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gojos-thot-patrol · 2 years ago

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a let my demons get a little silly with it here

Now Loading, Kinktober Week Two...

Synopsis: Ryomen always got what he wanted, it was a simple rule of life. And ever since he caught your scent, you were all that he wanted- your previous bond mark be damned. And you must have wanted him too. Why else would your window be open in the middle of your heat? Kinks: Omegaverse, Breeding, Marking, Knotting, Scent, Dub-Con, Non/Con, Somnophilia, and Infidelity. Reader Discretion is Advised.

Sukuna was going to fuck you. He was going to have you on your back, legs spread as he filled you to the brim, breeding you like a bitch while covering you in his bite marks and scent. Sukuna was sure of this fact from the first time he caught your smell in the air, light and warm and made for him. You were made for him. It was only a matter of time until he took what was rightfully his.

The only problem was you were marked, and sadly, it wasn’t by him. Worse yet, it was by some weak asshole who barely even had the ability to mark someone. Some feeble excuse of a man who probably didn't know what to do once he got your panties around your ankles, much less what to do when you were in your heat. The only thing worse than you being bonded to that douche canoe, was knowing it only happened so you wouldn’t be bonded to him.

Okay, so “bonded” wasn’t really the right word there. “Sacrifice” was closer to the actuality of the situation, but still! You were literally destined to be his, and one asshole wants to play hero and fuck it all up? It drove him fucking mad, what right did that limp dick think he had to interfere? He caught himself clenching his fist and jaw. He needed to calm down before he hurt someone, especially since the only person nearby was you.

Sukuna watched from a distance as you lounged under your tree, finding comfort in the forest instead of the inherent danger you should feel. He had suppressed his scent enough he was sure you hadn’t noticed, your calm demeanor conveying that fact. He could have you right now, release his scent and take you where you sat. But, that wouldn’t have done anything about your bond mark. No, to take care of that Sukuna had to be patient. Which, was a real fucking drag because if there was anything Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t it was a patient man.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

He remembered the first time he encountered you. Almost a month ago now, while he was taking his regular walk through the woods. He could still feel the full body reset that happened when he caught your aroma, the smell of apple and clove working its way through his nervous system and grabbing his cock his heart in a chokehold. Suddenly, his lazy stroll through the woods was a hunt to find out what decadent creature had made such a perfume.

And that’s where he found you. Sitting contently in a floral field, making a fucking flower crown of all things, and surly waiting for him. He saw your hands falter and your eyes widen as he approached, no doubt because you finally picked up on his pheromones. He could feel the smirk forming on his lips.

“Well, what a nice surprise,” He hummed as he approached you, “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else out here.” You immediately fell into a low bow before him. Good, you knew your place.

“I’m sorry my lord,” You apologize, though you weren’t sure why. You knew of the warlord Ryomen Sukuna. You knew he owned your village, as well as the villages surrounding it. But to your knowledge he didn’t police who was allowed in the woods. Still, you’d rather not risk upsetting him.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here, all alone?” He asked, eyes tracing the way your back curved into the bow.

“My mate and I moved closer to the forest recently, I was exp-”

“Your mate?” The vitriol in his tone made your stomach revolt and ignited your fight or flight system. You didn’t even know what you had done wrong.

“Y-yes?”

“Stand up, look at me.” He demanded. You did so without hesitation, your omega body naturally inclined to follow the alphas commands. When you did, you were hit with a fresh wave of his aura, the smell of whiskey and cinnamon filling your senses and making your joints feel weak. You were caught between your need to honor your bond mark, and the need to fall to your knees for the man in front of you. You whimpered softly as he grabbed your chin and shoved your head to the side.

Sure enough, right there on your scent gland were faint teeth shaped scars. If he wasn’t specifically looking for them, he wouldn’t have seen them at all. Still, the fact it hadn't been refreshed didn’t negate the fact that it was there. You were unequivocally spoken for.

“You don’t smell marked.” He scoffed as he released your head, taking a step back.

“It’s new…” You muttered. He may not have been able to smell your mate, but the stench of a lie was familiar to him. Especially one as piss poor as that.

“If it’s new then you should reek of him, Wench, don’t lie to me.” He growled. You looked down as your shame rolled over you.

“He’s a beta.” HE’S A BETA?! Sukuna had felt rage a lot in his life. Some may even say it was his default setting. But the rage he felt at being cucked by a beta was unlike anything that he had felt before. He felt his fingers twitch with the need to wrap around someone's neck, and the urge to burn down this entire forest was a hard one to fight. He choked back his molting hot fury with a simple reminder: Beta bond marks don’t mean shit. He could easily still have you. He just had to wait for your next heat cycle to do it, when your hormones were high and looking for something more…substantial, then a betas nub.

“How cute, being mated to a beta. I��m sure you’re crazy for each other.” He sneered. You wished. Leaving every heat cycle woefully unsatisfied and frustrated might have been worth it if you had actually loved the man. If your union to him wasn’t purely survival.

“He provides.” You settled on a half truth to keep from lying, one Sukuna definitely picked up on.

“What’s your name Omega?” He demanded.

You told him your name in a soft whisper. Cute name. He’d be sure to have his servants look into you and your records.

“Well Omega,” He said, making a point not to use the title given to him. To remind you what you were. “You should probably get back to your beta. It’s not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be out in these woods alone.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that was a warning and a threat, the edge in his words making that much clear. You nodded to the warlord, before making your way home. You fought the urge to sprint with everything you had in you, knowing better than to activate his prey drive.

He watched as you did, noting your refusal to run. Smart girl. He could feel his mouth watering as he watched your hips sway, and his body buzzed with the need to have you under him. He took a deep breath to recollect himself before making the walk home. He’d have you soon enough.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

He kept a close eye on you in the weeks that followed. Learning about how your marriage was arranged through his servants, and how your marriage was failing from watching you. To your credit, you did try in earnest to make it work. You were the perfect mate. You kept a tidy home, always had dinner ready, and were always happy to get on your back for your husband.

And yet it did nothing. That asshole still acted as if he was gods fucking gift for “saving” your life, and as if you didn’t do enough. Dinner was never right, there was always an issue with the house, and every morning Sukuna could smell your dissatisfaction from the night before- still rolling off you in waves. It was pathetic that a creature as divine as you was wasted on swine like him. The good news was that your scent was evolving. As the leaves changed colors your fragrance got thicker, and sweeter in some aspects. You clung to your beta even if he was woefully unequipped. Your heat was coming.

A fact you were all too aware of. You could feel it pooling in your stomach and feverish on your skin. The effects were already starting, and you knew this one was going to be hell. Your mate thrashed in between your legs, chasing his high in you. You felt close, so close. Your body was trembling with anticipation, electricity buzzing under your skin. All you needed was his knot and-

He pulled out of your quivering cunt, cumming on your stomach with a guttural moan. Oh, right. He didn’t have a knot. You whined as he painted you white, wanting to snap at him for wasting his load. You held back though, knowing that, in reality, the last thing you wanted was his pups. You watched as he rolled off the bed and grabbed his pants.

“W-wait, but Naoya-” You panted, “I’m so close, please-”

“You’re gonna have to finish yourself, I’m gonna be late for my train.” Your “mate” groaned as if you were an inconvenience.

“But…” You whimpered, then let it go. You knew better than to argue, and besides. Your climax was already fleeting. “Do you have to go?” You asked softly. You understood that, as a beta, Naoya couldn’t sense when your heat was coming like an alpha could. You accepted that. What you found hard to accept was that he still planned a business trip during your heat cycle, despite you explicitly telling him that you would need him.

“Yes, Sweetie,” He said it with so much ire and hate, you would have rather he called you a bitch. “This is my job. It doesn’t stop because you’re horny.” He snapped, tired of having this conversation again. His venom shut you up. You watched as he quickly got dressed, then grabbed his bags and rushed for the train station. You fought tears as you went to clean yourself up. Were you really so unloveable?

You often wondered what the worse fate was, being sacrificed to Ryomen Sukuna or being trapped in a loveless pair bond. For years you knew without doubt it was being sacrificed to the warlord. You were always grateful to your father for selling you to the beta, saving you from what would no doubt have been a cruel and untimely death. Naoya may have been cold at times, but surely he wasn’t as bad as Sukuna.

Or at least, that’s what you used to think. Before you had actually met the man, and felt the way your body reacted to his presence alone. Suddenly, the so-called king of curses invaded your every thought, and life trapped in a passionless marriage felt like a prison sentence. You thought about Sukuna constantly, especially in the days leading up to your heat. You chased his faint scent on the wind, traced his markings in your dreams, and envisioned him to endure your husband's advances.

It left you a wreck. Especially now, as night fell and your body temperature rose. Your fingers were doing absolutely nothing for you, and wouldn’t for at least the next week. Which, was rather conveniently when your husband was due to return home. You knew your heat bothered him, but you never knew it bothered him this much. Resentment grew in you the more you thought about it. If he didn’t want a fucking omega, then why the fuck did he pay for one?

You tried not to think about it as you opened your window, hoping the cool night air would do something to help cool down your feverish skin. You lived far enough away from the other villagers you didn’t really have to worry about a wayward alpha finding you. And at this point, you weren’t sure you would care if one of them did.

You settled into your nest, albeit a bit reluctantly. The faint smell of your mate clung to it, and despite your bond mark it brought you little comfort. More just frustration. It didn’t smell right anymore. You quickly took off your sleep pants, finding them unbearably hot, leaving you in just a tank top and soaked panties as you drifted off to sleep.

Sukuna could try and say that he was just out on a stroll to enjoy the moonlight. That he enjoyed the peace that the dark brought with it, and was only out to clear his mind. He would be lying. The truth of the matter was Sukuna had been keeping tabs on you. And while your bitch of a mate may have been inflicted with brain worms, Sukuna was not. He knew you were alone, and in heat. And he fully planned to take care of you, in ways your beta couldn’t dream of doing.

Walking to your little shack at the edge of the woods felt like wading into a warm lake, your trail becoming thicker and thicker in the air as he made his way to you. It was intoxicating, and he couldn’t stop the visions of you whimpering underneath him from entering his mind. Needy and alone, fuck. He could feel his blood rushing in his veins as your scent laced into his senses and his psyche, and his cock ached for you.

He wasn’t shocked to find your window open. Of course your window was open. You were waiting for him, your true mate. That fucking beta be damned, you wanted him, why else would the window be open? He crawled into your room on instinct more than much else, your body calling to him like a siren's song. The reality of your heat hit him like a train as he took in your visage. Sleeping not-so-peacefully in your marital bed, mindlessly rutting into a pillow drenched with your slick. He fucking hated that you were reduced to fucking pillows.

He was right here, you just needed to let your proper alpha take care of you. Let him protect you, let him fuck you until you can’t walk, let him fill you to the brim- until you’re overflowing, let him fix the fucking stench of your nest. He was on your bed and spreading your legs before he even fully realized what he was doing, ripping your slick drenched panties off of you. On a normal night, he would have touched you and known you were burning alive with a fever. But tonight? He was molting lava with his own forced rut, and he didn’t even notice yet.

Mates don’t need to ask before taking care of their mate in heat, so he doesn't even bother waking you up before shoving two fingers into your weeping pussy to get you ready for him. You whine out softly, back curling off of the bed as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you sharply. He smirked as he curled his fingers up, listening to your breath catch in your throat.

“Fuck, Sukuna..” You whimpered in your sleep. Of course you called out his name, you were his omega. You chose him, you were meant to be with him. Soon, there would be no doubt about that. After he covered you with his scent, after he marked you as his and only his, and when your stomach was swollen with his pups- pink haired, four eyed and undeniably his.

He shrugged off his robe, his rock hard cock burning with need and dripping pre-cum. He ran his dick up your slit, gathering your divine slick on his angry red tip. He felt the tension in his shoulders finally dissolve as he pushed into you, finally at home where he was supposed to be. He growled as he sunk in to his base in one swoop.

You jolt awake with the sudden intrusion, your cunt torn between pushing the intruder out and sucking him in deeper. “Wh-wha…?” You were given no time to try and catch up to the situation before the assault on your g-spot started, leaving you a moaning mess. Sukuna lifted your hips, holding your body with just his forearms as he changed the angle he fucked you in to fuck you deeper, harder. He needed it to take.

You looked up and saw a shock of pink hair and sharp tattoos through bleary eyes. On the surface your body revolted, knowing this wasn’t your mate and he was not meant to be touching you. But something deeper, more primal rejoiced at feeling the alphas fat cock. “Fuck, fuck, more..” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts. You could feel his knot swelling inside you and all you wanted was him. Nothing had ever felt more right.

Sukuna had fucked a lot of omegas during his ruts. He ran through whores like they were nothing. But none of them had ever felt like this. Your pussy was made for him, so perfect as it milked his cock. Your body reacted to him perfectly. You were made to be his. You were his. Every inch of your skin, every breath you took, every smile you gave you were his. He’d prove it. He grabbed you in a bruising grip as he bent over you, capturing you in a demanding kiss and taking what little breath you had away in a clash of teeth and tongues. You belonged to him.

He growled lowly, as he pulled back, throwing your ankles over his shoulders as he pressed his body weight into you, folding you in half. “Fuck, you’re so good,” He groaned, “So fucking tight for me Baby Girl. Gonna knot you, fill you with my pups,” You didn’t know if he was talking to you or himself but it didn’t matter. A thought that should have been deeply revolting to you as a marked woman had never sounded more euphoric.

“Yes, please,” You begged into his ear, “Fuck me, it’s s’ good. Fill me, I- I need you.” you slurred together whatever words you could grapple with. You felt drunk on the feeling of euphoria, you almost forgot sex could feel so good. Your words, albeit a bit jumbled, electrified the part of Sukuna’s brain that had already decided he was your mate. You didn’t just want him, you needed him. You needed him. Of course you needed him, you belonged to him. You were his and his alone.

His his his his-

Then he smelled it. In the sea of apple, clove and cinnamon whiskey a sharp mildew scent hit his nose. The fucking mold of your “bond mark.” Sukuna saw fucking red, his body seething with rage as he remembered you weren’t truly his. No matter how deep he fucked his seed into you, or how much of his skin touched yours, you weren’t his.

Not yet anyway.

He plunged his teeth into your scent glands, right over your previous bond mark. You howled as he did, a wave of ecstasy rocking its way through your heated body and decimating your shocked nervous system as you came all over him. Aftershocks of your orgasm pulsed through your cunt in time with his thrusts, sending static electricity through your needy body. You instinctively dug your fangs into Sukunas scent glands, an act you were never able to perform on your (former) beta mate.

The relief that washed over him as you completed the bond mark was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it left him in ruins. Cumming deep inside you, painting your womb white. The warm feeling he filled you with actually worked to (somehow) cool the raging inferno in your bloodstream, and you finally found relief from the hell you had been in.

You stayed connected, him holding you close while he waited for his knot to deflate. You thought about Naoya. You had never been able to properly mark him because he didn’t have scent glands for you to mark. It met you were never really bonded, not like how you were bonded to Sukuna now. But, he was technically still your husband. This was his house and his bed you were getting fucked by a perfect stranger in. How would he react when he found you here with the warlord that owned the land? Would he find you here?

Would you regret it?

You didn’t have time to really consider the ramifications of your actions before Ryomen was moving inside you again, and the last thing you wanted to think about was the boy that abandoned you. You whined underneath him, bringing your hands to tangle in his hair. He pressed his forehead to yours in response.

“Still with me Omega?” He asked as he started to pick up the pace, making you whine underneath him.

“I’m here my lord,” You mumbled softly.

“Good,” He punctuated the word with a sharp kiss before straightening up, “Cause it’s gonna take more than just that to knock you up.” He chuckled as his hips started to piston into yours, setting a punishing pace. The natural curve of his cock was seemingly designed to bully your hypersensitive g-spot, stimulating your body back to life as you gripped the sheets under you.

“Aww, look at my pretty little omega,” Sukuna cooed mockingly as he fucked his cum back into you, “All fucked out and full. Feels good to actually cum after spending so much time with a limp dick, doesn’t it slut?” Apparently, all it took was him getting to cum once for him to find his voice.

“So good, so fucking good.” You whimpered, “So big, so full…” And you had no problem feeding into it. His claws dug into your hips, leaving bruises defined enough you could take his fingerprints off of them. He watched the way your tits bounced as you tried to feebly hold onto the sheet, attempting to ground yourself however you could. He watched his bulge appear and reappear in your stomach with every thrust. He watched the way your skin glistened in the moonlight, begging him to mark it. He watched the way your eyes fluttered and glazed over with dazed pleasure.

But the real show was happening where the two of you were connected. Where your slick coated his cock, creating a foamy ring around the base. Where your natural lube mixed with his load, making the most vulgar sounds as he fucked your quivering cunt. God, he couldn’t have asked for a better mate.

Your warm pussy hugged him perfectly, begging him for more and pulling him even deeper into you with every thrust. Every movement of your hips sent a wave of euphoria through him, and he desperately chased both of your highs. He wanted to see you cum. He didn’t get to the first time.

He wouldn’t make that mistake again. You were finally finally his after months of coveting you. Of watching you, of needing you wanting you, of imagining you, you finally belonged to him. He was going to see what you looked like when you came for him god damn it!

“You gonna cream for me again Sweetheart?” He growled, “Squirt all over my dick like a good girl? I know you are, I can feel it, fuck-” His words fell apart on his tongue as you clenched around him. Stars blotted out your vision as your second climax started to creep up on you, slowly tingling up your spine and taking over your body. You bucked your hips into his erratically, chasing the high only he could give you. Sparks of bliss exploded under your skin as you felt him start to swell again.

And suddenly he felt way too far away. You needed him closer. You needed his scent, his skin, him. You ripped one of your hands away from the bedsheets and reached out, trying to communicate what you wanted. His head tilted to the side and he scoffed as he looked at your outstretched hand.

“Words slut, what do you want?” He growled.

“My mate.” You whimpered. He was immediately leaning down to you, pressing his chest to yours and letting your fingers intertwine with his. How could he deny you your mate? Your body exploded into a thousand sparks of ecstasy where his skin ment yours. His scent wrapped around your senses like an old blanket, cozy and familiar and safe. You whined softly and closed your eyes to embrace for impact.

“No.” He growled, using his free hand to pull your hair and force your eyes open, “Look at me.” He demanded. Your watery eyes held his fiery ones as you moaned pathetically under him.

“I’m so close..”

“Then cum for me.” The floodgates opened and you were suddenly drowning in a sea of ecstasy and dopamine. Your hips thrashed against your will and your legs shook like the last leaves on autumn trees. You swore you saw entire galaxies be born before your eyes as you were hit with one of the hardest climaxes of your life. Your eyes watered as they looked into his, your skin felt flushed against his touch, and your grip on his hand tightened.

“Fuck, Ryomen…” He hadn’t heard his first name spoken in years. His body slammed into yours as his own climax hit him with a brick. He fucked you as best as he could through his knot, riding out both of your highs as he filled you to the point of overflowing and then some. His entire body was racked with euphoria as he came harder than he even thought possible.

He collapsed on top of you, rolling you both to the side so he didn’t crush you with his body weight. For a while, the only sound was of the two of you trying to catch your breath. You felt his arms wrap around you and calloused hands rub your back gently to sooth you. He kissed your neck almost sweetly.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart,” He praised in a whisper, one soft enough the wind threatened to take it away, “So good for me.” It made your stomach flutter. His presence was instantly calming, much more so than your ex’s. You might have even fallen asleep, if you didn’t feel him start to move again, still rock solid inside of you.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Your body was sore the next morning when you woke up, but the fever had subsided for now, finally giving you room to breathe and think about literally anything other than lust. The first thing you noticed was that you were not at home. You jolted up in bed, a soft whimper leaving your throat.

“Silence, woman.” That was when you registered the body next to you in the bed. You looked over to see Ryomen, fully annoyed at being woken up. “You’re safe. I’m here.” He grumbled as he pulled you back into his side. You weren’t sure what was more impressive, that he managed to return to (what you assumed was) his home after last night, or that he managed to carry you with him.

“Sukuna-”

“Ryomen.” He corrected you with a dangerous growl. You paused, a bit taken back.

“Ryomen,” You accepted the correction, “what happens now?”

“Hopefully you go back to sleep.” He sighed, irritated to have been woken up at the ungodly hour of 12 pm. While he was still in rut no less! He didn’t get a lot of chances to sleep during this time, and neither did you. You needed the rest.

“No, I mean with…with,” You didn’t know how to put it.

“What, you mean your cuck ex? Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t hide that he was irritated with you for bringing him up first thing in the morning.

“....Is he going to be hurt?” You asked softly. Sukuna felt his lip twitch.

“If I have it my way, yes.” He didn’t mince words. Why the fuck did you care so much about that loser anyway? You thought about your mates words, then nodded.

“Good.” You said, finally settling back into Ryomens arms and relaxing into him. He didn’t hide the smile that tugged on his lips. He knew he loved you.

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thank you lovlies, for supporting my work! @sk8ttles, @blkkizzat,@littyasatittyyy,@ketchupsush1 and @risuola

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mydearestbeloved · 6 months ago

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Chapter 5 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was supposed to be a peaceful—boring—day. You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, feeling the tension in your muscles ease as you walked back from the raid you had been sent on as support by the Hunter's Association. Healing a few injuries here, casting some support spells there—typical stuff. A cozy evening of spoiling your children at your Gardens awaited, and maybe you’d even treat yourself to some well-deserved rest.

You let your guard down for just a moment, something you rarely did outside your domain. And perhaps, you shouldn’t have.

The first thing that went wrong was the collision. You hadn’t even sensed anyone nearby, which should have been impossible. Your senses were too sharp, finely tuned from years of surviving the system’s trials.

The second thing that went wrong was that you stumbled backward from the impact—an almost absurd realization, given your strength and agility.

You could’ve been able to catch yourself immediately, but before you could react, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you.

The third—and most unsettling—thing was the face that came into view as you were pulled flush against the person. Your eyes shot up, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Stormy grey eyes stared down at you, too close, too familiar.

There, standing before you with an unreadable expression, was Sung Jinwoo.

Your mind went blank for a split second before you quickly masked your surprise with a polite smile—a customer service smile, the one you used to deal with awkward situations. What the hell was this situation? A K-drama plot twist? You fought the urge to groan. There was no way he would recognize you. You had worked hard to stay anonymous, to keep your involvement in his life strictly hidden. This was just an unfortunate run-in, surely—

And just as you were about to step away, you felt it—the familiar tug in the back of your mind.

Damnit, you cursed internally, your blood running cold.

"'Trial Player,' huh?” Jinwoo’s voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a dangerous curiosity in his tone. The strange glint in his once stormy eyes, now glowing in a sharp blue, set your nerves on edge. “Interesting title.”

Of course, the system wasn’t done. It never was.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name).

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty... quite costly.]

[To not disrupt the predestined events of this world too much, things that should be kept a secret by the Trial Player include:

- True origin

- Prior knowledge of this world.]

[Reminder to watch your words, Trial Player.]

You swallowed hard, mind racing. You were treading on dangerous ground. The glint in Jinwoo’s eyes wasn’t the detached curiosity of someone stumbling upon a stranger; it was the look of a predator that had cornered his prey.

“It’s… complicated,” you managed to say, trying to buy yourself some time as you mentally sorted through your options.

“I have time.” His voice was as calm as ever, but the weight behind those words made it clear—he wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t going to let you go, until you explained yourself. And of course, he had. You knew his schedule better than anyone else—You hold back wince; you sounded like a stalker just now.

His eyes never left yours, and the weight of his stare was almost suffocating.

