#thank cyancherub
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i’m taking matters into my own hands and making an edit of aki with tattoos
#only problem is i don’t know how to edit#BUT IMA FIGURE IT OUT#thank cyancherub#they gave me aki brain rot#they really snapped on that fic tho#so excited for part 3 y’all just don’t understand#anyways brb#aki hayakawa#hayakawa aki
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Seal It With a Kiss ⨳ Kishibe
"You want me to do this for you? Then tell me exactly what it is that you want."
notes: I came up with this idea for @akiniku back in like september when i was just beginning to sniff around the csm fandom for a favorite. Dom told me all about him and i fell in love and came up with this plot and *then* I read csm lol. 6+ months later, here we are T-T thanks to @cyancherub for reading through his characterization for me and for my past and future beta readers<3 (i know some of you havent gotten the chance i was just too excited) Idon’t know if i will ever be able to put as much love into a Kishibe fic ever again so lets try to appreciate this
warnings: female reader, longer than a drabble, alcohol, virginity loss + inexperienced reader, creampie, emotional manipulation, coercion but there's consent, age gap (like 30 years between them, fight me), trainee/mentor relationship, twisted savior complex, canonverse, piss (more about control than it is the kink)
Rules/BYF/DNI
Kishibe sighs. “That’s it for today.”
“Already?” You puff, sweat dripping down your temples, your blade lowering until the tip is pointing to the ground. “I could keep going.”
He sighs again, resisting the urge to rub the approaching headache from his temple. Kishibe will never understand the PSDH’s insistence of sending him all of their potentials. Their screening is usually decent enough to keep this type of student from beneath his weathered wings, but every now and then one will slip through. One like you. Earnest, hopeful, and far too willing to do the job. This ain’t the place for you, never will be. They set you loose on the streets and you’ll be some Devil’s next meal.
But it’s not his place to care. Not supposed to be at least. Makima won’t even tell him which Devils you have contracts with—but again, he doesn't care.
Kishibe ignores your mumbled complaints about cutting your training short, sighing under his breath. “Gonna need’a drink after this.”
He’s unprepared for you to pop up at his side, tilting your head as you ask if you can come with him.
“Why?”
The question seems to put you off. “Isn’t it good manners to take your juniors out after a hard day?”
Kishibe huffs at your coy tone, certain you’re just after a free meal. “That’s for juniors who’ve proven they earned it.”
That seems to put you off even more. “You don’t think I’ve earned it?”
“No.” His answer is short, clipped. Dark eyes watch intently as you deflate a little, that perpetually cheerful expression drooping into something he ultimately decides is an unsettling expression on a face like yours. He doesn’t care for it, unable to decide why.
“How’s this?” He grunts, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting up. “I’ll give ya a week.”
“A week for what? You're not supposed to smoke inside, you know.” A sulky tone meets Kishibe’s ears, your eyes tracking his lips and the flare of the cherry as he inhales.
He ignores the snipe. “You get close enough to me to take one of these away—” a twitch of his fingers has flaky ash fluttering to the linoleum, “—and I’ll take you out for drinks. That’s how you earn it.”
The sparkle is back in your eyes in an instant. Your sword tips back into its sheath, coming up on his left to give him a smile. "You got it, sir! You'll never smoke again. Just watch."
Kishibe rolls a shoulder, suppressing a groan at your chipper attitude. I'm getting too old for this shit. "We'll see about that, sweetheart."
He's ignorant to the way the words make you pause, moving for the door, ready to get in his car and drive to his regular dive bar. He needs the silence of the drive before he drowns himself for the night. Well, not so much silence as the rattling heating unit, the rush of passing cars, and music so quiet one might question why it’s even on. It’s simply the beginning step of the ritual he’s come to find most comforting, or numbing, on this job.
"See you tomorrow, sir?"
“Yeah.” He doesn’t even bother glancing back as the door closes behind him.
The autumn air clears his head a little as he finally escapes the hallways of the office. A cold breeze whips at his hair, bringing old scars and memories to mind as it bites at his skin. Kishibe takes a final drag of his cigarette and lets it fall to the pavement. He doesn’t stub it out, pulling out the collar of his jacket to fight the chill as he disappears into the evening crowd.
“That is not how this works.”
“There’s no way this doesn’t count!”
“Give them back.”
“I said you’d never smoke again, didn’t I? I didn’t think you of all people would want me to go back on my word.”
Kishibe takes a careful inhale through his nose, closing his eyes for a beat and convincing himself he won’t kill any of his trainees. He’s sent you to infirmiry more times than he cares to count with these training sessions, to bring home the apparently wavering point on your young dumb invicibility complex, but he knows where the line is. So when he opens them, Kishibe fixes you with the same intent stare that usually gets his subordinates to straighten up, or clingy women out of his apartment. Dark, unimpressed, unwavering.
You are painfully undeterred.
“I had to get close enough to take them from you. That’s what you said.” You stand in front of him, at a regrettably smart distance, looking mighty proud of yourself as you clutch the worn white box carefully in your fist. After five straight days of utter and total defeat, you’d made your move on the car ride over this morning instead.
“I said one, not the pack,” Kishibe drawls. “And you know damn well that ain’t the point here. Nickin' them from the car is not the same.”
You shrug, a familiar petulance beginning to saturate your tone. “Not my fault you weren’t paying attention. You said that kills people.”
Unprepared for the—still a smartass answer but—wisdom of your words, some of the intensity dissolves from his eyes. As if he really needed that reminder. He still has his doubts.
“No arguing that,” Kishibe sighs, scratching his neck. “Guess you get what you wanted. Drinks on me tonight.”
A triumphant smile brightens your face, but it doesn’t last. The barest moment later you find yourself flat on your back on the training facility’s floor, groaning at the impact.
Kishibe flicks his lighter, sparking his cigarette and taking a grateful inhale of sweet nicotine as he stands over you, impassive.
“But I’m still gonna make you earn it, sweetheart. Getting overconfident and lettin’ down your guard also kills people. Get up and block me next time.”
“Yes, sir."
He might have been harsher on you today than entirely warranted as he watches you wince and shift, trying to get comfortable in the weathered booth of his usual bar. But really, to go any easier on you would do you a disservice if you really are this hellbent on working in public safety. Part of Kishibe is hoping one training session—and soon—he’ll find your limit and you’ll realize you aren’t making the cut. At the very least he’d like you to settle for the civilian sector. Hell, Kishibe despises paperwork but he'd write your damn recommendation.
You’re peering around the dimly lit space. It's hazy with smoke, with a scent to match. He probably could have taken you somewhere nicer, but he really didn’t want to stray too far from his own comfort zone, so what the hell. This was your own idea anyways.
“Are you even old enough to be in here?” Kishibe asks suddenly, catching the eye of the bartender and tipping his head.
“I came of age a couple months ago.”
Kishibe cringes inwardly at your prideful tone. Fucking great. He eyes you as the bartender begins to edge out from behind the counter, watching as you glance around a little frantically for a menu. Shoddy place like this doesn’t really have one.
Kishibe gestures between the two of you before the man has to cross the bar completely. “My usual. Double for me.”
"What's your usual?" You ask curiously.
"Whiskey. Nothing fancy, just cheap and strong."
"Oh."
The glasses are placed in front of you and you give what Kishibe sees as an awkward smile at the bartender as your fingers wrap around the glass. He takes a grateful gulp, unable to help but notice you haven't made a move with your own.
"Not to your taste?"
"I don't know," you answer plainly, tilting the short glass and letting the amber liquid catch the light. "Never had it."
"Never had whiskey?" Kishibe hums, bored, taking another drink. The double is going fast. The familiar warmth has already settled in his chest, an old comfort.
"Never had alcohol."
Sucker punched with that information, Kishibe pauses and swallows the last of his glass before setting it down and signaling for a refill. He's far too practised to waste a drop of a drink he's paying for.
"Why are we here?" It's a shrewd question, a shrewd tone. "If you've never had alcohol, why were you so insistent on going out for drinks? Isn't that something you do with your friends?"
Your fingers tighten on the glass, a small pout forming on your lips. "Didn’t wanna do this with friends. Wanted my first drink to be with you, s-sir." Embarrassment coats your features as your words stumble off at the end, and you return to examining your still untouched drink.
Kishibe's refill arrives, another heaven sent double. He's getting the faint inkling that something else is happening here and he's far too tired to pick the answers out of you.
"Lemme get this straight," he drawls, leaning forward and jabbing a finger at you over the rim of his glass before bringing it to his lips. "You wanted your first drink out with a tired old man instead of your friends?"
"You're not tired!"
Your tone is scandalized, pitch rising high enough that it catches the attention of some other men seated nearby. The last thing he needs.
Kishibe scoffs, scar twitching as he fights a sardonic smirk. "Beg to differ sweetheart."
"You're not, you…you're—" your volume is back to normal, seemingly struggling with your words, and it's amusing if not slightly endearing.
"Lemme know when you think of something, I'll be here," Kishibe mumbles, drinking again, content to watch you squirm. "You gonna take that first drink? You got me here, like you wanted. Might as well."
That small smirk finally fights its way onto his lips as you give him the barest of glares. He usually doesn't see that look on you until you've gone an entire session without landing a single hit. It's cute.
"You're you. Don't gotta 'splain myself to you," you grumble, timidly lifting the glass to your lips.
"No, you don't," Kishibe rumbles in agreement, watching as you take your first swallow.
To your merit you don't splutter or cough, but a grimace splinters across your expression as you swallow and stare down at the glass in mild disbelief.
"This sucks," you announce firmly.
Kishibe barks out a short laugh and finishes his second drink. "I'll order ya something else."
He's reaching for your glass when you snatch it away from him.
"No, I'll finish it. This is what you usually get?"
"Yeah. But take it easy, that's a—" Kishibe stares, a little defeated as you down the glass. "Tha'sa sippin' whiskey."
"What's that mean?" You croak out, your face scrunching up despite your efforts.
"It means you're getting a glass of water before I get you anythin' else."
"Why?"
You'll thank me in the morning, Kishibe thinks grimly, not deigning to answer. Along with the next few rounds and the rounds after that, he also orders your water and some food, feeling abnormally generous. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with your grumbling tomorrow at training.
He can’t stop thinking how strange this is. It’s strange. You’re here in his usual booth, humming an odd tune while drinking his usual whiskey, when he’s here each night, usually alone. Kishibe feels the deep disturbance all the way to his roots, gnarled and twisted as they are.
Watching your face twist up at the taste again, Kishibe decides to slow down with some soju instead. Your eyes are getting blurry and your hands have settled into some kind of nervous habit, picking at the edge of the table as you try not to look at him. He doesn't understand your insistence here. Here at the bar, or anything else.
"Why are you doin' this?" He asks again, quiet.
You glance at him, blinking slowly as your gaze struggles to focus. Then you force a smile, sweet and pure as a Devil's heart. It's damn near chilling to see.
"'Cause I want to, sir."
"Bullshit." He's looked into you. Your family is alive, financially stable. You're not like most rookies joining up for the pay or the revenge. And from being around you he figures you aren't the type to do this for status. So it doesn't make sense.
Your smile fades. "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. You're not cut out for this shit, kiddo. An' I think ya know it, too."
"It's my first night out drinking, how can you tell?"
"Don't play coy with me."
You stand sharply, unsteady, a look crossing your face that Kishibe can't read. Before he can speak again, you're sliding into the booth on his side.
"Then ask me directly, sir." You whisper, trying valiantly to meet his harsh stare, before eventually losing your nerve and fixing your gaze on the table.
Like Kishibe has any problem being direct. Fine then. He sets his glass down and turns his body to face you. "Why're ya training so damn hard to become a Devil Hunter when it's just gonna get you killed?"
Cheeks warming, you don't look at him again. "Every Hunter has their reason, or else they wouldn't be here. We don't gotta share them unless we want to."
Your words are halting, and slurred. Kishibe pushes your drink out of reach. A fifth of whiskey and bottle of soju between you both for your first night out was an oversight on his part, even if he had more than you.
"And you're not goin' to tell me?"
Head dropping into your palm, eyelashes fluttering, you peek up at him. "Not unless you can tell me why you care."
