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tongue-like-a-razor · 4 months

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Less Talk | Part IX

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

A/N: It's been a minute, y'all! I've missed my Less Talk crew! Second last chapter, here we go!

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: Swearing, smut, angst, fluff, you might dislike me when this is over

Masterlist | Part I

“Jake!” you call as you run after him out of the restaurant. “Jake, wait!”

But Jake doesn’t stop. He can’t.

The moment Mustang utters the words ‘we’re engaged’, he goes numb. Bradley says something that he can’t quite hear or doesn’t want to comprehend. The crowd starts cheering and closing in. And he sees your eyes, wide with alarm as you try to keep him in your line of sight despite the moving bodies between you.

And then he’s gone. Shoving his way through the well-wishers as he makes for the door. But he’s only halfway to his truck when he hears your voice. And as he pulls aggressively on the handle, he perceives your approaching footsteps; you’re running.

He lets out an aggravated sigh and turns to look at you without a word. You jog toward him, stopping just short of his bumper, and then you move forward slowly, as though you’re afraid he might bolt.

“It’s not true,” you blurt out, your words slurring into one another because you’re trying to get them out so quickly.

Jake gawks at you, not know what to believe anymore.

“I promise you,” you say. “It’s over.”

Jake furrows his brows, staring at you incredulously. “I don’t think he knows that.”

You let out a shaky breath and sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling. “He will.”

Jake watches you with contempt. “So, he doesn’t yet.”

Your eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun but you blink away the tears, conveniently averting your gaze. Jake sets his jaw; he isn’t falling for the innocent act.

“I can’t help you,” he says levelly. “Because I don’t know what’s going on.” He bangs a fist on the hood of his truck and then takes a step toward you. “Because you won’t tell me anything!”

You nod, catching a couple of tears with the tip of your index finger. You don’t let any of them fall and you manage to compose yourself before your emotions get out of hand. “I don’t need your help,” you whisper, looking at the dirt caked into the treads of his tire rather than up at his face.

“Fine,” he replies. Although it’s not fine. Nothing is fine. He, certainly, is not fine. “Then I don’t need to be here.”

“Fine.” You shrug, obstinately avoiding eye contact.

Your apathetic tone irks Jake, but he’s not about to let you witness just how much you affect him. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans before balling them up into fists. There’s only one piece of information he absolutely needs to know. The rest can probably wait. “Are you gonna marry him?” he asks, a little more forcefully than he anticipates.

You meet his gaze finally – guiltily – but don’t respond.

Jake says nothing more. He opens the door to his truck and gets in, and you don’t stop him. He turns over the engine and waits for you to step out of the way before he backs out swiftly and floors it out of the lot.

…

The sound of your voice jolts him awake. He sits up straight in his bed, listening intently, wondering if he’d dreamt it. But then your laughter carries up to the second floor. Jake closes his eyes. You must be in the kitchen with Bradley.

Jake hasn’t seen you in two weeks; hasn’t wanted to. Seeing you has only ever caused him pain. Even before he realized he liked you, your presence had always seemed to shift him out of orbit. Your stupid quips and endless debates, the judgmental look in your eye whenever Jake tried to stand his ground. It got worse when it finally occurred to him that he enjoyed that sort of abuse.

Jake runs his hands over his face, trying to tune you out. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the arguments. You’re the only person who’s ever really put him in his place. And how he’s loved putting you in yours.

Jake gets out of bed with a sigh, pausing at the closed door of his bedroom to listen. It isn’t eavesdropping if he’s not actually interested in the topic of conversation; all he wants is to hear your voice.

“I swear I will never drink drip coffee again,” you announce with conviction.

Jake holds back a laugh, leaning his head into the doorframe.

“It’s basically sewer water by comparison,” you continue.

Jake snorts.

“Have another croissant,” you urge.

“You brought enough to feed a squadron,” he hears Bradley retort. “I’m not eating them all.”

You go quiet for a moment, saying something Jake can’t quite make out. He pushes off the frame and shuffles into the bathroom. He’s still pissed, and no amount of baked goods will convince him to go downstairs. He’s not ready for that. And, if all goes to plan, he’ll just slowly get over you and never have to see you again.

Once he’s out of the shower, Jake towel dries his hair and then quickly pats down his body. He listens for signs of conversation, but the house is quiet now. You and Bradley must have left.

“Bradshaw?” he calls, just in case.

No answer.

He heads down to start a pot of coffee before getting dressed but, when he enters the kitchen, you are the first thing he sees. You look up from where you're sitting at his table and yelp – because he’s butt naked – leaping out of your seat and covering your eyes with your hands, promptly turning away.

“What the fuck, Seresin!” you scream.

Jake jumps behind the counter. “What?” he shouts. “What the fuck, yourself! What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see you!” you screech. “But, like, not so much of you!”

Jake cringes, still in shock from the encounter. He grabs a throw blanket off the couch and wraps it around his waist. “Why didn’t you answer when I called down?” he yells, his temples pounding as if his head is housing a goddamn woodpecker.

“You called for Bradley!”

Jake shakes his head. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why are you running around naked?” you squeal, still turned away and holding your hands over your eyes.

“I thought I was home alone! You don’t walk around naked in your own home?” Jake cries in outrage. He’s not about to let you win this fight.

“Uh, sometimes, I guess,” you admit.

Jake, who’s about to retort to whatever argument you make, falls silent. He stares at your back, trying very hard not to picture what that particular scenario might look like. He gulps. “Well, alright, then,” he says. He steps away from the counter, the blanket securely tied at his hips, and walks around tentatively. “You can look now,” he says wearily.

Hesitantly, you turn to face him, although you avoid looking directly at him. “You’re still not wearing a shirt,” you say pointedly, keeping a hand up to block the view.

Jake grimaces. “Is it too exhilarating for you, princess?” he bites back.

You drop your hand and finally look at him – albeit with a scowl. You narrow your eyes irritably. “Get over yourself.”

Jake shrugs. “You can always return the favor,” he suggests, gesturing at your baby tee that’s hugging your curves just right.

You roll your eyes and make your way toward the counter, purposefully walking around the table – which is the longer route – to avoid getting too close to Jake. He watches you levelly. “Why did you want to see me?” he asks sourly.

You glance up at him, still frowning, and push a bakery box across the counter toward him. “I brought you breakfast.”

Jake doesn’t smile; one breakfast two weeks down the road isn’t going to magically repair the damage you’ve done. “Why?”

You gulp. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Jake lets out an irritable sigh and drops his gaze. “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he responds moodily.

