#leona kingscholar x you

[solxamber]

Burn Wild — Leona Kingscholar x reader

Always so close, yet so far away. Leona pushes it down—he keeps pushing and pushing, until one day, he lets it break.

(it's a happy ending, i swear)

Leona Kingscholar has always known his place in the world. From the moment he learned to walk, to stand tall under the endless, unforgiving sun of the Sunset Savanna, he has been acutely aware of how people see him. They don’t need to say a word—he feels it in the heavy silence that follows him into a room, in the guarded glances cast his way.

Most are terrified of what he represents: the second prince, a shadow of the royal bloodline, someone who could inherit a kingdom but never will.

Others fear him for his strength, the quiet, coiled power beneath his lazy exterior, or for his sharp tongue that cuts deeper than any blade, cleaving through pretense and weakness alike.

“Lazy,” they whisper behind his back, as if the word can sum up the depth of his disdain for this farcical game of status and power. “Unmotivated,” they say, because they can’t understand why someone with the world laid at his feet doesn’t fight harder to claim the throne, to claw his way up and tear it from his brother’s grasp.

They’ll never understand. They’ve never felt the weight of a crown that will never be theirs, the hollowness of a title that means nothing but second best. Let them carry that burden for just a day, and see how long they last.

He could laugh at how little they know.

If he could trade this title, this empty prestige, for even a sliver of genuine acknowledgment, he would. To be seen—not as a prince, not as some spare destined to live in the shadow of his older brother—but as Leona, the man. The individual.

The soul that yearns for more than the scraps of attention thrown his way, like bones to a dog. But life, he knows, isn’t fair. It wasn’t made to be. And for someone like him, it never will be.

So he doesn’t hope for fairness. He doesn’t look for understanding. Instead, he pushes it all inward, presses it deep into the corners of his heart where no one can touch it.

When people try to get close, when they think they can soften his edges or pry into the depths of his guarded soul, he meets them with sharp words and a glare that freezes them in place.

They’ll never know how much easier it is to be feared than to be seen, how much safer it feels to keep everyone at arm’s length.

He is second in line, but he’ll never be second to anyone. He’ll make sure of that. He’ll keep himself locked away, out of reach, untouchable.

If they can’t see past the crown, past the sharpness in his words or the laziness they accuse him of, then they don’t deserve to know him. Let them think he’s content in the shadows, in his naps and biting remarks, in the mask he wears so well.

There’s no use wishing for something different. He’ll never be number one, and that’s a truth he’s long since swallowed. But even so, a part of him, buried deep where even he rarely dares to look, still longs for more.

For a world where he isn’t just the spare, where he isn’t second to anyone. A world where someone might see him—not the prince, not the title—but just him.

But that world doesn’t exist, and it never will. So he keeps it all buried, locks it all behind a wall of indifference, letting the bitterness settle in his bones. Maybe, in the end, it’s enough to live in a world that has no place for him.

At least that way, no one can ever mistake him for someone else’s second choice.

Leona doesn’t actually nap. He just lies there, eyes half-lidded, watching the sky or the flicker of light on the walls. Sleep doesn’t always come; it’s not that he needs it.

No, it’s the weight of disinterest, the apathy that’s soaked deep into his marrow, making it seem pointless to do anything else. Why bother? When every glance cast in his direction is the same hollow reverence for a title, a prince without a crown.

When no one bothers to look past that thin veil, why should he try to show them anything more?

There’s a strange kind of comfort in that inertia, a quiet understanding that nothing will change. People like things easy, predictable.

They would rather see the lazy, unmotivated prince who naps through life than ask why. It’s easier for them, and maybe even for him.

But then, there are those like Ruggie. Leona likes people like him. At least Ruggie’s honest. The kid wants what he wants, makes no illusions about it. There's a rawness to his hustle, the clarity of someone who doesn’t pretend to care about who Leona is beyond his utility.

But you? He never bothered to learn your name, never even gave you a second thought. You would be like the others, surely. Just another face in the crowd. Another person who would pretend to care, only to be drawn by the allure of who he was supposed to be.

So when he overhears your voice one lazy afternoon, chatting with Ruggie like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he almost doesn’t bother to look. Almost. Boredom, though, is a dangerous thing, so he tilts his head just slightly, his gaze barely cracking open to take you in.

There you are, talking, smiling with Ruggie like you’ve never had a care in the world. He watches the way you casually hand over your lunch, like it’s the most effortless gesture. Not out of obligation, not for any hidden motive. Just... because.

It grates on him. That smile of yours, that careless generosity. It makes something bitter stir in his chest, gnawing at the edges of his quiet disdain.

You have no idea, do you? That simple act, that thoughtless kindness—it’s not going to change anything.

It won’t make the world any softer for you, won’t stop it from grinding you down until you feel as jaded as he does.

He closes his eyes, shutting you out, trying to shake off the irritation curling around his ribs. Maybe that’s the thing that gets under his skin the most—that privilege of yours, of someone who hasn’t been broken yet.

Of course, life never lets Leona catch a break. He’s dealt with enough by now to know that any moment of quiet is always followed by something—someone—determined to disturb his carefully cultivated indifference.

This time, it’s you. Paired with him for some group project. The usual routine would be simple: the others would either be too intimidated to approach him, or they’d accept a bribe, a few coins to make it easier on both sides. But you? No, you seem hellbent on dragging him into this.

He still remembers the first time you approached him after class, all bright-eyed and earnest, asking for his number like you had no idea who he was. No idea what kind of reputation he held.

He stared you down, letting his eyes narrow into the glare he knows works every time—cold, dismissive, enough to make anyone with half a brain turn and scurry away. But you didn’t.

You tilted your head, smiled at him, as if the weight of his stare didn’t bother you in the slightest. That moment felt like a spark catching in the dark, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his chest.

But Leona, who has long since mastered the art of burying unwanted feelings, shoved it down without a second thought. That’s how it’s always been. If something gets too close, too real, he locks it away, deep beneath layers of practiced indifference. He’s never let anyone chip away at that wall, and he’s not about to start now.

Yet, you’re relentless. No matter where he goes to escape, you somehow find him. He’s sure Ruggie’s been eating like a king for weeks, considering how often you bribe him for information.

You show up in the strangest places, dragging your backpack along, always with that same smile. And, slowly, Leona starts to let you in—not that he’d ever admit it. Not out loud, not even to himself. But for the first time, he lets someone work with him, just to get you off his back.

But there’s something else too. Leona struggles with control. His whole life has been shaped by what’s been taken from him, what’s been denied. Every opportunity to exert control, to hold power, he seizes it, because it’s the one thing that can’t be stripped away.

So when he gruffly barks orders at you, expecting a flash of resistance, a bite back, he waits. And again, there’s that smile. That stupid, persistent smile. You don’t challenge him; instead, you calmly suggest changes, as if negotiating with a lion was just another part of your day.

And for the first time, Leona feels that flicker in his chest burning a little brighter. He doesn’t like it. It’s unfamiliar, and everything unfamiliar is dangerous. That’s the mistake he made before—letting himself believe that anything good could come from letting his guard down. He locks it down again, hard, throwing the key to the furthest corner of his mind.

He won’t make that mistake again. He’s too old, too wise for that now. But the flame, small and stubborn, remains.

Leona Kingscholar knows exactly what he's capable of. Spelldrive isn’t just a game for him—it’s an arena where his talent roars, where his strength becomes undeniable. He knows he's good. Better than most, and yet… not better than him.

Malleus Draconia—towering, unbeatable, and utterly maddening in his ease. The prince of the fae seems to glide through every match, effortless, as if strength itself bends to his will.

And it gnaws at Leona, festers in a corner of his mind that he tries to forget. Malleus has everything Leona could want—power, status, recognition. And the worst part? It’s never enough for Leona to just be good, not when he knows that the world will never see him as anything other than second best.

Another match, another loss to Diasomnia. Another bitter reminder that no matter how hard he fights, talent doesn’t always win. It’s routine now, this pattern of disappointment, of watching the scoreboard flash their defeat while pretending it doesn’t matter.

His teammates look to him with expectation, but Leona only feels the dull weight of inevitability. It’s almost boring how predictable it all feels.

So he does what he always does—retreats to a corner, far from the chaos and the murmurs of his dorm. If the world insists on making him second, he’s learned how to disappear from it.

Leona stretches out, the familiar lethargy settling in like an old friend. His mind tells him to sleep, to let the world fade for a while, but it’s not sleep that drives him here.

It’s the apathy, the exhaustion that sinks deeper than bone. It’s the bitter taste of realizing that no matter how sharp his claws, no matter how strong he is, there’s always someone stronger.

He doesn’t expect anyone to follow him. But the soft rustle of footsteps makes his ear twitch, and he cracks an eye open, irritation already curling in his gut. It’s you. And for a brief moment, he waits for that stupid smile—the one you’ve been plastering across his path ever since you barged into his life. But today, there’s no grin, no lighthearted quip. You look at him with something else. Concern.

Leona stiffens. He knows the look of pity well enough to recognize it, but this isn’t pity. No, this is something far more dangerous—concern. For him. You sit beside him in silence, no words, just the quiet presence of someone who isn’t there to challenge or undermine, but simply to be there. And then you hand him a bottle of electrolyte water, no fanfare, no explanation. Just a gesture, simple and clear.

It feels like a sudden shift in the air. Like a trap laid bare, exposing parts of him he thought he’d buried beneath layers of resentment and indifference. Leona feels naked under your gaze, like you can see past the layers of arrogance and self-assurance, straight into the parts of him he doesn’t let anyone see.

He can’t decide if he wants to snap at you, tell you to leave him the hell alone, or if he wants to let himself drown in the unfamiliar warmth of your presence.

He knows you’re friends with them—Diasomnia, Malleus, all of them. You’re in their orbit, always close enough to the winning side. You could be anywhere right now, basking in the afterglow of another victory, but you’re not.

You’re here. Sitting beside him, looking at him as though he isn’t second. As though he’s worth more than what everyone else sees.

So he asks you, with a low growl edging his words, why the hell you’re here. And your answer is so simple it almost infuriates him. You wanted to be here with him. No pretense, no hidden motives. Just that.

Leona should push you away, should throw up every wall and bury whatever strange warmth is trying to flicker to life in his chest. But instead, he does what he’s good at—he pretends none of it matters.

He settles down again, using you as a pillow, as if this were nothing more than another nap, another way to escape.

But when your fingers brush through his hair, slow and gentle, something inside him stirs. The flames he’s kept buried for so long, the ones he’s always tried to suffocate, flicker just a little brighter. For the first time in a long time, Leona lets them. Just this once. Just for a moment.

Leona doesn’t waste his time on other people’s messes. Why should he? If someone gets tangled up in their own poor decisions, they ought to figure it out themselves. No one ever held his hand, no one pulled him from the darkness when it crept too close.

So he’s learned to stay indifferent, aloof—disconnected from the endless chaos that surrounds him.

So when he sees you in the middle of a heated argument, your back up against the metaphorical wall, three people towering over you, he tries—he really tries—to let it slide. It’s none of his business.

You can figure it out. Why wouldn’t you? You’re always smiling like the world bends for you anyway, always so… relentless. But there’s something about the way those three loom over you, the sharp glint in their eyes, that makes it hard for him to settle back into the lazy apathy that clings to him. He closes his eyes, feigning disinterest, willing himself to ignore the situation.

But then, he hears something that makes his ears twitch, something that slices through his indifference like a blade. You're defending him.

Defending him as though it’s second nature to you, like it’s not even a question. He strains to hear the words, letting them wash over him like a foreign melody—merits he didn’t even know he possessed, traits you speak of like they’re so obvious, like you’ve been holding them in your heart all this time.

It’s the strangest thing. The tension in the air thickens, the argument escalating, voices growing sharper. And before he can even think about why he’s doing it, Leona Kingscholar stands.

He pushes off from his nap spot, his movements slow but deliberate, each step carrying the weight of something he doesn’t quite want to acknowledge yet.

When he gets close, the three people glance at him, and his glare alone is enough to send them scattering, as if the storm that rumbles within him could tear them apart with just a look.

And then there’s you. Standing there, looking at him with that same damn smile, as if the danger you were just in doesn’t bother you at all.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His voice is low, rough, the edges of frustration still clinging to it. He grabs your wrist, dragging you to a secluded corner, out of the public eye, his grip firm but not harsh.

You blink up at him, unbothered by the ferocity in his eyes, and answer with a simple shrug. "I was just telling the truth."

"It doesn't matter if it's the truth," he snaps, the words leaving him more sharply than he intended. "You could’ve gotten hurt, idiot. You don’t need to get involved in something like that. Especially for someone like me."

For a moment, he expects you to falter, to back down like everyone else always does when they realize the danger. But you don’t.

You stand your ground, and that damn stubbornness that seems to be the core of your being lights up in your eyes. "Leona, I’m not gonna stand there and listen to them trash you. You’re more than they’ll ever understand, and I won’t pretend otherwise. I’m not afraid of them, or anyone."

He stares at you, something twisting deep inside his chest. In the middle of this argument, he realizes something he’s never let himself believe before: you chose him. Not out of fear, not out of obligation, but because you genuinely see something in him worth defending. You chose him, even when it meant putting yourself at risk.

Before he can stop himself, before his mind can catch up to what his heart is screaming, he pulls you close, crashing his lips against yours. The world seems to tilt, everything else fading as your hands reach up, steady and sure, pulling him closer. You kiss him back without hesitation, and when you finally break apart, you press your face into his neck, shy but somehow still so sure.

When you whisper softly, your breath warm against his skin, “I chose you, Leona,” the words settle into him like a promise. His chest tightens, the flame that’s been smoldering for so long finally breaking free, burning brighter and wilder than he ever thought possible.

He lets it. He lets the fire consume him, for once not pushing it down, not pretending it doesn’t exist. Because for the first time in his life, Leona Kingscholar is someone’s first choice.

And he lets the flames burn wild.

I'm not even kidding I made myself tear up while writing this because he's so special to me.

Masterlist

[asterafroditis]

hi!! i really like your works and i was wondering if i could request savannaclaw x a reader (sorry if if i worded this weirdly btw T-T) who likes sniffing them (ie like those cat owners who just stick their face into their cat’s stomach and smells them to destress)

𐔌 . ⋮ quiet comfort .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

���┆ Leona, Ruggie, & Jack x gn! reader

𓏵 708 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff

Don't worry about it sounding weird, I found this quite cute actually (^o^)/ feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

You did it once—just once—when Leona was half-asleep under the sun and smelled like sun-warmed leather, sage, and something wild and soft. You’d leaned in and pressed your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply like a sigh.

He cracked an eye open.

“Tch. What, you gonna start kneadin’ my stomach next, herbivore?”

You froze. For a moment, you thought he might push you off or grumble himself into another nap, but then he didn’t move. He just closed his eyes again, letting you stay there, one arm thrown lazily over his eyes, the other conveniently draped behind your back.

“I ain’t a damn pillow,” he muttered.

But when you started to pull away, he exhaled through his nose.

