You’d always dreamed of your wedding—the venue, the bouquet, and, of course, your first dance.
you grew up watching your parents fall deeper in love with each passing year. spent days watching back through old family CDs of their wedding. of their first dance.
the video was practically worn out from the countless times you’d replayed it, watching their first dance over and over. you've practically ingrained it in your brain. every step, spin, dip, rhythm, the look of pure unbridled unadulterated love, that they shared between them. it was burned into your memory.
and naturally, you imagined yourself in their place. your arms wrapped around the person you'd spend the rest of your life with. your love. so when you met him. the man you couldn't envision a life without, you mentioned it. only once, in passing. and you never brought it up or thought about it again further down the line with planning.
so imagine the shock on your face, the venue packed with friends and family when the first notes of their song began to play.
he took your hand, his grip steady and warm, guiding you into the first step. for a moment, you hesitated, the familiarity of it overwhelming. but then he smiled, that soft, knowing smile that told you everything without a single word, and you let him lead.
the steps were the same. every turn, each twirl, the way he dipped you so perfectly, as though he’d practiced it for months (spoiler: he did). and you realized, as the music played on, this wasn’t just a dance—it was the dance.
when the song ended, you stood still, holding onto him tightly. “you’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice shaky.
“no,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I just love you.”
It is two am. Everything else is quiet, but for him and his precious daughter. The world falls asleep so they can share this rare moment. From sharing silly sounds, smiles, and her late night bottle. Come morning time he'll be called out on another mission. Will he return home by evening? No one truly knows.
It is five fifteen am. Her little hands reach to grip his shirt. His roughed and scared hands ever so carefully brush her tiny locks of hair from her eyes. He knows he should be rocking her back to sleep, but just a moment longer if bounding won't hurt.
It is two thirty am. He spots your sleep figure in the doorway to the nursery. By now, the daughter you blessed him with starting to fall asleep. He tiny eyes fighting the sleep away. Maybe she also knows how important these moments are.
It is two forty am. He finally settles her back in her cribe. Slowly, he backs into the hallway with you. The door closes halfway but not fully, never fully. The two of you share a warm smile before returning back to bed.
“My wife showed me this earlier, isn't it cool?” “Guess what my wife did today” “Oh, you think my shirt looks nice? Thanks, my wife bought it for me.”
He makes the people around him feel like they know you just from how much he talks about you. He finds a way to work you into every conversation. He starts to sweat and fears he might break out in hives if he goes a single conversation without mentioning you. The word wife makes his heart squeeze because it's a reminder that you picked him over everyone else and that he gets to have you for the rest of his life.
This doesn't just stay outside the home when he talks to other people; he says it to you just as often. Letters left on the kitchen table addressed to “my lovely wife” or when he playfully slaps your ass and responds to your joking glare with “Can't a guy appreciate his wife?”.
His love for the title also makes it into the bedroom. He leaves kisses all over your heated skin as he tells you how much he loves his pretty wife - how truly beautiful he finds you. His hands interlock with yours as he thrusts into your sweet pussy, and when he feels your wedding ring against his skin, his cock twitches inside you.
cw: age gap relationships, imbalanced power dynamics, stabbing, blood, wound stitching/care, suggestive
a/n: you can see this drabble as before they're in any sort of physical entanglement. it can also just stand alone.
-> your lover, your jailer (masterlist)
❈────────•✦•────────❈
“What the hell were you thinking?” Roy snaps the moment the door to Riza’s apartment clips shut behind you.
Riza tries to deposit you carefully onto her couch but—oh, you’ll bleed all over it. It’s such a nice couch. So you pitch away from it and Riza makes a sound of concern.
Roy reaches for you, barely catches your fall before slowly lowering you to the floor.
You pick your head up to catch his eyes—dark smoke; a smoldering night sky.
“I was thinking; Captain Hawkeye’s got me covered—which, she did—“
“You got stabbed,” Roy growls, “and you damn near ran straight for the knife.”