You reach further down the counter and drag a paper cup into view. “I got you a coffee, too,” you add, as though this might tip the scales in your favor. “Americano.”

Jake, who is dying for some caffeine, responds with, “I’m not thirsty.”

You exhale sharply. “Don’t be a baby.”

He fixes you with a scathing look. “Don’t be a nuisance.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Am I bothering you?��

Jake scoffs. “Well, for starters, you’re still here.” He walks over to the refrigerator and takes out a carton of eggs. “You hungry?” he asks grumpily.

You turn to face him as he sets a bowl down on the counter and starts cracking eggs. He’s right next to you now so he can see you seething out of the corner of his eye.

“I brought you breakfast!” you cry in outrage.

Jake starts to whisk the eggs without looking at you. “I don’t want that, I want this.” He glances over at you at this point and adds spitefully, “We all have to make difficult choices from time to time.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jake!” you exclaim, pulling the bowl out from under his nose. Half-beaten egg splashes onto the counter.

Jake tosses his whisk into the sink and takes a step away from the counter. He releases a quick breath and sets his jaw; but he still can’t look at you. “What is your problem?” he says in a low voice, keeping his eyes on a random chip in the paint of one of his kitchen cupboards.

“What’s my problem?” you screech.

He can tell that you’re getting worked up and it’s taking all his energy to keep his cool. He clenches his teeth and rolls his shoulders, trying to relax the tension in his muscles.

“You’re so mad at me that you won’t even drink my coffee?” you yell, the bowl of raw egg still in your hands.

Jake stares harder at the paint chip because he’s on the verge of completely flying off the handle. But he could only devote so much of his attention to negligible bullshit until he finally breaks. Agitatedly, he meets your gaze and bellows, “I’M SO MAD AT YOU, I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT YOU!”

Your mouth falls open at his words and you blink at him in shock. After a moment, you look away, silently replacing the bowl on the counter. You’re chewing on your lip as you do this, your gaze lingering on the bowl even after you’ve released it from your grasp, like you’re reluctant to let it go.

Jake briefly closes his eyes. You’re not facing him, so you don’t witness the fleeting display of regret that steals over his features. He doesn’t want to hurt you in a way that makes you go quiet. He wants you to react – loudly, obnoxiously, passionately. He wants you to yell back. Because that’s how he knows you’re okay.

“I’ll go,” you say, tucking your hands into the back pockets of your shorts. You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a resigned sort of look.

He nods. As much as he might've missed this kind of heated warfare, the lingering hostility is not in anyone’s best interest. “There’s an idea,” he says sarcastically, still keeping a safe distance away from where you’re standing by the counter.

Your mouth falls agape again. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t want you to go. He doesn’t want you to go. But, if you do, he wants you to leave angry; not sad. So, he provokes you. “And take your crazy with you,” he says, gesturing toward the front door with his entire arm.

You let out an indignant scoff that turns into a sort of cry. “What did you call me?” you shriek, stepping up to him aggressively.

Jake glances down at you, squaring his jaw to keep from smirking. “What’s the politically correct word for completely unhinged?”

Your eyes go wide and, for a split second, he thinks you might actually hit him. But you’re not one for physical violence; you can strike below the belt with your words. “As if you give a damn about offending an already stigmatized group of people,” you retort.

Jake narrows his eyes. “At least I give a damn about the people I actually know.”

You let out a derisive laugh. “Oh yeah? So much so that you’re practically shoving me out the door?” you yell.

Jake rolls his eyes. “No one’s kicking you out,” he says gruffly, walking past you back to the counter. “Just stop taking my eggs away and we’re gravy.”

You fold your arms grumpily and stand there in his kitchen, fuming.

He looks over his shoulder at you. “What?” he says.

“You don’t like croissants?” you ask crossly, as if he’s gravely insulted you by opting for scrambled eggs.

Jake sighs. He reaches for the box of pastries on his counter and throws open the lid. He grabs a croissant irritably and brings it to his mouth, taking a large bite. “Happy?” he asks, chewing.

You watch him impassively. “You’re ridiculous,” you say.

“You’re ridiculous!” he yells. “You’re pissed because I won’t eat your damn food?”

Your eyes suddenly well up with tears. “I’m pissed because – because” – you suck in your cheeks defiantly, as if you’re not prepared to elaborate.

Jake swallows uncomfortably; he doesn’t like the idea of being responsible for making you cry.

You shake your head and sniffle. “I’m not mad!” you shout. “I came here to make up with you!”

Jake tosses the croissant onto the counter and it lands in the spilt yolk from earlier. He ignores this and steps toward you. “Why?” he yells back.

“Why what?” you scream as he approaches.

“Why make up with me?” he presses.

You stare at him angrily. “What do you mean? We were friends!”

Jake shrugs. “We weren’t close.”

You scoff. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Jake says levelly, then he adds, raising the volume of his voice as if the conversation could stand to get any louder. “I never wanted to be your friend!” You go quiet for a moment, your tears subsiding as you take in his words. But he doesn’t give you a chance to mull them over. “You’re a fucking nightmare!” he continues emphatically, taking another step.

You lift your face as he draws nearer, glaring at him unblinkingly. You don’t back away; you stay put, even as he towers over you.

Jake grimaces in a way that conveys disgruntlement and despair in equal measure. He lets out an uneven sigh, his eyes skimming over your face. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, much quieter now, as he meets your gaze.

You stay perfectly still, as if his immense frame looming over your body is completely insignificant compared to your ruthless glower. In all fairness, you’re probably right. “I hate you,” you whisper.

Jake nods with a slight smirk. “Likewise.”

The thrill of riling you scorches his veins, but he’ll be damned if anger is the only thing he can make you feel. He wants you so desperately, he can hardly think straight.

You’re scowling at him but all he can see is the fire in your eyes, fierce and unrelenting, daring him to make another move. Jake is game – enthusiastically, to boot. He’s mad, sure. But, truth be told, you could be engaged to fifty men – none of them him – and he’d still want to fuck you. Hell, this only makes things easier; no fucking strings, just fucking sex.

He slides an arm behind your waist and pulls you forward abruptly. You gasp as if you weren’t expecting it. But with the way you’ve been staring him down, there is no way you didn’t see this coming.

He waits a moment, anyway, allowing you the opportunity to give him a smack for being overly presumptuous. But the animosity on your face has already been replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity. You’re very still, staring up at him sympathetically, because you know – you know – what he wants. Because you want it too.

Jake lifts his free hand up to the side of your neck, sliding it up through your hair to cup the back of your head and gently pull you forward. This is exactly the kind of situation he was meaning to avoid. But the warning bells are fleeting, and his lips are on top of yours before he can stop himself.

