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yee-fxcking-haw · 3 years

Text

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

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Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished.

Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his.

Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***

You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself.

You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep.

It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

"I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he?

His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box.

When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you.

***

You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat.

"I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath.

"Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease.

"So, uh- coffee?" He wonders.

"I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

"No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming.

Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass.

His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body.

They call him Dabi.

"So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling.

It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway.

"If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact.

"You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood."

Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options.

"I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter.

"Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away.

"Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice.

Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak.

"Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there.

Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder.

"Don't be late."

***

"You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

"Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something.

That must come with being a hero.

"Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink.

"No, but it helps me focus."

You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends.

"Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips.

Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward.

Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

"Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word.

"It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing.

But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes.

He can't, though… not yet.

"S-sorry…" He whispers.

And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart.

So you do want him too.

"Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly.

You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings.

"Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more.

He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you.

***

The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other.

You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him.

His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are?

You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Inside your house.

Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking.

There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook.

The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway.

They're heading straight for your bedroom.

You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock.

You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open.

"Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom.

You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall.

"Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time.

Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell.

"P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-"

Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone.

"Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement.

Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked.

"Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?"

Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning.

Suneater.

Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight.

You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him.

The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you.

"If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.

"She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki.

You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed.

The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face.

"Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically.

You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok."

His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you.

"Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you.

You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention.

"I love it." You say quietly, still trembling.

He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace?

"It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek.

You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease?

His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you.

"Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body.

"Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back.

"Anything. Anything for you."

That line, that makes you ache.

How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered.

Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

"If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch.

He feels it too, then.

Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts?

His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic.

"Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips.

Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight.

He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his.

While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in.

"I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours.

You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy.

"Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell.

"God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret.

"Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both.

You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki.

"Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him.

"I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes.

"Who said I don't want that?"

You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream.

"Fuck."

His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip.

He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly.

Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms.

He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer.

She's mine now.

Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus.

His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin.

Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds.

One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you.

After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks.

"I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame.

You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more.

Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more.

"I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it.

"You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground.

Mine.

The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart.

He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress.

You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you.

"Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek.

The question has your stomach burning with nerves.

No, nobody ever has.

You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment.

His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs.

"Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately.

His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one.

Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger.

"Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped.

Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition.

“Please…” You breathe.

And that’s all it takes.

His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back.

Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look.

“When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating.

He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush.

“Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.”

Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong.

It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up.

He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him.

“Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes.

You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you.

His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t.

“Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

“Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more.

“Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees.

Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them.

His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs.

He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you.

“I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you.

“Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions.

His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form.

“Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen.

You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said.

“Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing.

His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance.

“Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down.

You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing.

You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked.

“Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name.

By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did.

“That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again.

You? What about you?

Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy.

Not yet, don’t fuck this up.

“Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in.

Hold it. Not. Yet.

“You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise.

He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself.

“So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not.

Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view.

His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes.

“You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache.

“You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet.

You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words.

“Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged.

“I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out.

He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles.

“It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.”

The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was.

"Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair.

“There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder.

So she likes it.

Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him.

Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body.

"Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast.

It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough.

"Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you.

"I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop."

He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him.

Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting.

"Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want."

His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh.

You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me."

He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused.

"Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself.

"Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me."

Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world.

"I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing.

It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are.

It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks.

Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth.

"Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough."

Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki.

He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed."

You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible.

Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you.

Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess.

Perfect.

Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth.

His quirk.

He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good.

You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams.

He hates that.

With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery.

It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good.

He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

“Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body.

The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum.

Then you feel the prodding at your entrance.

Then you really scream.

Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

"Holy fucking shit." You gasp.

He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love.

You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy.

He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it.

You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else.

As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands.

The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him.

You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat.

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin.

“You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.”

The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine.

“In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum.

“Something tells me you did too.” He whispers.

Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly.

He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.”

To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off.

“Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips.

“Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.”

He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you.

He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you.

“What do you say?” He asks.

You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.”

“Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants.

You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm.

"Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words.

A challenge.

You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it?

In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back.

Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length.

He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense.

Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling.

More more more.

"Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg.

Under control.

"Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt.

"Tell me you need me."

You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them.

He needs to feel needed.

"Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater."

Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move.

Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow.

"Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding.

And holy hell does it get you going.

"You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him.

You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip.

With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard.

"Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips.

The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls.

"Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him.

"So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?"

You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come.

"I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him.

"I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice.

The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet.

His damn quirk.

He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen.

He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

"Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position.

With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat.

Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his.

You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart.

"Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens.

You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it.

"Here, let me give that mouth something to do."

His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip.

The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you.

You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to.

"You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own.

You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you.

"You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping."

You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you.

Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips.

A pretty little mess indeed.

Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in.

"Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of.

His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing.

"You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock."

His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench.

He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you.

It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more.

“What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess.

Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips.

“So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest.

The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming.

“Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience.

“I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts.

Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock.

Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut."

He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit.

"Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it.

Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down.

He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard.

"Can you take more, angel?"

You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try.

"Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to."

He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert.

His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way.

You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration.

"You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real."

Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips.

Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion.

He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you.

With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing.

"I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you."

He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up.

"You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs.

You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look.

He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more.

She's mine. She said I have her.

The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control.

His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs.

You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you.

"I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair.

He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission.

"Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips.

You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him.

"Please, I want all of it." m.

“Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes.

It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity.

“We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit.

“You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament.

“You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his.

“Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin.

“That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.”

Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again.

“Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning.

“No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.”

“That’s my girl.”

His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die.

You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface.

When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth.

“Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut.

“You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.”

His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.”

It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart.

Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.

“Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet.

Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work.

You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it.

He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction.

You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started.

“More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle.

The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more.

“Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.”

That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him.

It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you.

“I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling.

Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you.

“You’re such a good little girl.”

His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath.

"Angel?"

The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

"Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly.

The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands.

You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good."

You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you.

"You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss.

He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind.

He's allowed to feel this, he earned this.

When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind.

You don't, though.

You stay there with him, loving him and full of him.

"And you're mine."

You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more.

Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know.

It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful.

You belong to him now, and that's all that there is.

"Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance.

“You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.”

He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut.

“These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you.

“This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck.

‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes.

You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago.

“I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest.

You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession.

He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap.

Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs.

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.”

You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own.

Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration.

This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you.

He intends on keeping it that way.

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allthingsarmin · 3 years

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please hear me out , student council president bully!armin x hot goth girl!reader?

Thank you for your request! This prompt made me really thirsty hehehe, but I hope you didn’t have to wait too long. I’ve been getting quite a few goth girl requests, so to all the goth girls who have found my blog, WELCOME!

Warnings: bullying, harassment, mentions of depressive topics, noncon, and then some sexy stuff bc i know yall are horn - ee. Also, sorry this isn’t proofread :(

Fem!Reader, FemBodied!Reader

Minors DNI!

How many times have you been in this position? Submissive under Armin Arlert’s malicious smirk and feeling measly under the bouts of laughter and mockery from your insolent classmates who encourage his harsh words?

How many times have you found yourself running to your dorm after class, crying, loathing the fact that you were different, feeling insufficient because you have never been graciously accepted by others, becoming disgusted with yourself as a failure as your insecurities painfully spill past your eyelids.

How many times have you found yourself hopeless? Hopeless because no matter how many times you go to teachers and counselors for help, they dismiss you with a cackle. “Armin Arlert? The student council president? He is such a gentleman - so responsible and well-mannered. He would never do those things.” Hopeless because of course no one would ever believe the girl who is quiet, strange, and unconventionally a freak who wears nothing but black clothes with edgy designs, chains, and tall boots that match the intimidating aura of your black nails and many piercings. Hopeless because even though you hate the humiliation, hate the demeaning of your very existence, hate Armin Arlert, you can’t deny that you have pathetically fallen like a beggar for his degradation.

Too many times have you found yourself crumbling under the merciless grip of Armin, being thrown around like a puppet to appease his twisted fantasies and inflated ego, his handsome face creepily contorting with a grin each time his cruel insults are aimed at your weak self. Though, soon enough, the school year will end as you are pushed into the warmth of summer, and then you will make your escape from his abominable cage - your escape from the monster that hides behind the intelligent man with the expensive blazers and sweater vests, seemingly gentle smile, and clean face - the monster that hides behind the beautiful, horrible student council president, Armin Arlert.

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On the precipice of escape, the last day of classes before your final exams - that were supposed to be easy and meant for reviewing material - became total hell as you were summoned to the student council office for some ‘unprecedented reason’ or at least that’s what your professor told you.

The walk to the office was a petrifying one. Never before have your boots felt heavy and your knees weak with your heart pounding out of your ears, scared that out of the eight people in the student council you would be faced with the one-and-only Armin Arlert and his mischief.

As soon as you entered the office, you were met with the pain of a shockingly cold, hard floor. Your left thumb nail and pinky broken, your black fishnet stockings torn, and your black eyeliner trailing down your face in waves due to the impact. Armin was waiting behind the door and barbarically pushed you onto the floor right as you entered the room. Upon his sinister eyes, you were so pitifully sprawled in front of him in a confused, fearful haze - such a wonderful sight to see your dark makeup smeared, cheeks red, bruises forming on your knees where your fishnets tore, and the chain bracelet you wore on your frail wrist broken and lying on the floor.

Upon your confusion and fright, Armin quickly steps over your feeble figure as a way of keeping you in place, like a predator fatally cornering his prey. He crouches down on top of you, getting close to your face, his minty breath hitting you in warm swells as his clean-scented cologne invades your nose. In the worse possible position, lying so vulnerable under the man who has tormented you at school all year, you hate to admit how irresistible he actually is - his mesmerizing blue eyes pulling you in like the tides, his beautifully groomed hair contrasting with his menacing smile, his muscles tightening up in his dark blue blazer. How disgusted you are with yourself that just for a second you were willing to take all of his degradation if it meant you got to lay your eyes upon his being.

Armin, feasting upon your beautiful figure, was tearing you apart in his mind. Unbeknownst to you, your dark clothes complimented your skin beautifully, the gruesome designs on your shirts appealingly contrasting with the rare sight of your soft, kind smile, and the black makeup you always wore was never with a fault as it was done perfectly, your black nails leaving Armin with vulgar thoughts about how they would look leaving scratch marks on his back as he roughly fucks you into subspace, what your black and blood-red skirts paired with fishnet stockings would look like while he sneakily tears into you in a public place. How his hand would look around your neck in place of your black chokers. All Armin needed was some hot goth bitch who he could selfishly abuse and degrade while looking cute in her chain necklaces and fitted black tops, and all year had he fantasized about this moment - taking in the sight of your pity allowing the stress from council responsibilities - like speeches and useless complaints from students - to simply just disappear.

“Finally have you all to myself, huh?” he groans, hurriedly taking off his blazer, and unbuttoning his dress shirt, disheveling his collar in the process. Looking around at the empty desks and chairs, you noticed that you two were in fact the only ones in the office and that Armin had slyly locked the door after pushing you to the floor. Your head was burning, and your heart suddenly picked up its pace as you saw Armin begin to unbuckle his belt and fiddle with his zipper.

“W-what are you doing?” you worriedly exclaimed as you moved your messy hair out of your face and scrambled to hold down your skirt.

Armin paused, his grin eerily wide and the glint in his eyes made of pure malice. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”

He, on top of your timid body, shoved his girthy cock into your mouth, his red tip teasingly poking at the back of your throat as tears assault your eye makeup and your face reddens with embarrassment. Armin pulls your hair and forces your wet mouth off of his aching cock, admiring the sight of your wide eyes and blotches of black lipstick painting his thick shaft. He rubs your cheek with his thumb. “Such a pretty goth bitch,” he coos, nearly laughing at the fact his weak, long-time victim was finally exposed below him.

You were stunned, completely numb, so shocked because the man who was always so vile to you was losing himself every time your reluctant tongue slipped past his sensitive tip. So shocked that you couldn’t do anything but comply when he told you to take him deeper.

Armin, with such eagerness, forced your sloppy mouth off of him - after gagging you for what seemed like forever - and sat down on the floor, leaning against the locked door, and firmly grabbing your wrist as a beckon to straddle his lap. Sitting upon his muscular thighs, you begin to realize just how ruined you are, wanting with every inch of your heart to run away from the person who has caused you so much distress yet feeling such a heavy desperation in your throbbing cunt as you gaze upon Armin’s gorgeous figure, his collared shirt slightly unbuttoned and wrinkled, warm red blush thrashed upon his face in contrast with cool blue eyes.

In the midst of it all, you can’t recall how quickly he jerked you onto his lap, rudely pulled your panties to the side, and forcefully thrusted his cock into your messy cunt. Though taking you by an uncomfortable surprise, you hate - hate - to admit how good it felt riding the student council president, Armin Arlert’s, cock, hate to admit how the mixture of abusive slander and your bully’s member inside you made your body shiver with euphoria.

Choose your ending: 1 2

#armin arlert #armin x reader #armin smut #aot #aot x reader

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bookwormsid1015 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: This Time Around

[A Semi-CloudNight Oneshot]

“Aaahhh! It feels so good to unwind like this,” Fukukado Emi, best known as the Laughing Hero: Ms. Joke, laughs in relief as she leans forward against the bar countertop, a mug of whiskey in hand. She’s dressed in her civilian outfit, which consists of high waist blue skinny jeans and a light yellow crop top tee shirt with a bold white stripe stretching across her chest. Her mint green hair is held back in a low ponytail, and black slip-on sneakers adorn her feet; her outfit accented by a black choker around her neck and three beaded bracelets coating her right wrist.

Joining her at their favorite bar is Tatsuma Ryuko (Ryukyu), Takeyama Yuu (Mt. Lady), and Kayama Nemuri (Midnight). Nemuri’s rosy red lips tilt upwards into a sly smile, and she raises her glass of red wine to her lips. Unlike Fukukado, Nemuri is dressed to impress, with her beautiful dark blue dress fading to a vibrant pink as it travels down towards the helm of her dress, perfectly matching her light complexion. Black three inch heels adorn her feet, and her deep indigo hair is held over her head in a messy bun, staked into place by a black pin that distinctly resembles a fox tail.

Nemuri pushes up her crimson red glasses, still smiling. “Me too,” she agrees happily. “My agency has been so busy lately with all the League of Villain madness. It feels great to just be in the moment every now and again.”

Sitting on Fukukado’s other side, directly across from Nemuri, Takeyama stares down at her small glass of champagne, her eyebrows knitted together in exhaustion. The Giant Hero, like Ms. Joke, is dressed in casual clothing, wearing short blue jean shorts with a simple orange tank top and a single star-shaped golden necklace around her neck. Her long, wavy blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, which spirals down to her midback in beautiful platinum waves.

“I knew starting my own agency was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Takeyama confesses, exhaustion lacing her tone. “Like, I can’t effectively take down any villains because my size destroys so much property, and I hate that my fans only seem to like me because they want me to step on them! It’s so weird! People are weird and gross!” She drops her head onto the table and groans mutely into the polished wood. “And here I thought the big city would be different from home.”

Tatsuma places a gentle hand on Takeyama’s back and pats it reassuringly. Like Nemuri, Tatsuma is dressed for the occasion in a simple yet elegant violet dress with a chain of pearls around her neck and diamond earrings in her ear. It is no surprise Ryukyu would wear such beautiful jewelry, though given her status as a dragon, Nemuri wasn’t surprised. “Don’t worry, Takeyama. We all start off rough, but guaranteed your agency will become amazing,” the Dragon Hero encourages the blond heroine gently, and Takeyama’s shoulders only slightly relax.

Fukukado taps her chin, her dark green eyes thoughtful. “Come to think of it, aren’t you and Kamui Woods, like, a thing now? I heard his agency is successful, maybe you can talk to him about it,” she says, and Takeyama reaches across the table with frantic shushing gestures.

“Don’t say that outloud! We want to keep our relationship private! The last thing we need is the media crawling up our asses about it,” she snarls at the Laughing Hero, and Fukukado raises her hands in surrender.

“Oops! My bad!” Fukukado yelps and frantically checks around her in case anyone was listening in. Nemuri and Tatsuma make eye contact from across the table and snicker to themselves.

“Kamui Woods is a very dependable man, though,” Tatsuma adds. “I’m proud of you.”

