#if anyone else wants to be tagged just ask

[evamame]

🏐 haikyuu men meeting your parents for the first time

very excited and energetic, and super loud too. does his absolute best to leave a good impression. he cracks so many jokes and does everything in his power to make your parents laugh. he’s very comfortable and talks naturally with your parents right off the bat. very expressive and open about his love for you. comes off as a handful but also really funny and super sweet.

HINATA, nishinoya, BOKUTO, atsumu, tanaka, tendo

first impression to your parents is that he’s very mature and respectful. brings a bouquet of flowers for your mom. he also makes sure to appear really put together. sprays on a bit of his fancy cologne and all. a little bit nervous on the inside, but that’s only natural. he makes sure not to show it. what he does try and show, though, is his absolute undying love for you. he really wants to earn your parent’s trust above anything else. “she’s the love of my life. i promise i’ll take great care of her, if you allow me to do so.” doesn’t this sound a bit too much like a job interview?

(makes sure he comes back to ask for permission when he puts a ring on it!!)

USHIJIMA, IWAIZUMI, sakusa, DAICHI, akaashi

swoons your parents over so hard he’s practically flirting. the type to be greeted and welcomed into your childhood home, but not without swiftly pretending to mistake your mom as your older sister when making his entrance. “y/n, is this your older sister? no? that’s your mom?! oh wow, ma’am, you look so young!” oh, how flattering this man is. gets along with your parents a little too well. they end up constantly pestering you about when he’ll be coming back to visit again. they probably like him more than you at this point.

KUROO, oikawa, OSAMU (he also brings freshly made onigiri for your parents), suna, sugawara, atsumu (felt like he kinda fit into both)

a nervous wreck. he requires a lot of reassurance in the car ride as well as the walk to the front door before hand. ends up doing just fine though, despite stumbling over his words a couple times. your parents think he’s the absolute sweetest, most innocent cutie ever. probably ends up using a lot of honorifics and formal language subconsciously out of nerves, but it just comes off as super respectful to your parents. the whole things turn out to be a win-lose situation, and he doesn’t fumble the bag as bad as he thought he would.

ASAHI, kageyama, yamaguchi (i could not think of anyone else vro. sorry.)

masterlist | taglist | tags: @scoupsworld @amaliaaliena @mires765 a/n: multis like this are kinda hard bcs i have to lump a bunch of characters in one group, so some are probably ooc. usually don’t do them for this reason but i felt like switching things up.

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[arkaiveofurown]

Kikoku’s Secret Charm

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

“Don’t tell the crew I like this.”

You catch Law admiring a cute keychain in a marketplace. You buy it for him later—and to your surprise, he actually attaches it to Kikoku (his sword) when no one’s looking.

Words Count: ~2000 words

tag: fluff, law likes cute things

my masterlist here ♡

——

The air smelled like sea salt and grilled skewers as the Heart Pirates scattered across the town’s open market. You were trailing behind Law, not because he asked you to, but because you always somehow ended up keeping pace with him when the crew made port.

He didn’t talk much, but his presence was…comfortable. You liked how he moved with purpose, always scanning quietly, arms tucked in his pockets. You weren’t even sure if he noticed you next to him most of the time.

Then something unusual happened.

He slowed near a small stand. Handcrafted trinkets swung from a canopy strung with beads—keychains, hairpins, and other things that screamed cute. That alone was enough to catch your attention. But what caught your eye more was him. Staring. At a chubby white seal keychain with a tiny pirate hat.

You blinked. No way.

You glanced at him again, noticing that he was still staring at the keychain, his expression unreadable. But you could see the way his fingers twitched, just barely, as if he wanted to reach out but was stopping himself. A strange flutter tickled at your chest.

He quickly stepped back, eyes scanning the crowd like nothing had happened. But you could feel a warmth spread through you at the thought that he—Law, the stoic and always composed captain—had been admiring something so… cute.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

⸻

You waited until the crew had returned to the ship. When Law had gone to oversee the loading of supplies, you slipped back to the marketplace and made your way to the vendor. The old woman with the sunhat noticed you right away.

“Back for that seal?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You picked it up, holding it in your hand as you smiled at her. “Something like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

She chuckled knowingly and wrapped the keychain in a piece of cloth before handing it to you. You paid, feeling a small excitement building in your chest as you thought about what you were about to do.

It wasn’t much—a simple keychain. But you had a feeling it would mean more than Law would admit.

⸻

Later that night, on the Polar Tang, you stood outside the captain’s quarters. Your hand hovered near your pocket. Nerves bubbled in your chest like carbonated soda.

Just give it. It’s not a confession. It’s just a keychain.

Knocking lightly, you stepped in when he called.

Law glanced up from his maps. “What is it?”

You tossed the wrapped keychain on his desk. “Don’t open it until I leave.”

His brow lifted. “Why?”

“Because if you make a face, I don’t want to see it.”

That got a rare smirk out of him. “You’re assuming I’d react.”

“I know you’d react,” you said, backing toward the door. “And you better not throw it out.”

You were gone before he could say anything else.

⸻

A few days had passed, and the crew had been busy with the usual preparations. You were securing boxes with Penguin when you spotted something strange on the deck.

Law stood by the stern of the ship, his ever-present sword, Kikoku, resting on his shoulder as usual. But this time… something new had been added.

A tiny white seal keychain dangled from the guard of Kikoku. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, you rushed over to Shachi, who was standing nearby.

“Wait, is that…?” Shachi leaned in closer, his eyes widening. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

You quickly tugged him away, your face flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “Don’t ask.”

Shachi raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “Why not?”

You smiled, trying to keep the moment between you and Law private. “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

⸻

Later that day, you found yourself walking down the hallway, lost in thought. You hadn’t meant to run into Law, but of course, you did. He was standing there, leaning against the wall as if lost in his thoughts.

For a moment, you just watched him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed, his usually guarded expression softened just a bit. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you couldn’t resist the urge to speak up.

“It looks good on Kikoku,” you said, your voice quiet but carrying through the space between you.

Law turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment before shifting away again. “You said not to throw it out,” he replied, his voice low, but there was something almost… shy in his tone.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “I didn’t expect you to actually use it,” you said softly, walking toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Law’s eyes flicked down to the keychain, then back to you. He didn’t say anything at first, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it, he muttered, “Don’t tell the crew I like it.”

You blinked, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if unsure how to continue. And you, for the first time in a while, felt that fluttering warmth deep in your chest. Something had shifted between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniable.

⸻

That night, after the rest of the crew had retired for the evening, you stayed behind in the mess hall. The air was thick with the scent of leftover food and the faint hum of the ship’s engines. You sat at one of the tables, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup.

A few minutes later, Law walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He looked around, and when his gaze landed on you, he paused for a moment, clearly surprised that you were still there.

He walked over to the table and sat across from you, his posture relaxed, as if he’d grown accustomed to having you around. The silence between you was different tonight—easier, comfortable even. It wasn’t heavy or awkward.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Why do you always sit near me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, a playful grin crossing your face. “Because you let me,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips slightly parted as if unsure how to respond. “It’s not that I mind,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So, you do mind?”

He caught your gaze, then looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

Your heart fluttered at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. You leaned forward slightly, your hand resting on the table. “Do you like cute things, Law, or just that seal?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his fingers tapped his cup thoughtfully. “…I like some things,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

Law finally looked at you, his eyes intense. He paused for a beat before speaking, his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Like you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You couldn’t believe he had just said that. The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken emotions.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m cute?”

His lips twitched slightly. “You’re cute when you’re not annoying.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. “Wow. High praise.”

He smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. But there was something softer in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t just teasing.

⸻

The conversation lingered between you both like a quiet melody, filling the empty space of the mess hall. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words that hovered between your breaths. The moment felt fragile, as though it could slip away if you didn’t do something.

You stood slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you moved. “What’s the matter, Law?” you said, your voice low, teasing. “You going to do something about this?”

He didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on yours.

“Try me,” he said.

So you did.

You leaned down, kissed him gently—warm, slow, real.

And when you pulled back, you caught it. That flicker of red near his ears.

“Don’t tell the crew about this either?” you whispered.

His voice was husky. “Especially not them.”

[samiramohann]

would've been you (should've been me)

just a little something I wrote based off of this post and my own tags. based off of the flashback from 8x16.

They stop at the hospital on the way back to the firehouse. Parked outside behind the 118's ambulance, Bobby tells them he'll be a minute before he ducks inside.

They all knew he was going to talk to the mother from the house fire.

So they wait.

10 minutes later, their captain had emerged from the hospital doors. No one commented on the tear tracks that had cut through the soot on his face and hastily wiped from his cheeks. The call had been hard. And no one pointed and laughed at the 118 anymore if your emotions got away from you.

They ride back to the station in silence, and the cab of the engine is filled with a tension that has the hairs on the back of Tommy's neck standing on end.

When they finally pull in, Bobby is first out. Hen and Howie share a look as their captain tosses his gear into his locker, his helmet bouncing off the metal and falling to the concrete, forgotten as it's owner walks away.

Everyone else climbs out after a few seconds and sets their gear back into place, eyeing the crumpled turnouts on the ground. Tommy sighs.

"I'll get them." He calls out to the others, hopping down from the cab. "You guys go get washed up."

Everyone nods before they head off, and Tommy sets his own stuff to the side before going to pick up Bobby's things. He hangs the turnout coat on the hook, with the Captain's helmet laid to rest on top of it. He checks to make sure nothing was damaged on the tanks and mask before he stores those, too. He makes a mental note to check the oxygen levels, and then he shrugs out of his own turnouts and stores them away until they're needed again.

Once he's done, he contemplates heading towards the showers. Scrubbing the soot from his skin sounds like a really great idea right about now, but he feels restless. So he heads for the roof access instead, hopes the cool night air will clear his head.

When he gets to the access door, it's propped open, meaning someone is already out there, and he wonders if Robinson is sneaking a smoke or three as he pushes the door open and steps out.

He's met with the sight of their captain instead, hands planted on the ledge, eyes set on the street below. His body stiffens when he hears the door and suddenly his eyes are on Tommy and Tommy freezes.

"I, uh, sorry Cap. I didn't think anyone would be up here."

Bobby's eyes are full of grief and a rage that makes Tommy's stomach twist.

"What do you want, Kinard?"

The words are clipped as Bobby turns away from him, looking back down to the passing cars below them.

