#fma x reader

You and Edward froze.

Al’s eye glowed obtusely in the hollow of his helm, then flickered brighter. “O-Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—! But this is important!” he added, panic creeping in.

Edward groaned, forehead thunking against your shoulder. “Al you have the worst timing.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Al squeaked, already backpedaling. “We’ll talk later!”

The door slammed again.

You were trying not to laugh.

“Not funny,” Ed muttered against your shirt, his voice a low grumble.

“I was right there.”

The second time, it was Mustang.

Of course it was.

You and Edward were alone in one of the guest offices, the air thick with anticipation. You’d both been dancing around this all day, his hand on yours during dinner, your fingers brushing over his during that slow walk back, the kind of looks that made time slow down.

Life with Ed’s been great. More than great, really.

He leaned in, breath mingling with yours. Lips just inches away.

And this time maybe it was karma.

“Fullmetal,” came the smooth, too-damn-amused voice of Colonel Roy Mustang. “Didn’t realize this room was occupied.”

Edward’s head whipped around. “You bastard.”

Mustang arched a brow, one hand smugly on the doorknob. “You might want to lock the door next time. Just a suggestion.”

“You wanna die, Mustang?!”

“Love to see you try, shortstack.”

You had to hold Edward back, and honestly, you were maybe 30% trying. The rest of you wanted to see what would happen if he actually threw a chair.

“I hate him,” Edward fumed later, pacing a rut into the floor. “He did that on purpose. Smug piece of cra—”

You kissed his cheek. “We’ll try again.”

“Oh, we’re trying again. This isn’t over.”

The third time was… worse. To put it kindly.

You’d settled on the library lounge at HQ, of all places, because Ed swore no one ever used it.

“You sure?” you asked, eyebrow raised.

“No one comes here. It’s just dusty books and armchairs. We’re fine.”

He said that like it wasn’t the exact kind of place he would hang out in, but you let it slide.

This time, you were on his lap. It was slow, soft, the way he touched you. His calloused hand curled gently around your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You were both flushed, but calm—his golden eyes fixed on yours with an unspoken hunger that had been growing all week.

He leaned in again.

You tilted your chin and connected your lips. The two of you had closed your eyes. Unable to see the man who walked in.

“Ah! Young love!”

You jerked back, nearly falling off his lap.

Edward nearly screamed.

Major Alex Louis Armstrong stood in the doorway, glistening muscles flexed through a ripped military shirt, dramatic tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes.

“It brings such joy to see the fires of passion ignite in the youth of today!” he boomed, clasping his hands over his heart. “A love like this…reminds me of my great-great-grandfather and his courtship rituals!”

“WHY?” Ed exploded, scrambling to his feet and somehow dragging you with him. “WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?!”

“I come to this lounge every third Thursday to polish my medals!” Armstrong declared proudly. “A family tradition passed down through the Armstrong line for generations!”

“I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You covered your face, half in horror, half in helpless laughter. Ed looked like he was seconds away from detonating.

“You two continue,” Armstrong said brightly, setting down a velvet-lined case. “I won’t disturb you further.”

“You already did!” Edward snapped. “Three times! Three freaking times! First Al, then Mustang, now—! I swear to God, the universe hates me.”

He turned to you, eyes wild, hair frazzled.

“I’m cursed. We’re cursed.”

“I mean the laws of equivalent exchange say—“

“Not in the mood for that right now.” Though, his eye stopped twitching so you considered that a win.

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a giggle. “So what now?”

He jabbed a finger toward the door. “We’re locking everything. Every door, every window, burning the sign-in sheets—no one is finding us. We’re finishing this.”

“Oh?” you teased. “Finishing, are we?”

He flushed so red it almost matched his coat. “N-Not like that! I just mean—we’re kissing! Like normal people! Just once! Without a full-scale military intervention!”

You stepped forward, tugged gently on his collar, and kissed the tip of his nose.

He blinked. Stared at you.

“…That’s it. I’m eloping.”

“Bet.”

Your room was quiet.

For once.

No clanking armor. No smug colonels. No sparkly muscle-men busting in with emotional monologues. (Thank God!) Just the low hum of the lamp and the gentle shuffle of your movements as you shut the door.

And locked it. Twice. For good measure.

“Good call,” Edward muttered as he dropped onto the edge of your bed, legs splayed, hair half-tugged from its braid. His red coat was folded neatly over your chair (after he nearly threw it across the room in frustration and then remembered he liked that coat).

You turned and leaned against the door. “Still expecting someone to break through?”

“I’m not taking any more chances,” he muttered. “We’ve been ambushed. Three times.”

You snorted, walking toward him slowly. “You’re acting like you were on a battlefield.”

