justgiulia - Tumblr blog

[justgiulia]

Hey guys, welcome back to my youtube channel. What do you beautiful and talented freaks want?

K, love u, bye! Drink water because dying of dehydration when you can have water is cringe.

[justgiulia]

Jack Howl Masterlist <3

Hands on a canvas

[justgiulia]

Deuce Spade Masterlist <3

Hands on a canvas

[justgiulia]

Twisted Wonderland Masterlist <3

Riddle Rosehearts

Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Cater Diamond

Trey Clover

Leona Kingscholar

Jack Howl

Ruggie Bucchi

Azul Ashengrotto

Jade Leech

Floyd Leech

Kalim Al-Asim

Jamil Viper

Vil Shoenheit

Rook Hunt

Epel Felmier

Idia Shroud

Ortho Shroud

Malleus Draconia

Lilia Vanrouge

Sebek Zigvolt

Silver

[justgiulia]

Hello! I’ve never done this before so if this suck you can absolutely skip this. (I did make sure to read your rules and I hope I didn’t break any of them.)

How about a fluff of Jack and Deuce (separate) where the reader is an artist that wants to use their hands as reference to practice since they think that their hands look very expressive? And maybe y/n ends up wanting to draw them as a whole afterwards.

Like I said, you can skip this if you want but Thank you for your time! ^^

author's note: AAAA Thank you so much for this request anon!! I loved writing it, it's a really original idea and I also love the characters you requested sooo double win! I hope you like it <3 (also dw, you didn't break any rules)Characters may be OOC, Jack's part is a bit longer than Deuce's.

content warnings: none

Characters: Jack, Deuce(separate) x gn!reader

Hands on a canvas

Being an artist in Twisted Wonderland was probably the best thing that could ever happen in your life. Since you have been transported to the new world you have never lacked the desire to portray everything of this world that always fascinates you.

Your artistic skills have also been a big help for other people like Azul and the Leech twins, who asked for your thoughts and opinions about their menu's design, and to the students who are in charge of the costumes and backstage work in the film research club.

You're laying on the bed of your room in ramshackle, thinking about the amount of time you spent in twisted wonderland, its people. Your mind then immediately wanders to your home, your world.

When will you be able to return to the place you really belong to?

You immediately cast these thoughts out of your mind.

Being depressed won't change the situation you're in.

To distract yourself, you decide to focus on what you love doing: drawing.

You open the bedside drawer next to you and take a sketchbook and a pencil to get started, you then grab your phone and make your way towards a desk near the window of the room where you usually spend your time drawing or doing your homework.

You look out of your window to find new things to draw but there aren't any, just the same trees and flowers...sure, at first it was nice drawing them but after a while anyone would get tired of portraying the same scenery. You sigh and grab your things, ready to go out and find something or someone to sketch.

You start walking around the school to find inspiration and you finally find it when you come across the track and field club or rather a member of it: Jack.

You watch as he plays on the field of the track club and you can't seem to pull your eyes away from him, almost mesmerized by his energy. You slowly start to sit down on the ground and open your notebook, your gaze never leaving Jack's figure.

Your attention shifts on his hands, you always liked his hands and thought they are very expressive and without thinking about it you start to sketch them in different ways. When you tear you eyes away from your drawings and look towards the field once again, you find jack staring at you.

For a moment you don't know what to do, but then he waves at you with an almost unnoticable smile on his lips.

Your heart skipping a beat and you swear that blood rushed to your face, making it hot and red. After a few seconds of you trying to recover from the shock, you smile back at him, returning the greeting and Jack goes back to the other members of the club to continue his game.

You follow with your gaze the figure of the boy who hoes back to his club activities amd you can't help but think of his delicate smile that he showed you earlier. Your heart skips a beat again and you start drawing his face on the white paper, with the intention of portraying not only Jack, but also the deep feelings you have for him.

"Is there something wrong with my hands?" Deuce asks in the cafeteria while you, him, Ace and Grim were sitting together, eating your lunch.

You've been staring at his hands since the moment you sat down across from him with a noticeable interest and a bit of intensity, but you can't help it! The reason is that you have been practicing drawing hands for a long time, but recently the practice is not going well and the results are not what you quite expected and the pile of tattered and rolled up drawing paper in the trash can of your dorm can testify your failed experiments of drawing human anatomy. So you've been thinking about using someone's hands as a refernce.

You've always liked Deuce's hands and you tought they would be the perfect reference for your drawings. You just had to find a good way to ask him if you could his hands as a model.

"It's just that recently I've been trying to practice my drawing skills, to be more specific, I'm practicing drawing hands but I'm...uh...quite failing at it ahah" akward ass laugh.

Deuce looks at you for a few seconds and his gaze moves to his hands and then to you again, this continues for a few seconds before he asks in an almost embarassed way:

"Would you..like to use my hands as a reference then?"

Hard to believe, but Deuce understood your intentions.

At this point we might as well believe that the end of the world is coming

You immediately accept his help with a big grin on your face and literally DRAG HIM out of the cafeteria when you finish eating, not even caring about ace who was still sitting at the table drowning in his food.

After successfully finding a bench to sit on, you open your notebook and grab your pencil (two items you won't leave your house without) and start sketching using deuce's hands as a reference.

While drawing you explain to Deuce all your drawing techniques and show many of your sketches in the album, which receive many compliments and positive comments from the blue-haired boy. You also explain to him that you were hoping he would offer you help in your attempts of drawing hands, as you particularly appreciate the expressiveness that his hands have, and you swear that you've seen the tip of his ears turn a bit red.

You didn't mind it and kept drawing until you both had to back to class, promising to each other that you would spend more time together to practice.

Before parting ways you gave him one of the drawings you did of his hands, something he would cherish forever.

[justgiulia]

Thanks everyone for the requests! I started writing them <3

[justgiulia]

requests are open!! ♡

rules:

1)I wil only write for fandoms in my pinned post

2)no more than 1 request per person

3) You can request up to 7 characters!

3)Any type of fanfiction is accepted (fluff,angst,hurt/comfort,smut, etc..)

4)I will only write character x reader or character x reader x character (I don't write character x character)

5) Please don't be rude

6)And last but not least, I'd like to ask you to give me a little prompt or an idea of what you might have, so don't just request a "character x reader" without adding any info of what type of fanfiction or plot you might want (you can also specify if you want a fanfiction or headcanons)

thank you, I'm waiting for your requests!♡

[justgiulia]

THIS IS SO GOOD

Heroes vs. Villains : Pomefiore

Gender Neutral Reader x Pomefiore vs. Neige Leblanche Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Woe to the Ramshackle Prefect, being caught up in the drama between the Disney Villains and their respective heroes. Pomefiore Version ie. Wherein Vil tries his very best to correct your abominable wardrobe and you swoop in to kidnap save an unsuspecting gentleman in distress.

[PART 2]

“Your wardrobe is atrocious. And I’m not going to be seen with someone who looks like they rolled around on the floor of their closet and put on whatever stuck to them first.”

Firstly, your closet wasn’t big enough to step inside, let alone roll around in. So take that, Mister Metaphor.

Secondly, you didn’t even own enough clothing for that to be an option. Dressing yourself like some kind of confetti monster? Yeah, no. You had three pairs of donated, grey, uniforms and a couple over-large sweatshirts that Jack had kindly donated to you once fall set in. Today it just so happened to be Uniform #2 that was the clean one of the set. So.

All of that being said, from the sounds of things, your Crimes Against Fashion had spurred an emergency shopping trip. A shopping trip spearheaded by the Vil Schoenheit, and very hopefully being funded by his seemingly never-emptying wallet. Also, to be perfectly honest, Ramshackle was cold. And you would very much like some new socks and at least one fuzzy pair of pajama pants to go with Jack’s old crewnecks. Maybe a nice throw blanket. That alone was worth the blow to your dignity.

“Will I survive?” you lamented, as Rook fussed with your sad excuse for an umbrella.

“No,” Epel drawled, entirely unsympathetic. Not that you could blame the guy. An afternoon that the House Warden spent with you was one less hovering over Epel—one less hour stuck in front of a mirror, one less etiquette class that was more punishment than lesson. Perhaps one more secret rack of barbecue ribs snuck in from the Savanaclaw Dorm.

“Mon Coeur, you are going to get soaked,” Rook tutted, finally conceding on trying to fix your shredded nightmare of a parasol. You’d found it in one of the many dusty closets Ramshackle had to offer. One of the ghosts said they recognized it from their time on campus two-hundred years ago.

“Sorry.”

“It is far from your fault!” Rook gasped, and Epel rolled his eyes.

“Why don’t you ask Vil to buy you one?” your purple-haired friend mocked, and you fought the urge to stick your tongue out at him.

“Maybe I will,” you sniffed, indignant.

“More likely he’ll just see it an’ get all upset, and be like, ‘ah! How ugly this darn thing is! Throw it away before my eyes bleed!’” he crooned, dramatic—so caught up in his theatrics that he nearly dropped the little apple carving he was working on.