You push into him slightly – almost imperceptibly, except he perceives it – and instantly this kiss becomes the single most thrilling experience of his life. He moves in, absorbing your body in a rushed, impatient embrace, and you mold against him, closer than you’ve ever been before.

He can feel the soft fabric of your shirt rubbing against his skin but all that he truly registers is how your tits are compressing into his chest. He kisses you harder, stifling an entire anthology of dirty words that suddenly materializes on the tip of his tongue. There aren’t enough terms in the English language to fully express the way he craves to handle every inch of you, anyway.

You withdraw, at this point, to breathlessly exclaim, “You think you’re not a pain in the ass?”

Jake pulls you back with a mild roll of the eyes. “Shut up,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth as you scoff in outrage.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you retort between the pecks he layers over your lips.

Jake grins against your mouth. “Shut up,” he repeats, dragging you backward as he steers you toward the staircase.

You let out a muffled – but distinctly indignant – cry. “Make me!” you exclaim as he stoops to wrap his hands around your thighs and lift you off the ground.

“I’m fucking trying,” he replies, closing his mouth around yours once he's picked you up.

Strategically speaking, making out while carrying someone up a flight of stairs is efficient. In practice, however, it’s a complicated task. Several times, Jake veers into one of the railings or nearly trips over his own feet. By the time he’s reached the second floor, his legs are tangled in the blanket he had wrapped around his torso, and the blanket itself is on the verge of unravelling. But Jake ignores the obstacles and resolutely marches you right into his bedroom.

He throws you unceremoniously onto the bed and retightens the blanket around his hips as though he means to keep it on. He looks down, pausing for a second to watch you catch your breath. Not because he thinks you might unexpectedly have a change of heart, but because he wants to savor the moment. He takes your legs and unhurriedly pulls you closer to where he stands. “You’re awful quiet,” he notes with a smirk, his fingers winding up the sides of your thighs.

You gulp with a relatively stoic expression for someone who’s about to be railed. “You told me to shut up,” you deadpan.

Jake raises his eyebrows. “You listened?”

You bite into your lips, nodding slowly, and Jake’s heart damn near somersaults right out of his body. For once, you want to give up the reins.

He reaches up underneath the fringed hem of your shorts, grabbing your ass and tugging you forward. “What, no instructions?” he says, his hands lingering on your butt cheeks because he’s waited oh so long to squeeze that flesh. The way your eyes half-close tells him you don’t necessarily mind.

“You need instructions?” you say in a breathy but still detectably mocking tone.

Jake chuckles. “Whether or not I need them isn’t likely to stop you.”

“I can do a post hoc analysis,” you say as one of his hands finally moves upward, bunching your shirt at your ribs to expose your stomach.

Jake grins at your words. “Hot.” So much for dirty talk. Apparently, the plan is to have sarcastic sex.

Your lips spread into a wry smile, and you reach up to the blanket tied around his waist to pull him on top of you. “Stop talking, Seresin,” you whisper.

“Hey, that’s my line,” he says, bracing himself on his forearm at the side of your head. He stares into your eyes, wondering if he could really go through with it. How much does he really need to understand the complexities of your situation with Mustang? Isn’t it enough that you’re clearly hot for Jake? Isn’t it enough to just fuck and forget that you’re technically taken?

You’re watching him back, probably wondering the exact same thing. Isn’t it enough?

The truth is, every single moment spent in your presence is enough for Jake. And he was a fool to think that he could ever stay away.

He glides his hand up your abdomen, feeling your breath hitch underneath his fingertips every time he lets them linger for a moment atop your skin. Does Mustang know that you like it slow? That you want to feel the rush of anticipation? Jake is willing to bet that Mustang only goes one speed.

Jake traces the curve of your ribs, his exploration leading him eventually to the swell of your breasts. Your bare breasts. How he hadn’t noticed that you’d been braless downstairs bemuses him. He must’ve been too preoccupied with his own wardrobe to thoroughly examine yours.

His hand seizes for a moment as he gets used to the idea of touching you. Of feeling your chest flare into the palm of his hand every time you take a breath. Then, he wraps his fingers around your ribcage, his thumb grazing the side of your tit as he moves you upward on the bed.

“You comfortable?” he asks after repositioning you.

You nod, your eyes still locked on his like you’re trying to see right through to his soul. When his thumb sweeps underneath your breast, you let out a whimper that disturbs the air between your mouth and his. And there’s a dizzying note of desperation in your voice that paralyzes Jake.

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, wondering how long before he’s completely lost himself in you. Wondering if that ship’s sailed. Wondering if Mustang has ever felt like he’s drowning and soaring all at once. If he’s ever been this gone. If you’ve ever moaned like that for him.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your skin, realizing that he’s lost the upper hand. That he’s going to need a moment to recuperate. That there’s a debilitating weakness in his limbs that’s an extension of his weakness for you, and he can hardly hold himself up any longer.

He breathes heavily into your neck, his lips catching on your collarbone as his fingers skim across your nipple. You let out a breathy whine that vibrates his very core. You like being teased. Figures.

Jake drives his pelvis into your side, seeking a split second of relief. The blanket around his torso is a mess of twisted, sticky fabric that’s now pressing into your bare skin, hopefully arousing you. You move your leg up and down, stroking him through the fleece with your thigh, and Jake groans, spreading his fingers over your tit and finally giving it a squeeze.

You release a soft moan and Jake brings his lips to your other nipple, grazing his teeth over the thin cotton of your shirt. It’s not that he can’t be bothered to remove your clothes, rather, he very well might not survive the spectacle. So, he sucks on your nipple right through the fabric while continuing to massage your other breast, pressing himself closer and closer.

This is all that he could ask for, really. You, in his bed, at long last talked out. And yet, he can’t help himself; conversing with you has become second nature and, without even thinking, he mutters, “This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

You let out a laugh that morphs into a soft cry as Jake pinches your nipple.

“Wouldn’t want you getting the wrong idea,” he continues, smirking against your neck.

Your chuckle pleases him. “Maybe if I weren’t such a pain in the ass.”

Jake squeezes his eyes shut, cringing slightly as he nuzzles his head under your chin. “Maybe,” he agrees, dragging your t-shirt upward. He lifts his head and meets your gaze as you raise your arms, letting him remove it. “Maybe if you didn’t hate me,” he adds, somewhat hoarsely because you’re half naked now and he’s understandably distracted.

You bring your arms back down and slide your hands unhurriedly up his chest, linking your fingers behind his neck. “And you me,” you remind him gently.