“Didn’t say I minded.”

Since then, you’ve noticed him quietly making room for you whenever he settles down for a nap—like he’s leaving a space open just in case. He never asks for it. Never says anything. But if you hesitate, if you seem stressed or distant, you’ll find his tail curling subtly your way, his arm draping behind you without a word.

“Doin’ that sniff thing again?” he’ll grumble, eyes still closed.

You hum in reply, nose pressed against his collar.

“…Yeah. Alright.”

There’s something quiet and honest about how he lets you have this. Like he knows the world wears you down sometimes—and maybe, just maybe, he likes being your comfort more than he’ll ever admit.

And in those quiet moments, when the sun is warm and you’re nestled into his side, Leona doesn’t feel like a prince or a second son or someone always on the edge of sleep.

He just feels safe. And you do too.

─────────────────────────

The first time you nuzzled into his hoodie and took a big, stress-melting inhale, Ruggie nearly dropped the snack he was holding.

“Whoa there, what are ya—? Are you sniffin’ me?” He squawked, tail flicking in surprise.

You gave him a sheepish look and admitted that he smelled… comforting. Like toasted sugar, linen hung to dry in the sun, and a little like baked goods.

Ruggie flushed, ears twitching. “That’s seriously weird,” he mumbled—though his grin said otherwise. “But, uh… I guess I don’t mind. Long as you’re not plannin’ to charge me rent for bein’ your emotional support beastman.”

It became a quiet ritual. He’d pretend to act put-upon every time you leaned into him for a sniff, joking about how you owed him snacks or how he should be charging per cuddle. But then you’d catch him leaning a little closer, resting his chin on your head, his hoodie freshly washed with that same cozy smell.

And when you're overwhelmed or anxious, he’ll sigh and open his arms with a lopsided grin.

“C’mere, hyena therapy’s open for business. First sniff’s free.”

─────────────────────────

Jack turns into a stiff, flustered mess the first time it happens. He’s helping you study, you’re exhausted, and your brain is fried. You lean over and just… rest your face against his shoulder, taking a soft breath in.

“W-Wha—?!” he jolts, ears going straight up, cheeks red. “Did you just—sniff me?”

You mutter something about how he smells nice—like pine needles, fresh snow, and clean soap—and how it makes your head feel less heavy.

Jack is silent for a few seconds. Then: “...That’s not weird. I mean. I guess that’s kinda normal for wolves too.”

After that, he’s very aware of how close you are during study sessions. He keeps his uniforms extra clean. Sometimes he’ll subtly sit a little closer or keep his arm there just in case you need to de-stress again.

When you sniff him now, he stiffens for a moment but doesn’t pull away. In fact, he’ll glance to the side and say, “If it helps you feel better… then I don’t mind.”

Just don’t expect him to ever bring it up first. But he’s listening closely every time, ears flicking at even your tiniest sighs, and he’ll always make sure he’s there when you need him.

[thegoldencontracts]

Hey! Can I suggest a tired & flustered Azul or Leona? Both are personal favorites

Hihi I gotchuu anon thank you for the requestt <3

also a bit off-topic but im indian-american (not native, like the asian country) and im the same shade as as leona which is why i hate hate hate when people talk about him blushing it'd be vy hard to see and i know its so weird and theyre good writers blah blah blah just a little pet peeve

Leona Kingscholar

You were currently being pulled into the arms of none other than the Prince of Afterglow, Leona Kingscholar. That wasn't particularly new - ever since you two started dating, Leona seemed to have a newfound love of cuddling you. It was pretty cute, actually. He really did act like a big cat sometimes.

Today, though, he seemed especially tired. He was always a bit tired - you knew why, and it wasn't a pretty story, but you had to digress - today, he seemed even more tired than usual.

It made sense. He had to pull an all-nighter yesterday catching up on paperwork for the Spelldrive club, something you still couldn't believe he'd actually done instead of just throwing the job onto Ruggie.

Still, he looked just about ready to collapse. You were getting pretty concerned.

"Wanna go to bed?" You asked, taking the opportunity to card your fingers through his hair. For once, he didn't try to hide the way he leaned into the touch. He pouted, though, and at that moment, you thought your heart was going to explode.

Leona, calm, always composed Leona was pouting at you. He looked almost like a kid right now.

You couldn't help the hearty laugh that escaped you. Leona huffed at you, angling his face in a way that made his dark circles much too prominent.

"Really, though," you said. "Get some sleep. I'll be here in the morning."

Leona mumbled something.

"What was that?"

"Come with me, herbivore," he said, more mumbled, and though it wasn't visible, you could tell he was blushing. The way he couldn't meet your eyes said it all.

He was surprisingly honest today.

He probably took your silence for teasing or the like, because he turned away with a huff.

"You can," he said. "I don't really care either way."

You smiled. It was genuine, not an ounce of teasing. You weren't going to do that, now when it was already so hard for him to be more vulnerable with you. It was overjoying just to know he was being honest.

"I'll take you up on that offer," you said, and that poorly hidden smile made every moment you'd have to spend listening to him snore worth it.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was working this evening. That was fine - he'd literally taken you out on a date so custom-tailored to you it made you wonder how exactly he knew you so well yesterday, you weren't going to complain about his performance as your beloved.

But he seemed tired. No, no, that was an understatement. He seemed like he was about to pass out any moment now. And yet, by some miracle, he was still working.

You had to perform well has his beloved, too. And that meant taking care of him when he was ill - or in this case, so tired he might as well have been.

"Azul?" you called out, and the thirty seconds it took him to process your voice and turn to look at you said it all. "Don't you think you should go to bed?"

After a few seconds, he shook his head blearily.

"'Can't," he mumbled, his words slurred. "Work."

You vaguely understood what he was trying to say. He couldn't sleep, he had work to do.

But it didn't seem like he was going to get much done in his current state other than pass out.

"Sleep, please," you said, and you were honestly shocked at how gentle your voice sounded. Being in love with Azul really did things to you, huh?

"But the money!" he whined, and you couldn't help but laugh. The money? That's what he cared about right now? How much money did he actually think he'd lose from sleeping? "'Want money."

This was the love of your life. This man.

Seeing you laugh, he huffed, cheeks bright red.

"Stop laughing," he said, pouting. "Ugh. 'S why you have no money."

Cold, Azul. Cold. Even in his current state, he had to remind you of your painfully broke reality.

"Then you'll have to help me make some, then." You said, trying to appeal to his love of rambling about finance. "Why don't you teach me? We can go to your room while we're at it, more privacy that way."

He nodded shakily, cheeks still a bit pink.

"I'm very-" he cut himself off, trying to pronounce somthing. "'Nevolent. Be-ne-vo-lent. I'll help you."

"Thank you so much," you said, and he followed you to his room.

You couldn't wait to see how embarrassed he'd get in the morning.

Bonus (Of sorts):

"I said what?"

"Yeah, and your face was so red! You kept slurring over your words, too. You couldn't even say 'benevolent'! Isn't that, like, your signature word?"

"Stop teasing me already!"

[crunchystarz]

Leona pinning headcanons with a reader who follows him round pretty please!1!1>-<

Leona with a reader who follows him around

Pairing Leona Kingscholar x GN!reader

Word count: 758

Cw- Leona is a sad sad man/endearing, fluff, reader is not specified to be yuu, not proofread.

A/n: I got a lil carried away while writing so this is more of a ramble than headcanons 🦭 also for some reason my asks got wiped so for everyone who had an req earlier I'm sorry 😞!! They are still open !

Leona didn't know how to feel about you at first, truly you were a mystery to him. He couldn't figure out what your motives were. Seriously no one else came up to him.  They'd usually be too scared to even come up to him. And when they do they always want something from him.

It's always been that way so Leona honestly didn't care anymore he'd either just walk away or give them a glare that sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs.

But you? Sevens he didn't even know what to do with you. He couldn't figure out a single thing you could have possibly wanted from him. You're always following him around.

 At first he was annoyed. Everywhere he went your bubbly presence followed. You always asked him questions and he couldn't stand it. Seriously, he didn't know what to do with you.

He'd tell Ruggie to stay on the lookout for you but it never worked. He honestly believed he let it happen on purpose. At one point he tried to pay you to leave him alone.

You shocked him by shaking your head and telling him you just like being around him. No, you had to want something from him? He just grumbled and turned over and proceeded to try and go back to sleep.

He tried to ignore the way his heart beat increased slightly. He wasn't used to being…wanted.

Leona used to roll his eyes whenever you'd talk about him to others like you were friends. Now he just looks away as his tail flickered slightly in embarrassment. Ruggie would tease him about how you practically followed him around like some lost puppy, and tease him on how he stopped trying to push you away. 

“Don't tell me you've gone soft!”

He hasn't…he just got used to your presence. It's more odd if you stopped coming around. Totally not because he's become attached to you. Not because he's scared if he even pretends to push you away you'll actually leave.

Leona can't help but linger around you as well, the few times you're not following him around he's following you around. He doesn't make it obvious…unless there's someone else getting too much of your attention.

He'll admit it he does get jealous. He knows what being jealous feels like, but he's always been jealous of what people have and yeah sure he's been jealous of lack of attention as a child but this. This is different.

Leona would loom over you intimidating whoever was taking your attention from him, or head straight up to you just to drag you away from them. 

He is in pure denial that he likes you…he's just fascinated by you and your nature. He likes whenever you chirpily talk to him while trying hard to keep up with his stride.

He won't admit to anyone that he feels disappointed whenever he wakes up from a nap and you haven't somehow found him. 

Leona isn't in love be just…wants to kiss that still smile off your face whenever you're ranting. He's not in love, he just wants all your attention. He's not in love, he just wants to drag you down with him while he sleeps. He is not in love, he just wants to call you his. Leona.is.not.in love.

(At least that's what he tells himself)

Leona eventually accepts the reality of his feelings when you two were sitting down at lunch and you told him about how someone had asked you out. He nearly choked on his food. He decided right then and  there that he'd tell you how he feels.

 However he didn't know why but telling you flat out was…hard? He'd just grumbled and continued eating. Ruggie chuckled to himself watching the way Leona's tail flickered in  aggravation.

From then he tries so hard to drop hints that he doesn't just tolerate you. You're not naive but sevens it was like you couldn't pick up a single hint he gave you.

Leona  was so pathetic he just wanted you. Why couldn't you see that? Weren't the gifts not a sign? The fact that he once offered you to nap with him. Yeah he doesn't know what he's doing and even thinks about going to Ruggie but immediately back tracks.

The next time he sees you he just straight up grabs you by the shoulders.

“Herbivore, I like you.”

“I mean I sure hope you do, we're friends right?”

...

You're killing him. He hangs his head in defeat…maybe he should go to Ruggie.

Please help him.

MASTERLIST

[yandere-wishes]

LOOK AT HIM !!!! HE IS SO KINGCORE!! HE LOOKS SO SO SO AAAHHHHH!!!!

No littraly he looks like an undead king or gangster godfather!!!!! Oh my God the IDEAS I'm having about this man!! He is so PERFECT!!!!!!!

[syerra-637]

How they help you study (Dorm Leaders)

Riddle Rosehearts:

He would insist on setting up a strict study schedule, helping you organize your time efficiently and reminding you of the importance of rules and discipline.

Leona Kingscholar:

He would be a bit nonchalant but offer you a quiet place to study, away from distractions, and give you tips on how to succeed with minimal effort.

Azul Ashengrotto:

He would offer tutoring sessions and detailed lecture notes, in exchange for a small favor of course, but he would genuinely care about your success.

Kalim Al-Asim:

He would bring you snacks and drinks (prepared by Jamil, obviously) to keep you energized, and would try to maintain a positive and relaxed atmosphere.

Vil Schoenheit:

He would help you maintain a healthy lifestyle during your revision period, giving you tips on sleep, nutrition, and stress management to keep you fit and focused.

Idia Shroud:

He would send you useful digital resources, like educational videos and discussion forums, while encouraging you virtually from the safety of his room.

Malleus Draconia:

He would offer subtle magical support to calm your nerves, while telling you ancient stories to relax your mind before exams.

[stormynightstorytime]

Leona and Yuu, watching this child as they take the subway:...

Leona: I want one.

Yuu, the one who convinced him to try peasant transportation: I shouldn't have brought you here.

Leona: I. want. one.

Yuu: No!

[m00nkissedlover]

・｡Tasty Confessions 🥮

You've ordered: a vanilla gingerbread tart! enjoy!

"This is falling, falling in love"

Leona Kingscholar x reader | word count: 1,418 words

Summary: holiday confession gone wrong...and right? 🥮

Warnings: none!

Note: i don't celebrate christmas, so in the fic, i didn't specify the holiday (used "holiday season" instead)

"Trey, a little help here?" you yelled, attempting to carry two trays of tart shells out of the oven.

"Ah, coming! You've gotta be careful, Y/n." the green haired boy reminded you, rushing over and taking one of the trays.

The cozy holiday season had settled upon Night Raven College rather nicely. Decorations were put up and plans for celebration were in full swing. And you intended to make this one extra special.

You'd decided to bake tarts for your friends in the various dorms and even a few for the NRC staff. As you filled the shells with various creams and custards, Trey helped you out, offering up his baking expertise when you were caught in the weeds about how to do this.

As you now cut up various fruits and other sweets for decoration, the door to the kitchen opened and in walked Cater, holding Grim in his arms.

"I couldn't get him to stop. He somehow smelled your tarts from down the hall." Cater said, seeming like he'd put in a lot of effort in trying to stop the cat-like creature.

"Hey, you better save some for me, henchman!" Grim exclaimed, hopping out of Cater's arms and onto the counter.

"Don't worry Grim. After i'm done, I'll make you all the tuna tarts you want." you smiled, scratching under his chin.

"Hey Y/n, why are these tarts different than all the others?" Cater questioned, pointing to a small batch of tarts that were obviously different from the others.

Your cheeks colored a bit upon being questioned, your hand almost dropping the spoon you held.

"Those are...for Leona." you admitted, cater letting out an excited "Ooh!"

It was no secret that you had a crush on Leona. The lion beastman had caught your attention the first day you'd arrived. You used to think he was lazy and rude, but after being around him for a while, your outlook changed. And so did your feelings.

"I plan on writing a note to him in which i confess my feelings and...putting it in his tart bag..." you murmured, your cheeks warming up in embarrassment.

"Confessing to him with tarts? how cute." Trey quipped, placing a tray of finished tarts into the fridge to chill.

"Yeah, I just hope it goes well..."

"Oh trust me, I'm sure he likes you too. Leona isn't keen on putting up with people just like that." Cater said, swiping a bit of cream onto his finger and tasting it.

"Cater!" you scolded, rushing to grab grim before he dunked his whole head in the bowl.

"Alright, alright! enough fun. I've gotta get back to baking." you playfully grumbled, shooing them out.

A day had passed since you cooked up your delicious sweet treats. Each person had 5 tarts, all in a clear bag with a colored ribbon on top. You went around to each dorm handing out the tasty tarts and to your surprise, everyone loved them!

