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vxnuslogy · 2 months ago

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— pasalubong.

pairing: kinich x gn!reader

premise: kinich wasn't a sentimental person at heart, until you left to travel. neither was he easily upset, but here he was, undoubtedly upset that you didn't give him a gift with your recent package.

— warnings: ooc-kinich and ajaw (still havent done the new aq), he's a bit down bad, and misses you dearly.

— author's note: this is not angst despite the premise LMFAO. art credits to @.n429g on twt. | 1.6k words.

“delivery for kinich!” a mail man shouted, trying his best to not look down over the ledge the scions of the canopy is held. “delivery for ki—”

“i heard ya!” the small dragon yells, taking the sealed letter and small box from the man’s hands and throws a pouch of mora as thanks.

the man sweat drops at the comical sight of the tiny dragonlord floating up to where kinich was. said man was dangling his legs over the ledge, hair swaying with the wind and an indifferent look on his face as he swats away his small companion and roughly takes the letter in his hands. he could only assume that the two had started another argument once again.

with a sigh, he cups a hand to his mouth and shouts, “thank you for your patronage!”

kinich looked in his direction and gave him a small nod. there were few postal workers here in natlan, so he made sure to at least pay the man generously—especially with how his legs shake and hand clutch the side of the mountain for dear life.

ajaw continued to punch and tug at his head but his attention had zeroed in on the envelope. it felt heavier than the last and you had sent a small package with it. ‘for my dearest, kinich & almighty dragon lord, ajaw.’ the small note said with your signature right below it as well as a wax seal at the corner. your penmanship makes kinich smile and before ajaw can open his mouth, he takes the grapple on his waist and zips away to find a secluded place to open your gifts. they were sacred to him and therefore had to be treated with utmost care.

when he lands on teticpac peak, he sits down by one of the rocks and gently peels away the seal. kinich makes a mental note to stop by a market to get a new container for all your letters, after all, his bedside drawer can only hold so much of you over the years.

‘to my dearest, kinich,’

with just four words, you had him smiling like a fool. one hand propped behind his back to support his weight as he leisurely soaks in your stories like a sponge. ajaw sits by his shoulder, impatiently demanding him to open the box that came along with your letter. kinich was not even half way with reading before he relented—you always had a knack for making pages and pages of stories, but he didn’t mind. you have been away for nearly 7 years now and send only a letter or two every few years. kinich learned to appreciate the pages of your love every time they arrive.

“hurry up!” ajaw demanded, waiting with bated breath as kinich opened the box. “learn to be patient, ajaw.”

the dragon only huffed and turned around but it didn’t take long before he dove head first into the array of gifts. while his little companion drowned in material luxuries, kinich took out items in piles and made a mental note to give them to their respective owners.

kinich tucked the small pouch with xilonen’s name along with your letter for her at his side. he will deliver these to her first, he concludes. as he’s sifting through the items, kinich catches a glimpse of ajaw sitting on a toy fox’s head with a small note with kachina’s name. the final item that seemed important was a small box containing colorful seashells with mualani’s name on it.

his brows furrowed in confusion as he sets all the gifts down carefully and sifts through the package one more time. and again, and again, until his lower back felt sore. ajaw noticed his antsy behavior and decided to look at what all the fuss was about. kinich sat down, head lowered with his bangs covering his eyes—ajaw was beginning to worry (but he would rather die than verbally admit it).

“hey!” ajaw turned to kinich who had stiffly stood up. clutching at your letter as the sliver of expectancy in his eyes dimmed. “don't tell me they actually forgot about you?”

“let’s go back,” he says with a subtly sullen voice. “we have to deliver these to the others.”

ajaw makes no further comment and sits on his shoulder as they zip from one place to another. he doesn’t point out the way kinich’s eyes looked duller and the way a frown tugged at his lips—he was upset.

“hmph! i'll be sure to show them a piece of my mind when they get back!" the dragon complains to him as they arrive back home. kinich beelined his way back to his residence, a bit more aggressive than he normally would.

he doesn’t want to admit that he was upset—it was stupid. so what if you didn’t get him a gift after not hearing from you for almost a year? but how come everyone else had one? hell even citlani and mavuika received one, so why didn’t he?

with a click of his tongue he pushed past all the people in his way, muttering half hearted apologies here and there as ajaw kept calling his name. kinich was not upset nor was he disappointed—he wasn’t a child chasing after the trail of gold you left behind anymore. he was an adult now, someone people look up to and admire. kinich was no longer the shy kid that always wondered if he could ever chase after you.

“kinich!”

with the shout of his name, he was taken back to memory lane. how you would call to him from the ground, a pair of wheels at your feet as you glided through the rocky terrain as if it were made of ice. the smile you flash him as you point to your finish line makes his heart skip a few beats, rendering him only to reply in a nod because his mind has turned into a mushy puddle.

“kinich!”

you have always been golden in his eyes. smiles bright like the sun, kindness gentle like its morning rays, and hypnotizing in the starry trail you leave behind. kinich remembers the first time he tried his hands on rollerblades. he felt unwittingly afraid of standing on his own two feet, the possibility of his world turning upside down with one single step scared him. but you were always there to ward away his fears. it wasn’t long before he took them off and said with a dead expression that he will never try them again. the laugh that he managed to steal from your lungs made all his suffering worth it.

“kinich!”

he doesn’t like letting things go, not when you’ve taught him how to cherish every little thing. but he’d hate himself if he kept you from your dreams. so there he was, all those years ago, standing by natlan’s borders, unable to say goodbye as the rest bid theirs. you had to make him face you—gently cupping his jaw with both hands and flashing a small smile, giving him a tempting offer.

“let me stay,” you said. you were willing to give up your dreams if it meant making him happy. kinich didn’t want his happiness, he wanted yours.

“leave,” he said bluntly. it made you laugh because it sounded incredibly rude, but the way he held your hand in his shaking hold, lip bitten until it almost bled, everyone knew he was struggling the most.

“i’ll give you souvenirs,” you offered as consultation and it took every willpower he had to say he only wanted you.

“i’ll keep them safe.” he replied and you smiled.

“kinich!”

urging you to travel has been the best and worst decision in his life—you were enjoying your life but he was stuck missing you. his longing for the sun in his life greatly outweighed his happiness for you. how can he be happy when happiness is spelled with your name? the way you smile, and the way you leave a golden trail?

“kinich.”

“ajaw, enou—” his sentence was cut off when he turned to look at the smiling faces of his tribe. brows furrowed in confusion as he searched the crowd for a certain green dragon, but all his eyes could see was gold.

the wind in his lungs was stolen as the images of smiling faces turn to fade, his attention solely on you in the distance, ajaw by your side as you both waved him over. as fast as the winds could take him, kinich ran straight in your arms—his home. your laugh ringed like morning birds and your hands felt warm like the afternoon heat. you were home; you were his gift.

“pasalubong, for kinich,” you say with a teasing lilt to your voice.

“pasalubong?” he repeats, hands coming to cradle your smiling face. “what does that mean?”

you smile wider and hold his hands with your own. “it means gifts given by homecomers. but,” you tuck away a stray piece of his hair behind his ear as you tempt him in another embrace. “it can also mean ‘to meet again.’”

kinich laughed—airy and bright, like the setting sun. this was so you, he thought, burying his head in your neck. trying to make up for all the lost physical contact he had missed.

“thank you for the gift.” he said with a smile.

you pat him on the back and hummed in delight. “i came back just for you.”

“i’m honered,” he jests and takes a step back, not letting your hand go. “you should be! the trip back home is nothing short of tedious!”

he chuckles because kinich knows he’s a goner. no need for xilonen’s amused teasing, mualani’s persistence and kachina’s curiosity. everyone in his tribe and maybe even natlan knew, kinich would wait for you knowing you’ll eventually come home to him.

#—stellaronhvnters.#kinich x reader #kinich x you #kinich fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact kinich #( 🂡 ) – royal flush of stories .ᐟ

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roosterforme · 8 months ago

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Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

--------------------------

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!"

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

-------------------------

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.

-----------------------------

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

-------------------------

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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daisynik7 · 8 months ago

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Rub You the Right Way

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Summary: You've always been cordial with your shy next-door neighbor Choso. One day, you receive the package you've been expecting, finding out a little too late that it isn't your package at all; it's his. What you find inside makes you wonder that maybe your sweet and quiet neighbor has wild side, one you’re curious to see for yourself.

Author’s Notes: First Choso fic! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Consider this my unofficial return from hiatus. Enjoy! Divider by the wonderful and super talented @/cafekitsune!

part 7 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

The trek home from the office is especially grueling today. Your backpack is heavy with a clunky work laptop that’s been due for an upgrade along with a pile of documents that need to be reviewed ASAP. One hand carries the dinner you bought at the station while the other hoists a heavy bag of groceries you picked up during lunch, thinking it would be productive to get as much of your errands done today before hunkering down for the weekend to do a job that doesn’t pay you enough to work overtime.

You eventually arrive to your apartment complex, making one more necessary pit stop to the mail room. Inside, you recognize the distinct pink-hair of the boy standing in front of the lockers. He’s your next-door neighbor’s younger brother who visits from time-to-time. “Hi Yuji!” you beam at him.

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

“Are you picking up your brother’s packages?” It’s a well-known fact by now that Choso isn’t fond of leaving his apartment or interacting with people in general. It doesn’t bother you though; he’s a great neighbor who barely makes a peep. Never has he ever rubbed you the wrong way, despite his reclusive nature. Sometimes, through his brother, he’ll give you an offering of cookies from the batch he baked that week. On the days you’re working overtime, he’ll send Yuji to check in on you, making sure you’re not too stressed or overexerted. And on the rare occasion that the two of you meet face-to-face, either entering or leaving the apartment at the same time, your heart skips just the tiniest beat at how his face softens when you greet him with a smile. From these tiny gestures alone, you’ve determined that Choso Kamo is a sweetheart. Quiet, but most importantly, a sweetheart.

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

You stare at the small package in your own locker, evaluating how you’re going to carry it to your room in one trip. There’s no space in any of the bags and you’re almost convinced that you can balance it on top of your head as if you actually possess the proper skills to do so (you don’t). “Need help?” Yuji chuckles. Before you answer, he grabs it, placing it on top of a box similar in size on his stack.

“Thank you so much!”

As the elevator rides to the third floor, you continue to chat casually with Yuji. The two of you walk to your neighboring rooms and when he reaches for his keys, the stack topples over, the boxes now strewn across on the hallway floor. He blushes, collecting them hastily back into a neat pile. “I’m sorry, I hope there isn’t anything fragile in there.” He quickly slides you a box, avoiding your gaze to hide his embarrassment.

It's new office supplies you ordered for your workstation at home, so you hardly care even if there is a bit of damage done. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” you assure him, using your foot to push it towards your front door. “Thank you for your help, Yuji. Tell your brother I say hi.”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

Finally home, you drop all your belongings, letting out a relieved sigh. One-by-one, you put everything away: the groceries in their appropriate places, your lukewarm dinner in the microwave, and all your work junk on the dining table, where you’ll be sat at for most of this weekend starting tomorrow. You save the package for later, planning to refill your supplies tonight so you don’t have to worry about it the next morning.

