(Kimblee x reader, explicit, 882 words. song: Cornflower Blue by Flower Face)
a.n. this is heavily oc based, like everything i write about Kimblee, but i hope you enjoy it anyway!
“Tell me something else.” His breath is hot and demanding against your neck as he presses you close to the wall. You rest your palm on his chest, not pushing back, not yet. It’s too close; your wrist hurts.
“Like what?”
“Anything,” You think you could listen to his voice forever, “Something I won’t know.”
You swallow, “I read a theory…”
It’s hard to focus when he’s so close to your. His lips slip over your skin with every word, his fingers brace themselves at the exposed skin of your waist. You can hear his every breath, rushed and rasped, heaving, warm.
“A theory?” His teeth graze the skin of your throat.
“It said- or proposed- or whatever- that the human soul weights 21 grams. That a doctor watched as people died, and weighed them before and after, to see if their weight changed. When they died.”
He groans. It runs through you like a shiver. His hands tug at the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms so he can pull it off.
“It was flawed,” You manage, as his hands run along the newly exposed skin, “But some people accepted it as fact anyway. When the paper was published. And another flawed- oh, God- another flawed paper, from around the same time…”
He hums a response as his hands work at your belt. It’s so hard to focus when he’s touching you like this. His fingers, thin and light, his breath on your neck, his hips pushing against yours so you can feel how much he wants you. The wall scratches the back of your skull.
“Another study?” Kimblee’s fingers pause, and you realise, suddenly, the exchange he expects.
“Flawed.” You remind him, breathless. He starts on your belt again.
“Tell me.”
“Less flawed than the first,” You pull the tie from his hair, let it fall free around his face. When you pull at the root, his moan hisses into your collarbone, “It said we were all made up of two elements, working together – or against. Depending on the person. The brain. They govern us. The unconscious and the conscious. The instinct and the rational. Did you read that one?”
“When it was published.” The buckle of your belt clicks open, hitting your thigh, “I believe, at the time, a third element was hypothesised?”
“Yes,” You breathe, “The middle of the two. The moral compass. They can all work in tandem, together, or-”
You lose your train of thought as he lifts you, arms beneath your legs as he kicks the door open. All you can do is cling to him, vain hope, as his fingers press into the small of your back and his teeth tease against your ear.
“Carry on.” He says, then drops you onto the bed. You ignore the command, rising instead to push his coat from his shoulders. His shirt creases beneath your hands, and he bats them impatiently away.
“Come on.” You rest your cheek on his sternum, and he yanks you back by your hair.
“Carry on. Or?”
You realise, after a few seconds, that its where you left off.
“Or they oppose,” You finish, and hook your fingers beneath your waistband. He works his buttons open casually, a vast contract to your speed in kicking off your trousers, “But I don’t see it like that.”
He hums again, and lets his shirt drop to the floor. You let yourself fall back onto your elbows as he sets a knee between your legs. His weight against you is encompassing, compressing. The end stage of a cycle.
“I don’t think of it- it’s a binary star, to me. The two sides of a soul orbiting a central mass.”
“By central mass, you mean the person?”
“No, the moral. A binary of the conscious and unconscious, trapped, circling. Always opposing.” His hands flit across your thighs, pale moths exploring, “Like Nemesis.”
“Back to our hypothetical?” You can hear his amusement. One finger slides into you, and you sink your nails into his shoulder.
“Always.”
As a reward, he pushes in another finger. You gasp, and his smile widens.
“Tell me again?”
As if he needs to ask.
“Nemesis,” Kimblee’s body rests atop yours, a neuron of weight, “is a star thought to exist in a binary with Earth. Both of us, circling the sun, on opposite sides. Hidden from each other. And every so often…”
He likes this part; you brace yourself for impact.
“Every so often, the Earth undergoes a periodic mass extinction. And the theory blames Nemesis. As it collapses, as it gains weight and gravity… As it…”
His fingers rock in and out of you, a slow, never-ending drag of friction. Your leg twists over his hips, and he bites at your neck.
“As it collapses, it pulls,” You find your words with great difficulty, as heat winds tight and low in your stomach. His fingers keep that steady, slow pace, “Pulls in comets to kill us all.”
“Incredible. Should it exist.”
For that, you dig your heel into his spine. He hisses. His eyes, dark, reflect the moonlight.