You finally stopped in front of your final destination: the Savanaclaw dorms. You clutched the basket in your hands, glancing down at it to do one last check. One for Ruggie, one for Jack, and obviously one for....?! You then realized you were short one bag...and it was the most important bag of all. Just where was Leona's bag??

In haste, you quickly scrambled back over to Heartslabyul, ignoring a nagging Riddle as you barged into the kitchen. You looked everywhere, every nook and cranny. Absolutely nothing.

You grabbed your phone, calling trey.

"Hey Trey. Have you seen the tarts I made for...you know who?" you asked, praying that he knew something.

"No, sorry Y/n. the last I saw of them was when I left last night, and they were still in your basket. did something happen?" he asked, seeming concerned.

"Uh, you know what? Don't worry about it. Thanks Trey." you said before hanging up.

It wasn't like the tarts had grown legs and ran away! You didn't have time for this. And you definitely didn't have the time to make new tarts. You asked across the dorms (except Savanaclaw) if they'd seen the tarts, to which everyone responded no. What were you going to do?

As you paced around the hallway, someone called out your name. Turning, you were met by Ruggie, a member of Savanaclaw. Upon seeing your panic, Ruggie made his way over to you, tail flicking.

"Y/n, what's wrong? You look more stressed than Leona when he can't get his favorite sandwich." he asked.

You let out a sigh of defeat, leaning against the wall. "I made tarts for everyone to celebrate the holidays. I also made...special tarts for Leona. I was going to tell him how I feel today, but...I can't find his damn tarts!" you groaned.

"Well, what did they look like?" Ruggie asked.

"They were in a clear bag like everyone else's. But his had a yellow and black ribbon on it, whereas the ones for you and jack were just yellow." you could already see the guilt on Ruggie's face.

"Spit it out."

"I may or may not have found said package of tarts...and given them to Leona-" Ruggie mumbled, visibly sweat-dropping.

Your mouth fell open in horror as you realized the situation you were in. Leona...had already gotten your tarts!

"Ruggie, where is Leona right now?" you asked urgently, shoving the basket into his arms.

"Oof! Uhhh...I think he's in the botanical garden. that's where I gave them to him."

You made a mad dash down the hall, bursting into the garden. Your eyes frantically looked around, spotting a tail in the corner of your eye.

When you got closer, your stomach dropped as you saw Leona, already breaking into the sweet treats.

"Need something, herbivore?" the beastman asked, his tail flicking.

You swallowed, taking a breath before walking over and snatching up the note.

"You didn't read this, right?" you asked, Leona smirking as he licked cream off of the corner of his lips.

"And what if i did?" he challenged, your heart dropping.

"H-how much did you-?" "All of it."

The note fell from your hands, your heart aching as you looked Leona in the eyes. Damn...this was embarrassing.

As you tried to keep yourself from panicking, you stepped closer to him, kneeling down to his level. "So...how do you feel about what you read?"

Leona let out a soft "Hm", as if he were thinking of the perfect response. "Come a little closer." he said.

You shuffled a bit closer to him, mumbling a soft "Yeah?" as you did. The lion man just smirked, beckoning you closer.

"Come on herbivore, get closer. Just a little. And close your eyes."

You moved closer till you were practically touching noses with Leona, your eyes fluttering shut. You felt like your heart would leap out of your chest at any given moment.

thwack! You pulled back, your eyes opening in surprise. Leona had just flicked you in the forehead!

"What the hell, leona?" you exclaimed, your hand flying up to caress the spot he'd flicked.

"You really are dense." "What-"

Leona leaned in a bit closer this time, his breath tickling your cheek. "You think I ate your tarts out of pity? If I didn't want 'em, I could've easily given 'em away. Seems I've taken...a liking to you, herbivore."

You froze right there, on the spot. you couldn't believe what you were hearing. THE Leona Kingscholar just confessed to YOU. You didn't have time to think before leona captured your chin between his thumb and index finger, his emerald green eyes locking with yours.

"Hm, you still don't seem very convinced." Before you could even think...Leona's lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft and warm and made you feel all fuzzy inside. You slowly eased into it, your hands coming up to cup his face as a warmth flowed through your body.

When it was over, you nodded your head, a slight flush on your cheeks. "Yeah...I get it now..."

Leona let out an amused chuckle, pulling you down to lay with him, a soft yelp leaving you.

"Don't you usually sleep alone?" you mumbled, your face warming up.

"You owe me. All your tarts made me sleepy. Your punishment is to lay with me and not move a muscle."

You laughed a little, reaching up to tuck a bit of hair behind his ear. "Should be easy enough."

And just like that, your holiday was one to remember.🥮

© m00nkissedlover, 2024

[dollwrites]

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader ( suggested rival college ), glory hole, dub con, cock worship, oral sex ( m!receiving ), degradation, name calling ( whore, hole ), facial, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day ten [ leona kingscholar + glory hole ]

“Yeah,” you knew it was Kingscholar before he released the grumbling from within his throat, “lick it first, whore.” it was just so obvious that he would be the one to go first, and as soon as the thick, warm brown cock slid through the hole to demand your attention, you were certain. pressing both palms flush against the wall, you lap at the swollen, red tip, tonguing the slit until your worship elicits a satisfied snarl from the other side. your heart skips a beat at the sound, realizing what he must look like right now. the cock pushed forward, as if demanding to slide into your mouth, and you knew he must be bucking his hips. if you imagined his emerald eyes staring down at you, his broad chest heaving as he tucked his chin into his chest to watch you lick at his cock, you’d simply get dizzy.

“Work that fuckin’ tongue.”

it was an order impossible to refuse, and you moaned as you dipped your head, dragging your tastebuds over the bulging veins, dancing your way down the length of his shaft until it lays across your face. the velvety muscle flicks at the underside of him, the raw scent of his arousal engulfing you, the weight of the cock on your face driving you mad. with your face against the wall as close as you could get, you licked every inch that was presented to you.

“You love that taste, don’t you?” he rumbled, baritone gurgling deep in his throat, before he expels a wicked hiss of what might’ve been laughter, snide and crass. “I’m starting to think you threw that Spelldrive match on purpose, just so you could be stripped and used.”

“I—I didn’t—“ you started to protest, pulling back to pant with the tip of the mighty cock smearing against your lips as you form the syllables.

“Shut up and suck it already,” Leona demanded, and you knew that had he been able to, he would’ve grabbed you by the hair and forced your head down to take him. so you do just that, opening your mouth, letting the bulbous head slide in, your lips stretch into a tight O as inch by torturous inch, Leona plugs your mouth. once he was inside, you start to suck, bobbing your head in a furious rhythm. his taste was twice as intoxicating as his smell, raw and musky— as if lust oozed from every pore. “Attagirl. You learn fast.” your eyelids flutter, gargling and drooling as you work him over. it’s embarrassing, and you may never admit it, but the flimsy pair of panties you’d been stripped down to were damp. you were enjoying this way too much. but you mewl and slurp, squirming on your knees to get even closer. the more he grunted, the more desperate you were to please him. “You know your place at the very least,” you could practically hear the way he must be baring his teeth as you sucked him off and he growls, “on your knees for me and my Pride. Don’t you worry, hole, because each and every one of my boys’re gonna get a chance to fuck that cock hungry little mouth a’yers:” Leona grunts, and his girth pulsates against the walls of your warm, wet cavern— the tip prodding at the back of your throat every time you try to take another inch. “Just as soon as I’ve had my fill a’ya.”

you cluck, your body jerking as if to protest taking so much cock, your cheeks hollowed and your couplet stretched and aching, but you didn’t care. you kept your same, rapid pace, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth and dribbling down your chest, where it sticks like glue in your cleavage. Leona was rock solid, battering your cheeks and threatening to jam your tongue to the back of your mouth when he drills into it. your arms hang slack instead of reaching up to pump the inches you thought you couldn’t take, and the depravity of feeling the head of his cock dip into your gullet sends you into a frenzy of hungry sucking, and fervent bobbing, until you start to gag on him.

“Oi, take it easy, whore.” Leona groans, pulling back enough that his cock nearly slips free from your grasp, had your lips not clamped down against the spongy head to keep him inside, whimpering with a need to keep his taste filling your mouth for as long as possible. “You don’t get to just tap out if you choke.”

with your head so close to the gap, you could hear waves of murmurs, snickers, and gleeful taunts. you couldn’t imagine how many guys were lined up after Leona to fuck your face, but you assumed it was Night Raven’s entire Spelldrive team, and most likely all of the boys from Savanaclaw, as well.

“Better hurry up and make me cum,” Leona growls, “there’s a lot more cocks out here that need your attention.”

spurred by the knowledge that you were far from finished, both of your hands flee to wrap your fingers around the thick cock in front of you, gliding along the slick provided by your saliva to jerk off the remaining inches as you focus all of your attention on the throbbing tip. you alternate between sucking until your cheeks hurt, and then sliding your tongue along the shape, outlining his tender frenulum, before delving into the slit as it dribbles sticky sweet precum into your mouth.

“That’s it, almost there.” Leona grumbles, “Keep sucking me just like that, fuck, worship that cock.” the more you teased, the tighter you squeezed, and the more the muscle started to twitch in your hands, the closer you knew Leona was to cumming. “You’d better take my load on your face, whore. You ready for it? You know what to do…!”

your eagerness overwhelmed your dignity, and your lips made a vulgar pop as you pried your mouth from his dick, pumping both fists at a merciless pace until the first streamers of his release shoot into the air. they coat your hairline, dribbling down and sticking your tendrils in clumps, as more spurts splatter against your cheek and into your open, panting mouth. his cum costs every tastebud, and you moan, closing your eyes to avoid being blinded until the shower is over. his essence is warm and viscous as it hangs in globs from your chin, speckling the tops of your breasts with white.

you can hear him snarling, panting, as the orgasm starts to fade, the cock in your hands softening significantly once he’s finished— but there’s still some spunk that drools out from the twitching tip, and you can’t help yourself: you dip your head and swirl your tongue along the slit once more, gathering all he had left in the groove your muscle makes to swallow it with a happy whine.

“Already addicted to cock, huh?” Leona’s chuckle is hoarse as he wrenches himself away from your mouth, the delicious cock disappearing as he pulls out of the hole. “Don’t get greedy and swallow it all, either. When I decide to letcha outta there, I wanna see a cum covered slut, crawling on all fours, begging to suck me again.”

[jd-loves-fiction]

congrats on the milestone!!! your event looks so cute!! can i request leona first meeting?

💐catman menace ❤️ 

Second-born prince, whom you come upon, sleeping by a river and decide to recruit him to help you loot the royal palace. He agrees, solely out of spite for his brother… and hopefully to delay his arranged marriage. Which becomes even more of a problem the more time he spends with you…

❧ Wc: 1.3k

❧ A predator's gaze

❧ Water is scarce in Sunset Savanna, everywhere but close to the Royal Palace, built to take advantage of the biggest river in the kingdom to keep its noble denizens cool. But even such a palace, impressive as it is in size, can be large enough to monopolize all the water.

Water collecting is a daily activity in some parts of the kingdom, for you it's only weekly. This week, collecting day fell close to the day of your mission and so you decided you pass by one of the streams that breaks off from the main river relatively close to the palace to watch your prey.

When you set off towards somewhere cool and with a good view of the palace, you didn’t expect to get company. It’s a fairly out-of-the-way place you scouted some time before, higher than average athletic abilities are necessary to reach it. Though from what you can see, this company of yours did not struggle to reach the place.

It’s mostly quiet, save for the sound of the running water and the buzzing of bugs, so even your carefully measured steps are heard by the man resting in the sun, ears twitching in your direction as you approach.

The man opens one of his eyes, green like fresh grass, something very rare around these parts, to focus on you as you bend down to gather water.

He lays on his back atop a rock in the middle of the river, glowing, skin like the mighty cliffs of Pride Rock, dark and earthy. Hair long, brown and braided, somewhat ruffled but still soft-looking. You can tell he’s watching you just as you watch him, a hint of predatory instinct in his gaze. 

"Need something?" He asks you, somewhat hostile from the scowl on his lips. Though, that just seems to be his default expression.

“Just… getting water.” You make yourself seem innocent and unthreatening, motioning to your bucket with your eyes cast low. There’s… something familiar about him.

“Is all that staring necessary? It’s getting on my nerves.”

“If that’s all it takes…” His eyes turn venomous upon your features, so you purposely trail off.

Suddenly, as if you’ve caught his eye somehow, his gaze turns calculating, tail moving thoughtfully slowly instead of the agitated quickness of before. He’s observing you closely and you can't help but feel sweat building at your hairline, from more than the heat in the air.

“What’re you really up to? This place is quite out of the way…” he sits up, facing you with the grace of a predator.

Keeping silent ceases to be an option in your mind when he doesn't seem to lose interest as you thought he would.

Damn it, no scouting for you now, not while he's around.

“Oh, the views here are just–” Boring. Dry, empty and dirty. He sees through it easily, raising a dark brow at your unconvincing answer. Your expression sours as you put down your bucket.

“Why do you care so much anyway? You know what they say about curiosity and cats, don't you?”

His sneer is so cat-like you have to hold your tongue instead of berating him for being offended when it’s just an obvious connection.

He suddenly looks around himself, ears twitching every which way, before your breath catches as his gaze settles on the view of the castle. The only thing worth looking at around here.

Lips curve deviously, expression as smug as can be all of a sudden, “I think I understand now…” he almost seems to purr in delight.

The water between you is shallow, hardly a deterrent if he truly wants to approach you. Your breath seems to quicken suddenly; what if he’s figured you out? Takes you in for treason?

No no no, your plan hasn't even been put into motion and yet you feel it coming down around you beneath this stranger’s knowing gaze.

Your lips part to speak before you can stop them, desperation and frustration bending you to the point of breaking, “Listen, ok? I’m sick and tired of that rotten family getting to live lavishly just because they were born while we have to toil about and crawl our way through each day, some of us barely surviving. How is that fair?!”

His ears twitch up in attentive listening, but you barely notice, so caught up in your passionate rant that you forget entirely that you’re not supposed to be saying this to anyone at all.

“It’s not fair! Argh! I wish someone would just do something about it, instead of just accepting it.” 

It’s as if a spark from the fire burning inside you lights up the long slumbering embers in his heart. ‘Why doesn't anyone do anything about it?’ He thinks to himself, ‘When did I stop fighting it?’

“And that person would be you?” He asks lowly, suddenly a mere three steps in front of you, calculating, fanning the flames on purpose. You can be useful to him – you and your fire.

“Yes– I mean–” Realizing your mistake too late, you flinch back at his proximity, warm-faced and lightly sweating. Shit.

“What could you possibly do? The castle’s no playground – it’s the most heavily guarded place around.” His amused tone sounds condescending to your ears, further fueling your frustration.

You’ve been planning this for months! What does he know?

“Why do you care? Who are you, anyway?” Your finger digs into his (surprisingly sturdy) exposed chest – he doesn't even flinch. You might as well be a stray fly buzzing around him with the reaction you get, or rather don't get out of him.

