Beast Prince & Tamer

- RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS:

Riddle Rosehearts' reaction to learning that Y/N, the one person who brought calm to his storm, is dead, would be a quiet, harrowing descent into devastation.

Riddle would go completely silent. No outburst. No trembling. Just stillness. He’d stare blankly at whoever told him the news, as if they were speaking another language.

“...What kind of twisted joke is this?”

His voice would be low, unsteady, too calm. Too forced. He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t. He’d walk to where she last was, expecting to see her reading a book or waiting by the garden gate.

When the reality finally cracks through his denial, the fury would follow. Not the usual fury over broken rules, this is raw. He’d snap at anyone who offered their condolences. Throw books off his desk. Destroy a tea cup or two. He might yell at Trey or Ace to “leave him the hell alone.” But then he’d stop. Because he’d remember how Y/N hated when he raised his voice unnecessarily. And the guilt would set in.

He’d go back to every conversation. Every moment.

“Did I scold her too harshly that day? Did I ignore her feelings?”

He’d read her last messages over and over. Riddle would even blame himself, because he's always blamed himself when something feels out of control.

He wouldn’t let others see him fall apart. He’d isolate himself in his room, clutching something of hers, her favorite tea mug/a pressed flower she gave him once.

At night, he’d cry. Bitter, quiet sobs muffled by his pillow or hands.

“You said you’d stay... You promised...”

He visits her grave/place where she was last seen. He’d bring her favorite tea. Set it down and whisper about how things are going in NRC. He’d speak formally, carefully, as if she might still be listening.

“I got perfect marks again... I finally learned to bake that tart you liked. It would’ve made you proud.”

He’d sit in silence afterward. For hours. Just.. sitting.

Riddle would never truly move on. He’d become even stricter on himself, more composed, less emotionally expressive, because losing her broke something that doesn’t heal right.

And sometimes... when the wind smells like garden roses or a tea blend she loved.. He’d smile softly.

“Y/N... are you still watching me?”

- LEONA KINGSCHOLAR:

Leona Kingscholar’s reaction to finding out that Y/N, the one person who saw him beyond the laziness, the bitterness, the crown he never wanted, is dead... would be quiet at first. But it would shatter him in a way even he can’t mask.

The moment Leona finds out, he would freeze. Not with fear, not even with anger, just.. emptiness. Like the world went still.

“You’re kidding.”

“No. She’s not—she’s not gone. Don’t say that.”

He’d laugh. A cold, bitter scoff under his breath. He doesn’t believe it. He refuses to. Because she was supposed to be his constant. The only one who looked at him like he was worth something, not because he was a prince, not because he was strong, but because he was just Leona.

He’d stalk off, as if to find her himself, as if this is all a sick prank. But the silence that follows everywhere he goes confirms the truth.

Leona wouldn’t rage.

He wouldn’t cry in front of anyone.

He would vanish.

For days.

No one sees him. Not in class. Not in the dorm. Not even in the Botanical Gardens. Not until Ruggie finds him sitting alone, in the shade of a tree, holding her favorite scarf—something small that she left behind.

He doesn’t say anything when Ruggie calls out to him.

He just looks down and mutters:

“She wasn’t supposed to leave first... That wasn’t the deal.”

Leona grieves like a wild animal that crawls off into a corner to die.

He doesn’t talk about her.

But he feels her absence in everything.

He sees her favorite snacks and looks away.

He hears laughter that sounds like hers and clenches his jaw.

He stops playing Spelldrive. Stops taunting others. Stops trying.

Because what’s the point now?

He used to pretend the world didn’t matter. Now he knows it doesn’t.

Eventually, it builds.

The anger. Not at her, but at the world. At fate. At the ancestors who gave him second place in everything.

“You took the only damn thing that ever gave a damn about me!”

He might break something in the dorm, roar until his throat goes raw, or punch a wall until his knuckles bleed. Ruggie might try to stop him, only to hear:

“Don’t. Just, don’t.”

He talks to her in his sleep sometimes. Low murmurs, like:

“Dumb herbivore... Why’d you leave me here?”

“You said you’d stay, didn’t you..?”

Sometimes, in the garden where they’d lie in silence together, he still shows up. But now he just stares at the sky, eyes distant.

Leona would never be the same.

He wouldn’t fall in love again, not like that.

