#tw.gunplay

its lack of truly corporeal form leaving it entirely un-susceptible to the sharp edges of his naturally endowed claws—but that won't stop it from gripping your thighs and pulling you closer until the shadow presses its tongue against your clothed slit.

"alastor—!" you jolt and shudder, hands tightening where they're restrained.

he only has to toy with your nipples again, precious and sensitive, to calm you down while the shadow laps endlessly at the sensitive, neglected bundle of nerves. even through a layer of fabric, it can feel your clit pulse.

you try to wriggle your legs, to pull your trousers down just a little so the access is more direct, but alastor is already tapping a side of your hip before you can protest.

"ah-ah. you needn't move. it rather enjoys this vantage point." his voice is awe filled, dexterous fingers make goosebumps appear all along your skin.

your eyes go wide. "b-but i can't come like this."

"you can," alastor hums, so assured you slink back. "and you will."

( he can never get enough which is why he was trying to show some restraint, but he's already well beyond that and decides not to dwell. )

the shadow licks at your clit diligently, tongue pressing hard and delibrately against the seam. somehow, it knows all your weak points and he plays with them to keep you on edge, bring you where he needs. you sound sweet, hips bucking into its mouth, desperately seeking more friction.

the shadow licks a stripe up your pussy, slow flat tongue against you before it sucks the fabric into his mouth, and alastor makes an appraisal sound as you keen, hips lifting off the mattress, head falling back against alastor's ches as you makes a low, whining noise.

"ah, what a lovely picture. do stay just like that." there's something about here and now that feel strangely affirming in a way that makes him almost want to laugh. almost.

( he doesn't understand it no matter how hard he tries, but alastor thinks it's not something for him to understand. )

the shadow licks you long and rough, and alastor takes that moment to trail his fingers down to your clothed clit, tracing circles into your sensitive bud while his other hand lays flat against your abdomen to keep you from lifting off the bed.

you squeal, wailing, "too much, 'm sensitive!" but he hushes you.

"for me, hm?" he thinks of how would be the best way to go about this. he wants to savor this, no matter how frenzied he feels. you deserve to be savored in this state. worshipped.

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐕𝐎𝐗

vox just knows you would look pretty on camera. he loves getting the chance to show you off and let anyone who looks your way that you are his, after all.

he has subtle restraint, he always does, especially when you are being sweet and gracious. vox guiltlessly drags you back into him, grinding against your ass. he can feel your breath hitch as he pulls from your neck with a growl and can't help but pleased with the fat bruise he left behind.

"i should bruise you a collar of these," he hums. "if fucking you here doesn't show everyone whose you are, that would get the message across, don't you think?"

"please, vox"

he doesn't know what exact thing you're begging for, but he'll give you everything. anything. he drags a palm over your lower tummy, hand slipping down the front of your panties and teasing along your slit.

"fuck," you gasp, bucking into his touch as his lithe fingers make contact with your panties. instinctively your legs spread, granting him allowance to where you need him most, but he gives you no more than gentle strokes. you're squirming, practically begging for more.

"keep looking at the camera, doll." his hold slips from your neck to your jaw, tilting your head back to look straight into the invasive red. "or i'm stopping."

you sputter something, whether it's a denial or affirmation, vox doesn't care. he's already pulling your panties to the side, this time rubbing deliberate circles against your clit. you shut yourself up, steadying your body so you don't go against his orders because you'd rather die than disobey him.

and then he's slipping your panties to the side, dipping a finger tentatively into your cunt and you whine. can't help yourself and whine like a whore for more, in front of the potential thousands of sinners who are gonna watch you unfold and uncover your layers of debauchery.

vox is laughing as he slips in one finger into your slick.

"fuckin' wet for me, huh? you getting off to all hell watching you?" his words dig into your ears and melt your brain, and you nod dumbly, neck tilting up to look at him, but his fingers are quick to snap your jaw back in place, looking straight into the camera. "who said you could look at me? whores don't get to look at me."

he's easing another two fingers into your cunt with the aid of your drooling wet while you're clinging onto his bicep, your legs spread and trembling as he fucks his fingers in and out of you, curling into spots he knows like the back of his palm. vox is so good, so good at making you cum so easily; knows your body better than you do, knows exactly what to do to make you unravel.

"i'm gonna cum— i'm gonna—" you're gasping, squealing and bucking your hips up to meet his fingers halfway. "please? let me—" and you're trailing off as he eases a fourth finger in, stretching your cunt beyond its limits and you go slack jawed, melting into him.

( vox wants you to hurt when this is over. he wants you to bear his bruises and imprints. You should be limping when he's done with you. he'll take care of you after, but for now he wants to leave an impression. )

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

it happens by accident. in his defense, he can't comprehend a single thing he's saying.

"please— please fuck me," he muffles a whine, and his voice is so pathetic that you take pity.

"i didn't even have to ask you to beg," you chastise him teasingly, brushing his hair off his forehead and kissing his circular pink cheek. "you're really desperate."

"i— mmhm," he mumbles. you think he looks pretty: all fucked out, cheeks red, hair messy. his eyes are glassy and wet with tears, and your stomach flips just knowing it's because of you. "wanna feel it, feel you."

you hover over him, hands shifting under his hips to lift him slightly before you hook his legs over your elbows. and then you're pressing, pushing in slowly, watching his face contort as your cock spears him, splits him wide open. his mouth's agape, gasping, clutching for air as you push past the tight ring of muscle, and you're smiling.

"that's it, that's it, taking me so well, yeah?," you coo." tell me luci, how's it feel?"

you bottom out in him, your body pressed to his, his own body folded in a mating press. he loves it like this, he's told you, having you so close to him, bending him practically in half. lucifer lets out a broken moan, his cock bouncing as you fuck into him gently, blushing and leaking all over his stomach.

"feels f-full," you think he mutters, head tilting up, exposing his neck. you reach forward and press your lips to the skin there, warm and his adam's apple trembles under your touch. the silicon makes lewd quelch sounds as you fuck him, skin slapping against skin.

lucifer's ruined, fingers twisting into the sheets, and then looping around your neck, and then under your armpits digging into your back. he's so sensitive, needs to unleash it all somewhere, through red marks down your skin, or through ragged breaths.

you thumb away his tears. "want me to fill you up?" you can't stop the words that push past your lips before they're said. "want me to breed you?"

and you watch his eyes widen, and suddenly the resistance around your cock is so much higher, so much tighter. he moans brokenly, legs straining and you feel something wet between your skin and his. he came? you look down between the two of you and sure enough; his pathetic cock is leaking, spurting ropes of warm cum onto his tummy and yours.

oh.

