#tw.babytrapping
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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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Do u consider babytrapping noncon? I kind of want to submit a request with that theme but I won’t if it goes against the rules. Thanks! I really miss your writing.
nope i don’t consider it noncon- i’m just not into writing people like forcing themselves onto someone else but i like writing babytrapping and manipulation ygm? i’m looking forward to your request and thank you for respecting rules!!! also that makes me so🥺🥺you miss my writing it makes me feel so appreciated thank you!!
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𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔟
❥summary: what started off as sweet, innocent teenage love turned into a dark trap
❥warnings: tw physical abuse, tw emotional abuse, tw possessiveness, tw noncon (implied), abusive relationships, some mention of blood, cheating, suicide ideation
❥word count: 4.9k
thank you @obscureamor for helping me with a lot of the ideas for this fic, you’re my fave degen to lewd w ily <33
the first time daichi told you he loved you you were both sixteen. innocent, sheepish, naive but flattered as you stood under those spring cherry blossom trees, a breeze billowing, the sky a clear cerulean and pink petals showering down, clinging to your hair. he told you you looked beautiful, kissing the back of your hand and holding it with gentle fingers and the single rose he handed to you smelled so sweet. you didn’t care if the thorns pricked your fingers till you bled.
he still tells you he loves you. you just don’t know if he means it.
you’re not sure when it started to sour. maybe it was when daichi’s soft eyes became hard and his soft voice became deep, low growls instead. he was still kind and loving- but it was rather when he wanted to be. when you were being the perfect girlfriend, not the slutty whore that spoke too much to asahi and laughed at sugawara’s jokes, not the bitch wearing a short skirt and a tight top for every animalistic man on the streets to see- after all, did you want their attention or daichi’s? his fits of anger and snarls were unpredictable but time taught you lessons- answer his phone calls and messages straight away, let him choose what he wants to see you in, tell him who you’re going out and where and you dare make friends with people he disapproves of? it’s like you don’t even care about him! can’t you see it’s for your own good?
but daichi still loved you. each piercing scratch from his sharp words were always soothed with a contrasting kindness, care.
“i just want what’s best for you. don’t you trust me, don’t you trust your boyfriend?”
seeing the softness in his eyes, the hurt in his voice, you couldn’t help your heart wrenching with guilt. of course you shouldn’t have complimented asahi on his spike and you shouldn’t have let sugawara hug you and you shouldn’t have gone away for that weekend camping trip with your family without telling daichi- of course he’d panic when you returned his insistent calls hours later. you just should’ve been a good girlfriend, just like he wanted.
it never occurred to you that maybe daichi’s grips on your arm were too bruising, his words too venomous, his narrowed eyes too malicious till it’s too late.
when you’re holding that cursed stick in your trembling hands, those two pink lines blurring with the hot tears in your eyes stinging, daichi holds you. he holds you as you shake with each heavy sob, his lips pressed against your temple.
“it’s okay, y/n, it’s okay.” he whispers soothingly but you still can’t quell your rising panic, the horrible dread heavy in the pits of your stomach.
“it’s not okay!” you sob, shoving the pregnancy test stick to daichi to bury your tear-stained face in your hands. “we’re still at college, how can we have a baby?! it’s not the right time!” there’s words you don’t choke out. words that you know would reduce him to a screaming mess. maybe he’d throw around some of your belongings like the last time, maybe he’d even back you into a wall, trapping you with his taller, broader body.
“we’ve got this.” he says calmly, a gentle smile on his face as he rubs your back. “you can quit college till the baby’s older and by that time i’ll be a cop so i can support us. it’ll work out.” he kisses away your tears as he pulls you into his lap. “don’t cry, this will all work out. it’s our perfect family, a little earlier than we expected but just as good.” it sounds too well-planned. you don’t reciprocate when he presses his lips against yours, sighing slightly. “i love you.” you don’t say it back. you’re drained, your bloodshot eyes feeling heavy as you rest your head against his chest, cursing that thing inside you- his child- that has condemned you to a life tied to him. what a shame. maybe if you were smarter you’d have realised that since daichi started going to the pharmacy for you, those small ivory pills were a slightly yellower shade and sweeter than usual.
four years had passed. things only got worse.
you wake up to a prison. you’re bounded by the gold band on your left hand and the small child who you wake up with loving kisses, trying not to see your husband in those identical round brown eyes and short brunette hair. you’re locked in daichi’s grip every day of your life from the moment you wake up with his strong arm wrapped around your waist, pinning you down in his grip even when he sleeps.
it’s suffocating to live in a world of just daichi and your son. friends and family faded into a faraway dream. but it turns out he was right along.
“your friends are a bad influence.” he used tell you, pulling you to sit beside him on the couch with your infant son cradled in your arms. he kisses your cheek, a soft gesture that contrasts with the iron grip he has on your arm. “what sort of mother would you be to our son if you’re always out with your friends instead of being home with us?” you look down at the little baby, his soft, chubby, rosy cheeks, his round chin, his button nose, the brown tufts of hair. you hate the initial bitterness that consumes you like poisonous vines when you stare down at your son- daichi’s son- his warmth feeling icy cold in your arms before you push it away, daichi’s words ringing in your head. you have to be a good mother. you have to be a good mother.
eventually your friends stop leaving missed calls and unanswered messages.
the first time you’re lying on the floor, a crumpled, sobbing heap you threaten to leave. your face is numb, your vision blurred with hot tears as nothing but pain sears in the tender skin. you can barely breathe, hysterical with choked sobs rising in your tight throat and your body shivering as daichi towers over you. you scramble away when he crouches down to your cowering body, his face stoic.
