red-viewe

[red-viewe]

❛❛ NERD-JO .ᐟ >ᴗ< ❜❜ :

SYNOPSIS: you're a new transfer at a big prestigious private university. what happens when the first friend you make is a cute nerd? will you get your chance to start fresh? or will your newfound 'friendship' bring you unwanted drama in the future.

DRABBLE WRD COUNT: 2.6K pairings: rich nerd!deans nephew gojo x reader tags: cute nerd gojo, reader is kind of mysterious, gojo makes me chuckle here. NOT PROOFREAD (sorry) ill come back and remove some grammatical errors. this might be cheeks fr

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : im late to the nerd gojo party </3 but please enjoy! please do not steal my little nerdjo pngs just because they have my 'bnpd' if you want the individual png pls just shoot me a text :) lmk if there are any issues, so i can fix them !!

a tall man sits in the far back of the lecture hall. figure hunched over the desk as he scribbles away intensely in his journal. 30 minutes earlier than the usual start of the lecture. 

the glasses that sit delicately on his nose bridge slide down every once in a while. his white ruffled hair stays still as he shuffles in his seat to adjust his posture. 

many are intimidated by his silent and blank stare. everyone but students in his science club feel that way. he’s quite the chatterbox contrary to popular belief. ask him about his favorite physics theories and he’s chatting your ear off.

he doesn’t go to parties, but invite him to a museum or a bookstore? he’s already in the car.

he’s quite polished. gojo can be one of those pretentious nerds, but he doesn’t mean to! he has lived a privileged life and acts like any other rich college student would. 

comes from a wealthy family and doesn't hide it, but he also doesn't run around telling everyone.

it might seem like he dresses like a regular guy but his clothes are still expensive. you'll occasionally find him wearing a sweater vest and button up tucked into his well-tailored pants altered to fit his long legs on formal days when he has a research symposium presentation or a meeting with the steam department about improving certain aspects he finds are not up to his standards.

most of the time, he’ll wear comfortable clothes. wears glasses, cliche, but he wears them more out of practical appeal and necessity. 

his eyes are sensitive due to a medical condition he has. so, the glasses he wears are tailored to prevent his eyes from straining. his parents urge him to wear the endless supply of contacts he has but he’s quite comfortable with his glasses. 

every pair of glasses he owns has his initials engraved on the temples, whether it’s gold or silver. whatever matches the aesthetic of the pair of glasses.

when he was younger. his parents would fund his personal ‘academic’ projects. he’d be busy every summer at a science or math camp. if they sent him to a summer camp that wasn't academically related; at camp you’d find him reading far away from everyone else. whether in front of a lake or a quiet little place in the woods. 

now? he’s still the same. just bigger. doesn’t go to summer camp but definitely stacks up his summer with internships or side projects. on top of that, he’ll spend time volunteering at local schools, teaching students in high school or middle school.

very good with kids, and more patient with them than he would be with his uni study partners. 

donates whatever money he earns at internships to local communities to aid students in pursuing their education. he strongly believes that if he can pursue education freely, so should everyone else.

his timer goes off quietly and he stops scribbling down his memorized equations. he huffs out a breath of relief yet frustration. 

 i’m still missing one… he thinks to himself. if anyone with an outside perspective were to see him they’d imagine gears turning inside of his head.

he flips the page, resets his timer, and starts again.

time passes and he realizes class has now begun. he was so caught up studying, he failed to realize that the class is now packed with other students. a few scattered seats remain vacant. 

the professor enters the class and silently unpacks her bag before greeting the class and breaking the silence, “let’s have a great semester.” she wastes no time diving into the lecture. 

gojo, contrary to popular belief, sits in the middle section of the lecture hall. he’s not fond of the back because for starters, he’s easily distracted and he can’t hear from all the way back there. the middle is just right.

he’s kind of a loner, by choice. he's just always being productive on campus.

you’ll often see him sitting alone, busying himself with his studies unless he has a meeting with his club about an upcoming math or science competition. if it’s not the season of academic olympiads, he’s alone. 

he only has two close friends: geto and shoko. geto majors in psychology. shoko is, of course, pursuing her dream of being a doctor. she’s a biology major undergoing the pre-med track. 

gojo has yet to have a girlfriend in college.

not because he can’t find someone interested in him, absolutely not. he’s handsome, intelligent, quiet, kind, and rich. he's the most sought after bachelor on campus. with his brains and looks, he's every girls wet dream.

unfortunately for him, women are always hitting on him but quite frankly, he’s not interested. or sometimes he doesn’t catch on to the fact that a woman is subtly flirting with him. 

not because he’s dense, but how would he find something he’s not even looking for?

like right now, when you gently plop down on the seat next to him. you’re quite fond of sitting in the front but the lecture hall was overwhelmingly full. there were other open seats but he looked to be the most productive and you needed that.

you were a transfer. which is odd to be one this late into college, given that you’re a senior trying to complete your last year. 

the university is a pretty big private school so no one notices new transfers nor do they care. but within them, are those who do. 

like gojo. 

he doesn’t realize you’ve sat next to him until the end of the lecture. given that he was too busy scribbling away in his journal. 

one thing about gojo is that he likes to leave when everyone is already gone and the professor is free to approach. he’s a tiny bit surprised to see it seems you think the same. but for reasons he’s not aware of, you’re there for a reason other than academics. 

he silently observes you as you approach the professor. his eyebrows raise a bit when you share a hug and it has him adjusting his glasses to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. 

interesting

you continue to sit next to him in the following weeks, seeing him twice a week on tuesdays and thursdays. you began to find yourself looking forward to it. you get to sit next to a tall dorky handsome stranger? you’ll be getting perfect attendance. 

you rarely catch a glance of him outside of class, but every time you do he is so focused. 

the more you studied him while he studied something else, the more you realized how attractive he was. even if you knew that prior to your silent observations.

from the outfits you could tell he spent some time on in the morning—you assumed he woke up earlier than everyone else, to the way his obsession with organization—you took note of when he set his things down for class and neatly organized his pens, pencils and journal for notes.  

don’t be mistaken though. one tiny peek at his journal was enough to see that despite his need to tidy things on the outside…his notes were written haphazardly and quick. notes are a reflection of your mind, and if you’re constantly thinking then your notes will be a reflection of that.

you had also come to the conclusion that he was a man that was yet to become aware of his height. he moved around like he didn’t know how much of a walking tank he was. you hoped he never found out.

the best thing about him wasn’t any of the things you listed, but it was a few of the habits he had. 

everything he owned was personalized. from the pencils he used, to his backpack. you made that discovery when you forgot your pencil pouch in the library.

it took you a total of 2 minutes to gather the courage to turn to the mysterious man beside you, and ask him for a pencil. 

“excuse me,” you said gently, “im sorry, but can i bother you for a pencil? im so sorry.” 

he stared at you and you thought he would explode you with his bright blue snow glazed eyes. 

he cracked a tiny toothless smile and you figuratively crossed your fingers, hoping he wasn’t silently judging you or worse—came to the conclusion that were unprepared and incompetent. 

you watched him intently as he reached to grab his backpack, taking in the way the black expensive leather had his initials engraved in the bottom corner. he reached his hand into his backpack and pulled out–what looked to be the most elegant, technologically advanced sleek black mechanical pencil.

“don’t worry about giving it back,” he says politely but then he goes for the blow “i know you might need it in the future.” with a hint of pretentiousness. oh!

“well… thank you,” you say a bit taken back as you reluctantly take the pencil from his extended hand. your face falls a little at his response and you deflate a little in your chair.

did he think you were…poor? god forbid a girl asks for a pencil. you’d, unfortunately, been perceived. and in the worst way possible. he probably thinks you’re irresponsible, and an idiot!

you look at the pencil and realize that–of course–he has his initials engraved in his mechanical pencils too. 

g.s.

you bite back a smile that might give away how endearing you found it. that is so cute.

he has his initials on almost everything. you try not to crack a smile at how adorable yet endearing that is. 

unfortunately, you couldn’t really put the pencil to good use because he kept fidgeting in his seat the entire class. it distracted and worried you at the same time. which was odd because he never did that. 

is he upset that he had to give you one of his spare pencils? will he ask for it back? 

as you were packing your bags to leave, you felt him heavily staring at you. it makes you pause your movement and then turn to him, and sure enough, he was looking at you. you a tiny sigh leaves your lips. 

“yes? is this about your pencil? because i have my own i just needed–”

“im sorry.” he interrupts you and it shuts you up immediately. 

what?

he might have seen the confusion in your eyes. “about what i said about the pencil, i didn’t mean for it to come off that way. i was just saying because i have a lot of them so it wouldn’t have made a difference. and i was guessing maybe you didn’t. wait–no. i meant like if you didn’t–.not that i think you can’t get your own pencils or anything like that because i am super sure you can. but if you need it you can keep it. not that you need it right? because everyone needs a pencil. like one time i–”

you stare at him as he rambles on. you’re completely endeared with the way he doesn’t look you in the eyes and the way his hands move around to prove his point. 

he huffs out a breath of frustration. you on the other hand huff out a breath of amusement and the stranger before you finally moves to look at you.

“it’s okay.” you dismiss his worries, standing their idly as you mirror his movements. 

“i just thought i might have inconvenienced you by asking,” you tell him honestly, you grab your computer and gently store it away in your backpack as you continue your conversation, “im usually prepared, but i accidentally left my pencil bag in the library this morning.”

he gives you a tiny affirmative nod, taking in your words. he swings his backpack over his shoulder, and loops both arms into their respective loops, wearing the backpack on both shoulders. 

cute.

there's an awkward silence that follows you both before the door slams shut and you realize then that the professor has now walked out. 

the stranger huffs out a small awkward laugh, “you didn’t–by the way,” he speaks then, “inconvenience me, I mean”, he clarifies. now it’s your turn to nod at him. 

this is so awkward, it almost makes you laugh. 

he breaks the silence again, “im satoru gojo, by the way.” he politely introduces himself by extending his hand in a respectful manner.

you extend yours in return, shaking his hand before sharing your name with him as well. 

“i have time to kill,” he offers, “why don’t we take a walk around campus before then? the weather is great.”

after your shared walk with gojo you learned a lot about him. 

he recently discovered his interest in kpop after his friend, shoko, played a song during a shared car ride. 

he’s a senior, like you, studying engineering and double minoring in business and mathematics. he originally wanted to minor in physics but he said his father urged him to do business instead. he had to compromise.

that doesn’t stop him from taking physics courses out of pure enjoyment though, exceeding the 18 credit limit. 

he’s also an on-campus tutor and does a work study job at the library. the old librarian on campus loves him and appreciates his extensive knowledge on literature and figured that if he spent all his time there already, might as well let him get paid for him. 

when she approached him, his ears turned a light shade of pink and you could just imagine gojo pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before they slipped as he hurried to apologize. 

she waved him off and urged him to just work there already. gojo then started working with them a week later after financial aid finalized the paperwork. he remembers the look of the financial aid lady when she looked at his file and saw that he was beyond in need of financial aid. 

all she did was raise and eyebrow but clicked away. thankfully, gojo managed to get the work-study payments signed off as a form of volunteering hours rather than an extra below minimum wage salary.

he didn’t share with you the last part about his tiny altercation with financial aid though. he assumed you had no idea who he was. and you hoped to keep it that way. 

you in turn shared with him that you were transferred from another school. he already knew that (he paid a visit to the dean but he’ll never tell you that, given that the dean is his uncle afterall) he didn't know why. so, he asked.

“i transferred because there were some personal issues there and now i just want to start fresh.”

gojo raises a questioning eyebrow, but decides to respect your privacy. he hopes one day you’ll trust him enough to tell him. 

the rest of the chat was quite delightful. you were about to invite him to the cute nearby cafe you saw on your way to school, but before you could muster up the courage. 

a chime was heard from gojos pants pocket. he excused himself to check his phone. you stood there idly as he let out a tiny groan of frustration. 

“im sorry–” he apologized again. the look of pure regret made your lip quirk up again. he was so cute and polite.

“i hate to cut our…trip—short but it kind of slipped my mind that i scheduled a study group with a class i T.A. for.”

you wave him off, “it’s okay!” you reassure him with an upbeat tone in your voice, “we share a class so i’ll see you around.”

he bids you a quick goodbye and you watch his retreating figure. you sigh and head to the opposite direction. 

this semester will be exciting. 

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢

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omg! i didn't realize how many people signed up for my taglist <33 tysm ! currently working on a masterlist too. long shot gojo. i have not forgotten you.

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[red-viewe]

Insecurities (an anon request)

Parings: Wednesday X Female Reader. Wordcount: 10k-ish.

Summary: Wednesday's frustration made her say something irreversible.

Theme: Angst! Heavy Angst! Like idk heartbreaking heavy angst?

Warnings: Body dysmorphic disorder.

Wednesday’s patience had never been infinite, but today, it was being tested beyond measure. She should have simply put her foot down, denied you both, and spent the afternoon in solitude as she had originally planned. Instead, she was here, in this infernal store, surrounded by the nauseating scent of perfume, the artificial warmth of overhead lights, and the endless cycle of you and Enid dragging her from one corner of the boutique to another.

“This one’s so me!” Enid exclaimed, holding up a shimmering gold dress that looked more like a disco ball than formalwear.

“You’ll blind everyone,” Wednesday deadpanned.

“Exactly!” Enid beamed, twirling with the dress before skipping off to try it on.

Meanwhile, you pulled out a black dress with lace detailing, holding it up tentatively. “What about this one?”

Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked over the garment. “It’s acceptable.”

Your shoulders slumped slightly. Acceptable. Not exactly a glowing endorsement.

Still, you tried it on, stepping out of the changing room to model it for Wednesday. Enid, still deliberating over shoes, didn’t even notice.

“Well?” you asked nervously, smoothing the fabric.

“It fits,” Wednesday replied, her tone flat.

Your lips pressed together. You turned back into the dressing room, emerging moments later with another option—a deep red gown with a flowing skirt.

This time, Wednesday didn’t even bother with a full glance. “You’re wasting time.”

You hesitated but said nothing, retreating once again.

It had been hours.

Enid had already found her dress—a shimmering, ice-blue monstrosity that she twirled in with boundless excitement. Enid had never needed her approval. You, however, were another matter entirely.

You were taking far too long.

You had asked Wednesday to come under the pretense that you needed her opinion, that it mattered to you whether she liked what you wore to the dance. Wednesday had seen no reason to deny you.

But she hadn't anticipated this.

Try on a dress. Step out. Spin. Ask her what she thought.

“It’s fine,” she would say.

Then you would disappear again, unsatisfied, only to repeat the process moments later.

She was growing tired of saying it. It was fine. They were all fine. What more did you want from her?

Enid was equally enraptured, offering her own thoughts, exclaiming how each one suited you, or how it brought out your eyes, or how it matched your personality. It was nauseating. Wednesday could barely suppress the irritation clawing up her throat.

And yet, you weren’t buying anything.

