#doing paperwork ; queue

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Not going on a complete hiatus but things will be slower for anywhere between a few days to a few weeks due to work reasons 👍

[flameleads]

There is a part of Roy that relishes how much power he has as the Flame Alchemist, what he can do, and that no one else can do it.

And he loathes it.

To understand this part of Roy Mustang, we have to go back to the Ishvalan War of Extermination. Roy was an effective State Alchemist during said war, later touted as the Hero of Ishval, a moniker he holds with disdain. Roy viewed his orders with disgust and horror, which he shared with both Maes Hughes and Riza Hawkeye more than once. During one of these conversations, Solf J. Kimblee happens to listen in and offer his insight, namely to Riza:

Riza, who is fresh out of the academy, freezes. The very thought is dreadful. How could Kimblee ask such a thing?

We do not see Maes respond to Kimblee in either the manga nor FMAB. Roy, however, is quick on his feet with a fight response:

In looking at this scene, we might think Roy’s anger comes from a place purely to defend his friend. That would not be inaccurate as Roy cares deeply for Riza. Everything we know about Roy’s character leads us to believe he would not sit idly by while someone he cares about is threatened or hurt. This war also has most people on edge. Such an emotional response is in the realm of normal.

But, it’s not the only thing that bothered Roy here. Kimblee in this scene makes an excellent foil to Roy’s fraying idealism and self-image. He runs almost completely opposite as he views his work as a State Alchemist as a job, which he takes satisfaction in. He also acknowledges what this war is and what they’re doing, giving his famous speech that Riza eventually quotes back to Edward:

“Don’t avert your eyes from death. Look straight ahead. Look squarely at the people you’re killing. And don’t forget them. Never… forget them. Because they won’t forget you” (Chapter 60: In the Absence of God).

This entire confrontation between Kimblee and Roy forces the latter to come face-to-face with uncomfortable truths about himself and the war. The one that got him angry in the first place, though? There was a part of him that took pride in what he did on the battlefield. There was a part of him that enjoyed using his flame alchemy to kill.

Just like everything else, he compartmentalized that part of himself. It could never see the light of day again. Every time he used his flame alchemy after that, it was with the specific purpose of ensuring he and those around him survived—or, in the case of Fullmetal vs. Flame, it was for training purposes.

Flames of Vengeance, however, was the exception. The man who enjoyed using his flame alchemy to harm and kill came out then, and he was not quiet about it. Listen to and/or read how he speaks to Envy when he describes what he is doing with his alchemy. It is sadistic, and it is terrifying.

And, underneath all of the fury, there is pride.

In conclusion: Roy Mustang compartmentalizes almost every facet of himself in order to get ahead. This is just another part, one he hates, and it is perhaps one of the deadliest of all.

[atimelesslullaby]

Now go home, @songacrosstime Regain your lost time! Home... Where you are supposed to be... The way you are supposed to be...

"Are you truly telling me such a thing? You really must experience it for yourself."

As someone who regularly put work into her culinary skills, how could she not let him try out what was one of her favorites? Excellent source of healthy meats, seafood was. In same regard, she could understand how an adventurer might not have learned how to properly cook fish.

There was plenty of work that went into it, yet she enjoyed it so much, herself.

"What if we went fishing together?"

Zelda had to hold back a laugh.

"Would you find it strange, if I told you I was quite skilled with a fishing rod?"

[holdingmyworldsdestiny]

@celestialcomedy from X

There was a time when she felt the same way.

That it was safer if she didn't make true connections to anyone. She'd allow herself the sages, solely due to the necessity pertaining to the safety of Hyrule. It was a fear that someone else would have their life ruined, the way she'd ruined Link's life. It was entirely her own fault. If she hadn't believed so strongly in some reoccurring dream, none of it would have happened.

"...Don't let that feeling ruin your chances of loving someone, and receiving love in return."

Romantic, platonic, it didn't matter. Love was love, no matter what form it took. There was an innate worry for him, even though he must have been much older than she was. Age was meaningless. Maturity was what mattered. If he wanted to ignore those feelings for a while, she'd certainly pry no further.

But it wouldn't change the worry.

"Of course it does. Hyrule has a place for anyone of any background, so long as no one is physically harmed in the present. I understand that there are many transgressors who seek to change their ways, and I believe it only fair to give them a chance. A bad action does not always constitute a bad person."

[the-dragon-hearted]

I don't know why, but I need a road trip Genshin fanfic where Wanderer and Collei meet up, talk, bond, and just decide to kill Dottore. Like it's just a casual decision where they're like; yeah, it's time. He's dying today.

I need them to be at a gas station when Tighnari pulls up, and Collei's all scared he's going to try and talk her down the not-so-steep cliff of Doctor-Murder but instead he just gets in the car and is like: "Let's go, I've got to be back for a consultation on Monday."

So they drive to Snezhnaya and meet with the Traveler because the Traveler shows up everywhere and is always down for murder. Then it goes bad and Dottore gets away and they're all standing in front of his burning lab, wanted by the state, just like: "What the fuck are we gonna do now?"

And the traveler goes: "I know a guy."

A phone call and about an hour later Diluc pulls up like: "Time for another Snezhnayian manhunt. Let's go kill this Motherfucker -"

Special scenes include:

Wanderer realizes Diluc is THAT FUCKER who gave him seven pages of paperwork after his lil "murderous rampage" a few years back

Collei is a cinnamon roll until it comes to Dottore.

Tighnari being a tired Dad

Diluc calls Kaeya from a jail cell to bail him out. Kaeya's like: "I can't I'm babysitting Klee." And Diluc just goes; "I know. Bring her." Queue an explosive jailbreak

Traveler just being happy that everyone's on a road trip. Paimon, the cat, keeps trying to eat all the car snacks and Wanderer's had enough!

Wanderer gets a call from Nahida who's worried about him, ends up saying: "Yeah. I'm fine. Love you too, mom." And his persona is RUINED -

Cyno and Sethos see the news report back at Sumeru and start making popcorn.

Our dynamic group does finally corner Dottore, who starts going on his villain monologue... until Tighnari runs him over with the mini-van.

That's it, that's the fic.

[therighthandofvengeance]

Ivanova: I need a favor.

Sheridan: Shoot.

Ivanova: Thanks!

Sheridan: Ivanova—

Ivanova: I really appreciate the go-ahead!

[badathumanemotions]

Hey could you do a Spencer NSFW fic where you end up trapped in a confined space with him (maybe hiding from an unsub) and all your personal space is gone and stuff gets heated yk and then maybe it’s carried on later in a hotel room that they had to share (dom spence, degradation, size kink etc) whatever you want to do really 🫶🫶

Hidden Feelings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Category: Smut CW: Smut, Oral Sex (fem), Praise, Dirty Talk, Use of Good Girl and Sweet Girl, Riding, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Aftercare, Love Confessions. WC: 7,194 My brains been foggy lately so it's taking me longer to write these. Sorry guys. Also because of the long breaks I totally forgot to add everything you asked for and my Dom Spencer's a little rusty. Sorry anon. (Not Proof Read)

In the heart of a long-forgotten industrial district, the abandoned restaurant stood, a relic of a bygone era. The team had received an anonymous tip, a whisper on the wind that led them to this desolate corner. You and Spencer Reid drew the short straws, tasked with investigating the eerie structure.

Peeling paint and shattered windows cast a grim pallor over the faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you approached, your footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Spencer, ever the intellectual, rattled off facts about the place's history, trying to fill the silence with something other than the heavy tension that hung in the air.

Inside, the restaurant was a maze of dust-covered tables and chairs, the smell of stale grease clinging stubbornly to the air. The kitchen was a jungle of rusty pans and forgotten spices, the floor sticky with a layer of grime that had built up over the years. Despite the emptiness, it felt as though you were intruding on a place where secrets had been left to fester in the dark.

The tip you received was vague, hinting at suspicious activity in the area. You and Spencer moved methodically, your eyes scanning every corner for the faintest trace of anything could help with the case. You weren't quite sure what you were looking for – a clue, a sign, anything to justify the uneasy feeling that had settled in your stomach. Spencer paused every so often, his sharp mind analyzing anything out of place.

It was in the kitchen that you stumbled upon the horror. The ticket holder, once used to organize orders, now held a different kind of queue – a series of surveillance photos of the victims. Each face hauntingly familiar from the case files you've studied. The sight of their images, captured unknowingly by the monsters you were hunting, sent a cold chill through your system. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed out the meticulously laid out schedules scattered around the kitchen counters. It was clear that these Unsubs had been stalking their prey, plotting their every move.

The two of you withdrew your weapons now on high alert. You continued clearing the place, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the lives at stake. You could feel Spencer's tension beside you, his breaths shallow and eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of the trio.

Approaching a back office, you pushed the door open with your foot, not taking any chances. The room was a time capsule of forgotten paperwork and dusty filing cabinets. A desk sat in the centre, with a table beside it covered by a faded tablecloth.

The papers scattered across the surface looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry. Invoices, receipts, and pay stubs lay in a disorganized heap. You squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the dates. They were from before the restaurant had closed, a mundane record of a business that no longer existed.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the empty dining area. You and Spencer froze, your eyes locking for a split second. The blood drained from your face as you both realized the gravity of the situation. The Unsubs had returned and you were out numbered.