“try it.” he says calmly, his cold eyes flickering down to your growing baby bump. “you’ve already disgraced your family by getting pregnant during college, do you really think they’ll ever look at you the same?” your blood runs cold as his fingers press on your chin, his touch oddly gentle compared to the bone-crunching punch he gave you moments ago. “they don’t care about you, y/n. not like i do.”
“b-but you hurt me.” daichi grimaces, his hand gently stroking the sore, reddened skin that he caused.
“i didn’t mean to. it was an accident, you know i love you.” his thumb wipes away your wet tears. “i’m sorry, let’s start over. you can’t leave me, we’re having a baby together- don’t take our son away from his dad. don’t let me be all alone.” his other hand tenderly presses on the swell of your stomach, stroking his child. “y/n?” your eyes flutter shut, taking a deep breath to calm your pounding heart as you try to relax into his touch.
“it won’t happen again?”
“never. i’m sorry.” you nod, trying not to let those stinging tears fall anymore as he kisses your pounding head.
but it happens again. and again. and again.
sometimes you lie awake at night after daichi’s fucked you. your throat pulsates with the forming bruises, a deep ache settling between your legs and every inch of your skin feeling tainted from the way your husband has fucked you so roughly, using you for his sole pleasure like a doll with the way he had your sobbing face pressed into the mattress, the grip on your hair burning. he sleeps soundly beside you now, that possessive arm still wrapped around your waist.
maybe you could leave.
bright fantasy burns in the back of your eyelids. a life where you’re happy, free to have friends and family, free to leave the house without the creeping paranoia of his eyes watching you. a life where you don’t have your phone checked every night, anxiety creeping in you just in case there’s a number in there that isn’t his. a life where you don’t flinch every time he reaches out to touch you, sometimes with a slap, sometimes with tender touch.
but you need money. and you’ve never worked a day in your life- the idea of a job is as much of a fantasy to you as freedom is. the cash you get is from daichi’s wallet but there’s not much to spend on: you only go out with him and your child and he’s the one to swipe his card for the bill and he takes you grocery shopping after you took too long the first few times, resulting in him interrogating you, hands pushing you up against the wall as your toddler wailed in the doorway. you don’t even buy makeup, pretty clothes, shoes or handbags because what if daichi doesn’t like them? what if he asks you why you want to dress like that, is there someone else’s attention you’re vying for?
you remember one of the times you brought up a job. it was at breakfast, your child had just turned two and was sat in his high-chair, babbling as you tried to feed him his porridge. daichi was sat opposite, sipping his coffee as he scrolled through his phone.
“hey, daichi.” he hums at you, glancing up briefly as you lower the bowl of porridge, nervously mixing the lumpy mixture around. “you know how he's older now? i was thinking, i have more time and…” your throat goes dry as he looks up at you, a small crease deepening between his brows. “well, i could do with a job. it’d be good for us to have some extra money a-and it’ll be a nice thing for me to do so i’m not stuck in the house bored all day.” you’re not sure what daichi’s thinking, his eyes trained on you as your son coos to himself.
“what’s wrong with me and our son that you want to leave this house so much?” his voice is ice cold. it makes your heart sink, the spoon clattering against the bowl from your trembling hands.
“n-nothing, i-i didn’t mean it like that.” his jaw clenches, the vein in his temple throbbing and you hate yourself for bringing it up. stupid. pathetic. stupid. what were you thinking?
“i provide for this family, okay? your only job is to be a good housewife and a good mum. do you understand?” you’re silent for a second too long and pain sears in you as he grips your jaw, yanking you forward roughly with his fingers pressing in so hard, his brutal strength excruciating. “i said, do you understand?”
“yes!” it’s a meek whimper with the hot tears that fill your ears. but daichi doesn’t look at all sympathetic or sorry as he pushes you back forcefully. the bowl falls from your hands, smashing over the tiles, the shards jagged and ugly. the loud crack startles your son, making him cry loudly. daichi lifts him out of the high chair before you can, cooing gently and kissing his chubby cheeks but his face becomes a cold, unforgiving glare as he looks down at you.
“clean up the mess.”
you never bring up the topic ever again.
your son beginning preschool is a gift. for the first time in years, there’s a lightness in your chest to be able to leave the house, holding your son’s small hands as you walk him to school. it’s liberating, feeling the breeze ripple through your hair, the sweet fragrance of flowers and pollen hanging in the air, the bustle of passing cars without the shadow of daichi looming. it’s an excuse to leave the house, to walk through longer streets and go into shops and buy the fruits you want with the money you pretend is yours and to be able to smile and speak to the shopkeeper yourself. for the first time in over ten years you feel some facade of independence. you almost feel free, like daichi isn’t your husband and you don’t have his son weighing you down, when you return to your empty home and get hours of being able to watch television and do your makeup and wear those beautiful clothes stuffed at the back of the wardrobe you thought you’d never be able to wear again. it’s empowering to catch people’s eyes for the first time in so long, to have other parents approach you with bright smiles. daichi was wrong, you think when you’re laughing with your new mum and dad friends. he’s wrong when you call your mother for the first time in years and she cries when she hears your voice, begging you to come home. other people can love you! he isn’t the only person you have.
you still scrub off the makeup and push your clothes to the back of the wardrobe every evening before daichi’s car pulls up in the driveway.
when you meet your son’s teacher, the darkness in your world fades. it’s like looking into the past, back at a time when life was brighter, when daichi wasn’t...daichi.
sugawara embraces you in a warm, gentle hug the day your son tugs you into his classroom after school. he’s grinning so wide, his hazel eyes crinkled and his grey hair still messy, his soft scent of lavender and soap still the same from all those years ago.
“it’s so good to see you, it’s been years!” he laughs, eyes taking in all of your features, scrutinising the way time has changed you.
“i don’t think i’ve seen you since the wedding.” you smile, tilting your head to admire how well sugawara had grown since you last saw him just almost seven years ago. he’s still as handsome, still smiling so vibrantly.