“I was! A battlefield of blue-balled agony!”

You burst out laughing. How out of character for the alchemist but too surprising giving his short temper.

Edward gave you a look, but he couldn’t hide the twitch of a grin. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“You’re lucky I’m still here, after all that.”

He tilted his head, gaze warming. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

The mood had shifted more lighter, pleasant. No jokes. No dramatics. Just Edward Elric, sitting on your bed, looking at you like you were gravity itself.

You took the final steps toward him and eased into his lap, arms looping around his neck. “So. No more interruptions?”

“If anyone so much as breathes outside that door,” he growled, “I’m setting them on fire.”

“Mm. Fullmetal Flame Alchemist has a nice ring to it.”

He snorted. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

“I do.”

It slipped out, raw and certain.

Your breath caught just a little, but he didn’t look panicked. He just looked…relieved. Like he’d been holding it in for longer than he wanted to admit.

“I do,” he said again, quieter. “I love you.”

You smiled, hands threading gently through his hair. “I love you, too.”

And finally! Finally, you kissed.

There was no rush. No sudden bang of a door, no voices yelling about emergencies or medals or whatever else the universe had decided to throw at you all week. Just the soft pressure of his mouth against yours, tentative at first, like he couldn’t believe it was really happening.

Then he pulled you closer, deepening it.

His hands, one warm and real, one cool and metallic, settled on your waist, steadying himself like you were the only thing anchoring him. You felt the tension melt from his shoulders as you kissed him again, slow and sure, like you had all the time in the world.

“You’re really here,” he whispered against your lips.

“So are you.”

He rested his forehead against yours, golden eyes half-lidded, flushed and breathless.

“I swear to God, if someone knocks right now—”

You reached out and flipped off the lamp.

He did when the two of you were kids. He’d look out for you. Protect you. Play with you. Be the bestest friend you’d ever have in the whole world. And of course, while he was away from home, it was much harder for him to do. Sure, the letters he wrote and sent back to you were always nice to receive. And the fact that he saved all of Amestris from certain doom was a pretty caring move, too. But it wasn’t like old times. The times you used to cherish. The times you used to love. But ever since he came back to Resembol after completing his goal of restoring his and his brother’s bodies, the two of you have been close. Closer than ever before, really.

In the few years since he’s been back, he’s developed a place in your home. One that he fits right in like the perfect charm. In fact, you’d argue that he fits so well that it’s like he never even skipped town and left without telling anyone- including you- that he was leaving and where he was going. But, he’s back now. And now? He helps you around the house. He runs the errands you and his parents ask him to (though sometimes, he drags you along right with him). He fixes things up. He assists with the cooking. He lifts you up when you’re feeling down. He makes you smile when you think you can’t. And he just…he just takes care of you. 

So this is what this is. This is what he’s doing. That’s what he called it. That’s what he called this.

“Shh…shh…I can’t help you if you don’t keep your legs spread and relax for me, alright?”

Taking care of you.

You whimper at his words, but you don’t squirm. You have to fight the urge to. You have to fight to be good. To do what he wants. To let him take care of you. But that’s really, really, really hard.

Especially since his tongue is really, really, really good at making you feel things you wouldn’t be able to feel if it were just you, curling up in your sheets and touching yourself in the middle of the night.

“Edward…” You whimper out, your bottom lip quivering as your fingers continue to thread themselves through his long, golden blonde hair and tug whenever his tongue brushes against the part of your clit that is just too sensitive for you not to react. Golden eyes flicker open, looking at you momentarily with an expression you can only label as “pleased” before they close once again so he can focus on the task at hand: helping you relax. Or rather, taking care of you.  “Ed, please~!”

Or even more specifically, eating you out.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you…” The boy lying on his stomach before you murmurs, lifting his head away from your pussy that’s soaked with both his spit and your arousal just long enough to placate you. “Just be quiet and relax for me. You can do that, right?”

You find yourself nodding your head as the tight feeling growing in your stomach temporarily stalls. But a second later, his fingers are tightening their grip on your thighs once more, reminding you that he needs them open wide for him and only him, as he dives right back in. He alternates between wrapping his lips around your clit, licking the expanse of your pussy, and pushing his tongue between your lower lips and fucking you with it. Almost as if he had more in mind than giving you a sweet little orgasm after the “hard day at work” you had. Almost as if he wanted you to remember that he can do more with his mouth than just use it to talk.

Much, much more.

