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look-at-the-soul · 1 month

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Every little thing you do- Part 2

Tommy Shelby x reader

Series Master list

Thank you so much for giving this little idea so much love 💕 it means a lot! Thank you for taking the time to read and share your thoughts

Word count: 2,695

The house was quiet, it was probably pretty late by now, but at least the initial commotion was calmer now. Tommy’s eyes focused on the flame flickering on the bedside table, the room was quiet. Then his eyes darted to Y/N… his best friend seemed so vulnerable, so small. He had seen the marks her father left on her back it was a horrible sight and now it looked worse. As if her life wasn’t complicated enough by the unplanned pregnancy, Y/N would have to deal with the physical pain as well.

He studied Y/N’s face for a minute, taking in the swollen eyes from crying too much, his heart aches for her, she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. She held a special place close to his heart since they were kids.

“Do you’ve a minute?” Polly asked.

As she realized the doubt in her nephew’s eyes, she assured him that Y/N would sleep for a while. After cleaning her injuries and adding a strong ointment to the wounds on her back, Polly checked the baby and gave Y/N a tea to help her sleep.

Tommy gave Y/N one more look and covered her arm with the thin sheet, but was careful enough to not hurt her before he walked out of what was once Ada’s room in Watery Lane.

“What happened?” He found Polly downstairs stomping her cigarette on the ashtray. Earlier, she didn’t ask questions, she just rushed to take care of Y/N’s wounds just she had done so many times when they were kids, and eventually teenagers on the brick of trouble every time.

“Y/N is pregnant, the son of a bitch told her he wasn’t sure the baby is his.”

“And that’s why her father hit her like that?!” She asked scandalized. “He’s an animal.”

“How’s the baby, really?” He asked with genuine concern.

Polly sighed. “She was smart to offer her back, so the belt wouldn’t hit in any compromising area, but I’d keep her in bed just in case.” She suggested.

“Tommy,” Scudboat apologized for the interruption, “we found the vehicle, Scott has been hiding in the house, do you want the men to enter and get him?”

Leaning on the counter, Tommy considered his options for a few seconds. “No, keep someone watching his house at all times, he might try to escape.”

As the blinder left him again alone with his aunt, Tommy expressed out loud a decision he had already made.

“We can’t leave her alone Pol.” He clenched his jaw. “She’s on her own, that bastard just used her and her family won’t help her with the baby yo-you saw how they hurt her.”

“I know.” She added breathlessly stopping for a second as she got the kettle. “They turned their backs on her when she needed them the most.”

“Sort a doctor tomorrow morning to make sure they’ll be fine.”

“And then what?” Pol stared at him.

“I just got a house, still needs a few things… I can take Y/N there, because if she stays here, she’ll see her parents all damn day.”

“In the meantime if she needs another place, there’s my house as well.”

Tommy folded his arms against his chest and nodded profusely.

“Poor Y/N… she’ll have a hard time with people pointing fingers at her all the time.” Polly shook her head.

Tommy remembered the long stares and whispers over Ada, when she suddenly got married and started showing no long after. He had been forced to walk around with the gun in his hand for several weeks. They even kicked her out of a boutique once she tried buying a dress and Tommy had to stop by with a few men until his sister got the dress that she wanted.

“I’ll blind anyone who dares to do something against Y/N.” He stated firmly pouring some whiskey finally.

“What happened?” Finn asked looking from his brother to his aunt.

“If anyone asks,” Tommy pointed a finger at him, “you haven’t seen Y/N here alright?”

Finn frowned. “But I haven’t seen her.”

“Exactly.” Tommy agreed walking towards the fireplace, he added a few pieces of wood and then took a seat in front of it. Pondering on the previous events, worry installed on his shoulders of what might happen. Anger spreading on his body at the thought of his best friend being humiliated by her useless boyfriend, after all she had done for the prick and he had the audacity to doubt the baby was his. Thanks to her, Scott got the chance to be a blinder, and with that endless benefits.

One of his men knocked desperately and as Tommy went to see what was happening he heard the best news of the day.

“We followed Scott, he was at the train station.”

He took the remaining of his drink in a swing. “Was?”

“The boys took him to the warehouse, he had a ticket to escape.”

Tommy gave his aunt a look. “If Y/N wakes up, send someone to let me know.”

As Polly saw them disappear, her eyes darted upwards, in a silent prayer. She knew Scott wouldn’t live a day without regretting his decision. Taking her cup of tea with her, she decided to look for some clothes and clean sheets to provide to Y/N while they sorted everything out.

Y/N was considered part of the family, she and Tommy had always been close, in a way Y/N was the only person who could understand her nephew. The one who he trusted the most.

She decided to go to the church the following morning to light a candle and pray for Y/N and the baby.

Taking a deep breath and one of her eyes cracked a bit open. As everything started to hurt so bad, her chest felt heavy as memories from what had happened hit Y/N hard. Word by word her parents had said replayed in her mind.

A single tear rolled down from her eye to her nose. With trembling fingers, Y/N moved one of her hands to the yet non-existent bump. It was still early to start showing but she couldn’t help but think her baby was starting to grow inside her.

Despite the circumstances, Y/N felt like giving her own life for this baby. It didn’t matter that Scott or her family decided to leave her.

Tommy opened the door carefully to not wake Y/N up, but to his surprise she was already awake.

“Go on… say it.” She was waiting for Tommy’s lecture.

Scott had turned his back just like her parents. All the people she thought she could rely on showed her to not take them for granted.

But Tommy shook his head.

“How are you feeling?” He asked taking the chair in the corner to place it next to the bed.

“Like a total failure.” She admitted with tears in her eyes.

“Y/N.” Tommy didn’t know what to say to make her feel better, to help her. “Hey, look at me.” He spoke softly and covered one of her hands with his own.

Y/N started biting the inside of her cheek to prevent more tears to come out. But looked at her best friend anyways.

“You’re not alone, I know you’ve a lot to take in at the moment… but you can count on me for everything.” He offered sincerely.

She didn’t feel worth any of this, she felt dirty, stupid for believing in Scott’s love words. How could she have been so naïve?

“Why?” Her voice broke. “Why do you want to help me when I’ve done everything wrong?”

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Tommy swallowed hard. “Don’t let them get in your head, I know how it is, but this isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is! I gave myself away to Scott, I’m just another whore.”

Tommy lost his control, he didn’t want her to feel this way.

“You’re not a whore. You did it out of love and that’s not something to regret.”

“I deserve this, my father is right.” Y/N shook her head, she angrily wiped a tear away.

“No, you don’t deserve this shit happening. Y/N you’re a good woman an-”

Y/N’s grandmother asked if she could walk into the room. Tommy felt grateful for the interruption because he didn’t know how to deal this situation. He didn’t want to say that he had warned Y/N about her now ex boyfriend and make her feel worse than she already did.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

At least he got a chance last night at the warehouse to make the bastard pay for playing with Y/N’s heart. Tommy made it very clear he better disappear from her life for good because if he ever saw him again, he wouldn’t let him walk twice alive.

He had been a few punches away from killing Scott. But the image of Y/N holding a baby in her arms stopped him… he wouldn’t be responsible for killing that baby’s father, even though Scott definitely deserved it. So he limited himself to leave a little warning, a message.

“This is a mess, Y/N feels so guilty for getting into this.” Tommy announced walking into the kitchen. He found his sister and aunt making breakfast.

Tommy’s eyes fixed on Karl and he was taken back in time to when Ada thought he had betrayed Freddie. He was a lot of things, but he’d never cause a pain like that to a child. At least not one of his own people.

From the beginning, he knew Scott was a piece of shit, but Y/N seemed so happy and thrilled, how would he step in to destroy her happiness? He never imagined he’d have to help her pick up the broken pieces of her heart. The sudden presence of Polly close to him made him snap back into reality, she stepped closer to help him light the cigarette that was hanging from his mouth.

Tommy moved his eyes towards his nephew, he was playing with a truck on the floor. Perhaps he was overthinking but he didn’t know what would he answer when Y/N’s child asked about his or her father.

“Ada would you talk to Y/N?”

“About what?”

“When you got pregnant…” he began with embarrassment in his eyes to talk about that. “It’s something similar.”

They’ve come a long way ever since, but Tommy still regretted the time they spent apart. Family was everything to him.

“And what do you want me to say Tommy? Her boyfriend dumped her, it’s not the same I got married.”

He sighed in frustration. “I just want Y/N to feel our support.”

“You’re going to make her feel overwhelmed! I know how noisy you can be.” Ada protested.

Tommy scoffed, he felt offended by his sister’s words. He just wanted to help Y/N.

“I’ll talk to her.” Polly intervened placing some food on a tray to give Y/N.

“Thank you.”

Ada clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. Her eyes boring into her brother.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

But Ada turned the corner of her mouth down and shuddered. “Nothing it’s just strange to see you go above and beyond for someone.”

As she walked out of the kitchen, Tommy found himself thinking of her words. She was telling the truth but… but how could he stand there and do nothing for Y/N?

He knew her like the palm of his hand, she had been by his side since forever, encouraging him to follow his dreams, telling him the truth right in his face when he messed up. Even he didn’t want to hear it.

There was no other way to do this, she’d have his entire support through the pregnancy and whatever she might need afterwards.

“Mr. Shelby!” Y/N’s grandmother shouted from upstairs.

Tommy skipped a few steps and when he reached Ada’s old room, he found Polly holding Y/N’s hair back, she had been sick and her grandmother was trying to hold her trembling body.

“I’m sorry Pol. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry for? With everything you’ve been through it’s not a surprise your stomach can’t handle food. Tommy help me here.” His aunt asked him to take her place so Y/N could use his strength as support. “Take her to that chair, while I sort this out.”

Following Polly’s instructions, Tommy lead Y/N carefully to the chair in the corner while his aunt and Y/N’s grandma changed the bedsheets. Ada joined them a moment later with a glass of water. “Try some crackers, it helped me with sickness during my pregnancy.” She offered taking the sheets downstairs.

Y/N groaned feeling embarrassed and mortified for everything. As soon as she smelled the food her stomach protested, but she felt bad for telling Polly something so she decided to just eat the food. But the moment she got the first bite, she couldn’t help it and it ended in her throwing up and making a mess.

“I want to thank you for taking care of her.” Y/N’s grandmother admitted taking her hand.

“I was just thinking…” Tommy started to say, “You could come with me to the new place I got.” Then he turned to face her grandmother. “It’s outside the city, away from curious eyes and it’s surrounded by trees.”

“No.” Y/N stated.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea dear.” Her grandma smiled at Tommy. “Fresh air could help her.”

Y/N sighed frustrated with herself, with the situation.

“Think about it, yeah?” Tommy suggested. “That way you won’t run into your parents everyday, and you can walk to the lake to relax.”

“He’s right.” Her grandma approved. “You’ll feel grateful to be away from the drama.”

“Perfect! Looks like you got it all figured out Tommy.” She snapped. “Just like my mother who wanted to send me to her aunt’s farm.”

She knew this wasn’t fair, he was the only one offering support, but she couldn’t help it, she felt on the brick, like everything was falling apart. And she was angry with herself.

Polly pushed Tommy away and gently grabbed Y/N’s arm. “Sweetheart all of this worry isn’t right for the baby. For the first time, I think going to that house is the best idea.”

“Unfortunately your choices are limited my darling.” Y/N’s grandma spoke softly. “But you should know that these wonderful people are trying to help you.”

She was trying to be strong, to pretend this didn’t hurt her, but truth is he world was crashing down. And this was only the beginning.

That seemed to click on Y/N’s mind because she gave a small nod, he lower lip gave in and it started quivering, then the tears started to fall down her cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” Y/N sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” Emotions took over her.

Her grandma pulled her in for a hug, wrapping her arms protectively around her just like she did when she was a child. “The Lord removed some people from your life but look at the angels he placed right away.”

Tommy saw Polly dabbing the corner of her eyes with her sleeve.

“This baby will grow surrounded by people who really love him or her.” He assured her.

“Now how about I help you take a bath? The doctor should arrive shortly.” Polly offered rubbing her back.

Her grandma squeezed between them. “I better go, said I was going to church.”

“Thank you for coming gran.” Y/N gave her a tight hug.

As they moved to get things done, Polly stopped her nephew before he could walk downstairs. “You’re brave for helping her like this.”

“I can’t leave her on her own.” He tried to explain, but Polly interrupted him.

“Your mother raised you right.” She then, in an unexpected move touched his shoulder. “She’d be proud of you.”

Part 3

Master list

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#that’s what Cill said #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x you #thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders fics #peaky blinders fan fiction #polly grey imagine

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byerseason · 4 days

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why byler is the only logical way to end stranger things: a personal opinion

long post incoming. i've been thinking about what else can they do other than canon byler or is there any logical way which would please everyone. but i genuinely can't find any logical ending.

first of all, let's see the options i heard from people who doesn't think byler is gonna happen.

not adressing will's love for mike, mike never finding out about it and will's arc simply focusing on supernatural part : well, we all know that's impossible. not after spending a whole season to show us his deep love for mike. also it's confirmed that an emotional arc for him is what is gonna tie up the story.

"his love for mike was for him to explore his sexuality, he's gonna have another boyfriend." : they could easily show it to us without bringing mike into it. the byers moving to california was a perfect chance for it since it's a place better than hawkins when it comes to LGBT, they could easily give him a love interest, include him to their journey to find el just like they included argyle and give him a good character arc in s5, just like robin in s4. well, they didn't.