"you liked that." you whisper. your thrusts don't slow, instead grow even harsher with your newfound revelation. "you liked being bred, don't you, lu?"

he whines, like he's shy, like he's ashamed. but you can tell but the way the apples of his cheeks flush golden; it answers your question.

"look at me," you whisper, cradling his jaw in your palm. "look at me and tell me it."

lucifer is withering. he's a broken mess under you, knees pinned to his chest, your cock rocking into him, the cockhead meeting his prostate with every thrust. he's brainless, thoughts melted into pretty pink goo oozing out of his ears onto the sheets, not a single brain cell active enough to answer you.

"tell me," you spit sweetly. "or i'll stop."

"no!" he gasps. "d-don't stop, fuck, keep g-going," you can hear his pants, the cogs in his brain working doubly hard to repeat your words. "i l-like it, being f-fucked— ah, shit— and bred. n-need it, please."

so sweet. so lovely. you press your forehead to his, and promise him the world. you make him cum all over you again, whining pitifully as you milk his cock for what it's worth. he's exhausted and broken and covered in cum and spit and lube, eyes filled with adoration as he looks at you.

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌

"i'm surprised you let me go this far," you hum, so soft it's startling. the way the blood starts to rush in that familiar way nearly makes him sick. oh, fuck. "that's okay, you are doing wonderfully, sweetheart."

that makes his dick twitch. you must feel it because you laugh. he's gonna lose his mind, being swept up by you so easily. he's gotten so used to forfeiting restraint.

"ah," you say again, smooth and deliberate. there's that twitch again, something pooling in his gut. he starts to feel nervous. "you like bein' spoiled, adam?"

he opens his mouth, only to close it again. you drive his hard cock against your cunt, the tip catching into your clit until you're shaking above him. he stops knowing what he wants at some point.

"ugh," his voice grows thicker. "you are so fucking cheesy, babe."

( if he were more apt at honesty, he could admit to you that he just wants you. in whatever way. sometimes you get like this, when you're not screwing around - and you're so good to him that it hurts.

but he likes too when you're this sweet on him too - even if that feels shameful as fuck. he can't help but think about it anyway )

you don't give him a chance to cover. you lean over him as you maneuver his cock to your entrance with all disregard for his sanity. you hiss as the tip finds the spot. fuck you're wet. your insides are so soft, so sticky - but you're still so damn tight.

"fuck, fuck," he rasps. he's out of his mind right now. he blames it on his dick. "i wish i could take these fuckin' cuffs off."

"after i drain you dry," you say with a confidence that astounds him. "but you have to tell me you want that, first.do you wanna fuck me?"

"shit. y-yeah," he nods, feeling absolutely swept up in your pace.

"what was that?."

"i wanna fuck you, dammit," he stutters through the last of his sentence. "don't make me beg, my dick is going to blow off if you keep torturing me."

he groans as you start to move. you lean over him with one hand and use your other to tease and toy with your clit as you ride his cock with reckless abandon. the room is quick to fill with noise - the sound of skin slapping skin, the skin sticking where your hips meet his thighs.

"don't cum yet," you're moaning in little broken waves. He's not going to last if he listens to you anymore. "let me get my fill first."

he opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his mouth. the warm, wet heat of your cunt is immediately overstimulating. you're riding him with so much force, using him. a vice-like grip, sticky and pliant over the hard curve of his cock. everytime you bounce and throw your ass a little harder onto him, he can feel you. feel himself and how deep he is. his hands tighten into fists where they're cuffed in front of him.

"you c-can't, fuck," he whines as he starts to jack hammer himself into you. he's chasing his release, "better said that fucking done."

he's never been... used like this. but he doesn't hate it the way you disregard him to chase your own pleasure while being so generally mindful of his own. you take and take and take but you make it feel so good. 

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋

desire is what grounds him in this moment, as blurry as it may be, because even in this state, he knows his desire is in good hands if those hands are yours. his eyes shut in his drug induced sleep leaving him vulnerable to anything, anything you want to do—you are worried you're into this a bit too much.

"i've got you," you whisper in his ear, crowding yourself against his back so your chest is pressed up against his shoulderblades, your body wrapping around his frame, skin and bones and illicit cries in the pillow. "feeling good?"

"uh, ye—ah!—," he whimpers, hands bracing himself up. his arms are quivering from the endless sensation of your small hand on his cock, slicking up and down and up and down slowly. you're bringing him to his knees with every soft kiss you press into his shoulder.

"you were saying?" you breathe against him, sensitive skin raising as your tongue darts out just the slightest to taste his flesh. "can you answer me, love?"

abel whines, dizzy with pleasure and only half-aware that he's writhing under your body, under your smile that's sweet and devilish at the same time.

"i—" abel shakes his head, shifting his hips, though he doesn't know if he's trying to fuck himself further onto your hand. he doesn't know a lot of things right now, but he does know that he wants, and finding the words to get that across seems impossible.

"you're so cute," you say, pressing a kiss to his neck, so quick that it's almost chaste and so dissonant from the obscene sounds of your hand sliding against his cock. "and you're so good for me, aren't you?"

"'m good," he repeats your words, and you can tell from his airy tone that he's so far gone. you smile; slowly removing your hand from his weeping cock, you hush the cries that elicit from his tongue.

"wanted to see your face." he blushes, pretty golden settling in the apples of his cheeks.

abel turns with your hands, letting you settle down between his pale thighs. you run a hand up from his hip to his torso, his chest, his neck, curious fingers wrapping around the delicate column of his neck and squeezing.

"are you going to cum for me, love?" you whisper, spitting into your palm to slick it up before stroking his cock again. slowly, slowly, from the base to the tip, the other hand still caressing the soft skin of his torso. "want to see your face when you cum."

"yes, yes," he whimpers, as your hands resume the pace along his cock. "gonna— gonna cum," his hands are twisting into the sheets, his back arching as your play with the pretty pink tip of his cock. it's weeping, drooling precum all over your hand, begging to be tasted.

