It seems to you, sometimes, that Envy materialises from thin air, or pours out of your tap with the water, or blows in through the window with the Autumn wind. One moment the room is empty and the next they’re there, waiting for you to pay attention to them. Which you don’t have the time or energy to do right now. You’re working full-time during the days, and trying to keep up with your housework in the evenings, not to mention your taxes are due and your family keep threatening to come up to stay. You don’t have time to entertain the – admittedly very pretty – creature you’ve somehow managed to attach to your hip.
“Don’t you have a home of your own to go to?” You complain, when you turn around and find them once again sat on your sofa.
They ignore you, which is a bold choice for someone sat on your sofa. With your coffee and your forms, might you add. As you watch, their foot flicks out an agitated tattoo, ankle rolling beneath their ugly, half-finished shoes.
“Still not seen a cobbler, then?”
“Eat shit.”
“You're the one who's in my house,” You point out, “What do you want?”
Their foot flicks again.
Your life would be far easier, you think, if Envy would just say it. If they actually picked up a phone, for example, and called to ask if they could come over. If they asked you out to dinner rather than just turning up and raiding your cupboards. If they asked you out at all. Would you say yes? You puzzle over it, sometimes, when you can’t sleep. If Envy actually asked you on a date, a real date, would you agree to go?
“Look, budge up, would you? I need to get this done.”
Envy sighs, just so you know you’ve inconvenienced them, but slides along the cushions to make room for you. Your legs still touch when you sit down, but at least you can get at your coffee and your papers and all the other shit you’ve strewn across your coffee table.
“What is this, anyway?”
“Finance stuff.” You say, biting back your frustration. Now they want to talk? Now?
“Finance for what?”
“You’re so nosy.”
“Are you’re rude. Don’t you know how to treat a guest?” Envy says, delivering a sharp prod to your arm. Little bastard.
“Don’t you know how to treat your host?”
Envy prods you again, “You haven’t even offered me a drink.”
“I can get you a knuckle sandwich?” You offer. They laugh, a sound rusty from disuse, and you can't help but smile in reply. Your voice softens with it, buttery and gently, "Look, Envy, this is important. Be good and shut up for ten minutes, alright?”
Envy mumbles something you can’t make out, and sinks deeper into your couch cushions. But you can make out a slight pinkness on the tips of their ears.
Would you say yes? You think about it as you work, numbers falling to the background as you debate this more pressing issue. They’d be annoying to date, you think. A lot of upkeep, a lot of work. A lot of unpredictability, which doesn’t really fit into your schedule. You imagine it would get tiring, trying to keep up with them, or trying to get them to fall in line with you. Often, your friends talk about how much work they’ve had to put into getting their partners to behave, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that commitment – or any commitment, really. Better to just stay as you are, friends with some nice benefits, and let them keep appearing from the ether whenever they need to be entertained. Though it would be nice, you think as you discard another sheet, to have them on call. Sometimes.
“I’m going away soon.” Envy breaks your concentration. You look up to frown at them.
“Away?”
Envy grunts at you, “Are you deaf or something?”
“No. Forever?”
“How should I know? For a bit. I’ve got work to do.”
“I didn’t know you had a job.” If they do, it certainly has odd hours.
“I don’t.”
“But you-” Halfway through, you decide it’s not worth the effort, “Is that why you’re here then? To explain your upcoming absence?”
“Don’t go fucking corporate on me.”
You sigh, heavy, through your nose, “I’m not going corporate, for the love of God. I’m just trying to work out why you’re in my house. Again. Would it kill you to call ahead?”
“You’re going corporate,” Envy decides, “Are you done yet? I don’t have all night.”
“When are you going?”
“I don’t know. Soon.”
You risk another glance at them, even though you know it guarantees distraction, “You don’t know much, do you?”
“Fuck off. I don’t know why I-”
You sigh loudly, loud enough to drown out their eternal bitching, “So you want something to remember me by? Oh, Envy, you’re so sweet.”