Now you were in the dressing room again as Wednesday stood stiffly outside, arms folded, her fingers pressing into her own arms in an effort to restrain herself from storming out entirely. Enid stood beside her, checking her reflection in a nearby mirror.

Wednesday exhaled sharply, “This is insufferable,” she muttered.

Enid gave her a sideways glance before rolling her eyes. “Come on, Wednesday. It’s yours and Y/N’s first Raven as a couple. It’s special for her.”

Wednesday’s fingers twitched. “That does not mean she needs to try on the entire inventory of the store.”

Enid shot her a look, pursing her lips. “She just wants to look good for you.”

“She already looks fine,” Wednesday snapped.

“Then tell her that instead of acting like she’s wasting your time.”

Wednesday didn't reply. She just pressed her lips into a thin line, forcing herself to remain still as her irritation simmered beneath her skin.

It wasn’t just the wasted time, or the absurdity of all of this. Why did it matter what you wore? You were already hers. The dress would not change that.

She had never been one for compliments, nor did she see the point in them. You had asked for her opinion, and she had given it. She saw no use in anything beyond that.

You had been talking about this dance for weeks now, making sure everything was perfect. As if it mattered. Wednesday had agreed to go, hadn’t she? That alone should have been enough to make you happy.

But no, you needed a perfect dress. A dress that you would wear for a single night. A dress that would be forgotten about the second the Raven ended.

Wednesday sighed, staring at the dressing room door you had disappeared behind.

This was taking too long.

And yet, she didn’t leave.

Then, finally, you emerged again.

This time, something was different.

You hesitated just outside the curtain, fingers gripping the fabric nervously before stepping into the light.

And Wednesday...

She stared.

Dark purple. The color was rich, deep, a shade that clung to your form in a way that actually—suited you. Perfectly.

Your shoulders were bare, the dress hugging your figure before flowing down to the floor in an elegant sweep. You looked...

Wednesday swallowed.

You looked beautiful.

And that realization—how much she cared about something as trivial as a dress—sent a wave of irritation curling through her.

How ridiculous.

It was just fabric. Just thread and silk. And yet, you were looking at it—at yourself—like this was the most important moment in the world.

"Well?" You asked, voice uncertain, eyes searching hers desperately for approval.

Wednesday hated that. Hated the way you seemed to need her validation for something so insignificant.

Something twisted inside her.

She hated that dress.

Hated the way you were looking at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric as if it held the key to your happiness.

She folded her arms. "You’ve been trying on dresses for hours, and now you want me to shower this one with praise?"

Your smile faltered. "I just... I thought this one was better than the others."

It was.

But Wednesday didn’t say that.

Instead, her own irritation twisted her words into something sharp, something cruel before she even realized it.

“It makes you look bigger, if that’s what you were going for, then congratulations.”

The words fell from her lips like a blade, sharp and final.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Your face froze, your expression unreadable as silence stretched between you.

Enid inhaled sharply. "Wednesday!"

But you... you didn’t argue.

You didn’t scoff or roll your eyes or throw some sarcastic remark back at her like you usually would.

You just blinked once. Then, slowly, a small, forced smile curled at your lips.

"Oh... okay."

And then you turned and disappeared back into the dressing room.

Wednesday watched as the curtain closed behind you, an unfamiliar tightness settling in her chest.

She didn’t understand it.

Why did it suddenly feel like she had done something wrong?

Wednesday frowned. "I told the truth."

Enid looked like she wanted to strangle her. “What is wrong with you?”

Wednesday exhaled slowly, keeping her expression impassive. “It was an honest observation.”

“No, it was you being a total jackass,” Enid snapped. “Do you even realize how hard this is for her? She already struggles with this stuff, and you—” She groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Why would you say that?”

Because she had been frustrated. Because she had been irritated. Because something about the way you cared so much about that stupid dress had made her feel…

Jealous.

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t want to understand it.

But that didn’t change the fact that she had said it.

And you had believed her.

The dressing room was quiet. Too quiet.

She could imagine you inside, standing in front of the mirror, looking at yourself in that dress, picking apart every little flaw.

Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it, suddenly unsure of what she was supposed to say.

The curtain rustled, and then you stepped out again—back in your usual clothes. Your face was carefully neutral, but your eyes...

Your eyes looked dull.

"I’m not feeling great," you said softly, voice almost too quiet. "I think I’ll head back to the dorm."

"Y/N—" Enid started, but you shook your head, forcing another smile.

"It’s fine," you said. "I’ll come back and get the dress later. Alone."

And then, without another word, you turned and walked away.

Wednesday watched you go, her fingers twitching at her sides, that strange, unfamiliar feeling pressing against her ribs again.

She had gotten what she wanted. The endless dress shopping had finally come to an end.

Wednesday didn’t have to look to know that Enid was furious with her. The werewolf hadn’t said a single word since they left the store, not even when Wednesday had slowed her pace slightly, allowing Enid to walk beside her.

It wasn’t as if Wednesday wasn’t used to people being mad at her. It happened often. She knew she had a sharp tongue and an even sharper indifference to how others reacted to her words.

And yet, there was an unpleasant weight in her chest now, something she didn’t want to acknowledge but couldn’t ignore.

She was supposed to be relieved that the torturous shopping trip was over, but she wasn’t. It didn’t feel like a victory. If anything, it felt like she had lost something without even realizing it. The moment she had seen you walk away, that cold weight had settled deep inside her, and no matter how much she tried to shake it, it wouldn’t leave.

They were halfway back to their dorm when Enid finally snapped. "Are you just gonna pretend like nothing happened?"

Wednesday didn’t slow her pace. "That would be preferable."

Enid let out a frustrated noise as she turned to face Wednesday fully, forcing her to stop. "God, you are unbelievable! Do you even care that you hurt her?"

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. "It was not my intention to—"

"Oh, don’t give me that crap, Wednesday. You knew exactly what you were saying." Enid’s eyes were blazing, her normally bright and warm demeanor replaced with pure frustration. "She was so happy in that dress. Did you even see the way she looked at you? She just wanted you to like it. And what did you do? You insulted her. You made her feel like shit. You—"

"I am aware," Wednesday cut in, her voice quieter but no less firm.

Enid shook her head, exhaling harshly. "Then why aren’t you doing anything about it?"

Wednesday didn’t have an answer to that. Not one that made sense. Because the truth was, she didn’t know what to do. She had spent years—her entire life—keeping people at arm’s length, avoiding emotional entanglements with a precision most would consider cruel. And yet, she had let you in. Not entirely, not in the way you probably wanted, but enough that your absence felt… noticeable. Unsettling.

It irritated her. The power you had over her. The way one misplaced word from her could send you walking away, head down, shoulders curled inward like you were trying to disappear. She hated that image. It had been playing in her mind on a loop, and it was making her stomach churn.

Enid was still staring at her, waiting. Expecting.

"I…" Wednesday started, then frowned. "I will… rectify the situation."

"How?" Enid challenged.

Wednesday narrowed her eyes. "I will apologize."

Enid’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really? You, Wednesday Addams, are gonna apologize? I’d love to see that."

Wednesday crossed her arms. "I am capable of admitting when I have made an error."

Enid scoffed. "Oh yeah? When’s the last time you apologized to anyone?"

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Enid sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Look, Wednesday, I know you don’t do the whole emotions thing, but this isn’t just about being wrong. It’s about her. She’s already insecure about this kind of stuff, and you just confirmed every single bad thought she’s ever had about herself."

Wednesday’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. That was the part she couldn’t stop thinking about. She knew what insecurities could do to a person. She knew how words could burrow into someone’s mind and fester. And she knew you. Knew the way you already hesitated before speaking sometimes, as if bracing for rejection.

She had never considered her words carefully before. She never needed to. But this time, she wished she had.

"You need to fix this," Enid said, softer now, her anger tempered by concern. "Like… actually fix it. Because if you don’t, I don’t think she’s just gonna forgive you and pretend it never happened."

Wednesday hated that Enid was right. Without another word, she turned on her heel and started walking.

"Where are you going?" Enid called after her.

"To fix it," Wednesday said simply.

She didn’t look back.

She had meant it when she told Enid she would fix it, but even as she approached your dorm, she wasn’t entirely sure how. Apologies were foreign to her. She had never needed to offer them before.

But the thought of leaving this unspoken, of letting you sit alone in your room, stewing in whatever thoughts she had planted in your mind, made something unbearable twist inside her.

She wasn’t the kind of person who hesitated, who second-guessed herself. And yet, there was something uneasy settling beneath her skin, something that made her movements feel unnatural.

It was you.

Or rather, it was the memory of you. The way you had stood in front of her in that dress, nervous, hopeful, looking at her like she had the power to decide if it was enough. As if her opinion was the final verdict on whether you looked beautiful or not. Wednesday hated that. She hated that you gave her that kind of power, because she had never known what to do with it. And she had wasted it. She had crushed it beneath her heel without thinking.

She knew how her words could cut. She had always known, and she had wielded them like a weapon before—against people who deserved it, against people who irritated her, against people who bored her. But she had never thought of you as someone she needed to use them against. Because that was never how it had been between you.

It had been impulse, irritation spilling over before she could filter it into something sharp but playful. She was used to throwing her sharp words at you, a quip here, a remark there. You never took her harsh words seriously. You always rolled your eyes, shoved her shoulder, smirked at her like you knew her better than she knew herself. She would say something cold, and you would call her out on it, grinning like it was all some sort of game. It frustrated her to no end, but she never minded the way you pushed back. The way you challenged her in ways others never dared.

But this time, you hadn’t pushed back. You hadn’t laughed, hadn’t rolled your eyes or playfully shoved her away. You had just… shut down. You had retreated.

Wednesday sighed, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. She hated this feeling. This gnawing, uncomfortable thing pressing against her ribs. Guilt. It was almost laughable. The Wednesday Addams, feeling guilt over a single comment? It was ridiculous. But then why did it feel so unbearable?

And worse, why had she even said it?

Because she had been irritated. Because the shopping trip had dragged on for too long. Because you and Enid had been laughing and chattering, taking turns trying things on, wasting time on something as insignificant as clothing. She had wanted to leave.

But that wasn’t the full truth.

The truth was something uglier. Something she didn’t want to name.

When you had walked out in that dress, looking at her with expectation in your eyes, waiting—hoping—for her approval, she had felt something she wasn’t used to. Something tight, clawing at her throat, making her stomach churn.

She almost scoffed at herself. How absurd. Envious of a piece of fabric. But that’s what it had been, hadn’t it? That stupid dress had held your attention, had made you light up in a way that she never had. And for a brief, infuriating moment, she had resented it.

She had wanted to remind you that it was nothing more than fabric, that she was the one standing there, she was the one who mattered, not some lifeless garment.

But she hadn’t done that. Instead, she had said something cruel.

And she had watched as all that light, all that excitement, drained from your face.

Wednesday let out a slow breath, flexing her fingers at her sides. She was nearing your dorm now, the familiar door just ahead. She had walked this path countless times, had stood before that door before. But tonight, there was a hesitation in her step.

You had looked so uncertain when you asked her to the Raven, as if you expected her to say no. She hadn’t. She had said yes, because there was no logical reason to say no. If she had to endure a night of forced socialization and dreadful music, she would rather suffer through it with you than with anyone else.

And yet, when it came to something as simple as saying I did not mean it like that, she found herself hesitating.

Apologies were not in her nature. She did not like them, did not give them, did not see their purpose. But this wasn’t just about words.

This was about you.

She sighed.

Then, finally, she reached your door.

And she lifted her hand to knock.

The sound of her knuckles against your door was softer than she intended, but still firm. Final. There was no turning back now. Not that she would have turned back even if she could.

Perhaps you would refuse to open the door. Perhaps you would open it only to slam it in her face. Perhaps you would demand to know why she was here, why she even cared enough to show up.

She had prepared for that. She had prepared for your anger.

What she had not prepared for was the sound of the door creaking open, slow and hesitant, revealing you on the other side.

You looked surprised to see her.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out, your eyes scanning her face as if trying to make sense of her presence. She could see the exhaustion in you, the heaviness in your posture, the way your fingers curled slightly around the edge of the door, like you needed something to hold onto.

You looked… small. Smaller than she had ever seen you before. And she hated it.

Wednesday forced herself to speak, keeping her voice steady, neutral. "May I come in?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, stepping aside to let her pass.

She entered without a word, her gaze flickering over the room as you closed the door behind her. It was dimly lit, the soft glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows along the walls. A half-empty glass of water sat on your desk, untouched. Your bed was unmade, the covers slightly rumpled as if you had been lying there only moments before she knocked.

Wednesday turned to face you.

You were watching her carefully, as if bracing yourself for whatever she was about to say.

She exhaled slowly, clasping her hands behind her back as she met your gaze. "I…" She hesitated, forcing herself to ignore the way her throat tightened. "I have come to apologize."

You blinked, clearly caught off guard.

"I should not have said what I did," she continued, voice controlled, measured. "It was cruel. And inaccurate." She paused, searching your face for any sign of a reaction, but you gave her none. "It was not my intent to—"

"It's okay," you murmured.

Something about the way you said it made her uneasy.

The words were quiet, soft, but they stopped her mid-sentence.

You offered a small shrug, looking away. "You just told me the truth."

Wednesday's stomach twisted.

"I wasn’t really paying attention to my weight for the last few weeks," you continued, tone eerily neutral, as if you were discussing the weather. "I must’ve gained some."

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

She hadn’t known what kind of response to expect from you, but it had not been this. Not this quiet acceptance. Not this casual confirmation of something that wasn’t even true.

"I know it might look bad for your reputation," you said, the ghost of a smile appearing on your lips, but it was empty. "But I promise I’ll lose the extra pounds."

The words hit Wednesday like a physical blow. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Her reputation? That was what you thought this was about?

Her breathing hitched, sharp and unexpected, like something had reached into her chest and squeezed. You had said it so simply, so casually, as if it were a fact. As if you truly believed it.

As if you believed she believed it.

“Stop.” The word came out harsher than intended, cutting through the air like a blade.

You blinked, looking back at her with faint confusion.

Wednesday took a step closer, fingers twitching at her sides. “Do not say that.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “Say what?”

“That I care about that,” she hissed, voice sharper now, edged with something she didn’t fully understand. “That my concern is my reputation. That you—” She inhaled sharply through her nose, forcing the words to slow, to steady. “You are not—”

She stopped, frustration building in her chest, strangling the words before she could force them out properly.

You frowned, shifting on your feet, clearly not understanding. “Wednesday, it’s fine—”

“It is not fine.”

The sharpness of her voice startled you a bit, "Then why—"

"I do not know," Wednesday admitted, frustration creeping into her tone. It was the truth, and she hated it. "I was… irritated. It was taking too long. Enid was unbearable. And then you—" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "It was never about you. It was the dress. It was the fact that you were treating it as if it mattered more than—"

She stopped herself before she could finish that sentence.

More than me.

You stared at her, your confusion evident. "The dress?"

Wednesday clenched her jaw. "Yes. The dress."