Takeyama buries her face in her hands. “Can’t we talk about anything else?” she whines.

Fukukado’s smile returns full force, and a shit-eating grin splits across her face. “But why though? Everyone loves hearing about a good romance!” She cups her hands to her cheeks and swoons giddily. “Like, just the other day, I ran into Eraserhead at a coffee shop! It was so amazing, like something out of a romance novel!”

Nemuri’s cerulean eyes widen slightly. “Oh yeah, he told me about that. Didn’t he leave the second he saw you?” she asks.

Fukukado’s cheeks flush red, and she chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he did. Something about not wanting to deal with my energy or whatever. But that just makes it so much more exciting! I mean, look at him, all dark and mysterious and broody~!”

“Not to mention a total hobo who forgets to shower half the time,” Nemuri adds. The other heroines at the table chuckle.

“AND he’s the only one who I haven’t gotten to laugh yet!” Fukukado goes on, ignoring Nemuri’s remark. “One of these days, I’ll get him to laugh! If not, at least smile! Yeah, that would be amazing.”

“Why not use your Quirk?” Tatsuma asks.

Fukukado shakes her head adamantly. “He erases Quirks, remember? Besides, I don’t just wanna make him laugh! I want to really make him laugh, you know? Something authentic. Using my Quirk would just be dishonest and mean.”

Nemuri shrugs her shoulders, though a part of her is secretly relieved. She’s known Eraserhead since high school, and knowing him, the main reason he wouldn’t want to try dating Fukukado would be because he doesn’t want to be influenced by her Quirk. Then again, this is Eraserhead they’re talking about. After what happened in high school, he probably wouldn’t give her a chance either way. He has trouble enough making friends, let alone dating. The cruel reality of hero work scarred him, and the mere thought of it hurts her heart. Fear guides him, and Nemuri desperately wishes she could do something to help.

“What about you, Midnight?” Nemuri perks up, and finds the eyes of the other heroines glued on her. Fukukado leans forward eagerly, her dark green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Do you have anyone you’re with right now? With your gorgeous looks and bedazzling personality, I’ll bet yes!”

Tatsuma casts Fukukado a significant look. “Ms. Joke, your bi is showing,” she comments, startling a laugh out of Takeyama.

Nemuri glances down at her wine glass and slowly sways it around in her grasp, watching the dark red liquid roll within its transparent chamber. Her smile becomes wistful. “I’ve had flings, but serious relationships? Nope. I haven’t had any in years. Probably not since high school,” she replies honestly.

Takeyama lifts her head, blinking at the R-Rated Hero in surprise. “What? There’s no way. Your entire aesthetic is about intimacy! Especially the sexy kind,” she gapes, and Nemuri chuckles at her reaction.

“It’s true. I haven’t had a proper boyfriend since my third year in high school, and to be honest…” Nemuri’s smile becomes bitter, and she chuckles in spite of her hypocrisy. “I don’t think I’ll ever date again. Hurts too much.”

Fukukado grimaces slightly. “Oof, was he really that bad?” she asks, and Nemuri immediately shakes her head.

“No, no. In fact, he was amazing. He was the sweetest, funniest, most loyal person I’d ever met. He cared about everyone unconditionally, and he would always go out of his way to help people. Hell, this one time, he found a kitten stuck in the rain and brought it with him to school,” she reminisces, smiling at the memory of him. Even now she can clearly see his broad, glowing smile, and the image sparks an old pain in her heart. “He was my everything. Even though we wanted different things out of life-- with him wanting to start an agency with his other friends, and me wanting to start the Midnight Agency-- we still promised we’d be together. That we'd make it work.”

Fukukado’s brows are drawing together in concern, now, and acid rises in Nemuri’s chest at the realization in her eyes. “Wait, you’re talking about him in the past tense,” she says. “What… happened?”

Nemuri’s smile falls completely, and she utters a deep sigh. “The worst,” she responds. “About fifteen years ago, we were alerted to a villain attack in Tasomiya Ward, a giant monster with the ability to stockpile power.” Tatsuma and Fukukado’s eyes widen nearly simultaneously, no doubt recognizing the event, but Takeyama blinks at Nemuri in confusion; she’s too new to the career to know.

Her voice shudders, but still, Nemuri goes on, “All of us were there. Me, Eraserhead, Present Mic, and… him. We did everything in our power to stop the monster, but it was too big. We couldn’t do anything. I was evacuating everyone out of the area while he, Present Mic, and Eraserhead went to go stop the villain. Civilians got hurt; there’s no way to protect everyone. But he…”

The image washes over her, stealing away all her breath in an instant. She can smell the salty rain clouds, she can feel the slick pavement beneath her boots, the uncomfortable way debris clings to her sweaty skin. Above all else, she remembers rounding the corner just in time to see a cloud explode to life over a class of kindergarteners and their teacher, leaving them protected but him exposed. Their eyes made contact, and before Nemuri could do anything, before she could call out his name or take a step forward, a giant chunk of debris was upon him, and she was helpless to watch it swallow him whole.

The scene barely lasted for more than a few seconds, but she can still see it. The sickening crunch resonating through the air as his skull cracks open, the violent spray of blood from his head… She suddenly wants to throw up her wine and crumble into a ball. Old insecurities she thought she’d abandoned were suddenly creeping up the back of her mind, whispering terribly in her ears.

“Your quirk is useless. It couldn’t protect anyone, especially not your loved ones.”

“It’s because you’re so useless he’s dead.”

“Why are you even a hero?”

“Midnight?”

Nemuri snaps out of the memory and finds the other heroines looking at her in worry. She quickly realizes she’d dropped her wine glass to cover her face, and while thankfully the glass didn’t break, the wine was splattered all over the table top. It looks exactly like his blood.

“Midnight,” Tatsuma reaches out to her and gently takes her hands, leading them away from her face and gripping them tightly. Nemuri clings onto the contact, desperately wishing her hands were someone else’s. “Are you okay? Do you need a moment?”

Nemuri shakes her head slowly and slips her hands out of Tatsuma’s reach. She hates it when people look at her with those worried eyes. “It affected all of us,” Nemuri goes on. “Obviously, it hurt me. I lost my boyfriend and the guy I wanted to… but Present Mic and Eraserhead lost their best friend. Their brother.”

Fukukado shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes. “Oh, Midnight, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to open an old wound,” she whispers in horror, and Nemuri shakes her head again, this time with more resolve.

“It’s fine, really. It gave me a horrible wake up call, that above all else, we are heroes. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Every day we go out there and put our lives on the line. We could live, we could die, but what matters most is protecting others.” She glances down at the wine spilled all over the table, and her own reflection stares back at her with wary acceptance. She sighs, long and tired. “Watching him die made me realize how easily life can be lost, how tragedy can strike in an instant. That’s why I want to embrace my youth for as long as I can, so I can live enough for both of us.” Her reflection’s lips quirk upward into a trying smile. “That way, when I die, when I can finally see him again, I can tell him about all my adventures with pride.”

Nemuri looks up and finds herself staring into the wet faces of the other heroes. Tatsuma, Fukukado, and Takeyama are all staring at their senior hero with wide, tearful eyes, and Nemuri likes to think in this moment, they felt more respect for the seasoned heroine.

Nemuri smiles back at them and wipes the tears from her eyes. “Remember that, you three,” she tells them. “Go forward knowing nothing-- not even love-- is certain, but don’t let it scare you. The world is scary, dangerous, and even cruel, but what’s most important is cherishing the people in our lives.” She raises her wine glass and what remains of the wine sloshes around in its glassy imprisonment. “To living.”

Fukukado, Tatsuma, and Takeyama look between themselves. One by one, they lift their drinks to the sky, each glass a different shape containing a different drink. “To living,” they echo, and tap their glasses together with Nemuri’s. The R-Rated Hero smiles truly, her heart swelling with pride.

Nemuri drives home alone that night.

Of course, the four heroines stayed at that bar for hours, laughing and drinking together once the shock of Nemuri’s lost-love bombshell faded away. As their senior, Nemuri only drank a few sips of her wine every now and again (although the gruesome memories made her want to get wasted out of her mind), and she allowed the other heroes to have their fun and get as wasted as they want. Takeyama and Fukukado were joking around, having a blast singing old pop culture songs together, occasionally getting Tatsuma to join in whenever the Dragon Hero got over her shyness.

Eventually, Nemuri dragged the three drunken heroines back into her car (thankful they all decided to take Nemuri’s car there and back), and she drove all the ladies home, making sure they had all their possessions with them before leaving. Once she dropped them all off at their houses and made small talk with any partners they had waiting for them, she decided to gather her wits and go home herself. Today was a long day, and she was surprised to find herself emotionally exhausted so soon.

The bar is a fifteen minute drive from her house, but as soon as she leaves her car and strides up the driveway, she pulls open the front door and steps inside her dark home. Despite it’s nice size, being a two story house with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, only Nemuri lives in it, though she’s not completely alone.

“Meow!” Nemuri looks down, and her heart lifts slightly as her tabby orange cat comes bounding over to her, high in energy despite his age. Nemuri kneels down to collect him in her arms, and she cradles the cat like a baby.

“Hello, Sushi-baby,” she coos at him as she kicks the front door shut and locks it behind her. “How are you doing? Were you keeping the house safe from big bad strangers while I was gone?”

Sushi meows in response and nuzzles her bust.

The house is big and empty now, but one day, Nemuri hopes she’ll marry and settle down, maybe start a family all her own. It won’t be for a while, and honestly, Nemuri is scared to start dating out of fear of herself or her partner dying, but she decided a long time ago to live by her words so she bought the house regardless. She’s getting older now, and at thirty-two, she knows she doesn’t have much time left. At the very least, Oboro would want her to be happy, even if her happiness isn’t with him. She just hopes she can find someone accepting of her tastes and interests, like he did.

Nemuri enters her living room and sits back in her recliner, pulling out her phone to amuse herself. Sushi immediately adjusts himself in her lap and kneads her legs with his paws, turning around in a circle before plopping down into a comfortable loaf. Nemuri scratches him behind the ears with a faint smile.

“We’ll be okay,” she says, more so to herself than to the cat.

Sushi’s lazy purring is her only response.

Nemuri leans back into her chair and sighs. Tomorrow will be a new day.

#Kayama Nemuri #Bnha Midnight #Ms. Joke #Ryukyu #Mt. Lady #My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #Bnha spoilers #Bnha manga spoilers #Shirakumo Oboro x Kayama Nemuri #CloudNight #My Writing #Bnha Vigilantes Spoilers #Bnha Vigilantes

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tothemeadow · 4 years

Text

okay, but the last vampire mui fic got me wanting for more 👀👀 may i request day 6 kinks for him (just the hair-pulling and biting), scenario format, if you don't mind ehe <3

Day 6: angry/hate fucking / hair pulling / biting

warnings: semi-public sex, dry humping, vaginal fingering

words: 873

(a/n): Muichiro is 18+ in this, art is not mine

In the midnight sky, the stars twinkle brilliantly. The bluish hue of the moon reflects on the pool of water, its deathly still visage mimicking a mirror. Warm golden light spills from the French doors, the sounds of music and chattering breaking through the night’s silence.

You’d be enjoying the ball, dancing the night away, but you don’t. Instead, you stand outside, pressed against the stone wall of the manor. The open doors only lay a few feet away, and literally anybody could step out at any moment. Muichiro stands tall above you, his silhouette glowing with the moonlight.

A gloved hand brushes against your cheek, sweeps down the column of your neck. A thick velvet choker covers the various bitemarks covering your neck; his fingers pause at the end of the necklace, fingertips barely sneaking underneath its edge. Muichiro’s eyes flickers between the necklace and your own eyes – it’s a silent question, one you know all too well. Reaching up, you unclasp the necklace, exposing the bitten flesh. Muichiro sighs in relief.

“I’ve been thinking about this moment all night,” Muichiro mutters. His sickeningly sweet smell fills your nostrils as he leans in closer. “Hearing your heartbeat, the blood rushing through your veins – all delicious.”

“My lord,” you say, craning your neck to look at him. “You know that I’m always more than willing.”

A hint of a smile plays on Muichiro’s lips. A fang catches the light, shining brilliantly, dangerously. A shiver runs down your spine. “Oh, love. What a sweet little lamb you are.” His fingers sneak up the back of your neck and grasp onto the strands of your hair. With a light tug, he tilts your head further back, your neck displayed in a beautiful curve. “I could absolutely ruin you, right here in front of all of these people. I’d let all these humans know that you’re mine.”

“Forever yours,” you murmur, your eyelashes fluttering enticingly at him. A soft sigh leaves your mouth as he presses a delicate kiss to your throat.

“Forever and always, love.”

A sudden sting sparks pain in your neck, but it’s quickly replaced by a comforting warmth. Muichiro’s scent grows stronger, causing your head to swim. Heat floods your insides and settles at the base of your abdomen. Muichiro drinks from you with languid movements, the sound of suckling seemingly echoing in the night’s air. His other hand drifts down to your waist, fingers gripping onto the fabric of your gown.

“Muichiro,” you moan quietly. Your hands sweep over the planes of his chest, settle on his sturdy shoulders. He purrs against your neck; the sound sounds a pang of arousal down to your sex, causing you to gasp. You shift within his grasp, try to bring him closer yet.

Before pulling away, a swift pass of the tongue seals the bitemarks shut. “(y/n),” Muichiro growls, urgently pushing his lips to yours. He kisses you with utmost passion, the taste of your blood lingering on his tongue. You moan at the taste, desperately pressing your tongue against his, eager for more.

Hands make quick work of hiking the skirt of your gown up your hips. Your legs shiver from the cold. A leather clad thigh forces them apart; it presses against your aching pussy, eliciting a sweet-sounding moan from you. You grind down against it, your slick seeping through your undergarments and leaving a wet stripe against his pants. Muichiro tugs at your hair, harder this time. His lips pepper kisses all over your neck, his sharp fangs scraping over the surface. You arch your back up into him as he bites you again, a surge of blood entering his mouth and slick soiling his pants even further.

“Oh god, Muichiro,” you moan, no longer minding the fact that you might be caught. You shamelessly rut against his thigh, eager to reach your orgasm. “Drink from me until I’m dry, my lord. It feels so good.”

Growling at your words, Muichiro flexes his thigh. He guides your hips against his thigh, relishes in your pleasured gasps and the way you clutch onto his coat. His fingers drop down, the material of his glove getting wet as he pushes your undergarments to the side and rubs against your clit. You moan loudly, your entire body jerking. Another surge of sweet blood fills his mouth and he releases a moan of his own.

“More, my lord, more,” you plead.

“Fuck,” Muichiro grunts. Again, he seals your wound shut. He finds his next spot on the swell of your breast, licking a fat stripe over the goosebumps and rubbing tight little circles into your clit. Your breasts push up against his mouth as you pant, the movements of your hips growing erratic. “Are you going to cum, love?” Muichiro asks.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you purr. “Make me cum, Muichiro, fuck-“ You squeal as he sinks his teeth into your breast. The pleasure is enough to send you spiraling off the edge; you moan his name as you cum, violently shaking and grasping at his shoulders desperately.

Muichiro pants against your skin. Shifting forward, his hardened cock brushes against your thigh. “Can you go again, love?”

You frantically nod your head. “Yes, oh god, yes.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #tokito muichiro #tokito muichiro x reader #kny muichiro #muichiro tokito #muichiro x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2020 #tothemeadow's kinktober

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another-stark-sub · 4 years

Note

Tony headcanon prompt He finds out you have a breath play/choking kink. Then what?

Huh, you know i havejt thought about my latent breath play kink in a while... this is gonna be fun. 18+ nsfw stuff to follow! Including breathplay and dom/sub vibes. Remember to practice breathplay safely! (Also, if this is inaccurate, please tell me. I tried to do some research kn how to do it safely but i didnt check as many sources as a usually do for oneshots.)

Ok so chokers. I mean the necklaces. Theyre cute and making a comeback, so of course one of Tonys many gifts to you is a choker of your own.

You didnt think much of it when you got it. Other than Aw beautiful new necklace that my loving boyfriend gave me

But, then your mind thought up some stuff involving the necklace and sex

You werent comfortable sharing with Tony. Not yet. So instead you masturabated with the choker on. It wasnt super good or anything, but it satisfied you for now.

