“Please”, you whimper as she pushes her fingers into you. She's been edging you for ages, working you up to an orgasm and stopping before you finally cum, leaving you a shaking, frustrated mess.
“You'll cum; you just gotta prove you deserve it,” she says, leaning down to kiss you. She's a messy kisser, sucking your tongue into her mouth. She pulls away and spits into your open mouth. “Atta girl”, she praises when you swallow. Her thumb presses against your clit as she continues to finger you. The pads of her fingers are rough from years of work, and they feel so good pressing against your walls. You're quickly approaching another orgasm, and you don't tell her in hopes she'll just let you cum. Unfortunately for you, she can feel the way your pussy squeezes her fingers, and she pulls them out. You let out a pathetic whimper, and she softens slightly. “I'll let you cum. I just want you to do it while I rub myself against your pretty pussy” she says.
She manhandles you into a scissoring position and raises your hips as much as she can. She moves herself between your legs so she can rub her clit against yours. She gives a testing roll of her hips, and the friction feels so good that you can't help but move hips along with her.
“Fuck, keep doing that,” she says, putting more force into her movements. Having been denied already, you're close. You're struggling to keep up your movements, so she holds you in place, grinding down on you. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You shake and writhe in her grasp as she continues to rock her hips, making herself cum. It's a sticky mess of cum and sweat, but she wouldn't have it any other way. When you're both in the afterglow of your orgasm, she lays down with her head on your chest. Her hand comes up to feel your heartbeat for a second before squeezing and playing with your boobs. She's insatiable, and her time with you is a very small pocket of peace that doesn't get to relish as much as she'd like. She looks up at you, gaze just as intense and lustful as it had been earlier. “Round two?”
Untitled. Roy Mustang x (OC) Della Lowell. 18+ MDNI.
a/n: so basically this is my first time posting in YEARS and i’m not tryna get into spending too much time formatting this piece rn i just wanna post it
Content warnings: smut (18+ only, MDNI), mentions of rape
Roy Mustang was finally promoted. Celebrations were had, congratulations were issued, hands shaken, backs patted. He’d gotten what he fought for, sought after, longed for. At the party he was thrown, he drunkenly announced that he would finally implement—as his first order of business—that all female staff and officers wear tiny miniskirts. His colleagues and subordinates were sure to remind him of this after days had passed and he’d sobered up, and as promised, the first papers he signed off were for a change in dress code in the standard employee handbook.
In the days following this implementation, Roy had not noticed the clear change in demeanor of his secretary—how would he, as a man? Though he held her in higher regard than most other secretaries and assistants in his branch, he couldn’t see this change in her. He did, however, notice how long her hair had gotten in the year she’d worked for him, and how she changed the way she styled it. He quite liked how even though she wore a high ponytail, it was able to hang over her shoulder, down the length of her upper arm. He liked how the hair around her face had grown past her eyebrows and brushed her freckled cheeks, and the way that sometimes a lock would fall against her nose when she was hunched over some important paperwork (or a book he would often catch her sneaking during less busy times).
There was a knock at his office door and he looked up, calling for them to say it okay to enter. He smiled warmly as he saw it was his secretary, and he greeted her, “Good morning, Miss Lowell.”
“Morning, sir,” she grumbled, less cheery than normal, even for the morning time.
Roy noticed the silver tray in her hands, and was delighted; he knew this meant that she had made coffee, and he found that hers was somehow more delicious than anyone else’s—even his own.
“Just the pick-me-up I needed,” he commented with a smile, setting aside his paperwork to make room on his desk for the tray. He couldn’t help but notice her legs, so exposed with the new miniskirt. They were smooth, and her thigh muscles looked tight up close. He frowned as he noticed a scar some inches above her knee, slanted down to the side, about two inches in length.
He was pulled from his thoughts as he watched her tug at the hem of the skirt, and looked up as she spoke, “Sorry it’s late,” she grumbled again.
Roy looked at the small clock on his desk and his brows raised. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been at his paperwork. “No worries,” he smiled at her again. “Thank you, all the same.”
She nodded and grabbed the teapot, holding the lid down as she carefully poured the steaming coffee into the delicate porcelain cup that bore the insignia of the military upon the side of it. “Of course,” she said softly.
Another voice called from outside the door, which pushed open further to show another of the secretaries popping in. “Della!” she called in a sweet voice. “There’s a call for you at the phone station.”
“Oh,” the brunette blinked while setting the teapot back on the tray. “Okay, thank you, I’ll grab it.” She turned to her boss, and pointed at a small, porcelain container matching the cup. “Sugar, sir?”
“I’ll get it,” Roy offered, waving his gloved hand. “Go take your call, then let me know when you’re back.”
“Yes, sir,” Della nodded and stepped away, her thighs clinging together as she took short strides and tugged at her skirt again, leaving the office.
That afternoon, Roy stretched his arms above him as he leaned back in his seat, groaning as he felt his back loosen up and pop. “Been sitting for too long,” he sighed to himself, standing and looking out the window to the right of his desk. He could see a courtyard within the military building, and the steps to another branch of the massive building. He sighed through his nose again, his chest puffing with his inhale, and he stepped away from his desk to leave his office.
He found Della at her own desk, reading through a stack of documents that he knew would soon make its way to his in-box. “Anything important that needs my immediate attention?” he inquired, stepping over to her.
“No, sir,” she replied without looking up at him.
He heard a strange tone in her voice, like something was clogging her throat, and his head cocked a bit. “Are you feeling alright, Miss Lowell?”
“Fine,” she replied, again not looking up at him, but flipping to the next page.
Not thinking anything of it then, Roy nodded and tapped his knuckles on the wooden surface of her desk. “Well, I’m going to grab a snack from the dining hall. Do you want anything?”
“No, sir,” Della said again, no change in her tone or inflection of her voice.
He nodded again, giving one last tap to her desk before stepping off. On his way to the dining hall, he ran into Lieutenant Hawkeye and another officer, who joined him, and they chatted lightly on the walk.
After returning to his office, Roy found himself swamped with unexpected reports; apparently, a fight had broken out amongst some of the officers, and he had to handle paperwork and disciplinaries that followed.
This kept him in his office well past dinner time, the sun barely up as he finished signing the documents. His stomach gurgled, and though he’d had that afternoon snack, it wasn’t enough to tide him over up until this point.
He looked up as he heard his door open, seeing Della popping her head in. Past her, he could see another secretary—the one who stopped by earlier to notify Della of her phone call.
“I have to leave now, sir,” she said firmly.
“Go on,” he nodded and waved a hand. “I’ve just finished up, I’ll be heading out soon myself. You have a good night, Miss Lowell.”
“Thank you sir, you too.” She pulled a long jacket over her uniform, that swept past her knees, as she shut the door, and Roy could hear her heels clicking and clacking down the corridor as the two women left.
He thought about her thighs again, and the scar above her knee, as he caught a glimpse of her legs again before she put her jacket on, and mulled to himself about how she’d gotten injured. This was something new about her he’d not known; though, if he were honest, he didn’t know as much about his secretary as he’d like. He wanted to know so much more about her, wanted to know so much more about her. He thought of her more often than he should, but he didn’t mind having fantasies about her, especially now that he had more to imagine with the change in dress code (thank you, self, he thought).
That night, he fantasized about her, his hands all over himself as he visualized her. His sweaty palms had caressed down his own thigh, and when his thumb grazed the same area he’d noticed her scar, he couldn’t help but open his eyes and pause his vulgar actions. Why did this scar cause him so much concern? Enough to stop his fantasies, dead in their tracks?
He looked at his bare thigh, his rugged fingers trailing just about a few inches from the side of his knee, thinking about that scar. He recalled then, how Della’s voice sounded when he left his office that afternoon, and it occurred to him that it had sounded like she had a frog in her throat—was she sad about something today?
No longer seeking a euphoric relief, Roy settled himself and got dressed for the night, wondering if he should check in with his secretary the next day—oh, but it was Friday! He wouldn’t see her again for nearly three days.
He sighed, now distressed over his secretary, when just moments ago he had the delicious visualization of her riding him in his office chair, her milky white fingers contrasting against the dark tresses of his hair as she gripped onto it, her sweaty chest pressed into his.
Frustrated, Roy climbed into bed, staring at his dull gray ceiling and letting the coolness of his sheets and blankets envelope him, wishing there was a warm body at his side. His mind lingered on that scar, and he didn’t understand why—he’d seen the most gorgeous legs of his life, on the woman he’d desired for nearly the past year, and all he could think about was what may have been a silly childhood injury, or a clumsy accident.
He finally closed his eyes and rolled onto his side, deciding he would now allow sleep to take him.
When Monday finally rolled around, Roy approached his office. He was surprised to find Della had been at her desk and already scanning through paperwork, and when he drew closer, he spoke to her, “Good morning, Miss Lowell. You’re here early.”
“Good morning, sir,” she smiled up at him. “I fell asleep early last night, so I woke up early today. Figured I’d come in and get started—I’ll get you coffee here soon.”
He was surprised to find her smiling after his realization of her seeming so down on Friday, but returned the smile, his eyes warm. “Could I trouble you with breakfast, as well? Perhaps a croissant?”
“Sure,” she blinked at him in surprise. “You don’t normally want food too, did you not eat this morning?”
“I did,” he replied with a nod. “But I want something sweet, as well.”
Della chuckled and raised a brow at him, replying, “Croissants aren’t sweet, sir, they’re buttery.”
“What are the ones with fruit in them? And that sugar glaze?” he asked, lifting a hand to try and motion as if he were holding something.
“A turnover?” Della asked, tilting her head.
“Yes,” Roy smiled, pointing at her. “I want one of those.”
“What flavor?” Della asked again.
“Whatever your favorite is,” Roy shrugged and began to step past her desk. “Grab yourself one, too.”
Della sighed and rolled her eyes, nodding gently. “Thank you for the permission, sir.”
Roy was past her desk now, his back to her as he unlocked his office, a smile on his face. He always enjoyed getting sarcastic quips from her, even in silly moments like these. “You’re welcome,” he bantered in return, stepping into his office for the day.
It wasn’t long before Della came into his office with another silver tray, the same teapot and cup and cream & sugar containers sitting upon it, now alongside the most perfectly glazed turnover, sitting neatly on a dark green cloth napkin.
Roy looked up from a report, and frowned as he saw Della’s face. She wasn’t as cheerful as she was just an hour ago when he arrived. “Something the matter?” he asked as she set the tray on his desk.
“No,” Della replied quickly, her thighs and knees clung together again as she tugged at her skirt.
Roy finally noticed how she tugged at it, and it was because he looked at her scar above her left knee again. His brows rose, and he looked up at her face, only furthering his surprised and confused expression. Her chocolatey eyes weren’t as shiny as they were not long ago, but dull and hidden by her long lashes as she kept her gaze down.
“Are you sure?” he asked in a softer tone. “You… seem upset.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped, giving him an accidental glare as the fingers of her left hand clung to her hem. “May I be excused, sir?”
Normally Della would pour his coffee for him, and offer to put sugar and creamer in it, much like she did the past Friday, but Roy was shocked at hearing her ask to be excused now. “Uh, sure,” he replied softly. He tried to sound more friendly by asking, “Were you able to get yourself a turnover?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a nod, less malice in her voice. Before Roy could say anything else, she turned away from his desk and sauntered away, clearly struggling to not storm away.
What did I say? Roy thought to himself, confused by her sudden change in attitude. Huffing, he looked down at the turnover, and noticed where the pastry was folded around the fruit filling, the pretty orange color shining just as much as the sugar glaze.
He removed his glove, and reached for the treat, carefully bringing it to his lips with the napkin beneath his chin to catch crumbs, and hummed in delight at the sweet peach filling.
As he chewed, he looked to his doors, which Della had left open. He could only see the very front of her desk from where his desk sat in his office, and he always wished there could be a different positioning of her desk so he could see her as they both worked. But every change of positioning he thought of, had a downside.
Roy sighed softly after swallowing his mouthful, and he reached to pour himself some coffee. Paired with the turnover, the coffee was somehow more delicious, and he decided to forgo the sugar, only adding creamer to thicken it up a bit.
It was another late day, Roy working well into the evening. The sky was golden, and the way the light came in through his window gave his office such a warmth, not only in temperature, but in how light he felt emotionally. Of course, his mind was on Della most of the day, when it wasn’t buzzing with the monotonous nonsense of his work. Even when Lieutenant Hawkeye came in to speak with him, Della was in the back of his mind. He and Riza had a good fling for a long time, but Roy knew it was over when the man she was currently seeing came into the picture. He was happy for her, of course, even if he grieved what they’d lost.
Roy noticed his mind was wandering as he looked out his window, and he shook his head, adjusting in his chair just as a knock came to his door.
He looked to it as he saw Della stepping in, her arms full of various books and loose papers. “Ah, all done?” he asked, referring to the work that she’d had, that involved the use of the books she held.
“Yes, sir,” she grunted, stepping over to his desk and carefully grabbing the loose papers to set them before him. She didn’t make eye contact with him, and she had a frustrated look on her face as she moved over to the expansive bookshelf that ran from the front of his office to the back, a gap in it only for the window on the same side that Roy was just gazing out of.
The man watched her as she searched for where each book was meant to go, and he carefully scooted his chair back, standing and stepping over to her.
“Here,” he said as he came up beside her, holding his hand out. “Let me help you.”
Della stopped to look at him, her brows nearly scrunched. She looked as if she was standing uncomfortably, her body tense, and she handed him two books she could fit into one hand, others still stuffed in her opposite arm against her ribs.
Roy gazed at her a moment longer before turning to the bookshelf and quickly finding where one of the books in his hands belonged, tucking it into place.
Della huffed as she put two books away, adjusting the others in her arm. She gasped softly as they started to slip from her grip, but she was able to catch them before they spilled from her arms.
She sighed in relief, and looked up to see that Roy had turned to her, his hand outreached as if he was ready to help catch the books. “I’m fine,” she told him quickly, standing straight and shifting the books from her right arm to her left arm.
Roy stared at her, his eyes soft, looking at how her ponytail hung down her shoulder, a bit messy from having been squished beneath the book stack. He switched the book in his hand from left to right, and stretched his left hand to her as he stepped closer to her. “Della,” he whispered as he carefully pushed his gloved fingers under her hair, using his knuckles to brush it behind her shoulder.
His secretary’s eyes widened at hearing her first name spill out of his lips, and her breath caught just as she could smell how close he was—his cologne, and the faint smell of gunpowder or ash, something she assumed was related his fiery alchemist abilities and the gloves he wore.
She stepped back from him and quickly dipped around him, practically dropping the books in her arms onto his desk before turning to hurry out of his office, tugging at her skirt the whole time.
When was the last time he’d spoken to her so informally? Her heartbeat was competing for the thoughts in her head as she hurriedly gathered her things at her desk, her hands trembling.
Roy was left stunned and confused in his office, still holding the one book in his right hand. “What did I say?” he’d asked himself again, under his breath.
The next day, he had a meeting first thing in the morning, and didn’t have time to stop by his office upon arrival. He thought about his interaction with his secretary the evening prior, wondering if he’d actually done something awful. The look on Della’s face, it was something… he couldn’t quite describe, or understand. In the past, when he’d touched women in a similar manner, it led to flirting and kissing, and sometimes more. With Della, she seemed afraid, or startled, or something that he just couldn’t understand.
He didn’t focus much during the meeting, but it wasn’t one he needed to really be a part of, anyway, mostly he was just there for formalities. Once it was over, he quickly made his way to his office, hoping to find a way to ask Della about what the hell he did to make her act like that.
He was surprised to find her at her desk with her hair down. No ponytail today, but his heart still skipped at how beautiful her brown hair was flowing down her shoulders and in front of her. It didn’t occur to him just how much hair she had, until seeing it down now without the constraints of the tie on the crown of her head.