You caught a glimpse of four men, their silhouettes looming through the dust. At least two were obviously armed, their weapons glinting in the sliver of light that pierced the dimly lit space. They were getting closer and you had to think fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you grabbed Spencer by the arm and pushed him down onto the floor, under the protection of the dusty tablecloth. He tumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise, and you quickly followed, landing on top of him in a desperate attempt to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the fabric of the cloth billowed around you, threatening to give you away with every breath.

With quick hands, you pulled out your phone and silently typed a message to Hotch, your thumb hovering over the 'Send' button. The footsteps grew louder, each step bringing the danger closer. You hit 'Send' and shoved the phone into your pocket. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath yours, his muscles coiled like a spring, clearly thrown off by you sitting on top of him.

He begins to squirm, and you knew he was uncomfortable, not just from the fear of being discovered but also from your proximity. The cramped space made it impossible not to be aware of every inch of your bodies pressing together.

Spencer tries to sit up, but you're quick to react. You place a hand firmly on his chest and push him back down, shaking your head.

Suddenly, he whispered, his voice strained and urgent, "We should change positions, it's not…ideal." But before he could finish, you clamped your hand over his mouth. You didn't know if the Unsubs had heard you, but you couldn't take that risk.

"Quiet, we don't want them to hear us."

You felt Spencer's body stiffen even further as your breath danced against the sensitive skin of his neck. You could feel his pulse racing against your chest, a frantic drumbeat matching the tempo of your own heart. You shifted slightly, the movement pressing your ass against his growing arousal. His breath hitched beneath your palm. It was an accident, but one that sent a jolt of heat through you.

The voices grew louder, the Unsubs seemingly oblivious to the danger hiding in the shadows. They talked in hushed tones, their words muffled by walls between them and your hiding spot. You strained to listen, hoping for some clue as to their plans or identities. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was one of excitement and anticipation.

As the moments dragged on, the tension in the air thickened, coiling around you and Spencer like a serpent. His body was taut beneath yours, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between you. The adrenaline had shifted gears, no longer just a fight-or-flight response but a potent cocktail of fear and desire.

You felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, knuckles almost white with restraint. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and the friction of your movements was setting something alight between you. It was a dangerous dance, one that had no place in the middle of a horror show, but your body didn't seem to care about the setting.

Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign, a silent question. Was this real or just the situation playing tricks on you both? But the desire was unmistakable, a palpable force that seemed to fill the air in the tiny space. You drop your head down, your nose brushing against his cheek, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought about what it would be like to kiss him right then and there.

The sound of the Unsubs grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the hall outside the office door. Spencer's hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through your clothes, setting every nerve ending alight. The fear was still there, a live wire running through your veins, but it had morphed into something more primal, something that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat.

You met Spencer's gaze, and in that fraction of a second, everything changed. The hunger you saw in his eyes was raw and undeniable. It was a look you'd never seen from him before, one that made your heart skip a beat and your body respond in ways you hadn't anticipated. For a moment, the horror of the situation was forgotten, replaced by the all-consuming need to touch, to taste, to claim.

Your hand slowly slid from his mouth to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble that had formed over the past few days of non-stop work. His breath was hot against your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either of you, but in the face of the danger lurking outside, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. The sound of the Unsubs' footsteps grew fainter as they moved away from the office, but the intensity between you only grew stronger. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, and you both leaned in, lips almost touching.

Suddenly, salvation in the form of a vibration. Your phone. The team had gotten your message. You felt a rush of hope as you realized that rescue was on the way. The vibration against your leg was a silent shout of reassurance, a beacon in the dark.

You both knew that you had to keep it together, to keep the facade of professionalism until the danger had passed. The text message seemed to sober you both up, the urgency of the situation slapping you back into the stark reality of your predicament.

You glanced down at the screen, noting the time since you'd sent the SOS. It felt like hours, but it had only been minutes. The message was simple: "In position. Hold tight." Spencer's eyes met yours, understanding passing between you in a fraction of a second. The weight on your chest lifted slightly, the fear ebbing away just enough to allow you to breathe again.

The sound of the Unsubs grew fainter as they moved away from the office. You dared not speak, not even a whisper, as you both listened intently for any clue to their whereabouts. Spencer's hand slid from your hair to the small of your back, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your spine. You shivered at his touch, the line between terror and passion blurring further.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shattering glass. The Unsubs had been spooked, and the cavalry had arrived. The SWAT team, alerted by your message, had come crashing through the restaurant's front windows, the shards raining down like a crystal waterfall in the dusty room. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath you, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action.

You both took this as your cue to come out of hiding. With a silent nod of understanding, you slithered out from under the tablecloth, drawing your weapon as you went. Spencer was right behind you, his eyes sharp and focused, scanning the room for any sign of the quartet. The office door was slightly ajar, and the sound of chaos outside grew louder with each passing second.

As you emerged into the corridor, the scene that met you was one of organized mayhem. The SWAT team was spread out through the restaurant, their movements precise and calculated as they secured the area. You saw Morgan taking down one of the Unsubs with a well-placed tackle, the man's body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

The other three Unsubs were already in cuffs, their faces a mix of shock and rage as they were read their rights. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that it was over, that no one else would suffer because of them.

He approached you and Spencer, his gaze sweeping over the two of you with a practiced eye. "Are you both okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, and Spencer managed a tight smile.

Morgan's eyes lingered on the two of you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could see the unspoken tension that had arisen between you during the standoff. But he said nothing, only nodded and turned back to the rest of the team.

The wrap-up was a blur, a flurry of activity that seemed to happen in fast-forward. You watched as the Unsubs were led out of the building, their heads bowed in defeat. The SWAT team secured the perimeter, and the forensic unit began their meticulous dance of collecting evidence. Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from earlier lingering.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of an SUV, the cool leather pressing against your heated skin. Spencer was sitting beside you, the two of you trading glances. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the electricity of the kiss you had almost shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if it was the adrenaline that had pushed you both over the edge, or if there had always been something more simmering beneath the surface. The team was busy around you, talking and filling in the gaps of what had just transpired. But all you could think about was the way Spencer's body had felt beneath yours, the way his hands had explored you in the dark.

Once back at the precinct, you were just going through the motions. While the majority of the team interrogated the Unsubs, you found yourself cataloguing evidence with a sense of detachment, your mind replaying the events in the abandoned restaurant.

The almost kiss kept playing in your mind like a record on repeat. You couldn't shake the feeling of Spencer's breath against your skin, the way his eyes had searched yours for something unspoken. Each time you reached for a new piece of evidence, your hand would tremble slightly, a reminder of the intimate moment you had shared.

The touch of his fingers on your spine had been electric, sending a shiver down to the very core of you. You found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin on skin, feeling as if you were still entwined under that dusty tablecloth. The memory of his arms around you was a comforting embrace that seemed to linger.

You froze for a moment as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were sharing a room with Spencer tonight. The implications of what had almost happened weighed heavily on your mind as you continued to process the adrenaline-filled afternoon. You'd been partners for so long, so close, yet this was uncharted territory. You couldn't help but wonder how this would affect your relationship, both personally and professionally.

The case was wrapped up. Everything else was left for the locals. You and the team had done your part, leaving the cleanup to the local law enforcement. The Unsubs were behind bars, and the victims could now find some semblance of peace.

As you and the team divided into cars, you found yourself paired with Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer ended up in the car with Hotch, Rossi, and JJ, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the doors slammed shut, leaving you to wonder what might happen next. The drive to the hotel was a blur of city lights and the muffled chatter of your colleagues. You were lost in thought, replaying every heart-pounding moment in the abandoned restaurant.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a bustle of activity. The team checked in with weary efficiency, the gravity of the case still weighing on everyone's shoulders. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as Spencer's gaze didn't seek you out among the crowd. Perhaps it was better this way, you thought, a chance to cool off and sort out the tumultuous emotions that had taken hold of you.

You headed up to the room, the elevator's slow ascent feeling like an eternity. You were sure that the conversation that was bound to happen would be a letdown. It had to be the adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself. It was the only explanation for the way your body had responded to his touch. But as the doors opened and you stepped into the quiet corridor, the memory of his arms around you seemed to follow you.

You fished the room key out of your pocket and slipped it into the lock, turning the handle with a click. The door swung open, revealing a space that felt too small for the emotions you were carrying.

Standing in the middle of the room, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before Spencer joined you in your shared hotel room. The walls felt closer than they should, the air filled with the anticipation of an unspoken conversation that loomed. You studied your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any signs of distress, hoping to maintain a facade of calm.

As the lock clicked open, the sound echoed through the room. Your entire body tensed, not ready for what the night might hold. Spencer stepped in, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they settled on you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out between you. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. You searched his gaze, desperate to find some clue, some hint of what was going through his mind. But Spencer was a master of poker faces, and he wasn't giving you anything to work with.

Then, without any warning, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, stealing the breath from your lungs. You felt your knees wobble as you kissed him back with an equal fervour.