A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, but there was no real amusement behind it. "So, you were mad at the dress."

Wednesday said nothing.

You shook your head, looking down. "It doesn’t matter, Wednesday. I get it. I just—I won’t embarrass you. I promise."

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. "You are not an embarrassment."

You let out a quiet sigh, rubbing your temples. "I appreciate you coming here to say this, but it’s fine. Really. You don’t have to—"

"I do," Wednesday cut in, voice suddenly urgent. "You do not believe me."

You hesitated.

Because you really didn’t.

She could see it in you, could see the way her words had already settled into your mind like an undeniable truth. You had already convinced yourself that she meant it, that she had only come here out of guilt, not because she hadn’t wanted to hurt you in the first place.

And that realization—that was what made panic curl around her lungs like a vice.

She had thought she could fix this with words. She had thought that if she came here, if she admitted her mistake, if she corrected what she had said, then you would understand. That you would believe her.

But you didn’t.

You wouldn’t.

And Wednesday didn’t know how to undo that.

How had this happened? How had she allowed this to happen? She had meant to insult the dress, not you. And yet, somehow, her words had twisted into something worse. Something irreversible.

She took another step forward, " You do not need to lose anything. You—" She inhaled sharply, hating the way her voice almost wavered. "I never meant it. I— "

“I think I just need to sleep,” you said, voice soft.

A dismissal.

It sent another unwanted pang through her chest.

Your eyes met hers, something unreadable lingering in them. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

It was a question, not a certainty. And that was the part that bothered her the most.

Wednesday opened her mouth, then closed it. For a moment, she thought about what to say, she wanted to fight more, tell you that whatever you are thinking isn't true.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice colder than she intended. She hated how distant it sounded, but she didn’t know how else to be. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

The word felt bitter on her tongue.

You gave her another small, tired smile before stepping back, waiting for her to leave.

She hesitated for just a moment longer, searching your face for something—anything—that would tell her that you didn’t believe what you had just said, that you weren’t truly convinced of those ridiculous, wrong thoughts about yourself.

But there was nothing. Just quiet acceptance.

Wednesday felt helpless.

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the weight of her own mistake pressing down on her shoulders like a curse.

Wednesday’s gaze never left you.

You sat directly across from her at breakfast, your usual spot beside Enid, as though nothing had changed. As though last night’s conversation had not cracked something in the foundation of whatever this was between you. But Wednesday saw everything. She always did. And what she saw now made the pit in her stomach twist, tighten, coil into something unpleasant.

Your plate was barely touched.

A few bites of fruit. Two nibbles of toast. Nothing else.

You pushed the eggs around with your fork absently, as if by simply moving them you could trick everyone into believing you had eaten them. But Wednesday was not so easily deceived.

Her fingers curled around the handle of her coffee cup. She didn’t drink. Didn’t speak. Just watched.

She knew you. Knew the way you usually ate, the small patterns of your habits, the way you would sometimes offer her the parts of your meal you didn’t want, knew that you were never one to finish quickly, but never like this.

“You’re not eating.” She finally said.

Your hand stilled for a fraction of a second before you picked up your toast, taking a deliberately small bite. “I am eating.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “That is an insultingly weak attempt at deception.”

Enid’s gaze flickered between the two of you, sensing the tension, but she didn’t interject. Not yet.

You sighed, setting the toast back down. “I’m just not that hungry.”

Wednesday didn’t believe you.

“You ate nothing but a few scraps.”

“I had a late snack last night after you left.” you added, waving your hand dismissively. “Guess I’m just full from that.”

Wednesday could see the way your fingers twitched slightly when you set your fork down, could hear the way your voice was just a little too casual, too light. You were lying, and you were bad at it.

But before she could say anything more, you abruptly pushed back your chair, “I should head to class early,” you said, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I need to talk to the professor about something.”

Another lie.

Wednesday clenched her jaw.

Normally, you and she would have walked to class together. Normally, you would have waited, loitering by the table as she finished her coffee, teasing her about how her caffeine addiction was going to kill her one day. Normally, she would have rolled her eyes, insulted you for your lack of intelligence, and you would have laughed.

But today, you left without her.

The realization sat heavy in her chest.

A sigh came from beside her. “That went well,” Enid muttered, pushing the last bit of her pancake into her mouth before setting her fork down.

Wednesday turned her head slightly, just enough to glance at the werewolf. Enid was watching her now, arms crossed, lips pursed.

“You did apologize, right?”

“Yes.”

Enid raised an eyebrow. “Really? Cause I see no effect from that.”

Wednesday clenched her jaw. “Because she dismissed it.”

Enid’s face twisted slightly. “Dismissed it?”

“She said it was fine.” Wednesday forced herself to swallow the distaste in her throat. “That it wasn’t a big deal.”

Enid let out a sharp breath, leaning back against her chair. “Well, that was a lie.”

Wednesday didn’t respond. Instead, she reached for her coffee, taking a slow sip, trying to ground herself in the bitter taste. But it didn’t help. Not when her mind was still filled with the image of you walking away from her.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Wednesday saw you in class, but you avoided her gaze. When the lesson ended, you were out the door before she even had the chance to speak. It happened again in the next period, and the next. You weren’t ignoring her outright, but you weren’t engaging, either. It was subtle. Quiet.

But Wednesday noticed everything.

By the time lunch arrived, the weight in her chest had only grown heavier.

She entered the cafeteria, eyes immediately searching for you. You were already at a table, sitting in the same seat as before, but your tray—

Wednesday’s fingers twitched.

There was even less food than this morning.

A small cup of soup. A glass of water. Nothing else.

Her teeth clenched, irritation and frustration mixing with something deeper, something she didn’t want to name. She watched as you lifted the spoon, took a single sip of the broth, and then set it back down.

Not eating. Again.

Her feet carried her forward before she could stop them.

“Seriously?”

The words came from Enid, not Wednesday.

You looked up, blinking as the blonde dropped her tray onto the table before sitting down beside you.

Enid gestured toward your barely-touched meal. “That’s it? That’s all you’re eating?”

You frowned slightly. “I’m not that hungry.”

Wednesday felt something snap.

“This is the second meal you have barely touched today,” she said, voice edged with frustration. “You are lying.”

You sighed, setting your spoon down. “Guys, I don’t need you both hovering over my food. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Enid argued. “You love the chocolate mousse they have today. It’s literally your favorite, and you didn’t even grab one.”

Your jaw tightened. “I just don’t feel like eating dessert.”

Enid stared at you for a moment before glancing at Wednesday.

Wednesday met her gaze, already knowing exactly what she was thinking.

This was not normal.

You barely hesitated before shaking your head, too quickly, too dismissively. “No. It’s fine, Wednesday. Really.”

It was the same thing you had said last night. And just like last night, she didn’t believe you.

She wanted to push, to force you to say the truth, to make you understand how wrong you were for thinking the way you did. But Enid shot her a look that said- Let her eat at least this or she will leave unfinished again, and for once, Wednesday held her tongue.

The rest of lunch was quiet.

You barely ate.

And then, just like breakfast, you left early.

“This is ridiculous,” Wednesday muttered.

Enid scoffed. “Yeah? Well, welcome to feelings, Wednesday.”

“I have to fix this,” Wednesday said, more to herself than to Enid.

Enid studied her for a moment, then sighed. “Well, you’d better hurry. Because if she keeps going like this…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Neither did Wednesday.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “I will fix it.”

The first time she tried to fix it, it was simple. Direct. She waited until the two of you were alone after class, cornering you before you could make your usual excuse to leave.

“You need to eat.”

You barely blinked at her, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I do eat.”

“Not enough.”

A flicker of something passed through your expression—annoyance, maybe, or discomfort—but it was gone before she could decipher it. You sighed.

“Wednesday, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”

She stared at you, unblinking. “No, you’re not.”

A small, dry laugh escaped you, and you shook your head. “You’re being dramatic. I told you, I’ve just been feeling off lately.”

“I don’t care what excuse you come up with. You’re not eating, and I know exactly why." Wednesday snapped.

For a moment, something flickered in your gaze—hesitation, uncertainty. Then, your lips pressed into a thin line, and you took a step back. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

And just like that, you were gone.

The second time, she came prepared. If words alone wouldn’t reach you, she would try something else.

She didn’t need Enid’s help to know what your favorite foods were. She had memorized them over time, despite never meaning to, despite never understanding why she remembered insignificant details about you so easily. But now, she put that knowledge to use.

She found them, each one, and placed them in front of you at lunch, setting them down with deliberate precision. You blinked at the sight, your brows furrowing as you looked at her.

“What’s this?”

“You’ve been avoiding food. If you refuse to eat the meals given to you, then I will find ones that you cannot resist.”

For a second, just a second, she thought she had succeeded. Your fingers brushed against the edge of the plate, your expression unreadable. But then, your hand withdrew, and you gave her a small, forced smile.

“That’s sweet of you, Wednesday, but I just had an apple and I’m not that hungry right now.”

The irritation inside her flared. “You’re never hungry anymore.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “I told you, I—”

“Are you truly incapable of coming up with a better excuse?” Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. “Every time, it’s the same thing. ‘I’m not hungry,’ ‘I’m just feeling off,’ ‘I’ll eat later.’ It’s all meaningless. You are wasting away in front of me, and you expect me to do nothing?”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your fingers twisted together in your lap, your eyes darting away, and for the first time, Wednesday saw it—guilt.

But it wasn’t guilt toward yourself. It wasn’t guilt for what you were doing to your own body. It was guilt toward her.

Like you believed that you were an inconvenience.

The realization hit her like a knife to the ribs.

You weren’t punishing yourself because you wanted to. You were punishing yourself because of her.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” you said softly, eyes still cast downward. “But I’m okay. Really.”

And then you stood up, tray untouched, leaving her there with nothing but her own frustration and a meal that you would never eat.

It was the fifth day now, and your avoidance had only gotten worse. Every meal was an excuse, every moment together felt like walking on glass. Even Enid had started pressing you more, but it didn’t matter—nothing seemed to reach you.

Wednesday found you in the courtyard, sitting on one of the stone benches, your gaze distant as you absentmindedly flipped through a book in your lap. She didn’t bother with a greeting. She simply sat down beside you, close enough that you couldn’t ignore her presence.

You sighed before even looking up. “Wednesday.”

“How long do you intend to keep this up?” She asked straight up.

You frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She clenched her fists. “Yes, you do.”

For a moment, there was silence. You stared at your book, but your eyes weren’t moving across the pages. Then, finally, you exhaled and looked at her.

“Why do you care so much?”

The words shouldn’t have hurt. But they did.

Wednesday’s breath hitched, and for a moment, she could do nothing but stare. Then, her fingers twitched, her voice tightening. “Because you are—”

She stopped herself before the words could slip out.

Because you are important to me.

Because you are mine.

Because the thought of you hurting yourself because of me is unbearable.

Because I lo—

She swallowed, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Because I don’t like seeing you like this.”

You looked at her for a long time, studying her, as if searching for something in her expression. Then, your lips curled into another weak smile, and you shook your head.

“I’ll be fine, Wednesday.”

You said it so gently, so kindly, as if you were trying to comfort her.

And then you left.

Again.

Wednesday sat there, alone. She had lost count of how many times she had watched you walk away now.

And she had no idea how to make you stay.

Wednesday had never been one for hope. It was a fragile, useless thing, prone to shattering at the slightest misstep. But as she walked beside you toward breakfast, she allowed herself the smallest sliver of it, the thinnest thread of belief that today would be different.

Today, she would fix this.

Her plan was simple—ruthlessly so. She would sit beside you, not across. She would place your plate in front of you and refuse to let you leave until you finished everything on it.

If you so much as tried to make an excuse, she would shut it down before the words could even leave your mouth. It was harsh, perhaps. But so was the alternative. So was standing by and watching you slip further away from her, your body weakening, your presence growing more distant by the day.

She refused to let that happen.

She glanced at you, noticing how you walked a bit slower... to slow. “Are you alright?”

Your lips parted at the question, like you were thinking of an answer. Then, after a second too long, you nodded. “Yeah. Just tired—”

Wednesday barely had time to process the shift before your body suddenly gave out.

She caught you before you could hit the ground.

Her arms wrapped around your body instinctively as she lowered you to the ground. For a heartbeat, she thought—hoped—that you were just dizzy, that you would blink up at her, disoriented but awake, that you would make some flippant joke about losing your balance.

But you didn’t.

Your body was limp against her own, your breathing shallow, your skin cold.

You weren’t waking up.

Something inside Wednesday snapped.

She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She just moved.

Her grip tightened around you as she pulled you closer, her heart hammering violently against her ribs, her pulse a brutal, erratic drumbeat in her ears. The usual sharp, methodical clarity she carried in dire situations was gone, replaced instead with something raw and all-consuming.

Fear.

She had never felt fear like this before.

Never—not in the face of monsters, not when staring death in the eye, not even in the moments where her own life had been at stake. But this? This was different. This was something she couldn’t fight, couldn’t outthink, couldn’t control.

This was you.

She barely registered the way the students around her froze in shock, barely heard Enid’s sharp gasp as she ran forward, her voice high and panicked. Everything blurred at the edges, her focus narrowing to the unconscious weight in her arms.

She had failed.

She had failed, and now you were—

No. No, you were still breathing. Faint, but there. You were still here.

She had to move.

She didn’t say a word as she hoisted you up, as she carried you with a grip that was both impossibly firm and terrifyingly desperate. Enid scrambled beside her, speaking—yelling—something, but Wednesday couldn’t hear her. The blood rushing in her ears was too loud.

All she could do was walk. Move forward.

She didn’t stop. Not until she reached the infirmary. Not until she had laid you down. Not until the nurse had taken you from her arms, pushing her back, ushering her out.

And then—she was waiting.

Sitting outside the infirmary doors. Hands curled into fists so tight her nails dug into her palms.She stared at the floor, her jaw clenched so hard it ached, but she didn’t care. She barely felt it. All she felt was the weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating, inescapable.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Her fault.

Every second stretched unbearably, the minutes dragging into something endless, torturous. She had never been patient, had never liked the sensation of waiting. But this wasn’t just waiting.

This was punishment.

A well-earned one.

Then—the door opened.

Wednesday shot to her feet immediately, her body moving before her mind could catch up. The nurse barely had time to look at her before Wednesday demanded, “What happened?”

The words were sharper than intended, edged with something she didn’t want to name. The nurse exhaled, crossing her arms.

“She collapsed due to malnutrition. Her glucose levels had dropped to a dangerously low level—hence, the loss of consciousness. I started her on an IV to stabilize her, but she’s severely lacking in proper nutrients. This didn’t happen overnight.”

Wednesday knew that. Of course she knew that.

“She’ll be okay,” the nurse added after a pause, her tone softening slightly. “But this isn’t just a passing issue. If this continues, it could become significantly more serious.”

She didn’t need to hear if this continues because of you. She didn’t need to. The words echoed loud enough inside Wednesday’s own skull.

