You do know you're just a toy, right? That your purpose in life is to writhe on the floor for our amusement? You are a toy to be used and thrown out. Be grateful for the attention.
Would you consider doing a pain audio where you take the biggest toy you can without injuring yourself in one hard thrust with no stretching prep so that you cry out from the pain of it?
I love it when my superiors think up good ideas🤤 You are so much smarter than I could ever dream to be🫣 And therefore, your wish is my command; here’s what that sounds like!🫠🙈
(All my audio posts are tagged #brainedeaudios)
…I came harder than I ever have before after this was recorded…
Summary: A gift for each year of his life and one gift for the years to come
Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x Reader
Word count: 3290
A/N: Some of the gifts are a little more serious than the typical gifts for that age, but I have limited brain power so... Still, happy birthday Leona!!! (it's already July 27th where I am)
When you walked into Leona’s room balancing a box large enough to block your view, he was on a call with his nephew. Cheka’s voice was loud enough to be heard from the doorway, the little kid was determined to wish his uncle a happy birthday in as many different ways as possible. Leona finally escaped by muttering something about the connection cutting out and hanging up before the boy could launch into another song.
The dorm wasn’t much quieter though. Somewhere down the hall, several Savanaclaw students were arguing over birthday decorations. A crash followed, then a chorus of accusations.
Leona sat on the edge of his bed with several unopened presents at his feet. His brows were drawn together, and his tail flicked against the mattress in a steady, irritated rhythm.
He looked up, then his gaze moved to the enormous box in your arms. “What’s in that?”
You lowered the box to the floor with a dull thud and pushed it to the foot of the bed. “Your birthday gift. What else?”
“Actually,” you added, “gifts. Twenty-one, to be exact.”
Leona’s ears angled back slightly. “You tryin’ to bury me in junk?” Still, he moved aside to clear space for your gifts on his bed.
You knelt beside the box. When you lifted the lid, rows of smaller packages were revealed inside, each wrapped separately. Leona leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee as his eyes passed over the collection. “You weren’t kidding.”
You rested your hands on the edge of the larger box. “You’ve lived twenty years. I wanted to give something to every version of you that made it this far.”
He picked up the box marked with “1”. “Twenty-one gifts,” he murmured. “You’ve got too much time on your hands.”
He hooked one finger beneath the ribbon. “Better be worth it.”
“It is,” you said. “You are.”
He opened the first box and pulled out a soft blanket embroidered with traditional Sunset Savanna patterns. He ran his thumb over the stitching. “This is for a baby.”
“It was meant for you at one.”
“I had better blankets than this.”
“I know. I still wanted to give it to you.”
He gave you a flat look, though he folded it carefully before setting it aside. The second box contained a carved wooden lion family. Two larger lions stood beside two smaller figures. He held the smallest one up to his eye’s level. “Why is this one frowning?”
“I thought that was your default facial expression.”
He smacked you with his tail before placing the figures on top of the blanket.
The third gift was an animal puzzle. The fourth was a children’s coloring book filled with savanna animals and landscapes. Leona looked from one to the other. “You expect me to use these?”
“No. They’re for the versions of you who might have.”
“Hmph.” He flipped through the coloring book. “The lions look ridiculous.”
“They can always be corrected later.”
“I’m not coloring.”
You chuckled. “Of course not. But Cheka might. Maybe you can give these to him later?”
“I’ll think about that.”
The fifth box was heavier. Inside was a chess set, its pieces polished and neatly arranged. Leona picked up the lion-shaped king between two fingers.
You leaned closer. “Is that like the one you used for your matches with Kifaji?”
“Close enough.” He set the piece back in its place. “His was just a bit more worn.”
“Even if it was new, I’m sure it would be worn in no time. Kifaji said that you demanded him to play chess with you all the time.”
“I couldn’t let that old bird win forever.”
“How many matches did it take?”
“Seventeen.”
“Seventeen?”