“It exists.”
“Is that so?” His fingers stop inside you. You can feel them there, crooked gently but doing no more.
Author's Note: I finished Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood a while back, and I've had this thot in my drafts for forever. I'm a little ashamed of this one ngl.
uhhhh enjoy?
***
Too far. That’s all you can think. You’d gone too far. Dug too deep. You were meant to be helping people, helping the country, helping those poor boys with their quest for their bodies. You’d caught up to the Ishvallan, tracked him down just like Ed had asked, and then the incident on the train happened.
You couldn’t help Scar face off Kimblee. Your combat power was nowhere near his, and even though the man just got off death row he’d still managed to get you trapped in the train car, both arms bound to the car wall. All you could do is wait. Then there was an explosion, and then the train came to a full halt, and you could hear Kimblee nearly screeching at the conductors. It didn’t take long for the train to start moving again, and the door opened to an almost nightmarish sight. The raven-haired man had a rod sticking out of his abdomen, blood soaking into his otherwise pristine white suit.
When his eyes met yours, your blood ran ice cold. A wicked grin curled over his face, and he yanked the rod from his body with a sickening squelch. Then, somehow, he healed himself with alchemy. Completely, fully healed.
“What do we have here? You were with the Ishvallan.” There’s a glimmer in his eyes, and it terrifies you. “Oh I know it’s cold, sweet thing. Just tell me what I want to know and we won’t have a problem. I’ll even get you back home safe and sound. How about it?” All you know right now is that he doesn’t know you’re a state alchemist. You’ve managed to go under the radar, and choosing not to wear the uniform has given you some kind of advantage, however small it may be. So you swallow around the lump in your throat, and nod.
“Good. Now tell me what you were doing with that red-eyed bastard.” Breathe.
“I-I was tracking him. Following him.” His eyes narrow, he takes a step forward. You tremble harder. “He helped me! They helped me, he has a friend that can heal with alchemy. I swear I swear that’s all I know.” That evil grin is back, the one that makes your skin crawl like you’re staring down the devil.
“Following him just because he helped you out? His friend didn’t seem to be around though.” All you can do is shake your head, and try to keep up with the half-lie you’ve told.
“I wanted to learn, I’m an alchemist too! Not a great one, but I wanted to learn how to heal. I thought they’d be together, b-but I was wrong.” Please take it. Take it, and leave me alone. He’s silent for a long time. Too long. His eyes are piercing, like they’re staring straight through your soul and out into the wintery abyss raging by outside. Then he’s on you, one large hand wrapped tight around your throat and slowly constricting your airway while you thrash and shake beneath him.
“Ohhh look at you tremble. Such a pretty thing, just waiting to die.” No! You try to speak, try to do anything, but you can’t. They way his fingers have dug themselves against your arteries and squeeze, your vision’s starting to go black around the edges. His entire figure is doubling, and you can hear as his laugh starts to fade and echo into nothing.
Then you take a gasping breath, and cough while you try to take in freezing air. His hand is still around your throat when you can finally focus, and a thumb swipes a tear from your cheek only to find its way to his mouth for him to lick the salt from his skin. You whimper, and your throat squeezes in on itself when you speak.
“I answered your question.” There’s a low-throaty chuckle he lets out.
“That you did, sweet thing. I know, I know, I’m supposed to take you home now. But I think I’d much rather keep you.” What? What does that even mean? “I like the way you squirm, pretty girl. And it’s been oh so long since I’ve gotten any enjoyment out of anything but bloodshed.” No. No, he can’t be serious. You try to shake your head, but his grip on your throat turns to cup your jaw and holds you in place while he leans into your space, an eerie grin splitting his lips.
“You’re just so pretty when you’re fighting for your life. Besides, I don’t think I quite believe your story, little miss state alchemist.” Panic takes over, your heart stopping for a moment while your brain tries to figure out what the hell to do. But you’re stuck. There’s nothing you can do. How the hell does he know? One of his hands snakes behind your back, nimble fingers tucking into the back pocket of your jeans, pulling out the one item that labels you as a state alchemist. The damn pocket watch. You squeeze your eyes shut, breath shuddering from your lungs while you accept your fate. He’s probably going to torture you for information and kill you afterward.