“Good morning, Miss Lowell,” he said cautiously to her as he approached.
Della looked up at him just as cautiously, her head still bowed a bit as she had papers in front of her. “Good morning, sir,” she replied slowly and quietly.
Roy frowned, and though he wanted to push the issue then and there, he gave her a slight nod and said, “Please notify me of any phone calls today, instead of taking messages.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with the same slow and quiet voice.
He paused, looking at her as if he was trying to read her for any information. He pursed his lips in frustration, and added in a low voice, so only she could hear, in case anyone passing by could pick up his words, “If you have any concerns you need to bring to my attention, my office is always open. You can talk to me about anything, at any time.”
Della stared at him hard, mulling over his words before nodding slowly. “Yes, sir,” was all she replied.
Short with him again. Roy was growing annoyed with how short she’d been with him the past week. Normally they had a decent working relationship, spouting banter and sarcasm to each other, and there would be times where they were so in sync, that they could just exchange glances or grunts and understood what the other person needed right away. Why was she suddenly so… cold with him?
He stepped away from her desk, clearly frustrated, and went into his office, shutting the door behind him and heading straight for his desk to begin work.
Around lunchtime, a senior officer came to Roy’s office with paperwork.
Della listened from where her desk was, easily able to eavesdrop on the happenings in his office from where she sat, her hearing senses more attuned than what would be considered normal. It was common that she eavesdropped, being a nosy but uninvolved individual. She liked hearing gossip and what was happening around the branch, but never went out of her way to spread that information, as she didn’t care enough to do so. The only time she partook in gossip herself, was when her friend Lucie, the secretary that manned the phone station, brought it up first.
Della’s ears perked as she heard a few words from the senior office through the closed doors: ‘complaints’, ‘miniskirts’, ‘attitude’, and ‘protest’.
She recalled what Roy had said to her earlier in the day, that if she had any concerns about anything at all, that she should feel free to speak with him. Her grip tightened on her fountain pen as she made the decision to speak with him, as soon as the senior officer left.
After what seemed like hours, but was only about twenty-five minutes, the senior officer left Roy’s office, giving Della a seemingly polite nod and smile as he left.
She quickly gathered herself and stood from her desk, heading around it to the doors of Roy’s office, and pushed them open again. “Permission to speak, sir?” she blurted, surprised at her own wording as she hadn’t actually planned on how she wanted to ask to speak with him.
Roy blinked as he looked at her, but nodded and motioned to the chairs before his desk. “Yes, of course, Miss Lowell, come in.”
Della shut the doors behind her and strode over to the chairs, tugging at her skirt as she did so. She stood between the two chairs, holding the hem of her skirt with both hands, and said firmly, “I also would like to complain about these stupid skirts.”
“‘Stupid’?” Roy asked with wide eyes, feeling as if he’d been struck in the back with a sharp knife. “What do you mean, ‘stupid’?”
“I mean, ‘stupid’,” Della hissed, her brows furrowed. “Why would you do this?”
“What do you mean?” her boss asked dumbly.
Della scoffed while rolling her eyes, throwing her hands in the air. “Do you not realize how much this affects morale? How it affects my—our—jobs?” she asked, referring to the other female staff.
“Morale is great!” Roy said incredulously. “Everyone is way more cheerful, who is sad seeing any beautiful woman in a miniskirt?”
Della slapped her palm to her forehead, groaning loudly. “Fucking men!” she hissed under her breath, then glared at him again.
“I beg your pardon?” Roy asked with shock on his face.
“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never heard me swear!” she scoffed at him again, her face scrunched in annoyance. “You have no idea what you’ve done!”
“‘What I’ve done’?” he repeated, still confused by her words.
Della looked as if she were trying to remain calm, but she was on the verge of exploding. She chose her words carefully as she breathed through her nose, then said slowly but firmly, “I am not comfortable wearing this.”
Roy, thinking that he had a quick solution on hand, replied with a grin, “Well, you can just wear stockings if you want your legs covered!”
Della’s face grew red and her lips tightened over her teeth as she quietly seethed in front of him, her hands curling into little fists. “You are so… you’re so…” she breathed heavily as she tried to find the right words that would hopefully not get her fired.
“You’re insufferable!” she finally barked. “That’s not going to fix anything! Are you that much of an idiot?!”
That stung. Roy stared at Della, realizing she was serious. His lips parted as he wanted to rebuttal, but he quickly closed his mouth again as she lifted her index finger to silence him.
“Save it!” she hissed. “I shouldn’t have even bothered saying anything, you’re just a fucking man. I bet you dismissed the complaints that were just brought into you, too.”
Before Roy could say anything back, she spun away and headed to the doors again, tugging at her skirt and managing not to stumble in her heels as she stormed away.
Roy’s heart sunk. Did she truly think him an idiot? Did she really think he would just dismiss the complaints brought to him just moments before, that he wouldn’t take them into consideration? With her feelings now being vocalized, he had to wonder if he did actually fuck up, like Della insinuated.
You’re just a fucking man, rattled through his mind the rest of the afternoon, alongside her hard, Are you that much of an idiot?
He sighed heavily as he pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, his eyes pinched tight. He tried to do his work without thinking of her, but her words actually hurt him a bit. He wanted to try talking to her again, but he saw plain as day how angry she was, how red her face got, and how her fists shook at her sides.
Roy decided he wouldn’t bring it up again until later, perhaps another day, when maybe she’d had enough time to calm down. He continued his work through the rest of the day, managing to actually finish his tasks despite the distractions in his mind and emotions.
At the end of the day, he opened his office doors, opening his mouth to bid Della a good evening. He frowned to see she was already gone for the day, her desk neatly packed up and chair tucked in, ready for a fresh new day to follow. His frown deepened as he realized he couldn’t even just see her before leaving.
He quietly locked his office, then checked his pocket watch for the time. It occurred to him that he actually had time to commit to his plans for the evening, to meet up with Riza and her beau, Heinrich, for drinks. After getting home and freshening up and changing into civilian clothing, he met up with them just in time before the bar stopped serving their dinner menu.
The trio chatted, Roy getting to know Heinrich a bit more, and finally fully accepting that Riza was happy, and finding a peace within him that he thought he’d already found with this situation.
As he sipped his whiskey, Riza asked, “How’s Della doing, by the way?”
He sighed through his nose, his breath steaming the inside of his glass before he swallowed and lowered the drink, holding it delicately and swishing the liquid slowly. “She’s… mad at me.”
Riza raised an eyebrow and shifted in her seat, leaning over her food as she asked, “Why?”
Roy pouted, avoiding eye contact with his friend, and muttered, “Because of… the miniskirts.”
Heinrich looked between them in confusion, and asked, “What… miniskirts?”
“Our new uniform,” Riza replied, annoyance in her own voice over the subject. “Thanks to this one here,” she pointed at Roy with her thumb.
“Oh,” her beau said. “Yeah, you’ve been complaining about that.”
Roy looked at Riza with fat, wobbly tears running down his face and asked pathetically, “You too?!”
“I complained about them the moment you mentioned them the first time!” Riza spat through her teeth, a thick vein growing on her forehead. “I’ve never sided with you about them, but I have to accept that you being my superior now means I have to abide by any new rules you instate.”
Roy continued to pout, feeling an odd betrayal from his friend, but also agreeing that she was right—she had pushed back on the idea even during his days of daydreaming of his promotion.
He sighed, composing himself as he looked into his drink. “She called me an idiot,” he said softly. “And…”
He didn’t know how to word the other insult she spat at him, but decided to just retell it word for word. “She also told me, ‘you’re just a fucking man,’ when I tried to suggest wearing stockings if she didn’t like her legs being bare.”
He didn’t hear a response from Riza, so he looked to her curiously, only to have all the color flush out of his face. She looked just as pissed as Della had. “What?” he asked defensively.
“You are just a fucking man,” the blonde hissed at him. “And I bet you’ve heard the backlash from others by now, yes?”
Roy blinked as he looked at her, setting his drink on the table now. “Yeah, actually… today, I got a few written reports.”
“You’re an idiot,” Riza shook her head. “I told you this would bite you in the ass someday, I’m not surprised it happened so quickly after being established.”
“Why does everyone keep calling me an idiot?” Roy asked, his arm hairs sticking up.
Riza replied harshly, “Because you are! I can’t speak for other women, but I know that I can’t work as efficiently with the limited mobility they give. Re-read those reports you received today, speak with those individuals directly, and maybe get some insight on the opinions of those most affected by your decision.”
Roy was speechless. He couldn’t argue with her, she made perfect sense. He’d seen Riza in intense situations, she’d been involved in many a gun fight, and he knew how quick she was. He rubbed the back of his neck as her words sank in, and he nodded in defeat.
“I’ll… I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” His words were soft, and genuine.
Riza sipped at her drink, satisfied with getting something through to her friend.
The subject changed soon, and the trio continued their dinner, finished their drinks. After a few more hours, they parted, heading home for the night.
Roy stayed awake for a few hours in bed, staring at his ceiling. He thought about Della’s words, Riza’s words, tried to recall the details of the reports given to him earlier that day. His chest felt heavy, and his guts felt twisted, like he’d done something wrong. It took his character being judged by not only the woman he longed for, but his best friend as well.
He sighed softly, covering his eyes with his forearm as he shut them, hoping he could fall asleep soon.
A loud yawn escaped Roy’s mouth, covered by his gloved hand, as he sat back in his office chair. He was tired of the paperwork before him, mostly because he was tired from a lack of sleep the night before.
Even though he’d had coffee already that day, he felt he needed more, which meant he’d had to get some from the dining hall as the coffee Della had made for him was now gone.
He stared at the wall across the room from him, his doors to his office shut, obscuring his view of Della’s desk. He blinked slowly as he thought of her; despite her calling him an idiot the day before, she had come in today wearing stockings over her legs. They were the ones that would be expected of a woman to wear, dark, sheer, and a crisp line up the back of the legs.
He imagined her leaned over his desk, the miniskirt riding up her ass, those crisp lines of her stockings defining the curves in her legs, accentuating the bend in her knees and the firm calves she had. He imagined himself standing behind her, trailing his fingers along those seams, her thighs quivering beneath his touch. He imagined rutting his hips forward, his hard cock pressing into her warm, barely exposed core. He imagined reaching up that skirt as she was bent over, tugging her stockings and pulling them down over her ass, exposing the gorgeous, plump cheeks he’d dreamed of biting and slapping.
Roy inhaled slowly, imagining his fingers sinking into her from behind and imagining what her moans and whimpers sounded like as he finger fucked her slowly, and soon his imagination had him railing into her, hunched over his secretary on his desk, his face buried into that silky hair of hers, their fingers laced together.
The phone on his desk rang, pulling him from his filthy daydream, and he cleared his throat, leaning forward to grab the phone off the receiver. “This is Mustang,” he said calmly, looking down at his lap with relief that he didn’t have an obvious hard-on bulging in his pants.
He listened to the voice on the other end, nodding gently. “I’ll send my secretary to pick it up.” It occurred to him then that the phone had rang straight into his office, and wasn’t patched through to him by Della.
Roy ended the phone call and stood from his desk, smoothing wrinkles out of his coat and pants. He opened the doors to his office to find that Della wasn’t at hers, and his brows raised curiously. She hadn’t notified him that she had to go anywhere, so he was unsure of where she could be.
He decided that he would go and fetch the paperwork he had received the call about himself, and that he would keep an eye out for Della on the way there, and then would grab his second coffee on the way back, perhaps with some lunch.
It wasn’t long after he’d left his office, turning some corners, that he heard a commotion in an alcoved doorway. He kept his eyes in that direction as he approached, and saw two officers standing side by side, facing the corner of the alcove.
Della trembled, holding a stack of enveloped files against her chest, her back pushing as far into the wall as she could, turning her face away from the officers before her. One of them had his hand up on the wall by her head, leaning down to her with a smirk on his face.
“You sure you’re not single, baby?” the man asked, his friend chuckling beside him.
“Please, leave me alone,” Della said hoarsely. “I need to get back to work.”
The other man, a little shorter than the one with his hand on the wall, reached out to slide his hand around Della’s waist. “Your boss can wait,” he chuckled again. “Let’s just slip into this bathroom here and have a little fun—we’ll be gentle with you.”
His hand ran down her ass and to the back of her thigh, his fingers running over the seam of her stockings.
Della shrieked and tried to wriggle away from him, but only bumped into the taller of the two men, who put his hand on the crook of her neck, trapping some of her long hair against her shoulder.
He leaned his face down to hers and whispered, his breath hot on her cheek, “But we could be rough with you too, if you ask nicely.”
“Leave me alone!” Della sobbed, trying to duck away, but only bumping into the wall again.
Roy recognized Della’s voice, and his chest tightened and his hand instinctively curled to ready his fingers to snap, but quickly stretched out as he realized this hallway was not the place to set off his flames. He grabbed the men by the backs of their uniform coats and ripped them away, knocking them to the opposite wall of the corridor.
The men grunted in pain, looking up to see who grabbed them. They instantly recognized the symbols on the backs of the white gloves before them, and they shrank in fear.
Roy spoke low and viciously, “Who the fuck do you think you pieces of shit are?” He looked over the men, not recognizing their faces right away, but realizing the slight difference in their uniforms identified them as another branch of the military. “You look like you’re lost. Let me get you back where you’re supposed to be, but we’re gonna make a stop at the hospital first so your wounds can heal.”
“H-huh?!” the men gasped, and soon were met with now-controlled flames, their thighs and legs blazing with heat.
Roy managed to not kill the men, but set fire to their pants just enough to injure them, not caring that there would be consequences to this action. As he ignored the screams and distress of the men, he turned to go to Della, but found the alcove empty. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest, and the sprinklers in the hallway burst open from the ceilings, quickly snuffing out the fire in the men’s laps.
Their screams had drawn much attention, and soon Roy was being questioned about the situation. Some of the attention drawn included Fuhrer King Bradley himself, and upon seeing his face, Roy knew now he was in trouble, but all he cared about was finding Della and making sure she was okay.
After some time had passed, he returned to his office to dry off, his coat hanging over his arm, his white undershirt damp against his body. He’d noticed Della wasn’t at her desk, and wondered where she may have gone, wondering if she was okay.
He opened his office door, stepping inside quietly and shutting it behind him, a heavy sigh leaving his lungs. He heard a shuffle in the room with him, and looked up, his defenses high again and his fingers ready to snap, despite the wet gloves on his hands.
Della poked her head out from behind the side of the couch to the side of his office, her face red and shiny and wet.
“Della,” Roy gasped softly, dropping his coat and hurrying over to her, kneeling beside her. “Are you okay?”
“No!” she croaked at him, her eyes glassy and swollen. She sniffled and wiped her coat sleeve against her face to catch stray tears and snot coming from her nose. “This is all your fault!”
“What are you talking about?” Roy asked with wide eyes and shallow breaths.
Della shoved him away and clamored up from the floor, bolting out of the office.
Roy stayed on the floor where he caught himself from falling over, staring at the doors in disbelief that she’d just yelled at him and left like this. He realized that he didn’t hear her leave, and that she didn’t have her shoes on when she ran out. He looked over at where she had been crouched down, and saw her heels in disarray beside the couch.
He rubbed his face in frustration, sitting on his ass now, his elbows resting against his perched knees. “Shit,” he hissed, then groaned deeply. He had no idea what had happened just now, in the last few moments, in the past hour. He couldn’t process what had happened, aside from his punishment for injuring the officers, and the fact that Della was… well, she was being assaulted by them, and he couldn’t help but feel sick as he recalled hearing how she yelped and seeing the horrified look on her face just now.