Jake lets himself take you in for a moment, his eyes slipping southward before he looks back at you with a smirk. “At least the feeling’s mutual,” he says, slowly lowering himself until his lips meet yours.

You open your mouth, bathing Jake in your hot breath as you kiss him, and he reciprocates the gesture eagerly. Urgently. His hand is suddenly gripping your leg, sliding up the inside of your thigh. You’re moaning before he’s even reached the summit, tearing viciously at his lips with your teeth. Your fingers are twisting into his hair as you pull yourself into him, breathless and impatient.

Jake unbuttons your shorts with a couple of fingers and is hastily pushing them over your hips as your breathy gasps warm his ear. “What is it, princess?” he whispers, suddenly slowing his pace. He kicks your shorts off your ankles and places his hand on your inner thigh where he gently strokes your tender skin. He grins wickedly. “What can I do for you?”

“Jake!” you whimper desperately, shimmying yourself down to meet his hand.

Jake obliges, sliding his fingers up between your legs. He’s not about to make you beg for it when he can barely keep it together himself. Another time, maybe. Assuming there will be one. He’d like to hear you ask for it. Tell him exactly what you want, sparing no detail. He wants you to talk dirty to him. Talk, talk, talk.

But instead of talking, you reach out and grab him by the waist. You blink up at him silently and maneuver his hips until he’s right over top of you. Then, without taking your eyes off his face, you unravel the blanket that’s somehow still wrapped around him and shove it aside.

Jake has never in his life made love. He’s fucked, sure. He’s had plenty relations. And this time is no different. Except, he’s feeling something pure amidst the lewd temptation driving his corpus. It’s a buoyancy that’s both nauseating and distressingly pleasant and it radiates outward from his chest, nearly overriding his ever-present desire to make – fuck you silly.

And then, as Jake slides slowly inside you, you cling frantically to his neck and utter a shaky, monosyllabic nonword that is the epitome of less talk.

And Jake is suddenly making love.

…

“Y/N came earlier today,” Bradley says to Jake that evening, casually popping open a can of beer.

Jake lifts his eyes and looks over at his friend with a straight face. “She did,” he confirms.

“Oh.” Bradley nods. “She caught you, then.”

Jake stares at him mutely before turning away and clicking the kettle on the counter. “You could say that.”

Bradley nods, taking a gulp of beer. “She told you, then?”

Jake freezes with his hand on his mug. The only thing he seems to recall you saying is not something you would have also said to your best friend. “Told me what?” he says, slowly turning to face Bradley.

The latter furrows his brows. “Did you guys talk?”

Jake watches Bradley curiously. “Tons,” he responds. “You know how she never shuts up.”

Bradley narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You did see her, right?”

“I did,” Jake says confidently because he, indeed, saw you. All of you.

“Weird,” Bradley says. “She said she was hanging back so she could tell you too.”

“Tell me what, Bradshaw?” Jake asks impatiently, forgetting about the boiling kettle as he walks toward the table with an empty mug in his hand.

Bradley sets down his beer and leans back in his chair uneasily. “That she’s leaving.”

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whoishotteranimepolls · 11 days

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"Who's Hotter?" Battle of the Anime Duos

*As of right now, character duos are only available for six-way Battle Royals. I'm debating on whether or not to allow them for regular polls

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ytsunodabrainrotbaybee · 3 months

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Honey, If You Stay, I’ll Be Forgiven

-> Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

Verstappen x Reader, in which they were once karting rivals. A long time ago.

Snow falls outside, just on the other side of the window you slouch against. Shadows cast themselves against the pages of your book.

A coffee sits on the table in front of you stopped letting off steam a few minutes ago. The half drank peppermint mocha tastes great, the book in your hands is just a little bit more interesting.

Across the shop, just missing you when he walked in, Max pays for his own coffee. Probably the first time back after the end of his F1 season.

Your eyes follow him. All the way until the two of you make eye contact.

He breaks eye contact as soon as he sees you.

You turn back to your book, and your cold coffee.

Nearly too engrossed in your book, you almost don’t notice another coffee cup setting itself on the table across from you. The chair pulls out and the man imposing himself on your time alone finally grabs your attention.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he says. His eyes are joking, his tone doesn’t agree. He sounds almost accusing. In spite of the faint smile on his face.

“Sorry, I’m not doing autographs right now,” you spare him a glance before looking back at your book.

Banter still comes naturally. The two of you got on because of it. A similar humor, dry and sarcastic. Got on like fire on trees. That’s what your family would always say. Fought like cats and dogs, absolutely adored each other until-

“You could be a driver,” he pushes your book down out of your face, “signing plenty of autographs yourself.”

The question he meant to ask is thick in the air. You gave him no excuse when you quit. Neither of you can even recall the last words you said to him.

“But I’m not.”

You try. You ignore his eyes. You debate some cold remark, something to push him out. Even sitting in front of him brought you back.

“I used to think about us.”

You want to shut him down, thinking hard about getting up and leaving him in the shop. Leaving him in the dark. Separating yourself even further from the dream you once had. The dream that you would be reminded of, every time your joints ache in the cold.

His hand covers yours, “I’m not mad.”

His voice is a whisper. You stare down at your hand. The one pained at the contact.

“I couldn’t have continued if I wanted to,” your fingers slip through his by then.

“Why not? You were-“

“I was injured, Max.”

“Was it that bad?”

You pull your hand back, flexing your fingers under the table. “Everything hurts, my joints, my doctor said I’m well on my way to developing some form of arthritis.”

You pause for a beat. If anyone knew how devastating news like that could be for a kid with the dreams you had, it would be Max.

“I couldn’t admit it.”

You look back up at him. His expression is blank. His mouth open and close, not really finding anything to say.

“I’m also prone to dislocating joints. They’re all stiff, but hyper-mobile at the same time it’s- it’s super weird.”

You deflect into a joking tone. Maybe a conversation change could follow.

“What about we go for a drive,” he cocks his head toward his car, the Aston Martin he’d been bringing around, “change the subject.”

“Mine isn’t as fast,” yours parked two spots down. A stock early 2000s Mustang wouldn’t touch his Valkyrie.

“It’s not a race,” he says, standing up and holding a hand out to you, “just a drive. Take the lead?”

You grab his hand, you use him to steady yourself as you stand. Mild relief from sitting on the hard coffee shop chairs is overwhelmed by the stiff joints adjusting to being forced back into use.

The two of you walk out. In your separate cars, you make eye contact. Just like you used to before cart races as children.