“i know, has daichi been keeping you locked up or something?” it’s a light-hearted chuckle but your stomach still jolts. “every time he comes out with us, he never brings you. even kiyoko said she hasn’t seen you for ages.” you force a smile, glancing away from his narrowed eyes to glance at your son waiting patiently by the doorway, his wide eyes watching with intrigue.
“someone has to stay home and look after that one.” sugawara laughs.
“he looks exactly like daichi, doesn’t he? as soon as i saw the surname and his face, i just knew he was yours.”
he opens his mouth to speak further but he’s cut off by the buzzing of your phone. you hope sugawara doesn’t notice how your hand trembles or how you blanch at seeing daichi’s name flash across the screen. he wasn’t home early, was he? would he be waiting at the front door waiting for you to walk in...in your tight dress, makeup plastered on your face and late? what would he do to you?
“i’m sorry. i have to go, i’ll see you tomorrow, sugawara.” he nods, opening up his arms in a hug which immediately you melt into, clinging to his warmth and breathing in his warm scent that just seems to make your thumping heart and churning stomach slow down, lulling you into serenity and safety. you hope he doesn’t realise you’re clinging to him for too long, hating how it hurts to pull away.
on the way home, your son asks you how you know sugawara sensei and you smile, admiring the pink blossom that flutters through the air as you tell him your stories of high school. as you approach your front door, the heavy weight in your stomach dissipates when you see daichi’s car isn’t parked out front.
“listen,” you tell your son. “don’t tell daddy your teacher is sugawara sensei. it’ll be a surprise for him.” you force a shaky smile and the innocent little boy nods, his eyes wide. he doesn’t question it.
your days become brighter. long conversations with a number saved as ‘pizza shop’ during the middle of the day when you know your son spends his lunchtimes on a playground and you’re at home, giggling and laughing away on the phone. sometimes they grow lustful and your hand sneaks between your legs, gasping and seeing white so much harder than you do with your own husband. it’s not fun not being able to see sugawara as much as you wish with daichi keeping you shackled but it only makes the moments you see him so much better. you enjoy the days daichi works later hours because then you have enough time to go into sugawara’s classroom once all the students have gone home. sometimes he lets your son sit in the reading nook in the corner of the classroom whilst the two of you sit by his desk, laughing as you feel the safety to open yourself up to him. he’s just kind. sweet and caring and his jokes always make you laugh so hard. there’s no anxiety, no tension, your body never feels the need to flinch at any of his sudden movements and you aren’t scared of saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things. other times he’ll take you and your son out to cute diners and ice cream shops where everything feels bright, natural and just happy.
all the darkness daichi keeps you in fades away with the light sugawara brings.
that’s until you mess up.
you’re trembling when you see daichi’s car in the driveway. nothing but utter fear consumes you, tears stinging your eyes with fear and feeling like you’re going to be fucking sick as your son tugs you closer down the garden path to the front door.
“come on, mummy!” he cries. he’s so innocent, he doesn’t understand the fright or why your hands shake so much you can’t even force the key into the lock. but you don’t need to. the door opens and daichi stands in the doorway. in all the years you’ve spent looking into his eyes, they’ve never looked so dark. so empty.
“daddy, you’re home early!” your son exclaims as he skips into the house, his eyes sparkling extra bright. you don’t want to meet daichi’s eyes as you watch his narrowed orbs follow the little boy. there’s sticky ice cream stains clinging to his chin and the shirt of his uniform. he doesn’t say anything, turning to you as he gestures with his head and holds the door open.
“aren’t you going to come in?”
it’s like walking to your own death.
you can’t help the involuntary flinch when he closes the door behind you, your body shaking uncontrollably as the door snaps shut. the lock clicks, the bolt sliding as he does the chain. a prison.
“why don’t you go to your room?” daichi says, brushing past you as he approaches his son and ruffles his hair. “daddy’s bought you a new toy car.”
“a police one?” the little boy gasps, his eyes widening and sparkling with adoration for his father. his father that traps you in his web of death like an evil, deathly spider. daichi smiles.
“yeah, a police car because you want to be like daddy when you’re older, right?” the boy nods and runs up the stairs, not even looking back to you sinking in on yourself. daichi’s looking up the stairs till the bedroom door snaps shut.
“please-” you don’t even get a chance to speak. you gasp, stumbling and blinking hard as tears fill your eyes, gasping as nothing but utter pain sears through your cheek. it’s warm and tender to touch, the force of daichi’s hand enough to send blood pounding in your ears, your skin throbbing. “daichi-” he does it again, a cry of anguish escaping you as his hand meets the sore skin of your cheek again. and again.
you sob as you crumple on the floor, tears and snot dribbling down your face and ruining the makeup you prepared so beautifully that day. sugawara told you you looked beautiful. happy. not anymore.
“p-please, daichi- i-i’m begging you!” your hand trembles and your body flinches as you try to shield yourself from daichi’s raised one but he pushes it away, like a feeble nothing. his eyes are fiery blackness, teeth gritted together and his cheeks flushed with the redness of his anger.
“what the fuck is this?” he hisses, harsh fingers slapping at the exposed thigh of your short dress and shoving against the shoulders of your low neckline. “what sort of whore do you think you’re dressing like? who are you dressing like this for?” you’re choking on sobs as you try to force out the words, your trembling hands trying to cling to daichi’s but he’s strong and harsher, smacking them away with stinging pain.
“n-no one- daichi, please!”
he laughs at you, mirthless and cruel as he grabs you by your hair, the pain burning in your scalp as you try to prise his hands off you, wailing out for help as he drags you into the living room.
“stop crying.” he hisses as he shoves you against the hard floor. he stands in the doorway, his eyes wide and gleaming as you scramble away from him, begging for mercy yet crying for help. “no one can help you.”
