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myrhymesarepurer · 4 years

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i wrote something. for the first time in like a year. and it only took like 5 hours.

a/n that’s pretty big for me so I thought i’d post. its ittle. if you have an idea for a title, reblog with it in the tags.

pairing royai, havolina genre pretty fluffy hopefully witty

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Riza cleared her throat in front of a room of tables, seated with people slightly too tipsy to be acceptable at a wedding. Everyone in attendance, of course, had the decorum and courtesy to pretend like they were perfectly sober - or at least close to it. Everyone did so out of respect for the bride and groom. All except the Mustang Unit positioned behind her with the wedding party, hooting and hollering as she stepped up to the microphone.

I mean. The encouraging applause was appreciated, but the brief chant - Hawk-eye, Hawk-eye, Hawk-eye - was frankly unnecessary.

She held up a hand. They all quieted as best the could, knowing it was an order.

“As professional and reserved as my many know me to be,” Riza said, sighing, “It may come as a surprise that I care, very deeply.”

She held her hand up again, silencing the collective awwwww at her back.

“It is my job to care for others, as a soldier, as well as my pleasure as a human.” She cocked her head in thought, “Of course, some make it more difficult than others.”

The rowdy response behind her as Havoc reached across Breda to punch the General Mustang’s arm told her that her little joke was well received. Roy glared at his men, but lost his focus quickly to Riza in the middle of the room brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

It was so strange how the back of her neck could be pretty? It was puzzling, to be sure. Roy grimaced and threw back his champagne prematurely.

“Rebecca Catalina, our bride here today-,” Riza turned to her friend, already in tears, dabbing at her eyes in an attempt to keep her flawless makeup from smearing.

Riza huffed a laugh and gazed at her fondly.

“She is one of the only people in my life who has insisted on caring for me. Outside of combat. No matter how much I resist.” Riza chuckled, “Forcing me to buy groceries, begging me to not work on weekends, and ‘Riza Hawkeye, this is way too much Xingese takeout for one person to consume in a week. I don’t care how busy you are.’”

Light, laughter bubbled through the room, quickly ebbing into a sentimental silence.

Riza swallowed tightly.

“Rebecca, I am elated that you now have a most honorable someone,” she looked to Jean Havoc, arm slung over his bride’s chair, grinning widely as his blue eyes became dangerously misty.

“-that can forever nag you like you nag me.“ Riza smiled warmly.

The rooms’ laughter melted into applause. Rebecca gathered her dress and ran as best she could to hug her friend at the center of the room. Once her friend relinquished her hold, Riza raised her glass, “To the happy couple.”

“To the happy couple,” repeated the crowd.

“To the happy coupplee,” a tipsy Fuery cheered, a little late to the punch. “Hear, hear!’ Breda shouted heartily, downing his whole flute before rising to take her place.

Riza settled back into her seat with a sigh of relief, her throat still tight as she reached for her water. Hayate hopped onto his stool, a black satin bowtie around his neck, fully expecting celebratory pets.

From three seats away, Roy was eyeing his Captain. He had to admit, he was spoiled with her proximity on a daily basis. As his adjutant and bodyguard, she was nearly always, if not at his left shoulder, then the closest one to him in any and every room. Maybe it was the wine flowing freely and the emotions running high, but it was almost uncomfortable to be separated by not only the bride and the groom, but Breda’s seat as well.

If he was just even one seat closer, he could at least catch her eye.

So, he tried that.

Roy slipped over onto the empty seat next to him and leaned over the table casually, attempting to enter Riza’s field of vision. Instead, it was Rebecca Catalina who caught his eye and gave him the look. That condescending look that said, somehow, someway, she knew he didn’t just want to congratulate Riza on her speech. The look that said she knew he had had trouble listening to the wedding ceremony, the toasts, anything at all really. She knew he just stared at the maid-of-honor like he was missing something.

He stared at her like it had been so long since he had acknowledged his heart- It had been so bloody long that Catalina and Havoc had actually resigned from breaking up every five seconds and finally settled down.

Yeah, It had been way too long.

Roy glared back at her then looked away into the crowd.

He tapped his index finger on the table cloth impatiently. The crowd barked with laughter and applauded Breda’s speech onward. It was then Roy felt a surge of just enough courage and spite to move. His legs carried him quietly past Havoc and Catalina, ignoring the brides’ all-knowing glare. He landed on the other side of Riza, dethroning Black Hayate from his special Groomsdog stool, lifting the pup up and placing him back on the floor.

Roy sat down, huffing out the energy. He felt a sense of calm wash over him again. Yes, having her closer was much better for his nerves, to be sure.

“Nice speech,” he opened quietly.

Riza blinked at his appearance. She glanced down at her dog, then to Breda at the center of the room still speaking, then back at the General.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied, mildly unsurprised.

For a moment, she watched him, expecting him to say his piece, explain the reason for his inappropriately timed visit. But, Roy just stared out at Breda and said nothing. She watched him swallow tightly then she reached for a water for herself.

“Tell me something, Captain,” he finally said as she sipped. She hummed. “Why is it that you are the maid-of-honor, but I am not the best man?”

She met his eyes curtly, “Perhaps you were not the best of the men, sir.”

He scoffed, “Preposterous.” She smirked softly, “Hardly, sir.”

Roy looked back to his man on the floor. He and Havoc were both now tearing up with a drunken laughter much more boisterous than any other guest could consider warranted. Come on, his speech could not be that funny.

“So, Breda,” “Yes, sir.” “I’m jealous, really,” he admitted. Riza raised her eyebrow as Roy turned on the charm. “For, as the best man, he’s gotten to work closely with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“I can not get you promoted.” “You got Hayate promoted.” “Hayate is worthy of his position. sir.”

The pup whined up at the General, appearing quite offended that he would dare treat him like a common dog rather than the honored member of the Havoc wedding party he was. Roy reached downward to pet him in apology, mildly defeated. Riza turned back to Breda.

Roy wasn’t sure what to say next. He wasn’t even sure what his plan was here, or anywhere, at all in means of this subject.

I mean, he wasn’t stupid, no. He was perceptive enough to know that his heart was planning its payback. He dealt with a similar feeling at Elric’s’wedding years ago. Except now, he knew what he was dealing with. He knew precisely what he was holding captive in exchange for his goal. He knew the consequences, and now the symptoms of neglect were beginning to take hold.

Roy sighed. He wasn’t sure what to say next.

Riza felt his head swimming beside her and broke the silence with a note of normality. “If it’s any consolation, Sir. I would not even select you for my wedding party.”

It was a soft serve. She had set him up to find a sharp tongued response.

He found it with ease. Roy hummed in feigned thought and surveyed her carefully, “Not even as the groom, Captain?”

She tensed.

He smiled slyly and shrugged cockily, hiding his candor, “I would give anything to forever nag you like you nag me.”

“Your seat is over there, General.”

From any other perspective, it appeared he had crossed a line. From any other seat in the room, it was clear Riza Hawkeye truly did not appreciate whatever sort of mock-proposal he let spill out of his mouth.

Yet, from the seat next to the maid-of-honor, next to the bride, next to the groom, next to the best man, Roy watched Riza bite her lip to fight off the slightest of smiles. From his seat, Roy could concede, he at least had the best view.

#myroyai #help #i haven't written anything in forever #we are working on being more accepting of the writing process #crippling perfectionism #I SHALL REIGN VICTORIOUS OVER YOU #o n e d a y #holy shit that ending is cheesy #gross #h e l p #whatever #the end

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myrhymesarepurer · 6 years

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The Un-Understandable Peace

Summary FMAB, Post-Promised Day

It was understandable.

It was understandable that every one of the team’s flats out in the desert of Ishval were next to each other. Same block, same building, same floor, quite literally the next door over. It was all understandable until he knocked. “Hawkeye. Why is there a door in the middle of my living room?”

Pairing Royai Words 3,012 Rating K

a/n a clinic. on how many time the words ‘reasonable,’ ‘certainly,’ ‘simply’ and ‘understandable’ can be used in one drabble. also, a mini break fic. Four coming soon, loves. Enjoy.

ao3 ffn

It was understandable.

It was understandable that every one of the team’s flats out in the desert of Ishval were next to each other. Same block, same building, same floor, quite literally the next door over.

It was certainly not ideal, she knew. Riza Hawkeye valued her solitude, her space.

But, it was understandable.

Understandable due to the fact that the remains of the biggest town of the Ishval prefecture mostly consisted of little houses and little shacks lined into messy little neighborhoods. There were no apartments nor any houses suitable to rent, much less buy.

There just wasn’t much real estate. So, the military had one built, a dorm,

a dorm for the handful of military officers working in the thick of the sand and sun. Somewhere to stay while they reported for duty, pushed their pencils and oversaw the resurrection of stable life in Ishval from the scorching discomfort of an old little school located in the heart of the biggest little city.

It certainly wasn’t anything fancy, understandably so.

One bedroom that included the kitchen, one bath, and one modest closet all within walls made of smooth sandstone. Assuredly none of the oo’s of ah’s of shiny new city buildings made on a hefty private sector budget only miles away from major suppliers.

But, it was certainly functional and certainly understandable, that her new next door neighbors were the same people she spent every waking moment of the working day with.

Riza hummed at the thought. No, it wasn’t ideal at all.

But, it was understandable. It was all understandable until,

there was a knock on the door.

Riza wiped the sweat off her forehead, peeled off her military jacket, and cut open another box, fighting through the heat to unpack the very day she moved in.

That way she could be past it. That way she could be home.

Riza scrunched her nose knowing not even her meager flat in East City, much less her flat in Central, were even close to reaching such a status of comfort.

She was never quite sure what was missing. Black Hayate, she knew, had helped some.

But, Riza found that the rooms to which she returned simply to sleep after hours at the office, she could collectively call them her house, her flat, yes, but never her home.

It was a terribly cheesy sentiment, and dealing with such thoughts was not at all Riza’s strong suit. Yet, so thankfully, it was interrupted by the knock, the knock on the door.

Riza flipped her lock and opened it to the hall, yet in front of her stood absolutely no one at all.

Then there was the voice behind her, muffled, yet strikingly familiar.

“Wrong door, Captain.”

Riza then glanced over her shoulder to find another door that surely had no reason not to be noticed.

Yet, it was understandable that she hadn’t for Riza was certainly not looking for a door in the middle of the shared wall of her new apartment, much less expected to see one. So, she was understandably surprised to flip open a different lock curiously not attached to her front door, turn the knob and reveal General Roy Mustang on the other side.

“Hawkeye,” he said her name carefully.

“Why is there a door in the middle of my living room?”

Technically, she thought, it was also in the middle of his bedroom, of his kitchen, of his entire apartment, a door opening straight into her own.

Riza blinked then surveyed the doorpost, for the existence of a door where this door currently stood, was certainly not understandable at all.

“I have not the slightest clue, General,”

Riza took pause, then hummed in diligent thought, “Would it be possible that every apartment has one, Sir?”

She, of course, could not think as to why one tenant would need direct access to another to the extent that it became a feature through out the complex as a whole.

Riza tilted her head in disregard for that un-understandability, and thought the door might be a blessing in cases of break-in or emergency. If she suspected some dangerous something, she could get to the General very quickly, provided they kept the door unlocked or obtained a key of some kind.

Solely for safety, of course. That would be understandable.

But, Roy watched her think and swallowed tightly. No, he knew. “Possibly,” he still said,

“Possibly, but probably not, no,”

One quick sly check into Havoc’s room across the hall confirmed Roy’s theory. He pointedly brought up the subject the following day during his telephone call with the Fuhrer. Within the updates and what not, he slipped in his query, assuming the Fuhrer had, indeed, glanced at the blueprint at least once,

or perhaps, more than once.

Roy was, indeed, correct.

“Solely for safety, of course,” Grumman said.

“Ah, I see” Roy said surely, hiding just a speck of skepticism, knowing, of course, that justifying the door with his safety was reasonable, prudent even, to be sure.

“You are bound to have some enemies out there, Roy. I imagined your Captain would appreciate the ability to reach you in a moments notice.”

Roy nodded, scratching his head, the doubt understandably persistent.

It could have simply been true that the Fuhrer of Amestris chose to oversee, yes, an excessively minuet detail, in the name of protecting the leader of his forces out East, the security of the beginnings of the Reconstruction of Ishval.

However,

Though the Fuhrer he may be now, Roy’s mentor he had always been,

the same mentor that had forever been quite dead set on hooking him up with his granddaughter, more or less for life.

Regardless of intention, the reality remained: that very granddaughter was now his next door neighbor, living in the apartment directly on the other side of this spontaneous special order of a doorway leading straight from his bedroom to hers.

It simply seemed entirely too convenient.

Of course, not to suggest Fuhrer Grumman was encouraging any inappropriate, much less any illegal behavior, but Roy still ruminated on how thoroughly he did enjoy any occasion Riza visited his previous flats for some overtime work, regardless of how much paperwork she had in tow.

Having her closer was always a luxury, yet, understandably, did not come free of risk.

“That’s very considerate of you, Sir. Thank you,” Roy responded graciously, yet sighed understandably so.

“However, if anyone is to see the door and question the purity of its purpose-“

“Tell them they can telephone my secretary for an appointment, my boy, “Grumman grinned “Though, I may have conflicts on that day.”

And, that seemed to be that.

The door connecting their apartments was for his own safety, as verified by the Fuhrer himself, and that was understandable.

It would just stay closed, unlocked, but closed,

in case of emergency, solely for safety, of course.

Of course.

But, of course, either fortunately or unfortunately so, the door certainly did not stay that way, closed not at all.

And here and now, Riza Hawkeye, stepping out of a shower that was not her own, wondered how, why, and when she had so un-understandably crossed this line.

The shower in her apartment had been broken all week. So, it was certainly reasonable she used his.

He had then requested her assistance, as she was already there,

in reviewing his rough draft of the procedure proposal for the establishment of an education department in the Ishvalan state.

It was due at Central in two weeks and was, by far, their biggest project yet, so it was certainly understandable she lend her aid, encourage his most new found lack of procrastination.

It was all very reasonable, Riza thought, understandably so.

Yet, it wasn’t the logic that troubled her, no.

It was the truth that once she left the little bathroom and its veil of steam, he would read through his proposal aloud. She would ensure the document’s clarity, verify its eloquence, and do so all while terribly exposed in her deteriorating discipline.

Riza paced the patch of carpet in front of his bed, biting her thumb nail in concentration, like she only ever had in private, dressed so comfortably in her little pajama set, its debut appearance to an audience outside of the pup sleeping in the corner.

She dried her hair with his spare towel, washed her face, brushed her teeth, even smoothed on a layer of moisturizer,

all while claiming to be working, all while in front of her superior.

She simply didn’t seem to care, Riza struggled, it was as if she were-

She stumbled on the word,

home.

Riza swallowed thickly, shook her head, caught up with Roy’s voice and focused on the logic.

The logic was no issue, no.

They never seemed ever free of deadlines to meet, reports to author, developments, construction, all to oversee.

This, of course, was the work they had been waiting for, and they threw themselves so very willingly into the fire.

It was exhausting, she could admit.

Yet, the General persistently accepted, even encouraged, her requests for overtime. Her productive little heart was spoiled to the uttermost by his compliance, of course, under one condition; they burn the midnight oil in the most comfortable fashion.

They did, in fact, have that door. Roy had shrugged, feigning nonchalance at the time. They could put it to good use. Quite reasonable, indeed.

So, comfortable they were, and perhaps too comfortable she became.

For there was one particularly long night after one particularly arduous day she most understandably, yet still foolishly drifted off at the foot of his bed, expense reports, half finished, in hand.

Of course, Roy picked her up, tucked her under his covers and let her sleep there in his room under the pretense that the shorter distance was less likely to wake her from her much needed slumber.

It was, Riza was reluctant to admit, the best night of sleep she had ever gotten in that desert.

She woke up to a mop of black hair on the pillow next to her. Her stomach washed so un-understandably warm,

and Riza supposed that’s the moment, pinpointed it as the culprit, when she most shamefully began to falter, began to be baffled by her own behavior.

She so wished to blame it on the heat, on the blazing desert sun, but she knew there was a piece of her that melted after they all settled down in Ishval.