Kishibe pauses. He's got plenty of reasons, but he's not uncouth enough to say them to you. 'Cause he doesn't want to be wasting his time prepping meat for the chopping block. 'Cause booze is expensive and sleep is precious. He doesn't get enough as it is and he's sick at the idea of losing more. 'Cause every time one of his trainees dies, it feels like a new scar cracks its way across the already trampled fragments of his soul.
There's plenty of reasons he drinks himself nearly dead every night.
Your fuzzy eyes peer into his darkened ones and seemingly run into the wall that you know he's put up. "Then it's better you don't ask, sir. It’s important to me, that’s all you need’ta know."
So much for direct.
There's a silence at the table after Kishibe gruffly orders another drink, his mood for the night officially ruined. This is why he doesn't socialize with coworkers. Save people by day, check out at night. He lives for one fleeting peace; he'd rather be drowning in booze and laid up in the arms of whatever woman will put up with him.
And all he has right now is booze. He flags the barkeep. "Bottle for the road."
You shift to look at him. "Are we leaving already?"
"Yeah. You've had plenty."
There's no complaint, but there's no mistaking the look of disappointment on your face as he takes your arm and helps haul you to your wobbly feet.
"What's that look for?"
"I was having fun, sir."
"Stop calling me sir."
"Why?"
"Cause we're at a fucking bar. Sir is for work."
"Then what am I supposed to call you?"
"Just Kishibe."
He finally looks at you again and you're smiling and this time there's nothing to be unsettled about. "No honorific? You'll let me call you by name?"
"It's sir at work," Kishibe reminds, deadpan.
“And master in front of other hunters, I know,” you parrot cheekily, and Kishibe merely curls his lips in a temporary smirk.
“Damn right.”
"But not at work?" You prod, leaning into his frame heavily as the cold night air washes away the warmth of the bar.
"Then yeah, drop the honorific."
"Kishibe." His name leaves your lips as a wonder-filled giggle. The corner of his lip tugs further upward unwittingly in dry amusement. At least someone can salvage the mood for the night.
You poke at the bottle held loosely in his grip. "Can I have some of that?"
He passes it to you. "You don't even like the stuff."
An impressive amount of the amber liquid disappears down your throat before you groan in disgust and pass it back to him. "Sometimes we do stuff we don't like 'cause we get something out of it."
Kishibe hums at that. "And what do you get out of it?"
"'S a secret."
"A secret, huh? You seem to have a lot of those." He drawls, keeping you upright when you almost fall again. Yeah, he needs to find you a taxi or something. Neither of you are driving tonight. It's a little annoying, he meant to stop at the convenience store to get another pack of cigs before going home tonight. The crumpled empty pack is still in his pocket—he hasn't had one since this morning and Kishibe can feel the irritation in his nerves.
"What's your address kid?" He nudges you as the taxi pulls up, but your weight against his hip suddenly feels dead. "Are you—of course you are."
Kishibe's whole chest fills with his next sigh, and he quietly works to get you into the cab. The driver asks him where they're going and he actually has to think about it for a moment. He'd much rather prefer going back to his cozy little hideout, but it's a mess and much too small. Not to mention he absolutely does not want you knowing where it is.
Closing his eyes, Kishibe reluctantly mumbles out an address, and sinks even deeper into his bottle before the cab drops them off at the requested location.
He eyes you over as the elevator quietly ascends, one arm around your waist with yours around his shoulder to bear your weight. It's really no wonder you passed out, the scent of whiskey is just about crawling out of your pores. Between the two of you, Kishibe bets the elevator smells like a distillery.
The doors open into his “apartment”.
He doesn't like sleeping here. The place is too big, ceilings too high, furniture too fancy. All those high windows and modern grays and whites. It's perfectly clean and perfectly lifeless, set up for him by the PSDH. He's sure some bright-eyed big shot hunter in it for the money and high living would get a kick out of the place, but for a man like him the space is just obnoxious. But since his studio isn't an option, and Kishibe can't be bothered with taking you to a hotel, he figures you'd rather prefer one of his guest rooms instead.
Kishibe flinches and grumbles under his breath as the now empty bottle slips from his hand and clatters to the hardwood. You make a rather undignified snort as you startle to awareness. If one could call it that.
“Wha—” Your fingers cling to the sleeve of his jacket as you blink through the blur of your eyesight, struggling to find your footing. “Where’re we now?”
“My place.”
“You live here?”
“Technically.”
He hauls you towards the kitchen, somewhat a struggle with your uninhibited desire to swivel your head and scan the place as thoroughly as you were presently capable of doing.
“Not what I pictured.” You wobble and right yourself, slumping against the marble countertop. Kishibe pauses, making sure you’re gonna make a dive for his floor before he turns to pull open the fridge.
“Yeah well, me neither.”
“It’s so clean.” That earns you a grunt. “And modern.”
“You tryin’ to say something, sweetheart?” He sends you a look that sends a hot wave of embarrassment across your face.
“No! ‘M just sayin’...”
“Yeah, whatever. Here.”
You take the water bottle he pushes into your hands and open it, halfheartedly taking a few sips to ease the simmer in your cheeks.
Kishibe snorts when you put it down. “Nuh uh, finish that.”
You take another sip, trying to placate him. “‘M not thirsty though.”
Your eyes widen as he grumbles and steps closer, dark eyes narrowed. It’s impossible to muffle the noise of complaint on your lips as he tips the water bottle back, keeping your chin up with an uncompromising strength. "Tough. I said all of it."
The rough pads of his thumbs feel like fire on your jaw and he seems to have no idea how his proximity is setting you ablaze. You quickly swallow before you choke, or worse spill down your chin like a child. He doesn’t let go until you’ve finished the bottle—it’s impossible not to gasp for air as if you’ve breached the surface of a pool for the first time in minutes.
“Pretty good lungs.”
“I almost died—!” You wheeze, unappreciative of the joke, wiping your face with your arm.
“You were gonna be dead in the morning if you didn’t. Might as well get it over with.” Kishibe sets the empty bottle on the counter, unflappable.
“Hmph.”
You watch curiously as he grabs himself some water, noticing with a scowl that he doesn’t drink nearly as much as he forced on you. He reaches for a small bottle, rattling as he shakes a couple into his palm. “You’re not supposed to take those with alcohol.”
Kishibe gives you a dry look and pops the painkillers into his mouth. He can feel his head pounding already, his routine thoroughly interrupted. He can’t mentally check out with you still here, especially in this state. You look a little more solid now compared to your unconscious slump, but you’re still visibly swaying, blurred eyes drifting in and out of focus. Last thing he needs is for you to do something to yourself when he’s around. The paperwork for that would be the death of him.
He shrugs and nods for you to follow. “C’mon, sweetheart.”
You suddenly look nervous. “C’mon where?”
“Night’s over. Time for bed.”
You produce a shaky laugh. “What?”
Sweet fuck.
“You want a bed or the couch?” Kishibe takes applaudable effort to keep the exhaustion out of his tone. Honestly, you'd probably be better off with the couch, grateful for your mumbled little ‘doesn’t matter to me’. He's not sure of the state of any of the rooms, considering he's trashed them before. Whoever set the place up for him might have a cleaning service but he's never bothered to ask about it since he’s never here. “There’s blankets around here somewhere.”
Stepping into the living room he sees he’s right, a couple of soft looking throws draped over the back of a plush black sectional. You’re trailing close behind him, like you’ll get lost if you lose sight of him.
“Sit.” Kishibe says tiredly as you circle around the edge of the sectional, looking around curiously.
You listen and he grabs the other blanket off the far arm of the couch, tossing it and one of the pillows towards where you’re sitting. The pillow lands at your side, the blanket haphazardly in your lap, are you’re just staring at him as he settles on the other side, shrugging out of his suit jacket and letting that fall to the floor.
“Get comfortable, go to sleep,” Kishibe grunts, closing his eyes.
“You’re staying in here?”
He doesn’t read into the tone of your voice, keeping his eyes shut. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t choke on your own puke in your sleep.”
“‘M not gonna puke,” you grumble under your breath.
Kishibe wills in a sigh, listening to the rustle of blankets and what he assumes is you settling down. Only to tense as the cushion near him dips under weight. He opens his eyes to see you sitting you next to him and his eyes sharpen.
You cut him off, seeming to sense whatever biting remark is coming. “I’m not tired. Not good at sleeping in new spaces.”
“Well you need’ta try.”
“Can we just talk for a bit?”
He sighs, but he doesn’t refute you, opening his eyes to give you a quiet stare. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”
Relying heavily on the lingering alcohol in your veins to gather the nerve, you scooch closer to his position on the couch, dragging the blanket with you. “You’ve really never had anyone over here? But Himeno says you never spend your nights alone.”
Kishibe eyes you warily as you enter what he considers his field of personal space, your knees barely brushing against his thighs. “I don’t normally spend my nights here. And you can tell Himeno she’s got better things t’do than gossip about my personal life.”
“So you spend the night at their place then?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you really the womanizer everyone says you are?”
Kishibe glances up to see you even closer and shifts a little to give you a measured look, eyelids drooping in suspicion. “You really want the truth of that?”
“Yeah, ‘m hoping to hear something,” you murmur, heart racing as you place a hand on his abdomen. It stiffens under your touch, but he makes no move to stop you, so you toy with the button of his shirt.
“And what’s that exactly?” Shock receding, his mind catches up and he grabs your hand, keeping it from tracing its upward path.
“There’s something I’m hoping you can help me with, sir.”
“Kishibe.”
“Kishibe,” you correct, cheeks warming as you finally raise your eyes from his chest to look into his own. He’s watching you so closely that you almost look away again, almost chickening out.
His eyes are locked onto the way you’re chewing at your lip, waiting for you to say something more, hoping for anything that makes sense. When you don’t his patience thins enough to ask, “Well?”
“I-um,” you hesitate before your fingers curl into his shirt, mentally fortifying yourself, “I’ve never… I’m looking for someone experienced to- to help me. I want it to be you.”
There's a small pause as his whiskey-addled mind filters out the meaning of your words. Then, a small disbelieving smirk is half-formed on his lips when he scoffs out a laugh. “Ha, no, sweetheart. No, I don’t think so.”
He’s shifting to stand up off the couch when you panic. You’ve gotten this far! He has to hear you out, or you’ll never be able to look him in the eye again, let alone train under him. So before he can, you throw your thigh over his lap, straddling him. His hands flash to your arms in an iron grip, keeping your hands from wandering any further. He’s staring at you in muted disbelief, tense, as if he can’t quite believe you’re defying him.
“Please wait,” your voice raises in pitch, but you’re almost whispering. “I can explain, please just listen.”
“What? Cute little student girl got the hots for teacher? Or are you desperately in love with me now, and can’t bear the thought of anyone else sullying your innocence?” he drawls out, the insanity of this situation finally allowing him to release the floodgates on all the ill manner he’s been attempting to keep back all night.
Your face might as well be a space heater as you splutter in mortification at being seen through so easily, trying to find the words to refute him. “N-no! No, I wasn’t. That’s… That’s not…”
“You better clear this up real quick then, sweets, cause you don’t have long before I take it into my own hands,” Kishibe warns lowly, soft and dangerous, seconds from calling a cab to get you miles away from his apartment, and more importantly him.
The hard-eyed stare he’s giving you now is nothing like the way he looks at you in training. Your heart sinks into your stomach at the thought that entertaining your feelings is enough to make him react this way, turning him into this colder version of himself that you barely recognize. This is not going the way you intended, but you can’t imagine that you’ll ever be in a situation like this ever again, so you take a deep breath and clear your expression of all deceit. “It’s not like that, but I really can’t think of anyone else to help me with this. It’s not for lack of trying.”
Kishibe eyes you, his grip on your arms not slacking. You glance down at him warily, and he’s like a bristling cat that’s making an attempt at trust.
“So…? Will you help me?”
He mumbles eventually, still tense, “Why not Hayakawa? Or one of the other rookies, they’re probably better suited.”
You make a face. “The rookies are stupid, and Hayakawa-san is just too… stern.”