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.

~~~

Choso is sprawled on the couch, too lazy to cook dinner. He ordered delivery from Yuji’s favorite pizza joint a few blocks away, which should be arriving any minute now, according to his calculations. When he hears the door open, he sits up, watching his brother enter with a tower of boxes in his hands. “I don’t remember ordering that much stuff,” he grumbles, standing up to help him.

“Most of these are mine. I think only this one is yours.” Yuji passes him a small box, which Choso quickly grabs to toss into his room, hoping to avoiding any questions about it. Truth be told, the contents of that box is way too embarrassing to explain to his precious baby brother. Inside is the sex toy he recently purchased online. It’s essentially a silicone cock sleeve, open on both ends for simple clean-up, made entirely of pliable material for ease and comfort. To put it simply, it’s a fleshlight. A state-of-the-art, new and improved fleshlight, he would like to emphasize. He’s been looking forward to using it all week and once Yuji leaves tonight, he’s going to give it a proper test run until he’s a puddle in the sheets.

It’s been a while since Choso’s been intimate with someone other than himself. A few bad breakups and past betrayals have led him to distrust most people outside of his intimate circle. The unpredictable nature of people, strangers, is frightening to him, so it’s better to avoid them completely. He has the luxury of working a job that’s fully remote, and aside from his brothers and the few colleagues he is forced to converse with periodically, it’s easy for him to remain a recluse, and he’s perfectly content with that. As for his sexual needs, he’s managed to make it this far in this drought thanks to sex toys and pornography. And while he’s aware that it’s not the most glamorous lifestyle, it works for him.

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

Choso says your name in the form of a question to clarify, though he’s certain of the answer. The only other human contact he has outside his circle is with you, his next-door neighbor. He doesn’t leave the house much, but on the occasion he does, he always hopes it’s you he runs into. He often worries that one day, you’ll realize what a pathetic loner he is and stop showing him that gorgeous smile of yours. So far, that hasn’t happened yet, so he cherishes those tiny moments every chance he gets. Something about that smile, something about you, makes him feel good. Safe.

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

Before Choso can inquire any further, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of their pizza. After thanking the delivery man, the two gather at the dining table, ready to dig into their dinner. Choso listens intently as Yuji laments on his weekly occurring university woes with a mouth full of pepperoni and sausage. As much as he adores his younger brother, he’s eager for his departure so he can have alone time to break in his new toy.

At eleven, without a crumb left of the pizza and the recycling bin filled with flattened cardboard boxes, Yuji finally announces that he’s leaving. He stuffs his newly delivered items, which includes textbooks, notepads, and a bunch of miscellaneous items, in his bag. “I’ll see you next week, bro. Take care of yourself,” he says, squeezing his big brother into a warm embrace. There’s always the smallest hint of concern in his voice whenever he leaves like this. Does he worry about him? For living a life of seclusion, constantly in fear of the outside world? Sure, it may sound lonely. In fact, it is lonely. But it’s easier to stay safe in the comfort of his own home than risk being hurt from the unknown. It’s better this way…isn’t it?

Choso muses on his brother’s parting words in the silence of his apartment for much longer than he intends to. He decides that the best way to keep him from spiraling further is a distraction, and that means fucking himself silly into temporary bliss until he knocks out for the night. Hidden away in various drawers of his bedroom are a plethora of options to choose from: vibrators, masturbators, cock rings, even the sex doll tucked deep in his closet. Tonight, however, is all about his shiny new toy. Pristine and untouched for him to ruin as much as he wants. He picks it up from the floor, ripping the tape off quickly, too impatient to inspect the exterior for any potential damage. When a stapler drops, almost hitting his feet, he stares down at it, confused. Thinking it’s a weird bonus item the sex shop has sent him, he chuckles nervously, still searching. Each item he uncovers leaves him more and more baffled: a container of paper clips, a wad of sticky notes, bundles of red pens, another fucking stapler. Finally, he checks the shipping label ripped partially from his haste, whatever color remaining on his face draining completely.

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck.

~~~

It’s near midnight when you’re ready to turn in for the night. You almost forget about the box sitting idly on the floor by your shoes, exactly where you left it a few hours ago. With your computer all set up for work tomorrow, you think it’s best to organize your new supplies before you actually do forget. At your desk, you open the package with a pair of scissors, excited for the new staplers you bought, a standard one and a heavy duty one. It’s surprising how neatly it’s wrapped, covered in tissue paper like some sort of gift. After removing all the extra layers, you finally get to the reveal, which renders you speechless.

Nestled neatly amongst more delicate tissue paper, the translucent material almost luminous against the dim glow from the lamplight, is a sex toy. Call it what you want: a penis stroker, a male masturbator, a pocket pussy. There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind what is before you. A fucking fleshlight.

Besides the obvious appearance, the dead giveaway is the user manual included with it, displaying in big, bold print “The Cock Stroker 3000 – New and Improved!”. Lifting the box up to inspect the shipping label, you notice that it says Choso’s name, not yours. If you weren’t so stunned by this unexpected discovery, you’d be giggling at the absurdity of it all. Instead, you’re gawking at the lewd gadget, unsure what to do next.

“Fuck!”

An intense shout from the other side of the wall snaps you out of it. That’s the loudest you’ve ever heard your neighbor, and you can only assume that he has also just realized this unfortunate mix-up. There’s no way the two of you can pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, the last thing you want is for Choso to think you have a bad impression of him after this. Because you don’t, not one bit. It’s perfectly normal for people to have sex toys. In fact, it’s healthy. Even the thought of him using it on himself intrigues you. The hungry expression on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth, those usually pale cheeks blushing a deep red. The obscene squelch of the wet silicone surrounding his engorged cock, leaking with precum. Closer and closer to the edge, ready to burst any second with your lips near the tip, ready to swallow his load…

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Ultimately, you decide the best way to move forward from this is to nip it in the bud. With the opened package in your hands, you walk over to his front door, knocking three times. You hear a faint, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” from within, then hurried footsteps growing louder. Without removing the chain lock, he answers, peering at you through the narrow crack, not saying anything.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

He shuts the door suddenly, startling you. There’s the distinct rattle of the chain being fiddled with and the door swings open fully, Choso towering over you, a serious expression on his face. He shows you a box, revealing all the office supplies you ordered earlier in the week. Without saying another word, you do the exchange, anticipating that this will be the end of it.

It surprises you when he apologizes quietly, focused on the small space separating you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He hides it behind his back, as if doing so will erase the image of it from your memory. “You must think I’m disgusting.”

You shake your head, ignoring the instinct to step closer and comfort him with a hug. The last thing you want to do is cross even more lines tonight. “I don’t, not even the slightest. It’s okay, Choso. This is totally normal and totally fine.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him.

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

With that, he shuts the door, leaving you with a lump in your throat, devastated. In your frenzied attempt to fix this, you return to your room, searching your bedside drawer for your favorite vibrator. If words aren’t enough to convince him, then maybe actual proof will. Without taking a moment to reconsider the hole you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into, you pound on his door, the sex toy clasped in your other hand.

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

“One button is all I need,” you argue, defensive about your favorite being criticized. “Sure, it’s small, but that’s what I like about it. It fits comfortably in my hand and with just a single push of the button, I can experience three different levels of intensity. What more do I need?!”

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

“3000,” he corrects, grinning, causing your heart to race. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it’s the best on the market right now.” He hesitates, his next words coming out of his mouth slowly, testing the waters. “Maybe you can show me what your little toy can do. Prove me wrong.”