His hand grips your jaw hard enough to make you wince, and you blink up at him while he leans down into your space. The pocket watch is transmutated into an unrecognizable heap of scrap and tossed aside, and that arm returns to wrap tight around your waist. He crowds your space, tucking one thick thigh between your legs and grinding the muscle up against your core just to make you gasp. The hand on your jaw drops back around your neck to squeeze it oh so gently, and all you can do is squirm against him.
“You’re all mine now, pretty thing. I can’t wait to play with you some more later. I don't care about your little side quest with the Ishvallan, you have nothing important for me to know. I can tell your half-truth is inconsequential. For now, just be a good girl and sleep for me.” What? What does that mean? And then the fingers around your throat constrict, and you thrash in his hold until your vision blanks and everything fades to nothing.
a/n: do not perceive me LMAO this piece of... something is part of @cyancherub back from the dead collab!! ty for the wonderful idea darlin, ive been waiting for a push to write for this dummy
wc: 3.8k
cw: nsfw, minors dni, fmab spoilers, hate fucking, kimblee's in handcuffs teehee, fingering, cockwarming, threats of violence, degradation, teasing, voyeurism/exhibitionism mayhaps, rough sex, dacryphilia, squirting, a sprinkle of angst bc who am i without it
you keep your eyes downcast, following the guard down the long corridor. the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end under the hungry gazes from behind the peepholes that cut through every cell door. your shoulders hunch and your pace quickens to escape the whistles and cat-calls that echo behind your retreating figure. you can’t help but hope in vain that the familiar walk somehow gets shorter.
you don’t notice how little you pay attention to your surroundings before you nearly run into the guard when he stops at the cell. he knocks twice to get the prisoner’s attention. muffled footsteps approach the door from the other side. a pair of eyes roams over your figure when the sound finally stops.
“one hour,” the guard says. your fingers curl into your palms as you clench your fists. the crescent shaped divots from your fingernails threaten to draw more blood than resolve.
that’s more than enough time for the both of you, and you know it. in truth, the sessions have gotten shorter and shorter recently. it might grant you the opportunity to worm your way out a little earlier. even more undeniable was the increase in strain and discomfort that came with each visit.
in all honesty, you aren’t really sure of why you keep coming back.
the man on the other side of the door doesn’t say anything when the guard opens it up to reveal your frame. the guard takes a step forward to undo the prisoner’s handcuffs, then stops.
he scoffs at the man whose disheveled black hair falls so far down his body that you can see it from underneath your lidded eyes. “don’t think i trust you enough to let you out of those, kimblee.” he turns to you, offering a curt nod. “sorry, miss.”
you shrug, already having experienced guards like this before. you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel more comfortable with the handcuffs on. the man’s hands are cursed, feared by many but especially hated by you. the change in circumstance presents itself as a blessing, seeing as you don’t even trust kimblee anymore, not in the slightest.
the guard steps back over the threshold and shifts to the side so that you can get through. without lifting your eyes to face him, you cross under the doorway.
something in the pressure changes. the atmosphere shifts. every ounce of air in your lungs threatens to leave as you clench your fists once again, attempting to keep your breathing and heartbeat steady. the door locks behind you, echoing in the plain cell. you don’t feel cornered, or even trapped, just numb. kimblee doesn’t make a move towards you.
“miss me?” his cocky voice slithers over you, slippery and smooth like snakeskin.
biting back a bitter laugh, you answer. “you wish, kimblee.”
he lets out a chuckle and takes a heavy seat on the bed. it creaks under his weight, and you try to suppress the sounds of your past visits that echo around your mind like a ghost. without even looking, you know exactly the posture that upholds him, how he can maintain his pride in such a place as this. solf has a presence that would make him look comfortable, even regal, anywhere. a dingy prison cell is no exception. even when it suits him perfectly.
you approach him slowly, finally lifting your gaze to find his blue eyes already trained on you. he pats his lap, legs spreading ever so slightly to let whatever was growing between them breathe. you know the drill. you take off your panties and toss them to the floor, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of undressing you.
you’re not afraid to face him head on when your knees drop to either side of his hips, cunt pinned against his groin. you’re not afraid to watch his eyes wander over your body like it’s still his. if anything, it pisses you off.
“we gonna do this or what?” you cross your arms over your chest. kimblee clicks his teeth as he senses your impatience. his eyes narrow, but they crinkle at the edges with a soft smile. the complexity of his expressions intrigues you, but also sets a pit in your stomach.