You gripped onto Spencer's shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands splayed against the small of your back.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Tell me you want this" he growled.

"Yes," you assured him, the word coming out as a breathless whisper. "I want you," you clarified.

With frantic movements, you both began to undress each other, the fabric of your clothes seeming to dissolve away in your haste. Buttons popped and zippers hissed as the barriers between you fell away. You could feel the heat from his skin as your shirts were discarded.

Spencer reached around and unclipped your bra with an ease that made your stomach flip. He took his sweet time peeling the fabric away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He didn't waste a second before his mouth found them, his lips closing around your nipple with a gentle suction that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your back arching, pushing your chest closer to his face.

With a groan, he began to suck, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive bud as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His hands followed suit, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the peaks as he played with your nipples. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Each nip and suck sent electricity through your body, making your legs threaten to give out.

Once he had his fill, he moved on to your trousers, taking them and your underwear down with a gentle urgency. You stepped out of the fabric pooled around your ankles, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knelt before you, marvelling at the sight before him, his eyes dark with desire. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked up, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "All mine to taste." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes travelled down your body.

With a gentle but firm tug, Spencer's hands slid down to the back of your thighs, urging you closer. You stepped into the embrace, feeling his warm breath against your sex. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper of need. His fingers dug into the flesh, gripping tightly as if he needed the anchor.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the seam of your pussy. You felt his hot breath against your clit, the anticipation making it throb with desire. He circled the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, the touch so light it was almost maddening.

You moaned, your hands finding their way into his hair, gripping the soft strands as he began to apply more pressure. Spencer's eyes never left yours as he started to devour you, his mouth working magic on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were grinding against his face, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands moving to grip your ass, pulling you closer until you were practically riding his face. His tongue plunged into your wetness, tasting you deeply, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that had you teetering on the edge.

"That's right, sweetheart," Spencer murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Cum for me. Let me feel you come apart." His words were a command, a demand that sent a thrill through your body. You could feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten, your orgasm building in your core.

Obeying his urging, you began to rock your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue. The pressure was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his mouth wide open collecting your juices. His hands tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in, urging you to move faster, to give him what he wanted.

And then, with a final, needy grind against his mouth, you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You could see the triumph flash in his eyes as he felt you come apart. He didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck until your legs gave out needing him to catch you.

With a firm grip on your waist, he guided you to the bed, his movements sure and decisive. The mattress dipped as you sat down, and he didn't waste a second before he was beside you, his body pressing into yours, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was hungry.

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, the words a dark praise that sent a thrill through your body. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body following yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made your heart race even faster. You felt the heat of him, his arousal pressing against your thigh, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching down and taking him in your hand.

Spencer sat up, his eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of his clothes. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of the toned body you had only ever seen glimpses of. His chest was bare, a blush trailing down it, and his erection was clear through his boxer briefs. He watched your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his gaze as he revealed himself to you.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he pushed the last of his clothes off. "How hard it was to keep my hands to myself while we were hiding." His hand slid down his body, gripping his cock, giving it a slow stroke that had you biting your lip.

The admission sent a bolt of desire through you, making your heart race even faster. You had known there was something between you, something that went beyond friendship and partnership, but to hear him voice it so bluntly was exhilarating.

Spencer climbed over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, "While you were on top of me, I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding me like that, taking me deep inside you." His words were raw, unfiltered, and they sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his arousal, his cock pressing into your thigh as he spoke.

He trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent promise of what was to come. "I wanted to rip your clothes off right there," he confessed, his voice a low growl that resonated through your body. "To feel you wet and ready for me, to hear you scream my name as I made you cum."

The words alone were almost enough to push you over the edge again. Your pussy throbbed with need, your inner walls clenching around emptiness, desperate for his touch. A moan slipped past your lips, and you threw your head back, giving him full access to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a shiver of pleasure that went straight to your core.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathy whisper that seemed to hang in the air. "I need you inside me." Your voice was ragged with desire, your eyes never leaving his as you made your plea. The raw need in your eyes seemed to be all the permission Spencer needed.

With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low and dominant. "I'll take care of you."

He slammed into you with a force that made you gasp. The feeling of being filled by him was almost painful in its intensity, but the pain quickly gave way to pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

Spencer's eyes were hooded with desire as he watched your reaction, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. His hands gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under his grip as he thrust deeper and deeper, his whole body taut with the effort.

You could feel the mattress shift with every pounding stroke, the springs groaning in protest beneath you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him deeper.

Spencer took your cue, his hands moving from the headboard to your hips, his grip unyielding as he set a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hips snapped against you, his cock filling you completely, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. He was a force of nature, a storm of passion that you had unleashed, and you were helpless to do anything but ride the waves of pleasure that he brought.

You could feel the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. Each time he pushed into you, your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your lips. His eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, his expression one of fierce concentration.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. You obeyed, locking your gaze onto his, unable to look away as he claimed you, body and soul. His dominance was intoxicating, the way he took control of your pleasure, leaving you powerless to do anything but submit to his will.

With a slight adjustment of his hips, he angled himself just right, and you felt the electric sensation as his cock hit your g-spot. A shocked yelp escaped your lips, your eyes widening with surprise. The intensity was almost too much, but you didn't want him to stop.

The sound of your moans grew louder with every thrust, filling the small room. Spencer smirked, his eyes dark with arousal as he leaned in close, his hand coming up to cover your mouth. "Quiet," he whispered, his voice a seductive rumble in your ear. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" It was a playful reminder of your earlier words.

You moaned against his hand, the muffled sound only serving to add to the intensity of the moment. The heat from his palm was like a brand on your skin, searing your lips as you fought to keep your noises contained.

As the pleasure mounted, he slowly switched to putting his thumb in your mouth while the rest of his hand cupped your cheek. The act was both innocent and incredibly erotic, a silent plea for more as your teeth grazed his skin, your tongue swirling around the digit.

The sound of his groan filled the room, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your pussy clench around his cock. Spencer's eyes darkened with need, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, his hips moving faster, his strokes more urgent.

"So fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" His words went straight to your pussy, your body responding instinctively to his words. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"Tell me," he demanded, his hips grinding into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels." You moaned around his thumb, the sound muffled and wanton.

"Am I fucking you so good you can't answer?" he taunted, his voice low and full of smug satisfaction.

You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as he hit that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense that you could feel yourself climbing towards another orgasm.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolled over, flipping onto his, and you straddled him, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck, I need to see you ride me," he grunted.

Wasting no time, you immediately got to work, arching your lower back and slamming your ass down against his pelvis. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back in your head. Each downward thrust was met with an upward surge of his hips, filling you completely.

Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening with each bounce, leaving the promise of bruises in his wake. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock stroking your g-spot with an almost punishing precision that had your toes curling.

"That's right, be a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my cock just like that." The words were a command that had your pussy clenching around him, desperate to please. You picked up the pace, the slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder with each passing second.

Spencer's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and admiration. "Look how much you want it," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Look how much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." His words were like a drug, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

"You like me praising you," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to where you were joined. "Calling you a good girl?" His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently as his hips began to move again, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I felt the way your cunt started squeezing me," he continued, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Every time I say it, you get wetter, don't you?"

You couldn't help but nod, the truth of his words evident in the way your body was responding. You felt the heat of his palm on your cheek, the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin grounding you.

With a growl of pure need, Spencer brought your face down to meet his in a passionate kiss that was both possessive and tender. His tongue claimed your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of his cock inside you making your head spin.

Both his hands grabbed your ass, the firm grip of his fingers digging into your flesh. He used the leverage to slam your hips down onto him, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the power behind each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within you.

Spencer's voice was a low growl in your ear, his words a mix of praise and need. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I want to fill you up, have you dripping with my seed." The thought of his release inside you had your pussy clenching around him, the walls quivering with the anticipation of his climax.

"Will you let me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. The question was loaded, filled with a mix of hope and desire that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, the word "yes" barely escaping your mouth before it was swallowed by his kiss. Spencer's hips bucked up into you, the urgency of his movements increasing. He broke the kiss, panting. "I need to feel you come around me," he groaned.

The frantic pace continued, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity as you raced towards the peak of pleasure. Spencer's grip on your ass was bruising, but you didn't care. You needed this, needed him to make you feel alive in a way you never had before. His cock slammed into your g-spot over and over, causing non-stop pleasure.

Your kiss grew sloppier, tongues tangling and breaths mingling as if you were trying to breathe each other in. The taste of him was intoxicating. You felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to break at any moment.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," Spencer begged, his voice strained with his own need. And as if those words were the key to your release, your body obeyed. You felt the orgasm crash over you, a tidal wave of sensation that had you throwing your head back and screaming his name. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body spasming on top of him, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

The sight of you, lost in the throes of ecstasy, was too much for Spencer. With a roar, he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him seeing stars. His hips jerked upwards, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his hands gripping you tightly.

You moaned at the feeling of him cumming in you, the sensation of being filled sending you spiralling over the edge into another orgasm. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling was primal, a deep-seated satisfaction that resonated through every part of your being.

As the last tremors of pleasure passed, you collapsed boneless against him, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, his heart pounding against your skin. You could feel the stickiness of your juices between your legs, mingling with his seed.

