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ittybittyfanblog · 4 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol. Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night.

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that.

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break.

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?”

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around.

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five.

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much.

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding.

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd.

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal.

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time.

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia?

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend—

Ping!

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts—and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart.

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address?

Ah, just like clockwork.

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals—for more than you’d care to admit—to boot up.

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give–pay–for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress.

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion.

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain.

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?”

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man—what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character.

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man itself—or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some.

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic— the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life.

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well.

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin.

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness.

What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.”

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue.

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means.

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!”

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game, you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different.

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.”

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night.

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face.

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker—then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.”

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%.......

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez—huh?”

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary.

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever.

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock.

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?”

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face.

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter.

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.”

Helplessly, you open your inventory next.

Your jaw drops.

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This—this can’t be real.”

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this—this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada.

Holy shit.

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes.

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?”

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative.

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks.

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose.

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut.

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie.

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk.

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC.

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning—or until your battery dies, whichever comes first—you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.”

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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lightseoul · 6 months ago

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cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

#again--we love an emotionally constipated bkg #i just realized #i feel pressured to tie my stories with a pretty bow at the end but really I enjoy reading and writing slow-burn cliffhangers more LMAO #i hope you guys do too #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #mha imagines #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou imagine #bakugou drabble #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n

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cloudtransprncy · 1 month ago

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Desk

IVE Gaeul x Male reader | 4647 words Part 1 of ? Tags: Oral Fixation, Bratty GF, Teasing, Semi-Public Risk, Deepthroating, Spit Play, Messy, dirty, head.

You're locked into a late-night Valorant grind with the boys, but Gaeul has other plans. With teasing glances, a knowing smirk, and a slow descent under the desk, she dares you to stay focused—except she knows you never win against her.

The monitor’s light spills into the dimly lit bedroom, merging with the deep purple glow from the LED strips running along the ceiling.

The rhythmic clicking of the keyboard mixes with the muffled voices from Discord, filling the room with an ambient hum.

You’re leaned back in your gaming chair, its ergonomic shape supporting you as you shift slightly, adjusting your position. Loose shirt draping over your frame, fingers moving fluidly across the keys, you call out plays with the boys.

The faint scent of fresh linen from your undone sheets lingers in the air, the bed tidy but lived-in, a slight contrast to the sleek, modern aesthetic of the rest of your space.

The game’s reflection flickers across the sleek, minimal art on your walls—fractured neon streaks from a custom Vandal skin shifting with the movement on-screen. Sleek frames devoid of any band posters enhance the modern aesthetic, while a small collection of Funko Pops stands neatly on a floating shelf, their colorful forms a playful contrast to the room’s sharp design.

The match is tense, but the banter is casual—friendly jabs, loud reactions, the usual chaos of a night grinding Valorant.

“Bro, how’d you miss that?!” one of the homies shouts, half-laughing.

“Relax, I got this,” you mutter, adjusting your aim. Your screen flickers with movement, and you line up the perfect shot. “Headshot. Easy.”

The boys erupt in a mix of cheers and mock complaints, but before you can ride the high of the play, the door creaks open, the soft sound barely cutting through the steady hum of your PC fans.

Instinctively, your fingers flick over the keyboard, hitting the hotkey that mutes your mic—just in case.

Gaeul steps in.

Your eyes flick to her, and for a second, your brain lags like a bad connection, your pulse stuttering as if your body is catching up to what your eyes are seeing.

A flush of warmth spreads through your chest, your grip tightening on the mouse as your mind scrambles to register the sudden shift in atmosphere. She’s stealing your breath before you even realize it.

Her black cropped tank top clings to her, spaghetti straps exposing her toned shoulders, the smooth curve of her collarbone, and just enough of her creamy, flawless abdomen to make your throat dry. Her skin glows under the purple LED light, soft and inviting, each inch begging to be touched.

The shorts she wears showcase her long, silky legs, every movement making the light catch the supple smoothness of her thighs, leaving little to the imagination. A pair of simple socks cover only her feet, emphasizing the bare elegance of her form. Her hair is tied up, loose strands falling around her face in a messy yet intentional way, the wisps framing her delicate features. Her full lips slightly parted, painted with a soft hue that catches the dim lighting.

The contrast between the sharpness of her jawline and the smoothness of her skin is striking, making her look effortlessly stunning even in the simplest setting.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She lingers in the doorway, her gaze flickering over you, lips pressing into a playful pout. Then, with a slow, deliberate sigh, she finally flops onto your bed dramatically, stretching like a cat, her arms extending above her head. The motion makes the fabric of her tank top shift slightly, hinting at the tautness of her stomach.

Her movements are relaxed, nonchalant, as if she isn’t trying to draw attention to herself. She rolls onto her stomach, kicking her feet behind her lazily, her cute rear forming soft, tempting hills under her shorts. Her fingers idly scroll over her phone screen, her expression neutral, almost detached. She shifts slightly, her toned legs flexing as she shifts position, before finally speaking up.

“Babe.”

You hum in response, still locked onto the screen.

“I’m horny.”

Your grip on the mouse tightens, but you force a chuckle. “Yeah? Sucks to be you. I’m with the homies right now.”

She groans dramatically, causing you to glance over, and the sight nearly makes you miss your next shot. She's biting her finger absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on her phone, but it’s the way her tank top strap has slipped off her shoulder that catches you.

The loosened fabric barely clings to her, revealing just a teasing glimpse of her collarbone and the soft swell of her cleavage. Her lips part slightly, her teeth grazing the tip of her finger as if lost in thought, though you know better—she knows exactly what she’s doing.

She sighs, getting up from the bed, the movement slow, deliberate. Her sock-covered feet shuffle lightly against the carpeted floor as she makes her way towards you, her presence growing impossibly closer. She drags a hand down her stomach lazily, adjusting her tank top as if unaware of your eyes on her, though you know better.

As she reaches your left side, she leans in, and the familiar, clean scent of cherry drifts over you—subtle yet distinct, a fragrance that clings to her skin, comforting in its familiarity. It mixes with the warmth of her body, the closeness making your breath hitch as she presses just slightly into your space, her presence wrapping around you effortlessly.

“Come on,” she murmurs, reaching up to gently tug your headset back, just enough to expose your ear. She nuzzles against your neck, her lips hovering close, her breath warm as she inhales softly, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, your focus slipping.

She moves fluidly, settling just behind you, her arms draping lazily over your shoulders. One hand trails across your chest, her fingers tracing slow, feather-light patterns, while the other lingers at the edge of your headset, still tilted from her tug. She tilts her head slightly, pretending to check something on her phone again, the glow reflecting on her smooth skin.

You almost think she’s given up—until she suddenly shifts closer, her fingers ghosting over your wrist before she reaches for your headset, her lips curving into a knowing smirk before she glances at you through her lashes, biting her lower lip absentmindedly.

Then, with deliberate ease, she shifts her hips subtly, pressing against you just enough to make you notice. Her lips hover just beside your ear, her voice smooth, teasing, sinking into your skin like warm honey.

“I don’t need much,” she breathes, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, but just before the words slip into your ear, she pulls back slightly, letting the moment hang between you.

Then, suddenly, she leans in closer again, her lips brushing just faintly against your skin as she whispers the last word, the sensation sending a deep shiver down your spine, as if she’s already won.

You inhale sharply, fingers hovering over the keys, willing yourself to stay focused. It’s just Gaeul being Gaeul, you tell yourself. She loves to mess with you. But the warmth of her breath, the way she moves without even trying—it’s getting harder to pretend you’re unaffected. Your fingers hesitate on the keys. Just for a second.

She sees it.

The smile she gives you is soft—knowing, smug, just a little bit spoiled.

Her hands drift down, playing with the hem of your shirt, her nails grazing your stomach lightly, sending a wave of heat coursing through your veins. A sharp exhale escapes you before you can stop it, your muscles tensing under her touch. The sensation is maddening—just enough to tease, to remind you of how easily she can unravel you. Your mind races, fighting between keeping your cool and giving in to the way she’s setting every nerve in your body on fire. The feeling sends an involuntary shiver up your spine.