Yes, this piece had dwindled, but only because she had been so wonderfully warm, so very blissfully often.

It was a curious feeling that accompanied the new door, it seemed. Gone were her defenses, a gooey puddle was left of her resolve.

Riza worried over her lip, at least for a moment every night.

It was so sloppy, so foolish, so very uncharacteristic,

so very dangerous

It wasn’t illegal, no, this company that they kept.

But, neither did say a word about the imprudence of the thing, nor what precisely might their excuse be were they to get caught so perilously familiar with one another, consistently returning to such a place together.

Because, in no matter of time at all, Riza was working long nights most every night, fell asleep in his room most all the time, and soon enough

a toothbrush joined his at his sink, for convenience a set of spare pajamas lay tucked away in the second drawer, just in case, and her suite, only one door apart, was left clean and nearly wholly untouched.

For, by chance, she had allowed herself this place, this comfort, this sanctuary

after she, for so long, never allowed herself nearly anything at all. The chance. The reason why she returned. It was something she most certainly did not understand.

Perhaps, she might snap out of it. Oh, yes, she so hoped she might snap out of it, and soon.

Roy had stopped reading. Riza stopped pacing.

For a moment, she felt maybe he was reading her mind. If he was, she willed him to keep his opinions to himself, for his endorsement for the continuation of the generous amount of time she spent in his flat was, firstly, already thoroughly voiced, secondly, not helpful to her

in any capacity, whatsoever.

Then Riza blinked and felt the lazy fan on her legs, and realized Roy had taken pause, not to read her mind but to admire her shorts.

It had gotten too hot. They lived in the desert. She had chosen the shorts. It was reasonable, understandable.

yet so terribly terribly unwise.

Roy had looked up at her, just once, from his place on the bed, lounging against the headboard, and well-

He never had the pleasure of seeing Riza’s legs nearly at all, much less like that.

Riza froze, most probably from her lack of clothing. She clutched the bridge of her nose,

“Is this going to be a problem, Sir?”

“Hm?”

His eyes met hers, though they certainly took their time.

“Should I return to my suite?”

Some small piece of her hoped he’d say yes. She felt she needed it to be an order.

Otherwise, she feared she might never leave, being so very delightfully, wonderfully toasty this way.

That pesky feeling, unidentifiable. It was so very unreasonable, un-understandable.

Roy, of course, did not oblige and suggest she need leave him nor the delightful, wonderful warmth that spread from her chest to the tips of her toes.

He did not even grant her the mercy of a definitive answer.

Roy just gave a lopsided grin, so very deliciously warm in itself. He cleared his throat for good measure and picked up where he left off.

Riza tried her very best to concentrate, bit her lip, bit her thumb, made suggestions.

It was in her subconscious that she was directed toward his freezer to scan for sweets.

Ice cream sandwiches, she grabbed two.

Riza unwrapped her own carefully and took her place on the edge of the bed, knees folded under her.

Roy had stopped reading, again.

She lifted an eyebrow, opened her mouth to advise he appreciate her legs in a less overt manner before she grabbed her spare pistol underneath the pillow next to him.

He beat her to it-

“I was just thinking,” he promised. “About, Sir?”

Roy stared at her still as she broke a small piece of her sandwich and popped it promptly into her mouth. He inched off his reading glasses. Riza cocked her head just so at his sudden somber.

“Have we ever existed like this?” Roy hummed, “had this peace?”

She blinked, realizing perhaps he too had noticed.

This most particularly pesky feeling, so alarmingly, uncomfortably comfortable.

Peace, Riza pondered. It was a peculiar word she had missed when attempting to identify that warmth from her head to her toes, every time she knocked, every time he opened that door, and invited her to make herself at home.

Home.

No, she did not feel that often, Riza could reluctantly admit.

“Not that I can recall, Sir.”

Roy took pause, read his packet, flipped a page, and mumbled softly,

“Do we deserve it?”

Riza swallowed, her throat much narrower than seconds before. She picked at her sandwich and came to the definitive answer much too quickly.

“Probably not, no.”

Chocolate cookie stuck to her hands vexingly. Riza felt the need to move, refocus, rethink, before she became trapped in her endless world of regrets.

She slipped off the bed for a napkin.

As if to catch her, as if she were to leave him, Roy called after her as calm as he could manage.

“Would you be more comfortable somewhere else?”

It was a reasonable question, understandable, to be sure.

Riza picked the chocolate off her fingers, and bit at the inside of her cheek, knowing the real question

Should she more comfortable somewhere else?

Ah, this is where she so often got stuck and fled the thought rather than tread on such terrifying territory.

The gut answers were simple yes, she should, yet no, she wouldn’t.

Riza shook off all the reasons why, with one shamefully beautiful little smirk of her own.

She shrugged,

“Probably not, no,”

parroting her previous response, a little joke with herself. Such silly humor so splendidly simple, so seldom shown, set aside for the moments when she was Riza, the moments when she was home.

Roy felt humbled to be a part of such a spectacular thing.

He grinned goofily, stretching his arms behind his head, “Oh? Sounds like you enjoy my company, Captain.”

Riza’s smirk fell into a cutting glare, warning him not to test her with that ego, not to push the point.

For, truthfully, she’d rather not venture further into the topic, because, most unfortunately so, he was right.

Riza plucked the second sandwich off the bed and threw it in his direction, perhaps more forcefully than necessary,

“I only prefer your dessert selection, General.”

Roy fumbled on the catch, dropped his arms, dropped his act. He gave an exasperated sigh as she took her place next to him, on the bed, lounging against the headboard.

Riza plucked the papers out of his lap, and shuffled to find where they left off.

Roy ripped open his ice cream and took a healthy bite.

They sat there in silence-

perhaps silence was much too heavy of a word.

They sat there in peace,

the quiet only broken when Roy tried sucking the chocolate off his fingers. Riza handed him the napkin at her side wordlessly.

Roy found himself lost in thought again, watching her read, resisting biting her nails.

His voice was lower, not serious, but simply not cocksure confidence,

It was honest when he smiled at her.

I only prefer your dessert selection.

“Only?”

Roy huffed a light laugh. Riza blinked at the query.

He watched her cheeks dust pink as she fiddled momentarily with the corner of the pages, refusing to spare him a glance.

“Probably not,”

she felt warmth, understandably so.

“Probably not, no.”

#I actually #am a little proud of this #it is very much my silly style #and an idea ive had every night going to bed #the un-understandable peace #i promise i purposely used the same word over and over and over #i promise #myroyai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai fanfiction #royai #royai fic

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

Text

Unceremonious Flash of Red Light

FMAB, Post-Promised Day

Team Mustang decides to conduct a miracle while the Lieutenant is on a coffee run. Oh, they are so in for it. "Boss, don’t you want to wait for-?” “No.” Even Dr. Marcoh hesitated as if Mustang’s authority wasn’t enough. The men could vouch that this was often true. But, the General politely encouraged the doctor to be brief and hasty with his life-altering transmutation.

a/n here’s a little thing. it’s been sitting on my desktop too long, It’s like 2000 words I think. or whatever.

ff ao3

The physical affects of that day were clear.

He was admitted to the hospital with bumps and bruises, the casual slice straight through both of his hands.

She came in nearly completely drained of blood holding together a giant slit across her carotid with pale fingers.

Then there was the whole blind thing.

It was all quite hard to believe, every member of their team left out of the loop.

The physical affects were clear.

But, no one knew exactly what had happened, deep in the tunnels under Central, the Promised Day.

No one knew what happened to them. Not truly, anyway.

Havoc probably knew the most, the outline. The night he arrived in Central, he camped out in their hospital room, knowing all too well the sting of a spontaneous life-altering disability.

He could offer comfort, understanding.

Sure enough, Roy cracked, mumbling a few things here and there, a brief recount while Riza slept, her face ghostly white, her temporary peace fragile as the thinnest glass.

They used her against him, Roy had muttered in the dark.

He watched her die and was then pinned down and forced to perform human transmutation.

Somewhere in that chaos, his sight was taken from him in exchange.

“That’s stupid,” was all Jean Havoc had to say in response. For, that’s all he really could say. This was psychotic.

It wasn’t fair. It was so cold-blooded, ruthless. Science, of all things, deciding to violate its own damn rules.

His commanding officer, his truest of friends, the most honorable man he had ever known was forced by the Universe, or whatever, to pay for a horrible criminal something he didn’t actually do.

even after he had let her - his most precious subordinate - even after he had let her die to successfully not actually do it.

It was just stupid.

Still he was blind. She was half dead.

But, they were here. They survived.

And, that’s all Roy Mustang would say for now. That’s all there really was for now.

The new General and his men instantly began to prepare, focused on moving forward. Mustang strategized and reanalyzed and did not let on for a second that he was out of the fight. Perhaps he would not be Führer. But, he would still work.

They were still alive.

Then.

Out of absolutely nowhere, there was a way to reverse all this. The all-powerful ultimate cosmic red stone of alchemy or whatever. Stupid, but perhaps used for good, for the future.

Havoc was kinda shocked when he got the call. He just bought his ticket back East, leaving the next day, entirely resigned from the notion of full and total recovery.

Havoc had gotten so settled in his convenience store, into his chair, off his feet, no longer a soldier.

Life was different. And, then it wasn’t.

Roy Mustang gave him orders.

“You get your legs back. You rejoin my team.” “This is weird,” was all Jean Havoc had to say.

He studied his ticket for only a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it out. Dues Ex Machina, it seemed, one miracle ending to a bad horror story that didn’t have the guts to pull through to the grim finish.

Havoc shrugged. At least they were alive.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning, Boss.”

So, here they were, all six of them, crammed into a crappy hospital room waiting for Dr. Marcoh to arrive. Here they were in a most unceremonious manner, making small talk, twiddling their thumbs, waiting on a most life-altering event, while the Lieutenant repeated their coffee order.

Large black coffee - light hazelnut creamer. Two cappuccinos - one light, one extra-dry. One latte. One Americano, and one mocha for her,

heavy chocolate, heavy whipped cream, heavy sugar.

“I should come with you, Hawkeye,” Breda tried again. She was just released from bed rest a day ago, for heavens’ sake.

Riza opened her mouth to protest. She needed to walk. She needed to process. She needed to recite their order over and over and over.

Large black coffee - light hazelnut creamer. Two cappuccinos - one light, one extra-dry. One latte. One Americano, and one mocha for her,

heavy chocolate, heavy whipped cream, heavy sugar.

Repeat.

If she did not follow suit, her head would ache with worst case scenarios. Her most childish heart had fluttered at the hope Dr. Marcoh had offered. Foolish. She should know better than to expect a positive outcome.

The stone could fail on a number of cruel technicalities. But, Riza could not help the piece of her being that had forever insisted on hope.

So.

Her head reeled, her heart raced, her stiches seemed all too thin. She felt all too weak. She needed to walk. She needed to process. She needed caffeine with chocolate with sugar and a lot of whipped cream.

Riza opened her mouth to protest. Mustang beat her to it,

“Let her go. She’ll be fine.”

The men exchanged a look. That was weird.

Really weird.

If anyone were to be obsessed with Hawkeye’s wellbeing, it would be the General. But, while the physical effects were so painfully clear, no one knew what had happened that day, deep in the tunnels under Central.

Hindsight revealed the General had orchestrated Hawkeye’s absence. He suggested coffee. He had asked her to fetch it, despite her condition. He wanted her out of the room, needed her out of the room.

For it was clearly no coincidence that right after Riza left the building, Dr. Marcoh circled the corner, held up a red gem, and speedily walked through some mumbo jumbo scientific specifics.

“Ready?”

He was supposedly scheduled to arrive just after 9:00. It was 8:50. Hawkeye was never late.

“Boss, don’t you want to wait-“ “No.”

Even Dr. Marcoh hesitated as if Mustang’s authority wasn’t enough. The men could vouch that this was often true. But, the General politely encouraged the doctor to be brief and hasty with his life-altering transmutation.

It didn’t seem quite right for something of such gravity to be so anticlimactic.

But, Mustang meant business.

He could not have her in the room and have the stone fail.

The General knew his Lieutenant.

He did not have to see how truly unconvincing she appeared when she smiled. There was no need to actually witness the effects of such massive blood loss on such a small woman. Pale skin, a sway in her step, even after weeks time.

He didn’t need to see it. He said no. And, that was the end of it.

It was weird. Yet,

No one knew what had happened that day. Not truly, anyway.

So, they proceeded, unceremoniously.

There were no grand words. No ribbons to cut. No champagne to pop.

There was just a lot of red light, a flash. Havoc held up his hand and squinted his eyes, then bent down to reach for his toes. They itched.

Wait-

Breda and Falman stooped to help him up, Then he just stood. Then that was just it.

He could walk again.

“Huh,” Havoc exhaled a laugh, gently shaking out his legs. They were weak, of course. But, they moved. And, that would certainly do,

“That’s pretty remarkable.” Marcoh smiled graciously then swiftly moved to Roy, who sat in a trance, stuck in his head.

“That’s great, Havoc” he had muttered in response to the miracle on the other side of the room.

Breda had barked out a laugh, Falman had grinned, Fuery had started tearing up, but Mustang just nodded.

He was being genuine, to be sure. But, it was a simple truth Havoc deserved to walk again. For some reason, Roy felt he knew there would always be a remedy.

But, Roy Mustang had technically performed human transmutation. Perhaps not willingly at the time. But, only moments before, he knew, He would have done it. For her, he would have done it.

He deserved this. He ruined everything. His team, their goals. He had come to terms, then was presented with hope. His head now reeled with worst case scenarios, prematurely combatting any returning guilt and shame. He sat and stewed, stuck in his head, The stone would fail, surely.

For, he would have done it.

No one knew what had happened that day.

Still, Marcoh stepped over to Mustang, and held up his stone. It was just the same, hasty and anticlimactic.

Some more bright red light, a flash. Roy felt a pulse to his head, like some sort of headache. He blinked, rubbed his temples, held his breath, and smelled coffee.

She had rushed back, no doubt, returning in record time.

Roy looked up and flinched when he realized he just watched her walk into the room, golden hair smeared, a tray of vaguely cup shaped blobs.

He shook his head and blinked out the blur.

“I have retrieved the drinks,” Hawkeye huffed walking past everyone, making a b-line to the little nightstand at the General’s bedside;

Dr. Marcoh had to duck out of her way to avoid being flattened, but she never missed a step. She didn’t look up. She didn’t notice.

Everything had changed, Dreams were restored, Life was anew.

She didn’t notice.

And, no one said anything. All for different reasons.

Havoc, personally, was petrified of the consequences they all failed to consider when they sent the Lieutenant to get coffee then proceeded to conduct a miracle over which she had no doubt lost nights and nights of sleep.

Yup. They were in for it.

“I brought an extra for the doctor, once he arrives.”

Seven cups, Roy’s vision cleared and allowed him to take inventory. Yes, seven, an obscene amount of whipped cream topping each one . Surely just in case any of the men would be so generous to donate their coffee, and all the included sugar, to Riza’s reeling head and admittedly fragile constitution.

Oh, yes, she was held together by tape and glue, sugar and caffeine. He was right to keep her out. But, what now.

Yup. They were really really in for it.

No one said anything.

The Lieutenant jostled through the cups, picking one up that was most clearly marked Roy.

He nearly lifted his hand to take it from her. Instead, she popped off the lid and stole a sip right out of it, the whipped cream leaving her with a most endearing mustache.

“I saw that.”

Roy heard his voice, but was honestly shocked he had managed to say anything,staring up at her as she came into perfect focus, a most intoxicating rush of relief, euphoria and pure terror locking him down.

Still, she didn’t blink. She didn’t hear. She didn’t even acknowledge the whipped cream.

She just replaced the cap, set it within his reach, picked up two more cups to distribute, and said in passing, “What was that, Sir?”

Riza then finally looked up to the men, to Havoc standing, to Dr. Marcoh just behind her shoulder.

“You look good, Lieutenant,” Roy rose to his feet, smirked, then tapped his upper lip “The mustache suites you.”

The cups she held dropped to the floor, coffee spilled across her feet.