"I doesn't matter now. I don't want to bother you. I'll just go back and-"

Tommy cuts himself off when Bobby pushes away from the ledge and turns toward him fully.

"It's fine. I need to go do paperwork anyway."

Bobby crosses the roof, and Tommy steps aside, pulling the door open for the other man as he reaches it. Bobby stares at it for a second before he heads inside.

"Oh, uh, don't worry about your gear." Tommy calls after him. "I'll make sure your oxygen tanks are full when I head back in."

Bobby stops, his foot falling heavily onto the next stair.

"I didn't ask you to do that, Kinard. Just like I didn't ask you to stop me from reaching that crib."

Tommy's eyebrows knit in confusion.

"I know you wanted to rescue that baby, Cap. I did as well but you would have gone through the floor with him. You could have died, too."

Tommy sees Bobby's jaw tick, like he's angry that that exact scenario didn't play out.

"You're right, Tommy. But I gladly would have given my life so that a mother wouldn't have to be grieving the loss of her little boy tonight."

And with that, Bobby continues downstairs until Tommy hears the inner door to the stairwell open and close again.

Bobby's words play through his head as he stumbles away from the door, dropping down into one of the folding chairs they keep on the roof. He sinks into the uncomfortable plastic, arms coming up to wrap around himself like a hug.

There is a chill that has settled over his bones, and it isn't from the light breeze blowing across his exposed arms.

Tommy was able to save his captain, and that should feel good, and it had for a brief moment. But now it just feels like he's messed up.

Like Bobby wanted Tommy to let him fall.

Tommy wants to chalk it up to the emotions of the call. They lost a kid. Everyone involved is going to have to live with that for the rest of their lives. The 118 haven't experienced a lose like this since Bobby took over as captain.

Tommy sighs, runs a hand down his face. it comes away covered in soot, and he cringes, wiping it on his pants.

A few hours later, after he came down from the roof, had a shower, and checked both his and Bobby's oxygen tanks, he heads upstairs to grab a drink. As he reaches the top of the stairs, Bobby steps out of his office. Tommy stops where he is, watches Bobby as he crosses over to the coffee maker, and grabs one mug for coffee and then another. He fills them both up and sets one down across from him on the counter. Nodding towards it, Tommy takes the invitation and crosses the room, hoping onto the stool and pulling the cup towards him. They don't say anything to each other as they drink, and he's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Every so often, Tommy will shoot Bobby a glance, and their eyes will meet before Tommy flicks his away quickly. Before long, both mugs are empty, and Tommy watches as Bobby fills his again before he starts back towards his office.

Tommy doesn't make a move to get up. He just stares down into his own empty mug until Bobby calls his name. Tommy turns to look at his captain, who has stopped just outside his office door.

"You did good tonight, Kinard." Bobby pauses, glances at the clock. "It's late. Make sure you get some sleep, Tommy."

Tommy blinks and hesitates before nodding.

"Yeah. You too, cap."

Bobby nods once, and then he's gone. Blocked from Tommy's view as the door clicks shut behind him.

Things feel back to the way they were before the call. The coldness that had come from his captain seems to have gone, replaced by the same man he's gotten to know these past few months.

And the cold stays away on their next call. And the many calls that come after that. They continue to work flawlessly together as a team under Bobby Nash's leadership. He praises them for their work and offers corrections and advice when needed. He cooks dinner, often asking for assistance from one of the others. When Tommy is called on, it's friendly between them. They go over the day, Bobby asks about the car Tommy's been trying to fix up. It's nice.

A few months later, after Tommy transfers to Harbor, Bobby catches him by his truck at the end of his last shift with them.

"We're gonna miss having you around, Kinard."

"I'm gonna miss you guys, too. But if you ever need a helicopter for anything, give me a call. I'll be there."

It makes Bobby smile and before Tommy knows it, he's grabbing Tommy's shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. They hold onto each other for a couple of seconds before Bobby is stepping away, his hand still resting on the younger man's shoulder.

"You're gonna do great things, Tommy Kinard. It's been an honor working with you."

Tommy nods, throat tight. Bobby gives his shoulder one last squeeze before he's pulling his hand away and heading back toward the doors. Tommy watches him go until he is completely out of sight.

And still Tommy stands there, staring at his old house. He stares for a few minutes before he's pulling his phone out, going to the group chat him, Howie and Hen set up.

"Watch out for Cap for me, yeah?"

Howie sends back about 10 thumbs up emojis.

"Always." Is Hen reply. And it comforts Tommy to know his team will always have each other's backs.

He just hopes he'll still be able to have theirs all the way from Harbor.

He's going to try like hell to make sure he does.

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝔂 𝓘 𝓢𝓮𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x Blind!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, public declaration with a side of soft angst

Word Count: 560

Synopsis: Mark has something to tell you – and he decides to make a show of it.

a/n: the most important person in my life is completely blind. this is dedicated to her – she deserves for the world to see her the way i do

You could tell something was up the moment your phone buzzed with a message from Mark that just said:

“Come to the quad. Wear something cute. Trust me.”

That last part—trust me—was what got you.

You held your cane loosely, walking at a steady pace, heels clicking against the pavement. People were… murmuring. You heard your name once. Then twice. Were people whispering about you?

Your stomach tightened. You hated being stared at—being the one people noticed because you were different. Mark knew that. You trusted him. But right now?

You weren’t sure what you were walking into.

And then he was there. You could hear his breathing before you heard his voice.

“Okay—don’t freak out,” Mark said in a rush, excitement bubbling out of him. “But I did a thing. Kind of a huge thing.”

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “Should I sit down for this?”

He grabbed your hands gently. “Nope. You’re standing right where I want you.”

And then… music.

It started from speakers set up around the quad—cheesy, golden-hour love song music. Then someone in the crowd (was that Amber?) shouted, “Mark, go!!”

“Okay, okay!” he laughed, then turned back to you.

“I know you hate attention. And you’re way more private than me. But I wanted to do something big. Not to embarrass you—but because… you make me brave, and I want everyone to see that.”

You blinked. “Mark, what did you—?”

“I asked the AV club to help me set up a flashmob,” he said all in one breath. “But they were like, ‘no, that’s weird,’ so I just asked everyone we know to show up while I told you how much I love you.”

Your jaw dropped.

“I love you,” he said again, more serious now. “I love the way you hold the world together even when you can’t see it. I love how you feel everything deeper than anyone else I’ve met. I love that you trust me. And I wanted people to see that it’s not me taking care of you—you take care of me.”

Silence. The kind that holds its breath.

“I used to be scared people wouldn’t take us seriously,” he admitted. “But I realized it’s not their approval I want. It’s yours. So I’m doing this here. Loudly. In front of everyone. Because I want them to know—I’m lucky to love you. I get to love you.”

You were quiet for a long moment. And then you whispered, barely audible over the speakers:

“Say it again.”

Mark stepped closer, forehead resting against yours.

“I love you.”

He kissed you like he didn’t care who was watching.

And for the first time in your life—you didn’t either.

[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 | next 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

@whisper-it-to-my-ear @prismozo @dreamxaboutxsomethingxnice @scarledy

@useyourwandbro @malenoradgn @veesenya

[witchpassing]

sorry i don't know where else to ask this so i just arbitrarily picked someone out of the tag who has anonymous asks on (i do not want to make a post on my main about it). is empty spaces explicitly a yuri tag, or is it just popular among lesbians? i don't want to crosstag by accident, so i have been trying to find an answer to this without asking anyone because i know it's probably a stupid question. haven't been able to find anything, though.

i am also not a trans woman, so my second question is about whether empty spaces (or in a more general sense, identifying with some of the ideas presented) is 'culturally closed' as it were. if it is supposed to be a space for trans women, i do not want to intrude into that.

i get that these are probably incredibly stupid questions, and my only excuse is that i am a bit stupid and bad at demographic research. i am aware that the fact i do not already know the answers to these questions may indicate that i should not be asking them, but i don't know this for sure either. i am not looking for any specific answer, and with regards to my second question, if i should not be engaging with the tag, i will promptly add it to my filter list. i only ask because i feel like some of my thoughts might be of interest to the tag's residents; if not, i am perfectly capable of having those thoughts in a more appropriate space, or discarding them entirely if no appropriate space exists.

thank you for your patience. you are under no obligation to answer, and i'm very sorry for wasting your time.

good day, anonymous, and thank you for your question. i'll preface my answer by stating that empty spaces, especially in its contemporary form, is many things to many people*; i can only speak here on my personal understanding of it and my preferred approach thereto.

to address your first question first: no, ES is not an intrinsically lesbian subgenre. there has always been a strong orientation towards f/f, yuri, whatever one might like to call it, but it is not a hard rule. there are no hard rules; except, perhaps, 'we'll know empty spaces is dead when someone makes a wiki.'

to your second question, the roots of the movement are in the exploration of themes of disposability, identity, and abuse through a transfeminine lens; in what i consider to be the most valuable fruits of the movement, the dolls and the witches and all the rest are a troupe of archetypes, a flash-fiction sicko's commedia dell'arte, through which these bitter, wrenching feelings may be articulated in sharp relief. does this constitute a closed space, a transfeminine closed practice? if it was, could we hold such a line against those outside it? can i hold it against you, in any way that matters?

plainly, no, i cannot. perhaps it was possible, once, before subculture became subgenre and ES spilled and shattered a thousand ways, but what is to be gained by playing at purity now? i will neither forbid you nor permit you entrance. speak, and see who listens.

[manyfandomfanatic]

To the SEVERAL people who tagged me:

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???

/pos

Ahem.

Yap time!

The bottom up because ✨reasons✨

9-Sky, I'm sorry! I love him... I do! But for reasons like the fact he has practically NOTHING in canon, I have to rank him as the bottom. Sky/Sun and Sky angst are WONDERFULLLLL, though!

8-Time, my bro! He, again, I love! But the others rank higher! The MM and time travel angst and MALON put him above Sky, though.

7-This one is hard, but I'm going with Warriors. I LOVE HIM. REALLY. Like the ED headcanon? Yes! But I don't have ENOUGH love for him to put him above anyone else.

6-Okay. 6, 5, and 4 are PRACTICALLY a tie. But, Four ranks the bottom. WHICH IS HORRIBLE BUT SORRY! If it was Vio and Shadow, second or, honestly, first, no question. The manga is awesome, too! But, with Four's little LU canon material, I can't rank him higher!