Your eyes darted around the street. Too open. Too public. If you were going to spill even a fraction of the truth, you needed privacy. “...Follow me,” you said, steeling your nerves. There was no escaping this encounter now, but at the very least, you could control where the conversation would take place.

Jinwoo’s lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile, as if he’d already won. He let you go, didn’t ask questions, didn’t press you further—just nodded, as if he had expected nothing less than your cooperation. He fell into step beside you, his presence both comforting and unnerving at the same time.

---

You sat across from Sung Jinwoo in a small, secluded café, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your cup. It was peaceful here, or at least it was supposed to be. The gentle hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee—under any other circumstance, this would be the perfect place to relax.

But the man sitting in front of you wasn’t just any ordinary guy. He was Sung Jinwoo, and not the E-rank, sweetly awkward and adorable version of him you once quietly helped. No, this was the Jinwoo who had been through hell and back, the one who had grown stronger, and the one who was currently giving you the most piercing stare you had ever been given in your whole life.

You weren’t afraid of him, but you weren’t naïve enough to think this would be an easy conversation, either.

God, why couldn’t it be the E-rank him? At least that Jinwoo wouldn’t be giving you this much of a hard time.

[Choose your words carefully, Trial Player.]

You clenched your jaw at the system's ever-helpful reminder.

Jinwoo was watching you intently, sipping his coffee as he waited for your answer. His questions were understandable—he was the protagonist of this world, after all—but each answer felt like walking a tightrope, balancing half-truths and white lies. Years of surviving in this world had changed you, turned you into someone far more cautious and guarded than the girl who had first been dropped into the dungeon all those years ago. But you hadn’t expected to have to use those skills on him of all people.

“Look,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “There are things I can’t tell you—things I’m not allowed to tell you.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, though he pushed further on that matter, for now.

“This ‘Trial Player’ business. What does that mean?”

You bit your lip, carefully considering your next words. You had to walk a fine line here. “I had a role to play before you became the system’s player. A trial run of sorts.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So, you were meant to take my place?”

“No.” Your response was immediate, a bit too sharp, perhaps, but you needed him to understand that. “I was never meant to take your place. I was… a beta tester for the system. Nothing more.”

Jinwoo’s gaze bore into you, as if weighing the truth of your words. The silence stretched, tense and heavy, until he finally spoke again. “And now?”

“I... don’t know.” The only truth you let slip.

“I suppose you’ve been watching me for a while now,”

Your heart skipped a beat. So, he did know?

As if knowing what you wanted, Jinwoo then mentioned the system. Apparently, his system had become unnecessarily chatty—and vague—about you after his awakening. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Just because the system hadn’t forbidden you from helping Jinwoo in small ways didn’t mean it would keep your actions secret forever.

“Paying the hospital bills,” he continued, his eyes locked onto yours. “Items arriving at my door when I needed them. Heals when there was nobody around.”

Your customer-service smile faltered, a tiny fraction at the edges of your lips. He had figured it out. There was no point in denying it. “...Yes.”

You were out of your depth now, there was no turning back.

"So," Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours, "how long have you been helping me?"

Your fingers twitched. "For a while now," you answered, purposefully vague. Not a lie.

"Years, then."

You nodded, biting back the urge to say more. He didn't need the specifics.

"And why?" His gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of something behind it—curiosity, maybe, but also wariness.

You had expected that question, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer. Why had you helped him? The official answer was because he was the protagonist of this world. But deep down, it was more than that. You admired him—his strength, his perseverance, and the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint. Somewhere along the way, admiration had blurred into something deeper, something more personal.

"I just... wanted to help," you said softly, your fingers tightening around the cup in your hands. “The system... didn’t give me much of a choice from the moment it chose me as the trial player. And perhaps it had turned a blind eye; helping you—it felt right." Another half-truth, but still rooted in reality.

Jinwoo studied you for a long moment, his gaze intense. You could almost feel the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out whether you were a threat or an ally. He didn’t press further, which was almost worse. Silence stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words and unanswered questions. You wished you could explain everything, tell him the truth without the system suffocating you in response, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for half-truths and hoped they would be enough.

Then, out of nowhere, the conversation took a turn.

“Let’s keep it that way then,” Jinwoo’s voice was casual, almost too casual, “you’re joining my party.”

Your mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, what?”

“I said,” he repeated, leaning forward slightly, “you’re joining my party.” There was something in his tone that left no room for argument, but it didn’t make any sense. Jinwoo had always been the lone wolf. Solo raids were his thing. He didn’t need healers anymore—not with his own incredible healing factor.

“No—”

“I’m not asking.” And you berated yourself once again for being weak to his eyes, especially the current glowing ones. That beautiful, beautiful blue hue.

“Why? I mean, you don’t need me.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching onto the strange phrasing, and you suddenly felt the invisible tightness around your throat. Watch your words, Trial Player, the system’s voice echoed in your mind, a third reminder today that made your blood pressure spike every damn time.

The system wasn’t just blocking you from outright saying it; it was suffocating you, a warning wrapped in discomfort. You cursed yourself internally.

Jinwoo answer interrupted your thoughts, “Let’s just say… I’m curious. About you.”

Oh. Oh. What did you expect? This wasn’t about your healing abilities. He was suspicious of you. He knew something was off, and now he was keeping you close—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and all that.

But you weren’t his enemy, were you?

You opened your mouth to argue further, but just as you were about to speak, the system chimed in again.

You let out and internal scream. Seriously?

"...I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?" You said, your cheeks were starting to hurt from forcing a smile throughout this conversation as you selected the only option on the screen.

Jinwoo smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No, you don’t."

---

After discussing the details for your future joint raids, you watched Jinwoo’s back as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking sense of dread. You were trapped. Whatever game the system and Jinwoo were playing, you were caught in the middle. And now you were officially part of his party.

You sighed, slumping back into your chair. It was supposed to be a peaceful day. You should’ve known better.

[So, how have you been? ~]

“Shut it.”

---

The partnership was, for lack of a better word, complicated.

Jinwoo noticed it was a word often associated to you.

The more time Jinwoo spent with you only made things murkier. You were a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, and no matter how many pieces he tried to put together, he was always left with gaps. It was frustrating, but it also intrigued him in a way that nothing else had since he became the Player.

Jinwoo was suspicious—he couldn’t afford not to be. Jinwoo never imagined having someone like you beside him, much less allowing it. For the longest time, he had preferred working alone—solitude was safer, simpler. He didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in his way or betraying him. So, naturally, he had kept you under close observation, convinced that the cost of keeping you around would be more than just the unease gnawing at him.

From the start, Jinwoo had believed that taking you along would mean a decrease in his own growth. Experience was precious, and dividing it was a risk he was prepared to accept—but you had assured him that wouldn’t be necessary.

"I won’t take any exp from you,” you’d said with a quiet confidence that he hadn’t known how to trust. “I’ve got a feeling it doesn’t work like that for me anymore."

He’d been skeptical, of course. Experience was everything to a player, and he’d been prepared to lose some to keep you around. But as the weeks went by, he found your claim to be frustratingly true. No matter how many monsters you felled, it was only his system notifications that pinged, announcing increases in his experience points, his level bar that filled up, not yours, as though the system recognized you as an extension of him.

It was as if you just weren’t there.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or more suspicious. What kind of player didn’t gain EXP? It didn’t fit with the rules, and Jinwoo was nothing if not a careful observer of the patterns around him.

---

The material rewards, however, were a different story.

There was a strange way you treated the remains of the fallen monsters. At first, he hadn’t paid much attention to it; after all, every hunter had their quirks. But you would always linger after the fights, almost reverently inspecting the bodies, picking through the materials they left behind. When he finally asked you about it, you had given him that infuriatingly cryptic smile.

“Do you mind if I take whatever you don’t need?” you had politely asked one day, the first time out of the many in future raids to come. “I promise it won’t go to waste.”

“What do you even need them for?” he had asked, watching you examine the remains of a C-rank goblin with almost childlike fascination.

“Hmm…” You’d glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the material in your hand. “Think of it as... research.”

He’d agreed, more out of curiosity than generosity. And every time he did, he could have sworn he caught a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. It was an expression so genuine and bright that Jinwoo found himself taken aback. What exactly you were doing with those materials, he had no idea, but you seemed genuinely grateful, almost... happy. And Jinwoo found it oddly endearing every single time.

The guarded woman he fought beside every day for the past few weeks by now—the one who always hid herself behind walls of practiced calm—suddenly looked more humane. A person delighted over something so simple.

“Thank you, Jinwoo.” you said softly as you packed away pieces of monster hides, bones, and crystals with precision. The way you spoke his name felt different than when others said it. Like it was laced with something unspoken, something almost... familiar.

For a moment, he’d thought he might be able to catch a sliver of truth from you. But then, as quickly as it appeared, your guard returned, and you slipped back into your composed, impenetrable self.

---

Yet, for every discovery he made about you, new questions took root. The way you spoke to the air when he couldn’t see your system window was one of the strangest things he’d observed. It wasn’t like how he interacted with his own system—a cold, mechanical guide that answered in emotionless text.

He had come to terms with it, which made it more puzzling when you, on the other hand, seemed to have a strangely conversational relationship with yours. It was as though you were talking to a real person rather than an AI. And there were times he swore he heard you bantering with it. The fact that he couldn’t see it, that he couldn’t know what it was telling you without you telling him, left him on edge.

While you could see the familiar blue screens of his own system at all times, yours sometimes seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. He didn’t have enough information to even confirm you had the same kind of system he did.

One evening after a raid, after you had muttered something to the empty air beside you, Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. The two of you were taking a break in the clearing of a forest-like dungeon, waiting for the mana in the air to settle. His shadows patrolled the perimeter, leaving the two of you in relative isolation.

“You’re… talking to it, aren’t you?” Jinwoo asked, as you finished your quiet exchange with your invisible companion. “The system, I mean.”

“Hmm? Oh.” You paused mid-motion, halfway through tucking away the latest monster core you’d collected, s if you hadn’t just spoken aloud to someone—or something—that only you could see. You glanced at him, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes before you looked back at the core in your hands.

“It’s not quite the same as your system,” you said finally, your voice almost too soft to hear over the rustling leaves. “Let’s just say we have a complicated relationship.” You paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Yours is… a guide, yes? Cold, instructive?”

He nodded, and you seemed to weigh your response.

“Mine is… let’s call it more opinionated.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. “You mean to tell me that your system has a personality?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Something like that.”

He muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You know more about my system than I do, and yet I can’t even see yours most of the time. Feels like a rigged game.”

“You mean the same way my kills count towards yours instead?”

Fair point.

“You could say I know it pretty well. And… it knows me.” Your tone was careful, and he realized he’d learned something more about you in that one sentence than in all the raids you’d fought together.

It was almost as if you wanted to be honest—desperately so—but something stopped you every time you got close to revealing too much. It seemed less like a power play and more like you were protecting something—maybe even protecting him. But that didn’t make sense.

Still, Jinwoo could see glimpses of genuine loyalty in your actions. The more he witnessed this, the more he felt torn, unable to decide if you were an ally bound by strange circumstances or a threat with motives he couldn’t yet see.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [013/10/2024] -

The later parts of this chapter (where it switches to Jinwoo's p.o.v.) are originally part of the next chapter, but I substitue them with a new fight scene.

#solo leveling imagine #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo #only i level up #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #fanfiction #fanfic #solo leveling fanfic

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pumkinzee · 27 days ago

Text

SAY IT TO MY FACE ˏˏ IZUKU MIDORIYA

summary: you defend Izuku from school bullies one day that you feel was enough.

pairing: highschool!Izuku Midoriya x gn!reader

tw: Bullying, intimidation, a couple of insults, Bakugo, yk.

a/n: I've had this in my drafts since JANUARY and after a proofread and read, I'm uploading it here. The ending isn't the best but I don't care lol.

⌑ - English isn't my first language so I'm using a translator and my basic knowledge of the language!

𝐑equest 𝐨pens! + 𝐫ules!

You were used to it, and that made you angry, you were used to seeing the poor green-haired boy suffer from bullying every day, and it didn't seem fair to you. You felt guilty for never doing anything to defend him, the selfish voice in your head told you that it was the right thing to do since you would end up suffering the same as him, but the nobler voice told you that you had the opportunity to do something to take care of others.

One day you reached your limit, it was departure and everyone was leaving with their friends to accompany each other, you had told yours that you couldn't stay long since you promised your mother that you would arrive early to help with lunch. You didn't expect to pass the main door of the school and see Bakugo, the boy who less you put up with everyone, even if he never got to mess with you, annoying Midoriya.

You didn't know him at all, you knew that they called him Deku and that he didn't have a quirk, but that was the least of your concern, if you looked at him out of the corner of your eye in class he was extremely kind and understanding, and that made you feel even more guilty for not being able to be there as you would like to offer him a hand.

You were in a bad mood, you hadn't done so well on the last test you took today, which made you respond curtly and somewhat rudely to those who crossed the line, even your friends. It was when you heard water falling, as an instinct you moved away so it wouldn't splash on your uniform, but when you saw that the water came from a bucket that Bakugo had poured on top of Midoriya, you froze halfway.

The boy's lips stuttered as if he were on the verge of tears but didn't dare for fear that things would get worse. He opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by an explosion from Bakugo that left him lying on the ground.

“How many times do I have to tell you that never are you going to be a hero? And what are these notes? Do you think they will be of any use to you?”

This struck a chord with you, you knew that Midoriya had better grades than you, the idea of a notebook with notes on hero data and quirks was brilliant in your eyes, but you always felt embarrassed to ask him if he could lend it to you to take a look. I probably would have lent it to you.

With the help of your quirk, you pulled Bakugo by the ankle and ran to stand between the two of them.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

Midoriya's eyes flashed with surprise. Bakugo's with anger.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”

“Defending the helpless. What do YOU think you are doing?”

"PUT HIM IN HIS PLACE! SOMEONE LIKE HIM SHOULD STOP BEING SO-"

“For God's sake, shut up.” You rolled your eyes and made an irritated face. "You shout too much, you give me a headache. You, come with me."

You took Midoriya by the arm and dragged him, even if Bakugo continued shouting angrily and threatening to end both of you, you turned your back on him and continued on your way. You dragged the poor boy to some flower beds behind the school.

Midoriya seemed surprised, both for having received help and for being in a place he didn't seem to know, his gaze wandered from one place to another, forgetting for a moment that he was still at school.

"Where…?"

“In a safe place, no one will hurt you here.” You approached him and frowned slightly. “Are you okay?”

He looked down and forced a smile, a little shy. “Y-Yes, thank you…”

You knew he was lying, but you didn't push him further. “No need, basic empathy.”

Neither of you were quite sure how to continue talking, which began to create an awkward silence. He wasn't used (at all) to defending himself from harassment and you weren't used to helping people. facing to others. Your pride told you that, no matter if you now became a target of ridicule and the new kid bullied, you could defend yourself better than him. You pushed that thought out of your head.

“So, Midoriya…”

“You can call me Izuku.”

Izuku.

"Okay, Izuku, do you… have a notebook where you write information about the heroes?”

His eyes shone as he heard the hidden interest in your question about his writings, it took him a few moments to process that he should answer you.

"YES! T-That's what I do."

“Do you think I could…see it?”

Izuku resisted the urge to fill you with information he had memorized on his most normal day. He started searching in his backpack.

"Yes! Right now I only carry one, sometimes they take them away from me, you know? So I stopped taking risks and carry one or two. A week ago I carried two because one had more drawings than writings but I ran out, so I left it at home. The one I bring has more writings because I don't have space for the drawings, but I make them on a separate sheet of paper and stick them folded in a free space. TAKE IT!"

He spoke so fast that he barely gave you time to process what he was saying when he already had the notebook extended and almost hitting your face. You took it and took a look at it, in short it was better than you could ever imagine or hear in jokes from your colleagues, the information ranged from too specific and exact to simple and concrete things, his writing and photography were so clean that you almost wanted to beg him to teach you how to have your own clean works.

“Wow, this is…wow.”

"It's no big deal…"

"What are you saying? This is amazing! I could use it a lot for tests."

“I could help you study…”

“Are you serious?” You looked up from your notebook, a bright smile threatening to spread across your face, causing Izuku's face to blush in embarrassment. “Would you do that for me?”

“Y-Yes, I mean, you defended me.”

“I already told you it's nothing.”

"No, if it is, you are the first person to do it. It means a lot to me, I would like to help you study, I mean it."

“Someone would have to do it.”

“I'm glad that someone was you.”

You both remained silent and looked at each other in surprise at the other's fluid words, everything was happening so casually that it sounded unreal, as if it were somehow planned. Izuku blushed and you looked away, smiling shyly.

That afternoon, after listening to him talk about All Migth for about fifteen more minutes, you remembered that you had promised your mother that you would go home early to help her with the food, which meant that you were arriving one hour late than promised.

When you got home (extremely embarrassed) you apologized profusely to your mother, who, for some reason, wasn't upset and you started cooking together. You told her with a smile on your face how you made a new friend, skipping the details that you had swallowed the urge to smash Bakugo's face.

Time passed quickly when you least expected it, about two or three months had already passed since you had become friend from Izuku, your grades had improved noticeably, and the bullying he suffered had also decreased.

Your friends accepted him without much discomfort, it didn't take them long to realize what a magnificent person he was, so he wasn't alone even though there were only a few people.

But you were his favorite person. You ate together at recess, studied in the back of the classroom, and you walked him home to avoid the bullies catching him alone.

Your mom adored him and his mom LOVED you, she was so happy her son had a best friend as sweet as you, you almost always ended up having dinner at Izuku's house at her insistence, and the same with him at your house on the days there were no classes.

He never knew how to be grateful for everything you had done, for having been there for him in his vulnerable and stress-filled moments, for having pulled him out of the hole he was in because of that, for never leaving him alone like he so much thought you would do. He was sure that one day you would abandon him and, without realizing it, he ended up slowly falling in love with you.

Your smiles, your word games, the way you you frown the frown when you didn't understand something, like you rolled your eyes when Bakugo yelled at them, how you grabbed his pinky when you walked home together, how you embarrassed yourself in front of his mother and never denied him a meal.

How he spent his time drawing you in profile when you were distracted from class, how he left you subtle gifts on your desk when he arrived before you, how he gave you the answers or helped you better understand your quirk. Izuku had a crush on you.

©pumkinzee

#izuku midoriya x reader #izuku midoriya #bnha izuku #mha izuku #izuku x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku #deku x reader #mha deku #bnha deku #mha #mha x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #gn reader #izuku x you #izuku x y/n #pumkinzee

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p0orbaby · 7 months ago

Note

Little fic where is alexia dating an English player who finds it difficult how affectionate Spanish people are with each other. Alexia having to reassure her that it’s a Spanish thing and she’ll try to be less touchy etc.

You’re not sure when exactly it starts to get on your nerves, but by the time you notice, you’re on a sun-bleached terrace in Barcelona, watching Alexia kiss three people hello in under five minutes. It's an odd thing to obsess over, and yet here you are, eyes narrowed as you sip on an overpriced cortado that tastes like dust and regret. You’re not jealous. Of course not. That would be absurd. You’re simply... perplexed by the excessive touching, the relentless stream of hugs, kisses, and arm squeezes that seem to form the bedrock of Spanish existence. Everyone’s always touching someone.

In England, a handshake is intimate enough, and in London, where you’re from, if anyone dared speak before your tea even cooled, you’d probably alert the authorities. But here? It's practically a greeting card in motion. You’ve seen grown men embrace in the street like they’ve just survived a shipwreck. It's baffling.

Alexia sits down across from you, smiling in that way that makes you feel foolish for being annoyed by anything. She’s impossibly beautiful, and the knowledge of that fact gnaws at you constantly. She’s all golden skin and nonchalance, legs casually crossed, one hand fiddling with her sunglasses as if she’s in some sort of commercial for ‘cool.’

“Are you okay?” she asks, her accent making every word sound softer than it should be, like it's wrapped in velvet. She’s genuinely concerned, or she’s pretending really well. You can’t tell which.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fine”

And then, because you’re not actually fine: “Do you have to kiss everyone?”

She looks at you like you’ve just asked if the sky is blue. “It’s how we greet people here”

“I know that,” you say, setting your cup down with more force than necessary. “But does it have to be every time? You’ve kissed three strangers today already, and it’s not even noon”

Alexia blinks at you, then laughs. “It’s just being polite”

Polite? You're thinking. In England, you say "hi" and move on with your day. No one has to swap saliva to prove they like you. But this? This is something else.

“Well, it’s... it’s excessive.” You try to explain, gesturing vaguely in the air like you can catch the sheer madness of it all. “People just... touch all the time. And I’m not used to it”

Alexia’s mouth twitches, trying to suppress a smile. “We’re just more affectionate”

“Affectionate?” you say. “It’s like a plague of hand-holding and cheek-kissing”

She finally lets out a laugh, full-bodied, the kind that makes her eyes crinkle. “You sound like an old lady”

“Maybe I am,” you mutter, trying to keep a straight face. “Maybe England has made me emotionally unavailable”

Alexia reaches out to touch your arm, then stops, hesitating, her hand hovering mid-air like she’s not sure if it’ll set you off again. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no,” you sigh, waving her hand toward you, now feeling like the crazy one. “It’s fine. Just... give me a heads-up before the next 12-person cuddle fest”

She grins, leaning back. “I can try”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You’re so annoying”

“And you love it

You do. And you hate that you do, which is probably the worst part of all this. She knows you’re wound too tight for your own good, and she’s infinitely more relaxed about everything, like the world bends to her will instead of the other way around.

You finish your cortado, now cold. “You realise you kissed the barista on the way in, right?”

Alexia nods, grinning wickedly. “She made my coffee right”

You groan, but you’re laughing, which only encourages her. “I’m never letting you set foot in the UK again”

“That’s fine,” she says, leaning in, all confidence. “Spain suits you better anyway. You just don’t know it yet”

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso x reader

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odileeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 12

<<<Previous Next>>>

The candlelight flickered, its golden glow casting long, wavering shadows along the walls of his office. Ink-stained parchment lay between you, forgotten in the quiet, but your focus was elsewhere. You were staring at him. Searching. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, some crack in his composure, some fragment of emotion buried beneath his usual refinement. His face, sculpted in patience and quiet knowing, was difficult to read. He was the Sage of Truth, after all. He had spent years refining himself into something measured, unshaken, unreachable. And yet…His eyes. His eyes were something else entirely. The candlelight caught in them, turning gold to something softer, something warmer, like the last moments of sunlight before dusk swallows the sky. His gaze, normally so precise, so piercing, seemed different now. Less a scholar observing a student, and more… a person looking at another person. “I know that look.” His voice was quiet, smooth, a gentle weight against the stillness between you. You startled, blinking, caught in the act. “What look?” The corner of his lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “The look of someone searching for something.” You hesitated. Your fingers curled slightly against the parchment, its texture grounding you. “And if I am?” Shadow Milk Cookie considered this, his gaze never wavering from yours. “Then I hope you find it.” Simple words. Yet, they landed heavier in your chest than you expected. A breath passed before you spoke again, softer this time. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for.” He hummed in thought, resting his chin against his knuckles. “Perhaps you are not meant to find it all at once. Truth is patient. It does not demand to be uncovered in a single moment; it reveals itself in time.” His voice, ever measured, held something gentler now, something not meant for lecture halls or grand declarations. “And so too must you be patient with yourself.” You swallowed, glancing down. “That’s… difficult.” His silence was contemplative. Then softer than anything you’d heard from him before he murmured, “I know.” You lifted your gaze, eyes meeting his again. Something had changed. You could feel it, like the moment before the tide shifts, when the waves hesitate before retreating. His walls were still there, but for the first time, they were not impenetrable. He had let them waver. For you. You exhaled shakily, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you being so kind to me?” He regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable save for the gentlest crease of his brow, the subtle shift in his gaze like he was weighing something fragile, something precious. Then “I would not want a bright mind like yours to be discouraged.” The words, so effortlessly spoken, settled into the quiet like a promise. You stared at him, searching again, reaching again, but this time, not out of doubt. Not out of fear. Because he had offered you something beyond knowledge, beyond the pursuit of truth. He had offered you patience. And somehow, that was enough.