“You idiot,” she muttered, turning back to her superior officer, looking straight into his eyes for the first time since that day. Roy lost his breath, smiled.

Then.

Riza slapped his cheek, hard, without pointedly deciding to do so.

The men flinched. Marcoh stepped away.

Oh, they were in for it. Havoc braced for impact.

But, Mustang just winced off the sting, bouncing back unreasonably quick, not even phased, nor surprised, nor offended,

or anything.

All of it was strange. Every detail of this day. Just down right weird. But, to be fair:

No one knew what had happened that day.

So, they all just watched as Roy simply sighed back into a tired smile and again tapped his upper lip,

“You’ve still got some whipped cream.”

He could see. He could really see. He reached to her lip and swept off the fluff.

Riza eyes glassed over.

On who’s authority did you- You all had the audacity to- How dare you make light of -

She swallowed.

The Lieutenant wanted to say great many things. She meant to scold and scream and reprimand. She wanted to slap him again, honestly, twice, three times over.

Instead, she just blinked, and she broke.

“You idiot”

Riza nearly fell right into his arms, tucking tight into his shoulder, squeezing her arms around his waist. Roy did not skip a beat in wrapping her up, his arms weaving from her waist and up to brace her shoulders, his nose buried in her hair.

He held her tight and so close, and she let him do so, willingly.

No one knew what had happened that day, the Promised Day.

No one knew what had happened to them, deep in the tunnels under Central, Not truly, anyway.

With that, the silence finally relented.

Collectively, the men huffed out a breath held for what seemed like an eternity. Havoc thought maybe a bomb would go off once Riza came to her senses. Maybe she would have lined them up and shot them one by one.

Instead, Riza Hawkeye hugged her General tight, a reaction not quite as lethal but still equally as alarming.

“I never imagined the Lieutenant could be so insubordinate,” Fuery snickered lightly, the room swept clean with a relief much needed. Breda scoffed, “That’s nothing. I never imagined the Lieutenant could be a hugger.”

That got a laugh. That broke the ice. It wasn’t even a good joke, but, finally, it all became real.

And, everybody started hugging everybody. Everybody went cheesy and sentimental and gross, laughing and grinning.

Celebration ensued. Not as grand as one might expect for such an event. There were no ribbons to cut. No champagne to pop.

But, it was them together and alive.

That was enough.

So, in that moment, hug they would.

Havoc to Breda. Havoc to Fuery and Falman and Marcoh. Marcoh to Havoc. Marcoh to Breda and Fuery and Falman. But, the General and his Lieutenant stayed put, right there.

Riza to Roy. Roy to Riza.

“Would you like me to clear the room for you, Sir?”

Havoc, of course, wasn’t serious when he crossed his arms, snidely smiled, grabbed the crutches and swung over toward the most peculiar pair.

Still, only then did the General let her go. Still, only then did the Lieutenant step away, clear her throat, and finally register the entirety of her surroundings.

“Just as an update,” Havoc grinned at his friend, once half dead, now sufficiently alive, “I can walk again.”

Havoc then was treated to an embrace of his own, not nearly quite as long, nor quiet as motivated,

this time much more characteristic of Lieutenant Hawkeye, as much as any hug could be. But, it was certainly worth the deficits given Havoc took advantage of such a very rare opportunity to smirk at Mustang from over Riza’s shoulder.

Mustang, whose eyesight was restored just soon enough to watch Hawkeye abandon him for Havoc.

Perhaps such a prank was cruel. Crossing the line just a tad. Normally, he would get scolded for such an implication.

Inappropriate, Mustang would bite, Dangerous, Hawkeye would warn, followed by denial, denial, and more most expertly designed denial.

But, here, in the aftermath it was them. They survived.

They could see and walk and feel and live.

For the first time after that night, they were okay, and that was enough.

“Have you chosen to ignore your fearless leader?” Roy scoffed. Havoc let her go and grinned knowingly, “Awe. Do you want a hug, Boss?”

Havoc and Hawkeye broke apart. She swept a strand of blonde behind her ear, just now noticing her boots were covered in coffee. In a flurry, she dashed off to grab napkins,

and Roy watched her do so, watched her very carefully, ensuring she was out of earshot and most importantly out of reach.

Awe. Do you want a hug, Boss?

They could see and walk, and feel and live.

For the first time, they were okay.

But, such circumstances certainly did not mean Roy Mustang would let Jean Havoc get away with that.

Awe. Do you want a hug, Boss?

Mustang turned back to him, blinked and deadpanned,

“Absolutely not.”

a/n If you squint at the details really close, yes yes, it’s not quite canon. But, I don’t care. I say it happened. So, it did happen. I just wish them such happy things.

P.S. Havoc is such a great semi-narrator P.S. another hospital geared fic by yours truly, It doesn’t matter, if this one is too sugary for you, and you’d like something super angsty. Kawmint and Reeblawg

#royai #royai fanfiction #royai fic #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fmab #fmab fic #myroyai #oh boy #i just needed to post this #talk to me #im lonely #and need motivation to finish up Four #i love them so much #my darlings

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myrhymesarepurer · 6 years

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TAG MEME THING

Tag Meme

Answer 30 questions and then tag 20 blogs you would like to know better

I’m rather reserved on tumblr. For the most part. And, I take years to write new stuff. So, I don’t really do this sort of thing. But, the marvelous @thesilentwatcher tagged me and I admire her very much so what the hell.

Nickname: Shelbs I guess is common, fish (my IGN is fishtail split for most video games), and my mom calls me Shasha for reasons out of my knowledge so you’re welcome to any of these.

Gender: Female

Star sign: Virgo.

Height: 5′5′’

Time: 2:57am

Birthday: September 2

Favourite band(s): Relient K ( since like middle school, ya’ll)

Favourite solo artist(s): Lorde is the one that stands out

Song stuck in my head: Your Heart is Mine - Bassline Drift

Last movie I watched: im in the film industry and i can’t remember the last time i watched a movie... something slightly mediocre I remember. like Iron Man 3.

Last show I watched: The Good Place

When did I create my blog: my main one - like the beginning of college. my royai one -a couple years ago, right before I graduated college.

What do I post: basically just things that make me laugh on the main blog, and anything and everything royai related on my royai blog, appropriately so. also I write royai fanfiction for this blog.

Last thing I googled: popular 90′s reggae songs (long story)

Do you have other blogs: my main one. but there’s nothing interesting there.

Do you get asks: every once in awhile when I ask for requests. or rarely if someone likes a fic and decides to comment that way. all of you who have done so are gems.

Why did you choose your url: uh i dont remember why. its fmab related but very very lame. my apologies all.

Following: 113

Followers: 407

Favorite color: blueee

Average hours of sleep: i have meds that force me to sleep, so usually the full 8 or 9 bc all i do is sleep after I take them

Lucky number: uh

Instruments: I used to play the Piano. It’s my favorite instrument and I’d love to pick it up again.

What am I wearing: enormous blue shirt and pajama shorts

How many blankets do I sleep with: like 3 if I am honestly counting all of them and one of them weighs 18 pounds.

Dream job: Feature Film Editor

Dream trip: New Zealand

Favorite food: cheese enchiladas, chips and queso, the garlic bread from Macaroni Grill

Nationality: American (Texan)

Favorite song now: anything from this specific playlist ( S P A C E ) I’m playing on repeat on Soundcloud while I spam video games. If you see this and would like to do it, I would love to know more about you! So consider yourself tagged. <3

#about me #myroyai

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myrhymesarepurer · 6 years

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oh my god finally

i have an end for Four

lets finish this sucker

#except i have to polish the beginning #this is the hell ive been stuck in #myroyai

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

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Anytime

FMAB, Post-Promised Day

a/n trying to get better at that whole Royai drabble thing. where it’s super small. this one is only like 900 words. are you proud of me? i’m proud of me. also this totally doesn’t fit into the canon of my edwin wedding fics. but, i whipped it up. thought it was cute. practice practice.

Riza Hawkeye did not curse often.

But, this was an exception. This was a major exception.

The zipper was stuck. dammit dammit dammit

She tugged. The zipper then broke. Of course the zipper broke.

“Is something wrong, Miss Riza?” Winry had asked, perfectly oblivious to what exactly this mishap entailed.

Riza stood behind the dressing screen, bit her lip hard and let the gears in her head turn. But, she was quick.

She knew from the second the purple fabric snagged. The only way she could wear that bridesmaids’ dress was to duck out of Winry’s room, and get to Ed’s.

She needed an excuse.

“I-uh,” she swallowed, utterly flustered, frazzled. How unusual. “I must step out and speak with the General.”

Riza slipped on her robe, pulling it tight around her back. Winry raised an eyebrow while the room of girls watched her step out from behind the screen.

Pinako puffed her pipe, “About what exactly?” Riza blinked. Mae squeaked. Winry smirked.

Any interaction whatsoever with Roy Mustang guaranteed a sly smile, a ‘knowing’ grin from any one of these women, though, however, only innocently interested in her own happily ever after.

for the most part

Still, Riza had no time to explain, defend, nor deny. “I’d like his opinion on our forbidden romance.”

She left them stunned and silent while slipping into the hall to knock on Ed’s door, the room for the groomsmen.

Roy opened it, and thank all that is good in the universe, he was alone. “They went out on a walk. The pipsqueak is pretty freaked out.” Roy blinked then evaluated her, head to toe.

Beautiful, his first thought. Panicked, his second.

“What’s wrong, Captain?”

Only it wasn’t his Captain standing there. It was his master’s daughter, his childhood best friend so brutally burdened with ink. Her darkest secrets so cruelly exposed to the world

by one blasted broken zipper.

He could see it. She was reliving her past right before him. She bit her lip and fought off the cloudiness in her eyes while she could feel the sear of the burns on her back for the first time in years.

She ran, she rushed, to her father’s apprentice for help, her secret keeper, the piece of her past that had not broken her.

She stepped into the room, shrugged off her robe, and wondered why she could not enjoy one of life’s simplest joys.

Weddings: dancing and cake, and rings and beautiful dresses.

Happily ever after.

It seemed such things were not fit for Riza Hawkeye. It was something about her, the woman herself perhaps, that seemed to ruin it all – one way or another.

This time. This damned zipper. This damned tattoo.

Perhaps it was what she deserved, she knew. But, truly, still. She could not catch a break.

Her scars pulled, tightened, shredded. Her father’s ink sunk into her blood, ran through her veins, a toxin that she felt was bound to stop her heart.

Roy’s hand ran mindlessly down her skin, ink and scars, pointless apologies on his lips.

What if it was broken for good? How was she to explain this to-

He plucked a bobby pin from her hair, slipped it through the zipper loop, and pulled.

“Done.”

She lifted her head and blinked, feeling a great bit foolish that she stood in front of her superior, tortured over an issue he managed to solve in, oh, less than one second.

How very Roy Mustang.

“All those sisters pay off from time to time,” he huffed, admiring his handiwork. Quite the perfectly zipped zipper.

Riza held the bridge of her nose and squeezed, steadying her heartbeat, steadying her breathing, feeling so stupid so foolish

so broken.

“Hawkeye,”

The burn was gone. He touched her skin, zipped the dress, and the burn was gone.

“Hawkeye, Look at me.” Roy grasped her shoulders and guided her around to face him.

Hawkeye he said. Riza he most certainly meant.

Riza lifted her chin to meet him watching the soldier he was melt into the boy she once knew, quick, intelligent, and painfully, obnoxiously charming.

“This is why you keep me around.”

She once had a crush on that boy, her mind most inconveniently noted while the man he became gave a deliciously warm smirk.

She said nothing to that smirk, explained nothing, denied nothing, did nothing but press her lips to his cheek feather light, smudge the traces of lipstick off with her thumb and turned to the door. “Thank you, Sir,” she said softly.

Roy was very much glad she could not see his cheeks in that moment, turn a blazing red and ghostly white all at once.

It wasn’t uncommon for Roy Mustang to save the day. He, admittedly, quite arrogantly, prided himself in his quick and clever problem-solving.

It came in handy back in the day, particularly when impressing girls. Such tactics, of course, never had quite worked on the one that mattered, so he thought.

She kissed his cheek. He cleared his throat,

“Anytime.”

I really need to grasp the whole tiny drabble thing. I really need to get that down. If you liked this lil layered piece, reblog for sure. You can find all of my stuff here .

#what a stupid title #but we'll call it that sure #myroyai #royai #royai fic #my fics have NOT been doing well as of late #so have pity on me #and rebloooggggggggggggggg #<3 #i love them #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fmab #fma #royai fanfiction #fluff

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

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Rings and Cake and Forever

FMAB, Post-Promised Day

She so valiantly fought off silly thoughts of wedding dresses, and rings and cakes and forever. It was going well enough until- “Have you ever loved someone, Miss Riza?”

Pairing Royai

Rating K

a/n the lil drabble you write when you get stuck on your lil fic when you’re stuck on your other lil fic when you’re stuck on your enormous multi-chapter fic. in the world of my fics about EdWin’s wedding, Very Well and Three and the one I’m stuck on.

Enjoy <3

ff ao3

Winry’s bachelorette party came to a close in the most innocent of ways: a slumber party.

The girls all piled up in the den, a castle of pillows and blankets and stuffed animals. It was warm and fuzzy, and much of it pink.

The whole lot of them, stomachs stuffed with sugar, light and bubbling with champagne, snuggled into the hard wood like it was a large, fluffy summertime cloud.

Each one of them slept with a soft smile, no doubt dreaming of white dresses, and rings, and cake, and forever.

Each one of them slept, aside from Riza.

She sat propped up against the couch, holding her novel close utilizing as much of the porch light as she could.

Riza brought it with her knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. It was the wedding, she was sure. Weddings always seemed to throw everyone for a loop.

In result, Riza hadn’t gotten much rest. It wasn’t a crisis, just an inconvenience.

So, she brought her novel and kept herself distracted, most valiantly fighting the silly thoughts of white dresses, and rings, and cake, and forever.

It was going well enough, until the bride-to-be ‘sleeping’ to her left, turned toward her and opened her eyes.

“Have you ever loved someone, Miss Riza?”

Apparently, she couldn’t sleep either.

Of course, Winry, however, had a perfectly good excuse to be awake and pestered with pretty thoughts of white dresses and rings, and cake, and forever.

Riza raised an eyebrow at the young bride. The girl grinned sleepily in the dim orange light.

“There are very many different types of love-“ “You know what I mean,” Winry deadpanned, and Riza was caught.

The young girl now knew her quite well, so lightly unfortunate for a woman as private as Hawkeye. But, Winry had become a dear friend, very similar to Rebecca. Though, Rebecca seemed much less problematic - which was saying something.

The brunette lay snoring at her feet, curled up with Hayate, while the blonde ruthlessly gazed up at her with pleading blue eyes requesting a conversation about Riza’s least favorite of subjects.

Winry, of course, knew this. She had somehow subconsciously cataloged all of the specific topics Riza would rather not discuss.

Often, if they were not riddled with pain, she would pick a subject, and nearly force Riza to open up and – god help her – socialize.

It was harmless for the most part, but Winry was clever and fearless, and to Miss Riza’s great misfortune, knew right away when she was dodging the point.

So, she had no choice.

Riza huffed, closed her book, even still, a subtle smile on her face.

“Yes,” she said candidly. Winry suspected as such. “Do you love anyone right now?”

That particular question proved to be a popular pastime for the evening. They had played truth or dared, or rather, practically broadcasted their love lives outright, one by one.

Riza always had a perfectly poised, carefully crafted, completely unspecified response.

Such questions gave her quite the headache. Such questions possessed very complicated answers. Such questions prompted the intake of lots and lots of sugar.

Riza knew what they expected, and she disappointed every time.

Winry, however, was so sweetly relentless. She asked not for gossip, a scoop, a secret.

Winry simply wished for others, happiness.

She could do gears, and bolts, and motor oil. She could do dresses, and rings, and love.

And, if there were any woman concerned with the happiness of others on her own wedding day, it would be Winry Rockbell.

Unfortunately so, Winry had become a dear friend and there was no way Riza was getting out of this.

Do you love anyone right now?

Riza skillfully tilted her head, bit her lip and squinted, “Not that I’m aware of.” “Liar,” Winry quipped instantly.