You try to focus, try to keep your cursor steady, but she’s right there—warm, teasing, a living distraction you can’t ignore. You know exactly where this is going. And you should stop her. You should. But when have you ever been able to tell Gaeul no?

Your character moves erratically on-screen, and one of the guys on Discord notices.

“Yo, what was that flick?”

You clear your throat and adjust your mic. “Slipped.”

Gaeul giggles, her warm breath ghosting over your skin. She nuzzles against your neck briefly, then tilts her head, her lips brushing softly against your cheek instead, a fleeting yet deliberate touch that lingers just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Come on,” she whispers. “I promise I won’t be a bother.”

She shifts slightly, fingers trailing down your chest before gripping the edge of your shirt. ‘Maybe I should just sit here instead,’ she muses, voice laced with amusement. You brace yourself, already anticipating the warmth of her weight on your lap, but she smirks.

You exhale through your nose, but you don’t object.

That’s all she needed —and sinks to her knees instead.

And just like that, she disappears under the desk.

Your heart kicks up a notch.

The second she disappears under the desk, your heart rate spikes. She shifts beneath you, adjusting herself before pausing. No touch, no teasing—just the warmth of her presence lingering between your legs. The lack of contact makes it worse. Your pulse thrums in your ears, waiting, expecting. The seconds stretch unbearably. Then, finally, her fingertips graze your thigh, featherlight, sending a ripple of heat straight to your core. Your breath comes just a little faster, anticipation creeping into every inch of your body. You sit up a little straighter, adjusting in your chair as if that will somehow help you keep your composure.

Her hands, warm and soft, brush along your thighs, fingertips featherlight at first before pressing in with teasing intent. She’s taking her time, letting you feel every little touch, every stroke of her nails against your sweats. Your grip on the mouse tightens as you glance at the screen, trying—failing—to focus on the game.

She palms you slowly, deliberately, the heat of her hand pressing through the fabric in lazy, teasing strokes. It’s maddening. The kind of slow torture only she could get away with. Your jaw clenches, but you force yourself to stay still, barely shifting in your seat as you adjust your headset.

The boys on Discord are still talking, oblivious to the way your body tenses under her touch. One of them cracks a joke, and you let out a forced chuckle, hoping no one hears the slight waver in your voice.

Then, Gaeul pauses, dragging it out. She blows warm air over you first, waiting, making sure you feel the anticipation crawling under your skin. A quiet hum leaves her lips as she rests her cheek against your thigh, her breath steady, unhurried. You feel her smile against you before she finally moves.

With a slow, deliberate motion, she hooks her fingers into your waistband and tugs down—not too fast, not too slow, just enough to make you lose your breath.

Cool air rushes over you for all of a second, and the relief is immediate—skin stretching, blood thrumming as your hardness finally breaks free from its constraint. The sensation is dizzying, your cock pulsing as it fully unfurls, heat rushing straight to your core. Before she does anything else, she pauses, taking in the sight of you—her breath hitching slightly, her fingers ghosting over your length in reverence.

She nuzzles against it, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the side, her warm breath sending another shudder through you. She’s told you many times before how much she loves sucking your cock, but whenever she’s actually doing it, it feels like more than that—like she’s worshiping you, indulging in something she can’t get enough of. She’s savoring every inch before she even begins. A soft hum escapes her, as if just having you like this is enough to satisfy her. Only then do her lips part, and she finally takes you in.

Wet. Warm. Hot.

The first flick of her tongue sends a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine. Her lips wrap around you, slow and firm, dragging along your length with teasing precision. The suction is just right, enough to make your fingers twitch over the keyboard. It starts clean, controlled, but soon the warmth of her mouth deepens, her spit coating every inch. You glance down between ragged breaths, watching as she slowly drags her tongue from the base to the tip, only to scoop up the slickness pooling at your crotch, bringing it back to the top with a slow, deliberate stroke.

Your hand flies to the mute button.

The first few slow, obscene strokes of her tongue make your head tip back slightly, your fingers gripping the edge of the desk. It’s wet, so wet, messy from the start.

She doesn’t hold back. Not today.

Her tongue glides firmly along the underside, tracing every vein, her movements deliberate as she circles the tip before enveloping you again, her lips stretching around your girth with practiced ease. The lewd sound of her lips smacking around you is barely muffled under the desk, but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten.

You will yourself to stay composed, to not give anything away, but it’s a losing battle.

She’s relentless—her mouth hot and soft, taking you deeper each time, her spit slicking every inch of you. She bobs her head with a slow, steady rhythm, a mix of suction and slippery, messy tongue work that makes your breath stutter.

You will yourself to focus, force your fingers to keep moving on the keyboard, but it’s useless. You tell yourself to think about the match, about the callouts, about anything but the heat pooling in your stomach. But then her breath ghosts over you again, and it's like a wire short-circuiting in your brain.

Your grip tightens on the mouse, but the effort is futile—your body betrays you, drawn irresistibly to the way she moves, to the slow, maddening rhythm she’s building beneath you. The second her lips ghost over the fabric, you’re gone. The game, the boys on Discord, the match—it all fades. Your only reality is her, beneath the desk, and the slow, maddening heat pooling in your stomach. Your breathing grows heavier, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Yo, you good?” one of your friends asks.

You clear your throat, forcing a neutral tone. “Yeah, just—uh, adjusting my seat.”

Beneath the desk, Gaeul giggles, and the vibration of it alone makes your stomach clench. Then, she spits, warm and thick, letting it drip down your length before she spreads it with her tongue. A wet, filthy glide.

A sharp inhale rushes through your nose. Your free hand tightens on your thigh. God.

She deepens her rhythm, her mouth molding around you, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks with more urgency, a wet, obscene symphony filling the space beneath the desk. The slick sounds grow louder, more obscene, as spit pools and dribbles from the corners of her mouth, coating your length in a messy sheen.

A soft gag stutters in her throat, and when she pulls back slightly, her breath is ragged, chest rising and falling as she pants through the high. For a brief second, her eyes roll back, dazed, before she collects herself with a quiet, needy hum.

Then, she spits again, slow and deliberate, watching the saliva trail down before she gathers it with her tongue and takes you in once more. Some of it drips onto the chair, smearing across the leather, but you don’t care—your mind too fogged with pleasure to register anything beyond the mess she’s making of you.

Sloppy. Wet. No hesitation.

Her throat clenches around you before she pulls back, eyes fluttering as a garbled moan escapes her, her breath labored. She lets another thick strand of spit fall, her fingers smoothing it down as she strokes you with both hands, her grip greedy, insatiable. Then she goes back in, her nails digging lightly into your thigh, like she’s steadying herself, like she’s getting lost in it.

Your cursor drifts aimlessly on-screen, and the boys notice.

“Bro, what are you even doing? We’re losing.”

You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to refocus. “Shut up, I got this.”

But you don’t. Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s ruining you beneath the desk, her tongue flicking, her lips tightening, her throat swallowing around you just enough to make your vision blur.

Your next move is purely instinct. Your hand finds the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as you press her down just a little more. She hums in approval, her lips glistening, strands of spit clinging between them as she lets her drool drip deliberately onto your skin, smearing the mess with slow, deliberate kisses. Then, her throat tightens as you push just a bit deeper, the tip hitting the back of her throat, making her gag around you.

The air around you is thick, tainted with the intoxicating mix of her hot breath, her saliva, and the lingering scent of her cherry perfume. It clings to your skin, seeps into the fabric of your chair, wrapping the space in something primal, something undeniably filthy. It’s overwhelming, making your head swim, as if the very atmosphere is charged with the evidence of everything she’s done to you.

You bite down on your lip, head tipping forward as pleasure crashes through you. Then she pulls back with a lewd, messy gasp, a wet pop breaking the tension as she stares at you, her composure long gone. What started as slow, deliberate control has unraveled into something raw and desperate. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her lips swollen and slick, spit clinging to her chin and trickling down her throat. She blinks, dazed, before a quiet whimper escapes her, her body shivering like she’s addicted to the taste of you. Her eyes roll back slightly, lids fluttering as if she’s dazed, drunk on the feeling of having you in her mouth. She pants softly, her breath ragged as she collects herself, a cough slipping out before she snorts, shaking her head slightly like she’s high off it.