The following day, Roy had a note on his desk that Della had called off work, and his shoulders dropped and the frown on his lips deepened. He held the note in his fingers, staring at her name that was scribbled out by another secretary. “Damnit,” he hissed to himself, rubbing his brow with the back of hand.
He managed to get through the workday, pushing through his paperwork as best as he could, handling phone calls as best as he could, until there was enough of a lull in the afternoon that he could set aside files. He looked at his phone, and considered his options with whether or not he should call Della to check in on her. After many long moments of indecisiveness, he carefully picked up his phone from the receiver and asked the switchboard staff to give him an outside line. He used the rotator to spin in the contact number for Della’s home, his heart skipping irregularly as he did so, and still as it rang.
“Hello?” He heard Della’s tired voice answer after several rings.
“Miss Lowell,” Roy said too formally. “I just wanted to check in with you and see how you were feeling.”
“I’ll be in tomorrow.” Her voice was harsh over the phone, and then Roy was met with the sharp click of the line disconnecting.
He winced as she hung up on him, and he sighed heavily, hanging his head as he dropped the phone on the receiver again. He leaned back in his seat, looking up at his ceiling with an exhausted face. The ceiling in his office was white, but just as dull as his ceiling at home, and it didn’t help soothe him in any manner.
He groaned again, and tried to get back to work, but he couldn’t get Della off his mind, or how much he was dreading the upcoming meeting regarding the situation that had unfolded yesterday.
At last, Roy could speak with Della. He’d arrived to his office and found her at her desk, her hair down again, her eyes sullen, and her shoulders tense.
“Good morning,” he spoke to her gently.
“Can we talk?” she asked, looking up at him and completely disregarding his greeting.
He didn’t take offense to her quick and direct reply, but nodded and motioned to his office. He unlocked it for her and let her step inside before him, and followed her in, shutting the doors once more behind him. He noticed Della didn’t have the stockings on today, her legs were bare, and he didn’t feel a single bit of lust for her in this moment. He only thought of what had happened to her a few days prior, his heart once again sinking.
He took his seat, and across from him she sat, her hands folded in her lap and her head down again.
“I have to take record of your side of what happened the other day,” he said cautiously. “But I do want to talk to you, as you requested yesterday.”
Della didn’t nod, didn’t lift her head. She kept her face down, and quietly asked, “Who were those men?”
Roy wasn’t sure he heard her correctly, so he sat forward, scooting his chair closer to his desk, and leaned on his elbows, asking, “Come again?”
Della looked up at him now, her eyes bloodshot and without her normal sparkle. “Who were they?” she asked louder. “They weren’t from our branch… they… they weren’t from here.”
Roy shook his head slowly. “No, they weren’t.” He gave her their names, and which branch they came from. “Della,” he added softly. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Why don’t you apologize first?” she spat at him, her voice cracking as she looked at him with pained eyes and trembling lips.
His head jerked back in surprise, his eyes widening a bit. “Apologize? For what?”
“These stupid skirts!” she hiccuped. “This wouldn’t have happened to me if you hadn’t changed the dress code!”
“I—”
Before Roy could defend himself, there was a rapid knocking at his office door that caused the two to jump.
“Come in!” he shouted, startled.
The door opened, and Fuhrer Bradley’s face appeared, causing Roy and his secretary to stumble up their feet, saluting the man. Even despite her heavy emotions, Della knew better than to not let this instinct kick in.
The Fuhrer stepped into the office, his one eye directed at Della and his expression just as stoic as ever. “Miss Lowell, if you could please come with me, we need your statement of the other day’s incident. Mustang, you come as well.”
“S-sir,” Della nodded, dropping her hand to her side and holding back more tears as she stepped away from the chairs, heading to the doors of Roy’s office.
They soon were in a meeting room, with police staff from both branches of the government present, as well as lawyers (which were also employed by both of these government branches).
King Bradley took a seat at the head of the long conference table, and motioned for Della and Roy to take the empty seats near him, beside and across from the lawyers.
Della was visibly shaking in her seat, taking deep breaths to hold back her tears. She gave her statement as instructed, explaining how she had been returning from the library with some documents, when the two strange men approached her. She had explained that she’d declined to speak with them, and they forced her into the alcove leading to the restroom in the hallway, and explained through now-escaping tears how they touched and spoke to her.
Roy listened with a breaking heart, trying to remain cool and composed as she elaborated the details of the event. When it was his turn to speak, he reiterated his statement from before, how he found them huddled in the corner, heard and recognized Della’s voice crying out for help, and admitted to acting irrationally by inflicting his own judgment on the men before they could be tried accordingly for assault.
After thoroughly collecting detail and information, the two were dismissed. There would be no action at this time, as far as whether a punishment would be dealt to them, and they were permitted to return to their positions while the Fuhrer would speak with the police and with the lawyers.
Roy and Della walked alongside each other quietly back to Roy’s office, their arms brushing a couple times.
Upon arriving to the double doors leading into his office, he turned to Della, and asked quietly, “Can we continue our conversation?”
Della looked at her desk and the few stacks that had been put on it during the day, and she jumped and tugged her arm away as she felt his fingers against her elbow.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, realizing he startled her. “Don’t worry about the work right now, can we continue our conversation?”
She looked over at him, her eyes glassy again, and she nodded gently, stepping past him into his office. When he stepped in again, he shut the door behind him and followed her in, saying, “You can sit on the couch, it’s more comfortable.”
“I’m fine,” Della said as she continued to the chairs in front of his desk, and sat in the same one she was in earlier.
Roy stood a moment with a frown on his face, but nodded and followed her. Instead of sitting in his own chair, he pulled out the one beside her and angled it to face her, but gave her enough space when he sat in it that he didn’t feel he was crowding her. He leaned on his elbows, his gloved hands clasped together, and he looked at her intently. “You were telling me that I should apologize to you,” he said softly. “Can you please explain to me what the apology is that you’re looking for?”
Della kept her gaze away from him initially, but swallowed thickly and crossed her arms over her ribs before turning to face him, her lips trembling like they had been all day. “These skirts,” she started. “If you hadn’t made us wear these, I probably wouldn’t have been attacked like that the other day.”
Roy listened carefully, his brows furrowing a little bit. His lips moved a bit as he tried to find words, and he licked them as he realized his mouth went dry. “Are the skirts really the issue here?”
Della’s face twisted in disgust and she scoffed, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Roy sat up, holding a hand out toward her. “Della, please—I’m just trying to understand.”
She kept her composure despite more tears running out of her eyes, and she sniffed before replying, “Roy,” she used his first name, which she’d never done before, “you have no idea what it’s like being a fucking woman.”
“Well, yeah,” he said as if it were obvious.
Della waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she became more frustrated and turned her body to him, unfolding her arms and aggressively gesturing. “You’re such a dick!”
“Hey!” He matched her tone, his face turning red. “I’m trying to understand what the issue is!”
“Then fucking listen to me!” Della sobbed, her lips curling as she cried. “Listen to me,” she repeated, but in a softer, weaker voice.
Roy’s heart tugged at the crack in her voice, and his face softened. “I’m listening,” he replied calmly, nodding for her to continue.
Della sniffled and wiped her nose with her coat sleeve, looking down at her lap as she fidgeted her fingers together. After a few deep breaths, she looked up at him again and asked, “Have you ever noticed that women don’t walk alone? Especially at night?”
Roy was thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head no.
Della continued after another sniffle, “Have you noticed that we always carry pens a certain way, or that we have keys between our fingers?”
Roy shook his head no again.
Della tried not to roll her eyes, pursing her lips as she rocked gently to settle her nerves. She stopped and sat straight, and continued with a shaky voice, “Women are taught to protect themselves, but men are not taught to leave us alone.”
Roy’s head tilted curiously. “What do you mean?”
“God,” Della scoffed, rubbing her face roughly with her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Roy reached out, but stopped his hand before he could touch her. He hesitated, then slowly removed his gloves from his hands, setting them on his desk. He shifted the chair closer to her, and reached his bare hand to her arm. “I just want to understand,” he said again, glad that she didn’t jump away from him at this touch.
Della swallowed back more tears, and took another deep breath before she spoke again, choosing to switch to more blatant wording. “Women are raped and assaulted by men.”
Roy blinked in surprise at her words. “Um—w-well,” he choked out. “I-I suppose, yes.”
“No!” Della hissed. “Not ‘you suppose’! Do you know what the statistics are for rape specifically within Central?”
Roy’s hand tensed against her arm, and he couldn’t bring himself to move. “No, I don’t.”
“Twenty-nine percent of women have reported being raped in Central in the past year—and that’s only reported rapes, including assaults without full penile penetration.”
Roy felt his guts twisting at her words, and he tried to keep himself calm. “Okay,” he nodded, wanting her to continue.
“Even in pants,” Della continued, her voice still shaky but slowly leveling out, “even in so-called modest clothing, women are raped and assaulted, because men want to have control over our bodies, have power over us. Forcing us to wear skirts only further endangers us.”
She licked her dry lips, and asked a risky question, “Why did you want all the female officers and staff to wear miniskirts as part of the uniform?”
Roy listened to her question, and gave the best response he could: an honest one, even if it wasn’t the most couth one. “I like how women look in them.”
Della nodded, rubbing her nose as she looked down at her lap. “Yeah,” she replied in disgust. “And maybe you don’t think about using force over women, but that doesn’t mean others don’t.”
“Della,” Roy said softly. “I’m sorry.”
She could hear sincerity in his voice—but that couldn’t take back how violated she felt from being groped and cornered the other day.
With a deep breath, Della looked up at Roy again. “I’ve seen you looking at my scar,” she whispered, touching the grooved skin above her left knee. “Three years ago, I was raped in my home by my neighbor.”
Roy’s eyes widened and his grip on her arm tightened, making her wince, so he quickly pulled his hand away. “What?” he asked, his voice now shaky.
Della controlled her breathing, trying not to cry again from the vulnerability of admitting this to her boss. “He grabbed a knife out of my kitchen and used it to force me into my room. I fought him, I really tried,” her voice cracked, her jaw trembling, “I fought back so hard… and he stabbed me to stop me from running away, and he raped me so much,” he voice trailed off and she curled into herself, covering her face with her hands as she broke down again.
Roy felt sick. If he wasn’t trained to military levels, he would’ve expelled his sickness just from the thought of what had happened to her. While Della was hiding in her hands, folded into her own lap, he reached out with shaky hands and touched her back, trying to soothe her. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed. “Della, I’m so sorry…”
It clicked for him. The way he viewed women, viewed her, the thoughts he constantly had of her, the filthy thoughts he had of her, the way he wanted her, it was the same way these other men thought. The only difference was, he could never act on these thoughts, and he always imagined her in a way that to him, was obviously consensual—but how would she know that? How would any woman know that any man is or isn’t dangerous?
He watched Della sob before him, and his heart broke, it sank to his stomach, his churning stomach. His hand slowly smoothed out over her back, the rough fabric of the uniform coat scratching his palm. “I’ll change the dress code again,” he said quietly, then swallowed thickly. “I… I didn’t know this would happen…”
Della tried to steady her breathing, her hands cupped on the sides of her eyes now, so she had room around her mouth to breathe.
After several deep breaths, Della slowly sat up, the chair beneath her creaking. Her face was hidden by her draped hair, her palms resting on her knees. “Do you understand now?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he replied quickly. “I… I am so sorry.”
Roy hesitated as he looked at her, trying to see her face. He carefully placed one hand on her upper arm, and used the other to brush some hair from her face, making her jump back.
He jumped as well, but now he could see her face, as her movement lifted her head and her hair swished away from her face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He felt he couldn’t say it enough now. He meant it, but his words didn’t seem enough to convey how truly heartbroken he was about this whole situation.
Della looked at him with such a defeated, exhausted face, her eyes drooping and cheeks raw from all the salty tears and friction from rubbing her face. “Can I go home?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Roy nodded. “Are you comfortable with me taking you home?”
Della processed his question, thinking over whether or not she felt comfortable with him taking her home. She thought about their working relationship, and knew she’d always felt comfortable around him even when he made cheesy or vulgar jokes. She looked up to him, and supported him as much as she could as his secretary, and always thought of him as a steadfast and honorable man, even knowing about his war-ridden past.
She nodded slowly, sniffling a bit again.
Roy nodded in return, and reached again to her face, his bare fingers moving her hair away from her eyes. His skin was soft, and warm, which should be expected of the Flame Alchemist.
Della leaned out of his touch after his knuckles lingered too long on her cheek, looking away from him. “Thank you,” she muttered, scooting the chair back and standing on her shaky legs, tugging her skirt down.
Roy stood, and even though he wasn’t that tall himself, he towered over his secretary. He placed his hand between her shoulder blades and guided her away from the chairs while snatching his gloves off his desk. He locked up his office while Della gathered her belongings, and he escorted her out of the building after notifying another official that Della would be taking the remainder of the week off, and he would be returning at normal hours tomorrow.
He had called for a car, and as they waited for one to come round, he remembered something and turned to Della, saying softly, “Oh—when you left the other day, you left your shoes. They’re in my office, do you want me to go back and grab them?”
“No,” Della said plainly, staring at the road before her, hugging her bag to her torso.
Roy nodded, inconspicuously pulling his gloves over his hands again. “I’ll make sure they get home with you on Monday.”
Della nodded in response, not lifting her head again.
Roy watched her, his shoulders and chest heavy, and he so badly wanted to reach out to her—maybe he would wait until they weren’t in public.
Once the car pulled up, he advised the driver of their destination, and climbed into the vehicle with Della. He sat across from her, watching how she kept herself as small as possible, holding her bag on her lap with her arms wrapped around it still, her legs tightly closed together.
He glanced away, now conscious of how he viewed her, and how he looked at her. He felt a sense of regret, a sense of disgust toward himself. It was something he’d have to address with himself later, when he wasn’t focusing on her wellbeing and making sure she got home safely.
It was about twenty minutes before they arrived at Della’s home, and as he thanked the driver and sent them back to Central headquarters, he had a realization. He turned to Della and asked softly, “Is this the same home you told me about?”
“No,” she replied, heading to the gated fence that separated her home from the road. “I moved right away.”
Roy nodded as he followed her through the gate, glancing around her well-manicured yard and noting the neat floral bushes and the garden decorations.
He stopped behind her at the door as she fumbled with her keys to unlock it. He looked up as he heard her voice, “Will you come inside?”
His brows raised and he asked, “If you want—I was going to stay out here for a while to make sure you were settled in for the day.”
Della looked up at him, her eyes soft. “I don’t want to be alone,” she squeaked.
Roy nodded in understanding. “Yes, I’ll come inside with you.”
Della nodded in return, looking to her door again as she opened it and stepped inside.
He followed her in, immediately noticing a neat line of shoes right by the door, and quickly taking his boots off, placing them in line with the various loafers and the boots he recognized as ones Della wore prior to the change in dress code that called for heels to be worn by the women. He frowned, feeling guilty now from the reminder.
Della spoke again after kicking her flats off sloppily by the otherwise perfect line of shoes. “Can I get you anything?” she asked quietly.
“I’m fine,” Roy replied.
Della unbuttoned her uniform coat, letting it hang open to expose the black undershirt beneath it as she walked over to her kitchen, letting out a heavy sigh as she opened her ice box.
“Della, why don’t you go rest?” Roy asked, following her. “I can bring you something, if you want to eat something now.”
Della’s shoulder fell and her head hung back, letting out another sigh. “Are you going to nag me while you’re here?”
He smiled as he heard her bantering tone through her hoarseness, and replied, “Only if it works.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, her tired eyes glaring, and she replied, “Give me a few minutes to change.” She shut the ice box and left the kitchen, trudging around the corner. “My room is to the left.”
Roy nodded to himself and began to peek into her cabinets, looking for something easy to prepare for his secretary. He quickly found some dry ingredients and grabbed them, setting them on her counter and checking in the ice box, and grabbing more.