She barely nodded. The nurse lingered for a moment, as if contemplating saying something else, but then she sighed and stepped away, leaving Wednesday alone once again.

No.

Not alone.

Enid was there now.

The blonde had been quiet until now, watching, waiting. But as soon as the nurse disappeared, she moved forward, her expression unreadable.

“You’re blaming yourself.”

It wasn’t a question.

Wednesday didn’t answer.

Enid sighed, “Wednesday…”

“I am to blame,” she said simply, her voice flat, empty. “There is no need to sugarcoat the truth. This started because of me.”

Enid frowned. “I’m not saying what you said didn’t have an impact. But you didn’t make her stop eating. You didn’t force her to do this.”

Wednesday’s fingers twitched at her sides. “I didn’t have to. My words were enough.”

Enid sighed again, quieter this time. She hesitated, then carefully sat beside her. She didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch her, and Wednesday was grateful for that. She wouldn’t have been able to tolerate it.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Enid murmured, voice softer than before.

Wednesday swallowed, staring straight ahead. “She shouldn’t have to be okay. She shouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.”

Enid exhaled, shaking her head. “You love making yourself the villain, huh?”

Wednesday’s jaw tensed. “I don’t—”

“Look, I get it. You feel like you caused this. And maybe, yeah, what you said did affect her. But, Wednesday, this is not just on you. That’s something in her mind that we need to help her with. You don’t fix this by beating yourself up.”

Wednesday didn’t respond.

Because she didn’t believe that.

Because she knew the truth.

This was her fault.

And she had no idea how to make it right.

Wednesday hadn’t moved from her spot.

She sat there, her spine straight as ever, hands folded rigidly in her lap, her eyes fixed on your face. She had watched every slight movement—every twitch of your fingers, every shallow rise and fall of your chest, every slow inhale that never seemed quite deep enough.

She didn’t move, but inside, she was crumbling.

She didn’t allow herself to blink as your eyelids fluttered. She didn’t exhale as your breathing shifted, as your fingers curled slightly against the thin sheet draped over you. Then, finally, finally, your lashes lifted, and the moment your gaze met hers, something in her cracked.

Relief hit her first. A sharp, overwhelming thing that seized her chest, nearly stole her breath. She had prepared herself for worse—prepared for another stretch of waiting, for something deeper than sleep. But you were awake.

You were still here.

But the relief barely had time to settle before guilt surged up to choke it out.

You looked exhausted. The shadows under your eyes were more pronounced than ever, and your skin, normally warm with life, still held a pallor that made her stomach twist.

“…What happened?” Your voice was hoarse, quieter than usual.

Wednesday’s fingers twitched. “You collapsed.”

Your brows furrowed slightly at her words, as if you hadn’t quite processed them.

“Oh.” Your voice was quiet. Distant. “I didn’t think it would be that bad…”

Something inside Wednesday snapped.

She had spent the last week watching you waste away in front of her, agonizing over every missed meal, every bite you left untouched. She had spent every waking moment searching for ways to fix it, to reverse the damage, to bring you back before you slipped too far.

And now, here you were—lying in a hospital bed, looking as fragile as she had ever seen you—and you had the audacity to act like this wasn’t serious.

She wanted to be angry. She wanted to scold you, to demand how you could let this happen to yourself, how you could do something so reckless and still dismiss it as if it were nothing.

But how could she, when she was the one who had pushed you over the edge in the first place?

Her fingers twitched in her lap. The words burned in her throat, sharp and bitter.

And then you exhaled, turning your gaze downward. “I’m sorry if I caused you trouble…”

Wednesday inhaled sharply through her nose.

“No.” The word left her lips before she could stop it, firm and unwavering. “No, you do not get to apologize for this.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, but before you could protest, she continued.

“You collapsed,” she said, her voice steady, controlled—but underneath, there was something else. Something fragile. “You were starving yourself. And you still think you should be apologizing to me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

Wednesday leaned forward ever so slightly. “You are not a burden to me.” Her voice didn’t waver, but she felt something tighten in her chest. “Nothing I said was ever meant to make you doubt that.”

Your eyes flickered to hers. There was something unreadable in them, something distant.

She swallowed.

“I never meant it.” Her voice softened, but there was an urgency beneath it, a desperation she couldn’t quite mask. “Not once. Not in a million lifetimes.”

You didn’t say anything.

She had spent so long trying to find the right words, and now that she had them, she didn’t know if they were enough.

She just wanted you to believe her.

She just wanted you to be okay.

“…I’ll try to balance things a bit more.”

It was barely a whisper, a quiet, reluctant offering, but it struck Wednesday like a blow to the chest.

You weren’t supposed to balance things. You weren’t supposed to change. You weren’t supposed to let her words sink their claws into you so deeply that you felt the need to shrink yourself into something smaller, something less.

But before she could argue, before she could say anything, you turned your face away. You turned your head away from her, your face shifting out of her view.

“I’m feeling sleepy.” Your voice was soft. Detached. “I think I’ll rest for a bit.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Wednesday sat there, staring at you. She wanted to keep talking. Wanted to shake you awake, keep you with her just a little longer, find the right words to make you understand.

But she didn’t.

And this time, as you drifted away, she knew—this wasn’t just sleep.

This was something deeper. Something worse.

Wednesday watched, That was all she could do now—watch, observe, analyze every shift in your expression, every movement, every breath, hoping, praying, that she was wrong.

She wasn’t.

The day you left the infirmary, you sat at the breakfast table with your tray in front of you, and for a brief moment, Wednesday felt something almost like relief. There was food on your plate. Not enough, but more than there had been before. A single bite of toast, a small portion of fruit. She waited, staring, barely touching her own food as she watched to see if you would eat.

You did. A small bite. Then another.

But it wasn’t the same.

The way you chewed was hesitant, methodical, like you were forcing yourself. There was no absentminded conversation, no playful remarks, no soft laughter as you nudged Enid when she told a ridiculous story.

It was quiet. Stiff. Empty.

Enid tried to make up for it, talking twice as much to fill the silence, but it was all wrong. Because this silence—it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t natural.

It was a void, stretching further and further, swallowing you whole.

Wednesday’s stomach churned as she watched you pick up a spoon and push your food around your plate.

You thought she didn’t notice when you stopped after three bites. When you placed your utensils down too early and excused yourself.

But she did.

She noticed everything.

And still, she said nothing.

What could she say? She had already broken you. If she pushed too hard, you would only retreat further. But if she didn’t push at all…

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

And now, Wednesday sat at her desk,staring at the blank pages of her notebook, her mind spiraling.

You weren’t getting better. You were only pretending to. For her.

And that was worse.

She could feel it, the weight of it, pressing in on her lungs. You had already decided. You believed, wholeheartedly, that you had to change. That she wanted you to change.

She had never intended for her words to hurt you. She never thought—never even imagined—that you would take them so deeply, let them fester inside of you until they ate you alive.

But you had.

Because she had let them.

Because she had been the one to plant them in the first place.

You were fading.

The way you moved, slower than before, as if some invisible force was dragging you down. The way you laughed, short and muted, never quite reaching your eyes. The way you smiled at her—not the way you used to, not the soft, effortless warmth that had once made her stomach twist in ways she couldn’t understand, but something practiced. Forced.

She knew that you thought you were a burden to her. She saw it in the way you spoke to her now, careful and measured, as if testing the weight of every word before you allowed it to leave your mouth. She saw it in the way you responded to her attempts to fix things—never annoyed, never upset, only guilty.

And worst of all, she saw it in your eyes.

You had always looked at her. Always.

She had never acknowledged how much she had relied on it until it was gone.

Before, you had looked at her like she was something more than just Wednesday Addams. Not an untouchable force, not a figure to be feared, but simply her. You had looked at her with fondness, with exasperation, with an affection that she hadn’t fully known what to do with.

Now, you barely met her gaze. And when you did, all she saw was uncertainty.

You had once been so full of life. So sweet. You had come into her world with laughter and warmth, with a stubbornness that rivaled her own, and an unwavering certainty that you wanted her, that you had chosen her.

And she had ruined you.

Wednesday sat at the foot of her bed that evening, hands curled into fists against her knees, staring at the wall as the realization settled deep into her bones, cold and unshakable.

She had ruined you.

She had taken the light in your eyes and twisted it into something fragile, something easily broken.

She had done this.

She should have known better.

She should have known better.

Wednesday prided herself on being meticulous, on never making mistakes, on calculating every possible outcome before making a move.

But with you? She had let herself act on impulse, let herself give in to the worst parts of herself, and now she had to watch as the consequences slowly unraveled right in front of her.

And she couldn’t let it continue.

Wednesday inhaled slowly, , forcing herself to think, forcing herself to act.

You would never stop punishing yourself for her as long as she was here. As long as she was standing at your side, you would keep believing that you had to change for her, that you had to mold yourself into something smaller, something less.

So she had to leave first.

You needed to be mad at her. Mad enough to stop punishing yourself for her. And if that was the only thing she could do to fix this, then she would do it. Even if it destroyed her. Even if it meant you hating her.

Because at least then, you would be okay.

You would move on.

And Wednesday?

She would live with it.

Her footsteps felt heavier than ever as she made her way toward your room, each step slower than the last, as if her body was resisting what she was about to do. Her stomach churned, her breath uneven, her mind screaming at her to stop.

She hesitated in front of your door, her fingers hovering over the handle.

This was it.

Her final mistake.

But one that would save you.

"Wends?" you murmured, and the name was a blade to her throat.

She felt it—felt the way you said it, the love behind it, the warmth, the trust. She didn’t deserve any of it.

Wednesday forced herself to take you in one last time. She memorized every detail, every delicate curve of your face, the way your eyes softened just for her, the way your lips parted as if to say more. She knew this was the last time she would be able to look at you like this, the last time you would ever look at her this way—without fear, without doubt, without the weight of betrayal hanging between you.

Her chest ached with something unbearable, something foreign, something she wanted to cut out of herself before it ruined her resolve.

But this had to be done.

She swallowed the hesitation, the pain, forced it all down into the pit of her stomach, where it twisted and festered but could not touch the surface. She willed herself to become stone, to become something cold and untouchable, something that could not be reached, could not be reasoned with.

And then, she killed the thing she loved most.

"I am ending our relationship."

The words fell like an executioner’s axe. Cold. Final.

She watched the way your body froze, the way your breath hitched ever so slightly, the way your hands tensed where they rested against your lap. Your lips parted, then closed again, confusion clouding your eyes.

At first, you just blinked at her, as if trying to process the sentence, as if your brain refused to put the words together in a way that made sense. "What?" you finally breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

Wednesday did not move. Did not flinch. She forced herself to remain perfectly still, like a statue, like a corpse.

She had to make you believe this.

She had to make you hate her.

"I’m not feeling anything anymore," she said, the lie thick on her tongue, thick in her throat. Her voice was flat. Detached. Something dead and distant.

You recoiled like you had been slapped.

And then—just like that—the dam broke.

"What—what are you talking about?" Your voice was raw, uneven. You stood up, stepping toward her, reaching, desperate to close the distance, desperate to fix whatever this was. "Wednesday, what are you saying?"

She should have stepped back. She should have let the distance grow, should have put more space between you so that you couldn’t reach her, couldn’t touch her, couldn’t make this harder than it already was.

But she didn’t move. She let you get close—close enough that she could feel the heat of your body, close enough that she could see the unshed tears shining in your eyes.

"I don’t love you anymore," she said, forcing every word to sound empty, forcing herself to become the monster you needed her to be.

And there it was.

The breaking point.

“Wednesday, what are you talking about?” Your voice wavered, tears coming out of your eyes. “You don’t—this isn’t—just talk to me—”

Wednesday kept herself still, perfectly composed, even as her entire world was falling apart right in front of her.

“Talk to you?” she repeated, her voice as cold as she could make it. “What is there to talk about? It’s simple. I don’t want this anymore.”

"Tell me the truth," you begged, desperate now, searching her eyes for something—anything—that would tell you this wasn’t real. "Tell me what’s really going on, because this—this doesn’t make any sense."

She clenched her hands into fists, nails digging into her palms, the only thing keeping herself grounded, the only thing keeping herself from breaking.

"I don’t owe you an explanation," she said, and she hated herself for the way your face crumpled, the way your breathing grew uneven, the way you looked at her like she was a stranger, like you didn’t recognize her anymore.

"Was it all a lie?"

The question came so softly that, for a moment, she almost believed she had imagined it.

But then she met your gaze, and she saw the devastation there, saw the way you were holding onto the last thread of hope with trembling fingers.

And she had to cut it.

She nodded.

Another blade through your heart.

She turned away. She could not let you see. Could not let you catch the crack in her mask, could not let you see the way her own vision had started to blur, how her own hands had started to shake.

She moved toward the door, her steps measured, steady, controlled.

But before she could leave, before she could escape this nightmare she had willingly walked into, you spoke again.

"I would have done anything for you," you whispered, and it was not a plea, not a desperate attempt to make her stay. It was just a fact. Just the truth.

And that—that—was what destroyed her.

She gripped the door handle so tightly her knuckles went white.

And then she walked out.

She did not let herself turn back.

She did not let herself hesitate.

She left.

And she did not stop walking. Not when her breath started coming out uneven, not when her throat felt tight, not when her own nails bit into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

She walked and walked, until she was no longer sure where she was going, until she found herself outside her own dorm, until she found herself stepping onto the small balcony, alone beneath the night sky.

She thought about all the things she had stolen from you.

And she thought about how you would be better off without her.

She clenched her jaw.

This was for the best.

You would heal. You would move on. You would live.

That was all that mattered.

The door behind her slammed open, and Wednesday didn’t even need to turn to know who it was.

“Why Wednesday!” Enid demanded, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Wednesday exhaled slowly.

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t need to.

Because it was carved into her heart.

It would always be carved into her heart.

You deserved better.

[Author's note: To all my readers who think they aren't perfect, "Perfect" isn’t about how you look—it’s about the way the right eyes find something irreplaceable in you. Beauty isn’t measured by numbers or mirrors chief, it’s in laughter, in kindness, in the way you exist just as you are. You don’t have to shrink yourself to be loved. You are already enough, exactly as you are.]

And so, yeah, that's it... The Angst! I was actually planning on writing this as an origin story for my "You deserved better." one-shot...

BUT I might not do that and maybe idk write a part 2 depending on what you guys want in the comments.

Taglist:@rqizzu @sevyscoven @kingoftheracoons @kingofthings2 @masterofpuppets-10 @alexkolax @ognenniyvolk@mally-ka@protozoario@machyishere@freakshow2501@101rizzlrr @jinxslapdog @just-zy @gray-cheese @hellenheaven @blue-because-no-yellow @thyhooligans

[red-viewe]

BOOMMMM SHAKALAKAAAAAAA JADEEE???????

[red-viewe]

It is a Concept but;

Leona is a distant cousin, so much so you like to joke you're barely even related any more at this point.