"i know you will," you smile. "because you're my good boy, right?"

the words that leave your lips are tearing through his chest, piercing through the pink muscle of his heart, ripping artery by artery, vein by vein. there is nothing left of him but skin and blood and bones and you, you loving on him, spitting your venom into his bloodstream like it's yours. and it is.

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐎

he'd promised that he wouldn't hurt you. his promises doesn't mean much. one, he'd promised that you'd always hate him.

that's okay, valentino knows you'd let him regardless. you are that good for him ( don't you ), and he loves the flicker of fear that softens you in a way he always finds pretty whenever he lifts the barrel of the gun.

"open up for me, baby." he commands. his other hand is holding the gun and you don't have to wonder what he's got planned because he brings it up to your face, tracing your lips with the tip of the silencer.

when you're too slow to react, his lower set of hands comes down to grip a little harder your tender skin, keeping his grip on the fat of your inner thigh, pulling it as close to him as it can go. you open your mouth out of surprise, mostly. the second of shock is an opportunity, though, and valentino takes it, moving the gun, pressing the pistol's silencer into your mouth while at the same time teases a finger along your cunt again, rubbing your slick onto your clit.

"aw, look at that," he purrs as finally he bottoms out, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix. youre mewling, stuffed full. "you always get so damn pretty like this." there is a mean smile curling at the edges of his spit slick lips. "ain't that right, cariño?"

you're so pliable, so malleable that all he has to do is nudge you and you're moving to his liking, holding you so close to him as he pushes in, swearing as your tight cunt swells around him, but you manage, you always do what valentino wants you to do.

you whine, and he shoots you a look, one that says, i'm not playing. so instead you lick at the muzzle, circling your mouth around it. he would made you bring him the shotgun shells, held them in his palm and asked you to kiss them.

( you already know what he says: once for luck, once for love, once for the road. )

"since when do you think, hm?." you whine with every thrust in, your body shaking just that little bit more as he pounds into you. "keeping it nice and warm for me."

and what can you do but oblige? hard metal sliding in and out of your mouth, teasing your nerves alight. it's cold, the silencer pressing against your tongue. you can't help but suck at it, and the sight of it makes valentino laugh.

you let out pathetic cries as he fucks you, deep and thick and pressing right against that sweet, spongey spot inside you. he's everywhere, over you, under you, in you all at once, so much, too much for you to comprehend. all that really tethers you back to reality is the incessant push of the gun against your throat as he rocks into you.

( the safety's been off this whole time. )

"y'swallowing me, baby, 's almost like you're not gon' let me go." he chuckles breathily. "gonna keep me here? give you my cum, hm?"

you feel the familiar clench in your abdomen slowly build, soft pants in his ear all the warning you can give him before you whine.

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.

ㅤ✁. MANJIRO; 灰谷 ᵎ

hmmm dont play with him

don't.

is Manjiro a person of short patience? No, but he also doesn't have the patience of a saint that Kakucho, Takeomi and Kokonoi would have.

if you didn't want to submit to him at will, good luck, Manjiro would slap you in the face hard enough to make your face turn sideways and then knock you on the bed while you were trying to recover from the slap

and when you tried to push him away or change positions to get on top, Mikey would press you to the bed with one hand on your neck and cut off your access to the air telling you to "get in your painslut place”

he can't tolerate you not submitting, who do you think you are? Him of all people, the leader of the Bonten?

as he forced your legs open, Manjiro would slap your pussy lightly and call you pathetic to hear you moaning for him while still trying to change positions

better get ready for rough fingering

but he wouldn't let you cum

not until you gave up the dom position

which meant long hours of edging, orgasm denial; and Manjiro laughing at how pathetic you became every time he forced you into submission

oh, Mikey likes to test your limits quite a bit when you refuse to submit and he would mix so much pain with pleasure that you would swear you would pass out

ㅤ✃. RINDOU; 灰谷 ᵎ

hmmmm, rindou is a case in point

he wants you to fight him for the sub/dom position, it's better for his ego when he can press your face against the bed sheets with your ass up getting slapped

yes, try to knock him down on the bed and give him a good reason to grab you by the neck and call you a dumb slut and say he's not even sure he could call you a dom

impact play? yes, he would use it a lot to get you to submit

Hard slaps on your ass until you're crying, he calls you a useless hole

you're not even good enough to overpower him

and soon after, Rindou would laugh to see you squirming with your pussy leaking after being slapped several times in a row

want a slut to behave properly and be put in her place? Call this Mr. Haitani Rindou

remember rough fingering by Manjiro? Rindou would be the opposite, he would finger you slowly until you beg him to go faster

and even after begging until you were almost hoarse, he might still not increase the speed of his fingers and leave you squirming, trying to force your hips against his digits

in the end, if you cried out enough for him, Rindou might make you take him from behind in doggy while whispering close to your ear something like: "Don’t ever try to think again you can out do me, bimbo"

ㅤ✁. TAKEOMI; 灰谷 ᵎ

Patience of a saint? Yes, that is Takeomi Akashi's last name.

Takeomi's way of making you submit would be to make you think that it was he was the one submitting.

for example, Takeomi would let you assume positions that usually gave you control, only to then push his fingers into your mouth and force you against the bed

or pull you into deep, intense kisses while slowly pushing you against the mattress

Takeomi is sublime, silent

when you tried to move your face away from his cock, Takeomi would simply curl fingers into your hair without saying anything at all and use his other hand to pinch your nose just like Ran

but, he wouldn't sink into your mouth like the older Haitani, no

Takeomi would rather enter slowly, make you feel every vein of his dick rubbing against your wet tongue to make you understand that if he wanted to, he could break your jaw if he fucked your face too hard

fear play? yes, big yes, but unlike Haruchiyo, the older Akashi brother would rather work with the possibility of manhandling you

why give you a rough treatment to submit if Takeomi can simply plant a little seed of possible fear inside your brain and take advantage of it?

what about when you said something like: "Are you sure you're a dom? You don't look like one"

Takeomi would respond by saying something like: "It's obvious who dominates who here when the only one kneeling in front of me is you, pretty thing."