He had to remove his coat, and he hung it over the shoes where he noticed other jackets hanging with his gloves tucked into one of the pockets, and went back to making a quick snack for Della.
A few minutes finally passed, and he carefully walked down the hall toward where Della directed him, and he gently knocked on the door, holding the plate of food.
“C’m in,” he heard her grumble through the door, and carefully pushed it open, peeking inside. He found her curled up under her blanket, her hair tied up in a sloppy mess on her head.
Roy went into the room, stepping as carefully as he could, and held the plate out to her. “I hope this is enough to tide you over for now.”
Della’s eyes peeled open and she looked up at him, barely making out the plate. She carefully pulled one hand out from under her blanket and reached for the plate, taking it and setting it beside her. She shifted to sit up, but sighed and laid her head back down. “I’m tired,” she muttered.
Roy nodded gently and took the plate again, setting it on her bedside table. “It’ll be right here when you wake up.”
Della nodded into her pillow, her eyes closed, and breathed out, “Thank you, Roy.”
He frowned as he looked down at her, feeling that tugging in his chest again. “Get some sleep,” he said quietly and turned to leave. He stopped, letting out a soft gasp as he felt her hand grasp his, and looked down to see where she’d reached out for him, leaning from the cozy spot she was just in.
“Are you going to stay?” she asked meekly.
“I’ll be in your living room,” he replied.
Della hesitated, still holding his hand. “Will you stay here?” she squeaked.
“I am,” he said, furrowing his brows in confusion. “I’ll be—”
She tugged his hand. He understood. Roy sighed softly and turned, kneeling on her bed. “Are you sure?”
She nodded and scooted back, giving him room to sit beside her. He was careful to sit beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him with a soft grunt, sitting against some of her pillows and headboard. He made sure to stay on top of the comforter, keeping the fabric as a separation between them. He didn’t understand, given the conversation they had earlier, how Della was comfortable being in the bed with him. But he could see her relaxing, even beneath the comforter, where she was curled into a ball.
Roy leaned his head back, resting his eyes briefly. After a few long moments, he felt movement against his hip and looked down, ready to help Della, but he found her still curled up, just… curled against him, like a cat.
He stared at her, a gentle expression on his face, then noticed how her lumpy form started to rise and lower much slower than just a few seconds ago, and he now understood that she’d fallen asleep. He felt a sense of gladness that she felt safe enough to fall asleep with him there, but was still confused. He crossed his arms over his chest, deciding to let it go for now, and just let her sleep, and perhaps allow himself to get some sleep as well.
He leaned his head back again, and tried to quiet his mind so he could rest, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Della—this time, in all the ways that didn’t involve his sexual desire for her, but in ways that he wished he could comfort her, calm her down. Maybe, he thought as he finally drifted to sleep, that this moment was enough…
It was evening when Roy awoke, lifting his head from where he had leaned it back, and groaned at how stiff his neck felt. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, groaning again. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes pinched close.
After a moment, he realized he was still sitting in Della’s bed, and he looked down to where she’d been curled against him, and found she was still by his hip. Only, he noticed that her arm was outstretched from the blanket, wrapped around his lap and hips. He blushed, his eyes widening, and he carefully stared her down. She was still breathing slow and steady, sleeping against him, and her head was rested against his side.
He was reluctant to reach out, but lowered his arm so he could rest his hand on her side, making sure it was directly on her waist, and not near any part of her that would be considered incriminating.
It was getting darker out, he could tell, from how the light barely shone through her window, and that the room felt darker. To his side, where the plate of food still sat untouched, was a small lamp on the table, and he carefully reached over to flick it on. It didn’t provide much light in the room, but enough that if he needed to get up, he could find his way to the door without tripping on anything.
Not that that mattered much; Della kept her room very neat, and he noticed that nothing in her house seemed out of order, nor outside, as her garden indicated that there was much effort and time put into its care.
He felt Della shift against him, and looked down to her.
“‘M sorry,” she muttered, pulling her arm away from around his hips.
“It’s okay,” he replied quietly, pulling his own hand away from her to avoid any unwanted touches. “How are you feeling?”
“I have a headache,” she whimpered, pulling the blanket over her head as she rolled over, her back now facing him.
“I’ll get you some water,” Roy said gently, swinging his feet carefully over the side of the bed. “You should eat, too.”
“Okay,” Della sighed, her voice still full of exhaustion.
He looked at her as he stood from the bed, watching as she did not move from her spot. “Will you eat?”
“With water,” she replied slowly.
He nodded in understanding, and left to fetch her a drink, soon returning with two glasses of water.
He sat on the edge of the bed, turning slightly so he could see her without craning his neck too much. “Here,” he commented, holding one of the glasses in her direction.
Della let out a soft sigh before rolling onto her back and sitting herself up, bringing one hand to her head as her eyes remained shut. “My head hurts,” she repeated in another whimper.
“I know,” Roy said delicately. “Water and food will help.”
Della nodded slowly and lowered her hand, turning to look at him. Her eyes were sunken in, bloodshot, and her lashes had little crusties all throughout.
“Thank you,” she breathed, carefully taking the cup from him and sipping at the water.
He reached for the plate and carefully passed it to her, watching as she took it and settled it into her lap. He watched her nibble at some of the food, which had most likely become a bit stale after sitting out for so many hours. “Do you need anything?” he asked after a while, now feeling awkward just watching her eat.
“No,” she shook her head, wiping some water from her upper lip. “Thank you for staying with me.” Her voice sounded a bit stronger now that she’d had some time to wake up and hydrate, and Roy nodded in response.
“You’re welcome,” he replied plainly.
Della finished her food, and sat the empty plate off to the side away from her. She spoke again, but didn’t look at Roy, “I’m sorry that I had my arm around you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He looked at her. He saw how she was slumped forward, and how some—a lot—of her hair had fallen out of where she had it tied up, clinging to the back of her neck, hanging down in front of her ears, and around her eyes. “Did you sleep okay?”
Della paused before shrugging. “I guess,” she hummed. “I’d feel better if I didn’t wake up with a headache.”
“As most people would agree,” Roy muttered with a smirk. He was delighted to see that even from only seeing her from the side, she cracked a tiny smile.
“You know what I mean,” she said softly, looking over at him finally.
His own smile widened, albeit still a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
Della just gave a curt nod, then looked down at her lap. “I…” she trailed off. She pursed her lips against her teeth for a long moment, before continuing without looking up, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“Don’t be,” Roy shook his head. “After… after thinking some, I can’t blame you. I understand your perspective, and I’m sorry for inflicting this pain and difficulty on you.”
“It’s not just me,” she responded, turning to look at him again. “Other women… they’ve been complaining, too.”
Roy nodded solemnly. “Yes, the reports have landed on my desk now. As I said,” he looked at her, “I’ll change the dress code again. I… I’ll make skirts optional. So that upon the volition of each individual, they may decide if they want to wear the skirt, or stay wearing the pants.”
“Thank you,” Della exhaled in relief. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Roy wished he could say the same to her, about her. She meant so much to him, more than he’d previously realized. For the longest time, he saw her as a prize he could maybe pick up someday, but the more he got to know her, and the more he got to experience her over the past year, she was becoming a cherished person in his life. He wanted to hold her hands, wanted to touch her cheeks, wanted to hear her laugh. Even though he often thought vile and dirty things about her, he also had a soft imagination toward her, where she had flowers in her hair that she shared with him, or he could see her smiling over something silly, or how she could sit hip to hip with him at a picnic.
Della sipped at her water again, pulling Roy from his thoughts. She spoke, “Could… could I trouble you to ask to spend the night?”
“Spend the night?” He couldn’t help but gawk at her. “Della, are you sure?”
“Please?” she looked at him with sad eyes. “I just can’t be alone…”
He stared at her, blinking as if that would make him hear her more clearly, and he asked softly, “Could I call Lucie to come stay with you?”
Della tried to hide her frown, but knew she probably already looked like a sad puppy. “You’re already here,” she whispered.
“I don’t have any clothes to change into,” he argued, but his voice was soft.
She turned her face away now, and lifted her glass to her lips again, and said, “Nevermind.”
Roy frowned now, and asked, “Do you or do you not want me to stay?”
“Whatever you think is best,” she replied back, finishing her water before climbing out of her bed, grabbing the plate and heading toward her bedroom door.
“Della,” Roy called out to her, watching her leave the room. He quickly stood, following after her. “Wait a minute.”
Della put her dishes in the wash bin, deciding to leave them for now, as she still felt fatigued. She kept her face turned away from Roy, trying to ignore him.
“You’re not making sense,” Roy admitted. “Do you want me to stay or not?”
“I don’t want to be alone,” she replied, putting her hands on the edge of her counter.
“That’s not what I asked,” he said carefully. “If you don’t want to be alone, I can call for Lucie to come stay with you.”
“You’re already here,” she replied again, just as carefully.
Roy huffed in frustration. “You’re confusing me,” he started. “You told me earlier that you’d been raped, and you were just assaulted a few days ago. Do you honestly feel comfortable with me staying in your home with you tonight?”
“Yes,” Della looked at him. “Don’t make me cry again.” Her firm face pouted quickly, her eyes glossing over with tears. “Please don’t make me cry again…”
“I don’t want to,” Roy said gently, taking a step closer to her. He watched as she crossed her arms over her ribs, hugging herself. “Seeing you cry this week, today, it’s horrible,” he confessed. “But I’m confused… you don’t feel scared to have me in your home?”
“No,” she shook her head, sniffing back her tears. “You’re the Flame Alchemist… I always feel safe around you…”
“Is my status the only reason you feel safe around me?” he pushed.
Della thought a moment, then shook her head. “No,” she responded easily. “I’ve felt safe with you since my first day being your secretary.” She looked over at him warily. “You helped that lost child find her mother, remember?”
He did now. “I forgot all about that,” he replied quietly.
“I didn’t.” Della said. “You showed me around the courtyard, and the little girl got lost from her mother—they were visiting her father, I think the woman said her husband had just accepted his job in Central and they were house hunting, and the girl got separated from them.”
“And that made you feel safe around me?” he inquired.
Della nodded. “A man as powerful as you being so soft to a child… I know the war crimes you committed, I know of… what you’re capable of… and in the face of a crying child, you were so soft and sweet. I’ve trusted you from that moment to today.”
He was touched by her words, his heart pounding in his chest. For him, that was just another day at work. To Della, her first impression of him was such a tender moment that he hadn’t realized held that much meaning. “You still trust me?” he asked softly.
Della nodded. “You’re an asshole for making me wear skirts to work, but I’d trust you with my life.”
Roy took a few steps toward her, but stopped himself as he realized what he was doing, and noticed that she responded just as quickly as he did, her body tensing up and jerking back as she stepped back from him.
He was indescribably upset with this reaction. “Looks like you don’t trust me as much as you’d thought.”
“I wasn’t prepared for you to move like that!” she rebutted. “What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” Roy ran his hand through his hair and stepped back, turning his face away. “I was—it was nothing.”
Della stared at him hard, before she licked her dry lips and said softly, “I might have clothes you can borrow.”
He turned to look at her, surprised by her words. “Are you sure?”
She nodded and replied, “I have some of my father’s clothing in a storage box. I don’t know how tall he was or what his physique was like, so I don’t know how well they’ll fit, but it’s better than anything I own.”
Roy nodded gently, agreeing to try the clothes, and when she stepped around him to leave the kitchen, he followed her a few paces behind. She went to a door on the opposite end of the hall from her room and popped it open, revealing a cluttered room full of boxes and crates, and a raggedy desk covered in old papers and books.
He was surprised to see this room in such disarray compared to the rest of her house, and watched as she went to a box and dug into it. The shirt she wore rode up her back, exposing the pale skin beneath the fabric just over the waistband of her sleep pants, as she crouched over the box, and he cleared his throat softly, glancing away.
Della came up to him just a moment later with an undershirt, a sweater, and some linen pants folded into a stack. “I hope these fit. You can change into them and I’ll wash your clothes tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Roy replied as he took the pile of clothing from her. “I can just leave early in the morning and stop by my flat to grab a fresh change of clothes.”
“Are you sure?” Della asked, looking up at him. “You need all the rest you can get.”
“Speak for yourself,” Roy smiled gently to her. “You had that nap, but you still look like shit.”
“Shut up,” Della scoffed under her breath.
He smiled still, then looked down at the clothes, and recalled a comment she’d made. “What did you mean when you said you didn’t know how tall your father was?”
Della looked at him, her face unchanging. “He died when I was a toddler. My mother found boxes of his stuff a couple years ago and gave it to me. I… I haven’t figured out what to do with any of it, so it just stays in storage.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied his condolences softly. “Thank you for letting me use them.”
Della nodded and motioned out of the room, saying, “You can get dressed in the wash room. Just leave your clothes and I’ll get them washed up for tonight.”
“I told you, I can take care of it later,” he said as he followed her out. “You don’t have to do that, I’ll leave early in the morning.”
She stopped outside of the washroom door and looked at him. “Will you continue arguing with me if I offer again?”
“Of course I will.”
Della smiled tiredly. “Fine,” she replied, tapping her fingertips to the door before she turned to walk back to her room again.
Roy shook his head with a curl in his lips, opening the door and stepping into the washroom. He undressed from his heavy uniform, and freshened up quickly before putting on the clothes he was given. He folded his dirty clothes and tucked them under his arm before leaving the washroom and taking them to leave them by his boots at the front door.
He carefully trudged back to Della’s room, peeking inside to find her curled up under her blanket again, but now her hair was down, and sprawled out around her. “Are you going back to sleep?”
“Just laying down,” she replied, shifting to look at him.
He nodded and leaned against the doorjamb, and said, “I can make you dinner if you’re still hungry.”
“I’m fine,” she said softly. “But help yourself to anything, please. For thanks, for helping me…”
He frowned, tilting his head a bit. “You don’t need to repay me, you know. It’s my fault any of this happened.”
Della shook her head gently. “I know—but you’ve apologized, and I appreciate you.”
Roy stared at her, his eyes soft. “I’m not hungry right now, but I’ll keep that in mind if I get hungry later.”
She nodded in reply, adjusting slightly to get more comfortable. “Okay. Just make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
He watched as Della nuzzled into her pillow, her blanket pulled up close to her face, and watched how she breathed slowly and gently.
“Do you have any blankets and pillows I can borrow for the night?”
One of Della’s hands popped out from under the blanket and she patted the spot next to her on the bed. “You’re not sleeping on my couch,” she said softly.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed with you!” he yelped back. “Della, be serious.”
“I am,” she looked over at him. “That couch is not comfortable.”
“This is inappropriate,” he replied. But he didn’t believe himself, didn’t agree that he felt it was inappropriate, because he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and cradle her against his chest while they slept.
“Sleep on the floor, then,” Della replied before rolling over so she couldn’t see him anymore, pulling the blanket up to her face again, and leaving the spot behind her open.
Roy stared at her in disbelief, still leaning against the door frame with his pounding heart. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to just stay standing there for the night, lay on the floor like she said, or go to the couch despite her warning of its uncomfortability.
After a long, awkward moment, he slowly pushed himself away from the door and walked over to the bed. He could hear Della breathing, see her silhouette expanding with each breath, and he hesitantly grabbed the edge of the comforter, waiting a moment to collect his thoughts.
He carefully climbed into the bed, his back to hers but leaving a gap between them to ensure they didn’t touch, and he reached to shut off the tiny lamp on her table.
It was dark outside now, and he couldn’t make out much of anything in the room as he laid there, unable to let his eyes fall closed.
His mind raced, he had some anxiety about everything that was happening, he debated getting up and leaving for the night.