“Not now, sir.” Riza scolds and she’s already working on getting your shirt off of you. They share a look above your head—any other time, you'd try to decipher their silent language, but this time, you can't keep up.
Roy deflates fractionally, but his jaw ticks. Riza says, “get my med kit. It’s—“
“—under the sink in the bathroom, I know.” Roy says, standing and retreating from your view. Your breath is coming in short and quick now. Pain is fierce—you almost wish you’d been stabbed worse. Sometimes, when the wound is bad enough, you hardly feel it. It’s just all this heat and throbbing and your body so jittery—trembling with adrenaline—that you hardly even register the actual pain.
Not until later, when you’re stitched up and awake and your whole body screams in agony.
But this wound isn’t nearly so bad. It’s a shallow cut—nothing a few stitches can’t handle. But it means you feel the pain of the cut; where the knife had pierced you, gone in fractionally before Riza had taken your assailant out with the crack of a bullet.
Your covert mission had gone sideways. Clearly. Since you're bleeding all over Captain Hawkeye's living room floor.
Roy returns with the med kit and what you know are Riza’s bad towels—bleach stained and torn. Immediately, the two of them get to work on you. Careful, practiced hands clean up your blood, ready the suture and then;
“Do you need something to bite?” Roy asks, “Are you going to scream?”
“Hawkeye’s doing the stitches?”
Roy nods.
“Then—General, come closer.”
Roy looks puzzled for a moment, but he hunches closer. He shrouds half your body, almost covering Riza, too. You let your face tip into the crook of his neck, nuzzle into the fabric of his shoulder. He huffs. But then presses closer for you.
“Ready.” You croak.
“Deep breath.” Riza says, unnervingly calm.
You suck in all the air you can muster.
Pain slices through you.
You keen. Then, with the feeling of the needle tugging through your skin, you open your mouth.
Your teeth sink into the meat of Roy’s shoulder. Through his thick military jacket, you won’t hurt him—hopefully. He jolts a little, but then relaxes into it, letting you clamp down harder. Behind the gate of your teeth, you groan.
“Easy, easy—” Roy murmurs, one hand coming up to cradle your head. The other keeps you pinned for Riza. “Breathe. Come on."
Your groan slides into a higher, agonized sound. Girlish and frightened. Riza is as quick as she can be; you feel the needle press and pull, then dip and push. You feel her steady, careful hands, and the horrible, blinding pain of doing this without any sort of numbing agent.
"Shh," Roy hushes, glancing down at Riza's working hands at your side, at all the blood. His jaw is in your vision now. You breathe hard against his shoulder, mouth filling with the rough fabric of his jacket. You unlatch your jaw, if only to breathe properly and Roy says, "That’s it—good, good." And you don’t know if he’s speaking to you or to Riza.
The next push of the needle has you spasming, jolting in his hold. You cry out.
"Hold her steady." Riza's voice is a cool balm.
Roy presses harder into your body, holding you down. "Hold still, lieutenant."
"Fuck you." You curse.
"Is that any way to talk to your superior officer?" Roy says dryly as Riza says, "language, lieutenant."
"Fuck you both." You get out, voice pitching as Riza presses in again, through your skin that you feel tug and burn.
"It’s alright—that’s it," Roy murmurs. And then, "Captain?"
"Three more, sir."
"Okay." Roy says, "hold onto me, lieutenant. Bite if you have to."
You sink your hands into the muscles of his shoulders, his arms. You press yourself deeper into Roy, letting his body hold you in place. He cages you in. You feel Riza’s fingertips graze your side and you startle away from her.
“Steady now.” Riza murmurs, “almost through.”
Pain sears through your side. Your teeth clamp down onto Roy’s shoulder again and he leans in as if to help you.
“There, that’s it.” Roy soothes, despite how his hold on you will be a bruise tomorrow. He keeps you steady. “Atta girl. Bite hard if you have to—just stay still for us.”