You never expected this from him, but that’s what makes this exciting. All you can think of in this moment is showing him just how wet you can get. “Fine,” you agree, stepping towards him. “But only if you show me what your little toy can do, too.”

~~~

Never in a million years did Choso predict that this would be the outcome of your bizarre mix-up. You, his next-door neighbor, on his bed, naked from the waist down. Your t-shirt riding up your stomach with your legs split apart, the cute vibrator you love so much pressed to your clit. He kneels in front of you, too transfixed at the erotic sight before him to give attention to the erection strained in his sweatpants.

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

He nods, all the confidence he had just a few minutes ago when he initially proposed this idea thrown out the window. Now, he’s back to being his nervous self, afraid to be vulnerable with someone he barely knows.

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –

“Hey.” It’s only now he realizes that the two of you are face-to-face, foreheads pressed, noses touching. Your voice is gentle, your palms soft on his cheeks. You smile at him, full of warmth and compassion. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone,” he admits. “I’m nervous.” A myriad of what-ifs play out in his head. What if he’s bad? What if you don’t like it? What if this ruins whatever sliver of hope the two of you have at being friends? At being anything more?

“We’ll go slow then,” you assure him, brushing your lips to his. That genuine smile of yours is enough to convince him that it’s worth the risk. That, and how fucking good it feels to have your mouth on his. He closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss, relishing the warmth of your breath. He finds himself gradually losing control of his inhibitions, his carnal instincts taking over, hungry for more of you. He slips his tongue inside, swirling around yours, kisses growing frantic and sloppy. You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. His heart pounds in his chest as he roams your body, fingers grazing your perked nipples from outside your top. You whisper his name, so luscious and sweet in your voice. He’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined it before. How you’d sound whimpering from his touch. How you’d feel between his massive hands. How you’d look with his cock filling you up to the brim.

He can’t stand it anymore. He’s aching, begging for release from the confines of his pants. Quickly, he removes them, freeing his throbbing erection. You gasp, marveling at the size of it. “Oh fuck, Choso. You’re so big.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, fumbling for the Cock Sucker 3000 beside him. He slathers a generous amount of lube on his shaft and inside the toy. Foreheads pressed together once more, you both focus on his lap, watching it sink smoothly down his dick. The coldness of the lube and rubbery flexibility of the silicone surrounding him is familiar, though having someone spectate makes this all the more titillating.

“Fuck,” you swear, amazed at how it covers his entire length. You ogle at him as he starts slowly, eventually increasing to a steady pace. Your pussy flutters, incredibly aroused to see this man pumping his cock in front of you. For you.

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

You spread your legs, displaying your cunt to him, already sopping wet with arousal. His eyes follow your every move as you tease the tip slowly up and down your pussy lips. Finding the right spot on your clit, you place your finger on the button of the toy, bracing yourself for what’s to come. As soon as you press it, the vibrations from level one alone are enough to send you wild. Knees shaking, feet flexing, moans pouring out of your open mouth. He continues to watch you, restraining his grunts as he strokes himself faster. Desperate for more, you click the button twice, increasing the vibrations to the max level. Within seconds, you’re coming, back arched and head thrown into the pillows behind you. Tossing the vibrator aside, you stare up at the ceiling, dizzy and disoriented from your ecstatic high, pussy shiny with your orgasm. Choso’s voice is so faint, you don’t understand him at first. You sit up to face him, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.

More than willing to accept his request, you nod in response, grinning. His expression relaxes and when you lean nearer to him, palm pressed flat on his chest, he even cracks a smile as he’s lies down on the bed, eager to have you like this. You straddle him, facing away from the headboard while his head rests at the foot of the bed. Carefully, you lower yourself until his mouth is pressed to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit slowly and he releases his grip from his toy to hold onto your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. You don’t take your eyes off each other as you rub yourself across his face, his mouth open, swallowing every drop of you. When you reach your second orgasm, you’re practically bouncing on him as he smothers himself deeper, humming in satisfaction as he sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

You lift yourself off him, spent and completely wrecked. Still, you want to touch him, treat him as well as he treated you, make him come as hard as you did. You position yourself between his thighs, admiring the silicone sleeve hugging his dick. “Your turn.”

Sitting up on his elbows, he watches as you grab hold of the toy, stroking him with it. He moans, tongue hanging of his mouth, drool leaking from the corners of his lips, eyes half-lidded. His moans turn into whimpers when you start cradling his balls with your other hand, his body twitching from the sensation. The tip peeks out from the other end, a thick wad of precum collecting at the slit, so enticing that you’re salivating for a taste.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

Excited, you remove the toy from him, in awe at the way his fat cock flops heavily against his abdomen. You take him in your fist, loving how hot and throbbing he is in your grip. He’s coated in lube and precum, so slippery with your fingers wrapped around his girth. Unable to resist any longer, you bow your head, licking the pearl off the tip, savoring the taste. He shudders, letting out a loud, “Fuck!”

It’s so much better than a toy. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him is better than any masturbator, fleshlight, pocket pussy, whatever silly contraption he uses to get by. The swirl of your tongue gliding along the shaft, the vibrations of your moans as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, the view of your pretty head bobbing up and down his lap. Nothing in his collection compares to this. This is real. You are real.

He fucks your throat, unable to resist bucking his hips against you, timing his thrusts to meet yours. It doesn’t take much longer for him to be pushed over the edge. You pull off for a brief moment to smile at him, pumping him fast. “Come for me, Choso. Come in my mouth.”

At this, he completely loses himself, muffling his incessant moans into his forearm, too shy to watch you guzzle down his entire load until he’s milked of every last drop. You scatter delicate kisses along the entire length of him, even down to his balls. Too sensitive now, he pats you gently on the head, making you look up at him, a warm smile on your face. He smiles back, caressing your cheek, thumb grazing your soft skin. You lie beside him, nuzzling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady, relaxed pace. He slides his arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso smut #choso x you #choso jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #kamo choso x reader #kamo choso smut #kamo choso x you

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luveline · 3 months ago

Note

can we please have more coworker JAMES 💜

james calls you something he maybe shouldn’t | fem

You’re feeling at a James-given mark when Sirius appears.

You don’t know Sirius half as well as you know James nor Remus, but you’re ninety five percent sure he’s a good guy. He’s funny at lunch, whenever Remus has managed to convince you to go with them. He’s like James in terms of scandal. They like making bad jokes. Sirius really likes making Remus laugh, so he must be nice.

“Hey,” he says, “where are they?”

You nod toward the boss’ office. “Presenting the last of the Lang and Co.”

“Oh, right.” Sirius moves in to James’ desk. He knocks one of his figurines over purposefully, then moves one to have its face in the other’s backside.

“I’ll have to tell him that was you,” you say.

“Rat. Why?”

“He’ll think it was me otherwise, and then–” He won’t kiss me later, you’d been about to say. James has grown suddenly and enthusiastically fond of withholding affection whenever you mess with him. As a joke, of course, but you refuse to risk your lunchtime kiss. “You know what he’s like with me.”

Sirius smiles oddly. “I do.”

He sits at James’ desk. Ever since you and James… started whatever it is you’re doing, things have been raw for you. Maybe you’re stupid, it’s only kisses, but you’re sort of thinking it isn’t. Like, this is dating. You might not be boyfriend and girlfriend, but you’re exclusive.

James is too good, and some small part of you doesn’t like admitting it, but the bigger part (the part that wants to kiss him and be kissed by him) knows it surely. How could you have grown to fancy him otherwise?

“Doing anything fun this weekend?” you ask.

“Not likely,” Sirius says, tucking hair behind his ears. “We’re all helping Remus’ dad paint the house. It’s a tiny thing n’ it won’t take long, but he lives in Aberystwyth. S’gonna take hours to get there and he wants to stay up there ‘cos his dad gets lonely.” Sirius scratches his jaw. “His dad’s nice, mind. I don’t mind going up there. Just hate being stuck in the car when James is driving.”

You won’t see James this weekend, then. He hadn’t mentioned it. “It’s beautiful in Aberystwyth. Maybe you can go to the beach,” you say.

“That’s what I’m trying to convince them to do.” Sirius grins.

“Not the best weather.”

“It’s always nicer up there. We spent a lot of time up there, you know, in the summers. We ping-ponged between Remus’ house and James’ parents.”

“Do they live there too?” you ask.

“Nowhere near.” Sirius laughs, a deep, rich sound. “You think I’d be used to long drives.”

“Where’s James from?”

“My parents live deep in the West Country,” James says, his hands sudden on the back of your chair.

Fuck, you think. You had no idea he was coming, distracted by Sirius and the patter of rain against the window. “You creeper.”

“You’re the creeper. Grilling dear Siri for details on my personal life.” James dives for a biscuit from the plastic packaging laid out on your desk and then away from you. “If you want to know where to send your fan mail, just ask me, sweetheart.”

“How do you sneak up on me like that?” you ask.

The space between your chair and the wall isn’t super tight, but it’s still weird to think he’d approached from the right and you hadn’t noticed. Just, James isn’t generous with details about himself and you’re too timid in your standing with him to ask.

“Practice… Sirius, what have you don’t to my little women!”

“I thought they were boys?” Sirius says.

“That gives you no right to knock them over and make them do frankly obscene things to one another. This is a workplace.” James knocks Sirius out of the way, desk chair and all, to set each of his little green figurines onto their feet. The ones that are standing, that is. The sleeping one he puts back in pride of place underneath his computer’s monitor.

“She told me not to,” Sirius says, not looking at anyone now, peering backward toward the office. “But I didn’t listen, don’t blame our sweet Y/N.”

“I wasn’t going to.” James sends you a secret smile.

“She wouldn’t physically withheld me if I weren’t so devilishly fast.” Sirius’ voice warms. “Hello, darling.”

Remus huffs as he sets down a huge binder of paper. “Hi.”

“You okay?”

The tone he uses is so tender, so soft, you aren’t jealous of Remus but you’re not far from it, either. Remus’ frowning is quick to turn up at the sight of his meddling boyfriend. It must be nice to see someone and have them make a bad day good.

You look up, finding James paused with a hand on his desk. He’s looking at you, impassive.

“You okay?” you ask him.

He squints, wrinkles his nose. “Fine. Got shouted at a bit for the reports. Bet you’re glad you have a twisted ankle.” You’re confused at first, then caught. James’ wrinkled face darkens to glare at you. “You lied?”

“I really didn’t wanna see him today.” Your boss sucks.

“And we did? Remus, we’ve been betrayed.”

“James, I knew she was lying, I just don’t care.” Remus rubs his face. “Why shouldn’t one of us escape him?”

Sirius takes Remus’ empty hand hanging at his side, picture of a concerned lover.

James, on the other hand, steals another biscuit despite your laughing protesting and nimbly switches off your monitor.

“Had enough,” James says. Turned away from the boys, he smiles at you playfully, hand twitching at his side like he wants to give you a squeeze. Or a shove. “Your betrayal is noted.”

“Mm.” You take a third biscuit from your pack to offer him.

He takes it, letting his knuckles brush under your arm before pulling away. “And filed away for a later date.”

When Sirius has pulled Remus away for another early lunch, James retakes his chair and slides as close to you as he can be. He looks for your hand under the desk. You pretend it’s just casually there on your knee and not waiting for him to hold.

“My dad’s family is very well off,” he says, rubbing your index finger with his thumb, “so the estate is huge. They own a lot of land, but he’s not, like, a lord or anything. You’d love it down there though, it’s nice.”

“I bet I would.”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

“No, I’m not, I know you’re rich.”

“Not that sort of surprise. It would be nice to go down there together.” He can tell he’s getting ahead of himself and backtracks. “Well, this weekend I’m going to gorgeous Aberystwyth and you’re…”

“Doing laundry.”

“Well,” he says quietly, “maybe you can make some time Sunday night after all of that and we can get a late dinner.”

“I thought I was in trouble over the twisted ankle.”

“Who could be in trouble for an injury?” James sandwiches your hand in his.

“Fake injury.”

“Oh, my girl,” he murmurs, almost inaudible, “so honest. No punishment on account of owning up to it.”

Great. My girl and he’s going away for the weekend. James Potter’s your personal nightmare.

—

james coworker au

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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nikkento-writes · 4 months ago

Text

Rub You the Right Way - Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Author’s Notes: This is a repost from my old account! It's the first Choso fic I've ever written and I enjoyed it so much that I wrote a Part 2 and a Part 3 (coming soon)! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.

~~~

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck.

~~~

“Fuck!”

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him.

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

~~~

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso x you #choso smut #choso fluff #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #jjk smut

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himegureisu · 9 months ago

Text

The Howler

Summary: Your husband, Severus, receives a Howler from you.

A/N: This prompt randomly passed through my brain. I thought it would be nice. It did take a day or two to write but here it is! I hope you like it, this is the first time I'm writing for Severus x Reader.

--------------

In the Great Hall, the breakfast banquet was served. Their students eagerly chattered among friends over good food and drink before classes. On the other hand at the High Table, small talk and occasional personal questions were exchanged.

That’s until the owls, in turn, the mail, came for the day.

Their tiny but sturdy claws carried various packages from letters, gifts, newspapers, and journal subscriptions. Among them, one particular barn owl was heading straight toward the High Table holding a distinct red letter.

From afar, Severus could see the owl, ignoring the House Tables, and coming straight for him. It wasn’t his owl. No, it was your owl. If it was your owl then…

“Oh dear,” Severus said,

By his side, Minerva, who was perusing her copy of the Wizarding World News stopped, to glance at him as the owl dropped the angry red letter above his plate.

“Severus,” she asked, the attention of other professors turned to him, “Is that a Howler?”

“Who would send our dear Severus a Howler?” Filius asked after,

You. His wife. Would send a Howler. You, who were undeniably cross after being forgotten.

Your owl chirped, Severus presented to her a treat, which she happily accepted before flying off. He stared at the Howler mentally preparing for the reprimand about to happen when Dumbledore said.

“Well go on, Severus, open it,” he urged, “I heard it is unwise to leave Howlers unanswered,”

So, he did.

“Severus Tobias Snape!” your voice echoed throughout the Hall, the student's attention on him, “You forgot about the move! I reminded you a thousand times when it was, and you still didn’t come.”

This time the Great Hall was quiet. Their attention focused on the tirade given to their most hated professor.

Let’s just say he wanted to die then and there.

“I know you hate handing your classes off to someone else, but I at least thought you’d make an exception for me!” you shouted at him in mind, “I moved across the continent for god sake! Do you know how much stuff I had? No! Do you know hard it was to transport all my boxes into the Manor? No! It was hard and that was with magic already. The only good thing you did was leaving the portkey because if you didn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to enter the damned Manor and would be standing outside of it looking like a fool!”

The Howler paused.

“I love you but if you don’t come home tonight to help me unpack, you’re going to find yourself locked out of your own house.”

The Howler combusted thereafter.

His colleagues were in shock at the message conveyed. His students stared in a mix of horror, amusement, and curiosity. On the other hand, he was so screwed. His composure slowly faltered upon deliberating what to do and quickly decided on the appropriate course of action.

To go home to you.

“If you’d excuse me for the day, Professor,” Severus addressed Dumbledore, standing up from his seat, “I need to make it up to someone,”

“You can take the rest of the week off, Severus,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling in wonder, “It seems you have some groveling to do,”

“That I do, Professor,” he answered, walking away then sighing, “That I do,”

Part 2 is up 💖

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #hp #harry potter #severus snape fanfiction #snape #professor snape #hogwarts #fanfiction #snape x you #severus snape x you

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ghost-proofbaby · 10 months ago

Note

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even?

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end.

Plainly put, it had been a while.

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way.

Personal demons including Cazador.

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew.

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light.

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again.

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter.

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!”

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-”

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.”

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet.

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time.

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin.

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?”

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?”

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen.

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really.

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?”

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction.

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.”

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition.

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?”

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.”

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances.

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.”

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?”

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones.

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you.

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.”

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours.

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two.

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach.

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment.

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?”

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions.

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret.

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again.

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.”

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready.

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.”

“Excuse me?”

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic.

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.”

If he has to beg, he will.

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate.

It was a novel moment.

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge.

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.”

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue.

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you.

Something snaps.

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly.

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly.

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it?

It was Astarion’s own damn fault.

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control.

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?”

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain.

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you.

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole.

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?”

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.”

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do.

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib.

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.”

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip.

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration.

“Gods, you’re beautiful.”

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him.

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head.

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.”

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has.

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy.

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough.

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment.

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe.

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you.

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice.

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier.

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone.

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so.

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness.

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort.

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.”

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you.

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

#ghost's stories #smutty party #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x you #my writing #there's a line in here that my best friend watched me write in real time IN PERSON that we both cackled about #i went 'i really shouldn't include it' and she went 'but it's HIM'#it's giving 'i'd rather be the only dark power inside you'#idk if this is good but it is what it is ya know #if the ending feels rushed it's because i felt terrible for how long it was getting lol #i just wanna love on the boy #i just wanna love him and he love me is that too much to ask #so many pet names i considered editing but the voices won

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tinyalechardy · 2 months ago

Note

Can I give Tiny Hardy a Scottish egg? He seems to have eaten too little.

Yeah go for it.

Although an entire Scotch egg might be too much for him.

Hes just a little lad.

Hes not very tall

6 inches

#honestly i dont even thinm hed take a bite #hed just stare at it #and then stare at me #and qurstuon why someone sent him a scotch egg #in the mail #heres the real question #are you sending the egg via box #or envelope #tiny alec hardy #alec hardy #broadchurch #tiny hardy shenanigans #tiny hardy asks

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thornsent · 11 months ago

Text

ohhh so this saga just will not end, okay!!!

last month I started an emergency fundraiser because the situation with my neighbor, who has been showing stalker-like behavior, escalated to the point where I no longer felt safe staying in my apartment. here's that original post

I'd remade my tiktok a few weeks ago after several years of inactivity to use for venting & vlogging. it had like no followers + just two videos uploaded. I got this text immediately after I saw him at the top of the stairs to the ground floor as I was coming back in from checking the mail. I had the "find by contacts" shit all turned off so idk HOW he found my tiny nothing tiktok (it's privated now) but he decided to send me this message about it. some of the things he mentioned in the text (like listening at my door???? I said listening to hear my door open/close but not listening at it) aren't even things I talked about which is also raising some alarm bells.