“So what? The eighteenth was mine,” he said, his head held high like the victory had happened yesterday.
The sixth gift was an illustrated field guide bound in green cloth, its cover stamped with small golden paw prints. Inside were bright drawings of Sunset Savanna animals, plants, feathers, tracks, and insects. Short notes had been written beside them in your handwriting: where certain birds liked to nest, which flowers opened after rain, how to tell apart different animal paw prints, what to look for when searching for certain insects.
Leona flipped through several pages. “Why does this sound like Hunt?”
You hesitated. “I asked him for a few details.”
“You involved that freak in my birthday present?”
“He knows a lot about animals.”
“You could’ve asked me.”
“That would have ruined the surprise.”
Leona scoffed, but he continued flipping through the guide even as his ears flattened whenever he encountered a particularly dramatic note. “I’m crossing these parts out.”
“That’s why I used pencil.”
The seventh gift was simpler: a black notebook with no title or decoration. Its pages looked ordinary until Leona brushed his thumb across one. The writing sample you had left there disappeared beneath his touch, leaving the paper clean again.
You elbowed his ribs. “I assumed that 7-year-old you already stewed a lot of thoughts inside.”
He flicked your forehead and shut the notebook before setting it beside the field guide, closer to himself than the earlier gifts.
The eighth package contained a small mechanical puzzle box made from interlocking pieces of dark wood. Fine gold lines ran across its surface, forming a pattern that appeared decorative. Each panel shifted only after another had been aligned correctly, and false mechanisms reset sections of the puzzle if handled carelessly.
Leona worked in silence, turning it in his hands, testing pressure points with the tip of his finger. After 10 minutes, the box opened with a crisp click.
“You made it too easy,” you rolled your eyes.
“I thought that was meant for 8-year-old me? Of course it was easy for me.”
Inside was a small bronze-colored coin. One side bore the image of a lion, the other had a simple crown engraved. He rolled the coin over his knuckles once, before slipping it into the pocket of his trousers.
The ninth gift was a box of sweets. His eyebrows raised. “Finally. Something useful.”
“They’re for after martial arts training,” you said. “For when nine-year-old you got beaten up and needed cheering up.”
His hand paused over the lid. “I didn’t need sweets to feel better.”
“What did you do instead?”
“Learned where I made the mistake and made sure it didn’t happen again.”
“That sounds healthy and not at all vindictive.”
“It worked.”
You reached for one when he opened the box but he pulled the box out of your reach. Not petty at all, this one.
The tenth gift was the most carefully wrapped so far. When Leona removed the paper, he found a slim collection of copied inscriptions bound between two stone-gray covers. Each page contained a reproduction of an ancient script, followed by a small amount of contextual information. There's a complete translation at the end of the book.
His earlier irritation disappeared. He sat straighter and turned the first page toward the light. “These aren’t all from the Sunset Savanna.”
“No. They’re beginner-level inscriptions from several regions.”
“Beginner-level,” he repeated, offended.
“You were ten.”
“I could have handled more than this at ten.”
“I’m sure you believed that too.”
His eyes moved over the inscription. “Where did you get these?”
You hesitated for half a second, but as always, Leona noticed.
“Who?”
“Lilia.”
The book lowered.
“You keep involving the worst possible people.”
“He has access to very old material.”
“He is very old material.”
You covered a laugh with your hand before leaning against his shoulder while he skimmed through the inscription. This way you had better access to the sweet box too. What a coincidence.
The eleventh gift was a book on resource management in arid countries. It was a serious-looking volume, bound in weathered brown leather and thick enough to require both hands. Maps, irrigation diagrams, trade routes, mineral surveys, and case studies filled the pages. Several sections had been marked with thin slips of paper.
Leona glanced at the title, then at you. “You’re giving an eleven-year-old economic policy?”
“You’re telling me you didn’t dig through the royal library for these types of books at 11?”
He opened the book and skimmed one of the marked chapters. It described a kingdom that had improved rural water access by combining underground reservoirs with seasonal flood channels.