“Yeah, right. Like Vil would ever be caught dead saying ‘darn,’” you jabbed, and Epel hurled the fruit at your head. Rook caught it gracefully and returned it to the grumpy farm boy with a gentle toss. “But otherwise, spot on.”

“‘Spot on’ about what, precisely? Your collective complete and utter lack of decorum? This is a public space, show some class please.”

And with that scathing remark, Vil Schoenheit had officially entered the scene.

The venomous beauty’s purple eyes traced over you in the way that they always seemed to—picking apart whatever things he deemed worthy of plucking. His gaze landed almost immediately on your near-disintegrated umbrella, and it narrowed with distaste.

“You’re not bringing that with us. In fact, you might as well just toss it with the garbage on the way out.”

You and Epel made painfully long eye contact.

Rook shoved a red-and-white checkered parasol into your hands with an indulgent smile.

The journey to the outlets from there was actually pretty pleasant. Vil’s private car was swanky and smelled like the fancy sort of air fresheners that didn’t prick at your nose with an oversaturation of chemical fruitiness. He rattled off list upon list of ‘essentials’ that was sounding longer and more expensive by the minute. But (as he immediately confirmed upon seeing your mounting horror) this was to be a Schoenheit Expenditure, so you decided to let him enjoy himself and tally up a ridiculous amount of brand name garbage.

The stores had private parking. And that was immediately intimidating.

Vil fixed his ‘normal people disguise’ more firmly in place before walking you through the building with a surprising level of enthusiasm.

“It works a bit differently—” he continued, piling item after item into a cart that was already close to overflowing. “—Most of these products are meant to be customized, but I suppose we can look into that later. Off-The-Rack is not usually my preferred method of browsing, but it will have to do until we’ve bulked out your general wardrobe into something passable.”

He was muttering to himself like a mad scientist—holding swatches to your face, tugging bits of various fabric against your fingers. His efficiency and complete competence in all things was endearing, if not a bit terrifying.

Then, Vil draped a soft, amethyst, scarf around your neck.

“Here,” he said, still mostly buried in the racks. “You can wear this now—for the cold. This color suits you.”

“Really?” you hummed, doing your absolute best not to let your eyes fall to the price tag dangling off the end of it. You failed. “It’d fit you better,” you rambled, trying to take your mind off the triple-goddamn-digits you’d just seen. “It actually matches your eyes kind of perfectly, don’t you think?”

There was a pause then, and for a moment you worried that you’d said something irritating—maybe unintentionally questioning his fashion judgements or blablabla. One thing that you knew for sure was that when the King of Poisons had to stop and ponder on a reply, you’d done fucked up. And were his ears red? Oh no you must have really pissed him off—

“I am trying to focus on turning you into an even marginally acceptable member of society,” he rushed out finally, sounding strained. “So if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go grab us some coffees or something.”

“Don’t wander too far,” he called, sounding distracted. “And no—”

“No caffeine, decaf only. Stimulants will ruin your skin, and digestive tract, and blablabla,” you droned. “I know your drill.”

“That goes for you too, potato,” he tutted, a pleasant warmth coasting over the reprimand.

You waved him off with a grumble and headed out into the main building. It was bright—nearly unpleasantly so—and every surface looked like it was made of a stone so expensive that you probably wouldn’t even be able to pronounce its name.

You wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, wondering idly if a place this upscale would even have a café kiosk. Surely rich people still drank coffee, but you’d also heard something once upon a time about how ‘to-go cups’ and ‘not savoring the brew’ were some kind of gross social faux pas. You sighed, and as your shoulders slouched you felt a brush of sinfully soft fabric against the back of your arm.  

You froze and reached hesitantly up to your neck. You were still wearing the purple scarf. You pinched at the ridiculously expensive cashmere with wide eyes. Did this make you a thief? I mean, no one had bothered to stop you or anything. Did these sorts of stores have different rules? Like an honesty policy maybe? And you technically hadn’t even left the building yet! So maybe—

WHAM!

“Ah! I’m so sorry! I just—I have to—!”

You were ripped out of your morality spiral by a sound like a storm, and you looked up past your assailant to see a herd of people stampeding in your direction. Immediately, your I-was-shopping-with-an-internationally-recognizable-superstar instinct kicked in, and you bodily hauled yourself and whatever poor sap who had nearly mowed you down into the nearest store and then into one of the changing rooms beyond that.

The tempest that followed was a roar of cacophonous noise, but thankfully brief. Only a few people ducked into the store you’d taken refuge in, and none of those ventured very close to your hiding place. You breathed out a sigh of relief. It sounded weirdly muffled behind the changing room’s thick, velvety, curtains.

“Th-Thank you for that,” stuttered whoever you’d just kidnapped.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged, and turned to get a better look at your new partner in crime. Immediately you froze, an odd sense of recognition working through you. “Uhm—Are you Neige? Neige Le Blanc?”

“Leblanche,” he corrected gently, and then winced. Like he’d only just realized that maybe outing himself after being nearly accosted by a mob was not the best idea.

“Oh. Alright,” you said, dazed.

This was Vil’s arch nemesis? He reminded you a little of a cocker spaniel—with big, wide, heavy-lashed eyes and soft, dark, curls framing his perfectly petite face. Sure, he was lovely. And maybe you were a little biased here, but this guy—this, this walking cherub—was standing in the way of Vil’s absolute, tyrannical, reign over all things sexy? Sure, he was adorable enough. But most beautiful of them all? Come on.

“U-Uhm…” Neige stuttered, nervously clasping his fingers. “Do you… Want an autograph or something? As a thank you?”

“What?” you blinked, allowing yourself to be pulled back into the very surreal situation unfolding around you. “Oh. No thanks. I don’t want to be massacred.”

He gasped. “I know that they may not have left the best first impression just now, but I promise that my fans would never do that!”

It wasn’t his fans you were worried about. Vil’s high heels looked sharp enough to gut a man, and you did not want to be the first test subject for that hypothesis.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrugged.

“…I might have to camp out in here for a while,” he mumbled after a quiet moment, morose.

“Probably,” you sighed, sympathetic. “Sorry.”

“You, uhm, you don’t mind keeping this a secret, do you?” Neige smiled, wobbly.

“I’m not going to turn you over to your ravenous fangirls,” you reassured. Because sure, the mean-spiritedness of the residents of Night Raven College may have been rubbing off on you, but you had yet to become that heartless.  

“Thank you,” he relaxed, genuine appreciation warming his dark eyes. And then he aimed that kilowatt, darling-of-the-world, smile in your direction and fired. “You’re my hero.”

For a moment you were honestly, thoroughly, dazzled. It was like you could hear songbirds and heavenly choirs singing all around you—filling the dark space with sparkles and warmth that danced merrily across your skin like the soft fizz in a soda pop.

But then, like a sign from God, your phone buzzed angrily in your pocket and you glanced down quick enough to catch a bright V.S. flash across the screen.

Oh shit.

You turned, ready to make a bolt for it and leave your companion stranded, when something atrocious caught your eye.

“Is that a sweater vest,” you gaped, poking at the stitched material poking out from beneath Neige’s RSA blazer. “With squirrels on it.”

“U-Uhm. Yes?” he squeaked, cheeks dusted pink.

How in the fuck does Vil think he’s less fuckable than this guy, what the fuck.

“I-I’m sorry, but did you just say—"

You hurriedly pulled the (stolen?) scarf from your neck and shoved it pointedly over Neige’s mouth, before wrapping it securely around the rest of his head. Your phone was buzzing again—longer and sharper this time. Like a certain someone was spamming you with indignant, ‘how dare you abandon my magnificent ass,’ essays.

“So that hopefully no one will recognize you,” you (lied) explained cheerfully, and tightened the makeshift gag. Now he could be the accidental thief. Neige gurgled his thanks into the fabric, or at least, you assumed that’s what he was spluttered out. It was hard to tell past the, you know, gag.

You peaked out beyond the curtains and observed the empty storefront like a proper super spy. All clear. Thank God.

You swiveled back and thumped Neige Leblanche on the shoulder with what was perhaps a bit more force than necessary, seeing as his knees had started to shake. He swayed in place, an odd shade of pink creeping past the barrier of the scarf and nearly all the way to his hairline. Hopefully he wasn’t about to faint or something—you really didn’t have time for that.

“Good luck,” you told him emphatically, before darting out of your hiding space and back into the horrible fluorescent nightmare before you.

“Wait!” you heard him call. “I didn’t even get your name—"

But at this point, your phone had graduated from spurts of rage to outright howling in indignation, so you didn’t have much choice but to keep on running. You pressed down on the green ‘accept call’ button with all the enthusiasm of a soldier being sent off to the front lines.

“What?”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me,” Vil hissed, doing an impressive job of keeping his voice low and level while simultaneously sounding ready to tear your ass to pieces. “Where are you?”

“I got lost looking for coffee with no caffeine. You know. The best part of the coffee,” you admitted. Sort of.

“You got lost?” he sounded incredulous. “In a single-story shopping center? With maps at every corner?”

“There were a lot of people,” you defended.