"mike is gonna reject will" : okay, then what was the reason of making him fall in love with mike? did the writers want to write a horrible story for the only gay child in the group? especially after showing us how miserable he feels about mike and how much he loves him? no.

now let's look deeper at the character arcs. my biggest reason to think byler is the only logical way is: will byers

i don't think i have to mention how much will suffered throughout the show and how he needs the happiest ending. they left season 4 at a point where everything about that love triangle is unresolved and they're obviously going to do something with it.

we all know mike is the one who understands will the most. he always been, since the very beginning. we've been shown that their bond is different and special. in a scenario where mike rejects will, we all know this is gonna be ruined. will is not gonna magically bury his love and go back to being besties with mike. and for mike, it's not possible for him to ignore will's love for him and stay friends as nothing happened. it would ruin their friendship for absolutely nothing.they can't simply take the only one who understands away from him.

will said he wants to spend the rest of his life with mike for two times. even if he doesn't have any hope, he desires it. so why giving him a love that he will never have? in this scenario will's character arc is literally "the gay kid always thought he will never have love just because he is gay, he thinks it's wrong and he is a mistake, well yes, he was right! he will never find the love and just watch the other straight people have it. thanks for watching stranger things." will's arc should be an arc where he is proven wrong, where he understands it's okay to love, where he is loved the way he loves, purely. otherwise his character arc is gonna be useless. where did we leave will in s4? he was thinking there's no chance for mike to love him and he has zero hope-- he ripped off the band aid. if mike rejects him the character arc and all the build up in season 4 becomes useless. he was at zero, and he is still at zero.

like i said giving him an arc where he is loved the way he loves was easy to be done without mike but now it's too late. they made it super clear that will doesn't want to be loved, he wants to be loved by mike. mike hurts him yet he still thinks mike makes him feel like he's not a mistake at all. that's not a simple crush. that's pure love. as a writer of a show you don't spend too much time to sympathize the characters love to the audience -something you never did with your other characters, at least not as much as will- you don't show them pouring their heart to a gift, just to waste it, just to make the character feel the worst they can feel just to make the person they love happy. will loves mike such a way that he prioritizes his happiness over his. this is what is gonna pay off.

the second character whose character arc needs byler: mike wheeler

mike has always been the most complicated character of the show, but most of his actions have no explanation other than him dealing with his own feelings. the show introduced mike as the leader of the party and i think it's okay to say he was one of the main characters in season 1 & 2. what happened after s2? a crazy character downfall. the audience started to dislike him and think he is useless. he didn't have any character development in the past 2 seasons. why? why? why?

because we all just watched him struggling. dealing with something inside of his mind that we don't know.

let's talk about a scenario where byler doesn't happen. this makes all mike's arc about being a love interest since s3. no development, no explanation for his behavior in the past 2 seasons. of course mike is traumatized and never talks to anyone which effects his behavior a lot. but there's still an unanswered question. why is he distancing himself from will specificially? the writers showed us that they understand each other the best, they know each other the best and notice if somethings wrong, so why is he distancing himself from the person who he needs the most as a best friend?

this is where we start to think if the problem is will himself, for mike.

why did we make will fall in love with mike just for mike to distance himself from will for no reason and make will upset? did we want will to suffer for no reason or create an empty storyline?

if mike is not how we think he is, he is going to end the show with an empty character arc who is nothing but a love interest, a side character. if mike ends up how we think he is, he is going to be the best onscreen representation of internalized homophobia. people think he is useless or just an asshole but he will turn out to be a perfectly written character who has his own arc.

people love to say "gay people didn't exist in 80s, byler would be unrealistic." which is completely wrong. gay people DID exist in 80s and they DID find love. did they have peace? they didn't. this is why mike and will are gonna be a real representation. we watched all the real struggles they went through. even if we don't get to see them as a couple, they will know they love each other by the end and that's what matters. and there's nothing unrealistic about it.

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #byler analysis #byler proof

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prettyprettypaci2 · 5 months

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Therapy - Part 7 and Epilogue

💕 Start From The Beginning 💕

"For me? You did all this for me?"

You clap your hands together and tilt your head coquettishly, baring your teeth in a goofy, exaggerated grin. The billowy sleeves of your princess costume fall to your elbows, and you hastily scoop them back into place. Once a prop purchased by your step-sisters to humiliate you, the glittery silver tiara that rests on your head makes you feel utterly regal. In a life that has come to hold so few surprises for you, the appearance of Miss Heather in your own bedroom is an occasion that demands pomp and ceremony.

Your next therapy session hadn't been scheduled for nearly two weeks, so when your step-mom informed you that Miss Heather would be stopping by while she and your step-sisters were out, you could barely contain your excitement. Ever since the day she had taken you for ice cream in the park, your therapist seemed to have dug a burrow in the folds of your mind. She's the first thing you think about when you wake to make your morning mess, and the last thing you think about when you ask for your goodnight spanking.

Your heart thunders in your chest, and a little pee dribbles into the fluffy diaper under your opaque white tights. You used to be so careful about when you let yourself pee, but the contest of will against your portable potties ended long ago. You don't notice or care when the padding swells, hugging your bottom ever more tightly with each drop of urine. It comes to you as naturally as breathing.

Miss Heather swivels her head back and forth between your toothy smile and the display before her: a low tea table crafted from one of the giant boxes your diapers come in. It's painted baby pink, patterned with a twisting briar of roses whose stems end in pretty scarlet sunbursts. The plastic tea set, salvaged from the attic, has been scrubbed meticulously so that every cup and saucer sparkles in the glow of the white Christmas lights you strung along the walls for decoration. Mr. Kazoo, your best friend and confidant, is seated in his noble place on the long end of the makeshift table. Pale with drool stains, his fluffy figure has become misshapen and waspish with the months of dragging, hugging, and naughtier forms of play.

"This is so sweet," Miss Heather says, genuinely touched. She adds quietly: "I thought you hated tea parties."

"I hate my step-sisters' tea parties," you clarify, your eye twitching as you remember Olivia holding the back of your diaper open while Lauren poured a whole pot of cold chamomile into your sodden padding. "This is different."

You gesticulate with a flourish to indicate to Miss Heather that she should sit down. She bows her head gracefully and spreads out on the floor in her tight jeans and converse. You join her with a little more effort, careful not to trip over the dark blue satin pumps you had picked out to go with your dress.

You lift the bulbous plastic teapot and smile as you pour dark brown liquid into Miss Heather's teacup. Making the tea was itself an ordeal; you had to try several times to get it right. Your step-mom doesn't allow you to use the stove, but you'll ask to be punished for that later. This is a special occasion.

Once you serve Mr. Kazoo and then yourself, you set down the pot and tinkle your pastel-painted nails on your plastic saucer. You look across at Miss Heather and continue smiling. She smiles back, but there's something a bit sad in her expression. The room is still.

"I should've thought of music," you say, breaking the awkward silence. An odd pang in your stomach begins to gnaw at your excitement. Something is wrong.

"This is perfect," Miss Heather replies, though there's a catch in her voice that feeds your anxiety. She raises her tea cup and extends it to clink yours. "What shall we drink to?"

You clink your teacup against hers hastily before you give yourself time to answer. "Um..." You freeze. An audible piddle fills the room as you pee in your diaper again.

"How about new beginnings?" She suggests, clinking with you again and then reaching over to clink Mr. Kazoo's teacup, still cooling on its saucer.

You both lift the tea to your mouths and drink before setting the cups down with a clatter of plastic. You suck on your lower lip anxiously and instinctively fumble for your pacifier.

"Hold on, I'd like to chat with you first," Miss Heather reaches to clasp your hand. Your body begins to shake, and your diaper sings out a jubilee of crinkles. Of course there's something wrong. Why else would Miss Heather be here at your house, unexpectedly, weeks before your scheduled session? You look down at the plastic toys and the diaper box, its logo still visible through the layer of pink paint. You look at your princess costume and feel the tiara tugging at your loosely curled hair. You're a fool.

"When I was your age," Miss Heather begins, stroking your hand gently with her thumb. "I needed a therapist. I felt broken. I thought that I would go to see her, she would fix me, and then life would carry on the way it did before. It was only after years of work that I realized therapy, for me, wouldn't be just a short stop along the road. It was going to be something I would have to work on every single day. Things got better and easier with time, but therapy never really ended."

Miss Heather's eyes are sparkling. Your voice cracks as you ask: "So you see a therapist, too?"

"Sometimes," she replies. "But my therapist gave me tools to help myself, just like the ones I've tried to give you. When I met you, you were so scared of what the world would see when you walked out that door. Now look at you: such a confident, beautiful person. And look at me, having tea with a princess! I think we've both come a long way."

She giggles, but you can't make yourself smile. She's avoiding something.

"Miss Heather, why did you come today?" Your mouth has gone bone-dry.

Miss Heather sighs and reaches out her other hand, folding both of yours lovingly between her own. "I'm leaving soon. An opportunity came up and I can't let it slip away. It's far; on the other side of the country. I'll be gone before we can have our next session, so I asked your step-mom to let me say goodbye to you in person."

You feel a sensation in your stomach like you're falling from a great height. You close your eyes to stem the vertigo, terrified you're about to throw up. Visions of your step-mom and step-sisters zap your mind like static shocks: the wet mattresses that weren't your fault, the bottles you were forced to drink, the ridiculous outfits, the accessories, the diapers every day and night -- how could you do it all without Miss Heather?

You can't.

You won't.

"I'm coming with you," you say. Slipping your hands out of Miss Heather's comforting embrace, you find your balance on your satin pumps and rise to your feet. Miss Heather's mouth drops in surprise as you march to your closet and retrieve the large ballet-themed diaper bag your step-mom often packs for short trips. You scan the room for items to grab: the piggy bank of dimes is an obvious pick. You'll need practical shoes; the low-heeled sandals with the gel straps will do. Shortalls, the lemon-yellow blouse, a box of crackers...and diapers. How many diapers would you need?

"Wait...stop for a second. Please sit down." Miss Heather had clearly prepared for anger, tears, denial...she had not prepared for this.

A thought occurs as you're trying to squish a bottle of baby powder into one of the small external pockets of the diaper bag. "Will we be able to bring Mr. Kazoo?"

"Please listen," Miss Heather implores. "You're not going anywhere."

"I can go wherever I want!" You reply forcefully, turning to face her and stomping your satin heel on the carpet. You peel the tiara out of your hair and toss it into a corner. "I'm an adult, and I want to go with you."

Miss Heather stands up, a worried expression on her face. "I'm so sorry. I'm going to miss you so much, but I can't let you come..."

"Then you're going to have to spank me!" You yell, clomping over to Miss Heather so you're standing eye-to-eye. "Spank me until I can't walk, and then keep going, because I'll crawl across the country to see you again, I swear I will! I won't spend another month in this house with my evil step-sisters if I don't get to see you at the end of it!"

"This isn't healthy! And it's not fair to me!" Miss Heather raises her voice to match your energy. Her eyes flash intensely. "You can't behave like this just because you're upset!"

"Then spank me!"

"You're not thinking! You're being irrational!"

"Then spank me!"

"Stop this right now!"

"SPANK ME! SPANK ME!"

You feel your feet leave the carpet and see the light around you drown in a sea of pink fabric. You reflexively flail for balance, but your arms can find no purchase with the slippery skirt of your princess costume pulled over your torso. You gasp as the mushy front of your diaper drives into Miss Heather's knee, where she's positioned you with unexpected strength and speed. In moments, your opaque white tights are bunched around your ankles, and you're unable to spread your legs further than the elasticity of the thick nylon. As your diaper is pulled down just enough to expose your butt, you feel the sensation of cold...then heat.

You hear the blows before you feel them: quick and precise, but achingly powerful, like branches snapping in a hurricane. You can practically sense the build-up of energy behind each smack before it's released against your reddening flesh. The alternating rhythm on your butt cheeks accelerates to a piercing allegro. You thrash about on Miss Heather's lap, though you give no thought to escape.

"More..."

Your salivary glands swell, and an unbroken fountain of drool feeds a pond on the carpet beneath you. Each cut of Miss Heather's hand causes you to thrust your groin deeper into the padding of your pee-soaked diaper. Pain trades with pleasure as you focus on the tight, wet, cotton warmth into which Miss Heather is pounding you like a nail.

"More......."

You feel a ball of electricity taking shape in your loins, gaining power and intensity with each new blow. Your mouth gapes and you inhale sharply, giggling stupidly as the first pulses of pleasure start to stream off the node of your impending climax. You kick your restrained legs furiously, but your inability to squirm only amplifies your excitement. In this moment, you belong to Miss Heather. And you belong to your diapers. And you know that you always will.

At last, the ball of electricity ignites, and you scream in perfect ecstasy. Your limbs shake and your spine tingles, struggling to absorb the cascade. With deep breaths, you try to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible. Then, little by little, it recedes into the mist of the afterglow. Miss Heather has stopped spanking you.

You lie across her lap for a minute before you feel her pull your diaper back into place. The friction against your raw skin is painful, and you whimper slightly. Miss Heather readjusts the skirt of your dress and pulls you up on her lap, embracing you. Her face is wet. You kiss away her tears.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, stroking the small of your back.

"Don't be sorry," you reply. "I wanted it. I deserved it. All I need is for you to answer my question."

"What question?" She asks, confused.

You roll your eyes and smile mischievously. "Will we be able to bring Mr. Kazoo?'"

💕💕💕

The rim of your floppy sunhat dances gaily in the summer breeze. You're trying to stay perfectly still, so as not to frighten the monarch butterfly resting on the rail of the porch. It beats its wings slowly, and you try to match your suckling to its lazy tempo. It keeps you company a few minutes longer, then catches a gust of wind and flutters off.

You sigh and lean back on the cushioned porch swing, feeling your diaper squish under your pretty blue sundress. It hasn't even been an hour since Miss Heather changed you, but you can't easily tell when you have to pee. Especially when you feel relaxed. And there's nothing more relaxing to you than Binky Thinkies.

You hear the front door open, and Miss Heather steps out of the house. She looks radiant in her bikini top and wraparound skirt. Her glass of lemonade is already wet with condensation, but the plastic feeding bottle she hands you is dry. Not yet allowed to speak, you thank her with a drooly grin from behind your pink pacifier.

Miss Heather joins you on the porch swing and you stare off towards the lake. Lifting the hem of your dress, she places her hand on the front of your diaper and strokes it gently as she closes her eyes and begins to doze. Your muscles relax further, and you feel your padding grow warm. Miss Heather sighs, and murmers, already half-asleep.

"Good girl."

A Story by Paci

Thank you for reading.

#ab dl diaper #ab dl lifestyle #ab dl mommy #diaper pee #diaper sissy #diaper training #diaper bulge #unpotty training #diaper gal

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cool-fancier · 6 months

Text

Matchmaking Masterpiece

Synopsis: your daughter’s dance class led to an unexpected connection between you and Bada, and her matchmaking plan brought you closer.

