I like your theme it's so CUTEEEE
I saw one post and immediately followed 💖💖
I would like to ask for houswardens + leech twins who may find readers strange/funny laugh charming? (I occasionally snort like a pig when I laugh 😭 I've gotten extremely self conscious Abt it since someone pointed out- )
a/n: Thank you so so much for liking my writing hihi and many thanks for following me! Your order has been taken in and made, thank you for ordering and come again!
warnings: fluff, reader is a little insecure of their laugh, slight ooc
wc: 3.4k
The Heartslabyul library was usually a sanctuary of strict silence, punctuated only by the crisp turning of pages or the strict tapping of Riddle’s pen. You were sitting across from him, supposed to be going over the botanical classifications of Magicam-trending flora, but a poorly drawn illustration in an old text caught your eye.
It started as a suppressed snort—a sound like a squeaky toy losing air—before dissolving into a strange, hiccuping giggle that sounded remarkably like a deflating balloon.
Riddle’s pen froze mid-stroke. He looked up, his brow furrowing as his stormy grey eyes locked onto you.
You immediately clamped both hands over your mouth, your face flushing a deep, mortified crimson. "I-I'm so sorry, Riddle! I didn't mean to break rule 187 about decorum in study spaces, I just—"
"What was that?" Riddle asked, his tone clipped.
"Nothing! I'm sorry, my laugh is horrible, I know. It sounds like a broken whistle," you muttered, pulling your collar up to hide your red cheeks, desperately trying to shrink into your chair.
Riddle stared at you for a beat longer, the tension in his shoulders surprisingly loosening. He set his pen down carefully on its rest. He didn't yell. He didn't reach for his magic pen to threaten off-with-your-head. Instead, a faint, almost imperceptible flush touched the tips of his own ears.
"It is... highly irregular," Riddle began, his voice surprisingly quiet as he adjusted his collar. He looked down at his parchment, clear-headed and deliberate. "It certainly defies standard vocal cadence. However... you do not need to hide your face, [Name]."
"You don't have to be nice, Riddle, it's embarrassing," you mumbled into your hands.
"I am not being 'nice'. I am being accurate," Riddle insisted, his tone taking on that familiar, stubborn precision, though his gaze softened as he looked back at you. "The dorm is constantly filled with artificial pleasantries or loud, boisterous shouting. Your... outburst, as bizarrely rhythmized as it was, was entirely genuine. I find I... prefer it. It suits you." He cleared his throat loudly, suddenly deeply engrossed in his book again. "Now. Stop suffocating yourself and turn to page forty-two. And... if something is humorous, you may indulge. Within reasonable volume limits, of course."
The afternoon sun was pouring through the windows of the Savanaclaw lounge, making the room stiflingly warm. Leona was sprawled across his favorite leather sofa, a arm draped over his eyes as he drifted in and out of sleep. You were sitting on the rug nearby, flipping through a comic book Ruggie had left behind.
You hit a page with a ridiculous, nonsensical punchline, and before you could filter yourself, a loud, snorting wheeze tore out of your throat, followed by a cackle that sounded like a startled sea bird.
Leona’s ears twitched violently. He let out a low, irritated growl, pulling his arm off his face to glare down at you with heavy, golden eyes.
"What in the world was that hideous noise, herbivore?" Leona grunted, his voice thick with sleep. "Sounded like a dying hyena."
You immediately slammed the comic shut, your shoulders slumping in shame. "Sorry, Leona. I know my laugh is weird. I'll be quiet."
Leona shifted, rolling onto his side to prop his head up on his palm. His tail gave a lazy, rhythmic flick against the leather cushion. He didn't look angry; he just looked at you with that maddeningly perceptive, heavy-lidded stare of his.
"Did I tell you to shut up?" Leona asked, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, no, but you said it sounded hideous—"
"It is ridiculous," Leona cut you off, rolling his shoulders as he stretched out like a sun-baked lion. "It’s absurdly loud, totally obnoxious, and it completely ruined my nap." He reached down, lazily snagging the hem of your sleeve to yank you a few inches closer to the sofa. "But it's better than listening to everyone around here fake a smile just to get on my good side."
He closed his eyes again, resting his chin on his forearm, though his ears stayed relaxed. "Do it again, and I’ll throw you out the window. But stop making that pathetic face. Your weird noises are fine, herbivore. Now sit still and act as a windbreak."
Azul was meticulously calculating the week’s profit margins for Mostro Lounge, his quill flying across the ledger with practiced grace. You were seated at the small table in his office, tasked with sorting inventory receipts. To keep yourself entertained, you had been trying to stack small ink caps into a tower.
When the entire tower tumbled over in a chaotic heap, spilling tiny drops everywhere, a bizarre sound escaped you—a breathless, high-pitched wheeze that sounded like steam escaping a teakettle, ending in a soft snort.