“I’m not stern?”
“That’s not the point!” You retort hotly. “Hayakawa just seems more like someone who isn’t interested in casual flings—”
“And that’s what you’re looking for here?” Kishibe cuts in drily, noting the way your mouth snaps shut. You shift awkwardly in his lap and he stoutly blames his nightly routine for the way his body is sluggishly perking to life. He might have the heart of a saint, but his mind is more like a devil’s… and he has eyes.
Oblivious to his internalizations, you grimace. You don't want casual anything so it's technically a point in Hayakawa's favor. But there's one big point in the younger man's (begrudgingly small) list of cons that can't be overlooked: he's not Kishibe.
“I’m looking for someone who knows what they’re doing,” you inform him, your voice softening. There’s a sort of vulnerability to you now that has the older man caving despite himself and listening more intently, watching you whiplash between assertive and shy for the nth time. “Someone I trust, who won’t take advantage of me. And… I don’t believe the whole sacred virginity schtick, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my first time to be… I don’t know, special?”
Kishibe’s mouth runs dry, and this time he blames the alcohol. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Don’t say that,” you plead softly, leaning closer without thinking in your excitement. That wasn’t a refusal. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”
He can feel your breath on his cheeks, his eyes bouncing between your lips and eyes for a moment before humming low. “No one else? A girl like you, having to settle for an old man like me?”
"No one has to know. Please, sir?" You plead quietly, with crystal notes of sincerity. It's a painfully sweet sound.
Kishibe reluctantly lets your arms slip from his hands and drops his own to loosely grip your waist, absently drawing a pattern on your hip with one finger. The heat of your body is filtering so thick through your clothes that he doesn't know how he didn't notice it until now. You shiver at his touch, and he tries to keep his expression neutral when you instinctively grab at his shoulders.
He shouldn't be considering this for even a second, but he is and he hates himself for it. You're a young pretty thing, and he's made a point to stop looking at young pretty things the way your touch is sparking him to, for going on years now.
Carefully, one hand moves to rest on your stomach, caressing its way up over your covered chest, eliciting a soft gasp from you before it moves on and settles under your chin, firmly tugging it down to make sure you're looking at him. He's never cared for the way you can't look him in the eye, and he normally lets it go but he won't tolerate it tonight. If he goes through with this, that is.
Your eyes are wide, and glazed in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol for the first time tonight. Kishibe makes a low sound in his throat at the sight of it before speaking, a heavy, rumbling tone meant to ensure you're taking in every word.
"You want me to do this for you?"
"Yes." Your breath catches as you damn near breathe the word out, your heart in your throat and a flutter in your stomach that makes you feel like you might fly away.
"Then tell me exactly what it is that you want." Fuck, he’s really doing this.
"I…" The hesitation must be clear on your face because his expression gets heated, a tiny smirk forming at the corner of his lips. You wouldn't have seen it at all if you weren't staring at them so hard. A quiet moan spills from your lips as he presses them to your jaw, not quite kissing, but dragging them up, warm breath tickling your ear. The center of your world quakes as he continues with that low, soul-quaking tone.
"Do you want me to treat you like a princess? Worship your body and make it all about you, take you to another world as I take you apart?" Kishibe marvels at the broken whimper you make as he grazes his teeth across your earlobe. "Or do you want me to be a little selfish? Show you pleasure as I know it, and change everything you think you know about carnal desire?"
"Sir—"
"No," he warns severely, gripping your thigh in warning, pulling back to look you in the eye.
"Kishibe," you correct yourself with a breathy whine that you hope doesn’t sound ridiculous. "Kishibe, I want you to choose."
"You want me to choose?"
"Th-that's why I chose you. You always- always know what's best."
That's so far from true, but in this realm of possibility, with you blinking those sweet little doe eyes down at him, Kishibe won't be the one to correct you. "...Alright."
"Then please take care of me." Please.
This time it's him who shudders. "Alright," he murmurs again, "Alright, sweetheart. I've got you."
He’s a little gentler this time as he tugs your chin down to him, meeting your lips in a delicate kiss that has all his nerves standing to attention in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. With other women, he has no reason to be slow or gentle. With other women, both parties know what they’re there for, but this isn’t like that. You aren’t like that. You’re young, and if you’re to be believed, untouched. Pure. And you’ve put yourself in his care, begging for him to remove that purity. He’s not sure he ever would have agreed to this if he were sober, so you lucked out. Or maybe this is what you wanted all along.
Kishibe groans softly as you timidly move to respond to his kiss, alcohol sweet on your breath. You at least seem to know what to do here, parting your lips and staying pliant as he learns how you taste, moving your tongue against his as he explores your mouth. He breaks for a moment, giving you a warning and enough time to stop him, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I’m taking this off now.”
He waits, and when you do nothing but moan, he begins to pop the buttons of your shirt open, one by one from the bottom up, exposing your navel, and then the black cotton bra beneath. You kiss him deeper as he slides a hand up your spine, rocking your hips into his lap as he pulls at the clasp, undoing it in a practised move. The fabric falls loose, and he presses a hand to your sternum, forcing you to retreat.
Your lips are slick, a little swollen, but it’s the hazy look in your eyes that has all his attention. “You good, sweets? You even gonna remember this in the morning?”
“I will. I will, 'm promise. Please keep going,” you slur, not really giving him the best vote of confidence.
“Take that off for me.” Kishibe tugs loosely at your bra, the cups hanging just low enough for him to get a peek at your areolas. His cock is straining in his slacks now, but he’s too invested for it to be uncomfortable yet. He meant it when he said he was going to take you apart, and he’s going to do it slowly.
You blink at him, and timidly slide the straps off your shoulders. Your movements are slow, but there’s less hesitance than he’s seen so far. It’s clear you’re more worried about his disapproval than any insecurities you might have. Good.
“Good girl. Look at you,” Kishibe is quick to dole out the praise as soon as your tits are exposed, half for your confidence and half because they really are pretty tits. He’s reaching for them before even he can process what he’s doing. Your nipples are already hard, pulled taut and looking painfully neglected, either from your own arousal or the air. It could be cold in here for all Kishibe knows, but the air around him feels thick, heated and charged. He’d be suffocating if he weren’t so focused.
You take a shuddering breath as he holds them. His touch is so light, the pads of his fingers calloused and warm, stroking over the sensitive flesh. You want more, arching into his touch as much as you dare, still unable to shake the thought that he might change his mind and end this, but for now he doesn’t disappoint. Dazed, you realized the sharp gasp that bites the air is yours as he strokes the pads of his fingers over your nipples before tugging lightly, pleasure rippling hot under your skin.
Your head tosses back in a moan as he does it again, this time his lips brushing the curve of your breast as he pulls you forward, pressing your chest closer to his face. He sucks at the fat of your breasts, still gently tweaking your at your hardened nubs, working his way over, seemingly content to explore.
Pleasure moves hot and slow under your skin, but your mind keeps rocketing from one sensation to another, making it impossible to think beyond the man beneath you. His slick tongue moving against your skin, the heat and wet of it stroking over the edge of your areola, the rough pad of his thumb, the scrape of his blunt nail over the sensitive tip of your nipples, the same callouses gripping at your back, fingertips tickling the edge of your shoulder blade.
“Quit it,” Kishibe grunts after a minute, and you realize you’ve twisted your hands into his hair, tugging him closer and trying to drag him to where it feels like he’s purposefully avoiding.
“Please, Kishibe, please,” you moan, blissfully unaware of the minor tantrum you’re throwing at you grind down on his clothed erection. “Your mouth.”
“What about it?” He blinks at you lazily, taking the moment where you sit back to tug at the top few buttons of his own shirt, exposing the top of his chest and a peek of the dark hair that’s hidden beneath.
“Let… Let me feel it,” you breathe out after you’ve snapped your eyes away from that new detail.
The slow grin that spreads across his features feels like the first key in the series of locks that surrounds the man in front of you, a piece of him that he doesn’t share willingly. Something that has to be brought out, dragged out, a prisoner in a cage of its own making.
“Be more specific, sweets.”
But he’s still the same man, he just exists in varying shades. You squirm for a moment, subject to self-consciousness, but the ache in your nipples, growing tighter in the continued neglect, wins out. You cup your own tits, pushing them out as you lean back down to him. “Want it here. Need to feel you suck on them.”
An appreciative gleam brightens dark eyes. “There’s a good girl.”
This time Kishibe leans in with intent, and you learn something else—your mentor is a goddamn tease.
His tongue drags over your nipples before sucking, and your hands are tangled in his hair again before you can process it, a cry in a pitch you don’t even recognize torn from your mouth. The slick muscle flicks over the tip as his free hand comes up to roll the other between his fingers lightly. You’re shamelessly rutting into his lap now, senselessly chasing the pleasure boiling low in your stomach, and you can feel him moan against your skin at the friction.
You feel the scrape of his teeth, light and intentional, before he pops off and switches to the other. The treatment begins anew and you swear you might be able to come from this, the wet suction of his mouth, the tacky warmth as he tugs and twists at the nipple still covered in his spit. But Kishibe doesn’t let you, noting the frantic ruts of your body and beginning to slow his efforts, easing you back down.
“Wait—” Your complaint rears itself as your fingers twist into the shorter hair of his nape, trying to tug him closer the moment he pulls away.
“Easy, I’m not done with you,” he rasps, taking your wrists and gently detanging your fingers from his hair.
You yelp as he grips your thighs and flips your back to the cushions, a strength you already knew he had from all the times he’s stomped you in training, but it surprises you regardless. There’s no time to pick through your thoughts at the display, because Kishibe is bullying between your thighs and capturing your lips in a kiss that puts the last one to shame. It’s possessive, it’s plundering; erasing any other thought from your mind except the way he feels against you. How immovable he feels, his hips keeping your thighs spread, his obvious arousal against your core, his weight against your torso—whatever isn’t supported by his forearm against the cushions, just what he chooses to give you—the scratch of his stubble against your face, the ones he lets overgrow because they shadow his jawline again in less than a day.
You moan into his mouth as a hand slips between your bodies, pulling the button of your slacks and pushing a hand into your panties, the sound turning into a high keen as he drags his fingers through your slit. You know you’re wet, soaked even, but it’s still a shock to feel your own wetness as he pulls back out, slick against your mound before he’s free of your clothing, to see it shining on his fingers when he pulls back to give you a breath. You knew you wanted him, but to see how much would be mortifying if he knew the truth.
The glisten on his fingers goes unnoticed for a second as he catches sight of your wrecked expression, sitting back on his haunches.
“Oh sweets, look at you,” Kishibe chuckles, voice tight. “You’re a pretty sight right now, and you don’t even know. A sweet little mess. My sweet little mess, for tonight.”
Making a decision, he swipes his hands on the thighs of his pants and undoes his shirt, tossing it over the back of the couch, aware of the way you stare from beneath him. He's getting there in years, but the aches of this job refuse to let his body go soft. There's a thin layer of soft skin stretched across the muscles beneath, making the definition less pronounced, less assuming, but there's no denying the power behind them as he flexes subtly, smirking when your eyes track the movement.
"Hips up," he orders firmly, his fingers already tugging at the waistband of your slacks.
Not needing to be told twice, you shift and raise your hips as he pulls them from your legs, panties and all. You're completely bare under him, and he's still wearing his pants, the button popped, looking like a god above you. His eyes are piercing, his expression set like marble. As he puts hot palms on your thighs, spreading them even further apart, you think about how attractive he looks when he smokes, almost wishing he had a cig hanging from his lips so you could see it.
Kishibe is staring intently at your pussy, the hunger in him growing deeper as he watches the muscles twitch. "So no one's ever touched this, huh?"
You shake your head, whimpering as he pulls your sticky lips apart.
"You lying, sweetheart? Not even you?"
Kishibe pulls back the hood of your poor swollen clit, stroking it lightly with the tip of his finger, dark eyes watching your face intently.
The touch rips a gasp from your throat like ice had been poured down your back, tossing your pretty little head back into the pillows as your fingers twist at what little slack the cushions beneath you have. Kishibe feels the flames of hell crawl a little closer to his own flesh as his arousal flares dangerously at the sight.