“I care because I’d hate to know some idiot got themselves captured doing something so stupid– I mean, brave.” With the way he says it, you’re sure he meant for you to hear that. “And you may call me whatever you like. Take your pick, I truly could not care less.”

You look him over skeptically, a myriad of questions swirling around in your skull, like a terrible potion in the making. Who is he really? What’s he doing here? Why does he care so much?

Why did you just admit all that to him?

Shame and suspicion melt around in your core, along with a sprinkle of dread. What if he’s a spy? Is your plan about to fall apart before it’s even started?

The mysterious man sighs deeply, as if employing a great effort, “Look, I’m not about to rat you out. That’d do me no good. And I care because if you plan on doing what I think you are – I could be of some use to you.”

His words make it seem as if he’s unsure of his value, but the way he says them communicates the exact opposite. You have never in your life seen someone make an offer quite so smugly as him.

Skepticism colors the gaze that sweeps over him, ”...how?”

“I know the palace better than anyone you could find.”

“Why’s that?”

“My mother’s part of the royal guard.” The lie passes smoothly through his smirking lips.

“So, what? You wanna stick it to her, or something?”

“Something like that.” You’re unsure if his words sound unconvincing because he’s lying or because he just sounds like that naturally.

A million reasons to refuse his aid enter your mind, but then again, having a guide would be immensely helpful and if he wanted to arrest you for treason he easily could – those muscles are hard to miss.

Then again also, he could just be waiting to catch you in the act…

“Fine, you’re in.” If he so much as breathes suspiciously, you’ll leave him behind. Shouldn't be too difficult with the laziness he seems to practically embody. “And I’m calling you… Scar, since you apparently don't mind.”

The eye covered by said scar seems to twitch in annoyance but he holds his tongue – you could be a chance for him to get back at them in a way that both hurts them, helps his people and, hopefully, makes them call off that fucking wedding of his. He won't throw it all away because of a stupid nickname.

Though if your plan is anywhere near as creative as your name-calling, you might both be in trouble.

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: "Oh my God, look at that — it’s a mistletoe!” “…Absolutely fucking not. Don’t give me that look! I’m not kiss— ugh, fine, you menace."

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader/Prefect/Yuu

Genre: Fluff

TW: NA

"Did you hear about the mistletoe infestation in Octavinelle?"

Leona glanced up at you, attention momentarily diverted from the chessboard where he was currently obliterating you. An eyebrow was raised in silent question, and you continued.

"Apparently Octavinelle has mistletoe on all its doorways, and it won't come down even with magical means. Nobody knows who did it."

"...And?"

"And what?"

Leona looked at you properly, pinning you in place with his gaze. "How is that relevant to our game right now, herbivore?" His eye caught onto movement, and he glared at Grim, picking him up by the scruff of his neck. "Oi furball, don't eat the chess pieces. Unless you want me to eat you." Leona made a show of snapping his teeth at the cat-monster, making him squirm and try to break free from his position in mid-air.

Grim coughed up the knight and pawns he had stuffed into his mouth, pointing at you, "Nyah! They told me to do it! Eat them!"

You gasped in indignation, glaring at your partner in crime for exposing your little scheme strategy. "Grim, you traitor!"

Grim wriggled in mid-air, still in Leona's hold as he demanded to be put down on the ground. Leona looked at you with a smug look on his face.

"Is it frustratin' to lose against someone cleverer than you, little herbivore?" He hummed, eyes glowing under the soft evening light that streamed through his open windows. "Usually I'd appreciate your sneakiness, but you better keep these schemes for the likes of that octopunk," he drawled, voice sweet yet holding that sharpness of a predator as he dropped Grim to the floor.

You let out a nervous chuckle as Grim quickly ran to hide behind you. You focused on the game in front of you, face scrunched slightly as you thought how to make your inevitable loss less devastating.

You missed the way Leona's eyes sparkled with amusement and a rarely seen warmth as he watched you map out your next move on the chessboard.

He watched as you walked right into the sweet little trap he had placed for you, gradually chipping away at your forces. Much in the way a predator may play with his prey before finishing them, he dangled tiny threads of hope in front of you, examining you carefully, noting every time you brightened only to realize that he had you exactly where he wanted you.

After a long, arduous game, he finally uttered the phrase you had wanted to hear for so long. "Checkmate," he said, keeping eye contact with you as he placed his last piece in place.

"Finally," you huffed, leaning back into your chair as you frowned at him. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"That's what you get for tryin' to cheat," Leona smirked, leaning back into his chair. "That's rich, coming from you," you mumbled under your breath. The flicking of his ears in your direction and the narrowing of his eyes let you know that he had heard you, loud and clear.

Stupid beastman hearing.

Leona said nothing of your remark, leaning his chin on the palm of his hand as he turned his head to stare outside the window. The sun had been directly overhead when you had walked into Savanaclaw; now it was sinking down low, pretty orange and pink splashes coloring the sky. Grim had left the two of you a while ago, when both of you were too invested in the game.

You carefully collected the chess pieces, placing them in their special box. The chessboard was set aside with similar care, the table in front of you left bare. Leona didn't move from his position, still looking outside the window.

You smiled, turning your gaze to the setting sun. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Leona glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, letting out a soft hum as acknowledgement.

"Aren't you getting late herbivore?"

"As Prefect of Ramshackle, I decide when curfew is for my dorm," you winked at him, a mischievous glint to your eyes.

"Abusing your authority now, are ya?" Leona huffed in amusement, regarding you carefully as he lounged in his chair. You shrugged, mimicking his relaxed position. "Maybe, haven't got any complaints from the ghosts yet."

The corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly at the cheeky reply.

Most people were either too intimidated by the Savanaclaw housewarden to mouth back at him. But not you. Ever since his overblot, you had taken it upon yourself to try and match his wit with yours, his (mostly empty) threats with a cheeky yet not unkind remark.

Leona was amused by you.

He watched you check the time on your phone, tail swishing languidly as you looked up at him with a small smile on your face.

"Looks like I do need to get going."

Leona stood up from his chair wordlessly, moving towards the door without a backwards glance at you, knowing you'd follow him anyways. He didn't need to escort you out; you knew your way in and out of Savanaclaw dorm like the back of your hand now. But there were always some foolish Savanaclaw students eager to pick a fight with you, wagering whatever they might have on them at that moment to just have a chance to battle against you. You never let an opportunity go wasted, and things would often end with a triumphant you skipping away merrily, while he had to deal with those miscreants coming up and complaining to him about losing a fight they picked.

Leona claimed that he walked you to the mirror connecting the dorm to the Mirror Chamber because he was sick of people crying to him about losing against you. But both of you knew that that was just an excuse.

As you walked side by side, you talked. Well, it was mostly just you speaking, with Leona offering his input every now and then. The setting sun painted the halls of the dorm a glorious golden hue, warm and comforting. Even the shadows casted on the ground seemed to dance in delight.

"And then, Ace-" you stopped in the middle of your sentence, eyes fixing onto something. Leona followed your gaze to find an innocent looking plant hanging from the main doorway of Savanaclaw, white berries shining in the last light of the day.

"Oh my God, look at that — it’s a mistletoe!" You exclaimed, as though seeing the plant for the first time in your life.

"…Absolutely fucking not."

You turned to give Leona your most betrayed look. Leona frowned at you, "Don’t give me that look. I’m not kissing you."

"It doesn't have to be a kiss on the lips, you know," you said, trying to get him to cave in. "Or are you too scared to kiss me? Or-" you gasped theatrically, a gasp that could put Rook to shame as you eyes lit up with a familiar cheeky light, "is it because this would be your first kiss? Oh Great Sevens, are you afraid of losing your first kiss?"

Leona narrowed his eyes at you. He knew what you were trying to do. He also knew that you would back off if he doubled down on his refusal, too mindful of boundaries to actually go against his wishes.

He didn't want that to happen.

"... Fine, you menace," he muttered, his hands wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. You yelped at the sudden movement, finding yourself pressed flush against Leona's body.

One hand left your waist in favour of raising your face, to make you look at him. Eyes darkened with intent peered into yours, before slightly chapped yet soft lips captured your own.

You did not have enough time to register the surprisingly sweet yet heated kiss that you two exchanged. Pulling away from you Leona smirked, his hands dropping back to his side. "Satisfied now, herbivore? And for the record, that wasn't my first kiss."

You looked up at him, cheeks dark and palms sweaty, unmoving even as he walked away and inside the dorm. You stood there in complete silence, a hand coming up to touch your lips in a daze.

"Shishishishi, you look a little red there, Prefect."

You didn't need to turn to know who it was. Ruggie approached you, slinging his arm over your shoulders and effectively breaking you out of your trance. You looked at the hyena beastman, cheeks turning darker at the amusement in his eyes.

"Remember to pay me for the little thing up there, hm?"

You smiled, nodding your head. "Of course, I'll get you your favorite donuts. We had a deal after all."

Your eyes flicked over to the little parasitic plant that worked a lot better than you thought it would.

Back to Masterlist...

[piercedbyun]

this right here. give me ten of them.

Unstable Stable || Leona Kingscholar

You were an S-ranked Guide just trying to live your life, but now you're emotionally (and spiritually) babysitting SS-class menace Leona Kingscholar—who’s decided you're his personal charger and refuses to unplug.

or: Guideverse AU!

Life used to be normal.

You know, back when your biggest problem was whether to risk food poisoning for that suspiciously cheap sushi combo. Taxes were annoying, capitalism was soul-sucking, and people still thought “ghosting” only applied to dating. Cute times.

Then the gates showed up.

Like surprise holes in the fabric of reality. No warning. No gentle push notifications. Just BAM—mystical rift to MonsterLand™ opens in the middle of your grocery store and suddenly your choices are “fight or die with a half-priced avocado in hand.”

And that would’ve been it for humanity—extinct in a week if not for the emergence of Espers. Superpowered humans with the ability to close these gates and yeet the nightmare creatures back into the void.

Cool, right?

Except—Espers are dramatic. They're the “I’m fine” as they bleed out types. The “I didn’t sleep for three days, but I still went into a Class-A gate because I felt vibes” types. They save the world, but emotionally? Spiritually? Mentally? Absolutely not okay.

That’s where you come in.

You're a Guide. The human equivalent of emotional duct tape. Your job is to wrangle these unhinged battle gremlins post-gate before they disintegrate or cry themselves into a psychic nosebleed. Sometimes both.

It’s like babysitting, except your babysitter is also a licensed therapist, a soul mechanic, and sometimes a romantic interest depending on how "fanfic" things get.

Is the job dangerous? Constantly.

Are the Espers dramatic? Tragically so.

Is there a union? Not unless you count the Group Chat of Collective Suffering.

And does it pay well? HAHAHA.

Still, between dodging death and massaging the egos of glorified magical toddlers, you’ve somehow become really good at this.

Which is great, because your next assignment?

Is going to change your entire life. Probably ruin it. Possibly give you feelings. Definitely not covered by health insurance. (But then again, what is?)

It’s raining like the gods themselves are ugly crying, but you? You’re bone-dry and smug. Perched on your little foldable stool like a judgmental gremlin, your umbrella is perched just right. Stylish. Functional. Invincible.

Across the street, a cluster of fellow Guides are soaked to their very souls. One of them is trying to use a clipboard as shelter. Another’s shoes have absolutely given up on life. They glare at you like you personally invented weather.

You take a sip of your lukewarm vending machine coffee and shrug.

“Sorry losers,” you say cheerfully, “get on my level.”

Then the gate sputters, flickers, and folds in on itself like a haunted paper fan. The Espers return—bloodied, bruised, twitchy-eyed and definitely seconds away from fainting like overcooked noodles.

Chaos erupts.

Guides leap up, yelling names, waving emergency blankets, fumbling for their med kits. People are screaming things like, “Catch him, he’s falling—OH GOD, HIS ARM,” and “Who packed juice boxes in the trauma bag again?!”

You stay seated. Sip your coffee again. It's mostly rainwater now. Whatever.

Then someone stops in front of you. Tall, soaked, radiating the exact vibe of someone who has murdered for being woken up too early.

And he yanks your umbrella to cover himself.

“I am not getting soaked again,” he grumbles, shaking rainwater out of his hair like an angry golden retriever with a six-pack.

You blink.

“Uh. Hello?”

Leona Kingscholar. SS-Class Esper. Walking lawsuit. The man once growled at a government official for chewing too loudly.

And now he’s under your umbrella like this is some shoujo manga and he’s your tsundere warlord boyfriend.

He side-eyes you. “Aren’t you gonna guide me or whatever?”

You panic a little. “I—I’m not certified for SS-Class. I’m just S-Class.”

He snorts. “Didn't think you'd forget me, herbivore.”

What does that even mean??? Is this… Esper code for “I like you”? Or “I won’t kill you today”? Who knows. He’s already sinking to the ground like a dramatic cat, using your thigh as a pillow without even asking.

And just like that, you’re guiding Leona Kingscholar while sharing an umbrella in the pouring rain, your fellow guides still watching like you’ve been chosen by some eldritch force.

Welcome to your life now. Hope you brought snacks.

Leona is basically half-dead in your lap, but still manages to look like he owns both the rain and your dignity.

You sigh and set your coffee down, running your fingers through his wet hair. It’s soft, unfairly so, and smells like something expensive. His breathing starts to even out under your touch, eyes fluttering shut as your stabilizing energy pulses through him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just rests there with his head in your lap like this is a Tuesday afternoon nap spot and not the wet, cracked sidewalk outside a gate that just tried to eat reality.

You keep going. Until—

He grabs your wrist, eyes suddenly sharp. “Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You blink. “Uh. No? Pretty sure I stopped doing that in college. Why?”

He scowls. “You’ve been channeling too long. Idiot. Burn yourself out and you’ll fry your nerves. Can’t stabilize anyone if you’re unconscious in a puddle.”

You try to pull your hand back but he doesn’t let go. “I’m fine, Leona—”

“I need you alive, herbivore.”

You freeze.

Your brain does a little Windows error sound.

And then he’s standing, still holding your umbrella like it’s his now, yanking you up by the wrist like you’re the fragile one. You try to protest, but he ignores you entirely.

“Your car’s this way, right?”

“…How do you know where I parked—”

“Because you always park near the vending machine. Which is stupid, by the way. You don’t even lock it.”

You're still processing the fact that Leona Kingscholar, Mr. I-Hate-Everyone, has apparently been keeping track of your parking habits, when he tosses your keys back at you like a lazy monarch commanding his carriage.

And that’s how you end up being frog-marched to your own car in the rain by a grumpy, half-stabilized SS-Class Esper who refuses to let go of your umbrella.

You’ve barely had your morning caffeine and the email has the audacity to say: Transfer Notice – Effective Immediately. No warning. No prep. Just vibes and bureaucracy.

You're sent to the high-level West Sector Guidance Office. The same one with SSS-Class Guide Vil Schoenheit, the gold standard of grace, glamour, and glaring disapproval.

So naturally, you walk in clutching your sad little cardboard box of office plants and off-brand snacks, looking like a lost intern who accidentally wandered into a luxury spa for dangerous superhumans.