Azul’s hand froze. Slowly, he looked up from his ledger, his glasses glinting under the dim, underwater light of the lounge.
"Oh gosh, Azul, I'm sorry," you quickly stammered, covering your face with your hands, your face burning. "I know, my laugh is hideous. I try to keep it in, it just slipped out."
Azul adjusted his glasses with the middle finger of his right hand, his sharp eyes examining your posture. The usual scheming, theatrical persona melted away, replaced by a strangely focused curiosity.
"[Name]," Azul said softly, setting his quill down. "Are you under the impression that I would judge you for an instinctual expression of joy?"
"Well... it's just really goofy," you muttered through your fingers. "People usually stare."
Azul leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his legs. A genuinely soft, amused smile touched his lips—not his business smile, but something far more rare and unscripted.
"People are utterly devoid of taste," Azul said smoothly, his tone laced with a dry, quiet confidence. "In a world where everyone works so diligently to maintain an elegant, carefully curated façade, a struggle I know all too well, mind you— hearing something so utterly candid, unpolished, and uniquely yours is refreshing." He leaned forward, placing his chin in his hand, his eyes sparkling with a subtle warmth. "It has a distinct charm, [Name]. I would prefer you don't stifle it in my presence. In fact... I consider hearing it a rather exclusive privilege."
You had accompanied Jade on one of his usual walks through the woods behind the campus, listening quietly as he explained the delicate ecosystem of wild mountain mushrooms. He was holding up a particularly odd-looking, spotted fungus, speaking in his smooth, polite tone, when he made a surprisingly dry, deadpan joke about its lethality.
The mental image was so absurd that you lost control. A sudden, snorting cackle burst out of you, echoing off the trees—a sound like a rusty hinge mixed with a seal bark.
Jade stopped mid-sentence. His heterochromatic eyes widened slightly, his sharp, predatory pupils shrinking for a split second before returning to normal.
You clamped your mouth shut, mortified, the forest falling dead silent around you. "I'm so sorry, Jade! That was awful. I know I laugh like a goblin, I really tried to hold it—"
Jade raised a gloved hand, interrupting you softly. A wide, sharp-toothed grin slowly spread across his face, far more genuine than his usual customer-service smile.
"Fascinating..." Jade murmured, taking a small step closer to you, his head tilting at a curious angle. "What a deeply peculiar frequency."
"Jade, please don't make it weirder," you whined, burying your red face in your sleeves.
"I am not making light of it, [Name]. I am thoroughly enchanted," Jade chuckled, his voice rich and low. He reached out, gently patting your shoulder with an unnerving tenderness. "Most people laugh in predictable, melodious ways that bore me to tears. But your laugh? It is entirely unpredictable, wildly expressive, and utterly impossible to replicate."
His eyes narrowed in delight as he observed your embarrassed reaction. "It is a marvelous sound. I do hope you won't hide it from me again. In fact, I shall make it my personal mission to find more things that elicit such an extraordinary reaction from you."
Floyd was currently draped over your shoulders like a giant, needy sea serpent while you were trying to play a silly handheld game in the Octavinelle lounge. He was sighing dramatically into your ear, complaining about how bored he was, when your character on the screen made a completely ridiculous mistake and fell off a cliff.
The ridiculousness of the animation caught you off guard, and a sound erupted from you that sounded suspiciously like a dying piglet squawking—a loud, wheezing gasp-snort that shook your whole torso.
Floyd went completely still against you. Then, he let out a loud gasp and whipped his head around to stare directly into your face, his heterochromic eyes wide with shock.
"Ah! Floyd, I'm sorry!" you squeaked, instinctively ducking away from him. "I know, I know, my laugh is embarrassing, don't make fun of me—"
Before you could finish, Floyd let out a booming, delighted laugh of his own, throwing his head back before suddenly wrapping both arms around you and squeezing you into a tight, back-cracking bear hug.
"Aahaahahaha! What was that, Shrimpy?!" Floyd crowed, rubbing his cheek roughly against yours. "That sounded so weird! Do it again! Do it again!"
"Floyd, stop, I can't breathe!" you wheezed out, trying to push his heavy arms off.
"No way! That sound was amazing!" Floyd whined playfully, grinning toothily down at you, his golden eye practically sparkling. "It sounded like a squished frog! It’s way better than how everyone else laughs. Everyone else sounds so fake and boring, but Shrimpy sounds super funny!"
He loosened his grip just enough so you could turn your head, though he kept his chin pinned tightly to the top of your head. "Hey, Shrimpy, laugh like that again. Come on, play the game again so you make that weird noise! If you don't, I'm gonna tickle you until you do!"