He sighed, clearly put upon, and you had the distinct impression that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just meet me back at the side entrance. We should leave—it’s starting to get crowded and I don’t want to deal with the stampede when I’m inevitably recognized.”

“Of course,” you agreed easily, and made your way up to one of these supposed ‘maps at every corner.’ And oh. It was actually… very well drawn and very helpful. Fuck you, huh? “Did you get everything you needed?”

“I got everything you needed,” he corrected. “And we will be trying every single item on when we return to campus.”

You whined, and man, oh man. You didn’t think it was possible to smack someone upside the head through a phone, but somehow Vil made it work.

It didn’t take long from there to find the exits, and just in the nick of time too it would seem! As a steady stream of eager ‘shoppers’ began to flood into the building—most of them twittering about ‘did you catch a photo’ or ‘I heard someone saw him around that one store!’ Vil watched them through the tinted lenses of his glasses, lips pursed.

You were just about to step back into the car and out of the chilly rain when an eruption of screaming broke out somewhere in the near-distance. You immediately braced for impact, but when you were not immediately trampled into a pile of gelatinous goop beneath the thundering feet of hundreds of fanatics, you chanced a glance upwards.

Neige Leblanche was being herded out of the main entrance by a troupe of security guards, each one holding a different black umbrella over his head. It created a shadowed canopy that, despite the rain and gloom, somehow managed not to dull the radiance oozing off him and his perfect-perfectness. The fair beauty rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head, as if perplexed by the swarm of people ducking in and out like a pack of dogs circling a big, juicy, steak. Nevertheless, he waved to each and every fan—smiling demurely and sweetly as he went.

“We should go while they’re distracted,” you whispered, tugging at Vil’s arm. “And in case the swooning is contagious.”

He didn’t move. There was an odd sort of look on his face, one that usually preceded some of the most brutally cutting insults you’d ever heard.

You turned back to the growing mob, curious about what could have possibly snagged his attention—and ire—so completely.

Wrapped artfully around Neige’s neck, and flapping neatly alongside the chilly autumn breeze, was your purple scarf.

The dainty actor lifted the soft fabric to his lips, burrowing his chin into it not unlike how some adorable little round-cheeked bunny might photogenically cuddle into a—a cloud. Or a pillow of cotton candy. Or something else equally as cute and ridiculous. Neige’s cheeks bloomed a fetching shade of pink and his wide, brown, eyes glittered from over the folds of cashmere. His audience squealed.

“Well, at least it’s not you they’re mauling this time,” you hummed, shooting Vil another hesitant glance. That sour expression had twisted into a familiar and awful icy sneer that you hadn’t seen him dawn in a very long time. “Vil?” You called. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” he blinked, seeming to come back to himself. That frigid snarl was washed away by a mask of complete stoicism, and honestly, you weren’t sure which was worse. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Shall we?”

The hand he offered to help you climb over the many boxes of clothes and into the backseat was stiff, tight. It clapped around your wrist like a pair of manacles, and he didn’t let go until you were out of the parking lot, past the backroads, beyond the gates of Night Raven, and all the way back into the lavish halls of Pomefiore. 

[justgiulia]

If you receive this, you make somebody happy! Go on and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get one back, even better! ♡☀️🌸

tysm <3😭

[justgiulia]

Kazuha masterlist <3

In another life, my liege

[justgiulia]

Genshin Masterlist <3

Jean

Amber

Barbara

Lisa

Kaeya

Diluc

Razor

Venti

Bennett

Noelle

Fischl

Sucrose

Mona

Albedo

Rosaria

Eula

Xiao

Beidou

Ningguang

Xiangling

Xingqiu

Chongyun

Keqing

Tartaglia

Zhongli

Xinyan

Ganyu

Hu tao

Yanfei

Shenhe

Yun Jin

Yelan

Kamisato Ayaka

Kaedehara Kazuha

Yoimiya

Raiden Shogun

Kujou Sara

sangonomiya Koomi

Thoma

Arataki Itto

Gorou

Yae Miko

Kamisato Ayato

Kuki Shinobu

Shikanoin Heizou

Tighnari

Collei

Cyno 

Candace

Nilou

Layla

Wanderer

Other characters:

[justgiulia]

Masterlist <3

Fandoms (for now):

Genshin impact

Obey me: shall we date

Twisted wonderland

.

.

Requests open ♡

REQUESTS AND RULES

.

.

DNI...

Do NOT interact racist, homophobic, transphobic and anyone who lacks basic human decency.

.

.

[justgiulia]

In another life, my liege

Warnings: Implied death of reader, angst, gn!pronounces

Character: Kaedehara Kazuha

Author's note: sooo this is my first post (and the first time I write something seriously). I know it's not the best but the idea of this short story came to my mind at 1 am and I HAD to write it down bc I thought I could use it. I tried to make something out of it and this came out 💀. I hope you like it, let me know if you have any feedbacks on this please😭

The red dressed man loved autumn.

He loved the color that the trees were tinged with in the season of the fall.

He loved the light, almost imperceptible wind that ruffled his hair.

He loved to write poems, sitting for hours under the almost bare trees, seeking inspiration while making sweet sounds, using the leaves around him as a musical instrument.

He loved the feeling of the leaves that, as if they were tired, let themselves fall from the trees and, accompanied by the wind, caressed his face.

He loved the color of your eyes as you watched the wonders of nature around you.

He loved watching the way your hair messed up because of the wind.

He loved reading his poems to you under a big tree on the hills of Liyue, observing and studying your every reaction and the way your expression changed with every word he said.

He loved the way your palms naturally positioned themselves on his cheeks, as if they always belonged there.

The red dressed man hated autumn.

The season when you left everything you had behind. But also the season when he lost everything he truly cherished and loved: you.

He couldn't help but look at the place where you used to sit with an expressione full of nostalgia and love.

After looking at that spot for a few minutes with lost eyes, as if he were reliving past memories together, he then looked at the sky and sighed before softly saying:

"Perhaps in another life, my liege, we could've been together"

He stayed there for a bit more and then slowly walked away, as if he didn't want to leave that place.

The red dressed man hated autumn, but perhaps what he hated the most was the awareness of having to live in a world without you in it.

[justgiulia]

Ok I'm going to start writing fanfictions. Finally all the scenarios I make up in my head will be useful

[justgiulia]

❥• 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝

Tumblr ate my last upload for some reason, so if you see this one please like/reblog it again 😩

Summary: Leona invites you to a royal gala in the Sunset Savanna and you learn that he likes you more than he tries to let on.

wc: 5.2k (!)

content warnings: Jealous!Leona x fem!reader, 18+ smut. Jealousy, breeding kink, scenting, Pining™️. Featuring a cliché love rival and my own take on Queen Kingscholar. Just a little something I wrote to pull me out of the funk I’ve been in lately.

“Tch, I hate this kind of shit.” Leona mumbles as he fiddles with his cufflinks in the mirror. His hair is tied into an unkempt ponytail, stray mahogany locks cascading over his face haphazardly. He looks so different standing there in formal attire- you’re so used to seeing him in his barely buttoned NRC uniform and god-awful sandals- but his demeanor remains unchanged. A small smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you watch him jam an ungracious finger between his canine and incisor, double checking for any hidden crumbs leftover after brushing his teeth this morning.

Behold, you think, the ever elegant Second Prince: Leona Kingscholar.

(Truthfully, you were more than surprised when Leona showed up to the Ramshackle Dorm before winter break and propositioned the trip back to his homeland.

“I gotta take someone with me to this stupid gala.” He had said to you, hunched in the low arch of the doorframe. His body was comically compressed, folding in on himself as he tried to bully his way into the dorm. “My brother won’t shut his trap about needing me to bring a partner. Said he’d just pick someone at the palace to be my chaperone if I couldn’t get anyone.”

You looked the beastman up and down, an eyebrow quirking inquisitively. “So you want me to waste my winter break babysitting you?”

A subtle flash of hurt crossed his features for just a moment before an almost imperceptible rumble started in the back of Leona’s throat. “You know what? Forget about it- I shoulda known you’d be a brat about this.” He all but growled, contorting his body once more as he motioned to close the door.

“Wait.” You sighed and grasped the doorknob before Leona could pull it shut. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t go.”)

And thus you had been thrust into the mirror portal to the Sunset Savanna, woefully unqualified for a fancy royal party.

Leona’s tux, an amber-gold suit that fit sophisticatedly against his body and nipped in at his well-defined waist, only serves to remind you of how underdressed and unprepared you are for the occasion. No matter how juxtaposed by his behavior, Leona looks like royalty- and you, markedly, do not. It was one of your main arguments against coming: the fact that your wardrobe lacked anything acceptable for the foreign diplomats that were apparently visiting the palace. Hell, even your NRC uniform was an old moth-eaten hand-me-down nearly unacceptable to attend school in, but Leona had insisted that he’d find you a dress some way or another.

“Amali probably has somethin’ you can wear.” He had mentioned to you before, sizing you up in a way that made you feel small. “She’s always collecting dresses to sew and repurpose, she’s gotta have something in your size.”