Your dreams as a child came crashing down around you, but you could build them back up, just adjusted. With Max hopefully staying in your life, maybe he could help.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #chronic pain reader #Verstappen x reader #Verstappen x rival reader #max x childhood friend #mv1 #mv33

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shanastoryteller · 1 year

Note

happy valentine's day!!! female mo xuanyu or fma continuation?? thank you!!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4

Roy is heading out for lunch when he hears Havoc shouting about some sort of run in with the Elric team that he can't bring himself to care about.

He makes a note to head over later in the week to introduce himself. Most of what Elric's team works on is classified above his clearance level, which he's only a little bit resentful about, but what he has been able to read is brilliant. All state alchemists are scientists, but most of them view the craft as a stepping stone, and Elric's team notoriously doesn't.

He's debating whether he should give them a month so their office can get back up and running before he goes poking around when he knocks into someone and feels himself lose his balance.

He resigns himself to falling on his ass when a hand grabs the front of his uniform and tugs him upright, which puts him nose to nose with a man with golden hair and mocking golden eyes. "Sorry about that, General. I should have watched where you're going."

He should probably have this cadet demoted for his sass, but he feels disinclined to do anything that'll jeopardize that sharp smile.

"Hi Roy." He startles, sliding his gaze over to see Maes pinching this bridge of his nose. "This is Edward Elric. Ed, Roy Mustang. I assume you're familiar with each other's work."

"I've read your declassified literature," he says at the same time that Elric responds, "I'm a big fan of the mini skirt proposal."

Roy freezes. How did he even hear about that -

Maes's choked laughter answers that.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #dreamsfullofdragons #fma

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 1 year

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10 Forgotten Muscle Cars That Deserve to Be Restored

by James Derek Sapienza

Source: General Motors We all know the story; it started in 1964 with the Ford Mustang. No, wait — I mean the Plymouth Barracuda. Or the Pontiac GTO. Or was it earlier with the Pontiac Catalina SD? The ’50s Dodge D-500 maybe? Debating the origin of the muscle car is like debating over the first rock and roll record; everyone you talk to has a different opinion, and no one is exactly wrong. Let’s just say that by the early ’60s, a generation coming of age fell in love with high-performance midsize cars coming out of Detroit, and for a few brief years, performance ruled the day. Naturally, the good old days seem to look better with each passing year, and as the book was written on the muscle car, a fair amount of contenders fell by the wayside.

1. 1964 Studebaker Avanti R3

Source: Auctions America The Avanti isn’t generally counted among muscle cars, but then, Studebaker was never exactly considered a performance powerhouse to begin with. But the fiberglass Avanti had a long hood, short rear deck, and 289-cubic-inch V8 a full two years before the Ford Mustang did. In 1964 (after production officially ended), Studebaker bored out nine V8s to 304 cubic inches, slapped a Paxton supercharger on them, and dropped them into remaining Avantis. The result was a 171-mile-per-hour rocket, which the company claimed made it the fastest production car in America. This R3 was sold by Auctions America in 2010 for $96,250. With the collector market being what it is today, good luck finding one this cheap ever again.

2. 1965 Pontiac 2+2

Source: General Motors As far as classic muscle cars go, the ’65-’67 GTO is remembered to be about as big as they came. But with the success of the GTO, Pontiac wanted to take its go-fast formula to an even bigger car, which became the ’65-’67 2+2. Based on the full-size Catalina two-door, the 2+2 had its own unique 338-horsepower 421-cubic-inch V8, and in High Output guise, power jumped to 376 ponies, which when tuned right could rocket from zero to 60 in a mind-bending 3.9 seconds. Bigger, plusher, and often faster than its smaller stablemate, the 2+2 deserves a lot more love from speed freaks.

3. 1964 Mercury Comet Cyclone

Source: Ford For ’60s Ford products, the Mercury Comet was about as basic as they came. Closely based on the Ford Falcon, the ’64-’65 Comet could be livened up with Ford’s famous 289-cubic-inch V8. But for those who wanted more from their Mercurys, Ford built 50 Comet Cyclones for the dragstrip, complete with fiberglass hood, fenders, doors and front bumper, plexiglass windows, and the same 425-horsepower 427 V8 found in the Shelby Cobra. In ’66, Mercury introduced the production Comet GT with the 390 V8, and while they’re capable compact muscle cars, they couldn’t hope to match the insanity of their big block predecessor.

4. 1968 Ford Ranchero 500

Source: Ford It’s been long overshadowed by Chevy’s iconic El Camino, but the Ford Ranchero was America’s first car-based Ute. And while Chevy was offering the 396 V8 in its muscle trucks, Ford upped the ante in ’68 and made its restyled Ranchero available with a 335-horsepower Cobra Jet 428 V8. Unfortunately, a lack of weight over the rear wheels made the hot Rancheros a handful to drive, so very few were built with Ford’s biggest motor. While it seems like every surviving El Camino happens to be an SS model, we can’t remember the last time we’ve seen a Cobra Jet Ranchero. Come to think of it, we can’t remember the last time we’ve seen any Ranchero.

5. 1969 Chevy Kingswood 427

Source: General Motors Back in the ’60s, you could order virtually any option you wanted on a car, and companies would actually build it for you. So imagine you’ve got a growing family, and your Corvette just can’t handle them. What to do? Buy a Chevy Kingswood station wagon with Rally wheels, hideaway headlights, seating for seven, and the same 390-horsepower V8 found in your ‘Vette. Only 546 buyers opted for the big V8 in ’69, but a number of 427 Kingswoods spent the next decade making their mark on the drag strip.

6. 1969 Oldsmobile Rallye 350

Source: General Motors When gearheads think of outrageous muscle cars from 1969, the Pontiac GTO Judge easily sits at the top of the list. But while the Judge has gone on to become a legend, Oldsmobile’s analog, the Rallye 350, is all but forgotten. Like the Judge (at least at first) it was offered in one outrageous color (Sebring Yellow), had color-matched wheels and bumpers, a spoiler, and a fiberglass hood. And compared to Olds’s top-dog 442, the car’s 310-horsepower 350-cubic-inch V8 made it significantly lighter, allowing it to scramble from zero to 60 in seven seconds and run the quarter mile in a respectable 15.27 seconds at 97 miles per hour. Just 3,500 Rallye 350s were built, making it one of the more obscure muscle cars to ever come from GM.