5-MY BOY, THE MYTH, THE LEGEND! LEGEND! He's 5th. If you asked me a month or four ago, he'd be the top, for sure. But he has SO MUCH CONTENT. Nothing against his character. I love him and the ANGST. But it's kind of tiring, you know?

4-Hyrule!!! 😁😁! My fairy boyyyy!!! To start, he is my BLORBO, and I LOVE HIM! He is sweet and smart and underappreciated and angst and traumatized and TASTY! Also, he gets nostalgia points because his games were my first ones:)

3-WILDDDDDD!! Y'know how I complained about 'too much content'? OUT THE WINDOW, IT'S WILD! Maybe it's hypocritical. But I have one reason: He reminds me of ✨MYSELF✨😁😁!! The chaos! The not knowi g how to socially interact with people! The stuffing! *cough* trauma *cough* I love him!

2-MY SOUTHERN BOY TWILIGHT! He is my angst blorbo. A punching bag, if you will. Like... The Hero's Shade, his secrets, MIDNA AND THE MIRROR! C'mon. Also, his character (and game) is just plain AWESOME!

1-SHOCKINGLY, it's my guy, my bestie, WIND!!!!! For similar reasons to Wild, but more aggressively. HE'S LIKE ME! Besides, don't you think WIND, of ALL PEOPLE (or Hylians) would TYPE in ALL CAPS?! (Not that it's BAD thing- ALL CAPS is FUN!) Yeah, I THOUGHT SO! WIND is AWESOME!

Tags! :D

@fithesworddweller @labyrinthdancer @i-love-zelda-16 @crimson-cur001 and anyone who wants to join!

Gonna try and start a tag game, so let's go!

We've all got our favorite Links, but I wanna know how ALL the LU Links rank for you.

I'll start! And just to note, I've only played Sky, Wild, and Twilight's games so far.

1. Sky- My favorite Link, though his game is my second favorite

2. Wild- Second favorite Link, but his games are my favorite

3. Warriors- Haven't played his games, but @crazylittlejester has made him one of my top three

4. Time- Gives big Dad vibes, he's just trying to keep his children out of trouble

5. Twilight- Absolutely the big brother

6. Legend- Not as bitter as I often see him portrayed. He's just a (older) kid whose been through a lot

7. Hyrule- Played his games a LONG time ago, never made it past the first dungeon. I don't really have much to say about him though

8. Wind- Cute kid, I like him but don't have much to day about him either

9. Four- I unfortunately don't know anything about him beyond LU, sorry Four!

Tagging:

@skyloftian-nutcase @crazylittlejester @skyward-floored @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons and anyone else is welcome to join as well!

[theartofeggs]

@gremmed

tagged u so you'd know when i posted ur request lmao. I love it when Kylar's on the bottom. wish they didn't fight it so much in-game like just let me pamper u bbygirl. anyways it seems my dice yearn for trans men rn

Thanks for participating in my ask event! When a fic contains the PC as a main character, the PC will exclusively be referred to as "you," except from other characters, who will refer to the PC by their gender or some other defining characteristic. :) Brings me back to my "x reader" fic days. ahhh what nostalgia

The event's ended by now, but I'll finish the current requests I've gotten!

Synopsis; Kylar gets railed into oblivion

Prompt: Kylar x PC (Smut) / CW: kidnapping, dubcon (not really), breeding kink, PC = evil-type crazy, babytrapping but they both want to babytrap the other so uh? - Kylar = AFAB & male, PC = AMAB & GN ((mostly) dice rolls) + bonus F! Sydney, M! Whitney, and M! Robin (only mentioned)

Welcomed Payback

The chair you've been strapped to is rather uncomfortable. The least Kylar could've done was make sure it was a chair with padding or something instead of some wooden old rickety one that felt one wrong move away from just snapping under you. Oh well. At least he put you in a different room to whatever's causing all that ruckus upstairs. Though, you almost wish he did, considering that it keeps scaring him away from you. You're a bit fed up with him just coming and going. Him feeding you fruit by hand is just about the most contact you've gotten with him so far. All he's done other than that is draw you some and sing a couple out-of-tune love songs he made himself.

Did you purposefully get him to go crazy and kidnap you? Yes. You weren't ashamed to admit it at this point. You've been a bit enamored with him yourself ever since he introduced himself, probably more than he was with you. You didn't think anything of helping a bully victim out of a beatdown, but when you saw how he looked up at you, like he witnessed the descent of a god, something in your brain was clicked on. Considering he wouldn't talk to you for the first few weeks of your attempts at getting to know him, you ended up going a different route and doing quite a bit of digging to find out more about him—you first befriended Sydney and lulled out any and all stories she could remember about Kylar when he was little, then moved on to breaking into more than just a couple government archives to flip through Kylar's, and his family's, past documents.

You knew where he lived before he ever followed you back to the orphanage, and, honestly? It hurt a little, to see how he wanted to be part of your life so bad but didn't seem to want you to be in his. So, you thought you'd nudge him the right way. You noticed he was prone to getting jealous, seeing how his expression would change whenever you'd chat with someone else during lunch, and you thought it'd be easy to use that against him. You'd flirt with anyone and everyone the moment you felt a familiar tingle on the back of your neck, and then relish in the dark, envious looks he'd give the hickeys on your neck when you saw him next. You weren't a big fan of sharing your body so casually with other people, but it would be well worth it if it meant you'd have Kylar in your hands at the end of your endeavors.

Robin was probably the only one you actually felt bad for. When Kylar had given you a little owl plush that so obviously had one of its glass eyes replaced with a camera lens, you had gotten an idea. Though, you struggled to find the right person to use for it. Sydney came to mind first, initially, since you were already close with her and you could smell her crush on you, but figured it'd be too much effort considering how deep her connections are to the temple. She'd totally try to get you to join. There was also Whitney, but Kylar's already watched you suck him off at least a dozen times, so there wouldn't be a big surprise factor with him. A random stranger wouldn't do either—if it did, the videos and photos of you online would've been plenty. But then, you remembered Robin.

You had successfully wooed him, flirting with and lewdly touching him every chance you had, until he finally visited you in your room at night. All it took was a week of tender words, and it made you pity the poor man, but you found you didn't care too much as you grinned up at the owl plush on your wardrobe, right when Robin was busy staining your innards with his cum. The feeling of him inside you was revolting to some extent, but you had washed out his cum the moment Robin had fallen asleep. To your delight, Kylar was waiting for you outside the very next morning. He looked far from pleased, a distant look in his eyes, as he lifted up a long tube with something metallic shining within. You looked directly at him and bared your neck, eagerly accepting the tranq dart as it sunk into your flesh.

But, now that you were here, you couldn't help but find it a bit boring. The most entertainment you've gotten was Kylar's occasional visits and the nigh-constant rumbling above your head. For the past few hours, you've exclusively been humming the nonsensical tune Kylar had sung to you and fiddling with the rope tying you down. At this point, you would've settled for an awful soap opera on whatever old TV this decrepit manor still had lying around.

When Kylar came into the room next, you were already fully untied and just leisurely sitting in the chair, eyes closed and leg bouncing. "M-My love, d-did you not like the ropes? I-I'm sorry, b-but I put t-them on for a r-r-reason. Y-You'll run away if I d-don't keep you here." Kylar grit out, expression dark, as he stepped closer. He was probably on his way to tie you up again. Good. "Hm, but I didn't, did I?" You purred as he came up beside you, brushing a couple fingers up the length of his forearm, though you weren't too pleased to have his sweater between you and his skin. He paused, looking conflicted, and you took the opportunity to grab him and pull him onto your lap.

His face flushed a pretty red and he began to squirm, his hands grabbing onto yours as you kept his hips glued to yours. The clothes in your way would be off soon enough. You could be patient, just as you've been these past months. "A-Ah, d-did you want to do it that bad? I-I'm sorry, I haven't been a g-good boyfriend..." Kylar groaned as you grinded up against him, and the sound alone made you want to cum already. "What nonsense. You're the best I could ask for. Far too good for me." You murmured sweet platitudes as your hands slipped beneath his clothes. He shivered, and you began to rethink taking them all off. Maybe you'd just rip them where you needed to and let him keep the rest on—the room seems a bit cold for him.

He wriggled in your grasp against and you decided this was going to be a bad position to fuck him in, given he was already moving about like he was uncomfortable. So, naturally, you slid onto the floor below and carefully laid him down beneath you. Honestly, it might've been cleaner to fuck in a random alleyway, given the state of this room, but you weren't going to be picky all of a sudden. Your beloved was beneath you and waiting, legs and lips parted just for you, just like you wanted him to be. He leaned back up to take your lips in his, his tongue eager to explore your mouth as his hands ran across your back. You didn't even flinch when he tried to stick it down your throat, and gave him the same intense treatment.

You pulled your pants down and ripped a new hole in his at the same time, swallowing the bashful squeak he let out. You palmed him through his remaining underwear, your cock throbbing when you felt a pair of drenched folds through the thin fabric. You already knew he was trans, so it wasn't a surprise, but you truly had to thank whatever divine being made this man just so perfect. You wouldn't be able to count how many times you came just to the thought of getting to fuck a baby into your Kylar—because he would be yours if you put your kid inside him, right?

Kylar, to his wondrous credit, seemed to have a similar thought process. When he felt your fingers against his slick, he spread his legs even wider and shuddered erotically, only to pull away from your heavenly kiss. "Y-You should put it in. A-And not pull out, e-ever." He all but whispered the command, and you were more than happy to comply. You ripped another hole in the last remaining barrier and dug in with no further warning, relishing in the erotic yelp he gifted you, alongside all the other sounds he made as you began to thrust into him.

His insides were soft and gummy, massaging your cock as you slammed your hips against his. Any time he gripped onto you, you'd move in a particularly rough way, and if he whined, you left a new mark on his hardly exposed neck. He clung to you and didn't bother with keeping quiet, babbling all sorts of lewd things as he grinded up into your crotch at the peak of each thrust. At some point, you had to forcibly hold his hips still to keep him from accidentally shifting too far from you. It had the added bonus of giving you more leverage to ravage his cunt, though, so you were happy with the arrangement, even if Kylar cried about it.

Kylar came suddenly around you, soaking both your crotches with a thick cream, and you slowed for just a moment to give him some time to recuperate. When he began to whine again, you picked up the pace—drilling into him as fast as you could. As your own climax drew near, an unkind idea popped inside your head and made you pause. With a smirk, you slowly began to pull out of his swollen pussy, stopping only when Kylar's legs wrapped around the back of your hips and forced you to stay inside.

