#anyway i have...............Nothing to say for myself

[08luvmailz]

★ ﾟ๑ CONSOLE ME , AND THEN I'LL LEAVE WITHOUT A TRACE ୧ ⊹ ࣪

ᡴꪫ which yeon sieun sees you after a year of leaving you behind ୧ ⊹ ࣪ first part ／ party on you ──⠀ angst / no comfort , set on ep1 of s2 , sieun's pov ⸝⸝ ◜◡◝ the first part was supposed to be just a oneshot, i have no place to make this whatsoever but since many requested and i have a plot, i decided to make it. hope you all enjoy, kindly read the first one to have more background of what happened.

reader will be called dokja ／ because in reader in korean is dokja

At first, I never really cared for her. She was just a classmate — someone I talked to during group work, someone who laughed a little too brightly, who asked too many questions.

I would see her in class, voice too loud for the hour, laughter spilling like sunlight on polished floors. I saw her in hallways, always walking ahead or brushing past — never too far, never too close. I didn’t mind her. She was just… ordinary. Just another face in a sea of faces, nothing to remember. At least, that’s what I told myself.

And then I started noticing her more often — not intentionally, not all at once. Just… little things. The way some girls whispered behind her back, voices sharp with envy or something close to cruelty. “I don’t care,” I told myself as I slipped my earphones in, letting the music drown out the world. But as soon as I wrote down words in my notebook, my thoughts strayed — not to formulas or sentences, but to her.

I barely knew her, and still, I thought… she didn’t deserve that. I didn’t care, I told myself again. But somehow, she stayed in my mind longer than she should have.

And then I saw her go quiet. I didn’t think much of it — she was just a classmate, nothing more. But slowly, people began to drift away from her like she carried some invisible weight they didn’t want to hold. I told myself I didn’t care. Still, there were moments I’d catch myself looking — really looking.

She’d lower her head, pretending to sleep, but her shoulders would tremble ever so slightly. She must’ve been crying. I didn’t ask. I didn’t move. I didn’t care… or at least, that’s what I kept saying. But sympathy crept in like a whisper, and I hated that part of me that noticed — because she was still just a classmate. Nothing more.

Then, for a while, I stopped looking at her. She faded back into the noise — just a normal classmate again.

I went on with my routine: sleep, eat, study. Eat, study, sleep. On and on like clockwork.

But somewhere in between the silence, I started to hear her voice again — light, bright, almost chirpy, like birds in spring. She was talking to someone… Suno? No — Suho, I think. I didn’t care enough to know. But I noticed something. Her smile — it was different. Wider. Softer. Maybe that was her real smile. Maybe that’s how she looked when someone made her feel seen.

I glanced at her talking to him, her smile — it was pretty. But before I could even let the thought settle, I quickly averted my gaze, focusing back on the formulas I was scribbling in my notebook. Still, my mind kept crawling back to her, like an ant drawn to a sugary fruit, helpless to resist. She's pretty, I thought. But she's just my classmate. Just that. Nothing more.

And then she noticed — caught me staring. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. She smiled. Soft, like it meant nothing at all, like it was the easiest thing in the world. I looked away. Maybe she thought I was a creep. Maybe she was smiling at someone behind me. That’s what I told myself, anyway. Because the truth was, her smile made my chest ache in a way I didn’t understand, and I didn’t know what to do with that.

But for a moment, I felt like I was dreaming, like the world around me was moving too fast. Everything blurred — her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke, the sound of her voice — it all tangled together, slipping through my fingers like water. I couldn’t quite grasp it, but I couldn’t look away either. It was as if I was standing on the edge, watching something beautiful unfold, yet too scared to step forward.

The table I used to sit at during lunch, it was just me, my food, and my book.

It was peaceful, and I was determined to study, to block out the noise of everything else. But in the blink of an eye, there were three people sitting there. I didn’t mind it one bit. Is this what it felt like? I hadn’t felt this in ages — the warmth of people around me, sharing the same table, eating the same food, chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was simple, something I had forgotten in a while. But, this is what i needed — what i wanted.

Her annoyance, Suho’s bland jokes, Beomseok’s laughter — it was a rhythm, a melody he never imagined he’d be part of, yet here he was. The moments were so simple, but in their simplicity, they held a weight he couldn't explain. Just the four of them, laughing, teasing, existing together — and he cherished it.

It was the kind of warmth that crept into his chest, quiet and steady, something he never knew he craved until it was there. The noise, the chatter, the feeling of belonging — it was everything he hadn’t realized he needed.

But then, with every sunny day, there was a shadow that stretched long and unyielding. A darkness that he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried. It was the kind of dark that clung to him, tightening its grip until he could barely breathe.

It was a nightmare, relentless and suffocating, one that twisted and turned with every breath he took. No matter how much he wanted to wake up, no matter how much he fought against it — he never did.

And then, it all crumbled. I remember the last time I saw her, the last time I felt her.

She stood there, in front of Suho’s bed, her arms wrapping around me in a way that made the world pause. I could feel the warmth of her embrace, like a sanctuary, something I had forgotten existed. It was the kind of warmth I didn’t deserve. Her presence pulled me in, and for a moment, I tried to block everything else out — the guilt, the fear, the suffocating weight of it all. But no matter how hard I tried, it crept in like a shadow, gnawing at the edges of my mind. It was my fault. I couldn’t escape it.

We stayed there together, outside Suho’s room, for hours. Her hand in mine, her fingers steady and warm, grounding me. Her hand on my shoulder, her touch gentle, like she was trying to tell me everything would be okay.

My head rested on top of hers, just for a moment, but it felt like a lifetime.

She didn’t say anything, and neither did I. There was nothing left to say, not when everything was falling apart. But all I could feel was the warmth of her, a fleeting comfort that only made the gnawing guilt inside me worse.

And then, she had to leave. Her parents came, pulling her away from me, from this moment. The last thing I saw was her mouthing the words, “It’s going to be okay,” but I couldn’t bring myself to believe her. Not then. Not now.

After that, everything was a blur. Like the world spun faster than I could keep up with. I tried to focus, tried to do what I was supposed to do, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. I transferred schools, thinking it would make everything easier, as if running away from the memories would somehow fix me. But it didn’t.

Every day felt like I was sinking deeper into a pit I couldn’t escape. My mind kept returning to her, to the way she felt in my arms, to the sound of her voice, to the warmth she gave me that I didn’t deserve. I shut it all out, but I couldn’t shut her out. She lingered in the back of my thoughts like a constant ache.

But deep down, he knew. He didn’t want to talk to her—not because he didn’t care, but because he was afraid of what his words would mean. Afraid of what it would do to her, to them. So he kept ignoring her, pretending it was for the best. He found comfort in the silence, but it gnawed at him.

One day, she reached out again. At first, I thought maybe this time would be different. Maybe I could reply, tell her the truth, apologize. But the guilt slammed into him all over again. Every message, every word she’d sent, was like a reminder of how I’d failed her. Of how I pushed her away when she needed me the most.

I started looking for excuses, for reasons not to reach out, even when I saw her messages pop up on my screen. At first, I thought maybe I could talk to her, tell her what had happened, apologize. But every time I saw her name, the guilt was there, suffocating me. It was easier to ignore her, to let the silence between us stretch on, to convince myself that this was what was best for her.

I told myself it was for the better. But, it hurts so much. I need her.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t. Every message she sent, every question she asked, it felt like a weight pressing against my chest. I wanted to reply, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t face her like this, not when I was falling apart. Not when I had ruined everything.

Every time he saw her name pop up on his screen, he felt like his chest would collapse in on itself. He wanted to ignore it. He wanted to ignore her, pretend she wasn’t still trying to reach him, trying to hold on to the past that he couldn’t fix. But the messages were endless. 9 p.m., 11:30 p.m., 2:14 a.m., morning. She was always there, always waiting. And every time, it hurt.

So I did what I thought was easiest — I put her on spam. I tried to forget her, tried to convince myself that ignoring her was the right thing to do. But every night, as I lay awake, I found myself scrolling through our old messages, through the photos we shared, through the times when things were easier. And it hurt, more than anything.

His heart heavy with every word, the bickers they had. Even if he was the dry texter. He remembered the way she asked him for help with problems, the way they’d share laughs, the late-night hangouts just the two of them. Back then, everything had felt simple. Pure. But now, looking at her name on the screen, it felt like a reminder of everything he’d lost.

He cried when he saw them. The hours of unanswered messages. His phone screen became a constant reminder of the fact that he couldn’t be the person she needed. He couldn’t give her the closure, the healing, the peace she deserved. And he hated himself for it.

She told me that she would always be there for me, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me.

I cried, more times than I could count. I cried because I missed her. I cried because I knew I’d never be the person she deserved. I cried because of the nightmares. And I cried because I was too weak to make it right.

"I ignore her. She’ll hate me. That’s good. She deserves peace after this," he told himself. But it didn’t make it hurt any less. The more he tried to convince himself it was for the best, the more the ache in his chest grew. He didn’t want her to hate him. He didn’t want her to leave him behind.

But he couldn’t stop the spiral. He wanted her to move on, to live her life without him, without the weight of their shared past.

But how could he ask her to do that, when he couldn’t even let go himself?

And then he heard her voice. At first, he thought he was hallucinating. Maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him, or another dream he couldn’t escape. But then he stepped outside, and there she was. He froze. His heart thudded loudly in his chest, each beat painfully distinct. He didn’t even run. He just stood there, staring at her—at the tired figure standing in front of him.

She looked different, somehow. Her jacket slipped off her shoulder, the bags in her hands clinking softly with each step. And was that... a flower in one of the bags? The urge to reach out, to hold her, almost overwhelmed him. His body screamed for it, but his mind... his mind couldn’t allow it. Not yet.

Then his mother's voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clear. "Is she your friend? You didn’t tell me she was coming?" And just like that, it all came crashing back. The promises he'd broken. The ignoring. The leaving. The silence. Guilt wrapped around him tighter, and for a moment, it was suffocating.

Without thinking, the words slipped from his mouth. "I don’t have any friends. I don’t know her."

The words were like daggers. His voice was steady, cold even, but his gaze... his gaze was locked onto hers. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to say it. But somehow, it came out.

And when he looked at her—really looked at her—he saw the hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped slightly, as if the world had just grown heavier. She looked so small. So vulnerable. And he had done that to her. He had pushed her away when she needed him most.

He did it. But, it hurts. It really does.

She turned, slowly, as if she was trying to give him one last chance. But she didn’t say anything. She just... left. And he stood there, paralyzed, as the door clicked shut behind her. He could feel the emptiness in the air, the crushing weight of everything he had just destroyed. He wanted to call out, to run after her, to tell her it was a mistake. That he didn’t mean it. But his body wouldn’t move. He was rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the very guilt he had been carrying for so long.

His mother said something, but he didn’t hear her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. All he could feel was the cold air around him, the deep ache in his chest, the echo of the words he wished he could take back.

He didn’t move. He just turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last, each one feeling like shards of glass beneath his feet. He told his mother that he needed to study. But every step on the hallway seemed too long. The silence too thick. He wanted to scream, to disappear, to escape from everything he had done.

But he couldn’t. All he could do was retreat into his room, lock the door behind him, and bury himself in the darkness. His bed was the only place that felt familiar, but even then, sleep was out of reach. He tossed and turned, restless and tormented by the image of her walking away, and the sound of her voice fading as the distance between them grew.

And somewhere in the quiet, he realized—he had already lost her.

And when he finally lay on his bed, it all came rushing back.

The warmth.

The first time their eyes met, the way her smile made everything feel brighter, even in the quietest moments.

He remembered how she would come up to him, randomly, asking questions—always wanting to learn, to understand. And he would answer her, speaking the words she needed.

She’d sit beside him, always so eager to learn, and he thought she found him boring, especially after her endless questions turned into silence. She became quiet, and that, too, felt like a shift he didn’t know how to navigate.

Then came that one time when she wanted him to explain something in English, and as he did, she blurted out, “You should speak more. Your voice is like marshmallow.”