The hush of his office felt delicate, like spun sugar that could dissolve with the wrong touch. The weight of his words still lingered in the air between you, soft and fragile, like something too precious to name. You should have let it settle, should have let the moment breathe. And yet- You looked at him, really looked at him, as if you could read something in the way the candlelight danced in his golden eyes. As if the truth of him was written there, somewhere in the warmth he tried to keep measured. You weren’t sure what made you ask it. Maybe it was the way he had softened his voice just for you. Maybe it was the way he had let the walls around him shift, even just a fraction. Or maybe it was simply that you needed to know. “…Are we friends?” Your voice was quiet, hesitant, each syllable slipping from your lips like you were afraid to shatter something fragile. Shadow Milk Cookie blinked, his gaze steady on yours. For a moment, he said nothing. For a moment, you thought maybe you had reached too far, held too tightly to something that was never meant to be yours. And then…He sighed, a sound so light it barely disturbed the stillness between you. “That is an interesting question.” Your fingers curled slightly against the parchment between you, trying to brace yourself. But then his gaze softened, the faintest trace of something unreadable flickering across his features something warm, something human. “I believe,” he mused, tilting his head just slightly, “that if you must ask… then perhaps I have not made it clear enough.” Your breath hitched. He leaned forward just a fraction, the candlelight catching along the sharp lines of his face, making the gold in his eyes glow. “I do not waste my time,” he said softly. “Not on falsehoods. Not on empty pursuits.” He held your gaze, unshaken, unwavering. “And certainly not on people I do not value.” The words settled over you like the warmth of the hearth after too long in the cold. You swallowed. “So then…?” He exhaled, shaking his head just slightly, as if amused by your persistence. “You are not simply a student, if that is what you are asking.” It wasn’t quite a confession. But it wasn’t a rejection either. It was something in between just enough to hold onto, just enough to keep reaching for. Your chest ached with something you couldn’t name. “You should not doubt your worth so easily,” he murmured.

His voice was so unbearably gentle. You bit the inside of your cheek, glancing down at the parchment, afraid that if you looked at him too long, this moment might slip through your fingers like sand. But then so quiet you almost missed it “If you would like to call me a friend…” Your breath stilled. “…I would not stop you.” Warmth rushed to your fingertips, the weight in your chest shifting into something else entirely. Something lighter. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, daring to meet his gaze again. And for the first time, you swore he was looking at you just as much as you were looking at him. The moment lingered between you, suspended in the quiet hum of candlelight and parchment. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want to disturb the delicate understanding that had just taken shape so tenuous and warm, like a flickering ember cupped between trembling hands. But all things had their end, even moments like these. The window outside painted in gorgeous blues and pinks, served as a reminder of the evening hour. Dinner. You hesitated, glancing toward the door, then back at him. He had already settled into his usual posture composed, unreadable but there was something else there now. Something softer in the way he regarded you, as if he too was reluctant to let the moment slip away so soon.

"You should go," he said, and his voice was quieter than usual. Less like the Sage of Truth, more like… something else. You nodded, though part of you wanted to stay, to stretch this moment just a little longer. But you knew if you lingered too much, you might never find the words to leave at all. So you gathered your notes, holding them close to your chest as if they could somehow preserve the warmth of what had just passed between you. Before you reached the door, you paused. “…Thank you,” you said, barely above a whisper. For what, you weren’t entirely sure. For his patience? For his words? For not letting you carry your doubts alone? He inclined his head, the faintest ghost of a smile touching the corners of his lips. “Good evening,” he murmured. “I will see you tomorrow.” With that, you stepped out into the halls, feeling the weight of the moment settle deep in your chest, something to be held, not spoken of.

By the time you reached the dining hall, the warmth of conversation and clinking utensils filled the air. Your friends were already gathered, waving you over the moment they spotted you. “You look weird,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie remarked the second you sat down, squinting at you. “I look normal,” you countered, rolling your eyes as you reached for a plate. “No, no, he’s right,” Chai Latte Cookie chimed in, tapping her fingers against the table. “It’s like… you’re still you, but something’s different.” Earl Grey Cookie regarded you carefully over the rim of his teacup. “You’re not nearly as distracted as before,” he observed. “Yet… you seem preoccupied all the same.” You opened your mouth to argue, but…You hesitated. Because they were right. It wasn’t admiration weighing in your chest anymore, not the distant kind reserved for a scholar too far above you to truly reach. It was something else, something softer, something more vulnerable. And, you didn’t know what to do with it. So you simply smiled, shaking your head. “It’s nothing.” Hazelnut Biscotti scoffed. “Sure, sure. Nothing.” Chai Latte nudged you playfully. “Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s a good something.” You glanced down at your hands, at the way your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of your sleeves. “…Yeah,” you murmured. “I think it is.” And as the conversation flowed around you, as laughter and warmth pulled you into the moment, you held onto that truth quietly, deeply, where no one else could see. As you settled into your seat, the usual warmth of your friends' chatter surrounded you, the scent of freshly baked bread and spiced tea filling the air. It should have felt grounding, comforting but the moment in his office still weighed on you, lingering like the final note of a song that refused to fade. “So,” Earl Grey Cookie began smoothly, setting down his cup with a quiet clink. His sharp eyes studied you, and even before he spoke again, you could feel the weight of his scrutiny. “How did tutoring go?” You swallowed, forcing yourself to focus on the present. “Good,” you answered quickly, reaching for a piece of bread as if that would make the conversation move along faster. “It was… good.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised a brow. “Good?” He leaned in slightly, resting his chin in his palm. “You say that like you’re hiding something.” “I’m not hiding anything,” you said, a little too quickly. Chai Latte Cookie, ever perceptive, leaned in as well, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “You’re acting weird,” she murmured, sing-song, before breaking into a grin. “Not in a bad way, but…” She waved a hand at you. “You’re, like… oddly quiet. More thoughtful than usual.” “I think what Chai Latte is trying to say,” Earl Grey cut in smoothly, “is that your usual frustrations are absent. Typically, after tutoring, you’re either ranting about how difficult the material is or complaining that you’ll never understand it.” He studied you over the rim of his teacup. “Yet now, you’re simply saying good.” Hazelnut Biscotti snapped his fingers. “Exactly. So spill. What happened?” You hesitated, fingers idly pulling at the edge of your napkin. “Nothing happened,” you insisted, but the words felt thin, flimsy, even to you. Earl Grey’s gaze didn’t waver. “You wouldn’t be so preoccupied if that were the case.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed, tapping her chin. “You’re thinking about something, though. I can see it in your face.” Hazelnut Biscotti pointed at you. “Yeah, that’s your ‘I’m overthinking something and I don’t know how to explain it’ face.” You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why do you all know me so well?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “Because we’re your friends, duh.” Earl Grey exhaled softly, setting his cup down with care. “You don’t have to tell us everything,” he said, voice even. “But if something is troubling you, we would rather you not carry it alone.” That made you pause. You lifted your head slightly, looking at them their expectant faces, the warmth in their gazes. And for a brief moment, you almost did tell them. Almost let the words spill from your lips about the way Shadow Milk Cookie had looked at you, the way he had softened in a way you had never expected. The way you had felt something shift between you, something you didn’t yet have the words for.

But instead, you just exhaled, shaking your head. “It’s nothing bad,” you assured them, and that, at least, was the truth. “Just… I don’t know. Something to think about.” Hazelnut Biscotti studied you for a moment before finally sighing dramatically. “Fine, fine, keep your secrets.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes. “You love secrets.” “Only when I get to know them,” he shot back. Earl Grey, ever composed, just offered you a knowing look before picking up his tea again. “Very well,” he murmured. “Just don’t let it consume you.” You managed a small smile. “I won’t.” And as the conversation shifted, moving to harmless gossip and lighthearted complaints about lectures, you held onto that moment and kept it close, where no one else could see.

You held it close. The moment, the warmth, the quiet understanding that had passed between you and Shadow Milk Cookie. After all it was yours, and yours alone. A fragile thing, delicate as the parchment he so carefully preserved, as the ink that bled into it, telling stories that only those with patience could decipher. It stayed in your heart, safely tucked away. But that didn’t mean you withdrew. You leaned forward as Chai Latte Cookie launched into a particularly dramatic retelling of something she’d overheard earlier in the day, her voice hushed in mock secrecy. “I swear, I saw them sneaking out of the library together,” she emphasized, eyes gleaming. “Like, if you’re going to sneak around, at least don’t do it in a place where half the Academy studies!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a sharp laugh. “That’s basically asking to get caught.” “I know!” Chai Latte groaned, throwing her hands up. “Like, if I were in their shoes, I’d at least go to the alchemy labs or something. The explosion risk would be a good cover story.” Earl Grey Cookie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t suggest using dangerous chemicals as a decoy for academic scandal.” “Oh, lighten up,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie teased. “You’re just mad because you hate gossip.” “I don’t hate gossip,” Earl Grey Cookie corrected smoothly, taking a sip of his tea. “I simply dislike inaccurate information.” “Well, this isn’t inaccurate,” Chai Latte Cookie huffed, leaning toward you. “Right? I mean, you believe me, don’t you?” You blinked, momentarily pulled from your thoughts. Then you smiled, small but genuine. “I don’t think you’d make it up.” “See?” she declared triumphantly, elbowing Earl Grey Cookie. “Someone here believes me.”

Earl Grey exhaled, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “That isn’t the same as proof.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Sounds like you do hate gossip.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. And for a while, that was enough. You listened. You joined in. You let yourself be carried by the familiar rhythm of your friends' voices, the playful back-and-forth, the easy warmth of their presence.Even as something new and unspoken rested within you, even as your heart held a secret it had only just begun to understand.Dinner ended in a flurry of laughter, Chai Latte Cookie dramatically reenacting a terrible love poem she had found tucked between the pages of an old tome, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie making exaggerated sound effects in the background, and Earl Grey Cookie sighing in exasperated elegance as he reminded everyone that at least one of them should be preserving the dignity of scholarly discussion.

“I’ll have you know,” Chai Latte Cookie declared, standing atop her chair with one hand over her heart, “this is a historical treasure a relic of unbridled passion and artistic expression!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “It’s written in ink that bled through the pages. The only passion here was a fountain pen malfunction.” You laughed, warm and full, letting yourself sink into the moment letting it be enough. And for a little while, it was. Eventually, with bellies full and spirits lighter, the four of you parted ways, bidding goodnight under the soft glow of the enchanted lanterns lining the Academy’s paths. But as you walked back to your dorm alone, the laughter settled, leaving you with the quiet hum of your own thoughts. His eyes. You hadn’t meant to look too deeply, hadn’t meant to search for something beyond what was already there. And yet… you had. And what had you found? There was patience, of course. There always was. But there had been something else beneath it something softer, something steady yet fragile, as though for a moment, the weight of his understanding had been placed upon you gently, trusting you to hold it. Why did that linger? Why was it so hard to set aside? You exhaled as you reached your door, shaking your head at yourself. It wasn’t something you could answer now. But as you settled into your dorm, the warmth of his gaze stayed with you, quiet and unshaken, like an echo of something you had yet to fully grasp.

The morning had started pleasantly enough. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out to a quieter part of campus, one you didn’t often have the luxury of visiting. The crisp weekend air carried the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves, and for a while, you let yourself be lost in the moment, surrounded by the chatter of those who cared for you.

It was supposed to be a reprieve. A chance to breathe. But peace never lasted long in a place like this. It started subtly Earl Grey Cookie’s gaze shifting, his posture stiffening ever so slightly. Then, his voice, low and measured, as if bracing you for what was to come. “Be careful what you say,” he murmured. “Those three approaching, they’re not just any scholars. They’re the ones who’ve been spreading whispers.” You turned your head just in time to see them three upper scholars, dressed in the pristine robes of those who belonged to the highest circles of academia. Their strides were confident, their eyes sharp, and the smirks curling at their lips sent a warning through your bones. You had barely registered what Earl Grey had said before the first voice rang out. “Well, look who it is,” one of them drawled, tilting their head as if in mock surprise. “The Sage’s little shadow.” A cold pit settled in your stomach. Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie immediately stiffened, the air between you all shifting. Another scholar stepped forward, their smirk widening. “Didn’t expect to find you here of all places. Usually, you’re too busy occupying his time, aren’t you?” You said nothing. You weren’t sure what to say. “I have to wonder,” the third one mused, resting a thoughtful finger against their chin, “what exactly he sees in you.” Their eyes flickered with something unreadable before they leaned in slightly, their voice lowering just enough to be heard only by you. “Do you think it’s potential?” Your breath caught.

The first scholar hummed as if considering. “Unlikely. From what I’ve heard, you’re… struggling, aren’t you?” They said it so casually, like it was mere trivia, something undeniable. “I’d say it’s admirable that he keeps trying, but at some point, isn’t it just pity?” Your stomach twisted painfully. Chai Latte Cookie took a sharp step forward. “Back off.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie crossed his arms, scowling. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The scholars barely spared them a glance. Instead, they kept their focus on you. “You know,” the second scholar continued, “it’s funny. You don’t even realize how lucky you are. Do you have any idea how many of us would kill for that kind of attention? And yet, it’s wasted on someone who barely understands half of what they’re taught.”

Something in you flinched, and they noticed. “Oh,” they said softly, eyes gleaming. “You know it’s true, don’t you? You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That deep, sinking feeling that no matter how hard you try, you’ll never quite measure up.” Their words struck deeper than you wanted them to. Because they weren’t just pulling things out of thin air. They had seen you. Heard the whispers. Knew the struggles you had so desperately tried to keep hidden. And they were using it. Because they could. “Do you really think the Sage sees you as an equal?” they pressed, voice dipping into something almost gentle, mocking, but laced with a sickening kind of concern. “Or is it just… entertaining for him? To watch someone struggle, knowing they’ll never reach him?” A cruel smirk. “Do you really think he believes in you?” You swallowed, your throat dry, unable to find words. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clenched his fists. “Shut your mouth.” The first scholar gave a slow, deliberate shrug. “It’s just an observation. After all, who would people believe? A group of top scholars, or… someone barely scraping by?” The implication was clear. Even if you protested, even if you tried to argue, who would listen? The doubt settled into your bones, heavy and suffocating. Eventually, they left, their laughter trailing behind them like a haunting melody. And you were left standing there, the weight of their words pressing down on your chest, unable to shake the feeling that somewhere deep inside this had always been a fear you couldn’t quite escape.

You took a slow, unsteady breath, your mind still tangled in the words the upper scholars had left behind. It felt like their voices had embedded themselves into your skull, looping over and over, digging into the insecurities you had long tried to ignore. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, and after a moment of hesitation, you turned to Earl Grey Cookie. “…Who are they?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. Earl Grey gave you a measured look, as if weighing whether or not you really wanted to know. But you did. You had to. He exhaled softly, then spoke. “Those three?” He adjusted his cuffs, voice calm, but there was something sharp underneath. “They’re well-known in the Scholar’s Wing. Opportunists, mostly more interested in reputation and status than in actual study.” You held your breath as he continued. “The one who spoke first that was Camellia Pith Cookie. Comes from a long line of scholars, all of whom have held high positions in the Academy’s history. They know how to wield their name like a weapon.” The name felt like an anchor in your mind. You nodded, waiting for more.

“The second one, the one who leaned in Serrano Bark Cookie. Ambitious to a fault. They’ve been after a research position under the Sage for some time now.” A pointed pause. “You can see why they’d have a… personal interest in tearing you down.” Your stomach twisted. “And the last one,” Earl Grey continued, voice taking on a slightly unimpressed lilt, “is Fennel Drizzle Cookie. The least remarkable of the three, but they know the right people. Their influence comes from association, and they’re well aware of it.” You let their names settle, turning them over in your mind, trying to attach them to the words they had thrown at you. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted the cuff of his sleeve once more, then met your gaze directly. “You shouldn’t pay them any mind.” You swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. “That’s… easier said than done.” “I know,” he said plainly. “But they’re cowards.” You blinked, caught off guard. Earl Grey’s tone remained cool, but there was an edge to it now something resolute. “They only speak like that when they know no one will challenge them. Do you think they’d ever say those things in front of the Sage of Truth himself?” He scoffed. “Of course not. They know better.” A pause. Then, quieter “And so should you.” You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but the words still settled deep. Even so, doubt lingered. Even if those scholars wouldn’t say such things in front of the Sage… did that really mean they were wrong? The thought clung to you, no matter how much you wished it wouldn’t. You sighed, rubbing your temples as you sat with your friends in the quiet corner of the courtyard, away from the bustle of the weekend morning. The warmth of the sun didn’t quite reach you, not with the weight pressing against your chest. “What am I supposed to do?” you finally asked, voice quiet, uncertain. “It’s not like I’m being severely bullied or anything. They’re just… talking.” You hesitated, then exhaled. “But it still gets to me.”

Chai Latte Cookie frowned, leaning forward on her elbows. “It is bullying,” she said firmly. “Just because they aren’t shoving you into a library shelf doesn’t mean it’s nothing.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie huffed, crossing his arms. “They think they can get away with it because they’re not technically breaking any rules. It’s all about status to them. Reputation.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s pathetic.” Earl Grey Cookie, who had been quiet until now, regarded you with a careful gaze. “And yet, it worked,” he said smoothly. “They planted doubt in your mind.” You flinched but didn’t deny it. You bit the inside of your cheek before speaking again. “I know what they said isn’t true. But… I don’t know.” You swallowed. “It’s like they fed a fire that was already there. I do struggle. I do make mistakes. I’ve worked so hard, but-” You hesitated, your words tangling. “But they’re still ahead. And they didn’t even have to try.” Your hands clenched into fists on your lap. “I don’t even like them, but I feel kind of bad for them too. They were just given all of this, and they still feel the need to tear someone like me down.” You shook your head. “It’s such a weird position to be in.” Chai Latte Cookie pursed her lips. “It’s unfair,” she murmured. “It’s not your fault they don’t appreciate what they have. But I get it. It sucks.” Hazelnut Biscotti let out a slow exhale, rubbing his face. “You shouldn’t let them get in your head. That’s exactly what they want. But if it were me, I’d be pissed off too.” Earl Grey Cookie studied you carefully before speaking. “You are not responsible for their bitterness.” He set down his teacup with a soft clink. “Nor should you feel guilt over their own lack of fulfillment.” You let his words settle, staring down at your hands. “But,” he added after a pause, “I understand why it weighs on you.” You glanced up at him, searching for something in his expression, but it remained calm, measured. “Then… what do I do?” you asked, voice smaller than before. “If I can’t change what they think, if I can’t stop them from talking… what do I even do?” Chai Latte Cookie reached out, squeezing your wrist gently. “You keep going,” she said. “You don’t let them stop you. You have us, you have the Sage of Truth, and you belong here.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “And if they try it again, you let us know. We’ll handle it.” Earl Grey Cookie exhaled softly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to fight them. But you also don’t need to listen to them.” His gaze met yours. “And if you must entertain their words, then at least ask yourself this who do you trust more? The Sage of Truth, who has chosen to teach you? Or scholars who rely on whispers and cruelty to affirm their worth?”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was a simple question. And yet, it rattled something deep within you. Your fingers curled around the fabric of your sleeve, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you like a stone in your chest. You swallowed, hesitating before speaking. “…What if things escalate?” Your voice was quieter than before, almost reluctant to give voice to the fear that had been clawing at the edges of your mind. “Right now, it’s all just words, but they have connections. What then?” The moment the words left your lips, silence settled over your small group. Chai Latte Cookie frowned, brows knitting together as she crossed her arms. “They wouldn’t dare.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, however, was less convinced. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t put it past them. If they think they can use their influence against you, they might try.” Your stomach twisted. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, took a measured sip of his tea before placing the cup down with a quiet clink. “If they escalate, then they will have made a grave miscalculation.” His voice was smooth, controlled, but beneath it, there was an unmistakable edge. “The moment they attempt anything beyond mere words, they expose themselves. Those with true influence do not resort to such pettiness not without consequence.” You swallowed. “But what if they’re subtle about it? What if it’s just enough to make things harder for me?” Earl Grey Cookie regarded you for a long moment before tilting his head slightly. “Then you must be smarter than them.” Chai Latte Cookie scoffed. “We are smarter than them,” she muttered. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “We’ll watch your back. If they try anything, we’ll make sure there’s proof. They aren’t untouchable.” Earl Grey Cookie leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “Do not let fear decide your actions. If you shrink back, you give them exactly what they want. Instead, you do what you came here to do. Learn. Improve. Succeed. They will be the ones left in the dust.” You let out a slow breath. You weren’t sure if it was that simple. But as you glanced at your friends, their unwavering expressions, their quiet confidence in you… you felt something steadier take root in your chest. “…Alright,” you murmured. “I’ll keep going.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gave you a firm pat on the back. “We’ve got you.” Earl Grey Cookie gave a satisfied nod. “Good.” And for the first time since that encounter, you felt like you weren’t facing this alone.

The afternoon sun cast golden light through the hanging tendrils of the willow tree, swaying gently in the breeze. The pond before you rippled as the koi-like creatures beneath the surface swam lazily, their shimmering scales catching the light in fleeting flashes of silver and gold. The bench beneath you was familiar, worn to your shape, a place that made sleep come easily, where the weight of the world often felt just a little lighter. Today, though, your mind was restless. You were supposed to go to Shadow Milk Cookie’s office. He had asked you to be there. But it was the weekend. And after everything that had happened, after the words that had dug into your skin like thorns, you couldn’t bring yourself to go. Not today. You told yourself he wouldn’t mind. He was busy always busy. He had research, lessons, scholars seeking his wisdom. You were just another student, one of many. If you weren’t there, it wouldn’t make a difference. Right? You exhaled, leaning back against the bench, staring at the way the light flickered across the water. You tried to let the quiet lull you, tried to let the steady movement of the koi-like creatures settle your thoughts. But even here, you weren’t free of it. Those upper scholars. Their words. The way they had spoken with such certainty, as if they knew more about you than you did yourself. The way they had wielded their privilege like a weapon, their connections like a shield. A part of you still burned with indignation. Another part, the part that had always been small, tucked away, hidden beneath layers of resolve whispered that they weren’t entirely wrong. What were you compared to them? You clenched your jaw, forcing the thought away. No. That wasn’t fair to yourself. You had worked for this. You had struggled, failed, and gotten up again. You weren’t handed anything. You fought for every scrap of understanding you had. And yet… You stared at your reflection in the water, fragmented by the ripples. No matter how hard you tried, that seed of doubt remained, buried deep where no amount of logic could root it out.