When you remain silent he prompts a little cruelly for an answer, slowly circling the throbbing bud. "Hmm?"
"I've-yeah I've touched it. Sometimes."
"Tell me."
"Tell you?" You suck in a harsh breath as one of his digits teases your entrance, but pulls away.
"Yeah, tell me how you touch your pussy at night. I wanna know how you play with yourself." His voice drones with detached amusement but his dark eyes are sharp, the sight making your skin prickle with elation to be the center of his attention.
“Usually slow,” you breathe out, moaning when he moves to your clit again. Two fingers press on the bundle of nerves and begin to rub back and forth in a steady tempo.
“Like this?” Kishibe murmurs, watching you closely.
“Slower,” your voice breaks an octave higher as he increases the pressure just a little, readjusting to what you now realize are instructions for him. “Y-yes, mm, like that…”
“Good. How about your fingers, hmm? You do that slow too?”
You can feel yourself dripping down to the couch as his voice drips across you like honey. “Yeah, at first.”
“One to start?”
“Fuck!” A keen tears from your throat as he slides the first digit in, abandoning your clit, the thick, calloused digit pressing in to the hilt with zero resistance.
“Or do you start with two?” Kishibe watches raptly as his middle joins his pointer in the rippling warmth of your cunt, the broken sob leaving your lips sending a irresistible wave of want tearing through his body. The way your hips grind into his touch, chasing more of him is enough to let him know that you can take more, but he lets you stay here for a moment, using his free hand to stroke over his confined cock as you writhe beneath him.
It’s not hard to find the right angle to stroke your slick walls, curling his fingers up into the spot that has you tossing your head back with what almost sounds like a mournful wail, as if you’re just realizing that you’ve never really given yourself real pleasure before. Kishibe isn’t sure if you have to be honest, you haven’t said, but he isn’t concerning himself with that. He’s too focused on the way you shy away from his touch when he presses his thumb to your clit again, as if you can’t take the combination.
“Oh?” It’s almost a coo, delight pulsing in his veins. “Not like that huh? That not how you do it?”
“I can’t, I can’t—it doesn’t, n-never like this!” It almost sounds like you’re pleading with him, your eyes wide as you stare at him, a thick haze of shock and bliss covering your irises that Kishibe is losing himself in, pumping his wrist, tempted to add a third finger just to see what sounds you’ll make.
“Told you I’d change everything you think you know about pleasure, sweetheart.” He pulls his digits from your pussy, relishing in the whine of protest. And if he’s being honest with himself, there’s a bit of a power complex rushing through him, to be able to control your pleasure whether you think you can handle it or not is too alluring. It’s the thought of making you scream, nothing barred, as he forces ecstasty on you that you don’t even know exists on that has him pushing off the couch which a groan to finally free his cock, shucking his pants off, the liquor leaving him a little unsteady.
“Sit up for me.”
You do as he says, confusion scrunching you expression as he settles between your legs, his knees protesting only a little as he shifts so that the plush carpet isn’t dragging uncomfortably against his skin. A little yelp stays in your throat as he tugs you to the edge, spreading your thighs wider and positioning your hips up to expose your pretty pussy. He’s only a breath away, the scent of you thick, kissing distance really, when you slur out some nonsense that sounds questioning, but he can’t say he actually catches any sense of syllables from you.
“I’m thicker than most so you need this,” Kishibe grumbles, nipping at your inner thigh as you squirm and glaring you into submission, “But even a man with a pencil dick better be doin’ this for ya, so don’t accept less.”
Before you can come to terms with him on your knees before you, your mind fizzles out as his tongue swipes through your folds, and his groan vibrates deep into your core. If not for his hands keeping your thighs spread, you would have wrapped them around his head. His nose nudges at your clit as his tongue presses into your clenching pussy, and you can’t stop the garbled sound of pleasure as he laps at your walls, your head tossing back against the couch cushions as he eats you like a meal. It’s surreal, it doesn’t make a lick of sense but oh god you don’t care. The sounds of him slurping at your cunt makes your cheeks burn and you force yourself past your self consciousness to look down at him, the skin of your knuckles stretched tight as you curl them into shaking fists, trying to wrap your mind around the sensations.
Kishibe flattens his tongue over your clit, and meets your gaze with a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slips a finger into you, savoring the way you clamp down right away, giving a reedy mewl. He can’t help himself any longer, one hand closing around his dick and beginning to slowly stroke himself, trying to go slow, to ease some of the pressure and calm himself down. He adds another digit, and sits back as he begins to work you towards your finish.
“Should’ve done this in a bed,” he mutters under his breath, the scent of your pleasure thick, feeling mildly guilty as you tremble through your long awaited awaited high. Even his first encounter had been in a bed, traditional.
Kishibe hisses into your thigh as your fingers twist so tight into his hair that he’d snap at you if he were anywhere but here. Here with his fingers sweeping over your clit, watching the way your muscles ripple and tense, an obscene amount of slick and cum dripping onto his couch, and damn it why are you so easy to spoil? Why is he letting you practically rip the hair from his head as your hips jolt and jump, pleasure taking every ounce of your control away from you. There’s a wet sound as he finally pulls his fingers from your cunt, and you slump against the cushions, a looking so beautifully fucked out that it’s a damn shame you haven’t actually been fucked yet.
But that’s what you came here for, and Kishibe will not be the one to disappoint. He pushes to his feet for a moment and drags your hips until you’re both on the couch comfortably, and lets himself sink between your legs, his dick hot and throbbing against your inner thigh. It’s weeping precome and there’s a shivering sense of relief to know that his patience is finally about to be rewarded.
“You still with me, sweets?” Kishibe murmurs softly, leaning over you, letting his lips drag up your throat in a possessive trail of teeth marks and bruises. “You ready for me?”
The prickle of his overgrown stubble brings you back down a little, and you moan as his tongue swipes over the indentations left in your flesh. “That was—” you gasp at a sharp dig of his teeth under your jaw, hips arching towards him as you feel the weight of his dick between your slick folds, thoughts flying from your mind as the thick tip of him slides over your oversensitive clit. “Oh fuck, Kishibe please. I need y- I need it, oh god.” Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he really is going to ruin you. You can’t imagine anyone else ever making you feel this good, so overwhelmed but so hungry for it.
“Good fucking girl,” he whispers, and your body lights up as he shifts back a little, the head of his cock pressing against you and easing inside your desperate walls. He grins as your arms wrap around his shoulders, lips searching for his as your hips try to squirm deeper onto his cock. He meets you in a deep kiss, but he grips your hips firmly, sliding deeper into your clenching pussy at his own content pace, groaning into your mouth at how hot and wet you are. So tight, so so tight, that he can’t stop the juvenile thought about being sure you were a virgin from flitting through his mind, but he lets it go, not about to sully this experience for you with his own pussy drunk stupidity, closing his eyes and falling deeper into the kiss, forcing you to slow it and calm down for him, echoing your whimpers with tiny groans of encouragement.
His thrusts are as steady and measured as they can be with the way your walls suck him in, pussy lips stretched wide around the thicker middle of his shaft. Every time he pulls out he can feel the way your body is trying not to let him go, and every sink home is accompanied by a shaky little exhale from you that sets a fire so deep in his gut that Kishibe is sure the whiskey is the only reason he hasn’t fallen to pieces yet. You’re so pretty and needy sprawled about beneath him, so sunk to pleasure that you’ve resigned to just taking what he gives you and it’s addictive. His cock throbs as he listens to your mumbled little slurs about how good it feels, and he has to pause, breathing deep and hard as he wills down a sudden and fierce urge fill you with cum.
Kishibe chuckles as he sits up and you let out a whine of disapproval, but a slow roll of his hips changes your tune immediately. You’re sucking him in greedily, your clit swollen and damn near begging for attention. He brushes it gently with the back of his knuckles, hissing as you squeeze him in response, getting impossibly wetter around his length. “Doing so good for me, how are you feeling?”
“More, want more.” It’s barely intelligible with how breathless you are, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes down your temples. Your face is so sweet, so open, trusting and needy and suddenly Kishibe can’t find it in himself to draw it out on you any longer, is done handing out pleasure piece by piece, as if he were passing out candy to savor. He wants to pour pleasure over you, wants you to drown in it, to fall so deeply into it that there’s nowhere to surface to, lost in an endless sea.
One strong arm slides under your hips and pulls you up into a better position, fingers digging into your hip as Kishibe begins to fuck you in quick, steady strokes. His forehead is pressed to your chest, cheek in plush of your breast as he controls his groans, a dark satisfaction choking out the last tendrils of guilt as your fingers desperately weave their way back into his hair once more, cradling his head tightly to your chest. There’s no more irritation; the sharp sting feels like a fucking prize, knowing that the price is an overwhelming pleasure that he can feel through you. You feel so good around him, responding so well to his movements, angling your own hips and moving back into his thrusts, that he can’t stop a continuous stream of curses and praises from melting into your skin.
“You’re doing so fucking good for me sweetheart, so good. Squeezing me so tight, wrapped around me so perfect. You feel good? Everything you fucking wanted, hm?” He bites at the flesh of your chest as you tighten around his dick, goosebumps rising visibly across your skin.
You feel like a live current, so electric and buzzing with energy and it feels like there’s nowhere for it to go, zipping up and down your body only to return, shivering and sparking deep in your belly. You try to articulate that this is way more than you ever thought you could ask for, but all that comes out are bitten hiccups of his name and yes and please please please.
Kishibe is more than happy to oblige, grunting and groaning in his throat, way past the point of feeling guilty that you’re losing your virginity on a goddamn couch, too caught up in your drunken slurs, more from pleasure than whiskey.
He grins as your fingers clench around his bicep, scrabbling as you gasp out, "Ohh, nngh—Sir wait, wait! Please I'm gonna—"
"Go ahead, sweetheart." Kishihe groans, feeling the rippling constrictions of your sweet pussy drag him closer to the edge.
"No, I'm—I'm gonna pee! Please."
Kishibe’s s head picks up off your chest immediately, and his thrusts stuffer. "Yeah?" You watch panting as his eyes sharpen, hips coming to a full blessed stop. You feel a bare moment of relief before its ripped away and he's moving again, fucking you a little faster than before. "Then go ahead."
You give a wordless cry, shame and pleasure clamoring in the shrill note, your head shaking back and forth in denial. You can't hold it, not if he does that.
"No?" Kishibe feels like the Devil himself as he shifts his angle into a grind, still fast and controlled, watching your features twist as you keep fighting to hold it back. "Am I not making you feel good?"
"Sir!" Your whine draws the title out, panicked, but your knees dig tightly into his hips, your body at least betraying you. Kishibe works a hand under one of your thighs and presses it towards your chest. One of his palms drags down over your tits, stroking down your stomach to put a gentle pressure over your pelvis. Your eyes fly wide and a moan is forced from your lips as the awful urgency thickens, bliss flooding close to the surface.
"If I press here you won't be able to stop it."
Kishibe's stare catches your glazed eyes, dark and hungry. His orgasm is approaching steadily now, pleasure whispering selfish instruction in his ear, and he's unable to help but listen. "You'll come so hard it won't matter anymore. What's a little mess for some pleasure, hm sweetheart? If you want it just tell me."
Your breath catches. His dick keeps hitting that spot in you that makes it impossible to think rationally. He's making you feel so good, goading you in that voice of his that you've worshipped fervently night after night in your apartment, a pillow as your altar.
The voice in your head is screaming no. It's pee. He'll think you're disgusting and you look up to him so much. You don't want him to associate you with something like this, to so thoroughly debase yourself. But he's making you feel amazing, his cock bullying all your softest parts with undefinable experience. You've heard the gossip about how your mentor likes to spend his nights, but how are you supposed to complain when he's making you feel like this? And he's the one saying you can p—
"Get outta yer fucking head and come for me, girl." Kishibe growls through his teeth, palm pressing down firmly, calloused thumb spreading over your neglected clit.
