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urbeachboy · 2 hours ago

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𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐇

⋆˙⟡ — req : hey,, psst,, you got any.. leona kingscholar x reader..? with maybe.. a dab of fluff.. and maybe.. something with napping together.. a dash of yearning.. maybe.. (from whomever you desire).. plz and thank u.. also!! can i be 💀 anon?

⋆˙⟡ — synopsis : Leona Kingscholar does not have a soft spot. Not for his brother, for his sister-in-law, for his nephew, nor for anyone. And then you came along.

⋆˙⟡ — content : Leona Kingscholar (twisted wonderland) x gn!reader. Reader is a people pleaser. Cuddling. Kiss kiss fall in love!! Inexperienced Leona. Fluff. Lots of fluff. Some hints of angst.

You’ve always been a giver. It’s essentially instinctive- second nature, really.

Perhaps it started at the age of four, when you cried crocodile tears over a wounded bird. A bird that you had tried so desperately to save, yet alas, fate hadn't been so nice to poor little young you.

Or maybe rather, it was at the age of seven, when you had refused to step a single foot out the threshold of your room when your pet hamster, Squibbles, had passed away.

And it may have been the idea of losing anyone else- or standing by watching as someone else lost someone- that truly clung to you. That feeling of despair you felt like claws scraping down your back, all while the ugly dread clung to you like a leech, only truly letting go when you had ensured that nobody got hurt.

Maybe it was a bit selfish- just a small bit. For you knew best that you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing you’d let someone down, even if they weren’t quite counting on you to keep them up.

So to say, Twisted Wonderland was a nightmare for you.

Little boys who thought themselves men, and men who thought themselves little boys. They scrambled, reaching for any semblance of control, for any semblance of comfort.

You're not quite certain if it was the first overblot or the second, but by the fourth, you’d already made quite a preceding reputation for yourself. You’re not sure if there wasn’t anyone in Night Raven College who was not aware of your name or your game. I.E: Save the School from going up into flames once or perhaps even twice a month at times.

In fact, many people knew you quite well–with the becoming ribbon you twisted your striped tie into, and with your nature; approachable and sympathetic, it was difficult to not get acquainted with you on more levels than simply knowing. A few of these people?

Ace Trappola, the boy from Heartslabyul with cards and tricks alike up his uniform sleeve.

Deuce Spade, a friend of Ace’s as well, also from Heartslabyul, and having quite an affinity to cauldrons, you think.

Jack Howl, what with all his ivory hair and sun-kissed skin, and that body he’d achieved through tons of rigorous training, no doubt.

Epel Felmier, with a Southern twang that you only ever hear sometimes- though you think it’s especially adorab–no! Very.. very manly. And he’s treated you to apple pie once, as well. Home-made, you think he said it was?

Sebek Zigvolt- you’re unsure how you’d managed to befriend him of all people, but it does not go to say that you enjoy his presence any less. His hair stuck up perpetually as if he had been struck by a lighting bolt, though he may as well be every time he’s asked about his dearest Liege.

There’s also the strange horned man with dark hair and green eyes that pierce through your soul, but all he ever seems to want is a chat about architecture- mostly Gargoyles and Grotesques and all that- never your soul.

But as strange as he, Tsunotarou, may be–you find one is stranger. Leona. Leona Kingscholar. A prince, you’ve learnt. With his hair that you could call brunette, resembling black coffee, and his eyes like emeralds, which you’re sure he has a ton.

You’re not sure why he acknowledges you at all, really, but it’d begun ever since after his overblot. It had begun slowly- surely, though-

First, he would fall asleep at the table you and your friends often occupied during lunch, and all of you far too afraid to wake him or make him budge. You found it funny how he always dozed off on the seat just next to yours- Grim’s reserved seat, upon not receiving which he would grow exasperated. He would soon quiet down when offered a seat on your shoulder (which he found much more comfortable than any seat, as irking as it was to have his tail thump against your face or the back of your head every now and again), however.

Then, he would get food for you. You’re not sure if you were to feel humiliated at the thought that he most likely assumed you have no money to get it yourself (he isn’t wrong–you don’t, because Dire Crowley is such a generous man), but it was admittedly nice to have a sandwich sitting on your plate when you got to your table. And a rather sleepy lion. Well, on second thought, would sleepy be the right word if he was already asleep?

And after that, he began speaking to you more. And, trust me on this–Leona Kingscholar does not speak to just anyone. Not the way he does with you, at least.

