only one place he wishes to be, one that yearns for him more than his own home or the women waiting on the street for coins the other men readily supply. When one, a native Roman, does ask him why he does not just venture to the brothel to put himself in better spirits, König only grits his teeth to still his hand from quieting him eternally. These men knew nothing of the love he feels, and certainly they didn’t deserve to.

The temple is no different from how he found it the night prior. The goddess sits with her hands curled in her lap, smiling just as fondly at him as she had before. His heart shatters at the thought that she had sat there waiting for him in such a way all day. He swears to her that he will have a proper bed made for her, bring her the softest of furs and cushions stuffed with downy feathers to lie upon. For now his offering is only fruit and wine, things that she shares with him while she shushes his concerns with quiet words and gratitude that he had returned.

She lowers herself again before him after pulling her robe free and lying it upon the floor. It is no proper bedding at all, but she swears that it is enough, that his own warmth is just enough for her to be sated and comfortable. His head swims when she kisses his thigh, drags her lips up from his knee to rest there with that reverent look in her eye. Mortals coupling with deities was not unheard of, but to think it could happen to him…

She is a goddess. How is he supposed to… How could he ever dirty her with himself? He thinks to refuse her before she tugs away the barrier of fabric between them and takes him into her mouth. Stunned, he only watches her, feels her in a way he has never felt a woman before until he finds his voice again.

“Lie down,” he breathes, shaky and tentative as he rests his hand upon her cheek. She complies, giddy and content when she’s splayed out on the white robe beneath her, legs parting immediately and her arms reaching upward to invite him into her hold.

There’s no tact when he lies atop her, feels the warmth of her thighs around him and her arms curled over his neck. His forehead is pressed to her own when togetherness is found, and when she sighs so soft as she envelops him in full, his mouth descends upon her own.

She doesn’t praise him, doesn’t need to in words, because the muffled sounds and cries that leave her lips are more than enough to spear him onward. König, however… he babbles ceaselessly, overwhelmed and overcome by such a profound joy, he can not keep himself from reciting every word that comes to mind, whether vile or pure.

“My goddess,” he whispers into her hair, eyes half-lidded and dazed with each shallow thrust. “We could have had this for a season… you have made me wait so long, hm?”

The way she feels is unmatched, he thinks, when her breathing shudders and she only seems to constrict him further. To think he could bring a goddess to ruin… the grin that crosses his face when he pushes his head against her neck is bordering on both ecstatic and cruel.

“I will give you a demigod,” he hisses against her throat, not at all subtle about just how far he was willing to go to keep her here. With him. More than Olympus, she belonged beneath him, and the tremor that wracks her form then is all of the confirmation he would need.

She sobs his name when the tension becomes too much to bear, fingernails graze the flesh of his shoulders as she shudders, falls into such bliss that her words of praise come incoherent and weak. He follows her to a saccharine abyss with a guttural groan.

The aftermath is softer than any other moment he has shared with her. There are an abundance of kisses pressed between them, littered across her flesh and his own with whispers that leave his mind cloudy. Her worship is subtle by comparison to his own, coming in honeyed stares and such words he would never dare to repeat, no lowly poet deserved to ever hear them, their voices could never compare to her own.

The goddess holds him close, bumps his nose with her own and makes a promise; she tells him for as long as he shall live that this temple was as much his home as it were his own. That even when this body of his does die, she will seek him out in the Elysian Fields, lie at his feet as he had done her own; that no matter what may come, they will never be apart.

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 2

Intro: Heartslabyul in an isekai AU.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, almost falling in Riddle's part, mentions of poisoning in Trey's part, also a little suggestive on Trey's, just a bit

A/N: I'm happy the previous parts seem well liked. I'm currently working on the endings, but it might take a while, so please remain patient. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Your childhood friends leave a year earlier than you do for the magic school, but it's fine. That means you have one more year to prepare yourself before going to the battlefield, which may or may not be your deathbed. After all these years, you've finally become an accomplished heir! You even dabble in a little bit of swordsmanship in your spare time, and your father tells you you'll make for an excellent knight should you wish for it. Maybe you would have taken up his offer if you were still that same person from years ago, but now you want to face your fate head-on! In any case, Jamil and Kalim were still waiting for you in the magic school, and you just can't let them down. Your first day there is a mess, though.

It's a boarding school with dormitories for all sorts of races, and with one wrong turn after the other, you find yourself stepping off a cloud and plummeting to your doom. You're caught in the air by magic, safely levitated back up to the cloud by a red-headed angel who scolded you to Heaven and back for being reckless, as well as going to the angels' dormitories when you're very clearly human.

Congratulations! You've met Riddle Rosehearts, the heir of the Saintess of Heaven!