"If I were to have cubs of my own, I bet they wouldn't even make it in the family scripture." Your laugh is loud and clear and without a hint of wariness as Leona frowns and sends an annoyed look your way from where he is sprawled on the raised platform of the King's—His brother's—waiting lounge.

"Ha? What was that? Couldn't really hear yer from all the way here."

"I said you look as majestic as ever,cousin. Almost like a King yourself."

The sneer you sent him is coy and confident. Despite your lower disposition in the family, as Leona would like to say, your stride has never once wavered and the way you carried yourself mirrored the striking white fur of your ears and tails. White lions were a rarity amongst your people, and you took great pride in that.

"Watch it,cotton ball." His canines are showing, ears twitching in irritation. The nickname is one from your childhood and it was made right on your first day of meeting Leona and his brother. The elders took your birth as a good omen and decided to let you grow up alongside the two princes as a symbol of good luck.

A younger, more expressive, Leona had padded up to you and immediately went; "She's like a cotton ball!" And laughed when you stared at him. He had been told off by his mother but then his older brother had agreed and said it would be a good nickname for you, and it's been there for years.

You found it amusing. You enjoyed the company of your cousins and since you spent more time with him, Leona was considered your closest companion. What most people overlooked easily as his mean spirited nature and so called laziness, you saw a highly capable hunter and leader.

Though he may believe you use the word 'King' as a taunt, you know you're genuine with it.

"Anyways, cousin," you ignore the glower he sent your way as you move closer to him and plopped down onto the amassed cushions near the platform he was on.

"Where's that hyena you keep around?"

The question makes him raise his brows.

"Ruggie?"

You nod your head. Lips set in a sly grin as your tail sways from one side to the other.

"What's that gotta do with you?" He asked in a dry, uninterested drawl.

"Well," You're beaming when you say this, the white of your fur practically bristling with excitement. "You won't mind if I borrow him for the day, won't you?"

Leona looks taken aback for a brief second before he lets out a barking sort of laugh.

"I knew it. You have a thing for him don't you?"

You don't deny this, but still, you purse your lips and petulantly sunk into the pillows.

"If you knew then why don't you bring him over more often? You're such a terrible wing man, cousin."

"What are you an idiot? What made yer think I was ever your wing man?"

"Yap,yap, yap. You're such a bore, cousin. It's the least you can do after I spent my years being your so-called token of luck."

Leona's growl is evident even in the way his nose scrunches and his green gaze darkens at your words. Most people would have found this a very dangerous predicament to be in, but you knew you'd be able to take him on easily if he decided to attack, which of course,he wouldn't do in the first place.

"No need to be so angry, you know I enjoyed my childhood. Being seen as some sort of good luck totem only to become a menace when I'm older is my greatest satisfaction in life,after all. And it's really all thanks to you."

Leona holds his glare a while longer before he clicks his tongue and tilts his head.

"What about him gets you kneading your paws anyways?" He asked and despite the gruffness, you sense the earnest curiosity.

"Hm,well, he's very appetizing to look at."

"Ha? We talkin' bout the same hyena here? The most meaty part he has is probably his thick head." Leona's canines are glistening again, the scrunched up lines on his nose as he looks down at you making you laugh and roll on your back as you flash him a sight of your sharp fangs.

"His tail isn't so bad."

"That's mostly fur, boar brain." His eyes narrow when he says this and you can tell he's searching for something to read from you. A trick or a lie. He doesn't trust you with his friend. You know that much already.

Leona could go on and on about not caring for the people under him, but it's all simply an act. If he didn't care he was probably not even Leona in the first place. Leona always cared. It's why he was so angry most of the time.

"If you keep looking at me like that, you're gonna make me feel like some kind of predator." You're pouting. Ears folded down and tail curling around your body but the glint in your eyes is of excitement.

You like him. You really do.

It's the nimble way he moves and his attentive eyes. The quick witted intelligence he has is also something you don't often see in other hyenas you've met and you wonder if conversations with him would be just as interesting as you always imagined it would be.

You grew up in the presence of Kings. Made to be a sentimental decorum for their well-being, and though you've never despised it, it had held you back from many things in your own life. It was a privileged life but also a rigid one.

When you first met Ruggie, there was barely any talk. He had been occupied with Leona but you found yourself drawn to his character and every little detail of his mannerisms. You simply couldn't look away, nor did you want to, really.

"Idiot." Comes Leona's voice as he snaps you back to the present moment. Your eyes are wide and wandering—So lost in the thought of the hyena boy, you almost forgot your cousin.

"Last time I checked, you are a predator."

And maybe that's why. Maybe that explains the rush of adrenaline running circuits in you while you search for him. Maybe it was pure instincts—One you've been deprived of for your whole life.

"I mean, he looks like he'd out run me fast enough,right?"

With those lithe muscles and lightweight frame, and the fact he's used to extreme living conditions would work well in his favour...A bit malnourished, true, but I bet his bones are stronger since he has depended on them more...sturdier despite his size. A treat to gnaw on—

"Tsk. I thought so." Leona has a dark, knowing look to him now as he sends you a sneering smile. There is no actual hostility for you were not an actual enemy to him, but you can feel the warning in his words as they leave his mouth.

"You're no better than a starving hyena yourself."

You sit there and stare up at him—And then, you smile back, canines revealed in a sign of beastly amusement.

No. You weren't. In fact, you were probably worst.

[red-viewe]

GUYS??? (Spoilers ahead)

MAMA LEECH??? IM SORRY I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE THIS MUCH OF A BADDIE???

(credit to fleurisum on yt)

[red-viewe]

⭒ㅤwhose (not) random kid

premise. crash landing from the future is apparently your kid, not that you know that anyway... in the form of a mixture between you, and your... supposed counterpart, clues are bound to pile up as to whose child this is.

parts. rosehearts, kingscholar, ashengrotto, al asim, schoenheit, shroud, draconia

cont. gender neutral reader, use of 'mada' which is just 'mama' and 'dada' cut in half for our resident shrimp (aka yuu), a yummy 5.8k words that I did not expect to get this long lol

note. I only have a rough outline of what's going to be included with the others parts after the names of the kids lol. I'll probably write leona's as usual after this but I can't promise I'll release one more part after his this month, the rest will probably come next month considering I'm bombarded sadge. paper defense, then final exams next month save me

also hello! my unnofficial: I'll try to post more

late edit: comment if you want to get tagged <3

riddle

when you slid a foot over the portal to heartslabyul there’s some sort of a strange–inexplicable air that surrounds it. usually the dimension is light to be in, unlike the tingling feelings of being in octavinelle or the eeriness of ignihyde. all dormitories had their own particular sensation that weighs on you depending on where you were.

you squinted, deciding to shrug it off. there was no way you had a sixth sense for feeling in the literal air!

barely a foot in though, was something you could only explain as an army of card… soldiers trudging from the other end of the sidewalk to the next. dumbly, you stopped right in front the shimmering portal that settles into a smooth sheen of silver behind you as they just kept coming.

they seemed to be looking for something–or whatever but you don’t really want to know what so you slowly inched to the side, hoping to sneak past them even if you had to go into one of the confusing mazes (which was a struggle considering you’re trying not to laugh as one of them trips).

must be ace’s wretchedness rubbing off of you.

the real question was, where in the seven were your resident idiots? you’d already sent a text over for your impromptu visit to the chat consisting of you three and figured they had seen it like they usually do then waited for you with feigned begrudging-ness that does not fit well with them showing up in the first place. 

you fish for your sad excuse for a phone in your pocket, cater’s words not yours. you’re more busy trying to merge your backside as you shuffle and pull up the chat to notice the ever nearing edge of the hedge wall that makes you stand out in comparison to the lighter shade of green brushing against your uniform.

not deuce: you guys ever notice the card soldiers infestation near ur mirror portal…?

not ace: you nedea to RNR RUN RN!!

not yuu: what???

there’s not much time to ponder about the cryptic, seemingly panicked expression of deuce’s message as you looked up from your phone, feeling a slight chill crawl up to your spine like you attracted some sort of unwarranted trouble that is also unwanted.

disclaimer: you (uu) did

“over here!” an unfamiliar voice yells, freezing you in your tracks just when you were about to make the sneak of the century. without a moment’s hesitation you darted deeper into the maze and shoved your device within the confines of your pockets as you held in a mortified scream at the sudden mob upon your tail as you ran.

WHY WAS THERE SO MANY? you yelled in your mind. number one rule in horror games don’t look back. don’t look back. don’t look back–

oh sevens you’re looking back.

the decision immediately fills you with regret when you spot the diabolical amount of card soldiers trailing after you like you just slaughtered their queen in front of whatever kingdom they came from! was this someone’s unique magic? there was no way riddle would let this sort of thing go rampant on his dorm!

you almost keel over in shock when the pointy end of a heart on the end of a pole sticks right on the patch of grass you just barely managed to trudge across with increasingly heavier steps. maybe you should actually take jack’s offer to join track and field–your stamina is horrible–you’re gonna get stabbed.

goodbye world. you thought warmly with a chorus of pants.

a deeper voice bellowed from the crowd from your behind. “three of hearts! are you thin-headed? do not harm the majesty!” the steps behind you stop almost abruptly, and you don’t stop running even as the voices fade. idiots for choosing to chastise their idiotic comrade but you’re not complaining as long as you get away from this horrid situation.

your majesty what now?

you don’t know how far you ran by sticking to all left turns until you flop down on the entrance of the maze, the archway barely offering you any relief as you took deep breaths and fought the urge to lay down on the grass and hope it camouflages your grey uniform.

that won’t work but you’re coping at this point.

not deuce: HELLO  I ALMOST GOT SKEWERED BY LITERAL CARDS?

not yuu: that’s a humiliating way to go down from

not ace: don’t be insensitive ace! are you ok?!

not deuce: NO? WHAT IS GOING ON

not yuu: riddle got dethroned and i'm not even happy

not yuu: it's the absolute WORST AT THE DORM!

not yuu: you better turn back rn and get away from ‘labyul coz it’s getting run by a kid

not deuce: BACK INTO THAT DEATH MOB? no thanks

not ace: yuu brace up, cater texted that the new boss is on his way to you

not yuu: F for yuu

not ace: F

not deuce: F u

what you expect to be the final boss of your life, you guess from the approaching pairs of footsteps nearing your defeated form sprawled across the flecks of grass and still heaving comes in a surprising form of softness, and youth.

“mada.” 

the blueness of the sky is shadowed by a tiny little head peering over your head. you’re startled by the tuff of red hair, and familiar pair of eyes which was strange, considering you have never seen this kid in your life. this was the new queen of heartlsabyul? you thought incredulously, since when were kids allowed in nrc…?

the thought was a breeding ground to raise the most evil person on the planet, considering the equally as evil people in night raven.

out of habit from the familiar chubby, round face you blurted: “riddle?”

the child blinked before they shook your head. “I am not papa.” their lips twitched into a small smile directed to you. if taken a closure look, this child’s resemblance with riddle really is uncanny. from the hair, even to a small golden crown sitting primly on the middle of their head. “mada, I am glad I found you. I have not seen papa yet.”

was this season 5 of stranger things?

they straightened. attention straying from you as you glanced to the other pairs of legs, whom you put a face to quickly. trey and cater both cast you a look of exasperation and pity.

then done like a true riddle–their face does a complete 360 and curls into anger as they stared off inside the maze. “all of you!” the tiny child rages with a concerning… change of color around their cute face, fingers pointed accusingly. how can a child be so horrifyingly scary?

the two third years do not mirror your confusion as you sat up, following the kid’s gaze to the archway where a myriad of thundering footsteps almost have you scampering away if not for them laying a small hand on your shoulder and somehow managing to ground you to stay still.

whose kid is this? you looked to cater who shakes his head uselessly

then to trey who wore a resigned smile.

the child’s brow twitches when the card soldiers lined up obediently. “I thought I had made it clear you not hurt mada.” they seethed, voice tilting in clear threat and a I demand you! sort of way. the card solider, three of hearts who had scared the living soul out of you trembled less subtle compared to the other guards.

of course this child had to get more terrifying by being observant, they caught the shiver of one soldier and narrowed their eyes. “ah, found the culprit. three of–”

trey shuffles forward with an awkward laugh that belies his usual laid back with–on his face is a twinge of concern as he raises his palms in a placating gesture. he steps forward three more times, sliding between the child and the line of soldiers but keeping the distance warily. “hey, kid. maybe we can discuss this with some tarts, and some tea?” he tries. children love sweets, right?

they keep their head level despite the astounding height difference. “I told you, uncle trey! being called ‘kid’ is disorderly! It's alice!” still, despite the brief protest their eyes sparkled with interest at the notion, even if they seemed a bit embarrassed to admit it. “i’m not supposed to eat sweets on mondays.” 

“huh.” cater mumbled before the thin line of his lips rose into a familiar grin. “as in, rule 102 of the queen?” he queries with a nervous slide of his fingers through his hair. he’s not so obvious to directly state that he’s tiptoeing around… alice but a bit of months knowing him, you can tell.

alice nods along. they no longer look as bothered as before, the card soldiers all slump their tense shoulders a little when alice shifts their piercing gaze from the three of hearts before settling onto cater, who they offer a brief nod of agreement before returning back to trey.

well, a kid is a kid. 

“but i can eat sweets on tuesdays.” they added hastily. like they don’t want the notion of trey’s treats slipping from their fingers but that would be strange, if the look of confusion you three share with each other you would have thought trey had initially baked for alice based off the tone of wistfulness in their tone.

trey smiles at them. “tomorrow it is.” reassured by their sheepish innocence he stops in front of them and grasps their shoulders, turning them away from the stiff soldiers. alice spares a brief glance at them. “what about these rule breakers?”

you stood up fully. “uh, don’t worry, they didn’t do anything wrong. i ran for too long.” you supplied in defense. if anything , a resemblance to riddle of all people meant that they could have the head offing in their blood. you did not want to stick around to find out, neither did cater.

alice considers you for a moment with a small sparkle in their eyes, with a wave of the small wand that maternalized in their hand, the soldiers fade into glittering spots of gold. only then do they let trey lead them back to the main pathway towards the dormitory of heartslabyul.

you fall into step behind cater who probably sees the question in your eyes so he lowers his voice discreetly, glancing at the back of trey who keeps the child’s bay attention so they don’t notice you two slowing down a little. nonetheless, still walking.

“that was little alice’s unique magic.” he says to you with a shrug, sighing after a glance at the former’s small, regal form. “pretty overpowered… kind of like my split card but less cute, and more dangerous.”

he winked, you frowned.

in front of you two, alice seems tame in comparison to the subtle bribing of trey questioning about their favorite sweets as you all finally reached the nearing entrance of the main dormitory

“where’s riddle?” you questioned.

he pursed his lips, navigating though the fountain in front of the dorm. “last i know, he went out early to campus cause of a meeting with his club for the upcoming NRC tour festival…” 

oh, right. I have not found papa. alice’s voice echoes in your mind, so you echo the question that appears in your mind right after the memory. “alice called riddle ‘papa’ which i’m pretty sure is a term for a parent…” you trailed off. riddle seemed to be the least likely person to have a secret love child of some sorts, he seemed like he had most of his life planned out.

if riddle bent over backwards for his rules then he wouldn’t stray from the path he had set.

there’s a flash of interest in cater’s eyes, it was already there before, just dwindled. you watch it spark to life. akin to lighting some sort of fire within the guy, a gossipmonger at heart as he leaned in eagerly just as you both trudged up the stairs to the front doors who opened politely, and closed behind you as you walked in the main hall of heartslabyul.