You shatter and cry out, clutching at him tightly, no room for apologies as you tear red lines down his back. Warmth gushes against his pelvis, but the hot shame holds no candle to the blistering pleasure crackling across all your nerves. Listening to Kishibe groan and curse, the feel of him breaking down into something more genuine as his hips snap roughly into yours in chase of the bliss you’re already neck deep in, you’ve never felt more satisfied. He finishes inside you with a deep grunt and your insides flutter again at the milky warmth, your leg curling tight around his ass because you want all of it, you don’t want it to end yet.
But finally, his cock twitches one last time inside you and begins to soften, and Kishibe collapses on top of you with a little puff. You’re damn near ready to purr in happiness at the full weight of him across your body. His cheek rests between your breasts, but you’re unbothered by the scratch of his stubble as his breathing gets deeper, steadier.
Both of you are covered in sweat, cum, and other unspeakables but you’ve never been so comfortable. His softened cock slips out of you, and one of his arms slips under your waist and you feel your heart thud unevenly as he moves to his side and pulls you closer. His head is still buried in your chest, your one leg tangled between his thighs and your other draped over his hip. His eyes are closed, breathing deep and you find it in yourself to cautiously run your fingers through his hair. Kishibe gives a soft, sleepy rumble of contentment and you glow.
The feel of his hair between your fingers is the last thing you remember before the most luxurious drag of sleep tempts you into its clutch of darkness.
You wake somewhere you don’t recognize, your head thick and pounding awfully. You blink slowly in the low lighting and try to sit up, but your head spins and the pain increases so you let yourself fall back with a low whimper.
You turn on your side, fingers curling into the soft covers over you. Last night had been amazing, but you’re certain you had passed out on on the couch, and as you peer around the curtain-darkened room, it’s easy to tell it’s not the same. You don’t remember being moved; you’d like to say you would have woken up if someone had, but even you can smell the alcohol seeping from your pores.
Heart pounding unevenly, you try to calm yourself. You’d been dressed in a soft pair of boxer briefs and a tshirt far too large for you, and while you still feel a little bit sticky, you honestly had expected far worse—someone had tried to clean you up. Your heart starts to race now, fluttering and far too fast at the idea of Kishibe taking care of you. Those are a lot of extra steps to take for someone who preached respectable distance.
“There’s painkillers on the nightstand.”
You finally manage to sit up at the promise of pain relief, seeing the foil tablets and a glass of water, and glance at Kishibe in the doorway, looking about as disheveled as you expect you do. He’s in a loose tshirt and a soft, worn looking pair of sleep pants, blinking sleep and liquor from his eyes as he peers in at you.
“I’m gonna shower, you should too. There’s towels in the bathroom there.” He nods his head deeper into your room and you see another doorway, probably leading to the bathroom. “And you’re out of luck on breakfast. All the place has is coffee and water.”
Your stomach gives a displeased turn at that, desperate for something to offset last night’s alcohol. Before you can say anything, not even so much as a thank you, Kishibe turns and shuffles down the hall.
Slowly, you ease out of the bed and gratefully swallow down half the water before even glancing at the pills, but your screaming head does make sure you toss them back as well, before you peek down the hallway your mentor had disappeared down. You hear the sound of running water and follow it, wandering through the doorway to the room he obviously slept in last night, the bed an unkempt mess of blankets. The door to the bathroom is closed, and there’s already steam filtering through the gaps.
Letting an uncharacteristic determination carry you forward, you open the door and begin stripping off your clothes.
“Get out, sweetheart.” Kishibe’s voice sounds tired and distant, filling you with nerves that you refuse to let show on your face as you ignore him slip into the shower.
He’s working soap through his hair, leveling you with a deeply unimpressed look that would have sent you skittering before last night, before he called you his sweet little mess, before he called you good fucking girl. You take a deep breath and speak your mind.
"I want that again."
His response is flat, immediate. "Not gonna happen."
"Why not? Was it not good?" You look embarrassed and distraught at the thought and Kishibe heaves a sigh.
"How good it was has nothin’ to do with why we can't do this again."
“So you regret it?”
Kishibe isn’t sure where he stands on that yet. “Didn’t say that.”
"But then..."
"But what? I told you this was a bad idea didn't I? You should've chosen someone else. Anyone other than me."
You get a little salty at that. "I might be younger than you," Kishibe gives a sardonic huff "—but I'm still old enough to make decisions for myself."
"Old enough to make your own decisions, huh."
You shift under the water as he gives you a tired stare, his gaze sharpening into something more contemplative, glinting dangerously.
"So you're saying you want that again?" Kishibe questions calmly.
"Yes," you whisper, uncaring if it makes you sound desperate.
"If we do I've got some stipulations," he warns, voice low.
"Like what," your breath hitches as he leans closer, the water getting hotter against your back as he reaches past you to adjust the temperature.
"Well for starters," he grumbles, "I don't have any interest in going to your place. It's here or nothing."
"Fine." Your response is immediate, relief coloring your tone that you're not being immediately shut out.
"And this arrangement will be temporary, no matter how long it goes on," Kishibe continues slowly, his fingers coming up to pinch your lips together, cutting off whatever you were opening your mouth to say. "I'm not the kind of man that would treat ya like you're nothin'. I'm gonna tell you you're sexy when I've got you under me and I'm gonna clean up whatever mess I make of you, so I need to know you're not going to confuse common decency and respect with love, got it?"
You nod slowly, struggling to wrap your mind around the weight of his words. What he doesn't know won't hurt him, you just want more of whatever you can get. It's just a crush, maybe you'll figure out how to squash your feelings somewhere down the line. So you get a little hurt along the way, so what? You're not entirely sure how any of that is a problem and why he looks so serious.
"Anything else?" He hasn't spoken for a minute, but you can still see deep thought etched into his expression.
Kishibe glances at you, soap dripping from his hair down his neck. "Yeah, one more thing."
It's the most damning thing. Makima herself would be proud of him for this. This kind of thing is more her style, but he's already made it this far.
"Ya have to join the civilian sector."
He senses more than feels you stiffen behind him, closing his eyes and beginning to rinse his hair out as he waits for you to speak first. He's not blind, not anymore—after last night he'd really have to be to not understand the way you've been looking at him, probably since the beginning. Kishibe doesn't know how he didn't see it sooner, probably willful ignorance. But his eyes have been opened and he can't unsee it; you're a brat; you wear your heart on your sleeve, and for whatever reason…its flag is flying his colors. So he's going to use that, and you can thank him when you survive the year.
"Join the civilian sector?" Your voice trembles.
Kishibe glances down to see you chewing your lower lip. "Or quit. Find a cozy desk job somewhere. Either works."
"Why?" Your demand is fierce but it's weak; you look like a scruffy little kitten that needs shelter but too scared to come out of the rain. Kishibe can see you crumbling already, making his final stab. Why you'd want him this bad is beyond him, but dirty tactics have never been beneath him.
"If we're doin’ this, you're going to be available to me when I want you. Otherwise I can find others, like I've been doing. Finish up in here, and I'll make some coffee. Might as well go to the office together."
Despair crosses your features, and Kishibe lets the silence do the last of the work, stepping out of the stream and reaching for a towel. He makes quick work of drying off and getting dressed, bones aching for coffee. Curiosity pangs deep in his nerves as he wonders why killing yourself in Public Safety is even worth that expression, and why he’s equally as important as whatever it is. He tries to put it out of his mind and fails, fingers tapping on the expensive countertop.
As the coffee percolates, Kishibe hears the water shut off and the mental image of you stepping out of his shower flickers through his mind, ghosting along the memories of the way you felt beneath him last night. He tries and fails to admit to himself he’s not coming out entirely on top in this situation.
When you finally slip into his kitchen, dressed in your crumpled uniform from last night, you’re no longer wearing that brokenhearted little face, and Kishibe braces himself for whatever little pep talk you managed to give yourself while he was gone. He pushes a mug towards you and the sugar he somehow found while he was waiting.
“I have my own stipulations,” you grumble finally, accepting the mug without looking at him, spooning sugar into it. He wants to wince at the shriek of metal on glass as you stir, but he doesn’t.
“If I have to quit the hunter society to be ‘available to you’, then you have to be available to me.” Your eyes are a little heated as they finally meet his, and Kishibe gives a noncommittal hum. “Meaning you don’t get to sleep around. Just with me.”
Ah. Makima would be proud of you too, Kishibe muses to himself. He decides to let you feel that victory and puts on a show, feigning annoyance. He drums his fingers on the counter and gives you a dry, measured look. “What, sweetheart, want me to get tested or something?”
You rise to his bait, snapping a little. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
“Fine.” He shrugs and sips his coffee. “Maybe you should too, since you’re so worried about my health.”
Embarrassment burns your cheeks at the thought of making that appointment, but you push through it. “Fine, I will. I’ll be needing to get on birth control anyways.” The barest hint of shock flickers through his expression before he slams it back to its usual tired smirk.
“Anything else?” He asks, sarcasm barely kissing the edge of his tone.
Your thoughts scramble to all the things you’d listed to yourself in the shower but with him looking at you like that, bemused, confident, smug, you forget most of them. You latch onto one thing and give him a glare. “I get a key. And I can sleep here whenever I want. I’m not waiting outside in the cold to be your booty call.”
Kishibe gives you a look and starts to pull a pen out of his jacket but changes his mind. He watches all the bravado and irritation drain from your expression as he steps into your space, melting into something else, something expectant, electric. He pretends he doesn’t see it, pretends that his blood doesn’t pick up at the sight of it, and whispers the passcode to the apartment, so close to your ear that he could bite it. Could.
He pulls back and listens to your shuddering exhale, tilting your chin towards him. “That’s for you only. I don’t give people access to my personal space, got it?”
You nod dumbly, eyes wide and body hot as his dark eyes flicker to your lips.
“Then I guess we gott’a deal, sweetheart.”
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ANNOUNCEMENT.
I'm sure you're well aware of this kind of post format. Yes, this person has copied and posted one of my works without permission. I tried to resolve this problem privately but unfortunately they did not respond to my messages and hence I'm making this post.
I've left all the links below. Kindly refrain from sending any kind of hate asks to them, it simply accelerates the matter.
INSTEAD, REBLOG THIS POST SO THAT OTHER WRITERS SHOULD BE AWARE OF THEIR PLAGIARISED CONTENT.
— thank you, paradis.
the plagiarised post
my post
[ I've tagged my moots + all the people I'm in touch with. I know that some of you're on haitus and I really am sorry for annoying you. But kindly spread this message, and make others aware. ]
@21-06-1996 @alterbubs @alucrds @akicore @angelltheninth @anxious-cherry-pie @boyfrwenz @babiefwuit @b-achiras @chaos-night @sailewhoremoon @chronic-claire-universe @cyancherub @devoti @dearmanjiro @diluk @dejwrites @dancingintherainwithchifuyu @em-plosion @emissaire @erenyaygirl @fuwushiguro @fueledbysano @garoujo @haitaniapologist @hllokttyairhead @itz-rocky @jotatetsuken @kentoangel @keigosmelody @kagejima @kenslilove @lvlyone @lawscorazon @tetsutits @ladyofbonten @lalunanymph @michiphoria @munsonsins @portfolio-of-dreams @planetxiao @pinkhorangnabi @peachyuuji @p-antomime @poohbea @n-agiz @nymphoteric @nkogneatho @nanamis-wifey-reye @romiyaro @rayfuyu
update — problem solved. So, turn off the reblog.