Even if his sister-in-law could perform the miracle of making you look the part, you were still miles away from acting the part. Of course, if Leona were your only benchmark for royal behavior, you’d have already mastered the art. Unfortunately, you have also met Amali Kingscholar, who is effortlessly elegant and poised in all the ways that you are not.

– but even cotillion classes and dresses lined with ridiculously expensive tulle could not prepare you for the most jarring part of coming to the Sunset Savanna. No, the most jarring part of coming to the Sunset Savanna is learning that Leona is the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom. It makes sense when you stop to think about it; he’s the second prince, a (supposedly) soon-to-be graduate of Night Raven College, and, you can begrudgingly admit, devastatingly attractive. From the moment you arrived in the Sunset Savanna, Leona had been bombarded by attractive Lionesses, sticking sweetly to his side and glaring daggers at you for even stepping foot into the kingdom. Their stories were all slightly different (“Remember me, Leona? We used to play together as cubs!”, “I’m the baker’s daughter- you used to love to come in and try our mince pies.”, “Cheka and my niece go to the same preschool!”) but served the same purpose: to endear themselves to the boy you had been not-so-secretly pining over since you had accidentally stepped on his tail in the botanical gardens.

You struggle to define your relationship with Leona, still unsure if you can call yourselves friends. You certainly didn’t consider him to be a friend in the same way you saw Ace and Deuce, though he seemed to be around just as often. It wasn’t entirely your fault for being unsure; Leona purposely made himself hard to read. He’d accuse you of never leaving him alone but invite himself over to the Ramshackle Dorm for a nap on your couch in the same breath. The lion had finessed himself as an immovable fixture in your life, yet you held each other at an arm's length, too afraid of something to get to know each other better (much to the chagrin of Ace, who emphatically exclaims that the two of you need to ‘bone each other and get over it already’ at any chance that presents itself).

Despite the bickering and posturing and fights that Ruggie regularly needs to mediate, Leona is still always there, for better or for worse. He’s still the one who gives you too much money when he sends you to fetch him lunch (‘and get yourself somethin’ to eat if there’s some leftover, I guess’) and the one who’s always suspiciously present to bail you out whenever you find yourself running into trouble. Maybe that should be enough for you- knowing that he cares in his own way. Maybe it shouldn’t feel so awful to see other people flirt with him and, even worse, see him flirt back. Still, as the castle workers flit in and out of Leona’s spacious bedroom, commenting on his attire and using every stray thread or crooked tie as an excuse to allow their hands to linger, you can’t help the sharp sting of jealousy that shoots through your viscera.

It’s far too easy to forget that Leona is a prince with the way he acts, but the longer you spend in the palace, the more it becomes the only thing you can think about.

“I hate this shit.” Leona repeats again, scowling at his reflection in a way that almost confirms your suspicion that his ever-sour expression is practiced. He throws the jacket off of his shoulders and onto the floor with little regard, watching as the fabric crumples in on itself. You’re sure that the maids, who had flattened out every solitary wrinkle several times over, wouldn’t mind having more work to do if that meant being able to run their hands along Leona’s broad chest once more.

“Mhm,” You hum affirmatively. “You’re making it hard to forget that you do.”

“Shut it, herbivore.” Leona rolls his eyes. He undoes the first few buttons of his undershirt and folds the sleeves above his forearms in an attempt to get more comfortable while he still could. “Aren’t you supposed to meet Amali to get fitted, anyway? Gala’s in about an hour.”

“Just wanted to make sure you were actually getting ready- isn’t that part of my job as chaperone?” You say, waggling your eyebrows at him. Leona shoves you and you fall onto his bed dramatically, a breathy laugh expelling itself from your chest on impact. “Is that any way to treat a guest? Not very princely of you.”

“Dramatic brat.” He grouses, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. You can’t help the way your eyes trail up his forearm, admiring the shape of his muscles. “Think you oughta remember you’re in my palace. I could throw you out of the guest bedroom and let you succumb to the elements tonight.”

You prop yourself up on your elbow, unable to stop the smug grin that’s plastered onto your face. “You’d never.”

“Wanna bet?”

He bows his head, bringing his face closer to yours. You take a sharp breath despite your attempts to remain calm. If Leona got any closer, you’re sure your erratic heartbeat would give you away, too. It’s the closest you’ve been to him since having to share a bed during Azul’s contract and the first time you’ve really looked into his eyes. The emerald pools of color were usually masked in a layer of apathy or annoyance, but those features were noticeably absent from his expression as he stared back at you, pupils dilated and lips parted ever-so-slightly. His gaze travels down to your own lips and you feel your face heat from his scrutiny. All of a sudden, you’re self-conscious. Are your lips chapped? How is your breath?

You’d be lying if you tried to convince yourself that Leona wasn’t always so pretty, especially now as he peers down at you, eyes half-lidded and trained on your unmoving lips.

“You think I wouldn’t?” He mutters, close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. His tone is deathly serious. You’re not sure he’s still talking about throwing you out, not when his lips hover right above yours

- and then there’s a knock.

“My liege?” A small voice calls from outside Leona’s door. The sound is enough for Leona to pull back, creating a considerable amount of distance between the both of you in mere seconds. The cloud of static uncertainty is all at once lifted. “Queen Amali is looking for your guest.”

“She’s here.” Leona barks back as he stands from his place on the bed, a twinge of irritation dripping off every syllable. “Take her, we ain’t doin’ anything important.”

The female servant slowly opens the door, oblivious to the palpable tension present mere moments ago. Despite coming to fetch you, her gaze is fixed on Leona. She looks at the fabric on the ground with a frown and moves into the room to pick it up.

“You shouldn’t have taken off your jacket, sir. The guests should be arriving soon.” She sighs, opening the jacket for Leona to pull his arms through. The way she stares at him is not lost on you, and neither is the way that her hands linger on his chest for too long after adjusting his lapels. And he’s not stopping her. The way he could be so close to you in one moment and have another woman feel him up in the next makes your head spin.

“Ahem.”

The servant’s head turns to you, embarrassed, as if she had just taken stock of the fact you were there. “Right! So sorry, miss. Please follow me to Queen Amali’s chambers.”

You make sure to flip Leona off as you leave the room.

-----

The dress very nearly fits you without any alterations. The amber-gold dress matched Leona’s suit perfectly and was sleek against your body, dipping low to reveal the valley between your breasts. The slit that starts high up your thigh makes you question whether or not it was appropriate for the gala, but Amali was more than happy to pass the dress along to you.

“If it weren’t for the foreign diplomats coming, you probably would’ve been dressed in traditional Sunset Savanna attire.” Amali explained as she contemplated aloud about taking in the waist to have the fabric rest taut around your midsection. “But I’m glad it’s not- I’d love to have that custom made for you the next time you visit.”

The diplomats are already lining up in front of the palace by the time you see Leona again. Amali had insisted that you take your time with her personal makeup collection before the gala began. Being an all-boys school, NRC was unfortunately lacking in the makeup department, so aside from the times that Vil decided to experiment on you, you weren’t used to wearing makeup anymore. Still, slightly unblended eyeshadow aside, you thought you had done a decent job.

You can see Leona waiting at the bottom of the staircase, still fiddling with his cufflinks before the sound of your heels against the marble draws his attention. His eyes wash over your body, unashamedly staring at the way the fabric swishes in time with your steps as you head down the stairs from Amali’s personal sewing room.

“Well look at that,” He starts, still looking you up and down. “The herbivore cleans up well.”

He holds out his hand in an unexpected show of chivalry, and you happily take it. Leona holds you close as you enter the ballroom, amazed by the grandeur of it all. Only a few people besides the Kingscholar family and yourself were present in the room, including a small orchestral band that was in the final stages of setting up for the event. Tables were stationed near the back of the room, donned in expensive-looking gold tablecloths. You could see waiters chatting with each other as they set up their trays by the tables. You feel out of place as an attendee- in your mind, it would make more sense if you were working the party, serving food and drinks along with the busy team of servers.

Leona’s arm around your waist reassures you that, at least for tonight, you belong out here, with him, as an honored guest to the Kingscholar family.

It seems like the ballroom swells with people in the blink of an eye, the previously idling band already playing some smooth, sophisticated tune as the servers begin to mingle into the crowd, carrying glasses of champagne and bite-sized hors d'oeuvres.

“I have some things to take care of,” Leona leans down to whisper into your ear, squeezing the side of your hip reassuringly before pulling away. “I’ll be back, okay?”

You watch as he crosses the ballroom, side still tingling from the ghost of his touch. It’s hard to know what to do by yourself here. You’re unsure if it’s appropriate to socialize, gazing around the room to see if Farena or Amali were available enough to at least let you hover by them. Unfortunately, the King and the Queen are just as busy as Leona, talking to several important-looking people while Cheka runs about with some other royals around his age.

As for the business Leona needed to take care of… Your stomach churns at the sight of more women (and men) making flirty faces at him, touching him in a way that’s too familiar. You can’t help but wonder if he knows them. If he’s grown up with them, if they knew him more intimately than you ever would. A small part of you can dismiss the threat of the palace workers- they’d probably have no real chance of being with Leona- but the foreign royalty and big names in the Sunset Savanna sure do. Probably even more than you.