“At least you know your audience.”
The twelfth gift was more narrow than the others. Inside was a high-quality fountain pen, its body made from dark wood with gold detailing around the grip. Leona rolled it between his fingers. Then he removed the cap and tested the nib against the corner of an old envelope. The ink came out in one clean, dark stroke. “Acceptable.”
Coming from him, it sounded almost extravagant.
The thirteenth gift was the only one that hadn’t been wrapped completely. A small potted plant sat between your hands, its thick green leaves edged with pale silver. A few grains of soil had spilled onto the wrapping despite your attempts to keep it upright.
“This one needs very little water,” you placed it in his hands. “It likes sunlight and being left alone, so I thought you two would get along.”
His eyes narrowed. “Funny.”
“I thought so.”
The pot looked unusually small between his palms. One leaf had folded beneath the paper, and Leona carefully eased it upright with the side of his hand.
“My 13-year-old self would hate this gift.”
“I thought so, again. Still, I trust it in your hands, despite however your 13-year-old self thought your hands could do.”
He looked away from you and carried the plant to the windowsill. He moved an unopened present aside, checked where the light fell, then adjusted the pot until the leaves rested fully in the sun.
“There,” he said.
You looked at the space he had cleared for it. “See? I know it will thrive in your hands.”
His tail flicked once. “Keep talking like that,” he muttered as he returned to the bed, “and I’ll let it die out of spite.” But when the curtain shifted against the pot, he reached back and moved the fabric away from its leaves.
The fourteenth gift caught the sunlight before Leona had fully removed it from the box. It was a glass sculpture, clear at the base and gradually darkening into warm gold near the top. A lion emerged from a sweep of windblown glass, its body only partly formed, as though it were stepping out of a sandstorm. The mane dissolved into long, curved strands behind it. He held it up, turning it slightly. The light fractured through the glass and scattered across his hands.
“Yesterday, I watched a very interesting video about how glass is made from sand,” you said.
He placed it beside the plant. The glass catched light and sprinkled it between the leaves.
The fifteenth gift was an atlas of the Sunset Savanna. It was the official one: a broad volume filled with regional maps, borders, rivers, mineral zones, roads, grazing land, and population centres. Then Leona opened it and saw your handwriting fill the margins. The pages were littered with fragmented information he had told you over time.
You said the grass here turns silver before the first storm.
The market in this town sells the spiced meat you like, though you claim the palace cooks make it better.
You once said this region could support twice its population with proper water storage.
Leona stopped turning the pages. “You wrote all this down?”
“You talk more than you think.”
“I don’t.”
“You do when you’re annoyed.”
His gaze returned to the atlas. “You missed one,” he said eventually.
You leaned closer. “Where?”
He pointed to a stretch of land near the south-eastern border. “There’s an old seasonal route here. It hasn’t been used properly in years, but it could connect these two regions.”
You handed him the new pen.
The sixteenth gift was the last in that row. A grimoire case lay inside, made from dark leather reinforced with gold-toned metal at the corners. The interior was lined with soft fabric, with adjustable straps to hold books of different sizes securely. His initials had been engraved on the clasp.
At sixteen, his invitation to Night Raven College had arrived. He had already received the best education the royal family could provide. He already knew more about magic than many adult mages. There had been no reason, in his mind, to leave for a school that could offer him nothing new.
Still, this was for the boy standing at the edge of a future he couldn’t yet see, carrying knowledge that belonged to him even when every title around him was defined by someone else.
The seventeenth gift was a travel case. It was compact enough to carry easily but sturdier than an ordinary school bag, made from dark brown leather with reinforced corners and broad straps. The interior had been divided into practical compartments: one for books, another for folded clothes, narrow pockets for pens and magical tools.
He tested the bottom and found the hidden latch. You held up the enchanted notebook. “Oh wow, what a surprise. A secret compartment for your secret journal.”