“i like how assertive you’ve gotten,” he muses, stroking your cheek. the touch is strangely tender despite the bulky wooden handcuffs that ensnare his wrists. you jerk your head to break the contact. you aren’t here as a lover. you still don’t know why you came.
“things have changed.” you shrug, watching as his fingers ghost down your torso. shivers threaten to shake your body, to raise gooseflesh on your skin, but you suppress those reactions that he loves so dearly.
kimblee doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry. his hands reach the bottom of your torso, reaching from within their bounds to languidly massage the muscle of your thighs. you hike up your dress to quicken the process. kimblee, for once, takes the hint.
the lazy pace is probably some new routine that he’s cooked up to torture you, to keep you in the room, with him, for as long as possible. the battle of wits, you well know, is something you can’t win. your thighs clench on either side of his.
kimblee lifts his fingers to his mouth, training his eyes on your emotionless face while he sucks and spits on them to coat them amply in his saliva. your expression doesn’t change. you refuse give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
however, that resolve threatens to crumble when his lubricated fingers slide in between your folds. the spit provides a dense barrier that prevents kimblee from feeling if you had already been wet before he began touching you. you certainly won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, begrudgingly, you had been.
your teeth grit. kimblee’s fingers curls up perfectly into your cunt. he finds his usual rhythm like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him. you fight against every muscle that aches to squirm on his hand, to get just a little more friction. scissoring, pumping, stretching - nothing changes your expression under kimblee’s hawklike gaze. but he can feel every twitch, every clench. he’s quite the calculating man.
“unusually quiet today, aren’t we?”
you don’t answer. it proves his point.
you turn your nose up at him to focus on the ceiling, not wanting him to know that you fight back a moan every time he twists his wrist, every time the knuckle of his thumb brushes against your clit. but if you know solf j. kimblee, you know that he loves to get a rise out of people. your unresponsiveness is going to drive him over the edge.
you’re too busy counting the stars under your eyelids to notice him preparing to thrust into you. his cock replaces his fingers before you know it, so unfortunately, you can’t bite back the moan that tears from your lips. your chin tucks to your chest, and you catch a glimpse of his triumphant expression.
“there you go.” his mouth twists into a wicked grin. “i knew my little slut was in there somewhere.”
“‘m not yours,” you force out immediately, sinking down on his cock. adjusting to his girth makes holding back the moans that bottle up in your throat a lot harder. your eyes widen, your head lolls back, and you swear that in the clarity, you could count every crack in the stone.
“that tight little pussy of yours says otherwise.” his catlike eyes flicker up to meet yours when your head snaps back into place, and you hold his gaze haughtily. “let’s see how long it takes for that pitiable resolve of yours to break.”
he doesn’t move a muscle. you shift your hips uncomfortably, trying to accommodate his girth that you hadn’t felt in a few weeks. his expression doesn’t change from the sly smile, watching your face contort in discomfort and eventually, exasperation.
you finally pick up on the fact that you’re merely cockwarming him.
fighting back the urge to roll your eyes, you ponder what would be worse for you to pursue, warming him to prove his point or fucking yourself on him like a bitch in heat.
even though you know it’s the latter, you still decide to do it.
the moment you shift your hips an inch, kimblee holds up a hand. you stop, stomach dropping because while he’s silent, you know that twinkle in his eye, the one that speaks of a plan brewing in his demented mind. he doesn’t say anything. his hands meet the hem of your skirt to lift it up over your thighs. they hover over the exposed skin.
a horrifying glow from the bottom of your vision sends shadows slinking across his face, contouring his features. your eyes tear from his to focus on his hands that just barely leave enough space between his palms and your thighs. you don’t need to turn over his hands to know that he’s charging up his symbols. the sparks send your heart spinning out, even though you know that he can’t do too much damage without his cuffed hands joining.
“you wouldn’t…” you mutter in disbelief, attempting to hide the shaking in your voice. he’s never done it before, but those symbols would hurt like a bitch being burned into your skin - being branded by him.
“you wanna test me?”
it’s best to accept whatever he wants to do. solf has never taken out his power on you, but you’ve seen what it does to others. you know the potential that those symbols carry. deep down, you’d like to believe that he wouldn’t ever hurt you, despite your history; but the ways that he’s changed hearken you to be smarter than that. you swallow past the lump in your throat and shake your head.