“they look, and act like riddle!” he chuckles. “imagine our shock when alice popped up straight out of nowhere with an army at their beck and call.” cater clutched onto his arms, and shivered. you leaned away when he reaches his arms out to you in a teasing manner.

he adds. not at all offended by the way you scrunch your face at his ‘affections’. “they seem to listen to you though. like someone.”

you only regard him with an impassive raise of your brows. “i don't think so. riddle doesn’t listen to anyone. much less me.” befuddled by the mere idea, you scoffed. in all your magic-less glory, the best thing you might have achieved here in this other dimension was having the ability to wake leona kingscholar up from one of his power naps.

cater doesn’t seem to agree. only sighing at you from what it seems to be an of course. “only you can be so oblivious to the chaos you leave behind.” he says in response, making an exaggerated show of peering behind your shoulder and widening his eyes in feigned shock.

you humor him as you turned your head. the scene of the main entrance of the dormitory was the only answer to your eyes as you both walked into the living room–where little alice sits alone. you caught a glimpse of trey’s dark hair as he disappeared into the kitchen, most likely going off to make her a treat.

vaguely unsure if the male had heard him, cater calls out a “make us some too!”

“not my fault the students here are so… unstable.” you remarked with a roll of your eyes. remembering the overblots to be the most plausible reference to the chaos cater was talking about as you begrudgingly sat down on the couch and reeled in any other remarks for the child in the room.

who was now shuffling closer to your seated frame even if they thought they were being subtle in the movement.

what was two seats in the space between you and alice eventually became none at all, as they settled beside you and peered up with innocent eyes.

you tilted your head at them, alice copies the movement.

then to the other side.

they mirror the lull of your head.

“besides those.” cater cleared his throat after a bewildered glance at the child. “what’s more impressive is that you’re still here, yuu-yuu. night raven is like… a pack of wolves trying to run you off crying, and you? you’re a very weird sheep.”

still a bit enraptured on this child, you replied without your stare wavering from the roundness of alice’s cheek as you reached up to pinch it. to yours, and cater’s surprise. their previous cute ferociousness is not present at all as they leaned against the warmth as though instinctive. “i didn’t do anything.”

you don’t entertain the accusing look in cater’s eyes.

“if that was you not trying to beast tame the school then i don’t know what’ll happen if you put in the effort.”

you both lapse into silence as cater–who seemed to sense the finality of the conversation lets it slip fully and instead, busies himself with the entertainments his phone provided. you redirect your full attention onto the elusive red-headed alice.

“so,” you started. “how did you end up here? must be a great feat if you were able to go past the barriers.”

alice curls their fingers within the fabric of your blazer, inspecting it as they reply softly. “i’m not sure, mada. i was just sleeping, and woke up in a garden. the hedgehogs showed me the way after i offered them a caterpillar.” they do not mention a bleary moment in their sleep where they curiously wondered how you and riddle came to be as they drifted off. “as pertaining by rule 210… if you are lost in a maze, give the hedgehogs an offering and they shall show you the way.”

you can’t help but let your mind drift over to riddle, who echoes the rules to be followed when mentioned.

your lips twitch into a smile, much to the delight of alice. “strange indeed. must have been scary.”

their eyes squinted. “i’m not scared.”

you chuckled and pinched their cheek. they pout.

“where are you from?” you ask instead, wanting to know more about the.. figurative alice from nowhere. 

alice looks at you strangely.

“from the queendom of roses…” could they simply be a relative of riddle’s? you thought mindlessly. drawing your fingers through the surprising soft red locks who seemingly part eagerly for your touch. “with my mada, and my papa. sometimes my uncles visit.”

unsure of how to reply, you merely nod along. parting their hair by half and twisting it into a braid. “you called me mada.” you hummed.

“because you are my mada.”

she says like it’s the only thing that makes sense in her small world, not relinquishing her grip on your blazer but instead tugging at the wrists to expose the small slither of skin and hold onto it. clingy. you thought, deciding not to question it.

… was this your freaking kid?

the smell of strawberries wafts over the space of the living room alongside the ticking of the oven–momentarily taking both alice, and cater’s attention. the latter stretches before standing to stride over to the source of the smell, no doubt requesting trey to change the taste once more.

alice’s eyes, like yours slid to your own. a bit shy in their demeanor as they clutched onto the skin of your wrist. “can i eat some of uncle’s tarts?” they queried under your breath, only meant for you alone. you felt a bit confused but nodded nonetheless. 

their lips twitched into an eager smile before it settles into a more controlled look of impassiveness.

that was adorable. you thought, unable to resist leaning down to scoop them into your arms as you stood. alice makes a sound of brief surprise before their arms loop around your neck. they sat pliantly still as you walked over to follow cater inside the kitchen, catching a glimpse of your scent that they sought for, so alice nuzzles their face into the warm pulse on your neck.

trey glances up from the animated retelling of cater about the crazy day. “new responsibility?” he wore a humored smile, apron long discarded and folded over the handle of the oven for the meantime.

if riddle saw this, he would not believe it no matter how intelligent he was. trey deduced.

he gestures to the tray set on the counter. “there’s frosted strawberries, blueberry cornmeal, and the good old mont blanc since i got left over ingredients from the last unbirthday party.” 

alice feels the shift of your head as you glanced down at them, they don’t remove their head from the crevice of your neck for a moment and meets your eyes with a raise of their own. “frosted strawberries, please.”

“good choice, little alice.” cater comments.

“careful, it’s hot.” trey chided gently as he watched you pick up one of them, drawing it near alice’s waiting hunger as they tilted their head up from your shoulder. they took a small bite at the corners of the tart, smiling at the taste and only wider when you wiped remnants of crumbs around the edges of their mouth.

alice chews, and swallows before they spoke again. their eyes gleaming with admiration as they stared at trey. “it’s always the yummiest when it’s fresh out the oven.” they recited.

trey blinks.

“you’re a bright one.” he remarked, ruffling their hair when he drew near. “don’t tell anyone about the wicked secret ‘round the kitchen, all right?”

they nodded vigorously. “thank you, uncle..” they spewed politely, but evidently genuine.

cater munches from the other end of the counter. “we gotta protect alice,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling as he pointed his phone to you, tapping to snap a picture of the scene despite your warning stare. “too nice for the vultures we call students here.” 

“you might be right.” trey shook his head, and you nodded mutely. more absorbed into letting them take bite by bite into the tart until it was about finished halfway. only then do you lay it back on the tray. how much sweets was ideal for a child to take anyway? regardless of you deeming it as enough, alice stays quiet and does not complain.

if they wanted more, you wouldn’t know.

“later.” you promised, leaning back when you were satisfied with their prim appearance. a pat of their hair to smooth down trey’s earlier disruption.

“later..” alice echoed. 

a resident third year enters the kitchen. only to pause in their tracks and back away.

“domesticity is really the enemy of the students here.” cater sniffed, earning a chuckle from trey who found the comment funny. “imagine being happy, being broody and emotional are the real requirements to get admitted.”

cater finishes his snack with a pleased hum, and a grateful nod to trey. “by the way i messaged adeuce, sent them to stall dorm leader from going back as long as the dorm was… kind of in a wre–predicament.” he cleared his throat, casting a brief glance at alice to spot if they had taken offence to his almost uttered word.

“so now they’re en-route?” trey guessed, transferring the leftover tarts to a glass bowl. leaving the tray in the sink to wash for later. cater nods in response, typing on his phone with one hand. likely in cahoots with the two right now. “told them the coast was clear! no more trampling soldiers scampering around.”

trey eyed him. “what about the–”

just then, whatever trey was going to comment in rebuttal of cater’s easy reassurance was promptly interrupted by new individuals peeking inside. ace, and deuce poked their heads from the corner. as if trying to ascertain the danger level of whatever may be inside.

ace rougly nudges deuce when he spots you with a child in arms. for two people insisting on their unique, varying selfs. they mirror each other’s look of bewilderment as though their brain cells crackled and connected into a singular one. “what the seven?” ace mouthed.

you all do not notice the look of familiarity on alice’s face.

nor the brightening when riddle strides in with a petulant huff,

if riddle thought strangely, or disapproved of the two’s behavior then he wouldn’t have had the chance to comment on it before he was leveling trey with a sharp, inquisitive stare. “i would like a very good explanation as to why my hedges have been mangled to the ground.” his eye twitches with the effort of containing irritation. “three hours i’ve been gone. three! and when i enter heartslabyul the first thing i see is devastation upon my gardens!”

perhaps emotionally, riddle cried out in the last sentence.

even though such an expression should have frightened a child to some degree, alice relaxes in your arms but their face clouds in shame at his voice.

riddle whirls back to the other two lingering by the doorway who both flinches imperceptibly–cater tries to intercept with a nervous chuckle but is only met with a steely don’t even start! “ace, and deuce have me running around the school. saying something about yuu getting kidnapped by those.. vermin excuses of… students from octavinelle!" riddle seethed, breathing still a bit labored as favor of his statement about running around.

“dorm leader!” ace stood straight stiffly.

oh, did he just come from a frantic search in octavinelle?

“i even had to threaten collaring azul who i thought was lying about yuu.” with a deep intake of air, riddle breathes out and pinches the bridge of his nose, collecting his temper. much to the chagrin of deuce.

“we apologize.” deuce added sadly.

cater feigns ignorance by looking away but it’s trey’s look that has him adding to the defense of the two, rather than using the opportunity to scamper away with his head in tact. “ahem… we had these two keep you busy. so don’t be too harsh on them, riddle. us upperclassmen will take responsibility.”

a nod of agreement from trey gets riddle quiet.

the former tilts his chin to you. “yuu is fine, they’re right here.”

like he hadn’t even noticed before (he really didn’t), riddle’s head snaps to you immediately. his eyes would have been stuck to you, prodding for a valid explanation to your ignorance to his angry calls but instead, settles on the bundle in your arms.

“who…” a blink. “why in the world do you have a child! they are not welcome on school grounds! especially this time in the school year–.” riddle sputtered, instinctively sauntering over to take a closer look at alice who only stared without an inch of fear.

“papa.” they mumbled, voice measured but still echoing in the now quiet kitchen.

ace leapt up to your side. “that’s not right!” he gasped, squinting dangerously at riddle. any traces of earlier mortification gave way to whatever emotion he’s got on his face. “how could you sully yuu! they’re not a babysitter for your kid!” 

“what?” riddle seethed, head flicking from ace, to you, then to alice.

despite a look of great reluctance, deuce nods from the doorway still. mumbling to himself. “dorm… dorm leader has a child…”

you vaguely remember trey offering the dazed guy a glass of water.

“unconfirmed earlier, confirmed now.” cater adds unhelpfully to the blazing fire of riddle’s rising anger.

riddle’s teeth grind together, jaw clenching as his fingers tightened into a fist. it was more of one his attempts at calming down rather than preparation for a physical alteration. “I did no such–!”

“don’t be mad at mada.” alice reaches for him, tugging at his blazer which surprisingly, quells the reddening of his face. now, he just looks a bit confused.

alice turns their head slightly. “mada, you can calm down papa.”

deuce paused before dropping to the ground.

“AH! he’s dead. this is why you don’t betray us by keeping secrets, yuu!” 

“uh oh… trey help me with deuce… wait, should we just leave him? i mean, he’ll be just fine here, right?”

“... just take the other arm, cater.”

all the way back to the living room, riddle’s face remained tinged with warmth. alice, while reluctant to part with your embrace, seemed wholly pleased to stay by the other red-heads' side. insisting you sit next to him when you moved to sit by your two friends.

you obliged them despite riddle’s interest with the carpet.

the couch dipped at the weight of another. even so, the non-verbal conversation between alice, and riddle continued. the former pressed their lips together thinly, seemingly assessing the… youthfulness of the latter. they aren’t so used to this kind of look from him.

cater flinched, and look away from the flash of his phone. he elbows a dazed deuce.

“so,” ace cleared his throat, blinking his still wide eyes. “who the heck is this kid?!”

“language.” riddle chided sharply. though softened from its usual end even he isn’t so sure why it is from the mere presence of alice alone. 

“rule 13, always present yourself with appropriate language.”

“always present yourself with appropriate language.” alice repeated.

riddle squinted at a relaxed alice, who tilts their head as if to ask ‘what?’.

“genetics is crazy. what’s next, the kid beheads us too?” ace points between the two. 

alice shrugged. “only if you break the rules.”

“i do not have a child!” riddle protested.

“i am your child.” replied alice.

“apparently this one’s our kid.” you agreed begrudgingly.

riddle stares at you with a mixture of disbelief, and confusion.

darting between you and the kid like they're gonna start collating him in all his glory! sure, alice had red hair like him but quite a lot of people in the island have it too besides his relatives. the idea of… of him and you is just so out of this world that he can't wrap his head around it.

you? you who he hadn't paid attention to when you arrived at the ceremony? the very first person in that event that broke the rules? you, the very fading into the background student whom he believed to be a bad influence to his students ace, and deuce? 

you he had almost hurt beyond repair at the bursting of his control so tightly held in his hands?

the brief skip of his heart when your eyes meet over the head of alice is enough to send blood rushing to his head, coloring it with his signature red whose warmth doesn't feel like the usual simmering anger he struggles to keep submerged. if anything, this feeling is practically leaping out the water and baring his face to everyone. 

riddle does not look away. managing a look of what he tries to name as conviction but easily crumbles to fluster.

then the idea wasn't so bad considering this young child has proved to be raised dutifully, correctly without any worries of what he used to be burdened with as a child.

it gives way to curiosity. 

despite his incredulously, riddle queries. “the gardens.” he starts with a measured narrow to his eyes, not too intense to possibly upset this.. future child of his whose eyes are strikingly familiar enough to halt the normal circulation of his heart once more for half a second. “were you responsible for the destruction of some hedges I've come across?”

alice shrinks into themselves. “i'm sorry papa.” they pursed their lips, voice genuine by the lower tilt. “i thought i could use my card soldiers to look for you, and mada. you told me about this place called heartslabyul before?”

“i have?” riddle blinks. the idea isn't too bizarre, it's only natural to think back on such things.

they nodded. “yes, papa. you talk about it a lot on our friday’s. about how it looked, how you were as it's dorm leader…” alice peeks a glance at you. “and your parties with mada.”