For a while you heard nothing then footstep. The footsteps were slow, deliberate. You heard them before you saw him, before you even thought to turn. At first, you ignored them, eyes locked on the rippling surface of the pond, watching as the koi-like creatures wove their silent, endless circles beneath the water. It wasn’t unusual for students to wander the academy gardens, but few ever strayed this far. This place was tucked away, hidden behind winding paths and overgrown archways, a sanctuary where the world quieted, where time itself seemed to slow. But the footsteps did not pass. They did not hesitate at a nearby tree, did not stop to admire the golden shimmer of fish beneath the water’s surface. They came closer. And then They stopped. Right behind you. A slow breath left you, though it did nothing to steady the sudden, heavy awareness that settled over your shoulders. You knew who it was before he spoke. "I should have expected to find you here." His voice was low, threaded with something unreadable. Still, you hesitated before looking up. Shadow Milk Cookie stood behind your bench, golden eyes softened by the afternoon light, framed by the willow’s swaying branches. The breeze stirred the edges of his robes, lifting stray strands of his hair, and for a fleeting moment, he looked like something out of a dream, something distant, unreachable. And yet, he was here. Your stomach twisted, a quiet war waging in your chest. “…I didn’t think you’d come looking for me,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to the ground. “It’s the weekend. I thought you’d have more important matters to tend to.” A pause. "You were expected," he said simply. Your breath caught. You had skipped your meeting. You had convinced yourself that it wouldn’t make a difference that surely, someone like him, someone so deeply entangled in the pursuit of knowledge, wouldn’t notice the absence of one struggling scholar. But he had. You swallowed, guilt creeping into your tone. "I'm sorry." Shadow Milk Cookie did not chastise, did not press. Instead, he stepped forward, lowering himself onto the bench beside you. Your fingers twitched. He had never done that before. For a moment, you could only stare at the space between you, at the way his presence changed the air still measured, still poised, but somehow… softer.

Neither of you spoke. The willow’s leaves whispered against one another, the wind tracing invisible paths along the water’s surface. It was he who broke the silence first. "Would you like to tell me what troubles you?" Your fingers curled into your lap. You had known this question would come. And yet, now that it was here, you weren’t sure how to answer. What could you possibly say? That a few upper scholars had tried to undermine you? That, despite knowing their words weren’t true, they had still found a way to carve doubt into your ribs? That a part of you some small, fragile part was beginning to believe them? It sounded foolish. It felt foolish. So instead, you swallowed down the knot in your throat and gave the simplest answer you could. “I just needed some time to think.” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, gaze calm but searching. “And have you found the answers you seek?” A quiet, humorless chuckle left you. “Not really.” He hummed, thoughtful. His gaze flickered back to the water, watching the gentle ripple of koi fins beneath the surface. "Then perhaps you have been asking the wrong questions." You blinked, turning to look at him fully. “What do you mean?” He did not answer right away. Instead, he regarded you with the same careful patience he always did, steady, unwavering, as if waiting for you to understand before he even spoke. And then, at last

“I do not ask for the sake of idle curiosity,” he said. “If something burdens you, I would rather you not carry it alone.” Your chest ached. For a long moment, you simply stared at him, searching his expression, looking for anything…anything that might explain why he had come all this way for you. Why he cared. And for the first time, you saw it. Not just the scholar. Not just the Sage of Truth. But something gentler. Something steadier. Something real. Your lips parted, words teetering on the edge of existence. But when you tried to speak, you found yourself faltering. “…I don’t know how to say it.” Shadow Milk Cookie did not look away. “Then say what you can,” he murmured. “And I will listen.” His voice was quiet, but his words carried weight. Something fragile unfurled in your chest, something small but growing something that felt dangerously close to trust. You exhaled, pressing your palms together, letting yourself be in this moment, in this silence, in his presence. And though you still did not have the words though the shadows of doubt still curled at the edges of your mind For the first time in a long while, you did not feel alone. The words slipped past your lips before you could stop them. "Why do you care so much?" A question barely louder than a breath, yet it carried weight, carried something trembling and raw between you. Your eyes searched his, desperate, pleading for what you didn’t know. An answer. A confirmation. A reason to believe that this mattered, that you mattered. Shadow Milk Cookie did not look away. For a long, breathless moment, he only held your gaze, letting you search, letting you reach into the golden depths of his eyes as if you might find some hidden truth written there. The eyes are the doors to the soul, they say. But his were locked. Not cold. Not empty. But guarded. His silence stretched, not cruel, not dismissive just… careful. Measured. You almost wished he would lie to you. Tell you it was an obligation, tell you it was mere curiosity, tell you that your presence was just another puzzle for him to solve. But instead, his voice came quiet. Steady.

"Would you have me turn away?" Your breath hitched. That wasn’t an answer. But it was. Your fingers curled against the bench, nails digging lightly into the worn wood. The world around you seemed to soften, the wind a gentle hush through the willows, the koi-like creatures gliding beneath the water in endless, slow circles. “…No,” you admitted, voice fragile, nearly lost beneath the rustling leaves. “But I don’t understand.” Something flickered in his gaze. He inhaled deep and slow, like a man on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t, something that threatened to chip away at the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself. And then, at last "Neither do I." The words were soft. Barely there. A confession in their own right. You stared at him, the ache in your chest something both heavy and light, something you couldn’t name. There was something terrifying in this not in what he said, but in what he didn’t. In the spaces between his words, in the way his eyes held yours, unflinching, unguarded, just for a moment. As if he, too, had been reaching for something he did not know how to hold. You swallowed the lump in your throat, the weight of his words settling in your chest like an unanswered question. It lingered thick and heavy in the air between you, something fragile, something unspoken. And yet… you left it there. Let it rest in the quiet hush of the willow’s shade, let it settle in the rippling water, let it slip through your fingers before you could grasp what it meant. Instead, you turned toward something safer. Something familiar.

"Shadow Milk… what did you research today?" His name on your lips felt strange, too intimate, too deliberate. You rarely said it, always keeping that respectful distance, always keeping the boundaries clear. But right now, you needed something clear. A path forward, a step back into normalcy. He regarded you for a moment longer, as if weighing your sudden shift, as if debating whether to push, whether to pry. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled slowly, tilting his head as he considered your question. "Ah… an interesting inquiry. I had the pleasure of studying an old text on astral navigation, rather fascinating, truly. It details the methods by which early scholars charted the celestial currents, long before modern star-mapping techniques were refined." His voice was smooth, practiced, slipping into his natural rhythm with ease, offering you the normalcy you sought. You nodded, grasping onto his words like a lifeline. “That does sound fascinating. Did they have any theories that still hold weight today?” He hummed, ever thoughtful. "A few, though many have been refined or disproven with time. There was one particular hypothesis regarding the influence of lunar phases on magic conductivity though widely dismissed, I find the logic behind it intriguing." You let out a soft breath, nodding along, focusing on the conversation, on the back-and-forth of learning, of inquiry, of things that made sense. Because this was what you understood. Not the way his voice had softened moments ago. Not the way he had looked at you, as if there was something neither of you were ready to name. Not the way your heart ached with something you were too afraid to face. So you let the moment slip away. And Shadow Milk Cookie, for all his wisdom, let you.

You leaned back against the bench, letting your head tilt just slightly as your gaze wandered not toward the koi-like creatures in the pond, not toward the swaying willows, but to the soft, flowing strands of Shadow Milk Cookie’s hair. It was almost hypnotic, the way it moved despite the stillness of the air, as if caught in some unseen current. Deep, endless blue fading into a luminous, almost ethereal lightness, like a river reflecting the night sky. You squinted at it. “Is your hair magical?” He turned his head toward you, golden eyes narrowing slightly, not in displeasure, but in quiet amusement. “That is quite the sudden inquiry.” You shrugged. “It’s just… it moves even when there’s no wind. And it sparkles, like it’s full of stars.” You frowned, studying the strands with something close to suspicion. “It’s a little unfair, honestly.” That earned a chuckle a real, quiet laugh, the kind you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him before. “Unfair?” “Yes! Some of us have to deal with normal hair that just sits there. Yours looks like it was spun from the sky itself.” He hummed, as though genuinely considering this. “An unfortunate injustice, indeed.” You deadpanned. “Are you mocking me?” His expression was the picture of innocence. “I would never.” You narrowed your eyes at him, not believing that for a second, but huffed and leaned back again. “So? Is it magic or not?”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he finally exhaled, tilting his head just slightly so that a few strands of his hair slipped over his shoulder, catching the light. “It depends on how one defines magic.” You groaned. “No. None of that Sage of Truth nonsense…I want a real answer.” He let out another soft laugh. “Very well. No, my hair is not inherently magical.” You blinked. “Oh.” Then your eyes narrowed. “Wait. You hesitated. That means there’s a but.” He sighed, as if he had been caught in some great scheme, though there was no real frustration in it. “Perceptive.” You grinned. “So? What’s the but?” “The ‘but,’” he echoed, “is that while it is not magical in the traditional sense, it is… a reflection.” That caught your curiosity. You tilted your head. “A reflection of what?” His golden gaze flickered toward the pond, watching as one of the koi-like creatures glided beneath the surface. “Of who I am.” You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. It was rare for him to say something so… personal. But before you could think too much about it, you huffed, trying to bring back the lightheartedness. “Well, then I’m doomed. My hair just reflects how little sleep I get.”

That startled another laugh out of him. It was soft, brief, but real. And somehow, hearing it made your chest feel warm. You smiled, shaking your head before letting your gaze drift back to the pond. He didn’t press for conversation, nor did you, but the air between you was lighter now, easier. And if you caught him watching you from the corner of your eye, his expression softer than usual, well…You decided not to say anything about that, either. You tapped your fingers idly against your knee, watching the way the strands of his hair shimmered even in the shade of the willow tree. A reflection of himself, huh? You let the thought settle, mulling over his words, before speaking again soft, thoughtful, but lighthearted all the same. “So that means… your true personality must be beautiful.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher. Warmth flickering on his face a subtle darker blue. His eyes, gold like the light of an old star, held something unreadable, something quiet. Not necessarily surprised, but… considering. You blinked at him, confused by his silence. “What? You were the one who said your hair is a reflection of who you are.” You gestured vaguely. “And, well, it’s beautiful. So logically, that means you must be, too.”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed together as though choosing his next words carefully. “Beauty is a subjective concept,” he said at last, voice even. “It is determined not by the subject itself, but by the eyes that perceive it.” You huffed. “You always do this.” His brows lifted slightly. “Do what?” “Turn a simple observation into some grand philosophical statement.” He exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “And you always take my words at face value.” “Well, yeah,” you said, leaning back on your hands. “You’re the Sage of Truth. If I can’t take your words at face value, then who can I trust?” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment before tilting his head ever so slightly. “Then if I were to say I do not often think of myself as you claim-” “You’d be wrong.” He blinked. “I-” “See? You’re not used to being told that, huh?” You grinned, watching the way he seemed caught between amusement and something else, something deeper, lingering beneath the surface. “I mean it, though. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” He studied you, his expression unreadable once more, before glancing away. “You speak as though you know me well.” You shrugged. “I do know you well.” “Do you?” The way he said it wasn’t a challenge, not like the way he typically invited debate it was softer, thoughtful. You frowned slightly, considering. “I mean… I know the version of you I’ve seen. The one that tutors me. The one that lets me ask ridiculous questions about your hair and doesn’t seem too bothered by it.” You tilted your head. “There’s probably more I don’t know, but… I think that’s true for anyone.”

Shadow Milk Cookie was quiet for a moment, gaze turning toward the rippling pond. “Indeed,” he murmured. “No one is known in full. Not even to themselves.” You stared at him for a second before shaking your head with a small laugh. “And there it is.” He raised a brow. “There? what is?” “That grand philosophical statement I was talking about.” You grinned. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Shadow Milk Cookie sighed in something that might’ve been exasperation, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Perhaps not.” You leaned back again, satisfied with that answer, and let the moment settle into something quieter, something easier. “Still,” he said after a while, voice softer now, “you are one of few to look at me and see something beyond my title.” You blinked at him, surprised by the sudden honesty. Then you smiled. “Well,” you said, nudging his arm lightly, “maybe your hair isn’t the only reflection of who you are.” He looked at you then, truly looked at you, and you couldn’t quite place what it was in his expression. Something contemplative. Something… open. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something else.

But he only hummed, low and thoughtful, before turning his gaze back to the water. And this time, you let the quiet linger. You kicked your legs idly, watching the way the koi-like creatures stirred beneath the surface of the pond. The conversation had quieted for a moment, the weight of it sinking into something softer, something unspoken but understood. Still, the silence wasn’t unwelcome. It was… nice.But you weren’t one to let things sit too heavy for too long.“So,” you said, turning your gaze back toward him, “if your hair reflects your true self, does that mean if you ever had an existential crisis, it would just… change color?” Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. Once. Twice. Then turned his head slowly to look at you. “…I beg your pardon?” You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. “Like, imagine you’re having a really bad day, and suddenly your hair just turns, I don’t know… gray. Or maybe it starts flickering like candlelight when you’re deep in thought.” He exhaled sharply, not quite a sigh, but something close. “That is not how it works.” You hummed, unconvinced. “Has anyone ever tested it?” Shadow Milk Cookie pinched the bridge of his nose. “No one needs to test it.” “So you don’t know for sure.” “I-” He stopped, inhaled deeply, then exhaled as if summoning patience from the very air around him. “You are relentless.” You grinned. “I learn from the best.” His hand lowered, and he glanced at you, brow arching slightly. “Do you?” “Of course, Shadow Milk,” you said, testing the name again, feeling it settle more naturally on your tongue. “Your dedication to truth is inspiring.” He hummed, but there was an amused lilt to it. “And yet you insist on filling the air with absurdities.”

“Because it’s fun,” you admitted, tilting your head. “And because you humor me, even when you pretend you don’t.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a moment, golden eyes steady and thoughtful. “…You are not incorrect.” You smiled, satisfied with that answer. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The breeze stirred through the willow’s drooping branches, and the koi-like creatures rippled the surface of the water. The academy gardens had always been a place of quietude, but somehow, in his presence, that quiet felt fuller like something being gently held rather than simply left alone. But, of course, you couldn’t let things stay too still for too long. “Do you think if I concentrated hard enough, I could move things with my mind?” Shadow Milk Cookie let out the softest chuckle, shaking his head. “That is not how magic works.” “You don’t know that.” “I do, in fact, know that.” “You don’t know know that.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned fully toward you now, folding his hands in his lap, as if preparing himself for an argument he never intended to win. “I have spent countless years studying the properties of magic. There is no such thing as purely willing an object to move without some external force…be it spellcasting, elemental manipulation, or otherwise.”

You squinted at him. Then squinted harder at the cup resting on the bench between you both. “…What are you doing?” “Trying to move the cup with my mind.” A pause. “You are absurd.” “And yet,” you said, lifting your chin slightly, “here you are, sitting with me, indulging my absurdity.” Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t refute that. Instead, he leaned back ever so slightly, gaze flickering between you and the unmoved cup, and sighed. “At the very least, you are persistent.” “See? I am learning from you.” He shook his head, but there was something fond in the way he did it. And for the first time, you realized just how much you had eased into this into him. You had been so careful, so hesitant before. Always aware of the weight of his presence, the grandiosity of his title, the sheer difference between the two of you. But here, beneath the willow, with the koi-like creatures dancing beneath the surface of the pond and the sunlight filtering through his star-strewn hair, he felt… reachable. And maybe that was why you kept talking. Maybe that was why you kept asking ridiculous questions. Because he let you. Because he answered, even when he sighed, even when he shook his head in exasperation, even when he tried so hard to act as if he wasn’t the slightest bit entertained by your antics. Because right now, you weren’t just his student. You were something else. Something you didn’t want to name just yet.

But something that made you call his name again, lightly, playfully. “Shadow Milk.” He turned to you, expectant. You grinned. “Do you think you could make your hair sparkle more on command? Like, really sell the whole ‘ethereal sage’ thing?” His lips parted slightly, as if stunned into silence. Then, finally, he let out a breath of something close to a laugh. “…You truly are relentless.” And yet, he didn’t seem to mind. The moment between you both had settled into something light, something easy. The kind of moment that didn't demand anything but presence, where words came as they pleased, and silence was just another way of speaking. The koi-like creatures swam in slow, lazy circles, catching glimmers of sunlight on their iridescent scales. The willow’s long tendrils swayed, brushing against the surface of the water like fingertips tracing the lines of a dream. You sat back against the bench, sighing softly, letting yourself just be for a moment. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this something outside of studying, outside of the weight of expectations. Something that felt like companionship, like understanding. And yet, even as you spoke with ease, even as his presence no longer loomed quite so dauntingly, the respect you held for him remained like a carefully drawn line in the sand. He was still him. Still someone revered, someone you never expected to be sitting with like this, sharing a quiet afternoon beneath the willow. Which made what you were about to say all the harder to get out. You hesitated, running a hand over the grain of the bench beneath you. The words sat at the back of your throat, a strange weight pressing against your ribs. You weren’t sure why you were nervous maybe because this side of him was still new to you, maybe because you weren’t sure if inviting him into something so normal was overstepping. But the words were already there, and before you could overthink them further, you let them fall. “Um,” you started, shifting slightly. “Would you… I mean” You stopped, sighed, and started again. “Would you like to have dinner with us later?” He turned to you, golden eyes flickering with quiet curiosity. “With ‘us’?” “My friends and I,” you clarified, suddenly feeling like you were walking a tightrope. “We usually eat together around this time. I just thought…” You trailed off, the weight in your chest twisting into something uncertain. “You don’t have to, obviously. I just” “I would not be unwelcome?” The question was simple, but the way he asked it so careful, so measured made you pause. “…No, of course not,” you said quickly. “It’s just-well, I don’t know if you’d even want to. I mean, it’s probably nothing compared to whatever important discussions you have with scholars, and I wouldn’t want to waste your time, but-”

“I would not see it as a waste of time,” he interrupted gently. That made you stop. Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but his voice had softened, just enough that it almost startled you. “You invited me,” he said simply. “Therefore, I will consider it.” You blinked, then let out a small breath, unsure if that was a yes or not, but feeling oddly relieved nonetheless. “Okay,” you murmured, glancing down at your hands. “Just… let me know if you decide to.” For a while, neither of you spoke. The moment stretched between you, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant sound of laughter somewhere farther in the gardens. Then, without really thinking, you smiled. “If you do come,” you added, a teasing lilt in your voice, “I’ll try not to bombard you with too many nonsensical questions.” Shadow Milk Cookie let out a breath part amusement, part exasperation. “I highly doubt that.” You laughed, and for the first time since you sat down beneath the willow, it felt like the weight in your chest had lightened, just a little. You grinned. “Hey, I can be serious when I want to.” “Mm. That remains to be seen.” You huffed in feigned offense, crossing your arms. “Is that a challenge?” He turned his head slightly, golden eyes glinting in the dappled light. “A simple observation.” You narrowed your eyes at him, but there was no real heat behind it. You were teasing, he was humoring you, and something about that exchange felt new. Shadow Milk Cookie was known for debate, for discourse that unraveled truth from tangled thought, but he was also known to be distant scholarly in a way that left little room for anything beyond the pursuit of knowledge.

But here he was, engaging in something as simple as banter. And you weren’t sure what to make of that. “…You’re different when you’re not teaching,” you mused, tilting your head. He regarded you with quiet curiosity. “In what way?” You hesitated, thoughtful. “You’re still you, obviously, but…” You gestured vaguely, as if trying to grasp the right words. “It’s like seeing the ocean on a calm day after only knowing it in a storm.” His expression shifted something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. For a moment, you worried you had overstepped, but then he let out a quiet breath. “Truth,” he said slowly, “is often mistaken for rigidity. Many believe it to be an unyielding thing a force that exists only in the realm of reason.” His fingers tapped idly against the wood of the bench, contemplative. “But truth is vast,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of thought. “It is fluid, ever-reaching. And in all its forms, there is still room for quiet moments beneath willows. For idle conversation. For…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Dinner?” you offered, grinning. The corner of his mouth twitched, just barely. “…Perhaps.”

A/N Thank you to everyone who gave me advice on how to do this <3 I finally got this work...tumblr pls let me be....

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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theemporium · 3 months ago

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[5.1k] the thing between you and leon was just for convenience sake. that was all it was and all it ever would be. obviously fucking the same person for a prolonged period of time wouldn't lead to feelings or anything like that. right? (smutty themes included)

Look, Leon never claimed he made smart decisions off the ice.

It was different when he was on the ice. He was good on the ice, excellent even. He had shelves of trophies to prove as much. There was a reason he won those trophies, there was a reason he had earned his contract and there was a reason he was seen as one of the best players in the league, even whilst playing with Connor fucking McDavid every single night.

Leon was really fucking smart when it came to hockey. It was just everything else he seemed to have a problem with.

Case and point? The fact he was currently driving one and a half hours after a late afternoon game to meet you at some dodgy motel where there would be less of a chance of him being recognised than he would in Edmonton.

Not the smartest decision.

The fact this had been an ongoing arrangement for the last few months also further proved this was not a smart decision in the slightest.

But truthfully, Leon could not bring himself to regret his far-from-smart decisions because the pros definitely outweigh the cons, quality over quantity or whatever the saying was. Because god knows the relationship between the two of you came with way more cons: the distance, the commute, the fact you were a fucking Flames fan.

It was, by all definitions of the word, the furthest thing from convenient for him and yet he was still making the drive to Red Deer against his better judgement.

You were already there. He had just gotten out of the shower, the exhaustion from the game and the press conference already settling deep in his bones when he opened his phone to find a picture waiting for him, one of you sprawled out on a bed—a bed which he recognised easily by the same ugly sheets the motel used in every room.

Leon hated the way his stomach flipped at the sight of them, at the knowledge that you were there waiting for him.

He had tried not to think about what he was doing too much, but it was hard to avoid when Connor gave him an odd look after he phoned his dog-sitter and asked if he wouldn’t mind popping over to make sure Bowie got his afternoon walk and some dinner. He also tried to ignore the looks of confusion he got from the rest of the team as he waved off the offer of celebratory drinks after a shut-out win against the Blue Jackets.

If he was being honest, Leon’s way of coping with this whole thing was to avoid a lot of details.

It seemed to be working so far.

The drive to Red Deer felt like muscle memory by this point. It was almost therapeutic, to let his brain mostly shut off and relax after such a fast-paced, high adrenaline game. It was nice to just clutch the wheel and follow the signs down, knowing that you were waiting for him at the end of the journey.

He could have snorted the second he walked through the motel room door, the key still in one hand as he pushed it open and found you sprawled on the bed—unfortunately clothed, unlike the photo you had sent him earlier.

“Playing hard to get?”

Your lips twitched as you pushed yourself to sit up on the bed, shuffling until you were perched on the end. “Not everything is about you, Draisaitl,” you mused, watching as he closed and locked the door behind him. “You were taking your time and this room is fucking freezing.”

“It’s almost like the only thing I had planned in my diary was a game today,” Leon deadpanned. “No secret meetups penciled in.”

“Hm, should have guessed you would want your ego stroked after a game like that,” you retorted, watching as he began to shrug off the suit jacket he wore with his game day suit. “Want me to tell you how good you did, baby?”

Leon rolled his eyes. “You watched?”

You shrugged. “I got curious, wanted to see what all the hype was about.”

“Hm,” Leon hummed, tugging impatiently at his tie until he was able to pull it over his head. His fingers were already moving to the buttons of his shirt. “And what was your conclusion?”

“You play alright,” you commented, your lips twitching like you were trying to fight back your own grin. “Slightly disappointed by tonight’s performance though.”

Leon raised his brows. “Two goals and an assist weren’t enough for you?”

“I was looking for a hat trick,” you said, and this time you did grin.

“Brat,” Leon huffed, not quite fond but something else positive, lustful, desired even.

“You love it,” you countered, eyes sparkling.