“i-i’ll tell the police.” it’s an empty threat and daichi’s harsh laugh echoes in the room, leaving you trembling as your back hits the wall. adrenaline is pumping through you, your mind screaming that you need to get out! he approaches closer, smiling calmly even though his hands are curled into fists.
“we live in the countryside, y/n. the police are my colleagues- who do you think they’d believe, a respectable officer of the law or some dumb housewife who’s been cheating on her dutiful husband with her son’s teacher?”
your heart stops. he knows. that’s murder and malice in his face and your body feels cold with every shiver. you need to get out.
it’s a flash of bravery when you get to your feet and run, your heart pounding in your chest but daichi’s too quick. too strong. he easily overpowers you, arms locking around your waist as he pushes you to the hardwood floor, your back smacking against the panels and leaving you immobilised with horrible pain wracking through your bones.
“did you not think i’d find out?” he hisses. you don’t even register his knuckles smashing against your face till pain spasms through it, your eyes tearing up and hot blood trickles from your throbbing nose, leaking into your mouth as you sob. the metallic taste makes you sick. “imagine how embarrassing it was for me to have one of the rookies come up to me and tell me they’d seen you getting all cosy with my old friend. in front of my own son.” he grips you by the scruff of your clothes only to slam you down onto the floor. every nerve in your body is alight with pain but it’s not over yet.
“you don’t realise you’re my wife. i’m not letting you leave me, i can’t be alone.” his eyes look dead. “i own you.”
he drills it into you. fucking you dry and tearing apart your walls, every thrust leaving you with nothing but pain and the possessive grip on your throat harsh and the slaps on your cheeks relentless. you can only cry that you’re sorry, beg for him to stop, beg for mercy but daichi doesn’t stop still you’re a broken mess on the floor, bruised legs spread and your wrecked cunt leaking his cum.
daichi’s eyes are softer but his face still cold and emotionless as he tucks himself into his pants, staring down at you lying pathetically on the floor.
“you need to clean yourself up.” he says, voice calmer as he pats your knee. “i’ll order a pizza for dinner.” he says it casually as he walks out of the door, snapping the door shut behind him.
you don’t see daylight again. all hours of the day are spent cooped in the house, staring at the same walls. you don’t even get to take your son to school anymore, the task being completed by daichi now and it always make you shiver when he comes home angrier after seeing the face of his former best friend- your former lover. you don’t know what he said to sugawara but the grey-haired man that was your only source of solace doesn’t show in your empty, darkened days again. it hurts, to think of how much happiness he brought to you, how heavy he made your heart beat and your world warm and now he’s nothing, just a distant memory.
does he not care? did he even ever love you? or were you just nothing to him?
the questions swirl in your mind every day spent in the same way: doing the laundry, cooking a hot meal for daichi, cleaning up every room in the house and trying not to cry when you dust photo frames of your quick, shotgun wedding- the legal trap daichi ensnared you in- and when you tidy away your son’s clothes, resisting the urge to destroy his bedroom because that small, innocent child, a mixture of your and daichi’s bloods, was the emotional trap that binds you to your captor for life. the same son that can’t even look at you now that daichi has left you ugly and bruised, the skin of your cheek welted and your nose and eyes purpled.
“do you see i’m the only one for you? you're mine- you belong to me- i love you.” daichi grunts the same words in your ear every night he fucks you. it’s always for him, his hips snapping into yours as he uses you for his own pleasure, one hand always locked around your throat, reminding that you’re stuck here, you’re going nowhere. it makes you feel dirty, tainted as he ruts into you but he’s all you have. sugawara isn’t here, your son is too young, family and friends long faded when daichi handed you the scissors to sever your ties all those years ago. all you can do is be silent and agree, doing whatever he wants you to because you’re worried one day he won’t be punching his fist into a wall- it could be your head.
you’re thankful for the day daichi forgets to lock the front door after dropping your son off to school and leaving for work. you're almost scared to pull it open, worried he’ll be standing by the gates but his car is gone. he isn’t there and the sky looks so blue despite the thick clouds, the smell of crisp, fresh air so relaxing to inhale.
it’s a chance to run.
your stomach churns with anxiety as you sit in the police station, staring at the uniformed officers who pass you by. each brunette one makes your heart jump and your body jolt before their face turns and you can breathe again because it isn’t him, it isn’t daichi and you’re still close to safety, you’re almost there to finally being free after so many countless days of just trying to survive. you can finally sleep safe without your body aching and your mind craving any source of freedom- your family, sugawara, even death would surely be better than this. maybe now once you’re free you could look at your son and see him without seeing daichi in his eyes, see him as your innocent child and not the one who chained you to your husband.
you don’t notice the narrowed eyes of the old officer at the desk.
that’s until you notice the familiar figure walking in through the doors, his brow deeply furrowed and his clenched fists hidden in his pockets.
“w-wait- what’s going on?” you’re begging, standing up as you turn to the officer who sighs as he scratches his head. he ignores you, looking straight at daichi.
“i thought it’d be best for you both to sort out.” is all he lazily says as daichi nods his head respectfully, thanking the man. but his eyes are trained on you.
“please- don’t let him take me!” you sob but daichi just sighs and the officer looks uncomfortable like he’s caught up in just a simple case of a husband and wife arguing. if only it was that simple.
“y/n, stop causing such a fuss.” daichi says, his voice gentle but you know the sharpness it can hold. his dark eyes are a warning. you can’t fight anymore. you can’t resist anymore. you already tried it and it was futile.
you’re going to die. you think it when daichi’s hand grips your arm, tighter and more bruising than it needs to be as he walks you to his car.
you’re going to die. you think it as your head knocks repeatedly against the window, your teary eyes just staring out at the empty, quiet hills that surround you as daichi fucks you. the glass of the car window is cold against the fresh welts on your cheek but each thrust is hard, forceful, punishing.