You grumble a small ‘thank you’ to the server whose tray you snatch a champagne flute from. You drink it far too fast to appear cordial, setting the empty flute back onto the tray before grabbing another one. Tonight was going to be a long, excruciating night.

— - -

It had been nearly an hour without Leona at your side. You sit at one of the tables near the corner, sulking, feeling like you’ve been stood up on a date. The champagne servers were now avoiding you, trying to wean you off from the golden liquid, so you had resorted to hoarding a small plate of hors d'oeuvres to yourself. Drowning your sorrows in beef tartare wasn’t the way you thought you’d be spending winter break. You’d long lost track of Leona in the bustle of the ballroom. If it weren’t for appearances, you would have already made your way back to the guest bedroom.

You feel a tap on your shoulder, instantly perking up.

“Fuck Leona, took you long enough-“ You begin, but as you turn around, the man behind you is most certainly not Leona.

The man looks down at you, raising an amused eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for that lazy oaf this whole time.”

Normally you’d take offense to the insult on Leona’s character, but your anger at him abandoning you and the buzz of champagne wins out in the moment. Still, you cross your arms, apprehensive of the stranger in front of you. “I’m not waiting for anyone.”

“I’ve been watching you for a little while now,” the man admits, taking a seat next to you. His ochre eyes survey the empty champagne glasses and pile of hors d'oeuvres in front of you and chuckles to himself. “I can tell a heartbreak when I see it.”

You scoff, pulling the plate closer to you defensively. “I’m not heartbroken.”

“Mind telling me who you are, then?”

The beastman in front of you isn’t unattractive- quite the opposite, actually. His golden eyes are piercing, looking at you intensely. The shock of red hair that sits atop his head almost reminds you of Farena’s, but shaved along the sides so that the top could be neatly swooped over. His ears and tail have alternating streaks of orange and black pigment running across them, reminding you of a tiger.

“You first.” You challenge. He chuckles at that, standing from the table once more.

“Taiga.” He replies simply, bowing slightly and extending his hand. “Care for a dance while you wait for nothing?”

Normally you wouldn’t bother, but the jealousy you feel from seeing Leona with other women all night is still settled in the bottom of your stomach. Against your better judgment, you take his hand as he guides you to the dance floor, immediately seizing your waist and holding you close. You’re not accustomed to ballroom dancing at all, but you move slowly, letting Taiga take the lead.

His body is warm against yours, overwhelmed with a smell so unlike the beastman you were familiar with. It feels wrong, almost, to be dancing with someone other than Leona, but you weren’t exclusive- if he could dance and flirt and be touched, so could you. You sway together, awkwardly, to the tune of the live band the Kingscholars had hired.

“Taiga.” A voice growls from behind you. You’re startled out of your thoughts as Taiga pulls you closer.

“Ah, so the second prince makes an appearance.” Taiga smiles. “I was starting to wonder if you had abandoned the little one here. I was just looking after them for you.”

You scoff in disgust and try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he holds on strong.

“You have five seconds to get away from them.” Leona says, nearing the end of his patience. You can’t see Leona, still held in place by Taiga’s grip, but you can tell that he’s seething.

“Sorry, your majesty.” Taiga says, his voice dripping ingeniously, “I didn’t realize they were your mate. Your scent is just so weak on them- I guess that’s a problem you second princes have to deal with.”

That does it.

“If I catch you talking to my mate again, I’m reducing your whole country to dust.” Leona snarls, baring his teeth to the shorter male. “Write that down as a threat against your kingdom, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll have an embargo put on your kingdom’s ass from here to the Shaftlands if you so much as breathe in their general direction, just you fuckin’ see.”

Taiga releases you from his hold, throwing his hands up defensively. “You’ve made your point. No need to get testy. I’m sure your brother wouldn’t take kindly to learning you were making threats on his behalf.”

Finally free from under the tiger’s slimy grasp, you move to stand beside Leona. If the memory of his overblot wasn’t so recently etched into his mind, you’re sure the man in front of you would be nothing more than a pile of dust by now.

But Leona restrains himself, gripping your wrist and escorting you out of the ballroom and into the hallway leading to his room.

“You always find a way to get involved with the worst people.” He says under his breath.

What, like you? would be your playful answer, but you’re still angry at him for leaving you alone. “I don’t even know who that is.”

“Taiga Hon.” He practically spits. “First born prince to some-fuckin’-where. Certified asswipe and thorn in our sides. Even Farena doesn’t like him.”

You’re silent as the both of you walk further and further from the ballroom. Despite your lingering rage, you’re still relieved to be away from the room full of strangers and back in Leona’s presence.

“Don’t want you bein’ touched like that by anyone else.” Leona mutters, “‘specially not that princely Tiger fuckhead.”

“You’re one to talk.” You scoff, wriggling your wrist out of his grip. “Constantly flirting with your maids, letting them touch you too closely when they fit your tux, and now we’re at a gala where you’d rather entertain other lions and lionesses than pay attention to your date? You know, the person you kidnapped from their peaceful winter break at NRC?”

“So, I’m your date, hm?” Leona smirks, emerald eyes sparkling with delight as your face flushes.

“You’re insufferable.” Of course that’s the one thing he takes from your tirade. “But I’m your mate, apparently?”

“It’s just beastman talk,” He grumbles, though you can’t miss the uncharacteristic blush that spreads across his face. “Don’t let it get to your head, herbivore.”

“Right.” You hum affirmatively, almost bitterly. “I guess your real mate could be any one of those palace workers or lionesses back in the ballroom.”

Leona pauses, stopping in his tracks at your words. Before you can realize what’s happening, Leona has you up against the wall, wrists pinned above your head as he smashes his mouth into yours.

Your heartbeat is erratic, rattling against your ribcage as Leona presses into you. It feels so good to finally have him so close. His knee spreads your legs, bypassing the slit of your dress and pressing right against your clothed cunt. He swallows your moan, tongue working against your own, before he pulls back.

“It’s always been you, herbivore.” He mumbles against your lips. “You’ve always been mine.”

“I’m yours.” You breathe as he trails his lips along the side of your neck, nipping your collarbone in a way that makes you subconsciously rub against the leg between your thighs.

“And I’m yours.” Leona echos, releasing your wrists from his grasp. He lifts you with ease, placing your legs on either side of him, palms hot against your thighs as he leads you back into the bedroom. You wrap your arms around his neck, comforted by his familiar smell.

He pushes his bedroom door open and immediately lays you down on the bed. He discards his tuxedo jacket, carelessly tossing it aside, and quickly works to unbuckle his belt. Finally free of its constraints, you marvel at his erect cock, clenching your legs together at the sight.

“Had to stop myself from pushing your panties aside and fucking you right in that hallway.” Leona whispers hotly in your ear as he presses into you once more. He undoes the zipper along the side of your dress before peeling the shiny fabric off of you and tossing it to join his pile of clothes on the floor. “You really did look amazing in that dress.”

You gasp as he palms the outside of your panties, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth at your reaction.

“Already so wet for me.” He chuckles, trailing a finger up and down your clothed slit.

“Stop teasing.” You hiss impatiently, hips rolling into his touch.

“Patience, herbivore.”

He presses a kiss to your clothed pussy, nose bumping against your clit. He shoves the thin fabric aside and flattens his tongue against your entrance, lapping at your wetness. Your breath stutters out, gripping mahogany locks to try and ground yourself as Leona takes you with his mouth. His tongue expertly swirls around your clit, suckling lightly as he inserts his fingers deep inside your pussy.

His fingers and mouth work in tandem to unravel you; his free hand comes up to knead your clothed breasts, a muffled take it off spoken against your folds. You quickly remove your bra and Leona’s hand wastes no time in seizing your nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

“I’m close, Leona,” You gasp, clutching the back of his head even harder. He doesn’t let up, his hot mouth fully engulfing your clit, sucking and licking as his fingers press against the spongy roof of your pussy. Your body tenses as you hit your peak, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body as you cum.

“Mm, good girl.” Leona hums as he pulls away, a satisfied smirk plastered onto his face as he strokes his cock to the sight of you. He spreads your legs wider, folding you in on yourself as he teases the tip of his huge cock between your folds. You moan again, still sensitive from your first orgasm, but eager to accept his cock nonetheless.

“Want this?” He asks, tapping his cock against your clit. You can barely manage to whimper a yes, please before he’s slowly sinking into you. You can hear his own breath hitch as he’s engulfed in the warm, wet walls of your pussy.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Leona groans, stilling his hips as he bottoms out, waiting for you to grow accustomed to his length.

His head is buried in your neck, biting and nosing you, smearing his scent all over you as if to make a point.

“Move.” You whisper, a tiny command, gripping tight onto his shoulder.

Leona doesn’t have to be told twice, slowly withdrawing his cock before slamming it into you once more. His pace is unrelenting, barreling into you hard and fast, like you’d disappear out from under him if he didn’t.