You groan, eyes fluttering with pain, clamping down harder. Your body protests and jumps but you force yourself to hold as still as you can, fingers twitching and spasming into the muscles of Roy’s shoulders and back. Your nails dig into his jacket. Along his back. Without the buffer, you’d certainly be tearing into his skin.
“One more.” Riza promises. You breathe hard. Pain pulls taught. Then;
“Finished.”
Roy lessens his hold on you, lets you fall slack a little, ragdolling—he catches the back of your head before it can drop too far. Cradles you for a moment. You unlatch your teeth and suck in gulps of air.
Your side is on fire.
“There—breathe for me. You’re alright, lieutenant.” And then to Riza, he murmurs, “good work, Captain.”
(Any other time you might’ve caught the faint flush in her cheeks.)
“I’ll get her water. We’ll need to sterilize and bandage the wound in a moment.” Riza says and you groan again, knowing that won’t be easy either.
Riza retreats for a moment.
Through the haze of pain, you open your eyes to find Roy’s. He’s holding you very tenderly now. Almost the way a father would their injured daughter. The way someone holds an injured bird.
You lift your fingers to pull at his jacket, to try to hoist yourself closer. You rub your cheek against his chest like a little stray cat.
“You know,” he drawls lowly, “you’re not off the hook yet.”
“Are you going to punish me?” You slur, an off-kilter smile touching your mouth.
He tsks. “I should.”
“Do you want to? Do you think about it?”
Riza returns.
“Evidently you do.” Roy says dryly, glancing to Riza, who has her arms full of gauze and antiseptic. A glass of water carefully balanced in one hand, too. She moves to kneel beside the two of you again.
“I’ll be good and take it.” You say.
Riza throws a disapproving glance to you and Roy, “no, you will not.”
Your grin is lopsided, “you’re right, I’ll whine and cry and beg—“
“Lieutenant.” Riza warns.
Roy grabs for the antiseptic and begins to ready it for use, while Riza untangles the gauze carefully. Both their hands working at once, seamlessly moving together.
“What?” You ask innocently, but it’s just from the wooziness of blood loss. “It’s true—I don’t take punishments well. I’ve been told I’m pretty when I cry, though—“
“This isn’t appropriate.” Riza says firmly.
“Nor is it to send your subordinate on a secret, undercover mission outside of military scope. And yet—“
“Point taken, Lieutenant.”
The moment Roy presses a cloth soaked in antiseptic to the wound, you jolt and yelp, grabbing for Riza. She hisses when you get your nails in her. You curse, pain singing inside your body, spasming and stinging. You curse.
“Fuck—no foreplay with you, huh? Can’t warm a girl up first?” You ask, head lolling onto Riza’s collar bones as Roy cleans your wound.
It grows into a strange, soft humming of sensation. A glow of pain that throbs. You let out a breath, sinking into it, into their capable hands.
Roy scoffs, “something tells me you like a little pain.”
“Roy.” Riza warns now, elbowing him in the ribs a little. It jostles you and you huff out a weak laugh.
“Uh oh. First name used.”
“I know—I’m in the doghouse now, too.”
Riza huffs. “What am I supposed to do with you two? Need I remind either of you of the stab wound that’s been incurred?”
“Trust me—I don’t need a reminder.” You say, squirming as Roy continues to press gingerly at the wound. You whine a little. “It hurts.”
Once the cloth isn’t coming away with blood, Riza’s hands move in to bandage it.
“Probably a good thing you’re whining about it, at least.” Riza sighs. “If you were quiet, I’d be worried.”
“Wanna kiss it and make it better, Captain?”
“Kiss your freshly stitched and sterilized wound? No thank you.”
Roy snorts and you can’t help the loose smile that slips over your face, letting yourself sink further into their care. Into their capable hands. Riza is diligent in wrapping the wound. Roy holds you in place. And when they’re finished, your body throbs dully, but you’re exhausted enough that it’s not unbearable.
They both help you to the couch. Riza brings you painkillers.
Finally, Roy looks to you, bandaged on the couch and says, “that was very dangerous, lieutenant.”