I haven't responded to his texts in months but he continues to send them and now it's shit like this. I am truly beyond words. it's incredible how the second he is confronted with how weird his behavior is I am "evil". I didn't film him, I didn't post any identifying information other than "my creepy upstairs neighbor" and now he is mad that the shoe fits when he's the one that tried it on.

My lease is up at the end of the month regardless, and I'm hunting for apartments actively. I need to get out of here, and I'm doing everything in my power to do that, but I need help with application fees, transportation and moving costs, and a deposit. I'm seeing a place on the 11th (tomorrow, as of when I write this) that seems promising and really hope it ends up being the one. I'm sorry I've had to post about this so much, but mutual aid has legitimately been the only way I have ever been able to pull myself out of a hole like this. even just a few dollars does help.

v3nm0 is alumirust c4sh4pp is $doppelgougar p@yp44l is [email protected] buy some of my art GFM fundraiser link

#could it be that I- a chaser harassing this random trans person- am in the wrong?#No. It's clearly the random trans person I have arbitrarily decided is everything I need in life despite being young enough to be my child #who is at fault here!#fucking. hell.#he knows I have ptsd from domestic violence btw I talked about it to him once before he was overtly creepy and i thought i could trust him #he literally started being worse AFTER that and i was like oh. oh that was a mistake and im naive.#idk its a nightmare i really want to be over with soon

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poppy-metal · 4 months ago

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need inmate!patrick to ask naive reader to send him a pair of her panties :((( and of course she does it!!! anything for him

-🐞

hhhhh they're so innocent :((( not really sexy at all - you don't even know how to be sexy, or what kind of gratification he'd be getting from your underwear - but he asked and you listen <3 they're white cotton - simple and girlish - with a pink heart in the middle next to the day of the week. Thursday, because that's your favorite day - because it's the day patricks letters always come to you in the mail. you tell him that in the letter you send along with the panties - you wish you could have something of his too, because of course you think it's something innocent like that.

and of course it isn't.

the fact that they're so unsexy is what makes patricks cock pulse, honestly. you're not a hussy. you're so pure at heart and good. right down to your pristine little panties. he'd feel about about what he does to them except he's long ago accepted that he's a piece of shit - he's communicated that to you more than once as well, and you're still here sending him letters, puckin' up those ears of yours to whatever he tells you like the good girl you are and sendin' over a pair of your panties.

he imagines them touching your cunt - your virgin cunt - he wants to ask for a picture of that, too, but he also kinda wants to wait to see it for the first time in person - when he sees you. he has no doubt you're plump and soft like velvet. silky and wet - twin lips that'll just bloom apart for his touch to reveal a pulsing wet center - a tiny little entrance into that molten pussy - he thinks of desecrating all that innocent flesh with his thick meaty cock as he fists your panties up and down his length. alone in his creaky bunk at night - thinking of sinking inside that luscious warmth, forcing himself between your welcoming thighs - touching you in places you've never been touched before, making you cum - he's going to fucking ruin you.

in his letter back to you, he doesn't beat around the bush. he wants to make you feel things. he wants to be the reason you get those little flutters in your cunt that make you bashful and confused. he'll explain them to you in due time. show you how to take care of them.

thanks for the gift, sweetheart. I like that you listen so well - it makes me happy. I don't like repeating myself. I guessed from the way you write and the things you've told me about your life, but you're really a good girl, huh? not many women your age are still wearing panties like the ones you do. nearly blinded me they're so white. soft, too. that's pure cotton. know that cause the fabric here ain't shit and makes your ass itch. liked feeling it in my hands - imagined you sliding them up your legs and thighs until your bare pussy is resting against them. bet it feels good. bet they hug that tight little peach of an ass real good too. I won't lie to you, they didn't last long in my hands before I had to feel them on my cock. needed that soft cotton on my dick - same cotton that's touched that sweet cunt - fuck. you drive me fucking crazy. next time you pull on your thursday panties I want you to think about me in my cell stroking the meat between my legs that makes me a man, different from you, need you to feel that cotton press against your bare cunt lips and think about my cock, baby. can you do that for me? need you to think about it long and hard and then tell me how it made you feel, to think about it. don't be ashamed - tell me everything. I want to know.

#ask #🐞 anon #inmate!patrick

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causenessus · 4 months ago

Text

happy birthday. | oikawa t.

oikawa x reader (female reader implied, one use of word girlfriend)

written in 2nd person

"i wanna see what makes my life and all the little things, i wanna see the mountains in view and the part when i meet you <3" from when i meet you by hollow bastion

word count: 2.5k words (headcannons & little fic <3)

happy birthday to the boy whose been with me for 4+ years <3 longer than anyone else <3 all sweet toothrotting fluff!! not edited bc i'm really tired goodnight :)

contrary to popular belief, tooru does not hype up his birthday

he never tells anyone it’s coming up and he doesn’t always do something big for his special day

he’s grown a *tiny* bit more mellow since high school, from when he did always make a big deal out of it

fans continue to send in heaps of mail but like the actual day itself, he doesn’t really pay any mind to it

there’s two reasons for this:

now that he has you, he doesn’t care much for others

as long as he gets to spend the day with you, even if no one else wished him a happy birthday or gave him something he’d be happy

second of all, he likes things to be genuine

with popularity has come a lot of shallowness from others, and he’s had to put up many of his own fronts

so he doesn’t want hundreds of people messaging him happy birthday, he only really cares to hear it from his close circle of friends

and it’s no problem if he doesn’t receive a message from one of those friends, he doesn’t expect people to know everything about him (a big change from high school, he’s very proud of it)

it’s just something that he realized after graduating high school. after his last year and the underwhelming end to his high school volleyball career after the spring high playoffs, he realized that life was not all about getting as far as you can on a straight path; sometimes you take turns that diverge you from the main path a little bit, but you still keep moving forward, and sometimes you end up finding something on that little path that makes it all worth it <3 (with age comes wisdom, right?? don’t tell him that, it makes him sound old 🤭)

after all, that’s how he found you <3

at the airport waiting to fly to argentina, he just couldn’t get enough of you, even after spending the entire flight at your side.

and you were just as interested in him

he realized after your first date that he was always meant to be here. he had a restless, adventurous soul that hadn’t been satisfied in japan, and it had been fate to meet you while he was taking the next big step in high life.

and don't mistake his acceptance of where he is in life for laziness, he’s just as hardworking as before if not more, but he’s realized he doesn’t need to aim for perfection

and once he became more lenient on himself, he ironically became the best version of himself he’d ever been

with your support and love easing him through this new mindset and the bad days, he began to win medal after medal <3

you’ve been with him for it all. he wholly believes you were made for him, and he loves you so much

so the only happy birthday he cares to hear is from you

and if other friends wish him a happy birthday? he will thank them. he will say that he appreciates them and he means it, but nothing is as important as you

if you insist that he can’t stay at home with you the whole day and that he should celebrate with some of his friends, he’ll eventually comply

he likes to keep things small. it feels nice to choose to have a quiet day on a date dedicated to him with a small group of people

tooru and you had started the day together in bed. a summer in brazil had seemed appealing to you both; it was the perfect time and place for him to play volleyball on the beach by the sea and you were there to relax and keep him company. he had reconciled with shoyo, who you both had planned to meet for lunch to celebrate the day.

you had decided on the place after receiving input from both of them. tooru had been complaining for days about wanting lemonade, and shoyo had suggested somewhere small, open, and simple as opposed to an overcrowded fancy restaurant. you could easily get that experience just by walking down the hot streets of brazil.

the three of you had spent the afternoon inside a conditioned cafe. it was a cozy place, with lots of greenery and wide window walls to let in lots of sunlight. you had sat there for several hours, people watching and chattering, tooru rubbing circles on your thigh the entire time as shoyo and him recounted their time and experiences in high school and how they had traveled around the world since then.

by around four in the afternoon or so, shoyo had perked up, suggesting that they play volleyball which had riled up tooru, a smirk on his face as he teased the ginger, “oh? you think you can beat me if we play one on one, shrimpy?”

shoyo had grinned back, sitting up proudly and flaunting his sun-bronzed skin. tooru had gotten a little dark, too, but not nearly to the extent that shoyo had.

“you guys have fun sweating and running around in the sun,” you sighed, placing your hand over the one tooru had on your leg, “i’m going to go home.”

when tooru whined you hushed him with a finger to his lip, “you enjoy your time with shoyo. today is about you. i'll still be here when you guys are done playing.”

he gave you a slight pout but you knew you had won him over. he was never one to fight much, especially because he knows you only want the best for him, and he'd be lying if he didn't say he was excited to play against the orange-haired boy sitting across from him.

you had waved the two boys off as you split up after exiting the cafe, stopping by a bakery before running home. little did tooru know, this had been your plan all along and everything was going smoothly so far. shoyo was in on it too and had been assigned the job of distracting tooru while you got home.

tooru woke up with messages from his family, but none of his three closest friends. you’d seen the disappointment in his eyes although he tried to hide it, saying that they’d probably just text him later due to the big time difference between japan and brazil.

but in reality, they hadn’t messaged him because they had just arrived in brazil. they'd come to help you with decorations and to celebrate tooru, of course. you met the three at your door, each of them holding a bag or box with decorations and gifts inside.

“thank you guys for agreeing to do this with me, he’s gonna love it,” you smiled, opening the door and holding it open for the four of them to walk in.

“of course he will, he's gonna let out the most dramatic gasp ever when he sees something set up for him,” hanamaki said with an amused smile, slipping off his shoes.

“he’s gonna love anything, he’s never satisfied,” iwaizumi added with a roll of his eyes. “and he’ll probably complain that none of us texted him.”

“times never change,” mattsun whistled, stepping through the door last. “remember when we surprised him in the gym with the entire team? he wasn’t even happy until makki finally arrvied with the cake like an hour later.”

“you gave me the wrong address, that was not my fault! and he wasn’t happy until i got there because he was waiting for me, not the cake,” makki retorted and the rest of them had laughed.

you had met his old teammates from high school a few times before on visits back to japan, and tooru continued to keep in touch with them while he was overseas. most often, on late nights that neither of you could sleep, he would ramble to you about the national volleyball team iwaizumi had been putting together.

you had also exchanged phone numbers with the three boys after hitting it off with them, which had come in handy for planning this birthday. you all worked quickly to hang up decorations around the foyer and kitchen while the cake you'd bought earlier stayed neat and pretty in the chilled fridge.

all the while, shoyo kept you updated on tooru through texts. they were on the way back to the apartment now after shoyo had insisted on walking with him back home.

“he’s almost here,” you informed, unable to contain the excited smile on your face as you slipped your phone back into your pocket. “everyone ready? iwaizumi, will you get the lights, please?”

you all waited in the dark until you heard their footsteps approaching, the muffled sound of their voices through the wall of the apartment. you lit the candles on the birthday cake, the warm, flickering flames providing the tiniest bit of light in the dark room, illuminating the neatly iced cursive that read out "happy birthday tooru ♡ "

you heard his noise of surprise as the door swung open into the pitch black apartment before you stood up from your hiding spot behind the counter, “happy birthday, my love.”

“y/n? is this why you left early?” he asked, a smile full of love and adoration on his face, looking at the dimly lit cake on the table.

you hummed in response, wrapping your arms around his neck, giving him a kiss before you looked at shoyo and gave him a nod.

the lights came on overhead, making tooru squint at the sudden brightness before he nearly fell forward from a slap to his back.

“happy birthday, man,” mattsun grinned, stepping into his sight before he saw iwaizumi and hanamaki as well.

“you guys?—” he started, frozen in place in surprise at seeing the three boys in his apartment. “you guys came all the way here for me?”