“Fuck off.” They gripe again. There’s no mistaking it; their ears are definitely turning red. Still grinning, you glance down to the papers still on your lap, and purposefully knock them to the floor. Your taxes can wait, you think. It’s not like you’d be able to concentrate on them now anyway.
It’s tactical. You don’t give Envy time to really think, just set a hand against their neck and pull them down to you. Your lips muffle their squeak of surprise, and you give them a small laugh in return. For that, they yank at your hair, and make another noise, this time of complaint, as you pull away.
“Play nice.”
“What do you think this is?”
You shake your head at them, “You could stand to be a little nicer, you know.” As you talk, you trace your fingers up to the base of their skull and back down again, feeling them shiver almost inperceptably beneath your touch.
“Why would I do that?” Their eyes are very bright, their breathing a little heavy.
You smile, “Because I’ll be nice back. It’s not exactly-”
It’s their turn to take you by surprise, pushing against you so forcefully you fall back against the couch arm. You gasp, and they swallow that greedily, the hand in your hair pulling you in closer as their other hand finds purchase beside your hip. Your legs press together, interlocking as you kiss, and you feel your skin begin to warm, the familiar heat in your belly digging in its hooks. Maybe you would date Envy, if it meant you got this regularly. They go quick, as they always do, hands wrestling with your belt and then the buttons of your pants as you lift your hips to try and help them out. Envy pulls away to curse and you laugh again, both of your hands pushing and shoving at your waistband to get it to shift.
“Do I get something to remember you by?” You ask, once your pants are finally kicked away.
Envy huffs, straight into your face, “You’re so annoying.”
“Envy, we’ve discussed this,” You’re holding your composure very well, given the fact their hand is currently crawling beneath your top, “If you’re nice to me, I’m nice to you. You could at least try and behave.”
“Or what?”
“Well,” You get one bare leg around them, which is all the leverage you need. In ordinary circumstances, Envy is about as easy to move as a brick wall, but you’re still on your sofa and it’s not really big enough for two almost prone bodies; one push is all it takes to roll you. Envy takes the brunt of the fall with a screech, leaving you to settle triumphantly on their stomach, legs on either side of their torso, “I could make you.”
They try and scoff, but there’s no hiding the flush on their ears now, “Like you could.”
“I made you get down here, didn’t I? Come on, Envy. Don’t you want to be good for me?”
“Why do you keep saying that?”
You frown, “Saying what?”
“Saying- it doesn’t matter! Can we just-”
You think back, idly running your fingers up and down the skin over their shoulders. Goose pimples break out beneath your touch, and the pieces click cheerfully into place, “Does it bother you? When I call you good?”
“Why would it-”
“Or do you want me to? Do you want to be good for me, Envy?”
“I’m don’t- I’m not- Fuck off!”
“But Envy, you’re so pretty,” You feel them squirm beneath you, “Why would I fuck off when I’ve got you right here?”
They squirm again, and you can’t push down your grin.
“You’re a nightmare. Just get up here, would you?”
Their hands press behind either of your thighs, pulling you forward. You let yourself be moved, mind still ticking with this new plaything you’ve found.
Envy pushes your panties to one side with their usual impatience, and you sigh as their fingers press up against your entrance.
“You’re wet.” They say, satisfaction dripping from their words.
“All because of you.”
It’s quite easy, this new thing you’ve found.
“Shut up.” Envy hisses, and then pulls you down by your hips. Their hand, fingers still damp, settles on your hips as their tongue flicks up and into you, and you sigh, letting yourself rock against their face. They lash their tongue over your clit, going in hard and heavy as they always do when they eat you out. You grind down in response, pressing yourself into them with another sigh as their tongue thrusts into you.
“God, Envy,” You say, when you feel safe enough to speak without stuttering, “That feels so good.”