He might tease. Pretend. But no one really gets past the wall anymore.

Because the only one who ever truly saw him already left.

And in the quietest hours of the morning, when everyone else is asleep... he still dreams of her. And when he wakes up: "Tch... just a dream.”

But he’ll lay there for a moment longer, gripping the bedsheet, trying to remember her voice just a little longer.

- AZUL ASHENGROTTO:

Azul Ashengrotto’s reaction to learning that Y/N, the person who had slowly, patiently warmed his guarded heart, was dead, would be a silent collapse, not a dramatic outburst.

He would freeze when the words reached his ears. Blink. Once. Twice. The weight of them wouldn't hit immediately. He’d repeat the phrase in his mind over and over, hoping there was some mistake. A miscommunication. An illusion. But it wouldn’t change.

His hands would start to tremble. Whether he was behind the Lounge counter, or at his desk in Octavinelle, he would excuse himself quietly, voice far too calm for the earthquake brewing in his chest.

Behind locked doors, in the safety of solitude, he’d break.

Azul doesn’t cry easily. He hates looking vulnerable. But for Y/N, who had seen his real face, both literally and metaphorically, his mask would crack. His legs would give out under him, and he’d sink to the floor with a soft, ragged gasp. Silent tears, the kind that burn but don’t scream, would trail down his cheeks.

He’d remember the way she always smiled when she entered the Lounge. How she never mocked him for being overly cautious or perfectionistic. How she saw the insecure parts of him and never once used them against him.

And now she was gone.

Jade and Floyd would notice. The Lounge would go oddly quiet for a few days. Azul wouldn’t eat much. He’d work to distract himself, over-scheduling his days until exhaustion claimed him.

But no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop seeing her beautiful face when he closed his eyes.

At some point, he’d sit by the Mostro Lounge aquarium, staring into the tank, whispering softly:

"You were the only one who saw me... and still stayed. Why did you have to leave too?"

Eventually, he’d tuck something of hers, a ribbon, a note, even a tiny doodle she left on a napkin into a hidden drawer in his office. He’d never tell anyone it was there. But he’d look at it when no one was watching.

Azul would continue on. He always does. But the quiet ache of losing Y/N would linger with him forever, like the taste of saltwater, impossible to forget.

- KALIM AL-ASIM:

Kalim Al-Asim's reaction to Y/N’s death would be heartbreak wrapped in confusion, disbelief, and a desperate refusal to accept the truth.

At first, he wouldn’t understand.

“What? No.. no, that can’t be right! You must be mistaken! Y/N was just—just hanging out with me yesterday!”

His voice would shake, but there’d be a smile still clinging to his lips, as if it could undo the horrible words.

Because Kalim’s world is bright. It has to be. He’s used to joy, laughter, warmth, he shares it with everyone. But the second it hits him that this wasn’t some cruel joke or misunderstanding... something inside him would shatter.

He’d stop smiling. His eyes would widen, glimmering with tears. His posture would slump, arms falling limply to his sides as if the joy was physically draining from his body.

“But... she promised we’d try that dessert together next weekend...”

His voice would tremble, high-pitched and broken, like a child who lost his favorite person in the world.

And then the tears would come.

Kalim would cry openly, loud, messy sobs. He wouldn’t care who saw. He’d cry into Jamil’s shoulder, clutching at his best friend like he was about to fall apart, because he was.

He’d keep repeating her name, memories flooding him in flashes, Y/N laughing at one of his jokes, dancing with him in the courtyard, giving him a handmade charm and telling him it would keep him safe.

And now she was the one who needed protecting, and he wasn’t there.

Kalim would visit the place where she passed. He’d bring flowers. Bright ones. Her favorites.

He’d talk to her like she was still there, sitting beside him.

“Hey, Y/N... I told you I’d throw the biggest party when we graduated. You better be watching, okay? I’ll make sure it’s so full of light, you’ll see it from the afterlife!”

He’d try, really try, to be cheerful again, because he believes that's what she would've wanted.

But his laughter would be quieter for a long time. His smiles wouldn’t reach his eyes.

He would carry her memory in his heart like a fragile lantern. And when the pain settled into a dull ache, Kalim would honor her by spreading even more light, twice the joy, twice the kindness.

Because if she couldn’t smile anymore, he’d smile for them both.