“you’re nothing.”
“i own you.”
“you’re going to regret ever thinking you can leave me.”
you’re going to die.
#tw.emotional abuse#tw.abuse#tw.noncon#tw.domestic abuse#tw.babytrapping#tw.pregnancy#darkconfectionery#Yandere haikyuu#yandere daichi#yandere!daichi#Yandere haikyuu x reader#yandere daichi x reader#yandere haikyuu imagines#yandere daichi imagines#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu fic#haikyuu x reader#daichi fic#daichi imagines#daichi x reader
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fifty/fifty | takami keigo.
request – can I request for Hawks getting jealous over chubby y/n bcs she's having fun with another guy so he must remind her who she belongs to until she has to beg for him to stop bcs she can't take it anymore and she was sorry.
note - I didn’t include whether or not reader was chubby. it makes me uncomfortable to write/describe body types whether it be skinny/chubby/fat so I’ll update my rules to reflect that.
details and tw – wc: 1.2k | afab!reader | dubcon | mentions of alcohol | semi-public sex | unfaithful reader | slapping | degradation | panty fucking (?) | baby trapping
Keigo is smarter than he’d ever let you know. The disarming pro hero – your dick appointment, for lack of better words – comes off as the golden retriever boy of every fan girl’s dreams, a soft romantic with a stroke game to make you come around every now and then. He’s shown you, through dates that you spitefully argue are most definitely not dates, that he’s the kind of man that you should fall in love with. It’s what leads you to believe that you could see other people without suspicion, because even if you aren’t dating him, you can’t escape the gutting shame that comes with it.
However, Keigo has been waiting in your hallway all night, waiting for you to come home from your date with another man, or at least that’s what he’s convinced himself was happening. What other reason could there be for your frigidness when he tells you he loves you or for you to be out so late without Keigo. You are seeing another man, he just knows it. He says he really couldn’t care who it is but when you come stumbling down the hallway, alone and still buzzed, his blood boils.
The other man won’t even walk you to your door and somehow he’s better than Keigo? It’s a nuclear blow to his ego, one that changes his every instinct to hold you with the utmost tenderness. But maybe you don’t want the nurturing type. You don’t want the domestic Keigo he has been pretending to be for you. Why bother keeping it up when you don’t fawn over him like he deserves. Your legs wobble underneath you as you focus on the swirling ground below you, not even noticing the vibrant red wings waiting for you until you arrive at your doorstep.
“Hawks, what the fu–" It’s easy enough for him to grab you by the wrist when you walk up, spinning you so that your chest is pressed up against the chipped paint of your front door. He releases you from his grip but his heavy body presses into yours, wings serving to trap you like a birdcage. You look up at the fluorescent lights in an attempt to avoid smashing your nose against the door.
“Is this what you see other men for, baby,” he growls through an unwittingly gritted jaw. Your booze-rattled mind can’t yet comprehend the malice behind his touch when Keigo gropes your chest through the flimsy material of your dress. He wonders if you bought it yourself or did your other man buy it for you to wear. It doesn’t look like the type of thing he thought you’d like but Keigo figures that he never really knew what you truly liked anyways.
“Keigo, please I’m really tired,” he wants to laugh. You still think he gives a shit about what you want. If it wasn’t so audacious to him, he might’ve been able to hold back from using his free hand to slap you. You freeze up in response. The part of your brain that screams at you to obey, that drenches your lace panties with the use of brute force, takes over and Keigo couldn’t be more pleased with you.
“Fucking finally,” Hawks rucks up your skirt, forcing the fabric to rest exclusively around your waist. Your mind is so far gone, between the alcohol on your breath, whatever else might be in your system, and the urge to submit, that you don’t even fuss about the fact that you are practically naked in public, at the mercy of his wings to shield you from any voyeur. Your thighs part ever so slightly for him and he hasn’t even bothered to make a move for you panties yet, “all it takes is a bit of force and you’ll just spread your legs for any fucker that comes your way.”
You whine for him, wiggling for him to touch your puffy clit, to give you just a modicum of his attention. You couldn’t have made a fatal choice. Keigo grabs your jaw, leaning in so that all of your sense focus on him and him alone, “I don’t want to hear a single fucking thing out your whore mouth. Got that, baby?”
The contempt in his little nickname clues you in to the fact that your only option is to nod and Keigo bites back a praise rising in the back of his throat. Instead he hoists you up against the wall, forcing you to sit on his knee as he fumbles to pull his cock out of his khakis. You know better than to reach out and touch him, pretending that the ceiling is just the most captivating thing you’ve ever seen under the soundtrack of Keigo’s belt clinking. But you also can’t help but take notice of how you actually feel inclined to touch him this time, how his meanness – it makes you want to be close to him.
In your contemplation of the irony and discrepancy of Keigo’s touch, you miss how he removes his knee, lining himself up with your clothed hole. Even with the manner in which your panties stay damp from your previous endeavors that night, the feeling of him forcing his cock inside of you, bastardizing your lace into a makeshift condom, it’s simply excruciating.
The fabric scratches against your swollen walls and you pray, to anything really, that he will not pull out, inspect the fabric, and find the leftover cum that will surely now stain the inside of your panties. But that’s exactly what he does, sticking one finger inside the garment as soon as he’s pulled out. Keigo doesn’t say a word, an unusual silence from him. Rather, he harshly tugs your hair back, craning your neck even further, only to shove his tainted finger in your mouth and wait until you clean him off.