“unbirthday parties.” trey corrects. “sometimes birthday parties if it really is someone's birthday.”

ace perks up. “let me tell you then! from first hand experience!” he blanched. like opening light about his own struggles in heartlsabyul magically meant the truth to riddle’s own kid. “labyul is really strict on rules. you know on my first day, I ate a tart and—”

deuce stirred slightly.

at riddle’s glare, ace visibly wilts to which cater snaps a picture with snickers. “I mean… the tart was really good, made by riddle and all…” he sweatdropped.

“you shouldn't eat a tart that is not made by you.” alice replied thoughtfully. riddle can't resist a light smile at her words, feeling a sense of accomplishment as he nodded along. his hand hovers for a moment before it pats down on their hair. “that's right. I must have taught you well.”

you absentmindedly patted their head, taking turns with riddle to do so while  expertly avoiding his gaze. “you said friday though, why?”

“on friday’s we don’t go out.” alice says.

“that isn’t a rule by the queen of hearts.” riddle points out.

“you made that rule papa.” they replied innocently. “in our home, so we get to spend time together as a family.”

silence reigns.

“wow.” you cough. sparing riddle an approving glance. that… sounded nice… domestic, and nice. you supposed even as an adult riddle would still have some sort of grip on rules, considering he grew up with them, it helped him live.

and now rules he shaped helped him live with alice, and you apparently. 

tick.

tock.

tick.

tock.

alice peers down at the watch they pull out from under their little adorable coat, oblivious to the stunned silence they left behind. hesitantly, they place a hand on your knee, legs swinging as they rest the other on riddle’s. “mada.” they smiled, this time widely. “papa. I gotta go.”

“what?” riddle's eyes widened. “you haven't finished your tart yet.”

“it's okay. I already ate a tart earlier, papa.”

“you can eat another, just this time. if you want.” he insisted, strangely worried.

cater raises his hand. “can I?”

riddle disagrees immediately. “no.”

muttering something about favoritism, cater looked away with a long sigh.

riddle's eyes lingered on the roundness of alice's face. from the shape, to the more detailed parts of their features. eyes, your eyes. the lushness of their hair, the soft curve of their lips tilted with innocence sends an unexpected grip in his heart, like it's heart stopping.

gosh. his heart just stopped. would he really have his own alice? his eyes darted to you. with you?

alice huffed lightly, skin glimmering lightly as their shade slowly grew transculent and faded with each blink of your eyes. “I can always eat papa's tarts. they're so delicious.” 

“don't use too much magic.” riddle scolded with a crease in his brows.

you add. “don't anger riddle too much.”

“please eat his tarts.” ace encouraged.

trey shot him a look. “don't teach alice bad things.” he sighed, glancing at said child with a smile. “I'll teach you how to make your own tarts, ask uh… future me?”

cater, not wanting to be outdone quickly perked up. “as a future magicam star, I'll make you one too. little alice!” he added, self assured of his future fame.

when it all settles, all that remains is a space between you and riddle that feels too little than vast. and a remainder of your future.

“atleast we know what name we'll choose.” you can't resist but tease. riddle does not blow up like you would have thought from your remark, only sparing you a look of feigned annoyance with warming ears that doesn't support the idea of his irritation.

he resigns to a small nod. “I am assured they are taught well.”

ace glances between you, and riddle. “I miss alice already. riddle seemed a lot more lenient with them around. you think they got embarrassing stories from the future?” he comments off-handedly, leaning back against the couch and blowing on the fringe over his forehead. “when are you guys gonna make an alice? please make one now.”

cater whistles out of there.

trey shakes his head.

deuce–still passed out is thankfully considered by trey, who dragged his limp body with a nod of goodluck to ace.

you waved at ace. F indeed.

wait! don't leave me, upperclassman! ace cried in his mind, feeling the panic splinter his state of mind.

“ACE!” riddle gritted his teeth. “i'll hand down my sentence, the verdict comes afterwards–”

ace paled.

“off with your head–!”

trivia

alice’s name is very much inspired by alice from the one and only: “alice in wonderland���.

their unique magic is called: under my decree which is simply being able to summon card soldiers, and command them at their will! (in this case, after being sent to a maze and finding their way out thanks to the hedgehog. alice was able to discern that this was heartlsabyul, and figured they might be able to find their parents here, hence, why they used their magic.)

alice is written to be a well-behaved 8 year old.

the watch is a nod to my previous commissioned work who also dealt with the concept of time travelling and related to going back (ha, ha).

alice woke up by the sound of a clock ticking, and knew that hearing it again meant that their time was up.

the entire thing happened due to alice helping untangle a fae who happened to get stuck in their gardens at the backyard while they were looking for a hedgehog that had not yet eaten (spoiler: hedgehog was hiding in a small crack under the tree) the same fae visited them at night whilst sleeping and granted them a dream of whatever they wanted to wish. alice, feeling swayed by the magic despite being not aware made a wish to fulfill it.

boom! baby rosehearts in your faces!

alice woke up and immediately said young riddle was funnily shy to yuu. much to the confusion of actual current riddle!

their favorite tart is: anything with strawberries, like riddle.

rule 13, and rule 102 are entirely fictional and made up by me… for plot purposes…

not deuce = is actually yuu

not yuu = is actually ace

not ace = is actually deuce

deuce been sleeping for the entire time lol.

ace got roped into fixing the gardens with the collar on  #thatswhatyouget

riddle invites you to study for the nearing quiz season the following day.

[red-viewe]

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days 😔

[red-viewe]

I miss (name).

Is a sentence he wouldn't even dream of saying 2 months ago. Leona, like usual- laid in his napping spot in the botanical garden, and if today was like any other day, he'd be fast asleep. And he swore, that today is was any other day.

But it wasn't. Because you weren't there.

At this time, you'd be here- talking his ear off about something he didn't give a flying fuck about- or napped right next to him- or doing your homework. But, you weren't. 

You were probably off doing another favour for Crowley, or cleaning up another one of Deuce and Ace's messes- but you weren't there, next to him. 

Leona shifted, staring at the tree above. 

Had he become soft? Is he so accustomed to your scent that he just…unconsciously associated it with peace? No.

He was never able to take his daily nap that day- and though that scared him- that you became some sort of a comfort to him, he couldn't deny that it was a fact.

[red-viewe]

Teeny tiny post about Leona's power levels because holy fuck I know he has a couple of years above the rest of the cast but I didn't realize he was that powerful.

I'll leave a cut because it does contain book 6 spoilers.

Ok so, Idia literally says in book 6 that Leona has a huge magic pool and his stats are pretty much high and even across the board because of his upbringing but holy fuck. He wielded a thunder spear all by himself???

It 'takes him a minute' to get used to the sheer amount of magic the thing holds:

And then he aims and fires it all by himself? The same spear that took all of Pomefiore + Yuu to aim because it was so damn hard to control (keep in mind Vil is also someone described as having balanced stats across the board). Yet this fucker just levitates it and fires it all on his own?? Get out. That's unhinged.

Fucking look at this. Jamil isn't even touching the spear.

This man's aura farming while everyone else is fighting for their lives.

Is Falena also this strong? Is he even stronger? Or is Leona just the embodiment of 'God gave me depression because if he didn't I'd be too powerful'

[red-viewe]

Glimmers of a Past Battle

She sees him like this for the first time. Not cheerful, mischievous, and ready for a prank, but a tired and blood-stained warrior.

The thin dawn light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in pale blue tones. Lilia entered, quietly closing the door behind him. He was tired, but not too tired to notice her freeze upon seeing him.

Her face paled, her eyes widened in horror.

Lilia paused for a moment, taken aback, before understanding the reason for her reaction. His armor, once gleaming, was now covered in blood. Dried blood darkened into stains on the metal, fresh blood still dripped, leaving crimson trails on the floor.

She couldn't look away.

Her breathing quickened, her fingers involuntarily clenched into fists. She had never seen him like this. Before, he had been like a light spring breeze to her—bright, playful, sometimes cunning, but always cheerful. And now, before her stood a man whose appearance spoke of him having just returned from the battlefield.

The air in the room seemed to thicken.

"Lilia..."

She didn't even realize she had breathed his name. Her voice trembled.

Lilia removed his gloves, then began unfastening his armor, slowly taking it off. He didn't look her in the eyes, but he felt her gaze, full of fear and incomprehension.

He was used to war and battles. She was not.

When he took a step closer, she involuntarily retreated. Just slightly, but enough for Lilia to stop. For a few moments, they simply looked at each other.

She saw before her not only her beloved, but also the general he once was. Her Lilia, always warm and caring, now resembled a silent shadow, bearing the imprint of war.

"Is that... blood?" her voice barely trembled. Lilia nodded slowly.

"Not mine."

She shuddered.

The world she lived in was far from the cruelty of war. She knew who he was, knew about his past. But knowing is one thing, and seeing is quite another.

He wanted to come closer, but stopped. He didn't want her to see him like this. For several long moments, they stood in silence. Then she stepped forward. Hesitantly, but firmly.

She raised her hand, barely touching his face, avoiding the blood stains. In her eyes, there was still fear, but something else mixed in. Understanding. She understood that this Lilia was also a part of him.

Lilia slowly exhaled.

"I need to wash," he said softly. She nodded, not looking away.

He knew that this moment would not be forgotten. But he also knew that she would handle it. She would accept him as he was. Even if her hands trembled and her heart clenched with anxiety.

He was no longer a general. But he was still a warrior. And she had to understand that.

[red-viewe]

Vegetable Trickery

Women are cunning creatures; they'll even make lions eat vegetables.

As it turned out, raising two little lion cubs was not for the faint of heart. Especially considering they took after their father not only in appearance but also in culinary preferences.

Leona had always been a meat lover. If it were possible, he would eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Vegetables? Who needed them anyway? This was his firm stance since childhood. And, of course, his children inherited the same passion for meat and an absolutely sincere aversion to anything that even remotely resembled greens.

Their mother, however, held a different opinion. She was a reasonable woman and understood perfectly that children needed a balanced diet for normal growth and development. But how do you explain this to two little stubborn lion cubs who clearly took their dad’s disregard for vegetables as sacred law?

Useless. Absolutely useless.

Every attempt to serve anything other than meat turned into a mini-drama. The twins frowned, suspiciously examined their plates, and literally sniffed to make sure there was nothing "dangerous" lurking in their food. And if they found the slightest hint of vegetables, the game was lost. They immediately shouted that the "green stuff" was unnecessary and demanded "normal food."

Leona, meanwhile, sat nearby, arms crossed, smirking smugly.

"You know they're right, don't you?" he'd say mockingly, lazily bringing a piece of roast meat to his lips. "Why do they need those grassy things when we have real food?"

She just rolled her eyes. And that's when a cunning plan was born in her head.

First, she started small.

Finely chopped onions and garlic in the meatballs—too small for anyone to notice. Then—cauliflower puree, cleverly mixed with mashed potatoes. A spoonful of carrot juice in the broth, a little more vegetables in the sauce.

And, lo and behold! They ate. They ate and didn't notice the trick.

She began to master new ways of secretly delivering vitamins into her cubs' bodies.

Meatballs? Add finely grated zucchini to the minced meat.

Sauce for the meat? Blend tomatoes, bell peppers, and eggplant.

Pancakes? Let the batter include pumpkin puree.

Meat pies? What if the filling is half mushrooms and spinach?

They ate everything. And praised it!

Leona too.

At first, she worried he'd notice. After all, he was an adult man, and with an excellent sense of smell. But he ate, suspecting nothing. And when he once praised the "especially juicy" meatballs that contained grated zucchini, she had to exert all her effort not to burst out laughing right at the table.

"See, Mom?" her son proudly declared, chewing a piece of meat. "Dad also knows that normal food is only meat!"

"Of course, dear," she smiled gently, trying not to give herself away.

Leona nodded approvingly and reached for another serving.

Weeks went by, and her trickery remained undiscovered. The children were happy, their health was fine, and even the king of the family himself ate vegetables, unaware of it.

But one day, everything almost fell apart.

That evening, dinner was especially delicious—stewed meat in a thick sauce with fragrant spices. Everyone ate with gusto until her son suddenly frowned and started digging in his plate.

"Mom, what's this?" he suspiciously poked his fork at something green, peeking out from under a piece of meat. Her daughter froze, squinting.

"Looks like... a vegetable!"

Silence fell.

The little lions looked from their plates to their mother. Leona, who was finishing his piece of meat, paused, watching the situation with interest.

"Come on, Mom," he drawled with a sly grin. "You don't mean to tell us you've been slipping us vegetables all this time?"

She felt a chill run down her spine. But she couldn't show her nervousness. She smiled her most composed smile and calmly replied:

"Of course not, dears. It's just greens for flavor."

Her son narrowed his eyes suspiciously but, finding no convincing evidence of the crime, shrugged and went back to eating. Her daughter also nodded, accepting the explanation.

Leona, however, looked at her with a squint.

"You're more cunning than you seem," he drawled, shaking his head. "Should have guessed earlier."

She put on an innocent face.

"What are you talking about?"

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair again.

"Alright. Since you're so cunning that you managed to fool even me, then..." he took another piece of meat and popped it into his mouth, chewing with pleasure, "...maybe it's not so bad after all."

She had won. The lions in her family ate vegetables. They just didn't know it.

[red-viewe]

Vegetable Trickery

Women are cunning creatures; they'll even make lions eat vegetables.

As it turned out, raising two little lion cubs was not for the faint of heart. Especially considering they took after their father not only in appearance but also in culinary preferences.

Leona had always been a meat lover. If it were possible, he would eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Vegetables? Who needed them anyway? This was his firm stance since childhood. And, of course, his children inherited the same passion for meat and an absolutely sincere aversion to anything that even remotely resembled greens.

Their mother, however, held a different opinion. She was a reasonable woman and understood perfectly that children needed a balanced diet for normal growth and development. But how do you explain this to two little stubborn lion cubs who clearly took their dad’s disregard for vegetables as sacred law?

Useless. Absolutely useless.

Every attempt to serve anything other than meat turned into a mini-drama. The twins frowned, suspiciously examined their plates, and literally sniffed to make sure there was nothing "dangerous" lurking in their food. And if they found the slightest hint of vegetables, the game was lost. They immediately shouted that the "green stuff" was unnecessary and demanded "normal food."

Leona, meanwhile, sat nearby, arms crossed, smirking smugly.

"You know they're right, don't you?" he'd say mockingly, lazily bringing a piece of roast meat to his lips. "Why do they need those grassy things when we have real food?"

She just rolled her eyes. And that's when a cunning plan was born in her head.

First, she started small.

Finely chopped onions and garlic in the meatballs—too small for anyone to notice. Then—cauliflower puree, cleverly mixed with mashed potatoes. A spoonful of carrot juice in the broth, a little more vegetables in the sauce.

And, lo and behold! They ate. They ate and didn't notice the trick.

She began to master new ways of secretly delivering vitamins into her cubs' bodies.

Meatballs? Add finely grated zucchini to the minced meat.

Sauce for the meat? Blend tomatoes, bell peppers, and eggplant.

Pancakes? Let the batter include pumpkin puree.

Meat pies? What if the filling is half mushrooms and spinach?