Her smile made his heart stutter. He felt like he was on clouds, his chest light but his stomach tightening in a way he couldn’t explain. He had to break eye contact, focusing on his book to hide the heat rushing to his cheeks, but the sentence he was trying to read? He couldn’t focus. It felt wrong. It wasn’t like him.

The candies she would give him. “Mint is good for focus. Suho told me.”

The way they’d share food, her small, quiet gestures always speaking louder than words. And the lunches. She’d sit next to him, and it was always just the two of them—until Suho showed up, and Beomseok too. His table, once empty, was now filled with them, and he didn’t know if he should be thankful or terrified. They were there, and he couldn’t push them away.

Then there were the rainy days. The shared umbrella, too small for the both of them, and he couldn’t bear the thought of her getting sick. So he tilted it toward her, just a little closer, not thinking twice about the consequences.

He almost got a call the next day for missing school, but he hadn’t cared. He just wanted her to be okay.

It was all slipping away now. His hands gripped the sheets as memories tangled with regret. The tears started, hot and heavy, before he even realized they were there. He didn’t know when the sobs came, but they were there now, uncontrollable, as he lay in the dim light, overwhelmed by everything he had lost.

He glanced at his phone. The time was 7 pm and he glanced at the lock screen. It was her. Her smiling face, hair loose, the one she’d stolen from him when she’d gotten her hands on his phone. She’d set it as his lock screen, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and he hadn’t minded.

In fact, he’d never wanted to change it. Not until now.

His hand shook as he unlocked it, staring at her face for one last time. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

Without thinking, he deleted the lock screen. The image of her was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, empty blue display.

He lay there, staring at the ceiling as the heavy silence of his room pressed against him. His phone, now locked with a cold, indifferent blue display, sat on his nightstand. It felt like a physical weight in the room, an anchor to a past he desperately wanted to sever. Yet, in the hollow of his chest, something long forgotten ached—something that belonged only to her. The memories would rise like unwelcome ghosts, flickering at the edges of his thoughts, no matter how hard he tried to push them back.

He hadn’t meant for it to come to this. The distance, the silence—it was supposed to be the easy way out, wasn’t it? She didn’t need him in her life anymore. She deserved better, a future without someone like him, someone who couldn’t even manage to keep the people closest to him safe. He clenched his fists, the ache in his chest flaring like an open wound. I don’t deserve her, not after everything I’ve done.

I’m sorry, he thought, his chest tightening. I’m so sorry.

But he never said it to her face.

A year has passed.

Sieun didn’t keep track anymore. He only counted time in therapy sessions, pills swallowed, hours spent pretending to sleep. But that day, he found himself outside Suho’s hospital room again—his usual spot on the bench across the door, his head bowed, hands clenched. The log sheet was new. He scanned it out of habit. Her name wasn’t there.

She must have stopped coming.

A dull ache settled in his chest. It was for the best, he told himself. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?

But fate is cruel when it chooses to be kind.

Because just as he finally sat down, the door creaked open.

There she was.

She stepped out of Suho’s room like a memory peeling itself off the wall. Still in that uniform—their old school uniform. Her skirt a little longer than the standard, her cardigan slightly oversized, she dyed her hair the way she wanted and asked the three of them if she would look good on a light brown look. He remembered the way beomseok and him nodded but then suho contradicted that she would looked like she's wearing a wig— a kick on his face was the answer for that.

She looked the same but older. The same but distant. The same but not his.

Their eyes met.

And for the first time in months, he felt like he could breathe.

But it was a cruel kind of breath, the kind you choke on.

Time slipped.

And suddenly he felt like he was in junior high all over again.

Instantly, he remembered the very first time he saw her.

He had been standing outside the teachers’ faculty room, arms full of worksheets the teacher asked him to return. But his grip faltered, and the stack scattered like brittle leaves onto the cold floor.

He’d dropped to his knees, flustered, reaching for the pages scattered like fallen leaves. Shoes passed him, careless, stepping on some of the sheets — he didn’t care.

Not until the door creaked open. He flinched at the sound, and when he looked up, there she was. Standing still. Her eyes found him, wide and startled, not with pity, but something gentler — concern.

She knelt down without a word, her small hands brushing against his as she helped gather the pages. Strawberry clips in her hair, low pigtails framing her face. She didn’t smile, not yet. But her presence was enough to make him forget the hallway noise, the sting of embarrassment, the weight in his chest.

She was really pretty.

He didn’t know her name back then. But her kindness made his chest ache in a way he didn’t yet understand.

She handed me the worksheets with a soft smile and tilted her head, “You okay, Sieun? Do you want me to help you carry some?” Her voice was light, almost teasing.

I blinked at her, confused for a second — how did she know my name? But then I saw her eyes flicker down to my name tag, and I felt stupid for even questioning it.

Still, for some reason, my mind blanked. I felt like I was turning dumb, just standing there with my hands full and my thoughts even fuller.

But just as I was about to say something — anything — a voice from down the hallway called her name. One of her friends, waving her over. She glanced back at me with that same bright smile and gave a small wave, “Watch your step, Sieun-ah!” she said, lighthearted and cheerful, before running off.

I stood there for a moment, frozen in place, clutching the stack of papers like an idiot. I didn’t move. Not yet. I just... stood there, feeling the echo of her smile linger a little too long in my chest.

But that was then.

Now, the girl from that memory stared at him like he was a ghost.

Her face was blank. No smile. No worry. No softness.

Just a tired look—like seeing him drained her.

She pulled her headphones on without a word.

And walked passed right pass him.

Not a glance back.

He didn’t call after her. Didn’t move. Just sat there, hollowed out, trying not to show how badly it cracked him open.

Right, he thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in his throat. As he looked down at his phone, that he was messaging Suho.

As he typed the words. "I just saw Dokja, She's really pretty with her brown hair. But, we don't talk anymore."

"She’s not my 'friend' anymore."

And there he remained.

Alone in the hallway.

Just him.

And the past they once shared—now sealed behind Suho’s door, like a memory too fragile to touch.

♡ note ───── Come on, don't leave mе, it can't be that easy, babe. If you believe me, I guess I'll get on a plane. Fly to your city, excited to see your face. Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace

♡ note ── hope you enjoy it, would upload the parallel version.

───── ★ requested by : @heeknow @alwaysgenerousvoid @snowflakemoon3 @yeon103 @kellystyles18 @littlebluebird2000 @hollxe1 @dripoftheseus @enhajungwonheart @energydrinkstastegood @zuwizy

[pukefactory]

Ok screw it i saw a thingy and might as well talk to someone about it I saw a love and deep space thingy about "The darker side of dating {Blank Character here} and that got me thinking "Wth would be the darker sides/down sides to dating BBQ Ena? - 💖🍫🦯

[I'm trying to get outta my comfort zone cuz I always worrying I'm bugging the people I ask stuff too lol cuz Overthinking and Void ik has been asking you stuff so it has made me kinda try to coke out of my own shell and do so. (they are a friend of mine that have asked you stuff in the past and in their own words "Honestly do it! I get scared talking to big bloggers too, but remember they're just people like us behind the screens :3 I'm sure they like getting interactions and asks" so might ask well to push myself a bit)]

Loving Dream BBQ ENA is a surreal commitment—part passion, part puzzle, and part performance art you never rehearsed for. She is not like anyone else; she is a girl stitched together with color blocks, emotional extremes, poetic contradictions, and unspoken griefs. To date her is to date the sky mid-weather-change—blissfully blue, then storming with no warning. One day, she’ll look at you like you’re her entire world, wax poetic about the shape of your eyelashes, kiss your forehead and call you her “quiet little earthquake.” The next, she’s dissociating in your arms, mumbling about paper boats and burnt calendars, unsure where she is or who she’s supposed to be.

She forgets things—not because she doesn’t care, but because her brain runs on a different kind of clock, one that ticks in skips and distortions. Sometimes she forgets dates, sometimes she forgets why she’s upset. Sometimes, she forgets how long you’ve been holding her hand. It hurts, not because she loves you any less, but because loving her means accepting that you will always be part of a dreamscape she’s half-drifting through. You are her anchor, her constant, and yet you will never fully exist in the same emotional plane she’s spiraling in. She needs you to remind her that she’s real.

There is also danger in her. Not malice, but entropy. She talks in riddles, shifts in mood like blinking lights, and sometimes you wonder if she’s unraveling faster than you can gather her threads. Her joy is chaotic and loud, all-consuming. Her sadness is an echo that swallows entire days. And when she’s overwhelmed—when the world presses too hard—she might lash out with words that feel more like sharp polygons than syllables. And then apologize with trembling sincerity and a handmade gift that makes no logical sense but still makes your heart ache.

Dating ENA means laughter so intense it gives you headaches, emotions so raw they strip you bare, and conversations that border on existential riddles. It means grounding her when she forgets where she ends and the world begins. It means offering your patience again and again, even when she spirals. It means living in technicolor chaos. It means watching someone try to be human even when every part of her code says not to be.

It means loving someone who is, at her core, a glitching miracle. And choosing to stay anyway.

(Don’t worry about interacting with me! I’m just an autistic woman who enjoys writing, much like many others—there’s nothing particularly intimidating about me, haha. I’m not a popular blogger, or at least I don’t think I am? Maybe I am, but I genuinely don’t pay attention to that, and neither should you! If you have a question, feel free to ask :3)

[xxactlyperfect]

I did in fact do my research because I've been studying biology all year. Like, classes and all.

Curious how you say me listing out gonads is weird. Gonads are very important when it comes to sex. I am well aware the comic does not exactly include intersex people, I think just saying "female/male" would look better than adding the chromosomes. But here we are. Was there a point b)? Who knows.

Anyway, let's check your sources.

Science Based Medicine - Off the bat, I can tell this article is quite unprofessional. It is also irrelevant to the conversation, but I suppose it doesn't matter when you're the one providing it? This article talks about "transgender and non-binary people" (as if enbies are not trans?). He also mixes in gender identity, gender expression, and sexual attraction, which, frankly, is also completely irrelevant. The article is not unbiased, and he lets us know.

I skimmed over the entire article. He mentioned ovotestes. "However, even here there are intersex individuals with “ovotestes”, some of which can make both eggs and sperm." True hermaphroditism does not exist in humans. Humans can not produce both sperm and eggs. A lot of intersex people are also infertile. Mind you, intersex people are intersex because they have a sexual development disorder. It's not a third, secret sex. They are males and females who, for various reasons, didn't develop properly. Otherwise, we can probably tie it in with gonadal dysgenesis. Whatever, let's move on.

Scientific American - Scrolling down, something caught my attention.

"People with CAIS have Y chromosomes and internal testes, but their external genitalia are female, and they develop as females at puberty. Conditions such as these meet the medical definition of DSDs, in which an individual's anatomical sex seems to be at odds with their chromosomal or gonadal sex."

Well, no. CAIS happens when the male fetus doesn't respond to androgens. People with CAIS are always male. They might be easily perceived as female and are therefore assigned female at birth, but by the time puberty comes, the story changes. Boys with CAIS don't experience menstruation, which is a part of regular female puberty. He also mentions female genitalia. Well, there is no cervix, uterus, fallopian tubes, and the entire "vagina" is just a blind canal, if a canal at all. The external genitals look like they do because of the androgen insensitivity.

And of course, honorary transgender mention. Totally unbiased.

Cade Hildreth - This made me giggle because the entire article is titled "Gender Spectrum: A Scientist Explains Why Gender Isn’t Binary". Like, yeah, obviously. Gender is not real; there's nothing to support the binary.

She pretty much raised the points that every other person who believes in gender ideology has raised. Truly unamusing.

This was groundbreaking. Really, blew my mind. As a very masculine woman who's tall, broad, and covered in dark, thick body hair, this saved my life. Sarcasm aside, I was mostly agreeing with her on a lot of things, and then she brought up the brain.

I think this is a load of crap. Yes, the female and male brains are slightly different. Keyword: slightly. But what leads to being trans is usually dysphoria. I think I'd know a thing or two, considering I deal with it myself.