“So you let other men cum inside you,” Keigo pushes your panties to the side, this time properly fucking into you and letting you feel just how good his cock is. Keigo on the other hand, feels how drenched your cunt is with another man’s seed, how shamelessly you moan on his cock. It only serves for him to push even further, snapping his hips against your ass as he gets closer to his own end. Even as riled up as he is, he still is so volatile when it comes to his own orgasm. The push of your ass against him edges on his own curiosity, “tell me, who came inside you?”
You stutter against him, unsure of the importance in this moment. You can’t understand why he would want you to moan out the other man’s name but Keigo has bigger plans in mind. The wrapping of his hand around your throat once more, his long fingernails pressing into your skin, it’s all to say that he isn’t testing you nor is he really asking you. You know that you have to.
“E-Enji!”
Keigo’s hips still as he releases his load into you. A bitter pang rests in his chest, knowing that you slept with his childhood hero but he finds solace in the fact that in the exact moment you uttered the name of the man you’d rather be with, there was a fifty-fifty chance that Keigo managed to tether you to him for the rest of your miserable life.
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concept: yaku babytrapping you (m)
❥yaku morisuke x fem!reader
❥warnings: yandere, controlling behaviour, financial abuse, mentions of murder/murderous thoughts, consensual sex, sexual assault (removal of condom), babytrapping, pregnancy, miscarriage mentions
❣︎anon: aight! can i officially request yan yaku poking holes in his condoms as a means to knock you up and stop you from ever leaving him? and maybe the aftermath of it(only if you want to though ^^) - yan anon
he didn’t understand why you wanted a job. sure, you’d spent years studying for a degree, paying tuition fees and working hard but you didn’t need one, not when you had yaku as your boyfriend. he’s so committed to you, so loving and captivated by your existence he didn’t think you’d ever want to work a day in your life when he’s here for you. he wants to care for you- he wants to be the one to buy you beautiful clothes and gifts, to keep you happy and stable in your wonderful shared home, to keep you safe from the pigs outside.
men are dangerous. he knows how they’d look at a beautiful person like you and want you all for themselves. they’d become enthralled by you, obsessed and stop at nothing to have you. they could hurt you, steal you away and force their love onto you, ripping you away from your one place of happiness, your one true love that’s yaku. but he can’t have that.
there’s been a few close calls- the guy who’d asked for your number once when yaku left alone in public for just a moment. if he hadn’t returned to the table just in time maybe you would’ve given it- you’d have been stolen away by another man not even worthy of you, gone from yaku forever. his world would be dark without you- and he couldn’t control the surge of anger that rushed through him seeing you look so flustered from another man.
“what the hell’s going on here?”
“morisuke-” you looked startled, your eyes widening as you look at the man. that’s when yaku’s eyes fall on the hand he’s placed on your forearm, and all he saw was red when he lunged for the man, grabbing whatever he could off the table. you’d cried when the police and paramedics came, the stranger’s hand impaled with a steak knife and blood oozing all over the white tablecloth. you’d told yaku he was lucky he didn’t press charges, but yaku simply didn’t care. he’d kill for you, do anything for you, just as long as it meant you were with him forever.
there’d been plenty of other times. bar fights and broken glass bottles, screaming matches till your throat was red raw and you were sobbing, just begging yaku to be normal. but this is normal, he’s utterly in love with you and what sort of man would he be if he didn’t protect you, if he didn’t show his love for you and keep you safe, keep you happy with him? he doesn’t have a life without you, and you don’t have a life without him.
that’s why it’s a slap in the face when you finally get a job after so long. first yaku feels betrayed- how did you leave the house without him to go for your interview? when did you even apply- he hadn’t seen it on your search history or any calls or emails? how were you hiding these things from him- what else were you hiding?
“i’ll be gaining independence.” you smile the first day of work. yaku watches darkly, eyes piercing into you as he watches you adjust your shirt. it’s too tight, too revealing of your wonderful body- another asset that’ll just lure in men. is this what you want?
“you know i can take care of you.” you meet his eyes in the mirror but you don’t respond except for a small, wry smile before you’re reaching for your bag and leaving, the door snapping shut behind. why do you want independence? what money do you need when yaku can provide for you? why do you need other friends when you have him? why do you need a life when your entire world should be him?
seeing you at work is hard. the first few times you’d been sweet, beaming as you introduced him to your coworkers, putting the bouquet of flowers he’d bring you on your desk. it gave him a thrill to see the framed photograph of the two of you on holiday you have in your cubicle too, giggling that everyone can see who you belong to. but then it starts to become sour.
you don’t greet yaku with a smile anymore when he’s coming up to your office floor, instead looking scandalised as you stare at him carrying the bouquet of flowers and teddies across the workspace.
“morisuke,” you hiss, lowering your head as your colleagues peer at you. you even turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, his lips narrowly missing yours and pressing against your cheek instead. “you can’t keep coming, i have work to do.” why do you seem so embarrassed? where’s the photo frame on your desk? you think he doesn’t know but he’s smarter than he lets on.
yaku sees the fallen petals withering by the dustbin. there’s no vase ready for the new flowers and you start to come home from work later, sometimes rosy-cheeked and eyes sparkling with the scent of alcohol lingering on your breath. once you’d even pulled up in an unfamiliar car, a bright laugh apparent on your face as you glanced back at the stranger, waving. he knows what you’re planning- he knows you’re saving your salary, that soon you may not even need him and the worries keeps yaku awake at night, his eyes piercing into your sleeping form beside him on the bed. you look so happy as you sleep, eyelids twitching and chest rising with calm breaths. but it’d be easy to keep you with him forever, to make sure he’s all you know for eternity before it’s too late. he could get his pillow and hold it over your face, pressing it down and you wouldn’t even struggle- you’d slowly breathe your last, forever being his.
but then you’d be gone forever, and yaku would be lost. his world would cease to exist and the idea of that fills him with more dread, his stomach churning with nausea. there has to be a better way, a way where you’d be forever his, forever bound to him with no way to escape. simply locking you up wouldn’t help- you have a life now and there’d be questions. what if you grew to resent him? and marriage was breakable, easily nullified the moment you decided you simply didn’t love him anymore.
this was a better way.
you’re too fucked out to notice the thin little holes disrupting the foil packet. you clearly don’t care, not when you’re whining and bucking your hips up desperately, drooling with your lustful eyes hazy. you’re sopping wet, slick dribbling down between your thighs and leaking a puddle on the bedsheets below you from being edged to the point of tears.