“good girl. now stay still, or it’ll happen.” he pauses a moment, turning up his chin and reveling in how his threats have broken your haughty spirit down completely. with a wicked smile, he continues. “or, you can beg me to fuck you like the slut you are. and maybe i’ll do it.”
it takes less than two minutes for you to crumble.
“solf… please fuck me.” tears bead in your eyes at how ashamed you feel, how the warmth that blossoms under your cheeks is a result of your embarrassment, but also a sprinkle of anticipation in having your former lover tear through you. as much as you hate to admit it, kimblee could fuck you like there was no tomorrow.
“what did i tell you to say?”
you almost let out a shriek of exasperation. you can practically feel the ears of the other prisoners as they lean towards the sounds that you make during the visits. kimblee knows their habits. it’s probably why he asks you to make the most lewd of sounds.
“do i have to?”
the warmth blooming from his palms answers your question.
“please… please fuck me like the slut i am.” the walk down the hallway is going to be absolutely miserable.
kimblee wastes no time in granting your wishes, as much as he prepared the buildup. your chest collides with the mattress, nearly knocking the wind out of you. the angle at which kimblee bends you in half threatens to break your spine. you feel so exposed. the chilly air seeping in through the cracks in the walls coats your exposed skin in gooseflesh.
you bury your head as deeply as possible in the thin mattress in a vain attempt to prevent the moans that echo from your mouth from reaching his ears. it doesn’t work. they bounce off all the walls, all the way down the hallway, to those deplorable prisoners who are probably getting themselves off to your pretty little sounds.
kimblee’s fingertips dig into the globes of your ass, jerking you onto and tearing you off his cock with breakneck speed. the roughness reminds you of the first few times you had hooked up after you had officially broken up with him. kimblee had just come back from the ishvalan war. you knew that he was fucked up beforehand, and maybe that was what attracted you to him. maybe you could be the one to fix him.
but after he killed thousands of innocent people, you found yourself drawing the line.
nothing boiled up within you more at the time than self-hatred. you couldn’t bear to look at yourself in the mirror when you left to reponsd to his summons in prison. there was something in you that thought that maybe he needed company. as much as it wasn’t your job to be there or to be his creature comfort, you couldn’t say no. it’s wasn’t like you were a spy, bringing him special messages. you didn’t talk about anything important in your life when you went.
hell, you never even kissed.
as unfortunate as it is, something keeps you crawling back.
“so, you want me back?” kimblee’s question reflects your thoughts a little too accurately. you turn your head so that your cheek rests against the mattress. you hate to say it, but seeing kimblee’s vantage point and ensuing power over you sends a flood of arousal down between your legs.
“who said that?” you manage to bite back between breathy gasps. you grit your teeth as he slows down his thrusts, but makes up for the change in speed with how deep he reaches into you. your eyes roll back into your head at the pressure of his tip nestling against your cervix.
“why do you continue to respond to my summons, then?”
you want to cum to avoid the conversation, but the question puts you in such a hard place that your orgasm slips away from you.
you turn back to smush your face in the mattress, hiding from invasive inquiries that make you want to crawl into a hole and die. you know why, but if you say it out loud, then you’d allow it to be true. and you never, ever, want to admit why you still see him.
ever the sadist, kimblee’s fingers tangle into your hair and pull you upright. you cry out at the sensation, at how roughly he turns your head to face him. his eyes sear into yours. he already knows the answer. he just wants to torture it out of you.
“i asked you a question.”
the thrusts hit much deeper now, seeing that he essentially rooted you in place, even pulled you back on his cock from time to time. the orgasm that had seemed so far now touches your fingertips. if you could only reach out, it would be yours. but kimblee’s persistent pulling on your hair kept it withdrawn from you.