A hum of satisfaction vibrates in her throat before she spits on you again, her hand wrapping around your slick length. She strokes you slow, loud, and proud, her fingers working you with a deliberate pace. Looking up at you from under the desk, she looks utterly wrecked—lips swollen and slick, spit trailing down her chin, her eyes glassy and dark with hunger. Drops of saliva dot her chest, some clinging to her collarbone, dampening the fabric of her top. She pants softly, her breath shaky, as both hands work you with slow, messy strokes, her fingers coated in the evidence of her own devotion.

Muted again.

She’s winning. And she knows it.

Your thighs tremble as Gaeul keeps stroking, her grip firm, fingers gliding over your slick length with a slow, almost lazy confidence. Her breath is uneven, hot, little moans slipping past her lips as if she’s lost in the act itself, dazed by the sensation of having you in her hands. Her spit coats every inch, her palm twisting just right as she drags it up and down. Her eyes stay locked on yours, her smirk hidden behind the mess she’s made of you.

She doesn’t just stop there.

Gaeul lets your cock rest against her tongue for a moment, her eyes locked onto yours, dark and hazy with need.

She holds it there, savoring the weight of you, before spitting thickly onto it, her lips parting just slightly as if mesmerized by the sight.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she slaps it against her wet muscle, the obscene sound cutting through the heavy silence between you. The sound is obscene, sticky and loud in the quiet room. She giggles, flicking her gaze up at you from under her lashes, her fingers still stroking steadily as she tilts her head slightly, as if daring you to break.

And then she goes lower. All the way down.

Her lips trail to your base, kissing, licking, before her tongue glides further—dragging along your balls, her breath warm and heavy against your sensitive skin. She pauses for a moment, savoring, letting her lips graze over them before she sucks one into her mouth with a messy, drawn-out slurp. A deep, muffled moan vibrates through you, the sensation sparking along your spine.

You shudder, thighs flexing, your fingers tightening involuntarily as she hums against you, relishing every second, her tongue swirling, teasing. Her eyes flutter closed as if she’s lost in it, indulging herself, her own pleasure evident in the way she sucks greedily, releasing with a wet pop before shifting to the other.

She breathes out a small laugh, breathless, her lips slick as she licks back up, dragging her tongue purposefully before kissing back down, making sure every inch of you is drenched in attention. She doesn’t stop stroking, her grip tightening as she jerks you in slow, deliberate motions, the slick warmth of her saliva spreading over every inch. Her palm glides with a perfect mix of pressure and indulgence, squeezing just enough to make your thighs tense.

The wetness pools, smearing between her fingers, dripping down in messy trails, but she doesn’t slow—if anything, she seems to revel in it. Every stroke makes an obscene sound, every twist of her wrist drawing you closer to losing it.

She releases you with a pop, licking up the entire length before wrapping her lips around you again. This time, she doesn’t tease. She dives in.

Your body tenses as her throat tightens around you, her free hand rolling your balls in her palm as she bobs up and down with an unrelenting pace.

It’s overwhelming.

Her movements are fast, ruthless, each descent pushing you deeper into her throat. She takes you over and over, no hesitation, no mercy. Her moans turn breathier, more frantic, as if she’s unraveling with every greedy suck, every eager, wet drag of her lips, lost in the heady rhythm of it all.

Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily, a faint tremor running through, completely lost in it. Her fingers twitch slightly, gripping your thigh tighter for balance, her breathing faltering between moans, her body responding instinctively, greedily, to the act itself.

Her tongue presses against the underside, rubbing against that sensitive spot as her lips stretch around your girth. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, spit dripping from her chin, but she doesn’t stop.

She can feel it. You’re right there. Your thighs twitch, seizing in tight, instinctive pulses, the tension sparking through you like an exposed wire.

A hushed moan slips past your lips, unbidden, as your breathing catches. Her nails dig into your thigh, her body shuddering, her eyes rolling back for a brief second as she gags around you, spit bubbling at the corners of her lips. It’s filthy, it’s intoxicating, and she looks like she never wants to stop.

She grips your thigh, steadies herself, and swallows you whole, her throat convulsing around you in quick, desperate gulps. The wet heat, the tight pressure, the sound of her gagging and moaning all at once—it shatters you.

Your head tips back, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your hips jerk forward involuntarily. Pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, blinding, unstoppable. Your muscles go taut, your grip tightening on the desk as your breath catches, lost in the sheer intensity of the moment.

Thoughts scatter, dissolve into nothing but the heat of her mouth, the desperate pull of her throat, the way your body surrenders completely to her. The first pulse erupts deep inside her, and she moans around you, swallowing greedily as if she’s desperate for every last drop. The thick warmth shoots down her throat, and she takes it all effortlessly, her lips sealed tight, sucking you through every wave. Her body trembles, her exhale shuddering slightly as she savors the taste, the sensation.

A blissed-out hum escapes her, reverberating through you, her eyes fluttering in a heady trance, completely overtaken by the moment. Even after you’re drained, she stays there, swallowing once more, her lips still wrapped around you as if reluctant to let go. Finally, she pulls back, her tongue flicking out to clean up anything left behind, her lashes heavy, her gaze hazy with satisfaction. Only then do you finally look down, watching her beneath the desk.

She’s on her knees, her body slumped slightly, as if she’s been completely overtaken by the moment. Her hair is a mess, strands clinging to the damp sheen on her flushed skin. Her tank top is a disaster, the thin fabric darkened in places, speckled with spit, barely hanging onto her frame. She looks utterly ruined—stunning in her disarray, a vision of chaos and need, her lips still slick, slightly parted as she catches her breath.

There’s something almost innocent in the way she gazes up at you, juxtaposed with the depravity of what she’s just done. And yet, she’s still hungry, still savoring the taste of you, a soft, breathy hum leaving her lips as she drags her fingers over your oversensitive skin, enjoying how you twitch under her touch.

Your fingers grip the desk like a lifeline, chest heaving, body wrecked.

And when she finally pulls away, a string of spit still connects her lips to your spent length, her expression smug as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

The boys are still talking. The match is still going.

You don’t even know who’s winning anymore.

Your hand is still gripping the mouse, your fingers twitching slightly as you struggle to recover. The warmth of her breath still lingers on your skin, her presence under the desk unmistakable.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your entire body is still pulsing from the aftershocks, and you barely process the sound of your friends in your headset. When you finally force your fingers to move, they don’t feel like your own

You clear your throat, exhaling hard through your nose before unmuting. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Bro, you disappeared for a sec,” one of your friends laughs. “What happened?”

Gaeul leans forward, resting her chin on your thigh, her fingers tracing light patterns against your oversensitive skin. She looks up at you, amused, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Just… needed a breather,” you manage, voice hoarse.

A chuckle from your homies, some light teasing, but they move on, diving back into the game.

Gaeul, however, doesn’t budge. Her eyes remain locked on you, heavy-lidded, her lips still slick and parted as if savoring the moment. A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, but there’s something else there too—an insatiable hunger, a quiet challenge lingering in her gaze, like she’s not quite done with you yet.

You exhale, still reeling, and finally push your chair back slightly, giving her space. Gaeul stretches out lazily, her body still humming from everything she’s just done, then crawls out from under the desk with slow, unsteady movements.

Her tank top clings to her skin, damp, wrinkled, barely hanging onto her shoulders. With a small, bratty huff, she tugs it back into place, though it does little to fix the absolute mess she’s become.

Before you can react, she leans up and presses a kiss to your cheek, soft and fleeting, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrays the false innocence of it. "Next time, I’m riding you," she murmurs, voice still thick, breathless, her words dripping with amusement. "Let’s see how well you mute then."

Your fingers tighten on the mouse.

Game over.

AN: I was gone and stopped writing and thinking of shit, had some changes in my life, but im back to writing again. Keep an eye out I got some more ready to go

#smut #gaeul #ive #malereader #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #ive smut

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ninii-winchester · 6 months ago

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Behind Closed Doors (Part 1)

Pairing : Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, not proofread, and tbh I don’t even know where this is going.

A/n: new series (hopefully) First time writing an AU. Don’t let this flop please🙏🏻

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Dean Winchester is the CEO of Winchester Co. for the past four years. He’s the oldest son of John Winchester, the founder and owner of Winchester Co., a real estate business. His office corner suite on the top of the floor in the building with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city skyline. The décor is modern yet understated, featuring a large mahogany desk, plush leather chairs, and abstract art on the walls. Behind the desk is a sleek bookshelf lined with awards, framed contracts. A smart wall panel controls lighting, climate, and the room’s privacy settings.