“no," hanamaki replied sarcastically with a shrug before giving tooru a hug, "we just happened to be in the area, you know. i’m thinking of moving to brazil and decided to stop by.

tooru lets out an offended huff at the joke, crossing his arms as hanamaki steps back. “i can’t believe you guys are really here. and even more i can’t believe none of you guys texted me! i thought you all had forgotten, you could have at least sent a message so i wasn’t moping around all day.”

you and iwaizumi both roll your eyes at his dramatic complaint as matsukawa laughs, “aw, did you miss us?”

“and where’s the fun in that, dumbass? we thought a happy birthday in person would mean more to you, anyway,” iwaizumi speaks up, revealing the gift bag he’s been hiding from behind his back.

tooru gasps, practically melting at the sight as he steps closer to his best friend, “well, i guess you guys were right. this means the world to me, thank you so much for coming.” he takes the bag from iwaizumi before pulling him into a tight hug that lasts a few seconds, and says more between the two than hours of talking could. they haven’t seen each other in months, but they’re still just as close as they’ve always been.

“and,” tooru says, turning towards you with a smile, “thank you for setting this all up, y/n.”

the party lasts a few hours, with mellow music playing in the background as the six of you catch up over a few drinks before everyone decides it’s a good time to head out back to their homes, leaving the two of you to collapse into bed.

tooru is hugging you close, face nestled into the top of your chest as you comb your fingers through his hair and draw circles onto his back.

“did you have a good birthday?” you ask him, eyes closed as you both find rest in each other’s arms.

his shoulders relax with a deep sigh as he gives you a small nod, his face rubbing against your shirt.

“anything i can do to make it even better next year?” you talk softly, twirling his brown curls around your finger.

he hums in thought for a second before he peeks up from your chest, innocent brown eyes staring into yours. “more time with you next time,” he answers, mouth still muffled from your shirt.

“what?” you chuckle, rubbing the back of his head, “i was with you nearly the entire day, and we live together. you see me every day.”

“ ‘s not the same,” he whines, nuzzling his face into your body again, “and today didn't count, 'cause i didn’t get any alone time with you.”

you can’t help but smile at his sweet words, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head, “but today is your day, tooru. i want you to see as many friends as you can. because we all care about you, and sometimes you need to be reminded of that, mr. i-don’t-tell-anyone-when-my-birthday-is.”

his grip tightens on the back of your shirt, “yeah, but i don’t need any of that if i have you. you make me feel loved and cared for. your happy birthday is the only one i care about hearing.”

“is that so?’ you reply, returning to raking through his hair.

he gives you another nod before looking up, one of his hands trailing up your back and tangling into the back of your hair, pressing your head down to meet his lips. “mhm,” he hums against your mouth, “all i need is you.”

his lips trail down your jaw and then to your neck, making you laugh as he moves down your sternum before he returns to his original position, holding you close, his face buried into you. “well then, i’ll keep that in mind next year. i’ll make sure everyone texts you happy birthday whether or not they fly across the world and i promise we'll get some alone time, okay?”

he hums in acknowledgment of your words, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “what’re you thinking about?” you ask softly.

“nothing,” he mumbles, “i just feel really happy right now. i have the best girlfriend in the world that cares so much about me and plans out all my birthdays to make me feel loved. and we’re lying in bed right now and i’m just listening to her talk and i feel so comfortable. like next year we could just lie here all day and i’d be the happiest man ever.”

you laugh at his words and he likes the way he can feel it reverberate through your chest because of how close he is. “you’re sweet, tooru. i’ll keep talking until you fall asleep then, okay?”

“mmkay,” he responds happily, moving his legs around under the sheets to hook around yours, intertwining your bodies.

you press another kiss to his head, smiling the entire time, your heart full of love for the man, “and if it really means that much to you to hear it from me, i’ll say it again, too. happy birthday, tooru. and i love you so so much. you’re the best man i could ever have fallen in love with.”

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teshadraws · 4 months ago

Text

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 60]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

Tobias speaks with Dismas.

CW: Blood, violence, child death.

In the silence, Dismas gives them an uninterested onceover, starting at Nia and ending with Tobias. When the pangoro reaches Tobias’ face, his brow furrows, his chin lifting with a spark of interest.

Tobias can’t decide if he wants to glare back or look away. His throat is tight. He balls the hand not holding Nia’s into a fist, trying to keep himself from shaking like a newborn.

Suddenly, the pangoro’s brows rise, and a toothy grin lights up his face. He rears back as much as he can in his chains, roaring with laughter. He’d probably be slapping his knee if he could.

Tobias stares, stunned. When he’d imagined this in the past, thought about coming face-to-face with one of the outlaws, he’d never pictured laughter. He kind of feels like puking.

Dismas’ laughter dies down, but the jovial expression remains. “You’re the little brat from the mountains! How long’s it been? Five years? Six?”

He says it like a distant relative catching up. Like he’s asking how Tobias’ training has been going, instead of reuniting with the child he made an orphan.

“It’s been eight years,” Tobias hisses. He can’t decide if he wants to attack the pangoro or run away. Nia’s grip anchors him in place.

“Huh. Time flies. You’re still a squirt, but you were a tiny little thing then. No bigger than my paw.”

Dismas lifts a paw as far as he can with the chains restricting him, and wiggles his fingers. His claws flash in the low light. He could probably still crush Tobias without a second thought, but when Tobias was younger, when he was half his current size, it would’ve been effortless. Vivi was even tinier.

Tobias grits his teeth, anger slowly overpowering the terror. He can feel his control slipping, embers climbing into his throat.

“You a big-shot Seeker now?” Dismas asks, still so casual. He gestures to the scarf around Tobias’ throat.

Tobias’ free hand lifts, grabbing the worn material as if to keep it from him. This scarf was Vivi’s, and Tobias will die before he lets this monster touch it.

Dismas’ gaze moves to Nia. “This your little partner?”

Nia doesn’t answer, but Tobias can feel her squeeze his hand just a bit tighter. She’s standing tall out of the corner of his eye.

Dismas huffs. “You gonna say anything or are you two just here to waste my time?”

Tobias takes a step forward, fire boiling over. “Shut up! You aren’t the one asking questions here!”

Dismas’ brow rises. “Well, go on then. I don’t have all day.”

Tobias wants to lunge for the pangoro’s throat. Nia tugs him back a step, away from Dismas and back to her side. Tobias can’t tell if she’s shaking too, or if that’s just him.

Tobias swallows, gut churning.

“Why?” He rasps. “Why did you kill them?”

Dismas looks unimpressed by the question. “You were there, brat. Surely you remember.”

Tobias was there, but he doesn’t remember. He can’t. Every time he’s ever tried to remember the details, panic has risen like a tide, swamping his thoughts and choking him for air, sending him flailing until he stops.

Dismas, in response to Tobias’ silence, shrugs a shoulder. “Sulien ordered it.”

Tobias takes a breath, tears brimming in his eyes. He blinks them back. “Why did Sulien want to kill them? My dad was an instrument-maker. My mom was a mail-mon. My sister was six. They…there’s no way they were involved in something shady, and we…it’s not like we had a lot of money. So why?”

Tobias hates the way his voice breaks. He hates that this is how he has to get his answers. He hates being at the mercy of Dismas yet again.

The pangoro snorts. “It’s not like we went there planning it. There was a storm.”

Tobias knows there was a storm, but that doesn’t explain anything. Why would the storm be important? Tobias doesn’t know, he doesn’t remember, he—

…He does. He does remember.

———————————————————

It’s raining. Hard. Has been all day, and although storms usually pass quickly in the mountains, this one doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon.

Since she can’t fly safely in this kind of weather, Mama’s home today—a rarity in the middle of the afternoon. She takes over for Papa’s lessons to let him work in peace, playing little games with Toby and Vivi to help them learn their letters and math.

Each time they finish a lesson, Mama lets them each hold onto one of her giant wings. She flaps them open to fling her children up with shrieks of laughter before gently catching them and lowering them back to the ground. Usually they can get three rounds out of her with cries of “Again! Again!” before she puts her foot down and they have to start the next lesson.

It’s a peaceful day. A bit boring, even, until late afternoon when a shadow—three shadows—block out the gray light from the mouth of the cave.

Toby recognizes the biggest Pokemon from one of his books. He remembers, ‘cause he’s a fire type like them. A growlithe, maybe? Wait, no, an arcanine.

His ear is shredded like an old piece of fabric, scars cutting through his fur and across one of his eyes. His fur is limp with rain, though, and he has a sheepish smile on his face, so he doesn’t seem scary.

There’s another Pokemon standing behind him with his arms folded and an unhappy scowl on his face. He’s tall, with black and white fur.

The third Pokemon, a crobat, came in dangling from the tall Pokemon’s arm, but quickly hopped off to huddle in the dirt instead. His wings are crossed over his body, looking too drenched to fly.

“Sorry for intruding,” the arcanine says, friendly and warm. “We were hoping we could get out of the rain for a while?”

———————————————————

Tobias blinks. He stares at Dismas. “You…you said you wanted to get out of the rain.”

“Yup.”

“But that…” Tobias’ heart is pounding faster. Why does he feel like he’s the one being interrogated here?

Tobias glances at the quagsire standing guard off to the side, as if she’ll somehow have the answers. The quagsire looks back at him, sharp gaze softened by something sad and sympathetic.

Tobias doesn’t have time for her pity. He avoids Nia’s gaze entirely, looking back at Dismas. “B-But that wasn’t true, right? You were just…lying. To get to us.”

Dismas snorts. “Why would we lie? The idiots wanted out of the rain.”

“But why our cave?!”

“We ran across your cave by chance, brat. Your family just had the bad luck of living in the first decent shelter we found going over the mountain range.”

Tobias stares at Dismas, disbelief making him feel numb.

By chance? Bad luck?

Tobias’ family was killed because of bad luck?

That—that can’t be right. Tobias lost his whole world that night. There has to be a better reason. There has to be some reason why his family had to go through that. Why he had to go through that.

“What do you mean?” Tobias asks, trying make the words a demand. They come out weak and lost. “If it was just by chance that you met us, then why did you attack us?!”

“You don’t remember.”

No, Tobias doesn’t remember, because he can’t ever let himself remember that night in full. Because when he tries, the panic comes back in full force and shuts him down before he even gets a chance.

Tobias snarls, a wordless and feral sound. A threat.

Dismas rolls his eyes. “Your mom figured us out.”

Tobias stops, breathing hard. Embers flutter in the edges of his vision.

Just like that, just like a twig holding together a dam, everything falls loose.

He remembers.

———————————————————

His parents are welcoming, at first. His mama jokes with the arcanine and crobat, Sulien and Asra, about the rain while his father adds kindling to the fire to give it extra warm.

Toby is a little shy, as he always is around strangers. Even more with big, strong strangers like these ones.

Vivi echoes all of his awe without the shyness, immediately bouncing around the strangers’ paws with question after question about their names and species and types and where they’re from. The tall one, a pangoro named Dismas, is clearly annoyed by her curiosity, but Asra and Sulien smile and answer patiently.

The storm rages on far longer than anyone expects, into the evening. Vivi has graduated from crawling around Sulien’s giant paws to to climbing over the arcanine’s fluffy back and mane. She’d scrambled her way up the fire type’s shoulders before their parents could stop her, and once there the arcanine had assured them she was fine. Toby had settled in at Sulien’s paws, listening to the adults talk.

The strangers tell them that they’re called Team Zenith, and they focus on rescue work.

“Is that how you got that scar on your face?” Vivi asks, sprawled stop Sulien’s fluffy head and peering down at him.

“Vivian!” Mama scolds.

Sulien laughs. “It’s fine. No, this one was from a nasty fight.”

Vivi gasps. “A bad guy?!”

Sulien nods, solemn. “The worst.”

“Whoa.”

Toby echoes his sister, leaning back against the arcanine’s warm, fluffy chest. He loves his Mama and Papa, but there’s something really nice about a pelt so soft.

“Maybe I wanna be a Seeker when I grow up,” Toby muses.

“Oh! Me too! Me too!”

“You’ll both have to get a bit bigger first,” Mama teases, flicking her tail over to tickle Tobias’ side. He giggles and kicks her away.