“Mine.” He grunts before capturing your lips in his. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You affirm, breathlessly, fingernails scratching Leona’s back and leaving crescent-shaped indents in his flesh. His hand slips between your thighs, rubbing your clit with his thumb. It’s all too much, and you can feel the height of another orgasm approaching.

“You’re squeezing so tight around my cock,” Leona growls into your ear. “I’m gonna fucking cum inside of you.”

“Yes, fuck yes!” You whimper, your own orgasm threatening to wreck your body.

“Love this fucking pussy,” Leona mewls again. “Wanna fill you up so everyone knows you’re mine- have my seed dripping out of you while you talk to those stuffed shirts out there. Get you round with my cubs so everyone knows that You. Are. Mine.”

The last three words are punctuated by three deep thrusts that send you over the edge, chest heaving as your pussy pulsates around Leona’s cock. White warmth fills you as Leona cums deep inside, fucking you through the last throes of your orgasm.

He rolls over, sticking to your side sweatily and kissing the side of your neck. You turn to face him, arms wrapped around each other. It’s silent as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.” Leona suddenly speaks up, one tired eye opening to look at you.

“Is that why you were so flirty?” You groan, fighting the urge to smother him in a pillow.

“Maybe.” He says, closing his eyes once more. If he hadn’t just blown your back out, you’d murder him.

“You’re an ass.”

“They’re all social climbers, anyway.” Leona adds, sleepily. “People around here either hate me or want to use me for their own agendas.”

“In speaking of- should we go back to the party?” You ask, but Leona’s head is buried into your shoulder as he grunts in the negative, unwilling to move from his spot next to you.

And you don’t want to go, either.

-

The next morning at the breakfast table, Cheka is full of energy. It’s much too much for how early it is, and though Leona had insisted that the two of you stay in bed through breakfast, you forced him to go.

“We already slept through the rest of the party last night,” You said exasperatedly, practically dragging the lion out of his own bed. “We have to show up for breakfast.”

“You two must’ve been tired last night.” Amali says slyly, a knowing smile forming on her lips. “Didn’t even stick around for the main courses.”

“Let them have their fun, Amali.” Farena laughs, his voice booming. Like father, like son, you think as you watch Cheka play with the toys he had brought to the breakfast table, two stuffed warthogs he was smashing together with an exaggerated ‘bam!’- boisterous and far too loud. “We were young once.”

She hums, watching your embarrassed expression. “I’m glad you liked the dress last night.”

“Of course, thank you again!” You exclaim, glad for the change in subject, “It was beautiful- I’m surprised you had something in my size.”

Amali laughs, her gaze shifting to Leona. “You didn’t tell her?”

You cock your head, now also looking at Leona. “Tell me what?”

Leona would never tell Queen Amali Kingscholar to shut up; he was raised to respect women, especially his brother’s wife. Instead he grumbles a ‘don’t’ as Amali giggles at his expense.

“He asked me to order it for you.” She says, nudging Leona with her elbow. “He wanted something that’d match his suit, the possessive brat. I was surprised he got your measurements so accurate- someone must’ve been paying attention.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your own lips as you watch Leona shift uncomfortably, pretending to be more intrigued by stirring his porridge than the conversation at hand.

“Thank you.” You whisper to him, squeezing his hand. He grumbles something close to a ‘welcome’ underneath his breath, and you know in that moment that he’s been yours this entire time, too.

- - -

As the students of Night Raven College return from their winter vacation, flooding the hall of mirrors en masse with presents they received over the break and embarrassing stories of family hot on their tongues, Ruggie is the first one who notices. Even if his keen senses couldn’t immediately pick up on your intermingling scents, it doesn’t take an apex predator to notice the lovesick glances Leona exchanges with you as the both of you simultaneously enter the hall.

After all the pining, the fights, the tension so thick that Ruggie could sink his teeth into it, he could finally rest and stop playing Cupid’s referee to your will-they-won’t-they schtick. He smiles to himself and thinks of the betting pool posted in his dorm room, dollar signs humming through his veins as he anticipates the happy payday.

“Took you long enough.” The hyena snickers as Leona approaches, coming to greet him as you break off to meet with your friends.

“Yeah.” Leona says with an uncharacteristic softness, his eyes trailing after you as you greet Grim (making sure he hadn’t burnt down Ramshackle in your time away, no doubt), Ace, Deuce and the others -

“It did.”

——

10 points to anyone who can tell which Disney character I based Tiaga off of.

the lion header is by firefly-graphics!

[justgiulia]

THIS IS A CALL FOR HELP PLS I'M BEGGING YOU.

GUYS I'm searching for a leona fanfiction in wich he invites the reader to an event in his palace in sunset savana. Reader gets kinda jelous bc he spends time talking to nobles (mainly women) and they have a dance with a guy who invited them.

Leona interrupts the dance and claims that the reader is his "mate", he then brings the reader outside the ballroom, in the hallways of the castle. I remember that he and the reader kind of have an argument?? And the reader says that leona's mate is probably one of the lionesses he talked to duirng the evening. LEONA LITERALLY STOPS FOR A MOMENT LIKE "🤨tf you talking about" and THINGS ESCALATE REAL QUICK. He kisses the reader (WOWOWOWOWOWOWO) claiming that his mate has always been the reader. (They f^ck afterwards)

[justgiulia]

“this broken soul” — scaramouche × f!reader

word count: 4,659 — rating: E (explicit content)

summary: you’ve been avoiding him, and he needs to know why.

author’s note: if you’d told me a month or so ago that i’d write an almost 5,000 word smutfic featuring scaramouche, i would’ve laughed in your face... but here we are! i dedicate this fic to one of my most beloved and beautiful besties, @gixxie, because she’s absolutely amazing and is the #1 scaramouche simp!!! i really hope that i did him justice, and i hope y’all enjoy – this is only my second ever smutfic that i’ve written and/or posted online!

warnings ﹠ tags: smut, porn with plot, degradation, dirty talk, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, scaramouche being scaramouche, scaramouche is his own warning honestly, vulnerable!scaramouche, emotional!reader, reader is very subtly implied to be plus-sized, reader has afab!genitalia ⋄ (read it on ao3)

The smell of incense and the crackling of the fire in the large marble fireplace greet you as you step inside the mansion in the adepti teapot realm you call home, shutting the doors as quietly as possible behind you and releasing a soft sigh of relief when there is no noise to imply you’ve been heard.

Slowly, you make your way across the main area of the house to the room that was designated as the library and office, slipping inside silently and quickly sliding the doors shut behind you.

Inhaling deeply, you march over to the desk to begin sorting through the large pile of letters that had accumulated during your absence.

You’ve been traveling with Paimon, helping the Aranara in Sumeru and avoiding… well, avoiding multiple things. Searching for your brother, your various promises and responsibilities, and most importantly a certain short-tempered Anemo wielder.

Coming out of the haze of your thoughts, you notice the messy stack of books that had undoubtedly been made by some of your numerous guests and you huff as you grab them and go to put them away.

It wasn’t that Scaramouche had done anything wrong per se, it was more the issue of you being so naturally affectionate and showing it via physical touch and honest words… and worrying that it was becoming too much for him, or too annoying. Or both.

It hasn’t been that long since he’s joined your group of friends… only about two months, though could you honestly say that the two of you were friends?

He was so hot and cold, at times he was standoffish and rude, snapping at everyone and everything and it was during those times that you swore he hated you… but then the next time you’d come across him or have him join you while adventuring, he’d look at you with an unreadable expression and allow you to touch him without bristling, especially when you two were alone, and the back and forth of it confused you.

You’ve been oddly drawn to him ever since you had first met him in Inazuma, his voice sticking in your head and repeating his taunting words and the vision of him sauntering towards you with that insufferable smirk wouldn’t leave your mind…

In truth, your feelings have only gotten stronger as time had passed, especially after he’d reluctantly joined your adventuring team and you’d inevitably gotten to know him better.

If you are being honest, the sexual tension between you two could likely be cut with a knife and served on a platter… in addition to there being purer, deeper romantic feelings present.

It’s far too early to call it “love”, but it is certainly well on its way to becoming that dreaded word… on your end, at least.

You can feel your face heat up in response to the direction your thoughts have gone and as you shove the last book onto the bookshelf you lean forward and bonk your forehead against the hardwood in an effort to clear your mind.

In your distraction you haven’t noticed that the subject of your thoughts has snuck into the room and is moving towards you with purpose.

A pale hand suddenly slams down to grasp onto the shelf right behind you, the other hand gripping your waist and spinning you to face the intruder.

Purple eyes meet yours, anger making them almost burn from their intensity as he leans in so his face is mere inches away from yours.

Gasping, you shrank back against the bookshelf. “Scaramouche? What–?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. Why?” He bites out, eyes narrowing slightly and the fingers at your waist twitching in what you assumed to be frustration.

Blinking at him while you try to gather your thoughts, you can’t help but notice that he isn’t wearing his usual amount of layers – just the tight black high-collared shirt and his shorts and sandals rather than his familiar complex ensemble – and your face heats at the realization that so much of his skin was now visible to you.