He collars you with his signature magic, telling you to deal with it because it was obviously your fault for trespassing. And it is, but you didn't even know how you got up there! Apologies leave your lips and you promise, you're very sincere. It was an honest mistake. You were just human after all. Surely, being the smart and awesome and cool angel he is, he wouldn't hold it against you? His forgiveness comes at the price of one (1) strawberry tart. The next day, you come by his dorm, on purpose this time, and tell him that you even brought nice lemon tea as proof that you were super duper really sorry. The collar comes off.

Now, you're not stupid. Riddle isn't good news because he's a capture target, you know? But your new friends, Ace and Deuce (who are in no way related to the original game), are also angels! And you see Riddle more often than you would have liked, but he's... not terrible, actually. He's a stickler for the rules, but you find that bribing him with sweets is an easy way to get a more lenient sentence. He's kind and smart, and you find yourself asking for his help for certain subjects when Jamil was way too busy looking after Kalim (and the rest of the human dormitory). When you start to think of him as a sort of friend, he confides that his upbringing was a bit too tough, even for Heaven, and that he's now scared of breaking the rules his mother had set in fear of losing it all.

And you sigh. You can be friends with him, probably. He's okay. Then, that's another male lead who might not kill you.

Your fingers gently trace the pure white feathers that grew on his wings. "Your wings are so beautiful, Riddle senpai." You praise happily, pulling off dirt and hair from little nooks and crannies.

"Um, thank you, I suppose." Your hand reaches the tip of his wing, brushing against a bent feather.

"Can I pull off the damaged feathers?"

Riddle nods, and you take it as your cue to snap off the pretty thing and hold it out next to him. "Can I keep it? It'll make for a cute necklace, I think."

Riddle pauses, his face turning as red as his hair. You feel like you've offended him somehow, but he nods again, looking away. "...It's yours, then, if you want it."

You really need a break. All you've done recently is study! And as you face the two sleeping idiots with their heads buried under books, you decide to go and raid the angel dormitory's kitchen. Anyway, if Riddle found out someone ate his pastries, you could just say that you were never there in the first place! Yes, yes, as slithery as a snake, invisible like a middle child.

You tiptoe your way down the stairs and thank the literal Heavens that the angels' dorm had a strict curfew, so no one can even catch you in the act.

Ha, sike.

The lights are on, and it smells like paradise, if paradise were in the form of chocolate chip cookies. There's a tall, green-haired angel with glasses and a cheesy 'Kiss the Cook' apron, and he gives you a mischievous grin and a cookie to buy your silence. You chew on the delicious treat with your eyes closed and think that it's just to die for. No, really, because the person who gave you the cookie is none other than Trey Clover. And in the otome game, the villain died via poisoning on this to-be-archbishop's route. So be a smart cookie, turn tail, and run. You should do that. Right. But when he mumbles something about there being chocolate mousse and banana pudding in the fridge that might also buy your silence, you agree to his terms and gorge yourself on desserts while seated on the counter, your legs swinging while you chat with him. He's stress baking, he says, because third-year assignments have been piling up, and you learn that he's learned how to bake and make treats from his grandfather, who'd learned how to do it from some human.

Your frequent study sessions with the ADeuce combo are punctuated with you sneaking off in the middle of the night and eating whatever Trey's making. You feel a little guilty, just enough to offer to help, and you feel so honored when he buys you your own little 'Kiss the Cook' apron as a gift. You two start to bake together sometimes after class, and he's very enjoyable company. He's really nice, and he makes unfunny dad jokes while he tells you about random things that happened in his day, and you rant his ear off about your troublesome duo as well as your thoughts of getting a cat. You think he's a really sweet guy, and it's not long before you take out the journal of otome game things you've been keeping since you were three, just to cross his name out like the other ones.

Trey is safe. He's a fun older brother kind of guy, responsible, and mature. He wouldn't poison you if he got himself a significant other. Then there's only ten more guys to avoid. Good job, you!

Trey laughs as another handful of flour makes its way onto his face, and he easily repays the favor by smearing cream onto yours.

"Stop! I give, I give!" You surrender in fits of giggles, now finding yourself in between him and the counter. The laughter dies down, but his signature smirk is there. "Don't you give up just a bit too easily? You started it, after all." He teases, caging you in with his arms.

"Please, it's a strategic retreat."

"Is that so?"

"Obviously."

There's a few seconds of silence as he stares into your eyes. You move slyly to swipe a dab of flour from the counter, gently tapping it onto his nose. "I won, senpai."

[theodorenmyth]

Hi! I'm Kai. I actually go by so many names but I'm most comfortable with Kai/Kawa. I am a Hufflepuff and I'm a virgo! I am non-binary and I go by all pronouns.