On the top floor other than the CEO’s office is his personal assistant’s work space. It’s a sleek, efficient area with a streamlined desk equipped with multiple monitors for scheduling, managing calls, and overseeing the flow of appointments. The space is minimalist, with soft lighting and ergonomic seating, offering both a professional and welcoming atmosphere for visitors waiting to meet the CEO

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester.” Y/n said entering his office. Dean looked up from his computer and glanced at the woman standing in the doorway with a styrofoam cup in her hands. “Got you your coffee.” She said holding it up. The man nodded and she entered the room completely, moving to hand him his daily dose of caffeine, which has been the routine for the past four years.

Y/n reached his side and he took the cup from her hands gracefully and placed it onto the table before pulling her down onto his lap. Y/n gasped at the sudden pull and he grinned up at her.

“Good morning baby.” Dean leaned up to place a soft kiss to her lips. “You’re late.” He commented resting his hands on her hips.

“Sorry boss, my boyfriend is a bit clingy in the morning.” She replied with a mocking smile. “Acts like a baby doesn’t let me leave when I spend the night.” She added with a pout. Dean barked out a loud laugh and it was moments like these that he was thankful for having the whole floor to himself.

“Acts like a baby, you say?” Dean feigned curiosity. “Well tell him you’re my mine and I need you here on time.” Dean mock reprimanded her. Y/n rolled her eyes at his teasing.

Dean Winchester is a private man. He doesn’t like expressing his emotions or talk about his personal life. He’s a workaholic and is married to his work. He had been working at this company ever since he was in college. While perusing his degree in business he did part take in business matters, worked as an assistant for his father. He’d worked hard for this title and four years ago he was appointed at the CEO of the company when his father stepped down.

When Dean was appointed CEO, he clearly needed an assistant too. He confided in his best friend, Castiel. Although Cas also had a degree in business administration he was not interested in taking over his father’s business and was rather interested in charity work and philanthropy. Castiel had suggested Dean to appoint Y/n as his PA, since he knew her from college and she had remarkable skills as well.

Although Dean did appoint her on Cas’ insistence he was a bit skeptical of her skills she needed a ‘recommendation’ to get a job. For the whole year, Dean made her work relentlessly, putting her skills to the test and demanding a high level of performance to prove her worth. And she did. With her hard work and extremely remarkable skills she impressed Dean, more than professionally.

In a typical cliche manner, the grumpy boss fell for his assistant. Though persuading her was a challenge for Dean. She was hell bent on keeping things professional and not wanting to cross the boundaries at her workplace. She was a hard nut to crack but eventually Dean worked his charm on her, showing her beyond his grumpy boss personality and wooing her with extreme gestures.

Now the two had been dating for almost three years and the only person who knew about them is none other than Castiel, the one who introduced them. Even Sam was not in on the secret.

“Can I go back to work, now?” Y/n asked getting up from his lap but he kept his hold firm on her hips, not letting her leave.

“No.” Y/n pouted in response, she hated when he did this, holding her hostage while at work . She really wanted to keep her personal and professional life apart, not wanting anyone to find out or even think for a second she’s sleeping with her boss.

“Dean.” She scolded when he kissed her pouty lips.

“Relax sweetheart, nobody’s coming up here anytime soon.” He shrugged and she sighed loudly, indicating her defeated even if she was reluctant. “Besides, I’ve got news for you.” Y/n raised her brow in curiosity urging him to continue. “We,” he traced her arm with his finger. “are going on a vacation.” Dean beamed at her.

“A vacation? We?” Y/n furrowed her brows. “Who’s we?” She questioned, clearly not understanding the situation. Is this a office vacation or the top officers vacation or just the two of them.

“You and me. A week in Bahamas.” Dean replied casually.

“A week? You want us to take a leave at the same time? It’d rise suspicion.” She whispered alarmingly.

“Baby, if I’m on leave then you’re on leave automatically. Besides, I’ve asked Cas to manage for a few days for me.” Dean replied. “We both have been working our ass off for the past four years, I think we deserve a vacation.” Dean grinned at her and for the first today, she agreed without interjecting. She’s just as much of a workaholic as Dean. She had taken a day off here and there but never a complete vacation. “Besides I’m dying to spend some time quality time with my girl without her grilling me about work.” Dean sassed and she smacked his arm lightly making him laugh.

“I’m not gonna slack off at work just because I’m dating you.” She said matter of factly. “And I do think we could use a vacation.” She finally agreed making his smile broaden. “God, if anyone could you see right now, Mr. Grumpy Winchester.” She giggled when he rolled his eyes. He loved it when she teased him about being a grumpy ass to everyone else except her but he would never accept it in a million years.

The door swung open and sauntered in Castiel in the flesh. Y/n quickly jumped off of Dean’s lap but relaxed when she saw it was Cas.

“Ever heard of knocking, Cas?” She taunted her friend, crossing her arms across her chest.

“Ah lovebirds. Ever the cautious.” Cas sassed back and Dean snorted earning himself a glare from her. “Don’t stop on my account, just wanted to deliver these, personally.” He said holding up two flight tickets to Bahamas.

“Thanks man.” Dean said getting up from his chair and getting the tickets from his friend. Castiel shot Y/n a teasing grin and she rolled her eyes at him, clearly unbothered by his teasing. He thrives in teasing her because she was the goody two shoes in college and the two had become friends after being paired up for an assignment, so seeing a different version of her around Dean, leaves him anything but amused.

“You are a bad influence on the both of us.” Y/n said feigning an angry glare at Cas.

“Oh dear Y/n, I know.” Cas winked and Dean laughed at his best friends shamelessness. The trio’s camaraderie was a reminder of how personal and professional lives often intersect in unexpected ways.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

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g1rlsp1ckins · 18 days ago

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𝓣HE 𝓢LYTHERIN ✶ 𝓓ORM

𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖞 𝖋𝖆𝖚𝖑𝖙 𝕴'𝖒 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚.

Hidden beneath the castle, deep under the Black Lake, the Slytherin dormitories have shed their old, dreary reputation and transformed into a sleek, modern sanctuary. No longer cold and ominous, the space now radiates a refined elegance, blending old-world charm with contemporary luxury. It’s a haven for ambitious minds, a place where intelligence, creativity, and camaraderie thrive.

The Entrance:

Unlike the other houses, whose common rooms are hidden behind paintings or riddles, the Slytherin entrance remains a well-kept secret, embedded into the stone walls of the dungeons. The door is a seamless, enchanted slab of black marble veined with silver, appearing only when approached by a Slytherin. With a simple touch or a murmured password, it slides open silently, revealing the breathtaking space beyond.

The foyer is a quiet antechamber before the main common room, designed for those who need a brief moment of solitude before entering the lively hub of the house. Plush emerald benches line the walls, and soft overhead lighting casts a gentle glow over the polished black tile floor. A house crest, made of enchanted silver, shimmers on the wall, subtly shifting between different designs over the years—sometimes reflecting the faces of past Slytherin legends, sometimes morphing into a snake that slithers lazily across the surface.

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The Common Room:

Stepping into the common room is like entering a high-end lounge designed for scholars and socialites alike. The Black Lake Viewing Windows stretch from floor to ceiling, offering an uninterrupted, spellbinding view of the water beyond. Sunlight filters through in dappled beams during the day, creating a serene, ever-moving pattern across the walls. At night, the lake turns dark and mysterious, with occasional flashes of silver from passing mermaids, darting grindylows, or schools of luminescent fish.

The central seating area is designed for both comfort and conversation. Instead of rigid wooden chairs, plush velvet sectionals in deep green and charcoal gray create cozy clusters, each accompanied by polished oak coffee tables that hold floating candle sconces and stacks of books left behind by students. A massive fireplace, enchanted with cool green and blue flames, sits as the focal point of the room, casting flickering reflections across the glass windows and silver-trimmed walls.