The receptionist is too busy having a breakdown over printer ink to help, so you start aimlessly wandering the halls, trying not to make eye contact with any Espers that could punch through concrete.

And then someone yanks your box out of your hands.

You flinch, ready to throw hands, until you realize it’s Leona. Hair still a mess. Hoodie on like he just rolled out of bed. He doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t ask how you are. Just nods his chin, “Keep up, herbivore.”

You scramble after him like a duckling with no sense of direction. “Leona—what the hell is this? Why am I here?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just strolls down the corridor with your office supplies like they belong to him now. “Told ‘em I only want you.”

You short-circuit. “What?!”

“They asked if I’d take Vil or the new SS-rank from Sector 4. I said no. Told ‘em to transfer you instead.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “You… requested me?”

He shrugs like this isn’t causing you a spiritual meltdown. “Whatever. You’re not annoying. You stabilize me fast. You don’t treat me like a bomb about to go off. You’re fine.”

And then—like this conversation hasn’t just rewritten the structure of your career—he dumps your box onto a random desk and starts walking off.

“Wait, that’s it?” you call after him. “You’re just—leaving me here?”

He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “See you tomorrow.”

You stare at the desk. Then the hallway. Then the spot where your sanity used to be.

You don’t understand what’s going on. But let’s be honest—you’ve never understood anything and that’s never stopped you before. You graduated on sheer vibes and a terrifying ability to guess multiple choice answers with unearned confidence. You once guided a Class A Esper while half-asleep and running on a breakfast of sour candy and spite. You thrive in chaos.

So when you show up at your new desk (which may or may not have been assembled incorrectly), you take a deep breath, sip your mediocre vending machine coffee, and prepare yourself for another confusing day of “just wing it and hope no one dies.”

And then Leona walks in.

No knock. No warning. Just opens the door like he owns the place—which, considering the way your coworkers scurry out of his path, he might as well.

You’re ready to guide. You roll up your sleeves. You stretch your fingers. You mentally prepare for the usual Esper touch-their-hands routine.

Leona?

Leona lays down on the office couch like it’s a five-star hotel bed. Puts his head in your lap. And knocks out like a tranquilized jungle cat. No explanation. No shame.

You blink. “Um. Hello? Sir?”

No response.

You glance around to see if this is some prank. Nope. Just you, a couch, and a warm grumpy lion man making your lap his personal pillow.

So you do the only logical thing: sigh, roll with it, and start guiding like this is completely normal.

The stabilization process is smoother than usual. Leona’s energy calms fast, his breathing evens out, and it’s honestly the most peaceful you’ve ever seen him. He doesn’t even twitch when you accidentally brush a hand through his hair mid-guidance.

When you're done, you gently nudge him. “Hey. Nap time’s over, sunshine.”

He grumbles like you’ve just committed a crime and blinks up at you with all the judgment of a cat disturbed mid-snooze. Then, with the reflexes of a seasoned villain, he sits up, grabs your coffee off the table, and chugs it like it’s his birthright.

“Hey!” you cry, scandalized. “That was mine! That was my life juice! That’s the only thing tethering me to this mortal realm!”

He hands you the empty cup with all the remorse of a man who steals from vending machines and sleeps through emergency drills. “You can get another.”

And then he leaves.

You stare after him. You stare at your empty cup. You stare at the void where your caffeine used to be.

This job is going to kill you.

But you’ll die confused and employed, and that’s the best you’ve got.

You’re at the farmer’s market. Living your best domestic fantasy. You’ve got your reusable tote bag, your overpriced jam, a bundle of fresh herbs like you’re the protagonist in a cottagecore fever dream, and a leek that you're weirdly proud of because it was the biggest one in the pile. Life is good.

Then a gate opens.

Right there.

Next to the cheese stall.

The sky splits like a broken lightbulb, the air warps, and BAM—there's a rift to monster hell spewing nightmare fuel in the middle of tomato season.

You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were asking about eggplant pricing, the next you were in a technicolor void smacking a drooling, three-eyed creature with your leek like your life depends on it. Because it does.

You’re cornered by something that looks like the illegitimate child of a bear and a blender, just about to accept that this might be it—death by demon at a farmer’s market—when a figure crashes in, trailing lightning and rage.

Leona.

He surveys the chaos with a look of supremely irritated confusion. “Why the hell are you here?”

You, still holding the leek like it’s a holy weapon: “I don’t know, man, you tell me! I was just buying root vegetables!”

He groans like you’re giving him a headache worse than the gate, and with a single swipe of power, the monsters start dissolving into nothing. He suppresses the gate like he’s swatting a fly, and before you can say “gluten-free honey loaf,” he’s grabbing you by the arm and dragging you back to solid, blessed, non-nightmare reality.

You’re trying to catch your breath. You’re covered in monster goo. Your leek is bent in half. And you’re shaking.

“Okay,” you say, trying for calm but sounding like you’ve just survived the apocalypse (because you kinda have), “let’s get you stabilized so I can go sit in a bathtub forever.”

You reach for him—but your hands are trembling too much. You’ve seen monsters before, sure. But not that close. Not nearly getting your face chewed off.

Leona notices. His brow furrows. “Tch.”

Then—softly, carefully—he pulls you into his chest.

You freeze. Not from fear this time, but from the sudden warmth of him, from the way he smells like dust and heat and something grounding. You feel his hand gently settle between your shoulder blades, like he’s not sure how to comfort but he’s trying anyway.

“You don’t go in the gates,” he murmurs. “I go in. I’ll suppress every last one of them, no matter how many pop up. You just stay out here, alright? You wait for me.”

It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look at you like that—not annoyed, not smug, but serious. Protective. Like your safety matters more to him than anything else.

You nod into his shirt. “Okay.”

And he holds you a little longer. Just until you stop shaking.

You form a temporary bond with him after the whole gate-at-the-farmer's-market debacle because let’s be honest—your energy reserves were not built for stabilizing a lion in man’s clothing on a daily basis. You were running on fumes and instant noodles. One more session and you'd have crumpled like a used juice box with a sad little wheeze.

Leona didn’t even flinch at the idea of a temporary bond. Just looked at you like finally and said, “Took you long enough.”

Now, you’re guiding him and only him every day. Which sounds intense, but honestly? This is the freest you’ve been since graduating. No more being pinged at 3 AM to rush to a different gate across the city. No more sorting through esper tantrums or being asked if your hands are “certified emotionally soothing.”

You’ve got one glorified cat man to take care of, and he doesn’t even talk during sessions. He just shows up, flops onto your couch, puts his head in your lap like it’s routine, and is unconscious within minutes.

You're so free, you picked up a hobby. You, the overworked guide formerly known as Burnout in a Coat, now crochet lopsided scarves while waiting for Leona to show up. Sometimes you experiment with baking (badly). You’ve even started watching those long, slow documentaries about birds that people put on to fall asleep.

You are, shockingly, thriving.

Every now and then Leona’ll glance at your latest attempt at a potholder-turned-coaster-turned-abstract-art and grunt, “You’re getting better.”

Which, in Leona-speak, is basically high praise.

Life is weird. Life is monsters and gates and nap-hungry espers with bad attitudes.

But life is also calmer now. Just you, Leona, and the occasional crocheted disaster.

The rift today is the kind of thing news stations send helicopters for. It's so massive that your phone buzzes with emergency alerts and a “Good luck lol” from your supervisor. You’re standing just outside the barrier, watching chaos unfold like it’s a live-action anime, umbrella in one hand, your thermos of emergency caffeine in the other.

Then—bam—some random, shaky-looking esper stumbles out of the gate and straight into your arms like you’re the protagonist in a romance drama. You're mid-stabilization out of pure reflex, patting his back like “there, there, emotionally damaged soldier,” when a low growl cuts through the sound of the rift and monster screeching.

Leona storms out of the rift next, all raw power and pissy vibes, his coat half burned and dust clinging to his hair. He sees you cradling Random Esper #453 like he just walked in on something illegal. His expression goes from “I need a nap” to “I'm about to commit a felony” in zero-point-three seconds.

Without saying a word, he grabs the guy by the scruff of his tactical vest like a misbehaving kitten and just yeets him toward another approaching guide.

"Not yours," he growls, before quite literally collapsing into your arms with all the elegance of a sack of emotional bricks.

You don’t even get the chance to complain. He’s already out, breathing slow and heavy, head tucked against your neck like he belongs there.

And you? You’re stuck holding one of the most powerful espers in the world like a sleepy toddler while another guide screams in the background about how Leona threw someone at them.

Just another day in your life.

You are three seconds away from emotionally combusting in front of a full-length mirror, clutching two jackets like they personally offended you. One is sleek, black, mysteriously expensive-looking, the kind of jacket that says “I pay taxes and win arguments.” The other is fluffy, cozy, slightly ridiculous, and makes you look like a sentient marshmallow with excellent taste.

You’re weighing your options with the seriousness of someone deciding between saving the world and saving ten puppies. There are charts. Internal debates. You're about to do the unthinkable and consult the price tags when—

SWOOSH.

The jackets are gone.

You blink. Arms empty. Sanity shaken.

You whirl around and see Leona—yes, Leona Kingscholar, SS-class esper, noted napper, chaos incarnate—casually walking away with everything you were holding. That includes:

• The jackets

• The socks you forgot you picked up

• A weird little plush you were definitely only holding "ironically"

• A novelty mug that says #1 Guide, Certified Not Dead (Yet)

You trail after him, fast-walking with the energy of a startled mall pigeon. “Excuse me?! What the hell are you doing?!”

Leona doesn’t even slow down. He makes a beeline for the register like this is just a regular chore.

“You were taking too long,” he says over his shoulder, as if that explains anything.

“I was deciding! With purpose! With nuance!”

He pays. Effortlessly. Doesn’t flinch at the total. Just swipes his card with the bored grace of someone who buys entire coffee shops out of spite.

You arrive at the register breathless and confused. “I didn’t ask you to buy my—my impulse garments.”

He takes the bag, hands none of it to you, and starts walking out. “Didn’t say you had to ask.”

You make a strangled noise, flapping after him like a duckling trying to make sense of capitalism and emotional whiplash. “Are you—are you okay? Did you hit your head in the last gate? Why are you shopping for me?”

“Can’t have my Guide dying of hypothermia,” he mutters. “Especially not because they can’t pick a jacket.”

“That doesn’t explain the mug, Leona!”

“Sure it does.” He turns, smirking slightly. “You’ll need it tomorrow.”

“For what?!”

“Come to the gate.”

And with that cryptic nonsense, he strolls off into the distance.

You stare after him, confused, and wonder how exactly you ended up in this weird half-domestic cold war with a man who solves problems by spending money and napping through consequences.

Dragging an unconscious SS-ranked esper to your car is not as easy as it sounds. Especially not when that esper is six feet of solid muscle, deadweight, and attitude—even while passed out.

It starts at the gate. After the monsters are suppressed and the chaos settles, Leona doesn’t get back up. You wait—he always gets up. Even when he’s cranky, bleeding, covered in soot and monster gunk, he always stands with that infuriating smirk, like he’s just taken a nap in a flower field. But this time? Nothing.

You run to him, heart slamming against your ribs, calling his name. No answer. Just the quiet rise and fall of his chest. Stable vitals, sure, but his magic signature is drained.

You can’t leave him there—not sprawled out in the dirt like a fallen war god. So you do what any sane, worried, emotionally-compromised Guide would do—you throw all logic out the window and start dragging.

Getting him into the car is a series of humiliating maneuvers that you’re certain would be classified as a war crime if recorded. He keeps slipping down. You have to brace your back against the seat and heave like your spine won’t sue you in the morning. At one point, his leg knocks the gear stick and almost sends the car rolling down the street. You cry a little.

Finally—somehow—you make it. You slam the door shut. Collapse in the driver’s seat, sweating like you’ve just run a marathon. And then—because fate is a comedic little gremlin—you have to carry him again. Up the stairs. To your apartment.

You consider leaving him in the hallway for a second. Just one second. But then he mumbles your name in his sleep, and your heart betrays you by going all soft and stupid.

Once inside, you get him on the couch, check his vitals again, and then begin your descent into spiraling anxiety.

Because he still isn’t waking up.

You pace. You hover. You poke. You even lightly slap his face once (he doesn’t react, but you apologize anyway). You check the clock. You make tea. You don’t drink it. You Google how long can espers sleep before it’s an emergency and get conflicting answers and a concerning ad for calming dog chews.

Two hours later, with your thumb hovering over the call button for emergency services, you’re just about to commit to panic when he stirs.

He stretches like a lion waking up from a particularly satisfying sun nap. Hair a mess, shirt rumpled, magic signature humming faintly back to life. You gasp like someone just turned the world back on and smack his arm with all the force of a mildly annoyed wet sock.

“You absolute menace!” you cry, voice cracking under the weight of emotional exhaustion. “You scared the life out of me! Do you want me to die first?! Because you are on a damn good track—”

He blinks up at you, unbothered. Like you’re background noise to the dream he just left. Then he raises his hand and—pat pat—smooths it over your head like you’re the one that needs comforting.

“‘m fine,” he mutters, which is frankly not the point, and then he drags you down onto the couch like you’re a weighted blanket.

The couch. The tiny two-seater couch that you got on sale and have never once regretted until this exact moment.

He adjusts slightly, making enough room for exactly one leg and half your soul, then shuts his eyes again like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him, betrayed by the calm of his breathing, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, and the weight of everything you feel but haven’t said.

“Leona,” you whisper, voice too raw to be anything but honest.

“Sleeping,” he grumbles, completely unmoved. “You should too. You’re loud.”

So you stay. Your hand still buried in his hair, your heart still halfway out of your chest, your soul wrung out like a wet towel—but you stay.

And somehow, in that cramped, lumpy, too-small space, surrounded by exhaustion and emotion and quiet, you find the first real moment of peace that day.

It’s not supposed to happen like this. Gates break, yeah—but they’re not supposed to breach before the espers arrive.

You're still in your uniform, badge clipped on, hair barely brushed, breakfast halfway digested (a mistake), when you arrive at the scene, and—

You freeze.

It’s a remote town, or used to be. Right now it looks like a war zone someone dropped from the sky and left in ruins. Roads cracked and splattered. Buildings collapsed like toy blocks. Smoke curling into the sky like it’s auditioning for a post-apocalyptic music video.

And blood.

So much blood.

You see espers fighting—familiar ones, ones you’ve guided before, their faces hard and blank as they tear through monsters like paper. But the monsters got people first. You see the cleanup teams already moving in. You hear crying. Someone screaming names. And then you see bodies being carried out in bags.

You step forward and your stomach lurches.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. You’re a Guide. You have training. You are not allowed to cry. You are especially not allowed to cry in front of espers who just fought through hell. You breathe in, focus on your mantra: I am here to help. I am here to help. You swallow down the nausea like it owes you rent.

That’s when you feel it—warmth behind you, a solid presence—and then large, rough fingers gently slide over your eyes.