He didn’t even bother to deny it as he leaned down, both hands engulfing your face as he kissed you, hard and fast and desperate, like the long drive down had finally caught onto him and his patience.

“Clothes off,” he muttered between kisses, hissing a little when your teeth playfully nipped his lip.

“Gonna warm me up?” You taunted, leaning back enough to pull your hoodie over your head and throw it somewhere on the floor beside his abandoned tie and shirt.

He groaned, his nose scrunching up. “That was a horrible line.”

“Yeah, but you’re still gonna fuck me,” you retorted, looking far too smug for his liking.

The worst part was that you were right.

…

“Leaving already?”

“I need to get back to Bowie.”

“Give him my love.”

“I will not be doing that.”

“Rude.”

…

Leon wasn’t exactly going out of his way to hide the fact he was sleeping with someone on a regular basis.

It would be a stupid thing to try and hide when he knew each of his teammates had working eyes and would very much be able to see the scratches and marks left all over his body following his latest meetup with you.

“Oi! Oi! Someone had a fun night!”

Leon barely reacted anymore, simply letting the cheers and catcalls echo through the locker room as he focused on gearing up for practice. It was inevitable, it was something he had dealt with since the start of his relationship with you—if whatever the two of you had could even be considered a relationship.

“I’ve been looking for a new place to take Lauren for date night.”

Leon paused, turning to look at Connor with his brows furrowed together. He waited for the boy to continue but he never did. “Okay?”

Connor was still looking at him expectantly. “Any recommendations?”

“No?” Though, it came out sounding like a question. Mostly because it was a question, because Leon was kind of confused why this was a necessary topic of conversation before early morning skate. “Am I meant to know a place?”

Connor blinked. “I assumed wherever you went after the game on Tuesday.”

Leon frowned. “I didn’t go out to eat after Tuesday’s game.”

“But you phoned your dog-sitter,” Connor pointed out, though he didn’t sound accusatory. He had that look on his face, the same one that Leon often saw on the ice when he was trying to work out a play before it even happened.

“I did,” Leon nodded, because there was no point in denying it when Connor had overheard the conversation. “Pretty sure he doesn't have any date spot recommendations either.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed and Leon swore he could hear the cogs in his brain whirling and turning. But Leon was stubborn and a little petty and he didn’t give handouts, not even to Connor. So he stood there, staring back at his friend with a fairly blank expression.

“Interesting,” Connor said eventually before turning back to his stall to get ready for practice.

Leon pretended to ignore the way the tightness in his chest loosened when Connor dropped the topic.

…

“The motel could be a good date night spot, you never know.”

“I know for a fact we saw a rat in the bathtub once.”

“Yeah, and you screamed like a little girl.”

“I screamed the appropriate way for a rat the size of a small dog.”

“Bowie could take that rat.”

“I would never let Bowie near that monster.”

…

Despite every piece of advice he had ever been given from the veterans before him, roadies didn’t really get easier.

After a while, the non-descriptive hotel rooms with scratchy sheets and stiff pillows became a part of the routine. It was a part of his job, the same way early morning practices and bag skates were. He didn’t like it, he could do without it but he had learnt to accept it very early on in his career.

Still, there were some nights on the road where the room was too uncomfortable for Leon to settle down.

They had flown in early for their east coast roadie, having a full day and night in Florida before their game the following night. The others had headed out for dinner, wanting to enjoy the heat whilst they could but Leon had waved them off when they extended the offer to him. He was tired and still a little grumpy from the small nap he managed on the turbulent flight down. He wanted his bed more than anything, but the hotel one would have to do.

Except, Florido was humid.

It was humid and hot and his clothes were sticking to his body. But the air conditioning in the hotel room was stuck at a temperature that made the room frigid. And the fucking feeling of the sheets against his skin made him feel like he was seconds away from biting his own arm off if the starchiness didn’t stop feeling so starchy against him.

He hadn’t even realised what he was doing until the rings were going through.

“I hope you’re wearing something sexy for me.”

Despite his pissy mood, Leon did find himself snorting a little.

“Put on my tightest pair of boxers just for you,” he mused, swallowing back the biting complaints as he tried to settle back onto the bed.

“Yeah? Gonna mess them up for me, big boy?”

“God,” Leon groaned but he was smiling. “I don’t even know why I bother sometimes.”

But you laughed and the sound settled something inside him. “I bet they have little Oilers logos on them too.”

Leon grinned a little. “Is that something you’re into? Want me to dress up for you?”

“I would burn them if you wore them in front of me.”

“If you wanted me naked, you just had to ask,” Leon retorted, his eyes falling shut as you scoffed on the other side of the phone.

“Are you naked now?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Do I want to listen to you jerk off to my fantasies of burning your Oilers boxers? Can’t imagine anything hotter, Draisaitl.”

Leon hated the way his dick twitched at your words anyways, the way something stirred in his stomach at the idea of you being so desperate to get his clothes off and to have him sprawled out naked and waiting for you. He didn’t tend to like handing over control, but he thinks his curiosity would win out when it came to you.

“Talk dirty to me, baby. Tell me your sexy, arsonistic dreams.”

…

“Be honest. Do your boxers have little Oilers logos on them?”

“I am not even dignifying that question with an answer.”

“I’ll wear a Flames thong, we can match.”

“I promise you I will not fuck you if you wear any sort of Flames merchandise around me. Instant turn off.”

“Liar.”

…

Even though Red Deer was a beloved meet up spot for the both of you, Leon wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the obvious opportunity to meet up after a Battle of Alberta game.

Your apartment was one Leon had become familiar with, even though this was technically the first time he had ever stepped foot into it. It felt a little surreal as he walked through the doorway, sliding off his boots and looking around at the apartment that had been the backdrop for more Facetimes than he could even remember.

His eyes lingered on the couch as a vague memory came to mind, of seeing you sprawled over it with your hand between your legs and your head thrown back as you came for him over the phone after a particularly rough game against LA.

“You just gonna stand there all day?”

“Maybe,” Leon answered, not seeming to be in any rush as he continued to glance around your apartment before turning to face you. “I wanted to see what my options were for the night.”

You raised your brows.

“What? Backing out of our bet now?” Leon mused, feeling his stomach twist in delight at the way your eyes instantly narrowed in defiance. You were going to be difficult tonight, bratty even.

Good. He liked that. He wanted that.

“You were so confident your Flames would win,” Leon continued, the name tasting like acid on his tongue as he hissed it out. His eyes were glued to you, taking slow steps towards you and feeling a thrill of excitement at the way you refused to back down. “A shame they couldn’t win.”

“They would have,” you said, just to push his buttons, just to piss him off. “Bad calls can really determine a game.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Bad calls don’t mean shit when they can’t get the puck in the back of the net.”

Your eyes darted down to his lips as he stood in front of you. “And you did?”

“Twice,” Leon grinned, sharklike and dangerous and yet, it still didn’t stop you from darting forward to press your lips against his.

Leon was shameless with the groan he let out as he pressed you against the wall, as he tucked his leg between yours and wound his arms around you so he could press you against his body. He was shameless in the way he kissed you, fast and passionate and needy and desperate. He was shameless in the way he muttered what he wanted to do with you, in the way he wanted you, in the stupid deal you had goaded him into a few hours before the game.

It was a herculean task to pull yourselves away from the wall and let you pull him towards your bedroom, but it was worth it once the two of you had managed to tear your clothes off and get on the bed. Leon allowed himself one, two, three seconds to stare at the sight of you spread out on the bed before he crawled over you and completely engulfed your body with his own.

“And that—” You let out a small whine as his teeth nipped the spot behind your ear. “—power play in the second was a bullshit call and we both fucking know it.”

“Fuck,” Leon groaned, his lips pressing short, chaste kisses down the length of your neck. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Thought you liked my mouth open,” you retorted, breathless and smug and, fuck, if it wasn’t infuriatingly hot to him. As if it wasn’t that damn mouth that was the reason he kept this going when it was far from easy or convenient.

“I like it full,” he corrected, lifting his head to watch the way you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “I like it when you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Your eyes gleamed with interest. “Then guess you better hurry up. I’ve been hearing a lot of promises since you walked through that door.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Keep your hands above your head. Don’t move.”

“Is this you cashing in your reward from the bet?” You asked, playful and teasing but still obedient as you reached up to grip the wooden bars of your headboard. “That's all you want from me? To not touch you?”

Winner gets to do whatever they want for the night.

Leon grinned and it made your stomach twist in delight. “Be good and you’ll find out just what I want and what I will get from you.”

…

“Is that a teddy?”

“Don’t judge Quacks, he’s been with me through a lot.”

“He is staring into my soul.”

“He is a good judge of character and he says you’re pissy.”

“Sounds like a very judgemental duck.”

“You two can bond over it.”

…

Somewhere along the line, the visits to that dodgy motel in Red Deer started to lessen.

Leon wasn’t sure when or why but…it just started to happen. It almost felt natural though, something he tried not to think about too deeply. He had just come off one of their longest roadies of the season yet—one that unfortunately resulted in more losses than wins—and he was keyed up, pissed off and in desperate need of some sort of distraction.

But despite the two days off following the roadie, the idea of sitting in his car to drive down to Red Deer and back just for the sake of a few hours (at most) felt tiring and annoying and just…so much work.

You had laughed over the phone when Leon had said as much, not sounding all that bothered or surprised by his pissy attitude. If the messages and late night calls shared during the roadie were anything to go by, you had watched the games and knew just how bad the team was playing lately.

“Want me to come up and kiss the shitty games better?”

“That’s a three hour drive,” he found himself saying in response. “Both ways.”

You snorted. “Wow, you wouldn’t even let me stay the night? Maybe chivalry is dead.”

And that…fuck, Leon didn’t realise how badly he wanted that until you said.

“You should come,” he blurted out. “Come and stay over.” And after a few moments of silence, he added, “I don’t have anything for a few days either.”

Leon wasn’t sure what he expected to come of the offer, but it was a little too late once you had accepted the offer. You messaged him once you were on the road. You sent another when you briefly stopped at Red Deer, taking a picture of your usual motel and sending it with a ‘missing the musty smell already’. You ended up sending your location for the rest of the journey, claiming you couldn’t be bothered to message when you were nearby and that he could just watch your location if he was that desperate to know.

He didn’t admit that he watched your pin move closer and closer to his house for the last fifteen minutes of your drive.

Leon kind of expected it to be awkward when you arrived, for the regret to hit and for the heavy realisation to settle that he had let someone else into his space for a prolonged amount of time.

That never happened. If anything, it was more unsettling to realise just how easily you slipped into his life at home, to see how quickly Bowie accepted you.

If anything, it made him realise how much he wished the two of you had done this sooner.

…

“Never took you to be the kinda guy to wine and dine a girl.”

“Fuck off.”

“Do you kiss Bowie with that mouth?”

“No, but I did make you come three—”

“Nuh uh! Not when Bowie can hear, he has innocent ears.”

…

The trips to Red Deer became nonexistent and instead were replaced with a back and forth of trips between Edmonton and Calgary.

Now, as stupid as his decisions off the ice may be, Leon wasn’t oblivious. He knew that this went beyond the original convenience excuse the two of you had thrown around at the start of this relationship. He knew that no normal person in a ‘sex only’ relationship was driving three hours just to spend a few days with their ‘sex only’ partner. He knew that this was far beyond the original agreement the two of you had agreed to in that dingy Calgary bar after the Oilers lost abysmally.

But Leon was more than happy to avoid voicing those realisations out loud for as long as he got to keep everything going the way it was.

Because he liked how things were, despite the initial confusion, and he was unashamedly selfish like that to know that he wasn’t letting it go until he had to.

And if lying to his teammates to get out of team bonding after a ten day roadie so he could be home when you came over was a part of that? Then so be it.

He missed you.

“You’re acting like it’s been a million years,” Leon commented, closing the door behind you and placing your bag to the side (rather than the spot in the middle of the entryway you had chosen).

“It has been a million years,” you said from your spot on the floor, your legs crossed and Bowie happily licking your face. “I’ve been deprived of seeing my favourite boy.”

Leon rolled his eyes, though it seemed fond. “He misses you too. Pretty sure he recognises your voice through the phone now. He looks extremely disappointed when he goes to the door and you’re not there.”

“Because he’s the smartest boy!” You cooed at the fluffy dog on your lap, grinning widely as he continued to whine and yip happily at you.

Leon chose to ignore the way his chest tightened at the sight.

“Did you only miss him?” Leon found himself asking, because apparently he had reached the point of being jealous of his own damn dog.

The amusement was clear on your face when you lifted your head, that grin now directed completely at him. “I never took the Leon Draisaitl to be one to go fishing for compliments.”

Leon all but huffed. “I am not fishing, I am asking.”

“Because you missed me?” You asked, sounding even more amused.

“I regret opening the door.”

“Liar,” you beamed at him, moving Bowie off your lap (who was not happy with the sudden shift in attention) and pushed yourself back onto your feet until you were in front of Leon, arms wound around his neck as you placed an obnoxiously loud, smacking kiss onto his cheek. “Better?”

“You’re getting there,” he said, trying to sound dismissive and unbothered but the smile growing on his face didn’t help.

You shook your head, almost looking as fond as he felt. “Hurry up and kiss me then, Draisaitl, it’s been a million years.”

Leon rolled his eyes, but he happily complied.

…

“That goal in the third against the Kings was hot.”

“You watched?”

“You sound surprised whenever I tell you I watch your games.”

“The game was on at the same time as the Flames game.”

“Yeah but the Flames game didn’t have your grumpy face on the screen.”

…

Leon realised that things had to change when Connor, of all people, was the one pointing out just how long this stupid thing between the both of you had been going on.

Not on purpose, which somehow made the whole thing ten times worse.

The thrill of hate sex hadn’t been a solid excuse for the relationship between you two after the third or fourth hookup. No hate sex was that good to commute for it, no matter what anybody says. And the convenience argument quickly followed, even if the two of you clung onto it with both hands in the early months of the relationship.

And as the relationship grew and bloomed, you both seemed happy enough to ignore labelling it all together.

Which was pretty fucking stupid, when Leon really thought about it. Even more so when Connor was the one connecting the dots for him.

“So.”

Leon didn’t even bother looking up, his gaze focused on his skates as muscle memory took over, looping and tightening the laces on his skates before practice. “So?”

“It’s almost been a year,” Connor said, standing in front of Leon’s stall with half of his gear on and his hands on his hips. “And I respect that you want to keep your privacy but…”

Leon paused, looking up at Connor with his brows furrowed. “What?”

“I thought we were friends,” Connor frowned. “Good friends.”

Leon blinked. “We are? What’s that got to do with anything?”

Connor stared at him like he was the one going crazy. “So you’re going to finally bring her over for dinner on Sunday? Lauren wants to meet her too.”

Leon blinked again. “Who?”

Connor sighed, heavy and exasperated. “Your girlfriend, Leon. The one you have been hiding away for the last year.”

And, in that moment, Leon had come to a handful of realisations that were not ideal to deal with a few minutes before a hard practice on the run up to playoffs. Especially not when it had been triggered by words from the ‘more robot than human’ Connor McDavid.

He hadn’t realised the whole thing between you both had been going on for almost a year. He hadn’t realised the people around him were that observant, that they figured out he had been seeing the same person rather than random flings during the season like he had done in previous years. He hadn’t realised how much he wanted to call you his girlfriend until he realised he couldn’t look Connor in the eyes and say with conviction that yes, you were in fact his girlfriend.

Leon realised a lot.

“Raincheck?” Leon blurted out before he could stop himself, filing away the epiphany and Connor’s disappointed captain face to the back of his mind for the remainder of the practice so he didn’t deck it on the ice.

He was the first one out of the locker room after practice before Connor could catch him again.

…

“Hey, you’re still coming over this weekend, right?”

“Uh, yeah, just like we planned. Why? Did something come up?”

“Yes. No! No, it didn’t. I just…I just need to talk to you about something.”

“How ominous.”

…

Leon had probably paced the distance to Germany and back around his living room by the time you arrived, much to Bowie’s displeasure as he watched from his spot on the couch with only slightly judgemental eyes.

In the days since his conversation with Connor, most of his thoughts had been surrounding what he wanted to say to you. He wasn’t stupid enough to think you didn’t feel something for him, he knew you had to or you wouldn’t be driving up to Edmonton every other week to see him. But he didn’t know if you would want more, he didn’t know if you would want a label.

He didn’t know if pointing out the very thing the two of you had been ignoring for the last year was going to completely fuck it up and, selfishly, he really did not want to lose you.

It was almost ironic that you didn’t even knock on the door when you arrived, using the damn spare key he gave you to walk straight into the house like it was normal. Because it was normal for the two of you, it had been normal for months.

And yet, the only thing Leon could say as you walked through the door was, “where is your bag?”

“In the car,” you said as you closed the door behind you but made no move to take your jacket off or even pull your boots off.

Suddenly, Leon felt on edge. “Why didn’t you bring it in?”

You stayed where you were, too far away from him, too far away for him to reach out for you. “Is there a reason for me to bring it in?”

“I—” Leon frowned, his chest twisting uncomfortably. “What? Of course there is. You’re staying the weekend, no?”

“Am I?” You asked, your hands clenched into tight fists by your side. Your voice was shaky, unsure. He had never heard it like that before, and he never wanted to hear it like that ever again. Especially when it came to him. “Because from the way you’ve been acting the last few days, it feels like you are just trying to let me down nicely and it’s—”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Leon blurted out.

You stared at him, lips parted in surprise.

“I—fuck, I had a whole thing I was meant to say before that,” Leon grumbled to himself, shaking his head as he closed the distance between you both. And for the first time in days, his head felt clear as he stood in front of you, his hands cupping your face because he needed to be touching you before he felt like his whole body would explode. “We are so far past this whole convenience bullshit.”

You snorted despite yourself, your lips twitching upwards as your hands reached for him. “Yeah, I think we got past that after the reception lady at the Red Deer motel asked us if we knew we had collected enough membership points to get a room free for a whole weekend.”

Leon didn’t even bother holding his smile back. “I want this. I want you. I want to tell people that you’re my girlfriend.” He paused, his nose scrunching up a little. “Well, not everyone. They can mind their own business, but the people that matter. I want to tell them that you’re my girl, even if you’re a fucking Flames fan, and I’m yours.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not a Flames fan. Not really. Not anymore.”

Leon raised his brows. “Finally joined the better side?”

“My boyfriend put up a really convincing argument,” you said, your hands twisting the fabric of his hoodie between your fingers before you pulled him closer.

“Your boyfriend sounds like a smart man,” Leon murmured, surprised he could even hear himself talk over the sound of his thumping chest.

“Eh, I’m only really with him for his dog,” you teased, laughing as Leon groaned and tugged you closer.

“Brat,” he grumbled against your lips, trying (and failing) to hide the fondness in his voice as he leaned down to kiss you.

“You love it,” you retorted.

Leon’s face softened as he pulled back enough to look at you. “Yeah. I do.”

…

“Let me get this straight, you only realised you wanted me to be your girlfriend because of Connor?”

“Shut up.”

“Wow, baby, you got love advice from McJesus.”

“Please stop talking about Connor whilst you are naked in my bed.”

#leon draisaitl #nhl #edmonton oilers #leon draisaitl x reader #leon draisaitl x you #leon draisaitl x y/n #leon draisaitl fic #leon draisaitl smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl smut

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lecsainz · 1 year ago

Note

Can u do any kind of luke imagine with maybe a daughter of hades:p

˒ ⌕ DID YOU EAT, TODAY?

parings: luke castellan x hades!reader

an: this was my first piece that my sister liked? I'm sooo happy because she's picky, and I usually have to beg her to read anything I write. yes, I know it's pathetic, but I usually don't think my writing is good, and I don't think you guys will like it. I have a bit of a validation-seeking complex (mirroball girl here 😭

summary: where, after 18 years of surviving alone, you finally arrive at camp half-blood, discovering you're a child of hades. adimist it all, a hermes' boy might find himself perhaps falling for you.

( my last work || my last work for riodanverse || go to main masterlist )

The camp was bustling with activity, but for you, the chaos of your newfound identity as a demigod and a daughter of Hades was still settling in. The moment you were claimed upon entering the camp, it felt like your entire world had shifted. As the campers dispersed for their activities, you sought solace by the lake, needing a moment to process the overwhelming revelations.

Luke, having noticed your absence from the group, made his way to the lake with a small cupcake in hand. Blueberry, your favorite. He approached cautiously, recognizing the turmoil on your face. The daughter of Hades, a complex puzzle of emotions and powers.

"Hey there," Luke greeted, sitting down beside you. "Did you eat today?"

You looked up, your eyes still reflecting the confusion and vulnerability that came with the newfound knowledge of your divine parentage. The mere question, though simple, struck a chord within you, resonating with a sense of care that you hadn't expected.

"I... I didn't really feel like it." you admitted, your voice betraying the uncertainty.

Without another word, Luke handed you the cupcake, and the corners of his lips lifted into a reassuring smile. "Well, you should. It's blueberry – your favorite, right?"

Surprised, you glanced at the cupcake, realizing that somehow, amidst all the chaos, Luke had remembered your preference. A small, genuine smile formed on your face as you took the cupcake. "Thank you."

Taking the cupcake, you managed a small smile. The gesture was simple, yet it carried an unspoken understanding. You hesitated for a moment before taking a bite, savoring the sweetness that contrasted with the bitter reality you were grappling with.

Luke watched you quietly, and when you finally met his gaze, he reached over to wipe away a stray tear that had escaped your eye. It was a gentle touch, one that conveyed more comfort than words ever could.

"You know, being a demigod is tough, especially in the beginning," he began, his tone gentle. "But you're not alone in this. We're a family here, weird as it may be."

You chuckled, feeling a hint of warmth amidst the emotional storm. "Yeah, a family of demigods with divine parent issues."

Luke chuckled with you. "Exactly. And you've got powers from the Underworld, which is pretty cool if you ask me."

Your laughter echoed by the lake, and Luke couldn't help but feel a warmth spreading within him. He looked at you, your smile contagious, and a goofy grin formed on his face. In less than 48 hours, everything you did seemed to become his favorite thing.

"See? I knew blueberry cupcakes were the way to go," Luke teased, nudging you playfully.

As you enjoyed the cupcake, the night air became a canvas for the unspoken. Luke's gaze lingered on you, studying your features. The flicker of vulnerability in your eyes and the subtle playfulness of your smile sparked something in him. His mind wrestled with conflicting thoughts. The prophecy and his allegiance to Kronos felt like a weight on his shoulders, yet the simple act of being there for you seemed to defy the inevitable.

Luke couldn't help but think he was treading on dangerous ground. The more he got to know you, the more he realized that maybe, just maybe, there were things worth fighting for beyond the plans of gods and Titans.

Caught in his own internal struggle, he locked eyes with you. His expression shifted between uncertainty and an undeniable connection that was forming against all odds.

And then, as if a realization hit him, you blushed, looking away. The daughter of Hades, powerful and enchanting, now bashful under his gaze. A small smile played on Luke's lips, acknowledging the unexpected turn of emotions.

"Stop," you said, your voice a blend of amusement and a blush that colored your cheeks.

"I can't help it," Luke responded, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He made no effort to hide his amusement, which only intensified your embarrassment.

A playful slap on his arm was your immediate response. "Seriously, cut it out."

Luke chuckled, the sound resonating in the tranquil night. "Alright, alright. I'll behave... for now."

"Hey, Castellan! We're heading out. You coming?" The moment was interrupted by a group of Hermes cabin members calling for Luke. As he got up to join them, he glanced back at you. "You coming?"