She also mentioned "two-spirited people," which was debunked. The entire point of the two-spirited fellas was literally just homophobia. Homophobia and sexism, which together became gender ideology. Ain't that something? And no, being gnc does not erase your sex. Tsk, tsk, Cade. Am I less female for being a big ole tomboy?

Anyway, I'll end it here.

[howi99]

From the Nest 21

- nightfall -

Yang: *sitting awkwardly in front of Jaune* So... My mother was your teacher...

Jaune: *sigh, looking at how awkward Yang was acting like* Can you stop acting like a schoolgirl asking her crush for a date? *Taking a beer from Raven's stash, tossing it to Yang* Take that and relax a bit.

Yang: *Sigh, opening the bottle and taking a sip, wincing from the taste* Urgh, i can't believe my uncle like that!

Jaune: *lighting up a smoke, taking a drag* I personally don't like it either, i'm more of a girly drink lover myself.

Yang: ... *Taking a deep breath* I want to know where my mom is.

Jaune: *shrug* No idea.

Yang: *frown* Bullshit!

Jaune: *chuckle* Yang, even if i tell you where she is at this moment, the tribe would have moved before you can get there anyway. *Sigh, looking at the birds flying nearby* Beside, i said i would answer your questions, not sell out where my family lives.

Yang: Then what can you tell me!?

Jaune: *taking another drag* She's a broken mess, Yang.

Yang: *blink in confusion* ... What?

Jaune: *looking back at Yang with fatigued eyes* Raven's a good person who didn't have a single easy choice in life-

Yang: *sarcastically* Oh yeah, because leaving me for being weak must have been such a hard choice!

Jaune: *Point at her* Do you honestly think she left because you were "too weak"? *Scoff* Of course not; she left because the rest of her family was being massacred by both the Mistralean and Atlesian government.

Yang: *roll her eyes* They were criminals. Even you said so yourself.

Jaune: The adults? Oh yeah, they deserved to die. *Point at himself* But me? Or my oldest sister who almost got executed for just being part of a tribe she never wanted to be a part of in the first place, did we deserve to die too?

Yang: *shocked* W-wait, they were going to kill everyone!?

Jaune: *scoff* Of course not; half would have been sent to work in the mines or sold to the highest bidders. Heck, kids fetch a high price on the black market.

Yang: *feeling sick* O-oh God, i-i didn't know-

Jaune: *roll his eyes* Well duh, it's not like the government will scream on every roof that they are abusing and killing kids, Yang. And when she saved the tribe, or what was left of it anyway, she was branded a criminal... *Sigh* Can't really be part of a family when half of the world wants you dead, can you?

Yang: So you are telling me-

Jaune: *Flicking the ashes away, looking away* Her biggest regret was saving us, which meant she could never be a mother to you... or Ruby. *Humorless chuckle* She's so worried about you, becoming a huntress, and yet she can't do shit. *Grits his teeth* Honestly, do you know how sad it is? To hear her cry every single year, on the same 3 fucking days!?

Yang: *confused* What-

Jaune: Your birthdays, Ruby's birthdays and... *Look at his hands, remembering far too clearly the blood pouring out of Raven's wounds, the day Summer died* ... something she keeps feeling guilty of, even if it wasn't her fault.

Yang: *silently looking at Jaune* ... And you? What are you really like?

Jaune: *Put out the cigarette* Well, i'm nothing but a greedy bastard. *Smirk* I want everyone i care for to be happy, even if it would mean burning the entire world. *Shrug* And i care for a lot of people, including you and both of our teams.

Yang: *blink* That's... Not something i thought you'd say.

Jaune: What, that i'd do unspeakable things for my friends? Do you think i'm that weak willed?

Yang: N-no, just... I thought that maybe you became friend with me and Ruby just because of... Well...

Jaune: ... *Scratch his head* You do know Qrow still updates her about you two, right? *Shrug* I didn't have to become friends with y'all; i could have ignored you and Ruby and it wouldn't have changed a thing.

Yang: ... Qrow did WHAT!? HE SAID HE LOST CONTACT WITH HER YEARS AGO!?!

Jaune: (Oops...) I mean, had he told you, you probably would have run in Mistral by yourself and got yourself killed which i doubt he'd want.

Yang: Still! He could have sent her all the letters i wrote her-

Jaune: Oh he did, just without telling you.

Yang: ... MOTHERF-

- Meanwhile -

Qrow: ... Why do i feel like someone just threw me under the bus?

Raven: *drinking a beer with him* Oh yeah, forgot to tell you that Yang found out about Jaune.

Qrow: ... Oh i'm so royally fucked.

[kingkat12]

consequences (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: masturbation/syntribation, humiliation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, punishments, Roman is so confusing that he needs his own warning

summary: you knew this was coming-- Mr. Godfrey was never planning on letting you get away with your stunt last Friday, anyway.

word count: 7,826

← previous chapter |

a/n: I'm back!! hope you enjoy Mr. Godfrey being an ass as much as me tihi<3333 writing this series is making me realize new things about myself lmao

... No, there was no way. 

None, whatsoever.

There was no way in hell that Mr. Godfrey could've known what he saw last Friday. He was just messing with me, and his timing was simply diabolical, right? I kept staring at him, waiting for him to say something, to give me a sign, anything, because there was just no fucking way, yet I got nothing.

My nails were freshly manicured. French tips. Lilac. Just as he told me to do them. My hair was free of any clips, I was wearing another one of my pencil skirts, and I had done everything he had asked of me to a tee-- wasn't that warranted some special attention? The more I craved some sort of acknowledgement, the more it made me feel like I was back in high school, getting yet another makeover to impress some boy I liked. 

But Mr. Godfrey wasn't just some boy; he was my boss, who had also happened to have seen me cum. 

Fuck.

The conference table was littered with printouts, name tags, notepads, and the weight of my own regret. Mr. Godfrey sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, coffee in hand, flipping casually through the briefing I had prepared like we were equals. He was acting as though Friday had never happened, as if I hadn't come undone beneath his green gaze, and as if he hadn't sent that email, or seen me do... that.

He tapped a finger against a margin before he spoke, his voice cutting through the silence; "This section on oil pricing... good work,"

What? Was he complimenting me? Was Mr. Godfrey maybe also having a brain aneurysm? "Thank you, sir," I breathed. My stomach churned like I had swallowed frogs for breakfast, and my leg was bouncing like I was waiting for a bomb to go off-- technically, I was. 

But Mr. Godfrey didn't say anything more. His lips twitched, almost in approval. Almost. He kept going over my notes, over and over, with a calmness I hadn't seen in him before. "And this paragraph is cute," he said, holding the page up to me like a parent showing off a child's bad drawing. "Makes us sound like we don't eat our young."

"I can-- I can reword it, sir?"

"No," he huffed, putting it down with a smirk. "Leave it. It won't help the business if they think this is a daycare for fucktards."

"I don't think anyone thinks this is a daycare for fucktards," I tried, my voice a mere whisper. I didn't dare to speak any louder, as though that'd risk him uncovering something else about me that I didn't want him to know. "I think everyone can see that you're a very serious man, sir."

Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me, didn't acknowledge my soft tone. He just sipped his coffee and continued flipping through the prep notes with ease. "I am," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Serious people run things. They don't beg to be seen." Then, almost lazily, like he could hide the intent, he added; "Though some people--" he gestured vaguely, like he meant the air, or maybe the entire office; "--seem to confuse silence for invisibility."

My breath got cut off in my throat like someone had karate-chopped my trachea.

He knew.

Fuck.

He knew.

But how the fuck did he know?! How could he have known what he saw? How on earth did he figure it out? No one ever had, so how had he? How did he even know what he was looking at in that moment?!

My brain was actively shattering, falling apart, and I felt like I was scrambling to shove the pieces back into one collective heap. However, on the other hand, Mr. Godfrey was going on as though he hadn't verbally slapped me across the face with my own doings, and he flipped to the next page of the document as though he had said nothing at all. "I'd cut this stat in half," he said, tapping his thumb against the margin. "We don't want them thinking we're desperate."

I could barely swallow my spit, let alone answer. "Yes, sir,"

Mr. Godfrey hummed; "You'll join me for the meeting, by the way," He turned another page. "You'll do the introductions. Smile. Keep eye contact. Don't fidget. I can't have our guests seeing you playing snake on your computer, so you'll be by my side."

My heart was somewhere on the floor. "Sir, I have never done that!--"

"Try not to stutter," he added, his tone one of discipline. "And keep your hands steady if he asks for a coffee, you have a history of almost spilling stuff. Let's just say I'm relieved you didn't apply to be a surgeon. So, I suggest you try thinking of something... soothing."

My heart hiccupped-- soothing?

Soothing?!

Mr. Godfrey didn't give away anything. Not a twitch of his lip, not a glance, nothing. He gave me nothing to work off of. Was I overthinking this, or did he actually know I was a complete and utter pervert? That was, until he went on; "Whatever it is you think about when you're alone," he said, dry as bone. "That should do the trick for your nerves." And then, without missing a beat-- "Unless, of course, that's the problem."

Mr. Godfrey could've kicked me in my gut, and that would've had the same effect as what I felt right now. Casually, calmly, as though he wasn't toying with me, he pushed his chair back and stood up, straightening his cuffs like we hadn't been sitting in a room pooling thick with tension. 

Finally, Mr. Godfrey looked at me. His green eyes were gorgeous as ever, the same pair of eyes that had stared back at me all weekend from the magazine I had bought with him on the front page. Proper, handsome. The fact that he was even looking at me at all felt like a blessing. "Lilac," he added, casual, distracted, as he nodded to my nails. "French?"

I wanted to explode with joy; he had noticed! Suddenly, I wasn't feeling so awful, and by pure instinct, I put my manicured hands forward as though to show them off. "French," I echoed, trying not to look so over the moon. It was impossible. I felt like a cat that had just gotten a good patting down, and I was two seconds away from purring with delight at being seen.

The more I thought about the way his attention made me feel, the more his words echoed in my mind. French... Did Mr. Godfrey like to French? The thought of him kissing anyone, let alone me, made me want to run through the glass windows of the Godfrey Industries skyscraper and plummet to my certain death. It was too riveting a thought.

"Right," he hummed, clicking his tongue. "Good." 

In this light, with him standing over me like this, the light hit Mr. Godfrey from behind with the most gorgeous illumination, and created an optical illusion which gave him a halo. Still, the halo didn't match the sinister hold he had over me-- he still knew. He knew. Odd bastard.

Would he do anything about it, though? 

... I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to or not.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I should've known that Mr. Godfrey wouldn't let me off the hook this easily. I had worked for him for exactly a week now, but I should've still figured out that I wouldn't manage to get away from this with a simple verbal slap on the wrist.

The same meeting room as earlier felt colder, like even the air didn't want to piss him off. The table gleamed in the office lighting, wiped to perfection. There were branded folders laid out like offerings, perfectly aligned, not a single edge out of place-- I hadn't touched mine. I didn't dare to, not in this company.

Mr. Godfrey sat at the head, back straight this time, no tilt, no casual lean. He looked precise, controlled, like he had already done this meeting a thousand times before. His suit jacket was still on, his hair perfect, green eyes unreadable. The son of the Azerbaijani president sat across from him, joined by two stone-faced advisors, but even they looked like background noise in comparison to my boss.

I watched him speak, and it was like watching someone play chess at a speed I couldn't even process-- was Mr. Godfrey the Magnus Carlsen of the business world? Who'd have thought?

... Me, actually. 

Because despite the fact that he had caught me doing the unthinkable, I wanted his approval more than anything. After all the stalking I had done over the weekend, I had figured out that this guy was brilliant. After inheriting the company from his mother some years ago, he had turned everything around and somehow managed to make Godfrey Industries even better than it was, although that was previously deemed impossible before he got his position as CEO. He had created an imperium; Mr. Godfrey was a pro, and every word landed perfectly as he presented the business proposal. He smiled only when it served a purpose. He didn't fidget, didn't stumble, unlike me. 

He was a God.

A God that knew exactly what I had done.

A God that... hadn't fired me for it.

Why not?