“Don’t look, herbivore.” Leona’s voice is low, soft, somehow more grounding than anything you’ve clung to today. You don’t even flinch at the touch—just close your eyes properly under his palm and let the sounds of chaos fade a little.

You breathe out, finally.

When he lets go, you turn your head, eyes shut, and nod once.

He doesn’t say anything else—just places a hand on your back and steers you gently toward the tents that have been set up nearby. Emergency stabilization camps. Medical supplies stacked up. Guides running back and forth. Your people. You should be helping.

Leona sits you down first.

You start working. Slowly. Mechanically. He leans against your side as you place your hands on him, guiding the storm in his mind back into stillness. He’s watching you the whole time, like he’s memorizing your breathing pattern, your expressions. You don’t say anything, not even when your hands shake slightly at first.

When you’re done, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t make a smart remark. Just sits with you, quiet.

You lean your head against his shoulder for a second. Just one.

“Herbivore,” he mutters. “You okay?”

“No,” you say honestly. “But I’ll do my job.”

And he doesn’t argue. Just lets you rest before getting up and hauling a blanket off the supply pile and dropping it onto your lap with a grumble about “stupid guides forgetting they’re human too.”

You smile, small and tired, but real.

You lasted longer than most would’ve. That’s what you keep telling yourself.

But it doesn’t make it easier when you turn in your resignation. Doesn’t make it hurt less to watch your fellow Guides blink in stunned silence. Doesn’t make it easier when the manager doesn’t even try to talk you out of it—just looks at you with that tired, knowing gaze and signs the form like they’ve seen a thousand others do the same.

And it really doesn’t make it easier when you go home and cry into your instant noodles like a defeated anime protagonist.

It’s not that you don’t love your job. You do. Or you did. But after the last breach… after seeing what happens when you’re too late… something inside you cracked.

You can’t keep holding people together when you’re falling apart.

So you go home. You unplug your work tablet. You turn off your work phone. You decide, firmly, that for the foreseeable future, you are retired. You make a little ceremony out of it. You throw your Guide badge into the drawer, slap a cartoon band-aid on your mental wounds, and decide your new job is to be horizontal and useless.

You don’t expect the knocking.

Frantic. Panicked. Desperate.

You open the door and Leona’s there—disheveled, annoyed, and clearly having run through multiple “I don’t care” speeches in the hallway before deciding none of them applied.

“Why’d you leave?” he says, skipping greetings entirely. His voice is rough like he ran here. Or yelled at a few people on the way.

You look at him. And you break the news gently.

“I quit.”

He stares at you like you just said you decided to become a professional soap-eater.

You try to explain—how you can’t take another bloody battlefield, how the sound of someone sobbing over a friend’s body has made a permanent home in your ears, how the pressure of always needing to be stable is crushing your chest like a vice.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore, Leona. I need a break. I need to feel human again.”

You expect pushback. Some snide comment. Accusations of cowardice or weakness.

But all he does is stare at you a moment, eyes sharp but quiet. Then, finally, he asks, “You happier like this?”

You blink. “...Yeah.”

He nods once. Then pushes past you like this is his house, grabs the half-eaten bag of chips from your counter, flops onto your couch, and turns on your TV like nothing happened. The audacity.

You just watch as he scrolls past every serious movie and lands on the stupidest slapstick comedy you have saved. And then he’s lounging there, one arm slung across the back of your couch, chewing chips like he pays rent.

You don’t ask him to leave. You don’t even sit far.

You curl into his side, just a little. Just enough to feel someone warm, someone solid, someone who didn’t leave even when you quit the one thing tying you together. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t make a snide comment, just lets you sit there while two characters on-screen fall face-first into a giant wedding cake.

You snort softly. He huffs a laugh.

Maybe the world can wait a little longer.

You're not supposed to be here.

You're retired. Done. Free. You’ve been living a soft life, surrounded by overpriced lattes and therapy podcasts, learning to crochet ugly little hats for your houseplants. You’ve earned it. You deserve it.

But the moment the alert flashes across your screen—“Category Red Gate Breach”—your blood runs cold.

You tell yourself you’re just going to check. Just to make sure. You don’t bring your badge. You don’t bring your stabilizing gloves. You bring anxiety, a hoodie, and a tupperware of homemade cookies, because apparently trauma turns you into someone’s tired suburban mom.

When you arrive at the site, the street’s already cordoned off, flickering with damage and Gate residue. Monster ash drifts through the air like cursed snow. The temporary field hospital is chaos—Espers limping, bloody, barely upright, Guides running ragged trying to stabilize them before they keel over.

You’re not supposed to get involved. You’re not.

But then you see him.

Leona. Stumbling slightly as he walks, covered in dirt and blood and smoke. He bats away the hands of every Guide that comes near like they're flies. His expression is sharp, but his eyes are glazed. Too bright. Too wild. His coat’s half off his shoulder and his aura is fraying at the edges—like he’s running on fumes and sheer attitude.

You run to him.

“I told you to take care of yourself!” you shout, more out of panic than anything else. “You absolute menace—what the hell, Leona?! Have you not had a single guiding session since I left?! Are you trying to die?!”

He doesn’t answer. He just turns his head slowly, eyes locking on you like you’re a dream he’s too tired to question. His breath stutters.

And then he’s pulling you forward—no warning, no words—just grabbing you and kissing you like the world hasn’t ended yet because you showed up in time.

And you freeze for a heartbeat. Just one. Then your hands are on his shoulders, in his hair, your lips meeting his as the unstable storm of his aura crashes against yours.

You guide him—not with standard channels, not with gloves or focus crystals, but with your whole self. Through the kiss, through the desperation in your grip, through the way you’re pouring every unspoken emotion into him. Every “I missed you,” every “You idiot,” every “Please be okay.”

And slowly—slowly—his breathing evens. The twitch of his muscles fades. The trembling stops. He leans into you, forehead pressing against yours, and whispers, hoarse and raw, “Knew you’d come.”

You hold him tighter.

It happens on a normal, sunny day.

Leona’s in your apartment, lounging like he lives here—which he sort of does at this point, considering how often he shows up without knocking. He’s flicking at one of your crocheted cactus hats with a deeply unimpressed expression, like it's personally offended his sense of aesthetics.

“You’re wasting perfectly good yarn,” he mutters. “This thing looks like a limp sea anemone.”

You throw a cushion at him. “Shut up. It has character.”

He snorts and catches it easily. He looks too big for your space. Too dangerous for your IKEA throw pillows. Too important to be wearing a hoodie you accidentally shrank in the wash, but he is, and it’s riding up just a bit at his waist.

And you—you’re just watching him, feeling the weight of it. The Gate breach. The kiss. The way he let you in like you never left. The way you still know exactly how to guide him better than anyone.

You set your tea down a little too firmly and blurt, “I want to form a permanent bond.”

The room stills. Leona doesn’t move. His hand is frozen mid-poke, just inches from your succulents-in-hats lineup.

“What?”

You swallow. “I want to bond permanently. With you.”

He turns to look at you slowly, eyes sharp, reading every inch of your face. “You serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“You sure this isn’t the post-massacre adrenaline talking?” he says, voice flat. “People say weird shit after trauma.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Okay, yes, I saw several eldritch nightmares and had to fight one with a leek, but I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I’m not going back to guiding just anyone. I only want to guide you.”

Leona’s quiet for a long time. Then he sits up—really sits up—and leans forward, forearms on his knees, staring at the floor like it's hiding answers in the carpet pattern.

“You don’t get to change your mind after this,” he says, low. “It’s a one-way door.”

“I know.”

“You’ll feel what I feel,” he says. “You’ll know what I feel. Even the ugly stuff. Especially the ugly stuff.”

You smile. “Leona, I’ve seen you eat cold pizza at 7 a.m. while shirtless and complaining about filler episodes. I know ugly.”

He groans like you’ve physically injured him and slumps back again. “You’re gonna make me regret this with your dumb jokes.”

But there’s a warmth in his tone now, soft and fond and careful.

He stands up and walks to you, crowding into your space, eyes locked on yours like he’s giving you one last chance to back out. You don’t. You reach out and link your fingers through his.

And he exhales shakily. “Okay then.”

He presses you back into the couch—your stupid, lumpy, too-small couch with the blanket that smells like lavender detergent—and his hands are cupping your face, his forehead resting against yours.

He looks at you, eyes bright. “You’re stuck with me now, y’know.”

You grin. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, you’re not just a guide and an esper anymore.

You’re his. And he’s yours. Permanently.

Leona remembered the first time he met you like it was a fever dream—a chaotic, embarrassing, infuriating fever dream.

He’d been a rookie then. Raw, unstable, claws out at the world and not interested in anyone who thought they could leash him. He didn’t need a guide. Didn’t want a guide. Especially not in some packed training center with too many bodies and not enough air.

And then you happened.

He had just come out of an intense simulated Gate. Aura flaring wild, brain buzzing with static, teeth gritted like he could physically bite down on the overwhelming noise in his head. The instructors had already radioed for a Class A guide, probably even a Class S, someone who could deal with an untamable lion.

Instead, they got you.

You must’ve been nearby and operating on some unhinged kind of autopilot, because you stumbled into the fray like a grad student five espresso shots deep and grabbed him by the collar without even checking his ID tag.

And then—then—you had the audacity to guide him.

It wasn’t the gentle coaxing kind either. It was hands in his hair, forehead pressed to his temple, murmured words like a mantra while he struggled to get away. He’d cursed, snarled, told you to back off before he did something you’d regret.

And you? You pulled his ear.

Pulled his fucking ear like he was a naughty cat on a countertop.

“Sit still, I’m working,” you’d snapped at him, voice sharp and fed-up like this was your fourth Gate that day and you were not about to let some rookie cat-boy ruin your stats.

And then—

Then it all bled away.

The noise. The storm. The static. It melted under your touch, under that weird, grounding, relentless presence of yours. He remembered your aura—bright, strong, so confident in a way you clearly hadn’t earned yet, but hell, it worked.

By the time he came back to himself, panting and blinking in the too-bright light, you were already gone, off to stabilise the next idiot without even sparing him a backward glance.

He had to ask someone your name.

It pissed him off for weeks.

Because you hadn’t even realized who you’d grabbed. You hadn’t known he was a potential SS-class Esper. You hadn’t cared. You’d just seen a wild beast and told it to sit down while you fixed it.

And somehow… it had worked.

He remembered it like a film reel soaked in rain—gray skies cracked open, streets slick and flooding, people scrambling like wet rats to get to cover. And in the middle of that chaos, you.

The only dry, smug bastard in the entire goddamn city.

The rain hadn’t touched you. Not one drop. Umbrella balanced perfectly, a coffee in one hand, phone in the other, like the gates of hell hadn’t just burst three blocks over. You were humming. Humming, for crying out loud.

And Leona had frozen mid-step. Not because of the gate, or the suppression order blaring in his ear—he didn’t even hear it anymore.

It was you.

The same energy. Same aura. That same maddening calm like a slap to the face. He didn’t even need to reach for his senses to know it was you—the one who yanked his ear and made his soul stop screaming all those years ago.

He’d spent months trying to forget that moment. Or rather, trying not to remember it too fondly. That was the worst part: how easy it had been to just give in to your touch. No fights. No snarling. No claws. Just... quiet.

And now here you were, in his city, acting like the rain had never met you, walking through a Gate breach zone like it was your stupid, peaceful backyard.

You didn’t even flinch when he stepped up to you.

Didn’t bristle.

Didn’t bow like the others.

Just blinked at him and went, “I'm just an S class guide.”

And that—

That pissed him off.

Because you didn’t recognize him.

After all that? The ear-pulling? The spiritual mugging you gave his aura? The time you wrangled his chaos into submission with the annoyed grace of someone trying to fix a printer jam?

You didn’t even remember.

Leona’s eye twitched.

No. Fine. That was fine. He could work with this.

He’d just have to remind you.

He leaned in, voice low and lazy, that smile curling sharp and knowing. “Didn’t think you’d forget me, herbivore.”

Still blank.

“Oh?” you said, sipping your coffee like he wasn’t radiating enough energy to fry the sidewalk. “Should I have?”

Leona huffed a laugh through his nose.

Okay. You wanted to play this game? Cool. He’d just put himself on your schedule. He’d get stabilised. Regularly. By you. He’d show up with his whole chaos bleeding out and dare you not to remember what you did to him back then.

He’d make sure you remembered.

And by the time you did, he'd already be sleeping in your lap.

He remembered that day like a fever dream.

The burn of energy spent down to the marrow. The static buzz in his skull, everything blurred and muffled. He didn’t remember passing out. Only that when he cracked his eyes open again, he was on a couch that was too soft, under a blanket that smelled like you.

And you—

You were pacing.

Pacing like your heart was about to break through your chest. Muttering to yourself. Swearing quietly. Picking up your phone like you were about to call for help—and that was when it hit him.

You were scared.

For him.

You, who once yanked his ear like he was a brat in time-out. Who lectured monsters and officials alike with the same exhausted sigh. You were standing there, shoulders hunched, knuckles white, about to call an ambulance like he was something fragile.

Leona would never forget that look.

Wide-eyed. Raw. Like you’d just lost the world and were scrambling to piece it back together.

He stirred just to stop you from dialing, more out of instinct than anything, and your reaction—Sevens. You swatted him like he was the one who gave you heart failure, your voice wobbly as you whined about how close you’d come to losing your “life juice thief.”

And something in his chest broke a little.

He didn’t say anything. Just patted your head with a heavy hand, tugged you onto the couch like you weighed nothing, and pulled you close. Too tired to talk. Too overwhelmed to pretend.

You didn’t argue. You just curled against him, the two of you folded together on that stupid couch not built for two.

He fell asleep with your heartbeat right there, under his hand.

And later, when he pretended it was the proximity that calmed him and not you, he knew he was lying. Because that image of you—panicked, pacing, nearly in tears because of him—was burned into his brain like a brand.

He thought: No one’s ever looked at me like that.

And maybe that’s when it happened.

Maybe that’s when he stopped running from what you meant to him.

Leona remembers the gate break too clearly.

Not because it was the bloodiest he’d seen—though it was. Not because the air had smelled like ozone and rot, or because the monsters had crawled out of that rift like nightmares given shape. Not even because they lost people, though the weight of that had sunk deep into his spine.

No.

He remembers it because of you.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to be off somewhere doing idiot hobbies and yelling at your succulents. Not standing there, pale as ash, looking at the wreckage with wide, hollow eyes.

He’d spotted you across the chaos, just as another stretcher went past you, another guide screaming for medics. And you just stood there, frozen. Staring. Not blinking.

Leona moved before he even realized it, instincts kicking in harder than battle mode ever had.

You didn’t flinch when his hand covered your eyes from behind.

"Don’t look, herbivore," he muttered. Not like a command. Like a plea.

You made a small sound—shaky, half-choked—and he felt it. That tremble that ran through your body like a frayed wire.

And he knew, right then, that he’d never forget your expression. The look of someone who’d seen one horror too many. The kind that made you never sleep easy again.

He turned you around, tucked you under his arm like he could shield you from the world with just his presence alone, and walked you to the temporary camps.