Spencer's hand came up to draw patterns across your spine, the touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips traced the contours of your back, moving in a lazy pattern. You leaned into the caress, the tension in your body slowly beginning to melt away.

For a while, you both lay there, just breathing, the sound of your harsh pants slowly evening out as your heart rates returned to normal. The silence between you was conent, a shared understanding that didn't require any words. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart, and the sticky warmth between your legs.

Spencer was the first to move, cupping your cheek gently and turning your face to look at him. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brought you into a sweet, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, the words he whispered were filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief. "I can't believe I finally have you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

The truth of his words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy on your chest. You had both crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as you stared into his eyes, the warmth of his gaze and the tender way he held you made you feel that this was right. That this was what you both needed.

You felt his cock begin to soften inside you, the pulsing subsiding as your bodies slowly calmed from the intense climax. The feeling was strange, almost bittersweet, as if your body was mourning the loss of his hardness. Gently, he pulled out, his movements careful and deliberate, mindful of your sensitivity. A gush of warmth accompanied his exit, leaving a wetness that was both a reminder of what had just occurred and a promise of what was to come.

Spencer looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray hair from your face. "Come on," he prompted. "Let's get cleaned up." He offered you a hand, helping you to your unsteady feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak from the pleasure he had wrung from your body. You took his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom.

Spencer turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the small space. He stepped in, testing the temperature with his hand before turning back to you with a nod, extending his hand once again. You stepped in, the warm spray cascading over your bodies, washing away the sweat and semen.

He took a washcloth soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to clean you. You watched him, the tender way he moved the cloth across your skin, wiping away the sweat and slick. His eyes were focused on his task, the intensity of the moments before replaced by a softness that made your heart ache.

You leaned into his touch, your body relaxing against his as he took care of you. Each stroke of the washcloth was like a caress, soothing the ache in your muscles and the throb of your pussy. He was thorough, paying special attention to every inch of your skin, as if he was worshipping your body.

Once he was satisfied that you were clean, Spencer quickly cleaned himself and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention back to you. "Let me dry you off," he murmured, his eyes gentle.

You stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water leaving your skin glistening. Spencer took a towel from the rack, his movements methodical as he began to gently pat you down. Starting at your face, he moved down your neck, taking special care around the sensitive areas.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to break the spell that had been cast between you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and around to your back, his touch feather light as he dried your skin. Each brush of the terrycloth cause goosebumps to break out.

Once Spencer had you thoroughly dried, he wrapped the towel around your body, tucking it in tightly, almost like he was afraid to let you go. He took your hand, leading you to the second bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat down, the softness a welcome relief after the intense moments that had passed.

He took a seat beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to understand something," he began, his voice serious. "What we just did, it's not just about the case or the adrenaline. It's not just about the physical attraction we have."

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "I want you, not just your body, but all of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to know every part of you, every thought, every fear, every dream."

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his heart was laid bare for you. "This isn't just about scratching an itch," he continued. "It's about connecting on a level that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced." His words were a declaration, a promise of something more substantial than the fleeting moments of passion you've shared.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin as you searched for the right words. "Spencer," you began, your voice a whisper. "I feel the same way." The confession felt like a weight lifted off your chest. You had been holding it in for so long, the fear of ruining your friendship and professional relationship had kept you from saying what you truly felt.

His eyes searched yours, the intensity in them making your heart race. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice hopeful yet tentative.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the quiet hotel room. "I do." Spencer's hand tightened around yours, his smile growing as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a kiss that spoke of relief and joy, a silent acknowledgement that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

As the tension between you dissipated, you both got ready for bed, moving with a newfound ease. You slid under the cool sheets of the second bed. Spencer followed, his body fitting against yours as if he had been made for you.

You were so giddy with the intensity of what had just transpired that you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep. Yet, as you cuddled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfort of his embrace began to lull you into a peaceful slumber. His arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your very bones.

As the night passed, you both slipped into a deep sleep, your bodies entwined like lovers lost in each other’s embrace. The tension of the case and the passion between you had drained you both, leaving nothing but peaceful rest.

[flameleads]

Strap in, folks. This will be a post on how Roy Mustang uses his flame alchemy: which hands he uses, how much he moves, how much fire he produces, et cetera. This will be image heavy with GIFs. Because of that, I’m putting most of this under a readmore. As a side-note: iIf you want to see how I broke down the science of his alchemy, I’ve got a headcanon post about it here: link.

Let’s get started!

First and foremost, let’s look back to the 2003 anime and Conqueror of Shamballa. We’re going straight to where Roy’s alchemy really shines through for both the audience (us) and those around him: Fullmetal vs Flame.

This is the first transmutation he does when “fighting” with Edward. There’s a bit of a flourish as he flicks his wrist, and he uses three fingers. The result is a large, flashy explosion that sends Edward backwards; after all, Roy doesn’t actually want to use his alchemy on Edward. In fact, Roy generally tries to avoid using his alchemy on other human beings. He almost always uses it adjacent to others, creating explosions to impair the enemy, not kill.

In that episode in particular, Roy is doing one thing that’s worthy of note: he’s using this as a teaching opportunity. It’s a mock battle, so he turns it into a training to teach Edward things he needs to know when fighting. All of his dialogue makes that clear as well when he quotes from The Art of War by Sun Tzu (something he did in the manga as well with this fight and with Lust).

Another note: he makes it dramatic with his taunts and general tone of voice because he also views this as a way to show off what he could do to everyone watching. Flame alchemy is the reason people are afraid of getting on this man’s bad side and why the war in Ishval ended quicker once Fuhrer Bradley issued Order 3066.

The problem with that, as Edward quickly finds out, is that gloves come in pairs. Roy shows that he is capable of using both hands to transmute, and he makes a show of it. He’s just as skilled using his left hand. Three fingers, a bit of a flourish as he flicks his wrist and creates a large and tightly controlled explosion. It’s smaller than the first one due to the distance, and he only wants to destroy the cannon. Nothing else.

And, of course, he’s smirking at this. Someone underestimated him again, and he loves it. He loves showing people that there’s more to him than what they see.

Now, let’s look at another, albeit smaller, transmutation from the 2003 anime:

For those unaware of the context, that piece of paper contained intelligence Roy’s date gathered, and he wanted to ensure no one else got their hands on it. This time, there’s nowhere near as much of a flourish as he raises his right hand, uses three fingers, and creates a small, controlled fire. He’s making a small show out of using his alchemy for this purpose, hence the flourish, but nowhere near as grand as when he fought with Edward.

Again and again, I will emphasize that Roy Mustang is an actor. He’s putting on a show for everyone around him so others don’t see that cunning ambition. He makes his alchemy look dramatic because that’s what he wants other people to see. It’s not just limited to the 2003 anime either.

In the first episode of Brotherhood, Roy goes out to contend with Isaac McDougal, the Freezer Alchemist, head on. With both of these transmutations, Roy puts his entire upper body into it without really needing to, thus putting on a show for the other soldiers watching him. His gestures are dramatic when he only actually needs two or three fingers to make his transmutations happen. He wants others to view him as someone who likes showing off and someone who acts without thinking.

And Hawkeye backs him up. During the first episode, we hear her say, “When will he learn?” She’s reinforcing that belief, and we see her do it again when he faces off with Scar.

Before this moment, Roy does a few things to set the stage:

1. He shoots off his gun to get Scar’s attention. This gives him time to see just how close Scar is to Edward and Alphonse, who are in horrible condition. 2. He confirms that Scar was behind Shou Tucker’s murder. In doing so, he prompts Scar to share some of his motive. 3. He asks Scar why he’s going after State Alchemists in particular. Scar doesn’t give a direct answer to that, instead choosing to tell Roy that if he’s going to interfere, he’ll kill him too.

While he’s doing this, Roy is not wearing his gloves. He knows that getting his gloves wet will make it impossible for him to use his alchemy. As this post mentions, Roy is a war veteran with years of experience as an alchemist. He’s not about to put on his gloves to fight when he can’t use them. That’d be downright foolish.

So, when he puts on one of his gloves after tossing his gun to Hawkeye, it’s yet another show, and it’s a tactical one. This scene has layers to it, and I’ll try and tackle all of them.

Hawkeye instantly knows what he’s about to do when he tosses her his gun, and thus she does one thing: she says his name. Scar didn’t recognize him on sight as a State Alchemist, after all, and they needed to shift his attention off Edward and Alphonse to keep them safe. Roy reinforces that he’s the Flame Alchemist, and he purposefully hams this up to make Scar come at him. He even begins to close the distance between the two of them to encourage Scar to do what he wants.

This transmutation obviously doesn’t happen. He moves forward, stands still, and rubs three fingers together to create a puff of smoke. Scar tries to take him out right then and there, but can’t because of Hawkeye. She backed up Roy without hesitating, and she started shooting with two guns once she had the chance. There was distance between the Elrics and Scar now. Shooting earlier ran the risk of Edward getting hurt more than he already was or killed. No one wanted to risk that.