I bet he liked tying the noose around my throat and hitting me like I was a piñata-- I felt like one, anyway. He probably enjoyed the tortured look in my eyes and the way I squirmed in my seat whenever he'd glance my way. Did he see the way I tried to hide in plain sight? I always worried that with the next glance, he'd somehow figure out a new way to fuck me over, the Godfrey way.

But in the midst of my internal worry, I should've been worried about the external ones-- the things Mr. Godfrey could do to me right now, in this moment.

I had simply sat there like a fucking paperweight, trying not to breathe too loudly. Couldn't even have bothered a fly. I hadn't bothered anyone, for that matter, hadn't said a word, because I figured that it would save me. Yet... I didn't realize he had stopped talking until it was too late.

Then, like flicking on a light, Mr. Godfrey's green gaze cut to me, sharp as a blade with a sinister-looking smile spreading across his plush lips. He called my name, light as anything, until my worst nightmare came true followed; "Now, everybody, my dear secretary will tell you about the revised compliance framework," 

My blood froze. What compliance framework?!

No, no, no!

I blinked, once, twice. My throat was already closing. "I-- sir, I'm not sure I--"

"Yes, you are," Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me anymore, ruthlessly dismissing my panic. He was reaching for his glass of water, the picture of composure, as though my complete unraveling didn't faze him in the slightest. 

Our company turned to me with polite expectation, and I momentarily locked eyes with the son of the president of Azerbaijan-- my mind was blanking as I stared at Mr. Godfrey, hoping that would demand his attention, and that he wouldn't punish my inappropriate incident like this.

My heart was pounding painfully against my chest as it hit me; he already knew I'd do whatever he asked. I was his secretary. A toy. Something to poke at for amusement when his real work got too boring. I was now stuck between the two worst things imaginable: looking like an idiot in front of a powerful foreign delegation, or disappointing him-- okay, that last one would be the worst thing in the world, no question there. There was nothing I wanted more than to make him proud, and what the fuck did that say about me?

I swallowed hard, gathering the courage. "The compliance framework," I breathed, voice thin and pitiful, like someone had pressed it through a cheese grater. "It's being... revised."

Oh my God. Oh my God.

No one said anything.

Mr. Godfrey sipped his water like he was at a wine tasting. I wanted to wring his neck and leave him to hang out in the barn for the foxes to take him for dinner. 

"The framework has, uh--" I glanced down at the folder I hadn't touched. I fumbled to open it, praying to any and every deity that there'd be something, anything, to save me. However, to my panic, the page on compliance was just a table of numbers with a header that said 'TBD'.

To Be Decided?!

"--been... adjusted to meet evolving regulatory standards," I continued, babbling nonsense. "To, eh, ensure ethical partnerships with our... with our international contacts. Especially ones that, uh, span across oil-based initiatives and... and green developments."

That was when I heard it.

The faintest sound.

A breath. Sharp. Like a short laugh, almost choked off.

Mr. Godfrey.

He was still looking at his papers, still perfectly composed, but I knew that sound-- he was enjoying this so much that he could barely contain it. Bastard.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice, trying to act like I wasn't seconds away from throwing myself through the glass windows and plummeting to my certain death. Still, the biggest struggle was not to crumple the paper in my hands from the anger coursing through my veins. "These adjustments will help us... position ourselves competitively in light of ESG policies," I continued, voice shaky with torment. Were these policies even a thing? Was I making things up now? I had overheard them talking about this earlier, but I had no idea what it was, or whether it fit into this scenario. 

My heart hammered into my ribs until the son of the president faintly smiled, which I guessed was a good sign (phew). But Mr. Godfrey didn't give me any signs of whether I was miserably failing or if I was on the correct track-- it made me want to impress him even more. I wanted him to at least nod once, maybe even look pleased, but he just turned a page; a silent verdict that I had failed, but not in a way that truly mattered to anyone but me.

He liked watching me fall. He liked knowing he could snap his fingers and make me dance, even if I had no clue what the song was. I stayed seated, cheeks burning, hands trembling on the polished table, waiting for my next cue like a pathetic little marionette. I wanted to cross my legs, relieve the immense anxiety, somehow soothe myself, but I was locked-- I couldn't move. 

Did I really deserve this for what I had done last Friday? The very thing I had been getting away with my whole life?

And then, finally--

Mr. Godfrey spoke.

"Charming, isn't she?"

I whipped my head toward him. What?

He still wasn't looking at me. He was facing the son of the president, lounging with the kind of confidence that made my skin prickle. The sight of him, breathtaking as always, made me want to forget the shit he had just put me through-- how could anyone hate such beauty?

Mr. Godfrey gave me a soft nod which would've made me swoon in any other context, like he was giving me permission to sit back and be quiet, and turned back to the room. "To clarify, the revisions made to the compliance framework will prioritize the ESG adaptations within the joint venture clause. The preliminary numbers are being finalized internally,"

His voice was silk. Not a stumble, not a single misstep. Nothing like the pathetic mess he had made of me.

"Of course," the advisor said, nodding like none of my verbal vomit had ever existed. "We look forward to reviewing that."

And I looked forward to going home and choking to death in my own nausea and shame. 

I couldn't sit here anymore-- "May I be excused?" I shot in, my voice a mere breath. Still, Mr. Godfrey caught my tone, along with the glossed over look in my eyes; this way, I pleaded with him, begged him to let me go, to give me a second to collect myself. 

Mr. Godfrey tilted his head at the sound of my voice, his eyes landing on me like a pressure point. It wasn't pity that moved him, or concern-- just awareness. Cold, victorious, and satisfactory awareness. He said nothing at first, and the silence dragged long enough for my throat to close again, long enough for the pit in my stomach to start burning. I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, shame blooming like a bruise. 

And then, just as I was about to lower my gaze and give up; 

"Granted,"

Mr. Godfrey wasn't cruel, not openly, but he wasn't kind either. His words were measured, just like everything else he did-- like every word had passed through some internal sieve of control before reaching the air. He didn't look at me again; he turned back toward the room, toward power, as if I had ceased to exist to him.

"The proposal stands as outlined," he continued, speaking directly to the president's son now, his voice once again smooth, anchored. "Any further clarifications will be sent through legal. My team will follow up."

I didn't breathe until I reached the door, and even then, it felt like my lungs were full of someone else's air. I kept my back straight, I didn't run, but I was certain that behind me, Roman Godfrey was smiling like a man who had just proven a point-- one I didn't fully understand yet, but one I knew I wouldn't forget.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I was about to understand, but not yet. 

Not now.

By the time five o'clock rolled around, my breathing had stabilized, but only because it was too exhausted to bother. I had floated through the rest of the day in a daze-- filling out papers I didn't read, answering emails I barely skimmed, and avoiding Mr. Godfrey's office like it housed a guillotine; which, frankly, it kind of did. A modern, Armani-suited guillotine with the cruelest green eyes I had ever seen. French. That was why I ended up in the only place where I knew I wouldn't be devoured.

... If only Mr. Godfrey would devour me.

Peter's office was quieter than the rest of the floor, somehow untouched by the constant hum of printers, the polite conversations, and the surgical tension in the air. He had let me in without a word, barely looking up from his screen, and I took the silence as permission; I sat in the extra chair, hands tucked neatly in my lap, trying not to look like I didn't belong.

But the fact still stood; I didn't belong. Godfrey Industries was a cathedral of competence. Everyone was sharp, expensive, concise, and nothing like me.I had come straight from college with a good GPA, but I had no idea what I was doing. I was unpolished, unsure, yet Peter never made me feel like a walking accident. Something told me we were more alike than I had initially thought. 

My chair made a scraping noise against the floor no matter how carefully I moved it. Outside his office, the building was starting to exhale-- phones stopped ringing, footsteps thinned the sonic bubble, and the last of the suits murmured down the corridor. Peter still wasn't looking at me-- he reached for his mug, took a sip of something seemingly bitter, and casually asked; "Bad day?" He was typing as he spoke, voice as steady as the cursor on his screen. "It's only Monday. You don't get to give up until at least Thursday, kid."

I sighed. "Thursday feels like millennia away,"

Peter opened his drawer and thumbed through it until he found a round box. He slipped a pouch of snus under his upper lip as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and only then did his eyes flick to meet mine. "What did he do?"

"Pardon?"

"Bossman," Peter said. "Roman?"

I straightened up in my seat-- it was odd to hear someone refer to Mr. Godfrey by his first name. "He, uh... humiliated me in the meeting,"

"Yeah?"

"In front of people who are practically Middle Eastern royalty, yes,"

Peter tried not to laugh. With the snus tucked under his lip, the effort made his mouth look crooked. "Christ," he huffed. "I feel like I've heard this story before..." He leaned back, his chair giving a soft complaint. "Okay, maybe not this exact story, but it's rather familiar." He thumbed at a speck on his desk, didn't elaborate, yet there was something peculiar about the way he looked at me now, like he was watching some déjà vu unfold in real time.

Immediately, I was irked-- "Okay, enough," I huffed. "His old secretary?"

"What about her?"

"I just-- what happened?"

He made a low sound in his throat, half a laugh, half a sigh, and pressed his lip down on the snus, jaw twitching like he was grinding down on the bitterness. "She was good," he mumbled. "Efficient."

"But?"

Peter didn't look at me when he smiled, just shook his head like I was adorably clueless. "Sorry kid," he cooed, patronizing beyond belief. "Can't tell you without a subpoena."

"Oh, come on," I leaned forward on my chair, desperate now. "I think I saw her the day of my interview. Black hair down to her hips, paper between her teeth like some dog... It looked like a humiliation ritual."

Peter clicked his tongue, not quite smiling. "Sounds like her, yeah,"

"Yeah?"

"Typical Roman,"

"Typical?" I leaned further, feeling my heart pound into my ribs. "Peter, seriously, it's like you're edging me!"

He didn't answer right away, possibly stunned by my comparison. Something in me shifted-- Mr. Godfrey would've probably appreciated my foul blabber, but Peter... he was outright uncomfortable. Mr. Godfrey would've at least been amused, maybe even exhilarated by my odd choice of words, and the reminder of it made my heart sink. Why couldn't Peter be more like my boss? 

... Why did I want him to be like my evil inappropriate boss?

On the other hand of my inner monologue, Peter simply returned his eyes to the screen, not bothering to get caught up in my odd choice of words. "We're friends," he said, a calm reminder that felt both fatherly and condescending. "But I'm not setting myself on fire so you can toast a marshmallow on gossip."

Gossip? I was sure that the story of Mr. Godfrey's old secretary was important for me to know. "But!--"

Three soft knocks at the door cut me off. I turned too quickly with a hitch of my breath, like I had been caught doing something illegal.

And just as I feared, Mr. Godfrey stood in the doorway, framed in the golden spill of hallway light with his suit jacket unbuttoned, tie a little loosened-- still immaculate, still the kind of handsome that made me nervous to blink, like I was worried he'd vanish, or worse, look directly at me and see something I didn't want him to.

Still, there was something different about him, different from earlier.

"Our guests are gone," Mr. Godfrey looked past me, and directly at Peter with some sort of dismissal. "I'll need her now, if you're done giving her asylum."

Peter didn't respond right away. He shifted in his chair, slow and reluctant, as if our boss's presence had changed the air pressure in the room. His hand moved back to the mouse, clicking once, twice-- anything to keep it casual and controlled. It was as though he went back on some automatic cruise control; "Go easy on the kid," he said, no longer looking at me. 

Mr. Godfrey let out a low hum, similarly to a laugh, as he crossed his arms over his chest, chewing invisible gum as I quietly got up from my chair. He knew I'd follow him, anyway. I had to. Cocky bastard. "Or what?" he called. "You'll be more swamped with work than you already are?"

Peter's eyes darted to meet his-- it almost felt like a warning, yet playful, like they had been friends in another lifetime. What was I witnessing? "Are you threatening me with another case?"

"Threatening?" Mr. Godfrey watched as I stilled by his side, staring down at my shoes. Was he catching the way I wanted to disappear? The way I clacked the tips of my shoes together in order to pass time, to make myself smaller? Something told me it amused him to see me so pliable. "Is giving you more work a threat, Rumancek? The very thing I've employed you to do?"