The Scarabia courtyard was filled with the rhythmic sound of instruments as Kalim showed you some of his favorite traditional songs. He was strumming an instrument enthusiasm radiating off him in waves, when he suddenly tried to execute a dramatic dance spin and tripped over his own silk carpet, landing flat on his rear with a loud grunt.
He sat there, blinking in surprise, looking completely fine. The sheer comedic timing of it broke your resolve, and a laugh bubbled up out of your chest—a weird, snorting, hiccuping mess of a giggle that sounded like a sputtering car engine.
You caught yourself almost instantly, clapping your hands over your mouth, your face burning up. "Kalim! I'm so sorry, are you okay? I didn't mean to laugh, especially not like that—"
Kalim sat up, his white hair a bit mussed. He didn't smile right away. Instead, he looked at you with a rare, quiet curiosity, his red eyes taking in your tense posture and the way you were desperately hiding your mouth.
"Why are you hiding your face, [Name]?" Kalim asked softly, pushing himself up off the floor and walking over to sit beside you.
"Because my laugh is awful," you muttered softly, looking away. "It's snorty and weird. People always laugh at me when I do it."
Kalim’s brows knit together in a gentle, worried frown. He reached out and gently pulled your hands away from your face, holding your wrists in his warm hands. The energetic, bubbly facade softened into something much more grounded and thoughtful.
"I don't think it's awful at all," Kalim said, his voice completely sincere, devoid of his usual over-the-top antics. "When you laughed just now, it sounded like you were actually, really happy. Not just being polite because I'm a housewarden, or because you're supposed to smile at a party." He grinned then, a warm, genuine expression that reached his eyes. "It made my heart jump a little! It’s like a secret song that only comes out when you're caught off guard. I love hearing it, [Name]. Please don't hide it, okay? I want to hear it all the time!"
The Pomefiore lounge was bathed in the warm, immaculate glow of polished crystal and gilded trim. Vil was sitting at his vanity desk, applying a light evening serum with precise, upward strokes of his fingertips. You were seated on the plush velvet loveseat nearby, tasked with helping him organize his upcoming schedule for an editorial shoot.
To pass the time, you were flipping through an old, candid photo album of the Pomefiore dorm that Rook had carelessly left on the table. You flipped to a page featuring a younger Vil during his early days at Night Raven College, captured mid-sneeze with his hair completely out of place and a comically betrayed expression on his face.
The contrast between the immaculate Housewarden before you and the ruffled boy in the photo was too much. A sound erupted from your throat before you could stop it—a breathless, loud snort-wheeze that sounded eerily like a squeaking rubber duck, ending in a breathless, hiccuping giggle.
Vil’s hand froze mid-pat. In the mirror, his sharp violet eyes narrowed into lethal slits. Slowly, deliberately, he set down his serum bottle, turned around in his chair, and crossed his legs.
"What," Vil said, his voice dropping into a smooth, dangerously quiet register, "was that horrific noise?"
Your heart plummeted. Mortified, you immediately slammed the album shut and slapped both hands over your face, your skin burning red. "I'm so sorry, Vil! I didn't mean to—I know my laugh is awful, it's totally ungraceful and embarrassing, I'm sorry!"
Vil stood up, his heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor as he glided over to you. He stopped directly in front of the loveseat, looking down at your crumpled, hiding form.
"Take your hands away from your face, [Name]," he commanded, though the harsh edge in his voice had softened into something far more regal and composed.
"No, it's ugly," you mumbled through your fingers.
Vil sighed, reaching down to firmly, yet delicately, grasp your wrists, pulling your hands down so you had to look at him. His expression wasn't disgusted or angry—it was intensely analytical, the same look he gave when inspecting a prospective actor's stage presence.
"Is it unrefined? Undoubtedly," Vil began, his violet eyes locking onto yours. "It lacks poise, it entirely shatters acoustic decorum, and it sounds remarkably like a startled waterfowl."
You winced, pulling back slightly, but Vil held your wrists firm, preventing you from hiding again.
"However," Vil continued, tilting his head, a subtle, highly refined smirk touching the corner of his painted lips, "it possesses something far more rare than simple elegance. It is entirely unedited."
You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
Vil released your wrists and took a step back, folding his arms gracefully over his chest. "I am surrounded twenty-four hours a day by people who practice their smiles in the mirror, who laugh at precise volumes to appear charming, and who hide every genuine emotion behind a mask of artificial perfection. I do it myself—it is an art form, and I excel at it."
He leaned down slightly, his gaze warm despite his stern posture. "But that absurd, wheezing sound you just made? It was completely, unadulteratedly real. There was no vanity in it. It was pure, unbothered joy."
Vil reached out, gently tapping the tip of your nose with a manicured finger. "Do not dare call yourself 'ugly' in my presence, [Name]. A lack of polish does not equate to a lack of beauty. Your laugh is wildly bizarre, yes... but it is strikingly genuine. And I find I am rather fond of things that refuse to fake their brilliant colors."