His voice is soft and surprisingly earnest. He really was worried about you.
“Have to keep you on your toes, General.” Your smirk doesn’t reach your eyes.
“Please don’t ever do something like that again.” Roy responds and there’s a shadow in his vision—something faraway and terrifying. Something he can’t name. “I hate watching and being unable to—“
He cuts himself off.
Riza unconsciously rubs at the scar at her throat.
Ah.
She moves to your side, kneels on the floor beside you. She offers you the glass of water on the coffee table like you couldn’t reach it yourself—like you’re a sick child. The notion does something to you. Something strange. An ache blossoms inside, spreading out and pressing against your ribs, along your chest.
Then, in a surprising move, she tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.
(Always careful with boundaries, you are startled by her now.)
“You know we both care about you a great deal, don’t you?” She murmurs.
You swallow hard. “I thought I was just a pain—“
Riza shakes her head. She’s somber. “You don’t need to go get stabbed to try and see this side of us—to see our care.”
“I didn’t—“
“And you should work on valuing your life. You fight like you’ve got nothing to lose.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not when we don’t want to lose you.” Roy murmurs, looking at you and Riza, eyes dark and surprisingly soft. He clears his throat, “do not ever do something like that again, lieutenant.”
“Is that an order, sir?” You try to joke.
“Yes.” He says sincerely. “It is.”
Riza’s fingers draw against your cheek. Your gaze flickers to her, because it’s hard to look at Roy like this—earnest and concerned. Like a worried father. You almost squirm under this attention. You swallow hard.
In another startling move, Riza presses a slow, burning kiss to the apple of your cheek. She cups your face possessively. When she pulls away, it looks like she wants more.
You almost jolt with it—the dark fire of her brown eyes.
Instead, she just says, “so be good for us—and follow that order.”
A/n: Here you go @narutodiary !! I hope its good and if you want more let me know!!
Ishvalan!Reader / POC!Reader
The summer sun hung high over Central City, turning the stone streets into shimmering ribbons of heat. Bee buzzed lazily from the flower bushes lining the Führer’s estate, and not a single cloud dared interrupt the relentless blue sky overhead.
You, however, were in absolute heaven.
Born and raised beneath the scorching Ishvalan sun, this weather felt almost comforting. Warmth soaked pleasantly into your honey-brown complexion as you sat barefoot in the backyard, your long skirt spread beneath you while you helped your four-year-old son construct what he proudly declared was “the biggest sand fortress in Amestris.”
A tiny toy soldier was ceremoniously placed atop the highest tower.
“There,” he announced proudly, patting another wall into place. “Now nobody can get him.”
You smiled, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “He’s very well protected.”
“I know.”
He nodded with all the confidence only a four-year-old could possess before immediately abandoning the fortress in favor of chasing a butterfly.
The back door slid open.
Roy emerged carrying a stack of government reports tucked beneath one arm.
He looked…less like the Führer of Amestris and more like a man who had personally offended the sun.
His black dress shirt was rolled to his elbows, the collar unbuttoned, and despite every attempt at maintaining his usual composed appearance, a bead of sweat traced slowly down his temple.
He made it exactly three steps onto the porch before stopping. “…It’s hotter than the gates of hell.”
You looked over your shoulder. "It isn’t that bad...."
Roy stared. “It is forty degrees Celsius.”
“So?”
“So?”
He gestured wildly toward the sky.b“The air is trying to kill me.”
Before you could answer, your son came barreling back toward the porch carrying an armful of smooth rocks.
“Daddy!”
Roy smiled immediately despite his suffering as he placed the reports down. "Hello, Lieutenant."
“I made rocks.”
“…You mean you found rocks.”
“I made them now.”
Roy accepted that explanation without question as his lips twitched. “Understandable.”
The little boy tilted his head, studying his father’s face with all the seriousness of a military inspection.
“Daddy…”
“Yes?”
“You’re all sweaty.”
Roy sighed. “Unfortunately.”
The child looked toward you then back to his father then back at you again.