What we didn’t know when this scene happened is Hawkeye’s deep connection to flame alchemy and Roy Mustang. She may not be an alchemist, but she knows the strengths and weaknesses of Roy’s alchemy, the alchemy her father created. The amount of trust Roy placed in her during this encounter is off the charts.

One last thing: Roy didn’t move his arms much when doing this transmutation. No flourish. No extra dramatics. He kept it simple. There wasn’t a need to make it more complex. When Roy isn’t trying to put on a show, and he’s focused solely on the mission in front of him, he doesn’t move much at all.

Barely flicks his wrist as he transmutes, and he creates a powerful explosion that engulfs part of what appears to be a city. This attack is devastating.

Obviously the circumstances behind him using his alchemy are different in this case. With Lust, he had to rely on using a lighter as ignition. There was also the fact that he was seriously injured and in excruciating pain. Had that last one not been a factor, I doubt he would’ve acted differently. Lust even comments in both the manga and Brotherhood that Roy is calm and focused. Again, he barely moves when unleashing a devastating attack, and he kills a creature that supposedly can’t die.

The only dramatic part of this transmutation was the fact that Roy needed to turn to see his target. That’s it. He started the transmutation as he turned, not giving his enemies enough time to try and strike back. Quick, and he disabled them with ease.

Not a lot of movement on this one either. He only moves his hand to direct his shot while using three fingers. In seconds, he kills the Immortal Soldiers that gave Edward and co. a lot of trouble. These were beings that seemingly couldn’t die, and Roy kills them off while making it look effortless. 

He’s not trying to put on a show. There’s no need for it. He’s in the mindset of ending the fight quickly while only using the necessary amount of force. Every single one of these transmutations have that in common: they’re controlled and precise. His face also makes his purpose clear. In all of those shots, he’s frowning or otherwise keeping a serious expression.

In general, we can assume that if Roy’s using his alchemy to stage a performance of sorts, he’s going to be more dramatic with his movements. If he’s using his alchemy with his focus solely on the fight in front of him, he’s going to limit his movement. There are only three exceptions to this. One takes place in Conqueror of Shamballa while the other two are in Brotherhood during the Promised Day.

Let’s tackle CoS first, specifically with this gifset. In that moment, we have to consider all of the circumstances surrounding it. For starters, Roy cannot see out of his left eye, and he hasn’t used his alchemy in years. He’s a bit out of practice. It takes effort to transmute, hence why he puts almost his entire upper body into it. Alchemy transmutations do take energy to perform. Most of the time, Roy only needs to expend mental energy. But, again, due to the surrounding circumstances, he had to expend physical energy too.

Now, onto the Promised Day. Y’all knows what happens right after the Immortal Soldiers. Envy enters the scene, and they reveal the truth that Roy’s spent the last several months searching for: they were the one to kill his best friend, Maes Hughes.

Up until this specific moment, Roy never uses both hands at once. He might wear both gloves, but he’ll only use one hand to transmute. Using both hands is excessive force, lacking in mercy, and it requires him to spend more time on calculations. He killed a Homunculus and the Immortal Soldiers with one hand already. He’s proven that he doesn’t need both gloves to get the results he wants. This is the only time he ever uses both.

Not only that, but, unlike with his fight with Lust or the Immortal Soldiers, he doesn’t stay still. He’s putting his entire body into doing these transmutations. Is it because he’s trying to put on a show? Trying to emphasize to Envy that their actions had consequences? Showing off just how powerful he is?

The answer is none of the above. What makes his fight with Envy unique is that he’s also vocal during it. He usually only has dialogue during his transmutations if it’s a performance. When he’s focused on his mission, he hardly says a word. With Envy, not only does he get vocal, but he gets nasty with his dialogue. He goes into graphic detail about what he’s doing, doesn’t hold back with his threats, and he lets emotion come through his voice.

Those emotions—all of that grief that he’s kept buried and masked with anger—are what triggers his need to expend physical energy on this fight. He can hardly contain those emotions anymore, and thus he lets them out with his movements and alchemy in tandem. He stops holding back, and he loses complete control. He gives all of himself to this fight.

His hand shakes before he can get that transmutation out. His breathing is heavy. He’s yelling. This is physically straining him because he refuses to hold back for Envy. He wanted to give them the worst punishment possible.

Flame alchemy is complex and difficult to perform. In order to be effective, Roy needs to maintain tight control, account for many factors in his calculations, and he must never use more force than needed. In Ishval, he saw the consequences of using too much force, and he made the conscious decision to never allow himself to go that far again. He doesn’t even use his alchemy that much save for when he needs to. When he does, he keeps himself calm and focused.

Even later during the Promised Day against Father, Roy has that logic going. Look at this gifset from when he has Hawkeye directing his transmutations. During that scene, she has to tell him not to hold back, to not throttle his flames against the most powerful enemy he’s ever faced. Yes, he’s hesitating because he can’t see what he’s doing, but it’s also because he doesn’t ever want to use more force than needed. He’s careful, and he just saw what happened when he lost control.

We can also tell by his facial expression as he transmutes that it hurts. Fuhrer Bradley put his swords through Roy’s hands, so of course it’s going to hurt to move them. He moves as little as possible against Father. He fights through that pain because it’s important, and because Roy Mustang never backs down from a fight unless he’s forced to (i.e. Gluttony).

All right, let’s wrap this up. What have we learned from all of this?

Roy makes a show of using his alchemy for tactical purposes (short and long term).

He can use both hands to perform with alchemy and get the same results. We can safely assume that he’s ambidextrous.

When focused solely on completing the mission, he makes his transmutations quick.

He tries to keep his emotions out of combat.

Most of the time he transmutes, he only really moves his wrists, not his arms like other alchemists. He doesn’t need to do more.

With the exception of his fight with Envy, every transmutation he performs is tightly controlled.

Thanks for reading through my post overanalyzing Roy’s alchemy. This was fun to write, and I hope you like it!

[atimelesslullaby]

@enigmaincrimson from X

"I see no problem with a little photography."

Zelda shook off the memories, now wasn't the time for going into all that. Umbrella held close, the woman walks, the wet grass conforming to her heels with each step. Orange was a nice color, but it couldn't compare to the greens of spring, and summer. The country was going into hibernation. That was a natural part of the Earth's cycle.

Her movement is fluid, like a stream of water.

"I would love to pick a few blooms. I have brought some clippers, as to make sure I do not damage the roots."

It wouldn't be a long walk, Autumn Grass bloomed all over that part of the fields. The scent was sweet, and earthy. To fill vases in her room with them, that was her goal. It would take more than a little rain to bring this princess down.

"If the counsel found out I was here on a rainy day, I would never hear the end of it."

[galarglory]

"Mega..." Gloria repeats, they haven't even talked about mega evolution before. She's not even sure if she has a pokemon that can mega evolve much less does she have a mega stone. It sounds nice yet...

The smile slips to what can only be described as a snarl, teeth bared back in a poor imitation of Lance's own bared teeth. Like a junk yard dog attempting to snarl at a full grown dragon. " 'Nd why should Ah trust yew with de knowledge of where Ah work? Yew've already made it very obvious how yew feel 'bout me. How could Ah trust yew wouldn't go intuh my place a work spewin' yewr shit 'nd gettin' my ass fired? Ah'd hate tuh lose a good gig cause a yew."

The mention of a firing petrifies Gloria. She already knew he was in a tight spot financially. It's why he was 'afraid' to contact Gloria and her mom sooner. He was so desperate he'd turned to asking her for it, if he lost his job because of her....

"It's fine..." She pipes up her voice almost a whisper, just loud enough to be heard. She can protect her dad, all she has to do is leave. The idea has her near tears afraid of when, if she'll see him again. But it's better this way. "We... We should really get going tuh train Mistae Lance. Ah... Ah'll see yew again dad."

Fillin's gaze snaps towards where Gloria's voice is coming from. Dragonite's body being the only thing keeping her from seeing the disapproving glare he's shooting her way. He looks back to Lance before stepping back. At least he can acknowledge he's been dealt a hand he can't win with. He can always come back to play again later. He can take one last shot at the reason he lost and leave the Champion to clean up the mess. "Al'ight. Enjoy yewr replacement."

"Dat's not-!" She tries to correct him. Tries to bite back the sensation of tears. She had to be strong. She couldn't start crying in front of her dad and Lance. She couldn't worry them. No matter how afraid she was that this would be the last time she saw him, she had to be strong. Even as her voice shakes with the words.

"It's fine. Ah can see when Ah'm not wanted." Of course he knew it wouldn't be as permanent as he was making it sound. He knew Lance realized that too. Thanks to that he'd have to play his hand more carefully next time. He takes a few steps backwards, refusing to take his eyes off Lance until he's put plenty of distance between them. Only then finally chancing his luck to turn and walk away. Shoulders slumped and teeth gritted together.

He almost appreciates the attempt. Unfortunately, Fillin has clearly neglected to consider that Lance is perfectly willing to be the villain. He's never shied from that, even for Gloria.