Peter almost laughed, resorting to shaking his head as he typed something. "All I'm saying is, go easy on the kid,"

The kid? Was that my new name?"

Mr. Godfrey scanned me up and down like he was thinking about it, deciding whether or not to comply. Or was he maybe checking me out?-- no, that was definitely my wishful thinking. With his eyes on me, he held one hand out toward Peter, snapping his fingers in a dismissive, almost derogatory manner; "Get to work," 

And it was then that he put that same hand on the small of my back, gently pushing me out of the doorway to Peter's office so he could close the door.

The touch was warm, soft-- it took my breath away. I was sure my breath even hitched, just slightly, not loud enough for anyone to hear, but my cheeks heated in the same heave of air, pinking up like newly attached organs in a successful transplant. My eyes searched for Mr. Godfrey's, looking for a confirming smile, something out of character to accompany the touch, but no. 

The second his hand left me, the second I turned to see him, he was gone. Mr. Godfrey didn't even look at me when he walked past me, not even needing to turn around to check if I was following-- of course I was. 

When we got to his office shortly after, his door clicked softly behind him as he motioned for me to sit down opposite his desk. I caught the scent of his cologne when I passed him, daring to close my eyes and relish in it for just a second. This was bad. I caught myself doing it the second I did it, though-- I needed to stop fixating on my boss, stat.

The humiliation of everything that had happened last Friday and earlier today burned fresh in my mind as Mr. Godfrey approached me, not yet taking his seat. It made me hold my breath, made the tips of my fingers tingle with burning fervour, and I couldn't look at him. I refused to. After what he did to me today, I wouldn't, not when we were alone like this.

Mr. Godfrey placed himself in front of me, leaning against his desk as he towered over me with all the time in the world. 

He looked so handsome in that suit. So unbelievably handsome, as he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, almost as though he was relieving himself of the pressure around his throat-- then, he cleared it. Green eyes, staring down at me. Angled nose, pointed down at the ground as he scoured his brain on what to say first. It was almost as though he was questioning whether to follow through with this, as though he had been here before and deemed it a misstep he wouldn't repeat; the more I sat in this tension, the more I thought about the odd tear in the previous secretary's skirt. 

I couldn't breathe properly, feeling the air getting stuck in my throat. We were going to talk about it now, weren't we? My body responded to Mr. Godfrey before my brain had the chance to catch up, like muscle memory from a life I hadn't lived yet. And right now, I could feel it happening again-- my shoulders rolling forward, my spine rounding out with the weight of his gaze, thighs drawing just a little closer together under the hem of my skirt, as though they remembered something I shouldn't have let happen.

Then, softly, like he was making a casual observation about the weather, he said; "I've... always thought there was a particular kind of bravery in submission,"

I felt the hair at the nape of my neck stand up. What? That was the complete opposite of what I thought he would say-- I had no idea what I thought he'd say, actually, but it was definitely not this. 

"It's not weakness, not at all. It's the opposite... it takes discipline, nerve. The kind of self-knowledge most people spend decades uncovering," Mr. Godfrey traced the wood of his desk with his pointer as though he was casually passing time, but then he leaned forward, softening his tone. "However, I don't have decades to offer you. I'm keen to speed things up."

With a quick breath, I dared to look up at him, my eyes full with complete and utter confusion-- what was happening right now? Did he... see me? Could he sense me, like I thought he could all along? "I don't-- I don't know what you mean, sir,"

Mr. Godfrey dismissed me; "You didn't back down," he continued. "When I told you to start talking about the compliance framework, you just did it. Any other normal person would've made up something to excuse themselves, to avoid making a fool of themselves, but you... you heard my word, and you just adhered." He bit down on his bottom lip, holding back a string of laughs as though he relished in the memory. "I'm quite sure I've hired the right person for the job, but... there's just something on my mind that's really bothering me."

I swallowed--- I could feel the burn increasing behind my eyes. "Yes?" I stayed planted in the chair, a pinned insect, watching the way he stood up and paced calmly around the desk like a man thinking very carefully about what to do with something he'd already caught. I wondered if he had ever thought about chopping me to pieces and hanging my head over his desk like a bust of a dead, caught deer-- I felt like one, anyway.

But then, Mr. Godfrey stopped by the side of my chair, and dropped down so he was crouching next to me, staring up at me with those green eyes that usually only looked back at me from my Forbes magazine with him on the cover. My breath caught as I shifted in my chair to look at him; I probably wouldn't get many opportunities to look at him from above. 

"I know you're fresh," he said, lightly, almost fondly, as he ran his fingers across the arm of the chair. "Which is why I'm only talking to you the way I feel you want to be talked to."

What? I felt beyond lost, and my breath felt choked in my chest. "Sir, I--"

"But the way I feel you want to be talked to is very specific, so I want to make sure I'm... adjusting correctly, per se. I wouldn't want there to be a misunderstanding," There was something in his eyes, like he was searching me for answers, asking for some sort of permission to proceed; I couldn't decode it. His voice was almost careful now, the faintest shadow of uncertainty threading through it, asking for something I didn't know how to give.

"Do you like working here?" he tried, softer this time.

I nodded before I could stop myself, a quick, embarrassed jerk of my head-- of course I did. I liked it too much, despite the emotional torture that came with being his secretary. Was that maybe the part I enjoyed?

Mr. Godfrey smiled faintly, not triumphant, but almost relieved, and for a moment, he stayed very still, letting the tension breathe between us. Then, his hand slid closer along the armrest, deliberate but slow, stopping just inches away from where my fingers clutched the chair in a death grip. He didn't touch me-- he only waited, like he was giving me the choice to close the distance.

I stared at his hand, pulse hammering against my ribs. The skin between his thumb and forefinger was pink yet golden under the office light, so close I could feel the warmth of him bleeding into me.

Oh God.

Was I overthinking this? Was I imagining this? Whatever it was, I had a feeling I knew what was happening, what he wanted me to do, and believe me, I was ready to do whatever Mr. Godfrey asked me to do.

So fuck me, but I took a chance and shifted slightly, the movement almost imperceptible, and brushed the back of my pinky against his. It was feather-light, could've been easily excused as accidental if anyone had been watching, but we both knew better.

Mr. Godfrey exhaled, a quiet, barely-there sound of relief. He lifted his gaze back to mine, his mouth curving into something dangerous, something impossibly fond, yet something he knew he shouldn't be doing. "I'm glad," he murmured, now retreating his hand and standing up, walking back around his desk.

I had to clear my throat, jarred by his touch; "About-- About what?"

Mr. Godfrey shrugged. "That you like working here,"

Ah. Of course.

Mr. Godfrey sat down in his chair, the soft groan of leather breaking the silence, and rested his elbows lightly on the arms, steepling his fingers. He watched me without blinking, and for a moment, I wondered if he could see right through my clothes, right through my skin, down into the marrow of what I really wanted-- I wondered whether he'd like what he saw. Would he like the bra I was wearing, or was it not lacy enough for his taste? This guy definitely liked lace. Definitely. Red or black, I wasn't sure. 

"I have another question," Mr. Godfrey said, voice cutting through my thoughts.

"Yes, sir?"

His lips twitched at the 'sir' as though it pleased him, encouraged him. "Are you happy to do what I ask of you?"

There was no way to answer that honestly without exposing myself, but it didn't feel like there was a choice anymore. "Yes, sir," I mumbled.

Something shifted in the air between us, thickening-- the faintest gleam entered his green eyes, and slowly, deliberately, he reached down and pushed a button under his desk. A soft mechanical click came from behind me, and it was only when I turned around that I realized the door to his office had locked from the inside. The blinds also came down with a low whir.

Panic and excitement ravaged through me, neither fully winning. Fuck.

With wide eyes, my head turned back to Mr. Godfrey as my hands held onto the chair like it could possibly save me from whatever was about to happen to me. "Sir?" I tried. "What exactly did I just say yes to?"

Humoured, Mr. Godfrey bit back on his growing smirk. Something told me he had waited for this moment for a while. "To put it plainly, you've said yes to the consequences of your actions,"

"Consequences?"

"Yes,"

"Of my... actions?"

"Are you perhaps hard of hearing?" he asked, repeating himself with annoyance; "The consequences of your actions. Were you never reprimanded as a kid, perchance?"

Reprimanded? What the fuck was he about to do to me? "I was," My mind buzzed with horror and excitement-- was he about to bend me over his knee and spank me raw? Why the hell did I even want that so bad in the first place? All these new thoughts were beyond overwhelming.

"Good," he said. "Then you know what it's about."

My heart pounded, breath catching in my throat, but Mr. Godfrey didn't rush to move. He just reclined in his chair with casual elegance, stretching out one long leg under the desk, glancing briefly at his computer screen like I wasn't even there. "I think," he said; "you can handle this next part yourself." Then, he spared me the smallest flick of his green eyes, cool and bored-- they were so ridiculously gorgeous. "You remember what you did the other day, don't you?"

My mouth dried instantly-- oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

This was it. I was about to get my head chopped off in the Godfrey guillotine.

But Mr. Godfrey turned back to his screen, clicking his mouse lazily as he sorted through his inbox; "Go ahead," he sighed. "Unless you're planning on wasting my time." He tapped a few keys, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet room. Without looking up, he added, tone perfectly dry; "I so hope you won't."

I felt like I was burning alive-- humiliation and excitement stirred in my gut, leaving me slightly trembling. Was this really happening? Did I understand this correctly? "Mr. Godfrey, sir, I'm really sorry about Friday, I swear I won't--"

"Don't apologize," he huffed. "Just do as you're told. Are you not happy to do what I ask of you? Did you lie to me earlier?"

Happy as ever. Happy beyond belief. "No-- No, sir, I would never lie to you,"

"Good," he said, dragging his hand through his brown hair before buttoning up the top button of his nicely ironed shirt. "Wouldn't want a filthy liar running around my office, right?" 

Then, with a dismissive flick of his hand, he motioned for me to get on with it.

"Right," I breathed. This was my repercussion, right? Humiliating myself in front of him?

... I could deal with that.

Slowly, so, so slowly, I pressed my thighs together, the movement shamefully familiar, dragging a hot, needy friction right against where I needed it most. Why was I doing this? Why wasn't I fighting this, questioning this? I couldn't think. What if I had misread the whole situation, what if he was just messing with me, what if, what if?

But then-- "You'll let me know when you're finished," he said, not even granting me a glance. "Won't you?" Mr. Godfrey casually scrolled through his emails, reading, occasionally clicking open a response window. It made me feel like I was furniture, like I didn't exist at all except for his mild amusement, yet I felt like the most important thing in the world for being allowed to do something like this in his office... for being encouraged to do this in front of the man on the front of my Forbes magazine.

"Yeah," I breathed, allowing myself the casual tone. 

But Mr. Godfrey clicked his mouse with one loud snap; "Sorry, what was that?"

My cheeks burned. "Yes, sir,"

"There you go," 

I shifted again, crossing my legs to squeeze just a little harder-- I couldn't even help myself anymore. I was getting desperate, and some part of me wanted him to notice, to see me, which is why I allowed the softest of sounds to slip out.

But... he still didn't react.

No praise. No encouragement. He just worked, unbothered, as though he hadn't just locked the door to his office and commanded me into this humiliating spectacle, like he hadn't told me to get myself off with the utmost nonchalance. 

I clenched harder, chasing friction and some kind of reward. The room felt too hot, too quiet, filled with the soft clicks of Mr. Godfrey's mouse and keyboard. Occasionally, he leaned back, scanning his emails like this was just any other Monday-- it was both infuriating and irrevocably hot. "For your information," he started, voice almost lazy, conversational; "I've been watching you squirm in your seat for about a week now without thinking anything about it, but you became too damn obvious on Friday when your face got all flushed. Subtlety isn't your strong suit. However, it's been fun knowing that you thought you could get away with that right under my nose. Reckless, too, if you ask me, but fun."

Nose. His Forbes front-cover nose. Forbes nose, Forbes nose, Forbes nose. I didn't dare to look at him, and my cheeks pinked up as I fixated on the orchid in the back of his office-- this was a horrifying revelation. 