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tags: fluff, minors dni, reader is shorter than tobirama and is described as such, fem reader, this is very self indulgent sorry, kissing, sorta of cuddling, sitting in his lap, reader has hair that can be touched, tobirama’s kinda clingy when in love lol. @cyancherub @hanmas - some tobirama to keep you guys afloat as i write the fuller tobirama fic <3 1.5k words
synopsis: tobirama tries his utmost to milk as much affection from you in your time together.
sorry for being crazy but i am once again having thoughts of tobirama and how much he enjoys being bigger than you, being stronger than you good god - he likes standing behind you, walking behind you; how you have to turn and crane your head to look at him makes his stony face smile, lips tugging upward and his eyes crinkle. you visit him in the early noon, coming to his office so he can have at least one break. you’ve brought him lunch, which isn’t unusual as you’ve decided that you have had enough of him paying for shared meals. neatly packed in a bento box - fish, rice, mushrooms and other vegetables line the corners of the box and he smiles at your efforts.
when he bites the fish he blinks at the flavor; it’s light and fresh, you probably got up early to head to the fish market for the first catch. he casts a glance your way, sitting next to you he towers and takes up more of the couch in the office than you do. you take small bites, gently taking the flesh of the fish into your mouth by your teeth and he’s enamored by the delicate motions in which your traverse the world in. a strand of your hair falls, blocking his view of the happy look on your face from eating delicious food so without second thought, with rational thinking he reached over and tucked the strand back.
you look up at him with innocent eyes, his palm - warm and pale rests at your cheek as he smooths his hand to hold your plush skin in the worn, scarred skin of his hand. his thumb rubs into the high bone of your cheek and Tobirama looks at you with such softness you are helpless at how your cheeks warm. blinking up at him you ask,
“is something wrong tobirama? is the food bad?” with a tilt of your head (or rather as good as you can tilt it in his grasp, he tries to ignore the heat that ignites within him at how ease it is to keep you in place) he takes in the sound of your voice, it feels him with the memories of happier times - of when he was a child and hashirama taught him how to turn a blade of grass into a whistle. he blinks slowly, the way cats do to show affection before he chuckles softly at you.
“no, the food is wonderful, thank you for bringing it to me. it’s just…” he trails off, swallowing when he looks at you once again - takes in how your eyelashes frame your eyes, the softness of your skin and the fullness of your lips. rarely does tobirama allow himself to feel such lavish emotions, his heart hardened by the tragedies of his youth but here, in the office of the village that promises better he allows himself to find home in the heart you had opened with just a smile.
“you look very beautiful today. i couldn’t help but stare.”
he chuckles again when he feels the skin under his thumb warm from his words - you even hide your face, bring your sleeve covered hand to hide behind and are unable to meet his gaze. it amuses him, you are honest person through and through - do you really think such a simple action would spare you from his affections? he reaches over and takes your hand in his ; humming at the difference in size and in softness. he folds his fingers under yours, thumb resting above your knuckles of your fingers and brings your hand to his lips. softly he pressed a kiss to the knuckles looking at you from over the crest of your hand.
“why do you deny my affections? do you think you could hide from me to easily?” he asks and you know he is teasing, amusement dances in the red of his eyes and you helplessly stammer lost in the crimson of his gaze. slowly, to tease you more, he raises your hand higher as he lets go of your fingers and lets your sleeve fall down - exposing the underside of your wrist and presses another kiss to spot where the veins cross and the pulse can be felt. you bristle and flinch at the action, flustered and shy as you gasp softly from his ministrations.
“s-stop that, it tickles me.” you plead, unconvincing and voice high.
“really? i’ll do well to remember that.” he hums, eyes crinkling in amusement at how simple it was to reduce you to this state, eyes wide and shining with your shoulders raised to your ears as you avoid his gaze. he leans in, broad shoulders and chest barricading you to the arm of the sofa furthest from the door, and you hunch further in as if to disappear into yourself. the food is forgotten, he finds that something sweeter needs his attention.
he smells of the cypress tree and the air tastes of spring water when he is near, his arm rests on the back of the sofa and you squeak when he bumps heads with you. breathlessly you laugh, joy cutting through your fluster like a knife, ‘he’s like a cat’.
“what is so amusing?” he asks, pressing another kiss to your warm cheeks, his own pulling back as he smiles softly at the chime of your laughter.
“you’re like a cat, the way you bumped heads with me.” you say, smiling shyly and your eyes gazing at his collarbones; you can’t meet his gaze when he’s like this, it’s too much for your delicate heart. he hums thoroughly entertained and enamored you, he cocks his head and smirks looking at you with lidded eyes. the ticking of the clock in the room lets him know his time with you is nearing its end so he decides to play a quick game before you leave.
“give me a kiss.” he says and you peak behind him, at the door craning your head over his shoulders and he tries to ignore the heat in his spine when he sees how much you stretch to get a good look. when you see no one, you turn back to him your smile aglow as lean close to him, he can smell of tea, citrus and the home you two share.
“don’t worry, i’d know if someone was at the door.” he reassures, his hand coming to rest at the slope of you waist. you stiffen, the heat of his palm burning through the yukata you wear and you flush of the intimate touch. your hands reach and rest on the panels of his face, thumbs rubbing the hollow of his cheeks right underneath the thin red markings that decorate his handsome face. you pressed your lips to his, a soft and delicate kiss and tobirama sighs into it.
he brings his other hand to your waist, effortlessly handling you to sit in his lap and he greedily swallows the squeak you let out in return. you pull away, hand on your chest and covering your mouth as he grins slightly you, now sitting on his lap. his thighs are sturdy and strong beneath you, stable even when under your weight and you try to not let your thoughts run wild. he chuckles as your modesty, his thumbs rub circles in the material that covers your hips.
“tobirama! what if someone walked it?” you scold, voice high from the embarrassment.
“then i would have known, sweet girl.” was his response, ever the smart ass. you pout at him and move to get up however tobirama easily keeps you in rightful spot, situated on his lap. his hands almost cover the circumference of your hips, fingers sinking in the plush of your soft skin. he leans to press his forehead to your chest and you sigh contently.
most people would assume senju tobirama to be a cold lover but that’s the furthest thing from the truth, he enjoys being preened and taken care of like a tomcat and enjoys resting against you even more. you let your hand run though his hair, giving him peace for a few moments as the clock hits the hour.
“i need to go now” you whisper, and he nods but doesn’t let go. not yet, not when you are soft and warm and sweet and everything he wants in this moment. you coo, pressing a kiss to his brow and he looks at you with gentle eyes.
“you’ll have me tonight.” you say but it’s a promise and tobirama knows, so he let’s you go and take your bento as you straighten yourself up. he moves to side so you walk in front of him and he keeps his eyes trained on to your smaller frame until you meet the door. you smile at him, reaching on your toes to kiss him and he meets you halfway, his hand gently caressing your hair as he pulls back.
“i’ll have you when i’m home.” he repeats.
you smile and nod. the door closes and tobirama, the man who dedicates every waking moment to work, desperately wishes for the day to end.
#lamb.writes#naruto x reader#tobirama x reader#senju tobirama x reader#tobirama fluff#naruto fluff#naruto. ♡#tobirama. ♡
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Dedicate songs to your mutuals, let them know what you think of them.✨
oh god this is gonna be hard LMAOSDFJASFJ but lets see !! ik it's been a min since i've been on here, so im only gonna do em for my mutuals that i've also seen active recently ! under the cut hehe
(update this took forever bc i dont play around with music everything has to be PERFECT)
marie (@maries-gallery) - j'espère by félix dyotte (for the soft lovey dovey vibes i literally cried the first time i heard this LMAOO)
sun (@pockcock) - ava adore by smashing pumpkins (horny vibes horny vibes its literally so hot)
charl (@sweetandtendou) - yuck by charli xcx (there are a thousand i love u infinitely but this is what im feeling rn)
lily (@tyga-lily) - criminal by fiona apple (indoctrinating u to my fav female manipulator)
taro (@dilftaroooo) - trust fund baby by amaarae (dude.)
ix (@prettyiwa) - faultline by girlpool (i had this song on repeat for MONTHS)
marq (@kweenkatsuki) - plw by leon thomas (yes this is andre from victorious and its a fucking BANGER)
phon (@saphhonic) - religion (u can lay your hands on me) by shura (this song actually changed me)
cassie (@cyancherub) - you lose! by magdalena bay (the vibes are here and they remind me of u)
aleks (@princess-okkotsu) - cologne by beabadoobee (it altered my brain chemistry thanks)
wreynn (@honey-tsuki) - sarah by alex g (im forcing the alex g agenda on u idc)
m (@stardusttoshi) - romanticist by yves tumor (im making u a playlist)
moni (@monirei) - crush by solange (gives me major monirei vibes)
kat (@ryukatters) - maurine by say hi (I CANT DESCRIBE IT I CANT)
elle (@f4irycafe) - soft by babygirl (hehehe it's precious)
b (@eldiandiablo) - restless year by ezra furman (its so fun i have to do a little jig every time i hear it)
juliana (@sparklekitteh) - falling by florence + the machine (it had to be her and it was so hard to choose asljdfe)
soph (@astridthevalkyrie) - armistice by phoenix (i can't explain it but here we are)
siri (@bagsyy) - agnes by glass animals (i love this and i love u)
aman (@thegetoufather) - anthems for a seventeen-year-old girl by broken social scene (this altered my brain chemistry as a child thanks)
eliza (@postwarlevi) - when u love somebody by fruit bats (please i cant help but think of u)
fiona (@fionarara) - 400 lux by lorde (a classic for a bestie)
juney (@whats-her-quirk) - midnight by toby sebastian and florence pugh (the first time i heard this i thought of jean LMAO)
scribbs (@nighttimescribbles) - i'll come running (to tie your shoe) by brian eno (this song is so sweet and asldfje)
fawn (@dearbraus) - strawberries by caamp (please i think you'd love this one)
mica (@princesskazuya) - this is the day by the the (this is one of my favs of all time)
luxE (@fuwushiguro) - best to you by blood orange (IM GOING ON A FEELING HERE)
angel (@bakatenshii) - friendly machine by yeule (i feel like you'd love their music omg)
yall join in too ! this is so sweet <3 my love language is sooo totally music !
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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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Kageyama Tobio x fem! reader
in which you blow him for the first time. thanks to @cyancherub for picking my mans
The first time you kiss Kageyama, it should have stopped there. It should have been just an innocent, sweet kiss shared by two friends over a stupid dare, but it ended up being so much more.
It started with a dare, a bet, a challenge, as things always do between Kageyama and Hinata. Really, they should have grown out of that competitiveness long ago, but you should have known better.
You should have known that the dam holding back years of sexual tension would burst at the first fracture, and that kiss was so much more than just a kiss.
"No! I know for a fact I'm the better kisser!" a very tipsy Hinata insisted. Your little group had gotten together for dinner and drinks, a rare occurrence, but one you all looked forward to. These nights usually went the same way, with Hinata and Kageyama getting into some sort of competition, begging either you or Kiyoko to keep score as the rest shook their heads and ignored them.
It was, ultimately, Tsukishima's idea to have Kageyama kiss you. He'd insisted with such a smug air you knew there was something that he wasn't letting on. But you were also tipsy, and had been harboring those feelings of attraction for the star setter since your high school days, so it wasn't like you were going to turn down the chance to lock lips.
It should have just been a kiss, and he didn't have to pour so much into it. You should have realized the moment he touched you it would lead to something more.
He pulled you in by your elbow, rubbing his hands up the back of your arms to tangle one in your hair just as his lips pressed into yours. Everything about him was warm, and the way he crashed you against him meant you couldn't run away even if you wanted to.
Not that you wanted to.
You rested flat palms over the hard plane of his chest, and there you could feel just how rapidly his heart was beating. The two of you parted much too quickly for your liking, you would have liked to savor the one and only time you'd get to kiss your high school crush.
Kageyama doesn't drink, but he needed a shot of liquid courage to make his way to your apartment. And as he stood at the point of no return, his hand raised to rap at your door, he wished he'd had another.
"Oh, Tobio? What's up?" You asked, gesturing him into your apartment. You were already dressed for bed, braless, comfortable, wearing hardly anything. He gulped upon seeing you.
He was silent as he awkwardly stood in the middle of the floor, glancing around the place he'd spent so much time in under different contexts. Now it felt too small, his clothes felt too tight, the oxygen was punched right out of his lungs.
He'd always thought you beautiful, sexy, lovely in all the ways a woman should be. Rounded and full around the hips and middle, every time he got to touch you, you were soft and supple and perhaps he'd spent far too many nights alone thinking of you with his cock aching in his hand.
He was sick of waiting, and that kiss just proved that he needed you.
"Tobio?" You ventured once more, pulling him out of his thoughts with a careful touch to his shoulder.
"Sorry, I know it's late."
“It’s okay, do you need somewhere to stay?”