His face was still a delicious red, but his expression was dangerous. What a pretty boy. "C-Cum inside. N-Now." You chuckled at his cute attempt at being mean and happily resumed your gyrating, cumming with a drawn-out moan as you pushed your hips as deep into his as you could. "G-Good." Kylar hummed, clearly pleased with himself. You were far more pleased with yourself than he could've been, honestly. Hopefully after this he'd give you a tour around his house, and you could start planning on where the nursery would go.

the end >,o words : 1,742

[veryace-ficrecs]

The Pitt Fic Recs Part 1

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

This Is The Day In Chaos by NameStartsWithN - Rated G

As the Pitt descends into its usual chaos, Dr Robby brings coffee and encouragement to his beleaguered team. Samira Mohan and Dennis Whittaker bond, while Mel King finally makes a joke -- intentionally!

The Dead Don’t Answer by NameStartsWithN - Rated G

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch learned a long time ago that death isn’t quiet—it’s a symphony of chaos, a brutal soundtrack of screaming monitors, cracking ribs, and the rush of hands fighting the inevitable. At Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital, there are always calls for help. Because the dead don’t answer. But the living don’t have a choice.

The Aftermath by AGirlHasNoName20 - Rated T

Two weeks after Pittfest, Robby is presented with a choice. Or: The one in which Robby starts therapy. Don't read unless you've watched the entire season 1.

Rules of Law by jumpfall - Rated G

The night Robby signed his attending contract, he was introduced to the Laws According to Adamson. He likes to hope that if he leaves his trainees with nothing else, it'll be the Addendums According to Robby. - Alternatively, is it really a fandom until there's a five things fic?

To Be A Doctor by mossterious -Rated G

Four student doctors. Four paths to get there. Four points of view. One hospital. — Aka I need to get used to writing different character povs SO HAVE SOME TINY CHARACTER STUDIES I GUESS?!

people come and go on the breeze by sweetmuses - Rated M

Redemption is a hard, long journey. She knows this probably better than most people. You have to keep yourself afloat amongst the madness, being acutely aware of tipping back into the ether. It’s easier to live within the boundless ocean of guilt than to take accountability - because to take accountability means that you’re willing to work for it, and there’s no way of knowing when you’ll slip up and fall.

Or: A reflection on the in-betweens of life, ghosts, and the human condition, through the eyes of Cassie McKay.

In Memoriam by fundotperiod - Rated G

How Robby has grieved and remembered his mentor.

Reflection by ZHH123 - Rated G

She thinks back on all the moments she almost couldn’t bear. The moments that prompted her to question if she belonged in the pitt. Then she thinks of her triumphs.

Last Call by jumpfall - Rated T

“Sorry if I woke you,” Robby says. Jack shrugs. “Middle of the day in my time zone.” He waits a beat, and then asks, “You want to talk?” “No.” “You want a drink?” “You'd allow that?” “No,” Jack says. “Just lets me gauge how concerned I should be.” – 1x15 episode tag.

The Pitt Crew! by megas217 - Rated G

Welcome to the Pitt Crew a story about the doctors and nurses who work in the Pitt.

Sursum Corda by Celebratory Penguin (cpenguing) - Rated M

A few hours after Pittfest, Langdon returns to the ED.

The Way, Way Back by jumpfall - Rated T

Robby, post 1x13.

And I Said Nothing by elpopooley66 - Rated T

Trinity Santos is not okay. She’s never really been okay. But she’s held herself together this long — on caffeine, adrenaline, and silence sharp enough to cut. The Pitt sees it. Langdon sees it. And for once, maybe she lets herself be seen. They don’t fix her. They just don’t leave. Sometimes, that’s enough. Featuring: unresolved trauma, a lobster named Greb, a borrowed hoodie, and the terrifying prospect of letting someone care. Or: the one where she stops pretending she’s fine — and someone finally calls her bluff.

what a weight to live under by shirelings - Rated T

Mel’s convinced she’s made it to the door without anyone noticing her before a voice stops her dead in her tracks. “Dr. King.” It’s said in that sort of way that’s not really a question even if someone else would frame it like that, and Mel lets her shoulders rise up a little towards her ears as she slowly turns. Oh, boy. - Mel does, in fact, talk to Abbot at the end of the day.

Change of Watch by jumpfall - Rated T

When Robby's phone vibrated twenty minutes ago, he'd been dealing with a critical GSW to the adbomen and unable to answer. Now there's a voicemail from Jake.

Even Grouches Need to Go to the Hospital by lolathatch - Rated T

Trinity Santos finds a video of Doctor Robby from his younger days and makes it everyone's problem.

singing in unison by dotsayers - Rated M

Leah's sick the night before Pittfest. Robby gets his ticket back.

just a drop of water in an endless sea by evening_spirit - Rated G

Robby’s going to be fine, a rational part of Frank’s mind says. You’re the last person Robby needs right now, says another part, the one that hates himself. But Frank saw the look in Robby’s eyes and he knows that Robby is not fine. Not this time. And no one else will help. But should it be him? Maybe he should go get Dana? Abbot? Damn, if at least Collins was here. But Collins is not here, Dana doesn’t have anything more to give and Abbot is a pragmatic, a doer, not someone who would comfort another. Then again, neither is Frank. Or--a 1x13 coda where Frank and Robby talk, but it doesn't really solve anything.

Aftershocks by jumpfall - Rated T

Ways they are (and aren't) coping with the mass casualty incident.

living weighs heavier by Antumbra - Rated T

Maybe none of them were ever meant to be alright, not once they’d chosen to devote themselves to this career that could only tear them down and break them apart. Or: an alternate take where Jack finds Robby after his breakdown.

[bratbby333]

Are you okay with writing more poly satosugu? Im obsessed

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ poly stsg: the prequel !

⋆｡˚ cw + tags: nsfw mdni. fem!reader. suggestive scenes/language, alcohol mentioned. super fluffy n cute n precious n beautiful. ₊✩ˎˊ˗ an: ask and you shall receive. this has been sitting in my drafts, half written, for nearly a year. you can find part one here ! i don't think anything will ever alleviate my stsg brain rot so of course im okay with writing more. i hope you enjoy some back story !! ⋆｡˚ word count: 5k. i got carried away once again. also not proofread. sry. ₊✩ˎˊ˗ banner fan art from twitter @/xtlusultx

ੈ♡˳ how it started...

Satoru and Suguru were already dating when you met them, though you all quickly became inseparable. 

Honestly? You were positive this whole thing was Suguru's idea. He’d been sitting with the weight of his feelings for a while. He knew what he felt for you, he recognized it, accepted it before anyone else did. So of course he brought it to Satoru first. Quietly. Carefully. Something like, “Hey, I think I might be in love with her too. What do we do with that?”

And Satoru? He probably took, what, four seconds to process it before going, “Oh?? Okay!!”

He was thrilled, honestly. The man had so much love in his body it practically leaked out of him. And sure, he knew Geto loved him deeply and endlessly, but he also knew he could be a little clingy sometimes (his words, not yours. At least he was self aware). So the idea of having two people to smother with affection instead of one? It was the easiest choice he could have made. He already adored you. He always had.

But even with both of them on the same page, so aligned it was almost scary, they were still nervous. Hesitant, even. Because it wasn’t just some new phase or thrill; it was you. Their best friend. The person who knew them too well, who made everything feel easy. The last thing they wanted was to risk that.

What if you didn’t want to change anything? What if it made things weird? What if they lost you?

But then Suguru noticed how you instinctually bounced between the two of them depending on what mood you were in; feeling silly and a bit unhinged, wanting nothing more than to lean into your unending curiosity and desire for adventure? Satoru was your man; the two of you were never not doing something; frequenting the city, shopping and snacking and chatting about everything, which inevitably led to y'all being at a random party across town just because you felt like it.

Not many people could hangout with Satoru for extended periods of time without getting annoyed, but it was like you and him were two halves of the same whole, well...aside from Geto, of course…the two of you complimented Satoru in different but fulfilling ways. You matched him, and Suguru balanced him. 

And if you were craving calmness and deep, intellectual chats filled with quick wit and the occasional dose of sarcasm, you’re hanging out with Suguru, your legs thrown over his thighs as he manspreads on the couch. His presence was just so comforting, and the two of you never ran out of things to say. He made you feel seen. He supported you unconditionally, all while dismissing the pressure to conform to anyone else's standards. Geto just wanted you to be you. 

The two of them harbored a safe space for each part of your personality, and when you were all together, there was an unspoken balance between you. The laughter was unending and it never once felt awkward or forced, even when you had first met them. It felt...natural. Like this was the reality that the three of you were meant to live. 

You started to notice your feelings for the both of them about three months into your friendship, but didn't want to overstep any boundaries or insert yourself into their relationship. Though it had been years now since you had first met the two of them, you still felt slightly ashamed for viewing your friends in a seemingly inappropriate way. You attempted to push those feelings away, but the longer this played out, the harder it was to ignore…

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

You were sat on the couch of their shared apartment, sipping on some wine, snacks littering the coffee table as some random movie faded into background noise. You found yourself tied up in harmless banter, going back and forth with Satoru over god knows what. It was rare for someone to entertain Gojo's ramblings, but you were fair game, loving the challenge of his stubbornness. Suguru was smiling admirably at the two of you from a loveseat to the left, and though he looked calm on the outside, his mind was racing; Is now the time? Should I ask? Should we do this? 

You excused yourself and went to the bathroom. But rather than actually using the toilet, you leaned over the sink, splashing cool water on your face and silently thanking the heavens that you could blame your intensely blushed face on the alcohol.

But you didn't even drink enough to have a buzz from the wine. It was them making you red in the face: How effortless it was to joke around with Satoru (while others viewed him as immature, you saw him as someone who's healing their inner child, and the two of you had similar senses of humor. It was so easy for him to make you laugh and vice versa). Not to mention how intently Suguru listened to you when you spoke...it was like he was trying to look through you, like he was holding on to every single word. And his emotional intelligence coupled with his unintentional siren eyes definitely didn't help your nerves.

And as comfortable as you felt around them, the deeper feelings you had were becoming unbearable.

But while you hid yourself away in the bathroom, the two guys were having a whispered meeting, psyching themselves up to finally ask you to join them: 

"Suguru...we've been putting this off for long enough. Tonight's the night," Satoru whispered. His eyes darted between his boyfriend and the hallway, on the lookout for you to reappear. His hand grasped Geto's as he rubbed gentle circles into his skin.