“Now, how would you know I’m lying?” Riza picked up her book, opened it again, and stuck her nose into the pages.

“I just know,” Winry scoffed. Riza smirked. “The evidence appears to be quite unsubstantial.”

Winry huffed, big blue eyes wide and restless. She propped up on her elbow and caved. Unfortunately, they were dear friends now,

and Winry knew there was no way she was getting anywhere with this woman, no matter how stubborn and persistent, and admittedly annoying her own tactics.

“Fine.” Winry bit and settled, “Have you ever had a crush on someone?” That wasn’t such a tricky question, now was it? It focused on the past, and on a much lighter, sillier, common kind of love. Riza blinked, “Crush?”

Winry nodded, “Mhm. Blushing and butterflies and all that.” Riza sighed, surrendered her book once more and, of course, knew the answer. But, ever Riza Hawkeye, she hesitated.

“I’m getting married the day after tomorrow.” “Yes?” “You’re the maid of honor.” “Yes?”

“So, it’s your duty to appease me,” Winry literally begged, “I’m the bride. I order you to answer.”

Riza chuckled. “Understood,” She sighed, “Yes, I have had a crush I suppose”

Winry lit up like a Christmas tree, “Who?” Riza bit her lip. There was no turning back now. She had orders, after all.

“My father’s apprentice.” “Oh,” she grinned, “Was it a forbidden love?”

Hardly, Riza nearly snorted. It was barely love at all.

It was a blush or two, butterflies maybe, a honorable, intelligent, painfully charming boy that was hell bent on befriending a very lonely girl.

And, forbidden?

She wasn’t even sure, in those days, if Berthold Hawkeye still knew he had a daughter. So, Riza decided on a, “I wouldn’t know. My father was never wise to it.”

“Did he have a crush on you too?” Winry hoped so ardently.

Riza brought a finger to her lip and tapped, genuinely answering, “I was never certain.”

“I bet he did.”

“And, how would you know, Winry?” “I just know,” Winry grinned. Riza smirked. “The evidence appears to be quite unsubstantial.”

Winry rolled her eyes and collapsed back onto her pillow. Riza took the opportunity to do the same.

Perhaps the conversation was over.

Perhaps Riza had dodged enough for long enough to exhaust even ever pure-hearted, ever ruthlessly vigilant Winry Rockbell.

Riza was very wrong.

“Tell me something about him.”

She had already turned away from the her, pointedly choosing to face the windows, escape the hot seat.

She had already tucked away her book. She had already pat Hayate on the head.

She had already convinced herself she had passed the test, survived. Maybe she could finally get some sleep. Probably not, honestly.

Still, Winry insisted for at least one more word. Riza huffed and turned back to her.

She thought and scrunched her nose. “He was kind of a know-it all.”

“Like Ed,” Winry snorted. “Like Edward, yes” Riza smiled.

It was possible then, Winry grinned. It was possible for even Riza Hawkeye, her maid of honor, so often carrying around the weight of the world, to have her own Ed, her own love of her life.

Perhaps her own white dress, and ring, and cake, and forever.

Perhaps it was possible.

“One more thing,” she lifted a finger. “Winry…” Riza warned.

It was time to sleep. It was time to stop torturing her dear friend, her maid of honor. Winry understood. Still.

“What did he look like?”

Riza knew what she was asking.

Winry was aware of at least the bare bones of Roy and Riza’s past. Ed had mentioned it once briefly. She knew they had known each other for a long time, since childhood. Her father might have been an alchemist,

and Winry wasn’t one-hundred percent sure Roy Mustang was Riza Hawkeye’s father’s apprentice. But, she had a feeling.

Riza knew what she was asking.

Ever still she did giver her a perfectly poised, carefully crafted, completely unspecified response, while still following orders, of course.

Riza rolled her eyes, turned back to the windows, pulled the duvet up to her shoulders, and sighed into a smile.

“He had dark hair and dark eyes, Xingese decent.”

It was vague. It was specific.

It gave Riza just enough time to pretend she fell asleep before Winry hummed, “Wait a minute.” Xingese decent, huh. then finally gasped, baffled she hadn’t realized instantly.

She knew it. She just knew.

“That sounds like General Mustang.”

“Does it?” Riza feigned exhaustion, muttering into the fluff of her pillow.

“Yes,” Winry saw through her and smirked, finally satisfied, “Yes, it does.”

it’s the little fics that are the loveliest. let me know your thoughts, reblog with comments and tags and the like. Very Well actually happens right before this with a similar cute, warm and fluffy topic, so go read that one too. I love them.

#royai #royai fic #Rings and Cakes and Forever #myroyai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma #fmab #cuties patooties #im in love with them #winry rockbell #edward elric #edwin #i suppose #aight #lovelovelove them

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

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The Pixie Cut

FMAB, Post-Promised Day Riza cuts her hair, then subsequentially shatters a coffee mug. Six years of progress, gone. “You know I used to tease you about that haircut.” Pairing Royai Rating K a/n i can’t write ficlets. i can’t. they all end up being like so many pages. This one is eight. I tried. I really did. Even so, this little moment holds such a lovely place in my head cannon. Also, my little fic, Not Anymore revolves around this very same subject, the move to Ishval. Go check that out after. ff ao3

She went to lunch.

She went to lunch and obliterated six years of progress. She went to lunch, obliterated all that progress, stepped through the doors, and felt ice.

It was shorter.

Appropriately so, she froze.

The whole office was back. She was late. She stood in the doorway, gripping the handle.

The men looked up. She was never late. Havoc popped a chip in his mouth.

“Nice hair cut, Hawkeye,” he crunched “Throwback.”

“I did always like the short hair, Captain,” Fuery nodded. “Looks good,” Breda confirmed, sneaking another bit of a brownie, rather overtly

Lunch is over. No food in the office.

She was supposed to say something. She didn’t say anything. The General lifted an eyebrow, looking to her.

They would be leaving in a week. The office was in boxes, actually.

“Very sensible for the desert,” Falman commented. Riza’s fingers grazed the blonde cut short at her ear. She said nothing. She studied the carpet.

Roy’s face dropped.

The Captain took a breath, looked to the men nodded in thanks then finally moved from the doorway.

The sun through the massive wall of windows was scorching. Riza, once frozen, now burned like fire.

She removed her military jacket, draped it over her chair, then turned on her heel toward the coffee.

Then they all just decided something was wrong. She didn’t even drink coffee.

Yup, something was definitely wrong.

No, she shut it down silently. She was fine. They didn’t think so.

So, they then collectively, wordlessly, started plotting. Havoc elbowed Breda in the ribs. “It’s cute too,” Breda coughed out. “Very cute!” Fuery agreed. “Becoming, yes.” Falman added quickly “Hot.” Havoc finished it off.

That should have shocked her out of it.

Inappropriate insubordination always got her attention.

All of those things were true, of course. The pixie cut was highly underrated.

But, still. Roy just watched her shuffle through the cabinet, pull out the coffee beans, and ready the grinder.

“Out.” Roy then said softly, only just loud enough to hear.

Havoc, Breda, Falman, Fuery, snapped from Riza to Roy. They stared, wide-eyed, waiting for his solution.

For, the only person, truly, that even might be able to ‘fix’ Riza Hawkeye was Roy Mustang.

So, they sat in waiting, ready to help. Roy screwed the cap back on his pen, and said, “Go take lunch,”

Riza stiffened, coffee mug in hand, back facing the office.

No, he wasn’t going to do this. Kick the team out. Satisfy his hero complex. Try to save her.

She was fine.

Still, he said, “Go take lunch.”

“Boss, we already had-“

“Go take another.” Roy bit through his teeth. Fuery, Breda, Falman all rushed, snatched up their hidden snacks and flew through the doors. Havoc lingered.

He stood, fished his lighter out from his desk, glanced from Roy to Riza to Roy again, essentially ensuring the General didn’t need backup.

Roy got up, shook his head, and waved him away. Havoc left. and Riza stood her ground hoping Roy would be lazy enough to skip the trip to the coffee cart.

Her hopes were dashed. He appeared beside her.

“Sir, do not start-“

The General swept fingers across the top layers for her hair and let out a “huh.”

Riza swatted his hand away.

“It does look good, Captain.” “I’m fine, General,” she said sternly.

“You did not need to evacuate the room simply because you believe otherwise, Sir.” she grumbled,

Roy tilted his head, “It’s the haircut, isn’t it?” He ran fingers through it again, deeper this time.

It was highly inappropriate, but Roy did not stop and Riza did not stop him.

“It hasn’t been this short since-“ Roy started softly. Riza finished strong. “Since I murdered hundreds of thousands of innocent people. Yes, I know.” her words were venomous, not out of malice, out of grief.

“And, yet, you are fine, Captain?” Roy made his point.

He knew when she was crumbling, even worse, he almost always knew why. despite her unmatched talent of resolving, or rather hiding, any such circumstance.

He always knew.

So, he got her alone and he tried to fix her, like always. The joke was on him. Not even Roy Mustang could fix a heinous criminal. The hailed sharp shooter, the famed killer, the single woman who recklessly, obliviously unleashed flame alchemy,

She slaughtered a race. There was no fixing that.

Riza grit her teeth, gripped her mug, then Riza threw it.

The cup flew, shattered on hit clear across the room, all because of a haircut.

Roy hadn’t flinched. He just seemed lightly surprised, impressed even. Riza turned away from the pieces and found herself huffing for air.

She caught her breath, bit her lip, shook her head. She was so stupid. She was so weak. So weak she had lost her head, her professionalism, her vice.

“Forgive me, Sir. My behavior is inappro-“ It was then that her General grabbed the decorative bouquet off the coffee cart, dumped the flowers, the water and all into the garbage and handed her the vase. “This would be more satisfying.”

The Captain stared at the glass, incredulous, then glanced up at Roy. He cinched a smile.

Riza actually did think about it, but, in the end, waved the glass away.

“No thank you, Sir” she mumbled and sighed away the suffocation. Her fingers mindlessly lifted again, this time to sweep the loose pieces of blonde back behind her ear. The lack hit her hard. “I apologize again, General. I’m-”

Riza could not find the will to finish, not while she then would have to confess the fact that she maybe could not handle this, not alone. the full week of nightmares, post-traumatic stress. six years of recovery, gone.

Riza still gnawed at her lip and shut her eyes. It was quite simple, really.

Psychological changes often produce the desire for a physical change. Significant events often cause said psychological changes, in preparation for the future, the next step, the new version of yourself.

After Ishval, Mustang and Hawkeye found Edward, Alphonse and Winry.

At that time, their journey to the top had begun full throttle, and Riza had admired Resembool, the air, the peace, and Winry’s long, blonde hair.

Something needed to change, she remembered thinking. She wouldn’t mind letting her hair grow, a new version, void of blood, sun, and endless sand.

It was really quite simple. She just thought she was stronger.

For, today she had lunch.

Today she had lunch and cut off six years of progress, of coping, and working, and fighting

and for what? practicality? much easier to manage, very sensible for the desert.

She thought she might be stronger.

In a week, they would be leaving, back to the sun, the endless sand.

She would be there again, the very same Private Hawkeye. She sure looked the part. One physical change reversing, nullifying a psychological remake, six years,

gone.

Roy watched Riza’s eyes glass over. She braced herself on the counter, then hid her head in her hands.

That hair cut, the pixie cut, was present for every horrifying event in Riza Hawkeye’s life, death and ink and sun, and sand and blood, and fire.

She had always kept it short. It was much easier to maintain.

But, with its return came grief, and guilt, and perhaps it's very own curse.

She looked like a murderer, like blood and sand and fire, and she-

“You know,” Roy crossed his arms, and thought to the ceiling. ”when we were young, I teased you about that haircut.”

He then leaned back against the counter back and back until he was in her sight, practically forcing her to look at him.

She compromised and glared instead.

“Yes, I remember,” she huffed, “That does not help, Sir,” Roy shrugged, “It was only to hide the fact that I liked it.”

Riza lifted off the counter and looked at him squarely. Roy smiled sheepishly, particularly remembering the year before he left, “Havoc’s right. It’s hot.”

Riza scrunched her nose and twisted her lips, wondering if she should be flattered or disturbed.

Regardless, the fact remained;

Roy Mustang had reminded her of the one time her pixie cut existed in happiness.

Riza decided to roll her eyes and bite the inside of her cheek, willing it not to flush pink.

“We’re going back,” Roy sighed after a moment. He looked away, to the shattered porcelain scattered across the floor.

He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to throw and smash and pulverize anything, everything, every day. In a week, they would be leaving.

Riza returned to the coffee pot, and nodded lightly.

She gripped the bridge of her nose and actually had to hold off the sting of tears.

But, Roy turned back to her, wove his fingers into her soft blonde hair and guided her back to him. He was close. She could breathe, and let go.

“It’s a good thing we’re going together,” He said surely, smiling as much as he could.

Riza lifted her chin, recovered, and sighed into the truth,

“Yes. It is.”

For, it was true. Every time in her past when she felt comfort, happiness, peace, courage, every time she felt new:. She was with Roy Mustang, Even when she had her pixie cut.

a teeny tiny bonus

“Shall I retrieve the men, Sir?” “No.” “You know they will take the full hour, General.”

“I don’t mind,” he huffed then plucked a flower out from the trash can, dusted off the coffee grinds and offered it to her. He smiled, “Wanna grab dessert?” “No.”

a/n There’s this chapter in Home which I think is the most romantic RoyxRiza moment I have ever written. This one is a close second, I think. It also came really fast and out of nowhere. Those are kind of the best ones. One more time for the fellas in the back, my little fic, Not Anymore revolves around this very same subject, the move to Ishval. In that little fic, these roles are switched. So, go read that one, and enjoy. Reblog, tag, like and comment. Pamper me.

#myroyai #royai #royai fic #royai fanfiction #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fmab #fma #my babies #i love them so much

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

Text

Sergeant Robbins is Brunette

FMAB, Pre-Promised Day So, there was a new secretary in the clerk's office. Every day, she waltzed in and gushed, "Roy" and he would smirk, "Missy." Every day, Riza would grit her teeth and correct him under her breath, “Sergeant Robbins.” Every. Day. Pairing Royai Rating T, sorta a/n this is one of those dumb stupid drabbles you write when you’re stuck on your dumb stupid silly smut. so i’m throwing this tomato at the wall. it’s kinda cute. I love Riza. She so good at deception and denial. Enjoy. ff ao3

She could claim she did it for Havoc. She would swear it, honestly.

But, most frankly, that claim would be false, or at least partially so.

See, there was a new secretary in the clerk's office at Eastern Headquarters.

Mustang's team was often behind on paperwork, particularly due to the Mustang piece of that team. But, this was a well-known fact.

The old secretary to the clerk's office was now the head secretary to the clerk's office because the clerk's office was overrun, with tardy paperwork.

It wasn't entirely their fault, but the Investigations Division did prefer the field rather than their desks,

so they downright avoided their desks and Riza was just one woman.

She couldn't do it all. They were behind.

So, there was a new secretary in the clerk's office.

And, she chose to wear the uniform skirt, in a much smaller size than she required, so it was higher and tighter

and she was gorgeous, and she was a brunette

and she delivered paperwork straight to the office, which was completely unnecessary.

Riza figured maybe she was hired specifically to deal with their team. Yet, however incorrectly appearances may portray the inner workings of a woman,

She was green, fresh out of the academy.

She was new and doe-eyed and did not appear quite so equipped to manage the paperwork onslaught and chaos consistently courtesy of the Mustang Unit.

Regardless, personally assigned or no, she didn't knock, and she wore her hair down, and the skirt and the red lipstick, and all five men in her office

gawked.

Riza always shifted in her seat, rolled her eyes, and hid behind a most suddenly interesting expense report, while Missy

brought the new day's stack right to the Colonel's desk., and, Roy Mustang, even with all his pomp and formality, gushed and smiled and called her

Missy.

Yes, Missy. Because, god forbid the men at Eastern actually refer to her as Sergeant Melissa Robbins.

Given, most every man at work did have enough respect to use her proper title when speaking with her directly.

Most every man that is.

She gushed and called the Colonel, "Roy." He dropped his pen, leaned back, stretched his arms behind his head, smirked and called her

"Missy. Good Morning."