“This is too obvious.”
“It took me three attempts to find it after the craftsman demonstrated it.”
“That says more about you than the case.”
Leona set the case beside the grimoire holder. “At least this one can carry the rest of the junk,” he said.
“You like the junk.”
“Keep dreaming.”
The eighteenth present was a rolled sheet of thick parchment secured with a leather tie. When Leona opened it, a full Spelldrive field spread across the page. The goals, boundary lines, elevation changes, and common player positions had been drawn. Smaller transparent overlays showed different formations, each one marked with movable pieces representing players.
He leaned forward, resting one arm across his knee as he studied the first arrangement. “This formation leaves the left side open.”
“Only if the opposing team commits both defenders to the centre.”
“They would.” He slid one of the markers across the map. “Any decent captain would see the pressure point here and force the attack wide.”
You watched as he moved the pieces across the page, changed the spacing between players, tried different formations… He rolled the map carefully after he finished, though he kept one overlay outside. “I’m testing this at the next practice.”
You smiled. “So you like my junk.”
“I said I’m testing it.”
The nineteenth package was smaller. Inside was a captain’s armband, handmade from dark brown fabric and edged with Savanaclaw gold. The stitching was not perfectly even. One section had clearly been redone after someone pulled the thread too tight. Leona ran his thumb across the embroidered captain symbol. Then he turned it over. The inside was covered in signatures.
Leona’s face gave away very little, but you could see the way his eyes tracked every name. “I’m surprised you can convince all of them to sign this.”
You took the armband and wrapped it loosely around his upper arm, just below the edge of his tattoo. “It took very little convincing. It’s for their reliable housewarden, after all,” you said.
“Hmph.” His fingers passed once over the fabric where the names were hidden underneath. “I can imagine their stupid faces when you asked them that.”
The twentieth gift came in a small black box. Leona opened it and found a signet ring resting against dark velvet. The metal was warm gold, and on the face of the ring, a black lion curved around the surface in the same shape as the tattoo wrapped around his upper arm. Beneath it, almost invisible unless the ring was turned toward the light, were his initials.
Leona lifted the ring from the box and turned it slowly between his fingers. The polished metal caught the room’s light, making the black lion seem to move across its surface.
“You had this made?”
“I designed it.”
“That explains why the proportions are slightly off.”
“They are not.”
“The tail should curve lower.”
You reached for the ring. “Give it back, then.”
His hand closed before you could take it. “I’m feeling accepting today.”
He slid it onto his finger. Then his gaze moved to the gifts surrounding him. The blanket. The carved lions. The puzzles and books. The plant standing in the sunlight. The atlas filled with his own observations. The grimoire case marked with his initials. The travel case, the tactic map, the armband signed by the dorm that had placed its hope in him.
Twenty versions of Leona Kingscholar, gathered together in one room.
“So, twenty gifts for twenty years.” Leona’s tail curled around your waist. “You said there were twenty-one though.”
You reached into your pocket and pulled out a velvet pouch. Leona watched as you loosened the cord and tipped a single brass key into your palm.
He stared at it.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He took the key from you, turning it once between his fingers. It was old, slightly tarnished, and unmistakably ordinary compared to the other gifts. “What does it open?”
“Ramshackle.” You reached out and moved the tip of your finger slowly over the worn teeth of the key. “You already steal my bed, complain about the furniture, and treat the lounge like your private nap room. I thought you might as well have your own key.”
You pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Not just Ramshackle though. Whatever happens next, I hope you know that you’ll always have a place with me.”
The noise in the hallway seemed farther away now. His tail, which had been resting loosely around your waist, tightened just slightly.
Leona closed his fingers around the key. “I’ll show up whenever I want.”
“You already do.”
“I could stay for days.”
“You already do that too.”
“I might move my things in.”
You glanced around at the twenty gifts surrounding him. “Apparently, you have luggage now.”