He nervously scratched at the back of his neck, then, “Kind of.” A deep breath, and then he turned squarely to face you.
“Can I kiss you again?”
You thought your heart might stop when those words tumbled from his lips, but there was nary a wasted moment as you were crashing into him. Every cell in your body, every thought in your head was screaming ‘finally’.
You aren’t sure when your back hit the door to your bedroom, or when he’d closed it behind him. Far too lost in the taste of him, in the way he felt up your body, in the way his tongue slicked against yours as you both poured years into this moment.
You felt like divinity under his fingertips, soft and sweet like mochi, everything he’d ever dreamed of, everything he’d ever desired right there for the taking. He’d gotten the career he wanted, now it was time to get the girl. To finally get the girl he’s had his eye on since he was an awkward, bumbling highschooler.
The Tobio of yesterday is no longer such a boy, now he’s all hard muscle, well trained and ready to give you everything you’re willing to take from him.
The Tobio of today is a man ready to love you like you deserve, in every way you’ll let him.
You broke the kiss to suckle on his neck, drawing a soft groan from his throat. Such a lovely sound made you want - need - more. So you continued, down to his collarbone, down to his chest and over his wonderfully sculpted abs. His shirt had long been discarded and it was only once your knees hit the floor that he paused you long enough to speak.
“You’re beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah? You like what you see?”
He watched as you made quick work of his belt, ripping it off and throwing it to the floor.
“Mmm, yes.”
He threaded long, nimble fingers through your hair, breathing heavily as you unbuttoned his pants.
“It’s for you, all of it. All of me.”
The sincerity in Tobio’s words made you hesitate, looking up at him through your lashes and the tenderness of his smile made your heart flutter.
“Tobio-”
“I just need you to know, before we continue. I love you.”
In the same instant his cock sprang free, you were suckling on his head, flicking your tongue along to collect the pre beading at his slit. He moaned softly, stroking your cheek before one cant of his hips thrust his length into your mouth, bullying him into your throat. It burned, and it felt amazing, and it was everything you’d ever wanted it to be.
You swallowed around him, pumping him from the base and suddenly he was pulling out, only to slam back in. Tobio’s voice sounded angelic as he grunted out, “fuck, hahh…. So good. Yeah, take it just like that. You were made for me.”
Spurred on by his words, you reached up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your other hand as you allowed him to have his way with your mouth. Both of his large palms secured either side of your head, surprisingly tender despite the brutal way he was fucking your throat.
He didn’t last long, not with how pent up he’d been, not with finally being able to be with you after all this time. And as he came down your throat, the only thoughts flooding his mind were how tomorrow he’ll be taking you ring shopping.
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𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 (𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐊𝐮𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐬𝐮 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)
For @cyancherub's Back From The Dead Collab (Thank you so much for allowing me to be a part of the collab!!)
Summary: The reader is leaving Kuboyasu's house, but she is almost mugged in an alley on the way there. Kuboyasu saves her just in time, and his fighting skills have her wondering who he really is. Kuboyasu tells Y/N of his past, showing him that she still loves him.
Warnings: Attempted mugging, knives, talking about fighting, so there are mentions of blood and broken bones, clothed grinding, clothed orgasm, vaginal sex, clit stimulation and a breeding kink
Characters portrayed are 18+
Word Count: 1.8k
Walking home from your boyfriend's place was always a little scary. The neighborhood he lived in wasn't exactly the best. He'd offer to walk you, but you said no. Instead, you promised him you would be okay and be safe. You should've allowed him to walk you home. You really wish you didn't say no.
Traversing through the dark streets, you have a few people along with you so you don't feel any immediate red flags. As you cross a street, you remember taking an alleyway to get to the station. Typically, you would just take the main road, which is longer but safer. However, today there is construction, so you have to go to the alley. You really wish your boyfriend was with you.
You get to the alleyway, look into it, and see the walls of the dark buildings. The walls are squished together but just large enough for three people to get through. You look across and see the safe street lights on the other side. You just got to get through the alley then you should be okay for the rest of the walk. You inspect the alley some more and notice giant trash cans in the middle. They shouldn't really be a problem. So, you start the trudge to the other side of the alley.
You take it slow and make sure to look all around you constantly. The darkness and enclosed space is really starting to get to you. You're just trying to visualize yourself on the other side. The safe other side. The safe other side.
"Give me your bag and any other valuables you have!" you hear someone shout at you and look to see two men pointing small knives at you. Your shock and fear don't sway them, and you're taking off your bag from your shoulder, but before you can give it to them, you hear another voice.
"That's not happening," your boyfriend's voice comes from behind you.
"Huh? Get outta here," the other guy says, raising his knife towards Kuboyasu's face. Surprisingly, he's completely unfazed. He looks at it like the guy is holding a stick instead of a knife. Kuboyasu calmly steps out in front of you, and with the guy's knife still up at Kuboyasu's face, Kuboyasu thrusts his fist up at the guy's elbow, effectively breaking the guy's arm. The knife drops, as does the guy on the ground in pain. The first guy comes running at Kuboyasu, but Kuboyasu lands a punch to the guy's abdomen. It's a hard hit. The first guy drops his knife and wraps his arms around his stomach. Kuboyasu then knees the guy in the head, and the guy goes down to the ground. The second guy uses his uninjured hand to pick up the knife and try to lunge at you. Kuboyasu runs in front of you and tries to block the blade. The knife grazes his arm and chest slightly until Kuboyasu punches the second guy. The second guy gets hit in the face and goes down on the ground. Kuboyasu huffs as you look at him in complete shock. He looks at you.
"Y/N, are you alright? Are you injured?" he asks you.
"I...I am fine," you respond, but you're still completely shocked.
"Thank god," he breathes.
"How did you find me?" you ask him.
"Oh, you left your cell phone, so I was trying to find you and return it. When I was walking, I remembered the road work, so I figured you'd be taking the alley...then I found you," he explains. You nod in response to show that his explanation is understandable.
"Aren, who are you really?" you ask him. He sighs and looks at the two guys on the ground who are knocked out.
"It's a bit of a long explanation," he says. "So, let's report these guys and return to my place, okay?" He looks at you with concern.
"Alright," you agree.
So, you both leave the alleyway, go to the nearest station, and report the guys who tried stealing from you. After filing a report, Kuboyasu and you go back to his apartment. You both sit on his living room couch, ready to hear about his past and who he really is.
"So...I guess I should talk about my parents," he begins. "My parents are leaders in gangs. My dad is the leader of a motorbike gang, and my mother is the leader of a female gang. So, I was raised in the gang lifestyle. I've known how to fight and defend myself and the people I care about for a long time."
"Uh-huh," you utter and prompt him to continue.
"But I haven't been in the lifestyle for years now. I quit back in high school," he tells you. "But I understand if you're scared...I wouldn't blame you."
"Aren," you put your hands in his. "I'm not afraid. You're still you, and I love you. I just wish you would've told me."
"I'm sorry, I've always tried to keep my past a secret," he explains. "I guess you now know why I have so many scars."
"I guess I do," you agree. "We need to take care of your wound." You point out his knife wound that has begun to bleed.
"Huh? Oh, this? It's nothing. I've dealt with worse, so I'm fine," he brushes off.
"Nonsense. I'm gonna make sure it's wrapped up," you fight him, and he gives in. You go to the bathroom, grab the first aid kit, and grab anything you think will help. You come back into the living room, and Kuboyasu has removed his shirt for you, and you can fully see his cuts. There's one on his upper arm and another on his upper chest. Luckily, they don't seem too serious. You sit across from him and use some cotton balls and ointment to clean them first. He winces from the cleaning.
"Thanks," he thanks you.
"Of course," you reply.
"I think you should stay here, you know, to stay safe," he offers. You finish the wound on his arm and move to the one on his chest.
"Maybe, I should," you agree. You guys make eye contact, but you look away, flustered and dressing the second wound. You look at all his scars and trace a few with your fingers. Kuboyasu grabs your hand and uses his other hand to hold your chin with his fingers.
"I'm glad," he says slowly. You both kiss, and it's sweet at first. When you pull back, you look into his purple eyes, telling you that he would like to continue. You want to continue too. He kisses you again, and your mouths open and explore. You place your arms on Kuboyasu's shoulders, and he lifts you from your seat and places you on his lap. You both continue to make out as Kuboyasu's hands are on your hips. As you kiss, you grind yourself down on his thigh, and your small moans are somewhat audible. He grabs your hips and has you grind faster against his thigh. You break away from his kiss and breathe out, feeling the friction. He chuckles darkly at your building orgasm. "You look so cute like this."
"Aren," you breathe out. You grind down more, and he smirks at you.
"It's okay, baby," he reassures, and you continue your actions. Your release finally comes to you, and you make a mess of your clothes and his. "Aww, baby, you've made a mess."
"I-I'm sorry," you apologize.
"Don't worry, baby," he says, and you remove yourself from his lap. Then, he prompts you to lay down, and you do so as he hovers above you. Kuboyasu removes your shirt and bra with ease, and you remove your own pants and underwear. He admires your body and kisses your exposed neck and chest. "You're so sexy."
"A-Aren," your neediness becoming very apparent to him.
"Aww, you're so needy for me, huh? That's cute," he says.
"I-I need your cock, Aren," you whine.
"Your wish is my command," he says and kisses your neck one last time before removing his own pants and his boxers. The tip of his cock is somewhat coated with drips of pre-cum. He spreads it on his cock and lines himself up at your entrance. He pushes in, and you whine at the feeling while he exhales. He starts at a slow pace to not hurt you. Kuboyasu's grunts fall on your neck and reach your ears, and you grip at his broad shoulders. He brings his speed up and hammers into you. His pace almost punishing. Your nails dig into Aren's back and leave scratches, and he grunts lowly from the marks you give him. His cock reaches your spongy spot inside you, making your build-up come back. Your cunt sucks his cock in, and he happily goes in. You hear the skin slapping on skin, filling the entire room.
"Aren, I-I'm gonna cum again," you tell him.
"Then do it," he replies, and he goes faster and trails his hand down to your clit. He circles it, which helps you get closer to your release. Your nails dig deeper into his shoulders, and Aren bites down on your shoulder in response. You choke out a moan, and he licks at the bite he just made. With his gentle licks, fast pace thrusts, and your clit stimulation, you cream on his sheathed cock. "Fuck," he curses from your fluids being spilled onto him. He then sits himself up, grabs your thighs, and pulls them apart. From his new position, he can hit your cervix and penetrate even further. You clutch at the couch cushions after losing his shoulders. The creaking of the couch and skin slapping skin becoming much louder now.
"Shit," he curses again and spreads your thighs even more. "I'm gonna fill you so nice. Your cunt's gonna be filled with my cum."
"A-Aren," you mumble.
"Yeah, you want me to fill you up, huh?," he taunts you with his promise.
"Ye-Yes," you beg him.
"Heh, okay then," he breathes and continues his fast pace. Your tired cunt still sucking him in. It's not long before he finally spills himself inside you. He huffs and then collapses above you. His breath in your ear and his chest heaves along with yours. After a minute, he hovers over you to look into your eyes. His purple eyes gleam down at you. "Are you alright?" His voice is soft and soothing.
"I am," you reply and he sighs in relief. He pulls out of you and helps you to sit up.
"It's pretty late now," he mentions.
"Is it? I hadn't even noticed," you joke and he laughs.
"Here, let's get you to bed," he puts hand out for you. You take it and he leads you to his bedroom. You both climb under the covers and he lays himself right next to you. You cuddle up into him and he holds your hips with his hand.
"Good night, Aren. I love you," you say. He kisses your forehead.
"Good night, Y/N, I love you too," he says and you both drift off.
{♥‿♥}
© yakshasslut 2023, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, use for ai, copy, translate, or repost my content on any platform. comments, reblogs, and likes are loved
#୨✩୧ Collabs#aren#kuboyasu#aren kuboyasu#kuboyasu aren#aren x reader#kuboyasu x reader#aren kuboyasu x reader#kuboyasu aren x reader#anime#self insert#collab
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which characters do you ship your moots with ?!