It was only a few minutes ago when he snuck into your room in the middle of the night, smiling at your soft giggles as you pulled him into your bed. As he slipped under the covers and made himself comfortable with your grasp, he made a comment about how you’re both too old to still be living at your parents’ place and how he couldn’t take care of you the way he wanted to while the two of you were still here. You rolled your eyes when he said that, knowing he was just trying to get you to go house hunting with him again so he could buy something ridiculous for a ridiculous price with his even more ridiculous severance package he received for his work while he was still in the Military. 

But he didn’t bring up house hunting like you thought he would.

Instead, he just kissed your attitude away. And kissed away any thoughts you had that weren’t about him. And kissed you into letting your guard down. And kissed you into feeling a little breathless. And kissed you into feeling a little dumb and lost without him. And kissed you and kissed you and kissed you and-

And suddenly, you’re sitting up. Your sheets are a mess. You’re in a daze. And your back is against your headboard of your bed. And your pajama pants are in a pile on the floor right next to your underwear, which is also on the floor. But you can barely see them. You can barely even think about them.

Because Ed has already slotted himself in between your thighs so he could lick at your slit like it was just meant to be devoured by him.

“There we go- there we go, sweetheart,” His voice unbelievably gentle as he finds that spot that has you bucking your hips and pulling his hair tight enough for him to groan. You whimper as his tongue chases after you- chases after it while he fills you with the type of pleasure that somehow makes your body go limp and tight at the exact same time. “Just let me take care of you. Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

The only thing you can offer in response to his words is a moan that you have to muffle by covering your mouth. But even then, there’s no denying how good you feel. Just like there’s no denying how good he is at doing this. At eating your pussy. At making you feel so loved. At making you feel so good. So cherished and so spoiled.

So good at taking care of you.

Just like he always does. Just like he always will. So long as you have him.

“Oh? I know that pretty face. You’re getting ready to cum, aren’t you?”

“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.

First Sentence Prompt

The sheer panic of his voice rang in your ears nearly as loud as the almoat defeaning crashing sound when stone hands had shot out of the ground and had crushed the two people. The scent of dirt and dust still lingered in the air, slowly mixing together with a sickening metallic scent. The rubble of stones perhaps was an act of mercy to hide you from whatever remains of human were buried beneath it yet it didn't do its job perfectly. After all you could clearly see the puddle of blood slowly running out of the cracks and fissures. You doubted that those people were still alive. Even if they were, there would be most likely no way for them to ever recover and return to normal.

You too had some cuts littering your skin yet no they felt almost insignificant. To you they at least did. To Edward they weren't. A surprised hiss pushed through your teeth when you felt the coarse material of a cloth being pressed against an open wound on your temple. You'd completely forgotten about it until Edward started wiping the half-dried blood away from it.

Your lips parted as you attempted to tell him off only for the words to die pathetically in your throat. It felt parched, most likely due to all the dust and dirt you had inhaled. Then there was that terror as well that slowly started to get into your skin. The adrenaline slowly left your system and only left behind the realisation that Edward had just killed two people. And the longer you sat there, the more horrifying that truth became.

He had just murdered two people.

The moment where his human hand tried to reach for another nasty cut on your arm, you reacted. Not with words for they wouldn't leave you for the moment but with actions instead. You slapped his hand away with all the strength you could muster at the moment before pressing your palm over the wound instead. It stung when you dug your fingers into the cut, triggering a bit more blood to seep out. But your own wounds were the least of your worries at the moment. You would survive.

It was definitely unexpected for Edward though. Golden eyes widened in surprise, glancing up at your face before they narrowed slightly. You knew what that meant. His short-fused temper had started to flare again.

"What are you doing?? I'm trying to help you!"

He looked like he didn't understand or pretended like he didn't at least. You believed that Edward indeed didn't want to understand why you were so frightened of him right now. Not even when the pile of stones and death was only a few metres away from the both of you.

He tried to clean the bleeding cut but you didn't let him, twisting your shoulders and squirming away from his hands. Until Edward seemed to have enough. His automail arm reached forward, grabbing yours and yanking it back to him.

"Stop it, you idiot! I'm trying to help you right now!"

Help you? You couldn't stop your gaze from wandering over to the rubble, your stomach dropping when you noticed that the puddle of blood had grown.

However, this time Edward noticed. His eyes followed your gaze, also landing on the rest of the stone hands he had summoned. His face twisted only then when he seemed to realise why you were being so skittish right now.

"That wasn-... I didn't mean to- It was an accident, alright?! I panicked for a moment!"

What kind of accident led to the brutal assault of two stone hands swatting people like they were mere ants?

You didn't understand. You didn't want to understand either.

"I'm sorry, okay?? I was just afraid that they would get away with you if I wouldn't do something! I saved you!"

Metal fingers dug into your flesh, pressing right against your bones. The pain followed almost immediately, vibrating through your arm and joining the fear that was already echoing around within you.