“as much as i hate you, solf… i still want you.”
there it is. the truth, out in the open. and the hard truth it is.
because as much as kimblee had committed atrocities and war crimes that you would never be able to forgive him for, you knew that you still had feelings for the man he used to be. the man before all the power came into play. the man before the power made him a monster.
you weren’t sure if he was still there, deep down, but there was something in you that believed it to be true, no matter how much it hurt you.
but the more you visited, the less you saw of the man you once knew. all you saw was a plotting creature, one that was going to escape the cage that it was put in, eventually. and you weren’t sure that you wanted to be around when that happened.
the more you saw solf slipping away, the less you wanted to be there. by the same token, you wanted to stay all the longer. it was a delusional hope that maybe you yourself would have the power to resurrect the kind soul that he used to be. but your reality kept crashing down upon you time and time again.
this wasn’t solf.
this was kimblee, the crimson alchemist. the conqueror of ishaval.
it broke your heart in half.
you hated to love him.
“now that… that’ll keep me going till i get outta here.” kimblee lets go of your hair and you hide your face in the mattress in shame. you know that isn’t him. it’s a stranger in kimblee’s body. fucking him isn’t going to bring him back, but at least the shared anatomy is a creature comfort.
you don’t realize you’re crying until you inhale moisture from the thin sheets. opening up your eyes, you recognize tear stains on the fabric. trying to minimize the sniffles, you let out a few more extra moans as sacrifice.
your ploy doesn’t work in the slightest. kimblee clicks his teeth, leaning down over your frame to peer at the stains under your face.
“oh now, what’s all this for?”
before you can answer, his giant hands clutch your waist and turn you over on your back. you try to cover your face with your hands, evading the crimson alchemist’s intent stare, but your efforts are in vain once he gets focused.
his hands clamp around your wrists and pin them over your head to hold you in place. you wince at the sneer that he wears, the one that tells you you’re so fucking stupid for coming here, that your solf is gone. all those years of accumulating power, of stabbing backs, of taking lives, they’ve all drowned him. this man is not yours, but he’ll certainly claim you like it.
he leans down, which earns the turn of your head to avoid him, but his hands keep you rooted. there’s no escape. his hungry lips kiss and desperate tongue licks the salt away from your dewy skin. you shiver at his hot breath on your cheeks.
“think i like it when you cry,” he muses. he releases your wrists, but only for a moment. he pushes on the back of your knee to open up your hips, and it does much more than he had imagined. kimblee’s hands clasp around your wrists once more, the wood of the block digging uncomfortably into your forearms. the angle sends a fresh wave of tears rolling down your cheeks at how deeply he thrusts into you.
“you’re just a sadist,” you fire back. he laughs, clear and loud. the sound makes you want to spit in his face.
“i think you’re right.”
despite the information being blatantly obvious, you don’t resist him. in fact, you continue to rock in sync with him - eagerly, might you add. before you know it, you remember that time is almost up and you hadn’t gotten the chance to cum yet. it’s on the verge of unraveling, you just know it is.
in your head, you tell him over and over again that you hate him. you hate how intrinsically evil he had become, you hate what he had done, you hate how fucking handsome he is. you hate how well he fucks you. you hate how well he knows your body. you hate how dexterous he is when it comes to coaxing an orgasm out of you.
as if those thoughts were some form of dirty talk, they bring you to the crest of an orgasm. unable to hold back anymore, you scream your thoughts from the rooftops.
“i f-fucking hate you, kimblee!”
you swear that you’ve never had a better orgasm. your walls contract so hard around his cock that the extra stimulation has you squirting over his cock. the juice spills down your ass, soaks up into the mattress, much to kimblee’s delight.
“if this is hating me, then i never want you to love me again,” he laughs, gripping your wrists till his knuckles whiten and thrusting into you like his life depends on it. the kick in your walls tells you of his approaching climax right before he pours himself fully in you, fucking each drop of his essence into your throbbing cunt.
kimblee releases your elbows and pulls out, cum spilling out of you. your legs fall to the mattress while you lay there, panting like a dog. he takes a seat next to you, raking the hair out of his face. everything is silent while you both catch your breath. neither of you know what to say.
after a few more moments, he breaks the silence.
“i like it when you come,” he murmurs. at first, you think he’s referring to your orgasm. it nearly brings a grin to your face. but then you see the misty look in his eyes.
“what’s that?” you push yourself off the mattress and pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. you wince, feeling the thin sheets dampen under your ass with sweat and cum.
“i said i like it when you come,” he says, louder, lacking in the usual confidence. for a moment, you think that you can see who he used to be shining through the depths of his hardened skin.