A study alcove on the far side of the room is quieter, tucked away for those who need focus. A long, sleek ebony table runs along the wall, lined with ergonomic chairs that adjust themselves to each student’s preferred posture. Floating glass orbs provide customizable lighting, glowing softly for those pulling late-night study sessions. The surrounding bookshelves are filled with both classic wizarding texts and modern literature, spanning everything from magical law to wizarding fashion trends.

For relaxation, a leisure lounge sits opposite the study alcove, featuring an enchanted chess table, a moving dartboard that playfully dodges poor shots, and a Wizarding Wireless system that plays curated playlists based on the collective mood of the room—whether it’s instrumental music for studying or lively jazz for social evenings.

In one corner, a self-serve café station offers an array of beverages, from classic teas and butterbeer to cold brew coffee and specially crafted wizarding drinks. The station is magically replenished, ensuring that no student ever suffers through an early morning class without caffeine. Seasonal drinks rotate throughout the year—pumpkin spice brews in autumn, peppermint hot chocolate in winter, honey-infused teas in spring, and iced berry potions in summer.

Additional Exclusive Spaces:

Beyond the common room and dorms, the Slytherin quarters feature several hidden areas, reserved for house members only:

The Greenhouse Atrium – A hidden indoor garden filled with exotic plants from all over the wizarding world. Ivy-covered archways lead to a peaceful retreat where students can read, meditate, or study potions in a natural setting. Twinkling fairy lights overhead create a serene, dreamlike atmosphere.

The Lounge Bar – A sophisticated space for unwinding after classes. While it doesn’t serve alcohol, handcrafted butterbeer mocktails, chilled pumpkin juice, and sparkling potions are always on tap. Elegant yet comfortable, it’s the perfect place for deep conversations or celebratory evenings after exams.

The Duelling Room – A state-of-the-art training space for combat practice, fitness, and spellwork. Enchanted dummies, moving obstacle courses, and sparring rings allow students to refine their magical skills in a controlled environment.

The Music & Arts Studio – A soundproofed creative space equipped with enchanted instruments, a recording charm, and a small stage for performances. Whether students want to compose music, paint, or practice dramatic readings, this room is a hub for artistic expression.

──────────── · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ────────────

The Dormitories:

Unlike the cramped and uniform dorms of the past, the modern Slytherin dormitories have been reimagined for comfort, privacy, and personal expression. Instead of only shared rooms, students now have access to private quarters apon request.

Each student, even in shared dorms have their own rooms with beds that are king-sized, dressed in deep emerald or obsidian bedding, embroidered with silver accents. Some students prefer a sleek, minimalistic look with crisp linens and dark wood, while others decorate their spaces with fairy lights, houseplants, and velvet throws. The ceilings can be enchanted to reflect a starry night sky, rainstorms, or even the movement of the Black Lake above.

Each room features a customizable study nook, complete with a polished oak desk, floating bookshelves, and a smart magical mirror that doubles as a daily planner. A window—enchanted to show either the outside world or calming landscapes—can be adjusted depending on the student’s mood.

The wardrobes are another innovation—walk-in closets that magically organize outfits based on the day’s schedule, weather, or personal preference. The enchanted mirror inside offers styling advice and, when in a playful mood, delivers sassy commentary about outfit choices.

1. The Beds

Slytherins value both comfort and aesthetics, and their beds are a reflection of that.

Four-Poster or Canopy Options: Some students keep the traditional regal look, while others enchant their beds to hover slightly above the floor.

Self-Regulating Bedding: Enchanted to adjust to your body temperature for the perfect sleep.

Silk, velvet, or Egyptian cotton sheets, depending on personal preference.

Hidden Storage: Drawers that magically organize clothes, with an enchanted shoe rack that cleans and repairs itself overnight.

Dream Projection Feature: Some beds allow students to replay memories or visualize their dreams before sleeping.

2. Work & Study Spaces

Slytherins are strategic thinkers, so their rooms have top-tier workstations to match their ambitions.

Floating Desks that adjust to standing or sitting mode.

Spell-Proof Study Nooks for students who need to concentrate without distractions.

Holographic Notes & Book Summaries – Simply tap a book, and a glowing summary appears in the air.

Auto-Writing Quills that take dictated notes or transcribe ideas.

3. Personal Wardrobes & Vanity Areas

Walk-in Closets, with sections sorted by magical occasion (formal robes, casual wear, dueling gear, etc.).

Vanity Mirrors with Enchantment Features:

Offer styling advice and hair-styling charms.

Can alter appearances temporarily to test different looks before committing.

Self-Organizing Laundry Baskets: Clothes fold themselves and freshen up overnight.

4. Personalization & Enchanted Features

Slytherins don’t do boring. Their dorms have the coolest magical modifications, including:

Mood Lighting Charms: Adjust the lighting’s warmth and color depending on the vibe.

Personal Sound Systems: Students can play enchanted records, ambient sounds, or Muggle music through magical speakers.

Moving Artwork: Family portraits, classic wizarding art, or animated abstract designs. Some paintings even interact with students, offering advice or sarcasm depending on their enchantment.

Miniature Greenhouses: For students interested in herbology or potion ingredients, a small terrarium-style setup is available in some rooms.

5. Secret Features & Custom Spells

Because Slytherins always have a trick up their sleeve, many students add hidden elements to their rooms.

Hidden Compartment Drawers – Perfect for stashing notes, valuables, or contraband.

Private Entrance Charms – Some students enchant their doors to only open with a personalized spell or phrase.

Soundproofing Charms – For privacy, late-night study sessions, or secret conversations.

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The Bathrooms:

Stepping into the Slytherin bathrooms feels like entering a high-end wizarding spa. The air is lightly scented with enchanted eucalyptus and lavender, keeping the space feeling fresh and calming. The walls are lined with dark green marble, veined with silver, and the floor tiles are temperature-controlled, ensuring that even on the coldest winter mornings, they remain warm underfoot.

Showers & Bathtubs:

Walk-in Rainfall Showers – Spacious, sleek, and enclosed in frosted glass, the showers are charmed to provide a perfect water temperature every time. Some even have illusion charms, allowing students to bathe under a "rainforest canopy" or "waterfall lagoon."

Deep Soaking Bathtubs – Large enough for full-body relaxation, these clawfoot tubs come with a variety of magical bath oils and bubbles that change scents based on mood. Some students opt for self-heating bath stones, turning their baths into a personal hot spring.

Vanity & Grooming Area

Fog-Resistant Mirrors – These enchanted mirrors provide morning affirmations or style advice, adjusting to each student’s needs.

Grooming Stations – Individual vanities stocked with self-cleaning towels, wizarding hair-care tools, and potions for styling or skincare.

Personalized Magic Lockers – Each student has a small enchanted locker where they can store toiletries programmed to open only at their touch.

Additional Features

Soft Lighting Charms – Adjustable based on mood or time of day, ensuring no harsh glares during early morning routines.

Music Charms – Optional, allowing students to play soft instrumentals, classic wizarding tunes, or even Muggle music while getting ready.

Aromatherapy Spells – Cast over the space, keeping it fresh and infused with soothing scents.

──────────── · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ────────────

made by @g1rlsp1ckins

#✿𝆬 𝅄 — @g1rlsp1ckins #✿𝆬 𝅄 — tays realities #shiftblr #reality shifting #shifting blog #desired reality #shifting #shifting community #shifting realities #reality scripting #shifting consciousness #shifting reality #shifting motivation #shifting antis dni #realityshifting #reality shift #shifting to desired reality #desired self

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holylulusworld · 12 days ago

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Bad day at work (3)

Summary: It’s a bad day at the office.

Pairing: Jake Jensen x fem!Reader

Warnings: short reader, enemies to…, language, banter

Catch up here: Bad day at work (2)

Jensen pushes his glasses back up when you stop in front of his desk. “You can sit at my desk. I’ll be right back with a new mouse. Your laptop will be fixed in no time.” He says, pointing at his desk chair.

“Okay,” you say, fighting the chuckle bubbling up your throat. Jensen looks like an obedient puppy when he pulls the chair for you and offers his seat to you.

“It’s ergonomic and, uh—yeah. Give me ten minutes, and you can go back to work,” he says, turning to leave. “I’ll get the mouse, a brand-new one. What color do you like?”

“Surprise me,” you casually say as you turn your attention toward the knick-knacks on his desk. He’s got lots of comic figurines, funky-looking pens, and pictures of what you assume are his daughters and wife.