But ut was hard not tell him

One of Tonys most attractive things was his intelligence, and when he worked, he used his hands. His deft, agile fingers would fiddle with something all the time and you wanted them to fiddle with you

So finally, one night while making iut against the wall, you told him. "I was wondering something."

"Is that code for something?"

"No, just thinking."

He laughed and intertwined his fingers with yours. "What pretty thoughts are in your head?"

"Well, thats the thing, they arent pretty. In fact, theyre kinda... dirty?"

Tony was intrigued. "Go on."

You pulled on your choker slightly. "Choking. Or breathplay. Whichever. Just thought maybe we could do it sometime, if youre comfortable."

"Oh!" He smiled and traced the line where your choker met your skin. "Thats why you love this thing so much."

"Its also very pretty and versatile."

He nodded. "Versatile indeed." He leaned ib close and his voice went deeper, "Wanna try now?"

"Now?"

"Mhm."

You felt almost starstruck. "Please."

His laugh rumbled and then his hand was wrapped around your throat and he shoved you back against the wall. His fingers found the side of your throat and he ever so lightly pressed against it. Your moan vibrated against his hand and back to you and he kissed you the way he wanted to.

As he kissed your cheek and the parts of your neck he exposed, he checked, "What's the word you use to stop this?"

"Red," you responded, your throat fluttering against his hand.

"And your signal to stop?"

You tapped the hand around your neck with two fingers twice.

"Signal to slow down?"

You pinched his finger.

"Good girl."

With his hand still wrapped around your neck, he undressed you. Your button up was unbuttoned and your skirt unzipped and dropped to the floor. Tony pulled down your bra and sucked hickies onto your tits, all while you could only whine and writhe against him, a dizziness slowly trickling in.

Then, his lips were on yours again. He let go of your throat, letting you take deep breaths in between kisses. The feeling of dizziness was replaced with pleasure as your head mind came back to Earth.

Tonys hands traveled to your crotch and he easily thrust two fingers into you and jusy as he began to curl them to rub your g spot, he put his other hand around your throat, fhe lightheadedness settling in again

"Look at you, so desperate to be controlled." He smiled. "Dont even wanna breathe without my permission."

You writhed against him, the pleasure and pressure of your g spot taking over your mind. Because you were all his to control. You wanted that. You craved it.

Some how, you were suddenly on the bed with Tony above you and before you could say his name, his cock was inside you.

And his finger was hooked around your choker. "Such a pretty little thing around the neck of my pretty little whore." He smiled and leaned in close. "Say, 'thank you, sir.'"

"Thank you, sir." And you meant it.

"You're welcome." His finger pressed against the side of your throat again and he began to fuck you rough and fast.

You couldnt breathe that well and your foggy mind could only think of the pleasure of having him thrust into you over and over and over again, and just as you were on the edge, he let go of your neck.

The blood rushed back to your head, his lips met yours, and the pleasure was beyond comparison. With some semblemce of control you kissed him back and moaned his name against his lips.

Tony rolled off of you and checked on you. "You ok?"

You nodded, still a little lightheaded. "That was wonderful."

He laughed and kissed you. "You don't have to hide your thoughts from me."

"Even the dirty ones?"

"Especially those."

#tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #tony stark headcanons #smutty saturday

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dontshootmespence · 4 years

Text

A Heavenly Diversion

Summary: They’re both fighting a war. And they both need a distraction.

Pairing: Megstiel

Word Count: 1,550+

Warnings: Little bits of hair pulling, spanking, knife play, bondage, a creampie and a collar.

A/N: For those of you 18 and over! This fulfills my @spnkinkbingo square for collars.

Under the dim lights of the room, the cherry red rope seems to deepen and glisten like blood. The contrast between the sturdy ties and her delicate skin brings a smile to his face. “Seeing you like this…” He can’t bring himself to finish his thought but she knows. Oh, does she know.

“What happens if someone finds us?” She asks, her arms heavy with the full weight of the rope. “I have all kinds of nasties after me. Demons and angels alike.”

Castiel lifts Meg’s hands above her head, affixing them to the hook he’d dangled from the ceiling. “Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, Clarence.”

When he places his hands on her collarbone, a jolt of pain rolls through her, an icy burn spreading across every facet of her body. It hurts like hell, but at his hands it feels like coming home. Her mouth drops open, the delicate ‘o’ form of her lips inviting Castiel in a way it takes much strength to ignore. That’s not what she wants or what he needs just yet. “That was angel warding etched into your ribs. I have faith you’ll be able to take on any demon you come across on your own.”

“You know me,” she smiles.

Her limbs already feel heavy as they sway above her head, but she’ll endure it – enjoy it. She’s a little fucked up, but so is he, the angel that rebelled against heaven. Isn’t everyone a bit fucked up? “Are you gonna sit there and just stare at me, Clarence?”

Crouching down, he whispers in her ear. “I think I might. I know, what was it you said, it “makes your meat suit all dewy.”

“You remember,” she chuckles.

Deep brown eyes go alight with darkness within when she sees the glimmer of the knife against his jeans. Instead of donning his signature trench coat and tie, he’s blending in, a relaxed gray t-shirt and black jacket completing the look in his cerulean blues. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought Cas had fallen farther than heaven to earth.

Him clothed, her bare before him – it makes her feel small. It’s not a feeling she’s used to or one she’d become accustomed to for anyone but him. But it is one she revels in. “What’cha gonna do with that?” She asks, her voice dripping with anticipation as she stares at the knife.

“Make you feel,” he replies. He stands up and begins to stalk around her, like a predator to his prey. He loves seeing her like this, adoration specked with the slightest hint of fear. “Like this.”

She shivers when the sharp edge of the knife skates from the bottom right side of her collarbone and around the back of her neck to the other side. There’s no blood, but it’s definitely rushing to the surface. The peace flowing through her makes her entire body heavy, her knees digging into the soft floor. His nickname rings through her head; there’s no heaven, no hell, no war, no Lucifer, nothing. It’s just here and now and feeling.

Cas crouches down again behind her, his breath hot on the shell of her ear. “Look down,” he commands. “So wet already.”

She practically mewls for him, causing his already hard cock to strain against the confines of the denim he’s wearing. He doesn’t stand up, instead resting his forehead against hers as the point of the knife rests against her collarbone. “I need to watch,” he breathes.

With practiced precision, he presses the tip of the knife into her soft skin and pulls down, watching as the blood pools up and out, a thin red line sliding down her chest and over her nipple. Meg’s eyes dilate at the feel of the burn, eyes trailing down her body, telling him where she wanted the next one and the one after that.

Before she knows it, there are red streaks down her stomach and breasts. The feeling of him drinking her in is intoxicating. “I think I need one more, Clarence.” She glances over her shoulder and he knows where to go, the headiness of the moment making it difficult for even him to move, his limbs heavy with satisfaction.

When Cas pushes the tip of the knife into her shoulder blade, she cries out, the high-pitched whimper so unlike the vessel he knows. He rakes the knife down, all the way to the small of her back before he unhooks her, a chuckle escaping him when her bound arms fall to the floor with a thud.

She bends over, stomach to the ground, ass in the air. Wiggling slightly, she chuckles when she hears his exhalation of breath. For a rebellious angel, he still has remarkable self-control. His hand comes down on her ass, the sting somehow even more fulfilling than the blade. “You learn that from the pizza man, too, angel?”

Meg stares with rapt attention as Cas pulls his coat off and throws it to the floor before reaching behind him and gathering the cotton t-shirt between his shoulder blades. When she glances down to his pocket, she sees something sticking out. “What’s that?”

“That’s for you,” he replies, pulling the item out of his pocket. It’s a red chainmail necklace – a choker. “Now, I wouldn’t dare think about tying you down, but even when you’re away from me, I want you to have a reminder of me.” She leans forward and closes her eyes as he fixes the necklace around her. “Each chain has the word ‘mine’ etched into it in Enochian.”

For a split second, Meg feels a swelling of emotion, but that’s not her and he knows it too, so she’s not surprised when she replies. “It’s beautiful, but are gonna go back to the x-rating soon? I need to be fucked. Need to feel your cock.”

When she reaches for his zipper, he laughs and pulls away. “I enjoy your desperation.” He waits for a moment, drinking in the picture of the woman collared before him. “Arch your back for me.”

Without hesitation, Meg does as he commands, eyes facing forward as he walks behind her. Out there, people can think what they want – him the wayward angel and her the headstrong demon – but in here it’s different. It’s perfectly, wonderfully, amazingly different in a way she never expected to have.

As he unfastens the buttons on his jeans, he drops to his knees behind her. She pushes back, body searching for him, her heated sex desperate for his fullness. When he places his hand on her ass, she feels the familiar tingle of his grace. “Don’t. Not yet.”

“As you wish.” Instead, he smacks her right ass cheek and then the left in quick succession, watching as her skin ripples beneath his touch. Moaning, she bites her lip to keep from screaming when his hand comes into contact with her ass, rhythmic slaps creating a delicate red bloom across the pearl white of her body. “Should I fuck you? Do you think you deserve it?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely,” she croons. “You make me feel good, I’ll make you feel good. Promise, Angel.”

Cas lined his cock up against her slit and pushed inside, encountering absolutely no resistance. She was so wet and needy for him. Preferably, he’d stay here, buried inside her forever – forget the rest of the outside world. “That’s it, Clarence. Lose a little control for me, would ya?”

He groans and reels back, feeling her slick wash over him as he pushes into her pussy over and over again. Reaching up, he grabs her hair and gathers it into a ponytail, tugging gently before giving it a harder yank that makes her yelp.

“Harder, Angel. You know I can take it.”

Meg bows her head to the floor, the intensity of his touch and the burn of her wounds too much to take.

“Close your eyes and feel, Meg.”

In an instant, she relaxes more, practically turning into a puddle beneath him as his cock pumps into her over and over and over again. She tightens around him and begins to push back, fucking herself with him. He can’t help but return the favor, picking up the pace of his thrusts, the sound of her whimpers and whines driving him wild. “Come inside me, Cas. Let me feel it.”

As he continues to thrust, he throws his head back, grunting into the air. Though they’re warded from angels, he wants to scream – make her scream – for all of them to hear. She milks his cock and he knows he’s close, his breaths ragged and strained, voice starting to catch in his throat. When his muscles spasm, he buries himself inside her to the hilt and lets go, thick spurts of come coating her walls.

“You sure know how to treat a lady right.”

Chuckling, he pulls her up, her back, still bleeding from the earlier cuts coming flush against his muscled chest. He massages her breasts, his grace working away the wounds in slow swirls while he sucks a deep red mark into the side of her neck. “This will stay with you a while. That and the red marks on your ass.”

“And this,” she grumbles lowly, slipping a finger underneath the new metal choker. “Nice to know I got the wrath of heaven on my side.”

#spnkinkbingo #spnkinkbingo2020 #meg masters #meg 2.0 #castiel #cas #megstiel #megstiel fanfiction #megstiel smut #dontshootmespence #a heavenly diversion

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saxonspud · 5 years

Text

Outcast - Chapter 7

The sound of birdsong woke you from your sleep. You couldn’t remember the last time you had woken to that sound. Not since you were forced from your home, and into the icy wastes of the grizzlies.

You glanced around the tent. The food bowl was gone, and you were covered in a blanket. Your wolf skins that you had fashioned into a cloak, were draped over the chair.

You looked at the lantern that hung on the cross beam. Who ever had come in and covered you with a blanket, had extinguished the lantern, but left it. You wondered who it was. Susan perhaps, or Hosea.

You pulled off the blanket, and swung your legs over the side of the cot. It was too hot now to be wearing your buckskin trousers, so you removed them. Just leaving you in your loincloth and tunic.

You examined your wrists, most of the redness was gone. Whatever was in the pot that Hosea had given you, had certainly helped.

Opening the tent flap, and peered out. The camp was a hubbub of activity. People milling around, some you recognised, some you didn’t.

You closed the tent flap and went back to the cot.

You sat in the corner, with your back to the canvas. Knees pulled up to your chest, and arms wrapped around them.

This is the only place you felt safe. Well relatively.

Maybe Hosea would bring you some food. If he didn't, it didn't really matter. You had eaten yesterday, you would probably last a few days without needing to eat. You had in the mountains, so you could here.

You rested your head on your knees, closing your eyes for a few moments. Your shoulder was hurting and so was your back. The bumping around in the wagon yesterday, had left some bruises. Nothing serious, but it made you ache.

You opened your eyes, and your head snapped up when you heard the tent flap open.

You stiffened, as you stared at Dutch standing in the doorway.

“I thought you might want to come and get some food?” he ventured.

You shook your head rapidly, “Nizhoni stay. Nizhoni not want trouble,” you mumbled.

Dutch walked towards the cot, where you were sitting.

You pressed your back against the canvas, wincing slightly.

“Dutch no hurt Nizhoni. No use rope. Nizhoni stay. No run,” you spluttered.

Dutch stopped, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I’d never hurt you, Nizhoni. I just wanted to protect you, not let you die alone in the mountains.”

you shook your head, “rope hurt Nizhoni. Not protect!”

You held up your wrist to show Dutch the rope burns. Although the soreness had gone, there was still a red mark around your wrists. Scars of where the rope hand cut in.

“Wagon hurt Nizhoni!” you turned slightly, so Dutch could see your back.

Dutch frowned, “did that happen in the wagon?” he asked, as he looked at the purple marks on your back, where the bruises were beginning to form.

You nodded, “Nizhoni not trust Dutch. Dutch hurt not protect,” you stated, as you frowned at him.

Dutch through his arms in the air, “for crying out loud, why can’t you understand I don't wanna hurt you!” he yelled in frustration.

You covered your head with your arms, and curled into a ball, in the farthest corner of the cot. “Please. No hurt Nizhoni.” you whimpered, as tears trickled down your cheek.

You heard the tent flap open, but you daren’t look. Maybe it was Arthur, come to tie you up again.

“What the hell is going on?” Hosea exclaimed, looking at you then looking at Dutch, “what happened to her back?”

Dutch sighed, “I can’t make her understand, that I...We ain’t gonna hurt her.”

Hosea rolled his eyes, “well I don’t suppose yelling at her is gonna help, is it!”

Dutch sighed, “no, its not.”

Hosea came further into the tent, and stood at the foot of the cot.

“Nizhoni, listen to me, no one is going to harm you, we’re your friends.”

Hearing Hosea’s voice, you moved your arms from your head, and looked up. Tears still glistening on your cheeks.

Hosea glanced at Dutch, “Now move towards the cot slowly,” he advised, his voice a whisper.

Dutch did as Hosea suggested, then sat on the edge of the cot.

Dutch held out his hand, “Nizhoni, I honestly didn't want you to be hurt,” he hesitated. “take my hand, let me help you.”

You looked at Hosea, then back at Dutch, then at Hosea again.

Hosea looked at you and nodded, “go on,” he coaxed

You gingerly held out your hand, and you held your breath.

Dutch gently took your hand, gently running his thumb across the red mark on your wrist.

He smiled at you. “Breath Nizhoni, I promise I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.

You gasped a breath. Your eyes wide, staring at Dutch.

“Come closer,” he whispered, “let me see your back.”

You slowly crawled across the bed towards him, his hand still holding yours, now rubbing circles in the palm.

Once you were closer, in reach out his other hand to your face. You gasped, and moved your head away.

“let me wipe away those tears,” he whispered.

You moved closer, and let his thumb touch your cheeks. His hand gently touched your face.

“Now, lay down and let me look at your back,” he soothed.

You lay down on the cot on your stomach, your hands lay flat, and you rested your head on them, looking to the side, so that Dutch could still see your face, and you could see what he was doing. You couldn’t see Hosea, but you sensed he was still there.

Dutch reached out for the tub of salve, that was still sitting on the table.

Putting some onto his fingers, he gently moved his fingers across your back, being extra careful, when he touched an area which was already purple.

He felt you tremble slightly, as he moved his fingertips across your smooth olive skin.

You felt his breath on your neck.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he whispered, a concerned tone in his voice.

You shook your head, “Dutch not hurt,” you mumbled.

“Good,” he said, as he trailed his fingers, across your skin.

Even though most of the salve had now gone. It reminded him of the first night in Colter, when he had been so desperate to touch you. He could kick himself for losing your trust, he would have to win it back.