Eventually, Mama excuses herself from the warmth of the fire to grab her mail for the following day. When the storm clears up, she’ll have a lot of deliveries to make. She brings them to the fire to organize by neighborhood, sorting them into piles.

Toby crawls into her lap, watching as she reads the name and location on each one before deciding which pile it belongs to. He tries to read them too and make it a race, but he’s a lot slower than her.

Conversation continues between the adults, interrupted only by Vivi’s occasional question or exclamation. Toby mostly listens, and reads, and sometimes puts a letter on the right pile when Mama points it out to him.

He perks up when they’re done with the regular mail and get to the guild notices. A lot of the papers are boring stuff that just go to the local guild outpost, but sometimes they have wanted posters that Mama has to pin up in town. Those are a little scary, but they’re kind of exciting, too.

Tobias skims the words he can see on the current paper, the sheet held a little too high over his head as Mama reads. Finally, she hands it over to him, pointing out where it needs to go. He lays it gently in place.

Mama picks up the next letter, and Toby feels it when she suddenly goes tense underneath him. Confused, he looks up at the paper she’s holding, seeing that it’s a wanted poster with pictures of outlaws on it.

Huh. Mama doesn’t usually get scared by wanted posters like Toby and Vivi sometimes do.

It’s taking way too long for her to hand it to him, so Toby tugs impatiently on his mom’s wrist. The paper is yanked down just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pictures.

An arcanine with a scar. A crobat. A pangoro.

Mom yanks the letter away from him. He lets her, frowning up at her face in confusion.

“Mama, what—"

“Toby, go over to Papa.”

Toby hesitates, feeling like something is…wrong. Why was Team Zenith on the wanted poster? Toby thought those were only for bad Pokemon.

Mama doesn’t wait for him, sliding him off her lap and standing. She gathers the piles of letters with unusually sharp movements.

“Mama?”

“You’re fine, sweetie,” Mama says, neck dipping to brush her muzzle over his head. “I just don’t feel like working on those anymore tonight. I’ll get your help with them again later. Go over to your dad, okay?”

Her voice shakes.

Toby glances at Papa. He’s watching Mama now, smile gone.

Toby looks back at Mama. She’s watching Vivi, who is crawling all over Sulien and still chattering on about something.

Mama’s quiet. Like something’s wrong but she doesn’t want Toby and Vivi to know about it.

The arcanine smiles at Mama, apparently picking up on it, too. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

“No no. Just—Vivi, get off Mr. Sulien, all right?”

“Aww, why?” Vivi whines, little fingers tightening in his fur.

“Vivian!” Mama snaps.

Toby and Vivi both wince. Slowly, with a pout, Vivi slides down Sulien’s back and trudges over to Papa, leaning into his side. He wraps his tail around her.

“Toby, why don’t you come over here too?” Papa says, voice light. “It’s about time for bed.”

There’s something about his tone, though, that makes Tobias tense.

Toby doesn’t move. He doesn’t understand why that outlaw paper had Team Zenith on it, or why everyone suddenly got so quiet.

Mama is standing, not putting her papers away like she said she would. Like it’s important that Toby goes over to Papa before she does.

Papa is sitting up straighter than before, not letting Vivi move. He motions Toby closer.

It’s Asra who really makes Toby upset, though. The crobat suddenly looks sick to his stomach, gaze flicking between Sulien and Mama.

Sulien smiles. “You’re sure nothing is wrong?”

Thunder rumbles outside, long and low. Like the sky is growling.

Toby finally darts to his sister’s side, ducking under his papa’s tail and pressing close to his belly where it’s safe. He’s scared. He doesn’t know why he’s scared.

“You said you’re a mail mon, right?” Sulien asks politely.

His mama doesn’t answer.

“That includes notices to the guild, doesn’t it?”

Sulien stands up. He stretches, muscles rippling under striped fur.

“Show me that last notice you were sorting.”

Mama shakes her head. Toby doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look on her face. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Shame,” Sulien says, casual. “Neither did I. But it seems trouble has found us regardless.”

Papa’s tail curls tighter around them, pressing them close.

“We don’t have much,” Mama says, low. Fervent. “But you can have it. Just go. Or let us go. We’ll go.”

“I’m afraid that’s really not the problem here,” Sulien says. “The problem is that we need to get out of this mountain range without anyone knowing where we’re heading next.”

“We won’t say anything,” Mama says, quick. Desperate. She’s usually the one picking fights, not trying to compromise.

Toby’s stomach feels cold.

“S-Sulien,” Asra says, hushed. “Come on, they said they won’t say anything. We can make them leave and—"

Sulien sighs, cutting the crobat off. “I’d really like to believe that. Unfortunately, you know I’d rather not take any chances.”

He flexes his paw, claws extending in the firelight.

Tobias flinches.

Vivi whimpers.

A growl pours from Papa’s throat.

His mama’s wings spread, making her bigger. She looks angry. She looks terrified.

———————————————————

“You really didn’t come there looking for us,” Tobias whispers, staring at Dismas. The pangoro stares back, expressionless.

It wasn’t some kind of shady business. Or even a robbery. It wasn’t anything against his parents at all.

They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. They extended their kindness to the wrong Pokemon.

———————————————————

“I’m afraid I’d rather play it safe,” Sulien says. He flicks his shredded ear.

Dismas launches himself forward. Toby doesn’t even see the move that sends Mama flying back into the cave wall with a crack.

“Mama!” Toby shrieks.

He and Vivi try to push past Papa’s tail, but he drags them back.

“Aria!” His papa yells.

Mama pushes herself up, blowing a wave of fire out in front of her to ward the pangoro off. She glances at them, eyes wild. “Run, Silas!”

Papa hesitates for only a second. Then he scoops Tobias and Vivi up in his arms and bolts towards the mouth of the cave.

But it’s storming! Mama said they can never fly when it’s storming! It’s too dangerous. There’s rain and lightning and wind and—

And Sulien is there, standing large and proud against the darkness.

Papa stops. Toby can hear Mama fighting with the pangoro behind them.

“They’re just kids,” his papa says, voice tight. “Let them go.”

Sulien’s eyes move down to Toby and Vivi. “They are. But eventually they’ll be adults. And that one—” he nods at Vivi, who bares her teeth and growls, even with tears in her eyes. “Has the look of a hero. No, they’re old enough to realize what happened here.”

Toby feels his papa’s heart racing against his back, skin hot and clammy all at once. Slowly, he’s put down beside Vivi.

“Papa?” Toby asks, shaky. He’s trying to sniff back tears, but he can hear his mama snarling and the FWOOSH and heat of fire and Sulien is looking at them like a stranger, like a villain in a story and—

“Toby. Take your sister and run.”

Papa’s voice is low. Almost too low to hear.

Toby blinks. “W-What?”

They aren’t allowed out in storms, and definitely not on their own.

Papa spares him a glance. He swallows. “Run. Don’t stop running until you’re safe. And take care of your sister.”

“Papa?” Vivi says.

“We love you both,” Papa whispers. His voice is higher than usual. Rough. “So much.”

Before Tobias can answer, Papa is using his tail to sweep the two of them towards the mouth of the cave. Toby stumbles, Vivi crying out at his side.

Then Papa is arcing over them with a roar that shakes Toby to his bones. He watches with wide eyes as Papa and Sulien tumble together in a snarling blur of orange.

Everything is chaos. Growling and crashing and fire and—

Vivi slams into him, hugging him desperately. He wraps his arms around her on instinct, claws bunching into the oversized red scarf she always wears like a little cape.

“Tobias!” His mother roars. He looks over at her, panicked. She’s panting, one of her wings hanging in a sickening way at her side as the pangoro recovers from a heavy hit. “Run!”

“Asra!” Sulien barks. “Grab them!”

Tobias spins, locking eyes with the crobat. He’s flapping in midair, looking just as scared as Tobias feels.

“Sulien, they’re—they’re just kids. Surely we don’t need to hurt them, right?”

The word ‘hurt’ jolts Toby into movement. He grabs his sister by the hand and yanks her towards the entrance, tears blurring his vision.

A flash of purple flies by and blocks the entrance, making them stumble back. The crobat flaps in place, brow furrowed as he glances between them and Sulien.

Toby grabs Vivi tighter and darts to the side, hoping to skirt around the crobat. The crobat swoops at them, barely missing them. It feels threatening, like he’s going to pick them up and carry them away, but—

——————————————————

“He wasn’t really trying, was he?” Tobias rasps. “He…he was so much faster than that. He wanted us to escape. But…”

——————————————————

For an instant, Toby thinks they’re going to make it. They duck under the crobat’s wings and—

A heavy weight—a thousand times heavier than Mama and Papa when they play fight with them—slams into Toby, pinning him on his back. It knocks the air out of him. He tries to gasp for air as he looks up at his attacker.

Sulien doesn’t look scared like Asra. He doesn’t look like he’s feeling anything, except mild irritation. Toby feels the arcanine’s claws dig into his throat, bruising in their force and cutting off his air as something wet leaks down his skin.

Toby tries to kick, but he can’t reach the arcanine’s chest. Vivi screams and grabs the arcanine’s paw, trying to pull it off of him.

Sulien grabs her in his mouth like she’s nothing more than a toy, throwing her aside. She slams into the cave wall with a cracking sound and lands hard on her stomach.

Tobias tries to turn his head, his sister’s name on his tongue, but pain sears through his neck as claws tear at his soft throat.

Sulien’s mouth opens, and Toby sees nothing but fangs and fire lunging at him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

There’s a roar and a gust of hot air, and then the weight is gone from him entirely. Mama slams the arcanine into the wall with a sound that echoes and sends stone raining down from the ceiling.

Toby gasps and coughs as he scrambles up, reaching for his neck. His palm comes away red and slick with blood. It tickles as it streaks down his chest.

Toby ignores it, still coughing as he stumbles to Vivi’s side. She’s trying to push herself up, but one of her hands is pressed to the back of her head and the other shakes and trembles.

“Lemme see,” Toby rasps, kneeling at her side. He helps her sit up, then peels away the hand on her head. His heart stops when he sees slick red on her palm.

Vivi whines, slumping into Toby’s shoulder. He pulls her close, looking around frantically.

Mama is wrestling with Sulien now. Papa has turned on the pangoro, cornering him in the back of the cave. Asra is still stalled in place, staring at them with wide yellow eyes.

“Tobias! Run!” Mama yells again.

Toby jolts, then staggers to his feet. He feels lightheaded, spots in his vision, but he knows he needs to move. Vivi is clinging to him weakly, but she can’t seem to get her feet under her even when he tries to pull her up.

Toby feels renewed panic lap at him. Usually when they get hurt, when they scrape a knee or pull a claw, they go to their parents. And Vivi is clearly hurt, stumbling and tilting as if she’s dizzy.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

Tobias decides on a different course of action. He swings Vivi around and pulls her onto his back, hopping to secure her higher. He nearly falls from the weight throwing him off balance, but staggers towards the mouth of the cave all the same.

“Asra, get those kids or you’re next!” Sulien snarls.

There’s no protest this time. A blur of purple flashes out of the corner of Toby’s eye, swooping for him again. He ducks and runs faster, out of the cave.

The storm slams into him like a wall. The cold rain stings against his skin, whipping into his face like needles. He squints against it. Between the rain and wind and darkness, he can hardly see two feet in front of him.

Another snarl comes from the cave. Toby startles and takes off, stumbling over rocks and slipping in mud. Each time he does, Vivi whimpers, her face tucked away in the crook of his bloodied neck.

Tobias runs and runs through the darkness, sliding down steep inclines and through scraggly groups of trees. It’s a miracle he doesn’t run himself right off the cliffside, guided only by hazy memory and luck.

He feels like he runs forever.

His lungs burn. He can’t feel his legs. Vivi sits like a boulder tied to his back, deadweight, but he doesn’t dare slow down. His fingers feel locked into place by the cold.

He doesn’t stop until a deep mud puddle sucks his foot down. He falls hard onto his front, then lays gasping in the mud. Its icy cold burns, and eventually he summons the strength to push himself up and crawl out of the puddle he’d landed in.

He gently deposits Vivi onto the ground behind him.

She slumps over.

“Vivi?” Toby asks, panting.

Vivi lies motionless on the grass. Too quiet. Too still. She’s never that quiet and still, even when she’s asleep.