Your gaze had just been turned back towards him when his arm hooked around your waist and pulled you against him. You landed partly across his lap, one hand braced against his chest. He pressed his face briefly into the side of your neck, hiding his expression. His ears brushed your hair, and his grip stayed firm around your waist.
The key remained secure in his other hand. “You better not give anyone else one,” he murmured.
You smiled against his shoulder. “Possessive.”
“Answer me.”
“No one else.”
“Hmph. Good.”
He pulled back, then kissed you. It was unhurried, warm, and far gentler compared to the way his arms trapped you against him. You felt like he was taking every word you had said, every breath you let out. He kissed you until the room, the hallway, and the twenty opened gifts around you blurred into irrelevance. Until the only things you could feel were the way his hand grasp at your shirt, the warmth of his skin underneath your hand, the soft tickle of his breath beneath your nose, the thud of your combined heartbeat.
When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough for you to breathe. You glanced down at his closed hand. “So you like the gift?”
Leona opened his fingers. The key lay across his palm beneath the signet ring, plain brass against gold. He looked at it once, then closed his hand around it again. “Try keeping me out,” he murmured, his nose brushing yours as he leaned close again.
You smiled against his mouth. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Hmph. Smart.”
Then Leona kissed you again, the key still held securely in his hand.
Do you realize it as it's happening? Slowly becoming the version of you that I desire most?
I never tell you outright to change. I don't even criticize. I simply give or withhold praise.
"I like that color on you"
"I like that softer eyeliner"
"That shorter hem makes your legs look amazing"
"your tits look great from that angle"
"I love when you do that with your tongue"
Over years your wardrobe turns over into only things I like. your hair is grown and styled to My preference. your piercings and tattoos are in places and of things I prefer. your movements in bed are all orbiting the ways that you can please Me best.
I don't need to force you. Force has its place but it's barbaric and it's temporary.
No, to permanently take what I want from you, I just course correct your mind a fraction of a degree at a time. Imperceptible, until one day you no longer see who you used to be.
In all fairness, I only ever saw who you would become anyway.
𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦▶𐙚 As the ever loving lover girl that you are, you've had crushes with the NRC students in the past, and you've made love letters of them— now it's burried in your notes app for many months now.
However, what happens when Grim, your ever loving son, accidentally sends all of it to them— all seperate to the receiver of course. And what happens when you eventually find out?
𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦▶𐙚 friends to lovers, fluff, SMAU, second chances, love letters, confessions, reverse harem, Yuu! reader, yearner! NCR boys, messy drama, lover girl! reader, dandere! reader, gender neutral! reader, confession walls, femme leaning! Reader, implied unrequited love, OOC! characters, no Grim was harmed during this, crack
𝗔/𝗡▶𐙚 My ass was trying to think of an event of yk my 10k likes and I remembered that I once sent my friend a love letter that I wrote to my crush and they said "do you want me to send this to him" ME THINKING SHE WAS JOKIN SAID "sure lol" AND SHE DID SHE ACTUALLY DID- and I thought yk what ima do project this to the twst ccast heheheheh
▶𐙚𝗧𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗗 𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥
— ♥︎ᜊ . ᴵ'ᵐ ᶦⁿ ᵃ ʳᵉᶜᵏˡᵉˢˢ
ᶠᵉᵛᵉʳ, ˡᵒᵛᵉˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵏ
ᵍᶦʳˡ ᴵ ᵗᵉᵃˢᵉ ʰᵉʳ
𝓵𝗮𝘂𝗳𝗲𝘆 ⊹ ࣪ ˖
— "𝙊𝙝 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚" .
𝜗𝜚 𝑻his all Crowley's fault, you were sure of it. If you didn't have to be Crowley's dubbed 'errand person' then you wouldn't have to trust Grim to send a message. Now there's chaos and you have to confront your problems— we all know that you were not good at that, despite being confrontational, you would rather die and be buried on earth than ever admit your feelings.
stormborns
theartofmadeline
andulkaphoto