You chuckle, imagining he likes to play with the figurines instead of working. When you grab one of the picture frames, he places a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch.

“That’s my sister and my nieces. She’s playing soccer,” he explains, proudly puffing his chest as he tells you about his niece. “Uh—I got the mouse for you.”

“Half the job, done already,” you chuckle. "Here, take your seat back."

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll just sit at Brock’s desk. He’s still out and about,” Jake huffs. The truth is, he was searching for Brock in every nook but didn’t find any trace of his whereabouts. “Let’s see what I can do for your laptop.”

“While you check on my laptop,” you clear your throat to catch Jake’s attention. “Would you mind if I was grabbing something for lunch in the meantime?”

“No, of course not. Go ahead. Get lunch, and I'll check on your laptop. You can get it back in no time.”

You leave the desk to get some food and fresh air. Stuck at your office for most of the time, you rarely get the chance to stretch your legs.

Jake watches you leave, smirking as his eyes land on your ass. He hums and tries to focus on the task at hand, not the things he’d love to do to your sassy ass.

“How is it going?” You ask, walking back toward Jensen’s desk. Plopping down on his chair, you lean back and sigh. “I must get back to work soon.”

“Almost done—” Jensen cocks his head to look at you. His features darken because you dig your fork into the rest of your food. “Are you eating at my computer?”

“What?” You chew on your Chinese take-out. “I’m hungry and have food left. I won’t make your desk dirty.”

His features darken as you keep on stuffing the food into your mouth. “You have no respect for my workplace.” Jensen slowly gets up from the chair to stalk toward you. “You do not eat at someone else’s desk!”

You harrumph. “What do you want me to do? Throw the rest of my food away.”

“I want you to respect my desk, my workplace, and me,” he growls at you. “Who do you think you are?”

“Awe and I believe we are finally getting along,” you slowly get up from his chair to walk toward Brock’s desk. You sit down and start to eat again. “There you go.” You chew audibly. “I’m not eating at your desk any longer.”

“That’s not better!” Jake throws his hands up. “You come here, yelling at me for something someone else did. I tried anything to be nice and fix your problems, but you are still a bitch!”

“Bitch!” You get up from Brock’s chair, throwing your food at Jensen. He dodges your attack, huffing as the food knocks his figurines over. “You’re going to pay for this.”

“What are you going to do, four-eyes?” You sass, putting your hands on your hips. “I bet you don’t even know how to handle a woman. Your only interactions with women are the figurines on your desk.”

“I can handle a woman!” He yells back, not backing down now. “If I see one. But you’re an annoying brat.”

“I thought I’m a bitch,” you chuckle as you stalk toward him. “You know,” you dip your head to look at the empty desks in the IT section. “All of your little gremlins are already home. It’s only you and me, tech nerd. What are you going to do about my bratty ass?”

Tags in reblog.

#jake jensen #x reader #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x y/n #Bad day at work (3)#the losers fanfiction #office au

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interiorergonomics · 2 months ago

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Essential Ergonomics Behind Sports Car Seats.

Sports car seats are meticulously designed with ergonomics in mind to ensure both comfort and performance during high-speed driving. Just like how an ergonomic office chairs maximize support and comfort, these seats are also engineered to provide optimal support for the driver and passengers. Even in extreme driving conditions they still maintain a balance between comfort, stability, and style.1.…

#Aesthetics and Ergonomics #back-pain #Breathable Chair #Car Seats #Chair Adjustable Features #Chair padding #Durable Chair Material #Ergonomic Chair Design #Ergonomic Seat Posture #Ergonomics #furniture #health #home-office #Mesh Chairs In Dubai #Modern Furniture Design #office furniture Dubai #productivity #Sports and Ergonomics

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itsmaferart · 1 year ago

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SPY x FAMILY x CHAIR Vol. 7~8~9

SxF Vol 7 · Damian Desmond - Willow Chair

The Willow Chair was designed by Scottish architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh in the early 20th century. The chair was originally designed for use in The Willow Tea Rooms Company, a cafe and tea room that Mackintosh also designed in Glasgow, Scotland. The chair was part of a larger collection of furniture pieces designed for this company.

The concept of tea rooms was popular in Victorian and Edwardian times, and was considered a meeting place for the upper middle class.

The design shows a progressive approach to design, suggesting that the chair is at the forefront of creative thinking and is sleek, modern and curious. It stands out for its simplicity in geometric patterns. The chair features straight, minimalist lines in its structure, with curved wooden elements at the top to provide head and neck support.

A distinctive feature is its triangular backrest, which extends upward from the arms at an acute angle to create a sleek and elegant silhouette. The seat also features an elaborate lattice pattern, made from hand-woven wicker, which adds texture and dimension to the chair.

I’m Damian, scion of the Desmond family! I’ll be a politician one day and protect this country!

I love the way the dimension of the chair in disproportionate to Damian's body, who is clearly a kid with a very big precedent behind him, a very big ego and pride in possessing the last name Desmond, and it projects very well the way it makes Damian look more imposing for his age while giving you a look that continually judges you, adorably.

Damian is someone who projects himself from greatness, and his constant yearnings to be a recognized figure such as his family, even so, his childlike soul continues to exist.

However deep down, behind all the Desmond pride (Reflected in the chair) are his yearnings to really have fun and enjoy his childhood wanting to play with his balls, read manga, play with dinosaurs. He is definitely a little boy with a lot behind his shoulders.

SxF Vol 8 · Franky Franklyn - Eames Lounge chair & Ottoman

The Eames Lounge Chair and Ottoman were designed by Charles and Ray Eames in 1956, an American designer couple.

It was created from the idea of a "comfortable as a glove" chair, with an ergonomically molded seat and back shell combined with a plywood base. It was originally designed for the Herman Miller furniture company.

It was designed to provide comfort and relaxation, elegant and attractive that will complement any living space. The chair features clean, simple lines and a minimalist structure that emphasizes its elegance and ergonomics. The base is made of plywood, bent in several layers and smoothly polished to give it a smooth, refined finish.

Can we talk about how relaxed and cool Ostania's best informant looks? I love how the combination of this chair reflects Franky's relaxed but refined personality, a genius at his job even if often not properly appreciated. However, we can see his details, a bit messy, his taste for money, some good cigars, some confidential envelopes.

It's interesting when you remember that Franky seems to hate the handsome, moneyed show-offs who seem to be very lucky, even though he wishes he was one. He is simple and laid back, with a classy side and a profitable bottom line.

SxF Vol 9 · Becky Blackbell - Coconut Chair

The Coconut chair was designed by architect and designer George Nelson in 1955 who was the design director for Herman Miller.

The chair was inspired by the designer's tropical landscape during his visit to the Fiji Islands. Nelson observed a group of children playing with one half of a coconut shell and realized that the shape and curve of the coconut shell could be harnessed to design a comfortable, modern chair. It was created as a highly engineered piece of furniture that offered a high level of comfort.

Although originally designed as a lounge chair, the Coconut chair is suitable for any space, from offices to homes. The stainless steel tripod base is an attractive design element, its fine details such as the apparent stitching on the upholstered

"You and I should be best friends"

I like how both the Coconut chair and Becky could be described as elegant, sophisticated, avant-garde and with a lot of personality. Despite her young age, we know that Becky has a very definite personality, sometimes with a very volatile and fanciful imagination.

Unlike many Spy x Family characters and their respective chairs, the elements are usually placed at the back or bottom with respect to the chair, always covered by some slight shadow, reflecting those elements that characterize the respective personality.

However, all of Becky's things are clearly displayed and stacked with bright colors. We know that it refers to all the riches and luxuries Becky has, as well as her passion for fashion and shopping.

But also, it's a way of expressing how authentic Becky is and how she's not afraid to show her true personality without having to hide it.

You can read the previous review here!

You can read the next part here

#spy x familyxchair #spy x family #spy x family manga 71 #twiyor #loid forger #yor forger #loid x yor #yor briar #twilight #anya forger #spyxfamily twilight #sxf #becky blackbell #franky franklin #damian desmond

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givemeonereason · 1 year ago

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Meditations: First Friend

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Photo Credit: Pinterest

Dragon Ball Masterlist Givemeonereason Masterlist

Rating: Angst

Plot: Piccolo has been missing and you’re the doing the actual missing. A friendly police officer seeks out to try and help you recover the missing link.

