#leona

[gezupng]

HI GEZU DONO, I LIKE UR STYLE !!!!!

LEONA WOULD LOOK PERFECT IN UR STYLE!!!!!! SUCH A VIBE

✦✦✦ THANK YOU SM!!!!!!!^^

Here you go!!🦁 ✦✦✦

[dearingdoe]

leona and Grim,,,, my two favorite characters

[bluessmau]

Ignorance is Bliss

In which Fem!Reader does not listen to her boyfriend, the Housewardens, when he says that another student is flirting with her. Reader comes back after meeting with that student and apologizes.

Hurt/Comfort. Fem(AFAB and MtF-friendly)!Reader. Established relationship. Requested by Anon.

Riddle Rosehearts

Leona Kingscholar

Azul Ashengrotto

Kalim Al-Asim

Vil Schoenheit

Idia Shroud

Malleus Draconia

Tags: @waitlexist @ryebread0605 @im-no-mechanic-but @lazeriii @oldwokasiv @currapted1glitch0 @ppnuggie111 @enlightenedheir @mostro-lounge-menu @silverargentu @foxglovepng @maiiamoon @sweetlikevanilaaa @maomaoyuu @th30sstuff @kyuu0 @a-hidden-gem @mx-insert-fandom-here @echosofmortality

[kamapon]

I got a sudden inspiration attack

[lesly-oh]

My main from almost a decade ago

[himasgod]

LEONA X READER

Where you start to ask him to use his UM for you

Where Leona, always insecure and determined about the patheticness of his UM, begins to change after meeting you, an artist who creates glass and crystal figures, and asks him to use his UM to transform glass remains into sand

loved this one <3

Leona hated his Unique Magic. Always had.

Sure, people said it was impressive. The ability to dry anything, to strip it down until it crumbled to dust in your palm? Sounded like the kind of magic suited for a king. Ruinous. Untouchable.

But in practice? It was destructive. Useless. Unoriginal. All it ever did was reduce things into sand. Turn lush greenery into withered husks. Sap water from soil, drain warmth from food, crack even the air with its dryness.

He’d never found a good reason to use it unless he wanted something to disappear.

And Leona Kingscholar didn’t like being reminded that he was good at getting rid of things.

So when you first approached him about it, out of the blue and way too bold for someone who barely knew him, he looked up from the grass in the greenhouse with a deep, annoyed grunt.

“You want me to what, herbivore?”

You stood over him in that stupid art-stained apron you always wore, holding a cracked chunk of smoky, burnt glass in your gloved hands.

“I’m not asking you to blow anything up, geez,” you said lightly. “I just… need some sand.”

He squinted at you. “What, the beach too far for you?”

You smiled. “Yeah, and your sand is better.”

He blinked. “Come again?”

“The sand you make. From your UM.”

You lifted the shard to show him its jagged edge.

“See, this one’s ruined. The shape’s off, and it’s scorched. But if I grind it down, melt it again, I could maybe salvage it. But if you could just—turn it back into sand, I could get a cleaner rebatch.”

Leona sat up slowly.

“You want me to use my Unique Magic… on your garbage?”

You didn’t flinch at the edge in his tone.

“I want to try turning it into something new.”

Leona almost told you to piss off. Almost.

But you looked at that broken glass with such purpose in your eyes, like you believed something beautiful was still hiding in it.

And for some reason—maybe the sun was too hot, or he was too tired—he muttered under his breath.

King’s Roar.

The shard crumbled instantly, dissolving into a fine pale gold powder. Clean. Almost sparkling in the sunlight.

You crouched to scoop it into a container with a small, satisfied hum.

“That’s perfect,” you said, like you’d just watched a flower bloom.

He raised a brow. “It’s just sand.”

“No, it’s potential.”

Something shifted in his chest at that. Uncomfortable. Hot.

You came back the next day. And the day after that.

Always with cracked glass or ruined sculptures.