Dutch removed his hands from your back, and put the pot back on the table.

“There,” he soothed, “all done, now perhaps I should take a look at your shoulder?”

You rolled onto your back, then sat up.

“Dutch stop hurt? stop blood?” you asked.

Dutch frowned, “Its bleeding?”

You nodded, as you lifted your top, revealing not only the bandage, but your breasts.

“Woah, Woah, Woah!” Hosea yelled at you.

You gasped, and shuffled back on the cot in a panic, “Please, not hurt Nizhoni!”

Dutch turned, and glared at Hosea,

“Hosea!” Dutch growled, “just be aware!”

Dutch turned back to you, “Its ok, Nizhoni, no one’s gonna hurt you. We’ll get Susan to take a look at your shoulder, later.”

You edged back towards where Dutch was sitting, glancing nervously between the two men.

Dutch took your hands as he stood up, and coaxed you from the cot.

“Lets go and get some food, shall we?” he suggested.

You looked around nervously, then nodded.

Dutch put his hand on the small of your back, you gasped, then relaxed as you adjusted to the feel of his warm hand, on your bare skin.

“Perhaps Susan can find her some clothes, as well.” Hosea Suggested, looking at you. You were still wearing the native clothes they had found you in. The loincloth, which covered the front and the back, but left your thigh’s virtually bare, except for the knife sheath, which hung from the belt, and the small tunic, which finished beneath your breasts. Your feet were now bare, since you had packed away the fur lined boots you had been wearing, your bone choker necklace was also now visible.

Dutch rolled his eyes, “that will be up Nizhoni, Hosea. If she’s happy with the clothes she’s wearing, then so am I.”

Hosea shook his head, “she was a lot more covered up in the mountains, not sure what the likes of Micah and Javier will make of having a half naked woman running around in the camp,” he tutted.

“They can make of it what they like, Nizhoni is under my protection, and no one will touch her, not unless she wants them to,” Dutch chided.

Hosea walked away, huffing to himself, looking for Susan, whilst Dutch guided you to the campfire, where a cauldron of stew was bubbling.

You glanced around the camp, the red headed woman, was glaring at you again, but you saw Abigail, standing by the fire drinking something hot, along with another woman, who you hadn’t seen.

“Abigail, Mrs Adler,” Dutch greeted. “This is Nizhoni, she joined us in Colter, much like yourself Mrs Adler.”

You’d already met Abigail. She had sat with you whilst you had a fever. The other woman, Mrs Adler you didn't know.

She held out her hand, whilst at the same time, looking you over.

“Pleased to meet you, but call me Sadie.”

You tilted your head, and looked at her hand.

Abigail chuckled, “Nizhoni, it’s a greeting. When someone offers you there hand, you shake it, like this.”

Abigail grabbed Sadie's hand, and shook it.

“Go on, you try,” she suggested.

You took Sadie's hand, and gripped it tight, shaking it up and down, like Abigail had done.

After several moments, Sadie chuckled, “you can let go now, that's some grip you have on you there, Nizhoni.”

You let go of Sadie’s hand, it was a strange custom, but you would probably get used to it.

Sadie clenched and unclenched her hand, trying to ease the stiffness after your handshake.

She looked at Dutch, “She don't say much, does she?”

Dutch smiled, “she doesn't, but she understands perfectly. I’m hoping that given time, she’ll learn some more.

Dutch took his hand away from your back, and ladled some stew into a bowl, before handing it to you. He then filled another bowl and took that for himself.

“Come Nizhoni, lets go and eat,” he suggested, as he guided you to a table, which was close to his tent.

The red headed woman was still glaring at you.

You looked at the woman the looked at Dutch.

“Red woman, not like Nizhoni?” you asked.

Dutch chuckled, “Oh don’t worry about her, she quite often doesn't like me either!”

You frowned, you couldn’t quite understand why she was in his tent, if she didn't like him!

#rdr2 fanfic #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #original native american character #sadie adler #abigail roberts #wattpad #a03

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strwberrytae · 6 years

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Partialism [M]

✦ characters: vampire!jimin x reader ✦ summary: a form of fetishism in which the sexual stimulus is a part of the body; for instance, the neck. ✦ genre/words: blood kink, vampirism, body worship, pure smut | 4.2k

Winter nights were either the worst thing or the best. It was always hard to decide whether there was a love for the feeling of cold, crisp air against one’s cheek or a hatred for the burning sensation. Either way, the cold could always be survived by the warmth of a thick coat, scarf, hat and gloves; consistently thankful for their coverage.

The sound of your high heeled booties click-clacked against the concrete street as you walked towards your destination. Your legs burned as they were the only thing not covered by anything as you decided to wear a dress for tonight’s event. It has only been a month since you started dating this new man in your life and he has already invited you to a dinner party at his home. When he gave you the address, it seemed vaguely familiar.

Hating yourself for telling the taxi driver to stop three blocks back, you started cursing under your breath as a gust of wind hit you harshly. Fortunately, you decided to wear your hair in a top-bun tonight, so you didn’t have to worry about your hair flying all over the place - although the fly aways were another issue. As you turned one last corner, you saw the stream of cars leading up to an elegant brick mansion.

The house was so beautiful but the estate it rested on was perfectly manicured and groomed. Your jaw dropped at the sight.

He lives here, you asked yourself in thought. You could tell that he had a little money when you first met him. Often times he wore designer clothes; always well styled and groom. But this was a completely different animal. This home had been in your town for centuries. Only the finest of the finest lived here and yet here you were. There were so many horror stories associated with the home. Some of the stories were elegant and romantic, poetic even.

Shakily, your legs guided you up the long driveway and to the double doors that led to the warmth that you found yourself craving. It wasn’t the warmth that consumed you majorly but anxiety of what lied inside. When the doors opened, your eyes widened at the sight.

So many senses were being activated because of so many elements; low tempo, modern music, glasses clinking together, casual laughter, heels hitting the floor, subtle chatter, the smell of seduction and promise in the air. This place that you’ve never been to before has somehow morphed itself into a world that you could feel it doesn’t indulge in often. The walls were lined with contemporary paintings yet the decor was modern in dark woods and vintage couture. It was outdated in a way but upkept to match the posh styles of today.

The only thing that caught you off guard was the apparent theme of the party; a masquerade ball. Although every man was dressed in a tailored suit and every woman in some skin revealing, elaborate dress, each person had an elaborately decorated mask upon their eyes. You wondered why your boyfriend didn’t tell you about such an important detail. The mask you had, but the dress was not as intricate. Suddenly, catching you from your daze, a young man in a suit appeared in front of you.

“May I take your coat, ma’am?” The young man’s voice was polite and courteous. His hair was dark, his skin fair, and his smile was dazzling; unexpectedly very attractive. Not to say that a butler can’t be attractive but the man looked like a model; it was alluring. In a sheepish way, you removed your black trenchcoat and dark blue scarf to hand it to him. With a kind smile, you handed it over and bowed your head slightly.

“Thank you. How will I find it later,” you asked out of curiosity. Since it wasn’t a club or bar, it didn’t seem like there would be a coat check. The man smiled warmly and bowed back to you respectfully.

“Young Master will make sure you find your belongings if you leave this evening. Have a good night, ma’am.” Without being able to say another word, the man walked away with your purse and belongings. There you stood in your black a-line dress; a sweetheart neckline that sculpted your breasts perfectly and elongated your neck - flawless. Shock was apparent in your eyes.

“....if? Wha….” But before you could get out your question, the man had disappeared into the crowd with your belongings. You stood there completely dumbfounded, trying to shake off his comment. Maybe you misheard or he didn’t mean anything by it. All you knew was that you would feel a little better if you found him.

The moment you concentrated on finding your more-so mysterious boyfriend, the louder things seemed to become. The music seemed louder. The room seemed more crowded. In spite of this, the atmosphere became colder somehow. Goosebumps formed on your skin with each body you passed. Although covered in masks, the eyes around the room seemed to be focused on you as you walked by. It was hypnotizing in a way. The puzzling factor of the matter was that you were hidden by your own black and gold mask as well, so why were they looking at you?

What was the most captivating element was the music. The slow drum accompanied with a bass crescendo towards an orchestra of other instruments. A mix of guitar, cello, violin, piano, and other unknown instruments that should be chaotic but it was eerily hypnotic. Suddenly the music seemed to fade slightly without anyone else noticing. An itch tickled your neck but you assumed it was the velvety black choker you were wearing. Then, he appeared.

Styled blonde hair, dressed in a fitted black suit with gold embroidery laced on his jacket, chiseled cheeks and for a split moment, his eyes seemed to be shimmering. The only one here without a mask. He looked stunning. In comparison, you couldn’t help but to feel self-conscious about your attire. Perhaps it was a little underdressed, you thought. He never specified what you should wear; only that it was a formal occasion with a mask and emphasized that you’ll look beautiful in anything. As if he knew exactly what you were thinking, he flashed you a perfect smile. He advanced towards you stealthily, sending chills down your spine. When he reached you, he gently put his cold fingers on your arm and leaned in to whisper into your ear.

“You look breathtaking. Don’t be so nervous.” His voice was smooth as silk; deep and raspy. You could hear him clearly over the music. Biting your bottom lip, you exhaled with a shaky breath.

“Is it that obvious? You never told me it was this type of party. Not to mention that you live...here. It’s a little intimidating.” Your boyfriend lifted your mask from your eyes with ease, staring into your eyes as if you were the most beautiful sight in the world.

“Sweetheart, the only intimidating person here is you.” Lifting your chin delicately with his finger, he pressed his soft lips against yours. A kiss so tender, it instantly made you moan as your body flooded with warmth. Every fear you felt in this room disappeared in his embrace. He pulled only a breath away, finding yourself wanting to follow his lips. Something shifted in his eyes - a golden brown glimmer as opposed to his normal dark brown but perhaps it was the chandelier lights that caught his eyes.

“This choker of yours just might get you in trouble. All I can think about is going this -” Before you could ask, his lips skimmed across your jawline and down to your neck. Nuzzling painfully slow along the lining, smelling your soft natural scent. Remembering that he was sensitive to perfume, you didn’t wear any tonight. He told you on your first date that he loved the way you smell without it. You couldn’t explain why but the compliment made you blush more than anything else.

A soft gasp purred from your lips as you closed your eyes. An uncontrollable response as his tongue drew a line across the necklace. Your arms relaxed, draping down your sides. Feeling as if you were going to faint from the sensation but his arm wrapped around your back to hold you in place. It almost sounded as if he was growling as he tasted your skin.

“So sweet and so incredibly smooth. You’re pure perfection, Y/N,” he pulled himself back and smirked, “Dance with me. I want everyone to see you. See who you belong to.” Such a possessive tone yet playful, but there wasn’t anything that he could say that you wouldn’t agree to. The man pulled you to the center of the ballroom floor and without asking, the crowd slightly parted ways.

There you two were, in the center of everything. Dozens of eyes looming upon you without even doing so. They were engulfed in their own partners yet curious glances given your way in subtle ways. It was unnerving but once again, he sensed what you were thinking. He held you as close to his firm body as physically possible. His head pressed against the side of yours as you swayed side to side to the music.

“They’re not here. It’s just you and me.” His words were slow and echoed in your head. A familiar chill rushed over your body, making you close your eyes as his voice took over your thoughts. Once they were open, the others no longer mattered.

“Good girl,” he whispered. His praise gave you a different rush. All the blood in your body seemed to center to the warmest part of your body. Arousal built with intensity inside of you, dampening the little fabric you were wearing underneath your dress. His hand that held yours as you danced led you to drape it over his shoulder. His hand snaked up your curves to the nape of your neck, grabbing a hold of your jaw to angle your head to the side. His nose grazed your skin before his lips connected to the sensitive spot at the curve of your neck.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, beckoning him to continue. The strangest sensation came over you - the desperate need for him to bite you. Not the typical bite but something that would leave a mark. A bite that would show anyone who saw that you belonged to him and only him. Digging your nails into your arms, you let out a soft moan as he playfully nibbled your skin.

“Be careful what you wish for. You might get exactly what you want,” he whispered against your neck. His voice sounded more and more like a ghostly melody; intoxicating with every word. The question circled in your head how he always knew what you were thinking but the thought was always silenced by his next moves or words. Your mind and body submitting to him easier than you ever could before.

“I...want you to. I don’t know why but I need this,” you said with innocent desperation. His low chuckle vibrated into your neck. Instead of giving you want you wanted, he slowly kissed and sucked every spot that made your heart race. He could feel your adrenaline coursing through your veins as it pulsed against his lips. His nose twitched as his eyes began to sting. Dark veins forming from the base of his eyes to his prominent cheekbones. His senses heightened and all he could hear was the sound of your pulse and the sweet scent of what he craved the most.

“Do you trust me,” he asked in a sharper voice; filled with eagerness yet smooth to the core.

“Y-Yes,” you replied as best as your weakened voice would allow. The moment you gave your answer, he yanked away your choker and tossed it to the floor. His warm tongue ran up and down the side of your neck.

“Then beg. Beg for it. I need to hear it.” The command almost sounded as if he was begging as well. He may have been but you didn’t care. You needed this more than you needed anything else.

“Please Jimin. B-Bite me. Mark me as your own. I’m yours and no one else’s.” There was no denying the deep growl that bellowed in his chest. Without hesitation, Jimin’s surprisingly sharp teeth sunk into your neck. The contact pierced and burned at first but eased into a sensation unlike any other. He sucked the nectar your neck gave him; taking his time and savouring the taste. His tongue swirled around the two small holes as his mouth swallowed the red liquid.

Your body was on fire. Nipples pressing against your dressed as you ached to be touched. It felt as if you were numb yet feeling everything all at once. You felt weaker yet stronger. There wasn’t a single care in the world that there were other people in the room yet they paid no attention to you. Holding him tighter as your body begged for more. Reluctantly, he pulled away. Blood dripping from his lips, mirroring the drops remaining on your neck. The sight of his golden eyes didn’t scare you but intrigued you.

“Are you,” you asked in wonderment without being able to finish the question. Jimin licked his lips clean and grabbed your hand with a coy grin. His eyes returning to normal.

“Come with me,” he purred. All you could do was nod. As you passed through the crowd, you noticed that you two weren’t the only ones in a trance. Couples throughout the floor or seated, all tasting each other, drunk in each other. The sounds of moans and hissing as they performed the same act. In your mind, you thought you should be afraid but a bigger part of you was turned on by the scene.

It wasn’t long before you reached a large room; not knowing how you got there so quickly. In fact, you hadn’t even noticed that Jimin was lowering you so your feet would touch the ground as he carried you bridal style. Your head was spinning. The room was dark even as it was lit with candles. The air was cool, matching the blue and silvery gold accents throughout the room. Elegant furniture decorated the room but the center was the large bed that awaited you.

As if it was calling your name, you walked towards the tempting furniture. When you turned around, Jimin was right behind you. His jacket was removed, leaving him in his silky black shirt and pants. You cocked your head as you saw a small drop of your blood in the corner of his mouth. Lifting your finger, you grazed the liquid. Pulling the finger to your parted lips and sucked the foreign taste on your tongue. Jimin’s eyes widened at the sight.

In a quick swift motion, he lifted you to wrap your legs around his taut waist. Crashing his lips against yours as he led you to the bed. Your back fell against the fluffy dark blue bedspread, bouncing as his weight lifted off of you. He looked down at you with hunger and desire in his eyes. As if it was made of paper, Jimin grabbed a hold of the collar lining of your dress and ripped the fabric off of you; with strength you had never seen before but no longer surprised. He pulled his shirt apart as buttons cluttered the floor. His chest lean and fit in every way. He was absolutely perfect in every sense of the word - a dream.

The look of lust in your eyes made him smile with confidence. Licking his lips, you took notice of his sharp canines poking at his bottom plump lip. The sudden urge to feel them sink into you again ran through you. Every move he made was confident and dominant. He knew exactly what he wanted and he wasn’t wasting anytime. His fingers hooked under the waistband of your black silky, cheeky panties and yanked them down with force.