- VIL SCHOENHEIT:

Vil Schoenheit’s reaction to Y/N’s death would be silent devastation beneath a flawless, immovable exterior.

At first, he wouldn’t speak.

Not out of disbelief—he believes it instantly. But that belief hits him like a knife to the ribs.

“...I see.”

His voice would be flat. Too calm. His lips would tighten, his posture perfect as always. Not a single hair out of place. He would not allow anyone to see him fall apart.

But the moment he’s alone... the composure would crack, not in dramatic sobs, but in chilling silence. He’d sit at his vanity, stare at his reflection, and not recognize the person looking back.

“She was just here,” he’d whisper to himself. “That ridiculous laugh of hers... that calm gaze... How dare she leave without warning. Without letting me—”

His nails would dig into his palms. Not enough to break the skin. Just enough to feel.

Vil isn’t the type to scream, but his grief would turn inward, precise and punishing. He’d think of every conversation he cut short, every little gesture he may have missed. He’d replay the last moment he saw her—what did he say? Was he cold? Did he smile at her? Did he cherish her enough?

And the answer, no matter how kind he had been, would always feel like “not enough.”

He’d keep wearing his usual perfection like armor. If anyone asked, he’d say:

“She’s gone. Tragic, yes. But life doesn’t pause for grief.”

But his tone would be sharper. His compliments, rarer. His criticism, ruthless.

Grief would make him colder—not because he doesn’t care, but because caring hurts.

In private, he’d keep something small that belonged to her: a charm, a hand cream she once gifted him, a photo.

He would never cry in front of others. Never. But sometimes, at night, when the world is quiet and no one is watching, he’d place that item on his vanity and whisper:

“You were beautiful, my dear. Truly. Unforgivably so.”

And in his next public appearance, his makeup would be immaculate, his voice commanding, but his eyes would carry a new weight. A sharpness lined with sorrow.

From then on, when someone asked what beauty truly meant to him, Vil might say:

“It’s ephemeral. And that’s what makes it so cruel... and so precious.”

Because for him, Y/N would become the most exquisite, painful memory he ever carried.

- MALLEUS DRACONIA:

Malleus Draconia’s reaction to Y/N’s death would be haunting and heavy, like a fairytale turned tragic, with a dragon prince left alone in the tower.

When the news reaches him, the room falls deathly silent.

No one dares to speak.

At first, Malleus simply stands still, eyes wide, not in denial, but in pure, bone-deep stillness, as if even time is afraid to move forward around him.

“...She is gone?”

His voice is soft. Almost too soft. So calm, it’s unsettling.

Sebek may rush to explain—“There must be a mistake, Lord Malleus! She was just—!”

But Malleus doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

The world becomes muted, colorless.

"She was just laughing with me.

Just asking me to try ice cream again. Just listening so kindly.

Just smiling."

He whispers something in a language no one else understands, something ancient, something lost.

And then.. The wind begins to howl.

Clouds gather over Diasomnia, heavy and rumbling. Lightning forks across the sky. Magic crackles like a storm on the verge of breaking.

Grief in a fae prince doesn’t look like sobbing.

It looks like a kingdom trembling under his silence.

He doesn’t lash out. He doesn’t destroy.

But something inside him breaks.

Malleus vanishes for days. Maybe weeks.

No one can find him.

No one dares.

When he finally returns, it’s without grandeur. No lightning. No storms. Just a heavy, quiet presence that feels older than the stars themselves.

He speaks less. Smiles less. The childish curiosity he once had is dimmed.

“I see now... why humans are so desperate to cherish fleeting things.

You were... too fleeting, Y/N.”

He visits the place where she died. Not just once. Often. Sometimes with a single flower. Sometimes with nothing but silence.

Sometimes he speaks to the wind.

“Did you truly leave without saying goodbye? Or is this some cruel trick of fate?”

“...I would have waited centuries for you. I still will.”

In private, Malleus keeps little reminders of her: a trinket she gave him, a note she once wrote, even the memory of her voice.

He guards them like a dragon guards treasure, not out of obsession, but reverence. Devotion. Love.

And in the quiet moments, under the moonlight, he still talks to her.

“Wherever your soul wanders.. Know this: you were loved. By one who does not forget.”

Because for Malleus Draconia, whose life will stretch into eternity,