All four men, in all four desks all pushed together in the middle of the room so overtly checked her out from head to toe,

just like every day a half hour before lunch for the longest week of Riza Hawkeye's life.

Daily, Fuery would turn away tomato red, Falman would clear his throat, Breda would grunt approvingly, then elbow Havoc who, at that point would be reliably blinded by hearts, and completely drowning in drool.

It was disgusting and conjured an awful headache for reasons Riza could never quite put her finger on.

Maybe it was just the week. For, every day that week, she waltzed in and gushed, "Roy" and he smirked, "Missy." every day,

Riza gritted through her teeth, and under her breath corrected him,

"Sergeant Robbins"

"Behind on mission coverage again, are we?" She waved her papers, and most overtly pushed the stack into her breasts. Riza hovered her pen above the same dotted line for what seemed like a good ten minutes.

Avoiding the train wreck, the abhorrent disastrous effect this woman had on Colonel Mustang's office its already appalling productivity.

"Awe, Missy," the Colonel spun his chair, "You're too cruel."

Riza glanced over and watched Jean Havoc grimace back into his deskwork. She watched him do this every day, for the whole week.

The battle was always over before it begun when it came to matters such as these.

In the fight for life long love, the Flame Alchemist always had his pick. He always won.

He always got the girl.

Riza always cinched her mouth into a frown. Poor Havoc. She could say she did what she did for him, said it all for her friend.

But, in all honestly, Riza Hawkeye was so still shamefully selfish. It was mortifying, but she was good.

She could keep her cover, like she had every day, all that week.

"Are you sure there isn't anything you can do?" "Well, Roy, maybe-" she gushed. Riza steeled and looked to her, beautiful brunette in all her tight skirt glory,

and for the first time that week, she didn't let Sergeant Robbins continue.

She cut her off like she disserved, for interrupting their work, for every other time that week Missy entertained the possibility of trading extended deadlines for candle light dinners.

"No," Riza said, ice, then looked to Mustang, "The Colonel must complete all his paperwork."

There was silence. Havoc snorted a laugh for whatever reason. "No exceptions, Sergeant Robbins."

Raised eyebrows, all across the room, a sigh from the Colonel, a quiet whistle from Breda,

and a top to bottom flick of the eyes, a signature hostile evaluation from a fellow female competitor.

Riza lifted her chin, and outstretched her arm for the forms. She wasn't simple. She would not be any woman's competitor.

"I suppose that's my cue,"

Sergeant Robbins muttered with a completely unsubtle touch of insubordination, reluctantly surrendering her free ticket to flirt shamelessly with Colonel Roy Mustang.

There was no way out. She was under orders. Riza had to admit pulling rank had never felt so satisfying.

She smiled politely, "Have a good day, Robbins."

Missy nodded as professionally as she could, "First Lieutenant." Of course, she proceeded to turn over her shoulder to Roy, and to the shamelessly love-struck men, wiggling her fingers goodbye.

It was done. It was over.

And, then it wasn't. Like always.

"She is So. Smoking. Hot." Havoc sighed every time she left, every day that week. Yet, it was this day, this Friday, that the five days of tension, the constant competition, became too much to ignore.

"She's out of your league, Havoc." Roy finally scoffed

Just like he had wanted to every day, for the entire week.

Once Roy finally caved, finally snapped, Fuery, Falman: They made a break for it.

Breda tilted his head, gathering his lunch, and shrugged, to his friend. He agreed.

Havoc gritted his teeth, leaned back into his chair, puffed his chest,

"Don't think I stand a chance, Boss?"

"In fact, I do not," Roy confirmed solidly and did the same, leaned back into his chair, puffed his chest, smirked.

Havoc crossed his arms and finished his thought, "Don't think I stand a chance against you."

Riza sighed, clenched her eyes closed, bracing for impact,

from what source she couldn't say.

Havoc waited for Roy to challenge him.

This day he came prepared, This day: Riza finally cut Missy off, Roy finally spoke his mind, and Jean had some semblance of a plan to fight.

So, he challenged the Colonel to deny that he didn't drool over Missy Robbins, fantasize about that skirt while he purposefully procrastinated

He challenged Roy to confirm something like that, in front of Riza Hawkeye.

It would be quite a destructive choice, that is, if any of Rebecca Catalina's theories were relatively correct.

But, Roy did not deny it. This day, he said it.

"Better yet, I know you don't."

Havoc looked to Riza, to Roy. Neither flinched.

Roy stared him down. Riza shuffled through the new stack.

Rebecca Catalina might have been relatively wrong. Havoc groaned. He truly was out of the running then.

Another potential love, lost to Roy Mustang.

"I'm a Colonel, Havoc." He laughed smugly, "Colonel trumps Second Lieutenant."

Havoc grumbled, but still did not intend to give up that long, lush, tuggable brunette hair, without a fight to the death metaphorically speaking.

He was desperate. He looked to Riza.

How unfortunate.

"Hawkeye."

She could say she did the following for Havoc. That, however, as mentioned before, was not entirely true.

But, she told herself this. She said the right thing, at the right time. She did it for Jean Havoc, right?

Right.

"Traditionally, power, position, success do greatly factor into a man's appeal."

"You mean how hot he is?"

Riza sighed, looked up only now, raising an eyebrow at the Second Lieutenant,

"Yes, if you must phrase it that way."

Roy, consequentially, smirked snidely in his big, dominate, intimidating, Colonel sized chair. Havoc whined,

"I thought you were my ally, Hawkeye!"

Riza signed a page, flipped it over. "I am simply telling the truth. Higher ranking officers usually have better results."

Roy then said so sure, "This is what I'm saying, Havoc. You have absolutely-" but Riza stuck held up a finger, "That is unless the officer of superior rank behaves like a complete ass."

Breda stopped at the doorway, salami stuffed in his mouth. Havoc barked out a victory laugh. Roy dropped his jaw, shot out of his seat. First shock,

then anger,

"Excuse me?"

Riza marked the date, flipped the page. "Personality, depth, kindness. Also significant factors."

"Meaning, Lieutenant?" Roy gritted his teeth. Riza signed on the final dotted line, flipped the page and sat up, lifting her chin, "Havoc stands quite the fighting chance, Sir."

She took a breath, sipped her cold tea, "Therefore, I would not be so arrogant, Colonel."

"But, I-I'm a selfless civil servant. I – I have a great personality!" Roy struggled. Havoc spoke over him, and Roy over him, and Havoc over Roy, and on and on.

"You know, Hawkeye, rebellion in a woman. Smoking. Hot. " "Hey," Roy accidently kind of growled, "You do not hit on Hawkeye."

"Why not? " Havoc flashed some rebellion of his own.

"Seems she's the only woman who isn't fooled by your whole thing. I might have a chance here!"

Riza just shook her head, stayed disengaged, straightened piles, files, placed them in order of urgency, stuck stickers for the Colonel, where to sign, where to initial.

She made it easy, She made herself busy.

She and Havoc: Seemed they were on the same page. She needed a plan. She convinced herself it was for Havoc. She lost her head.

She did it for Havoc.

"Let's get one thing straight." Roy resisted the urge to yell and scold, "If Robbins is out of your league, Hawkeye is out of your universe."

Havoc blanched. He shook his head, disbelief. Rebecca Catalina may have been relatively correct.

Perhaps he could succeed, perhaps he had a chance at love with Smokin' Hot Missy Robbins.

Riza picked up the stack, walked it to the Colonel's desk, calm, collected, ignoring the bickering, the testosterone.

"Actually, Chief-" "I'm a State Alchemist," the Colonel cut him off, like a child, desperate for approval. Struggling for the upper hand, "Skill factors in. Genius factors in,

Right, Lieutenant?"

Riza sighed, worn out for no more than a hot second, as she was shocked back awake, alert

when she placed the new packets so perfectly pristine in the middle of Roy's desk

she looked up and witnessed her Colonel actually pleading.

Riza huffed, glanced over her shoulder at Havoc. They waited. For validation and confidence, and self-worth.

She had just a sliver of pity for them both, and a delightful pretty piece of proof that she did, in fact, do this all for Havoc

and Missy Robbins and their beautiful

brunette, tight skirt future together.

The Lieutenant turned back to her desk, and spoke objectively, clinically,

for the most part,

"It is, Sir" she sighed, "but- seeing as you are both sufficiently intelligent,"

"It's an even race," Roy finished, sat back into his chair, not even challenging the fact that he was only just 'sufficiently intelligent.'

He gave up.

Riza nodded, fetching her coat, "Race is not the word I would use. But, the opportunity is equal, yes."

Riza slipped her arm through, and turned just in time to see Havoc, blue eyes wide, bolting out the door,

out to take his shot at Sergeant Missy Robbins, with the beautiful brunette hair and the tight skirt and the red lips

He wasted not a millisecond

Havoc ran before the Flame Alchemist could reach her, charm her, and convince her otherwise.

Riza did it for Havoc, she told herself. Gave him hope in love, even if it was in Missy, a woman who very possibly did not deserve a man like Jean.

She did it for Havoc.

Roy most surprisingly just stared up at the ceiling and muttered, "The fire from thin air thing. That doesn't help me?"

He snapped his head up. Riza stood in front of his desk, not too close, not too far, "That doesn't help me at all?"

Riza sighed, weary, worn down. He read it as disappointed.

Roy buried his face in his hands, elbows pinned onto his desk. holding what felt like his entire weight

"She's a brunette, Sir." "I know," he groaned.

He let out the deepest sigh, rigid and pained. Stress she hadn't seen in him for quite some time.

Riza bit her lip, tugged on her coat.

"You're dismissed, Lieutenant." the Colonel waved her away,

"Have a pleasant lunch."

Riza was so close, so almost out that door.

But, she had to do it for Havoc.

She threw Roy off Missy Robbins' scent for Havoc's sake, right? Right.

It wouldn't hurt to provide the situation just the slightest touch of insurance, Right?

Riza took a breath. Right.

She was doing it for Havoc, of course. Right?

Right.

"When we were young, Sir." Riza turned. She stepped forward, spoke up softly, candidly, "The fire from thin air – "

Roy looked up, lifted an eyebrow, "Yes?" Riza cleared her throat, gave the smallest, softest, reassuring smile.

"Appealing."

She was much closer to his desk than she previously thought.

and, Roy did try not to shoot to his feet, but even still he did, dashing his hopes of appearing nonchalant.

Instead, he leaned forward as far as he could on his desk,

toward her, to her, jaw dropped, appearing very 'chalant.'

"You mean you found me Smoking Hot."

Roy had to take a moment. He couldn't stop gaping, he couldn't stop grinning, all at once.

Riza Hawkeye just used the word appealing, admitted to a possibly more than former attraction to him, Roy Mustang.

And, now, she stood there. She stood there and did not correct him.

"Close your jaw, Sir" the Lieutenant deadpanned, "It was long ago. I was young and silly. I grew up."

Of course, the fire from thin air would turn a nation to ash, end a war in red hot hell, sun and sand.

But, for just a moment, Riza remembered a place resurrected a time when her father's apprentice, and his intelligence, his kindness, his dreams,

a time when Roy Mustang, the prodigy alchemist, hypnotized her.

She only saw, only remembered the good, when Roy grinned warmly, goofily, so damn charmingly,

I grew up.

"You did, did you?" "I did."

The Colonel smirked. The Lieutenant straightened.

"So, the fire from thin air thing," Roy challenged, "No longer appealing?"

Riza blinked, "I grew up." Roy nodded, unconvinced, "So it seems."

The Lieutenant just shook her head and rolled her eyes, not so successfully keeping her cover.

She walked briskly to the door, to her escape, and to her certain doom of regretting her decisions, her words,

perfectly chosen, perfectly time.

She would surely regret them every day for at least the next week.

even if it was all for Havoc, and only for Havov.

Even so, she was successful. She could take comfort in that, she supposed.

as she turned the knob, opened the door

The Colonel leaned back in his chair once more, stretched his arms behind his head,

and though he smirked, his voice held sincerity

"Don't you worry, Lieutenant."

Riza raised an eyebrow, prepared to fight off the blush she knew plotted to violently ambush her cheeks.

"Sergeant Robbins is brunette."

Roy shrugged, mindlessly picking up a form, flipping it without any intent on filling it out, now or later.

Not after she said something like that, one word doomed to distract him everyday, at least for the next week.

"Even when we were young," Roy smirked, sly, smug, even though his face too wore the faintest shade of red.

Riza gripped the doorknob until her fingers were white.

"Even then, I preferred a blonde."

Reblog. Reblog. Tags. Tags. tell me what you think of this tomato I threw at the wall. I crave attention. Love Royai with me. READ WHAT I’M AVOIDING

#Royai #Royai fanfiction #Royai fic #FMAB #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #Fullmetal Alchemist Fanfiction #Cuties #oh lord #whatever #I am just #avoiding everything #myroyai

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

Text

It doesn’t matter.

FMAB, Post-Promised Day

They had not spoken. Three days, four days, give or take or give. They had not spoken, for this, they knew this would be the result, He smelled the iron, felt the blood under his toes. “I would have done it.” “It doesn’t matter.”

Pairing Royai Rating K, sorta

a/n this one’s called, “how much can a overwrite and be vague simultaneously”? I never bought any of the post-promised day hospital shots I’ve read. I think they were there for a long time. And, I think it was complicated. And, I’m definitely avoiding my smut with pure and utter angst. Oh, my poor babies. Enjoy.

ff ao3

Contrary to what one might anticipate, it was not a joyous reunion.

He requested that she stay with him in the same room, their beds separated by only three feet of a nightstand.

He couldn’t see. He needed an aid, he said.

She was his aid. His vice.

Always had been.

The doctors agreed. It was the best option.

Mustang had lost his sight, but he also had through and through stab wounds on both hands prone to severe infection, as well as a concussion

just to add a cherry on top.

Hawkeye still lacked a major volume of her blood and had a freshly stitched slit across her carotid. Yes, supervision was ideal, a bunk buddy was ideal,

and it seemed wrong to separate them after everything. But, the reunion was-

They had not spoken.

Three or four, give or take or give, so many days since admission.

They alternated pretending to sleep while the other was awake, had visitors, ate meals.

They both could admit it had become quite extreme.

The men didn’t comment. Perhaps it was the trauma. The Colonel and his Lieutenant. They ignored each other.

Their reunion after everything, all of it, the post-mortem was

silence.

Roy was blind, but he could still see red gushing, spreading, coating the tile, endless.

He could smell iron in the air, invisible, inextinguishable blood.

His breathing was deep, fighting off shock. breath in and breath out.

Day one, two, three, four give or take or give.

He stared at the ceiling,

Riza saw the same, felt the same, the cold and the slice

over and over, but she could open her eyes, stare at the IV bag, outline her bandage, ground herself.

It was over. They did not speak.

She winked an eye open often, having the luxury of checking on Roy without getting caught.

He was not sleeping. Neither was she.

They both asked for stronger sedatives. It did not work. They did not sleep. They did not speak.

Their reunion was not joyous. It was painful, callous, cold.

Alas, the fallout was inevitable. She wished they had separate rooms.

He stumbled blindly to the bathroom, four in the morning. She wasn’t asleep.

They did not speak until she involuntarily, accidentally, regretfully said,

“Bedpost.”

He flinched in her direction, blinked at her bed, “Huh?”

“You’re about to run into it, Sir.”

“Oh.” “Inch to the left. Then forward.” “Right.”

She wished they had separate rooms. He wished she hadn’t said anything.

The chain reaction was imminent. The inevitable was unavoidable.

They were foolish, stupid to think otherwise.

“I would have done it.”

He did not move. Not an inch to the left. Not forward.

He just stared at the floor, held onto her bedpost.

Riza sat up, sighed.

She didn’t want to talk. Roy wanted to go back to bed.

The Lieutenant said “Bedpost,” and it was all over. Damn it.

“I would have done it.” “No.” She said, solidly.

She knew what he meant, what he saw in his mind’s eye while he grit his teeth, and clinched his jaw.

“I was going to do it. I would have done it.” “You would not have.” The Lieutenant told her Colonel.