A/N: It’s about time I bring some other fellow DBZ characters into this.

They all interlink and play a part in each others lives. Also, this just felt like a very nice way to tie everything together.

I hope to bring at least one more character in during the next installment.

Don’t worry too much. We might see a reunion very soon.

╒══════════════════════╕

You looked for him out the window of your office those next few days hoping to see the white of his cape fluttering in the wind. However, he was never there. No matter how many time you check, and all the different times of the day, nothing.

Two weeks had passed and not one sighting.

You sat down in the company-provided ergonomic, rolling desk chair. It spun to the side. You let your feet dangle there limp.

The alien documentaries and fictional programs you've tried watching by way of research haven't really given you any closure. They just made you more frustrated considering that your alien, Piccolo isn't anything like they portray. It doesn't even give you any sense of how to get him back either. As far as you knew, there wasn't a spaceship to seen. At least, you didn't see one.

Is he really gone forever?

If you could just go back in time and change the outcome of what happened before. The day he carried you through the skies and you cried.

I'm not scared anymore.

I was caught off guard is all.

During your lunch break, you treaded up the hillside to where he usually sat. You could imagine him there still as a board with his eyes closed.

You stood there listening to the sound of the passing cars below and the birds above. You looked up to the sky searching for a place someone could fly to. And there was nothing.

"Piccolo!" No hesitation in your shout. "Piccolo, where are you?"

Someone on the sidewalk below stopped and looked up toward you. Some crazy lady screaming from a hilltop for her lost woodwind instrument? What on earth are they cooking these days?

My green alien guy.

You took out your phone and went to the internet and key searched "alien Piccolo." You saw lots of information regarding King Piccolo and his reign of tyranny and the World Martial Arts Tournament.

King Piccolo does greatly resemble the Piccolo you know. However, your Piccolo has softer features overall, but the sharp angles of his jawline and the point of his ears make him rather handsome. In an alien sort of way, handsome nonetheless.

"Excuse me, Miss." There was a gentle voice behind you. You pressed the screen of your phone against your chest hoping that whoever was standing there didn't see you staring down at the evil Namekian. It's not as if you were really looking at him, but rather imagining someone else.

"Yes?" You turned on a heel to address the voice standing behind you. You looked and saw no one at first, then your eyes darted down to see a concerned face.

When your eyes met his, he reached out a hand toward you. "Hello Miss, I'm Officer Krillin. I'm with the local police. There was a report of a woman shouting at the top of this hill searching for something. Are you alright? What is it that you're looking for? I can help you."

You closed your eyes and let out a deep sigh from within your chest. "What I'm looking for isn't here anymore." You glanced up towards the sky, the white fluffy clouds spread across the horizon. There was a longing in your eyes, the way you lingered subtly before looking back down at the man before you and smiled. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

There is little to no point in trying to explain this to the police. What are you going to say, there is this alien named Piccolo that I met here and I don't know how to get in touch with him now. He's tall and wears a cape. Claims to be a Namekian. Like the police would know, or even care about that. The best outcome would most likely be institutionalism. They'll lock you in a padded room with nothing to eat but porridge and if you're lucky jello. At least that is the worst-case scenario, right?

You took a step forward to walk down the hillside, but the officer stopped you. "The concerned citizen claimed you were looking for an instrument. That you were yelling out towards the valley." He was looking down at his notepad. He pulled a pen from his pocket, pushing the top with a click, he jotted down another note. "I am going to need to file a follow-up report. Do you think you could tell me more about this, please?"

You didn't say anything at first. You called this. You knew if you opened your mouth it was all over. How could you word this in a way that didn't make you sound crazy? "Let's say I lost my piccolo." You sighed once more before continuing. "I haven't been able to find it in some time. I came to see it-- play it here on this hillside."

The man took diligent notes. "And do you think you can describe what this piccolo looked like? I'm not sure I've ever seen one up close and personal. Are there any particular identifiers?"

Raspberry. I'm not really a fan of the raspberry jello. If anything I hope I'll get the pineapple. Refreshing.

Well, this could go two ways.

I could speak vaguely about the actual Piccolo and confuse this man.

I could just be plain and say a regular piccolo that you rented from a nearby instrument shop.

Neither of them sounds the least bit good. So you chose to go for the first.

No wait, lime. Yes, it's green. Green like..

"It's green, white and purple. It's a custom, limited edition instrument."

"Green, white, purple." He recited back. "Okay. I'm going to have a look around the area to see if I come up with anything. I will take down your number as a follow-up."

Officer Krillin walked down the side of the hill with you. He jotted down your phone number on his notepad. "Don't worry miss, I'll do my best."

You smiled at him, your eyes hiding the hopelessness there. "Thank you, officer." You knew this would be a fruitless endeavor, yet you had to play your part. You waved goodbye before you walked back into the office building. Somehow you completely forgot you had to work for a living.

═══════════════════

Officer Krillin walked around the area, rummaging through the brush on the side of the road and looking into divots in the hillside.

He kept looking down at his notepad, repeating the notion over and over as he scouted the area.

“Green, white and purple…Green, white and purple….”

He stood on the sidewalk and scratched at his temple. “A piccolo that is green, white and purple.” He looked online at a photo of what a piccolo looked like. “Okay, so it’s little green, white and purple then. Just like this picture. Little, green, white and purple.”

He crossed the street and looked in the grass on the opposite side of the street. “Little, green, white and purple. Little, green…little green…..hmmmm.”

He stopped in his tracks, squinting his eyes as the wheels turned inside of his brain. “Little, green. Dende? I wonder how that little guy is doing? Okay, Krillin, she was talking about a piccolo. Little, green, white….piccolo…..PICCOLO!” He exploded. He laughed loudly at this own realization.

He walked back to his motorbike planning to go back to the station and investigate this further. “Now, I have been wrong before, but I just have a hunch she’s talking about our Piccolo. The real question is, how does she know Piccolo?”

His mind wondered how such a brute like him would come into contact with such a beautiful woman like you, let alone she was looking for him as if she wanted to see him again for some reason. It perplexed him.

Though, he pulled himself a hottie himself so anything is possible. If 18 could hear his thoughts now she would laugh, but she also chose him.

But what if there is business with Piccolo? What if something is wrong? She was yelling as the report was written.

He rode faster towards the station where he dropped off his bike and headed for the roof of the manciple building. “Well, there is only one way to find out.” He shot up into the air, flying straight for the lookout.

When he landed on the platform Mr. Popo was diligently pruning his garden. He paid no mind to Krillin as he hummed an offbeat tune to himself.

Dende rushed up to meet Krillin. The smiles across each other's faces were as wide as the horizon beyond the lookout. "Wow, Dende, you've grown so much! You're so much taller than me!"

Dende laughed and reached out to embrace the smaller man in front of him. "How are you? How is everyone?"

"We're all good." He nodded his head. He posed with a thumbs up. "I didn't come here to worry you. I was wondering where Piccolo was?"

Dende turned and pointed towards the building behind him. "I saw him inside."

"Thank you little green." He started off towards the entrance. He could hear Dende over his shoulder, a tinge of irritation in his voice. "Not little....."

"Piccolo?" Krillin called out as he walked the halls in search of the, he looked back down at his notepad again, limited edition, green, white, and purple, piccolo.

Piccolo walked through the threshold of a room meeting Krillin in the hallway. "Thank kami I found you." Krillin laughed, his hand behind his head.

Piccolo looked down at Krillin sternly. It's not always good news when he meets with Krillin. Sudden visits never indicate anything by trouble.

"Hey Piccolo, funny enough, I've been looking for you for hours." Krillin laughed once more. His cheeks red reminiscing at his own cleverness as a police officer. To some, it's might only be considered luck.

Piccolo tensed where he stood. His whole body became rigid. Though you would never be able to tell with his powerful aura. He braced himself for whatever was coming next. Something wrong with Pan? A new enemy?

"So Piccolo, you might not believe this, but I met a woman today who I think is looking for you."