ㅤ✃. RAN; 灰谷 ᵎ

hm daddy? Sorry the feminine urge to call haitani ran daddy

oh, this guy here

first of all: are you sure you want to be forced to submit by haitani ran?

he has reasonable patience

but seeing you acting like a brat and trying to take charge of the situation, ran would push you to the floor on your knees and shove his cock into your mouth while pinching your nose to keep you from breathing properly

face fucking? Yes, he would use your throat and mouth as a fleshlight while asking why you are so silent now, where has all your attitude gone?

another way ran would use to theoretically punish you for not submitting easily is to force you to use the tip of his shoe to masturbate

yes, shoe humping

he won't touch you until he has you as a drooling mess below him with his cock deep inside your mouth and your pussy rubbing against his sho

that's how he likes to see you: being the needy whore he knows you are

and all the while Ran would be degrading you while calling you by such cute, innocent nicknames

phrases like: "That's what you get for acting like a dumb whore, pretty thing" and "Well, princess, that's reasonably good for a stupid mutt like you" would not be uncommon

ㅤ✁. KAKUCHO; 筆頭 ᵎ

oh, Kaku-chan is patient

very patient.

and you specifically liked to see how far his insane patience can go

how would Kaku-chan get you to submit to him? Oh, easy, vibrator glued to your clitoris playing with the frequency and edging you for several minutes

and when you were demanding that he let you cum, and not asking, Kakucho would let out a wry chuckle before slowing down the vibrator

"I'm not sure I like your tone very much, shall we try again?"

soon afterwards Kakucho would continue to keep the frequency down while sliding fingers into you and curving them against your walls

the moment his hands landed on you, oh, lost cause

he'll give you overstimulation until you admit you're just another wet hole for him to use

if that wouldn't get you to admit it, no problem!

Kakucho might as well sink inside your pussy while calling you his slutty princess and holding your hips firmly against the bed to keep you from escaping

no matter how long it takes for Kakucho to push you into a full submissive position, he's a patient guy.

ㅤ✃. HARUCHIYO; 三途 ᵎ

do you like having a gun pointed at your head while haruchiyo sanzu fucks you from behind with his other hand on your neck?

no? yes?

no matter, this is exactly how haruchiyo would force you to submit

his cock deep inside you kissing your cervix and the barrel of a cold gun pointed at your skull

he loves the look of fear on your face, makes his cock twitch against your walls

all this while haruchiyo whispers in your ear that you should learn to be his cumdumpster right

and then he would overstimulate you after making you beg him to cum

haruchiyo would even open a cocky smile saying something like: "see? I'm not charitable?"

he wouldn't stop touching you until he gave you being a drooling mess, choking on your own saliva and your body shaking completely

what if you moaned something like "Oh, my god" as he pressed the barrel of the gun against your head again and molested your clit with his other hand?

oh, fuck, haruchiyo would look at you and spit out the words, "Hm? That's not my name, stupid kitten".

ㅤ✁. KOKONOI; 一 ᵎ

you know...

Hajime Kokonoi always gets what he wants, no exceptions

he wants it as a submissive? So that's what he's going to get

and in my opinion Koko would have different ways of forcing you into submission, so let's go in parts

Koko would corrupt your submission

not with money per se, but with something you want him to do

for example, do you want him to let you sit on his face? Sure, but after he makes you cum don't complain if he had you pinned against the nearest wall to start using your body

it's a fair exchange in his mind, but there is a power discrepancy: he gets more from your wet holes than you get from him, but you only realize it when Koko is already deep inside you

because pretty, slutty girls don't deserve to be treated any more than that, is what he would tell you

and the second way would be:

2. use reverse thinking

Koko is not dumb, but he makes you act like you are because every time you end up falling into the same trap

"Don't you dare raise your hips like that", "You wouldn't have the guts to use your cunny like that, would you?"

and right after coaxing you with words of defiance, Kokonoi would be with his hand forcing you to face him while his cock would fuck you into oblivion and you would completely melt under his control

“Mmm is it wrong of me to want to visit my favourite colleague?” He could see your jaw tighten in annoyance. You were already having a stressful day, this was really the last thing you needed. “It is when you decide to be a nuisance and cause public distress while at it.”

The two of you had an odd relationship; you worked together so you weren’t strangers, and yet not quite friends either. Not to mention, a drunk night out a couple months ago ended with the two of you in the same bed with a vague recollection of a very good time. Which led to your current arrangement.

“Ugh whatever, we both know why I'm here anyway. So let’s just get to the good part.” Sanzu pouted as he sat up and tugged onto the hem of your shirt, urging you closer to him. You could see he was already half hard from the anticipation. However, seeing you still refusing to budge, he whined.

“Come on, you know I can make you feel so good,” he shifted to kneel in front of you while still keeping eye contact, both hands caressing the backs of your thighs, “..please?” God he was too good at this, you cursed. “Strip.”

Triumphant smirk of his face, Sanzu jumped up eagerly ridding himself of his clothes. “Stop,” you grabbed his arm right as he’s about to take off his boxers, “don’t need you dirtying my floors with your cum.” you sneered, not missing the way his cock twitched at your words.

You push him back down onto his knees, your own lower half now rid of clothes as well. Sanzu already knows what to do, his mouth latching onto your clit immediately. You let out an involuntary sigh, you hate how good he is at this.

He alternates between licking and sucking, one hand finding it’s way to your entrance as he slowly pushes two fingers in, stroking your tight walls. The other hand grabbing your leg to rest on his shoulder. “Uggh, fuck, just like that baby,” you praised.

You card your fingers through his pink hair before grabbing a fistful to push his face further against your sensitive clit, grinding your pussy on his face. Sanzu moaned into your cunt, he loved it when you used him as you like. He could feel how wet his cock was from how much he was leaking.

“Fuck, how many times have you done this to get so fucking good at it huh? Tell me, do you whore yourself out to other people, bunny?” Sanzu mewled, your degrading words shot straight to his cock. You could see his hips twitching and squirming, trying to get any form of friction.

You could feel yourself getting close, between his tongue licking figure eights on your clit and his two fingers pumping in and out of your pussy exactly how you like it, the knot in your lower belly was quickly tightening. “I’m close, bunny.” You panted out, your hips speeding up, grinding on both his tongue and fingers. Sanzu hummed in acknowledgment, the vibrations finally pushing you over the edge as the cord holding your composure snaps. You let out a low groan, Sanzu licking long strips up your clit as you rode out your high.