Da-Eun, you couldn't have asked for a greater life companion than your daughter. She was the bright light in your life, the reason you smiled even on the darkest days. Da-Eun was thirteen years old and had a heart the size of the Pacific Ocean. Despite her young age, she was smart and was able to tell when something wasn't right.

You'd always been open and honest with Da-Eun, telling her about your life and feelings. However, the weight of your unhappiness has recently grown increasingly difficult to disguise. You were aware that she could sense your distress, but you wanted to save her any unnecessary stress.

Da-Eun had a passion for dancing, which you passionately supported. Her skill was obvious, and the happiness she radiated while dancing was contagious. Her dreams focused on dance, and you were determined to encourage that passion. You discovered that JustJerk Academy was the finest place for her to further develop her skills after looking into various dance academies. It was a prestigious institution known for its top-notch instructors.

Da-Eun's excitement was obvious when you told her the news. She couldn't believe what had happened and began preparing for her first class right away. You watched her practise her routines at home with pride, her excitement pouring through.

Da-Eun was a bundle of nervousness and excitement on the day of her first lesson at JustJerk Academy. Her hair was beautifully tied up, and she was dressed in her favourite dance attire. You drove her to the studio, and she practically skipped through the doors, excited to begin her new journey.

You couldn't help but feel a range of emotions as you waited for her outside the studio. You were happy for her and proud of her progress towards her goals. There was also a sense of sadness, as you had to think about it on your own happiness and the decisions you'd made in life.

The legendary Bada Lee was Da-Eun's teacher at the academy. Bada was not only a fantastic dancer, but also a passionate and motivating teacher. She had a special way of connecting with the children and bringing out the best in each of them. Her classes were lively, and her pupils liked her for the warmth and kindness she radiated.

Something about Bada drew your interest from the moment you watched her teach. It wasn't simply her extraordinary talent; it was also her grace, compassion, and encouragement of her students. You saw her connect with the kids and offering them guidance and encouragement with genuine feelings.

Da-Eun's admiration for Bada grew as the weeks passed. She adored her instructor, praised her at home, and regarded her as a role model. Da-Eun couldn't stop talking about her class experiences and how Bada had inspired her to improve as a dancer.

As you listened to your daughter's stories, your heart flooded with pride. But it wasn't simply Da-Eun's dancing progress that kept you coming back to the academy. Bada was the one. Her presence was captivating, and something about her drew your attention to her.

——————————

While waiting for Da-Eun's lesson to end, you caught yourself stealing glances at Bada. It wasn't simply her dancing ability; it was also the way she engaged with the children and her real enthusiasm for teaching. You appreciated her passion to her students, and seeing how much she cared touched your heart.

Bada approached you with a warm smile one day as you waited outside the studio. "You must be Da-Eun's mom. She talks about you all the time."

As you returned her smile your heart skipped a beat. "Yes, I am her mother. She adores you a lot."

As she spoke, Bada's eyes twinkled. "Da-Eun is an outstanding student." It's a pleasure to have her in my class."

You admired Bada's sincerity and her ability to treat each child as an individual. "Thank you for being such a wonderful teacher."

You found yourself sticking around the studio from then on, not just to watch Da-Eun but also to talk with Bada. The more you talked to her, the more you realised you had a connection that went beyond the typical teacher-parent relationship.

The more you got to know Bada, the more you saw she wasn't just a great dancer, but also a genuinely nice and sensitive person. Something about how she held herself, her empathy, and her warm smile drew you in.

With each talk, the unspoken connection between you and Bada became deeper. Your talks went beyond Da-Eun's dancing progress to personal experiences and common beliefs. You discovered common ground and understood one other in ways that were difficult to explain.

You quickly found yourself waiting in the studio for a glimpse of Bada. When she approached, your heartbeat raced, and you couldn't help but be captivated to her warmth and friendliness. It wasn't just admiration; it was a magnetic pull.

Bada had also noticed your presence and the chats you were having. She couldn't argue that there was something special about the two of you. It wasn't simply your support for Da-Eun; it was also the chemistry you had whenever you spoke.

The chemistry between you and Bada was evident as the days moved into weeks and weeks into months. You both sensed an unbreakable link building between you. However, neither of you was willing to make the claim your attraction for fear of jeopardising your relationship with Da-Eun.

Da-Eun was a young but wise soul. While she was aware of your and Bada's unconscious interest she knew you both needed a little push in the right way. She decided to take matters into her own hands one evening and confided in her friends from Bada's dancing team, BEBE.

"Guys, I have a plan," she said quietly to her classmates during a break in class.

Da-Eun's conniving grin piqued the interest of Lusher, Tatter, Kyma, Minah, Che Che, and Sowoen, who gathered around her. "What's the plan, Da-Eun?" Tatter asked.

Da-Eun enthusiastically explained her matching idea, and the other girls couldn't help but laugh at her determination. "You want to get your mom and Bada unnie together? "How adorable!" Lusher commented.

"Shh! With a cheeky wink, Da-Eun said, "Keep it down." "I don't want my mom to find out." Let's keep it a secret."

"Okay, we're in," Kyma stated, and the others agreed.

——————————

Da-Eun and BEBE established a strategy to allow you and Bada to spend more time together over the following few weeks. They quietly pushed you to stay for Da-Eun's lesson, implying that it would be an excellent opportunity to see her improvement.

Da-Eun decided to take a more direct approach one day. She approached you with a plan, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Mom why don't you and Ms. Bada go out for coffee after my class?" I think you'll enjoy each other's company."

The thought made your pulse race, and you couldn't help but be fascinated by your daughter's request. You accepted to the coffee date, knowing it could be a big step forward.

Da-Eun pulled the other girls aside the next day as she was getting ready for her lesson. "OK, guys, after my class, my mum and Ms Bada are going out for coffee." It's the perfect chance for them to get to know each other better."

BEBE grinned and exchanged knowing glances. "Da-Eun, you're a genius," Che Che remarked.

Da-Eun couldn't suppress her excitement as the coffee date approached. "Remember, guys this is an important phase in our plan. Make sure everything goes smoothly."

BEBE made sure that everything happened as planned with the help of Da-Eun. They also made plans for you and Bada to meet in the coffee shop, providing you with the perfect opportunity to talk outside of the dance studio.

And, let's just say, the coffee date was a delight. You and Bada discovered that conversations flowed naturally, and it was evident that your relationship was more than just physical attraction. Bada was not only a fantastic dancer, but she was also a genuine kind and compassionate person.

Your bond with Bada became stronger as the days progressed into weeks and months. Your unsaid link had blossomed into something far more profound. It was no longer just attraction; it was genuine affection that transcended physical boundaries.

Your involvement with the dance studio got stronger with each passing day, as did your connection with Bada. You both enjoyed spending time together over coffee, dinners, and movie nights. Da-Eun was overjoyed to see the results of her matchmaking efforts, and she couldn't be happier.

The bond between you and Bada grew stronger and stronger. Your chemistry was electric, and it was evident that you two had something unique going on. Nonetheless, neither of you was prepared to take the next step and acknowledge your feelings.

Every day took you one step closer to realising you and Bada were meant to be together. You both felt an unsaid bond that had developed into something deeper and more profound. Even still, the fear of what may happen if you made the next step kept you from taking it.

One day, as you watched Da-Eun practice her dance moves in the studio, you couldn't help but think about the future. You thought about the love that had grown between you and Bada, and the undeniable chemistry that bound you together.

You realised it was time to take the next step, to acknowledge the increasing feelings between you. It was time to let go of your fears and welcome the relationship that had been waiting to develop.

You turned to Bada, who stood next you, while Da-Eun whirled and sprang across the dance floor. Your pulse beat faster as you took a deep breath, preparing to say the words you'd been wanting to say.

"Bada, there's something I need to tell you," you started, your voice shaking with anticipation.

Bada looked at you, her eyes wide with wonder and hope. "What is it?"

You grabbed her hand in yours and met her gaze with a cautious smile. "Bada, I like you. I've liked you for a long time and can barely deny it."

Bada's eyes welled up with happiness as she squeezed your hand. "I like you too Y/N, more than words can explain. I've been waiting for this moment for so long."

As Da-Eun's dancing practise progressed, you two expressed your feelings and desires, solidifying your love with the promise of a future together. The hidden bond that had bound you together had now found a voice, and it was a voice full of love and optimism.

You grew more and more in love with Bada in the months that followed. As the relationship deepened, you realised that you couldn't ask for a more loyal and encouraging life partner. Knowing that your love was the foundation of your happiness, you and your partner tackled life's joys and problems together.

Your life was full with love and joy, and your relationship with Bada and Da-Eun grew stronger with every day. You had discovered a love that beyond your wildest expectations in depth and profundity thanks to the unexpected beauty of second chances.

As a family, you embraced the future with open hearts and open arms, ready to face whatever adventures lay ahead. Your love story was a testament to the power of love and the beauty of unexpected connections, proving that sometimes, the most beautiful relationships are the ones we never saw coming.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada lee #bebe #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x oc #bada lee x y/n #street woman fighter x reader #bada lee imagines

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captainpricelover · 11 months

Text

Favoritism

Captain John Price x F!reader. Nsfw

No use of y/n dw babes I got you

You had always noticed that your commanding officer paid you special attention, but you figured out why after a mission in Amsterdam.

Gaz has driven you and Price back to the hotel you’re staying at after Laswell took the cartel member for a “talk”. You’re all about to head to your respective rooms when your Captain walks in front of you, blocking your door.

“Do you mind helping me figure out some of this intel about Hussain? ” He says in a hushed tone. His voice was low.

“No, not at all, sir!” You smile as you begin to follow him towards his hotel suit.

He opens the door for you waiting for you to step in, you quickly glance over to where Gaz’s room was to see that he had entered.

“Quick question John, why are we figuring out about Hussain when Lazwell is literally torturing someone as we speak to find out where he is?” You ask while taking a seat on the king-sized bed and while John sits at the vanity

“We’re not, just needed an excuse to talk to you?” He confesses

“You don’t need an excuse to talk to me silly!” You laugh, you and John had always been close, ever since you joined 141. Never really being open about your friendship due to how fast rumours spread around base, so you both decided to keep it on the down low.

“You could have got seriously hurt back there at the cafe, you realise that, right?”

“Two things, I’m a soldier, and there’s always going to be a chance of me getting hurt it's in the job description,” You laugh “Second Gaz was closer to the action than me but I don’t see you dragging into your hotel room, being all concerned for him,”

“I care about you, you know that. I don’t know what I would do if you got hurt, especially on my watch,” He sighs as he makes eye contact with you.

“I care about you too,” You reply smiling back at him.

He stands up and begins to pour out two glasses of whiskey before handing one to you. He smiles as you take it and sits back down next to you. He takes a cigar out of his coat pocket before taking the coat off and tossing it on the floor.

“Why am I your favourite John?” The question has always played on your mind and you thought no better time than now to answer it.

He looks at you for a few seconds, before taking a deep breath. “Well, you’re a smart soldier who happens to be very pretty!” He laughs before making eye contact with you once again. You blush at the compliment.

“That’s it?” You ask “You only like me because I'm pretty?”

“What can I say, I am a man after all!” he laughs while placing a hand on your upper thigh. Your eyes flick between his hand and his face.

“I do also think you’re an incredible person who-”

His sentence is cut off by you asking an incredibly simple question.

”John, do you want to fuck me?”

His eyes widen with shock, “Don’t say stuff like that! You’ll give me a heart attack”

“You didn't answer my question, Do you-” He interrupts you this time

“Wouldn’t you rather be with someone your age?” He asks with genuine curiosity

“I want you, John”

Thats all you had to say before he's crashing his lips into yours. His hand on your thigh travels up more while he uses his free hand to hold the back of your head, pushing it closer to deepen the kiss. He massage your thighs before standing up and moving in between your legs. He slowly separates them while getting on his knees. Price pulls your trousers off in one quick movement He places little kisses over your clothed cunt before moving your panties to the side and sucking on your clit. You grab the back of his head, your fingers interlaced with his brown locks to support yourself as you grind against his face trying to satisfy your aching need. He pokes his tongue into your quivering hole and begins to devour you like a starving before thrusting two of his fingers in,

“You taste like fucking heaven!” He flashes you a toothy grin before using his free hand to massage your left boob.

“Are you sure you want this? Once I start I’m not going to stop.” He says with a slightly stern look on his face. You nod back

“Words, love.”

“Please, I want you inside me, John!”

He removes his hands from you and begins to undress himself, chucking his clothes on the ground hastily. He massages his shaft while staring at you, admiring this gorgeous view. He does this for a few seconds before grabbing your hips and aligning your entrance with his cock, he begins to tease you by only inserting his tip.

“Please, John” You beg

“Your wish is my command, princess!” He smirks while inserting his full length in one thrust. You wrap your legs around his waist and continues to thrust in and out of your pussy. Price places one of his hands on your lower belly, smirking every time he can feel himself move inside you. He leans down and latches on to your nipple. John increases the speed and power of his movements every time he thrusts.

“I’m close, John!” You scream as pure ecstasy runs through your veins

“Good girl, Cum for me!” He commands. And as a soldier, you’ve got to follow your captain’s orders so you cum, on his cock. He feels your walls clenching around his manhood bringing Price to his climax. He lays on the bed next to you for a minute to catch his breath before getting up and running a bath. He returns from the bathroom a minute later and walks back over to you,

“Let's get you cleaned up, eh?”

#captain price x reader #captain price #captain price headcanons #captain price x reader smut #john price x reader #john price headcanons #captain john price #cod mw price #cod hcs #cod mw2 #cod #fem reader #x reader

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josiesullysblog · 1 year

Text

~Neteyam x Navi reader

~angst and fluff

~proofread - yes

~Summary-Neteyam being a simp

Neteyam followed helplessly behind you like usual. You sighed hard before placing the basket on your hip on the floor and turning to face the boy. “Yes, Neteyam?” a fake smile covered your face while Neteyam showed a genuine smile.