“Vivi?” Toby asks again, shaking her gently. She feels cold, but everything feels cold right now.

He turns her over, to find her eyes closed and her little brow furrowed. He pats her cheek. “Vivi? Vivi, c’mon. W-Wake up! We…we gotta go. We gotta hide. O-Or get help, or…”

Vivi doesn’t answer. Fresh panic blooms in Tobias’ chest, and hot tears flood his eyes. He can’t tell what’s rain and what’s tears.

He shakes her a little harder. Her head lolls.

“Vivi!” He shouts.

She doesn’t wake up. Is it—is it because she hit her head?

He turns her over in his lap, breath hitching when he sees the place she smacked the back of her head against the cave wall when Sulien threw her. The rain has been washing out the wound, but it still glistens with fresh blood. Tobias knows head wounds bleed a lot, especially in the mountains, but the scariest part is how the spot looks almost…dented. Just a bit.

Toby looks around desperately. He can’t see anyone in the darkness and rain, and he knows there aren’t many other Pokemon who live near their home, but—

But he’s so scared. He’s never been so scared in his entire life.

“Help!” Toby yells, voice hoarse. Sulien and Asra and Dismas might hear him, but…but his sister is hurt.

“Help!” He yells again, a hot wave of tears filling his eyes to streak down chilled cheeks. “Please!”

He yells and yells, but nobody answers.

Tobias suddenly remembers what Papa told them, a long time ago. That they should pray to Entei if they ever feel scared or unsafe. He protects kids like them! He’ll help. He has to.

“E-Entei, please help us. Please, I’m really scared and Vivi needs help a-and I don’t know what else to do.”

Toby waits again. The storm continues overhead, loud and cold and endless. Entei doesn’t appear on fiery paws to whisk them away. There’s no big, strong presence to shield them from the rain.

They’re on their own.

Toby sniffs hard, looking down at Vivi. He doesn’t know what to do. Did she lose too much blood? Or is something inside her hurt? What did Mama say that one time about bad injuries?

You…you need to stop the bleeding if you get hurt real bad. You need to put something on the injury.

Tobias doesn’t have supplies, but his eyes land on Vivi’s scarf, its red hue looking dull and drab in the darkness and rain. Vivi’s going to be so mad at him for getting blood on her favorite scarf, but—but this is more important.

Toby unknots the scarf with shaking hands, then presses the soaking wet fabric against the wound. He expects Vivi to whine or cry out, since it has to hurt.

She doesn’t move. She still hasn’t moved.

Thunder rumbles again. The rain comes down in sheets, painful and freezing against his nearly-numb skin. Toby needs to find shelter soon. Sitting out in the rain for too long is dangerous for any fire type, but especially kids. Especially in the mountains.

Toby starts to drag Vivi onto his back again, when something catches his eye.

The tip of her short tail.

Dark.

Tobias drops her. He hates himself for it immediately, but he does. He hovers over her—her body—her, and shivers, and stares.

No. No no no.

B-But—but maybe she’s still okay? Maybe she’s just hurt, really bad, but if he gets her help, then…

Tobias presses the side of his head to Vivi’s chest.

He waits. And waits. Two rolls of thunder. Three. The rain doesn’t let up.

No breath. No heartbeat.

Toby whimpers. Then he gathers air into his lungs and wails. He thought that he knew what it was like, to be upset. To be scared. To be in pain. He remembers crying to Mama and Papa really hard that one time he pulled a claw.

This is something else. His voice rips out of him like it’s alive, like he has no control over it. He drapes himself over Vivi, crying, pleading for her to come back. He doesn’t know how long.

She doesn’t answer.

Tobias doesn’t remember getting up. He doesn’t remember leaving Vivi. He doesn’t remember wandering off with his sister’s scarf clenched tight in his fingers.

He does remember stepping just a bit too close to a cliffside that was loosened by the rain. Remembers how it gave out from underneath him. Remembers how he didn’t even yell, falling and falling and then—

Darkness.

Next time he woke up, he was bandaged and warm, tucked into a soft bed. The nice Pokemon who found him half-buried under rubble had taken him to the village doctor. Tobias had asked the doctor where his sister was, or his parents, and he knew right away what the old ‘mon’s tight smile and evasive answers meant.

His family was gone.

——————————————————

A painful squeeze of Tobias’ hand catches his attention. What is that? Did Sulien come back for him? No, he’s safe at the doctor’s house, he—

He stares at the riolu in front of him, uncomprehending. There’s not a riolu at the doctor’s, and certainly not in his cave.

Her ruby eyes are glassy with tears, and she’s holding his hand. Something about her makes him feel safe.

She’s saying something, but Tobias can’t hear her, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He can read her lips, though, as she repeats one word to him, over and over.

Breathe.

Tobias tries to listen, taking a shaky breath of air. Then another, and another. The riolu doesn’t look away, smiling encouragingly and breathing with him.

Slowly, Tobias feels his body settle into the room around him. It’s warmer here than in the rain, but colder than the doctor’s house. Darker, lit a muted green. His ears feel funny. His free hand is pulling at his—at Vivi’s scarf, and his neck burns as if the marks left there haven’t long since scarred over. There’s a quagsire and malamar watching him with sympathetic expressions, and—

Tobias freezes when he sees the pangoro. Dismas. Dismas is here, he’s going to hurt Mama and Papa and Vivi and the riolu and—

“Tobias!” The riolu places both paws on either side of his face, turning him away from the pangoro until all he can see is her. “Ignore him. Keep breathing with me, okay?”

Tobias doesn’t think he can, but he nods anyways and tries to follow the riolu’s exaggerated breaths. In. Out. Again.

Tobias doesn’t know when the riolu in front of him turns into someone he knows, but suddenly his brain remembers that she has a name.

Nia.

He latches onto her paws, taking stock of himself.

His eyes sting, as if he was crying. He’s still shaking, but his breathing is steadier. The grief and terror in his chest feels fresh, painful as the day he lost his family.

Tobias must make a pitiful sound, because Nia shushes him gently, murmuring, “Hey, stay here with me, okay? You back?”

Tobias nods, trying to stay in the present. He focuses on the cool metal underfoot. Nia’s soft paws on his cheeks. The sight of her eyes, red cooled to a deep brown in the green light. The quiet creak of the metal room around them.

He’s here. He’s in Kaleido Bay, with Nia. And he finally has the answer he has wanted all these years. He finally knows why his family was ripped away from him.

Chance.

Has Tobias wasted the last eight years of his life, looking for this? For a simple, nonsensical answer that changes nothing? An answer that was hidden away inside his own head?

If Sulien gets captured by other Seekers like Dismas had, then…what is Tobias’ goal? Without answers to find and the outlaws to track down, what does he have to strive towards?

What does he even have to live for?

“We really messed you up, huh?” Dismas says. The pangoro doesn’t sound remorseful. If anything, he says it like a joke, lighthearted and casual.

Nia snaps her teeth at him. “Shut up!”

Tobias looks at Dismas again. He tries to speak, then has to clear his throat to get the words to come. “You…don’t even care, do you? About what you did?”

Dismas snorts. “Your family wasn’t the first ‘mon we had to take out, kid. I can’t afford to get all weepy about it. I’m not Asra.”

“The crobat?” Nia murmurs. “Wasn’t he your partner?”

“A coward is what he was. Always trying to avoid getting his claws dirty. I bet that softhearted idiot didn’t even look for you brats after Sulien told him to. I was surprised Sulien let him run off at all, at least with his skull intact.”

Nia glances at Tobias before saying, “Asra’s, um…dead. He died in a rockslide.”

Dismas barks a laugh. “Ah, there it is! Looks like Sulien found him after all.”

Their faces must ask the question for them.

“Asra was spineless, but he was fast. He wouldn’t have gotten taken out by a rock slide. Not a natural one, at least.”

Nia looks vaguely sick. “You mean..?”

“Sulien always hated how much of a softie Asra was. Trying to run and start a new life with so much blood on his fangs? When he knew all of our history? Nah. He was a danger Sulien couldn’t risk keeping alive. It was only a matter of time for him.”

“And you?” Nia challenges. “Is Sulien the reason you got caught?”

Dismas laughs again. “No, we parted ways a while ago. I had enough of his brilliant ideas and decided to strike out on my own.”

“Lot of good that did you,” Nia mutters.

“You mean this place?” Dismas asks, making a vague gesture around the room with one restrained paw. “I needed somewhere to crash for a while. Time to figure out where I’m going next and all that. But now that you mention it, I am getting sick of the slop they serve here as food.”

Dismas looks past them, towards the malamar standing guard at the door. “Hey, beak face!”

The malamar straightens up, tentacles flaring. “Quiet down, D22.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be quick.” Dismas grins, toothy and goading. “Just thought you’d want to know that your little disable treatments haven’t been lasting as long as you wanted ‘em to.”

He lifts both paws as high as he can, curling them into fists. One paw bursts into flames, bright enough to be painful to Tobias’ eyes in the dim light. The other fist glints in the fire’s light, coated in ice.

Tobias feels a familiar sense of dread pool in his gut.

“Put your attacks away!” the malamar shouts, marching closer. The quagsire backs up a step, falling into a defensive stance.

“Aw, but I’ve been having a lot of fun in here with my little science experiments,” Dismas chuckles, opening his fists and dismissing the elemental energy. “You do know what happens when you heat and cool chains so frequently, right?”

The pangoro pulls his arms in, straining them against the metal chains. Tobias can hear them creak and groan for just a second before—

The chains snap like a cheap toy.

Tobias scrambles backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. Nia moves with him.

Dismas isn’t the fastest ‘mon, but he’s still faster than the quagsire beside him. Before the water type can shoot off a move, the pangoro spins to punch her in the gut, the bright glint of metal following in his wake.

Bullet punch.

The quagsire resists steel type moves, but she still goes skidding back, slamming into the metal wall with a loud bang. Tobias flinches, seeing Vivi, hearing rain—

The malamar rushes past them, pushing Nia and Tobias back with one tentacle and attacking Dismas with the other. Dismas catches the move in a giant paw, grinning, shackles and broken chains dangling from his wrists.

The pangoro turns, swinging the malamar with him, and slams him into the floor, leaving a dent in the metal.

“Miro!” the quagsire calls, getting back to her feet. “Send out an alert!”

Right! The malamar’s a psychic-type. They must have some kind of telepathy system set up here to communicate.

Except the malamar doesn’t answer, rolling to dodge a heavy fist. He lunges into a peck that Dismas barely wards off with his legs and neck still shackled. The malamar looks almost frenzied, going after the pangoro with a vicious aggression. It’s strange, and so unsettling a strategy to see from a psychic type that Tobias realizes with a sinking heart what Dismas was doing earlier.

Taunt.

All the malamar can do is attack. And that is a terrible thing for a Pokemon who likely relies on stat changes and status moves to fight.

It’s clear from the easy way that Dismas handles the psychic type. With a single throat chop that leaves the malamar gasping, Tobias can see the end coming. Dismas sweeps his arm back, dark type energy leaving streaks like black lightning in its wake, then stabs a shadow claw through the malamar’s gut.

Nia makes a shrill sound, stumbling back with her paws clamped over her muzzle. Tobias just watches with a sick sense of deja vu.

Dismas lets the energy dissipate.

The malamar drops and lies still.

Tobias has to believe he’s alive, despite the odds. He can’t watch this monster kill another Pokemon right in front of him.

Dismas takes advantage of the moment of stunned silence. He lifts massive paws to grab either side of the shackle around his neck, snapping it open like a chestnut to drop at his paws. He sighs, satisfied, and rolls his neck with a crack that makes both Nia and Tobias wince.

The quagsire jumps into action, rushing at the pangoro. Her cheeks puff up with a water gun.

Dismas ducks under the first jet, fists flashing with fire before he punches right through the two chains holding his legs in place. Those, too, break with little resistance, likely weakened beforehand for this chance at escape.

The quagsire is slower than Dismas, but she fights strategically, keeping her distance when possible to shoot off a water pulse or mud shot. When she sees an opening, she moves in closer for an aqua tail or slam attack.