Another click of Mr. Godfrey's mouse followed. "I don't usually do fun," He let the words trail off, the smile in his voice unmistakable. "Yet... you're pleasantly entertaining."

My thighs squeezed tighter at the nice heat of his words-- this might be one of the few nice things he's ever said to me. The friction sharpened, aching, unbearably undeniable, as I hid my smile in the palm of my hand, squirming in my seat. 

Still, Mr. Godfrey didn't glance at me. "Your hair is nicer this way, now that it's down," he said, like he was commenting on a typo in an email. "But do you have any shorter skirts? I'm aware of the office protocol about them having to be just above the knee, so... surprise me, won't you? You're a smart girl."

Another click.

"And just so you know, you worry too much. Don't worry. I notice you,"

Another sharp movement of his hand on the mouse, another click-- his attention was entirely elsewhere as I bit down on my lip, hoping he wasn't noticing the rather maroon colour of my cheeks. He noticed me? He saw me? Even after all his dismissal and humiliation, he was still keeping an eye on me?

At this point, I was working myself toward the edge, hoping to maybe unlock some more words of praise, or anything at all. It hadn't felt like this before, I hadn't let myself be so blatant about getting off this way, hadn't ever been watched while knowing-- this was nuts. "You notice me?"

"Yes," 

My breath hitched with satisfaction, but only because I allowed it to. I couldn't stop it-- the small, broken sound that cracked out of my throat, and the sheepish smile that was now very much in his sight. "You said you weren't the least bit interested in me,"

"I did?"

"In my job interview," I breathed. "You said you weren't."

"And I didn't lie," he said, shrugging as he typed. "I'm not interested in you. You don't interest me in the least."

What? Then what the fuck was happening? What was I doing? Why was he making me do this? I couldn't think, couldn't breathe-- in the midst of it all, horror washed over me as I realized how close I was, and how him saying that had pushed me even closer to the edge. Why was I reacting like this? Why did I want him to go on...?

Mr. Godfrey gave a soft huff of a laugh, low and dry. It was without question that he understood I was close, yet I had no idea how, seeing as he wasn't even looking at me. "Go ahead," he said, almost bored. "Get it over with."

The shame made it worse, the shame made it better, and I broke against myself with a muffled gasp, thighs clenching tight as the euphoria raced through me, vicious, humiliating, and helpless. I slumped forward slightly, trying to catch my breath, trembling with the aftershocks.

... What the fuck had I done?

In the midst of my shame and post-orgasmic choppy heaves of air, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes met mine for the first time since the beginning of this entire humiliating ordeal, and it felt like being doused in cold water. There was no heat in his expression, no lust, just something measured, distant, and unreadable. It was as though he was back to being a businessman inspecting a product, and not a man who had just made his secretary unravel in front of him as a form of punishment.

"Huh," he finally said. The barest flicker of something crossed his face-- interest, amusement? It vanished before I could place it. "Not bad."

... Not bad? 

Not good, either, then. 

Just... adequate. Passable. 

What if I wanted to be perfect? Had I not done what he wanted? How could I do better? I wanted to, so badly. My want nearly made me blind.

Mr. Godfrey's attention returned to the screen, disregarding me and my state. Click. Tap. Scroll. But then, he spoke; "Next time, though..." His voice was business-casual again, and it made me want to claw my eyes out with frustration. "Ask before assuming you've earned the privilege."

I blinked, trying to understand the shape of that sentence. My body was still raw and with aftershocks; "Sir?"

Green eyes darted my way, ready to clear up the confusion. "If you're going to take the liberties you need to take to get relief during your work hours, you are no longer permitted to tend to them without my verbal approval. Have I made myself clear?"

Jesus Christ.

I stared back at Mr. Godfrey, wide-eyed and rather horrified. "Why don't you fire me?" I breathed. "You-- You have all the grounds to fire me for inappropriate behaviour, and-- and I don't know what just happened, but I feel like--"

"I don't fire good employees just because they have poor judgment when left alone for too long," he shot in. "That's a training issue."

A sound clawed at my throat-- half a laugh, half a gasp. "This is training?"

Mr. Godfrey started to seem very, very bored with me. I sensed it even before his eyes turned back to his screen, huffing at the email that ticked in-- or was he just frustrated with me again? "This," he said; "is me giving you structure."

Structure? Maybe that was all I needed? As his secretary, I was the one who structured his schedule, so it made sense that he would want to structure me. Structure me, rearrange me to his liking, shape me, build me from scratch all over again, reset me--

God, how I wanted all of that, and I hadn't even properly known it before now.

Mr. Godfrey sighed, glaring at me like I was wasting his time. He clicked the same button that had locked his door previously, undoing it, before he waved his hand towards it. "That will be all,"

What?

Was that... it?

My breath caught in my throat, shame mixing with something else, something stupid, something humiliatingly grateful. "Okay...?" I stood on trembling legs, smoothed my skirt, and tried to look like I wasn't about to fall apart completely. His attention was already gone-- he was somewhere else entirely, and I missed him dearly within a few seconds. 

But then, he called my name when I reached the door. I spun around on my heel, desperate not to let the opportunity to get another word with him pass. "Yes, sir?" Please, please, please.

He hummed, typing up a new email. "How's your relationship with your father?"

... What?

I could only laugh, caught off-guard. Was he dissing me? Was he making a joke? If anything, it was rather funny in my head. Was he pinning my compliance on my supposed daddy issues? He knew nothing about me, yet he dared to assume I even had those issues at all...? I blamed the post-orgasmic state of my mind for the words that slipped past my lips with the utmost humour; "Oh, fuck you!"

Mr. Godfrey's head snapped toward me, green eyes wide with surprise. The silence stretched, so did the tension, and just as I thought he was about to lunge forward and chew my head off-- 

"I'll see you tomorrow,"

Suppressing a sickeningly girly giggle at being let off easy, I left Mr. Godfrey's office with shame burning in my cheeks, and my heart hammering with excitement.

If only he would pay attention to me like this every day.

... Would he?

(a/n: pls why am I finding it so hot when he's being completely dismissive and just AAGGAHHHHGGHHHH yes ok my brain is melting, MWAH to whoever got this far!!<333)

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lovely little taglist:

@likecherriesinthespring @muchwita @fish-eyes-png @voidpixies

@voidofsunlight @sn0wybowie-blog @scarledy @carmillavalentine

@succubustacy @sweatyconnoisseurstrawberry @ohperiodtpoohhh

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[leonkennedybreedingkink]

breaking news i’m yet again inserting myself into a drabble and calling it x reader…. featuring pregnancy and babies (my usual spread) and tooth rotting fluff. enjoy :)

Four’s a good number. It’s a nice, even number. Not too many, not too little that your children will grow up selfish, asocial freaks.

Even so, you stare at that test in sheer bewilderment, even though you know damn well what that plus sign means, a decade of marriage and three kids (and a partridge in a pear tree) in.

How on earth do you break the news? Your kids are a little old for a ‘best big brother/sister’ onesie or shirt, pregnancy reveal cakes are gross (a pee stick in a cake is fucking disgusting), everything else is tacky or outdated, you don’t even like doing gender reveal parties.

Leon’s doing homework with your eldest two, trying to help them through their times tables and not get frustrated with Common Core. Your toddler’s enraptured in watching that one Hulk movie, and you have to make dinner.

You cube up some potatoes and carrots, tossing them in a big pan with some seasonings and chicken thighs as the oven preheats.

Well, better late than never.

You look at the test in your hand and pelt the back of Leon’s head with it, turning and washing your hands when he yelps, a hand flying up to grab the back of his head.

“Hey!” He whips around, about to ask what the hell that was for when he spots the test upturned on the floor. He doesn’t even have to look at the result, pregnancy tests have a distinct shape anyway. “Oh.”

“Daddy, what’s that?” One of your children asks, about to reach down and grab it.

Leon snags it before they can. “Nothing, baby, focus on your homework.”

“Maybe they need a break to go play outside.” You suggest placidly, wiping your hands on a dish towel and drizzling the pan with some olive oil before mixing it with your hands.

“Yeah, good idea.” Leon watches as your eldest two yell in excitement before they beeline for the back door. He makes sure they’re gone before he gets up, rest in hand as he goes over to the kitchen.

He wraps his arms around you from behind, sharp chin digging into your shoulder. “Seriously? That’s how you break the news to me? You throw it at me?”

You shrug casually, turning around in his arms. “Everything else is cliche. I thought it would be a nice change of pace.”

Leon sighs, eyes flicking to the ceiling before he says. “You threw a positive test at me.”

“Uh-huh.” You smile brightly.

Despite himself, he snorts a laugh. “You’re impossible. You pelt me with a pregnancy test to tell me we have Kennedy number four on the way.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do.” His eyes flick down to your abdomen. “Maybe enough for five babies.”

Your eyes widen comically. “Oh, hell no.”

Too late, he’s getting down on a knee and pushing up your shirt.

“The hell are you doing?” You peer down to the top of his head as he presses his mouth to your abdomen.

“Talking to the baby.” Leon says, as if that’s the most normal thing in the world.

You roll your eyes. “They don’t even develop ears yet.”

“Your mommy’s a know it all.” He says completely seriously, stubble scratching your skin.

“And your daddy needs to shave.” Damn him, he’s sucking you in.

Leon snorts, pressing a kiss to your tummy. “Yeah, he does.” He proceeds to rub his stubble against your stomach, even when you yelp and push at his head.

“Enough, damnit!”

Leon’s chuckling as he stands up and presses a kiss to your cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

You make a face at him before sobering. “You’re happy about this, right?”

“Course. I love you.” He kisses your forehead next, arms around your waist.

“I love you, too.”

[dragonakito360]

Hello bestie ;33 HEHDHEHJW

Anyways, i wish for a doflamingo x fem!reader smut. Reader is the favorite toy (if u can say) that doffy wants to play with, like the other ladies that are in the palace he doesn’t want them, only the reader. Maybe some soft doffy (im a sucker 👉👈)

Also with a hint of misuse of devil fruit, aka bondage🥰

Laced up Nice and Pretty

{ THIS IS AN 18+ NSFW WORK, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT }

⋆｡°✩ Pairing: Donquixote Doflamingo x Reader

⋆｡°✩ Summary: Doflamingo finds his favourite toy all dolled up for him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to take her.

⋆｡°✩ Content Tags: P in V sex, bondage, improper use of Devil Fruit Ability, Possessive!Doffy, a bit of dacryphilia, spanking, degradation, Soft!Doffy and a bit of aftercare at the end

⋆｡°✩ Word Count: 1,350 Words

⋆｡°✩ Lorekeeper's Notes: Thank you for the request! I am in love with that blond man too 🫶 I have not written smut in a long while, hope you guys still enjoy the story regardless!

It was no secret among the Donquixote Pirates that Doflamingo had women in the castle that he favoured. They were his toys, ready to attend to his carnal pleasures whenever he desired. He used them however he pleased, chasing after his own high and leaving the women to care for themselves in the aftermath. But it was no secret either that he had a clear favourite, and it was you. It hadn’t been long since you came to work under him, yet everyone knew of his attraction to you. He sought your company far more than he did the others, gifting dresses that he would tear off your body, and he would take the time to attend to you once the act was over.

Doflamingo walked down the castle halls, heading out to the garden for fresh air. That was when he spotted you, dressed in the new clothes he had gifted. It was a tight outfit, hugging your body just right as lace frills accented the piece, leaving nothing to the imagination. It was more similar to lingerie than any actual dress. He licked his lips, grinning as he watched you lean up to clean the decor of the palace. He snuck up from behind, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you against him.

“What a pleasure it is to see you, doll.” Doflamingo whispered in your ear. “Did you dress yourself up all for me? I gifted this just the other day, it’s a shame for me to rip it so soon.”

“Young master, I-” You try to speak, only for Doflamingo to cut you off.

“The chores can wait, I need you now.” He placed emphasis on the last word, making you understand that there was no room for argument. Not that you would have, you were always so willing to please him. He could feel your body give in, his laugh echoing slightly in the sparse hall. “That’s a good girl.”