“Nothing, my love just enjoy watching you,” he had no shame he enjoyed watching you hard at work. You adored the boy in front of you, but you believed there was no way the two of you could work out. He was born to do something special while you, well in your mind, we're nothing.

“Neteyam, we've talked about this,” you picked the basket up and continued walking but he caught up quickly halting you from going any further. “I love you,” his hands gently placed the basket down before holding your hands, “you may as well take my heart, Koda it's already full of you.”

You sighed before attempting to pull away but Neteyam pulled you back, “please go!” you fought tears as Neteyam brought you into a hug, “what is it? What's wrong my dear,” tears ran down your cheek while you looked him in the eye. “They would question us Neteyam you were made for greatness, I was not meant to be by your side.”

In your eyes, you were nothing but in Neteyam’s you were the world, “Koda, you are my life I do not care what a few people have to say, I know where I belong and it is with you.”

Your eyes fell on your hands, which were still holding onto Neteyam’s, “I am your life?” the phrase seemed unreal to say but to him, it was the truth.

“It's true when my eyes laid on you for the first time I knew we were meant to be,” he took a simple breath bringing your hands to his mouth and placing kisses on them.

“I have flowers picked knowing one day you'll wear them,” Koda smiled as Neteyam poured his heart out explaining everything to her, “but what about your family?”

“What about them?” Koda tilted her head which made Neteyam’s heart beat a bit faster, “won't they be mad? Won't they want someone better for you?” Neteyam let out a loud laugh which puzzled the girl, “you are the one I desire, they are fully aware of this. I see you, Koda, please understand that I did not start living till I saw you. When I see you I see my future, past, and present. I am so in love with you, I have no clue what to do with myself.”

Shocked covered your face before a smile found its way. You smashed your lips onto him while he grabbed your face, deepening the kiss. His face touched you as if you were a new toy he didn't want to break. Something so fragile yet tempted him to touch.

You broke the kiss placing your foreheads together, “I see you, Neteyam, I want to be with you for the rest of my days.” a smile covered his face before he dragged you closer to the tree of voices.

Ewya’s spirit filled in the air engulfing you both while you sat down. He brought his queue toward you, and you repeated the same thing. They connected and it was like you both were reborn. There was no Neteyam or Koda it was always, us. Till the very last breath.

***

Heyyy! Hope everyone is well, this week has been hectic for me but I'm glad it is finally over! I'm gonna try and get a story out tomorrow morning because I won't be home tomorrow afternoon but I won't make many promises. Hope you enjoy the love you!!

#avatar way of water #jake sully #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #avatar neytiri #neytiri #avatar tuk #avatar #loak x reader

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seireiteihellbutterfly · 6 months

Text

Headcanons: Clueless

You try to tell the Bleach men you have feelings for them, but they keep missing the point. (Continue reading below the GIF)

**Jushiro Ukitake:**

You catch Ukitake reading a book in a peaceful corner of the Seireitei. Taking a deep breath, you approach him and say, “Ukitake taicho, I must admit, you're like the sunshine on a cloudy day for me." He looks up with a soft smile, "Well, I'm glad I can bring a little light into your life."

When the line doesn’t work:

You start bringing Ukitake little gifts, like bookmarks with little koi or swans, hoping he'll catch on to the symbolism. He graciously accepts them, admiring the craftsmanship, but he doesn't seem to make the connection. "These are lovely, thank you. You have a good eye for detail." (You want to rip out your hair but the man is so adorable)

**Byakuya Kuchiki:**

You find Byakuya tending to his garden, meticulously arranging the flowers. You pluck up your courage and say, "Kuchiki Taicho, you know, you're like a rare bloom in my heart." He raises an eyebrow, looking slightly surprised, but there's a faint hint of a smile. "Your words are unexpected, but appreciated."

When the line doesn’t work:

You subtly incorporate flower motifs into your clothing and accessories, hoping Byakuya will notice. He compliments your style, appreciating the elegance, but he doesn't realize the underlying message. "Your sense of fashion is impeccable. It's a rare sight." (Seems puzzled when you frustratedly walk out. “Maybe she doesn’t like being complimented”)

**Kensei Muguruma:**

You spot Kensei training fiercely, his muscles flexing with every strike. Trying not to be intimidated, you approach him and say, "Muguruma taicho, you hit my heart harder than you hit those training dummies." He stops, looking genuinely perplexed. "What the hell does that even mean, kid?"

When the line doesn’t work:

You try to join Kensei in his training sessions, hoping to impress him with your dedication. He's genuinely impressed by your determination, but he assumes you're just eager to become a stronger fighter. "You've got real guts, kid. Keep it up." (At this point, you lie dead on the ground from the intensity of the workout)

**Rose Otoribashi:**

You find Rose composing a new song, his melodious voice filling the air. Taking a deep breath, you confess, "Taicho, your music speaks to my soul in a way that words can't describe." He pauses, a gentle smile forming. "Well, I'm glad to know my music has touched someone so deeply."

When the line doesn’t work:

You attend all of Rose's performances, often standing near the stage, hoping he'll spot you in the crowd. He acknowledges your presence with a grateful smile, thinking you're simply a fan of his music. "I'm glad to see a familiar face in the audience. Your support means a lot." (You disappointedly lower your “I heart Rose” sign)

**Shinji Hirako:**

You come across Shinji, who's flipping a coin with his trademark grin. Taking a deep breath, you blurt out, "Shinji, you've turned my world upside down, and I don't mind one bit." He chuckles, catching the coin effortlessly. "Well, ain't that somethin'? You've got a way with words, kid."

When the line doesn’t work:

You try to engage in playful banter with Shinji, using phrases like "upside down" or "turn my world around" in your conversations. He chuckles, appreciating your sense of humor, but he doesn't seem to grasp the deeper meaning behind your words. "You've got a sharp wit, kid. I like that." (You know he’s playing dumb on purpose, to see how far you’ll go before admitting your feelings)

**Abarai Renji:**

You stumble upon Renji while he's training, sweat pouring down his face. Gathering your courage, you say, "Renji, you've carved a special place in my heart, right next to your tattoos." He stops mid-swing, looking at you with wide eyes. "You've got a strange way of saying things, but I appreciate the sentiment."

When the line doesn’t work:

You make an effort to spend more time with Renji, often suggesting activities you both enjoy. He appreciates the camaraderie and enjoys your company, but he interprets it as genuine friendship. "It's always fun hangin' out with you. You're a good friend, you know that?" (You throw the volleyball at his head before stalking off)

**Shuhei Hisagi:**

You find Hisagi engrossed in his paperwork, his brows furrowed in concentration. Taking a deep breath, you say, "Hisagi, you're like a calming breeze in the chaos of my thoughts." He looks up, surprised, but there's a warmth in his eyes. "I never thought paperwork could lead to such compliments."

When the line doesn’t work:

You leave little notes with calming quotes on Hisagi's desk, hoping he'll see the connection between the words and your previous confession. He smiles at the gestures, finding them uplifting, but he doesn't realize they're deeper meaning. "These notes always brighten up my day. Thank you." (You’re not stuck in the friend zone, he’s buried you in it, 6 feet deep)

**Ichigo Kurosaki:**

You come across Ichigo while he's practicing his swordsmanship, determination in his eyes. Summoning your courage, you confess, "Ichigo, you've sliced through my defenses and taken hold of my heart." He blinks, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Uh, thanks, I think?"

When the line doesn’t work:

You try to engage in meaningful conversations with Ichigo, sharing your thoughts and feelings in hopes he'll pick up on your affection. He appreciates your openness and considers you a close friend, but he doesn't seem to see your feelings beyond that. "It's nice having someone I can talk to like this." (Rukia whacks him for being dense which only angers him, and now you’re stuck watching them fight)

**Uryuu Ishida:**

You find Ishida focused on sewing, his hands moving with precision. Taking a deep breath, you say, "Ishida, you mend more than just fabric; you've stitched yourself into my heart." He looks up, a hint of surprise before a small smile graces his lips. "Well, that's an unusual way to put it, but I appreciate the sentiment."

When the line doesn’t work:

You subtly start leaving him embroidered handkerchiefs with little hearts and flowers in the corners, hoping Uryuu will notice the hidden symbols. He admires your attention to detail and craftsmanship, but he assumes it's just your signature touch. "Your work is truly impeccable. You have a true talent for this." (You stab him with a sewing needle and walk away)

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rosielou94 · 6 months

Text

Dinner Date - Hank Loza x Reader (NSFW)

Follow up to Motel Room Candles

Warnings: slight angst, Hank basically being a Master Chef, age gap, p in v, oral (f and m receiving), cliff hanger ending!!

Words: 2.140

A/N: This is part 2 of my Hank Loza fic. I'm hoping to get Part 3 up ASAP as this storyline has me hooked.

Hank’s hands trembled slightly as he laid the table, adjusting the knife and fork until it was “just right.” The light from the candles he’d placed in the centre of the table glowed softly, reflecting their delicate light off the walls of the kitchen. Nervously wiping his hands on his jeans, Hank took a swig of beer before tossing the mushrooms he had sauteing in a pan.

Tonight was special; not only was it your first night together outside of a crappy motel, but it was also Hank’s first night cooking for you. He’d headed down to Felipe’s store first thing this morning, picking out two of the finest steaks before marinading them in his signature mix of herbs and spices. He’d made some homemade thick-cut fries and the peppercorn sauce that would finish off the meal was bubbling away nicely. Hank’s mom was out at Bingo with some of her friends tonight, and Hank jumped at the chance to have you over. Consuela had guessed her son was having someone special over, and she’d happily linger at the Bingo club to give him precious time with his new lady. She didn’t know who you were, but she knew you made her son very happy. He was a changed man these last few weeks.

The doorbell rang and Hank jumped, marvelling over how you had turned him – the usual stoic, unmoving hulk of a man – into an excited, jumpy teenager. He smoothed down his shirt, one he’d bought especially for the occasion, took a deep breath, and opened the door. You stood before him in a figure-hugging calf-length blue dress, a bottle of wine in your hand. “Hey,” you smiled, blown away by the sight of a Hank in a crisp white shirt. The sleeves strained against his huge arms, the tattoos on his chest visible through the undone buttons at the top of his neck. Your stomach did a delicious flip at the sight of him, and you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him. “You look amazing!” Running your hand down his shirt, all you could think of was taking it off. “So do you.” Hank took you all in, genuinely stunned that he was lucky enough to have you. He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present and took the bottle of wine from your outstretched hand. “Come on in, dinners almost ready.”

He led you through to the kitchen, the smell of cooking and candles enveloping you. It smelled amazing. “How do you like your steak?” Hank asked. “Medium-rare,” you smiled, “should I pour the wine?” Hank indicated for you to go ahead, and you poured two large glasses, before settling back and watching him. Hank seemed to be in his element; He had multiple pans on the go, humming softly as he worked. The smells of mushrooms, steak and the sauce came together in a mouth-watering combination and as you watched him work your heart swelled. You were head over heels for this man. Hank dished up and you were instantly blown away by this man’s talent when it came to cooking. The steak was melt-in-the-mouth, the fries crispy on the outside but fluffy on the inside, and the peppercorn sauce was the best you’d ever tasted. “You’re a man of many talents,” you smiled, “this food is incredible.” Hank’s blushing cheeks were visible, even in the dim light of the candles and he reached across the table to squeeze your hand. “I wish I could cook for you every night,” he smiled sadly. It was just his luck that he would meet the woman of his dreams, but that she’d be the one person he couldn’t have. The daughter of El Padrino was strictly off-limits. You father wanted you to have a good life, one away from crime and violence, and falling in love with a member of the MC wasn’t what he wanted for you. He'd tried his best to shield you, but the MC was your family too. As you looked at Hank from across the table, at his soft brown eyes that gazed so adoringly at you, you wanted nothing more than him.

After dinner, you washed up in companionable silence, both knowing what would happen next, but enjoying each other’s company too much to rush things. Your hands brushed every now again, as Hank handed you the clean dishes to dry. He’d put on a soft soul playlist that quietly played in the background and you wondered if you’d ever felt as content as you did in this very moment. After you’d finished cleaning up, Hank poured another glass of wine. He handed it to you, and you set it down, pulling him to you by the lapels of his shirt. You kissed, Hank moaning as your tongue flicked gently against his. He pushed you back against the counter, your body slotting perfectly in between his. His large hands caressed your hips, your waist, moving slowly up before cupping your cheeks. “I love you,” he whispered, not quite realising what he was saying until the words had left his mouth. The only person he’d ever said those three words to before were his mother. He instantly regretted opening his mouth as you pulled away from him slightly, a slight smile playing on your lips. “I love you too,” you whispered back, “now take me to bed.”

Whisking you up in his arms, Hank carried you through to his bedroom. You noticed the room was mostly bare, save for a bed, a side table and small built-in closet. You guessed he didn’t need much here seeing as he spent most of his time at the Club House, but then you spotted a few polaroids on his bedside table, ones you’d taken in the motel room the other night. You were snuggled up together, your heads touching, both smiling at the camera. You’d given them to Hank, and completely forgotten about them, but seeing them now you couldn’t help but smile. “You big softie,” you teased, kissing him as he lay you gently on top of his sheets. “I like having them there,” he said, “it reminds me this isn’t a dream.” He didn’t dare keep any photos of you on his phone in case anyone saw them. If he had it his way, all his memory would taken up with photos of you, but the two polaroids were all he had. Sometimes, when he’d had a heavy day and he couldn’t sleep, he’d look at the photos to remind himself that there was some good in the world.