Suguru offered him a gentle squeeze in response, nodding his head as he chewed the inside of his cheek. "I know, I know...but who's gonna bring it up?" he asked softly. 

"Oh, definitely you," Satoru replied, almost like it was obvious, leaning back on the couch cushions.

Suguru narrowed his eyes at his white-haired counterpart, "So, no...we're doing this together, Satoru."

When you finally returned and sat back down, you could feel the tension that had settled between the three of you. It felt abnormal for the usual dynamic and your heart rate increased at the feeling.

Your eyes drifted nervously between the two men, "...is...everything okay?" you questioned, reaching for your wine and taking a much needed swig. You rolled the stem of the glass between your fingers as you awaited their response.

Suguru finally spoke up after sharing a look with Satoru, "Yeah, everything's fine," he smiled, "We just want to talk to you about something," he murmurs, shifting his weight in his seat before turning his body to face you.

His dark eyes and unwavering attention made your hands tremble slightly. Your gaze meandered toward Gojo, who occupied the space next to you, then back to Geto, before nodding slowly.

Satoru sat up a bit. "We've been thinking a lot about our friendship lately...about how close we've all become..." he trailed off and glanced at Geto.

"Yeah, it's rare to find this kind of connection with people. We trust you and care about you so much," Suguru added.

You looked between the two of them, your brows furrowed deeply. "Why does it feel like you two are getting a divorce and are about to ask me who I want to stay with..." you half-joked, taking another sip of your wine, "But in all seriousness, you two mean a lot to me. So, what's goin' on?" 

Gojo laughed at your comment before speaking up, "We've been talking about something for a while now, and we wanted to share it with you because it's important to us."

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest. Panic bloomed, subtle but rapid, like the fizz in your half-finished wine glass. You were terrified they had caught on, had noticed the lingering glances, the way you always sat a little too close to Suguru when you were tired, the way your laugh came too easily around Satoru. You thought you’d been discreet.

One hand twirled the wine glass around in slow, absent circles, the other clenched tight, tucked beneath your thigh like you could keep your nerves from spilling out if you just held them in hard enough.

You glanced between them—Suguru sitting composed but visibly tense, and Gojo, still smiling, but with an undercurrent of seriousness in his eyes that made your stomach twist. You nodded once, just barely. You weren't sure if you were giving them permission to keep talking or trying to brace yourself for whatever came next.

A deep breath broke the silence—Geto’s. His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the effort it took to speak so plainly. "We love each other deeply, and we've also realized how much we care about you," he said, shifting again like he couldn’t quite get comfortable with the weight of what he was about to say.

"We’ve been considering the idea of opening our relationship to include you, if that’s something you’d be interested in."

You blinked. And then blinked again. You took another sip, as if the wine was the reason this conversation seemed real. But it was real, and this was actually happening. 

The words didn’t register at first, not really. You stared at him like you’d misheard, like if you just kept looking long enough, he’d laugh and say he was joking. Your breath caught in your throat and you nearly choked on it, coughing once before covering your mouth like that would hide the shock painting your face.

Your ears were ringing, the edges of your vision buzzing, like the room itself had tilted. But beneath the static, there was this creeping warmth. It was an overwhelming, radiant kind of relief that made your fingers tremble. They weren’t uncomfortable with your feelings. They knew, and they wanted you.

And then, just as quickly, the shock gave way to a strange kind of disbelief, like you’d stepped into a dream, one too good to be real. Your mind spiraled with thoughts, too fast to catch: Are they serious? What does this mean? How long have they been thinking about this?

You’d wanted them for so damn long. In different ways, at different times, but it had always felt hopeless. Forbidden, even. A deep, lingering sense of guilt followed you around for mentally inserting yourself into their relationship. It was like wanting the sun and the moon but the gravitational pull from both kept you...stuck. And now they were sitting across from you, calm and honest, asking if you wanted them back.

Your chest was tight with emotion. You could barely find your voice. You looked between them again, your mouth slightly open, like you might say something, anything, but all that came out was a quiet, “You’re serious?”

Satoru grinned, soft and real. “Dead serious, sweetheart.”

Suguru nodded. There was something rare and vulnerable in his gaze that made your heart twist. “Only if you want to. There’s no pressure. But we had to ask.”

You felt like crying. Or laughing. Maybe both, simultaneously. Because somewhere deep down, part of you had wanted this for so long, and now that it was real, you almost didn’t know how to hold it.

"...Really? So…so, how would that work?" Your body was putting in overtime to keep your voice level, but in reality, you were elated. And as Suguru started to lay everything out, you began to feel more and more on board with the whole scenario. 

"We understand if it's not for you. But we wanted to be honest about our feelings and see if you might feel the same way," Geto concluded, his eyes searching yours for any sign of apprehension.

"I appreciate you both being so open about this..." Your voice trailed off as you looked at Suguru, then to Satoru, and back again. You were deep in thought as you weighed your options. It was one thing to daydream about a relationship like that, but it was a whole different ballpark when actually attempting it. 

Gojo spoke up once more, "Above all else, we want to make sure this is something you're comfortable with...a relationship where the three of us are equally involved and supportive of each other."

"Communication is going to be key. We want you to feel comfortable expressing any thoughts or concerns along the way," Suguru added. 

Silence fell as you pondered the offer presented to you. you smiled at the two of them before speaking up, "I'd love to give it a try. You are both important to me and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it before." 

As the words of affirmation left your lips, you were immediately tackled into the couch by your overjoyed, blue-eyed (boy)friend, encompassed in a body-crushing bear hug. Geto quickly joined the two of you on the couch, placing a gentle peck to both you and Satoru's cheek. 

This marked the start of a flourishing relationship, just you and your boys against the world, a beautiful dynamic operating with a deep sense of mutual respect, love, and open communication.

ੈ♡˳ how it's going...

The minute the three of you decided to give polyamory a try, the world felt like it shifted on its axis, a wave of normalcy washing over all of you. The dynamic was perfect, and you always caught yourself wondering why this didn't happen sooner. 

It didn’t feel unnatural or complicated like you’d feared. If anything, it was the opposite. A strange and beautiful wave of normalcy settled over the three of you. Like you had just remembered something you were never supposed to forget.

The dynamic fell into place effortlessly. Suguru, as always, was the grounding force—calm, intentional, fiercely attentive. He took on the role of caretaker with ease, though he'd never say it out loud. It wasn’t in the dramatic gestures, but in the way he placed a hand on your back when you looked overwhelmed, or quietly handed Satoru a bottle of water when he’d clearly forgotten to drink anything all day. He made sure you both ate when your schedules got chaotic, that you went to bed instead of overextending yourselves. He didn’t nag—he guided, steady and warm.

Suguru had always carried a kind of weight in his presence, but now that weight felt like protection instead of distance. You and Satoru gave his life color, purpose—and in return, he anchored you both without ever demanding anything back. But of course, you gave it anyway. In quiet gestures, in lazy mornings spent curled together in bed, in the way you learned to read the tiniest flickers of expression on his face and respond to them before he even asked.

Satoru… well, not much had changed on the surface. He was still loud, still playful, still the first to suggest impulsive ideas like midnight ice cream runs or building a blanket fort just because. But there was a softness to him now, a depth that had always been there but now showed itself more readily. He teased, flirted, joked—but he was also the first to notice when you were feeling distant, the first to ask, “Are you okay?” with a hand over yours and a rare kind of quiet in his voice.

He was touch-starved in the way only someone who gives so much could be, and now that you were his, he made no effort to hide how much he loved being loved. You caught him staring all the time—at you, at Suguru—like he couldn’t believe any of this was real. Sometimes he’d just sigh and press his forehead to your shoulder and mumble something like, “This is the best timeline,” and then pretend it hadn’t happened at all.

Despite the deep feelings and the complicated history, what surprised you most was how easy it all felt. How often you found yourself laughing. How domestic it became without even trying.

Suguru was surprisingly touchy when no one was looking. You’d be brushing your teeth, and he’d wander in to tuck your hair behind your ear like it was nothing. Or he’d rest his chin on your shoulder while you were making tea, arms snaking around your waist, quiet and content. His love language was care disguised as routine—always making sure your phone was charged, that you took your meds, that Satoru didn’t eat cake for breakfast (again). And the best part? He never needed thanks. He just looked at you like, of course I’ll take care of you. You’re mine.

Satoru, on the other hand, was as dramatic and extra as ever, but now he had two people to dote on—and be doted on by. He’d wear matching socks with you and pretend it was a coincidence. He’d climb into bed with you and Suguru and sigh like the day had personally attacked him, only to melt into your arms five seconds later. You once caught him trying to braid Suguru’s hair while he was half-asleep, and instead of stopping him, Suguru just sighed and let him keep going, eyes closed, face soft.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

It was a lazy morning—one of those rare days where no one had anywhere to be and the sun was barely creeping through the blinds. You stirred awake to the sound of quiet humming, familiar and slightly off-key, and the sensation of something warm and heavy draped across your waist.

Satoru.

His hair was a fluffy mess, pillow-creased and wild, his blindfold bunched up like a headband around his forehead. He was curled half on top of you, long limbs tangled like a human octopus, one arm flung across your stomach, one leg hooked over yours. He was still humming, barely conscious, but so deeply relaxed it was like he’d melted.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled against your shoulder, voice thick with sleep.

You tried to stretch, but he clung to you like you were his emotional support body pillow. “You’re heavy,” you grumbled, affection softening the complaint.

“Mm, no I’m not. You’re just dramatic.” He nuzzled further into your neck, lips brushing your skin in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Do you ever wake up like a normal person?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the 'p' like it was the proudest thing he’d ever said.

You ran your fingers through his messy hair, and he actually purred. Like, audibly. It was so ridiculous you laughed, but he just sighed like your touch was the cure to every problem in the world.

“You spoil me,” he said softly, quieter now, like the teasing had melted into something real. “You know that, right?”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “You spoil yourself, Satoru.”

“Yeah, but you do it better,” he replied without missing a beat. “You make it feel like… I deserve it.”

That stilled you. Because under the teasing, under the ego, you knew that was something he struggled with—that weight he carried behind the blindfold and bravado.

You shifted, just enough to wrap your arms around him, tucking his head beneath your chin. “You do deserve it. Every bit of it.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just exhaled slowly, fingers curling against your side like he was anchoring himself to the moment. And then, muffled into your skin:

“You’re my favorite.”