She had orders. She was not to die. She was to watch his back, and stop him, shoot him, if he even dared to give in to that kind of evil.

But, to be honest, her position in that moment, cold on the floor, she had no power, no blood, no pistol, no physical capability to hold him back.

He knew. He was so close before she gave her signal. Too close.

“Yes,” his voice a caustic whisper, crushing the bedpost under his hand. “I was going to. I planned to.”

“I was going to save you,”

He knew very well he could’ve committed the crime, the ultimate sin, the irreparable, abhorrent, deplorable act,

human transmutation, He would have done it.

Then and there, he felt, no, he knew he would have buckled under the weight of air full of red iron.

“I did not care about the rest. They could all burn. I did not care, I was going to do it.”

Roy twisted the knob, the wooden top of that bedpost. He clenched it until his knuckles were white. His face flushed into a red hot, burning, hatred.

For himself. How could he consider such a thing? Then again. How could he not?

His mind waged war on itself.

what kind of man would- well, perhaps a man that-

He felt the bedpost might splinter. I was going to do it.

“No.” “Riza.” “Colonel,”

She demanded. She was in front of him. He could feel her in front of him.

He pulled at his hair, buried his hands, wanting to snatch it all. He wanted the pain, the punishment.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you.” “I understand, Sir.” Your precious woman is dying, Mustang. Roy huffed, he couldn’t breathe.

What will it be?

“You don’t. I would have done it. I would have done it because I -“

“Stop.”

Riza raised her hand, raised her voice, sliced through his words, shot him down, cut him at the knees.

Insubordination be damned.

This was not about pecking order. This was not about the Colonel and his Lieutenant.

This wasn’t about anything. There was no story here.

It did not matter.

“I understand what you are telling me. I am not a fool.” Riza snapped, rushed, spitting out so many more words at once than she ever had before. ”If we were simple. If we were whole,” She shook her head clear.

“No,” She said, “You would not have done it. We are not whole. We are not simple. So, it doesn’t matter.”

She had rushed. She had struggled. But, just as quickly

she solidified.

They had not spoken. Three days, four days, give or take or give.

They had not spoken, for this, they knew would be the result, precisely this.

Roy would say something like this, admit feeling like this about all of it, about her, and then where would they be?

Better than where they were, Roy felt, he thought for three or four, so many days straight.

But, Riza, for one, could not trust herself not to crumble, not to admit the same. “For us, Sir, It’s irrelevant,” so she said.

“Excuse me?” Roy protested. “You would not have done You know this.”

She stepped away, turned, half way to her bed.

Even blind, he caught her arm. “You don’t get off that easily.”

Roy Mustang was the only one ever willing to fight Riza Hawkeye.

She was three feet away three, four, however many days straight, radio silence.

He needed contact, He needed proximity.

He needed her, and he needed her to understand.

“It’s over.”

He was blind. Their goals were gone, He would have done it for her.

It was over now, all that they had worked for.

You would expect him to be defeated. Instead, in the dark, he was relieved.

He would have done it for her. In the dark, now, he could say why.

but Riza bit her lip. She bit it all back,

“No. This is a waste of time.”

It was not over. He was dead wrong. They needed to stop talking.

But, he still held her wrist, tugged her back to him. Riza. Riza broke, “It does not matter.”

He scoffed, “Others would argue the exact opposite-“ “You did not perform the transmutation,” She put her foot down, “You did not do it for the very same reason I asked you not to,”

Colonel, Please, she whimpered then, dying. Do not sacrifice everything. For my sake. Riza pulled her arm free and started to plead. “We chose. Because, you and me-

It does not matter. ”

Roy’s jaw hung useless, he heard her voice grow tight. He heard her break. It was the closest she had been to crying, sobbing since Lust.

Since she just knew he was gone, and every piece of her body, every cell, every organ, every part of her soul

became necrotic, toxic, dead.

Yet, there now, the tears did not come. Instead, it was her voice that betrayed her.

Instead, she grit her teeth, and seethed, and shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Roy would not have seen her tears. She could’ve cried freely, undetected, but she didn’t.

Heaven forbid Riza grieve in peace. Instead, her voice betrayed her, and Roy flinched, froze ice cold when she backed away, and used his rank.

“Please, Colonel.”

His Lieutenant, his best friend, Riza. She shook.

“I am begging you. Do not make this matter.”

They didn’t speak for how many days, so many days, three or four, give or take or give.

Their reunion was not joyous.

They said nothing. They said nothing, because if they spoke, they would finally

say it,

and it would destroy everything. “It is not over. Do not make this matter,” she pleaded, “Not now.”

Not now.

Not now, when they had their whole world ahead of them. They survived, and having done so,

as cruel as it was, there were consequences

Many would find the fire, the blood, the smoke giving way to a clear blue sky.

It would be clarifying for most, freeing.

For the Colonel and the Lieutenant, after all that, the blood and fire, and the clear blue sky.

They were trapped.

Their terrible fate, it just grew more excruciating by the second, more unjust, utterly unfair.

After all that.

There was nothing for them. The fact that there would never be a Roy, a Riza, only a Lieutenant and a Colonel. It stung worse. It hurt more, after all that.

The pain wouldn’t go away, unless they stopped talking right now.

“Please.”

Roy was caught. He had no choice. He had to let her go

just as he had to in the tunnels, cold and gray and bleeding on the floor.

He had to. It was crucial. It was the most good for the most people.

He had to let her go, again.

Even so, he couldn’t help it, stepping to her. She flinched backward. He felt it.

Roy raked fingers through his hair again, a pained frown, defeated, hopeless.

After all that.

To continue speaking like this, about this, It would slice through further, cut even deeper, to an irreparable degree.

She understood what he was telling her, and he understood why she begged him to stop.

Please don’t make it matter. Not now.

Roy nodded, gave in, agreed. as much as he could, “It doesn’t matter.”

Riza was shamefully short of breath, in panic, desperate for a comfort undeserved.

She tripped over her feet, her involuntarily step. She stepped to him, grasped his shirt. Roy’s hands found her waist.

He followed up her arms, grazed the rough bandages strangling her neck. He cringed. He smelled the iron, felt the blood under his toes.

I would have done it.

For her, he would have done it. Even still, she was right.

He didn’t do it

for the very same reason she begged him not to. They were irrelevant, nonessential. Regardless of how they felt, even after all of that.

Roy ghosted her cheeks and got so close.

He hovered her nose, and gave her peace.

Three words.

“It doesn’t matter.”

His finger swept the tear off her cheek. She nodded, a flurry. He rested his forehead on hers.

Three words. The wrong three words, but the only three words he could ever say to Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.

“It doesn’t matter.”

uh ouch. hopefully this is realistic. they aren’t a profess their love kind of couple. it’s an understanding, I think. and, if they said it out loud, maybe it would hurt more than heal? at least for right now. who knows. okay. but, people, tell me if you get what this is about or like what’s happening bc it is like really vague i need sleep. Reblog reblog tag tag comment, let me know what you think or if you hate me. Also, READ WHAT I’M AVOIDING IT’S MUCH HAPPIER AND FUNNY I THINK

#myroyai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai #royai fic #royai fanfiction #fma #fmab #ouchie #oh my loves #im so so so sorry

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

Text

with these fanfics I very much way too often accidentally write Riza Mustang

oops. mb.

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #riza mustang #myroyai #fmab #oops #my b

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

Text

Three: Chapter Three

Summary FMAB, Post-Promised Day

Roy and Riza are forced to share a room. Riza has an unfortunate dream, sparking a tireless battle to separate, resulting in an insufficient amount of sleep, requiring just a touch of blackmail.

Pairing Royai, lil bit of LingFan

Rating M, for the most part.

a/n and a bit after, I have returned with the main idea for this story. a lit twenty-seven paged chapter of who knows. this is my favorite one at least. but, here I am, trying to write some smut...and drowning it in reasonable plot. and a bit of adorable humor. oh, and a lil bit of LanFan. Hmnn. Enjoy!

READ CHAPTER ONE READ CHAPTER TWO

ff ao3

Roy very much tried to keep the knock quiet, covert. He wanted to hide, disappear even.

There were only four rooms in this small creepy tiny little inn.

But, he was biting his lip raw, willing the heat on his hands, on his lips, in the pit of his stomach, willing that burn to

well,

he was attempting to throw cold water on the situation, without actually having to give the time or the energy, to physically retrieve the cold water

complimentary or no.

Instead, he knocked, he rushed,

and, thus, said knock turned to a bit of a bang.

He wasn’t sure who was in Room One, Lan Fan, Ling, or the luggage.

He didn’t know.

It just seemed like a logical place to start. Also, it was the farthest he could get from Room Four,

from Riza, in that shirt.

It was Lan Fan that answered the door warily, only opening it just so.

“You can put away the throwing stars. I come in peace.”

Lan Fan’s face dropped along with the arm holding her knives tight behind her back, ready to pull, wind, and strike.

“I am ashamed you saw through me.”

He coughed a sick laugh, “I know a woman quite like you.”

Roy locked his jaw. It was a poor choice of subject, considering. But, it was true. He knew she came prepared.

Even to Resembool.

And, Roy needed to last long enough without a knife in his jugular to get that key.

“Indeed,” Lan Fan said, steeled, lifted her chin and opened the door only an inch more.

How generous.

“I need your spare room,” “May I inquire as to why, General?”

Roy sucked the desperation out of his voice. He went into pure diplomat mode, quick, calculating, and strong enough not to be utterly hypnotized by his Captain.

quickly, he became The General.

“Why not?” he said feigning a peek behind her, “Seems you only need this one,”

Lan Fan had been bested twice in one evening, twice in the last five minutes. Roy had never seen the bodyguard, the fighter, the survivor so deflated, vulnerable.

He knew.

The General knew Lan Fan wasn’t alone. He had sized her up, analyzed.

Roy knew now he had knocked on Ling’s door, and not her own. He knew. He was good.

She had no choice but to turn in a flash, and produce a key out of nowhere, immediately.

Leaving no time for questions, for the disclosure of any more sensitive details.

Lan Fan was quiet when she spoke, “You understand I must keep my own quarters.”

She extended his salvation to him. Her request was for appearances, he knew.

for an alibi, for emergencies.

Who was to catch any of them in this stupid, little, tiny owl-infested inn in the middle of absolutely nowhere?

However, the General had left his captain under the same paranoia.

The same line, utterly crossed.

This is illegal.

Yes, it was safer this way. He would be stuck with the cargo room, out of mutual understanding.

“Deal,” Roy said, snatching the key out of her hand, all too eagerly. “Room Three,” she said.

He turned, he fled.

“However-“

Roy wasn’t the only one, quick, observant, knowing.

Lan Fan knew, and she shared her most honest truth.

“Do know it will not work, good General.”

Roy lifted an eyebrow, still struggling with the lock as she spoke.

“And, why is that?” he mumbled.

“I know a man quite like you.”

She and her Emperor lived a story the slightest bit similar to his own.

Roy furrowed his brow, focused only on his escape.

“It’s not your decision, in the end,” Lan Fan said softly. Roy locked his jaw, ripped the key through,

turned around to deny absolutely everything, but she was gone. He glanced at Room Four, only a step away.

Riza only a step away.

He resisted that step with all the strength he had. He threw the door open.

This is illegal.

He slammed the door closed, and hid.

He hid, while Riza stood.

She did not hear anything,

not Roy, nor LanFan, not even the most crucial warning,

It won’t work, good General

She perhaps could have used such advice to snap her out of it, prevent her demise.

But, Riza was too long gone, lost inside her head. She only heard the yank, the rumble of the slam.

Her stomach turned to stone, felt heavy, an unbearable pit.

And, Riza listened, frozen in that exact spot, the spot she stood when she watched Roy Mustang leave.

Riza knew there was a pull, while she stood there staring at the doorway,

In her mind’s eye, she watched Roy’s face drain white and burn red at the very same time, watching Roy turn and leave, escape.

Riza did fight back, though.

Her most rational, reasonable side pieced itself back together soon enough to even force her to lean away, toward the very back of the room.

She pulled. She tightened her feet, dug her toes into the carpet.

She needed something stronger.

For, in the battle between Riza Hawkeye and the room across the hall. Her will to stay still was most certainly pulverized.

It was pathetic.

Riza Hawkeye surrendered, did not think, did not fight,

She wrapped her hand around the door knob one finger at a time, she breathed in,

willing not to make a sound.

She had clenched her eyes closed, thought about counting sheep, counting the fan, its spins, and its squeaks.

Granting some peace before giving into officially deliberate loss of control.

With no plan, with no reason,

Riza turned the knob, held her breath, stepped onto the carpet,

pivoted to close the door, so perfectly in synch with the room across the hall.

Riza’s eyes widened at the sound, she spun, she held the knob behind her, gripped fingers.

She held it like some terrible secret, cursing the fact that she hadn’t stayed inside, mustered the strength to give up the fire.

But, there was Roy Mustang, still no shirt, also out and also caught,

his door wide open, also clenching the knob, ready to step toward Room Four.

“Captain-“ he cleared his throat. “General” she said, so much less composed than she had ever been in her entire life.

“I was going to get some w-“ “There’s an ice machine-“

“Yes, of course,” “Right, yes, Sir”

They had both picked the glass-of-water excuse.

Lovely.

Each waited for the other to move, not able to retreat, because that meant something was weird, abnormal,

There was no way they could join the other, even for the sake of their cover.

For, the probability that they would ram each other into the ice machine until Riza made that noise again,

that probability was far far too high.

Damn him. Stupid dream.

Of all the nights.

This is certainly why they never shared rooms. Of course, it was only appropriate to separate genders.

But, it was mandatory to separate the General and the Captain, more mandatory than they had ever thought.

Decency be damned. Law aside. It wasn’t good for their health.

They wouldn’t get any sleep, she imagined, not just this night, but for weeks.

It was quite an obvious presence in their relationship most radically when he returned, twenty, fresh out of the academy, finally confronting just how madly he cared

for Riza Hawkeye.

Riza realized she had started suffocating the moment he left to enlist.

She was alone with her father once more, the dead land, the toxic silence

a world without Roy Mustang.

Weak. Typical.

He returned. She caught her breath.

But, she had it under control.

They had it under control, permanently so, conveniently brainwashed by so many horrible things.

They had successfully forgotten, the truths of the past were gone, finally.

So,

It is reasonable that night, both Riza and Roy were dumbfounded, as to why the universe deviously decided to turn all their years of effort

into pure, raw, sexual something or other.

It was infuriating It was inconvenient.

and it was completely unnecessary.

In the end, Riza caved. She went off to the lobby to fetch him a glass of ice cold, complimentary water.

She cursed under her breath as she pattered back to their rooms, the fresh glass in her hand she knew Roy didn’t need,

acutely aware she was still only in his shirt.

Where was her head?

These were not the actions of a most respected and feared Captain Riza Hawkeye.

She needed to recover. It was mandatory she regain control.

It was mandatory she return to her room, as soon as humanly possible.

Riza made quick work of a knock, the door opened. She focused on the floor, completely avoiding confronting her half naked commanding officer.

She outstretched the cup. “Water, si-“

Roy grabbed her wrist.

He pulled her into the room, guided her fast, backward into the wall, lips most accidently, most unintentionally, most inevitably,

centimeters from her own.

“General-“ she warned.

This was exactly the opposite of where she should be. She needed to get back to her room.

Riza shifted. Squeezing her legs together. Subconsciously, just most automatically shutting down any ideas his or her own.

It couldn’t happen.

Roy sounded almost heartbroken when he murmured to her, “I can’t-“

Roy sighed, dropped his head, instantly spotted her long, long fair legs, and instantly snapped back up to her eyes.

It didn’t help all that much. But, he did handle her brown eyes every day. Not those legs.

Therefore, at the moment, it was far easier to look up, regardless of the fact that he was utterly,

powerless.

He kept sighing deep and defeated. Riza was distracted by the electricity coursing through her skin, yet still felt terribly bad for him.

Even when she shouldn’t have. For their own good.

Her eyes softened.

Roy composed himself, a true diplomat. “How often do you have those dreams?”

“Rarely,” she deadpanned, a safety mechanism, “If ever. I was just unbelievably unfortunate tonight.”