Following suit, you helped him by pulling off your matching push-up bra; revealing your breasts. You let down your hair as it remained in a bun, letting it fall messily. Laying back against the soft sheets, you raised your arms above your head and squirmed your legs slightly; silently begging to be touched. Jimin bit his lip as he watched your little show. A hint of blood on your neck, naked and a core swollen and wet with arousal; he thought he was going to lose his mind. He pulled down his pants, leaving him bare as his erection strained for attention. His cock was thick, twitching as veins pulsed on the sides. His tip red, leaking with his own arousal. Crawling over top of you, he laid between your legs; looking deep into your eyes.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? It’s taken every strength in my body not to do this sooner. I want to devour every inch of you, Y/N.” His confession made you ache. You arched your back. Your core grazing his tip, making him hiss from the contact.

“Devour me then. I’m all yours, Jimin. I want to feel everything…” In your own way, giving him permission to bite you again. You craved it. In more ways than one, you wanted him. You needed him.

“As you wish, sweetheart. I’ll give you anything your heart desires.” His words became quieter and quieter as his lips made way to your neck. His firm hand roamed your curves until they found your breast. His fingers swirling over your perked nipple as his tongue cleaned the sensitive holes on your neck. They were already beginning to heal but he craved more. The taste of you was sweeter than he imagined. Your scent and beauty drew him to you in an instant when he first met you. Now, there was no way he was ever letting you go. He was already so addicted and infatuated with you.

Your legs spread wider as he lowered himself to your breasts. Smelling every inch of your skin until he rested at your mounds. With both hands, he squeezed your breasts together; allowing his tongue to wander from nipple to nipple. His snake-like tongue swirled around each bud, flicking the tips and making you moan for mercy. Such a skill could easily make you reach an orgasm if he kept teasing you like this.

By your surprise, his teeth pierced into your left breast. Blood trickled down your chest. Jimin made sure to capture every drop as his tongue lapped up from your stomach up to the holes he formed. Drinking your sweet nectar in moderation and allowing you to heal from the beautiful pain. Anticipation radiated inside of him as he lowered himself between your legs. Admiring every part of you from your thighs to your glistening core. The sight drove him insane. His cock twitched as he watched your swollen core throb; craving his attention.

“I don’t know how much I can hold back. Every part of you is perfect.” Jimin’s lips skimmed over the inside of your thigh, teasing you in the worst way possible.

“Please don’t hold back. Just...touch me. Please. I feel like I’m going to explode,” you begged. You looked between your legs to watch the blonde smirk as his tongue prepped your leg for his next mark. He gripped your thighs tightly, kneading and massaging them. His tongue unexpectedly slithered from your thigh right to your core; licking a wet stripe up your folds and around your clit.

“Ahhh Jimin,” you moaned loudly; not a care if anyone can hear you. Your hips rolled against his tongue as he kitten licked your clit. His plump lips wrapped around the bud and sucked as his tongue drew circles around your muscle. Your fingers instinctively laced through his soft yellow hair, pulling on the strands to keep his head in place. He moaned against your core as he could feel you quivering below his tongue. His hips subtly grinded against the silky sheet to get any friction he could. So eager to feel your warmth as he could taste something just as sweet as what ran through your veins.

Your orgasm was right on the edge. He could feel your muscle tightening as your breathing staggered and your moans grew louder. Pulling away, he replaced his tongue with the pads of his fingers; rubbing your wet clit in quick movements. Simultaneously, he bit down into your thigh. Your arousal causing the blood to spill onto his tongue with intensity as it pumped faster through your veins. The moment he broke through the skin, your orgasm ignited throughout your body. Your legs shook as he sucked every drop you gave him as his fingers never ceased. You climbed down from your prolonged high; an orgasm so intense, you felt like you were floating.

Jimin found his restraint and pulled away from your wound. Something inside of him left him hungry still - much like a frenzy state of mind. The insatiable man crawled up your convulsing body and lined his tip to your entrance. Looking into your eyes, he could see a fire burning inside of them. A gaze filled with want and need that he reciprocated. His hands slid up your arms and wrapped around your wrists; keeping them in place. His golden brown eyes never leaving yours as he slowly entered you.

In unison, exhaling lust filled moans as his thickness stretched your walls until he filled you to the brim. You balled your hands into fists as you adjusted to his size. Your orgasm making you tighter and more sensitive to the sensation - heightening the pleasure even more. Jimin groaned as you clenched around him. His tongue rolled over his canines that you quickly grew to love.

With just a few slow pumps, he thrusted in and out of you to coat his cock with your arousal and stretch you fully. The feeling of his length massaging your walls became wetter and rhythmic, he lost control and unleashed his darkest desires. A speed you had never experienced before, Jimin thrusted in and out of you with great magnitude. Each thrust into your g-spot better than the last. With all the strength you had left, you wrapped your legs around his waist to get him as deep as possible. His grip on your wrists tightened so, you were sure it would leave a bruise.

His vampiric strength and speed took over as he pounded you over and over. Accessing that perfect pressure point inside of you that sent your body into overdrive.

“Fuck, baby. I can’t...hold back anymore. You feel so fucking good. So tight and wet…” Jimin moaned in between his words. Breathless as his hips smacked against yours. The sweat on your bodies sticking to each other as your arousal dampened the sheets below. The way he rolled his hips gave you the right amount of friction to call out for your second orgasm.

“Don’t stop. I’m...gonna… I’m…g-” You couldn’t even form the words before you came harder than imaginable. Your lungs nearly gave out from screaming as the electricity coursed through your veins. Your walls clenched tightly around his cock, making him groan as his orgasm pulsed through his length. His orgasm squirted inside of you, spilling out of you with each thrust that remained. The feeling was so intense, you bit down on your lip; breaking the skin and tasting blood on your tongue.

Mixed heavy breaths and subsiding whines, the two of you reached a plateau as your bodies calmed down. Once the rush left your body, you felt yourself growing weaker. Jimin looked you over, making sure you were okay. The scent of your blood hit his nose and he leaned forward to gently kiss you. A kiss that was so sweet and tender, it felt like you were dreaming.

“Are you okay,” Jimin asked as he kissed the corners of your mouth before looking at you. There was worry in his eyes but you graced him with a tired smile.

“I’m okay. Just very tired. Is it okay if I close my eyes for a minute before I leave,” you asked sheepishly. You weren’t sure if you were staying the night or not but you honestly didn’t feel like you could make it home without fainting. Your boyfriend gave you a kind smile and brushed your hair.

“Sweetheart, I’m not letting you go anywhere. You need rest. You lost a lot of blood. Let me take care of you.” Sleepily, you nodded your head. Jimin lifted your body gently to rest at the head of the bed. Already, you were half asleep; only partially aware of what was happening. Zoning in and out as Jimin cleaned your wounds and bandaged them with care. The last thing you remember is his perfect naked form lying down beside you, holding you close as you fell asleep. Although it was unclear if when you closed your eyes, if you were going to awake from a dream and fall into one.

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princessofthedarkrealm · 6 years

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Queen of Ash and Dust- An IT/Dark Tower crossover- Chapter 16

Knock, knock

You opened your eyes. You thought you had heard something.

Knock, knock.

You threw back your covers. Someone was at the door. The knock was soft. It had to have been Roland or Allie. You were halfway across the room when you saw something on top of the little dresser next to the door. Three somethings actually—some kind of small vial, what looked like either a choker or necklace, and a piece of paper with some writing on it.

Knock, knock.

“Just a second,” you called.

You opened the top drawer and hastily stuck the items inside. The vial contained something that looked suspiciously like blood. And a necklace too? There were only two people who could have sent them to you. And you didn’t feel like thinking about either one of them. You unlocked the door and threw it open. Roland was standing there. He held one of his guns, his arm hanging slack.

You glanced from his gun to him. “What’s wrong?”

“May I come in?”

“Yeah. Sure.” You moved aside for him to enter. “What’s up?”

“I tried to come in last night. The door was locked. I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

Your brow knit. “Huh? You’d think I would have heard that. I heard it just now.”

Now it was Roland’s turn to frown. “You didn’t have any…problems, did you?”

“Oh no.” You shook your head. “I just…came in my room and got ready for bed.”

You felt bad lying to him. But there was no way you could tell him about Walter.

“What happened last night?”

“I had to scare him off. Are you sure you were alright by yourself?”

You tilted your head at him. “Roland…I’m fine. Really.”

Actually you felt more than fine. You felt relaxed. Even your stomach wasn’t bothering you.

Roland squinted at you and tilted his head sideways. “What is that?” He pointed at your neck.

“What?”

“There’s a dark red mark the side of your neck.”

Your eyes grew wide. Your stomach knotted up. Walter must have left you a hickie.

“It’s uh…I don’t know. Maybe something bit me.”

You went to the chest at the foot of your bed. Your hands went to pick up your shirt, but you stopped. You slowly picked it up. Then the pants.

Your clothes were completely clean. You let out a heavy sigh. Walter was really going out of his way to make you comfortable. Literally.

You glanced over at your empty bed. You imagined Roman laying there on his side, patting the spot next to you. How badly you missed being in your husband’s arms.

“I need to find Roman.”

“I’m sure he’ll come back. He always does.”

You spun around at the bitterness in Roland’s voice. “No. I need to find him. Things are getting out of hand. Or they’re about to.”

Roland narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? Are you talking about Sylvia?”

“I’m talking about the fact that everyone here around me is getting super protective all of a sudden. First Roman asked you to lock me in my room and then-”

You scowled. How could you have done that to Roman? Even though it had just been a kiss, more than that, you had to remind yourself. In a way, Walter had been intimate with you. And not only had you let him, but you had made the first move.

“Y/N…”

Roland’s voice snapped you out of your reverie.

“I know something’s bothering you. I wish you would tell me.”

You lowered your gaze. “There’s a lot I wish I could tell you, Roland,” you answered quietly. “But I just think it would hurt things more than anything. I know they haven’t helped when it comes to Roman.”

“But I’m not Roman. I’m here.”

You glanced up at him from under your eyelashes and gave him a small smile. “I know. And I appreciate that. More than you’ll ever know.”

Roland put out his arms and you stepped into his embrace without hesitation. The two of you stood like that for a minute and you had no desire to step out of his protective, supportive warmth. When you broke apart, you couldn’t help but notice the caring, desperate look in Roland’s eyes. He reached up to caress you cheek. Slowly, he leaned down towards you.

Your lips parted. Was he about to kiss you? You really didn’t want him to, but you were afraid to move. You heard footsteps in the doorway and you and Roland both glanced up.

Roman stood there, his eyes murderous. “Well I guess three really is a crowd. Or more like four in your case.”

He turned and disappeared from view.

“Roman!” you called. You followed him down the hall. “Roman, please.” He didn’t respond. You followed him down the stairs. “Roman, will you please just listen? It’s not what it looks like.”

He rounded on you. “You seriously cannot wait for me to leave, can you?”

“What in the hell are you talking about? We were just hugging!”

“And did you just hug the sorcerer last night? When he came into your room?”

Your mouth fell open. “Roland said he scared you away.”

“Yeah well I came back. Too bad I missed the show.”

He turned away from you again and stalked across the main room. There was no way you were letting him leave again.

“Roman, goddamn it, I never cheated on you. Walter came to me but nothing happened. We didn’t…Goddamnit, Roman, listen to me!”

He stopped in the middle of the room.

“I never cheated on you. Not with Roland. Or Walter. Nobody.” You heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. It looked like Roland was going to get an earful too.

Roman still didn’t look at you. When he spoke, his voice sounded pained. “I know your smell, kitten. When you mate…I know your smell. I smelled it last night…And I smelled him.” He turned sideways. “Are you still mine?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. How could he even ask that? He finally turned. His face looked haggard, worn. He slowly approached you.

“Answer me, Y/N.” Finally he stopped right in front of you. “Are you still mine? Are you still my wife?”

You looked him square in the eye and said without hesitation, “Yes. I did not sleep with Walter.”

Roman’s jaw muscle twitched. “But you did do something with him.”

His voice was low, dangerous.

You swallowed. “Yes.”

“Did he put his hands on you?”

“Not inappropriately.”

It was like in a court room with everyone waiting for the judge to give his final verdict.

“His mouth?”

The gavel fell.

“Yes.”

“And you let him?”

Your body felt light, like she were standing outside of yourself, watching the whole thing. You saw it flash through your mind—Walter’s mouth on your breast, your hand cupping his head.

You let out a shaky breath. “Yes.”

Roman nodded. You could only imagine what he was thinking right now.

“It was a kiss, Roman. It was a goddamn kiss. You fucking left me. Again. Over things that hadn’t been my fault.”

“You sure didn’t mourn for too long.”

“You son of a bitch.” You shook your head, anger heating your blood.

Roman’s head shot up.

“You left me, Roman. I was on the floor. I was literally on the floor. You and Roland had both left me.” You paused. “You could have both killed each other. For all I knew I was about to lose everything. I wanted to die. I literally wanted to die.” Another pause. “I felt someone pick me up. I didn’t even see who it was. They could have carried me off for all I knew and I wouldn’t even have had an ounce of strength to stop them, because I did not care anymore!” You were almost hollering now. “Walter brought me in my room. He laid me on my bed. My lamp came on. I told him to leave. I told him to turn the light back off and leave.”

“But he didn’t,” Roman said flatly.

“Hmph. You think it was that easy? He told me that I couldn’t go to bed in my dirty clothes and, oh my God, that pissed me off so much! I told him that I didn’t want him! And then he…he made a deal with me. That if I let him undress me, that he would turn off the light and leave. So he turned off the light. And then I…I let him take my shirt off. But he didn’t touch me. At all. But I…”

You stopped. You saw Roland standing there out of the corner of your eye. Roman leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him.

“Then what happened?” he asked.

Your posture drooped. One shoulder of your night gown fell and you didn’t even bother to adjust it. “I didn’t have a reason to care anymore. I still don’t know if I do,” you said in a small voice. “But he was there. He was actually trying to take care of me.” Your voice broke. Your throat tightened.

This wasn’t fair. None of this was. You and Roman were supposed to be happy. You were supposed to be going on dates, to be holding hands and laughing, cuddling and making love. But that was all over now. And something inside your soul finally broke.

Your voice was hollow as you spoke. “I kissed him. I kissed Walter.”

Roman let his head fall. His fingers arched. You could see his nails dig into the wood. “He killed our baby. He tricked you into mating with him.”

“I know that! Goddamn it, Roman, you think I don’t know that?!”

Roman threw his gaze at you. There was just a hint of yellow in his green eyes. “You did this to me? To get back at me, is that it?”

You took a step back from him. “No. Roman, that was not it at all.”

“Then what? I know I haven’t been here for you. And I’m sorry if I have trouble handling all this and don’t have a home to go back to any more when things get rough.”

“Then make me your home.” You pointed to yourself. “Make me your safe haven. That’s what marriage is supposed to be, Roman. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. I know we never took any vows, but that is how I feel. I never stopped loving you. I never stopped wanting you. I never stopped believing in US!”

The look on Roman’s face was a mix of anger and guilt. And hurt. But you weren’t finished yet. He had hurt you way too much.

“You kidnapped my brother. He is just a toddler. And you kidnapped Georgie. You tried to kill my co-actor so that you could be in my play. You got me pregnant with a monster!”

Roman ran a hand through his hair. He never responded the whole time.

“Maybe one day a man will love me that I don’t have to worry about those things with. But not today.” You copied his stance, hands flat on the table, and leaned in towards him. “I only…wanted…you. We are mated, Roman. I chose that. I chose you. Coming to another dimension has not changed that. Having our link broken has not changed that. And Walter…he will never change that. So if anyone has changed us…then it is you.” Your stomach growled. You stood. “I am going to get dressed. I want you to think about everything I have just told you.”

You turned around and froze. Allie was standing next to Roland, her arms crossed over her chest and a deep frown on her face. Roland’s gaze landed on you and the sorrow you saw in his eyes almost broke your heart. You calmly walked past him, trying to keep a straight face the whole time. You had laid all your cards on the table. The rest was in Roman’s hands now. You climbed the stairs and begrudgingly went back to your room.

You had now hurt the two men you cared for the most. Part of you dreaded going back downstairs. What if they were both gone, for good this time? Would you call on Walter one more time and take him up on his offer to get you out of there? Walter! You remembered the items in the drawer. You quickly locked your door and pulled the top drawer of the dresser open. They were still there. You took a deep breath and lifted out the necklace first. It was a star inlaid with diamonds on a black cord. It looked like the North Star. You ran your thumb along the cord. It felt like silk. There was a clasp on the end of it. You carefully laid it on the top of the dresser. Next came the vial. It was a little taller than the palm of your hand. You opened it and brought it to your nose and inhaled.