He extended his hand towards you, a gesture so simple yet filled with unspoken invitation. With a slight hesitance, you placed your hand in his, and together you walked away, fingers intertwined.

The children of Hermes exchanged smirks, whispering amongst themselves as they watched Luke and you leave the lakeside. One of them winked at Luke, teasingly remarking, "Looks like someone's got a soft spot."

Luke shot back with a grin, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He glanced at you, a sly smile playing on your lips radiating a warmth that ignited a turmoil within him. In that moment, a realization struck Luke like a lightning bolt – perhaps you were the unforeseen obstacle in Kronos' grand plan. As he stared at you, the idea that his growing feelings for you could complicate the titan's scheme loomed over him, and for the first time, Luke Castellan felt the weight of a dilemma he hadn't anticipated.

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justagalwhowrites · 7 months ago

Text

Oral Fixation - A TLOU One Shot

It's your boyfriend Joel's birthday but what do you give the man who has given you so much? AKA You learn how to give Joel a blow job. A one-shot set in the Lavender universe.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender

CW: Oral sex, mild age gap (Joel is turning 33, reader is 21 almost 22), mild description of past sexual encounter involving oral sex that wasn't the best, Joel is almost disturbingly happy because he hasn't been traumatized yet RIP trauma-free Joel, unprotected P in V sex, no use of Y/N, 18+ only minors DNI

Length: 4.5k

A/N: The final part of the Joel Miller Birthday Celebration! Can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that reader is Sarah's nanny and has been seeing Joel for about six months.

Masterlist | Lavender Masterlist | AO3

September, 2000

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” you said, all but clinging to Cassie’s arm as the two of you made your way through the adult store. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting but it wasn’t this, neon colored silicone penises and intimidatingly tiny scraps of lace everywhere you looked.

“And I can’t believe you don’t own a vibrator,” Cassie said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude, with the way you and the DILF go at it I’m pretty sure you’ve had more sex than I have at this point.”

Your cheeks got hot but… she was probably right. You and Joel had sex a LOT. So much that it was hard to believe that, just six months earlier, you’d still been a virgin. Sure, you doubted that sex with anyone else was even half as good as it was with Joel but it felt like you’d been denying yourself a whole world of good things because you’d been reluctant to make that leap for so long. Now, you wanted to make up for lost time, something that Joel was happy to oblige.

But, because you were so new to it, you didn’t really know much and, what’s worse, you didn’t know what you didn’t know.

Which is why you’d turned to Cassie in the first place. Joel’s birthday was coming up and you’d drawn a complete blank on what to get the man. You’d never gotten anyone a birthday gift who wasn’t your grandmother or your friend. What the hell did you get a boyfriend? What the hell did you get a man?

“You, naked, ready to recreate the filthiest porn the guy’s got,” Cassie said, not even looking up from the latest issue of Cosmo as she did. “And, because it’s you, bake him a cake or something. He’ll be thrilled.”

“I don’t know that Joel watches porn,” you crinkled your nose. That made her look up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She asked, incredulous. “Babes. He’s a man. Of course he watches porn.”

“I’m sure he would if things were different,” you said. “But he has a kid at home, we have to fight for privacy, I don’t think he’s exactly sitting down and putting on some…”

“He is,” she said, closing the magazine now. “I promise you, he is. Maybe less now that you’re in the picture but he definitely is. Stashed under his bed or in some shoebox at the back of his closet is a pile of all his dirtiest fantasies and all you have to do is gift wrap yourself, ready to fulfill them.”

So you might have done some snooping the next time you were at Joel’s before he got home from work.

Maybe.

Just a little.

And yeah, Cassie might have been right. There might have been a box - one a bit bigger than a shoebox but not much bigger - that had tapes and magazines inside. You took a quick inventory, looking at the covers of the videos and flipping through the pages of the more well-worn magazines.

It seemed both invasive and oddly impersonal, rifling through something that was mass produced and clearly not intended for you to see but was something that it seemed like you should know. The women in the magazines and on the covers of the tapes were so much more… everything than you were. More sexy, more confident, more knowledgable. It made your stomach twist.

Was this what Joel really wanted? He was older than you and you’d been a late bloomer in the romance department. Of course he had more experience but he’d never made it sound like anything was missing from your sex life. But maybe he was just being nice. Maybe what he really wanted was something more like whatever someone named Candy was doing on the back of this VHS sleeve.

It seemed like the least you could do for Joel was find a way to give him what he wanted.

So Cassie had convinced you to come to this store to figure out something to do for him for his birthday. Not that you had much idea what that would be.

“What’s his favorite color?” She asked, examining the tiny scraps of lace.

“Forest green?” You asked more than answered, examining something that you were pretty sure was a bra but seemed to be missing some key components. You were about to move on to something else when one of the movies playing on the opposite wall caught your eye. It was one of the actresses from the tapes at Joel’s, you recognized her. She was looking hungrily at a cock before taking it into her mouth, eyes closed in bliss with a satisfied groan.

Cassie noticed where you were staring and joined you, smirking a little.

“Like watching someone get their dick sucked, eh?” She teased, elbowing you lightly.

You glared at her.

“I just…” You looked back at the screen. “I think Joel has that video.”

“Really?” She said, brows raised, looking back at the screen as the woman started to slide up and down the thick cock. “Well, that’s simple enough. Just blow him, wham bam thank you ma’am, you’re set.”

“I don’t…”

“Oh don’t tell me you suck him off too much as it is,” she said. “Your sex life is already insufferably perfect.”

“No,” you said, defensive, your cheeks getting hot. “I just…”

“Just what?” She asked when you stayed quiet a bit too long.

“I’ve never… done that,” you said, looking back at the screen as the woman there hollowed out her cheeks and moaned.

“What!” Cassie yelped and you shushed her as the other people in the store turned to stare. “You’ve never…”

“Not with Joel,” you said quickly. “I did once with a guy but it didn’t go great and I really didn’t like it and honestly I think Joel might be too big to…”

“Too big?” She grabbed your arm, her eyes wide. “Babes, you said he was big but like… what do you mean too big? Gimme a ballpark, like…” she tugged you over to a wall of remarkably life-like dildos and pointed to one on the larger end. “That big?”

“No,” you said and she looked relieved for a moment before you pointed to one that was even bigger. “More like that one.”

Cassie’s jaw dropped, looking between you and the silicone dick in awe.

“That’s what the DILF is packing?”

“Can you please not call him that?”

“You big slut!” She was practically beaming. “Taking that for your first time? You deserve a medal!”

“Can we just…”

“That’s it, you’re sucking his dick for his birthday,” she said, grabbing flavored lube, throat numbing spray and a copy of the tape that was playing overhead. “As often as he apparently goes down on you? Seems like the least you can do is return the favor as he turns… what, 47?”

You glared at her and she smirked at you.

“33,” you said.

“And you don’t want me to call him a DILF,” she said, grabbing a surprisingly conservative set of lingerie and a small vibrator on her way to the counter. “Come on, we’ll turn you into an oral champ before you know it!”

You watched the video with Cassie that night after you had half a bottle of cheap wine in your system. The woman on screen seemed so… into it. The one time you’d gone down on someone was the summer before you left for college, going out with a boy you met at the movie theater when you took the kids you were babysitting there to see Hercules. He was cute, nice, didn’t carry the baggage a lot of the boys you’d gone to high school with did. On your fourth date, you were making out in his car and he’d nudged your head down lower and lower until it was in his lap. He pulled his cock out and you cautiously, hesitantly, took him in your mouth and you did try to do what you thought he wanted while taking it slow. But it didn’t take long before he was moaning and thrusting up into your mouth and you gagged as he pushed your head down further on his dick. You’d all but ripped yourself away, coughing and sputtering, and he half heartedly apologized before trying to push your head to his lap again. You didn’t go for it that time and he took you home. You didn’t go out with him again, deciding to write off men until you were away at college and hopefully meeting one who was fine with you doing things like not sucking their dick.

Which, Joel was. Or seemed to be, anyway. But if he enjoyed it - if it felt like it was something that was missing from your sex life - you wanted to give it to him. He’d given you so much, you wanted to give him everything. You just needed to figure out how to do it.

After you giggled your way through the video the first time, you started it again as Cassie gave you some tips: How to breathe through your nose, how to swallow around your gag reflex, how to use your tongue, how guys liked when you choked on it a little. It felt almost like you were in class, taking notes on a piece of scratch paper you mentally vowed to set on fire after you practiced a little with a cucumber so no one had to know that you needed someone to teach you this stuff, stuff that seemed like it should come naturally to you.

“Just use the throat spray, use the lube and breathe through your nose,” she said when she left to go home the next morning. “You’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

“Right,” you said, trying to ignore the tight knot of nerves that had settled in your stomach. “I can do it.”

You carefully selected a Joel-sized cucumber at the grocery store and tried to not feel like an idiot as you followed Cassie’s advice as you practiced leading into Joel’s birthday. It wasn’t as bad when there wasn’t someone shoving your head down on their lap though it still wasn’t your favorite thing. But for Joel? You’d deal.

The day you were going to celebrate his birthday, the reality of it set in. If there was one thing you were an expert in by now, it was your boyfriend’s cock and your boyfriend’s cock was… big. What if the throat spray didn’t work as well when you weren’t the one in control of what was going in your mouth? Worse, what if you were just bad at it? What if he had an ex who was as good at sucking him off as that porn star would be and you’d be struggling to measure up the whole time?

You were rarely nervous with Joel anymore but you were weirdly nervous as you made him dinner - chicken fried steak - and tried to not let it show as the two of you ate together and had drinks and cake while watching Alien in his living room after.

“You spoil me way too damn much, baby,” Joel said as your head was nestled against his chest, his lips in your hair. You could feel him smile against you as he kissed you there. “Best birthday I’ve had in years, thank you.”

“Well, I might have one more thing for you,” you said, sitting up from him and smiling a little, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Really?” He cocked a smile at you, his cheek dimpling. “Does it involve you naked?”

“It might,” you teased, relaxing a little as you looked at him. This was Joel, the safest man you knew, the person you loved more than any other. It would be OK. “Want to go to your room and find out?”

“Good luck stoppin’ me,” he winked, getting up and helping you off the couch. Once you were up stairs, the two of you kissed your way down the hall but he moaned as you pulled away from him and nudged him back toward the bed.

“Just stay put,” you said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he called as you disappeared into his bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, forcing yourself to take a deep, calming breath before going to his linen cupboard and pulling out the throat spray, lube and lingerie you’d stashed away earlier. You used the spray first, wincing at the antiseptic-like taste of it, before you quickly stripped, balling up your sundress and bra and pulling on the deep green lacy babydoll set Cassie had picked for you. As you examined yourself in the mirror - fluffing your hair and adjusting your breasts in the sheer cups - you gave your best friend this much: she knew how to help make you comfortable. The set wasn’t too revealing or over the top but still highlighted your curves and put all the parts of you Joel seemed to like best on display.

“Thank you, Cassie,” you muttered before taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, the strawberry flavored lube clutched tight in your hand. You looked your reflection in the eye and tried to get lost in the almost-porn star version of yourself in the mirror.

“You got this,” you said almost silently, giving yourself a single, resolute nod before going for Joel’s room again.

He was sitting obediently where you’d left him, watching the bathroom door. You draped yourself against the frame, popping a hip out to accentuate your curves, one arm stretched high over your head against the wood. Joel’s mouth dropped open, his eyes going wide.

“Like what you see?” You asked more confidently then you felt.

“Goddamn, baby,” he said reverently. “Gonna gimme a heart attack, looking that damn good.”

“Well don’t go dropping dead on me now,” you teased, walking toward him in what you hoped was a sexy way and not something that made you look like an idiot. “You haven’t even gotten your present yet.”

He put his hands on your waist when you reached him but, instead of straddling him, you reached down and spread his legs so you could step between them. You knelt in front of him, holding his gaze as you did, reaching for his jeans to open them.

“What…” he frowned, looking down as you freed his cock, thick and long and hard.

“Told you,” you said, trying to make yourself sound sultry and not nervous. “I had something for you.”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you licked his shaft from root to tip, his skin velvet smooth and salty on your tongue. He groaned as you did and you took a deep breath as you took his tip into your mouth, sucking him gently as you did.

Even just that was a lot and, as your tongue teased him, you squeezed some of the flavored lube into your hand before you spread it over his shaft, working him with your hand, your heart racing.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned as you started taking more of him into your mouth, licking and sucking and trying to focus on breathing through your nose as you did. It took more time than you really wanted to get all of him in your mouth, swallowing past your numbed gag reflex as best you could to take his length into your throat. You moaned as you did, sucking him hard, hollowing your cheeks like the girl in the video had done and he moaned, too, his fingers tightening on the edge of the bed. “Goddamn, your mouth…”

You would have smiled at that if your mouth wasn’t open so wide. Instead, you started trying to work his cock the same way you did the cucumber in practice, hopefully the same way the girl did in the video he had.

Joel’s breaths started coming quicker, needy little pants dripping from his lips as his cock dripped in your mouth and you took the encouragement, trying to move faster as you did, trying to take him as deep as you could every time.

But Joel was big and you were almost positive he was getting bigger as you worked him, his cock swelling even further, his precome salty at the back of your throat, and the faster you moved the harder he was to take. Eventually, even with the spray, it was too much and you choked, coughing and gagging enough that you had to pull back from him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Woah, you alright?” He asked, leaning forward and frowning at you, still a little breathless as he did.

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you nodded, trying to keep yourself from coughing, massaging your throat as you did. “Sorry, I just…”

“Don’t apologize, baby, goddamn,” he laughed once. “Not after doin’ all that for me…”

You smiled a little sheepishly, feeling like you could breathe again. But the numb feeling at the back of your throat was gone.

“I can do it again,” you said, sitting back on your heels. “I just… I got some throat spray and I just need to…”

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together, frowning deeper this time.

“Throat spray?”

You nodded.

“It’s numbing?” You said, almost like it was a question. “I hadn’t really done this much before and I really wanted to do it like…”

“Like what?” He asked and your eyes went wide. Shit. You hadn’t meant to say that part. “Like what, baby?”

“Like the woman in one of the videos in your closet?” You said sheepishly, your heart pounding, everything else coming out in a rush. “I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t figure out what to get you for your birthday and Cassie suggested finding out what porn you liked and trying to recreate it so I might have looked through some of your things, I promise it was just to surprise you and give you what you wanted and…”

“Baby,” he cut you off gently, tucking his cock back into his jeans. “Hey, it’s OK, c’mere.” He tugged you up on the bed beside him and you kept your eyes determinedly on your hands. “Think you can look at me?”

You took a deep breath but listened, gnawing on your lower lip as you did.

“There are those pretty eyes of yours,” he smiled a little, cupping your cheek. “Now, I ain’t sayin’ I don’t appreciate the thought - don’t think any woman’s ever done something like that for me - but honey, I don’t want to do something you don’t want to do. I really don’t want to do something that’s rough enough on your body that you gotta numb yourself to get through it.”

You frowned.

“But you go down on me…”

“Yeah, because I like to,” he said. “Like seein’ what I can do to you but that doesn’t mean you have to do it back to me, not unless you want to. And if you do want to, you don’t need to do it so hard that you hurt yourself. It’s not good for me if it’s not good for you, too.”

You took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded.

“Besides,” he smiled a little. “Haven’t needed those videos in a while. Honestly, I kinda forgot I even still had ‘em.”

You scoffed.

“Hey, I’m being serious,” he said. “Haven’t used ‘em since you and I got together, that’s for damn sure. And for a few months before that I may or may not have had better luck thinkin’ about this sexy nanny I had working for me…”

“Oh really?” You teased lightly, heat taking the place of the nerves in your stomach.

“Really,” he said, almost unsettlingly earnest. “I’ve been yours for a while, baby. And that’s because I love you, don’t have a damn thing to do with what you do in bed.”

You smiled softly and kissed him, his lips gentle on yours for a moment before it deepened, turning hot and needy.

Joel tugged you back on the bed with him, one hand splaying wide over your back, the other slipping into the soft lace of your lingerie to cup your breast. But, before you got too distracted, you pulled back from him, making him frown a little.

“But what if I want to,” you said, biting your lip again.

His frown deepened.

“Want to what?”

“Suck your cock,” you said, trying to ignore how hot your cheeks got.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, his eyes darkening.

“Because I do want to,” you said. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.”

“You sure?” He asked. “Because I know I can be… a lot to take.”

You smiled a little.

“Think I know how big your cock is, Joel. And I know what I want.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, lying on his back, freeing his cock and stroking it as he did. “Gotta take it easy and let me help.”

You nodded eagerly before settling near his hips, taking his length in your hand and stroking him up and down, running your thumb over his leaking tip. When you looked at him now, you weren’t intimidated. Instead, you were hungry for him, wanting to feel him deep inside you in a different way, your mouth watering with it.

You lowered yourself over him, licking his head, your tongue wide and flat against him and Joel groaned, his fingers tightening in the blankets on the bed. You took a moment to really experience him, the taste of him, the heady concentration of the scent of him in the thatch of coarse hair at his base, the tender softness of his skin. It shouldn’t have been surprising but you wanted more, more of all of it.

So you took more, his tip disappearing into your mouth slow and easy.

“Fuck, there you go baby,” he was damn near panting with need and you smiled a little around his intrusion, at what you were doing to him. “Nice and slow.”

You moaned as you sank lower, easing more and more of him into your mouth before rising up and then taking a little more of him, your tongue pressed tight to his shaft as you did again and again.

And then he was at the back of your throat, no longer numbed, and you tried to do what Cassie had told you to do: Swallow him past your gag reflex to get all of him inside.

It worked, at first, your lips making it almost to the base of his shaft as he groaned. But it didn’t last, your body quickly trying to reject the thick heft of him in your throat, making you gag. This time, though you didn’t try and force it, pulling back quickly but leaving his head in your mouth.

“You OK?” He asked, his voice strained, one large hand coming to cradle the back of your head. You just nodded, his tip still in your mouth. “Here, gimme your hand.”

You obeyed and Joel guided your fingers to the base of his shaft.

“Just…” you could hear the desperation in his voice. “Hold on like that, don’t gotta take it all. Feel the most at the tip, anyway.”

You nodded and worked your way lower again, a little faster this time, adjusting your grip so you were still taking most of him into your mouth but not quite hitting your gag reflex. Joel’s breaths grew sharper, more desperate and you could feel him straining to hold back from fucking up into you and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of power at that, the way you could make him almost lose himself to pleasure.

You started to work him faster, your tongue pressing and curling around him, your mouth working in tandem with your hand. It wasn’t long before you found your rhythm over him, rising and falling, sucking and licking, savoring every inch of him you could take. And even though you were focused on making Joel feel good, it was making you tight and needy, too, the hand not around his cock finding your slit, fingers trailing through the wetness that had grown there.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Takin’ me so well, baby, doin’ so damn good.”

You moaned, working him harder, faster as your fingers grew firmer on your clit and you suddenly, desperately, needed all of him in your mouth, gag reflex be damned.

So you took all of him, moaning as his head slipped into your throat, sucking him hard and fast and you felt him twitch in your mouth before he all but ripped you away from him, leaving you stunned for a moment.

But then he damn near jumped between your thighs, shoving your panties to the side and pushing into you. You gasped at the stretch of him, your pussy already tightening around him. Joel’s hips snapped into yours just as fast as you’d been sucking him before.

“Ain’t gonna last,” he said, burying his face in your neck and kissing the delicate skin there. “Too fuckin’ good at that, Jesus…”

You could only moan in response, your own orgasm building quickly, your fingers tugging at his shirt as you tried to pull him impossibly closer, your pussy drawing tight around him for a second before you fell apart. Your orgasm was so powerful you couldn’t move, crying out with the force of it as Joel fucked into you twice more before he came, too, pressing himself deep inside as he spilled into you.

Joel collapsed, spent, on top of you after, still fully clothed and panting for breath as you held him close.

“Holy shit baby,” he said eventually, still a little breathless.

You laughed quietly.

“Did I measure up to the video?” You teased.

He pulled back from you, looking you over for a moment, like he was trying to tell if you were joking or not.

“Think you know the answer to that,” he said, kissing you gently as he slid himself from you and lay beside you. He tugged you against him as he settled, tucking your head against his chest. “But in case it wasn’t clear, yeah. You beat ever damn porno I ever watched, ain’t even close.”

You smiled, proud.

“Good,” you said. “Because… I liked doing that.”

You felt him lift his head to look at you before dropping back down to the bed.

“Really?”

“Yup,” you said, tracing your fingers over the outline of his pecs through his shirt. “Think I’ll want to do it again.”

“Sure as hell won’t get any arguments from me.”

“There is a downside, though,” you said, sitting up just enough to look at him.

“What’s that?” He frowned and you smiled.

“Now I’m going to have to figure out what the hell to get you for your birthday next year.”

He laughed and tucked you back against his chest.

“Just keep givin’ me you, baby,” he said. “Doesn’t get any better than that.”

A/N: I missed Joel and Doc so I wrote this. Thanks for reading them even more than a year after Lavender ended.

Happy birthday, Joel!

Love you all!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #lavender #joel miller x oc #joel miller smut #joel miller birthday celebration

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alexanderwales · 4 months ago

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The spell showed you how another person saw you.

It was expensive, but not so expensive that it didn't find its use. If you were in the burgher class it was expected that you would experience it a few times in your life. One of those was before marriage.

Cordelia went in with great trepidation. She was sure that Aldwin was right for her, but less sure that she was right for him.

And then, two hours later, once it was all over, they had to talk about it, in a way that Aldwin loved to talk about everything.

"There was a sweetness to him," said Aldwin. "But now I worry, only lightly, that you think I make more concessions than I really do. There was more romance to him, I suppose. Very lovey, which I suppose is good."

"Well, that's good," said Cordelia.

"Is something the matter?" asked Aldwin.

"No," said Cordelia. "You can go on."

"I need some time to stew," said Aldwin. "We talked a lot, but I do fear that we got tangled in tangents. I think we could have been good friends, actually, if he were real, though ..."

"Yes?" asked Cordelia.

"He was intelligent, but I knew more than him, which I suppose is an artifact of the spell. He didn't know all the things that I knew, he knew all the things that you knew, except you don't expect me to know much about textiles, so some of those things that you knew were barred from him, and that meant that he sat at the intersection of our domains of knowledge." Aldwin looked at the ceiling for a moment. "I do wonder if there's a way around that."

"Perhaps," said Cordelia.

Aldwin looked back down at her. "Is something the matter? You haven't said what your experience was like. Was she pleasant?" He grinned at her, a winning grin that had made her fall in love. It was heartbreaking.

"Aldwin, I'm ... not sure that I can do this," said Cordelia.

His grin turned to a frown. "Why not?" he asked. "I love you, you should have seen that."

"Aldwin, she was perfect," said Cordelia.

"You're perfect," said Aldwin. He laid his hand on hers.

"No, Aldwin, I'm not," said Cordelia. "And when I've heard you say that before, I've always thought that it was you being poetic, but I met her now, the me that lives in your mind, and she is perfect, she has none of my blemishes, none of my flaws, she's kind and gracious and intelligent and funny."

"My dear, you're all those things," said Aldwin. "That's why I'm marrying you."

"But I'm not those things," said Cordelia. "My version of you, did you think that he was handsome?"

"I suppose it didn't occur to me," said Aldwin. He looked to the ceiling again and considered that. "His hair was a bit curlier, and his nose somewhat broader, but no, I think he looked like me."

"The woman I saw was a goddess," said Cordelia. "I can't compare to her."

