1 | fullmetal alchemist © hiromu arakawa
2 | i know 'un-overwhelming' isn't a word—i just can't think of a word more perfect than a non-existent one to describe riza.
He thinks of her when he fucks other women.
It's not so much that he wishes she was the one writhing under him, the one clawing at his back—the one digging her nails into his skin—the one moaning his name between thrusts. It's not so much that he wishes he could feel soft, milky skin against him, or pin thin, slender hands down with his large ones, or inhale expensive, intoxicating perfume. It's not so much that he wants to wake up next to messy sheets and traces of last night. No. He doesn't want any of those—she is so much more than this woman under him whose face he can't even remember.
It's because he doesn't want them that he thinks of her.
He wants her lying next to him. He wants to hear her whisper his name between laughs, between sighs, between breaths. He wants to run his hands all over her scarred, battle-hardened body. He wants to feel callouses on those hands that have held the cold, cold metal of guns a little too long. He wants to inhale hints of her raw, natural, un-overwhelming scent. He wants to wake up in tangled sheets and tangled strands of blonde and all her entirety.
He wants to marry her and grow old with her, gods and rules of this military be damned.
Roy Mustang always, always wants what he can't have. But when he drags himself to his desk for work the next day, and she is there—all crisp blue uniform and long hair neatly, tightly pulled up, warm brown eyes on him and the smallest, subtlest hints of a smile across her face—he realizes that he's always, always had all of her.