Doflamingo brought you to his room, sitting on the lavish couch as you stood in front of him. You felt like a prey watched by a predator, his lustful gaze watching your every move, every squirm of your body as you stared back, trying to read his expression. But all you could see was that mischievous grin as leaned back in his seat, gesturing towards you.

“Go on, put on a show for your king, doll. Show me that body of yours, before I rip that dress off myself.” You nodded at his words and unzipped the dress, letting it cascade off your shoulders. You held it up, giving Doflamingo just a peek of your breasts. He watched with anticipation as the dress fell to the floor, leaving you bare, save for the thin, lace undergarments. You approached him, letting your hips sway and running your hands down your body, accentuating your body.

Suddenly, you feel a pull tug your body. Before you could comprehend what had happened, your body had become suspended in the air by Doflamingo’s strings. You were face down, wrists tied above your head, back arched and legs spread, leaving room for Doflamingo to step between them. The man laughed as he tore your underwear with his strings, eyes focused on your pussy as it clenched on air, begging for his touch. He came up behind you, leaning over your body as you turned to face him.

“Please, please Doffy.” You begged, wanting him to just take you then and there. Doflamingo laughed once more, grabbing your chin.

“Making demands of me, darling? You should know your place.” His free hand slapped your ass, rubbing it soothingly as you squirmed. “I saw you and Diamante earlier today. Did you like spending time with him, hm? Did you think I wouldn’t know you were whoring yourself for him? And now you want me to fuck you on my cock? You filthy slut.” He slapped your rear again, rubbing the red, sore spot. “Did you forget who you belong to?”

“N-No, Doffy, I swear. I wasn’t doing anything with Diamante.” You pleaded, trying to convince him of your innocence. And truthfully, he knew you had nothing to hide. But he wanted to play with you for a while longer. He pulled on your body, lifting it upward and pressing your back flat against his chest. he freed his hard cock out his pants, shoving the garment down and kicking it aside. He rubbed it against your pussy, the tip teasing your clit. You let out a soft, shaky breath as he chuckled.

“I think I need to remind you of who you belong to, who this pussy belongs to.” He grinned and thrusted up into your cunt, the tip of his cock pushing in. You let out a loud, strained moan as he continued to push in. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight! Relax for me, doll. You’re taking me all the way in.”

Doflamingo pulled your body down onto his cock, one hand caressing your breasts and the other on your clit, making delicious moans spill from your mouth. Once he was fully sheathed inside of you, he took a moment to admire the view, your hips flushed against his as your body trembled. Only you could take in all of him, unlike the other women. It was like your cunt was made for him. He thrusted slowly, teasingly, keeping what you both desire just barely out of reach. He then rutted into you at an animalistic pace, laughing between his grunts as he felt the bulge at your stomach.

“Feel that, darling? No other man can make you feel this satisfied.” He held onto your hips, as he thrusted hard into you, grip bruising your skin. He smirked as he felt your warm walls clench on his cock, and he started to slow down to bring you to the brink of orgasm, only to stop.

“Doffy, Doffy p-please.” You begged, trying to move back into him as tears pooled in your eyes. His grin widened, cock twitching at the sight of your plight.

“Aw, does my darling want to cum? Then beg for it. Tell me how much you want my dick.” He grinned mischievously as he held you firmly in place.

“P-Please, Doffy! Let me cum! Only you can make me feel this good!” You cried, hoping it was enough to convince him. Thankfully, it was. Doflamingo snapped his hips against yours, bringing you to the edge once again.

“That’s right, only I can make you feel this good.” He chuckled under his breath. “This is my pussy, do you understand? No one’s allowed to fuck you except for me.”

“Yours, Doffy! Yours!” You felt his cock twitch and your walls tighten its grip. With a pleasured cry, you came undone, your juices all over his cock and balls. He came not long after, spilling his warm seed into your cunt. After rutting in a few more times he pulled out, admiring the view of your hole and his cum dripping out.

“You did so good for me, doll. You always do.” He cooed, releasing the strings that held you. He tossed you onto the bed, his touch gentle and warm. As you laid on your back to get comfortable, he called for a maid to bring over a towel. He wiped off your sweat, kissing your body and the marks left behind from the last time you both had sex. He was pleased to see them, still visible, showing everyone you’re his. “You’re gorgeous, doll.” He praised softly and kissed your lips. He tossed the towel aside and got off the bed, tidying himself up in the mirror and putting on his pants. “Get yourself dressed, you still have work to do.”

“Yes, young master.” You responded weakly, throat hoarse from your cries. Despite the command, you knew he wouldn’t mind if you took some time to rest. He looked at you with a grin, placing a kiss to your lips before leaving.

[bigheadbrooke-9]

.⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁Challenge. ݁⊹ . ˖ . ݁

Dad!Eddie Munson x Mom!fem!reader

Summary: Imani was upset after Eddie innocently told her she was too small to climb onto the couch alone. Though he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings, she took it personally and gave him the silent treatment. Realizing she was truly upset, Eddie took it upon himself to make things right—with a lighthearted prank, hoping to win back her smile and forgiveness.

Warnings: This is purely just fluff 😭

A/n : This so good and cuteeee

The soft sizzle of vegetables in the skillet filled the kitchen with warmth as I stirred dinner, humming faintly to myself. It was early evening, and the gentle glow of the setting sun filtered through the curtains. Just as I reached for the seasoning, I heard the unmistakable sound of small, bare feet pattering down the hallway—quick, uneven, and determined. Moments later, I felt tiny arms wrap around my thigh, clutching tightly.

“Mommy?” came a small voice, trembling slightly.

I glanced down to see Imani—her curly hair a tousled halo around her head, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. Her little nose scrunched as she looked up at me.

“Daddy’s being mean,” she said, her bottom lip poking out in a pout.

With a sympathetic smile, I brushed her curls away from her forehead and leaned down to press a kiss there. Then, shielding her ears with my hands, I raised my voice dramatically.

“EDDIE MUNSON!”

A rustle followed my call—faint shuffling, followed by the thud of heavier footsteps echoing down the hallway. When Eddie entered the kitchen, Imani narrowed her eyes and stared him down with all the might her little frame could muster. She kept her grip on my leg, refusing to budge.

“What did you do to Mani?” I asked in a soft but scolding tone.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. “All I told her was that she’s still too little to get on the couch by herself. That’s all, I swear. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, princess.”

Imani turned her face away in protest, her arms now wrapped tightly around my leg. I gave her head a gentle pat, laughing under my breath.

“You’re mean, Eddie,” I teased, smirking.

Eddie crouched down in front of her. “C’mon, princess. I’m sorry,” he said, holding out his arms. Reluctantly, she let him scoop her up, though her little arms stayed firmly crossed as she stared at the wall. Still, when Eddie leaned in and kissed her cheek, the corner of her mouth twitched upward—and though she tried to hide it, I saw the smile sneak through. She quickly turned her face, pretending it hadn’t happened.

—

Later that evening, Imani was on a mission.

“DADDYYYY! Where are you, silly?” she sang out, stomping through the living room in search of him.

I followed close behind, sensing the mischief in the air. Eddie was up to something—I could feel it. Imani whipped the blanket off the couch. Nothing. She darted into our bedroom, checking beneath the covers, then turned back to me with a look of confusion.

“Mommy, where did he go?” she asked, brows furrowed.

“I have no clue,” I said with a shrug. “Weren’t you mad at Daddy, anyway?”

She gave a small huff and crossed her arms. “I was… but I wanted to make him dress up.” Her pout returned as she stomped her foot dramatically.

“Don’t throw a tantrum, Mani,” I said gently, biting back a laugh.

Just then, Eddie appeared like a shadow behind her—silent as ever, crouching low with a grin spreading across his face. I stifled a giggle as he tiptoed forward and in one swift motion, scooped her up and began tickling her mercilessly.

“DADDY! Stop, that tickles!” she squealed, her tiny round teeth flashing in a wide smile as her curls bounced with each wriggle.

I joined in, dropping to my knees and tickling her soft thighs, causing her to shriek with laughter. She squirmed between us, her cheeks flushed and red from the joy.

“Say you forgive me and I’ll stop,” Eddie bargained, pausing briefly to let her catch her breath.

Imani shook her head stubbornly, still giggling, and we dove back in—tickling her until tears of laughter streamed down her face. Finally, she let out a gasping, “Okay! I forgive you!”

Eddie leaned back, wiping his eyes from laughing so hard. I released her, and in a flash, Imani pounced on him with tiny, determined fingers, tickling his neck. I joined in too, holding his hands so he couldn’t escape.

“OKAY, I’M SORRY MANI!” he cried out between peals of laughter.

“C’mon Mommy, let’s go!” Imani shouted, victorious, as she sprinted down the hallway.

But just as I turned to chase after her, Eddie caught me by the waist, pulling me back. I barely had time to laugh before he began tickling me next.

“MANI! He got me—HELP!” I shrieked, twisting in his arms.

Like the superhero she believed herself to be, she ran back in, giggling and diving onto the bed to save me. Within moments, the three of us were a heap of tangled limbs and breathless laughter, wrapped up in love, chaos, and everything beautiful about this little family we’d built together.

My grammerly is going to work dudeeeee 😭

[fictionalsimp09]

Willow - Wolfstar - @taylorswiftmicrofic - 305 words - AO3

After a week of avoiding each other, Sirius finds Remus reading under a willow tree. “Can we talk?” 

“Would it matter if I say no? You’d talk anyways.” 

“Moony…I- I’m sorry.” 

Remus looks up at him, bored. “For what, exactly? Telling Snape how to get into the shack? Breaking my trust? Almost making me a murderer?” 

“All of it,” he replies sincerely. 

“But would you do it again if you had the chance?” Sirius’ silence is answer enough. “You’ve broken my trust once before, how can I believe you now?” 

Sirius sits down next to him. “I would do anything to make it up to you. I don’t want to lose you over this; I don’t want to lose you at all. Please.” 

Remus sighs and looks to the clear blue sky. “I wish I hated you for what you did. But I’ve been avoiding you this past week, not because of that, but because I hate myself for forgiving you almost immediately.” 

Sirius lets out a breath he has been holding all week. “You forgive me?” 

“Do anything like this again, betray not just me, but any of our friends, again and I won’t be so forgiving.” 

They both know that is a lie, but he doesn’t say so, instead smiling as he rests his head on Remus’ shoulder, who picks his book back up again as if nothing has happened. 

And in six years' time, looking through bars and thinking of Remus’ first full moon that he’ll be spending alone in a decade, Sirius only wishes that he doesn’t hate him for this. He may not have been the spy - not that Remus knows that - but he is still responsible for James and Lily's death by suggesting Peter be the secret keeper. “Forgive me, Moony,” his voice croaks from disuse. “Please.” 

[jazzithingz]

just nightwing and red hood activities.

(i’ll be honest, this was a random thing i wrote whilst trying to come up with something to write about for my next fic. i might start doing these, see what ppl enjoy and then write them in full for ao3 and perhaps wattpad if ppl even use that anymore)

jason, confused why his highly secure and break-in proof safe house is being broken into. the only people with the knowledge to get that window open would be his siblings, but they’re all busy tonight.

jason, now grabbing his gun loaded with rubber bullets (that will still knock someone out and even badly concuss them from this range) drawn as he turns the corner.

“dick!?” he practically throws the gun out of sight so that the man who now laid on his stained carpet floor like a starfish wouldn’t throw a fit about how ‘jay really wants me dead that bad’.

“jay!” dick tosses his head up to peek at jason through his lashes. he springs up, clearly just gotten back from patrol or something judging by his windswept hair. “just checking to make sure you’re still real and not dead” dick throws his arms around the taller man.

although it takes jason a moment, he finally opens his mouth “wait, why wouldn’t i be real?” he pulls back from dicks hold, a frown crossing his face.

“well because the hallucinations i used to have of you would taunt me and trick me they were real. and then i would reach forward and fall into nothing and tell myself i was going crazy! now days they are lame and just taunt me occasionally” he says exasperatedly, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“you have hallucinations?! of me?!” jason now grabbed dicks shoulders, shaking him. dick just stared at him like jason was the one who was crazy.