“morisuke,” you whine, squirming below him with your eyes fixated on his painfully hard cock. “want you now- please!”
“don’t worry, i’ll fuck you good, baby.” you’re too fucked out to notice the smile that stretches across yaku’s face is too cold, too unnerving as he slides the condom onto his cock. “don’t worry, i’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”
there’s a thrill running through him as he slides his sheathed cock into your hole, your warm walls tightening around him with little resistance and your loud moans filling the room as he thrusts into you. you’re so oblivious, your eyes hazy and lust-filled with sinful means falling freely as he fucks his cock against your spongy walls, drool spilling from your open mouth as he pounds into you.
“m-morisuke! fuck- feels so good!” your hips buck up to meet his, your hands gripping your tits as your walls tighten around him.
“you like that? you like me fucking you like this?” his hand trails up your chest, gripping your throat and the lewd moan that you release is so beautiful. he fucks you harder, cock throbbing between your sensitive walls and you’re whining when the coil in your stomach tightens.
“g-gonna cum!” your back arches off the bed, chest pressing against yaku’s and wetness gushes from you, tight walls convulsing around him as he moans. he fucks you through your high, your orgasm triggering his and heavy moans fall from his lips, heart thumping as cum floods the condom.
you’re panting, eyes fluttering shut with drowsiness that you don’t notice the icy smile creeping on yaku’s face as his fingers loosen around your throat, but he doesn’t let go. maybe if you’d have opened your eyes you’d have seen how utterly wrong this was.
he isn’t sure how long it’d take but he doesn’t stop. it isn’t hard to prick a needle through the foil packets, permeating it with tiny little holes that you’d never notice. there’s some days when you’re so fucked out, mind so clouded and so desperate to cum that you don’t even realise when he slips the entire condom off, sheathing himself in you and fucking you till he’s spilling his seed in you. and poor, oblivious you who drifts off into sleep the moment you’re falling from the high of your orgasm, you never really realise.
“you okay?” a deep frown is etched on your face when you look up at yaku from where you’re sat at the edge of the bed, leg bouncing nervously. he can see your bottom lip trembling, the tears swimming in your eyes as you nervously twist your hands together. is this it? hope is rising in his chest, his heart thumping as he forces himself to keep a straight face when he sits beside you, reaching out to take your hand into his. “hey, what’s up? you can speak to me.”
“m-morisuke.” a tear rolls down your cheek and your voice cracks slightly. “i’m pregnant.”
it’s hard for him to feign shock. his mouth falls open as he stares at you, watching you cry softly, but instead nothing but pure joy is filling him. his heart thumps with happiness and he feels so warm with the knowledge that you’re his forever.
“oh y/n,” he sighs, pulling you into his arms. “it’s okay, we’ll do this together.”
“but i don’t want-” his grip tightens on you, nails piercing into the flesh of your back as he holds you.
“we’ll do this together.”
it’s not a question. it’s not a suggestion. it’s a decision.
it’s hard to feel resentful about the growing child in your slowly swelling stomach. it’s not the child’s fault. it’s not your fault. it’s not Yaku’s fault- you’d always used protection almost religiously, but you can’t help but feel suffocated.
this child binds you to him forever. no matter how much you want to pull away from him, the man who sends a cold chill running down your spine, the man you wished you’d never met. but now there’s no escape, especially when you’re carrying his child. the unborn child he already loves.
it’s like there’s no escape. yaku dotes on you and the child festering in you too much you feel like you can’t breathe- he’s pressuring you to quit your job, claiming the stress of a workplace is no environment for a pregnant person. you can’t do anything at home- all the cleaning, cooking, household chores is controlled by yaku and he refuses to let you out of his sight, claiming what if something happens to you. it’s frustrating and stressful, and although the guilt eats at you from the inside out, you don’t stop yourself from wishing that you can wake up in a pool of blood.
#yandere!yaku#darkconfectionery#tw.yandere#tw.abuse#tw.sexual assault#tw.babytrapping#tw.pregnancy#yandere yaku x reader#yandere yaku imagines#yandere#tw.infantilisation#tw.miscarriage#yandere haikyuu#yandere haikyuu imagines#yandere haikyuu x reader#neems’ queueueuuee :3
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𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔬𝔶𝔞 𝔶𝔲 (𝔪)
❥nishinoya yū x gn!reader
❥warnings: tw yandere, tw babytrapping, mature, restrains, overstim, praise kink, breeding kink
❣︎anon: can i req yandere noya tying up his s/o and fucking her/them unconscious? with praise and a breeding kink please? thank you, mwah!! 💝💝
without you, nishinoya’s world would cease to exist.
he knows you think he doesn’t have a clue- but he does. he’s smarter than he lets on and he’s known that you’ve been planning it for a while- the internet history of flight tickets, travel brochures, language guides- but he loves you too much to ever let you make it a reality.
you think it’s your last time with him- but he knows it’ll be forever.
you smile against his lips as he presses you to the bed, your arms stretching out for nishinoya to tie them to the headboard. he moans against you, tongue thrashing with yours and your mixed salivas drooling down your chin as he ruts against you, hard throbbing cock pressed against your thigh.