Your legs were slightly wobbly as you stepped away from him. You look down at him, his entire lower jaw was covered in your wetness, his cheeks and neck were flushed red with a blissed out look on his face. Cute, you thought, but I still wanna punish him for what he did earlier. An idea formed in your mind as you spotted his gun that had been abandoned on your coffee table.

Keeping your face as impassive as possible, you spat “Thanks. Now get out.” You almost laughed at how quickly Sanzu’s face dropped. “Wha.. what?”

“What? Did you think you get to cum too? I never said anything like that, you just barged in and told me you could make me feel good. And you did. So now get out.” You said in faux anger.

“But.. I.. please, I wanna cum, want you to make me cum..!” Sanzu was babbling at this point, he shuffled towards you on his knees to try to plead with you. He couldn’t leave like this, he hadn’t been able to cum in weeks and this is the closest he’s gotten. You laugh at his desperation, “fine.” You stick out your foot, “you can ride my foot, that’s all you’re getting.”

Sanzu cries out in frustration, he doesn’t want that it’s not enough, he wants you to touch him. Needs to feel your hands on him, his throat, his chest, his cock, anywhere. “No! Want you to touch me-!”

Grabbing his gun from the coffee table, you shoved it into his mouth. “Shut the fuck up, do you think you deserve anything more after what you did earlier. This is your punishment. Now be a good bunny and hump my foot.”

Sanzu’s eyes were wide as saucers, his brain still processing what you just did, and why his cock reacted to it even before he did. He whimpered around the barrel of the gun, he was getting unbelievably turned on as he processed the situation. Knowing that the gun was fully loaded and you could quite literally end him, the knot in his lower belly was forming quicker than it’s ever had before. His hips began moving on its own, rubbing against your foot trying to chase his high. His body felt like it was on fire, he’s never been this desperate with anyone else before. All the while, Sanzu kept his eyes trained on you, burning the image of your cold glare and the gun in your hand directed at him into his mind.

“Can’t believe this is really turning you on,” you laughed. “You really are a whore aren’t you?” whimpers sounded from his throat, “am not a whore..!” is what he tried to say around the barrel of the gun. he wanted to tell you that he would never do this with anyone else, only you. despite that, hearing you degrade him like that only made his hips quicken its pace.

He was always so noisy, gagging him with the gun was a good idea. Even with his mouth full he still managed to be so loud, trying to deepthroat the gun like it’s one of your straps. “Maybe I should fuck you with a gun next time, seeing how much you like it.” At that suggestion, Sanzu all but screamed, hips stuttering, your words pushing him over the edge as he came in his pants. You could feel the warm fluid through the fabric as his hips slowed to a stop, still breathing heavy from exertion.

A string of spit followed the gun when you go to pull it out of his mouth, setting it down on the table you make a mental note to clean it later. Sanzu was still clinging onto your leg, all fucked out from the intensity of his orgasm. He let out a pathetic whine when you go to move him. You sighed, knowing that he was in no shape to get home, you’d have to take care of him tonight.

“Let go baby, I'm going to get some towels, ok?” He nodded slowly, unwrapping himself from your leg and let himself be set against the couch. As you set about to get the towels, you chided yourself for your reckless behaviour. You hadn’t meant for things to get so intense, and it was just lucky that Sanzu was into it. I’ll have to speak to him about this later, you thought.

When you came back to the living room, Sanzu had curled himself into a ball, hugging onto one of the couch pillows. His eyes were closed but you knew he wasn’t sleeping. He lets you wipe him down with a warm towel and remove his boxers, dressing him in the clothes that he’s left at your house before.

Revenge served with a slit throat—the client was adamant on this single detail. How to get him drunk and vulnerable? Any means were possible. Where to dispose of his carcass afterward? As long as you didn't dump the body somewhere his unsuspecting pals wouldn't see, any area in the club will do. The more eye-catching it was, the better as long as you don't get caught.

But the method of killing was a dagger to the throat—nothing else or more extravagant. Said that the bastard needs to die a pathetic death and get ridiculed until his next life.

Frankly, you would've recommended the target dying during sex with his eyes and mouth agape. A picture for his friends and enemies to laugh about. What was more pathetic than a man who didn't even get to nut seconds prior to his soul leaving this earth?

However, you knew that won't get you the hundred thousand payment nor follow the client's wish which is against your work ethic as a renowned hitwoman.

The plan? Stick to the client's method, finish the job without a single hitch and get the fuck out.

You could only mutter a sort of prayer as you walked into the club.

Clad in a scandalous midnight blue dress and silver high heels, you slithered past the grinding bodies and drunken laughter. Neon lights blaring like sirens and the music's beat pulsing and bouncing against the thick walls of the club. The scent of spilled tequila, smoke, sweat, and drugs mingled in the damp air. Boisterous and wildly entertaining, the scene reminded you of all those frat parties back in college—one you missed due to how carefree it was back then... Back when you were an average woman who wasn't thrust into a life of death, blood, and everything foul to stay alive.

The good old days, as you called it.

Hand grabbing a drink by the bar where several alcoholic beverages were free for tonight's party, you took languid sips as you scanned the sea of unknown strangers dancing the night away. You hope to catch a glimpse of anyone close to the image of tonight's victim through colorful lights after having memorized his features throughout the day.

Shouldn't he be finished with his dealings by now? Who rents out a bar, throws a party, and doesn't show up at the beginning?

"Hey, pretty girl. I've never seen you here before..."

Offering a small smile at the obviously hammered man, you giggled sweetly. "Hi! Yeah, it's my first time here." Meaningless as it was to give the idiot the time of day, it didn't hurt to have someone to mess around with until you had to jump into action. No matter how many times you've taken someone's life, innocent or not, it always frazzled your nerves a bit. "Why'd you ask?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, I just find you interesting..." Leaving his almost empty glass of whiskey, he directed his undivided attention to your cleavage. Shamelessly running his gaze down to your bare legs. "It's not every day you find gorgeous babes like you in a club filled with cheap whores. It's... refreshing."

"I see."