"You are her," said Aldwin.

"Won't you believe me when I tell you that I'm not?" asked Cordelia. "And if we follow through on the engagement, and you marry me, how can I help but worry that you'll figure that out one day and leave me?"

Aldwin frowned at her. "Is that what this is about?" he asked. "You think my love is fickle? It hadn't even occurred to me to ask my other whether he was wavering."

"I think you're brilliant and handsome," said Cordelia. "But I looked at her, spoke with her, and kept thinking to myself that I couldn't live up to her. I yelled at her and she calmly defused my anger. When I cried, she comforted me."

"It was really so bad?" asked Aldwin, raising his eyebrows. He had very expressive eyebrows, it was something that Cordelia had always found herself appreciating.

"I fear that you don't actually know me," said Cordelia. "You don't see the ugly, twisted, miserable creature that I am."

"Come now," said Aldwin. He seemed befuddled. "Perhaps I think more highly of you than you think of yourself, but I won't have you talking so poorly of my bride-to-be."

"It's how I felt, next to her," said Cordelia, looking down. She had tears in her eyes. It was undignified. Her other would have never.

Aldwin moved closer to her and tilted her chin up. She looked at him, blinking away her tears, which rolled down her face and made her lip salty. His eyes, that saw her so.

"My sweet, we have our entire lives to get to know each other better," said Aldwin. "I will love you no less if you falter, if you yell, if you cry, if you flop around and fail. If we do this again, ten years from now, I expect that I'll have the same rosy view of you, overly rosy, in your estimation. That's love. That's what it is."

But of course for her, that wasn't true at all. He'd said as much, he'd spoken to his other, he'd seen a more or less accurate portrayal of himself. Didn't he see that? Or would he realize it only later? She wasn't sure. Did she not love him? Is that what it meant? She thought that she loved him.

"I do love you," said Cordelia.

"Good, because we're getting married soon," said Aldwin. He patted her on the hand. "Come, let's dry those tears and find someplace to eat."

She let herself be led for the rest of the day, and returned to herself within half an hour, letting the shadow cast by the spell slide off her, joking with him, engaging him in his interests, putting on a smile that she didn't entirely feel.

But that night, as she lay in bed, the image of the goddess, the woman she was not and could not become, would not leave her mind.

#microfiction

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marimoscorner · 1 year ago

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Consumerism & Witchcraft

Written by Marimo (he/they)🌿

I’ve seen a turn for the better in some witchy spaces regarding consumerism in the past few years, but overall it still tends to be an issue for us as a community. I’ve decided to try and breakdown the pitfalls I’ve noticed in my own journey, in the hopes that it will inspire and assist others. I’ve also provided alternatives and ideas on how to make small changes in our practice to help us better protect the Earth, stick it to the failing system and still acquire our bits and bobs we love so dearly.

As always, I am no authority on any subject nor am I perfect—but we’re all learning as we go, so let’s dive right in 🌿

A Preface

There are some things that should be made entirely clear before we begin:

You are not a bad person for wanting an aesthetic

You are not a bad person for unknowingly falling into pitfalls. Only if you continue to purposefully do so after knowing better

You are not a bad person for consuming content/objects or for not always making the most sustainable decisions. At the end of the day, we can only control our small part of environmental impact, while the rest is left up to the major corporations that make more pollution than any of us ever will

You are only human. Show yourself some grace and understanding that the internet so lacks.

My Experience in Consumerist Hell

I have fallen victim many times to consumerism in witchcraft. Starting my journey at the ripe age of about ten years old and heavily in the broom closet, I was quickly drawn in by the shiny rocks, the brand new candles and scents, the promise of new tarot decks and pendulums and other fancy, shiny new equipment. I was consuming an online aesthetic along with my ideals, and it distracted me from starting my journey by learning well.

I began to spend my birthday and holiday money on the aesthetic of things. While, granted, I still did buy a few literary resources now and again from my local secondhand bookstore—I was stubbornly ignoring the sage advice to learn and understand first before diving in headfirst.

I purchased statues, crystals, too many tarot decks to use. I purchased osteomancy bones I later returned to the earth, for I had not done enough research to know that that animal was mine to practice with. I had a tankard full of incense sticks, and even a growing pile of books that would not be read. While I liked to consider myself crafty with my homemade Maypole and various hand-bound Grimoires, something was becoming apparent: this was all a distraction.

The aesthetic I was partaking in was providing me with a false sense of progress and practicality.

When I’d go to do a tarot reading, I’d become far too overwhelmed with choosing a deck to read in the first place. When making an offering to a deity, I’d feel pressured to also bolster the altars of all the other deities I’d set up, and with my wide pool, the connections felt muddy. Often times I’d be off-put on a project or spell because I knew I needed to film it and it needed to look nice.

In the long term, I don’t have many of these items today. I’ve sold and donated a vast breadth of them. Feeling overwhelmed costed me a few years retreat from my craft to recuperate. However, what has stuck with me is the knowledge I picked up along the way.

So, What’s the Issue? TL;DR

I’ve noticed a few issues here in making these mistakes myself.

Consumerism absolutely distracts you from learning and your craft

Overconsumption leads to environmental damage. If everyone hoarded supplies, there would not be enough to go around. And with what gets thrown away every year…it paints an ugly wound on the Earth

We damage our learning abilities by not allowing ourselves to be anything less than perfect

The need for aesthetic creates barriers to entry within the community and creates a divide of haves and have-nots

You won’t be able to truly follow your individual path if you are only consuming and not creating for yourself

Consumerist culture promotes appropriation. Metaphysical stores carry items from closed practices (such as white sage and palo santo, or coyote bones) because someone is buying them. Don’t be that person, and find alternatives relating to your own culture instead

Consumerism can influence your spiritual decisions based upon monetary inclinations (where some may sacrifice a quality ingredient over a higher quantity of a lower quality ingredient)

So, what can we do?

Firstly, I want to clarify that I am not against collecting, nor am I against maximalism or the beautiful visual aesthetic we carry as a community.

I am an artist a very visual person and understand the longing for a beautiful home and workspace. However, this aesthetic shouldn’t come at the cost of irresponsibly harming the Earth or another community.

Thus, I’ve compiled a list of small things that I will be incorporating into my practice to make it more mindful and sustainable. I hope that you’ll join me in a few of them.

Minimize Supplies. While I used to have a huge selection of stationary for my Grimoire, I now limit myself to a simple pencil and watercolor set if I’m feeling artistic. This helps me actually use my Grimoire for study, rather than to keep perfect. It’s also friendlier on my wallet!

Thrift Supplies. There are plenty of perfectly good items that get donated daily. You can get high-quality candles and holders, old crystal bowls for altar offerings, spare crafting supplies, fabric for alter cloths and even clothing if you so wish—all for a fraction of the cost new and while saving the planet just a little bit more. Hell, you can sometimes even find good silver!

Share Supplies with your Community. You can create a sort of barter system with other witches in your area. Perhaps you create a sigil for them, and they provide you with a candle spell. Play to your strengths and grow together!

Look for Creative Outlets. Do you really need to go buy an altar statue that’s been mass-produced? Or can you give your deity the personal gift of a drawing, painting or even hand-modeled or hand-carved rendition? This will also deepen your connection to your craft and your magic, and make it more meaningful and stronger. If you really like something, though, go for it!

If you aren’t the artistic sort, consider supporting an artist before going to a large company. While I haven’t purchased from them myself, Blagowood on Etsy has beautiful deity statues carved from wood by their small team in Ukraine for a comparable cost to the standard mass produced metal statues. I consider this extra labor of love going into these pieces and those of similar small companies to be much better energy for my practice. I myself may put out some art prints and other handmade supplies in the future, but I will likely spread them around my community first.

Try Secondhand Books. While not available in every area and further still not as available for witchcraft and occult books, you may strike luck! Not only are secondhand books less expensive, but you’ll be supporting a local business. That’s not to say you can’t buy firsthand books, but some searching around may be beneficial to the earth and to your wallet in the long run.

Be mindful of where you source supplies and decor. If you are a fan of taxidermy decor, make sure that you source cruelty free. Bats can practically never be sourced without cruelty, so if a shop carries them, I’d be mindful of their other specimens. The same goes for if a shop decides to forgo a culture’s wishes and carry supplies sacred to them, such as white sage or dreamcatchers. Supporting folks who turn a profit off of others’ suffering is not something many would wish to include energetically in their craft.

Search the Wild for Tools. Find sticks, flowers and other plants out in the forest. Learn how to rockhound in your area for crystals. Your craft will be more powerful the more connected it is to the land you are surrounded by. Be sure to reference guides for safety and legality!

Get Creative with Purposes. If you are having difficulty finding exactly what you need by thrifting or searching, make another tool multipurpose if it would do the job good enough. Find supplies that are easy to source and work as substitutes for other ingredients (ex. Quartz as a stand in for other stones)

Spend more time Doing. Go out into the woods (safely) and advance your connection to the earth instead of worrying over the perfect item for your collection. Your craft will benefit

At the end of the day, all of this is your decision. Take what you like, and leave what you don’t. Even if we don’t agree, I thank you for your time and open mind. I will continue updating about how I incorporate these steps, and I will also hopefully post more on witchy crafting in the future.

I wish you well, and hope you’ll decide to follow along on our journey!

#pagan #pagan witch #paganism #witchblr #witchcraft #marimo writes🌿

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messiahzzz · 1 year ago

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i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?

but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?

player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?

gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.

gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.

gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.

gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.

player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.

gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.

once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.

gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.

any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.

gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.

nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him

gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?

nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.

he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.

player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?

gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.

player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?

gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.

gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.

gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.

aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.

once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?

minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.

minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.

gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.

player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...

gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.

all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?

essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.

gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.

nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania

he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.

tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.

as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.

we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:

gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.

gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?

gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.

tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.

tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.

player: gale is his own man, tara.

tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.

yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.

gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.

morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?

gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?

tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.

tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.

gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.

gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.

if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.

#buckle in this is gonna be a long one!#even for my standards #to be clear this is by no means meant as a slight against specific users #just here to clarify that it is definitely one of the worst outcomes for gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 epilogue #bg3 epilogue spoilers #bg3 patch 5 #bg3 meta #god!gale #had this sitting in my drafts for days now but i am so sleep-deprived that i can't even tell if this is cohesive anymore (i apologize)

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rafecameronsslut4ever · 5 months ago

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STAR SHOPPING — charles leclerc (angst, smut)

pairing; fem!reader x charles leclerc summary: look at the sky tonight, all of the stars have a reason. warnings: angst angst angst angst, little bit of smut (very less tbh), dying relationship a/n: ifuckfuckfukc. im not good at writing summaries, i guess. alsososo, this is inspired by lil peep's song, 'star shopping' (rip to that angel). love the song, love you.

charles massaged his temple, debating whether it would be worth it.

it was reckless, sure. a stupid gamble. but he’d made it anyway. he wasn't going to back down from a challenge.

the text from carlos glared at him, a void pulling him in, daring him to take the leap.

carlos Party at Twiga, join us bro!

he slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to her. “i’ll be back in the morning,” he murmured, pressing a light kiss to her temple.

she nodded but didn’t say a word.

he knew she didn’t care anymore. and why would she?

promises, once bright as fireworks, had dulled to faint whispers she could barely hear over the noise of his world. he wasn’t the man she deserved, not anymore.

but god, she was everything to him. so much more than perfect, more than anything he thought he’d ever deserve.

but he wasn't worth it.

she was losing her patience, and he didn't blame her.

he first saw the cracks in their relationship months ago.

one conversation a week—if that—was all he could give her. he’d call her late at night from hotel rooms, his voice tired from exhaustion, apologising for being so far away.

“it’s okay,” she’d say every time, but her tone told him it wasn’t.

when he was home, his hands would find her waist, lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, her chest. she’d arch into him, sighs warm against his skin, and for a moment, everything would feel right.

but this wasn’t about her. it was about his need for her, his desperation to feel close to her again.

his fingers trailed lower, her eyes fluttered shut, and he saw his own desperation in her expression.

she still loved him, he was fucking sure of it.

and the knowledge only sent him spiralling as if it were the only thought in his head.

her name a chant, a prayer, a mantra.

her name left his lips over and over, a plea she didn’t answer.

because she wouldn’t look at him. not once.

and that hurt more than anything.

he kissed her again, and she moaned against him, nails raking his back. he pressed harder, wanting her to feel, to see how much he needed her.

her hands moved to tangle in his hair, and he could feel her body tightening around him.

he pulled back, looking down at her.

"look at me," he murmured. "look at me, chérie."

her eyes were a void, and he could feel himself falling.

falling into her, and then, falling out.

out of her life, out of the apartment they shared, out of the city he promised he'd always come home to.

falling into a chasm that would take everything. everything he had, everything he was.

he fell, and she watched.

"do you still love me?" he asked.

she diverted her eyes, "yes."

her friends didn’t make it easier, either. they saw the missed dinners, the empty seat beside her at gatherings. they whispered that she deserved better, and charles hated that he agreed with them.

but he was working on it, he really was.

he was trying to make something of himself, to be someone worth her time. he spent hours at the track, pouring everything into his career. because maybe, just maybe, if he could prove his worth to the world, he could prove it to her too.

make his money, and drive his car.

he didn’t pick up her calls as often as he should have.

it wasn’t because he didn’t want to—he just didn’t know how to face the guilt in her voice. he was already so stretched thin, trying to balance racing and everything else.

his exes had hated this part of him too, the way he disappeared into his own world.

but she was different.

she didn’t hate him for it; she just wanted to understand.

and maybe that’s what made it harder.

her family didn't like him either. they thought him unreliable, uncommitted, and too much in his own world.

he wasn't the person her family wanted him to be.

he couldn’t blame them, though.

but she would just shake her head at that, arms wrapped tightly around him. “i don’t care about that, charles. i want you.”

her words should have been a comfort; a reassurance, but they felt like another weight added to the ones he already carried.

her faith in him was suffocating. they fought over it, a lot.

"charles, it was important to me!" she shouted, hands raising in the air from anger.

"what did you expect? what the fuck did you want me to do?" he shouted back, his anger matching hers.

"something! anything! you never think about me."

"of course i do!"

"you promised, charles. you said you'd be there." she ended, eyes shutting close from the tears welling in her eyes.

and there was the night before he left for vegas.

they sat together on the balcony, the stars blinking above them. he couldn’t stop looking at her, the way her hair moved slightly from the breeze, the way her fingers traced patterns on the glass of her wine.

“do you think the stars have a reason to shine?” he asked suddenly.

she looked at him, surprised. “i think we all have a reason,” she replied after a few seconds of silence.

he nodded, swallowing hard. “i hope you know you’re mine.”

she smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

it was 3:14 am now.

charles stared out at the sea from where he sat in his car. he had left the party early.

his phone vibrated, with her name flashing across the screen.

he didn’t answer. not because he didn’t want to, but because he didn’t know what to say.

all he could do was look at the sky that night, wondering if the stars above her were the same ones above him.

and if they were, maybe they’d shine a little brighter—for her, if not for him.

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osamucide · 8 months ago

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⊹ SEMI-CHARMED LIFE

SHE COMES 'ROUND AND SHE GOES DOWN ON ME AND I MAKE HER SMILE LIKE A DRUG FOR YOU . . . ft. Sigma and Osamu Dazai

wc: 6.4k

cw: sigma x dazai x gn(they/them)+afab!reader, post-canon/canon divergent, language, some plot, explicit sexual content—MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, threesome, coaching/guiding, fingering, handjobs, cunnilingus, nipple play, penetration, double penetration, double creampie, spit, teasing, dirty talk, so much kissing, praise, communication, squirting, soft sex, rough sex, hints of fluff and angst, soft dazai, a little bit of mean dazai, switch leaning soft dom!dazai, switch leaning sub!+virgin!sigma, switch!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, slut, whore—last two used very affectionately), use of cunt/pussy referring to reader’s anatomy, gambling/strip poker, alcohol+slight dubcon on account of that but otherwise all parties are happily consenting prior, references to pm!reader (and ada!sigma if you squint) but it’s not super relevant, some spoilers for vampire infection outbreak arc/prison break, god will judge me when i’m dead

reid: i have limited knowledge of texas holdem and a huge boner for sigzai. that’s all enjoy

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

“Son of a bitch.”

You sigh and lift your martini to your lips again. It should be too late for a martini, but Sigma's living quarters in the casino is outfitted with a less-than-modest liquor cabinet and while he didn't strike you as much of a drinker himself at first—not while he was on the job, anyway—he could bartend like you wouldn’t have believed had you never seen him do it. Vodka martini, no olive, please.

He had transferred it from his hand to yours with a soft smile that echoed his customer service face; however, he was significantly and refreshingly off the clock, so he addressed you playfully, “007,” as he did and laughed a little as he settled back onto the bed, cross-legged in a triangle made up of you, him, and Dazai.

But that was hours ago. The martini you sip now is your third, and Dazai had graciously made himself at home enough to messily pour up shots between poker games, so it’s safe to say you’re at least a little drunk. Sigma had been looking on in quiet irritation at him spilling remnants of expensive alcohol all over the expensive snakewood. The casino manager couldn’t seem to help but be disarmed by the detective every time he turned around, though, face beneath his messy brown hair alight with intoxication and beaming as he distributed yet another over-poured ounce of sake to both of you still on the duvet. You all drank, poker commenced, money was won and lost.

But that was just the first game. There’s higher stakes this time around.

“I have to fold.” You curse at your shitty hand once more and glance to Dazai, who’s flicking all of his little plastic chips toward the pot.

Of course it was Dazai who’d suggested the stipulations for this game, and of course it’s Dazai who is now letting the words “I’m all in” roll off his tongue while he looks charmingly bored and tipsy.

A few games would not be enough to figure out Dazai’s tells. In fact, a few hundred games would probably not be enough to learn to read him. If it wasn’t evident enough already from his excitement about the idea that he was unconcerned about his chances of being the one with the most clothing left on, it’s certainly evident in the way he’s relaxed now, his fist propping him up by his cheekbone. He peeks at his cards again from where he lounges on his side before he looks up to Sigma with bright eyes and a grin, quiet with mischief.

Sigma could go either way, it seems, from the way his tongue pokes out the corner of his mouth as he idles with an unruly stack of chips. He’s far more expressive, but this is his livelihood; it showed when he faked Dazai out of a 30,000 yen pot last game. Still, this time, this showdown, he pushes the rest of his pile into the center. All in.

The detective flips his cards, pinched between his middle and index finger. Straight flush.

Sigma clicks his tongue and whips his cards down onto the duvet. Straight.

“Hah!” Dazai kicks his feet like a child before sitting up to hoard the large pile. “You both know the rules,” he sings, copying Sigma’s posture as he grabs handfuls of his newly-won chips and lets them rain down over his head. A couple fall into his empty whisky glass.

You and Sigma look briefly at one other before both holding your drinks out for the conniving bastard in front of you to hold, which he does. There’s no agreed-upon piece with which you would begin to undress, so, like any sane person, you reach for your socks.

“Mh-mm,” Dazai hums his dissent through a sip of your martini. “I wanna change one rule. Losers have to undress each other.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s socks, Osamu.”

“Precedent,” he claims with a shrug, switching to take a sip of Sigma’s French 75.

So you and Sigma commence removing each other’s socks in a way that particularly lacks even a little sexiness, but when Dazai starts giggling, you both do, too. You ball Sigma’s socks up and toss them at Dazai’s head, which he dodges and swats back at Sigma. Sigma chucks your own socks at you in return for the indirect fire.

“Hey!” you bite jokingly through your teeth, discarding your socks off the little island of a bed that you exist on right now with these two men, and a moment of reflection strikes you as Dazai buries his face in his hands and Sigma almost tips backwards as they both laugh.

It started months ago in Meursault when you tumbled into the block where Gogol was challenging Dazai and Fyodor to his game after freeing them from the Infinite Dice Room. You, as a low-profile, high-priority Port Mafia affiliate aligned closely with the gravity user Chuuya Nakahara, had followed him into the prison as reinforcement; how Gogol and Dostoevsky were even aware of your existence then, you still aren’t sure. But you ended up there, watching Dazai and Fyodor shoot up lethal poison before dispersing to make their escape. You originally stayed with Nikolai to watch it unfold, but scampered off at some point when Chuuya appeared in danger of drowning. Your ultimate goal had been to help the Detective Agency and by proxy Dazai, but you’d be damned if you stood by while your executive was in a dire situation. It all turned out well, except for Sigma’s prolonged comatose state immediately after the prison break and everything that followed. But all that wasn’t important—not to right now, anyway.

What sticks in your mind and resurfaces now was the way you had watched on the monitor as Dazai—a former associate of yours, to say the least—paraded Sigma through the halls of the prison, teasing him, poking at him, dancing with him. It would’ve been borderline-adorable behavior from anyone sane in a normal situation, but Dazai had a way of driving people to the edge with the timing of his antics, and Sigma was quick to crumble under the pressure of the circumstance. What sticks more is how quickly the casino manager surrendered his trust to the quirky brunette inmate along their journey out of the building that day.

And what sticks most is how Dazai looked at him.

You remember observing a hint of something in his gaze that was usually only reserved for people who held important information, nurses in hospitals who’d taken his phone, occasionally you and Chuuya back in the day if he was feeling especially unhinged—the like.

And you remember looking at Sigma the same way over the screen—all sharp features, milky skin, elegant locks, and a hot trigger finger. His conviction over his purpose was alluring to you, who always understood your purpose to be pure survival. To Dazai, whose purpose seemed to be dying. Sigma was something entirely different from either of you, and when you all reconnected by the chance of business after the chaos, it was difficult to ignore the feelings dredged up from such a stressful time. It wasn’t like you’d always had your eye on Dazai or anything—no, surely not—but anyway, the click between the three of you back in Yokohama was inevitably pursued outside of work. A former DOA associate, an Armed Detective, and a Port Mafia subexecutive meeting up in the Sky Casino for drinks and Texas hold ‘em was certainly unprofessional in one capacity or another, sure, but you can hardly find it in yourself to care as Dazai hands you your martini back, face pink from cracking up.

It’s funny to you, how you never feel out of place between them. Sigma is leaning over onto your shoulder to stifle his dying laughter. You just shake your head as Dazai picks up the cards to deal.

The next game whirls by. You are the first to end up without a shirt, where Dazai and Sigma, both with their seemingly endless respective streams of luck, split the winnings over an evenly-matched two pair. You sit sheepishly after it’s your turn to deal, trying desperately, now that you’re losing in a tangible way (the three of you never use real money), to conjure up ways to gain back some ground and maybe not finish out the night as the only one naked.

“Sigma, deal,” Dazai purrs as if this isn’t Sigma’s show. You have your arms crossed over your chest as two cards flutter down in front of you, and you look at them, thinking, hoping—yes, maybe if Sigma would put a Jack down you could—

But any strategy you’re beginning to formulate is effectively zapped off, like a power button on a remote extinguishing a television’s display, as Dazai takes your wrists in his hands and guides them down to your lap.

“Why are you sitting like that?” he asks so innocently. “You’re hot. Stop hiding.”

You’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the alcohol making an appearance on your cheeks already. You giggle a little again, his touch making you feel more lightheaded than anything you’ve drank thus far. Sigma turns to you for your action, but your eyes are locked onto Dazai’s, so he does the only thing that makes the most sense in his own intoxicated mind—he grips your chin, not too harshly, and turns your head toward himself, in all his pastel, angelic beauty.