“yeah.” he sighed, rather fakely. “anyways, i gotta go, jay bird. see you at family dinner on sunday!” dick bounded happily to the window, clambering out with what could only be described as the grace of a newborn deer learning to walk.

jason stared at the window, “what the fuck.”

[cocoetoile]

i have to do overtime again this weekend but hopefully i will be able to get back to everyone on the waitlist this week 🤞

undercut is just my life situation

a little more personal thing is my company is reducing our salary because guess what, AI

i work in advertising and i can’t say i didn’t see it coming. corporate and brand LOVE it. few of my colleagues got laid off in the past few weeks and there’s nothing concrete at the moment about how much the cost will be cut. i doubt i will get laid off because of my position and experiences but still, it’s a trying time for me. at least i still have a job though.

i’m staying as positive as i can because life is just life but damn sometimes i wish it will be slightly easier, or different. thanks a lot for people who listened to me too. i hope it will get better soon, that’s what im telling myself anyway.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

I have some really important information that may concern you and a blogger on Tumblr that I think you might know of, or could be mutuals with…

This was an anon send in that can be found on this blog [censored, blogger doesn’t want people to mistake them being part of the drama, and does NOT SUPPORT the following bigoted beliefs]…

“Ew, you're collaborating with a white supremacist's best friend?

Just a heads up, but @fangdokja-anon has been called out by multiple authors here for being homophobic, fatphobic, and racist, as well as making multiple problematic posts (like wanting to write about genocide and infant SA). The only person who publicly supported her was @yanderedrabbles who praised her in the comments and even made a post to defend her friendship.

It's your choice to have her as a writer for the zine, but please make it public knowledge so people can at least opt out. I myself won't sign up to share space with a bigot.”

Then there was this follow up post by the same anon, who goes into detail of the issues above…

“Sorry for the sudden accusatory ask, I'm one of the people who unfollowed @yanderedrabbles after she openly expressed her support for the homophobe and I was annoyed to see her acting so careless on another blog I follow. I guess she's hoping we'll just forget about it at some point and keeps quiet on her main.

Here's the first post where she explained in many empty words she doesn't care about the issue because the blog has been nice to her and they're friends: https://www.tumblr.com/yanderedrabbles/780435897593315328/hi-idk-if-your-mutuals-with-fangdokja-but-shes?source=share

The problematic post on @fangdokja-anon blog has since been deleted or removed, but I have a screenshot of @yanderedrabbles commenting on it with ‘THATS why your pro pic went all blurry when I logged in. Literally freaked me out so bad. I'm glad to see you reorganising fang! Gonna learn to use AO3 just for you 😘’ while the rest of us were freaking out at the atrocities mentioned.

Instead of coming out and telling us why she chose to publicly support someone who fetishizes stuff like concentration camps and pedophilia she's all giddy about writing for a yandere magazine, like we're dumbasses who'll just swallow up any content. The audacity is amazing.”

Hopefully the last follow up post by the anon that goes into some more history/evidence…

“The post that started this whole drama is from December, but it didn't gain traction until some bigger blogs like ozzgin and moyazaika talked about it, which happened recently. It's still available and you can read it for yourself, including the paragraphs where she explicitly says she doesn't support LGBTQ+ content: https://www.tumblr.com/fangdokja/770117292416712704/blog-rules-guidelines?source=share

The main conclusion from it was that she's (@fangdokja-anon) homophobic, though more people pointed out she's made questionable statements in the past, too. It should've stopped there, but then she made a post basically explaining that she's been gathering an audience so she can switch to different platforms (her website and AO3), where she can finally write without censorship. It was an extremely cringe story about her ‘shackles’ coming off, listing a bunch of offensive topics from the Trigger Warning Database and saying that nothing is sacred and she won't hold back. (Yes, it included the part about children and infants not being safe from it) Same blogs called her out again and she proceeded to block everyone who interacted with those posts. I guess a lot of people reported her blog since it's now hidden and tagged as ‘mature’, for which she had a meltdown.

Anyway, friend (@fangdokja-anon) is against queer people but you (@yanderedrabbles) argue she's actually kind because you haven't been targeted? Suspicious, but I let it sit.

Friend (@fangdokja-anon) publishes entire paragraphs about wanting to write downright atrocious content and you (@yanderedrabbles) comment how excited you are for it? Yeah, that doesn't work anymore, sorry. You're clearly ok with it and that's fucked up. Go support your cult member somewhere else, not in my gay household.”

Since this all seems to be true, please reconsider any relationship you have with @yanderedrabbles and @fangdokja-anon

That's a lot to read and I do not follow these people.

[iamshyasfuck]

I feel like I've been fed exactly what I was wanting,, THIS ISNT CHRISTMAS AND I GOT A FEAST!!!!DR WHITE ANALYSIS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

and also like one that is very similar from my depiction of Dr white as a character and that'd mean that I actually did him justice from whatever scraps I had to work with?? YUMMY, anyways I'll be going over the points you made that I particularly found very interesting and also TYSM for replying!! :)

Dr White's personality and motivation.

I particularly LOVE the way u described Harley's vision of White as a character, Harley thinks of White as nothing more than a bitter joke, prolly just ordering him around so he wouldn't have to deal with him, actually he would prolly do that with everyone else seeing as he does not share any interest in his coworkers, so jokes in the workplace to "lighten up the mood" or something go very unappreciated by Harley's behalf, especially IF Harley sees White's objective as selfish or self driven.

I do have my own fair share of shame on trying to impress others so I think it's also very interesting to see Dr white actually doing that, albeit selfish, Harley is not very different from him as far as I see it(since he was thrown off by Elliot from the YGP, I can see a similarity of maybe Harley doing everything he could to show Elliot what he was really worth it since he could not understand Elliot alr saw potential in him, just not was ready for it.)

Dr White's and Harley's relationship

I already talked to my friends about this I think a billion times but I can't help but find it so INTERESTING to analyze, as well as my analysis go unfortunately(I am not very good at em).

From my perspective, as I explained it before, Sawyer sees nothing much of Dr white except from all the things he can't forget from when he was turned into 1354, 'eyes peering from behind the glass', many bad memories about him were formed after the experiment, likely just people treating him as a tool rather than what Harley wanted to be recognized as.

Kinda makes you wonder if those bad memories were overwritten over past ones, not that I think they had a good relationship of any kind seeing from his loser personality, but it is amusing to think about.

Dr white on the other hand, seems to be very balanced unlike Sawyer, managing to keep workplace business steady, while also attempting to make it fun for himself, lightning up the mood with silly jokes as to not get on anyone's bad side, though that only made Sawyer dislike him even more, thinking of his jokes as nothing more than a mockery of some kind, but ngl i would too if i met Sawyer- getting to the point, you can see it in the notes that White recognizes Harley as a person to avoid "if you still want to keep your head", someone that takes jokes very seriously, but will casually just joke about what he says behind his back once he left the room. and also it really makes me want to just draw Dr white whispering to another scientist "one pickle away" whenever Harley is being his usual self and having to hold their giggles, ah the joys of art💞💞

Anyways I would love to see more of their interactions to get a clear look at it(or just more about dr white in general), since my lenses are very dirty for this type of magnifying glass analysis, also so sorry if I accidentally hammered down the same subject, I am very bad like I said at explaining myself.

Also a little side note I'm really interested in whatever is the foreman of the misfit pit and why White is even trying to do whatever he is doing, "however perverse it may be".

anyways have Sawyer playing banjo in dead rails

Dr Bruno White & Experiment 1354 [Theory]

I was writing a completely different theory in relations to MOB's latest trailer, when this realisation hit me like that hardest ton of brick ever.

You guys know, recently I studied the Ch.4 ARG for my story writing. I wanted to know more about Dr. White for writing his character, and in one of the emails from Harley he says: '[A bad memory]' and I interpreted it as Harley saying White has a bad memory. I think it's actually Harley having bad memories of White, and what he did to him after he became 1354.

Eg. The full email the above reads:

(The emailer asked)

Dr White?

(Harley replies)

'[Eyes peering from behind a pane of glass] He always did have a certain drive, didn't he? [A bad memory] But what good did it do him? None. He's dead.'

I initially thought the in brackets stuff was Harley, but it's EYES. Two eyes. He only has one as, 1354. But eyes peering from being a glass pane would refer to how he was being watched in an observation room, like the other experiments.

This robot-man has trauma. Trauma from Dr White.

When asked by another emailer what he remembers, all he says is:

Bruno

Another good example, an emailer asks:

What did he do to you?

(Harley replies)

The footage is archived (more bad memories) I won't dwell on it.

We also know throughout the email, Harley speaks negatively about White, implying he doesn't like him. (I think I mentioned somewhere,) my theory that they had a less negative relationship pre-1354, and I'm still inclined to believe that based on his whole:

White?! White is that you?!

He sounds hurt, and him complimenting White's drive could show one of his few lingering positive memories of White. Cause, like, take it from me, as someone with trauma relating to a person I had a good relationship with once in the past, when I think of said person, none of those positive memories come to the surface. Only the traumatic ones. (I'm fine folks. This was years ago, I'm healed & good now. This was just a great example of the feelings Post-1354 would have towards... the abuser?).

We also know the admin account & password belonged to Dr. White (, with the password being a mocking jab at something Harley use to say all the time). So White was fully in control over Harley. Sure. That's one reason to have some trauma, but...

I also was looking at the red text again, with this new point of view about Harley & White in mind. I think the red text is 1354's thoughts being displayed on a screen.

Leith says in the 1354 tape:

You'll be like an open book to us whenever we want.

I think he meant this quite literally. That's why he tells Harley he can fight or give in. It doesn't matter because they can read his every thought regardless.

More evidence to back this up, with the red text being Harley's thoughts:

I can see you. You aren't welcome here.

And

They can see. away. Don't think it. Hide it from yourself. rwk

(idk what 'rwk' stands for. I couldn't really find anything solid).

I'm about out of steam with this lol. Just thought it was intresting to throw out there into the void :P

Also, really interesting that one of the things he says replies is:

I know my name.

Annoyingly, I can't find the email this came from, to give it context. Interesting regardless. To forget one's own name would almost suggest a level of brainwashing, maybe? IDK.

Not sure on the whole brainwashing thing, but it's a fun idea.

If we assume the first red text we start with is the last time anyone accessed Harley's thoughts (that being White), then their final conversation is intreaging, because it would suggest Harley was more bitter than White (I mean... hard to be bitter when you weren't the one turned into a brain in a jar, lol):

He asks if I still dream? Why? This changes nothing. A broken leash. Casket. I do. What became of her? Theater incident still strange, the things that linger.

[resvarie]

inevitable anders dragon age qifrey wha cover redraw

[egophiliac]

ANNIVERSARY GROOVY BOYBAND! THEY ALL LOOK SO GOOD, I also love the hades reference with idia! Ik ur probably really swamped with the book 7 brain rot but I wanted to know ur thoughts. I also wanted to mention that I am so card deprived I feel like I need a replacement event to take tsumderlands place

AUGH NO I LOVE THEM. 😭 UGH now I really have to think about if I want to try pulling for Grim again. dangit. heck. I already got his little pedestal to add my guest room shrine, but...now I kinda need the boss himself...

also, the implications of it not being an OB thing, Idia can just. Do That? apparently? do you think he ever just sometimes does it by accident? what am I saying, he absolutely sometimes does it by accident.

gosh though. this event has been SO cute in general! I was wondering who'd get the focus for year 5; I could not be happier that the answer is apparently EVERYBODY. :D all the dorms get their own special songs! so many cute little scenes!!! the lowest of stakes bringing out the highest of pettiness in everyone!!!!!! it's excellent.

(also, because I will make literally anything about my diaboys...I know these events are typically sorta, let's say chronologically unmoored with regards to story. but the further implications that this takes place pre-episode 7/Malleus' Big Existential Crisis, and yet...some of these lines?)

[hinamie]

wonder if they know what he's on about