"Do you want a better drink?" Gesturing to your rum and coke, he winked. "I know some drinks are free tonight, but the best ones aren't. Stingy, huh?" Without even waiting for your response, the stranger slurred at the bartender. "Black Calavera Noir 89.9, two shots for me and the lady. Put it on my tab."

Absinthe? You fought back a wince at the order. Is he looking to get blackout drunk?

Two shot glasses were then placed on the counter, one for you and the other for the grinning bastard who continued to ogle your breasts. Perhaps getting blackout drunk all by himself wasn't his motivation after all...

"Let's make a toast, pretty girl," he purred, lifting his own cup of poison at you. Following suit hesitantly, you cracked him a faint smile. "To new... beginnings and the promise of a great night."

A few seconds before you could take a sip of the strong liquor, the target made his grand entrance—not bothering to even blend in the crowd as he sauntered in with his three bodyguards.

Mentally cursing, you pulled the shot glass away from your lips and splashed it onto your dress instead.

"Oops, my bad," you laughed, the sticky liquid all over your fingers, skin, and dress. The man cursed, holding his dizzy head as he tried to helplessly wipe away the stray droplets from his face and shirt. "How clumsy of me! I should go and see if there are any napkins in the restroom, okay? I'll be right back."

Lies. You never went back nor proceeded down the path to the restroom.

Ruffling your hair, you smudged the red lipstick you carefully applied earlier while making your way towards your victim. As soon as you were a couple of feet away from bumping into him, you started to sway your hips—carefully dodging the real tipsy party animals to where he was. Now inches away from him, you threw yourself into his unsuspecting form.

To capture men and women alike was like catching fish. Your old mentor always reminded you of this, speaking as if she was an avid fan of fishing rather than a trained killer.

First, make sure your equipment is prepared. Tools always in perfect condition.

"Whoa! You okay, beautiful?" The middle-aged man known as Mr. Takato caught you, grinning at your performance.

Then, cast a bait. Colorful and tempting.

Giggling non-stop, you latched yourself onto his plump body, grinding against him thoughtlessly. His reaction was instant, hands wrapping themselves around your waist and bringing you closer. Nostrils breathing in the scent of absinthe on you, he chuckled. "You're quite intoxicated, aren't you?"

"N-no..." Voice humming lowly, you shook your head as you tried to maintain eye contact with him while your body swayed. "I'm not drunk, handsome... Just tipsy."

"Well, you're glad I caught you. Almost made out with the floor, huh?" he lightly chuckled, rubbing his disgusting hands on your back and to the curves of your hips. Beady eyes lingering on your chest. "Wouldn't want a pretty baby embarrassing herself now, do we?"

The fish may seem hesitant, testing the bait and seeing if it's nonthreatening. Sometimes, the fish gets too smart and swims away.

You can't expect to catch a big fish if you aren't prepared to lose something, either. But don't give up.

Wait.

"No..." you whispered against his lips, arms now around his neck as you pulled. "I've been drinking. Been drinking my loneliness away because no one seems to give me a good time." Arching your brow suggestively, you smirked. "What about you, handsome? Can you guarantee me a good one tonight?"

Because if you catch it, your win will be even more rewarding than easy prey.

"Meet me upstairs, princess." His obnoxious breath almost knocked you out, fighting the urge to make a disgusted face. Whatever he ate for dinner sure had lots of onion and garlic. "I'll show you a great time, one your pretty pussy will never forget."

And once it's attached, reel it in.

"Nice..." Licking your lips, you pressed a sloppy kiss on his cheek. It took everything for you to quell down the gagging expression about to surface. "Let me freshen up for a moment and I'll see you up there then, daddy."

Hook, line, and the fucking sinker.

The target, a middle-aged man who spent most of his time wasting his money in pointless parties and whores, was a local firearms dealer—dumb enough to get entangled and mess with the wrong crowd. Should've thought twice than to run and pretend he didn't fuck up their deal. Your current employer was quite livid, but too much of a coward to get his hands dirty.

Steely eyes watching him disappear into the crowd and up the stairs, you exhaled deeply.

A drink. You figured you needed one before rejoining the bastard up the VIP lounge and possibly to the bedrooms where he will most certainly bring you to. Heading back to the bar, you sighed in relief when the idiot wasn't there anymore to bother you.

Instead, a dark-haired man sat by the stool while holding a glass of what seemed to be bourbon. A scar ran down the left side of his face and his silver eye. Despite how it seemed awful, the scar made his attractive face even more appealing to which you couldn't explain why. The mismatched irises flickered to you for a moment then back to his drink.

Biting back a disappointed groan, you diverted your gaze away. Silently wishing the target was as hot and shrouded by mystery as him.

Paying no heed to the stranger, you took a free glass of margarita and downed the content in one go. In fact, you probably need even more considering who you were about to entertain but getting inebriated would most certainly affect your job.

"Rough night?"

Eyes blinking at the question, you turned to the stranger next to you. A bit shocked that he spoke considering how he had the aura of wanting to be left alone.

"You won't be able to imagine how bad it's about to be," you responded, placing the empty cocktail glass on the counter and shooting him a grin. He went rigid at the genuineness of it. The taste of the drink buzzing around your taste buds and the back of your throat. "But thanks for asking."

With the confidence of a vengeful soul, you made your way through the crowd and up the stairs. The beat of the music dropped at the same second your genuine smile for the first time tonight disappeared without a trace.

Everything happened all too fast akin to a hurricane whirling around, causing its damage without care. The same characteristic in this bastard's open-mouthed kisses that peppered your breasts as you laid underneath him, half-naked as the top of your dress pulled down. Heels dangling at the edge of the bed. He was like an impatient child on Christmas day, not bothering to unwrap his gift fully to gaze on it. The sheets ruffled due to his excessive caresses and hunger to taste you, mind too far gone to care about your judgemental stare as you waited.

You waited for the right moment to knock the maniac out without alerting his ever-loyal bodyguards stationed right by the door and hear him struggle.

"Pretty, pretty girly..." he purred, failing to see the grossed-out face you made as he buried himself deeper into the valley of your breasts pooling out of your bra. Nearly crushing you with his weight. "Fucking lucky to have you, all mine to fuck," he drawled drunkenly because of the countless glasses of liquor you drowned him in while pretending to be equally intoxicated.