You rolled your eyes, affectionately. “You say that to everyone.”

“Nope.” He lifted his head to grin at you, impossibly soft and just a little smug. “Just you. Don’t tell Suguru.”

You laughed and kissed his cheek anyway. “Too late. He already knows.”

Satoru sighed dramatically, burying his face in your neck again. “Damn. Guess I’ll just have to make you love me more today.”

And he would. In all the stupid little ways only he could pull off—bad jokes over breakfast, kissing your forehead like it was a compulsion, wrapping you in his arms like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Because when it was just the two of you, Satoru Gojo was less god and more boy—clumsy in his affection, shameless in his need, and so, so easy to love.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

It was late. The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles over everything like a blanket—soft, still, safe. Satoru had passed out on the couch hours ago, limbs everywhere, one sock missing (again). You and Suguru had tiptoed away, not to be sneaky, just… because it felt like the right time for a quieter moment. A private one.

You were sitting on the floor of his room, your back against the side of the bed, a record playing low in the background. Suguru sat beside you, legs stretched out, one hand resting between the two of you, pinky just barely brushing yours.

He hadn’t said much yet, but that wasn’t unusual. Suguru didn’t need words to fill the space. He was the space—solid and grounding, always tuned in even when he was silent.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already watching you. Not staring—watching. The way he always did. Like you were something worth observing carefully.

“What?” you asked softly, smiling a little.

He didn’t smile back—not because he wasn’t happy, but because he was in that kind of mood. The soft one. The vulnerable one. The Suguru one.

“You look peaceful,” he said simply. “I like seeing you like this.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you looked away, but not for long. Suguru didn’t say things for effect. If he gave you a compliment, it was because he meant it. Entirely. It always landed different—like he wasn’t just noticing your beauty, he was recognizing it. Respecting it.

“You make it easy to be peaceful,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder.

He shifted, just slightly, so he could wrap his arm around you, pulling you into his side. “I want to.”

“You do.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence that made your chest ache in the best way. The kind that said I don’t have to talk to be with you. After a while, he spoke again, voice low, words slow and careful like always. “Sometimes I think about how this almost didn’t happen. You and me. Us. All of it.”

Your stomach fluttered. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I think about all the time we wasted pretending we didn’t want more.”

You turned slightly to look at him, and this time he looked away, the smallest flicker of self-consciousness crossing his face.

“I used to watch you laugh with Satoru,” he continued, “and I’d wonder what it would be like… to be close to you like that. To make you smile that way.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I didn’t think I deserved it back then,” he said softly, eyes still fixed ahead. “But you make me feel like maybe I do now.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just reached out and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, grounding him for once.

“You do,” you said. “You always did.”

He finally looked at you, and this time, he smiled—small, soft, heartbreakingly genuine.

Then, wordlessly, he leaned in and kissed you. Not like Satoru’s kisses—quick and playful and endless. No, this was a Suguru kiss. Intentional. Slow. Like he was pouring every unspoken thought into it. Like he was giving you something sacred. Because he was.

And when he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “You’re my peace.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, your heart aching in the best way.

“And you’re mine,” you said.

Suguru gave devotion like it was breathing. He didn’t just love—he chose you, over and over, with every glance, every touch, every quiet act of care.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

One on one, they were everything you had imagined them to be. But when they both decided to show you just how much they loved you at the same time? It was like being caught in the middle of a one-sided competition where you won every time.

It started with something small. A bad day. You came home quiet, not upset, just… low. Drained. And of course, they noticed. Satoru noticed in the way your eyes didn’t crinkle when you smiled. Suguru noticed in the way you sighed a little too often.

And that was all it took. You were suddenly the battlefield for a very soft war.

Suguru made your favorite dinner without asking, and you didn’t even realize he’d gone out to buy the ingredients. It was already plated when you got out of the shower, still warm, waiting on the coffee table with a fresh pair of fluffy socks he must’ve pulled from the back of your drawer. It was precisely what you needed, even though you didn’t know how to ask. They just knew. Little was said at dinner, but nothing really needed to be said. 

Suguru gently ushered you to the couch. Then Satoru came into the room with a blanket and immediately sat on your lap. “Your turn to be the little spoon,” he declared, even though the size difference made it slightly ridiculous. He tucked the blanket around both of you and kissed your forehead like he was sealing in warmth.

Suguru sat beside you, arm draped along the back of the couch, fingertips brushing your shoulder, his voice low as he asked how your day went. No pressure, no expectations, no fixing. Just listening. Satoru, meanwhile, made little dramatic gasps every time you said something mildly annoying that happened. “They said what to you?? Prison. Life sentence. I’ll teleport there now.”

And it kept going. Suguru offered to braid your hair. Satoru tried to unbraid it just so he could “fix it.” Suguru rolled his eyes and took over again, whispering soft things about how pretty you looked even when you were tired. Satoru kept interrupting with kisses to your temple and shoulder, mumbling, “Yeah, and you smell good too. So unfair.”

At one point, you made a sound halfway between a laugh and a whimper. “You guys are literally overwhelming me with affection right now.”

They both paused. Then Suguru smiled, “Good.” And Satoru chimed in with, “You deserve to be worshipped. Let us live.”

After that, they teamed up. You were tucked between them on the couch—Suguru rubbing slow, grounding circles into your back while Satoru played with your fingers like he was counting each one. They talked around you, but every word was for your benefit.

“You think she knows how good she is?” “Mm. Not nearly enough.” “Well, that’s criminal.” “Agreed.”

You couldn’t even respond anymore. Your heart was too full. Your face hurt from smiling. And still, they didn’t stop. Because to them, loving you wasn’t a competition, but a privilege they both happened to share. And god, they were so good at it.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

There were little things, too. The mundane kind that somehow became sacred. Suguru read with his head in your lap while Satoru scrolled through his phone, occasionally reaching up to boop your nose. Satoru stealing your chapstick and dramatically applying it like he was doing runway makeup, you walking into the kitchen to find the two of them dancing like idiots to a song on the radio, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

It wasn’t always glamorous, but it was always yours. And in between the chaos and the teasing and the deep emotional undercurrents, there was this unshakable sense of joy. Of having finally found your people. The ones who made the world quieter, softer. Who made even the bad days feel survivable—sometimes with a forehead kiss, sometimes with a warm meal, sometimes with a joke so bad you had to physically throw a pillow at Satoru just to make it stop.

You loved them. You really, really loved them.

And they loved you back with the kind of love that felt like sunshine on skin, like home.

.⋅♡‧₊˚〰.

Of course, the intimacy deepened in every way. The friendship you’d all built didn’t disappear. It just bloomed, unfurled into something deeper, richer. And with it came the parts you’d never experienced before, not like this. The touches lingered longer, the kisses grew softer or rougher depending on the night, and the tension that had once been so unspoken became a language all its own.

The sexual aspect of it all… that was the most unfamiliar territory at first. Not difficult, but definitely an adjustment. It was one thing to imagine it, to dream about what it might be like. But reality, real vulnerability, was a different beast. It wasn’t just about desire. It was about trust. About learning new rhythms, exploring each other’s boundaries, needs, wants.

It would probably start in private moments, organically—Maybe you and Suguru share a vulnerable night, talking until the conversation softens into touches, confessions, something deeper. He’d be intentional, focused on making you feel safe and understood. It wouldn’t be rushed. If anything, it was incredibly slow, deliberate. He'd check in constantly, not just with words, but with his gaze, his hands, his presence. He’d ensure that you had his full attention in the way his fingers would trace along your skin, the way his big hands would hold you, ground you, his voice low when he whispered praise into ear; “There you go…just relax, pretty girl. I’ll be gentle. You’re doing so good.”  

And then, a few days or weeks later, it happens with Satoru. His energy was different—playful, disarming, but no less attentive. He would make you laugh right before kissing you breathless, help ease your nerves by being a bit ridiculous, a bit indulgent. He’d worship you in his own way, probably talk the entire time unless you shut him up with a kiss or sat yourself down on his face. Oh, that sweet tongue of his. But under the teasing, he’d be just as tender as Suguru, even if he hid it behind charm.

The first few times all together were careful, only a little awkward, full of whispered check-ins and shy laughter. But they were also electric, intimate in ways you hadn’t even known were possible. Suguru, intense and patient, knew how to read the room, how to guide without being overwhelmed. Satoru, unfiltered and affectionate, knew how to turn nerves into giggles, how to make even the most hesitant moments feel joyful and full of love.

Eventually, it became second nature, like everything else between the three of you.

You found yourself lying in bed with them, tangled in warmth and limbs, wondering why it had taken so long to get here. Why you’d ever thought being “just friends” was enough. Because now you knew what enough really felt like.

And it was this. 

an: this literally healed a part of me and i feel so full of love. also ik this one wasnt smutty, but don't you worry. i have a nashtyyy one comin soon. and, i started working on a stsg CHAPTERED story. omg. im really diving back in head fuckin' first. ik i said i was working on a dark choso series and a dead dove sukuna series but the subject matter is super heavy so im putting a pause on those for the foreseeable future xx

© bratbby333. all rights reserved. please do not distribute.

[therivercrow]

A Word With Friends - Redolent

I was tagged by the wonderful @seaglassmelody and @thedissonantverses, and I'm gently tagging @robinsea and anyone else who wants to join in.

This one took me a while, since I was combining it with the Writing Challenge Weekend as well, and my brain is mush this week.

Writing Challenge words: Pink, Song, Sword

And this week's word is Redolent

Definition: 1. Fragrant or aromatic; having a sweet scent. 2. Having the smell of the article in question. 3. Suggestive or reminiscent.

Some Alana lore revealed under the cut:

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

"I thought I'd find you out here".

Teia's mellifluous voice flowed like a song in the evening air. The young fledgling she was looking for was perched on a marble bench in the furthest corner of Villa de Riva's ornamental garden, away from the ornate fountains and parterre beds, tucked between two gnarled carob trees that abutted the high stone walls surrounding the gardens.

Their knees were bent up against their chest, their arms around them in a pose of self-comforting. The elf's right eye was bruised black, and dried blood was on their cheek and split lip.

"Today's training was not so good, then?" Teia asked quietly.

They grunted and shifted on the bench, just enough to make room for Teia to sit down.

"I can do it", they said in a cracked voice. "I will get it".

"I believe you", Teia replied. "I was there the night Viago brought you home. I have seen the fire in those green eyes of yours. You just need to learn control".