You guided him there—your hands still trembling, voice quiet—but you guided him all the same.

He watched you carefully the whole time, like if he blinked, you’d disappear. Like if he wasn’t careful, you'd shatter.

And he swore—

If he could help it, he’d never let you wear that look again. Not for gates. Not for anyone. Not even for him.

Leona had felt fear before.

The kind that came with being outnumbered by monsters too big for even his claws to take down. The cold sweat of overusing his abilities to the point his bones felt like glass. The fury of watching comrades fall mid-battle.

But none of it—not once—had made his stomach drop the way it did when he opened your office door and saw the place getting cleared out.

Your desk was bare. The plant you used to scold for not thriving was gone. The mug that said “Espers are drama queens” was nowhere to be found. There was just a box, some paperwork, and a couple of Guides gossiping in the hallway.

“Transferred?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“Nah,” someone said. “Resigned. Burnout, probably.”

His vision tunneled.

Burnout.

You’d burned out—and you hadn’t said a word.

Leona didn’t even remember leaving the office. He just remembered standing in front of your door, knuckles aching from how hard he knocked, heart rattling in his chest like something was trying to break free. You opened it after what felt like eternity, hair a mess, hoodie too big, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

And you smiled.

Small. Tired. But real.

It wrecked him.

You explained in soft words—words that he barely heard because he was watching the way your shoulders curled in, the way your voice wavered when you said “I needed a break.”

And Leona… he said nothing.

Because what could he say?

“Come back?”

“Let me fix it?”

“I need you?”

No. He wasn’t good with words like that. So he just walked past you, flopped on your couch, and turned on the dumbest show in your streaming queue. The one with the laugh track you always made fun of. The one you claimed made your brain smooth enough to nap.

And you came and curled next to him without saying a word.

Leona didn’t sleep that night. He watched you instead. Watched your face soften as the tension bled away. Watched your chest rise and fall. Watched the proof that you were still here, even if a little frayed at the edges.

He stayed until morning.

Because if you couldn’t carry the world for a while, he’d hold it up for you instead

Leona refused to let anyone guide him after you left.

They tried, of course. S-class guides who were calm and polished, eager to work with him. People with pristine records and delicate, careful hands. They hovered around him after every mission, offering stabilizing touches and soft-spoken reassurances, but he bared his teeth at every single one of them.

He didn’t want calm. He didn’t want pristine.

He wanted you.

And it wasn’t like he meant to be dramatic about it, either. He knew how it looked—how reckless it was to take on gate after gate without being stabilized. He could feel it in his bones, the exhaustion chewing at the edges of his mind. His temper frayed easier. His sleep was worse. But every time someone reached for him, he’d shrug them off like their hands burned.

Because letting someone else guide him after you?

It felt like cheating.

Even if you’d never been his. Even if you’d never called him yours. Even if you’d left the job entirely and moved on, arms full of groceries and that stupid smug grin on your face like you hadn’t just ripped something vital out of him.

He endured. And endured. And endured.

Until that gate. The breach that nearly turned into a disaster. His vision had been half-gone from the overload, his hands shaking from pushing himself too far. He was stumbling toward his car, snarling at the idiots trying to grab him, when you came out of nowhere, yelling at him.

Scolding him for not taking care of himself.

You, who had no reason to be there. You, with your arms full of cookies and your dumb little apron still dusted with flour. You, who looked so heartbreakingly angry and worried all at once, like he’d carved a hole in your chest and left it open.

He barely heard the words. He couldn’t think past the rush of your voice and the you-ness of it all.

So he kissed you.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t hesitate. Just leaned forward, dizzy with the ache of needing you, and kissed you.

You didn’t pull away.

You kissed him back with a kind of fury that made his knees weak, like you’d been waiting just as long, like all your feelings were poured straight into your touch. You guided him with your hands on his face, your forehead pressed to his. And for the first time in weeks—months, maybe—he could breathe again.

You were his fate. You always had been.

And Leona Kingscholar had never once considered being free.

Now, you're permanently bonded.

Leona comes home, not to silence or tension or the eerie calm of an empty apartment—but to you. You, burning something in the kitchen again. You, curled up on the couch in those ridiculous socks that he secretly bought two more pairs of because you kept losing them. You, complaining about your houseplants like they personally offended you, even as you tuck a blanket around one because “she’s sensitive to cold.”

He walks through the door and something tight in his chest unwinds. Every time.

Sometimes he still expects it to go away. Like he’ll blink and wake up, stuck in some sterile recovery room with a lecture coming and a headache already forming.

But then you smile at him, bright and familiar, and you say, “Welcome home, dumbass,” with that soft tone you always save just for him.

And it hits him again: you’re his.

You bonded with him. Not temporarily. Not out of desperation. You chose him.

Leona doesn’t care for sentimentality. But he knows—knows—he’ll never forget the day you tugged on his ear and made him yours.

Because something about the way you touched him… the way your hands didn’t shake… the way your voice didn’t flinch…

He hadn’t felt fear. He hadn’t felt chaos. He’d just felt—settled.

Even now, when you steal his hoodies and press kisses to the corners of his mouth and scowl when he eats the last cookie, he still remembers that exact moment. The tug on his ear. Your hand in his hair. The audacity you had to treat him like a person before he’d ever earned it.

He comes home to that now.

To you.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Leona Kingscholar doesn’t feel like he’s enduring the world.

He feels like he’s living in it.

You’re both tangled up in the sheets, legs braided together, skin warm with the afterglow, when you roll onto your side and ask, “Hey… why me?”

Leona blinks at the ceiling, arms behind his head. “Why not you?”

You nudge his side, unconvinced. “No, seriously. You had your pick. So what made you want me?”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he says, almost casually, “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“Our first meeting. It wasn’t during that gate in the rain.” He shifts, turning to face you fully, voice low and quiet. “It was way before that. Back when we were both still rookies.”

You squint, thinking hard. “You mean—?”

“I was a mess,” he says, lips twitching at the memory. “Raw, half-feral. I’d just come off a surge and nobody could get near me.”

You stare at him. He stares back.

“You,” he says, tapping your forehead lightly, “stomped over, grabbed me by the ear like I was a misbehaving mutt, and told me to ‘stay put,’ like you weren’t terrified I’d snap your arm off.”

And then it clicks. It clicks.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “That was you?!”

He raises an eyebrow, almost smug.

You burst out laughing. Actual, full-body, face-hiding, breathless laughter.

Leona watches you lose it, and something deep in his chest tugs—gentle, powerful, unmistakably warm.

He thinks, this.

This right here. The sound of your laughter in his sheets, the crinkle of your nose, the disbelief in your eyes as if you couldn’t possibly have manhandled one of the most dangerous espers in the country—this is what he wants every damn day of his life.

You’re still giggling when you huddle closer to him, pressing your forehead to his.

“I pulled your ear,” you murmur, like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “No wonder you’ve been so whipped since day one.”

“Watch it,” he warns, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness.

You grin, and he kisses it right off your mouth.

Masterlist

[asterafroditis]

𐔌 . ⋮ white day ♥︎ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆Third Years x gn! reader

𓏵 1161 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns, fluff

First Years are done! Second Years are done, too! feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

“Woah, no way—seriously?!” Cater exclaims, eyes lighting up as you hand him the neatly wrapped gift.

He turns the box over in his hands, snapping a quick photo before even opening it. “#WhiteDayWin! Look at this—perfectly wrapped and everything. You’ve got a real aesthetic eye, y’know?”

But when he actually opens the gift, his teasing falters for just a second. His smile softens, and his fingers tighten around the box.

“Aw, you really went all out for me, huh?” His voice drops just a bit, no filters, no exaggeration—just genuine warmth.

He quickly shakes off the moment, flashing you a playful grin. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game next year~ Can’t be outdone, right?”

Still, you notice him glancing at your gift more than once, a small, real smile tugging at his lips when he thinks no one’s looking.

─────────────────────────

“Oh? What’s this?” Trey’s brows lift as you place a small box in his hands.

When you explain that it’s a White Day gift in return for his Valentine’s one, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You didn’t have to do that. Really, I was just happy to make something for you.”

But despite his words, he’s careful when he opens the box, almost like he’s savoring the moment. His expression softens as he takes in the contents, eyes lingering on the details.

“…You really put thought into this.” There’s something deeply appreciative in his voice, something steady and warm. “Thanks, I’ll make sure to take good care of it.”

He smiles at you, gentle and sincere. “Guess I’ll have to bake you something extra special next time, huh?”

And true to his word, the next time you visit Heartslabyul, there’s a fresh batch of sweets waiting just for you.

─────────────────────────

“Tch. What’s this?” Leona eyes the gift you hold out, lips pulling into a smirk. “You think I need some kinda thank-you?”

He leans back lazily, but there’s a flicker of interest in his eyes as he reaches for the box. His movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s making sure you know he’s choosing to accept it, not because he cares.

(But he does care. A little too much.)

He opens it with one hand, the other propping up his head. His eyes flicker over the gift, and for a moment, his usual cocky expression softens into something unreadable.

“…Hmph.” He clicks his tongue, setting the box aside with feigned nonchalance. “You’re somethin’ else, herbivore. Wasting time on me like this.”

But later, you catch him looking at the gift again—thumb running idly over its surface, tail flicking lazily behind him.

─────────────────────────

A single elegant brow lifts as you present the gift. “Oh? A White Day present? How thoughtful.”

Vil takes the box delicately, inspecting the wrapping with a keen eye. “A good presentation is just as important as the gift itself,” he muses, but when he actually opens it, the comment dies on his lips.

His fingers brush over the gift, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, a small, approving smile tugs at his lips.

“This… is quite tasteful,” he finally says, his voice softer than usual. He glances at you, something warm and unreadable in his violet eyes.

“You have good instincts. Perhaps I should bring you along next time I go shopping.”

Vil may not say it outright, but you can tell—he’s genuinely pleased. The next time you see him, he’s wearing or using your gift, as if it had always belonged to him.

─────────────────────────

“Ah! What a delightful surprise!” Rook gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Mon cher, you continue to amaze me~”

He takes the gift with a flourish, twirling it in his hands as he admires the craftsmanship. “To think that you would bestow upon me a token of your appreciation! Ah, the beauty of human connection!”

When he opens it, his emerald eyes gleam with excitement. “Exquisite! You have chosen with such care, such precision! It is as if you peered into my very soul to divine what would please me most!”

He holds the gift close, smiling warmly. “Truly, this is a treasure. And so are you, my dear trickster.”

Later, you find him showing off your gift to others, boasting about how “magnifique” your sense of taste is.

─────────────────────────

Idia freezes when you hand him the gift. His hair flares slightly at the edges.

“Wha—huh? For me?” His voice cracks slightly, and he pulls his hoodie strings tighter. “N-No way, you’re actually returning the favor?”

His fingers twitch as he takes the box, staring at it like it might explode. He mutters something about “NPCs in dating sims never doing this,” but his curiosity gets the better of him, and he peeks inside.

His breath catches.

For a second, he just stares at the gift, expression unreadable. Then, ever so slightly, his lips twitch into the smallest, most genuine of smiles.

“…T-Thanks,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. His face is burning, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “Guess I gotta, um… get you something next year, huh?”

He tries to act casual, but you later find the gift displayed in his room, perfectly preserved like a prized collectible figure.

─────────────────────────

Malleus’s eyes widen ever so slightly when you present the gift. “A gift… for me?”

His fingers brush over the wrapping, handling it with a careful reverence. ���I see. This is in response to my offering on Valentine’s Day.”

There’s something almost wistful in his expression as he unwraps the gift, as if savoring the moment. When he sees what’s inside, his lips curve into a small, pleased smile.

“You are quite considerate,” he murmurs, his glowing eyes meeting yours. “It is a rare thing for one to present me with such a sincere offering.”

He chuckles softly. “I shall treasure this.”

True to his word, the next time you visit Diasomnia, you see your gift carefully placed among his most valued belongings.

─────────────────────────

“Oh ho! What’s this?” Lilia grins as you hand him the box, his crimson eyes gleaming with mischief.

When you explain that it’s for White Day, he lets out a chuckle. “How sweet! You’re quite the thoughtful one, aren’t you?”

He opens the box with theatrical flair, but the moment he sees what’s inside, his expression shifts—just a little. His usual playful air softens, something warmer lurking beneath.

“My, my… You really put effort into this, didn’t you?” His voice is quieter now, almost fond. “How wonderful.”

He pats your head (whether you like it or not). “I’ll cherish it. And perhaps, next year, I’ll have to surprise you with something even grander!”

Despite his usual antics, you notice him holding onto your gift with care—tucking it safely away, as if it’s something precious.

[viviennevermillion]

ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ ɴᴏᴡ ɪꜱ ᴏᴜʀꜱ...

❝ there's no storm we can't outrun, we will always find the sun, leave the past and all its scars [...] ; if we're facing endless night, take my hand and join the fight, past the clouds we'll find the stars... ❞ — cast of once upon a time

notes: these wedding headcanons are part of our @briarvalleyarchives wedding event! it was super fun brainstorming how weddings would be in the characters' homelands. used my own experience of german customs for vil's, for leona i checked out some kenyan wedding traditions and lion king lore! hope you guys like these ♡

contains: wedding headcanons, character x gn!reader

characters: malleus, vil, azul, leona

warnings: some blood in malleus's (pricking your finger)

You were a little nervous, when the day had finally come for Queen Maleficia to introduce you to her kingdom's people as Prince Malleus's fiance. News that the heir to the throne of Briar Valley was getting married travelled very far very quickly, and that despite the lack of modern technology. But contrary to your fears and extensive list of worst case scenarios, you were well-received as Malleus's beloved and your prince was more than excited about the upcoming wedding.

According to Briar Valley traditions, both of your wedding attire is going to be black, as it is the royal color of the Draconia family. Nevertheless, neither the queen nor the people will mind you having a little color on your otherwise black clothing, symbolizing how you were not native to your beloved's kingdom; yet your union made you a part of fae society nonetheless, regardless of your origins.

The wedding venue is deep in the forest and has been in preparation by the castle staff for months. Malleus and you are to be wed under a floral arbor, decorated with roses from Malleus's garden.

On the day of the ceremony, butterflies and fireflies surround the venue and rose petals are scattered across it.

You're waiting under the arbor as the queen leads Malleus down the aisle, guided by small forest fae who were chosen as the ring bearers. They carry a small wooden basket with local plants of Briar Valley and the rings are placed upon them. Halfway through, Queen Maleficia lets go of her grandson's arm and lets him walk the rest of the way to you on his own, symbolizing her trust in him to walk his own path from here on out and a new part of his life beginning. You can see a soft smile on her face that is only seen from the usually so serious and stern queen on rare occasions. The guests are assembled at the side of the venue, watching you unite under the arbor and giving you their blessings.