7. 1969 Ford Torino Talladega

Source: Ford Half a century on, the Plymouth Roadrunner Superbird and Dodge Daytona get all the love when it comes to NASCAR homologation specials. But in 1969, Ford tried its hand at aerodynamics too and built the Torino Talladega. Starting with a Torino Sportsroof, Ford worked with the Holman-Moody race shop to design a sleeker, longer front clip and rear fascia for the car. The Talladega was honed in the wind tunnel — a relative novelty for the era — and powered by the 429-cubic-inch V8 found in the Boss Mustang. Production was over by March; Ford only built 754 of them and they were barely advertised, but the slippery cars dominated during the ’69 season, winning 29 races. In 1970, however, the 200-mile-per-hour Superbird ruled NASCAR, and the Talladega’s time in the spotlight was over. Today, the Talladega (and near-identical Mercury Cyclone Spoiler II) are bargains on the collector market compared to the beak-nosed Mopars.

8. 1969 Pontiac Grand Prix SJ

Source: General Motors The second-generation Grand Prix is largely remembered for its role in popularizing the Personal Luxury Coupe segment, but in its early days, it was one of the hottest cars on the street. With a long hood (the longest hood of any production car in ’69, in fact) and short deck, the Grand Prix was available with Pontiac’s 390-horsepower 428-cubic-inch V8, allowing it to scramble from zero to 60 in 6.5 seconds and run the quarter mile in 15 seconds at 97 miles per hour. Its combination of luxury and power made it the Grand Prix massive hit for Pontiac; within a few years, any semblance of performance would be gone.

9. 1970 Chrysler Hurst 300

Source: Fiat Chrysler Automobiles As early as 1970, Chrysler die-hards were feeling nostalgic for the 300-letter series, which ended in 1965. The 300-series carried on, but performance had taken a back seat as mid-sized muscle cars had picked up the go-fast mantle. Chrysler tried to recapture the magic for ’70 by outfitting a 300 coupe with the interior from an Imperial, a fiberglass hood and decklid, a 375-horsepower 440-cubic-inch V8, and a Torque-Flite automatic to handle all that power. At 18.5 feet long and 4,400 pounds, the big Chrysler could still make zero to 60 in 7.1 seconds and run the quarter mile in 15.3 seconds. With just 500 built, the Hurst 300s rank as one of the rarest Mopar muscle cars of all time.

10. 1971 AMC SC/360 Hornet

Source: Chris Andrews Productions via YouTube In the ’60s, AMC’s red, white, and blue Rebel Machine and SC/Rambler muscle cars failed to move the sales needle for America’s last independent automaker, but they sure caused a scene wherever they went. For 1970, the company had introduced the compact Hornet and Gremlin to replace the Rambler, and with them came the SC/360 Hornet. With an available 285-horsepower 360-cubic-inch V8 under the hood, the small Hornet could hit 60 from a standstill in 6.7 seconds, and run the quarter mile in 14.9 seconds at 97 miles per hour. But in 1970, displacement still ruled the day, and despite being cheaper than a Plymouth Duster 340, AMC found just 784 buyers for its smallest muscle car. We think it’s aged remarkably well, and would love to take one of these ’70s-era sleepers to the drag strip.

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kkennzzi · 7 months

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very oddly specific ultrakill headcanon post that nobody will probably care about nor has anyone else ever probably thought about (that i am only makinf for the sole purpose of combining two interests)

BUT. assigning ultrakill characters guitars. hi (guitar names in alt)

also i was like half asleep while writing this

V1 and V2

i figured itd only be fitting to give v1 a guitar with a flying v shape (haha get it. bc v. and v1 has wings. flying v. im so funny i know), i was debating between that, a warlock, or a gibson explorer but ultimately decided on this one

as for v2, v2 honestly just seems more like a bass than guitar kinda guy idk, i wouldve went with a bass with a flying v shape like v1’s but i couldnt rlly think of any thatd fit well enough so i settled for the warlock :p still cool as hell tho

(also i feel i should mention, there js a candy apple red variant of the guitar i assigned v1 so that could also be another v2 idea idk)

———

Mirage

ok i have MULTIPLE for her. bear with me pls

mirage absolutely seems like a nirvana enjoyer. she’d definitely have a jaguar or mustang, maybe even a jagstang or just in general a kurt cobain guitar of some kind

(either that or a classic black fender strat tbh, basic but still a good and versatile guitar 👍) ((maybe even a tele???? idk either suit her and how id imagine her playing style would be))

out of all the characters she honestly seems the most like someone who would play LMAOOO she either has just one of the previously mentioned guitars or all of them. no inbetween

———

Gabriel

ok i think this ones pretty self explanatory but

yeah. probably an obvious choice but Come On tell me you cant see him absolutely fucking shredding divine intervention on this (also oh my god this is such a fucking gorgeous guitar. need.)

BONUS (funnier option): he’d have a yamaha acoustic and would only know how to play wonderwall and/or the stairway to heaven riff (he gets kicked out of guitar center all the time and has no idea why) /j

———

Minos

i chose an explorer for him mostly bc the shape just gives me minos vibes???? idk??

in all honesty he doesn’t seem much like the type to play guitar, let alone electric, so i mostly chose this one based on looks/vibes bc i have no ideas for him oops (i feel like he’d prefer more classical instruments like violin, piano, etc.)

———

Sisyphus

again i mostly chose these bc of how they look but honestly? i could see him playing these idk im out of things to say girl help

———

anyways yea 👍 i hope you enjoyed my silly rambling i migjt do more characters eventually but i dont have ideas rn

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nekole-doodles · 21 days

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For today's DMSP AU, Imma talk about my Fullmetal Alchemist DSMP AU, one of my many AU mash-ups! Here we go!

Obviously, this is heavily based on Fullmetal Alchemist(The original manga plot and the FMA: Brotherhood series btw) so here are some of the roles the characters have:

Tommy - Edward Elric: They both have similar personalities but one is tall while the other is made fun of for being short which is hilarious in my opinion :) Also, Tommy joined the military when he was 12-14 and he's currently 16.

Ranboo - Alphonse Elric: I had to think about this one a lot since Tommy and Ranboo wouldn't be blood brothers like in the original and Ranboo would not be a suit of armor. Ranboo is the adopted brother of Tommy and they're still really close. Ranboo's soul was transferred into a sort of large organic doll/chimera that was the experiment of Phil(who takes the place of Von Hohenheim, I'll get to him in a bit). It's basically a lot like C! Ranboo's body but it's incredible durable/has tough skin(as in bulletproof), can't digest food(the body will reject and Ranboo would end up having to spit it out), can't sleep, and can't feel anything(he can hear, see, and smell, but not taste, feel pain/feel anything physical). His original body is basically Ranboo in real life but younger. The body Ranboo's soul is in has a lot of complexities to it that will be explained for another time.