“Mama isn’t sweaty.”
You raised an eyebrow.
Roy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your mother grew up somewhere considerably hotter.”
The little boy gasped as though he’d uncovered the greatest mystery in Amestrian history. “So Mama doesn’t get hot?”
“I get hot,” you corrected gently. “I just don’t mind it very much.”
He accepted this explanation for approximately three seconds.
Then his tiny face lit up.
“My mama is stronger than the sun!”
Roy barked out a laugh despite himself. “I don’t think that’s exactly—”
The little boy had already sprinted toward the front gate.
“MISTER HAVOC!”
Jean Havoc had just arrived to grab a report he needed, cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth.
“What is it, buddy?”
“My mama is stronger than the sun!”
Jean blinked. “…She probably is.”
“And Daddy is weak!!.”
Jean looked at Roy.
Roy slowly closed his eyes. “Don’t.”
Jean grinned. “Oh, I absolutely will.”
By the following morning, the rumor had somehow escaped the estate.
Not because of Jean.
Jean had actually tried.
Unfortunately, your son possessed the unstoppable social confidence of a tiny politician.
Everyone received the news.
The guards.
The maids.
The kitchen staff.
Several secretaries.
General Armstrong.
Major Hughes....( Thanks Maes and his big mouth )
Even Grumman.
By lunchtime, half of Headquarters knew.
By dinner…
Edward Elric found out.
He happened to be visiting Central alongside Alphonse when your son spotted him across Headquarters.
“UNCLE ED!”
Edward turned just in time to catch forty pounds of excited child launching directly into his stomach.
“Oof!”
Your son wrapped both arms around him. “My daddy’s weak.”
Edward blinked. “…I’m sorry?”
“He melts in summer.”
Edward slowly looked past the child.
Roy happened to be walking down the corridor with Riza.
The second Edward saw the faint sheen of sweat on Roy’s forehead…A dangerous grin spread across his face.
“Oh…”
Alphonse immediately recognized that smile as his shoulders slumped. “Oh no…”
Edward crouched to your son’s height. “So…the Führer’s weak in the heat?”
The little boy nodded enthusiastically. “And rain.”
Edward’s golden eyes widened with theatrical delight.
“Mhm! Mama says Daddy doesn’t like rain.”
You had never said that.
Not exactly, you had once mentioned that rain made Roy’s flame alchemy useless.
Apparently your son had simplified the information.
Edward stood.
His shoulders shook.
Then, despite every attempt to resist…
He burst into laughter.
“Oh, this is priceless.”
Roy immediately frowned.b“…Elric.”
Edward wiped tears from his eyes. “Sorry...I’m sorry—”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I’m really not.”
Edward straightened before loudly addressing the entire hallway.
“Attention everyone!”
Roy closed his eyes. “…Don’t.”
Edward ignored him completely. “I have an important military announcement!”
Several officers looked up from their paperwork.
General Armstrong paused mid-conversation.
Even Breda leaned out of an office doorway.
Edward proudly pointed toward Roy.
“The great Führer of Amestris has two natural predators!”
Roy sighed the exhausted sigh of a man who already knew where this was going.
Edward dramatically raised one finger.“Summer.”He raised another. "And rain."
The hallway erupted.
Laughter echoed off polished marble.
Havoc nearly dropped his cigarette.
Breda had to lean against the wall.
Fuery laughed so hard his glasses slid down his nose.
Even Falman smiled into his clipboard.
Armstrong, ever dignified, placed one enormous hand over his mouth in a valiant but unsuccessful effort to suppress a chuckle as Maes barked out a laugh, his glasses nearly falling off.
Only Riza remained perfectly composed.
Almost.
There was the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth.
Roy looked toward his wife. “You could help.”
You offered him your sweetest smile. “I could.”
“…”
“I’m choosing not to.” You replied.
Your son beamed up at you. “Mama’s stronger than the sun.”
You leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “I don’t know about that.”
“Mama stronger than daddy.”
Riza snorted as she turned her body away all while the little boy blinked.