"Why are you so nice to me?" the younger elf asked. "Whenever you visit Viago, you look for me too. Why?"

Teia sighed wistfully. "Because you remind me of someone".

"Who?"

"Myself. You know, I am not much older than you are, not really. How old are you, anyway?"

They shrugged.

"No age, no name...you are a mystery, fledgling". Teia lifted herself from the bench, then stood gazing at the unkempt, bruised elf before her. The two couldn't be more different; Teia's perfectly coiffed waves of curly hair, winged eyeliner as sharp as her blades, clothes worth a small fortune - this fledgling's messy thatch, hand-me-down training sword and face bare of paint or powder. "Viago still calls you Rook, his little joke. He always said you looked like..."

"A scruffy rook fledge who'd fallen out of the nest. I know", the younger elf finished.

"Would you like a name?"

Another shrug. Then a whisper. "Maybe...one like yours".

A silent pause, as Teia was lost in thought.

The fledgling lowered their feet to the floor, putting their calloused hands onto the cool marble of the bench. Inhaling deeply, they caught the scents of the garden carried on the twilight breeze, redolent of chocolate from the carob trees, herbs from the kitchen - and poison - gardens, and the overwhelming scent of soft pink lilacs, shrubs which graced the west-facing walls and caught the evening sun. The fragrances combined in a mixture both heady and soothing.

"I have one", Teia said, dropping to one knee to look directly into their eyes. "How about Alana?"

"Alana?" the young elf rolled the name around their mouth like the first sip of new wine. It felt unusual, sweetness mixed with bitter spices. It was never the name they would have chosen, but it felt right, fitting like a softened leather glove.

"It'll do, for now," Alana joked, a small half-grin forming on their face.

"Oh, such high praise, after all my efforts", Teia chuckled. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up before Viago sees you bleeding, and has your instructor poisoned".

[cruelsummerwhump]

oh, hi! introducing to you-

Cruel Summer: A Taylor Swift Themed Whump Event

FAQ

Q: hey mari what the heck A: So a little while ago I put an interest check on my blog (@todaywasamaritale) to see who would be interested in a Taylor Swift whump event based on lyric prompts. By a slim margin the answer was yes, so I decided to go through with it!

Q: So what is this, exactly? A: Cruel Summer is a whump event just like any other whump event, the only difference being the theme. Each day, there’s a lyric prompt to write from (with some trope examples to help), as well as a couple alternatives you can choose from if a day’s prompt doesn’t suit you.

Q: I’m a writer, but what’s whump? A: Whump (like the sound) refers to writing where Bad Stuff Happens. Captivity, torture, experimentation, emotional distress, all of that falls under the big ol’ whump umbrella.

Q: When is Cruel Summer? A: The event takes place during the month of June. There are 30 main prompts in total for each day, and 7 alternative prompts. So, for example, June 1 is Day 1, June 2 is Day 2, and so on and so forth.

Q: Do we have to pick one of the trope examples for each lyric? A: No! Those are just in case you get stuck. The only thing guiding you is the lyric of the day. Interpret that however you like!

Q: How do I join? A: You don’t have to sign up, per se, just mark your calendar and get ready to write.

Q: Then how do I participate? A: Every day of the event, this account will post the prompt of the day (WITH A TAGLIST THAT YOU CAN BE ADDED TO! JUST ASK IN THE COMMENTS OF ANY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT!), and all you have to do to submit your entry is tag @cruelsummerwhump in your post! You’ll be reblogged from there!

Q: I don’t get it- who are we writing whump about?? Taylor??? A: Nope. You can write about anyone you like (EXCEPT irl people or celebrities). This includes characters from fandom or original characters. Someone else’s original characters, even! Crossovers? You bet!

Q: Help! I saw this mid-event and want to join! Is it too late? A: Not at all! Do as many prompts as you can! No catch-up necessary either, and if you want to go back and do a prompt you missed, feel free!

Q: But what if I wasn’t late and I just don’t want to do all of the prompts? A: No obligation whatsoever. If you miss a day or skip on purpose, that’s alright! The only rule is that you just can’t skip ahead!

i’ll update this section as asks start rolling in

PROMPT LIST

Day 1: Renegade

“I tapped on your window on your darkest night; the shape of you was jagged and weak. There was nowhere for me to stay, but I stayed anyway.” Trope example: fever care

Day 2: Dear Reader

“Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Dear reader, get out your map, pick somewhere and just run.” Trope examples: escape, running away

Day 3: Haunted

“Come on, come on, don’t leave me like this! I thought I had you figured out!” Trope examples: betrayal, death

Day 4: Out of the Woods

“Remember when you hit the brakes too soon? Twenty stitches in a hospital room. When you started crying, baby, I did too, but when the sun came up, I was looking at you.” Trope examples: hospitals, surgery, tandem injuries

Day 5: Nothing New

“I’ve had too much to drink tonight, and I know it’s sad, but this is what I think about, and I wake up in the middle of the night, it’s like I can feel time moving.” Trope examples: drugging, alcohol poisoning

Day 6: Castles Crumbling

“Power went to my head, and I couldn’t stop. Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off, and here I sit alone, behind walls of regret.” Trope examples: losing control, magical manipulation, cursed artifacts, corruption

Day 7: I Did Something Bad

“They’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one. They’ve got their pitchforks and proof, their receipts and reasons.” Trope examples: magic misuse, false capture, torture

Day 8: Last Kiss

“I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe.” Trope examples: amnesia, brainwashing

Day 9: this is me trying

“Pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could’ve followed my fears all the way down, and maybe I don’t quite know what to say, but I’m here in your doorway.” Trope example: showing up to the door injured

Day 10: Anti-Hero

“I’m a monster on a hill, too big to hang out, slowly lurching towards your favorite city, pierced through the heart but never killed.” Trope examples: monster whump, experimentation

Day 11: The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

“Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?” Trope examples: betrayal, carewhumper

Day 12: Guilty as Sin?

“If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly.” Trope examples: stockholm syndrome, loss of a loved one

Day 13: ‘tis the damn season

“There’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me, but if it’s all the same to you, it’s the same to me.” Trope examples: aftermath of betrayal, whumper turned into caretaker, carewhumper

Day 14: Getaway Car

“Well, he was running after us, I was screaming ‘go, go, go!’” Trope examples: escape, jailbreak

Day 15: Sparks Fly

“Drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain, kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain.” Trope examples: brainwashing, drugging, fever

Day 16: I Hate It Here

“Now I seem to be scared to go outside, if comfort is a construct, I don’t believe in good luck now that I know what’s what.” Trope examples: scared animal whumpee, aftermath of experimentation or torture, shaky recovery

Day 17: Down Bad

“Did you really beam me up in a cloud of sparkling dust just to do experiments on, tell me I was the chosen one, show me that this world is bigger than us - then sent me back where I came from?” Trope examples: sci-fi, alien abduction, experimentation, stockholm syndrome

Day 18: So Long, London

“My spine split from carrying us up the hill, wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill.” Trope examples: fever, escape

Day 19: All Too Well

“Check the pulse and come back swearing it’s the same after three months in the grave, and then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you, but all I felt was shame, and you held my lifeless frame.” Trope examples: near-death, death

Day 20: ivy

“Crescent moon, coast is clear, spring breaks loose, but so does fear. He’s gonna burn this house to the ground.” Trope examples: stockholm syndrome, escape, carewhumper, arson

Day 21: Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

“I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me. You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.” Trope examples: psych ward, asylum, experimentation, labs

Day 22: Midnight Rain

“He wanted it comfortable, I wanted that pain.” Trope examples: whumper x whumpee

Day 23: You’re Losing Me

“We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won’t.” Trope examples: sickness, lethal illness

Day 24: Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus

“You needed me, but you needed drugs more, and I couldn’t watch it happen.” Trope examples: drugging

Day 25: So It Goes…

“Cut me into pieces. Gold cage, hostage to my feelings, back against the wall.” Trope examples: gilded cage, dolled up whumpee, pet whump

Day 26: exile

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending. You’re not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending?” Trope examples: recovery, conditioned whumpee

Day 27: cardigan

“You drew stars around my scars, but now I’m bleeding.” Trope examples: carewhumper, caretaker turned into whumper, betrayal by fellow whumpee

Day 28: The Prophecy

“A greater woman stays cool, but I howl like a wolf at the moon, and I sound unstable, gathered with a coven around a sorceress’ table.” Trope examples: witchcraft, monster whump, corruption

Day 29: Bad Blood

“Bandaids don’t fix bullet holes.” Trope examples: gunshot wounds, unsafe medical care

Day 30: Cruel Summer

“Said I’m fine, but it wasn’t true.” Trope examples: hiding injury

ALT PROMPTS

You’re On Your Own, Kid

“I gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.” Trope examples: overtraining, willing experimentation

Sweet Nothing

“They say the end is coming, everyone’s up to something. I find myself running to your sweet nothing.” Trope examples: hypnosis, brainwashing, mind-numbing, drugging

Call It What You Want

“My castle crumbled overnight, I brought a knife to a gunfight.” Trope examples: royalty whump, fight sequence, gunshot wounds

The Great War

“Somewhere in the haze, got a sense I’d been betrayed: your finger on my hairpin trigger.” Trope examples: battles, betrayal

tolerate it

“You assume I’m fine, but what would you do if I break free and leave us in ruins? Took this dagger in me and removed it?” Trope examples: escape, betrayal

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

“His hand, so calloused from his pistol, softly traces hearts on my face.” Trope examples: carewhumper, gentle whumper

us.

“The curse or a miracle, hearse or an oracle; you’re incomparable, fuck, it was chemical.” Trope examples: conditioning, drugging, experimentation, stockholm syndrome

FILE: SECRET SESSIONS ACHIEVEMENTS If you’ve scrolled down this far, the Department would like you to know about a few classified achievements during the event. - From the Vault: ??? a?? ?? ??? a?? ???????. - Taylor’s Version: ???????? a?? ?? ??? ?a?? ???????. - Sing-Along: ??? a ?????? ????? ?? ??? ?? ???? ???????. - Sad Girl Autumn: ??? a ????????? ????? ???? a ?????? ???? ??a? ??? ??? ???? ?? ??? ??????. - Surprise Songs: ??? ???? ??a? ??? ?????? ?? a ?????? ?????. Hm. There seems to be a visibility issue. Maybe complete them first? Otherwise it would be prudent to check back later . . .