“Fuck,” you gasped.

Definitely blood. You placed that on the dresser top too. You took a deep breath and held it as you picked up the note. You quickly glanced at the bottom it. Walter’s name stared up at you. You let your breath out.

“Lord Jesus Christ,” you said tartly.

You dropped your hand to your side and went sat on your bed. You tucked your legs up under you and read.

The North Star is constant and unwavering. It is the only thing in the night sky that does not move. Remember that the next time you feel lost. Follow the star…and you will find your destiny.

Hmm. Follow the North Star? Was Walter trying to tell you where he was? But then he had to know that would lead Roland and Pennywise to him also. And wait a minute. Did that mean Walter was telling you that he was your destiny? Of course. He had told you that before. The night he had been waiting for you in your bedroom. You continued reading.

Yes, the blood is mine. Use it sparingly. It will help you with your condition. I have a project that I am working on right now that needs my utmost attention. I will not be able to come to you for a while, so do not call me unless it is absolutely urgent.

Wear the choker. Black looks good on you. And I know you think it feels good too.

Walter

Your stomach flip flopped at that last line. Your face grew hot. Feels good? Of course. He had to have been talking about last night. That he was the “black” that you thought felt good on you. Clever man. Devious, but clever. And there was something else about the letter that stuck out at you too. ‘The blood is mine’. That line was darker than the rest. Was it a code for something? Every section of the note had different meanings to it, but why give special attention to this one? You reread the line again. And then the two lines after that. He had mentioned your condition. You scowled at the letter. You had told Walter you hadn’t been feeling well, but condition? The blood is mine. Your heart started pounding faster than it already was. You knew why he made that line stand out above the rest. He was answering a question. A question you had had about your condition. The condition that was growing in your womb.

Walter’s unborn child.

***********

You trudged down the stairs. You had been in your room for longer than you had been expecting, but you had had a lot of thinking to do. To your surprise, Roman and Roland were both sitting, waiting for you. They both stood when you got down. Roman’s hands were in his pockets as he made his way to you.

“I thought you would have left again,” you said.

“There is nowhere else I want to be,” said Roman. “Nowhere else worth being.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. You glanced over at Roland. He gave you a nod. Apparently he felt the same. You let out a deep sigh.

Roman’s face turned into a scowl. “Where did you get the necklace?”

You handed him the note, then stood with your hands behind your back, not saying anything. Your face burned the whole time. You kept passing furtive glances at Roland and your blush deepened. You thought Roman was going to crumple up the note, but to your surprise, he handed it to Roland.

Roman glanced at you but then quickly looked away. You could tell he was trying to keep his face neutral. He went to cross his arms, but then seemed to change his mind and the put them back in his pockets.

“So you are with child.” Roland handed you back the note.

“You caught that too, huh?” You took the note back from him. You folded it up.

“His project? I don’t like the sound of that.” Roland crossed his arms across his chest and started pacing.

“I don’t like the sound of any of this,” you retorted, gesturing with your hand that held the note. “I can handle wearing the necklace, but the fact that he wants me to keep drinking his blood? That it will help with the baby? I didn’t even need to drink blood when I was pregnant for Eleanor.”

“Walter is a demon,” Roland said flatly.

“I know that. But so is Roman. You know what scares me though? Walter told me a while back that he killed Eleanor on purpose. What if he was afraid for me? If he is a demon, then he knows that my carrying Eleanor wouldn’t have been good for me after a while.”

“Of course he wants to take care of his own child,” Roman retorted.

“Exactly. But my thing is, if he didn’t want Eleanor to hurt me…”

“Then this child was an accident,” Roland finished for you.

“Exactly. Not even Walter was expecting me to get pregnant, you guys.”

“Y/N, what are you getting at?” Roman asked.

“What if my getting pregnant for him wasn’t an accident? In fact, what if getting pregnant for either of my children wasn’t an accident? I mean, think about it. Eleanor’s spirit is still in the Tower. And I can go to the Tower. Sooo…” You waved your hands about. Both men stared at you with questioning gazes.

You smiled. For the first time in days, you actually smiled. It was like everything finally made sense to you now. “What if I’m meant to be a guardian of the Tower?”

Roman stared at you as if you had just told him you and Walter were getting married.

“There were guardians at one time. The gunslingers. My people. We protected the Tower,” said Roland.

“I don’t think that’s the kind she’s talking about,” said Roman. “There are other guardians. Twelve of them. And they are all animals” He shook his head. “Kitten, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about, Roman. My children are the most important thing to me and the really messed up part is that it took for the person who has orchestrated all of this bullshit to make me realize that. If Walter destroys the Tower, none of this is going to matter anymore. I mean sure, you would probably be able to just go off and hibernate somewhere, but what about me? What about the child growing inside me? And what about Eleanor? What’s going to happen to her soul if the Tower is brought down?” You slowly closed the distance between you and Roman. “I know where I stand, Roman. I stand with my children…and I stand with the Tower.” You paused, trying to let what you had just told him sink in. “So what about you? Are you going to stand with your wife? Are you going to stand with your mate, Pennywise?”

The silence was almost palpable. Off in the distance, a rooster crowed.

“I was planning to bring you into hibernation with me…but it looks like that’s not going to happen now.” Roman tucked in his lips. He started nodding. “I stand with you,” he said softly, and then louder, “I stand with you, Y/N.”

Your face lit up. Roman pulled you into his embrace and you threw your arms around him. You were back. You and Roman were back together.

And no one was going to rip you apart this time.

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#dark tower fanfiction #dark tower #roland deschain #pennywise x reader #pennywise fanfiction #gunslinger #gunslinger fanfiction #walter padick

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lordendsavior · 6 years

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Olly Alexander, the frontman of the British band Years & Years, has blood-red dyed hair. He wears a brass safety pin through one ear and sometimes grins so widely, so wildly, that the edges of his mouth seem to disappear around his narrow, fine-boned face. What soon draws the eye is a scar on his forehead. “I ran into a brick wall as a kid,” the 27-year-old says over lunch at a cafe in London. He touches the scar. “I was playing at being a Power Ranger. Ouch.”

These days, Alexander plays at being a pop star – and on the surface, at least, it seems like a game that’s going well for him. With the launch of their first album in 2015, Years & Years enjoyed a really remarkable few months. They were named BBC Sound of 2015 in January, promptly going to No 1 in the UK singles chart in March, and likewise topping the album chart in July. The band’s propulsive, 90s-nostalgic dance pop (like Disclosure or Clean Bandit, only up the randiness and add a little disco) caught on. And Alexander made a quick Meghan Markle-like ascent to something like pop royalty. “One of the most influential gay pop stars of this generation,” the Gay Times wrote. “All hail the King!”

Years & Years are a three-piece – also made up of keyboard and synth player Emre Türkmen and bassist Mikey Goldsworthy – but it has always been clear that Alexander is the band’s guiding force, their chief lyricist, a Gaga-like taker of risks when he performs and a political voice, off stage, who has an appealing, glitter-speckled sense of activism. A pithy and witty speaker on LGBTQ+ rights, Alexander has also opened up engagingly about his struggles with mental health. “A lifeline to troubled young people,” the Observer wrote of him, in 2016, around the same time that Years & Years played at Glastonbury. There, Alexander wore an oversized choirboy smock strung front and back with rainbow-coloured ribbons – it was Pride weekend – and made a widely admired speech about battling prejudice. “Shove a rainbow in fear’s face,” was how he put it.

Musicians must pray for debuts like this – to come over credible, commercial, with real-world clout. No brick walls clattered into, no obvious “Ouch” moments. Or were there?

Years & Years are almost done on their second album, due this summer, and from the demos I’ve heard the new music admits a brittleness and vulnerability in Alexander that wasn’t so obvious on the 2015 debut. He is still a fabulous and steely man when in pop-star mode (at the photoshoot, he prowls around in heels and a collared lace bodysuit that make him resemble a steampunk, space-bound Queen Elizabeth I), but he cuts a shyer and less certain figure at lunch.

He arrived with a cigarette pushed behind his ear, and smoked it outside with quick, jittery puffs. Now he hunches over a salad, an elbows-in kind of eater and a nervous giggler. Of his pop-mode confidence, he says, “I wish I carried that around with me in my day-to-day life. But I don’t.” He’s wearing a pair of dungarees that he likes, he says, because they feel “like clothes that give you back a hug”.

As Alexander eats, he talks about what happened in the aftermath of that famous Glastonbury performance, once he was out of public sight. The band had been cheered off, a career high. And once backstage, the musician recalls, he sat down and wept. Inconsolable, feeling lower than he’d been in months. “It happens,” he shrugs. “A falling off a cliff. The pendulum swings.”

“When I was younger,” Alexander says, “I thought that if you were famous and successful, it would mean that you just felt happy all the time. That you would become, like, this mystical creature that people just adored. And so you would adore yourself.”

Alexander doesn’t always make eye contact, and he addresses this next bit at the napkin dispenser between us.

“Obviously I realise how ridiculous that sounds. But it wasn’t until our album got to No 1 that I realised I still believed in it. We’d basically won the lottery. I felt like I’d won the lottery. And at the same time I still felt like the same person I’d always been. And all the things that I associated with my depression, and my anxiety, those periods of feeling really low, they were still there. And I was so annoyed at myself. ”

Alexander talks about first discovering the transformative, strengthening power of a good costume. It was on a trip to Disneyland, when he was nine. “The greatest experience of my life up to then,” Alexander says. “The pomp! The whole make-believe nature of that place. It was very powerful for me.People were all wearing costumes, playing characters. It was this other reality where fun things happened, more than they seemed to in real life. And I just remember wanting to be a part of something like that.”

Theme parks were a big feature of his young life. Alexander grew up living next door to them, not one but three, first Alton Towers, then Blackpool Pleasure Beach, then Drayton Manor. His father helped launch and market new rides in these places, and the family moved wherever the work was.

He was born in 1990, the younger of two sons. His mother ran community craft groups. His father, while employed in the theme parks, tended side dreams of being a professional musician. Of his father he says, cautiously: “Quite a difficult man... Definitely not happy within himself.”

Alexander is more explicit about his own early troubles. “I used to have hallucinations and hear voices and stuff as a kid. Which sounds alarming, but it’s just the way it was.” Also: “I had what would now be called sleep paralysis, from six years old until maybe I was 16. Terrifying dreams.”

His parents separated when Alexander was 13, a daunting and confusing period for him. “My dad had been very absent, even when he was there. Then he left the family and moved away. Our relationship, it feels to me, ended when I was 13.” With his mother and brother, Alexander relocated to a sleepy village in Gloucestershire called Coleford.

Part of Alexander’s conversational charm is that he’ll veer between the frank and sober discussion of the self-doubt and difficulty he experienced as a young man, into brilliantly catty and droll little anecdotes about his upbringing. Here he is, describing his first paid employment – a Saturday job in a Coleford shop called Moonstones. “We sold incense, candles, spellbooks. Um, bongs. Chocolates shaped like penises. Everything you’d need really – a one-stop shop.”

He wasn’t a popular teenager, and was bullied at his secondary school in Coleford just as he had been at his old primary schools. He marvels, thinking back, at his response to this. “I started wearing eyeliner to school. Nail varnish. Choker necklaces.” He put on a costume: a counter-intuitive form of self-defence. “I’d been bullied for years and all I wanted was for that to stop. But at the same time I had this sense that I was different, I was weird, and wearing makeup and crazy clothes was my way of trying to find an identity, in the face of people who were going to rip me apart anyway.”

What brought him out of his “goth phase”, as he calls it, was the music. Alexander chuckles. “I could never really get on board with the bands you were supposed to like.” He couldn’t shake the love for pop music he’d developed as a pre-teen, when pop bands would visit the theme parks his dad worked for. “Remember [the Irish pop band] B*Witched? They came to open a ride once. Then Steps – I got all their autographs.” So when it was time for the school talent show, Alexander chose to sing a TLC song. At home he obsessed over Christina Aguilera videos. He was pop through and through, and wanted to be a star in the mould of all these heroes.

Half by accident, he embarked on a different artistic career first. At 16, Alexander auditioned for the Channel 4 drama Skins, and was in talks about a role. The job didn’t materialise until he was well into his 20s, when he was cast as a creepy student photographer, but meanwhile his agent put him up for other stuff. By the time he’d finished his A-levels and moved to London, he was getting varied work – in Gaspar Noé’s Enter The Void and Laura Wade’s The Riot Club and a corporate video for Google, playing a confused consumer who didn’t know how much he needed the advice of a really good search engine. Probably his peak as an actor came in 2012 when he was cast in a Michael Grandage production, Peter And Alice, alongside Judi Dench and Ben Whishaw.

This West End run coincided, in Alexander’s breezy telling, with the busiest period in his romantic career. “Lot of sex.” He had known that he fancied boys from the age of about 10, though the concept of being gay was something only introduced to him via playground insult; he can remember drawing stick figures in a geography textbook, bewildered, trying to figure out how two men could ever even manage it. These days, Alexander says, “my sexuality is part of my music, part of my identity”, but this was a clunky journey in its early phases and it wasn’t until he arrived in London and got into a first relationship, with the brother of a friend, that he felt he could properly come out to those closest to him.

After that – whoosh. “I figured out that I could pull, basically. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it was going to be. I realised that, actually, everyone’s pretty horny, pretty desperate at times, and all you needed to do was maintain eye contact and be confident and that was kind of it.” Since then, he’s sampled romance in many of its forms, being single and shagging a lot, being single and not shagging so much, being in an open relationship, being in a celebrity relationship (with Clean Bandit’s Neil Amin-Smith), being in a quieter relationship with somebody unknown – that was the most recent, and it came to an end about 18 months ago. What has he learned? “That the longer you’re single, the more you notice how everyone else is in a relationship. But that’s a whole other thing.”

He says he finds it harder to pull in clubs without the freedom of anonymity he used to enjoy. “I’m having much less sex than I did in my early 20s, for sure.” He’s tried the hook-up app Grindr, but the men he messaged with wouldn’t believe he was who he said he was. “So that didn’t go very well.” After years of living with flatmates, he recently moved to live on his own, in a flat in east London. “The last few months I’ve been wondering, ‘Will I just be alone, for ever? And would I be OK with that?’ I want to be OK with that.”

Thinking of how ill-informed he felt as a kid, and of the anxiety he might have been spared had he only known more and known better, Alexander has resolved to be a public figure who is as vocal and open about his sexuality as he can be. As soon as he was asked, in an early-career interview for a blog, he said he was gay. (This was actually how his beloved grandmother found out: Alexander hadn’t yet got around to telling her.) Last year, he made a BBC Three documentary, Growing Up Gay, that is still on iPlayer and gets broadcast around the world. “I get messages about it at weird times of night.”

Soon after our lunch, he’s due to give the keynote address at an annual Stonewall event. He hasn’t written his speech yet, and is still toying with points of view he might want to get across: that LGBT-inclusive sex education should be compulsory in schools; that LGBT support groups need more government funding than ever; “that yes, we can get married now, but that’s not the end of the story, that’s not gay rights done.” When the event does take place, Alexander will speak about how, as a young actor who went through media training, he was told it might be best not to speak about his sexuality at all. (“I ignored advice.”)

Alexander made an interesting choice, in 2013, when major labels started showing an interest in Years & Years. He entered therapy, specifically in anticipation of what a frontline music career might do to his fragile emotional state. Polydor were still six months from formally signing them.

He knew fame was coming, though – that early?

No, he says. But if there was a chance of the band making it, however slight, he reasoned he’d better be prepared. “And I’m grateful I made that decision. I’ve been seeing the same therapist through the whole process.” Through the band’s kick-starting anointment as the BBC Sound of 2015, then their smash No 1 single King that spring, then their No 1 album Communion that summer. “To go from zero to 100. To have an idea of what success is, your entire life, and then it happens to you. It’s overwhelming. There’s a lot of noise. And people start talking to you differently.”

Which people?