Too wrapped up with the idea of helpless, naive you—sprawled up and ready for his taking.

"Gorgeous and all mine, right?" he hummed, lifting his head up, and lowered his hands. Just when he was about to rip your black bra off of you, your hands shot up from the sides to stop him. All the while smiling ear to ear, dropping the act of a defenseless drunk girl.

"All yours? I fucking doubt it."

A hard blow to his nape caused the trusting Mr. Takato to fall flat on the mattress. Knocked out cold.

Gagging at how close his face was, you pushed him off of you and straddled his unconscious body. Taking the sharp dagger you've hidden perfectly out of its holster strapped to your thigh, you raised it to the air, ready to deal a fatal jab when you felt something cold against the back of your head. Eyes wide and heart pounding against your ears.

"Move out of the way if you don't want to get hurt."

Wait, isn't that—

"Oh. It's you." Glancing away from your victim to the man behind, you huffed. The mysterious stranger by the bar now stood there, pointing his gun at you with menacingly cold eyes. "You're here to kill him too? Lucky fucker." The laugh you elicited caused a shiver to run down the scarred man's back, still holding the gun against your head. He didn't expect you to do this, nor be so calm about it. "So, you're a contract killer, too?"

"No," he replied, lowering his gun once he read the situation. "If you paid more attention to your surroundings, you'd know this bar is run by Bonten." Form stilling at the mention of the infamous gang rampaging in the dark, you knew better than to cross them. Let alone be under their radar. "And you're obviously interfering with what I came here to do."

"Interfering? How so?" You slid the dagger on the unlucky man's throat, blood splattered the sheets and on your face. Smirking, you then turned to the handsome stranger once more. Pretty face all bloodied. "If anything, I just finished the job for you. Maybe you should congratulate me instead!"

The scarred man sighed, shaking his head at the dead man sprawled half-naked on the mattress as you climbed off the bed. Your mission now was to clean your face and leave. Finding a box of tissues, you began to wipe away the stains and grinned at your work.

Your employer was right. It was indeed a pathetic sight for a firearms dealer to die by a blade.

"Who are you working for?"

"You know very well that I won't answer that," you chuckled, pulling your dress up to cover yourself. The stranger, now only noticing you were in an indecent appearance, coughed and found the floor more interesting. "Besides, you're working for Bonten, correct? Maybe you'll find out tomorrow. My employer would certainly gloat about it."

Your attention was suddenly shifted to the sound of gunshots outside and screaming, ripping away the stranger's response as he took note of it too. Meeting the scarred man's gaze, you tilted your head at him in wonder.

"Wait, how did you get through that door anyway? What did you do to the guards?"

"The same thing you did to Mr. Takato," the Bonten member answered while gesturing at the dead man. "I took care of them silently."

Grabbing his hand without much thought, you pulled him to the door. The scarred man followed behind you, putting up no fight. You were no threat and you indeed took care of his job as you stated a while ago.

"Well, your efforts are in vain now that his crew noticed. You said Bonten owns this bar, right? Where's the nearest exit?" Eyes peeking through the door, you whistled at the bodyguards now lying on the floor. "You really took care of them, huh... You'll be a good hitman."

"I'd... rather not be."

"What's your name?" Your inquiry caught him off guard, blinking down at your curious expression. Everything was truly peculiar but at the same time, saddened him. You, a beautiful creature in a world meant for the nasty and vile souls—killing people to survive didn't sit right with him. Especially since you seemed good at it.

"Kakucho."

"I'm [Y/N]," you giggled softly before pointing down the hall, the sound of gunshots growing nearer. "So, Kakucho..." His name felt good against your tongue, liking it. "Where do we go now? If we get caught, we won't only be dealing with Mr. Takato's men but our superior's anger. You don't want to get caught now, do you?"

Fate was certainly playing its usual jokes because the moment Kakucho led the way, Mr. Takato's men burst through the doors and flooded the hallway. The bastard's men opened the rest of the rooms, earning high-pitched screams from the women pleasuring their patrons. Thinking fast, you pulled Kakucho to one of the vacant rooms and shut the door.

He sighed.

"Follow me, I know the way."

"Wha—"

"Kiss me." Pulling him by the lapels of his coat, your eyes shifted between Kakucho and the door. The footsteps growing nearer caused your heart to throb in panic. Right now, putting on a show was all you could think of. Anything to convince those men that you and he had nothing to do with the death of Mr. Takato. "Kakucho, do it."

"Huh?"

Fuck it.

"Just kiss me, you fool," you hissed, crashing your lips with his. Kakucho, caught off guard, stood frozen but then started reciprocating at your sweet taste in his mouth. Hands roam your waist and back, finding comfort in your warmth and soft mewls due to his teeth biting your lower lip.

"K-Kakucho—"

He hushed you, giving in to his desire at wanting to have you. Ever since he saw you walk up to the bar, midnight blue and silver gleaming under the led lights, he never encountered such an impulse. He was never one to entertain his temptations, knowing better than to end up like his colleagues. But the second you kissed him, every rational bone in his body trembled at your passion and lust. Even when he saw you slit a man's throat, it only fueled his attraction to your ephemeral aura. He had to be honest to himself.

Kakucho wants you.

Bad.

Kisses searing, you gasped when your back hit the wall, legs around his waist. Moonlight guiding Kakucho's hands pulling, almost clawing, your dress off in the darkness of the room. The material met the ground as he nibbled on your earlobe, rutting against your clothed pussy. And fuck, he was rock hard. The tent of his pants was hard to ignore and you wanted nothing more than to touch it, have it inside your pussy and stretch it deliciously. To have it fill you to the brim and have his cum ooze out of your abused cunt. The image of it was enough to have your pussy squeezing around nothing.

Kakucho's fingers were pulling your lace underwear down, mind reeling at how wet you were when the doors burst open. Letting out a scripted shriek, you buried your face into Kakucho's still-clothed chest to hide. Nose inhaling the scent of his faint cologne and sweat mingling with it. The Bonten member refused to move, still pinning you against the wall as he glanced at Mr. Takato’s men, the light flooding into the room accentuated the frustration in his narrowed eyes.

“What do you want?”

