Hello! ❤️
Can I request a fluffy headcanon about Fluff relationship with his shy female reader for Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood)? Please??
I feel like I got a bit carried away with this... Hope you like this dearie. <3
Pairing: Roy Mustang x Reader
Warning: Nothing but fluff,
WC 1.3k
The front door creaks open. The familiar sound of keys hitting the bowl that Roy insisted you didn’t need bringing a smile to your lips as you stand at the kitchen counter. The stew is still simmering, each soft pop of steam rising like it’s trying to distract you, but your heart has already started its ridiculous fluttering.
Months of living together, and he still does this to you. Your heart still summersaults every time he comes home. He shouldn’t have such an effect on you.
But he does. He always does.
“Hey.” His warm voice calls from the front room followed by the dull thud of his shoes hitting the floor as he kicks them off. He rounds the corner, and the smile that spreads across his face is immediate, unguarded. “There you are.”
You duck your head a little, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hi.”
He steps behind you, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. Casual, certain, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It still makes your breath catch.
“You hiding from me?” He asks, amused, hands sliding to rest on your hips as you grab the spoon to stir the stew.
“No.” You say too quickly. “Just cooking.”
He huffs a soft laugh. “I think you can be doing both.”
Heat creeps up your neck. “I’m not hiding.”
He leans closer, chin settling on your shoulder as he looks down at the pot. His presence wraps around you, warm and steady. “Then you won’t mind me staying here until dinner is ready.”
“Roy.” You grumble and shift as the heat of him becomes too much. Your heart can’t take it with how fast it’s beating. “Please.”
“Please what?” He asks, even though you can hear the smile in his voice. He already knows. He always knows.
“Space.” It comes out barely above a whisper.
He goes still, arms coming to rest on the counter. His eyes search your face as you turn slowly to face him, checking for any real discomfort at his presence.
But you aren’t, uncomfortable. If anything you are exactly where you always long to be.
“Come here.” He says softly.
He wraps his arms around you with a careful kind of tenderness, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away. You hesitate, not because you want distance, but because stepping into him always feels like stepping off a ledge. His smell, his warmth, the way he looks at you… It’s all too much and exactly right at the same time.
Despite the nerves, despite your heart hammering in your chest, you step into his space. Your arms slide around him, your face nuzzling into his chest, and your body melts into the warmth that is Roy.
“You don’t have to be shy with me.” He murmurs against your hair as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“I’m not…” You risk a glance up at him and he winks.
Your cheeks ignite. You bury your face in his chest again, mortified.
He laughs softly, tilting your chin up with one finger. Not demanding, just guiding. “I like it.” He adds, voice low with affection. “It’s cute.”
“It’s embarrassing.” You squeak, shaking your head.
“Nah.” His thumb moves to brush your cheek, gentle enough to undo you. “You get all flustered, and then you try to hide it, and then you get more flustered about hiding it.”
You groan. “Don’t make this worse by analyzing me.”
He leans in, forehead touching yours, making your breath catch at the closeness. “You’re my favorite thing to analyze”
“You’re impossible.”
“You love me anyway.” He says with that quiet confidence he wears so easily. You try to glare, but he’s too close, too warm, too him.
You sigh, feigning exasperation. “Yeah… I do.”
His smile softens, something warm flickering in his eyes. “Good. Because I love you too. Even when you pretend you’re not waiting for me to come home.”
“I was n–” You’re cut off by his hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer so your noses brush.
“You were,” he says, his breath ghosting over your lips now, sending a shiver down your spine. “And I like that too.”
His thumb brushes the back of your neck once more before he finally lets you go, though he stays close enough that you can still feel the warmth of him. The stew pops again behind you, a soft reminder that you were cooking before he walked in and turned your entire nervous system inside out.
Roy glances toward the stove. “If I let you go, is dinner going to burn?”
You huff a tiny laugh. “Only if you keep distracting me.”
He steps back just enough to give you space, but his hand trails down your arm as he does, his fingertips lingering at your wrist like he’s reluctant to break contact completely. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are still warm. You turn back to the pot, giving it a slow stir, trying to steady your breathing. Roy moves beside you, close but not crowding this time, leaning one hip against the counter.
He watches you for a moment. Soft. Content.
“You made the good stew.” He says, voice dipping into something fond.
You shrug, suddenly shy again. “You like it.”
“I like anything you make.” He nudges your shoulder lightly. “But this one? This one feels like you missed me.”
Your hand freezes on the spoon. He notices instantly.
“Hey.” He says gently. “I’m teasing.”
“I know.” You murmur, but your voice is small.
He steps closer again, slower this time, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. His hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady.
“You can miss me,” he says quietly. “I like being missed.”
You swallow, staring into the pot as if it might offer you courage. “I do.” You admit. “More than I should.”
You risk a glance up. His expression is soft in a way that makes your chest ache.
“Dinner’s ready,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say
He smiles, slow and warm. “Then let’s eat.”
He grabs bowls from the cabinet, handing you one before ladling stew into both. You carry them to the table, and he follows, setting his down before pulling out your chair for you.
You blink at him. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He gestures for you to sit, eyes soft. “I want to.”
You sit, heart thrumming hard against your ribs. He takes the seat beside you, knees brushing yours under the table. It’s a small thing, but it feels deliberate, the way the smallest touch both grounds you and makes your palms sweat.
You take a bite, and he watches your reaction like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“It’s perfect.” He states, so sure even though his bowl remains untouched.
“You haven’t even tried it.”
“Don’t need to.” He bumps your knee gently. “You made it.”
You shake your head, smiling wide, the tension easing out of your shoulders. Roy finally takes a bite, humming appreciatively. You look down at your bowl, cheeks warming again.
“Perfect. As always.”
“You’re biased.” You try to hide your smile behind your spoon as he bumps your knee again, but he sees it anyway. He always does. His fingers brush yours as he reaches for your other hand resting on the table. Not grabbing, just touching, reminding you that he’s there.
“I like coming home to you.” He says quietly as you look up to meet his eyes. “And I like that you wait for me to come home.”
The words land somewhere deep, somewhere tender. You look away, shy and overwhelmed, the familiar urge to retreat flickering through you. But his thumb brushes across your pulse point, slow and gentle, pulling your gaze back to him before you can disappear into yourself.
Roy smiles. Soft, steady, sure. The kind of smile that feels like a hand on your back, guiding you forward without pushing.
“There you are.” He murmurs.
And dinner feels less like a meal and more like a moment you’ll replay in your head for days.