Edward folded his arms triumphantly. "Well, that’s official then."
Roy gave him a flat look. “You do realize I outrank you.”
Edward shrugged without the slightest concern, that same cocky grin still on his face. “Doesn’t change the fact that the Führer gets defeated by weather.”
“I am not defeated by weather.”
“Tell that to the puddle forming on your forehead.”
Another round of laughter swept through the hallway.
Roy looked heavenward as though asking whatever higher power might be listening why this, of all things, had become his legacy.
He had survived war.
He had survived homunculis
He had overthrown a dictatorship.
He had rebuilt an entire nation.
Yet somehow, thanks to one observant four-year-old and one incorrigible Fullmetal Alchemist, he would forever be remembered as the Führer who lost every summer to his sunshine-loving Ishvalan wife.
Okay since no one's gonna say it and their children are unnamed, Ed and Winry would name their daughter Trisha and their son Yuriy after Ed's mom and Winrys dad.
CONTENT: 18+, MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, morning sex, dom/sub/switch reader and character depending on which one you’re reading, my knowledge on some of these characters is limited since i’m new to the fandom so they may be mischaracterized, the most basic concept but it’s something ✨
WORD COUNT: 573
MASTERLIST
“C’mon, baby… Just the tip, I swear.”
You both knew he was lying. He didn’t do just the tip. You knew that, and yet you still obliged him in the early morning.
“Just for a bit. I have a meeting today,” you mumble. You bury your face further into your pillow as he climbs on top of you. Now that you’d said it, you realized how much you didn’t want to go to that business meeting.
“I know, baby. I swear this time it’ll really be just the tip.”
You hum as he pushes your panties aside. His fingers briefly glide against your folds before he replaces them with his cock.
For a moment, he abides by his promise and only puts in the tip. He ruts into you and moans in your ear before pushing more of himself in. You’re too tired to notice entirely, although you can feel it. You don’t comment on it, though, even knowing that you should. You excuse it by convincing yourself just a little bit of indulgence wouldn’t hurt anyone.
It isn’t long until his hips meet yours. Your mouth falls open in a surprises moan when he pulls out almost completely and shoved himself back inside. Your eyes shoot open, and you look up at him with a questioning gaze.
“Oops.” The stupid smirk on his face tells you this is definitely not and oops situation, but you can’t find it in yourself to argue. Especially not after he begins a fast pace.
It looks like that meeting will have to wait. What a shame…
Jean Kirstein, Eren Yeager, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Roy Mustang, Portgas D. Ace
There was no sound prettier than the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, still groggy with sleep as he holds onto your hips for dear life.
Just the tip. That’s what he’d promised you. But Jesus Christ, the way your walls stretched and squeezed around just the tip made him delirious. You’d barely given him anything and his eyes were already rolled to the back of his head.
He whines and whimpers in your ear, pleading, begging for you to let him put more of himself inside.
“Baby… Baby, please… I know you’re busy today but I need-”
With the way he moans in your ear, his hands twisted in the sheets and leaving bruises on your hips, it would just be cruel to say no, wouldn’t it?
Sometimes you find yourself hating how coy he can be. How fucking clever he is infuriates you, especially when it’s early in the morning and the only thing you want is for him to not follow what you said.
You moaned his name, long and drawn out, as you tried moving your hips back to push more of him inside you.
But he keeps his hands on your hips, preventing you from moving any further. He tuts and shakes his head, barely moving the tip in and out.
“We can’t get too carried away. We both have things to do today,” he whispered, his voice still raspy and thick with sleep.
You groan, attempting to move your hips again. When he resists, you give up. “Please,” you beg.
He chuckles. You think for a moment that he’ll give in to your pleas and screw you until you’re a mess beneath him, but he only kisses your cheek and pulls away.
It leaves you feeling empty and upset, even with the promise of a proper fucking when the two of you return to work.
Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Kento Nanami
this has been in the drafts since at least February sorry about that guys hope y’all enjoyed 💜