“you’re so beautiful.” he murmurs as he presses kisses down your naked chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around your nipples to make you mewl and twitch. “i love you.” you don’t respond but nishinoya knows you love him too- you’re just too preoccupied with how he uses his tongue on you, making you come undone on his mouth as your moans fill the room and your toes curl into the mattress.
and when he fucks you, it’s even better. every stroke has you filled with warm pleasure, body quivering and your loud moans and tears of sensitivity bleeding into the mattress as nishinoya pounds into you. “you take my cock so well- you’re made for me.” he reminds you as he fills you up with his dick, your hole squeezing tight around him as pleasure rushes through you. it doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cum, he keeps fucking you enough for the stinging oversensitivity to meld into pleasure, bringing another rush of an orgasm. and all he does is moan how much he loves you, how perfect you are, how you’re the light of his life, the only light. the fingers around your throat start to cling too much, your moans growing breathless, eventually silent.
nishinoya doesn’t stop fucking you even when your arms go lack in the restrains and your eyes fall heavy, but when he finally does he’s drenched in sweat but it’s worth it to see your quivering hole full of his cum. it slowly dribbles out, a wet sticky mess and you’re stained in him. nishinoya wants nothing more than for you to become swollen with his kid, tied to him forever. a perfect family with you forever, that’s his perfect dream, enough to make his softening cock hard again to fuck a baby into you properly.
#darkconfectionery#yandere!nishinoya#tw.yandere#tw.babytrapping#tw.breeding#nishinoya imagines#nishinoya x reader#yandere nishinoya#darkthirsts#haikyuu thirsts#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#nishinoya x y/n#nishinoya drabble#haikyuu drabble#nishinoya thirst#yandere haikyuu imagines#yandere haikyuu x reader#yandere haikyuu#yandere nishinoya imagines#yandere nishinoya x reader
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yandere yaku finally convincing his virgin s/o to have sex but they don’t know that he plans to knock them up so that they’ll never be able to fuck anyone else. And once they fall asleep he ties them to the bed and continues to fill them with his cum
❣︎yaku morisuke❣︎
warnings: tw dubcon, tw babytrapping, corruption kink, virgin!reader
you’re so innocent- you’ve never felt the touch of another man and the thought of that makes yaku feral. you’ll never know either, you’ll only know him.
he starts off slow. a sweet and attentive lover because he really does love you so much, you’re his whole world. that’s why he can’t ever lose you.
he makes your first time unforgettable- making you cum on his fingers when he curls them deep inside you, rubbing those spongy walls as your legs shudder and you cry out. he makes you cum on his tongue, face buried against your cunt, your hips grinding on him as you pull his hair, wetness gushing all over his tongue. you’re exhausted and your cunt is a sopping mess by the time he finally sinks his cock into you, stretching out your tight virgin walls to accommodate his cock as you whimper and moan.
“all mine.” he grunts into your neck, bruising it with possessive bites. “you’re all mine.” you’re moaning to his touch- it has to be like that always.
that’s why after you reach your limit and you pass out yaku doesn't stop- he keeps driving his cock into you, not caring whether you’ll wake up or not. even if you do it won’t stop him from spilling his hot seed into you, fucking it deep into your cum. he just wants to keep you his at whatever cost, he thinks as he watches the cum dribble out of your ruined cunt, blood rushing back to his softening cock. you have to be with him forever, no matter what it takes.
#darkthirsts#tw.dubcon#tw.babytrapping#yandere!yaku#darkconfectionery#yandere haikyuu#yandere haikyuu imagines#yandere haikyuu x reader#yandere yaku#yandere yaku x reader#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x reader#yaku imagines#yaku x reader
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Pls pls I need some ukai x student!reader(18) where he gets her pregnant. He can't get mad at her bc she's naive and innocent and so he's really supportive bc he wants to have her trapped to him forever.
❣︎ukai keishin❣︎
warnings: mature, age gap, taboo relationship, breeding, babytrapping, corruption kink
you’re so dumb and innocent you really don’t understand how wrong this all is. your moans are lewd and sinful as you’re pressed against the empty gym wall, school shirt unbuttoned with your tits bouncing from every sharp thrust ukai gives you, his hard throbbing cock rubbing against your spongy walls as your legs around his waist pull him in deeper.
“k-keishin, keishin, keishin-” you chant his name like a prayer, drooling all over yourself and your eyes so glassy from how fucked out you are. “cum in me- please- want your cum, need you to fill me up!” you’re almost crying as you’re edging towards your third orgasm on his dick, slick dripping down your sticky thighs and a huge thrill rushes through ukai at the thought of filling you up with his cum, seeing the white fluid drip from your puffy cunt after he’s ruined it.
“you want me to fuck a baby in you?” you whine at his grunt, walls clenching around him tighter and he’s shocked when wetness starts to gush from you, your nails piercing into his shoulders as you cum all over him. everything about this is wrong, but I just feels so much better to ukai to think about ruining you, stealing away the innocence of a pure, young schoolgirl. he was the first ever dick you had and you’d become addicted, became his little cockslut and if he came in you, got you swollen and pregnant, you’d be his forever. his sweet little cumdump, ruined by an older man. he couldn’t argue with that, you’d even asked for it. the thought makes him groan loudly as his hard cock twitches and his orgasm washes over him, but for the first time he doesn't pull out, instead filling up your tight, ruined pussy with his cum, making you moan with your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“you going to be my good cumslut? going to get all nice and round with my baby and be mine forever?” poor innocent you too fucked out to realise what he’s saying, to realise what you’re promising when you nod eagerly, meeting his lips in a sloppy possessive kiss, warm cunt filled with his cum.
#tw.age gap#tw.breeding#tw.pregnancy#tw.babytrapping#darkthirsts#yandere!ukai#ukai x reader#yandere ukai x reader#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu x reader#yandere haikyuu x reader#yandere haikyuu imagines#dark haikyuu#ukai x student
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