You and Malleus exchange your vows. He takes your hands into his as he speaks to you. "I have to confess that when I met you, I was inexperienced and still had so much to learn about this world. But sharing these experiences with you, exploring what lies beyond the borders of my home by your side, were some of the happiest moments of my life and I still have no doubt that they marked the beginning of something even more grand to come", Malleus's expression was so loving and soft, but you could also tell how giddy and excited he was feeling inside, "just by being there, you brought so much color and vibrance into my life and made me look at the world through different eyes. From the moment we met, I never wanted to lose you and now I promise to you to stay by your side forever, if you allow me. I love you dearly and with all my heart."

Malleus listens attentively to your vows and his heart beats faster when he hears them. He's definitely tearing up.

In remembrance of the Thorn Fairy, it is custom in Briar Valley to prick your finger on a thorn to sign the wedding certificate. Malleus heals the cut with his magic immediately, so there's no need to worry.

Next you shall be crowned as part of the royal family. Every member of the Draconia family receives a custom-made crown. You have a say in deciding how it looks and Malleus hasn't actually seen it until he gets to place it on top of your head at the ceremony. Before doing so, he kisses the dragon markings on your forehead or the skin where they should be, if you had them, and you do the same with him. Malleus smiles as he feels your lips on his markings, taking your hand into his once more and squeezing it gently. You know him too well not to be aware that he's basically itching to pull you into a kiss.

Malleus and you exchange rings and are pronounced newlyweds. "You may kiss-"

Malleus's lips are already on yours before that sentence is even finished. He kisses you deeply and lovingly and holds you tightly in his arms. He doesn't let go of you just yet even after the kiss has ended, hugging you closely and nuzzling your temple.

It is said that the marriage is sealed with true love's kiss.

The eldest fairies in the royal court bestow their magic blessings on you. How effective these actually are? You're not sure, but you're willing to be surprised.

The wedding reception is held in Malleus's rose garden and the guests are reduced to the royal court, both of your family members, friends and the closest noble associates to the Draconia family.

Bowls with flowers as well as twigs decorate the tables at the reception and fairy lights adorn the rose garden.

Traditional Briar Valley folk music plays as you and your guests dance the night away.

Vil and you ring in your wedding celebrations with a "Polterabend", as is typical in the area of the Shaftlands that Vil lives in. This custom is held on the night before the wedding. The guests bring porcelain, but also commonly flowerpots and ceramics to the party that are later smashed onto the ground, supposedly to bring good luck to the couple.

A barbecue is held to provide food for the guests. Vil made sure there's lots of salads and grilled vegetables as well to provide enough variety of foods. Lively chatter can be heard at the tables between your family members and friends as drinks are served.

This gathering is used as an opportunity to accept well-wishes from acquaintances, co-workers and people who aren't able to come to the actual wedding. They stop by for a while to give wedding cards and small gifts to you and Vil. This includes your former classmates from NRC.

"Epel, I swear to the Seven, this is your grandmother's antique tableware, don't you dare", Vil scolds his Pomefiore underclassman as the porcelain smashing ceremony is about to begin. "Are you kidding me, this is the literal point of this evening", Epel pouts. Vil also has to stop Ace from smashing a whole mirror. "Did you never hear about smashing a mirror meaning 7 years of bad luck?", Vil sighs. "Aw, come on, let them have their fun for the night", you chuckle. Vil raises his eyebrows at you. "If we end up cursed, it's your fault."

The actual wedding ceremony happens on the next day at the registry office. You greet your guests in front of the building and provide them with champagne and juice to toast to your marriage. The guests take their seats and eagerly await the beginning of the ceremony. You and Vil have decided to walk in together. One of your guests sings a love song with a piano accompaniment as you two enter and take your seats in front of the registrar's desk. Vil's dad is tearing up as he sees you walk in to the slow music.

You and Vil exchange vows. "Y/n... I have met plenty of people who have said that there's hardly one who understands beauty better than I do. But you proved to me that there were things I had yet to see and understand about the beauty surrounding me", Vil smiles at you and takes your hand into his, "your love made me see a new kind of beauty in this world and just like the radiance of the Beautiful Queen, our love, too, will shine on eternally. I cherish every day we spend together and I know that I can count on you to be there through the good times and the bad. And I promise that I will stay by your side and love you more with every year that passes. I will be there for you whenever you need me. I love you with all my heart."

You exchange rings (Vil's own design) and the registrar makes your marriage official. Vil seals his promise with a kiss. His kiss is soft and doesn't last very long, but you know he's saving the passionate kisses for later.

The guests congratulate you for your union and you leave the building, getting into the car that has been specifically rented for the occasion and decorated with flowers. With your guests behind you, you drive to the reception, hearing them honk their car horns in celebration of your wedding. "I just know we're interrupting some poor soul's afternoon nap", Vil sighs and chuckles.

A log has been placed in front of the entrance of your wedding reception, resembling the first obstacle you and Vil have to overcome as newlyweds. Vil's father hands you the saw to cut it as per tradition. "Hold on, I need to get my gloves", Vil gets his gloves from the car and you chuckle at how on brand this was for him. God forbid Vil Schoenheit breaks a nail on his wedding day. But since Vil is pretty physically strong, the two of you saw through the log rather quickly. "Magnifique!", Rook exclaims and starts clapping.

As the wedding reception you picked an elegant ballroom that reminds you a lot of Pomefiore during your school years. Carefully designed flower bouquets decorate the tables.

You and Vil sit down at the forefront of the tables where all your guests are able to see you. Before the buffet is opened, one of you holds a speech, thanking the guests for the gifts and their attendance and telling the story of how you met and fell in love. Vil's father and optionally, your closest family members, hold speeches as well to express their joy about your union.

After everyone has finished dinner, you share your first dance on the ballroom floor. Vil being Vil, has actually practiced this dance with you for a while before the wedding. Still, even if you'd step on his foot today, he's too happy to care. A slow song plays as you seem to only have eyes for each other for as long as your waltz lasts.

Once your dance concludes, you open the dancefloor to your guests as well to dance with their partners, friends and family. Vil and you hand-picked every song on your wedding playlist.

Sometime later during the evening, your guests have prepared some speeches and party games for you, including a slideshow of your most important memories together and a round of musical chairs which Vil happens to win.

Azul and you decide to hold two wedding celebrations, both under the sea and on land. You hire a wedding planner to help you set the whole thing up and you convince Azul not to charge the guests for the food.

Only your closest family members and friends attend the wedding ceremony under the sea, to make sure that Azul is able to provide enough potions for all of you to breathe underwater.

He's totally the nervous one out of the two of you. Kinda freaks out internally if anything doesn't go according to plan and during the time you spend planning your wedding, he sometimes needs you to take his mind off things and let him rest his head in your lap as you run your fingertips through your fiance's silver hair.

Since there's no real "wedding attire" for merfolk, Azul receives some traditional coral sea body paint which is temporary and luminous. You cup his cheeks before the ceremony. "You're so pretty", you gush quietly and Azul reminds you to save this for after the wedding with a blush on his face.

Azul's mother has to be the happiest guest. She sweeps her son up in a hug. "Awww my little Azul is getting married....they grow up so fast", she wipes her tears, "I remember when you were just 3 and you tried practicing your signature with ink on our living room walls." You giggle. "Mum...please", Azul groans and hides his expression behind his hand.

In remembrance of the mermaid princess's beautiful singing, the mermaids who have been invited to your wedding sing for you as you are united in front of the altar. Azul wraps an arm around your shoulder as the two of you listen to the siren song.

During your vows, you make sure to drive the point home about how beautiful you think Azul is inside and out, something that still gets him a little flustered even after all this time.

"My dearest y/n", Azul begins his own vows and can't resist pressing a kiss to your forehead before continuing with his speech, "when we met, my heart knew no rest nor satisfaction. I grasped for everything within my reach because I myself was unsure of what I was looking for. I know now, that what I really needed was closure and acceptance and love. You were there throughout my journey so far and I want you to be there for the rest of it. I have grown to love you from the bottom of my heart and I fall in love with you more and more every day. I want to share my future with you and I'll stand by your side, come what may, for as long as you'll let me be part of your world."

You seal your marriage with a soft and loving kiss and Azul can't repress the joyful "It's a deal!" that comes out of his mouth. "The only contract I'll be happy to sign with you", you joke.

You receive headpieces that are decorated with shells, featuring a golden shell reminiscent of the necklace the Sea Witch used to wear as the centerpiece.

After the ceremony you are given gifts by your guests. The merfolk typically give you items from land to accompany you on your journey beyond the sea, a tradition that originated from the collection of the mermaid princess and her union with the human prince.

Your celebration on land happens the day after at the beach. There's food and drinks and the atmosphere is as lively as you would expect from a beach wedding. There's sparklers and a bonfire as well.

As the sun sets, you and Azul are sent off in a boat to a ship you have rented where the celebration continues. Your closest friends accompany you with boats as well before the rest of your guests follow you. Your merfolk guests are watching from the surface of the sea.

The wedding celebration ends with a huge firework at midnight. "I love you", Azul whispers to remind you as the fireworks light up the night sky. He has his arms wrapped around you and presses a kiss to your cheek.

After the guests have left the ship, you and Azul are sent off to your honeymoon together.

Leona sees his family members gather around him and ask him a million questions about your upcoming wedding and everyone seems to have their own ideas for how to improve the festivities for the second prince. “You know”, he holds you in his arms on the evening before the wedding, “it’s not too late to ditch everyone and have a shotgun wedding in a neighboring country.” You chuckle and shake your head. “I think Farena would have a crisis if we did that.”

A couple of months before the wedding, the royal family invites your family and they get together over dinner to get to know each other better and discuss your wedding plans with you. Farena is really happy that Leona is getting married and that he’s seeing him actually put effort into something. 

The wedding ceremony is held at Pride Rock, just as recorded for every royal couple since the time of the King of Beasts. You, along with several guests, are wrapped in cloth and Leona has to guess which one is his betrothed. His senses never fail him though.

“You know, it would have been so embarrassing if you actually got it wrong. I would have never let you live this down”, you tease him. Leona shrugs. “Literally no one else here smells this much like herbivore”, he smirks and pokes your side affectionately. “I like to think this is a compliment”, you grin. “It is by now. I thought you were a pain back when I met you”, he whispers into your ear. You roll your eyes with a laugh. “What? I’m not allowed to say this during my vows, might as well do it now”, Leona pulls you close as your guests are busy talking to each other, “I don’t know what possessed you to stick around even through my obvious annoyance and terrible attitude but you crawled your way into my heart. I admit I wasn’t…the easiest person to love in the beginning. But I promise that I’ll never let you down again. Or… overblot. Actually I would appreciate it if we could just forget about the overblot.” Leona cringes. “Anyway, ‘suppose what I wanted to say is, thank you for stickin’ by me. I love you. A lot, actually. There was a long time where I didn’t really see a future for myself. But now I do. And I want to spend it with you.”

You are escorted to the wedding ceremony by your respective families. They shake hands before entering the venue together, accompanied by singing, dancing and drums. 

Leona’s official vows are very formal and something you knew Farena had beta-read. Nevertheless, you appreciate the gesture. You and Leona exchange rings and your families sign off on it as you are pronounced a married couple. Leona pulls you close and kisses you, wrapping his tail around your waist.

Your closest relatives and associates of the royal court assemble in a circle with you and Leona and your ceremony is concluded by the Royal Mjuzi giving his blessings for your marriage, just as it had already been done during the times where the King of Beasts roamed these lands. The Royal Mjuzi takes his bakora staff adorned with baobab fruits and shakes it in front of you. 

Leona and you light a unity candle before you ascend to the top of Pride Rock along with Farena and the queen. “I could lift you up and show you to the people like they did with Cheka when he was born”, Leona whispered with a smirk on his face. “I would prefer it if you do not do that”, you whisper back and shake your head. “Seriously don’t”, Farena warns his younger brother and Leona lets out a quiet laugh.

When you reach the top of Pride Rock, masses of people from Sunset Savannah have assembled below you, clapping and cheering as congratulations to your marriage. The royal family waves to the people and the live music reaches its climax.

As you descend from the large rock, the elders of the community give their wisdom and encouragement to you and Leona

The celebration after the ceremony happens on the palace grounds. Several emissaries from foreign countries as well as Sunset Savannah nobles have been invited and the celebration is also seen as an opportunity to improve Sunset Savannah’s ties with other nations. “Now we get to talk to stuck-up politicians, advocate for King Farena’s ideas and look pretty”, Leona whispers, never really having dropped the cynicism about his status as the second prince, “unless you’re open for suggestions…” “Leona, we’re not going to ditch the celebration, take a jeep out into the wilderness and kiss under the stars….okay maybe after the event we can do that.” “You know me too well”, your husband chuckles and wraps his arms around you from behind. 

“Do you think the great kings of the past give us their blessings as well?”, he asks, looking up at the stars. “I thought you said the stars were just giant balls of hot gas burning millions of miles away from us?”, you raise an eyebrow. “Eh, it’s a pick and choose thing for me, really”, Leona smiles and kisses your cheek, “I love you, herbivore.”

[schoenht]

congrats on 1k!!! for the event (which is still open i hope, timezones are hard), i was wondering if you could do an s/o who posted or rtd something about matching couples icons, and never asking their bf to do it bc its embarrassing--and leona and jade confronting them about it? please take your time w it and no pressure if you cant do it!!!

↝ matching icons

characters: leona kingscholar, jade leech

note: ahhhh tysm !!! <3 this was actually so fun to make i hope you enjoy !!

EVENT IS CLOSED!

[tempvstas]

Um. Hello. Could I request Vil, Leona, and Jamil with a baker s/o? And when I say baker, I'm talking a baker that can make anything from a simple batch of cookies to those extravagant cakes you find on Pinterest.

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Content Warning(s): none

Character(s): GN!Reader(no pronouns mentioned), Vil Schoenheit, Leona Kingscholar, Jamil Viper

Authors Notes: baking pog!

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Vil Schoenheit

He's impressed by your abilities, and he thinks it's pretty impressive that you can make such intricate designs

Definitely takes a few pictures and posts them on his Magicam story, he's smug when he sees so many people praising your skills. He's like "That's right, my s/o made that."

He has to adhere to a strict diet so he wouldn't stuff his face with your sweets, but he feels bad when you stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to try it. Instead, he'll encourage you to share it with your friends, saying that you thinking of him in the first place is good enough for him.

Leona Kingscholar

He's not a big fan of sweets unfortunately, he'll probably eat one or two of your cookies, but any more than that is too much for him.

Since he doesn't eat much of your sweets, he likes to watch you work. He thinks it's cute when you're focused, especially when you specifically scrunch up your nose.

Would definitely hug you from behind if it's just the two of you letting you do your thing. It's a win-win for him, he gets to hold onto you and keep you close to him while you get to work on what you want.

Jamil Viper

Jamil knows his way around the kitchen, so if you need any assistance with anything, he's more than happy to help assist you.

He's content with doing things his way, but if you have a specific way of doing things, like a routine when it comes to making baked goods he won't impede on it.

He might ask for your assistance for Kalim's numerous parties. He's always tasked with making large amounts of food, but this gives him an excuse to get him job done, but also time to be able to spend with you.

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