Swallowing to try and moisten your suddenly dry mouth, you’re sure that your face openly shows how flustered you are.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve been busy but I haven’t been–”

“Cut the bullshit. Do you think I’m an idiot? It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it, and it’s pissing me off,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves the hand that has been pinning you to the bookshelf to grasp the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your nape.

Eyes widening at his actions and words, you clear your throat and square your shoulders.

“I’m sorry that you feel that way, Scaramouche, but–”

“Why are you calling me that?” He snaps, scowling at you with narrowed eyes.

“Calling you what? Your name?” You reply, eyes darting away from his prying gaze.

It was true that you haven’t necessarily been subtle, but you had assumed that he wouldn’t take much notice of the lack of attention and affection that he seemed to find barely tolerable – this vehement reaction was very unexpected and it was leaving you reeling.

He lets out an angry sigh before his fingers grasp your chin and force you to meet his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He demands, eyes flickering over your face as his lips turn down into a slight pout.

Glancing down at his mouth, you unconsciously wet your lips and his gaze immediately hones in on it.

Gasping softly, your mouth gapes a bit in surprise as you observe how his burning purple eyes darken as he focuses on your mouth, leaning ever so slightly closer and tilting his head as if entranced.

“Scaram–mmph!”

Lips pressing to yours cut you off, a low groan escaping him when you immediately reciprocate.

Eyes fluttering shut as you breathe him in, you bring your hands up to scratch your fingers through the coarse hair of his undercut.

Scaramouche growls then, shoving you up against the bookshelf as he presses as much of his body as he can to your own, the hand on your waist now groping at your soft skin.

Whimpering, your eyes shoot open and you tear your mouth from his to gasp for air as he starts roughly kissing down your jaw.

“Don’t lie, you were avoiding me. Because of this?” He whispers, lips and warm breath brushing the shell of your ear.

Exhaling with a whine, you nod before his lips press to your own again for a brief moment before he pulls away, nipping at your bottom lip.

He smirks at your dumb expression, tugging you over to the table in the middle of the room and reminding you that he was much stronger than he looked by easily lifting you up to sit on the edge, pushing the letters off and out of the way.

Gasping indignantly, you open your mouth to reprimand him but he takes the opportunity to kiss you again, sliding his tongue in your mouth with a muffled groan.

You can’t help but to close your eyes as your tongue glides against his, feeling that insufferable smirk of his against your lips.

Sliding his hands down to your thighs, he roughly pulls them apart so he can step between them and press his body to yours once again.

He chuckles at your resulting moan, slowly pulling back and licking his lips as if savoring the taste of you.

Your eyes flutter open as you unconsciously follow after him to chase his lips, his smirk growing at your resulting frustrated pout.

“You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid,” he teases, chuckling at your resulting scowl – but you didn’t deny it.

Before you could formulate a response, he grasps your hips and slides them towards him, making you yelp and slam your hands down on the table behind you to keep from collapsing.

Keeping his dark eyes locked with yours, he leans over you and slides his fingers under the waistband of your pants, tilting his head and tugging ever so slightly in question.

Biting your lip, you lift your hips in response, wiggling a little in impatience.

Inclining his head towards you, he pulls your pants off roughly and your arms give out as you collapse back down on the edge of the table, panting.

His hands tug at the hem of your shirt next as he bends over you, lips pressing bruising kisses to your neck as he slowly lifts it, fingertips tickling along the soft skin of your stomach.

Gasping, you reach between you and nudge his hands aside, practically tearing your shirt up and over your head to get rid of the offending garment.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He murmurs, chuckling lowly as he goes back to mouthing at your neck.

You whine and grab at his back as he bites down on your collarbone, his muscles flexing in response to the feeling of your fingernails digging into his skin as you jolt and cry out.

Groaning, he tears himself away from you to do a slow perusal of the skin that’s been bared to him.

You feel like you’re going to implode, the way his eyes manage to get even darker and his expression more severe in its blatant lust, and you jerk your hips up uncontrollably in response.

His eyes immediately flick down to where you’re soaked and burning for him and his throat bobs with a swallow before he looms over you, skimming his hand slowly down the curve of your waist before sliding a finger against the wetness of the fabric concealing you from him.

“Look at you, look at how wet you are – is this all for me?” He questions, voice gone rough from arousal.

Nodding and biting your lip, you can’t help but to grind up into his fingers.

“So needy,” he grunts, crouching down to nip at your inner thigh.

“Scara, I–!”

“Oh, we’re back to Scara now, hm?” He laughs harshly, making quick work of tugging your panties down and off your legs as he shakes his head at you.

“Scara, I’m sorry–!”

“You should be,” he interrupts you again, glaring up at you from between your legs.

You’re a desperate whimpering mess at this point, and you don’t manage to form a response before he runs his fingers up your inner thighs and jerks them open as much as your body will allow.

“Now be a good girl and say “please” and maybe I’ll give you what you want,“ he growls, brushing the tip a finger through your wetness.

“Please, Scara, I need you!” You whine, embarrassed at how needy you sound but also so turned on that you can’t bring yourself to care.

Smirking, he finally takes mercy on you and slowly slides a finger into you, eyes widening at the feel of your slick warmth.

You keen and writhe against the table when he slowly adds another finger and crooks them, expertly massaging a spot on your inner walls that makes you see stars and causes more heat to pool between your thighs.

“Look at you, getting all worked up over nothing! Your pretty pussy can barely handle my fingers – what a pathetic little thing you are,” he laughs mockingly, thrusting his fingers into you roughly.

Panting, you bite your lip and glance down to meet his eyes, silently begging him for more as your thighs tremble and your back arches.

Breath hitching at your desperation, he suddenly shoves his head between your thighs and licks a broad stroke through your folds, swirling his tongue around your clit before lightly grazing his teeth against it.

You wail, your walls contracting around his fingers as you feel like you’ve been hit by lightning as the tension snaps, little whines escaping you as your hips shudder and grind against his face.

Chuckling, he laps up your release as you ride out your high before getting up and looming over you, smirking at your fucked out expression.

“We’ve barely gotten started and already you’re being such a good little slut for me,” he murmurs, licking his lips suggestively when your eyes flutter open to blearily look at him.

You want to pinch yourself because you swear this has to be a dream, it is all happening so quickly and you’ve just had one of the best orgasms of your entire life but are somehow still so unbelievably horny for him.

His face is flushed and he still has some of your juices on his chin, but his eyes burn with the depth of his want for you as your gazes meet and he smirks, smug about having made you cum.

Glancing down and seeing the tented fabric of his shorts, you lift your still shaking legs to wrap around his waist and pull him into you, rolling your hips against his clothed cock and watching his face intently.

His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a strangled moan, back bowing and lips hovering over your own as he clutches at your hips and ruts into the warmth between your legs.

“Scara, I’m all yours – take me,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pull his head down to kiss him.

Jolting his head back just as your lips brush his, his eyes shoot open and he pants while looking at you incredulously.

You furrow your brows at his sudden change in attitude, your thumbs lightly brushing his cheekbones and you bite your lip, suddenly afraid that you’ve said the wrong thing.

After a moment of his eyes frantically scanning your expression – looking for what exactly, you weren’t sure – his hands slam down on either side of your head.

“Always so honest about your emotions,” he hisses, eyes becoming unreadable as he nips at your lips yet refuses to let you close the gap. “It’s really fucking infuriating, you know that?”

Huffing in exasperation to hide how his seemingly indignant response hurts your feelings, you glare up at him.

“Fine, then – can you just fuck me already, Kunikuzushi?”

He pulls back, smoldering eyes glaring into your own as he releases a shattered breath in response to you calling him that name.

“Oh, now you’re making demands of me?” He rasps, regaining his composure with a harsh thrust against your cunt.

Suddenly hit with a wave of irritation and frustration, you push your hands against his chest in an attempt to get him off of you.

“If you don’t want to, then nevermind,” you mutter, turning your head away to hide the “if you don’t want me” implied from your tone and expression.

Lunging to press your wrists down into the table above your head with one hand, he turns your head back towards him with the other, a deep scowl on his face.

“Why are you putting words into my mouth? What gives you the right to assume what I do or don’t want?”

You glare at him, trying to jerk your face out of his harsh grip which only makes his fingers dig into your jaw harder as he crowds you against the table with his body.

“Stop being such a fucking brat,” he growls as he presses quick, bruising kisses against your lips.

“Make me!” You snarl back at him, body writhing under his own.

He chuckles lowly before it morphs into him laughing loudly and mockingly as he observes your struggles.

“Gladly.”

Letting go of your face to swiftly pull down his shorts just enough to free his erection, he groans as he slides it between your folds.

“Fuck… this is my pussy, it belongs to me and only me, doesn’t it?”

Whimpering and nodding in response, your hands struggle to escape his grasp as you grind your hips against the tip of his cock, trying miserably to get it to catch in your soaking wet opening.

He shudders against you, grabbing your hip with his free hand to hold you still.