But he recalled Della’s somber face asking him to stay, and he couldn’t bring himself to budge from the bed. He let out a sigh and finally closed his eyes, wishing he could roll over and pull Della into his arms. This was all still so confusing, and maybe he could find this situation inappropriate, but he didn’t want to. He truly couldn’t. His buzzing mind soon faded, and he was able to fall asleep.
Nearly three weeks passed. Roy had been called to a mission that was below his level of duties, but served as part of his punishment for injuring the officers who assaulted Della without due process. He had agreed to it, wanting to atone for his mistakes, and hoped the time away would give him a chance to clear his mind.
It didn’t work, not as much as he’d liked. He spent the nights thinking of her, wondering if she was getting overloaded with work while he was gone. He wondered if she thought of him, like he thought of her. During the days, he thought of her when he could, or sometimes without trying to, he would find himself wanting to ask her to fetch him something, or trying to make banter with someone similarly to how he would with her, only to be disappointed that they didn’t quip back, or that they would just give him an odd look.
When he finally arrived back to Central, he felt relieved to be walking his usual path toward his office, and found himself excited to see Della. Upon turning the corner, he found his secretary at her desk, and he smiled, saying, “Good morning, Miss Lowell.”
He watched her turn, and felt butterflies in his stomach when he noticed what seemed to be an excited look on her face.
“You’re back early, sir!” Della stood, saluting him. She had pants on, back to her normal uniform. While Roy hadn’t had a chance to process the paperwork for the dress code yet, he allowed Della to dress as normal, and would allow the same for anyone else who chose to do so.
He waved a hand at her, dismissing her from the formality. “I wanted to catch up on things I’ve missed since I was gone.”
“I don’t have anything ready for you, yet,” Della admitted, lowering her hand. “I was going to spend today organizing the paperwork and files so everything was in order when you came back tomorrow.”
“Carry on,” Roy nodded. “I’ve got other things I can work on today.”
Della looked at him warily and asked, “Sir, have you rested?”
He chuckled and replied, “Yes, I have.”
“I don’t mean, ‘did you sleep last night,’ I mean, have you taken time to recoup since you traveled so much? Did you take a day off before coming in today?”
Roy tensed, but wasn’t surprised that Della was so attuned to how he operated. He gave her a smile as he sighed through his nose, and admitted, “No, I didn’t. I have work that needs to be done.”
“And you can’t take a day to rest so you can come in with a clear mind?” Della challenged.
He sighed again. “I got plenty of sleep last night.” He didn’t. “You don’t need to worry about me—maybe make me some of that delicious coffee of yours,” he smiled warmly to her.
Della sighed in defeat, nodding and returning the smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll be back shortly and then I’ll get started on getting your files ready.”
“And bring me another one of those turnovers,” he added, grinning as he unlocked his office.
“Yes, sir,” she chuckled, shaking her head as she stepped away from her desk.
As the day went on, the summer sun was beating down on the headquarters building, making the corridors and offices stuffy and warm.
Della had to remove her uniform coat, leaving it hanging from the back of her chair, her black undershirt sufficiently covering her but providing the coolness she needed to not overheat.
She had finished putting together another file for Roy, and took it into his office. She found her boss with his own coat off, the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up to his elbows and the top couple of buttons undone to show his own undershirt.
He looked up as he realized she entered his office, a bead of sweat rolling down beside his eye. “Could you open my window for me, please?” he asked with a sigh, using his fountain pen to point at the window in question.
“Yes, sir,” she nodded, setting the file on his desk and going over to the window. “Can I get you anything while I’m up?”
Roy shook his head, sitting up as he watched her. “No,” he replied, his eyes landing on her back, admiring the curves of her body with how tight her undershirt clung to her. Her hair was up today, and he noticed how her ponytail swayed as she moved. He wanted to touch her hair; he remembered a few weeks ago when he had moved it over her shoulder and she pulled away from him, and quickly left his office, and he frowned a bit.
Della stepped away from the window as it was open now, and she exhaled loudly, feeling a breeze blow through. She turned to face his desk, her hands on her hips, and watched how the breeze made its way to him, the hairs that weren’t sticking to his forehead grazing his brows, and some corners of papers lifting slightly.
Roy was surprised as he watched her smile softly, and before he could ask anything, she spoke,
“It’s good to have you back, sir.”
Roy refused to believe that this translated into anything other than, “I missed you.”
He smiled in return, and wiped his wrist across his brows to catch some sweat. “It’s good to be back,” he missed her too. “I missed sleeping in my own bed, and drinking coffee that didn’t taste like dogshit.”
He paused after turning to his papers, then looked at Della again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she replied, hands still on her hips.
“How do you make your coffee taste the way it does? I’ve never had anything like it, and I can’t find anything as good.”
“I add cinnamon to the coffee grounds, and a pinch of salt,” Della said plainly. “It helps enrich the flavor of the coffee.”
“Really?” His brows bounced up. “I never thought of adding anything to them.”
She smiled, and said, “That’s how my mother makes it.”
“I see,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Well, keep it up,” he smiled at her. “I quite like it.”
“I know you do,” Della chuckled.
Roy’s heart fluttered. All day, she’d been cheerful. She was (what he considered) her usual self. He loved hearing her laugh, whether it was a giggle, a chuckle, or a full blown cackle. It made him feel at ease, and warm inside.
“Sir?”
He blinked, pulled from his thoughts by her voice. “Huh?”
“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” she repeated.
“I’m fine,” he waved his gloved hand. “Thank you, Miss Lowell, you’re excused.”
“Thanks,” she replied with a sarcastic tone, and turned to leave again.
Roy watched her leave, and his chest tugged again. He wanted her to stay, to just sit across from him at his desk and keep him company while he worked.
He eventually sighed and returned to his paperwork, trying his best not to drip sweat all over it.
The following morning, Roy had arrived to his office, and found Della’s desk empty. He frowned, wondering if he’d beat her to work, or if something happened. He didn’t see her bag on her desk, nor noticed anything out of place from the day before. He sighed softly through his nose and opened his door, stepping in and heading to his desk to begin work.
It wasn’t long after that there was a knock at his door, and he looked up to find Della stepping inside, carrying the familiar silver tray. “Ah, good morning, Miss—”
He froze. Her legs were bare. She was wearing the skirt.
“Miss Lowell,” he said cautiously and softly, looking up at her.
“Good morning, sir,” she replied. She seemed fine. He couldn’t detect any distress in her, any discomfort.
Della set the tray on his desk, her hair, which was down, falling past her right shoulder, as it usually did. She picked up the teapot, pouring the coffee into the porcelain cup.
Roy stared at her a moment, then asked, “Why are you wearing a skirt?”
He was surprised to see her cheeks grow dark with a blush.
“I wanted to,” she replied quietly, her fingers touching the little lid of the sugar dish. “Would you like cream and sugar?”
He couldn’t answer her. Just stared at her.
“You wanted to?” he asked softly.
Della finally made eye contact with him. “I had planned to wear this when I thought today would be your first day back from your mission.”
“What?” he choked. “Why?”
She averted her eyes, her cheeks still warm. “I wanted to welcome you back…”
“But… but I thought you hated the skirts?”
“I hated being forced to wear them,” she corrected him. “But being able to choose to wear it on the day you were supposed to return was supposed to be a welcome-back treat for you.”
Was he hearing her right? He stared at her, blinked a few times, his breath caught in his throat. “I don’t understand.”
Della sighed and looked down again as she decided for him that he would have sugar and creamer—she knew the exact portions he preferred. She stirred a thin and tiny spoon into the teacup, making sure the sugar dissolved properly, and swiped the bowl of the spoon along the rim before setting it on a napkin next to the cup.
She passed him the coffee, setting the saucer delicately on an empty space on the desk near him. “Don’t hurt yourself thinking about it, sir,” she said playfully, her face still stoic.
Roy watched her. His heart thrummed in his chest. He reached without thinking. His hand wrapped around her wrist, stopping her from pulling away too quickly.
“Stay and have coffee with me,” he said quietly.
“There’s only one cup,” Della replied.
“Share it with me,” he breathed.
His secretary stared at him for a moment, before nodding. When he released her wrist, she carefully walked over to the door, shutting it softly, and returned to his desk. As she began to sit across from him, he spoke.
“Will you sit by me?” Roy asked.
Della looked at him, and nodded before grabbing the chair and dragging it around his desk, setting it beside him and sitting carefully, her knees closed.
Roy looked at the scar that faced him, the two-inch line that sat above her knee taking up the space between them. He saw Della’s fingers graze the scar, and looked up at her to see that he’d caught her staring. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” she replied, offering him a gentle smile.
They stared at each other for a moment, then Roy reached for his coffee. He shifted, scooting his chair closer to her, and passed the cup and saucer to her.
Della took it from him, her fingers grazing the fabric of his gloves as their knuckles touched, and she lifted the cup to her lips. Roy noticed they were a different shade of pink than normal, and it was only confirmed that she was wearing lipstick when he saw the faint stain on the clean white porcelain cup.
Why was she wearing lipstick today? Did she normally wear lipstick? He couldn’t remember, but he did recall that she’d worn eye rouge and mascara before, but not often.
Della smiled at Roy as she passed him the cup, saying, “You don’t put enough cream or sugar in your coffee.”
“You made it,” he replied, his eyes locked on hers.
“To your liking,” she argued.
Roy’s heart raced. He stared at her, holding the cup and saucer. The thin handle was still warm from where her finger held it, he could feel it through his glove.
He finally lifted the cup to his own lips, managing to tear his eyes from her, and his lips lined up with the lip stain she’d left on the cup. His coffee was perfect; exactly how he liked it.
Sitting the cup and saucer on his desk, directly in the area that was in the middle of their reaches, he looked over at Della, his eyes soft. Her hair still hung down the right side in front of her shoulder, and it framed around her eyes, touching her cheeks. If an artist had stared at her long enough, they would claim that the ends of her hair touching her cheeks gave her the freckles scattered across her skin, as if the tips of her hair were dipped in paint.
Roy leaned closer to her. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” she replied, her hands folded neatly in her lap and her ankles crossed beneath the seat of her chair.
He paused, trying to determine if he was still breathing as he gazed at her. “Why did you want to wear a skirt today?”
She stared back at him, her breathing slow and controlled. “I wanted you to have a good first day back from your mission—but you came back early, and I’d consider that as the surprise being ruined.”
“Why did you want to surprise me?” he asked quietly.
It looked as if Della was going to respond, her lips parting a bit and taking in a soft breath. But she said nothing. She glanced away, looking down at her hands as she now fiddled with a hangnail on one of her hands.
Roy scooted closer to her, their knees touching. Della didn’t flinch from him, like she had weeks ago. “Why can’t you look at me?” his voice cracked.
Della didn’t answer him, but reached for the coffee again. She took a slow sip, her gaze still forward and away from Roy.
“Della,” Roy said softly, his hand resting on hers in her lap, their skin separated by his glove.
She tensed from hearing her first name, and quickly set the cup back on the saucer. “I wanted to surprise you, because…”
He waited, his heart continuing to beat wildly in his ribs.
“Well, I don’t know,” she whispered, lowering her head.
Roy turned more towards her, reaching his other hand to cup her cheek and then her to face him. He looked into her eyes, seeing the shock in them from his action. His words became lost now, as he melted into the warmth of her brown eyes, and slowly pulled his hand back, reaching to take his gloves off.
He was grateful she stayed turned to him while he did so, and once his hands were bare, he reached again to use his knuckles to push her hair over her shoulder. It was soft against his skin, and his fingers grazed the cloth of her uniform over her shoulder.
“Why did you leave my office when I did this a few weeks ago?” he asked lowly.
“I didn’t expect you to do it,” she replied, her body slowly turning towards him without realizing it.
“But you did today?”
“No,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to run from you anymore.”
Roy’s ears grew hot and his breathing was becoming more erratic, but he quickly controlled it again. “Why did you want to surprise me today?” he asked again.
“You know why,” Della hissed softly, hating that he pushed the question.
“Use your words,” he replied, realizing he could now feel her breath on his face, and that they were leaning closer to each other.
Instead, Della’s hand found his chest, and her lips crashed into his as she leaned into him, and his hand instinctively cupped around the back of her neck as he returned the kiss. Her lips were warm and soft, and he could smell the coffee that lingered in her mouth, taste it as their lips moved together slowly.
He shifted so he could pull the chair she sat in between his legs, effectively pulling her against his torso as his hand moved from her neck to slip around her waist. His other hand cupped her cheek as he continued to kiss her, and he felt her legs lift over his knee.
Roy pulled away just briefly so he could pull her easily into his lap, sitting her sideways with her legs hanging over his, and he went back to kissing her as he sat back in his chair.
Her hands were wrapped around his neck and in his hair, much like they were in his daydreams, and Roy soon shuttered as he felt her tongue graze his lips. His mouth opened for her, and their kiss deepened, both hungrily and passionately.
There was always something between them, and now they both confirmed silently that it was in fact there, and it was mutual. Roy used one of his hands to hook around her thigh, keeping her on his lap as he kissed her longingly, and just as quickly as the kiss happened, Della pulled away.
He looked at her with dejected eyes, his swollen lips pouting, and she spoke to him breathlessly.
“I’m sorry,” she panted.
“No,” he quickly replied, leaning to kiss her again, a soft grunt falling from his lips into her mouth as he felt her hands cupping his cheeks.
“Sir,” she whimpered; this sent Roy spiraling, but he controlled himself by gripping her thigh.
“I’m uncomfortable,” she continued into his lips.
“What?” Roy gasped, pulling back quickly and looking at her with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, what did—”
Della scooted off his lap and stood, immediately sitting on the edge of his desk and grabbing his hands, pulling him up from his chair.
Roy understood now—and he stood between her legs, his arms around her again and his lips on hers again, her hands on his arms and shoulders as she kissed him in return.
Their movements knocked the coffee cup, making it swish out of the cup and onto the saucer and a few drops spewing over the paperwork beneath it, and some hitting the side of Della’s skirt.
Roy heard the porcelain clinking, and shoved it away, knocking it off the desk and shattering onto the floor. He kissed Della slowly, but heatedly, using his hands to pull her by her lower back and hips to bring her closer to him. Her legs wrapped around his hips, her ankles crossing over his ass, and this made Roy groan deeply into her mouth.
He felt her hands roaming his shoulders and chest, and he couldn’t tell if the heat building up inside his coat was from their scandalous position, or if it was the summer heat once again making his office hot—it was both.
Della’s nimble fingers found the buttons of his coat and began to pop them open, her other hand tugging to try and remove the blue fabric as quickly as possible.
Roy shifted a bit so he had stable footing and he helped her, his coat soon shuffling down his shoulders and arms until it fell roughly to the floor, and next, Della worked at the continuous buttons of his shirt beneath.
“Too many layers,” she mumbled into the kiss, her tongue gliding across his bottom lip.
Roy grunted, his lips trailing from hers and to her chin, then her jaw. Once his lips made it to her neck, and his button up shirt was halfway opened, Roy stopped. He pulled back, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her back a bit, panting and looking at her with concerned eyes.
“Della, wait,” he breathed, his lips smeared with the light pink tint of her lipstick.
“What?” she gasped, looking at him with wide eyes.
Roy took a moment to catch his breath, and asked slowly, “Why are you doing this?”
Her eyes grew sad, and she seemed taken aback by the question. “You kissed me back,” she squeaked.
“I know,” Roy pinched his eyes shut briefly while nodding, then looked at her again. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” she answered firmly. “I want you—I’ve wanted you for so long, I’m tired of keeping it to myself.” Della clung to his half opened shirt, her grip wrinkling the smooth fabric.
“You mean that?” Roy asked. “You really mean it? Because I—I can’t do this with you if this isn’t something you really want.”