Hank moved between your thighs, sliding your dress up to your waist. Your wetness was already visible through your underwear, and he ran a finger over the soft material, smiling as you arched hips into his touch. “Please,” you whined, desperate to feel his fingers inside you. “So impatient,” Hank smiled, his finger trailing up the skin of your inner thigh, feeling your body shiver against him. “Hank,” you pleaded, “please.” “Ok querida,” he said, smiling at your neediness as he slid your underwear down over your legs. You spread your legs wide, letting him take all of you in as his fingers stroked your slick folds, ghosting over your clit before he lowered his mouth to your centre. You cried as his tongue replaced his fingers, greedily lapping up the sweet taste of you, the sounds of your moans spurring him on. He slid a finger inside, your tight walls clenching against him, before sliding in one more. “Fuck,” you whispered, your hands gripping Hank’s hair as he curled his fingers in a “come here” motion, stroking a spot deep within you. You could feel the pleasure building, your thighs shaking as Hank worked his tongue and fingers expertly. This man knew your body so well, knew just what turned you on. Hank moaned against your swollen bud, the taste of you driving him insane. His spare hand snaked its way up to your chest, taking your nipple in between his fingers. He squeezed gently, enjoying the moan that escaped you. “Harder,” you breathed, “I’m so close.” Hank obliged, flicking your pert nipple and squeezing it a little tighter. With a shuddering cry, your hands gripped his hair, and you came around his fingers, you hips arching into his tongue that still circled your clit. Every nerve ending in your body screamed for more, and Hank carried you through your orgasm, gently stroking your soft walls until your cry became a soft moan, your thighs quivering.

You lay breathless on his sheets, your chest heaving as you came down from your high. Hank was certain he’d never seen anything so beautiful in all his life. You looked so perfect, your hair splayed out around you, your cheeks flushed. You sat up, hastily undoing the buttons of his shirt, giggling as he lifted your dress over your head. You fumbled with the button on his jeans, desperate to have him naked in front of you. As you pulled down his underwear, his dick was already hard, pre-cum leaking from the tip. You took him in your mouth, Hank rewarding you with a loud moan. Your hand wrapped around the base of his cock, making up what you couldn’t fit in. He was big, and it made your jaw ache, but you loved looking up at the blissed out look on his face whenever you took him like this. Your tongue swirled over his tip, your hand and mouth working together. “I wanna cum inside you, querida,” Hank hissed, pulling back. You pouted, enjoying the hold you had over him, and he pulled you in for a deep kiss. He settled at the top of the bed, his back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. You lowered yourself onto him, your legs either side, your arms wrapped round each other. This position felt so intimate, your bodies so closely connected as you rocked you hips, Hank stretching you out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. You sighed into his lips, his hands gripping your hair as you moved. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips grazing your jawline and neck. “I love you too,” you smiled, your back arching as his thumb began to stroke soft, slow circles over your clit. No matter how many times you had this man, you always wanted more.

Hank rocked his hips in time with yours, your bodies perfectly in sync as your pleasure built. He loved watching the expressions on your face as you rode him, the soft moans you made driving him crazy. Your breasts grazed across his chest as he pulled you closer to him, the smell of your perfume and shampoo intoxicating. He could never get enough of you, he was always left wanting more. He’d never felt like this before, never been so at the mercy of one person. Hank could feel himself getting close, not wanting this moment to end but the way your body moved against his, he couldn’t help himself. “Fuck, querida,” he growled, arching his hips hard into you as he came, a hoarse moan erupting deep within him as he spilled into you. You pushed yourself against him, your own orgasm rippling through your body as you felt Hank cum inside you, his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer. You stayed like that, your heartbeats and breath slowing down as you came down off your high. “We’ll make this work, Hank,” you said, gently kissing him. You’d always known this man was special, but after tonight, you couldn’t bear the thought of him not being in your life. It broke your heart just to think of it. “I promise you, we’ll make it work.”

Outside Hank’s house, Marcus Alvarez pulled to a stop. He had some club business he wanted to run by him, as Hank was a man El Padrino could trust. He was wise, he had his head screwed on and he never made irrational decisions. But, as Marcus approached the house, he noticed your car parked outside. It was unmistakable, with its custom paint job that Coco had given it the day you brought it to the MC. Why would you be here? None of the lights were on in the house, but Hank’s bike was parked out front. A cold, creeping dread slithered its way down Marcus’ spine as he came to the slow, but gut-wrenching realisation of what his daughter and his close friend were probably doing. Marcus gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. This absolutely wouldn’t fucking stand. He sat there watching the house for a few minutes, his anger bubbling up inside until it threatened to spill over. He thought about breaking the door down, storming in and grabbing you, but he knew he wouldn’t like what he saw. No, he’d bide his time, wait for the right moment. Hank would see what happened when you messed with El Padrino.

#hank loza and you #hank loza x reader #hank loza #hank tranq loza #mayans mc #mayans fx

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 9 months

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Hey! What about 23.. in relief with Hangster and Reader? Idk if that's something your willing to do so feel free to say no ❤️🖤

Hi Alayna! This is my first time writing a pseudo-threesome and I hope you love it! Here is Kiss #23 in relief with Hangster and Reader! 🥰😘🥰😘🥰😘

Two May Be Perfect (To Kiss)

You’ve been stuck, stuck between a rock and a hard place, between Scylla and Charybdis, honestly it doesn’t matter what you’re stuck between, you’re just stuck. It still surprises you, sometimes, to think that two men would be so enthralled by you that they'd fight for your attention. Jake Seresin and Bradley Bradshaw have both been extraordinarily tenacious in jousting for your attention. You like both men, honestly you do. But you can't figure out which man you like more.

Bradley never fails to make you smile and you feel like you could talk to him about anything and everything. Jake - Jake is different. You have fun with him, every moment you spend with him is genuinely unabashedly fun. He's an adventurous soul who brings out the adventurer in you. How could you choose?

But before you could choose, both of them are called onto a special mission, a mission which has your heart aflutter and worry shrouding your mind. Six months later, you're no closer to a decision than you were when they left. It's a fantastic time to be having this particular revelation, standing at the docks in a sundress the color of Jake's eyes, covered in the hibiscus flowers Bradley prefers on his shirts.

Who do you go to first? Jake? Or Bradley? Who do you kiss first? Who do you hold first? Who do you speak to first? Who do you tell first that you worried about them? Jake? Or Bradley? Bradley? Or Jake? Your mind is running around in circles and just as you're about to turn tail and head home, twin calls of your name rend the air.

Their smiles make your knees weak and before you can think, you're running into their arms. Twin bands of steel curl around your form and twin kisses press against your head with each stuttering breath you take.

"Hullo, darling," It's Jake calling you that, you know it as well as you can feel the chest you're resting against.

"Hi, sweetheart." Bradley's voice is just as welcoming as Jake releases you and you curl into his arms.

"I'm so happy you are both home. I'm so happy you're both safe." Your voice is tremulous and too soft.

"If you're happy we're safe, sweetheart, then how come you haven't greeted us properly?" You can't hide your incredulous smile or the shocked look you share with Jake, who looks deliciously broad in his khakis.

But dutifully, hesitatingly, you step forward, curling your hands around the base of his neck and pressing your lips to Bradley's. Where the kiss begins gentle and sweet it slowly grows in passion and heat. You pour your relief into the kiss, your heart into the kiss. When Bradley releases you from his solid, firm, warm grasp, you spin shakily to launch yourself at Jake. He's smirking as you kiss him too, each brush of his lips and plundering swipe of his tongue sending you spiraling.

It feels like both forever and not long enough when he pulls away.

"Darling. Darling, c'mon. Take us home, beautiful. Let us show you how much we missed you?" It's with a huge smile on your face that you lead them to your car. Maybe you don't have to choose at all?

Want to request a Kiss and a pair for me to write? Guidelines are here.

Want to see other Kisses I’ve written? Here’s the full Masterlist.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #kiss writing game #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader

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hhawks · 2 years

Text

GUNPOWDER EMPIRES.

✰ starring: roy mustang x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: after the war against ishval, your trauma catches up to you. the only way to leave it all behind is to bring the central command to its knees. ✰ content: descriptions of war, killing (nondescript), mentioned staging suicide, trauma, slight ptsd, descriptions of arson and setting fire to government property, the amestris government is shit and roy mustang is love ✰ warnings: gunplay, fearplay, temperature play (since roy uses fire<3), unprotected sex, breeding kink, slight babytrapping, watersports. i am horny for this man. ✰ word count: 10.5k of unedited, unbetaed horny. i did not plan for it to be this long ✰ a/n: THIS IS SO LATE I'M SO SORRY but this is a part of @cyancherub's back from the dead collab <3 thank you for letting me join sweetheart i'm sorry i'm so late

amestris’ centre city is cold at night.

you think maybe the skyline is pretty enough from up here, the wind whistling and the nearest intelligent life miles away from you. you think maybe the distance can distract you from the pressing weight of your thoughts, the responsibilities you shoulder.

being a state alchemist isn’t easy. you knew this when they approached you, when you took the tests, when you so rigorously trained yourself day and night to become one. but none of that prepared you for this. none of that prepared you for the heavy heart you carry, that sags in your chest and pours out of your sternum. no one could have warned you of the nightmares and the shadows that haunt you.

haven’t you found yourself here before? on this very rooftop, watching the lights flicker. surrounded by the world and yet, so alone in the thick of it. you work, you eat, you sleep. is there more of a life beyond that? should there be?

somewhere in the distance, you hear a bell toll, signaling midnight. it echoes in the distance, soft and dulled once it reaches you, like the gentle lull of a white cap against the shore. you breathe in, the cold night air stinging your nose. you need to go.

“goodbye,” you whisper. to the city, to the government you had sworn yourself to, the people you gave your life to protect. you say goodbye to the life you had lived up to now.

and as you leave, you think of him.

you say your goodbyes to him too.

your first day in central command, donning the blue shoulder mark with gold insignia, you walked alone into the hallways. you were placed under mustang for care, just to be safe, to guide you along the idiosyncrasies of this outrageous position. “what’s your schtick?” he asked you on your first day.

“my schtick?”

“you know. what makes you special? what’s your research on?”

“oh,” you chuckled nervously. “well it’s a little bit of everything.”

he offered you a cup of tea. you refused. “c’mon. don’t be shy. tell me.”

“no i’m— i specialise in imitating people’s power. like, your flame alchemy, or tucker’s chimeras.” you crossed your legs in your chair. “it’s really a little bit of everything.”

“couldn’t find something you liked so you came after all of us, huh?” he laughed, pouring his own cup of tea.

“it’s still very… in the works,” you giggled. “i’m gonna need some help.”

“i got your back,” he promised, soft and gentle. almost genuine.

roy mustang was a charmer. you’d heard of him way before your alchemist exam, along the grapevine twisting through the streets of amestris. manipulative, sure. lazy, of course. you watched him then, kicking his feet up on his oak desk, not even minding the paperwork spread across the surface. “tell me about yourself.”

“i started practising alchemy with my fath—”

“about yourself, not your alchemy.”

you were taken aback for a second, the sour taste of surprise on the tip of your tongue. “not—” you stopped short. when has anyone ever asked you about anything but your alchemy? “i’m from rush valley.”

“really?” he cracked a small grin. “i’ve never been. tell me about it.”

and so you did, telling him about the town’s centre that saw the rise of a lot of shops, unique cuisine. the rocky cliffs that loom over the land, and how you’d lived just a little out of the way, out of the city centre. “and coming to central city, it’s been…”

“weird?” mustang finished for you. “loud? busy?”

“all of those things,” you breathed, but still searching for the right word to grace your tongue. “but also, promising.”

the ishvalan civil war was easy on nobody. king bradley’s order #3066 had state alchemists doled out like weapons on the front line of ishval. you never wanted to; no one did. but it was an ultimatum; work for the fürher and steal millions of innocent lives, or lose your own. (you would have picked the latter. you should have.)

“you can’t say no,” roy told you, hands met in an uneasy camaraderie in front of him, placed squarely on his large oak table. “i’m sorry, major.”

“you call me major like you aren’t in the same rank,” you laughed, trying to ease the tension between the two of you. the knowledge, the impending judgement of the two of you hung like a stench between you, pregnant with silence, thick with nervousness. it clogged up your throat and stings your nose, and you could tell by the waver in roy’s voice that he felt the same.

“you are still my subordinate.” he chuckled, leaning back slightly. you both wondered in what world you’ll ever be able to relax again.

the clock ticked, seconds falling away. you’d been in this room, his office so much that you started to see parts of you in it; an extra cloak you’d left on your last visit, your favourite pen in his mug-turned-pen-holder, little sticky notes you’d left him, asking can i have my pen back? and please give me back my pen. and STOP STEALING MY PENS.

“will you be okay?” he asked, his voice softer now. like he was treading on water, on eggshells to see how you would respond. you look at him, curious black meeting your gaze, and you have to smile. have to brave through your own inhibition. because you rely on each other, you and roy. it was silly, it was naive to think that he thought of you as any more than a pesky colleague, a friend to waste time with. but sitting here, in the thick of your arriving judgement, divine intervention, you couldn’t help but want to lean over. plant a kiss on the bridge of his nose, tell him, i’ll be okay. we’ll be okay.

but you couldn’t. because roy mustang is roy mustang, serial flirt and untouchable. he was regal and elegant and everything anyone could wish to be. but beyond all of that he was your friend—your superior, someone who put his life on the line for you and his friends time and time again. you had a debt to him you could never repay, and admitting your feelings would only worsen the burden of it. so you sat where you were, and watched the crease in his brow deepen. watched him from afar as you always had.

“we’ll be fine, roy.” you assured him.

“we’ll be fine,” he agreed. “but they won’t.”

the morning of the extermination came, and you stood, surrounded by ash and debris and the echoes of screaming children. you could barely recognise the town anymore, bloodshed and tears twisting through the veins of the place. the ground beneath you shakes, and you couldn’t let yourself look at the destruction you were contributing to. the pleas, the looks on their faces before you knocked them to dust.

somewhere behind you, roy was thinking the exact same thing. one meticulated snap after another. a power promised to serve and protect, exploited to kill and conquer.

you ended the war. the state alchemists ended the war. but at what cost?

“the hero of ishval,” roy gnashed his teeth together, the two gilded stars added to his shoulder marks glinting in the reflection of the fluorescent light. “that’s what they’re calling me.”

his skill and notoriety earned him that title. his dedication to his service, his passion to go above and beyond for his state. but you watched him crumble to dust when you returned to amestris. watched him cry. the hero of ishval, reduced to a little boy who just wanted to be told good job.

“i know,” you whispered, soft and delicate against his skin.