“No, no,” he chides, his signature smirk back on his lips. “Only good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a brat.”

“Scara, fuck, just take me!” You keen, so overwhelmed with frustration and pleasure that there are tears gathering in your eyes.

Scaramouche laughs, one that borders on a cackle, before he presses his lips against your temple.

“Are you crying? You want me that bad, huh? You’re so fucking pathetic, you did this to yourself you know,” he whispers roughly, tongue flicking out to run along the shell of your ear. “But don’t worry, I’ll take pity on you.”

He suddenly thrusts into you, bottoming out and leaving you a moaning and babbling mess as he holds himself still to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Oh Archons, please–!”

“Don’t pray to them, they can’t help you, pray to me,” he snarls, pulling out of you just enough for you to whine at the loss before roughly thrusting back inside and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Scara, Kuni, please – fuck – more, faster!”

He grants your request with a strangled moan, hips slamming into your own at such a desperate and brutal pace that you know there’s going to be bruises.

Leaning down so your foreheads are pressed together, you stare into each other’s eyes and pant as the sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the air.

The hand that has been keeping your wrists bound lets go, fingers instead curling into the sheets as he continues his merciless thrusts – eyes observing your every reaction hungrily.

“Kuni, feels s’good!” You sob, your now free arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and your legs tightening around his hips.

“F-fuck!” He whimpers, cock twitching against your walls and hips stuttering against you.

Your body feels like it’s melting, fingers carding through his hair to shakily push it out of his face so you can view the way his brow furrows as he grits his teeth.

“Say it,” he commands shakily, jerking your face up so he can stare into your eyes. “Say that you’re mine. My slut, my whore, my everything.”

“Anything and everything that I am is yours, Kunikuzushi,” you choke out with a sob, following up your declaration by tilting your hips and pressing your lips to his, gliding your tongue in and tasting him as he groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock.

His thrusts grow even more frantic and deep and you roll your hips up to meet his movements, your sweaty bodies writhing together as you fully succumb to each other.

“I’m gonna paint your insides,” he gasps into your mouth, sliding a hand down to rub your swollen clit. “I’m gonna fill you up–!”

Those words and the added stimulation flood your body with overwhelming heat and you wail as you are thrown over the edge, gushing around his cock as he delivers one last powerful thrust before spilling into you with a choked moan.

His trembling body slumps over yours and he buries his head in your shoulder, gasping for air as your bodies continue to twitch with the aftershocks.

After a few moments pass, Scaramouche slowly peels himself away from you, his eyes darting away from your unintentionally open, loving gaze as he slowly slides out of you with a quiet grunt.

Sighing at the loss of him, you inelegantly scoot forward to hop off the table, squeezing your legs together to keep his cum from trickling down your legs.

He snatches the clothes from where they are strewn on the floor and puts his shorts back on before turning to you and holding out your panties and trousers with a blank expression.

Your face feels hot from embarrassment at how drastically his attitude has changed from just a few moments ago and you reach out to grab your clothing, eyes searching him for a sign of… anything, but finding him to be totally unreadable.

Mortified, you turn to the side and shake out your pants, the realization of what had just happened finally hitting you. You haven’t even fully undressed, too engrossed and desperate for each other that you just… went at it like animals in heat.

You don’t notice when he turns and goes to the desk in the corner to grab the box of tissues and bring it to you, clearing his throat as his eyes drift to where your combined fluids were beginning to slowly trickle down your inner thighs.

Flinching at being torn from your downward spiral of second-guessing everything that has happened within the past hour, you look up and slowly reach out to take the box from him, being careful to not brush your fingers together – you aren’t sure where his mind is at and you don’t want to scare him off by being clingy.

“Thank you,” you breathe, pulling his gaze back up to your face and flashing him a quick smile before you turn away to clean yourself up as much as you can.

He turns and walks over to stand in front of the window to give you privacy, which you find very amusing considering what you had just been doing, but you can’t help but watch him out of the corner of your eye as he crosses his arms and seemingly becomes lost in though, his hair mussed and his lips still flushed from the plethora of bruising kisses.

Finding him attractive obviously wasn’t a new development, but it suddenly hits you with the beam of sunlight shining in through the window that was illuminating him just how… beautiful he is.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts and hurrying to pull your clothes back on, you take a deep breath and summon all the courage you possess.

He turns to look at you as you come to stand next to him, and you were hit once again by how pretty he is; the slope of his nose, his eyelashes, his–

“What are you looking at?” His voice, still a little rough from your activities, snaps you out of your admiration and you blink at him.

He’s staring at you with his brow raised, lips ever so slightly turned down.

“So pretty,” you whisper, eyes widening in panic when you realize that you’ve spoken your inner thoughts aloud.

Scaramouche blinks at you in disbelief, processing your words before letting out a short, humorless laugh.

“I can’t believe it, I actually fucked you dumb!” He snickers, but the smirk on his lips doesn’t reach his eyes.

You gape at him, mouth opening and closing as you try to figure out how to respond to his dismissive attitude.

He grasps your chin in his hand, making the decision of closing your mouth for you, and rolls his eyes.

Grabbing the hand holding your chin, you place soft kisses on his palm, staring into his eyes and pleading for him to understand how truthful you’re being.

Scowling, he wrenches his hand away from you, taking a step back and shaking his head.

“Scara, we need to talk ab–”

“Do we? I disagree,” he snaps, turning and stalking towards the door.

“Kunikuzushi,” you whisper in desperation, and he freezes in place as he’s reaching for the door handle.

“This whole situation started because I was avoiding you, and it made you angry and upset. And yet you’re about to go and do the exact same thing to me. How is that fair?” You demand, voice shaking from all of the emotions you’re trying to keep in check.

He slowly turns to face you, eyes narrowing.

“Life isn’t fair – what do you want from me?”

It’s like you’re talking to a different person, the man in front of you is not the man that railed you into oblivion and ruined you for all others just a minute ago. This man reminds you of a feral cat – suspicious, mistrustful, insecure…

Your hands are shaking, the anxiety over bearing your heart to him causing you to hesitate briefly.

“What do you want from me?” You snap back. “Is this what you wanted? Just a quick fuck? Is that really all I am to you? Some poor, pathetic sap who’s attention and affection makes you feel good about yourself?”

Scaramouche stood there staring at you, unmoving and unblinking, for what felt like ages.

“Okay, you know what – nevermind! You’re free to go, but honestly at this point I almost hope that you just never come back,” you scoff, eyes watering, throwing your hands up in the air and turning away so he can’t see you cry and so you don’t have to look at his stupid perfect face anymore.

All you hear is a faint whisper of fabric before he spins you around and cups your face in his hands, his mouth pressing a desperate, bruising kiss to your lips.

Gasping, you put your hands on his chest and shove him back, your embarrassment making you feel fragile and hostile.

“That isn’t an answer, Scara, and I’m not a mind reader so I can’t–”

“Everything,” he rasps, closing his eyes and nudging his forehead against yours.

“... what?” You furrow your brow, confused.

“You asked what I wanted from you. I answered. Everything. I want everything from you. I want you to be mine,” he whispers, warm breath brushing your lips when he follows up his statement with a shaking sigh.

Your bottom lip trembles as you try to keep your voice from cracking with emotion.

“If I am yours, then you have to be mine. I want everything from you, too. I want to kiss you, touch you, hold you, love you.”

He inhales shakily, opening his eyes.

“If you can’t tell that I’m already yours, that I’ve been yours since you aimed that fucking smile of yours towards me, then you’re an absolute fucking idiot.”

“It’s kind of hard to tell when you’re always so wishy-washy on whether you tolerate me or not, Scaramouche,” you respond, blinking at him innocently, his sudden reveal of his feelings giving you courage.

“What did I say about calling me that?” He growls, stepping closer to press himself against you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir – is Kunikuzushi acceptable then?” You simper, mimicking his usual smirk to the best of your ability.

His eyes widen and his cheeks and ears flush a faint pink as he grumbles, dropping his arms to wrap them around your waist.

“Keep it up and I’ll have to drag you to your bedroom and teach you a lesson, brat,” he growls, pressing his mouth to your ear.

You turn your head to press a kiss to his neck, grinning uncontrollably now as you both shift seamlessly back into the dynamic that had been created when he had gotten settled in your group – the usual snarky banter and the easy affection you give him comforting after the unsureness that was present just now.

“Is that a threat or a promise? Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, pulling away to grasp your arm and drag you out of the room.

“Wait, what–?” You stammer, following him gracelessly.

“It seems that I still have to teach you some fucking manners, slut.”

Glancing back at you as he leads you through the door, the look in his eyes and his smirk makes your face heat.

“But you’ll be a good girl and cooperate with me, won’t you?”

You swallow, overwhelmed with all of the filthy thoughts that run through your mind before you shake your head to ground yourself.

It had required a lot of vulnerability and a rollercoaster of emotions, but you finally know your feelings are reciprocated… and as you let him take you to your room you realized that Scaramouche was about to show you just how much in long, excruciatingly wonderful detail.

© kaeyaphile, 2022 — do not repost or steal!