“I want you,” she replied with a more serious tone. “I want you, Roy. Please,” she tugged at his shirt as she begged. “You have no idea how hard it was having you in my bed… I couldn’t touch you,” she whined softly, her eyes growing sad again. “I couldn’t hold you…”
Roy’s hands slowly moved to cup her cheeks, looking deep into her eyes and scanning her face. “I do know… I was sick to my stomach not being able to take you in my arms.”
“Then take me now,” Della pleaded, tugging at his shirt again. “Please, Roy.”
He obliged, wrapping his arms around her again and going back to kissing her, their tongues melding together, their lips in tandem.
His hands carefully mapped out her back, her curves, her waist, her hips. His fingers found the buttons of her uniform coat and he worked quicker than she did to get hers off of her body, leaving her in her usual black undershirt.
At the same time, Della finally got the buttons of his shirt undone and ripped it from where it was tucked into his pants. She fought to get his shirt off of his body, which was easier when he moved his arms to help. Once the tee shirt beneath his button up shirt was pulled over his head, Della’s hands immediately went to his chest, slowly caressing and groping him. She breathed carefully as she looked over his physique, impressed by how chiseled and toned he was, and how soft his skin was despite the muscles.
Roy pulled one of his hands from her body and took her hand, slowly dragging it to his abs and holding her palm against them, his hand resting atop hers.
Della looked up at him, her breathing heavy. They made eye contact for a long moment, her hand trembling against his taught muscles. “Please kiss me,” she whispered, leaning toward him again.
“As you wish,” he whispered back, closing the space between them and taking her lips with his. Their kiss picked up where it left off, hot and heavy, their hands all over each other.
Roy’s fingers weaved into her hair, scrunching it against the back of her neck as he leaned over her. He breathed heavily through his nose, taking in her scent and her taste all at once, and his free hand pulled at her waist. The fabric of her shirt shifted over her skin, and he dipped his fingers under the hem, before pushing his hand up her shirt to feel her soft belly. He felt her shift against him, and pulled back a bit to look at what she was doing, and saw her reaching up the back of her shirt with one hand.
“What are you doing?” he panted.
Della looked up at him, her eyes glazed over, and she replied breathily, “Unhooking my bra—just in case you don’t know how.”
The way she teased him, it drove him wild. He felt his lower abdomen tense up, could feel himself growing aroused by her every moment that passed, and especially now, that she was bringing their usual banter into the mix… he had to control himself even more.
“You think I don’t know how?” he hummed, lowering his face to her neck, kissing it delicately and reaching his hands behind her. He splayed them out across her bare back, up her shirt, gliding his palms along her skin to feel her up.
“I know you don’t,” she teased again with an exhale, leaning her head back and letting her eyes shut. “But if you think you can, why don’t you prove me wrong?”
Roy quickly took the challenge, his hands finding the unclasped clips of her bra, and skillfully hooking each eyelet back up as his tongue and lips carved into her neck under her jaw. “Convinced?” he growled, pressing his body against her.
“No,” Della all but moaned, challenging him again.
Roy gave a soft nip at her skin with a grunt, and quickly undid the clasps just as swiftly as he’d done them up, and pushed his fingers under the bust of the bra, and dragged them around the front of her body, his palms grazing her breasts and hard nipples, and he quickly pulled back so he could rip the bra and her shirt up over her head in one movement.
Della gasped, looked up at him with her lips gaped open, her heart pounding and her stomach fluttering. She was half naked before him, just as he was between her legs, and she could feel herself getting wet in the seat of her panties. She watched him look over her, and could see the hunger in his eyes, especially as he gazed at her breasts.
She asked coyly, “Do you like what you see?”
Her breasts were perfect to him. They were perfectly round, full, her nipples stiff at attention towards him. Roy could feel saliva building up in his mouth as he stared at them, and he leaned over her, lifting a hand to place his palm in the valley of her breasts against her sternum. He carefully pushed her until she laid on her back atop his desk, paperwork and files beneath her be damned.
His hand slowly pulled down, pressing along her belly, and slowly back up again, his fingertips nudging the underside of her left breast. “You’re perfect,” he confessed to her, licking his lips. He finally cupped her tit, his hand barely engulfing it, his thick fingers giving it a gentle squeeze.
Della let a soft whimper escape her lips as she wriggled her hips, her legs shifting around his waist. “Am I?” she squeaked, lifting a hand to her face, her knuckles and fingers resting against the side of her mouth.
“Yes,” he replied, fondling her slowly, leaning over her. He looked over her body, his eyes slowly making their way up to meet her gaze. “I want more of you.”
She gave him a firm nod, and uncrossed her ankles from behind him, kicking her shoes off her feet and letting her heels rest on the edge of his desk, knees bent up at his sides. “I’m yours,” she breathed.
Roy understood the invitation, and as he fondled her breasts with one hand, he leaned down to kiss the supple skin on her chest, his other hand tucking between the two of them. As he kissed and sucked at her chest, his fingers quickly shifted her skirt up, and found her panties. He dragged his fingertips along the fabric, purposely avoiding the damp core area he knew she’d want him to touch. He listened over the sound of his mouth suckling her nipple to hear her soft moaning, and that was his cue.
His middle finger slowly dragged down the seat of her panties, and he could feel how wet she’d been, just from kissing. He applied pressure as his tongue lapped her nipple, and Della whimpered and moaned again, so he continued.
He touched and teased her through the thin fabric, feeling himself growing harder and harder in his boxers, constrained by his pants. He soon couldn’t resist any longer, and he hooked his fingers over the waistband of her panties, tugging to pull them off.
Reluctantly, he had to lean back so he could allow her legs to move so he could pull the panties over her thighs, his eyes focused at her core. Her skirt was obscuring his view between her legs, and he suddenly cursed at himself, finding the fabric absolutely repulsive now.
He felt a tug at his arm and looked up to see that Della had grabbed him, and was looking at him with begging eyes. “Roy, please,” she whimpered, her bare chest heaving with each deep breath she took. “I’m cold.”
He nodded, knowing damn well that it wasn’t cold in his office, that she just needed his body warmth against hers. He leaned over her again, kissing her deeply, his body pressed into hers.
Della moaned into his mouth and wrapped her arms around him, dragging her nails across his shoulders and back, and against his scalp in his hair. She arched her body into his, shoved her tongue into his mouth, groped at the muscles on his back. “Roy,” she mumbled into his mouth. “Please.”
He nodded as he kissed her, understanding what she wanted. He brought a hand between them again, his fingers finding her warm core easily. He started by touching her clit, smirking into the kiss as Della gasped, and he applied pressure while swirling his fingers over the little throbbing nub.
Della whimpered into the kiss, grabbing onto him tightly and trying not to lift her hips too close into his, as to not ruin his momentum.
“That’s it,” he grunted into the kiss. “Take it easy, I’ve got you.” Roy slid his other hand under the arch of her back, gripping her waist and holding her still as he teased and flicked at her clit, kissing her the whole time.
The kiss was interrupted by Della’s whimpers and moans, her mouth hanging open as she breathed deeply to keep herself grounded.
“Hush,” Roy reminded her, kissing her chin. “We don’t want anyone hearing us.”
“Are you embarrassed by me?” Della managed to blurt out a tease, soon biting her bottom lip to quiet her moan.
“No,” Roy shook his head, kissing her chin again. “I just want to make you cum before anyone knows what we did.”
Della gasped as he sank a finger into her as he said this, and her nails dug into his upper arm and his back. “Shit,” she hissed, “you could’ve warned me.”
“And take away the chance to see you like this?” he said with a thick lust in his voice. He kissed her neck, groaning softly as he felt her writhing beneath him while his finger slipped further into her. He pulled it back slightly, feeling the tight muscle around his knuckle clench, and then pushed his finger back in again, feeling around inside her for what spot made her tick.
“Roy!” she whimpered, leaning her head back into his desk.
“That’s it,” he cooed, kissing her clavicle and fingering her slowly. “That’s my girl, you’re okay.” He kissed her chest, “Deep breaths.”
Della rutted her hips slowly, her brows furrowed as she tried to keep herself calm and listen to his words—but all she could think about was his thick finger inside of her, nearly grazing the spot she wanted him to touch the most. She relished in how he kissed her neck, her collarbones, her breasts, and the way his finger moved inside of her. She held onto him tightly, and she wanted more.
“Please,” she whined. “Roy, please.”
“‘Please’, what?” he inquired, lifting his head to look at her with his hazy eyes and swollen lips, still moving his finger inside of her.
“M-more,” she finally stammered through stifled moans.
Roy nodded and leaned back, being mindful of his hand between her thighs, and he adjusted himself so he was sitting in his chair again, leaning his face to her core while his other hand pushed her skirt up to her waist. His tongue quickly found her clit, and Della had to slap her hands over her mouth to silence herself at the enhanced pleasure she felt between his lips and finger working at her most sensitive areas.
Roy groaned into her pelvis as he could almost taste her, using his tongue to lap at her while he fingered her steadily. It was like a dream come true—literally, a daydream come true—that he was going down on his secretary, her back arched over his desk and her fingers in his hair. His cock was so painfully hard in his pants now, more so than he thought would be possible in this scenario. He was ready for her, and he needed to make sure she was ready for him, so that he wouldn’t hurt her.
He used his free hand to push one of her thighs back, his fingers squeezing the muscle firmly, making her gasp and moan some more.
“Roy!” her voice called through her hand muffling her mouth. “Don’t stop,” she begged.
He groaned to let her know he heard her, and kept his pace with both his finger and his tongue. The dual pleasure he was giving her soon made her clench, and he could feel her thighs trying to squeeze together. He was so close to getting her to the edge he wanted her at, so close to getting her there, getting her to her first climax.
Della bit her knuckle to silence herself, whimpered as she came around his finger. She could hear how much more wet she became as he finger fucked her, the squelching from her fluids growing just a tad louder, her hips bucking from the orgasm.
Roy pulled his finger out of her, but kept his face in her pussy, now using his tongue to lap at her juices. He moaned at the way she tasted, and he held both of her thighs around his head as he devoured her, making her twitch from the overstimulation.
“Roy!” she hissed quietly, jerking and holding his head and hair with both hands. “Roy, please!”
He hummed to indicate to her to hold on, his fingers squeezing around her thighs as he instantly became addicted to how she tasted. His tongue pushed through her folds, licked up every drop of her essence, flicked over her clit again. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he kept eating at her, until to his surprise, she unraveled again, squeezing her legs around his head once more and moaning into her palms to try and silence herself.
“My my,” he panted as he pulled back, licking his lips as he greedily needed to keep tasting her. “You’re a sensitive one, aren’t you?”
Roy stood from his seat and leaned over her, touching her sensitive folds to watch her squirm. He smirked and gave her some grace, pulling his hand from between her legs and resting his palms beside her head, on the other edge of the desk. He pressed his painful bulge against her core, groaning as his face was just barely an inch from hers. “Are you okay?”
Della nodded as she took a shaky breath, her eyes wet with tears. When Roy noticed this, he kissed her softly, bringing one hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb across her freckles to push away a stray tear that rolled out of her eye. “Do you need a break?”
“N-no,” she hiccuped. “I want you.”
He nodded again, the tip of his nose grazing hers, and he kissed her again, softer this time. “You’re doing so well,” he mumbled into her lips.
Della could taste herself, and she moaned softly into his lips, sighing through her nose as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him slowly, humming at his praise, and lifted her legs again to wrap them around his waist. She could feel his pants and belt around his hips, and whimpered, pulling out of the kiss carefully. “Too many layers,” she exhaled, pouting as she looked into his eyes.
Roy chuckled and pecked her lips before leaning up again. He stood, carefully pulling her legs off of him, before he reached for his belt. The buckle clinked delicately as he pulled it apart, and he unzipped his pants, shoving his thumbs into boxers and pushing his garments down his thighs. His cock was finally released from the constraint, and flopped out, his tight tip bouncing against her core, making her gasp.
“It’s okay,” Roy reassured her quickly, reaching to caress her cheek. “I’ll go slow, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”
Della nodded, cupping her hand over his. She gazed at him, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath she took, and she tried to drink in his image. Her eyes were bleary from the tears of her orgasm, and she could make out enough of him to still feel the butterflies he always gave her, and still make out his handsome features.
She watched as he used his free hand to reach between them again, grabbing his cock and slowly stroking himself. As her vision cleared, she could see his strong arm muscles bulging with each movement, the veins becoming more prominent. Della whimpered as she felt his cockhead poking through her soaking folds, and he cooed at her to remind her to keep quiet. She could feel him jerking himself off against her core, and it made her whimper again. The action was getting her riled up again, and her face grew warm while watching him.
“Do you like what you see?” Roy mocked her, a smile on his lips.
Della nodded, and tugged at his hand that was still cupped against her cheek, dragging his palm to her breasts. He gave a squeeze, played with her nipples as he continued to prep himself, coating his tip with her fluids and spreading them down his length.
“Are you ready, pretty girl?” he asked in a low voice, leaning over her again and lining himself with her quivering hole.
Della nodded and cupped his cheeks, looking into his eyes. “‘M ready, please.”
Roy kissed her after nodding, and held her hips still, carefully pushing his own hips forward to enter her, and they both grunted and whimpered into each other’s mouths.
“Fuck,” Della hissed, squeezing her eyes shut and leaning her head back.
“Shh,” Roy cooed, kissing her chin and throat. “You’re doing so good,” he huffed, trying to keep himself composed as he slipped deeper inside of her. “Fuck,” he echoed her. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
Della whimpered and wrapped her arms around him, trying to settle her hips, and before she knew it, moans were spilling from her lips as Roy began to slowly and steadily thrust into her.
“Slow down,” she whined, clinging to him. “Hold on.”
Roy listened to her and nodded, stilling his hips to let her ease around his girth. “Sorry,” he grunted. “You just feel so good.”
Della let out a breathy giggle into his cheek, and replied in a whisper, “I know—you feel good—you make me feel good.”
He kissed her cheek, then kissed her lips, cupping her face with one hand, and when he felt her shift her legs around his waist again, he took that as his sign to continue. He slowly rutted into her, groaning into her mouth as he kissed her with the same tenderness.
As their bodies melded together, as their limbs joined and their tongues danced, as their sweat mixed between their bellies, they were becoming one. Their breathing was synced, their bodies were synced, and if one looked hard enough, their souls were synced. They embraced as Roy buried his cock deep inside of Della over and over and over again, and they kissed as passionately as lifelong lovers, held hands like budding courtships.
Della had to keep herself from moaning too loudly, even though the desk creaked beneath them as Roy rocked his hips, especially when he was beginning to pick up his pace.
Neither of them had any thoughts in their heads aside from how good they each felt; how tight Della’s pussy was, and how thick Roy’s cock was, and how perfectly his tip could find her sensitive spot inside of her.
It didn’t take long for Roy to start losing control, his hips thrusting madly, his balls slapping rapidly against Della’s ass, and as they both were falling victim to their own euphoria, their moans and grunts and groans and pants were growing louder and louder. Neither cared. Neither one of them were concerned about being caught, hell, someone could barge in now, and they’d be flat out ignored.
The pair tried to look into each other’s eyes, but both were so lost in each other, all they could see was the blurring face of the other person.
Roy could feel a familiar tightening in abdomen and in his groin, and he cupped Della’s face, using his elbow against the desk to steady himself so they could see each other clearly. “I’m close,” he warned her, “I’m so close—Della,” he moaned her name, his back tensing.
She crossed her ankles behind his back, keeping him close, and looked into his eyes with her own hazy ones, mouth hanging open. Her tits bounced against his chest, almost constrained against his chest, and she nodded sloppily, replying to him in a pathetic whine, “Please—please, I want you.”