"S-sir, did you see anyone suspic—”

“Do you think I’d be paying attention elsewhere when I’m fucking my woman?” You bit back a mewl when one of his digits entered your cunt, and then another one. Thick fingers scissoring the tight muscles, Kakucho continued to glare at the men as if he wasn’t in the middle of fingering you. “Now fuck off while I’m still being nice.”

One of the men foolishly tried to step in, probably about to reason out. Kakucho’s fingers then slipped out of you to touch his gun hidden in its holster, preparing to pull it out and shoot the fucker when the other pulled his companion back.

“Sorry about that, Sir. C-continue on with your evening.”

As soon as the men left with flustered expressions and their lower regions aching, Kakucho wasted no time hoisting you up, carrying you over his shoulder, and throwing you to the bed. You squeaked, the rest of your moans drowned by his kiss and tongue. Kakucho removed the rest of his clothing and yours, throwing them like a used napkin, and proceeded to pin you against the mattress. Mewling at the sheer strength of Kakucho and the sight of his chest, you reached up to cup his cheek. Pupils close to turning black in hunger.

"Fuck me, Kakucho," you pleaded with a sob, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes as you clung to him. "I want you inside me.”

Such a wish was granted in mere minutes. Kakucho pistoning his hips rapidly, one hand pulling your hair while the other pinned you against the mattress with your back to him. Sobs and choked moans belonging to you filled the air as he fucked you hard and good. His thick cock stretching your glistening pussy from your arousal, promising you the inability to walk in the morning. This was what you wanted—to be railed by a hot stranger who hit your sweet spot with every fucking thrust.

“Fuck, be quiet...” he muttered at the sight of you moaning shamelessly into the air. You failed to hear his words, the ecstacy getting to your head and thinking nothing but Kakucho’s cock impaling you. “I said be quiet.”

His gun was then shoved into your mouth, causing you to gasp aloud but the gun’s barrel muffled your confused cries that morphed into more whines as Kakucho resumed his thrusting. Your knees now hurting from being in this position for too long.

And even though he denied countless times that he was different from the rest of the crazed executives Bonten had at its disposal, the sight of you biting down on his gun made his dick twitch.

"S-shit. Cum, pretty baby," Kakucho almost roared, flipping you without warning. His eyes squeezed shut when your walls clenched around him tightly. "Cum for me, fuck. Let me see you cum around my cock." Taking his gun off of your sore lips, he set it gently next to your quivering body. “Let me hear you.”

You screamed at the overwhelming feeling, a clear white light flashed in your eyes as you climaxed. Nails digging half-moon prints on his back, gummy muscles bent on milking his thick cock dry. The sight of your face as you creamed around him was enough to drive his insane. Kakucho painfully moaned, pulling out just in time and cumming on your stomach. He then buried his face into the crook of your neck where your pulse was throbbing erratically, groaning lowly in satisfaction.

A police siren snapped both of you out of the blissful atmosphere, causing you to sigh in disappointment and frustration.

"Perhaps we should move to somewhere more private?" Kakucho suggested, knowing all too well that some of his colleagues were probably in the area to his rescue. The last thing he want was for them to call him out for sleeping around while on the job. Plus, he wanted to spend more time with you. "A hotel?"

You smiled, dipping a finger to the cum still on your stomach and popping it into your mouth. Kakucho's eye darkened, feeling his dick twitch and harden again. The urge to shove his cock into your mouth and fuck it until your voice was hoarse was truly enticing.

"Lead the way, hotshot."

"If you think you can leave without me noticing, think again."

You paused your attempt to tip-toe to your dress, a curse slipped past your lips. Last night was indeed amazing for you and probably the best sex since sleeping with men you were contracted to kill. But you weren't used to greeting those men in the morning, let alone alive. You wanted to save yourself from the awkward situation you were in right now.

Yet, Kakucho had different plans. You slipping past his fingers would be the biggest mistake of his life and he won’t allow that to happen.

Turning back to the bed where Kakucho was, you averted your gaze from his delectable pectorals and kept your eyes on his. The sight of the hanafuda tattoo on his chest brought back images of you licking it last night which made your cheeks burn. Vivid pictures of Kakucho fucking you in different positions throughout the night almost frying your brain. Even with a blanket wrapped around your bare form, you still felt naked under his eye.

Under the warm sunlight streaming through the ceiling to floor windows, he appeared softer and more... human. Scars, big and small, littered his skin like stars. Old and fresh wounds etched on his flesh like paint on a blank canvas. And Kakucho saw the same as he laid his eye on your body. Lips desiring to kiss every scar, every past and present wound—wishing for the lingering pain to go away.

"You were awake this whole time?"

"I'm... a light sleeper."

You snickered at his confession, "Well, considering what you do, I won't be surprised." To pretend he wasn't there staring as if you were an artwork was hard as you got dressed. You still had to report to your employer how you aced the job.

"Work for Bonten."

Your eyes grew wide at the proposition thrown at you without warning.

"W-what?"

"I said work for Bonten," Kakucho repeated, rising from the bed. All his glory is now visible under your naked eye, reminding you of where your tongue ran against his skin last night. Marks littered on his chest and neck courtesy of you. "Bonten could offer you more. More than any of the jobs you can ever take. Plus, it's consistent and will provide you protection."

"That depends..." Pulling up your dress, you then turned your back against him. Pointing at the zipper, you continued. "Zip me up and I'll tell you my terms. If you’re alright with it, then it’s a deal."

Rough pads grazed your sensitive flesh as he zipped your dress up, obviously taking his time as he stared at the love bites he left on your nape. Kakucho licked the front of his teeth, reminiscing the touch of your supple skin and how you tasted. He would certainly get addicted. The moment he was finished, he kissed your bare shoulder.

"Your terms, [Y/N]?"

"I'll work for you, not for Bonten." Clarifying your statement, you spun to face him with a teasing wink. “And before you say anything more—what kind of work exactly? Is it strictly killing or having sex—"

“We shall discuss this more later,” Kakucho interjected, the tips of his ears giving away his embarrassment. Hearing you giggle while rambling how you wanted to spend today eating delicious food, he couldn’t help but picture you as an angel under the soft morning light. An angel, you were indeed—charming him at first sight that night. An angel, be it of love or death—Kakucho would take your every form.

He'd be stupid to even think about letting you go.