Roy blinked, oddly, briefly

disappointed, yet most modestly unconvinced.

Riza hid a swallow, a dry mouth as he stared at her. She needed to leave.

She needed her own room.

“I have an idea” a spark lit up Roy Mustang’s deep black eyes,

“You be Riza,”

“I am Riza, Sir.” “I’ll be Roy.”

“General-” she huffed. “Roy,” he breathed, “Just for right now.”

her Roy, from so long ago, that past instantly revived.

They had always been so comfortable, it was absurd how lax she was here, half dressed,

and she had certainly never been half dressed with him before, mind you

yet still it was her Roy, so familiar,

It certainly was tempting. Riza managed to still give him a look,

“This is not a good solution.” “But, it is a solution,” He countered,

a solution was all he needed. They just needed to get through the night. He just needed-

“Sir, the Emperor of Xing is in the other room,” she said, coldly, sensibly, “He knows exactly who we are.

Officers of the Amestrian army. Direct superior and subordinate. We can’t get away from that.

Not even in Resembool”

Although Riza had regretfully revealed in one treacherous, terribly timed dream, that she would certainly want to get away with it, that she had most certainly pondered the possibility.

Roy, of course, had briefly forgotten the fact that Lan Fan was also in the other room.

With the Emperor.

Perhaps he could strike a bargain. Or even blackmail the pair, if worse comes to worst.

They could be different people, at least for one night.

But, with Riza, his Riza, in front of him, so close after so long. Roy completely forgot nearly everything, except the feeling of her waist beneath his fingertips.

She didn’t mean to give in when he traced every curve from the top to the bottom.

She locked her jaw and gritted her teeth, knowing Roy Mustang, himself, at the end, would do her in.

It was always so, truly.

But, she had just finally trusted herself to forget and wait, and wait, wait.

She was so good at it.

But, that night, Riza Hawkeye was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and apparently much weaker than she always posed in public.

He left them in silence, watching the gears in her head turn. He left her to silence. He left her to crumble.

“Fine then,” she itched, hands on his chest,

Roy got too close. His skin grazed hers all over. Oh yes, she was always much, much weaker when it came to Roy Mustang.

She gave in, “You can be Roy.”

She held his sides, pressed on her toes and kissed him just so,

permission.

She successfully resisted immediately attacking him.

Her General wasn’t so strong.

He responded by shoving his lips into hers, bracing her neck, tangling fingers into her hair.

Riza did not even miss one step matching his speed. She skimmed her hands down his chest, the definition was certain the reason for her dream.

He needed a shirt. He really needed a shirt.

She gasped sharply when his hand slipped up the borrowed long over shirt, only just a feathered across her breast.

Before she could shamelessly beg for him to give up the tease, and just

grab it,

he pulled away and hovered her nose, breath sucked away, checking one last time,

that this wasn’t a pleasant dream, finally so graciously saving him from those blasted owls in the lobby.

It certainly could have been a wonderful dream. He checked to make sure. He checked, he hoped.

“And, you can be Riza?”

Riza was nearly too delirious to nod, but she did, in a flurry and it was then when things got too heavy.

Then was when everything spiraled out of their hands. Then was when he lifted her up, long legs wrapped around his waist.

He gripped her ass. She moaned lightly and he went crazy, shoving his tongue in her mouth.

His fingers fanned out, sneakily skimming the middle of her spread legs. She gasped, a delicate ah,

a bit of a very uncharacteristic squeak white hot spreading from her body to his.

It was too similar, too similar to the one from her dream, too too similar.

It was too too far.

This is illegal.

They both knew it. He dropped her.

Yet, Riza shamefully, involuntarily drew him back before he could rip away,

and she was so intoxicating, and she wanted this, he didn’t stand a chance.

He forgot. They forgot.

Roy and Riza now.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, wove her fingers through his black hair and so forwardly forced him closer.

She would regret this, she knew, all of this.

This is not Riza Hawkeye. How so true.

How so utterly false.

Roy grinned stupidly, kissed her, and kissed her, while his hands skimmed down her sides, outlining each curve once more,

and then his fingers found their way once again, in between her legs again,

somehow, annoyingly, aggravatingly, insufferably just

knowing

it was precisely what she desperately itched for

from the very start.

He had forgotten. She had forgotten.

They had finally forgotten. Roy and Riza.

then he only just swept his fingers over the cotton, applied the slightest bit of pressure,

Riza actually, absolutely, fiercely gasped, squeaked, utterly choked so accidently, shamefully arching, almost crying a most fatal

“Roy-“

before she caught herself, before he truly heard her,

and their eyes snapped open, and they remembered.

This is illegal.

How humiliating. They tore apart.

Riza stood once more frozen, ice cold hatred for herself,

and her most evident Achilles Heel, when it came to anything and everything.

Him.

Roy clenched his jaw and groaned miserably, nearly slamming his fist into the wall

That was before he thought of Ling and Lan Fan. It won’t work, good General,

And, it wouldn’t work, no matter how hard he took it out on the wall,

It’s not your decision, in the end

The other shoe had finally dropped. They were no longer above the most fundamental part of love.

What a headache.

There were a dozen different ways they could now handle the aftermath: denial, anger, silence just to name a few.

Riza Hawkeye, as logical and rational as she was, and Roy Mustang, as chained to science he had always been, could not deny any longer the cold, hard evidence, that they were drawn to each other.

This fact was now validated for the first time in 10 years,

and now they had to deal with it.

Riza could do silence. She was known for her astounding affinity for silence, her wise and calculated use of words.

But, in the moment, she had lost her mind, her skill, her many years of practice.

It was all wiped clean by the man in front of her, the soldier, the idealist, the key to the country’s future.

The man she was sure she would give into if he opted to push her onto the queen sized bed and not stop until sunrise.

But, Riza had to react somehow, in someway, the energy had to go somewhere.

The soldier, the idealist, the key to the country’s future, her weakness could destroy everything.

Anger, she chose anger.

Roy could feel it from across the room, even as he climbed over boxes to get as far away from Riza as he could.

He knew it was coming. He braced for impact.

“I don’t appreciate it, General,” she started, following protocol, keeping it professional.

Well, as professional as she could be, while she stood half naked in a hotel room with her equally as undressed commanding officer

“Please don’t call me that. It’s making it worse.”

Roy hissed off the surge through his teeth, shaking his flannel pants, trying to pull them as loose as possible,

painfully noting the combination of Riza and his rank outside of the proper setting,

turned him on far more than it should’ve.

He had to shut it down. Roy held the bridge of his nose, felt Riza’s death stare burn into his skin.

“I don’t appreciate being treated like one of your girls,” she said quite softly, yet venomously.

He responded with fury, matching her choice of anger.

Roy Mustang was always the only one who was willing to fight Riza Hawkeye.

Roy risked a step forward to her, pointing at her, calling her bluff.

“You are not like them and you know it.”

Roy knew all the things he meant by saying that. The layers upon complex layers of significance could fill several thick volumes of text.

All of it written down would rival the alchemy books of old.

which were generally boring, long, long and very long.

Yet, a young Riza forcefully ensured he read them all the way through, ensuring he kept up to his master’s, her father’s, unrelenting standards.

She never gave him a break. It was still so, even with this.

For not only was she so much more beautiful, captivating, bewitching, enrapturing.

She was the only good of his past, and the truest hope for his future.

No other woman held a candle to her in any facet, in any realm or universe any one man’s imagination could dream up.

but, quite obviously, she knew

she was so much more substantial, much deeper and more profound, bright and brilliant

than the silly, flitty little dates he paraded around in the name of espionage, in the name of a façade that very often came in handy, when he needed to forget his Captain.

Yet, most crucially,

She wasn’t fake. She was real.

This wasn’t an act.

She was not like them, and Roy was furious.

because Riza was far too intelligent to be oblivious to such a glaring difference.

She knew it all, yet decisively chose to ignore it. She never gave him a break.

You’re not like them and you know it.

“Forgive me if it doesn’t appear as such, Sir.”

“I will not shoulder this alone.” In what seemed to be one impossibly swift, singular move, Roy dodged trunks and suitcases, He stepped to her. He got in her face. And, nearly growled,

“I’ve been aware of this,” he said.

Whatever this was. He motioned from him to her, throwing his arms into the air.

“I’ve been aware of the constant existence of all of this for years. I will not take the blame just because you suddenly caught up.”

“For years, Sir?” She cut, unwavering even with his face inches from hers. She still stood firm and topped him childishly.

“I’ve been aware of it for more than a decade.”

Knowing very well it was juvenile, yet chucking her most rational analysis into the wind. She didn’t care. She wanted to win.

They had both been aware. For so long. Since the beginning. And, they had never stopped being aware,

through fire and sand, blood and pain.

That connection, that bond,

was always there, all of it.

This piece, however. This piece they successfully made so small, broke into tiny pieces.

This physical piece, this raw, honest piece,

well, as mentioned, the other shoe had finally dropped, struck out of the blue, revived the past, and sealed their doom.

Still, she wasn’t prepared for him to start yelling. “Then why aren’t we DOING anything about it?”

Ling and Lan Fan must have heard that.

They would size up quickly that the General and his Captain were both in the wrong room, both wearing next to nothing, and pushed up against the wall, together.

They could no longer be Roy and Riza. They would always be General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye,

Riza was mortified that she even thought for a second that perhaps it was possible, possible to break free.

But, this was illegal, yet, more importantly,

it was wrong.

She bit her lip, lifted her chin, swallowed her pride, and said sternly,

“Don’t be obtuse, Sir.”

Then she turned her back to him. No more needed to be said or explained.

“You know very well why.”

They had a goal. They had a dream. They had lost their right.

She wouldn’t be accused of ignoring all of this, when he had kept up the charade just the same all for the greater good.

He had suggested she be Riza. She had let him be Roy.

Abandon their rank, forget their responsibility, their duty,

and resurrect who they once were, how they once existed, that state, that place, together.

He knew why they buried that existence, abandoned that place, remained static. He knew why, and she would not let him pretend it was her fault.

“I’m going back to my room,” she said.

But, before she could turn the knob, Roy’s arm braced the door.

“Wait.”

She expected an apology of some sort. She expected a grave discussion, filled with pain and regret, shame and sadness,

a conclusion.

But, instead, the air shifted quickly. Roy stared at her, cleared his throat.

Her blonde hair tangled, and her cheeks red from sweating, and kissing, and yelling, and scolding. Even her trademark glare, the one reserved for when he behaved so so stupidly, foolishly.

all of that was kind of smoking hot.

Ugh.

She deserved more than to be gawked at like “one of his girls,” real or no. Roy sighed heavily, guilty.

He looked her, up and down, and decided on the most effective solution.

“You have to put on pants.”

She scoffed. Could he not control himself? Men are so weak, she may have grumbled,

of course, knowing she shouldn’t be so quick to judge, when for every second of their conversation, Riza remained so close to utterly begging her General to lift her again, and pick right up where they left off.

“We’re in separate rooms now, Sir,” she bit back. Sir, not Roy.

It couldn’t be Roy anymore. “It doesn’t make a difference.”

She turned the knob. He eased it back shut.

“It absolutely does.”

“How exactly?” She challenged him, gritting her teeth, her fingers itching to run through his hair again.

He was right there. She could just grab him if she wanted.

So, she at least partially understood when he practically pleaded

“You have to put something on,” Roy tripped over his voice, “I have to know you are fully clothed before you leave this room.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Sir All of our belongings are in the other room.” But, he was desperate, so Roy examined what seemed like hundreds of boxes cluttering the room, forcing them to stand even closer, no matter where they turned.

“Then we’ll find you something of Lan Fan’s”

“I will not break into someone’s personal luggage just so you can restrain yourself effectively,” she bit back resolutely.

Roy’s black eyes grew darker with utter despair. It was so silly, and so gravely serious all at the same time,

“I’m begging you, Riza. I can’t-“

Riza’s jaw locked.

And, of course, it was just something in Roy Mustang’s eyes and voice and face and sincerity and everything, that always got her.

She looked him up and down, and decided the most effective solution.

“If I have to get dressed, you do too.” She countered. Once again, childish. Once again, not caring in the least.

��You mean a shirt?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, sir, I mean a shirt.”

“You mean this shirt?”

Roy tugged on the hem of his t-shirt, loose around her body. Then he had the sudden and intense fear he was going to rip it off her,

so he pulled away.

“No,” she mocked lightly, “We’ll have to find you something of Ling’s”

“He’s seventeen,” he said, hacking a laugh.

Was she serious? She couldn’t be serious.

Him without a shirt was way less problematic than her without pajamas all together.

Riza tilted her head, cold as ever, hell bent on utter revenge.

“We’ll find you something of Lan Fan’s then.” “Not funny,” he grumbled.

He was once a scrawny, skinny kid. She would tease him when they were young, only on occasion, when his head got too big.

Perhaps he could never actually fit into a petite sixteen year old girl’s clothing,

even when he was younger, but his old silly insecurities certainly made him feel that it might have been true.

It certainly wasn’t true now.

He was toned now, muscled, defined, strong, a soldier - Riza was choking.

“You put on a shirt.,” she demanded, distracting herself, “Or, I will walk out of this room as I am, and you will simply have to cope. like an adult.”

Roy huffed. Riza straightened.

And, they stared each other down.

He could give her his flannel pants. But, then he would be nearly naked.

She could give him her shirt, but then she would also be almost entirely undressed.

Neither of them could handle any of that.

And, neither of them had the strength or patience to find traditional Xingese formal garb that fit well enough to sleep in and could be returned by sunrise, appearing not-slept-in, and wedding ready.

Plus, most honestly, they probably wouldn’t have made it through even one box without giving up the search, and deciding to abandon what clothes they were wearing altogether.

Every option was simply a step in the wrong direction.

Every move made it easier, simpler, to finish shedding all final, utterly unwanted barriers, that had held them back for 10 years.

They were already out of uniform. They were already half dressed.

They were stuck.

Riza Hawkeye the invincible versus Roy Mustang the indomitable.

There was no way out, so they had to cave, give in to the lesser of two unfavorable solutions.

It would be a common assumption that whoever stripped down and handed over their respective article of clothing, would be dubbed the loser.

But, let it be known, that Riza Hawkeye, when she did rip her commanding officer’s garment over her head, and threw it at Roy’s face, both a ghostly pale, and a red hot pink,

Riza Hawkeye had most certainly won.

“Enjoy your shirt, Sir” she said curtly, turning on her heels, chin up, perfect posture,

in nothing but smooth, perfect black underwear.

Riza left. Roy nearly suffocated.

Game over.

My fav of the four. One chapter left. Reblog, tags, comments, likes. I crave attention. Share in my love for Royai. They are beautiful.

#myroyai #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma #fmab #royai fanfiction #royai smut #Three #Lan Fan #Ling Yao #LingFan #oh boy

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myrhymesarepurer · 7 years

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when uh you haven't slept in 30 hours and you post something you speed-wrote

and it does not make sense and you want to throw up and apologize to the beautiful ship that is Royai adlchaldnsskaks gazillion times.

Shdiskfjaidjsjs Sorry if you’ve read “It doesn’t matter” Good idea, very canon. SUPER VAGUE MAKES NO SENSE PLEASE SEDATE ME

#myroyai #royai fic #help me

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myrhymesarepurer · 6 years

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Four: Chapter One

Sequel to Three - recap provided in chapter

Summary FMAB, Post-Promised Day

It wasn’t going to be an issue, managing the aftermath.

Well, that would have been true if Amestris’ finest pair of officers had approached the next day, the aftermath, with a cohesive plan of attack rather than two diametrically opposed coping mechanisms. It wouldn’t have been an issue if they didn’t have a wedding to go to.

Pairing Royai, lil bit of LingFan Rating T a/n Hey there, I’m back. You all have gotten so tall. I’m so proud. Here’s this. I’ll be posting this fic over the next two weeks.

ao3 ffn

It wasn’t going to be an issue managing the aftermath.

Or.

It wasn’t going to be that grave of an issue.

Or.

It wasn’t going to be that grave of an issue theoretically. But, General Mustang and his Captain had always been in a bit of denial.