Tubbo - Winry: He's an automail mechanic, it suits him. He also won't hesitate to clonk Tommy's head with a wrench if Tommy gets careless with his automail. He's surprisingly strong(as in probably being able to pick Tommy up and throw him) and hates feeling powerless despite always being left powerless.

Phil - Von Hohenheim: Still immortal and still left his family. Tommy doesn't like Phil because he left them but Ranboo feels more neutral about Phil. Basically like in the original FMA. Phil's wife is, of course, Kristin(RIP). He also doesn't have wings. Idk what else to say for Phil, he's really similar to C! Phil and Von Hohenheim.

Wilbur(not related to cc! Wilbur) - Roy Mustang: It just fits so well in my brain. His title is the Dynamite Alchemist and yes, he is sane. He's a lot like L'manberg era Wilbur but much less naive since he's seen what war is. ALSO, his uniform is extremely similar to the L'manberg military uniform in C! DSMP(but without the hat), I just really like that idea :)))) He and Tommy have a similar relationship as Ed and Roy in FMA but if you added more friendship and fondness because I love Crimeboys in AUs and DSMP :]

Techno - Scar: I debated VERY HARD on this one between Techno taking the role of Scar or General Armstrong/Olivier Armstrong because both fit so well for me. In the end, I decided on Scar but with a different backstory. Techno is a piglin hybrid because I added hybrid races to this world. So far, there are Enderians(I'll talk about them more in another post) and Piglins but there might be more. Techno is an anarchist still and he's very strong and good in combat. I still haven't figured out how he'll gain the destructive alchemy ability but I know that at some point, he'll be able to do more reconstruction, even being able to change the physical appearance of a person(that'll be elaborated on later). Techno did not kill Tubbo's parents btw, so Tommy doesn't have as much anger towards him besides the fact he keeps trying to kill state alchemists and succeeding most of the time. When Tommy and Techno had to work together, they had some surprisingly nice joking moments but it still took a while for Tommy to be comfortable around him since, y'know, Techno tried killing him on several occasions. I think he'll still have the voices which will be a major part of his backstory that I'm still piecing together.

Okay, it's late and I'm tired so that's all you're getting right now.

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number1greedlingfan · 1 month

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Guys Peep This

ok so theres this high school au that me and a friend are cooking...

Almost all the characters are either faculty or students. Like Envy is a student right because then we can have them fight Ed crazy style in the middle of the cafeteria, but Wrath is the dean so we can say "mr the furious" are you seeing the vision?

Mustang is the academic decathlon proctor and also the AP chemisty and trig teacher. Hawkeye is the AP english teacher that everyone is afraid of. Havoc is the french teacher (but his ass is NOT teaching!! he just plays the french dub of shrek in class). Fuery is the new 20 yr old English 1 teacher who cant get thru a single class session without going to the bathroom and crying because his 14 yr old students keep bullying him. Olivier Armstrong is the PE teacher and she runs that shit like the fucking Navy. Their shitass poorly funded high school is in the top percentile of the presidential fitness exam because of her (at least one anemic child has died).

Ed gets blackmailed by Mustang into joining academic decathlon (he used his sadass dead mom backstory ONCE to get out of a test just to see if he could and Mustang has not let that go since he realized). Al is on the team because he likes it :)

Selim Bradley is a normal child here but hes like one of those insufferable gifted children that move up to high school way too fast. Hes on Eds team (debate champ) but Ed has insane beef with him because "there can only be one child prodigy" but Ed is. Not One. He is 15 and a sophomore, he is a normal age. I mean hes like taking too many AP courses but that doesnt make him special??? Attention seeking whoer

Ling and Lan fan are students from the prep school down the street that Ed's school has ancient beef with. Ling also has a guy in hisn head btw ("he's not crazy or anything he just has a guy that sometimes takes over his body and takes him on crazy benders" - how he describes his real medical disorder).

Ling is also the prep schools acadeca team's math guy (directly competing with Edward who is his team's math guy) and he thinks this just gives them more of a reason to be friends. He's obsessed with Ed the way that a child is obsessed with a wild animal. Sometimes Ling invites him to go dumpster diving and Ed has to watch in horror as he jumps fully into a dumpster and comes out with a half-eaten comically large turkey leg and devours it right in front of him. At one point Ed wakes up at 3AM to a text that just says "I want you." Ling tells him point blank that it wasn't him; Ed thinks he's just some kinda fruit in denial. (Greed sent it in an attempt to get Ed to stop hanging out with Ling because he thinks Ed is lame as shit).

is this anything

#fullmetal alchemist #fma brotherhood #greed the avaricious #ling yao #edward elric #selim bradley #roy mustang

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chrysopoeias · 2 months

Note

Hold up, where in canon does it say what Riza and Mustang's weird fantasies are, how did I miss that?

Well, they did not happen in the main manga text, so you can debate the definition of canon and if stuff produced by the licenced studios counts as canon. But I think it does count.

For Riza that happened in the 03 series, where we see her wake up giggling and moaning over being tickled. But she looks quiet disappointed when she wakes up and finds it was hayate nudging/licking her foot instead of whatever dreamy lover she was thinking off.

youtube

For Roy that was part of the official mobile game valentines day event. Where he fell asleep after reading a cheesy romance novel and dreamt about himself and Riza being the protagonists rival thieves. They both want to steal the same treasure and decide to work together. But the real treasure they stole along the way was each other's heart <3. He tells Riza about this dream, which are the levels and story in the game. There are different endings, but in every end Riza decides she wants to read the cheesy novel too. @abstractmouse wrote a sort of walkthrough/translation of the story you can read here.

#ask

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scream-mans-friend · 6 months

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bc i saw some posts about mics car and bc im normal about cars i will throw in some deeper analysis into his particular vehicle. read more bc i rambled

people who own vintage and/or foreign cars almost instantly have a community of people with similar interests who welcome them with open arms- all you have to do is drive up and you instantly have some new friends

the particular car that mic owns is not just a car- it's *the* icon of vintage american muscle cars. not an icon, *the* icon (chevy fans would argue but they are fighting a losing battle). driving a first generation fastback GT mustang is flashy and brings a lot of joy to people passing by- lots of smiles, waves, thumbs up, and general excitement

and finally, there is no owning an old car without having to work on it. it doesn't matter if you buy it freshly repaired or if you drive it home from a car show, there will eventually be an issue to fix. in terms of our timeline (i dont want to be getting into the whole timeline debate of bnha over this), mic's car is nearing 60 years old, and with old cars, especially old foreign cars, comes time spent

so how does this relate to mic?