Roy couldn’t hold back any longer, and just as he was reaching his climax, he felt Della clench around him, her loud, wailing moan sending him spiraling into his orgasm. He came inside of her, long and hard, his teeth gritting as he groaned, then his jaw fell open, his chest rattling with loud pleasure.
“Fuck!” he barked, choking in a breath as his frenzied hips were starting to slow down.
Della continued to let tears roll out of her eyes as her body writhed beneath him, her knees tight around his ribs, her toes curled, her belly clenched. “Roy,” she sobbed, her shaky hands clinging to him. “Oh, Roy!”
He looked down at her, kissing her cheeks and the corners of her lips desperately as he tried to calm himself, his cock still twitching inside of her. “You did so good,” he mumbled into her freckled skin. “You did so good, Della,” he panted.
Roy finally slumped over her, but continued to kiss her delicately all over her face and neck, even using his shaking hands to bring hers up to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles. “You were so good, sweet girl,” he whispered to her. “You were so good for me.”
Della laid beneath him, her body limp, limbs trembling, lips quivering as she sniffled and hiccuped. “I wanted to be,” she finally squeaked. “Wanted to be good for you.”
“You were,” he praised, smiling at her while brushing stray hairs from her eyes. “You were perfect.”
Della tried to smile back at him, but she couldn’t keep her jaw steady enough.
A solid few knocks at the door rumbled through the office, and Roy lifted his head to bark, “I’m busy!”
The person on the other side of the door replied in a weary, muffled voice, “Sir, I’m sorry, but… but people can hear you!”
“I don’t give a shit, ignore us,” he replied, turning his attention to Della once more.
She was very clearly embarrassed, her face red, shoulders scrunched up to her ears, and she brought her hands over her face. “What have we done?” she gasped.
“Shh,” Roy cooed, pulling her hands away from her face. “It’s fine, you’re not in trouble—believe me when I say, we aren’t the first to be caught being promiscuous on the clock.”
“Really?” she asked quietly, looking up at him with a nervous expression.
“Really,” he assured with a nod, touching her cheek. “Pay no mind to anyone who says anything about it, okay? You’re not in trouble, not while I’m here.”
She nodded, trying to listen to him. “Yes, sir,” she replied quietly.
Roy chuckled with a smirk and said, “Call me ‘sir’ again while I’ve got you like this, and I’ll have to do this to you all over again.”
Della laughed with a red face, covering her mouth and nose with her hands to muffle her giggles, looking up at him. “You’re so dirty!” she gasped, nudging at his shoulder.
He chuckled again and gave her another kiss before slowly and carefully pulling out of her with a soft gasp, and sighed as he stood straight. He looked over her body, and felt that usual tug in his chest. He just noticed the freckles that dotted her chest and breasts, over her ribs, some speckling over her belly. Her shoulders had some too, and the tops of her thighs.
His eyes fell on the scar above her knee again as her legs hung limply over the side of his desk by his hips, and he frowned deeply, touching it with his fingertips.
Della lifted her head to look at him, and carefully sat up with a groan, feeling a couple of papers stuck to her back. She reached behind her to swipe them away, then placed her hand on top of his, leaning so she could put her face in front of his. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a scar.”
Roy pulled his eyes from it and looked into Della’s, his whole face frowning. “But now I know how you got it…”
He hesitated before asking, slowly, “Did you want to do what we just did?”
Della frowned now. “What are you trying to ask me?”
Roy felt his belly flop, as if he was in danger. “Do you feel that I coerced you to do this?”
She scoffed and shoved him by the shoulders, making him stumble back a bit. “No!” Della hopped off the desk and began to grab her clothes, her eyes stinging with tears.
Roy grabbed her bicep and turned her to him, holding her shoulders firmly so she could face him. “Della, listen to me: I do not regret what we just did—I wanted it, very badly, I have for a long time now.” He licked his lips and continued, “I need to know you felt the same way… I need to know that you didn’t do it just because you figured I wanted to.”
“Did I not make it very clear to you that I wanted this as well?” she asked sternly, nearly glaring at him. “I told you explicitly that I wanted you. I kissed you first,” she poked his chest with her index and middle fingers for emphasis. “How dare you ask me that!”
“Della,” grunted in frustration, holding her arms against her side. “I’m only asking because you confided in me just weeks ago about how you’ve been assaulted—I’m confused,” he admitted once again, “I just don’t want this to be something where you felt I persuaded you into anything.”
“Do you not understand the difference, Roy?” she scoffed. “I consented to you.”
He did understand now. “Yes,” he breathed while nodding eagerly. “Yes, I understand—I’m sorry.”
Della’s heart fluttered at the apology.
“I’m sorry, I understand now. I just—I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you ever again, especially at my hands.”
“I want your hands,” Della implored. “Please understand that just now, I was vulnerable with you, because I wanted to be. I was tired of pretending that seeing you every day doesn’t make me yearn for you, and that I missed you while you were away these past few weeks.”
“You did miss me?” Roy whispered incredulously.
Della rolled her eyes, nudging him again. “Yes, dummy! That’s what I just said!”
Roy cupped her cheeks, leaning down to kiss her, deeply and passionately and slowly. Della melted into it immediately and dropped her clothes to the floor again, placing her hands on his muscular and thick waist, feeling what she assumed to be a mix of both their sweat soaking into her palms.
He pulled back from the kiss, looking down at her with his dark, deep eyes. “I missed you, too,” he could finally confess. “I never want to be apart from you again.”
“You’re so cheesy,” Della chuckled dreamily, out of breath. “You’ve never even courted me, just fucked me on your desk.”
“I’ll do it again tomorrow,” he said excitedly.
Della laughed and shook her head, smiling up at him. “Fine—fuck me again tomorrow, but take me out this weekend.”
“As you wish,” he smiled and leaned to kiss her again, pulling her into his embrace where she melted into his chest, clinging to him as she kissed him back.
The next day, as promised, Roy fucked her again. He had Della bent over his desk, his cock deep inside of her, hands tightly gripping her ass as he fucked her roughly from behind. He didn’t care to keep quiet, not after yesterday when the whole corridor had heard them. The desk creaked and rocked beneath her just as loudly and roughly now as it did the day before, and Della couldn’t stop her whimpers and moans.
Roy’s cock just felt so good inside of her, made her spine tingle, made her toes curl, made her fingers curl, made the hairs on the back of her neck stick up. She couldn’t contain herself, letting his name roll from her tongue with each thrust inside of her.
He fucked her again not long after on the couch in his office, pressing her into it, trapping her beneath his muscular body. He made her cum six times that day, all while paperwork piled up on her desk just outside the closed double doors of his office.
Della even went down on him this time, having him sit against his desk where he previously fucked her, her on her knees before him, tears rolling down her face as she choked on his long cock. She drank up everything he spilled down her throat, reveled in how he tugged at her hair, and how he sounded so pathetic whimpering her name.
When they were both good and exhausted, laid up in each other’s embrace on the couch, their legs tangled together, sweat once again pooling together between them. They breathed heavily, hair sticking everywhere and a mess, skin cold from their bodies cooling down now.
Roy’s fingers traced lightly along Della’s back and sides, mindlessly as he was taking in her form against him. She was snuggled into his chest, a content smile on her lips and she hummed quietly from how delicious his touch felt on her skin, causing her to grow goosebumps.
“What do you want to do this weekend?” Roy asked softly, staring at the corner of his desk.
“Hm?” Della asked.
“You said you wanted me to take you out this weekend,” he reminded her with a chuckle. “Where would you like to go?”
“You’re the man, you plan it,” she grumbled, nuzzling into him.
He snorted and realized she was right. He smiled, letting his fingers still glide over her skin. “I’ll pick you up at noon.”
“Okay,” Della smiled, happy with this answer.
“Will you wear a skirt?” he asked coyly.
“Probably,” she replied, “but not a miniskirt.”
“That’s fair,” Roy smiled.
They stayed embraced for some time before finally deciding to get back to work, dressing each other and helping each other clean up (Roy had prepped a pitcher of water and some washcloths ahead of time) before going back to their duties for the day, leaving their colleagues to awkwardly scatter away from Roy’s office and avoid looking that direction at all.
As Saturday rolled around, Roy had taken Della to a lively park, the sun shining, trees and grass a lush green, flowers bright and blooming even through the heat.
Della wore a loose, short sleeved blouse and a long skirt that touched her toes—she kept her word to wear a skirt for Roy, and he was delighted to see the swishing fabric around her legs, glad that she looked content in her outfit choice.
He spread out a fine blanket, Della holding a hefty picnic basket, her smiling face shaded from the wide-brimmed hat she wore. When the blanket was smoothed out over the grass just under the shade of a tree, Roy reached for the basket and took it from Della, but not without sneaking a kiss from her in the process.
The two sat, hip to hip just as Roy dreamed, eating sandwiches and freshly chopped fruit. When the park crowd wasn’t so heavy and they had as much privacy was one could in a public area, they kissed slowly, touched each other’s knees, cupped each other’s faces, which could easily be concealed by Della’s hat.
Roy grew sick of bumping around it at some point though, and pushed it off her head to set it beside her, and let his fingers rake through her long, dark locks. He kissed her deeply, tasting the remnants of cantaloupe on her tongue and lips, and he could tell Della smiled against his lips.
When they weren’t kissing or eating, they chatted, and Roy poured them glasses of sparkling apple cider, which was Della’s choice when picking out the groceries.
As Della sipped at her drink, holding a half eaten sandwich in her other hand, she choked as she heard Roy speak, unsure she heard him correctly.
“You should quit—as my secretary.”
She whipped to look at him, her face horrified. “What do you mean?”
Roy had a smile on his face. He leaned back on his palm, leaning toward her. “I just decided that I want to move in together, and I can’t live with my secretary.”
“What?” She squeaked, blinking at him as her heart raced.
“I just decided!” he laughed, but Della didn’t understand why he was so cheerful.
“You don’t want me to be your secretary anymore?” her voice squeaked again.
“No,” Roy still smiled, “I don’t want to live with my secretary, I want to live with my life partner.”
He laughed again, full of joy. “I just decided!” He reached for her hand, wrapping both of his around hers that held the glass of cider. “I just decided, it just occurred to me—I want to marry you, Della. We can get married and live together, and you can quit as my secretary, you never have to work again.”
“Roy—!” Della chirped, but he continued.
“With my promotion, I can more than afford to care for you,” his voice was softer now, but his wild smile stayed on his lips. “You can stay home, be my wife—you don’t ever have to work again, I’ll support you—you can do whatever you want, pick up any housewife hobbies you want,” he began to speak frantically again, letting another laugh slip, but he calmed himself just as quickly and gave her another warm smile, “I just want to come home to you every day, I want to kiss you every day, I want to make you smile every day.”
Della gawked at Roy. She didn’t know what to say. She listened to him, took in all of his words, listened to how he laughed and seemed so excited. “I-I—” she stammered, her bottom lip quivering.
“You want to marry me, Roy?” she finally whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.
“Yes,” Roy replied just as softly, leaning closer to her. “I want to marry you—I just had the thought, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”
“This is only your first day courting me,” Della’s voice cracked, but now she smiled.
Roy smiled as he realized she wasn’t rejecting his proposal.
“How untraditional,” she sniffled, tears rolling out of her eyes now, and she sat her sandwich down to wipe it away with the back of her hand.
Roy cupped her cheek, using his bare thumb to wipe away another tear, and he said softly, “I don’t think either of us are very traditional people to begin with—after all, you let me devour you naked on my desk, in my office.”
“Stop!” Della giggled, blushing and shaking her head before looking up at him again.
Before she could speak again, Roy asked eagerly, “What do you say?” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Will you marry me? Will you accept, even without a ring?”
“I accept,” Della hiccuped, allowing herself to cry as she threw her arms around his neck, knocking him back a bit from the sudden embrace, but he caught himself, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her against him, and a look of relief swept over his face.
Della pulled back enough to kiss him, and he kissed her back, deeply, and now with a newly named, but not newly felt, emotion: love.
Their wedding came quick, just less than four months after the unconventional proposal. It wasn’t as grand as one would expect for a man with Roy’s ranking, but everyone who mattered attended, and watched as the couple exchanged vows, sealed the deal with a passionate kiss, and they were off as husband and wife.
They found a house together, moved in quickly, and just as quickly christened each and every room and surface with their lovemaking, even if furniture hadn’t been moved in yet. They took each other on the floors, on the counters, against walls. Roy made sure that Della would remember each and every orgasm he gave her and where he gave them to her in their home, taking his time to get her riled up and focusing on her pleasure.
Over the years, their passion for each other never faded, and each time they made love was like a fresh romance. Eventually, Della bore their first child, the second some years later, and then a third some years after that. The family knew nothing but love, the children having the most doting father and loving mother, wanting for nothing and learning how to navigate the world with grace and dignity and kindness.
It was indeed a happily ever after for the couple, and nothing bad or horrible or painful or terrible ever happened to Roy Mustang from that point on—ever. He lived happily ever after, with nothing to traumatize him, ever. He lived happily ever after. Do you hear me, Hiromu Arakawa? He lived happily ever after with nothing bad ever happening to him again!!!!!
“You requested to see me?” You say as you enter Roy Mustang’s office.
The colonel’s office was clean and simple. The white walls and the dark brown desk and chair were always clean and organized. His desk had a phone and a large stack of papers, which were probably unread and not filed.
“Yes I did. How are you?” He asked, a small smirk on his lips.
You weren’t one for casual small talk and you inhaled sharply.
“I’m fine, sir. Why did you ask for me?”
“I needed you to file some paper work for me on some important matters.”
That wasn’t a common request you got from him, it had only happened twice, maybe a third time but that’s pushing it. As a Sergeant, you didn’t often file the colonel’s important paper work so it was a strange request from him.
“I’m sorry? File your paper work?” You asked confused.
“Yes, I’d appreciate that. Let me organize them,” he mumbled and started flipping through the papers, his eyes wandering back and forth between you and the papers.
You had been on a leave for three months and had just gotten back two weeks ago and everyone had been babying you since then. You had left because you got in a serious injury that left you barely able to walk with your right leg and you were ready to actually do things.
“Are you sure you don’t have any actual assignments for me?” You asked politely.
He looked at you with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh, I forgot about your injury,” he mumbled, continuing to stack papers. It honestly sounded as though he had forgotten about your injury and wanted you to file his papers, which made you feel a bit better about yourself if you were being honest.
“You did?”
“Yes I did. How are you doing regarding that?”
You didn’t understand why Mustang kept trying to make small talk but it was irking you slightly. You had a job to get done.
“I’m fine, it’s completely healed which is why I want an actual assignment,” you mumbled, passive aggressively.
He smirked and let out a low laugh. “After this, I promise any major assignments I receive will be given to you.”
You were greeted with an intense silence filled only with the gently sound of papers shuffling.
“Can you come here and look at these?”
You came behind his desk and he started showing you the information for the papers.
He was standing directly behind you and you could feel his breath on your cheek and you couldn’t lie, it was distracting you. His body was pressed against you and you could feel him inhale and exhale. It was distracting you from whatever words he was saying.
You couldn’t lie, you had of course noticed how attractive the colonel was when you first met, but you never thought of him romantically or sexually in any way. But all you could think of was his breathing and the way he felt pressed against your-
“Did you catch all that?”
You froze, wondering how long you had been stuck daydreaming.
“Sergeant?” He asked again.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I was processing everything,” you mumble, embarrassed.
“Were you distracted by something?” He asked, his voice not wavering at all as he pressed his body harder against yours.
You could slightly feel his dick against your back and realized he was ever so slightly hard against you.
Was the colonel turned on? You thought to yourself. Your thoughts were kinda fuzzy and the thought of mustang being aroused by you honestly turned you on more than you’d like to admit.
“Hello? Hello! Sergeant?” The colonel called out.
“I’m sorry,” you said, you could still feel the pressure of him against you.