Always asking with certainty, “Can I borrow your magic again?” And Leona always acted annoyed, always rolled his eyes like he was being inconvenienced, but he never said no.

And eventually, you started bringing things back to show him.

Bowls blown in spirals of color, where specks of sand were like desert stars.

Sculptures that caught sunlight just right, making tiny rainbows on the greenhouse walls.

Or delicate little trinkets—a lion’s paw, a flower blooming in a dish—that you swore were just “practice,” but he caught you smiling when he lingered on them too long.

“Couldn’t’ve done this without you,” you said once, holding a jar filled with a swirling, amber-hued hourglass.

“Your sand’s smoother than anything I could get from crushing it myself. It melts cleaner. Glows brighter.”

Leona grunted. “You’re the one doing all the work. I’m just breaking things.”

“You’re not breaking anything,” you said. “You’re giving me a chance to start over.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

Because no one had ever said that before. Not to him.

Weeks passed like that. And slowly, Leona started to wait for you. Subtly. Not that he’d admit it.

He’d lie on the grass and tilt one ear toward the greenhouse entrance, pretending to nap while secretly hoping for your footsteps.

He found himself pocketing little broken pebbles on walks, wondering if you could use them. Once, he even caught himself thinking about what kind of glass he would be, if you ever sculpted him.

(Probably dark. Sharp. A piece that refused to be molded.)

One afternoon, you showed up carrying a bundle in cloth.

“This one’s for you,” you said, unwrapping it.

“I made it from the first batch of sand you gave me.”

It was a glass lion—small enough to fit in his palm, all sweeping mane and proud curve. Not flashy, but warm, like the sun on stone.

Leona stared. His mouth went dry.

“…Why?”

You tilted your head.

“Because I wanted to. Because I thought you deserved something that stayed, instead of just slipping through your fingers.”

That—hit something. Deep and buried

He closed his hand around the glass lion slowly.

“…You’re weird, you know that?”

You smiled. “You’ve mentioned it.”

But when you turned to leave, he spoke again, quietly.

“Hey… next time you’ve got something to ruin, come find me.”

You paused, a little smile blooming on your face. “Yeah?”

He shrugged, looking away. “Might as well make some use outta this busted magic, huh?”

For the first time in years, Leona Kingscholar didn’t think of his magic as something to be ashamed of.

Your voice was soft. “It’s not busted, Leona. It just needed the right hands to show what it could become.”

He thought of sand in your hands. And glass glowing gold.

And he felt—maybe—for once—

Useful.

[ceruleancattail]

Colliding into Leona and getting a nose bleed from the sheer impact of his chest-

And having him click his tongue and sigh, tail flicking left to right. At first, Leona’s first instinct to is chide you. Maybe tease ya’ a little bit. But the sweet, tantalising smell of your blood…. Is tempting.

Even before you could voice out an apology, he’s trapping both of your cheeks within the cool touch of his leather gloves. Leona leans in, his breath warm against your lips. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace for whatever the hell this lion plans to do…

Only to feel something wet, and rough slide across your skin, Leona’s tongue darting down your nostril, licking up the blood that spilled from your face. Kitten licks, careful stripes of saliva and spit. As if he was being considerable of how… rough his tongue was.

After he’s done, that pink muscle is darting across his lips, the crimson of your blood smeared across those thin lips like a demented, possessive lipstick. Swiping it off with a finger, Leona only presses it against your own lips, staining it a bright red as well.

Careful, Herbivore. Keep on being so sweet and one day, he’ll actually eat ya’ all up.

Watching your face twist into something rather disgusted, Leona chuckles softly. Man, you really are honest, aren’t ya? Well, if anything, the pink on your ears tells him that at least a little part of you didn’t mind that.

Glancing at your nose, Leona ensures that the bleeding subsides at least a little, before patting you on the shoulder, waving dismally as he walks off.

Go stuff some tissues up your nose. Later.