"No distractions," Lance answers firmly, eyes never leaving her father. "Mega evolution training is difficult and can be dangerous if you get distracted. But I'm sure he'll be glad to tell us where he works so I can speak with his boss about a day off to meet with you next week. He hasn't seen you in so long, after all. And as Champion they won't deny me if I tell them it's for my protege. You're quite popular." They definitely have not discussed mega evolution before this, but well. Sometimes one just had to sweeten the pot. "Perhaps I can arrange a day off once a week with his boss so you can see him more often."

Turning the table back on people was always so satisfying.

Your move, asshole.

Noodle's paw doesn't move, still holding her gently in place even as he sweeps his wings almost idly in place. His other paw settles on her shoulder, not quite a hug as the dragon croons quietly to her. Clearly, he understands just what is going on better than she does. Not just the power struggle at play, but whatever had set Lance off in the first place.

[holdingmyworldsdestiny]

@supcrsxnic-cxmct wanted a seasonal starter <3

"The summer festival will be upon us soon."

Lowering to her knees, there's a smile on her face. The woman reaches into her basket, and places a bloom of lavender behind Comet's ear. It was her favorite flower, and its prime blooming season was summer.

"I do hope you will join us, dear. I will be personally making all of the food served, and there will be festival games with exciting prizes."

[houndofllove]

Once Johnny sinks his teeth into you, he has no intention of letting go.

He's always been bold—annoying at worst and charming at best. His presence is unmistakable; in the Mess it's his laughter that rings the loudest and in the corridors it's his shoulders which take up the expanse of it. So, yeah, it was no doubt that soon enough he'd get around to playing with you.

One glimmer of his shinning, pointy teeth and the starving glint in his eyes had you falling into his bed like a lamb caught in the foxes trap.

You haven't been the first, and most certainly won't be the last.

But there's something different about him this time. You try to call it quits, try to tell him it was fun, tell him goodbye. Yet he's trailing behind you at every moment he can spare. Weeks spent knowing he's two feet behind you in the canteen queue; watching as he moves to a different squat rack, the closer one, as soon as you get to the gym.

Leaning against the wall as you walk out from a briefing.

"Yer ignorin' me."

"Just going about my day, Johnny." You're already halfway down the corridor with your folder of paperwork, a headache forming at your temples.

"Won't ye just wait a minute."

He's not too far behind you, chasing like a desperate puppy. It's not hard to realise the thrill he gets out of this: following you around, pestering just enough until you'll give in to him. That animalistic hunt that men crave like vampires do blood.

"My god," you snap, steps halting so sharply you can sense the way his shirt brushes against your back before you turn, waving the folder in the air. "Don't you have a life? Something better to do than harass-"

The sudden way he grips your arm is enough to startle you into silence, submission as he pulls you into the closet a few steps away.

"What are you doing?" You scowl, but it doesn't stop him from putting his paws on your shoulders, turning you until your back is firm against the door and his knee is inching dangerously close to the swell between your legs.

"What did ye think was gonna happen?"

Heat simmers in your cheeks, unyielding as you take on to staring at his chest. You don't want to give him the satisfaction of looking up, knowing you're beneath him, that no matter what he does you can't fight him.

Huffing, you try plant your feet firmly into the ground, angling your hips backward to try evade the way he somehow presses himself even closer to you without touching you quite yet.

"What did ye think?"

It comes out sterner but with a rasp in it which you know is full of desire; one that comes when a man is thirsty for water after days without it. He pinches your chin before you can stop or recognise it, and then he's craning your head back.

Staring back at you isn't the 141 sweetheart, nor the playful Sergeant that everyone knows, but a wolf.

The lump in your throat stops any words from escaping, lip wobbling as you struggle to come up with anything. No cunning retort, no quick escape.

"Ah know, ah know," he shushes but he's laughing all the same, the pearls between his lips on display. "Fun isn't it? Runnin' away from me, pretendin' I'm not there?"

Your exhale is sharp, the wind brushing against the top of your lip, cool. You try to shake your head but his fingers hold you still.

"Pretty lamb," he muses, "didn't think I'd let ye go, did ye?"

"Fuck you–"

"Ahhh," he sighs dreamily, leaning forward so his lips sit just a fraction away from yours. You try to shrink your lips, try to shake your head out of his grip again, move your legs so he's not overwhelmingly near. Efforts that are futile as his thigh finally slides right against your core.

He's disgustingly pleased when your eyes go wide.

"Always liked the ones that bite back best."

[pomefioredove]

Heyo how are you? I hope you are well! I love your writing so much 💕💖

May I get a chocolate cookie, #2, with frosting, chocolate chip, and chocolate drizzle, please? I'm biased for chocolate and Chenya, lol. I look forward to more of your writing they truly make my day <33

I always hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I believe you may have misclicked the number. NOW, normally I would write che'nya anyway, but unfortunately no one else requested for fellow and I like him so much. che'nya x reader in the queue for TOMORROW- stay tuned for that!!

order #2, chocolate with frosting, chocolate chips, chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fool me

summary: ramshackle au's spin on marrying for tax benefits tropes: only one bed, fake dating, exes to lovers characters: fellow additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is adult-aged yuu, ramshackle AU so jumpscare warning for rollo, slightly suggestive setup, but this is cuddles and fluff, like ridiculous fluff

You were, to put it simply, never supposed to see him again.

That was it. Twenty-four hours at Playful Land, one ill-informed fling, and you would never again meet the eyes of Fellow Honest.

A few-hours long awful affair, and then you were free to shower away the shame and fall asleep in your own uncomfortable bed. Alone.

...But, then, he was on your doorstep in the pouring rain, looking perfectly pitiful, Gidel hiding from the downpour under his coat.

You had grit your teeth and told him two days.

It's been two months.

"I still don't understand," Rollo Flamme says, studiously scrubbing the kitchen floor. He cleans when he's frustrated. "What do you see in that man?"

You wish you knew. Having Fellow and Gidel at Ramshackle was more complicated than Rollo- he, of course, had completed the proper paperwork for a transfer semester. Fellow was twenty-six, unemployed, and, honestly, had no business being anywhere near a school.

"...He's nice to me," you say, which isn't altogether a lie. Fellow had warmed right up to your hospitality.

Rollo scowls. "You could do much better for yourself,"

You shrug. Not really, you think, but you're not in the mood for an argument with him. Not today.

Of course, Fellow couldn't just decide to stay. After his two-day grace period was up, you had to think of some other reason for him to be there.

You're not proud of what you came up with.

"Good morning, honey," Fellow says, waltzing into the kitchen (like he owned the place) and kissing your forehead. Rollo mumbles something under his breath and starts scrubbing faster.

"Morning," you nod.

He hums, and kicks his feet up at the rickety kitchen table. Fellow had never once commented on, or complained of, Ramshackle's sorry state- the rotting wood, the peeling wallpaper, the smell of mold and mildew. Rollo had already written the headmage several strongly worded letters about your living conditions. Fellow had sunk right in.

You glance at him. "Where's Gidel?"

"Sleeping," Fellow says, picking his teeth with his pinky. "He's not used to the soft mattress yet, it keeps him up."

"Wh- soft mattress?" Rollo scoffs, scrubbing so fast you think the floor may catch fire from the friction.

You try not to stare. "Is the guest room- I mean, is your room, uncomfortable?"

"Nah, he's just not used to comfort,"

You and Rollo share a look, the boy silently begging you not to give in to whatever Fellow is trying to squeeze out.

You ignore him.

"...My mattress is firm," you offer. "Gidel can have my bed."

Fellow grins, giving you a good look at his fangs. "Aw, could he? How sweet,"

Rollo glares at you. You ignore that, too.

"But... ah, then I suppose you're out of a bed," Fellow tsks. "Can't have that, can we? Well, I suppose you can share mine. It's the least I could do, after how welcoming you've been, and all."

Rollo throws off his rubber cleaning gloves and stands. "Certainly not. I suggest you stay downstairs, on the sofa, and the Prefect will have your room,"

Fellow feigns offense, setting a well-worn gloved hand over his heart. "Well, look who woke up on the wrong side of the pulpit today!"

You rub your eyes. You're not sure if you can handle another argument between the two of them.

"It's fine," you tell Rollo (but it does little to calm him). "I don't mind sharing a bed with him."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Fellow smirks. Rollo clenches his fists and you force yourself between them.

"We can talk about this later," you assure, knowing full-well you wouldn't be seeing either of them all day, if you could help it.

"I'm not going to bite-"

You have to hit Fellow with your pillow to keep him on his side of the bed. He falls with a dramatic fwump, groaning as if you'd shot him.

"So I'm not allowed to show you my appreciation, is that it?"

"Is that what you call it?"

"Don't be dirty," Fellow scolds, sitting up. "I only meant that you deserve to be doted on. As much as you dote on others, at least."

You scoff. "I don't... dote,"

He scoots closer, taking the plush pillow from your hands and tossing it aside.

"Fine, then you're a pushover. But even pushovers deserve to be pampered sometimes,"

He wraps his arms around your waist and drags you into his lap. You let him, for reasons you don't quite understand yourself.

"There. See? I'm not going to eat you," he says, patting your head as if you were a puppy. "If we're going pretend we're in love, we should at least act the part, you know."

"You're a better actor than I am," you mumble, and he laughs.

"Aw, I'm a better actor than everyone," he pinches your cheeks between his pointers and his thumbs. "But that's no reason not to try."