I personally headcanon that in his early/mid 20s, he was pretty lonely. his best friend died, he and his friends probably got busy with hero work (plus radio for him), and never mind having to deal with the still fairly fresh grief. mic is also a known workaholic- he likes to have things to keep him busy, and what better way to keep busy then a new hobby?

then, the car itself. a first generation, GT mustang fastback. it certainly doesn't fit into japan's car culture- fast and nimble cars are generally more up their alley- but car people are car people. by owning a mustang, mic would be part of a more exclusive car "club" so to say, full of enthusiasts whose preferred car doesn't fit the local norm. it would help him meet people and make friends, even if they're only friends due to their interest in vehicles, it's something he might desperately need. plus, it's an eye catching car that brings a lot of joy to people- it's for these reasons that I think mic would seek out the particular car that he owns

anyways, a lot of my thoughts about mic and his mustang are centered around headcanons, but i think even without the use of headcanons, the car is still very fitting for mic. it's an iconic vehicle that can bring a lot of people joy and has a large amount of power behind it. restoring and maintaining a classic car is a time-consuming thing, and as a workaholic I'm sure that mic is up for the task.

#present mic #yamada hizashi #as someone who owns a retro foreign auto i will say people in those communities are really close- more then local auto at least #but im also speaking from an american car culture view- japan has it's own very rich car culture that im not nearly as familiar with #the fact that mic has a classic foreign auto makes a huge statement about his character either way. this is just my interpretation on it #yell man

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musing-and-music · 11 months

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Royai week 2023 fic recs

In honor of Royai week in the Fruits & Roots server, I chose to highlight some of my favorite Royai fics I gathered these past years (not many years, since I've been on AO3 for 2 years and a half only). Each day, I'll recommend a few fics in a particular setting

Day 3: Heredity - Post-Canon fics

There's so many good post-canon fics that I had to make a choice among all the ones I have! Post-canon is so vast, it can go from right after Promised Day to Roy and Riza's old days after they've done everything they had to do. This will be one of the longest rec lists I'll do this week!

Heartbeat (series) by nightofnyx8 / @nightofnyx8

There is only one room in the Mustang household that has never been used. The walls are white, painted with butterflies, and the cradle sits just below the window. A small white dresser stands in the corner, with silver fastenings on each drawer. It holds not patterned clothes or socks lined with lace, just two white boxes that sit right atop. Mother's Day piece for the one and only Riza Hawkeye.

Roy Mustang has a basic understanding of what a father shouldn’t do: don’t run off and abandon your family, don’t transmute your child into a doomed chimera, don’t tattoo your alchemic research onto your daughter’s back— But as to what a father should do…well, that was a different matter entirely. Father's Day Piece for Roy Mustang

You'll end up believing I only rec fics that make me cry, but I swear, if I cry while reading something, that means the author has found the right words to move me, and that's (for me) the best indicator (with laughing) of a writer's quality. And that author is amongst my favorites!

Roy and Riza Observation Journal by hanamuri / @hanamuri

Rumor has it, Roy and Riza are having an illicit affair. No, Riza’s just one name in his list of exes, sprung another one. Actually, nothing is going on between them, buzzed hearsay. The debate remained endless on the unspoken question everyone has on this impeccable duo: what’s up with these two?

A must read (must re-read for me)! Affectionately shortened to RROJ, this fic brings light on Royai through the eyes of the people who know them

on the brink of discovery by vadeofspades / @mayfieldarc

In which Roy and Riza are trying (and failing) to keep their relationship a secret from Team Mustang on their first day back to Central.

You want to smile? Read this one!

The Amestrian Waltz by raisingmybanner

A story about noticing the things that have been under your nose the whole time, and a story about deciding when to finally let them free. An orange sweater, a shape in the clouds, a protector of the stars. "Who are you?" a little boy asks. "I was your lieutenant," replies a woman with a cracked heart, unsure what else to say.

A tag to give this one? #oh my heart

Partiality by Dailenna / @dairogo

Roy is given the chance to take care of Black Hayate while Riza is in hospital after the Promised Day, and it provokes a lot of thought about changes that could occur.

I'm partial about this one, since it's my gift for last year's Secret Santa, but I loved it, and the hope in it is strong!

Your Warmth Against My Scars by lassus / @lassusog

“How have you been?” his doctor asks him after a moment. “Fine,” Roy responds, calmy. He is, really. Mostly he feels numb. And tired. And his scars hurt, sure. On the whole, nothing out of the ordinary. “Have you been experiencing any pain in the areas with scar tissue?” Every waking moment. But it’s fine. Really. “Not much.” Harris frowns. “I want to help you, you know,” he tells him. “I know,” he brings himself to say. His doctor sighs heavily. “How are things at work?” Harris asks, after a minute. Roy has to look away, suddenly. It doesn’t take long for the numbness to wash over him again though, thankfully. “Fine too.” (Or, Roy's still healing wounds, excessive work and an argument with his Lieutenant slowly take their toll on him.)

Such a great exploration of Roy's character and his stubbornness!

and when you can't rise (i'll crawl with you on hands and knees) by starsinherblood / @jedidragonwarriorqueen

Attacked on their way home from a diplomatic trip to Drachma, General Mustang and Captain Hawkeye find themselves contending with a group of insurgents, but the odds are stacked against them.

I'm feral about this one, about the tension and the angst in it!! It's only 4 chapters long, and I can tell you there's no way to get bored while reading!

For better or worse by zipadeea / @zipadeea

Roy and Riza always thought all they needed to be happy in life was each other. Then, they meet two Ishvalan orphans who teach them just how wrong they are. (Or: Mustang and Hawkeye fall in love and start a family. The process is just as conventional as you'd expect; which is to say, not at all.)

I devoured this fic in one night, and I loved every part of it. It's moving and serious but filled with so much love!

Riza Shaves the Day by sootyfeathers / @sootyfeathers

Soaking wet and out of breath, the pouring rain hadn’t stop Roy from sprinting the entire way to Riza’s apartment in the dead of night. He’s convinced her life is in danger, but it’s really him that needs to be saved. And shaved.

From angst to fluff

[podfic] Never knew I could feel like this by klainelynch / @klainelynch (once again)

After their first kiss, Roy reflects on the depth of his affection for Riza.

Short and sweet, a soft moment for Royai

New Beginning by VillainousMiss / @villainousmiss

A small blurb of Roy and Riza's reactions to a particular order Fuhrer Grumman put into place.

So much hope in this short one-shot!!!

#royai #royai week #royai week f&r #fma #fanfic recs

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