They ate everything. And praised it!

Leona too.

At first, she worried he'd notice. After all, he was an adult man, and with an excellent sense of smell. But he ate, suspecting nothing. And when he once praised the "especially juicy" meatballs that contained grated zucchini, she had to exert all her effort not to burst out laughing right at the table.

"See, Mom?" her son proudly declared, chewing a piece of meat. "Dad also knows that normal food is only meat!"

"Of course, dear," she smiled gently, trying not to give herself away.

Leona nodded approvingly and reached for another serving.

Weeks went by, and her trickery remained undiscovered. The children were happy, their health was fine, and even the king of the family himself ate vegetables, unaware of it.

But one day, everything almost fell apart.

That evening, dinner was especially delicious—stewed meat in a thick sauce with fragrant spices. Everyone ate with gusto until her son suddenly frowned and started digging in his plate.

"Mom, what's this?" he suspiciously poked his fork at something green, peeking out from under a piece of meat. Her daughter froze, squinting.

"Looks like... a vegetable!"

Silence fell.

The little lions looked from their plates to their mother. Leona, who was finishing his piece of meat, paused, watching the situation with interest.

"Come on, Mom," he drawled with a sly grin. "You don't mean to tell us you've been slipping us vegetables all this time?"

She felt a chill run down her spine. But she couldn't show her nervousness. She smiled her most composed smile and calmly replied:

"Of course not, dears. It's just greens for flavor."

Her son narrowed his eyes suspiciously but, finding no convincing evidence of the crime, shrugged and went back to eating. Her daughter also nodded, accepting the explanation.

Leona, however, looked at her with a squint.

"You're more cunning than you seem," he drawled, shaking his head. "Should have guessed earlier."

She put on an innocent face.

"What are you talking about?"

He chuckled and leaned back in his chair again.

"Alright. Since you're so cunning that you managed to fool even me, then..." he took another piece of meat and popped it into his mouth, chewing with pleasure, "...maybe it's not so bad after all."

She had won. The lions in her family ate vegetables. They just didn't know it.

[red-viewe]

Savannaclaw's Hot Nights

A girl's joke led to her hitting him with a pillow so hard he fell off the bed.

The stuffiness was unbearable. When she first stayed with him in his Savannaclaw dorm room, everything seemed... well, tolerable, sort of. As much as that's even possible in a dorm where the walls seemed to breathe heat, and the neighbors down the hall seemed to sweat even in their sleep.

Savannaclaw wasn't just a dorm. It was a real test of endurance. And not just of character, but also of resistance to the heat. His girlfriend quickly realized that people slept here, to put it mildly, in their birthday suits.

No t-shirt – that was still manageable. No pajama pants – well, it happens. But he was literally lying there in just his underwear. He flopped onto the bed with a lazy, "What are you staring at?" and settled in so comfortably, as if the heat was his best friend, and they hugged all night long.

She froze, like a cat before a pounce: eyes wide, her head in a mess, and her voice stuck in her throat. The only thing she could squeeze out was a quiet, "Do you... always sleep like that?"

He didn't even turn around. He just waved his hand. "It's hot. Aren't you sweating?"

An argument... you couldn't argue with that. Except he was really sleeping almost naked. Not a hint of embarrassment. Not the slightest suggestion that he should be ashamed. He just lived like that. Breathed. Spread out on the bed like butter in the sun. And slept.

Time passed. Second night. Third. Gradually, it became something ordinary: she'd come in – and he'd already be without a shirt. And then completely in his underwear. He might even lie on his stomach, arms outstretched, like a big, warm, and languid cat in the scorching sun. His chest rose and fell evenly and calmly. He slept so serenely, as if the whole world around him had ceased to exist, and only the pillow and a light breeze from the window remained.

At first, she blushed. She even turned away. Sometimes she tried to throw a sheet over him – which, by the way, annoyed him terribly. He grumbled, threw it off, and mumbled that he was hot. Over time, she stopped fighting it. Well, it was hot, and the body "needed to breathe," as he liked to repeat.

But one day, settling down next to him and letting her gaze slide over his habitually half-naked figure, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, what the heck, Leona," she said with a sly smirk. "Just take off your underwear already. Full zen, so to speak."

One second. Two.

That's where she messed up.

She never expected his ear to twitch. Not from irritation. But from clear interest.

Slowly, as if considering her words, he raised his head. There was no shame or embarrassment in his eyes. Only genuine thoughtfulness. And then – a mischievous glint.

"Hmm... Well, if you insist..."

"Wait, are you serious?!"

He grinned. One of those grins of his that just screamed: "Are you daring me or something?" Leona slowly reached for the waistband of his underwear.

"Leona. No."

"You're the one who said it."

"It was a joke!"

"But I wasn't."

And, to her horror and amusement at the same time, he actually pulled the elastic down. A centimeter. Then another. His face remained absolutely unperturbed.

After that, she acted purely on instinct.

The pillow flew off the spot and headed towards him with such speed that, if Professor Vargas had been nearby, she would have definitely received top marks for accuracy. The hit was perfect. Leona didn't even yelp – he just tumbled off the bed, crashing to the floor.

Silence fell. One second. Another.

"...idiot," she breathed out, and there was no anger in her voice anymore, only hysterical laughter.

A hoarse, almost purring sound came from the edge of the bed.

"Who's calling who names, herbivore? You were the one who suggested it first..."

He got up, rubbing his shoulder. His eyes gleamed mischievously, like a cat that had been chased from its favorite spot but was clearly going to return. She no longer tried to maintain a serious expression. Laughter burst out despite all her efforts.

"I'm going to kill you. With a pillow. I'll suffocate you. Right in those underwear."

"Well, at least I'll have underwear on," he snorted. "Consider it a compromise."

She threw the second pillow at him. The one she usually cherished. Leona easily caught it, jumped back onto the bed, and made himself comfortable.

And although they both understood perfectly well that they couldn't defeat the heat, these nights – with pillows, teasing, and his strange habit of sleeping almost naked like a lion in the savanna – became something familiar for them. Because it was theirs. Their personal madness, their comfort, their laughter.

And if she joked about his underwear again tomorrow – he would surely try to take them off again. Just to hear her squeal, laugh, and feel the impact of the pillow on his face. After all, that was the whole point of their strange, hot, but so warm love.

[red-viewe]

Savannaclaw's Hot Nights

A girl's joke led to her hitting him with a pillow so hard he fell off the bed.

The stuffiness was unbearable. When she first stayed with him in his Savannaclaw dorm room, everything seemed... well, tolerable, sort of. As much as that's even possible in a dorm where the walls seemed to breathe heat, and the neighbors down the hall seemed to sweat even in their sleep.

Savannaclaw wasn't just a dorm. It was a real test of endurance. And not just of character, but also of resistance to the heat. His girlfriend quickly realized that people slept here, to put it mildly, in their birthday suits.

No t-shirt – that was still manageable. No pajama pants – well, it happens. But he was literally lying there in just his underwear. He flopped onto the bed with a lazy, "What are you staring at?" and settled in so comfortably, as if the heat was his best friend, and they hugged all night long.

She froze, like a cat before a pounce: eyes wide, her head in a mess, and her voice stuck in her throat. The only thing she could squeeze out was a quiet, "Do you... always sleep like that?"

He didn't even turn around. He just waved his hand. "It's hot. Aren't you sweating?"

An argument... you couldn't argue with that. Except he was really sleeping almost naked. Not a hint of embarrassment. Not the slightest suggestion that he should be ashamed. He just lived like that. Breathed. Spread out on the bed like butter in the sun. And slept.

Time passed. Second night. Third. Gradually, it became something ordinary: she'd come in – and he'd already be without a shirt. And then completely in his underwear. He might even lie on his stomach, arms outstretched, like a big, warm, and languid cat in the scorching sun. His chest rose and fell evenly and calmly. He slept so serenely, as if the whole world around him had ceased to exist, and only the pillow and a light breeze from the window remained.

At first, she blushed. She even turned away. Sometimes she tried to throw a sheet over him – which, by the way, annoyed him terribly. He grumbled, threw it off, and mumbled that he was hot. Over time, she stopped fighting it. Well, it was hot, and the body "needed to breathe," as he liked to repeat.

But one day, settling down next to him and letting her gaze slide over his habitually half-naked figure, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, what the heck, Leona," she said with a sly smirk. "Just take off your underwear already. Full zen, so to speak."

One second. Two.

That's where she messed up.

She never expected his ear to twitch. Not from irritation. But from clear interest.

Slowly, as if considering her words, he raised his head. There was no shame or embarrassment in his eyes. Only genuine thoughtfulness. And then – a mischievous glint.

"Hmm... Well, if you insist..."

"Wait, are you serious?!"

He grinned. One of those grins of his that just screamed: "Are you daring me or something?" Leona slowly reached for the waistband of his underwear.

"Leona. No."

"You're the one who said it."

"It was a joke!"

"But I wasn't."

And, to her horror and amusement at the same time, he actually pulled the elastic down. A centimeter. Then another. His face remained absolutely unperturbed.

After that, she acted purely on instinct.

The pillow flew off the spot and headed towards him with such speed that, if Professor Vargas had been nearby, she would have definitely received top marks for accuracy. The hit was perfect. Leona didn't even yelp – he just tumbled off the bed, crashing to the floor.

Silence fell. One second. Another.

"...idiot," she breathed out, and there was no anger in her voice anymore, only hysterical laughter.

A hoarse, almost purring sound came from the edge of the bed.

"Who's calling who names, herbivore? You were the one who suggested it first..."

He got up, rubbing his shoulder. His eyes gleamed mischievously, like a cat that had been chased from its favorite spot but was clearly going to return. She no longer tried to maintain a serious expression. Laughter burst out despite all her efforts.

"I'm going to kill you. With a pillow. I'll suffocate you. Right in those underwear."

"Well, at least I'll have underwear on," he snorted. "Consider it a compromise."

She threw the second pillow at him. The one she usually cherished. Leona easily caught it, jumped back onto the bed, and made himself comfortable.

And although they both understood perfectly well that they couldn't defeat the heat, these nights – with pillows, teasing, and his strange habit of sleeping almost naked like a lion in the savanna – became something familiar for them. Because it was theirs. Their personal madness, their comfort, their laughter.

And if she joked about his underwear again tomorrow – he would surely try to take them off again. Just to hear her squeal, laugh, and feel the impact of the pillow on his face. After all, that was the whole point of their strange, hot, but so warm love.

[red-viewe]

Savannaclaw's Hot Nights

A girl's joke led to her hitting him with a pillow so hard he fell off the bed.

The stuffiness was unbearable. When she first stayed with him in his Savannaclaw dorm room, everything seemed... well, tolerable, sort of. As much as that's even possible in a dorm where the walls seemed to breathe heat, and the neighbors down the hall seemed to sweat even in their sleep.

Savannaclaw wasn't just a dorm. It was a real test of endurance. And not just of character, but also of resistance to the heat. His girlfriend quickly realized that people slept here, to put it mildly, in their birthday suits.

No t-shirt – that was still manageable. No pajama pants – well, it happens. But he was literally lying there in just his underwear. He flopped onto the bed with a lazy, "What are you staring at?" and settled in so comfortably, as if the heat was his best friend, and they hugged all night long.

She froze, like a cat before a pounce: eyes wide, her head in a mess, and her voice stuck in her throat. The only thing she could squeeze out was a quiet, "Do you... always sleep like that?"

He didn't even turn around. He just waved his hand. "It's hot. Aren't you sweating?"

An argument... you couldn't argue with that. Except he was really sleeping almost naked. Not a hint of embarrassment. Not the slightest suggestion that he should be ashamed. He just lived like that. Breathed. Spread out on the bed like butter in the sun. And slept.

Time passed. Second night. Third. Gradually, it became something ordinary: she'd come in – and he'd already be without a shirt. And then completely in his underwear. He might even lie on his stomach, arms outstretched, like a big, warm, and languid cat in the scorching sun. His chest rose and fell evenly and calmly. He slept so serenely, as if the whole world around him had ceased to exist, and only the pillow and a light breeze from the window remained.

At first, she blushed. She even turned away. Sometimes she tried to throw a sheet over him – which, by the way, annoyed him terribly. He grumbled, threw it off, and mumbled that he was hot. Over time, she stopped fighting it. Well, it was hot, and the body "needed to breathe," as he liked to repeat.

But one day, settling down next to him and letting her gaze slide over his habitually half-naked figure, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, what the heck, Leona," she said with a sly smirk. "Just take off your underwear already. Full zen, so to speak."

One second. Two.

That's where she messed up.

She never expected his ear to twitch. Not from irritation. But from clear interest.

Slowly, as if considering her words, he raised his head. There was no shame or embarrassment in his eyes. Only genuine thoughtfulness. And then – a mischievous glint.

"Hmm... Well, if you insist..."

"Wait, are you serious?!"

He grinned. One of those grins of his that just screamed: "Are you daring me or something?" Leona slowly reached for the waistband of his underwear.

"Leona. No."

"You're the one who said it."

"It was a joke!"

"But I wasn't."

And, to her horror and amusement at the same time, he actually pulled the elastic down. A centimeter. Then another. His face remained absolutely unperturbed.

After that, she acted purely on instinct.

The pillow flew off the spot and headed towards him with such speed that, if Professor Vargas had been nearby, she would have definitely received top marks for accuracy. The hit was perfect. Leona didn't even yelp – he just tumbled off the bed, crashing to the floor.

Silence fell. One second. Another.

"...idiot," she breathed out, and there was no anger in her voice anymore, only hysterical laughter.

A hoarse, almost purring sound came from the edge of the bed.

"Who's calling who names, herbivore? You were the one who suggested it first..."

He got up, rubbing his shoulder. His eyes gleamed mischievously, like a cat that had been chased from its favorite spot but was clearly going to return. She no longer tried to maintain a serious expression. Laughter burst out despite all her efforts.

"I'm going to kill you. With a pillow. I'll suffocate you. Right in those underwear."

"Well, at least I'll have underwear on," he snorted. "Consider it a compromise."

She threw the second pillow at him. The one she usually cherished. Leona easily caught it, jumped back onto the bed, and made himself comfortable.

And although they both understood perfectly well that they couldn't defeat the heat, these nights – with pillows, teasing, and his strange habit of sleeping almost naked like a lion in the savanna – became something familiar for them. Because it was theirs. Their personal madness, their comfort, their laughter.

And if she joked about his underwear again tomorrow – he would surely try to take them off again. Just to hear her squeal, laugh, and feel the impact of the pillow on his face. After all, that was the whole point of their strange, hot, but so warm love.

[red-viewe]

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 : ?

[red-viewe]

messages not sending (savanaclaw)

characters: leona kingscholar, ruggie bucchi, jack howl (separate) x gn!reader

warnings: probs ooc, one mention of suicide but not in a serious way

notes: had to sacrifice my mysmes stickers for this but i like making smau too much. this new app seems to be working fine otherwise. it doesn't really have any ads either so we love to see it