“Your turn,” Sigma says gently. While he doesn’t comment on what Dazai has said, and although his hand doesn’t hold the same menace that Dazai’s seems to, the tilt of his lips speaks a silent agreement.

Just as both of their fingers are beginning to overwhelm you, they retreat.

And you look down at your cards again, and your train of thought is as good as gone.

“Um—sorry, uh…”

You push 6000 yen into the pot, and Dazai follows.

And soon enough, like clockwork, you’re removing your pants—no, Dazai is removing your pants as Sigma gathers his winnings, and you’re unbuttoning Dazai’s shirt, and this has to be some sort of plot against you, you think, because the room is suddenly hotter, nevermind the alcohol, and you swear Dazai and Sigma are exchanging looks the way you and Dazai had months ago before leaving Meursault.

But you keep your composure. If there’s one thing you were used to dealing with, it’s sexy, scheming men, and it’s rare you ever let them get the best of you. Poker aside, you won’t crack. You can’t. Your drunkenness, now subsiding into hazy exhaustion and a twinge of need you won’t admit to yourself just yet, bolsters your pride, if anything. These two will not break you. You’ll make sure it’s the other way around first.

Another two games pass, and you finally have the mind and hand to win, which is what leads you to the scene of Sigma inching Dazai’s underwear down his thighs.

The casino manager’s face is broken out madly. He’d lost his own shirt but in all remains the most clothed out of all three of you; your dignity is preserved in your undergarments, and Dazai only ‘tsks as he steps out of his boxers just to lay back down on his side, propped up on his hand, in his spot on the bed.

“Well,” the detective laments, his practiced dramatics coming out to play. “I’ve officially lost. What to do now…?”

You look as unfazed as you can by Dazai’s nudity; Sigma’s eyes, however, are everywhere but the brunette.

You hum thoughtfully, considering your nails. You have your little heatstroke from before under control, it seems, but you’re biting your bottom lip raw at the shift in the energy of the room.

You crawl to sit against the headboard of the bed, shooing Dazai out of your way as you do so—it’s the same luxurious snakewood that the liquor cabinet is made from, and it doesn’t budge when you lean back against it. Dazai sits beside you, one leg curled beneath him and the other hanging off the edge of the bed as you kick the duvet down at Sigma, adjusting yourself so your bare legs are extended and crossed at the ankle. You smirk, only softly. Dazai scoots closer to you when your pinkie wraps around one of his fingers.

Sigma, hunched in on himself at the end of the bed, breathes deeply as you turn your gaze to him and pat the spot on the other side of you. He’s willed up by the expectant look on Dazai’s face, and he takes his seat at your side; he looks to the brunette across your side profile, and you hook each of your legs over one of theirs.

“What else is there to do?”

The question comes from you as you look between them, stroking both their knuckles; Dazai’s expression grows more sinister by the second, and he looks past you too, to Sigma, whose eyes are wide. You follow Dazai’s vision.

Sigma gulps and finds himself nodding. He knows what at, but he can’t bring himself to say it as you flick your gaze down to his parted lips.

You lean in.

“This okay?”

He’s still nodding. His head only stills when your hand leaves Dazai’s and reaches up to cup his face.

And you kiss Sigma with an open mouth. He shivers and leans into you. Your hand falls back to blindly search for Dazai’s cock.

Dazai is half-hard just watching you slip your tongue past Sigma’s lips; you thumb his tip teasingly, giving him a few squeezes and drawing soft breaths from him as the pastel-haired man reaches up for your neck. It’s obvious Sigma’s never kissed anyone like this before, but he follows your lead like a first-time ballroom partner, letting you nip the beginnings of moans out of him as Dazai watches, watches.

When you pull back, Sigma is in awe. His eyes don’t open for a few seconds, and you smile, endeared.

“You’re a good kisser, Sigma.”

His eyes snap open. “R-really?”

You nod. “But I think Osamu could train you even better.”

Something flashes across Sigma’s face—not discontent or anxiety but pure surprise, and you turn back to Dazai for his appraisal. He’s biting the inside of his cheek as your fingers work him up and down, torturously slow. Before anything else can happen, you lean into Dazai; he’s eager to receive your lips, force the gasps that belong to you into your mouth. You think you’ll play them like a pair of cymbals, if they let you. If Dazai lets you. It’s looking like he might.

You tilt your head back as Dazai works his way down your throat, leaving bruising bite marks as you touch him. You find Sigma glazed over in awe—the next thing you do is encourage his face toward yours again, so you can kiss him while Dazai marks you. You don’t hold back the sighs that come from your diaphragm. Sigma swallows your breath with greed. You cup his jaw, your noses bump; he grows more confident by the second, and as Dazai traverses back up your neck, you leave him whining, removing your hand from his cock to push the two men’s faces together.

Soft hums reverberate between their kiss. You look proudly upon your work as their hands find one another, frantically, on jaws, on shoulders, on chests. Sigma reaches to pick up where you left off, but second guesses himself.

“It’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm.” Dazai bites into the other man’s bottom lip. Sigma yelps into the lack of air between them. You guide his hand, which finds Dazai at his base and sends him moaning into the kiss.

With your hand wrapped around Sigma’s wrapped around Dazai, you latch onto Dazai’s neck to return his bites. Your head buzzes with anticipation; it’s so hot to watch them, low-lidded and on two different levels of experience, talking to each other without speaking. You move Sigma’s hand up, down, up, down. Dazai breaks away to let a full-bodied moan into the air; he makes up for contact by resting his forehead against Sigma’s, peering down at where the two of you are working him into a mess.

“That’s it,” Dazai pants, but he looks smug. “Unh—feels good.”

“Hear that?” With your free hand you tuck a thick lock of Sigma’s silvery hair behind his ear as you mumble into it. “You’re doing so good.”

“Tell me what to do,” Sigma breathes, and he sounds so desperate that it makes you throb. “Don’t know what ‘m doing, please, tell me what to do.”

“Exactly what you’re already doing.” You let go of his hand and let him stroke Dazai by himself. Dazai nods weakly, needily, cock twitching as Sigma explores; the pale-haired man’s thumb circles his tip the same way yours did, but faster. When you lean over to spit on his cock over Sigma’s hand, the brunette’s jaw falls slack and the two melt into another kiss; you don’t even have to enlist Dazai’s hands as, through his pleasure, he fumbles for you. You uncross your ankles, and he rubs you impatiently over the final bit of cloth that remains on your body. Your lips find Sigma's throat next.

All heaving breath against each other, you move like this for a bit, learning one another. Dazai reaches to pop the button on Sigma’s pants as he’s tugging at your underwear at the same time.

You both turn your focus to Sigma as you kick your last layer off; he stumbles upward, back onto his feet, and you and Dazai pursue him as he’s helping you both push his pants and boxers off in one collaborative swipe. He’s never been hard like this before—sure, Sigma’s not a stranger to sexual arousal, but he’s only ever touched himself. Call it a side effect of the imposter syndrome or throwing himself into his casino or the fact that this is his first time being alive, but as Dazai sits on the edge of the bed looking like a hungry animal and you toss his pants away, he can’t imagine why any two people as physically gorgeous, intellectually dominant, and purpose-driven as the two of you would want to engage with him like this. He’s excited, he can’t deny it—his cock is straining almost painfully as it bobs in the air now—but there’s a line of tears forming on his lash line, and you’re fast to catch him.

“Sigma,” you call him back from inside his head. Dazai’s fingers have found his hip; they rest there tenderly. “Sigma. We can stop. It’s okay.”

“No,” Sigma all but cries. He aches to be touched the same way you and himself were both touching Dazai. “No, no, don’t stop, I just—I’m—”

A single tear splits down his pretty pale skin. He looks back and forth between you both.

“Sigma,” you say firmly. “Talk to us. It’s important.”

“I—” He gathers himself, voice cracking only once. “I want this. I want it so bad. I can’t believe I deserve it. You’re both… I just don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t want to... not be good.”

You look to Dazai, who looks uncharacteristically tired for a moment; it’s an understatement to say he understands exactly what Sigma is trying to articulate, but he’s not a man of sentiment, so you pick up the slack. Collaborative. You wind your fingers between Sigma’s and lead him to sit next to Dazai.

You stand, bare, in front of the two of them, also bare; they’re both so beautiful in their own ways. Dazai, with his dark features, cutting cheekbones, flexing jaw, bandages outlining the contours of all his lean muscle. Sigma, all heavenly light, awkward hands, unmarked skin, thin sheen of glistening sweat.

“You don't need to worry,” you reassure him. “We just want you. Right, Osamu?”

“Mmhm,” Dazai hums again. Not a man of sentiment, but he presses a series of kisses to Sigma’s cheek before smiling devilishly. “We’ll take care of you. How about that? Teach you how to fuck.”

Sigma shudders at his words; his eyes still flit nervously, but fall at rest when you sit opposite Dazai and run your fingertips across his thigh.

“Yes,” he responds just above a whisper. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Dazai echoes.

“Okay.” And you. “Can we touch you? Or d’you wanna watch us?”

Sigma contemplates. His cock jumps at the mere mental image of watching Dazai fuck you; he could get off like that and be totally content, but his mind drifts back to your hands, Dazai’s hands, and how selfishly he was campaigning for you both to touch him just minutes ago. “Touch me, please.”

Now it’s you looking across Sigma’s side profile at Dazai. He mirrors the look in your eye, and you lean over to press a kiss to the brunette's lips before you traverse the plane of Sigma’s chest. Dazai reaches for his cock.

And just like that, Sigma is in heaven. His hands fall behind him on the bed to steady himself as Dazai goes through a motion Sigma’s performed so many times on himself, but it feels so much better now—he doesn’t know if it’s Dazai’s calloused fingertips or the curling heat you both create in his pelvis by just kissing him, talking to him, loving on him—and he’s throwing his head back, embarrassed to make noise but in such ecstasy that he can’t help it, won’t help it. You giggle lightheartedly against the shell of his ear when he does, and he loves it. Loves it. Wants it to last forever. Dazai sucks on his collarbone and you tweak his nipples and he’s twitching, twitching, building up so quickly he’s afraid he’ll be spent soon.

"'M gonna... oh—gonna cum if you don't s-stop—"

But it isn't a request to, so when you and Dazai's hands both leave him, he's sent reeling just like you were during the last game. Sigma's chin meets his chest as he recovers from what feels like Dazai's revenge for the bluff that worked on him earlier, and he looks at you both, glazed over with lust.

Your eyes are so warm when they slide from Dazai back to him.

“So handsome. You’re gorgeous, Sigma.” It hardly matters who says it—the other agrees.

“Tell us what you want.”

"Well, um," he asserts, pulling his shaky legs up into himself and leading you by the arms to pull you back to the headboard. "This part seems pretty self-explanatory. Dazai, I think you should show me how to..."

You perch at the head of the bed again as he trails off, and Dazai looks like he's ready to have fun with what's coming next.

"Show you how to...?" he prompts Sigma to finish his sentence, and Sigma's nudging his way between your legs; your lips turn upward at his burst of enthusiasm, and the words get stuck a bit as he settles on his stomach in front of you.

"Touch them. I've really never done this before." He blinks up at Dazai. Weaponized incompetence has never been so sensual.

And Dazai takes the bait and crawls next to him, gripping your thigh a little too hard as he presses his shoulder to Sigma's. "Certainly. Give it your best shot, I wanna see what I'm working with here." It's so natural for Dazai to take on the mentorship position, even in this situation. You can't help the way you giggle at them; their eyes linger on each other a second too long to imply nothing before Sigma turns his attention to you.

You think he'll start with fingering you, but he dips his head down and goes right for your cunt—you're unable to suppress the oh! that leaves you as he licks a sensual and slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Knowing Sigma, you understand that his mind is probably still swimming with self-doubt as he rolls his eyes up to yours, but you can't find any of it. It's all too hot. His pretty pink lips undulate as he tastes you, delicately, and Dazai lets out a surprised noise of his own.

"Seems like you’re alright." Dazai's grinning. "But I'll help you out. Stay there."

So Sigma latches onto your clit, drawing another series of gasps out of you, and Dazai plunges his middle finger into you. You’re so slick, so ready for them that there's no resistance; Sigma's experimenting with his tongue, then his lips, then alternating, and Dazai keeps digging his fingertips into your thigh, your hip, as he works you open on his hand.

"God, with how wet you are, I think we could get you to take both of us."

Your eyes—which you hadn't realized had fallen shut as you wound each of your hands in either of their heads of soft hair—fly open at that. Sigma pulls away too. Tortorous.

"At the same time?" You're unsure if it comes out of your mouth, too, but Sigma asks it—with a sense of wonder that, had you said it, would've been overshadowed with a little apprehension. Dazai looks up to you for approval.

And while it's daunting—neither of them are small, that's for sure—you can't help the way your hips roll at the thought of being stuffed with them both. At the same time. How intimate it would inevitably be, their cocks pressed together as they fuck you. So you nod, vigorously.

"Gotta get 'em ready, though," he lectures to Sigma, snapping back to his instructorly tone as his hand falls on top of yours in his two-toned hair, pushing his face back into your cunt. "Put that mouth to work. You got it, baby."

Sigma hums against you at the nickname and the vibration sends your head lolling back again; Dazai looks wicked as he straddles your leg, still reaching down to split you open, now on three fingers instead of one or two. He kisses you hard.

The attention from both of them is unbelievable—you see now what had them both falling apart so quickly. Something about two sets of hands wandering your body sets lights off behind your eyes. Sigma’s reaching up to paw at your chest, flicking and pinching your nipples the same way you had his; before you know it you’re panting like a dog into Dazai’s mouth and soaking the bed below you.

“Fuck—you two.” You’ve got one hand still twined in Sigma’s hair. You’re almost grinding onto his nose, and he’s lapping up everything you’re giving him like a good boy. Your other arm winds around Dazai’s neck as you pull him closer and bend your knee to nudge his balls. He humps against what you give him. Lewd, wet sounds fill your ears.

“That’s the plan,” Dazai singsongs, pretty teeth visible. Amidst your frantic hips, he shuffles behind you, never breaking the heated kiss you share more than he has to. Those teeth find your lips and you gasp, you moan, you’re so impressed at how quickly Sigma is picking up on this new art, and with so little instruction, really—he watches you and Dazai make out from his place between your thighs and thrusts his hips against the bed at the sight. You notice.

“Sigma, come up here.”

His lips leave your cunt hesitantly; truth be told, your taste is more inebriating than all the alcohol he’s had. He’s rock hard, and you split your attention between him and Dazai as you lift your hips up, arch, and angle Dazai’s cock against your pussy.

His lips catch Sigma’s as he sinks into you; a whine falls from you at the stretch, and you can feel Dazai shake as he waits to move. When he parts from the kiss, he wraps his hands beneath either of your thighs, spreading you open wide.

Sigma all but gawks at the way Dazai’s dick is buried in you from below. You reach behind you, give his brown hair a tug that has Dazai thrusting up roughly, and Sigma would let your moan shatter his eardrums, his entire being, if he could. He sees the whites of your eyes, the white of Dazai’s fingertips as he grips you hard, the white of Dazai’s precum and your slick dripping down onto the sheets, and his hips lunge forward at nothing. Your cunt looks delicious. Dazai looks delicious, all furrowed brows and bitten lips and groans that bubble up from his chest. He fucks you fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—Osamu! Unh, uh-huh—”

Dazai echoes your own name back to you. “Yeah, fuck—you feel so good.”

All the combined sounds are like a symphony to Sigma. He palms his own cock; no way he can cum just watching now, he decides. He needs to be in you. He doesn’t want to be an observer. Sigma catches Dazai’s eyes as if to say can I? But Dazai’s already smirking and breathlessly slipping out of you, holding you up and open still as you reach for Sigma with one hand and will him into you. You suck him in, god—thank god you’re already so wet and fucked open, because he’s not an inch inside of you before he loses himself and thrusts forward wildly.

“There you go,” Dazai encourages, grinning as the pale-haired man’s composure crumbles. “Isn’t that pussy heaven? Just like that, Sigma. They’re fuckin’ creamin’ all over you, look.”

Look, as if his rosé eyes could possibly leave the place where you’re swallowing him in. Sigma’s grunting—he’s never known himself to be noisy during pleasure, but this is another level, your cunt so warm and milky and squeezing him like you’ll never let him go.

The curtain of Dazai’s bangs falls across your shoulder as he kisses you there, mutters filthy musings into your ear while he watches Sigma sink into you over, over, over.

“How’d’they feel?”

Sigma’s unprepared for the way his own voice sounds, wound tight and concentrated while he tries and fails miserably not to whine. All that voice turns into babbling. “So—so, so fucking good, I’m—ah, I’m gonna fucking cum—”

"Woah, woah, alright. Not yet. Give 'em a breather. They're gonna need it, after all." Dazai's still laughing as he puts the brakes on Sigma with his feet—that's especially funny to him, but the way Sigma almost chokes at the way Dazai stops him is even better. Sigma, all sweat and arousal, sinks back onto his knees. You, too, squirm at the loss of stimulation, pushing soft lavender and silver off his forehead where it sticks; when Sigma’s hips don’t quite quit, even with nothing around his cock, Dazai chuckles out a “Looks like you need it, too.”

You trace Sigma’s tangling fingers as you catch your breath, interlocking both your hands with his. Dazai lets up on your legs—your hips will thank him later—letting the flex back into a more comfortable position. Your back rests against his chest, and he plays with your clit lazily.

“This is gonna take some patience, okay?” Dazai is addressing Sigma more than you; you’re guiding Sigma’s hands down to your cunt where he and Dazai move in a figure eight that keeps you occupied.

They're gonna need it, after all is what's registering in your mind. "Osamu—" you start, but he's shushing you.

Once again, Sigma's watching Dazai ride you up by your thighs so he can buck up into you, much more tactfully than the pale-haired man was just seconds ago. Perhaps more neglected than either of you at this point, Dazai's voice is gruff as you squelch around him.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Hah." His teeth sink into your shoulder as you croon.

"Dazai—" Sigma starts this time, but the other man answers all his questions with a single look.

"You’re gonna go back to what you were doing,” Dazai breathes, his gaze trained on Sigma as you writhe.

“Please, both of you—”

“Be patient,” Dazai means to snap at you but it’s too melted, too lovey. Anyway, he’s egging you on with his next words. “C’mon, Sigma, you’re gonna give ‘em what they want, right?”

And Sigma nods like he’s in a trance—your cunt already looks full around Dazai, but he needs urgently to be in you next to him. He thinks he’ll explode in all the wrong ways if you don’t let him in. He needs it, so he lines himself up below your clit, above Dazai, looking for anywhere he can slip in; it takes some of Dazai’s fingers, some of yours, but soon enough he feels the veins of Dazai’s cock on his underside and your pulsing walls to the top of him. He’s in. He’s actually in, and his head falls onto your shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to let his full weight slump directly onto you and Dazai. You’re bleating, sobbing, laughing through the stretch, and when Sigma’s tip nestles next to Dazai’s deep inside you, you feel full. Whole.

“I’m gonna stay still.” Dazai sounds just as affected as both of you, but he keeps his facade up a few seconds longer to guide you both to the beginning of the end. “Want you to fuck them, Sigma. Hard.”

And he doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s difficult to pull back and push in at first—you’re so fucking tight and Dazai’s so fucking big, and even though you’re spread apart, Sigma feels like he can’t get close enough to you. Your cunt weeps around both of them, protesting the stretch that your brain adores, but you let up. And he fucks you, soft at first, and then hard.

All three of you are jumbled noise; skin on skin, teeth on lips, moans on shoulders, wet smacking and sliding and sobbing as you take both of them. Your gut heats up with each push, each pull, each frantic grasp, each broken sound the two men let out as they frot inside of you; Dazai’s biting your shoulder again, letting his sweet little protégé do the work. Sigma digs his nails into you wherever he can find purchase.

“Oh—fuckin’ harder, Sigma, baby, please—” you beg.

“Our pretty boy fuckin’ you good?” Dazai doesn’t wait for you to answer. “You gonna go stupid on his cock, huh?”

Sigma couldn’t answer the question even if it wasn’t rhetorical; all of his coherence is gone, and you took it. His thrusts grow erratic, remarkably unpracticed and blatantly virgin, but the repeated pounding of the head of his cock against the entrance to your cervix makes your eyes impossible to keep open, then impossible to keep closed, so you teeter between hyperalert and falling apart. Dazai rubs your clit as Sigma pushes your knees further back with sudden aggression, pins your thighs closer to your shoulders as he fucks you and creates an otherworldly friction against Dazai. He’s gone, he’s lost, and he looks so gorgeous whimpering and whining, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he screws his eyes shut and his mouth falls open over and over again. If anyone’s going stupid, it’s Sigma.

But the longer he fucks you, the more limp you fall; your head falls to rest on Dazai's shoulder as Sigma puts everything into you, and the brunette laughs like the asshole he is, even through this. He’s hardly doing better than either of you, though, and his words fly.

“My two beautiful little fuckin’ sluts, so—unh, so hot. So hot. Look at what I turned you into.”

Neither of you have any hope of answering. His voice just throttles you forward, and Sigma’s grunts ante up—he’s almost yelling, shouting as he exerts himself, as he does everything his body will let him to get himself there, and bring you with him, too.

“Ah! Angh—anh—ah, ah, ugh!”

And you reply with, “Ah! Unh—oh, oh, oh, please, please, please!”

And Dazai drinks it all up, finally letting his eyes roll back as he pulls Sigma down for one more messy kiss—one that sends Sigma headfirst into his orgasm, and he cums, rutting into you while your cunt spasms, squirts, begs for Dazai to follow. It’s like white heat rolling off of him in waves; Sigma’s brows lift as if finding a sort of clarity, and your eyes are wide as you clutch the two men, and Dazai follows shortly after—the mixture of their cum inside you sings the most disgusting and yet most satisfying sounds of the evening. Your legs snap shut around Sigma’s waist as he rides all three of you out, all sweat and tears and incredulous moans that die as he slows to a stop, still stuffed inside of you.

Three pairs of lips are dry, bitten raw—chapstick’s the first thing on Sigma’s mind as his head clears, but he feels himself and Dazai spill out of you, and you and he both reach for him, pulling him down into the pillows as whatever dream the three of you just exited settles around you like dust. He’s sticky, too, but he doesn’t hate it—how can he when you’re between them, throwing one leg over Sigma’s waist and tangling the other with Dazai’s behind you? You head falls into the crook of Sigma’s elbow, and his other arm drapes over Dazai’s, which holds you close by your waist as Dazai’s chin settles on top of your head—not unlike a three-piece puzzle, snapped together and in your right place.

“Oh, fuck.” You’re still leaking. “That was wonderful. Both of you.”

Dazai chuckles again. Unnervingly charming, even after cumming so damn hard. Sigma doesn’t want to know what he looks like himself.

“Who knew there was a whore in the casino man?”

You smack Dazai’s arm, but now you’re all laughing again, even Sigma. He feels… proud. You look so satisfied, so tired. The way your eyes slide shut after pressing such affection into his own prompts him to do the same.

Tired as he may be, though, he can’t lie and say that he’s not still incredibly turned on—you wiggle a little to get comfortable between them, and Sigma feels his cock spring back to life when you brush him, when your fingertips skate over the small of his back. He can’t reflect on what just happened—it’ll have him hard again in seconds.

“Excited again already, huh?” Dazai pokes. Sigma’s face burns.

“Ugh,” you groan out of sheer exhaustion, “if we go again, you’re both taking turns.”

Dazai looks thoughtful. “Hmm. Perhaps we could reprise rock, paper, scissors.”

And Sigma, having begun to nod, stops. “Absolutely not.”

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