A tired groan that would escape his full lips as he looked up at you through hazy, lidded eyes. “..Herbivore,” he’d grumble, “Y’changed your hair.”

And…so you did. And no-one’s noticed (which is understandable, because it really isn’t a prominent change- you would barely know it unless you were really looking for it), up until…well…Leona.

Or maybe he’d notice the way you had decided to tie your tie into a bow this time instead. Like Epel (see, you always liked the way he tied it, though you could never get it right. So, your dear friend Epel had provided some assistance).

He’d tilt his head back, just barely skimming his eyes over it before turning his attention back to the very interesting wall. “Your tie’s different.” You would perk up, a smile painted on your lips. “It’s cute, right? I saw how Epel always did it, and I was like ‘aw, that’s cute’—only in my head, though, Epel would kill me if I said it out loud—and I wanted him to teach me, so I asked him, and he said Vil taught him and then he taught me anyways, and–”

“It looks stupid.”

So, obviously, he’s a real charmer.

And, charmed as you were, you didn’t protest the first time he had wordlessly pulled you into his arms with his eyes still shut after you’d fortuitously disrupted a precious nap of his.

Then he did it a second time, a third, and a fourth.

Since then, it’s become sort of tradition; napping together. The two of you never speak of it, and you’re not certain if anyone else is aware about it at all, either. You think Leona likes it to stay that way.

You still don’t retort, don’t kick and squirm. It’s as if you’re able to see the child in him, the child that only wanted to be seen; to be known. To be acknowledged. What’d he ever do, but ask for love? And is love, if requested of one of the same blood, far too much to ask for?

So you humour him. As you are right now. You’re in Savanaclaw, barely tangled in Leona’s sheets, in Leona’s room, with the aforementioned clinging to you with a generous amount of space (ie: a hair’s breadth, which is technically still generous in terms of Leona) between the two of you.

It’s about six, sunset; the sun is low but you can see the glowing saffron of it just peeking out from behind the rocky mountains, almost shy to show its true self- its true colours, the neon orange as opposed to the usual blinding yellow-white. You think it’s somewhat like Leona, and the thought makes you chuckle to yourself.

“Mmh,” Leona groans, and the sound is a low rumble in his chest. “What’s so funny, Herbivore?” he murmurs, his voice hushed and husky. It’s a wonder how his braids never get messed up by the different positions he sleeps in, every which way his body contorts for the ultimate resting experience. You wish you had half of his privileges- you can’t blame him, you’d lounge around, too, if in his shoes.

You only shake your head at his words, not an ounce of sleep in your eyes (much unlike his), and a small smile playing on your lips. “Nothing. You just…remind me of the Sun.”

He’s silent. His breathing is slow, gentle—he fell asleep. Again. You let out a sigh, playfully rolling your eyes.

His skin is sun-kissed, his eyes (when open), most would say are like jades or emeralds or some other materialistic, shiny object. You, on the other hand, believe they’re like the prickly bushes that, albeit hurt much to get through, bear beautiful blossoms once you’re past the thorns.

His hair is like honey, some parts are darker and some are lighter- maybe it’s more like caramel? Either way, it’s something sweet. And silky. You reach a hand out, beginning to gingerly comb your fingers through his hair.

He stirs then, reaching out just like you, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re almost afraid he’s woken up, or is in the process of doing so, but his eased shoulders and relaxed expression says otherwise. Leona’s always tense when he’s awake. Even if he doesn’t realise it, his jaw is clenched.

Your smile widens. You curl your fingers into his hair, humming a gentle tune ‘neath your breath. Your eyes continue to rove over him, landing on his lips. His upper lip is fuller, darker. He’s beautiful. He’s beyond beautiful, you can barely describe it in words.

Should one feel such a way for a friend? If you could even begin to consider Leona a friend, that is.

You don’t think so.

“Like what you see?” You almost jump out of your skin, or perhaps go tumbling down the bed if it weren’t for his almost vice-like grip around your waist.

You blink in surprise, taking a bit to compose yourself. You see how Leona maintains his previous expression, though his lips—his very pretty lips—are quirked up at the corners. “You were awake this whole time?” you question, a bit frantically. After all, it would be quite flustering to know that a friend(?) had caught you all but checking them out.

He hummed. That’s a maybe. And then he’s silent again.

…Does he want you to sleep? Usually he’d just chastise you to stop moving, stop breathing so loud.

He doesn’t now.

Maybe he.. wants to talk?

You swallow your spit, your eyes lingering over his face, before beginning earnestly; “You’re very pretty.”