“i killed those people,” he continued. “and they’re calling me a hero.”

fucked up, wasn’t it? amestris’ best soldiers, choking back tears as they were awarded for their valiant efforts, for their skill and magnitude. for causing irreparable damage to a town that never meant harm. for killing innocent lives. for being a part of a system that exploited their men and women, using them as weapons when they had promised to protect.

you held roy and he held you. for a few hours you sat like that, a fragile man refusing to cry, and you, trying to hold it up for him to rely on you. but the moment he reached up to you, lips next to your ear, and whispered, “you’re allowed to cry, major.”, you felt the unfamiliar pinprick of tears welling up behind your eyelids, the sting in your nose.

“i didn’t want to do that,” you whimpered. “i didn’t want to—”

“i know, i know,” he hushed you softly, rubbing your back. your mind subconsciously drifted to the locked latch on his office door, for fear anyone would come in and witness a primitive moment between two friends, trauma-ridden and guilt-stricken, holding one another like the world burnt down around them. and perhaps it did. the world you’d once known.

because the ishvalan civil war changed people. the ishvalan civil war changed you.

you tried to leave, tried to resign from service but they didn’t let you.

“you’re too valuable to us as an alchemist, major,” general grand had set his foot down. “unfortunately, we cannot accept your resignation.”

you clenched your fist, your jaw locking. “yes, sir.” you grunted through your teeth, eyeing mustang who, lingering by the doorway, avoided your gaze. it was not said, but you can hear it in grand’s smile.

run away, and we will find you.

and so it was settled; you would kill yourself to run away.

the plan is simple. set it on fire, and die.

of course, you don’t actually die. you leave your badge and uniform and shoulder marks there next to a mutilated, burnt corpse surrounded by raging fire, and you escape. you run from amestris, from the burden of knowing you killed innocent people.

you’d watched mustang’s fire alchemy enough to understand the mechanics of it. you knew that riza’s tattoo held the secrets to her father’s research, and mustang had, at her insistence, scorched sections of it off after he mastered it, but you’d seen enough that you could replicate it with fine little flaws that would go unnoticed to the naked eye.

and so you’ll use that. throwing mustang under the bus wasn’t your intention. you didn’t mean for him to be your scapegoat, but seeing how much time you’ve spent with him, his alchemy is the one you know best. that you could replicate without major implications or fuck ups. and so you will, because you have nothing left to lose.

the alleyway is narrow, dim-lit by the glowing orange fluorescent of the streetlamp that looms over you. little puddles of water ripple along the surface as you splash through them, the sair stuffy and damp. you have to get to the central library; you’d been there many times previously, roaming hallways and narrow aisles, picking up documents for your superiors, doing research for your yearly report. the place, while still well-secured and protected, is still the least patrolled of the central government buildings.

you slip your hood up over your head, pulling your mask up. you give yourself one more chance to back out, to step away and go home. what are you doing? all this, all the trouble you’d been through over the years, all the friends you’d made, the work you put it; are you finally ready to throw it all away?

yes. you are.

you pad softly towards the back of the library, the shrubbery and dark green shadows hide the cans of kerosene that you’d left here in preparation. you pull on your gloves— a makeshift version of mustang’s— and pick up one of the cans. you had no doubts in the nature of your alchemy; you knew you could start a fire. but the precision, the power, the strength to keep it going as long as needed, that was a skill that only mustang had mastered.

it drools from the spout along the little pasture at the back of the building, and you’re careful to follow the plan you’d drawn out in your head, memorising the schedules, the paths of the patrolling officers. stepping cautiously as you come up to one of the half open windows you had left open in a room that went mostly unused, setting the can down before hoisting your legs over the sill, sliding inside.

you reach over, grabbing the can and pulling it up into your embrace. you huff a small breath, slow and hesitant, looking up at the rows and rows of bookshelves that line the walls.

just this room, you think. whatever is in here, people could miss it. hopefully the guards patrolling the library would find the room before the fire spreads too much, and by then, you’d be long gone. the stench of kerosene has stained your hands, but you pay it no mind as you begin to soak the old wooden bookshelves in pale yellow. you should, in theory, have time— the patrolling officer on duty should still be on the other side of the building.

when you’re done, you’re out of breath. the kerosene fumes are getting to you; you need out, and out quickly. you let the can clatter to the floor, testing out your flame alchemy on your right hand. the can hits the floor with a loud thud, and you shrug it off. no one should be near enough to hear, you think. right?

god hates you. god is watching and praying on your downfall, because at that very moment you hear approaching footsteps and you freeze in your tracks. “is there someone in here?” comes a muffled voice through the door, low, commanding, familiar.

the smell of the kerosene has to be obvious, wafting through the bottom of the door. you need to go; now. but the voice comes again, “hello?” and a shiver trickles down your spine.

it’s roy.

what the fuck is he doing here? you know state alchemists are sometimes called in to fill in for patrollers who call in sick or are posted elsewhere, a little placeholder before they find a new regular. but you didn’t know— you thought they only asked majors, nothing above the lowest rank of alchemy. here you are, staging the scene for your fake suicide and here comes your superior, the only man you’ve trusted in your life, ruining months of planning, weeks of preparation.

go away. go away.

“i know there’s someone in here.”

go away. please, go away.

“the fuck— is that…”

the handle of the door jiggles, and you think. stay, explain and risk him selling you out to the central command, and spending the rest of your sorry life in central prison? or leave now, leave the kerosene and the soaked bookshelves to be found and your meticulous planning, obtaining and memorising routines and schedule, all for naught? when would you have another chance like this?

as quiet as you can, you snap your fingers together. just a small flame would do, anything to just get the fire started. but your trembling hands fail you, the leather of the gloves slipping past each other without enough friction for the gases to instantaneously react and pop. the door swings open, and it’s too late to escape.

“major?” roy looks at you, and you force yourself to meet his gaze.

“colonel,” you greet him, your voice threatening to shake. your throat squeezes.

the look in his eyes is devastating. the softness against onyx glass, both confusion and understanding mixing in a melting pot of empathy. “major, what are you doing here?”

you watch him closely. note the holster on his hip, his quivering, hesitant hands. he stands at the doorway, slouched slightly. “i could ask you the same thing,” you whisper.

the smell, the can lying at your feet, the slow, steady drip of excess kerosene. if he pieces it together now, he doesn’t show it. you’re frozen where you stand, your hands behind you shaking too much to attempt to snap, posture poised to escape by foot. “don’t tell me you were about to do what i think you’re about to do, major.” he says so softly, calmly it makes you angry. how dare he patronise you at a time like this. please, just be angry. yell, scream shout. you wish he would give you a reason to fight.

but instead he’s taking his hand off the holster on his hip, holding them up in faux surrender, and steps closer to you.

“roy,” you voice wavers, and you curse it. “leave.”

“i can’t do that,” he whispers back.

you need to distract him. you need to get your fire going, or somehow get him to start it. why won’t your fire work? how could it fail you now, after months of practice? how do you distract him? your eyes dart around the dim-lit room, searching for a way out. an escape. something to throw at him and run.

“major,” he begins. “i know it’s hard. we’re all in the same boat as you.”

“shut up,” you hiss, “you don’t know anything.”

he shrugs, dropping his arms. “you think i don’t know anything? you think i wasn’t there killing those people next to you?”

you bite your tongue. it’s unfair of you to take out this anger on roy. unfair of you to invalidate his own experience when you fought side by side. distract him. distract him.

“don’t do this, major.” he reaches for you, gloved hand outstretched. distract him. “don’t do this. you have so much amazing potential as an alchemist, and you’re sweet and funny and all the other alchemists love you.” roy pauses for a second, weighing the words on his tongue. distract him, distract him and set it ablaze. “...i—”

you don’t let him finish. you take the last step forward, closing the gap between the two of you and pushing your lips onto his, sealing his words in his mouth. he’s taken aback, stumbling slightly with a slight squeak of surprise, before his eyes flutter shut. he relaxes into your unwelcome welcome kiss, and your mind’s reeling a mile a minute. you’d always wondered what roy’s lips felt like, the soft breath against your skin. you never thought he’d feel this soft.

now. now. now. your hands move wildly behind your back, taking this welcome distraction to finally produce your flames but your wrist is met with sudden resistance, a warm grip wrapping around you. “i’m not stupid, major,” roy breathes against your lips. but you’re looking at each other now, eyes glimmering, and he’s the one who presses his lips back to yours, hands wrapped around your wrists, slipping off your gloves. “be a good girl now.”

ruined. ruined. ruined. you push him off of you, glowering at him with a retort on the tip of your tongue, but you watch him light your gloves on fire, evaporating within seconds, dull ash flittering to the ground. “fuck you,” you hiss. “i fucking hate you.”

“you don’t mean that,” he murmurs, eyes shimmering, backing you into the corner. your hip hits the corner of a desk, piles and piles of folders scattered against the surface. you yelp softly, but roy swallows your noises, cupping your cheeks in his big, leather-clad palms and kissing you softly. he's touching you, handling you with such affection, such mirth and adoration in his eyes. you'd never imagine in any lifetime that you'd be right here, inches away from his lips."do you mean that?"

no. no, you don't, and it becomes an ache in your throat; a fire to be sated, to be extinguished with his lips on yours. but you're so angry, so frustrated that all your plans have been for naught, putting a fierceness behind your kisses. it's gnashing teeth and biting lips, ragged breathing. fuck you, you think, curving into the swell of his jaw. fuck you. let me die. but none of it escapes past your lips. not when your pinned dead to his gaze, like a small flame behind the dark of his eyes. kindling, splintering fire.

"that's my girl," roy breathes, a small shudder leaving his lips. the smell of kerosene becomes familiar to you, the burning in your nostrils nothing more than a sting now. "up. get up."

"fuck you," you say again, but comply. there has to be some kind of nicotine, some kind of drug in his spit because you need him to kiss you. some kind of fire in his fingertips, because for a second you'd forgotten the whole reason you were in this room. all you can think about is how much you crave his touch. "fuck you."

he hoists you by your hips, up onto the table, shoving the contents to the floor. your breathing hitches and you pull him in by his collar, mashing your lips together. it's messy, clumsy, graceless, but neither of you care. all you can think about is the way he's gripping the sides of the table, almost shaking with the amount of force he has to reign in. you arch along with one another, lips wet and soft and warm.

"roy," you whisper, intonating like a whine, and you fucking hate yourself for giving in so easy. for listening to the ache in your tummy, the pull of his weight on you. maybe, your mind tries to scramble, the only part still rational. maybe you can still distract him.

you curse the body that has betrayed you, but when his hands come up to your thighs, spreading them with little grace, and he says, "i know darlin'. i know." you can’t seem to find it in you to push him away. can’t find it in you to disobey him.

your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in deeper. his hair is soft, smooth, jet black as you run your fingers through it, tugging at the roots. he lets out a small groan, breathy and airy and you relish in it.

you ruined everything. everything.

it doesn't help for you to repeat these things in your head. it doesn't, because all it does is make you want him more, to kiss him and to conquer his battles. to prove him wrong, to show him what a disservice he did upon himself trying to stop you now. you need to make him want you, need you. you need to string him out, and cut him off.

and so you keep kissing him. kiss him until you're breathless, your voice lost in his throat, his spit dripping down yours. you're pulling him, more and more, over you that you collapse together against the large oak desk. you're spilling out of his hands and he's overflowing yours, the lewd sounds your mouth filling the gaps of air between you. "major," he breathes. "god, how long have you been wanting this?"

years. forever. ever since i met you. "i don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you spit at him, tugging him by the lapels of his jacket, hovering over your quivering body. "shut up and kiss me."

"yeah?" he taunts you. "want me to kiss you here, in the middle of your little arson case? want me to be nice to you when you were about to burn a building down? maybe you are a little stupid," he flicks your head. "you don't get to tell me what to do here, sweetheart."

you almost whine. almost thrash in his arms, almost throw a tantrum when he moves away from you, refusing the chase of your lips. "nuh uh," he continues. "you've been a very, very bad little girl."

the situation is ridiculous. what is his point in doing this, in taking away from you the only thing you've ever been brave enough to see through? he straightens up, gazing down at your figure sprawled against the dark oak table, glistening in the moonlight.

"you're beautiful," he whispers, dragging his fingers over your exposed skin. his touch lingers, raising goosebumps in his wake, and you shudder. ""what are you thinking about?"

the slick in between my legs. your hands on my skin. "how to set this shitty place on fire," you lie, gnashing your teeth together. "how much i want you to get off me."

roy chuckles, running a knuckle between your thighs. "are you sure that's what you're thinking about?" his skin makes contact with your heat through the layers of your uniform, and you keen. "something tells me otherwise."

you try to move, try to reach for his lapels or his coat or anything for some kind of leverage against him, to pull him down. but he stops you, gripping both wrists in one large palm.

"don't even think about it, major." he breathes against the skin of your thigh. "maybe i need to teach you a little lesson, hm?"

how did you even get here? in all the ways you'd imagined that this night would end, you'd never imagined this happening. not pinned under colonel roy mustang, his hands gripping yours above your head, some kind of tension palpable enough that you can hardly wade through it.

"you have no idea how much i've thought about this," he chuckles. "always wondered what you'd look like fuckin' powerless under me. never thought you'd be so fuckin' pretty, yeah?"

how much i've thought about this. your eyes snap up to meet his, a look of confusion crossing your features. "you— what?"

"don't pretend like you don't know, major," his fingers trace the seam of your pants, directly along your cunt. "you know what i'm talking about."

"no, i fuckin' don't," your retort catches you off guard, a small huff of breath exhaled through your lips in the shape of those words. "you—"

"and i know," roy's hands, skilled and gloved, shift to the buckle of your uniform pants. "that you've wanted this too. haven't you?"

you look at him. you don't know what you look like, and frankly you're scared you'd be humiliated if you did. because your eyes, rimmed with desperation, some sort of sick want to be held and told, good job, i'm proud of you, peer up at him innocently.

"answer me."