HEY NONNIE *greets you wit a kiss* thank you sm for stopping by with this ask! im sorry im getting it to it so late ive had a busy day LOLZ i hate tuesdays. ima try to add as many people off the dome as i can recall but knowing me ima try to add everyone :(((( but here we are !
@divilyn — i present to you . . . . DOTTORE ! i think this was a no brained for me; you and the mad doctor are madly in love w each other !!
@444yeager — i present to you . . . GRIMMJOW ! i just feel like he’d match your internally chaotic energy in some shape or form😭 i can also see him affectionately called you brat like all the time . i was gonna put eren bc of url but i was like HMMMMM IDKK
@hellavile — i present to you . . . . EREN ! do i need to explain this one ? no i don’t . i had a fleeting thought to give you muzan but that didn’t even look write bc we all would pair mocha with eren if it came down to it .
@dejwrites — i present to you . . . . SHUNSUI ! this much was tewwwww obvious like kyoraku got dej’s name written all over him i had to pair him w you . y’all look so good together
@6kugo — i present to you . . . . BAKUGOU ! ima say iwazumi too but i feel bakugou is giving me strong vibes rn idkkkkk. anyway yeah that angry blonde boy is your fav skrunkly he cools down when he’s around you <3
@eiflawriting —i present to you . . . . NANAMI ! we all know that eifla belongs to kento <3 that’s just her man it’s a given . i don’t make the rules
@6yno — i present to you . . . CYNO ! i was tempted to say diluc as well bc HELOOOO HES HIM but then i looked at your url and was like nah….cyno is the one and he fits best !
@emomanswhore — i present to you . . . . ALUCARD ! the dark haired scruffy one ofc. the blonde alucard is castlevania is ethereal and sexy don’t get me wrong but hellsing! alucard???? OHHHH LAWWWDD HAMMERCY i just know y’all two are like….a match made in heaven i can’t see u with anyone else
@bbiemilk — i present to you . . . . TOBIO ! this one needs absolutely no explanation you’re his star girl <3
@garoujo — i present to you . . . . NAGI ! the way you scream and giggle about him on the dash is so endearing it’s adorable 😭😭😭 honorable mention is garou & gojo bc that’s who your username comprises of but nagi was the right answer in this case
@sintiva — i present to you . . . . AKI ! i know that’s your man ( too ) sin i gotchuuuuuu . i love staring at the black edit you have of him as your pfp
@venusflytrapstar — i present to you . . . . EREN ! honestlyyyyy I cant see you with anyone else but mr attack titan yeager 🙈
@monirei — i present to you . . . REINER ! this was far too obvious reiner is your other half :)
@shirohyorin — i present to you . . . . HITSUGAYA ! another one that needs absolutely no explanation or context. i have seen how much you love him and he adores you back; you’re his precious snowflake 🥺
@poohbea —i present to you . . . . BAJI ! THATS YOUR FOREVER BOYFRIEND BABE i automatically think of him when i see you and vice versa
@bleachedvampire — i present to you . . . . URAHARA + YORUICHI ! i had to say both bc there’s no one or the other. they are a package deal you must accept it .
@kxkyuu — i present to you . . . . ICHIGO ! let me rephrase this: ichi annndddd grimmjow bc ur suddenly doesn’t feel natural to mention one and not the other. you’ve got them both wrapped around your little finger !
@touyyes — i present to you . . . . DAN HIROKI ! bc of the edits of him in your bio AND u being the one that pmo to this sexy man in the first place….i have to say you are dan’s heart in human form he’d do anything for you
@rzor — i present to you . . . . ULQUIORRA ! first time we became mutuals ulqi was in your theme and the fact you liked my drabble of him so much 🥹🥹🥹 yeah im letting u have him ( for the time being sndbsbbsbsb sn )
@cyancherub — i present to you . . . . AKI ! sorry i just automatically associate him with you now it’s been burnt into my brain <3
@yamaguchism — i present to you . . . KAZUTORA ! the way you’ve rambled on about this man since last year… yeah i already know. he’s your comfort character and he’d shower you in so much love and adoration and make u feel like a princess
DEEPLY sorry if i didn’t add you this time around ima come back and edit this, all these were from the top of my head 🥹
#—sosa’s thoughts💭#tag games !#this too 4fucking EVERRRRRR#why did i think this would take 5 minutes#mmcht more like 25#ofc me being a people pleaser and feeling like i have to include everyone made me do this
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describe your moots in one word?
Oh shit here we go.
I scrolled down my following list so if we're moots and you're not here it's literally bc I probably don't believe you follow me bc I have set you on a pedestal of some kind. And if you're on here and we're not actually moots it's probably just because I really really like you and your blog 😅
@dark-mnjiro ~ psychic. Lee somehow knows what I like without me having to say anything, sends me manga panels that have me climbing walls when i’m on the cusp of zoning from boredom, and introduces me to characters that turn me into some kind of feral territorial creature howling to the gods about my love for a character ive literally seen two pics of. We went from non interactive moots not knowing each other to talking all the time on discord within a few conversations and now im like what would I do without this friendship?
@knchins ~ supportive! We haven't been moots very long at all but you've been kind to me and my writing manic keysmashes despite the short time, but thats the vibe I've gotten! And you are responsible to turning my mind toward spoiled Reo brainrot, i dont think i will ever thank you enough for Renunion hehehe
@boosyboo9206 ~ safe. It's really easy to talk back and forth with you and i love the way my heart flutters when send me puppy pics and art of my favorite pairings because that alone tells me that you’re thoughful enough to be thinking of me, and I’m so grateful that you don't judge me for being so awful with communication lol.
@kingkatsuki / @kingkunigami ~ assertive. its like jo really has her own brand and always just seems so unshakable, has the patience to respond to the constant stream of blank blogs asking why they’ve been blocked like its not obvious already. i love knowing when i go to her blog that im going to see her being herself. on top of her fabulous writing of course, im on her blog more than its healthy to admit.
@killsaki ~ real. Every time i’m scrolling their blog i find something to either cackle or bite my fist about. Dal is my favorite blog for unfiltered thoughts about their faves and just their life in general. if we met in real life im dead certain they’d be a friend i could count on to call me on my bullshit
@cyancherub ~ vibrant. Everything cass does is done brightly with all of her love. Her interactions with her followers are so lovely and its easy to see how much she enjoys hearing from everyone. And I can trust her to put her whole pussy into any of her fixations, and her fixations are ~top~ tier. While you were sleeping is still easily my favorite thing she’s ever written, ive read it through like 4x and it still leaves me breathless with its characterizations, the descriptions that im not sure she was even breathing as she wrote them, the energy is so wild and intense, and yet how well thought out everything is on top of it!
@iwaasfairy ~ talentedddd. Fairy is either making me wet with her writing or leaving me soaked with her art, living the life of being amazing at more than one creative outlet. I thank the universe that we’re friends and that she trusts me enough to send me the snippets that she’s working on and letting me howl at her in discord about how awesome her shit is. I get some of the first looks and I’m damn proud of that hehehe.
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@touyasdoll @sightoru @vagabondings @ihatebnha @kingkatsuki
@strafepanzer @kagejima @victoriacapo @yuujispinkhair
@saucybrtt @cyancherub @lilithbasically @ssplague @deleteddewewted @nkogneatho
thank you for doing what you love and sharing it for free (well, maybe it costs you a few hours of sleep). your work, at some point or in some way, has inspired me. 🧡
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𝐖𝚬𝐋𝐂𝚶𝐌𝚬 𝐓𝚶 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐙𝐙 2𝐊 𝚬𝐕𝚬𝐍𝐓.
hey everyone! welcome to my event and happy valentines’ day! i hope you all have had a wonderfully day, and that you are ready to join the event: a voice reveal! send in an ask from the list at the bottom and i’ll answer it with a voice recording!
from the bottom of my heart - thank you for following me and interacting with me either with my works or my own posts! being on here has become a very fun and kind space where i enjoy my time always <3 thank u to my wonderful mutuals and to my anons!
taglist: @prettyboykatsuki @lovewheeler @sems-diarie @pupkou @shibaraki @cyancherub @j0succ @drspellmans @p00pdev1l @saintshigaraki @dearbraus @deartoru @mydiluc @nyahoya @vutopia @ghostbeam @hanmas @dottores
here! <- choose from here and send them in!
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thank you so much to everyone that participated in last night's game 😭 it never fails to amaze me how hilarious y'all are and SEEING SUCH A GOOD RESPONSE TO MY FOOLISH IDEAS ALWAYS MAKES ME SHED A LIL SLIMY TEAR so thank you for that as well
unofficial slimeball game nights are wednesdays/sundays, ik the poll winner was games whenever but that's how it tends to naturally work out by the time they're all ready to go.
"which slimeball?" joined by slimeball daddy @cyancherub is already waiting in the wings so keep your eyes out!
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To my lovely mutuals and followers-
I really wish I had the mental capacity to make a post about how much you all mean to me and the absolute gratitude I feel towards you for supporting me on this silly little site.
All I can say is, I love you, most ardently. I am working towards being able to become a better writer and posting more again as well as becoming a better person in general. This year really kicked my mental health in the ass, to be honest. But I am working and doing my best and that’s all I can ask of myself.
I’ve had many losses but also many beginnings and I couldn’t be more thankful. To all my moots- Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You mean the world to me. ❤️
just a few that I love and appreciate, even if we don’t interactI am getting there, I promise! (i’m sorry if I missed you): @r-oronoa @suyacho @blueparadis @pcwer @asmology @ambieux @sweet-seishu @dilu3 @fairyfuyu @fuwushiguro @gyuwutaro @haitani-plague @jotatetsuken @kisslumi @lou-struck @cyancherub @cryptred @vagabondings @noriken @nyaaaaanma @nymphoheretic @thetempleofnyx @theacevampire @sennsational @yakshasslut
#vega speaks <3#you are all so lovely and important to me<3#keep doing things that make you happy#happy 2023 ! woop woop
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I've turned anon on and I still don't know how how to ask this... okay
*deep breath*
Is it a compliment to tell an amazing author, such as yourself, that their writing is so fucking good that you get yourself off to it.... multiple times, and even thinking about it gets you hot and flustered.
Erm, yeah, if it's not we can pretend that this stupid ask never existed and I'll hide my stupid embarrassed face like the little whore I am.
I think you have ruined me
YEA THATS A HUGE COMPLIMENT IMO BESTIE arE U KIDDING MEEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 IM SO FLATTERED that is the biggest ego boost oh my GOD qksksksosidjddjjffj THANK YOU
I'm just offering a crumb bc you made me so excited to write zjdkdjdjfjfjfj and also @cyancherubs mention of anal play made me feral earlier so mcmxsmskdkdjfjfj
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rules: shuffle your ‘on repeat’ playlist and post the first 10 tracks, then list 10 songs you really like, each by a different artist. then tag 10 people to do the same thing.
Thank you @amethystsoda 💕
The shuffles:
1. Talk that Talk - Rihanna
2. Sea, Swallow Me - Cocteau Twins, Harold Budd
3 The Place I left Behind - The Deep Dark Woods
4. Fire for You - cannons
5. Love it if we made it - The 1975
6. XCT - Che Ecru
7. AUHEJA - Martin Kohlstadt, Sudan Archives
8. Gold Dust Woman - Fleetwood Mac
9. The Weight of Gold - Forest Swords
10. Cococure - Maxwell
10 that I like:
1. Love you to death - Type O Negative (thanks zell)
2. Get to Me - Amber DeLaRosa
3. Warm Winds -SZA, Isaiah Rashad
4. Belong - Washed Out
5. All The Flowers in Time Bend Towards the Sun - Mind Cinema
6. Lamp Lady - Sevdaliza
7. Save room for Us - Tinashe, MAKJ
8. American Teenager - Ethel Cain
9. Us - NAVVI
10. Addicted to Love - Florence + the Machine
No pressure tags of course:
@brujaovermoxy @islandofangels @deliriovs @p00pdev1l @touyangel @miamisa101 @cyancherub @oh-katsuki @helenas-revenge @onecelestialbeing @phen0l @alekstraszas @existentialisttrashh !
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ＳＵＢＬＩＭＥ.