“Are you alright?” He asked.
You were not sure how to answer the question.
“Dammit, Sergeant. When an officer asks you a question you respond,” he commanded.
What You just had a feeling he was into degrading and praising.
“Yes, I am splendid,” you mumbled, slightly out of breath.
“Are you okay with this?” He whispered into your ear as he put his hands on your waist.
You swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
He tightened his grip on your waist and started kissing your neck. You felt his arms wrap around to the front of your body and grasp your shirt. He tugged at it gently and you could tell he wanted you to take it off. You hummed gently as you made to remove your button up.
He pulled his hands off your body to let you work as he himself stripped off his jacket. You couldn’t move tho, because his hips were pressed against your ass pinning you against his desk. You could feel his hard dick against you.
In second you were shirtless, just in your bra and your pants and you could feel his cold, hard and against your back. He continued to nip at your neck.
Honestly you had no idea what was to come, but you were hoping it would be you.
You gently pressed your ass harder against him and he groaned into your neck. In one swift motion he suddenly unclipped your bra and grasp your breasts in his hands. He gently rubbed his rough thumbs along your nipples causing you to squirm.
“Do you like that?” He hummed into ear. You nodded and bit your lip. He gently tugged on your pants and you sighed. What was he doing to, turning you into a puddle?
He quickly pulled your pants off and his followed after and you gaped at his now fully revealed dick.
It was huge and dripping precum. It was probably seven or eight inches long and was as thick as your fist.
“Holy shit,” you mumbled.
He smirked. “Not what you were expecting?”
“I see why you’re called mustang,” you giggle. He let out a low chuckle.
“It’s just my last name, darling, but I guess it holds a double meaning.”
You open your mouth to add a quip but he quickly shoved you over his desk, your hips pressed against the edge and your ass up, fully exposed to him.
Papers went flying as he adjusted you on his desk. He ran a hand along your spine to your ass and your skin erupted in chills. You gripped the far edge of his desk as his cock continued to brush against your ass.
He pulled one leg up, closer to the desk and gently rubbed your clit and you moaned loudly.
“If you don’t shut up, Sergeant,” he threatened. You nodded in response.
“I’m sorry, s-“
He cut you off by pushing his cock inside of you and you bit down on your lip to keep from screaming out.
“Oh you feel good,” he hummed, adjusting himself. He squeezed your ass. “Good girl.”
He pulled out of you then quickly rammed back in and grunted.
He held your leg propped up, and wrapped his arm around it so he could rub your clit as he continues to pound in and out of you.
You could feel a knot forming in your stomach as he continued to edge you, bringing you closer to your climax as he overstimulated you.
“I’m really close,” you mumbled quietly, your hips getting rammed continuously into the desk edge.
He pushed into you, taking you to your edge until your orgasm spilled out. A mere second later he reached his edge and his orgasm came over him, filling you up as he came. He rode out his orgasm then pulled out of you.
“Are you okay, Sergeant?” He asked, putting his clothes back on quickly.
You were partially stunned and your hips hurt and could feel the bruises forming on them already. You nodded.
“Yeah, I’m fine, that was, wow.” You couldn’t quite find words. You started putting your uniform on as well.
When you were both fully dressed, he stood in front of you and smirked. “Well as long as you’re good, I need these papers on my desk by tomorrow at 9.”
Note: Takes place about twelve years before the start of the story.
You were sitting in your office when Fuhrer King Bradley stepped into the closed door, without knocking. Eyes drifting upward to look at the mustached man with a half smile. He had a determined look on his face as he stared back at you.
“Hello Fuhrer Bradley, sir,” You stood and gave the man a bow.
“Must you be so formal?” Bradley sighed and crossed his arms.
“You are the Fuhrer, and I, just a measly civil servant~” You said, pressing your arm to your hand in a dramatic fashion.
“Yet,you are my wife” He said while leaning on the doorframe.
“Hah, you’re no fun. So what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“Direct order from Father, it’s time for you to perform your wifely duties,” Bradley said as he put his hat back on.
“Oh… well I’ll see you tonight,”
You had been anticipating this night since you and King Bradley had gotten married. You had found out he was a homunculus when you saw under his eye patch. Maybe it should have turned you away but it did the opposite.
“You should get ready to head home, get ready.” Bradley saw before turning to leave.
Gathering up the last bits of your paperwork you placed them into your drawer. Grabbing your keys to lock your office you head home as you were told.
Did you have a thing for the dramatics… maybe but tonight was going to be romantic. The Fuhrer would like all the sweet candles, the dim lighting and the pastel colored lingerie set you had put on right after a nice rose bath.(well the last part was for you but still.) Now you were just sitting on the freshly washed egyption cotton bed sheets.
Your eyes gain weight, Body feeling heavy while laying against the plush pillows; Sleep quickly starts to overcome you. An unknown amount of time passess when the sound of the door jingles. Stirring you a bit, shifting your head to the faint sound. Fuhrer Bradley stepped into their shared bedroom.
Bradley walked over to you, eyes trailing up and down your partially exposed body. He moved his hands across your stomach slowly. You hum while still stirring from your nap as Bradley’s hands roamed across your torso.
“Look alive dear, this is the start of a long night,” Bradley said. As he bent, his breath tickled your ear and his voice low and sensual sent shivers down your spine.
“Sorry dear, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You push the resilient pull of slumber away the best you could. Eyes trained on the sight of Bradley unbuttoning his shirt, his shoes long gone.
He carefully placed the shirt into the laundry basket,then he sat next to you. Scooting over beside you, he drapes his arm on top of yours and pulls you closer. Heartbeat pumping faster with anticipation.
You could already see his growing erection through his work pants. you were fully awake now and starting to get turned on by the second. Leaning into him, you give him a smile.
“Do you like my outfit?” You place a finger mall kiss on his cheek. His warm hand rubbing up and down on your side.
“It's cute, but I would have preferred you wearing nothing at all.” The Fuhrer mumbled against your skin as he kissed your neck lightly. He then snaked his hand to the clip to her bra to undo it.
His eyes were set on your supple breasts, kneading one in his hands. Your mouth opens a bit but little sound escapes it, aside from a small squeak.
Bradley rolls your tender nipples in between his rough fingers, to which they quickly grow erect. He moved his head to place a kiss on your breast, before running his tongue on it. His soft kisses turned to open mouth frenching and licking then that turned into sucking and even biting. You let out a moan as your hand ran through his head.
He moved to take off your lingerie bottoms, you shiver and watch him. Bradley let out a sharp breath, running his thumb on your folds.
“You’re such a filthy woman, already soaking wet,” Bradley said, slipping two fingers into your dripping cunt.
“F-uck~” You cried out, your hips bucking into Bradley’s large hands. He curled his fingers within her as he thrust his digits in a slow pace. He was kissing her here and there as rubbed her clit.
He slips out his boxers in quick motions as he starts to stroke his erections with his other hand, matching the slow pace as his fingers plumbing in your wet walls.
“Can I?” you looked down at the size of him, wanting to suck him off.
“Maybe another time dear, I need to save all my seed for this beautiful cunt your yours.” He lifts your chin so you are looking up at him. Bradley gives you a quick peck, before moving you down on the bed where you were laying down and gets in between her legs.
Lining himself up with your fat cooch, Bradley’s hips snap against yours as he starts with a brutal pace.
“Ah- ah- A- oh fucK~” You cried out, the sound of for flesh snapping against eachother filling the bedroom with lewdities.
He starts to thrust into you with a slow and even pace. Rocking his hips as he held your thighs in his hands. He lets out a faint groan from his movements. Your eyes shut as you let out shaky moans.
“I want you to look at me dear.” he places a kiss on your cheek as he pulls your chin down to look at him. You do your best to keep your eyes on him as he thrust into you with his rhythmic pace that was starting to get faster.
He let out groans as he rocked his hips deeply inside your cunt. He pulled your thighs further apart as he started to pound at your g-spot. He leaned closer, making your legs get closer to your own chest. Bradley’s movements made your walls tense and flutter as you started to fall off the edge of a climax.
“Ah~” you let out another moan as you clench around King Bradley’s cock; your walls sucking him and pulling him deeper, the veins of his dick were rubbing you in all the right places. Your legs become shaky as you reach a climax.
The Fuhrer didn't let up, in fact he started to hit into you harder. Forcing your legs closer to your ears and basically hovering above you. Your…everything was basically shaking, whole body quivering as your husband abused your wet glistening soaking and dripping pussy.
“Can't wait for this beautiful body of your to be caring for our kin.” His breathy voice muttered into your neck. You cum with another shaky cry.
“Too much- ha it's too much-“ you wrapped your weakening legs on his hips.
“You'll be fine my dear, just hold out a bit longer my dear.” His movements got a bit more sloppy as he got closer to finishing.
Hot tears rolled down your face,the pleasure was overwhelming. After a few more deep thrust the Fuhrer’s releases his hot sticky man goo into your cunt.
He pulled out and the cum leaked onto the bed sheets, yet Bradley pushed some of the dripping cum back into your stuffed hole so as to not waste his precious seed.
You let out a whimper as Bradley’s thick fingers slip into you.
“You can’t quit just yet dear , we have to make sure you’re pregnant and I still have a whole lot left in me.”
You were diligently sweeping the floor when you heard the front door unlocked.
“Welcome home,” you turn to face him at the door, giving him a smile as he gets closer.
“You’re supposed to be on bedrest,” King Bradley said with a sigh.
“I Know but I just couldn't help myself, I get bored being in bed all day. ” You give him a sheepish look, You rub your stomach tenderly. “If I let my body get weak then our baby will be weak as well, and we can’t have that can we.”
“No I suppose not” he nods and helps sit you down in the chair carefully.
“So I was thinking of names and if it’s a boy, about the name Selim?”
Thank you so much for reading and thanks to @cafekitsune for the banners.
-Either you and Riza have to babysit Roy, good luck to y’all
-OR She has to babysit the both of you, good luck to her
-Honestly yall are a power couple
-Depending on your position, like military or not, it might cause some strain since they move around a lot
-But you make it work!
-Roy is a bit less serious in relationships, he’s just a huge dork
-Riza tends to be a bit more serious in general, she kinda has to be, considering how Roy is
-Communication is key with these two! Talk things out and itll work out okay in the end <3
NSFW Under the cut!
-These two… whoo boy
-They are SPICY
-Roy gives me disaster switch vibes
-Riza could be a switch, probably leans towards dom/top though
-She prefers to have control, it makes her feel comfortable
-Roy also likes to have control, but he would appreciate handing over control to someone he trusts implicitly
-As far as kinks go
-I think Riza would be into sensory deprivation, maybe some mild temperature play. Blindfolds would be a yes.
-Maybe mild overstimulation if you’re into that
-She tends to work to fit someone else’s needs
-Kinda like a pleasure dom
-Roy is… the opposite LMAO
-He is a mean dom if he doms, brat if he subs
-Orgasm denial for him -He is an absolute MENACE
-If Roy does dom, Riza does too
-Kinda like good cop bad cop
-Roy is mean and teasing, Riza is gentle and soft
-RIP You
-All in all, yall are cute together
Hope you enjoyed! I went with HCs but if you want a full length fic, feel free to send in another request! it might take me a bit longer but I'll do my best on it! <3 ~Cricket
Roy Mustang was a man of very little words but when it came to you he could talk all day. Every night you were there for him waiting for him to come home. Sometimes he’d be late and he’d find you sleeping on the couch “that’s no good” he’d pout before he picked you up into his arms and carried you to the bed you shared. He’d cover you up before he went to take a shower, seeing that you had already set out a fresh uniform for the morning for him. How did I get so lucky he’d think to himself as the water hit his back.
He always wanted to show you how grateful he was to have you in his life and for you to be his wife. He was surprised you stuck around when he had become so cold but you were his only warmth. Seeing how much love you poured into him made him want to be a better partner, a better man, and be the best husband.
Coming home from a long day of work he’d cling onto you while you finished cooking dinner. Pulling your hair to the side to leave kisses on your neck. “After dinner will you shower with me?” He cooed into your ear. Resting his head on your shoulder waiting for your response. You turned your gaze to him to see his smiling face “of course” you said with a smile. Once dinner was complete he set the table making you a plate before he made his own, “thank you for the food, smells delicious” he praised.
Once he was done putting the leftovers in the fridge and cleaning the dishes he turned around, his shirt unbuttoned and towel slung over his shoulder “ready?” Roy asked.
“Mhm” you hummed in response, removing the towel from his shoulder and pulling his collar towards the bathroom. The two of you chuckled once you got to your bedroom, you turned away from him and undressed. Roy stood there in awe, no matter the amount of times he saw your naked body it was like the first time he’s ever seen you. “Turn around” he commanded, his voice going low. You did as he said, turning around and facing him.
“Look at you, just so beautiful” he mused, your cheeks turning pink. “Roy don’t flatter me” you put your hand up to your mouth. “You are, how’d I get so lucky to end up with a woman like you?” He said, taking another step closer to you. “Come, let’s wash up” you said, extending your hand out to grab him and pull him into the bathroom. Turning on the water you tested the temperature before getting in, he stepped in behind you, his arms already clinging to your body. He washed your hair before he did his own, switching positions in the shower with you to rinse.
Grabbing your loofa he put the body wash on it creating suds before he started rubbing down your body. Starting at your shoulders, neck, back and going to your chest. Instead of using the loofa massaged the soap into your breasts letting the water wash it away before he went back to washing the rest of your body. Once fully clean he rubbed at your thighs, leaving soft kisses along your skin.
“Can I do something for you?” He asked, looking up at your face. Biting down on his lower lip, “y-yes” you responded. A soft smile growing on his lips as he ushered you to sit down on the shower bench, adjusting the shower head to keep you warm. Getting back between your thighs he rubbed up from your feet to your thighs “love your thighs so much. Just love squeezing them so much. I could rest my head between them all day. You’d like that wouldn’t you y/n? ” Roy quizzed, his fingers lingering closer and closer to your cunt.
Simply at a loss for words you nodded your head, clenching your thighs tighter. “Can my sweetheart please open her legs for me?” Rot asked, looking up at you with sweet eyes. His hands resting on your thighs waiting to part them when he felt your clenching seize. He was pleased watching you open your legs for him. Taking a moment to admire your beauty once again before he started placing kisses along your leg. Sucking on the inner parts of your thighs leaving hickeys behind. Soft moans coming from your sweet lips encouraged him to keep going.
“Love your thighs y/n, your breasts, everything.” Roy said, putting his thumb at your clit he softly rubbed it in circles. His fingers slipping between your slit collecting all your juices on the tips of his fingers. Bringing them to his lips he parted his mouth, taking his fingers in and sucking them clean. “F-fuck you taste so good” he groaned, his cock twitching in the air as he brought his face closer to your heat. One hand wrapped around your back bringing your body partly off the shower bench having your cunt flush against his mouth.
His tongue flicking at your clit as his other hand took your nipple into his fingers and pinched them softly. Your soft moans driving him into pleasure, his thumb moving your nipple around as his tongue went faster on your clit. Setting his nose to your clit his tongue slid inside of your entrance, lapping up all your juices like a starved man.
His nose is constantly bumping into your clit making you cry his name out over and over again. “Please cum on my tongue y/n” Roy said in between licks. He kept at his pace, your thighs clenching around his head made him feel like he was going to explode. The knot in your stomach becoming tighter each time his tongue went in and out while he tweaked at your nipples. He put more pressure on your clit making your body shake under his control, moaning as the knot in your stomach snapped cumming all over his face.
His tongue licked over his lips before he stood up taking your hands into his and pulling you up. Holding you close to his body he kissed your forehead. “There’s more to come, I love you. I’ll let you relax a bit but I want to please you more ok?” Roy said. “Please” you asked.
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)