"yes." it's out of your mouth before you can stop it, but you don't bother hiding it. "yes, yes."

roy mustang undoes the buckle of your pants so swiftly you make it a mental note to ask him why he's so skilled at removing women's buckles, but it's lost to you the moment the stiff, starchy material falls away. the air is cold and his palms are so hot, burning you with every simmering touch he graces your unmarked skin.

it's almost ridiculous, the way he shimmies your pants down your legs. "c'mon, help me out a little here, sweetheart." he grunts, and you help him, lift your hips up just a little to let him in just a little more. it slides off with regrettable ease, and you're left pantsless in a cold room.

so thank god his lips are immediately on yours, because you suck the warmth right out of him that way. you take, take, take, your freezing fingertips to his burning ones and you keep taking until it hurts, until you're dizzy with heat. roy warms you up so nicely, snaking his arms behind your back and pulling you close to him, a tight embrace that you can't even begin to count how much years since you've felt.

"baby," he whispers, and the pet name makes you shiver, your core quivering. "tell me. do you think you've been a good girl these days?"

you look at him, kiss drunk, his lips swollen and red and so kissable. "no," you answer truthfully. "i've been far from it."

he gasps mockingly, kissing your forehead. "maybe you aren't that much of an airhead, baby,"

you flush furiously. on any other day, in any other circumstance you would have retorted, shot back with a comment of your own, but you can't. you don't know why. you're sunk, surrounded by waters, tossing you every which way, shallow enough to keep you alive, but deep enough that you could barely reach out of the water, call for help. you've sunken deep into this headspace, and you do what roy has never seen you do.

you whine. and you beg.

"need to feel you," you whisper. it's ridiculous, the rational part of your brain yells, but you can't seem to reconcile your thoughts to your actions, your words. "roy, roy."

"you think you deserve it?" he tuts, another finger rubbing a circle through the thin fabric of your panties, and you buck into his hands, pushing back for more, more. "i don't think you do. i don't think you deserve anything."

that makes you livid. it makes you flush, your cunt ache. "you're terrible," you spit. "if you won't make me cum, let me do it myself."

"i didn't say i wasn't gonna let you cum," he grins, pearly whites flashing fluorescent at you. "i just said i don't think you deserve me touching you just yet."

he bends down now, nosing against the damp spot on the centre of your panties, trailing soft kisses against the skin of your inner thighs, the junction for your legs meet your body, the sensitive skin between your legs and where you need him most. "what do you think, baby?" he whispers, peering up at you from between your legs. "do you think you deserve this?" he licks a stripe along the wet spot, and you clench, the ghostly feeling of his tongue against you brushing you against the wall of your orgasm.

"roy," is all you can manage.

"i asked you a question, major." he sticks his tongue out, pressing it flat against the crotch of your panties, the warmth and heat of his mouth making you gush even more slick. god, he's such a fucking tease, hands behind his back and refusing to touch you even as you buck your hips forward to meet his mouth. "answer."

"no," you almost sob. "no, i don't deserve it."

he smiles. wolfish, sinister. "that's right." he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. "you don't deserve this. i'm so fuckin' nice to give this to you, right? say yes."

"yes."

"yes, who?"

you look down at him, and he peers back at you, curious, demanding. you rake your hazy mind, trying to think whether he had mentioned something in passing to you, whether you keep the notes he's written for you. but nothing comes to mind. daddy? master? colonel?

what finds fruition on your tongue is, yes, sir.

roy mustang groans. groans, guttural and horrendously sexy, against the clothed dampness of your pussy. "sir, huh?" he teases you. "you like when your superior fucks you?"

another question. another, "yes, sir."

you can see the way it makes him flush, the tips of his ears turning red as he listens to you. "good girl," he grunts, licking another fat stripe up against the seam of your panties. "good fuckin' girl."

the feeling of his tongue on you, couples with the hands that slowly, slowly slither up from your calves to your knees to your thighs, to burn you alive. you can't help but whine, humping back against the ridge of his nose, the feeling of his tongue. "sir, sir," you whine. "wanna— wanna feel you."

you're gonna be the death of me, he thinks, looking up at you with an obsidian gaze. "want to feel me, baby?" he asks, slipping a single finger under the elastic of your panties. "want me to get rid of this stupid piece of cotton?" you nod frantically, your hands clutching the ridges at the head of the desk, vision blurry. "then beg."

when roy makes a command to you, you never hesitate to abide by it. never hesitate to drop what you're doing to join him for a meeting, or come with him for lunch. you hand him your pens when he asks for one. you do what he tells you, like a good subordinate. so now, it's in your very nature to obey him completely. "please, please sir. take off my panties, please."

"more."

"roy, fuck, please. please, pleasepleaseplease."

he looks at you, some kind of sick, twisted pity in his eyes. your voice, hoarse and strained, pitching upwards in a plea, it melts him. he, untouchable, invincible, reared to his knees. roy mustang kisses you once, twice, sweet spit slick on your lips. “good girl,” he whispers, and his fingertips dig underneath the flimsy cotton of your panties.

plain white, stretching over the curve of your hips and ass, a pretty pink little bow in the centre of the elastic. “pretty,” he whispers, almost mesmerising. “pretty little thing.”

he keeps his promises. always does. he tugs, once harsh, one more time gentle, and your hips lift intrinsically, the cotton falling away, down your hips to your thighs, revealing to him your slick pussy, cunt glistening with wet. he chokes back a groan, but his eyes never leave the string of slick that connects your skin to your panties. his eyes grow impossibly darker, gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“you’ve been keeping this pussy away from me, huh?” he taunts, pulling your panties further down so it dangles by your ankles, before slipping them off completely, tucking it into his pocket. “years of fuckin’ teasing me, hiding this princess cunt away from me.”

you mewl. “shut up,” you moan, swivelling your hips to back up closer to him. “you— you never wanted me.”

“lies. fuckin’ lies.” he seethes, hunching over you. “look at you. you think i never wanted you? you’re irresistible, fucking insatiable. kept you around hoping one day you’ll cave.” he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “and i’m fucking glad i waited.”

the words make you shiver. make you arch your back to chase more of him, desperate for some kind, any kind of touch.

“be patient,” he huffs, drawing patterns into the plush flesh of your thighs. “you want this, huh? tell me. tell me you’ve always wanted me.” it’s a command but the way his voice pitches upwards, it finishes like a plea. tell me you want this too, he begs. tell me i wasn’t the only one who wanted this.

“yes,” you answer, breathy. “i want— always wanted this,” his hands, warm, so warm, fit like a glove along the curve of your hips, the divots where your torso melds into your legs. “roy, wanted you.”

he groans. “you’re such a bad girl,” you can hear something moving, clunking like metallic, but you can’t keep your eyes open long enough to see, to understand. “need to teach you a lesson, yeah? say yes.”

“yes,” you gasp. “yes sir.”

“bad fucking slut, begging for her superior to fuck her dumb. aren’t you?” his voice is getting frantic, and you feel him moving against you desperately, his hips pressing to your bare, uncovered cunt. his pants, thick and rough, drag along your clit and you stutter out a whine before you feel it.

the hardening bulge in his pants. the painful, excruciating fruition of his desire, prodding against your pussy. fuck. fuck. you want it, need it, more than anything else you’d ever thought about.

“answer me, slut.”

“yes!” you wail, desperate, clinging on to his jacket. it’s infuriating, humiliating that you’re naked waist down, your suit and jacket haphazard on your torso while he’s still picture perfect, kept and clean other than the desperate tent in his pants.

“close your eyes, major,” he commands you, and you frown, mouth open and poised to question him, but you’re met with a stern tap on your cheek and harsh words. “i said, close your eyes.”

you blink back at him, still defiant.

something in his jaw shifts and you don’t see it happening, but his fingers come up to your collarbones, clad in leather and warm. they wrap around your throat, and he gives you a tight squeeze. you gasp, your throat bobbing under the sternness of his hands. “i’m not going to repeat myself, major.”

you can’t retort, not without your voice cutting out, your dignity wavering, so you let your eyes flutter shut. your hands coming down to grasp at his arm, not quite pulling him off, more a kind of grounding, centering yourself as shapes and colours spin behind your eyelids. your cunt throbs, clenching around nothing as he just squeezes harder, and then suddenly lets go.

you stutter through a cough, a gasp, but force your eyes to remain closed. you don’t dare disobey him now, not as you feel him move against you, warm leather tracing down your thighs and lifting up, up, up to expose your bare pussy to the cold air. “s-sir,” you whimper.

“shhhh,” he hushes you, and from the sound of his voice, the vibrations against your core, you can tell where he is; close to your pussy, right above it maybe. it proves right when you feel his tongue, warm, wet, soft run up along the slit of your pussy. you whine, a full body shudder rippling through you, crawling under your skin. “stay.”

the low timbre of his voice convinces you to listen, and stay. stay as he drags his tongue, tantalising, torturous against your cunt, lapping up any of your gush and slick. you can’t see anything, all your trust embedded in the man in front of you as he holds your thighs open, lips right up against your pussy.

roy pauses for a while, the warmth of his tongue and fingers and draping presence leaving you cold for a second before you hear a bit of shuffling, a bit of rustling, shifting. “be good now,” he murmurs. “okay?”

and that’s when you feel it. cold metal, warming up as he drags it up, down along your slick. your eyes shoot open when it dawns upon you what exactly is pressing into your warm skin, a broken gasp tearing through your throat. his gun, his hands on the handle, nowhere near the trigger, guiding the tip against the slit of your cunt. “r-roy—”

“i said, be good,” he grunts, other hand returning to wrap around your throat. “i said i was gonna teach you a lesson, didn’t i?”

you can’t help but clench, can’t help but let your jaw drop open as the barrel rubs against your clit. “oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter through the constriction of your throat. why aren’t you scared? the feeling of the gun against your pussy does nothing to terrify you, but all to arouse you. it’s insane, the chill of the metal material pressing up against your welcoming slit, your pussy subconsciously gushing as it rubs again, and again, and again against the wet of your cunt and pushes in, your back arching into him as his gun fucks you.

“you like my gun?” his voice is rough, scratching against your ear drums. he lowers himself, his thumb and index finger tightening against the pretty column of your throat. “you do, don’t you? don’t even know if i have my safety on, baby. i’m sure i turned it on, but—” but you cut him off with a mewl, and you can see the quick second of confusion on his face.

“ah,” he says when he gets it, the frown in his forehead smoothing out. “you like the danger. you like that i could just—” he mimics the sound of a trigger and a shot, “— don’t you? tell me you like it.”

the oblong shape of the barrel fucks your walls strangely, warming up quickly bathed in the syrupy slick of your pussy. “i-i like it,” you whisper, barely audible over the schlick, schlick sound that your pussy makes every time he works the barrel into your tight pussy. you’re so debauched you can’t gather enough willpower to buck your hips down to meet the rhythm of his thrusts, just letting him stretch you open with the round tip of the gun. “h-haa,” you whimper, throat squeezing with the force of his hand.

“good. good girl.” he breathes, shoving the gun deeper in. it’s humiliating, the way it hurts, the way that doesn’t even deter you from wanting more. the metal is solid, stiff, unyielding, unlike a normal cock. it doesn’t meld to the shape of your walls, or give way, but insteads stretches you out and open and begging for more. “taking it like such a good girl. learning your lesson, hm?”

“shut up,” you hiss at him, trying to keep your eyes open, but they refuse. so you glare at him through hooded eyes, keeping them in focus, trying so hard to stop them from rolling back into your head.

he tuts. gives you one last shove, the barrel of the gun pressed up against your sweet spot, and you fall apart, legs giving out and eyes rolling back. it’s all too much and yet not enough to cum; but just as you’re about to beg for more, just a little more, he pulls it out of you.

roy relishes in the look you give him, part shock, part disgust, but most of all, annoyance. “roy—” you begin, but you don’t get to finish.

“i was just calling you a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to loom over you. he brings his hand, gun in grip, up to your face, and presses the slick barrel to the seam of your lips, globs of clear and white coating the black polish of the gun. “you just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?” he presses harder, and your lips part subconsciously, letting the warm metal slide into your mouth. you groan at the sour, sweet taste of you on your tongue, and drop your jaw to make way for the smooth surface of the gun. “suck. clean it up. lick it till it’s spotless.”

you frown at him, but he responds by shoving it further in, and you gag around the barrel. “i said, suck.”

like a cock, like his cock, you bob your head up and down the shaft of the gun barrel, taking all of it down your throat. you taste yourself, along with the tanginess of warm metal, melting together in your mouth, metallic and sour and disgusting, and yet you can’t seem to disobey. can’t seem to stop, or falter. because to you, right now, disobeying roy is so much more terrifying than the gun in your mouth.

and he’s looking at you, really looking at you, a cross between some kind of admirer and a predator, wanting to consume you whole but savour it, mesmerise the curves of your body as he tears it apart. love as consumption, love as violence.

“wanna fuck you on my cock,” he hisses, pulling the gun out of your mouth. “gonna let me? let me into your little princess cunt?”

your lips part in a soft gasp as he drags the bulge of his pants along your bare clit. “yes,” you answer, eyes fluttering shut. “please?”

roy looms over you, his figure hulking and dark. he tips your chin up with a single finger, his gaze so intensely sharp you feel it penetrating through your lungs, scuttling between your ribs. and then he goes soft, dips his head down to press his lips to yours ever so sweetly, groaning the tangy taste of yourself on your tongue.

“give you what you want,” he grunts as he pulls away, hands unbuckling his belt, shucking it down just enough to free his cock. “gonna give my girl what she wants.”

his girl. if there was still any fight left in you after the last ten minutes it’s completely withered away now, the words burning through your torso and flicking out at the tip of your cunt. “your girl?” you ask, dazedly.

“my girl,” he repeats, pulling out his cock. your breath hitches as he lets it free, springing up thick and fat, a pretty shade of pink. the tip of it is bruisingly red, oozing precum in globs of pearly white, and he steps closer to you, scooping you into his arms. “my best girl.”

a whine climbs through your throat and tears out of your mouth. best girl. you aren’t, could never be, not with the lingering scent of kerosene in the room, almost forgotten in your haze to feel him moving inside of you. you aren’t good, nowhere near the best. but in this dingy, dim-lit room, your panties tucked in his pocket, your superior’s cock bumping clumsily against your slick covered folds, he’s convinced you're the best girl in the world.