I am also in many fandoms. Ex ; Stranger Things, Harry Potter, Anime (demon slayer, haikyuu, yuri on ice, etc) Kpop, and MLBB fandom.

Likes, reblogs, comments and new followers are appreciated. My requests are open and I am a STRICTLY M, GN, NB, FTM reader account. (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Please DNI You fit the basic DNI criteria (homophobic, racist, transphobic, etc). Glorifies SH for attention, disrespects peoples pronouns/boundries. You support Z!0N1ST'S.

I wear glasses and I have phobias (thalassophobia, arachnophobia, etc). I have other socials.

Tiktok ; theodorenmyth | Instagram ; theodorenmyth

STATUS : ACTIVE+TAKES REQUESTS

And I also play Mobile Legends Bang Bang (msg me if you wanna play, also Asia servers only >_<)

Check out my other account! ; @theorchives

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 THINGS I WILL DO

Platonic

C/N & Sibling!au

C/N & Son!au

Modern!au

Talk to you

Answer your questions

Fluff

Smut

Angst

Imagines

Fanfics (ofc)

Moodboards

⋅ᯓᡣ𐭩 THINGS I WILL NOT DO

incest

abusive relationship!au

R4p3

Those weird aus

─ ��� ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Important note ; PLEASE do not STEAL, COPY, OR CLAIM my writing as yours. Do not use my work unless I give permission to do so. And my masterlist is not up to date.

✶ ; smut 　　 ♡︎ ; fluff 𐙚 ; angst ᡣ𐭩 ; angst-fluff

✽ ; fluff-angst ✿ ; smut-fluff ❥ ; fluff-smut

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ BLAISE ZABINI

Unexpected love ♡︎ Jealousy ♡︎ whipped cream delight ✶ a canvas of colors ♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ THEODORE NOTT

sweater ♡︎ Peace ♡︎ forbidden love 𐙚 Protection ᡣ𐭩 Jealousy Unveiled ♡︎ Weight of the Wings ♡︎ The Secret Between Professors ♡︎ Behind Closed Doors ♡︎ Breaking the Tradition. (sequel to forbidden love) ♡︎ A Twinge of Green ♡︎ Envious Echoes ♡︎ hidden affections ♡︎ sun and moon ♡︎ healing hearts ᡣ𐭩 startled affections ♡︎ envious hearts ♡︎ marked by love ✶ parole sussurrate ♡︎ protective affections ♡︎ head kiss habit ♡︎ dad reflexes ♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ MATTHEO RIDDLE

patchup routine ♡︎ Possesive Whispers. ♡︎ quidditch loss♡︎ Unexpected Mishap♡︎ Enchanted Vision ♡︎ Bunnies and Bromance♡︎ tangled promises♡︎ dont make it obvious♡︎ unspoken feelings♡︎ lost and found ᡣ𐭩 unveiling strength♡︎ the protectors panic ᡣ𐭩 hunter eyes ♡︎ playful duels♡︎ distracting love♡︎ defenders fury ᡣ𐭩 entwined in his touch♡︎ whispering shadows ᡣ𐭩 feral to tender♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅LORENZO BERKSHIRE

a brothers concern ᡣ𐭩 regrets ᡣ𐭩 Whiskers and Secrets ♡︎ locked hearts♡︎ posessive glances♡︎ veil of possession ✿ quidditch meetups♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ TOM RIDDLE

shadows of light ᡣ𐭩 Intense Desires ✶ the gentle darkness♡︎ silent comfort♡︎ carried by pride♡︎ clumsy ♡︎

play with fire ♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ DRACO MALFOY

against the odds ᡣ𐭩 enemies to lovers ᡣ𐭩

POLY RELATIONSHIP. . . ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Winterbreak Comfort ♡︎ simp and protect ♡︎ The Snake Tamer's Privilege♡︎ the eyes of the serpent♡︎ blinded by love♡︎ echoes of silenceᡣ𐭩 misheard magic♡︎ slytherin spoils♡︎ short of sleeves♡︎ ties of friendship♡︎

dreams and reality ♡︎

protectors embrace ♡︎

Shared Words ♡︎

Nights of Frights ♡︎

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SLYTHERIN BOYS REACT

Slytherin boys react (yule ball)

Slytherin boys react (confession)

ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓ

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ RON WEASLEY

freckles and braids. ♡︎ warm embrace ♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ HARRY POTTER

Through Each Other's Eyes ♡︎ Ensnared by Green Eyes ♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ FRED WEASLEY

identical, yet distinct ♡︎

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ CEDRIC DIGGORY

Last memory of him 𐙚 quidditch prize ✶