"I'm doing my best!"

"Really? Then you could at least pretend not to hate me,"

You tsk as you're toted around like a toy, trapped against his chest. At least he's warm. His arms are securely around your sides, his chin on your shoulder.

"I don't hate you," you mutter.

Fellow scoffs. "Coulda fooled me... guess you're a better actor than I thought,"

He flips you onto your front, stomach-down on the soft mattress, and his whole weight on yours.

"You looked stiff today," he says. "A little pressure ought to sort that out."

You have no response to that. The bed in your room is the most uncomfortable in Ramshackle, after all. And Fellow is warm and soft and you haven't felt so safe in your own dorm since...

...Well, ever.

You kinda hate how that works.

He kisses the side of your head, as if trying to keep you from thinking too much. You can sort of hear the fwish, fwish, fwish of his tail wagging.

"Are you happy with yourself?" you mumble. Fellow smiles into the crook of your neck, and, finally, speaking with some honesty:

"Very. Very happy,"

[atimelesslullaby]

"Speaking as a woman who can control time, I would say it can be both simultaneously. I must confess, I created a completely alternate timeline once, thus, causing the stream of time to branch off into another existence all its own."

It was selfish of her, but Link deserved a childhood. She followed her heart, rather than her rational mind. As the final wielder of a Triforce piece in Hyrule, she worked overtime to keep the flow of time steady. After all. She was destined to be the embodiment of wisdom.

"Your words are a breath of fresh air. My father was a firm believer that women were to be seen, and not heard. The council is near constantly trying to marry me off, so that I be crowned queen, and stripped of my power over making decisions in favor of a man's point of view."

A shake of the head.

"But I refuse to marry for anything other than love. On that, I will not budge."

Someday, she'd find the man that would steal her heart. If not a man of royal descent, the council would throw a fit, but she didn't care. In her love life, she had the final decision. There wasn't a thing the council could do about it, should she choose to marry a man that was not of royal descent. The only question was, as king, would he take over? Something she'd have to discuss with her future husband, as he had full right to leave all power to her, as queen.

All things for the future.

"I would be more than pleased to show you more of this beautiful country, and along the way, if you truly would not get bored, I can explain the extent of my magical ability."

Maybe even show off a little bit.

Phineas would always be curious about things he didn't understand. It didn't matter if it was magic or science or some odd combination of the two. He was always eager to learn more, to build that would-be endless library of mental knowledge. There was nothing wrong with learning, or so he always thought. Knowledge was power, and an adventure all its own.

He knew things worked differently on other worlds, and maybe it was a bit of a farce to try to understand it all, but he would still attempt to. He would always try while enjoying the new wonders he got to see.

Time travel was just one of those things.

"It's kind of funny. People always compare it to a river or a tree, with too many branches or streams to really keep track of. Others think there's just one steady flow to it all, but it's fragile and one decision can fracture it into many different timelines. I can't really say which one I believe in, but I'm starting to wonder if different worlds work in different ways."

But perhaps that was all a little too science-y for now. He was drawn to silence as he watched the glow from the princess's hand, eyes widening again.

"I don't think it would be boring at all!" He had to say it, just so she would know he was interested in all that she was saying. It was hard for him not to be. This was the first time he had been face to face with someone like her; someone so ingrained in magic. To know she was born with some and then granted more was so cool.

"It really does prove that practice makes perfect, huh? But it's good that you can fend for yourself, and protect this place. The stereotype that princesses are helpless is kind of ridiculous if you ask me. Some of the strongest people I know are females. I guess it never hurts to have a little backup, but if you believe in yourself that should totally be enough."

He loved the explanation, his eyes shining with wonder. Never leaving her as he smiled.

"Seems there's a lot of difference between our worlds then, but that's okay. I'd be glad to introduce you to a few things, if you're willing to show me more of your world sometime."

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 29

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist] Content Warning: fluff, so much fluff

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The shift had started normally enough. One stroke alert and a septic shock patient, all before 11 a.m.—the usual brand of the department.

But somewhere between Room 4’s central line and the stack of admission paperwork waiting in the nurses’ station, you caught Michael’s hand beneath the counter.

He didn’t flinch. Just looked up from his notes and arched one brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What are you doing?” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.

You leaned closer, whispering, “Trying to check your pulse.”

Robby gave a soft laugh. “You’re about to raise it.”

You bumped his shoulder with hers. “That a promise?”

He turned his head just enough that their noses nearly touched, his voice still quiet. “You’re really playing with fire.”

Y/N’s lips curled. “You love fire.”

He was about to say something—something smug, probably—but then Dana materialized in front of you with a look of no-nonsense authority and a clipboard that could absolutely be used as a weapon.

“Doctors,” she greeted, already suspicious, “why do you look like two teenagers about to make out behind the bleachers?”

You yanked your hand back as Robby cleared his throat, suddenly very focused on his tablet.

“Just... reviewing labs,” he said.

Dana didn’t miss a beat. “Uh-huh. Review them farther apart.”

You tried—and failed—not to laugh.

“I swear to God,” Dana muttered, already halfway out of the hub. “You two better not be sneaking kisses in the on-call room. That place is sacred.”

“Define sacred,” you called after her.

Dana’s voice echoed down the hall. “Y/N Williams, don’t make me assign you to the rectal exam queue for the rest of the week!”

Robby bit his lip, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. “You heard her. No making out in the on-call room.”

You leaned closer again, grinning. “What about the stairwell?”

“That’s definitely haunted.”

“Elevator?”

“Too risky.”

“Supply closet?”

He gave you a sideways look. “Are you propositioning me?”

“I’m being thorough. It’s called logistics.”

“You’re a menace,” he whispered.

You smiled, then brushed the side of your hand against his one more time—barely a touch. Just enough.

And later, during rounds, you slipped him a Post-it in the middle of a coffee cup.

"Break room. Five minutes. No witnesses."

His head snapped up. You winked over your shoulder as you walked off.

You were halfway through your coffee when the door clicked open and Robby slipped inside, looking like he’d just committed tax fraud.

“You realize Dana is going to hunt us for sport if she comes in”

“No, she won’t.”

“So why are we doing this?”

You shrugged, stepping close. “Because you look really good in those scrubs and I’m trying to motivate myself to survive the next eight hours.”

“Glad to be of service.”

He leaned down, finally catching your mouth with his in a kiss that was warm and brief and almost too sweet for how much you both wanted more.

And then—

“AHEM.”

Dana stood in the doorway, arms crossed.

You jolted back like you’d been electrocuted. Robby immediately picked up the nearest coffee mug and pretended he’d been deeply invested in the art of stirring it.

Dana stared at them both, expression unreadable. 

“I’m not mad.”

You blinked. “You’re not?”

Dana held up one finger. “But if I catch you two making out again while the residents are elbow-deep in a GI bleed with no backup, I will personally assign you to rectal exams until the end of time.”

Robby coughed. “Understood.”

“And use a damn timer,” Dana added as she turned away. “Five-second kisses or less. No exceptions.”

As the door closed again, you turned to Robby, eyes wide.

“She just gave us a five-second rule.”

He smiled, stepped closer again, and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Better make ‘em count.”

—-------------------------------------------

It was almost 10 p.m. by the time they got home.

You kicked off your shoes at the door with a groan, dropped your bag somewhere in the hallway, and immediately beelined it for the couch. Robby followed, slightly more graceful, if only because he hadn’t spent the last six hours dodging ICU transfers and reminding a first-year resident not to use the defibrillator as a coat rack.

“Are you alive?” he asked, dropping the keys into the dish.

You made a noise that sounded vaguely like “yes,” but mostly like “no.”

He smiled and walked into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie.

“You promised me pasta,” you called from the couch.

“I did. And I’m delivering.” He reached for a pan. “Unless you want cereal.”

“I want carbs,” you mumbled into a throw pillow. “I want sauce. I want garlic so strong it violates hospital policy.”

He laughed, grabbing ingredients. “Coming right up.”

By the time you’d changed into one of his old shirts and flopped back onto the couch, the apartment was filled with the warm scent of garlic and tomato and the quiet hum of music from the record player. You watched him from the kitchen island, brow furrowed in concentration, stirring sauce like it was a delicate surgery.

You leaned against the counter, soft smile playing at your lips.

“You know,” you said quietly, “I could get used to this.”

He glanced at you, a little flushed from the stove heat, eyes warm. “Used to what?”

“This. You. Coming home with me. You cooking for me.”

Robby set the spoon down slowly, turning toward her. His expression shifted, softened.

“I could get used to it too.”

You swallowed, the air suddenly thicker than it had been a second ago.

“I mean,” you said, a little too fast, “we already act like an old married couple.”

He stepped closer, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Except you steal all the covers.”

“You run the shower too hot.”

“You drink half my coffee and then forget where you left it.”

You grinned. “You hum Springsteen in your sleep.”

There was a pause.

They were standing a foot apart now. Close enough for you to count the little lines at the corners of his eyes. Close enough for him to reach out and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I—” he started.

“I think—” she said at the same time.

They both laughed. Nervous. Breathless.

“You first,” he said, voice softer.