Alexander laughs, frowns – speaks at the napkins again. He starts talking about his dad, with whom Alexander went through an awkward episode after Years & Years topped the charts. By then, father and son had no relationship to speak of, Alexander says. They hadn’t said a word to each other in seven years. “And, um, my dad started tweeting at me.”

A pause. “It’s hard for me to talk about. It’s a hard issue, because it’s tied up with my family, and also his new family. I want to be respectful.”

He doesn’t sound sure whether his father even knew whether what he was doing was public; but anyway, he messaged him over Twitter, in full view of social media. “And it got really, really messy. There were some Years & Years fans who started tweeting him back, trolling my dad. He was talking back to them. It was a real head-fuck.”

However clumsy the timing and the method, was a part of Alexander gratified that he got in touch?

“The best way I can describe it is that when me and my dad last knew each other, when I was 13 or 14, that’s frozen in time for me,” he says. And back then, he continues, he couldn’t have imagined any better future for himself than becoming a pop star and having his father want to be a part of his life again. “But then he did get in contact with me. And it was then I realised that what that 13-year-old wanted, that wasn’t actually possible. Not any more.”

What did the 13-year-old want?

“I realised that a part of me wanted to be successful in music because my dad wanted to be a musician. That a part of me thought, if I became a musician and I did well, he’d be proud of me. Or he’d, y’know, be so sorry for not being the dad I wanted him to be.”

But that’s not how it felt?

No, he says. When they did come together, Alexander noticed that, “I’d become something that my dad was sort of intimidated by. I’d been wanting to be successful, in part, because I wanted to prove something to him. And when that happened, I realised it didn’t feel good, it just felt like… like I’d tricked somebody.”

Listening to demos from Years & Years’ new album, there’s a sense that fatherhood has been much on Alexander’s mind in the aftermath of this episode. Person-to-person, the musician says, he and his father “have very, very minimal contact” right now. But a dad figure stalks the new work. On one song, Alexander sings about breaking with his DNA. On another, it’s as if karmic retribution is being summoned and directed at a “daddy [who] said I never could win”.

Yeah, he says, his father was foremost in his thoughts when he wrote that one. But he’d been thinking, too, about past relationships, those various boyfriends he’d dumped or been dumped by. Alexander sees a clear thread running through it all, from parental to romantic difficulties. “I guess at its heart it’s just not really being able to trust someone who says they love you. If that’s something that’s ingrained in you, then I think it’s hard to get past that.”

We’re finished with lunch. Having travelled deeper into his psyche than he expected to – “normally I would have these mental conversations alone with myself, in my flat” – Alexander starts to wonder about another cigarette, and pats the pockets of his dungarees. I tell him that, yeah, I can see why he might choose to wear clothes that feel like they hug. He smiles.

Before we stand up and gather our things, he asks to add a couple of “bookends” to what’s been discussed. That he experienced a lot of love and support, growing up, from his mother and grandmother. (“I feel I have to say that: My mother loved me! She tried her best!”) And also that he’s profoundly grateful to music, to his band and their followers, to the rainbow smocks and lace bodysuits and the whole pop palaver, for the release-valve it has offered a troubled mind.

“There’s a lot of quite raw emotion inside me,” Alexander tells me. “Obviously. And most of the time it can only come out in these tiny little cracks. One of those cracks – that’s the music.”

#this is such an amazing read #i cried #i love him so much #btw i didn't know he smokes #olly alexander #a human rainbow

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bluebookbadger-blog · 7 years

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The Price of a Life - Chapter 13

Title: The Price of a Life Fandom (s): Fullmetal Alchemist/Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Summary: I always thought waking up in another world would be a lot more…interesting. At least slightly exciting and terrifying, but it really wasn’t. It was more of a sudden and underwhelming event, that landed me in the company of fiction and its ignorance to modern physics. I thought it was a dream. Boy was I wrong. Characters: SI/OC, Maes Hughes, Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric, etc. Rating: PG-13

I woke up gasping for air, my lungs taking panicked, hollow breaths that did little to actually pump oxygen into my blood. I was shaking with terror, my body soaked in sweat. My hands were splayed in the dirt as I knelt there shivering, as if some unseen weight was forcing me down and my arms were about to give out. My ears were ringing, and my vision faded in and out. All I could do was breath and hope the feeling of terror would pass.

It had not been a nightmare, I would have been able to remember it if it were, but whatever had terrified me seemed worse than any empty train car or chasing apparition. My breathing slowly returned to normal, the fresh, clean air of the night filling my lungs. The fire burned brightly, and the strange stars danced high above.

'Did I even sleep?' I thought to myself, the sleeping children undisturbed by my alarming outburst. It took longer for my hands to obey me, slowly releasing the fistfuls of sand and my arms folding around my midsection for comfort. A hand rose and touched my choker necklace, the metal of the cross warm to the touch.

"God, am I sick?" I whispered to myself, the breeze chilling me to the bone.

"You are not Ishvalan, child," A familiar, deep voice said softly with a hint of disappointment, startling me. I jumped away from its source, and my bag succeeded in keeping me from from falling on top of one of the slumbering children. I looked up, the Brother sitting calmly by the fire. I felt a wave of relief, as though I expected someone else to be there.

"No," I finally said in agreement as he looked to me in silence. "I didn't mean to deceive anyone, I was just trying to," I paused briefly, not knowing how to word my cowardice of running away from everyone, "Find a home," The old man smiled, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepening.

"You are still welcome here, though I am curious as to why you would want to live in a place such as this," He motioned to the lopsided shacks made out of disused trash. "When you've clearly come from the very heart of Central." The Brother motioned to my attire. Though sweat soaked and dirty, the stiff blouse collar and high boots were distinct from the loose, flowing robes and sandaled feet of the other slum residents.

"I move around a lot. Like I said, I'm just trying to figure out where I fit in," As if I could ever belong in another world. I thought to myself.

"I must say you did work without complaint, which is uncommon of those unaccustomed to manual labor. I presume that's why you thought you could find a place among us?"

"Perhaps. It reminds me of one of my past homes." It was the main reason for my stay, subconsciously though. Yes, the labor was hard and my bones and muscles were so stiff I did not think I would be able to stand, let alone work when the sun rose. However, it was something I knew I could do. Something in this world I understood. Despite the physical discomfort, the work in the fields was a psychological comforter that reminded me of the world I once belonged to, a world to which I might never return.

"I take it you've traveled far," I nodded.

"I'm from Drachma," I said automatically, the name sounding as natural to me as Connecticut.

"Why didn't you stay?" I looked down at my hands. I needed to keep on the good side of as many people as possible, for the sake of not sleeping in a garbage can or in the sewers. Saying I came in search of medical alchemy to save my fictional dying mother would not go over well with the Ishvalans. I hadn't really thought of what my excuse would be in this situation.

"If you haven't noticed already, I don't look particularly Drachman." I said, motioning to my face. A curl of pale blonde hair tickled my ear, and I pushed it back out of my face. A hair cut was desperately needed. "I traveled around, found Amestis, and figured I would settle down for a bit, see how it was."

"You're lucky not to have come to Amestris a few years ago," Brother responded in a lighthearted manner, but I could hear a darker undertone to his deep voice. "I'm sure you've heard of the war," I gave a grim smile, my jaw tightly clenched. I didn't want to talk about war, and violence, and death. Not after the awakening I had.

"People are capable of great evil," I responded, mostly to myself than to the Brother. He smiled, the wrinkles in his face deepened by the flickering shadow of the fire light.

"And they are capable of even greater good," I knit my eyebrows and glanced to the sky.

"That's an optimistic outlook," I noted, watching the bright stars above as intently as though I were reading an enrapturing novel. I had to keep myself from asking aloud how someone who had surely witness the pit of man's evil could possibly believe in infinite good. I believed people were capable of great acts of kindness, but I also felt that people were inclined to act out of selfishness - my own actions the past few weeks proving that point farther.

"Ishvala grants all of us with the ability to transcend our human desires and to experience true peace and goodness with Him," The Brother said in response, his laughing red eyes studying me for a reaction as he continued, "Regardless of our trust in Him or His ways,"

"We have very similar philosophies then," I said with a sigh, the scent of candle smoke at Church back home briefly detected from the flames of the fire.

"Do you believe in a different greater force?" I looked again to the stars.

"Yes, I believe Him to be the one true God, just as you believe Ishvala to be the one true creator of the earth," I stopped, seeing the tail of a shooting star streak just above the horizon. "Maybe we even have the same God, just different names,"

"Perhaps," The Brother sounded thoughtful. "What do you call your deity?" I was enjoying the conversation, and it was interesting to see how curious the Brother was about my religion, regardless of how true and untrue some of my answers were bound to be.

"Well, to us He is the God, so we simply call Him God." I scraped the farthest recesses of my memory to find a name from some years old scripture passage or CCD lesson. "In the old scripts He was called...Yahweh? Yes, Yahweh. I'm not sure if we're supposed to call Him by that name, I'm not as well versed in the Church Catechisms as I should be," I said with a hint of embarrassment.

"You are well educated in your religion, is it common for your holy scripts to be available to all?"

"Well, in the medieval age there was a split in the Church 'cause Luther wanted it to be translated then he realized he was digging a hole for himself, so he just ended up leaving an making his own version; there are other Protestants who are real strict but don't like the Pope, then you've got the Anglicans..." I trailed off, realizing I wasn't answering the question. "Nowadays, yes, just about everything is in the vernacular. I take it Ishvalans don't have their scriptures privy to the common folk?"

The Brother nodded.

"Are there different factions of your religion? I would think it would be hard to keep everyone true to the faith after being scattered by the war." I wondered aloud, curious about the organization of the Ishvalan faith. Brother responded with a soft snort of amusement.

"Change is inevitable in our situation, and I assume not all are as faithful as they were, it wouldn't surprise me if there are many modified versions of the faith." He turned his eyes to the sky, the stars sparkling above. "So long as they preach our message of peace, I do not think I would care for whatever changes they may have made to the old doctrines." My eyes searched the sky one more. I wanted to change the subject, as all this talk of religious factions and doctrines the was getting too formal and too nostalgic for me to bear.

"Do you have names? For the stars?" I asked, the question bugging my since I first noticed the unfamiliar skyscape. The Brother too seemed happy to move on from the otherwise tiresome topic of catechisms.

"Of course," He said, searching the sky for a moment. "The stars are not as clear as they are in the Holy Land, but you can see Archia, the serpent," He pointed to a row of bright stars that sat at the edge of the sky but still shone brightly, "And Ishvala, standing over it," It took a bit more looking to make out the stick figure of dots that was vaguely reminiscent of a man.

"I see it," I said, squinting at the stars. The glare of the fire light had stung my eyes, but now the hot coals burned low, a gentle caress of red on the sandy earth.

"And there," The Brother pointed straight above us, the brightest star in the sky blazing with cold light. If one could see beyond the light, two or three smaller stars flanking the bright one. "That is the crown of Askba, Ishvala's daughter," Brother sighed, a faint smile playing on his dry, chapped lips as he studied the sky with blissful delight. "Back in the Holy Land you could see it much more clearly, I must admit I miss seeing the stars with that sharpness."

"I'm sure you do," I said, finally realizing that Amestris indeed had a Holy Land. 'So that was what Winry was referring to in her Rush Valley exposition...'

"Do you see any constellations that remind you of Drachma?" My eyes drifted back to earth, the rough sand suddenly more interesting than the smooth, silver stars.

"No," I admitted, the pin pricks of white seeming disorganized and alien once more. "I don't think you can see the same constellations this far south,"

"That's a pity, you must miss that familiarity," Brother said softly, head bowed and his grey beard resting on his chest.

I yawned. The first hint of dawn tinged the distant horizon with a few pale ripples, and I internally groaned at the sight. I had barely slept, and I ached all over. I didn't even know if I could stand up, my legs lead weights attached to my body. Unfortunately, or, perhaps, fortunately, Brother noted my agony.

"Don't overwork yourself, you may stay with the children for today, no one will notice." I raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to worry-"

"Of course it's fine, and," He glanced around as one of the children yawned, and rolled over. It was the boy to which I had given my jacket. "The children could use someone to keep an eye on them during the day," I gave a half smile and nodded. In the distance, I would hear the rumble of a old engine as the truck's rickety frame groaned and creaked.

Suddenly, the horde of children perked up, eyes bright and alert. They moved silently but with haste, creeping into the shacks with steps so soft they barely made an imprint in the sandy earth. The girl from the night before allowed her gaze to linger on me before glancing at the Brother, who nodded sagely. She stepped in that soft-footed manner towards me, and extended a hand.

"Before they send you to work," She whispered, her voice soft yet hoarse, as though she rarely spoke above a whisper. I struggled to my feet and let her lead me, each stepping making the pain in my ankles shoot tendrils of agony throughput my body. Every step was anguish, my bones rubbing against each other and audibly creaking with effort. Somehow we made it to the tent, where I ungracefully collapsed back to the ground.

Bodies lined the sides of the shack, flush against the walls in an attempt to become nothing more than a shadow. I gave a suspicious glance around the darkness, but was grateful to see no evidence of Pride's spying eyes.

It was quiet for a while. It was the kind of dark quietness, filled only by the heartbeats and shallow breaths of an invisible crowd. That would make most people claustrophobic. I, personally, was silently grateful for the enclosed space and warmth of nearby bodies. It felt safe, it felt natural and primitive, like being in your mother's womb.

This silence continued until the rumble of a struggling truck filled the air, dust kicked up by its bald tires infiltrating the shack. The breathing of the children slowed, and so I tried to slow my own, quieting every breath to conceal our location. The truck rumbled away, but the children did not move.

It seemed as though hours had passed, and indeed quite a few must have, before a child near the improvised tarp doorway peered outside. We waited for some signal that the coast was clear before filing out of the cramped space and soaking in the rays of late morning sunshine.

I gave a contented sigh as the light warmed my aching bones, the hot dirt beneath my feet relaxing the cramped and tense muscles. The children also seemed to enjoy the warm air, laying down in the sand and tracing figures in the earth. I sat next to the girl who had led me to the shack, her face serene and eyes peaceful as she stared at the passing clouds in calm reverie.

"So," I began, my voice sounding too loud amidst the comfortable silence. "You guys do this all day?"

"Just in the morning," She responded, her voice so soft and brimming with bliss. "We warm up and say our morning prayers, then we go into town for food." I nodded, feeling a smile creep onto my lips at the mention of food.

"Do you mind if I join you?" The girl smiled back at me, stretching once more before settling on her knees.

"Not at all, the Brother wouldn't want you to stay here all by yourself anyway," She stretched her arms forward and pressed her forehead to the ground, a pose I only knew from my mother's yoga obsession as Child's Pose. The other children were also in this position, their arms reaching in the direction of the sun.

I yawned and copied them, feeling the tension in my hips give way in a quiet pop as the joints reconciled. It was relaxing to lay like that, with the sun beating down on my aching spine and my hands feeling the coolness of the layers of dirt beneath them. I knew that this was how they prayed, and stealing a glance around saw the faces of the children contorted with focus. I shot a few short prayers to my own deity, hoping for nothing to change this new setting in which I had found comfort.

After only a few minutes, I was bored by the stretch, and itched to go into town for food. As if on cue, my stomach began it recitation of Oedipus Rex in whale. I tried to press myself deeper into the sandy earth, embarrassment reddening my already sunburnt ears. The younger children gave a few giggles, their own hungry bellies orchestrating whale calls of their own.

The girl, who I have decided to call Sandy due to our matching sand filled pale locks, gave a chuckle of her own as she sat up, the older children who had thus far resisted the urge to relax a little copying her example.

"Okay, okay, we can go now," Sandy managed through her smile. The children stood up, stretching once more as the pleasantly warm morning sunlight became the overbearing heat of midday. The younger children, from toddlers to tweens filed back into the shacks, each accompanied by one slightly older child. This left a small group of about ten of us left. These kids were in their teens, their bodies gangling and disproportionate, probably due to a lack of nutrition.

An inspiring idea flickered in my mind at the thought, and I retrieved my bag from the shack it resided in to rummage for supplies.

Meanwhile, I could hear Sandy issuing orders that pertained to certain parts of the downtown sector. Train stations, restaurants, street corners - it finally clicked that they were debating the best places to either beg for food or find the money to buy it.