He opens both eyes at that. You absolutely must be in a World-Record book now. Both of his eyes, like lily-pads. Submerged in the water, so close to drowning and yet, holding something so beautiful within. A lotus; tender, soft.

Leona doesn’t look surprised in any usual way, but that’s because he’s Leona, and he’s far from usual. He snorts, keeping his eyes, half-lidded, on you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you respond decidedly.

Silence falls over the two of you like a veil once more. This time, it isn’t so comfortable. His eyes are glued to your face. They drift just slightly lower than your eyes, and they’re, you think, on your lips. Like yours were once on his.

Your tongue subconsciously darts out to swipe at the supple flesh there, wetting it almost like it grew drier than the desert just from his glare alone.

It’s silent, still. You glance away for a second, then back at him, and then you get an idea. You snicker and tilt your head, peering up at him. “You wanna kiss?”

It’s smart, you decide. If he declines and assumes you’re weird (which is likely), it’ll just be a joke. And if he accepts? Jackpot.

He quirks an eyebrow at you, his gaze dragging back up to your eyes.

You’re awfully nervous, you hope Beastmen can’t smell those sorts of things (obviously they can’t—they don’t smell fear, for god’s sake. They’re not demons). You, in turn, raise an eyebrow towards him as well, in hopes of seeming a bit more in control of yourself than you truly were.

Then, Leona huffs. At least, you assume it’s a huff, because it sounds halfway through a huff and a small laugh. You hope he’s not laughing. It’s not that ridiculous of a question to ask, is it?

It is. Whatever.

“What if I do?” You notice he’s completely dropped the ‘Herbivore’ gag, and you’re not sure if you should feel grateful or not. You don’t find yourself having much time to dwell on that, however, for his words peak your interest far more. “Then you should do it,” you test your limits.

He only stares at you. Like a big cat waiting to pounce. You assume he is—that’s what lions do, don’t they? They watch, wait for a moment of weakness.

Your brow twitches.

Then they strike.

Leona leans in quicker than he could call any human being who evidently eats and enjoys eating meat a ‘Herbivore’, pressing his lips against yours (though it’s somewhere between that and smashing his lips against yours).

One hand of his goes up to your chin, the other resting on your waist, still.

He’s inexperienced, that much is easy to tell. You’re not sure why you’d expected him to not be inexperienced. Him. Leona Kingscholar. Infamous for shutting out anyone and everyone who got a millimetre too close.

He’s haphazard and yet it still feels nice, likely because his lips are just naturally made for kissing or something of the sort. They move nicely against yours, and occasionally, the two of you apaty your lips a bit and your teeth clink against eachother’s, and you shoot each-other a glance. A light-hearted glance, as if you’re about to burst into silent laughter.

That’s just what it is, actually. For something so intimate, the atmosphere is so light-hearted. With the half-draped curtains casting bold shadows on your frames in turn, and still leaving space for you to see the Sun (if you were to turn around and look through the window, but with Leona’s lips attached to yours, you’re not sure he’d make that very possible) only showing itself an inch, a little more than halfway below the mountain, and a little less than fully below the mountain.

Leona tilts his head, pulling your face closer to his (almost tugging, really). He seems to forget himself, seems to forget how to be gentle and nice. The only way you can tell he’s apologetic is by the way his grip immediately loosens by a lot, and the pad of his thumb subtly traces along your jawline, rubbing soft circles.

You tap on his shoulder when you feel you’re a few ways from losing your breath, and he seems to get the memo, parting from you with a sigh from his side, and a gasp from yours. His hands don’t leave you, though. Your hands that had settled on his shoulders a while ago hadn’t left there, either.

Leona only stares at you. Not like Leona Kingscholar stares at everyone, no—not sharp and unbothered, finding anyone’s presence to be a nuisance—but like Leona stares at you. Tender and gentle.

His nose twitches. And for the first time, you see a smile on his lips that doesn’t mean bad news. A smile that isn’t filled with malice or vicious intent.

A genuine smile.

“Pretty sure you’re the one who’s like the fuckin’ Sun.”

⋆˙⟡ — a/n : i’m so sorry for not posting often!! i’ve been super busy irl but i promise i’ve been working on stuff 😞

⋆˙⟡ — NOT proofread — wordcount : ?

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #twst x reader #Leona Kingscholar #Leona kingscholar x reader #lowkey rushed near the end im so sooorry….#wrote this at 2 am can u tell (yes)#listen to. new flesh by current joys while reading this. or i’ll never forgive u #thanks #<3 #💀 anon

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