He turned back toward his vanity, his velvet robe trailing behind him. "Now, hand me that album. I need to see what on earth caused such a ridiculous reaction."
Idia was currently hidden behind his massive monitor setup in his dorm room, his fingers flying across his glowing keyboard as you sat on the beanbag nearby, playing a single-player cozy game he had recommended to you. The room was dark, lit only by the ambient blue light of his hair and the screens.
You encountered a glitch in the game where an NPC started vibrating violently and floated into the sky, and you completely lost it. A breathless, silent wheeze escaped you, followed by a wheezing, raspy chuckle that sounded like a rusty engine trying to turn over in sub-zero weather.
Across the room, the furious clicking of Idia’s mechanical keyboard instantly ceased.
"W-What..." Idia whispered, his shadow stiffening behind his high-backed chair. Slowly, the chair swiveled around, revealing his pale face illuminated by his blue flames, his yellow eyes wide behind his yellow-tinted glasses. "What kind of unearthly audio file just played in my room...?"
"Idia, I'm sorry!" you squeaked out, hiding your face behind your hands, mortified. "I know, my laugh is literally the worst. It’s so embarrassing."
Idia blinked, pulling his hood down tighter over his head, his face flushing a light violet. He slouched heavily in his chair, hugging his knees to his chest as he stared at you.
"Argh, no, don't—don't say that!" Idia stammered, his usual fast, stuttering rant taking over, though his tone lacked any real bite. "I mean—okay, logically speaking, from an audio compression standpoint, it was definitely... an outlier! A total deviation from the standard moe-anime giggles you hear in games! It was an absolute jump scare!"
"Idia, you're not helping," you groaned, sinking deeper into the beanbag.
"No, wait, listen to me, normie!" Idia squeaked, his blue hair flaring slightly brighter in his agitation. "I'm saying... it was top-tier! It’s like... finding an ultra-rare, unpolished easter egg in an old retro game! Everyone else does these super fake, practiced laughs, but yours is... it's totally authentic! It has a soul, okay?!"
He looked away quickly, crossing his arms and mumbling under his breath, his cheeks still burning violet. "It's... actually super cute, okay? So stop hiding your face. It's not like I'm gonna judge you for being weird. We're in my room. Being weird is literally mandatory here."
Malleus was visiting you at Ramshackle, sitting gracefully on the somewhat tattered sofa while drinking the tea you had prepared. The atmosphere was peaceful, with the soft ambient sounds of the night filtering through the windows.
You were telling him a story about a minor mishap Grim had caused earlier that day—how the direbeast had tried to jump onto a floating broom and ended up spinning around like a chaotic, blue-flamed ceiling fan.
As you reached the climax of the story, you couldn't contain yourself. A burst of laughter escaped you—a weird, snorting, hiccup-like cackle that shattered the quiet night.
Malleus’s long, green-tipped ears twitched upward. He paused with his teacup halfway to his lips, his slit-pupiled green eyes fixing entirely upon you.
You instantly froze, placing a hand over your mouth, the sudden realization of who you were sitting next to washing over you. "Ah... I apologize, Tsunotaro. That was wasn’t a very nice sound. My laugh is really strange." You admitted nervously.
Malleus lowered his teacup slowly to the saucer with a faint, porcelain click. He leaned forward, his magnificent horns casting long shadows in the dim light, but his expression was one of quiet, profound fascination.
"Strange?" Malleus repeated, his deep voice carrying a tone of gentle wonder. "In what way?"
"It's loud, snorty, and ugly," you admitted, looking down at your lap, embarrassed. "It doesn't sound proper at all."
Malleus let out a soft, low chuckle—a melodious sound—before reaching out. His long, dark-gloved fingers gently tipped your chin up so you were forced to look into his glowing green eyes.
"My dear child of man," Malleus said softly, his gaze brimming with an unexpected warmth. "For centuries, I have listened to nobles, scholars, and faeries speak to me with carefully rehearsed tones, laughing only when appropriate, and only in ways they deemed elegant. It is a monotonous, suffocating courtliness."
He smiled, a genuine, soft curve of his lips that made his whole face soften. "Your laughter, however... it is wild, untamed, and entirely honest. It sounds like life itself bursting forth without fear. I find it utterly delightful." He withdrew his hand, resting his chin on his palm as he looked at you fondly. "Do not stifle it on my account, [Name]. In truth... I would gladly listen to your story again, if only to hear that splendid sound once more."
a/n: id pay GOOOOOD money to see an ugly shot of Vil iwl
Do not steal/copy my ideas/writings, inspiration is okay but please credit me for all that's good. DO NOT use my writings to train ai or put in anything that has anything to remotely do with ai
ⓘcopyright, fic belongs to @velsettetine 2026 only on tumblr!