Again my heart constricted in pity, and in self-loathing. So many times I had seen these very children on the streets of Central, and not once had I stopped to pay them or give them something. What a selfish, awful, self-centered brat-

"Miss. Irish?" Sandy asked, her voice quavering as though she was still unsure if she was permitted to call me by name. I stopped my frantic rummaging and looked up, eyes wide and attentive. "We're leaving now, you can come with me,"

I looked once more at the satchel I had packed with necessities from my bag. My Certificate wedged at the bottom for emergencies, about a hundred cenz to buy food for as many kids as I could, and the knife from Hughes. Satisfied with the supplies, I nodded to myself, closed the bag and followed.

We had arrived in the more populous region of the slums after a short walk, and I was doing my best to ignore the ache in my stomach and the ache in my feet.

The street we were on was lined with carts and other vendors hoping to make a buck, or in this world, a cenz. Some sold dishes and cups, others sold herbs and remedies, while others still hoped to sell a few homemade trinkets. The scene vaguely reminded me of a boardwalk in Rhode Island where my parents would take us during the summer, but the oppressive heat and smell of sweat and toil rising from the dusty dirt street reminded me this was anything but home.

The other children had taken off by the time I reined in my nostalgia and focused on the present. Sandy pulled me through the crowd by my hand, her stride constantly fluctuating based on the number of shady figures attempting to offer us a job at the local club and stray dogs blocking our path. I instinctively dug my hand into my satchel, gripping the handle of the knife periodically to remind myself it was there.

We arrived at a dilapidated building, the brick foundation crumbling and the off white facade darkened by dirt and time. I stared at the sign for a moment, trying to decipher why we were at 'Auntie Elosa's Bath House', the name of which was no reassurance. Inside of the building, it was dark, the air humid and dank. Only a few candles strung about the ceiling and on counters illuminated the faces of tired old women and the other children.

I wanted to ask why we were here or all places for food when a rotund lady came from a back room, clad only in a dingy towel. Her long white hair was thinning, plastered to her neck and shoulders like a ghostly veil. The wrinkles in her face seemed like deep ravines carved into the landscape by time, wind, and sorrow. Despite this, her bright red eyes gleamed with joy and pride at the sight of us, a smile stretching from ear to ear as she approached.

It might sound strange, but with that smile she seemed to grow younger, more beautiful. They do say happiness looks good on everyone, and for this woman, it looked as though she just found out she was a grandmother.

"Child, you have brought a visitor!" She announced, rushing me with a speed I couldn't fathom for a woman of her age and size. I clutched my satchel close, my hand already wrapped around the knife's handle out of habit. The woman held my shoulders, staring deeply into my own pale pink irises. She never stopped smiling.

"Auntie, this is Miss. Irish, she's staying with us and the Brother." Sandy explained, holding back a giggle as Auntie ran a hand through my hair. I yelped in surprise and pain when her fingers caught a tangle of my thick locks.

"Sorry deary," She turned to the other children, assessing each of them one by one, occasionally pulling up her towel to prevent it slipping down to reveal her generous endowment to us. "Look at all of you, you're a mess!" She exclaimed smudging the dirt on a boy's cheeks. "Ajah, show our guest to the showers, would you darling?"

"Yes Auntie," Sandy - who, I presume is really Ajah, responded.

"And the rest of you! To the showers at once, you're filthy, filthy, filthy! How dare you spend so much time rolling in the dirt to say your prayers, go!" Auntie shouted, ushering the rest of the children after us. Ajah hurriedly led me to the back room, where both walls were lined with stalls. Ajah entered a stall, and I followed in suit. The cramped wooden space hand only a bench and a towel hung on a peg. I assumed this meant I was expected to bathe, not that I was arguing. A refreshing bath could go a long way.

I emerged wrapped in the towel, the rough fabric in stark contrast to the soft, fluffy towels I was used to at the Hughes' residence. My heart caught in my throat at the thought, my mind spinning all of the possibilities of what was going on back in the heart of Central. Had the Elrics returned from Dublith? Did they know about Hughes? Had Ross been 'killed' by Mustang? The timeline was very loose in terms of days and weeks, it was possible they could have even returned to the Fifth Laboratory, and Havoc could be paralyzed-

"Miss. Irish? Are you okay?" I looked up at the owner of the voice, Ajah standing with her towel held over her shoulder. In front of me the other children marched deeper into the building, towels held in their arms or over their shoulders. I blinked a few times, staring at the ground in an attempt to determine why I couldn't see anything despite the dim lights. I shook my head, recalling that my glasses had fogged up upon entering the building, and now resided in my satchel.

"Sorry, I've never gone to a bath house before," I looked down at my towel, and held it tighter around my chest. "Am I not supposed to cover up?" Ajah smiled, her eyes twinkling with impish amusement as she started walking down the corridor.

"We're not of marrying age yet, so we usually bathe together." She explained, glancing at my pale collar bone and legs that contrasted with the dirt covered hands and face. "You can use the showers though, if you'd like,"

We came into a large room that reminded me of an indoor hotel pool, with one small pool, one large, and a shower area. The other children were already in the large bath, a wooden construction that was slightly smaller than a house pool. The small pool appeared to be a hot tub of sorts, three old women overseeing the children as they splashed and washed below.

I walked over to the showers, an area in the corner of the humid bath house that surely was home to a great variety of mold species. The shower was crude, constructed of silvery pipes and a colander like shower head that perpetually dripped. Once more I revisited my fear of lead poisoning. Deadly lead poisoning. Or a refreshing shower. Deadly Poisoning. Refreshing Shower. I decided to take present comfort over future worries, and turned the knob on the pipe to the left.

An unhealthy sounding gurgle and sputter of water later, and I was enjoying the best shower I had taken since I arrived in an alternate reality. Mind you readers, this was the only shower I had taken in Amestris. The water was freezing cold, so much so that I nearly dropped my towel when testing the temperature. After a moment of fiddling with knobs and discovering that the only preference was Antarctic ice floe, I set the towel on a peg on the wall and proceeded to shower.

There was no soap to use, but after a few minutes of shivering self-consciously, I adjusted to the temperature and did my best to rid my hands and feet of the dirt and filth of the past day. I faced away from the shower head, fearful of accidentally ingesting some lead pipe shower water. Not a soul noticed me standing there, naked and bare in the corner of the bath house. I rubbed my legs, acutely aware I hadn't shaved since I arrived, and equally aware of how sickly I had become.

I had always had, what my mother referred to as a 'healthy amount' of chubbiness, what she told me was insurance against a bad snow storm or food shortage. It never really bothered me, and I wasn't obese by any means, but I had lost that safety cushion of fat during my time in Amestris.

Maybe it was the interruption to my strict regimen of breakfast, lunch, dinner, or perhaps it was the stress and anxiety that had overworked my body, but my legs had grown too thin for my liking, and my ribs too prominent.

My skin had a sheen of what I can only call sickliness, that off white, not quite pale but not shaded enough to be any particular color but held a hue of blue-grey-green. I ran my hands through my hair, working through the knot Auntie had found. I promised myself that as soon as I could, I was going to start getting back into a healthy eating habit.

I looked at the children in the pool, realizing that shared the same underfed overworked gauntness, but their bodies churned whatever energy providing food they consumed into coils of wiry muscle, where I became more cadaverous. Still, their eyes were sunken and their ribs could be counted. None of us were a picture of perfect health.

We all need to eat better. I thought, trying to find any other thought to occupy my mind. I eventually found myself humming, something that usually evolved into horrible, awful, terrible song should I stay too long in the shower. I couldn't place the particular lyrics or song name, but I knew the melody was classical. Perhaps from Beethoven.

A little while later, we were all back in the changing stalls. I was still humming the tune to the mystery song as I changed, in a pleasant mood once more. Though, I must admit putting dirty clothes onto a recently showered body was a little bit of a deterrent. I rummaged through my satchel to grab my glasses when I noticed something. My money was gone. The song evaporated and a groan accompanied by the sound of my head hitting the wall managed to reach the ears of my...acquaintance? Friend? Guide?

"Are you okay Miss. Irish?" Ajah asked, knocking on the door. I sighed, thinking about the dull ache in my stomach.

Whoever took the money probably needed it. I assured myself before speaking. "I'm fine, don't leave without me now," Ajah chuckled at my response.

"Don't worry, I won't." I put on my glasses and followed her out, a forced smile hopefully appearing to be anything but.

Outside the sun beat down on the two of us, the streets mostly empty.

"Where is everyone?" I asked, relieved that a cloud blotted out most of the sunlight so that I could see without struggling against the blinding light.

"Eating, don't tell me you're not hungry anymore?" I snorted at Ajah's response.

"I am always hungry," I retorted, though it sounded a lot better in my head. We walked down the street, passing the vendors who enjoyed some afternoon naps and lunch breaks. "So, Ajah," She visibly winced at the sound of her name, alerting me that it was probably best not to refer to her by name. "Sorry, I heard Auntie call you that, and you seemed okay calling me Irish, and I just thought-"

"No, no, it's fine, I'm just not used to hearing my name from any of the others," She gave a sheepish smile. "We're not really supposed to use our names with strangers. Auntie's an old woman, and we respect her. She just isn't as devoted as she used to be before..."

"I understand, people lose faith in times of struggle, it happens everywhere," The gears of my mind were whirring, pondering how many versions of the Ishvalan faith there could be. With no organized religion after the war, it wouldn't be surprising to see people who's faith has warped as much as Auntie's. Or Scar's. A sigh from Ajah drew me back from my thoughts.

"I worry about the little ones, that they won't learn to respect Ishvala and his laws," Her eyes stared at the earth, misting over with deep thought. "Brother is getting older, and there aren't very many monks left to teach us in Ishvala's ways," Her eyes darted up at me, searching for any sign of reproach or annoyance. I watched her with an attentiveness I hoped she could interpret as genuine curiosity. "Look at that! We're here," Ajah announced, clearly glad for the distraction.

It was a little soup shop, brimming with customers. On either side of the door, a bouncer eyed us warily. The band of Ishvalan youths huddled at the counter were just another source of income, and I assumed the owner wouldn't want paying customers to be reported to athorities.

Ajah and I found seats among the group, where we observed one of the boys count out cenz. Most of the money was dingy - crumpled up, muddy, or otherwise appearing as though it had been dug out of a sewer.

One child added a small stack of cenz to the pile, crisp, clean bills. No one seemed to notice as the older boy counted the money out and bargained with the server. I found myself memorizing the child's face with a bubble of ire building in my throat. His head was clean shaven, though a few tufts of silvery hair had been missed. His right ear bore scars, as though a cat had raked its claws across his head. He had a resting sleepy smile, as though he were coming off laughing gas from a trip to the dentist.

Only when the server brought our food was I distracted by my vengeful glowering. It was a lot of food. Too much for us to eat on our own, which explained why the sever was helping the children bag the food. We were bringing it back for the other kids. We were only in the shop for a few minutes, and as quickly as we had settled in, we left with armfuls of soup cans and bread.

I can't say I wasn't still upset with the kid, he had stolen my money after all, but it had been my plan to buy food for all of us anyway, so I decided we were even, for now.

Suddenly there was a dull twang as a stone bounced off a nearby lamppost and ricocheted, knocking down the kid who had stolen my money. He fell without grace, his bags of food spilling their contents into the dirt road. Ajah rushed to his aid, setting her own packages down gently. Another stone was thrown, this one clipping Ajah's shoulder.

I seethed, turning to the direction of the stone's origin. A blonde haired, blue eyed boy no older than eight or nine glared angrily in our direction, picking up another stone. A younger boy watched on with fearful, cautious eyes.

"Go back to your own country!" The blonde yelled, throwing a stone straight at me. It bounced harmlessly off my shoulder, but the words stung more than the pebble.

I can't go back anywhere, and their country is your country you- I stopped, realizing I was stalking across the street towards the pair with my hands and jaw clenched tight. Ajah placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't bother," Her deep red eyes glanced at the two boys, the younger one looking from me to the blonde, tugging at the hem of his shirt in fear. I took a deep breath, feeling the tension leave my body with a heavy sigh.

I set down my bags and helped pick up the salvageable contents of the bag. The boy wasn't hurt, only surprised by the stone. Ajah affirmed she was fine, but the sting of the stone on my shoulder left an ache in my heart.

The two boys probably lived here, in the slums, just like the Ishvalans. I tried to reason their hate, perhaps they had lost their father or an uncle or an older brother to the war, perhaps they had heard of Scar and were afraid. Still, their hate felt so raw and unfiltered, so wrong and unnatural for such young children to feel. It baffled me how they could be so cruel.

We soon exited the slums without anymore interruptions and found our meager home, where children huddled around the glowing fire and the Brother's face was etched with exhaustion and age. As we divied up the food, I finally took the time to relax, unwrapping a piece of bread from its newspaper swaddling. Scar's face stared back at me, a detailed article talking about the recent murder of the Silver Alchemist.

I sighed, no longer hungry despite my earlier affirmations. It seemed both sides of the coin were capable of horrendous cruelty.

A pattern developed as my days with the Ishvalans accumulated. One day I would go with Brother, work in the fields. The next I would spend with Ajah, getting food and taking some of the younger children to the bath house. Once more I settle into routine, the world at a relative quiet before the storm. And believe me, there would be a storm.

I was eating regularly, at least as regularly as I could living in the poorest sector of Central. I never saw the blonde boy again, though I was always a bit jumpy whenever we walked back from town. I never collected a paycheck, but often I would take some produce from the farm back with me, the damaged or imperfect fruits and vegetables that the farm wouldn't be able to sell.

A week or so had passed, and I was working in the fields with the Ishvalans, the sun high and my shoulders red. Another perk of being paler than a ghost - you burn, and burn, and burn. I might have even ended up with a slight tan. The rumble of an engine groaned at the other end of the field. I perked up, some vague hope that we could break early filtering through my conscious thought.

But this wasn't the water truck. This was sleek, black, military vehicle. The Ishvalan workers did not panic, they kept their heads down and worked without missing a beat. Roger - you guys remember him? - was at the end of his row, talking to whoever was in the car. I kept my head down, just like the others, and continued working, though my ears strained to hear the voices above the din of insects and the car's distant engine.

I looked up to see Roger sprinting down the row, bounding with the grace of a dancer over rocks and ditches. He arrived, sweat soaked but not out of breath, red eyes peering up between beads of sweat at me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked, bunching a handful of carrots and throwing them into my basket.

"Those men, they want to talk to you," Roger said, wiping away the glimmering jewels of sweat that had beaded on his long eyelashes. "They said to tell you it's Havoc asking for you," I tensed, immediately have an internal panic attack. Did they arrest Ross? Was she 'killed'? Did Gracia report me missing? I nervously cracked my knuckles.

"I should go," I murmured, looking to my basket of carrots.

"I've got these, you," He looked at me for a moment, searching for the right words as his eyes searched mine and found the fear in them. "Stay safe," Ha clapped me on the shoulder and tended to the field. I ran down the row my shoes clumsily catching on rocks and sinking into ditches as I tried to hurriedly make my way to the black car.

When I finally stepped onto the crude dirt road, Havoc was standing outside of the vehicle, lighting a cigarette. Somehow, it relieved me to see him standing there, inhaling vaporized cancer. I think I was subconsciously aware it might be only a short time before he was sitting in a wheelchair.

When he saw me, he raised an eyebrow, as if thinking the wrong worker had been sent back.

"Mac, that really you?" Mac. Only Hughes ever called me that. I couldn't believe how happy I was seeing him. So many questions were caught in my throat. How was Elicia and Gracia? And Danny? And was Mustang doing okay?

"Yep, this is really me, lover boy," I managed, smiling in spite of myself. Havoc laughed, and went to ruffle my hair. I caught both of us off guard by rushing to hug him. "Nice to see you again, Havoc. What're you doing all the way out here?" I released him, and he got his chance to ruffle my hair, but he didn't. He just stood there, eyes searching me for some sign, some signal of negative emotion.

"I wish I could say it was for a friendly visit," I looked up at him, head cocked and brow furrowed. "We need you to come back to Central, just for a little bit," Why would Central be looking for me? As if reading my thoughts, Havoc stared me down sternly. "We believe we have Hughes' killer in custody, we need you to I.D. them,"

Masterlist

#fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #si/oc #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #bbb writes #bbb #bluebookbadger

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