“let me in,” he all but begs, pushing closer. your hand slithers down two where you are about to meet, angling his cock for him. his hands are busy, one braced on the table, supporting himself, and the other wrapped around your back, keeping you close. “let me in, okay?”

the tip of his cock is excruciating. it’s fat, mushroom tip bludgeoning into the small slit of your pussy. you both groan, his forehead falling forward to press against yours as you work his tip into your cunt. “roy,” you whine, mewl, claw at his shoulders.

“i know, baby,” he grits his teeth, hand slipping to guide your hips further forward, tipping your back against the table. “open up for me— shit. you’re fucking tight.”

your back against the table, your legs hitched up against the edge, he manages to slip himself further into your tight heat, some kind of eminence in the way you both shudder and moan at the feeling of him stretching you out. “you’re so big,” you manage through muffled whimpers. your hands reach out for him, almost like you’re trying to grab him. “come— c’mere. roy. come—”

and he does, leaning over you and letting you wrap your arms around his neck, legs around his waist. he chuckles. “just wanted to be near me, is that it princess?”

you whine an affirmative, and he places a wet kiss on your forehead. “are you all the way in?” you ask, eyes barely open enough to glance down to see for yourself.

“no,” the word makes your pussy clench tighter. he’s already nudging against the sweet spot of your gummy walls, already burning at the stretch of his cock in your pussy and he’s not even all the way in? you try valiantly to peer down where you are connected, where your poor, abused pussy is stretched out around the middle of his cock. “a bit more to go, okay?”

you nod, and he pushes, so fucking slow and steady until all of him is inside you, until you can feel him nudging against something deeper, sensitive. it feels like you’re suffocating, like you’re stuffed full of his cock; and you are. you are, stuffed to the brim, bursting at the seams. one move and you’re collapsing, falling apart, legs instinctively knocking together as you cry out.

“stop that,” roy snaps, and you feel a quick sear of heat against your thigh. just a small pinch of flame, enough to bring you back to your senses. “keep them spread. got it?”

“y-yes,” you answer shakily.

“yes who?”

your pussy tightens and he hisses, tapping your cheek with enough force that your neck whips to the side. “yes sir, yes sir,” you babble unconsciously. he flashes you a grin, a cheshire smile that you fell so infatuated with, and now it’s here in front of you, balls deep in your pussy. crazy how life turns out, you barely manage to think before he’s rearing back and slamming into your pussy again.

it’s calculated, the way he’s fucking into you, the tip of his cock ramming into your sweet spot again and again and again. he’s hammering at it, the cruel man, rutting in glee at the way you’re falling apart beneath him. your eyes are rolling back and hardly focused, glazed over with a sheen of ecstasy, and your jaw loose. he’s forcing small blabbers and whines and whimpers out of you with every malicious slam of his hips.

they’re earth-shattering. you’ve been fucked before, had men and women alike vy for your attention, but none have ever come close to the way roy mustang is fucking you right now. he’s so careful, so precise with the way he’s treating you, words soft and mellow, completely contradicting the rough, borderline torturous movement of his hips. “that’s my good fucking girl,” he whispers in your ear. “just lying there and taking it, huh?”

you feel something pressed to the side of your head. when your eyes come back into focus you glance to your left; the sheen of the metal gun greets you. the barrel pointed at the side of your head, roy’s fingers dangerously close to the trigger.

“go on,” he murmurs. “keep fucking my cock.”

you don’t dare disobey. his hips still slightly, continuing a shallow thrust every so often. you whine but oblige, backing your hips down to meet his hips. “sir, sir,” you whimper, tears springing into your eyes.

he tuts. “don’t you dare complain,” he hisses, shoving the tip of the gun harder against your temple. “keep fucking my cock or i’ll pull it.”

you know he’s bluffing. the safety’s on, and he would never pull the trigger on a colleague, on a friend. but it freezes in your heart, a small hand wrapped in ice twisting around your ribcage and squeezing. the thought of it terrifies you, but more than that it arouses you. the laying down of your life in his hands, trusting him not to pull it. it excites you, sends a reckoning through your bones. so you do what you’ve always done for roy mustang, and that’s obey.

you’re pathetic, hips dragging uselessly up and down against his cock. he’s nice enough not to sneer at you, pathetic pussy half decent at swallowing his cock, because you’re so goddamn tight, so goddamn beautiful. half of him wants to drop the mean demeanour, just shower you in as much affection as he can. but the other, more rational part of him knows; you need to be taught a lesson.

“that’s it,” he smiles. “my little arsonist finally doing something good for once. think i fucked the lesson into you yet? think you can be a good girl now?” he takes you by surprise and shoves himself inside you down to the hilt, watching the way your tits jiggle under your uniform, your eyes rolling back as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix. “or do i have to cum in you, leave a little reminder?”

you shudder at his words, eyes going wide. god, god, he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, saying what you’ve always imagined him to say. suddenly, you’re begging again. words muffled, eyes glassy with tears. “cum in me,” you beg. “cum inside, knock me up, please.”

“yeah?” he muses. “need a constant reminder of how to be a good girl? a little life time punishment, give you a little baby? maybe that way you'll have to stay with me,” he’s growing restless too now, thrusts messy. “god, you know i’ll give it to you. c’mon. beg for it.”

you look up at him through the tinted glass of your tears. crystalline pearls running down your face as you beg, “please, plea— holy fuck, yes, right there! roy, roy please knock me up, please cum inside!” you’re not even caring, not even half awake to realise that your own orgasm is creeping up on you. the tightness in your abdomen, the sudden urge to—

“i need—” you gasp when you realise. “i need to go.”

“go?” he slurs, pussydrunk on your sloppy, gooey pussy. “go where, baby?”

“no,” you shake your head vehemently, taking the palm that holds the gun in both of yours, the gun clattering to the table as you guide him to your navel. “i have to go.”

his eyebrows pinch for a second before he realises. “you need to go.” he looks down now, at his hand hovering above your navel, your palms so much smaller in comparison to his. roy looks back up at you, something malicious flickering in his eyes before you feel his hand cover your tummy, and pushing.

the gasp that bubbles past your lips is criminal. the way your body reacts is almost primal, bucking into his arms, back arching. “roy, roy, stop—”

“hold it, okay?” he whispers, pushing a little harder. the pressure is insane, dizzying to you. “don’t you dare piss on me.”

“roy—”

“wrong name, baby.”

“sir,” you almost squeal, the combined force of his heavy thrusts and the pressure on your navel impossible to tolerate. you’re trying to reconcile your senses, trying to hold it as much as you can but it’s no use. “i have to, i have to go.”

“gonna piss on me?” he’s rough now, slamming his hips into you with a lewd slapping sound of his pelvis against your ass. “gonna wet yourself like a little untrained puppy? i thought you were my good fuckin’ girl.”

“it hurts,” you whimper. “can’t hold it, can’t.”

“just a little more,” he coos at you, relishing in the way your face pinches, genuine desperation painting your cheeks. “just hold it a little more, okay? you can do that, can’t you?”

you want to shake your head no. but if there’s anything that you’ve learnt tonight it’s to obey roy mustang. so you do, holding as he continues the torture on your cunt. his hand leaves your navel, coming down instead to toy with your puffy clit, sore and neglected. you bite your lip, muffling the whimpers that threaten to betray you as he rubs a slow, torturous circle against you.

“hold. it.” he says one more time, and you can’t listen, can’t obey. not with his fingers speeding up, rubbing your clit with precise movements. not with his cock buried inside of you, pressing against spots you never even knew anyone could reach, before pulling back and slamming into you at a pace that makes you dizzy. all of it, all of it is so much.

and when you cum, you cum hard.

the pressure on your bladder releases as you cum, your stream gushing out as your cunt tightens around his cock. a loud moan claws through your throat, head tipping back as he fucks you through it, the wetness and sloppiness additional lube to ease the chase of his own high. it’s messy, wet, disgusting; and roy’s looking at you like you hung the moon.

“pissed all over me,” he snarks, and you can only whimper, the aftershocks of your orgasm still catching up to you. your mind’s a haze, clouded over with the wet, warm feeling of liquid pooling under your ass, on his pants, all over the both of you. “couldn’t even listen to simple instruction.”

“i tried,” you beg. “please— i’m sorry.”

sorry. that’s new. that’s something he’d never heard from you. an apology, and a genuine one at that; or as genuine as a post-cumming apology can be, with his fat cock still inside you. it rears something in his head, a flame igniting. “i’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispers. “gonna use you ‘til i cum inside you. wanted me to knock you up, right?” he pants, head dropping to rest against yours. “tell me again. tell me where you want it.”

“inside,” you breathe, your mouth hanging open. he pants into your mouth and you want to swallow him whole. “want your cum i’side.”

“gonna give it to you,” he whimpers. he’s close, so close.

“sir,” you whisper. “roy.”

“yeah?” he strains.

“i—” you begin, but it gets caught in your throat, with a particularly strong thrust into you, pushing past the limits you didn't even know could be reached. your words are swallowed by his kiss, a desperate press of his lips to yours as he reaches, chases, grasps his orgasm. and it’s you, wrapping your legs around him and sighing, that push him over the edge.

it’s blinding, the feeling of his cock throbbing inside you as he cums. his cum is warm, thick, and you can feel it filling you up slowly. “oh my god,” you whimper. “yes, yes.”

“take it,” he grunts, shoving himself further into you. “take it, take it.” and don’t waste a drop, he can’t find the tongue to say.

you hold each other as you come down from your high, breathing and panting heavily. your foreheads are pressed against one another, and it’s like now that his balls are emptied in your womb, all sense and sensibility come flooding back. his brain’s finally the one in charge, and yet he doesn’t want to leave.

but despite himself, he has to. for his job, his country. “baby,” he whispers softly, after a few minutes. “what were you doing here?”

you don’t want to answer. you wish, wish to whatever deity is looking down upon you now will show you mercy, swallow you whole into the ground. but nothing changes, and he’s just looking and you and looking at you. you don’t know how to answer.

“were you,” he begins. “going to set it on fire?”

“just this room,” you promise quickly, sitting up to grab at the lapels of his coat. “leave my uniform and shoulder marks, produce a corpse.” he looks at you, pity stirring in his dark eyes. “run away.”

from you.

“i can’t, roy,” you beg him to understand. to acknowledge you beyond pity, but as a person. “i can’t serve as an alchemist anymore. not when i have blood on my hands.”

“you don’t—”

“i do,” you plead. “i took an oath to protect and i ended up killing.”

“for the sake of amestris.”

“for the sake of the führer,” you bludgeon on. “for whatever stupid reason he had to attack that innocent town. they didn’t have to die, roy,” you’re on the verge of tears, and he drops everything to hold you now, scoop you into his big, big arms. “i want— marcoh left, so many others resigned, why can’t i?”

you grieve for a life lived disillusioned, a state that promised you success and made you kill for it. you grieve for a hand that has touched blood, spilled blood. you grieve not only for who you were before this, but who roy was, who the other state alchemists were. you grieve for the people you were forced to eradicate, a city turned to dust in just days. the ishval civil war changed you, changed everyone, and you needed out.

roy holds you as you cry, lets a few of his own tears fall as he listens to you. the wreckedness of your voice, the hoarse throat; roy never believed in higher powers, but he calls on them now to keep you safe, to keep you healthy and strong, and to never let you cry these crystalline tears ever again.

“go,” he whispers. “i’ll handle the rest.”

you still. look up at him. “what?”

“i said, go.” he can’t look you in the eye, focusing instead on his gloved hand, and what he was about to do. “promise me you’ll be safe.”

divine intervention. a way out. an escape. “you…”

“major,” he begins. “it was a pleasure serving with you.”

roy turns to look at you one last time, onyx eyes soft and mellow, brimming with glassy tears. you can see the way his lip trembles, aches to feel yours one last time. “likewise,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. “it was a pleasure, colonel.”

he watches in silence as you hop off the table, leaving your uniform and your marks on the ground, amidst the puddle of kerosene on the other side of the room. watches as you soak them up, and look at him. “you don’t have to,” you start, your voice wavering.

“it’ll happen anyway,” he laughs, but there’s a hesitance, a reluctance behind it. “i said it once, i’ll say it again. i got your back.”

you give him a watery smile. “thank you, roy.” there’s a moment of silence, a beat passing between the two of you. you know time is not, has never been, on your side, and it doesn’t let up, not even in this moment. your goodbyes have to be quick.

so you take a small step forward towards his unmoving figure, and reach up on your tiptoes. he doesnt move, just holds his breath, and you kiss him. sweet, genuine, melting. your lips are soft, bruised a little from your previous interaction, but he savours it all anyway. the way you gasp when he kisses you back, planting his hands against the small of your back to bring you closer. the sway of your body in his arms. the way you hands slip into the divots of his coat, clutching it like a lifeline. he drinks it all in, and knows this is the last time he will see you, kiss you, touch you.

i love you, he wants to whisper, desperately, clinging onto you. i love you, i love you, i love you.

but he doesn’t. he lets his lips and his hands speak those words, flood out of his fingertips like waves crashing upon a shore. don’t leave me, please.

but you do. you have to. your mind’s made up, and when you part, he can see the hesitance on your face fade. “i'm sorry,” you whisper. "goodbye."

and before he can whisper goodbye back, before he can convince you to stay one more moment, you twist out of his grip and climb out the way you came from. you don’t stop to look back. you don’t stop, and before long, you’re a shadow in a sea of static, blending in with the night.

behind you, central library roars to life. more than just the room you’d doused in kerosene, you’re sure. the size of the fire is terrifying to witness, plumes of smoke rising to the sky. you can hear the shouts of agony, of worry, the sound of the city waking up to its newest accident. but you’re long gone.

amestris has crumbled before you. life long dreams shattered, the pursuit of happiness ending in the path to disillusion.

there’s a piece of paper in his coat pocket. roy pulls it out, words illuminated by the bright flames.

eastern desert.

a sudden knowing. another door open. he smiles.

he tosses the paper into the fire.

#reposting bc it didn't show up in tags last night lmfao #still on break just wanted to post this #roy mustang x reader #roy mustang #roy mustang smut #roy mustang x you #fmab smut #writing tag #tw.gunplay #tw.watersports #tw.babytrapping

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