“well in that case, you’ll never see me again,” you grumble. you turn away from him, leaning against the cool stone wall. it sends a shiver down your spine. your words hold a lot of value, but one response to an invitation would render them meaningless. he knows this.
“you’ll come back. you always do. i know you.”
“no you don’t. not anymore.”
the clenching that comes from your aftershocks says otherwise. your bodies haven’t changed and they never will. maybe your brain is just hard wired to love him - or to need to fuck him. the only way to test your resolve is to get another one of his summons.
you’re silent as you dress. kimblee seems too tired to threaten you more. his touch burns into your skin as if he actually branded you with his alchemy symbols. your whole body is damp. your face is wet. something about this visit is irrevocably different.
you don’t bother to look at him one last time before you knock on the door to be let out. you feel kimblee’s watchful eyes burn into your neck, but that doesn’t entice you to spin on your heel and scream at him. maybe that’s all part of your development. maybe this will be the last time.
the guard doesn’t look at you as he opens it. you push past him, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for the long corridor. you drown out the cat-calls of the prisoners claiming to have gotten off to you getting fucked, hoping that the taunting jeers will deter you from coming around the next time. you clench your fists at your sides, swearing that you won’t ever return to the dingy prison.
taggin: @saphhonic (ty for screaming abt this dumb whore w me)
So now joining the Golden Kamuy fandom and all I can see is our mutual hate of the sexy, dangerous man who literally would give two shits about us but we would absolutely give the man our — for even a second of his time or ride that face like our lives depend on it….yes this is about my new love for Ogata and my old love for Kimblee, damn sexy bastards.
You were sitting at home, finishing up dinner when there was a knock on your door. You frowned and looked at the clock above the mantle of your house. It was already around 11:00. You had eaten dinner a little late.
“Who would be out at this time?” You wondered.
You got up from your chair with a sigh and put your dish into the sink just before going to answer the door. When you opened the door, you couldn't exactly tell who the man standing in front of you was.
First, he was wearing a hat that covered his eyes and second, his back was turned to you.
"May I help you?" You asked, concern lacing your features.
The man turned to you and grinned. "Did you miss me, sweet cheeks?"
The look of concern on your face quickly changed to one of hatred. "You should know that you're not welcome here."
Kimblee faked a look of sadness. "Me? I thought we were on good terms. I mean, we were when I left. Right, (N/N)?"
You frowned and turned to shut the door on him. "You have no place here."
He smirked and stopped the door with his foot. "Is all this really because I killed some higher ups?” He asked smugly, “Are you really that scared of me?”
You glanced back at him before looking forward again and heading to the stairs. Why couldn't he leave you alone? You had been fine since the war and hadn't thought of him once since then. But here he was.
His face softened slightly as he realized the answer to that question. He took a step closer to you with a frown plastered on his face. "At least tell me you didn't throw out what I gave you."
Your brows furrowed as you tried to remember. "What you… gave me?"
Your eyes lit up as you realized what he was talking about.
~FLASHBACK~
You stood on your porch frowning. "D-Do you really have to go?"
Kimblee chuckled. "You know I do. This is what I signed up for when I became a state alchemist."
A few tears rolled down your cheeks before you could catch them. Kimblee and you had been friends since childhood, and just recently you had figured out that you had an attraction to the alchemist. He still had no clue.
"Hey, it's fine. You're practically family. I promise I'll make it back to you, okay?"
You sniffed and hugged him. "Hurry up and go otherwise you'll be late."
He smiled at you before running down the steps of your porch to the military truck that waited in the street. He was about to get into the truck when he stopped and ran back up the steps to you. He quickly grabbed your hand and placed something in it.
Leaning in close to your ear, he whispered, "Just so you know, I love you."
Then he quickly ran back down the steps and got into the military truck. You watched as they drove off before looking at what he had place in your hand. In your hand was a small, crescent shaped moon, on a silver chain.
You smiled and put on the necklace before walking back into the house.
~END OF FLASHBACK~
Hot tears stung your cheeks as the memories came flooding into your mind. With your back to the wall, you sat down next to the stairs. You wiped away your tears and looked at Kimblee who seemed to be shocked that you were crying. While he did look shocked there was also a hint of sadness and fear.
“He actually thinks I got rid of it?”
You chuckled and pulled a chain that was around your neck out from your shirt. "You idiot. Do you really think i would've thrown that away?"