Tobias wants to help, afraid of what will happen if and when the quagsire goes down, but…Tobias knows what it’s like, trying to fight in close quarters with a partner you’re unused to. It can cause more problems than staying out of the fight entirely. They’d likely just get in the way.

Tobias glances at the crank to the door over his shoulder, wondering if they could open it themselves, but it’s nearly as tall as them. There’s no way they could get enough leverage.

Before Tobias can think of anything else, the quagsire is slammed down with enough force to dent the metal floor. She’s still fighting, landing a powerful drain punch on the pangoro that actually makes him grunt in pain, but Tobias gets the feeling that she isn’t going all-out. Whether that’s because she can’t use moves like surf or earthquake in this delicate prison cell without risking collateral damage or because she’s afraid of hurting Nia, Tobias, and the malamar, it’s clear to Tobias that she’s holding back.

She still puts up an impressive fight, but it only takes a few more powerful, unrestrained blows from Dismas before the quagsire thuds to the metal floor and stays there, out cold.

And with that, everything falls quiet. All Tobias can hear is the roar of his heartbeat in his ears. He stares at the pangoro, fear building in his gut.

Not again. He can’t do this again.

Nia steps in front of him, paws raised in a fighting stance. She looks confident, if you aren’t close enough to see the way she’s trembling.

Dismas turns to the two of them, huffing a laugh when he sees Nia’s stance. “What, you squirts wanna fight? You could just let me walk out, you know.”

Nia glances back at Tobias, as if asking what he wants to do. Tobias stares past her, unable to answer. He knows he’s shaking.

Tobias wanted this, not so long ago. He wanted the chance to take down the outlaws that killed his family. But now, trapped in here with Dismas, knowing he and Nia’s lives are on the line if they try to fight? Knowing what the pangoro can and will do, without a second thought?

Tobias is afraid. He wants to run. Hide. Let Dismas go without a fight.

But he can’t.

He can’t risk Dismas going free. He can’t risk the pangoro doing more harm to anyone else.

Tobias forces himself to breathe. Forces himself to step forward on stiff, shaky legs to stand beside Nia. He crouches into his own battle stance, trying to summon his fire.

Dismas laughs. “I’m impressed! Seeing as you just about wet yourself earlier, I thought you’d turn tail at the first sign of trouble.”

The pangoro strolls away from them, towards the far wall of the room. His broken chains drag on the metal floor with every step. He stops in front of the nearest of the tall, slim windows.

“If you wanna play hero…”

Dismas flings out a paw, slamming it into the window with a heart-stopping crack. It’s the way he’s holding his fingers, flat in a chopping motion, that tips Tobias off to what he just did.

The reflect and light screen cast over the glass, the only thing reinforcing it, stand no chance against a brick break attack. The barriers flicker, shimmering outward from the hit before dissipating entirely.

The unprotected glass cracks, splintering like a fault line. Right where Dismas’ fist hit, frothy water bursts in, spilling across the floor in an endless, powerful jet of water. In a room like this, sealed tight, it’s only a matter of time before it floods the space completely. It’d be a death trap for most Pokemon, but especially for Tobias.

Dismas grins as he turns back to them, toothy and ruthless. “Then let’s play.”

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd #pangoro #riolu #charmander #pokemon #quagsire #tesha draws #tesha writes #teshamerkel

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atleastpleasetelephone · 1 month ago

Text

Kinktober Day 24 - Sub/Dom dynamics

A/N: This one has been kicking about in my drafts for ages, ever since I realised I could see Little Elvis in the photo below.

Pairing: Sub!Elvis x Dom!Reader

Word count: 1.8K

TWs: Elvis calls reader Mama, reader calls Elvis a kinda demeaning pet name, oral (both receiving), edging/orgasm denial, teasing, praise kink, little tiny bit of degredation kink.

Kinktober masterlist

Elvis is reading fan mail, sprawled out on the sofa with a pile of envelopes next to him. Each letter is sprayed with perfume and it seems like great clouds of it come out when he tears them open. He reads the contents and then rips them into tiny pieces so no-one else gets a chance to read them. As far as he’s concerned, they’re for his eyes only.

He’s a couple of letters in when the door opens and he looks up to see you standing there.

“Oh hi, honey.”

You look over at him, lying on his side on the leather couch, black trousers and a black shirt, his hair beautifully combed, his blue eyes looking at you steadily. There’s a letter in his hand, but as you step nearer you notice something else. The outline of his dick through his pants.

“Is it good?” You ask, nodding at the letter.

He frowns a little. “It’s just a fan letter honey, nothin’ special.”

You glance down at his crotch deliberately. “Nothin’ special,” you repeat.

He follows your eyes, and he immediately realises what’s happened, sitting up and tossing the letter onto the seat next to him. He rearranges himself quickly and looks back at you.

“Nothin’ at all, Mama.”

“You won’t mind if I read it then?”

His eyes go like saucers. “Uh…w-well I… I don’t usually let… I mean… no need for you to read it Mama.” He’s flushed and stuttering, just the way you like him.

“Let me sit down,” you instruct.

He stands up quickly and moves to the side so you can occupy the space on the sofa he was just sitting in. The serious look on your face makes him drop to his knees in front of you, obediently, and he looks up with those big puppy dog eyes.

“Mama, I didn’t mean to get excited. I jus’… it jus’ happened. Little Elvis, y’know, sometimes he jus’ does that and I don’t even know why…”

You fix him with a serious look and then slowly and deliberately slide your panties off under your skirt. He watches you like a hawk, waiting to see what your next move will be, inadvertently licking his lips. You pick up the letter he dropped and smooth it flat so you can read it, opening your legs wide and beckoning him closer.

“Why don’t you lick Mama whilst she reads this letter?”

He can’t say no so he doesn’t even try, leaning forward and eagerly setting to work licking your pussy as you start to read. The letter isn’t very inspiring. Declarations of undying love, mentions of measurements, some kind of poem at the end. You shrug and let it drop from your hand. He looks up, his face buried in your pussy.

“Mama’s going to look through the ones you’ve already read, whilst you make her cum.”

He nods and moans against you, setting to work with more determination now there is a clear goal set for him. He only read four or five and he knows you’ll want to cum before you finish them. Using his thumbs to spread your pussy, he pushes his tongue flat against you, making you cry out. You normally manage to hold yourself together but something about this situation is making you a little less inhibited than usual. Something about the way he is eating you like you’re his last meal. You don’t pay that much attention to the contents of the letters as his tongue darts in and out of you, and then thrusts in as far as it can go, the rest of his mouth latching on to you and sucking like his life depends on it. You toss the letter in your hand and grab his head with both hands, riding his face as you get closer and closer to achieving your high. He moans against you, sending shockwaves through your body as he sets off your orgasm, and you grip him tighter as you ride his face through it.

Finally you let him go and he sits there, gasping for air. You flop back on the sofa, waiting to get your own breath back as pleasure buzzes through your veins.

After a while you feel him against you, and look down to see his thighs around your delicate ankle, his dick outlined even more clearly in his pants now. He whimpers, and his big eyes look at you as your arousal shines on his chin.

“Mama?” He shuffles against you, just short of humping your ankle.

You look down at him and can’t help but be reminded of something.

“What is it, puppy?”

His eyes get even bigger, if that’s possible, and he tries to think about what you just said. Puppy. Like a cute, pathetic, baby dog. If anything, it’s making him harder.

“‘S really sore, Mama.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Mmmm. P-please.”

“Please what, puppy?”

“Please can I cum?”

You stroke his cheek gently. He’s so cute it seems mean to torture him. But then again, when you walked in earlier he was reading letters from other girls and getting himself all excited. So he probably needs a little torture.

“I don’t think so, puppy.”

You watch the hope on his face turn to frustration as he screws his eyes up and bites his lip, hard.

“Pleeeeeeease? I’ll do anythin’.”

The three magic words: I’ll do anything.

“Anything?” You ask, one eyebrow raised.

He nods solemnly. “Anythin’, Mama.”

“Fine. I’m tired of reading. Why don’t you get up here and read those letters out loud to me. If you like the letter more than what I’m doing to you, then you don’t get to cum. Understand, puppy?”

Elvis nods quickly and gets up on the couch next to you.

“Take it out.”

He fumbles with the buttons on his pants, desperately trying to get them undone as his hands shake. Eventually he manages to release his dick and it stands to attention, hard and shiny with precum. It’s hard for him not to touch himself, he wants to so much, but he tries to resist. You wrap your hand around him without moving it and tilt your head towards the pile of letters.

“Go on.”

His trembling hands go through the same frustrating fumbling with one of the envelopes. Part of you wants to laugh and the other part wants to help him, so you settle for just giving his dick a bit of a squeeze instead. He groans.

“D-dearest Elvis dear…” he begins, eyes flicking down the letter, trying to read it in his head before he reads it out loud. “H-how can one man be so gorgeous as you? You’re perfect.” He pauses, looking up at you awkwardly and then breathing out hard as you move your hand on him. One stroke, gathering the precum at the top and smearing it down the shaft.

“Keep going.”

“Each part of your beautiful face and your m-magnificent body is a s-sight to behold.” He glances down at your hand wrapped around his dick. “I-If you were not perfect you would still be King, the one only E-Elvis Presley.” Pausing again to groan as you stroke him twice and then stop. “There never has been a man as perfect as you before you and there never will be a man as perfect as you after you. L-l-love forever, Lucia L. Italy.” He looks up. “It’s finished, Mama. T-that’s the end.”

You grin and slowly pump him up and down, watching his face as you do it. You could let him cum now, but you’re having too much fun. You can’t stop at just one letter.

“Read me another.”

He whines and whimpers, staring down at your hand again as it stops moving. He’s so close he can almost taste his orgasm. Fuck. He struggles to open another envelope and pulls out the next letter, full of rose petals and stinking of perfume. He glances at the contents. It’s long.

“Mama,” he whines, eyes pleading. “‘S really sore. Don’t know if I can read another.”

You tilt your head to the side. “You said you’d do anything to cum.”

He nods, slowly, his bottom lip captured between his teeth.

“Read it to me. You get to the end of it and I’ll let you.”

He screws his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gather courage. It’s only one side of paper. How hard can it be? Taking a deep breath, he decides to try and read it out as quickly as possible.

“D-dear Elvis. Do you believe in love at first sight? I hope you do because I fell in love with you the first time I saw you on television on the Ed Sullivan Show, when I was just a kid. I knew the first time I saw you that you were the only one for me. There was something about your eyes and the way you walked that sent chills d-down m-m-my s-spine.” He stutters as you slip your mouth over the end of his dick, his eyes rolling back in his head and his breath coming out in harsh pants, feeling your tongue lick the underside. He has to keep going.

“I-I-I have seen lots of stars on television since I first saw you on the Ed Sullivan S-show,” he gulps, watching you slowly take more and more of him into your mouth. “B-but nobody had sent chills down my spine except for you. I guess that is the way it always will be because I doubt if I ever will again see anyone like the Elvis Presley I first saw on the Ed Sullivan Show. Frankly…ah… fuck…” he stops again, feeling the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat.

You look up at him, eyes flashing a warning, and he clears his throat and continues, “I, uh… I haven’t seen you on t-television since I saw you on the Ed Sullivan Show. Have you changed? I h-hope not. I guess I have changed. I’m not a kid anymore. Love, Denis L., Brooklyn. Oh shit.”

His head falls back against the sofa and he moans loudly as you start to bob up and down on him. Fingers clawing at the leather sofa cushions, he screws his eyes shut as he feels his balls heavy with his release.

“Oh fuck… mama… I’m gonna… ohhh.”

You hold his hips down to stop him bucking them and pushing himself too far down your throat as he cums messily in your mouth. Slowly moving off him, you look at his pretty, flushed face, eyes closed in post-orgasmic bliss, and smile.

“You’re a good little puppy, aren’t you?” You tease, running a finger up his still semi-hard length and making him jolt.

He stares at you through hooded eyes. “I hope so mama. I try to be.”

Pressing your lips against his, you stroke his cheek. “You’re my good little puppy,” you mumble against his lips. “Think you should read all your letters like this in future, hm?”

He squeaks, but he can feel his dick betraying him again already, starting to get hard. “Y-yes, Mama.”

“Good boy.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley x reader #kinktober #starsandskieskinktober

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