You don’t hear them groan, but you don’t have to; it reverberates through you, and they have to brace their hands around your thighs as you rock against them again. It’s a little overwhelming, when Envy gets going like this. Soft isn’t a settling they seem to have, or even understand the meaning of. Everything is quick, the movement of their tongue and the breath rushing out of their nose; everything is harsh, the grip of their fingers on your thighs and the press of their lips. They hold you against them like they want to drown in it, and you, fingers sinking into their hair, are happy to let them if it means you can stay like this. Riding their face like there’s no tomorrow – which, in fairness, there might not be. They don’t know how long they’ll be gone for.
With that thought, panic disrupts the heat burrowing into your stomach. How long will they be gone? How long will you spend alone in your house, waiting for them to come in with the rain, and going to bed disappointed when they don’t? Then Envy’s tongue finds a particularly sensitive spot, and those thoughts are rushed from your mind by want. Later. You can worry about that later.
“Envy,” You grip their hair harder and feel their fingers dig into your skin in response, “Envy, don’t stop, I’m close, I’m- Oh, my God.”
They keep working their tongue against that place inside you, that place only they seem to know how to find, and you feel tightness squeeze in your stomach and press your eyes shut as it rushes over you, and you can’t help but cry out, pushing your hips down harder against them as you cum. Envy fucks you through it, never-ending motion pulling what feels like every last drop out of you until your body goes limp in their hands.
“God, Envy,” You mumble eventually, letting them push you back, “You’re fucking amazing. You’re so…”
“Yeah?” Their lips are shiny.
“You’re so…” It’s hard to find words, “I’m just glad we’ve found a productive use of your mouth.”
“Don’t be ungrateful.”
“I’m not!” You protest, giving their hair a little tug, “I’m so grateful. You’re so good for me.”
“Stop it.”
“Why? You’re being so, so good right now. You’re so fucking pretty, Envy.”
Their breathing is coming out in harsh, heavy breaths, lips and chin still wet from you, eyes glittering and hair still knotted in your fingers. It’s soft in your hands, and you give a little tug. Their hips quirk up in response, sending you rocking afresh.
“More?” You ask.
Their eyebrows furrow into a frown, but they can’t hide the glossy sheen of their eyes, the pink spreading over their usually pale skin, the way their fingers press into your thighs.
“I want more,” You say, as playful as you can given your own heavy breathing and rising need, “Do you?”
“For fuck’s- yes. Just get up here, you-”
“Ask nicely.”
They blink at you like they’ve never heard of such a thing before. So you give their hair another tug, and smile as the breath hisses from between their parted, shining lips.
“Ask me nicely. Before I go back to my taxes.”
“You’re so-”
You make lift your leg, and they pull you back down again, hard. It sends a jolt through you, that reminder of their strength and your own unsteady position over them. They could flip you at any time, take back the control they usually chase. But they're not, and the thought emboldens you. They're not.
“Come on, Envy. I know you can do it.”
They watch you, wary, eyes flicking across your face as their hands rub up and down on your thighs. You stare back, letting your other hand run up and down, up and down, the skin of their throat. It flutters with their breathing.
“Please,” The mumble finally, like the word hurts to say, “Please let me eat you out.”
Your smile widens, “You’re so good.”
Then you let yourself be pulled forth once more.
Yeah, you decide, as their tongue finds home once more against your clit. You would go on a date with Envy. If they asked nicely.
Having Envy (fullmetal alcehmist) Fictionkins following me is a scary scary thing. I love them! I love them as my mutals! However-
The need I have for that homunculus is a strong thing I need them in a Victorian way. One slip of the wrist and I'm swooning. I also need them in a way were I need their fucking teeth in my skin. Like. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO POST?! I GET EMBARRASSED EASYYYY 😭😭
What would make it 100x worse is if they start teasing me in comments. cause I do embarrass easy and fluster easy. Like. Hang me 😭😭
like it shouldn't surprise anyone that in eighth grade I watched fmab and envy was my favorite and then like a year later I went "actually I have no gender"