You bit her lip. “I think I—”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The smoke alarm shrieked.

“Shit!”

Robby spun back to the stove. Smoke billowed from the pan like a scene from a disaster film.

You lunged for the window, throwing it open as Robby yanked the pan off the burner and cursed under his breath. The sauce was scorched to the bottom. The smell of burnt garlic filled the room like a punch to the face.

You waved a dish towel at the ceiling while he fanned the alarm with a cutting board.

“You were supposed to watch the sauce!” you yelled, laughing.

“I was busy trying to say I love you!”

The alarm finally went silent.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened.

His ears turned red.

There was a beat of silence.

“Was that—” you asked.

“Yes,” Robby said, setting the cutting board down. “Yes, I did just say that.”

You blinked at him. “You love me.”

He nodded once, nervous but steady. “Yeah.”

You stared at him, something delicate and stunned blooming behind your ribs.

“Well,” you said, stepping closer and poking his chest lightly, “I was about to say it first, but somebody burned dinner.”

Robby exhaled a laugh, caught between relief and affection and the residual stress of almost starting a kitchen fire.

“I love you,” you said, for real this time, softer. “Just so we’re clear.”

He smiled then—wide and wrecked and so full of heart it made your chest ache.

They stood there in the smoky kitchen, surrounded by the smell of ruined marinara, and kissed like it was the only thing keeping them upright.

Later, they ate slightly burnt pasta with way too much parmesan and curled up on the couch, tangled under the same blanket, as a rerun played in the background.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was them.

And that was enough.

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。this feeling inside of me— | gojo satoru

wc: 1.5k

summary: you make gojo realize that this twisty-pop!-y feeling in his stomach might just be jealousy. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, mild jealousy, mentions of some of the students, lots of stifled laughs and held back grins!, mostly fluff really, gojo just doesn’t understand what he’s feeling! 

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (this one), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (the next part), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 03. so this is what it means to be in love + (extended scene) too good to be mine <-you are here -> 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace?

Gojo’s been… hovering lately.

He hangs around you a lot more than usual, following your footsteps around your apartment as if he didn’t just spend the night and stay in bed with you all morning. 

You’d think that’d stop at work, but nope. 

For someone who hates sitting still, Gojo’s spending an awful lot of time doing nothing while watching you rifle through folders and documents you’re meant to type away. He sits by the chair in front of his desk, feet propped up and fingers tapping on the wooden surface enough to push you just to the point of going a little crazy. 

Tap.

You could have sworn you’ve read this line already. 

Tap.

This paragraph feels entirely too familiar at this point. 

Tap—

“Satoru,” you sigh, smile half-annoyed-half-guilty as you switch your attention to the man in front of you, “do you have extra work to finish today?” 

You’re trying to ask kindly, after all, Gojo rarely chooses to sit by the paperwork he’s been assigned to do (even though he doesn’t really do any of it because it’s mostly left to you). 

He stops tapping, moving to rest his cheek on one hand as he flashes you a grin so lovesick you think it’s infectious—the corners of your lips are curling up too. 

“Just working on spending more time with you.” 

Of course he says something like this; the most powerful man in jujutsu society transformed into the ever-charming sweet-talker that being your lover brings. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckle—the look on your face a reflection of his. As annoyed as you are that he’s distracting you, you’re endeared. 

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.” 

Today is his day-off after all. 

He hums, eyes set on you with cerulean sincerity, “It’s boring without you, though.” 

Strands of white fall to kiss his eyelashes and you reach forward to brush them off—his hair is getting longer now, you note. No doubt he’s going to ask you to accompany him for a haircut soon. 

His nose scrunches under the space your fingers hover over and you draw them back, “Clingy.”

—which he’s always been, but even moreso lately. You don’t know where all of it is coming from, how it’s even possible for him to be clingier than normal, but the past weeks have definitely shown you that he is more than capable. 

Gojo loves grocery runs, but only when he’s able to wander around the breakfast and candy section while you go through the long list of essentials and ingredients that need stocking up on. 

Not last week though. 

Instead of beelining straight towards his usual spot, he stayed right where you were, pushing the cart whenever you needed him to and reaching up on the top shelf for things you’d normally have to ask some other kind sir to get to. He stays close to you, body draping over yours as you line up for the checkout queue—long limbs, long torso, long everything engulfing you.

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru, but the days after that find him following you everywhere—picking you up after pottery with Megumi (as if you can’t make it back home alone), insisting on doing a taste test on cooking lessons with Inumaki, and even joining you on that afternoon yoga class you reserved for (initially) just you and Yuuji. 

You wonder what’s causing this, why he’s acting this way lately.

“Well, I have to be or else Yuuji might really steal you away from me.” he jokes, elbows propped on the table as he rests his chin on clasped hands. 

You know that he isn’t actually threatened by Yuuji—just that he wants more attention from you, some that you give to the pink-haired boy too eagerly and so easily. 

Still, it’s weird whatever he’s feeling right now, a bundle of unrest bubbling in his stomach these days. He isn’t familiar with it, doesn’t really know what to call it, just that he knows when it hits—like knots waiting to pop at any minute.  

You stand up from your seat to make your way to him, glancing at the clock across the room; you suppose there’s no point trying to squeeze in any more work for the last 20 minutes before you’re set to clock out. 

Gojo pats his thigh, as if beckoning you to sit; he manspreads like crazy but you think it makes sense for moments when he wants to hold you like this. 

Once you position yourself on his lap, he snakes an arm around your waist as you sling yours around the back of his neck, landing a soft peck at the tip of his nose. The hand resting on your hip rubs gently. 

“Is that comment still bothering you?” you ask, scratching the short buzzed hair of his undercut. 

You catch his eyes then, sky blue with a troubled sea.

Now that he thinks about it, it probably did start with the videos. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of many accolades: the strongest, a lone child prodigy, the best teacher (self-proclaimed); at some point he was also the world’s saving grace, and you’d think after that he’d decide to lay low for a bit, have a change of pace—but no.

The man you love has also, apparently, become a social media heartthrob after garnering attention for vlogging your dates. For the memories, he had said, but of course, it’s never just that when he’s as pretty–if not prettier–than the models you see on magazines and billboard posters. The video goes viral and suddenly you’re made very aware of just how coveted he is across all generations. 

He feels the first pop! in his stomach when he finds the comment under a 10-minute video of your day out in the park. He blacked out, he’s sure, but some loser said something about how you were so hot and completely out of his league.

As if he doesn’t know that already, but it’s how confident user ManInATux69 typed that you should just leave Gojo and be with him instead. That one stung a bit; maybe even got to his head, and it’s ridiculous because it really is just some faceless person on the internet. 

But maybe that’s really how this feeling started. 

“Of course not,” he pouts, eyes avoiding yours as he looks to the side, brows furrowed.

You stifle a giggle as you wait, biting the insides of your cheek as you stare at him. A mental countdown until—

“Maybe a bit.” he mumbles after a few blinks, pout deepening as he turns to you. He always comes around to tell you the truth, without fail. 

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru. Your Satoru.

“You wanna tell me how you’re feeling exactly?” 

If there’s one word Gojo will use to describe you, it will always be lovely. You have always been so gentle, so kind, never pushing, always asking lightly. 

You’ve sat through all his non-answers, so he thinks it’s just right, fair, that he gladly offers up his heart to you, now nestled into the palm of your hands as he lays all these feelings down, bare, intended just for you. 

He takes your free hand and places it right at his center, the space between his chest and abdomen. It’s warm as his hand dwarfs yours, forming it into a fist and twisting it into his skin. 

“Feels like a knot first,” he begins, before jerking your hand slightly as if to emulate a pop!, “then it pops.” 

And you think, that for all he sees and knows, it’s ironic that he can describe a feeling so vividly yet not know what it’s called—what it could possibly mean or be. 

“Do you think you’re jealous, Satoru?” you ask, smiling, fighting back a giggle (again), tone teasing. 

Hm, he thinks, is that what this is? 

Jealousy? 

He stares at you, lips parted slightly as you watch it register to him slowly. 

“Would explain why you’ve been hovering,” you chuckle, stroking small circles with your thumb. 

“I have not been hovering.” he snaps out of it, almost offended. 

You give him a look, eyebrow raised and mouth set in a smirk as if to say: really?

He relents, taking your hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Maybe a little.” 

Kisses are dotted along your knuckles, his eyes closed as if to ground him. You’ve known Gojo for so long that you can tell when he’s still figuring out how to say whatever it is he wants to—and your heart warms at the fact that this side to him is one he only entrusts to you. 

“There’s no competition, you know,” you whisper, the sky opening back to you, “I love you.” 

Your words are weighted, meant for him to hold and keep in the parts of him that doubt what he means to you. And it might sound a bit silly, to be this affected over a comment from some nobody, but you don’t want to leave any room for uncertainty—for your inaction to once again feed into his insecurity. 

He hums, soft vibrations flowing through his lips still pressed against your hand. Red is starting to bloom across his cheeks to his nose, and he mumbles, “Just want to be sure I’m good to you.”

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the second part will be a bit darker, more serious, but will discuss more of where the feelings stem from in the first place! 

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!! 

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