[sunday-bug]

ty for the tag @starfly-nicole <3

fav colour: yellow, purple, & turquoise

currently reading: Winter Soldier Cold Front by Mackenzi Lee & A Swim in a Pond in the Rain by George Saunders (s/o to Seb for the recommendation from this interview)

last song: listening to this playlist created by @thevillainswhore for their New Tricks series - I am devouring it (the playlist and the fic)! SO GOOD!

last movie: Destroyer, but seeing Thunderbolts* later today!

last series: Daredevil Born Again

sweet, savoury or salty: depends on the day!

craving: an extra day of the week just for reading & writing lol... and maybe a dark chocolate coconut macaroon

tea or coffee: coffee, although I wish I liked tea

currently working on: Terry the Terrific asks & whatever self indulgent ideas pop into my brain

np tags: @soelstress @buck-star @fckmebarnes @buckybarnesslutshop @maxlordsgf @maryevm @sebastianstan0813 or anyone else that wants to do it <3

Nine People (or so) I'd like to know better

tagged by the glorious @cillmequick 😘

Fav colour:

green

Currently reading:

I'm way behind on my reading 🫣 don't ask! I've just downloaded The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood. When I'll read it, is anyone's guess 😬

Last song:

My little girlies are currently singing APT. to me for the eleventy-billionth time.

Last movie:

The Martian

Last series:

I'm watching Daredevil and Severance atm, and they're both EXCELLENT.

Sweet, savoury or salty:

Sweet 😋

Craving:

My favourite pasta dish from my favourite Italian. Luckily, I'm going later! 🍝

Tea or coffee:

I'm a teapot usually, but I do like a coffee.

Currently working on:

Sooo much! I have WIPs coming out of my ears! I'm very much in a Bucky fix right now, which I can only guess will get bigger in the run-up to ⚡��Thunderbolts⚡️

We have:

Chapter 2 of For Your Consideration coming asap

Backseat Driver- a new Bucky fic hopefully coming by Monday!

Some old Valentine's fics for River

Slow Horses Big Bang

I think those are it for now...

no pressure tags: @hart-kinsella @a-sunflower-in-bloom @linkpk88 @onceuponaoneshot @mrs-elsie-barnes @marvelstoriesepic

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

See though the mist

Heyy I’m back with part two now let’s go!

As Danny woke up he expected to see a clod white  ceiling like he has been for the past … week or so..? Yeah that’s about the right amount of time right? How long had he been locked up in that cold white room that smelled of chemicals and the metallic blood smell and the sounds of their screams…wait that was him wasn’t it huh….

….oh wait where is he Danny thinks with suddenly clarity and a bit of panic and sits up and that turns out to be a bad idea as a jolt of pain goes through Danny “ok bad idea bad idea” Danny saids voice a bit strained by the pain and falls back on to his back that when Clockwork in all his Cyptid ass glory “Hello Daniel how are you feeling?” Clookwork ask “like I’ve been hit with a bus” Clockwork just nods

A few hours later

Danny’s walking next to Clockwork as they walk to….somewhere and as they get closer to a forest? “So where are we going? You really just gave me bandages and some new clothes which thank you” Danny liked the new outfit it was white and hangs of his shoulders ( due to not really being fed by the GIW) and goes to his ankles and he’s pretty sure this counts as a dress but it was comfortable and a lot better than his old clothes that were covered in his own blood ( he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to wear tight clothes like that ever again ) anyway they get to the edge of the forest and that’s when Clockwork specks up “Now Daniel I am unable to take care of you-“ Danny was about to interject and say he didn’t need to be taken care of but Clockwork holds up a hand to stop him and continues “ but I know someone who can be of help to you and your unborn child” Clockwork says as they walk into the forest it takes a few minutes….or 30 times weird in the forest Danny finds himself with clockwork in front of a castle.

The castle itself looks extremely overgrown and taken care of just enough so the greenery doesn’t take the castle down with its weight but still very overgrown, Danny and clockwork walk into a large part of the castle it looks like where the throne should be but it is probably under the gigantic tree that is so big it goes through the roof and it’s surrounded by a large lagoon with many different types of water plants and if look into it you can see the trees gigantic roots that are bigger than him and isn’t that humbling

As Danny looks around his eye catch a beautiful black snake with green eyes ( Danny’s always thought snakes were very cute) that is wrapped around one of the branches of the tree and it seems the snake sees him to as they start to slither down from their branch but Danny can’t really think about it to long as a gigantic snake ( not as big as the tree but big ) and its head was outstretched out to them but the rest of its body was still in the tree an then a voice come from the snake “…Hello Clockwork…”

=====================================

It’s been years since Vesper and Clockwork have seen each other after Vesper needed his help with the castle some humans thought it would be a good idea to try to set it on fire to get the land and to kill the snakes

As the castle was burning down with all of us snakes inside that when clockwork came and said he would help keep the humans out and exchange Vesper own him a favor not that he minded to much if the castle and the Den was safe that good enough for him

but he was not expecting that when clockwork would came to get the favor is that he would bring a hatching why isn’t it with their mother and Den??? But as clockwork explains the hatchings ( he now knows as Danny) situation after all he feels is

PURE RIGHTEOUS RAGE

How dare these humans hurt a HATCHING ( that is with a hatching himself) and from the other snakes hisses ( yells in snake) they are outraged as he is, it would not surprise him if the others in the den have already decided this boy is now one

And he is in agreement with them

And that’s it for part two! Sorry if the words are weird if your see any of my stuff you can tell I have bad grammar

Anyway hope you guys liked it byeee

=====================================

TAGGS

@thatoneweirdshipper @phantasama @siluver @fucking-brains-out

[800db-cloud]

spare some spy hcs? 👀

OKAY. ok. so i have been putting off answering this ask because i’m admittedly very shy and very afraid of sharing my headcanons. and also because i have A LOT OF THEM.. but here we are!

here are my headcanon spies :) René works for RED and Jacques works for BLU!

where to start, where to start… i have a LOT of headcanons for them, i’ll be talking for FOREVER here. i’ll just start with story because why not! xP

René’s parents were also agents/spies, so he was always destined to be one as well. And he lives up to his parents’ legacies! He’s most notorious for destroying gangs and mobs and the like from the outside in. He was brought to America years ago to take out a dangerous mob boss, but unfortunately found himself infatuated (and involved) with the boss’ daughter. Luckily for him, the boss’ daughter wanted the guy dead, too.

René’s story is honestly a lot more fleshed out than Jacques’, but here goes anyway:

Jacques’ father was a very rich and powerful man in politics. Jacques himself was the result of an affair, and to keep it hush-hush, his father decided to raise him. Raise is a strong word, though— but he did help his father gain intelligence and blackmail on opposing political parties. Jacques proved to be a promising spy since childhood.

If anyone has any suggestions/ideas for Jacques’ story, let me know haha x) he didn’t have the greatest upbringing per se…

last thing on this section i wanna talk about is the Scouts. René is related to both of the Scouts; he’s RED Scout (Jeremy)’s biological father, and he’s BLU Scout (James)’ adoptive/step-father. Jacques has no relation to either scout, but acts as a guardian figure to BLU Scout.

anyway, this is the part where i continue talking about other miscellaneous headcanons! and these come with doodles :)

You couldn’t catch René DEAD without his mask, or his suit! He’d neeever take them off around other people (‘other people’ is mainly just Scout. For obvious reasons.) Meanwhile, Jacques is pretty lenient in letting his teammates see his face! Everyone on BLU’s seen his face at least once.

A big part of why René refuses to strip down is also due to the fact he has a LOT of tattoos. No doodle for this one because I’ve yet to decide on what tattoos to put on him (ideas are very welcome!!), but yeah! Most of the tattoos were ‘forced’ onto him/he had to get for jobs and ‘fitting in’ with bad crowds, but a good few of them were of his own accord, too.

Jacques doesn’t have tattoos, but he has a myriad of another thing: scars! Lots and lots of scars on this guy. Faded and old, sure, but they’re there. Most prominent ones are the one around his neck (from when the RED Medic beheaded him) and the ones on his forearms (those are from the LAST time he was imprisoned— looong story…)

René doesn’t cook very often for his team, but when he does, everyone’s always BLOWN AWAY by this guy’s cooking! René’s really bad at taking compliments, though— (“Cooking food that’s remotely edible isn’t a compliment, it’s basic survival.”) —but rest assured he’ll be thinking about it for the next month. Jacques, however… Do NOT let this guy into the kitchen. Ever. The BLU base has a special fire extinguisher “In Case Spy Decides To Turn On The Stove”

oooh, this one is an hc and a HALF to me. René much prefers working alone. It’s just in his nature, being isolated and whatnot. He likes to deal with things by himself– maybe he doesn’t want to burden others? On the contrary, Jacques NEVER works alone. It’s a trait he’s had even before being hired to BLU. You never know when things could go wrong, so it’s best to have someone else to fall back to… or someone else you can blame!

these hcs both have something to do with how René and Jacques show their trust in other people :) it’s a bit convoluted but it gets there:

René is, amusingly, very bad at remembering names. Almost laughably bad. There have been many-a-story of his days before RED where he’d get a target’s name wrong, even after he’d repeated it in his head dozens of times over. Names are difficult for him, so if he remembers yours, it means you mean a lot to him! He prefers using his teammates’ names rather than their titles. René is unaware of how charming this specifc trait is to his coworkers (they saw how much work and effort it took for him to memorize their names, they’re just happy with how far he’s come!)

Jacques has a… to put simply, very complicated relationship with food. But the one thing he’ll never turn down is sweets. His favorites especially being chocolate bonbons. Jacques has a hard time eating in front of others, let alone sharing his food! But if he genuinely likes and trusts you enough, he’d have half the mind to share with you. Admittedly, he hasn’t brought himself to share with most of the members of his team yet, except for a select few. Mostly BLU Medic and BLU Sniper.

—

and of course, eventually, EVENTUALLY, these two also become friends! it took a little bit but believe me, they both respect each other’s skill in their job :)

AHHg i could go sooo much longer about them— from things like their physical traits (how much teeth they have? it’s a pressing question) or different periods of their life (why did rené have to leave his family? why was jacques imprisoned for the last time?) BUT this post is so… so, so long. My fingers hurt from typing

If you’ve managed to read through this Beast, THANK YOU RAAHH!!! thanks so much for asking this, too. i hope to spare more hcs someday. hehe ^_^

[asmogorna]

unfortunate catch ,,