A brief recap of sorts for convenience:

Shortly after being forced to share a room with her superior due to a supposed clerical error, Riza Hawkeye exhibited to her roommate a most enticing weakness via a most unfortunately timed dream of less than pure nature.

This weakness: Roy Mustang himself.

It was simply just her luck, but not solely her fault to be fair. Brigadier General Roy Mustang simply did not have the body one would expect of a typical pencil pusher. He went shirtless that night as she, her suitcase of course pajamaless by the very cruelty of the universe, resorted to wearing the General’s shirt once so generously offered.

Needless to say, there was a critical lack of clothing. They had set themselves up for failure. It was pathetic. It was unfair. It was the Wedding.

Edward Elric was to marry Winry Rockbell the following afternoon and, as is custom, threw one of those silly little shindings that seemed to universally drive its attendees up the wall, in one way or another, instilling childish fantasies often with a heavy helping of doubt. So, given, their defenses had been wearing thin all week, via the stag parties and wedding planning, and the fact that prying into another’s very private love life was practically a past time at these things, whether determinedly nonexistent or otherwise. But, Roy Mustang would say that he, personally, officially sort of lost it once she started dreaming that wicked dream, curling her toes and making those sounds. The two, understandably, struggled with the management of their proximity for the rest of the evening, reluctantly attempting to balance between the preferred, the appropriate and the space required to avoid becoming tangled together in the sheets of one of two beds available to them.

Oh, but they were so good at denial, and so, evidently, bad at such romantic circumstances, So, they stuck with that mantra.

It isn’t going to be an issue.

And, of course, they would have been correct.

They would have been correct if it was simply the lust that reared its ugly head in the little Owl Inn that night. They would have been correct if Amestris’ finest pair of officers had approached the next day, the aftermath, with a cohesive plan of attack rather than two diametrically opposed coping mechanisms.

It wouldn’t have been an issue if they didn’t have a wedding to go to.

Yet, all of the above was true.

Therefore, the day following, Riza would choose to fight the inevitable. Roy would choose to flee the reality. Neither would choose to fail but, by end of the night, would certainly end up back in Room Four

together.

Now, into the thick of it.

Captain Hawkeye left Room Three the morning after as quickly as she could, leaving as Captain Hawkeye and only as Captain Hawkeye. Such was her strategy; she would fight for the grace of forgetting the way her superior had looked at her the night before, the way he studied the feel of her skin and kissed her like all they had was time.

Riza shut down the foolish heart that fluttered, gathered her hair and dashed out the door. She would forget that all of this had even come to pass. She would fight to keep fighting for tomorrow, for Amestris, for the General.

So, six o’clock struck and she was out of there.

Roy would want to talk.

She just knew he would want to reason and adapt and remember and, of course, she was right on the money. Roy hid under the covers, listening to her pace, listening to her collect the courage to waltz down to the innkeeper’s room in only Roy’s nightshirt and retrieve a new key to Room Four. For, of course, last night the universe had decided to not only curse them with the release of ten years worth of sexual tension to no actual satisfying end, but also lock them out of the room they were supposed to share. The room that at least had two separate twin beds.

So they shared this room, Room Three, Ling and Lan Fan’s cargo room. They slept on far separate sides of the queen sized matress, with an appropriate pillow barrier, surrounded by the poster image for Heavy Packers Anonymous. Even for an Emperor, this was far too much luggage.

Still, it was all they had after begging Lan Fan for the key. They shared this room, feigned sleep together, and now scattered to opposite sides of the earth. Or that’s what it was certainly going to feel like. Roy supposed he would be lucky if he talked to her ever again at any point ever.

Sure, the problem was resolved late last night in some respects, but the peace and acceptance that settled over the room was just a crudely made mask. The sun rose, cut through the curtains and rudely woke them to the fact that they had said and done all these incredibly significant things without a clue as to how to deal with it. Granted, childhood tragedy, civil war, an endless quest toward questionable redemption, all of these could understandably hinder a person, even one of great intelligence and determination, from correctly developing the skills to navigate the kind of relationship more or less classified as ‘soulmate’. So, sure, it was understandable that they were more than a small bit less than prepared as they ventured forward into a world in which the once unspoken was suddenly spoken, and demanding to be confronted.

This, of course, did not make it any less unbearable. Roy groaned into his pillow. Riza slipped into Room Four, dressed to the nines in record time, called a car to the hotel, tapped her foot, watched the clock, tidied up the Rockbell kitchen and then showed up at Winry’s door at seven on the dot with coffee and a fresh apple fritter for the bride. Needless to say, there was very little time allocated for the Captain to think.

T’was the very point.

Riza assumed Winry wasn’t sleeping anyway. Weddings threw everyone for a good, discombobulating loop and she would imagine it was the bride who would spend the most time tossing and turning. Surely enough, Winry had been pacing around in her robe waiting for her bridesmaids. Perhaps seven was too early, she thought. It was.

But, Winry would never understand how grateful Riza was for her abnormally early call time, considering her ceremony was in the late afternoon. No one else had arrived, of course, nor would they for another hour after such a late night of celebrating. Still, Winry was grateful for her friend, her maid of honor, who perhaps was a little too efficient.

Riza was fully dressed and wedding ready, brought breakfast, and wasted no time in plopping Winry down on a chair to begin brushing through and pinning up her long blonde locks with no other word but, “Rise and shine.”

Thankfully for the bride, Riza still stood determined not to be left alone with her thoughts. She would fight. She would forget, She would distract herself and make small talk.

“How did you sleep, Winry?” “I didn’t sleep,” she scoffed, “at all.” “Me neither,” Riza answered mindlessly, automatically.

She swallowed down all the reasons why she hadn’t slept and all the reasons why she had subconsciously brought up the one topic she wanted to avoid.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Winry hummed, “The inn looked quite comfortable.” Riza nodded her head, “Yes, well, it was only that I made a mistake and booked one room for both the General and-“

Riza’s entire being paused, going oh so still.

For, she couldn’t say how she knew Winry was smirking just so, but when her focus flicked up to meet those big blue eyes in the mirror, there was far too much mischief in them for so early in the morning.

Riza resumed her work, softly, “You heard from Ling.”

Riza could see perfectly in her mind’s eye her undoing all at once: She and her commanding officer pressed up against the inside of the door to Room Three, hiding and whispering and waiting to see if the Xingese Emperor or his beloved body guard had in fact heard their very personal, very intimate fiasco in the hallway. Not only did she slip and fall and allow such a fiasco to take place,

but they had certainly gotten caught.

However, Winry, Riza realized quickly after, was no mere observer. There was no ‘he said she said’ before the rooster crowed. Ling and Lan Fan were still at the inn.

Winry was no secondary witness, but the instigator of the whole evening.

“No, I-. Well,” Winry stumbled, “I sort of changed the reservation a month ago-.”

Riza so quickly crumbled.

“It cruel, Winry.” Riza suddenly cut, softly but not without venom. Once hearing herself, the Captain reeled back and sighed,

“It’s cruel what you’re orchestrating.” Riza fought. She fought off the fact that this all could have been avoided, this guilt, this distater, and this unwelcome longing for it to continue.

She could suddenly fail her General in a whole new way.

Riza’s head reeled. She closed her eyes, clutched the bridge of her nose, and listened while Winry then began to beg for forgiveness.

“Oh, Miss Riza. I am so sorry. I didn’t think it would be a problem. They needed a room for cargo and, plus, you two are so close. I know you’re not allowed on the job to- Well, I thought I could get you some time alone together and maybe then-”

Riza gave a heavy huff, raised her hand to stop her, to reassure her gently, “You needed an outlet.”

Winry blinked, not realizing how true that had been until this very moment. Normally, she knew she wouldn’t have made such a move, insinuating something that she knew Riza had always so fervently resisted.

But, it was the Wedding. The planning was detailed and stressful and expensive and omnipresent in her life for months. She wanted to skip all the filler and cut to her life with Ed. That, of course, was impossible. There was no shortcut.

But, there was the opportunity for a most effective distraction. Their two bedroom reservation was just begging to be changed. Winry could kill two birds with one stone: Ling needed room for his luggage and Riza needed a husband.

Bada-bing. Bada-boom.

So, Winry did in fact, in this moment, find herself guilty of subconsciously latching onto this: Riza Hawkeye’s own happily ever after, thrown in and disguised as just a part of the wedding festivities.

An outlet, Riza had summed up. By the grimace on her face, Winry’s little outlet appeared to have turned sour. Cruel, she had bit.

She spoiled her friend’s stay in Resembool and maybe even her chances with the man Winry had a lot of money on Riza marrying. So, if anything, it was a very poor move financially.

Winry swallowed the bit of shame and watched her toes, feeling enough foolishness for Riza to quickly intervene her inner scolding. Riza saw those eyes lose their sparkle and knew she only said it out of bitterness.

She was twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine and caught with such a strange piece of herself so weak, so foolish, and ever so slightly jealous of Winry Rockbell and her silly little party, not so much the dress, or the rings, or the cake, but the forever.

She could suddenly fail her General in a whole new way. Riza fought. Riza snuffed that piece before she could think.

“It was- It wasn’t an issue, Winry,” she said as blue eyes looked up to a feigned smile in the mirror. She could, in some frame of mind, consider Winry’s scheme as a merciful gift.

But, that morning, Riza chose to fight, to forget.

“But, you’re clearly upset, “ Winry bit her lip, stuck between guilt and hopefulness when she asked, “Did something actually happen?”

Riza took pause with her hands on the young bride’s shoulders. No, she decided. She would forget. She would fight. Her eyebrows perked, and she huffed while the young, caring trickster waited on the edge of her seat,

“You read far too many romance novels, Winry.” The Captain smirked just so, holding no grudge. Winry was put at ease, huffing out a laugh

“Hey, I’ve got to get my fix somewhere.” she shrugged, “Ed doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. So, I have to read about the grand proposals and the confessions of love, kisses in the rain, all that.”

“How quaint,” Riza said through the hairpins she held in her mouth, avoiding how appealing any of those fantasies most suddenly might be. Such worlds were never meant for her, Riza Hawkeye, so why would she ever want to exist in one?

Even just for one more day. Riza fought.

Winry played with a free strand of hair as she hummed, “Of course, Edward’s idea of a proposal was referencing equivalent exchange.”

“Very fitting,” Riza watched her own smile be out shined when Winry grinned oh so fondly as she admit to the mirror, “He’s a moron…” Winry pondered the fact.

“Everyone deserves their own moron, I think. You included.” Winry added practically watching the words fall onto Riza’s tongue as she began a default quip,

“I-“ already have one, Riza just so nearly finished. But, she thankfully caught herself and tsk-ed off Winry’s silly trickery, those blue eyes giving way to a touch of revealing disappointment. Winry clearly couldn’t help it. She needed an outlet. Riza dutifully steered her back on track.

“Today is about you and Edward,” She said steadily, pinning off another long blonde lock, “Leave my relationship with the General out of it.”

Winry, like an addict, turned sharply to her, “Relationship?” Riza grabbed her shoulders and turned her right back. “Fine,” Winry whined, sighed and looked up, straight into the mirror. She frowned at her reflection, most reluctantly, most finally, peering past the surface, and saw staring right back at her her deepest, greatest

fear. It was a moment of heavy silence before Winry finally let the words free. “What if I’m not ready?”

Riza knew every woman, every man, in every country, in every era of time must have asked themselves the very same question on the morning of their wedding. And, just as every maid of honor, every bridesmaid, Riza reassured, “You’re ready,” and just as every bride might, Winry didn’t seem to believe it.

So, for a moment they sat there. Winry chewed on her lip and watched Riza twist her hair into a pretty bun, then she most unexpectedly asked,

“Do you know why I picked you as my maid-of-honor?”

“I’m punctual?” Riza quipped dryly. It was a reasonable point, to be sure.

Winry smiled as much as she could, forcing her mind to finally focus on herself, on this day, on the future, on the hypotheticals, the probabilities, the possibilities.

She nodded softly, “We’ve grown really close and-“

Riza watched Winry hesitate, still Winry fought.

“You are everything I want to be.”

Riza’s hands stopped. Her heart stopped. Winry clutched the seat of her chair and explained meekly.

“During the Promised Day,” Winry murmured, “During that whole time, I was the hostage. I couldn’t do anything to help. I was paralyzed with this fear and- “I was so surprised at how useless I could be.”

Winry looked to a Riza frozen stiff.

“But you. You are strong and fearless, and unstoppable. You make your dreams happen despite-“

Winry hesitated once more. Winry said that word

fear.

Winry said the word and, for Riza, the mess scattered on the floor of Room Three, those pieces of herself that she hadn’t bothered to collect before she left, all of those pieces put themselves back together.

She left that morning to fight and forget.

She left and all she knew was the feeling in the bottom of her gut and in the pit of her throat, impossibly heavy and terribly dense.

Winry said the word fear, and Riza realized she was afraid.

She was so afraid. Yet, this beautiful sweet-hearted young bride idolized her and called her fearless. Winry did not know all of the gruesome details of Riza’s demons. But, she knew enough. She knew enough and still she called Riza fearless and ardently hoped she would fall in love, put on a white dress and find someone to have and to hold her in bad and awful, terrible and worse, and all the chance times she could allow herself to be happy.

The fact that Riza Hawkeye rediscovered a part of herself that could actually long for such a future, it terrified her. She was not a hero. She was a hostage.

She was helpless and useless and scared.

For, she would fail her General in a whole new way, wishing for the very thing that would bring him down.

“It’s silly,” Winry huffed finally, “But what if it happens again, Riza. That uselessness and that...fear.”

Riza’s jaw went slack as her mind raced fruitlessly, and she panicked. Riza panicked and looked to anchor herself in Winry’s big blue eyes.

She was twenty-nine and petrified, and had nothing to say to this young budding bride, nothing but, “I am not fearless, Winry.” Winry’s face dropped, disappointment, hope fading. She was looking for answers, encouragement.

Riza had none. Riza was lost. Riza would fail her General in a whole new way.

“I was a hostage too, Winry, and I am anything but fearless,” she said straight, leaving no room for a debate. Winry nodded as she knew. Winry knew it was not real, the tireless courage she wished for. Riza swallowed the lump in her throat, pinning off the blonde bun now delicately sculpted into Winry’s hair. The Captain knew she could only offer what she had to tell herself. Riza circled around to kneel in front of Winry’s chair, fingers brushing up to fashion the bride’s bangs, “However, fear is a very good thing to possess, you know.”

She smoothed the blonde strands that hung loose to frame Winry’s face then matched those anxious blue eyes with a pair of steady browns. “It means you have something to lose.”

“So, you fight harder,” Winry nodded softly. Riza smiled warmly, “Yes, precisely.”

“But, don’t be mistaken, Winry,” Riza reached up, held her shoulders surely, and told her the magnificent difference between the two of them, “You will never be useless. You and Edward fought for this. I cannot tell you what your future holds, but you fought for this, for life, and love.

“You two must enjoy it now.” Winry then gave a smile, so confident and relieved and fearless

it could not help but to be contagious.

Winry Rockbell and Riza Hawkeye, their similarities, their common battle with this fear unmatched; their stories were never to end in the same way.

But, such a smile so confident, and relived and fearless, and ready. Riza breathed in and knew she would not yield in her fight for the future. She would forgo her found longing for such fanciful dreams, forget the night before with the heat and the lust and the fluttering of her foolish heart.

She would forget because she must.

Despite fear, she would fight. She was ready.

and then he knocked.

First, to that smile, Riza gave one of her own, warm and radiant, a rare sighting to be sure. Winry giggled from a thought while Riza dropped her sure grip on her shoulders to hold her hands,

“What’s so funny?”

Winry just blinked at Riza, evaluating her dress, her hair, her face, her smile, her strength not a piece that wouldn’t drive General Mustang wild. So, Winry cocked her head and grinned, “You’d make a beautiful bride, you know.”

“Unbelievable,” Riza rolled her eyes, tossing Winry’s hands back into her lap. “What?” Winry laughed, “It’s true. Now,” she schemed while Riza stilled, hearing footsteps, “ Are you sure nothing happened at the-“

then he knocked.

#okay im posting this at a weird time #cause im on the night shifts #will reblog during the day tho #myroyai #royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #royai fanfiction

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