A light smile came to his lips and he sat next to you. "I guess I figured you would've hated me after you found out what I did." He sighed.
You smiled and rolled your eyes. “What a dork.”
He looked over at you and held your gaze for a minute before leaning in closer to you and saying, "You know, now that I'm back, we could be together. There would be nothing stopping us."
Your face reddened at the proximity of your faces. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but he had changed. The last time you two saw each other was when you were young and he was going off to war. But war changes people. Not only that, but he had been sent to a super max prison because he had killed many of his superiors. Everything logical told you to be afraid of him but you weren't. You loved him just the same as when he left.
You sighed and looked at him. "Why did you come here? Of all the places you could've gone, why here?"
He looked slightly taken aback but still smiled. "Why? Because I love you."
Your face flushed a bit deeper. "But...surely you have lots of other things that you have to do."
He chuckled and put his hand on your jawline, "I do, but you're more important."
You smiled softly and pressed your lips to his. You could feel him smirk against your lips before he started to kiss back.
The kiss started heating up and Kimblee slipped his tongue into your mouth. You let out a small moan and wrapped your arms around his neck. Pulling away, he picked you up bridal style and started to kiss your neck.
He continued to kiss down your neck as he carried you upstairs to the bedroom. When he got to your bedroom, he softly threw you onto the bed and crawled on top of you.
Leaning down to your ear, he whispered, "Now we get to have some real fun."
It's 3 am, and I am literally writing a Kimblee x Reader powerplay fanfiction as we speak. Since when did my life become <gesturing heavily> like this?!?
“mae can i request domestic fluff with Kimblee and his s/o... like them just happy together and in love please..🥺😳 love you lots mae 🥰”
requested by @tragedyandhorror
The first thing alerting you to Kimblee’s arrival back home was the loud shutting of your front door. You had memorized the way it sounded at this point.
You smiled to yourself as you stirred the soup you had been making. Well this was unexpected, he was back early.
“You’re just in time! Dinner’s almost done!” You called over your shoulder.
Usually, you’d be asleep whenever he got home and you’d wake up in the middle of the night to him crawling into bed, so this was nice.
It didn’t take long for you to hear the sound of his footsteps before a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your waist. A head placed itself on your shoulder and you could see his loose hairs in your peripheral vision.
When he didn’t say anything, you decided to speak up again.
“You’re back early, are things going well?”
“They’re boring,” he admitted, going to grab a ladle only to get a harsh slap to the back of his hand.
“No food yet. Let’s talk.” Your smile was both dangerous and sweet at the same time. He liked it.
As you finished up the soup, you and Kimblee spoke to one another. He described his day with the military, an edge to his voice to betrayed a hint of amusement.
Allegedly, he had left Lieutenant General Raven in charge for the rest of the evening.
You finished with the ingredients and listened to his story, so distracted that you didn’t notice that when he released you from his arms, he had a bowl of soup in his hands.
“When did you get that?” You asked with furrowed brows. The man just shrugged with one of his dumb smug expressions on his face.
“You really don’t pay attention to things, do you?” He grabbed a spoon from nearby.
“Shut up, you fedora-wearing nerd.”
Kimblee blinked. His expression was now neutral. You wondered for a moment if your nerd comment had been rude, but as you felt his hand pushing a certain fedora onto your head, you laughed.
“No, I don’t want to be a fedora-wearing nerd!” You tried to push his hat off of your head, but it didn’t work.
“Wow, (y/n), I didn’t know that you were a ‘fedora-wearing nerd’ now. Interesting. I wouldn’t have taken you to be like that.”
The tone of disinterest didn’t surprise you. In fact, it made you laugh more. “P-please—” you stuttered our in between giggles.
“I don’t know if I can be with a person like that.” His face couldn’t hold neutrality forever as a small smile made its way onto his face.
You successfully pushed his hat and hand off of your head, watching as it fell to the ground.
A moment of silence passed before you looked back to your boyfriend.
“I guess neither of us are fedora-wearing nerds right now.”
Kimblee nodded in agreement. “It seems that way.”
He set his soup bowl down on a nearby table and walked up to you. With an uncharacteristic gentleness, he placed a kiss on your forehead. Without saying anything, he turned back around and sat down at the table, leaving you to hide your heated face and get your own bowl.