When Piccolo's narrowed eyes didn't soften and he didn't respond, Krillin continued. "It's kind of a funny story actually. Someone came into the station and said there was a woman on a nearby hillside screaming out about a piccolo. I went to see her and she described what the....." Piccolo was already walking away from Krillin before Krillin even realized he was gone.

"Wait, Piccolo!" His small stature only giving him minimal distance towards the Namakian. "Piccolo! I think she's looking for you." Krillin caught up to him. "Do you think that woman meant you? She said the piccolo was green, white and purple." He pointed towards him. "Man, that fits you to a T. But I just don't know why?" Piccolo walks into a room that befits a lofty office. Krillin followed him into the room, stopping short of the large table strewn with books on it. "Why does she care so much about you?"

Piccolo's fist comes down hard on the table. The books quiver about the violent vibration. His voice is deep and pointed. "Would you give it a rest?"

Krillin takes a step backward. "Woah, man, I just thought there is no way what she said was a coincidence." He laughed with his whole chest. "In all seriousness, she did look worried. She said she lost it, well, you."

Piccolo turned away from Krillin. "Leave me be."

Krillin stood quietly for a moment. "What do I tell her then?"

"I don't care what you tell her," Piccolo responded flatly.

Krillin narrowed his eyes, and he felt a sudden sadness wash over him. "Oh."

He walked towards the door and turned back to look towards the Namakian. "Did something happen between you two?"

Piccolo barely looked back over his shoulder. He chose to only look at Krillin through his peripheral. "Even if she does want to see me..." He looked back forward, walking towards the bookshelf against an adjacent wall. "I don't think I can face her after what I did."

Krillin seeing an opening, "just go down and-"

"No."

His shoulders dropped. "Why?"

"I told you to leave me be." He closed the book with a snap.

“I—“

Piccolo whipped around, his cheeks reddened with anger, his chin tilted downward, and his eyes narrowed. He roared at Krillin. “LEAVE!” Which made Krillin witness his life flash before his eyes.

Krillin took off out of the room. A steady push lifted his feet into the air as he took off down towards the ground.

A slew of emotions rippling over him. Mostly the lack of answers leading his confusion.

I haven’t seen Piccolo so worked up in a long time. Why now, and why that woman?

╘══════════════════════╛

Don’t steal other people’s works! Respect creators!

Reblogs and likes appreciated :)

══════════════════════

Tag List:

@jadew-08, @sussybacca, @imaginarydreams, @oriistar

To be added or removed from the tag list reach out through asks or messages. Please and thank you.

#piccolo and you #piccolo x reader #piccolo dbz #dragon ball z piccolo #dragon ball #dragon ball z #DBZ #dragon ball super #dragon ball fanfiction #green king #slug man #krillin #dbz krillin

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illecebraarcanus · 28 days ago

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𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑽𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒂

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Word count: 2k

Glimpse: when he deliberately not tell you about his new MV drops featuring a female dancer, you realize the rules of your love game just changed — and your counterattack comes in a heart-shaped box from the intern.

Genre: Romantic Comedy/Drama | Jealousy AU | Office Romance

Rating: mature (Teen+ for mild sensuality & emotional tension)

Warnings: mild possessive behavior, flirtatious workplace dynamics, sugary warfare (literal and metaphorical), jimin being dangerously good at button manipulation (shirt-related and otherwise

"Drafted agreement for your review, Attorney Mi. I'll send it to the client once approved."

Ben Hyuk, your intern, places a stack of papers gently on your desk.

You flipped through the pages absently. "Good work. Head home early, it's past office hours."

“Yes Attorney Mi, um, I…” the junior associate stammers. You glance up, noticing him clutching a pastel pink box tied with satin ribbon.

Your stern demeanor softens into a gentle, slightly teasing smile that lands squarely on the flustered intern. "What's this?"

Ben’s face flushes scarlet, and he quickly looks away. “I—I heard your birthday was a few days ago, so I got these chocolates… just a small gift.” His whisper faded into the hum of the air conditioner. “Sorry it’s a bit late…”

You chuckle softly and wave a hand. “Thank you, Ben, but there was really no need to go to any trouble.” Your French tip tapped the gold embossed logo. "These cost half your stipend."

When the offering hovered mid-air like a guilt-ridden peace treaty, you relented. “All right, leave them here. But next time, just say it with a coffee.”

The box landed beside you with finality. Ben practically teleported out, his ears matching the ribbon's hue.

Leather creaked as you leaned back, observing the pink, heart-shaped box of chocolates, amused. Intern crushes were common, but this... adorable. Especially when you’ve got a sweet talker at home, this kind of shy hit ups become rather oddly refreshing. Still, this required strategic disposal before Jimin's bloodhound nose detected it.

♡

By the time you’re done with your final task, most of your coworkers have already headed home. The sky outside has shifted from a warm orange to a deep blue, and car headlights now form glowing streams of light against the darkening skyline.

You lean back in your ergonomic chair and stretch, feeling a wave of relief roll through your body. Absentmindedly, you run your fingers through your hair a few times—a habit you’ve unconsciously picked up since you started dating Jimin. You used to tease him with the fan edit of him raking his hand through his hair, and now here you are, doing the exact same thing.

Scrolling through Instagram, you notice that Jimin’s new song, “Who,” has been out for three hours. When he was working on his album, he’d shared almost everything—demos, concept clips—asking for your opinion. But this particular track he kept suspiciously under wraps, simply telling you, “Wait for the MV.” You never did figure out what he was plotting, and the secrecy only piqued your curiosity more. You slip on your Bluetooth earbuds.

The MV exploded across your screen in golden fractals. Neon lights dripped like liquid mercury over Jimin's glistening torso. His movements liquid fire like a golden phantom moving with grace in a grungy, punk-infused world.

Chin propped on your hand, you can’t help smiling. You know that alluring, come-hither gaze of his all too well.

“One, two, three, four, five, So many people…”

As the second verse begins, something feels off. Jimin and his female dance partner move closer… wave in sync… push, pull… her arms slide around his neck, twined around him like human ivy.

You stare at your phone screen, stunned for a moment, then let out a quiet scoff. So this was his grand secret.

You watch calmly until the end, then gather up your things. Your eyes land on the box of chocolates, and a mischievous light flashes in them. Fine, Park Jimin. If you want to play, count me in…

♡

Nighttime at home carries a special hush. A vintage record player is spinning low, sultry jazz that drifts through the room. Jimin lounges on a black sofa in a crisp white shirt, casually scrolling on his phone. The clock on the wall reads half past seven. After a moment’s deliberation, he undoes two more buttons, revealing skin that glows under the lamp.

The front door finally clicks open, and you step inside.

Usually, Jimin’s either still at work when you come home or he’s draped like a pampered prince in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping wine and admiring the view. But tonight…

“Missed you,” Jimin murmurs, his breath ghosting over your collarbone as he slips your coat from your shoulders. It’s reminiscent of your best friend’s cat—smarmy and sweet right before knocking something off the table.

“I said I missed you.” He leans in to wrap you halfway in his arms when you don’t respond. His familiar cologne envelops you, but there’s something new—a hint of floral warmth that seeps through to your core.

Your gaze drifts to his half-open collar, revealing a sliver of alabaster skin and hair tousled like he just rolled off a Vogue shoot. You give him a wry grin—if a man’s worth is measured by how well he knows his girlfriend, then Park Jimin is the model student of the century.

“Your new single’s got a lot of buzz,” you remark, calmly meeting his eyes before cutting off his attempts at sweet talk.

“Oh? You watched it?” He arches an eyebrow and leans in closer, studying your face like he’s trying to read your every reaction.

“How was it?” he asks. His bang falls forward, hiding the growing smile in his eyes. Jimin’s eyes aren’t classically perfect, but there’s always been a flirtatious spark in them.

“It’s good,” you say simply. “I like it.”

“But babe, you ruined my plan,” he whines, playing the hurt puppy. “I wanted us to watch it together at home, but now it’s too late.”

You’d love to deck his infuriatingly handsome face right about now, but it’s way too soon to blow your cover. Someone as slippery—and as shameless—as Jimin needs a slow, careful simmer.

Feigning casual indifference, you slip both arm around his neck.

“Very…collaborative,” you remark playfully.

He pauses, then laughs, clearly pleased by your comment. When he looks back at you, his eyes have crinkled into smiling crescents. “Jealous?”

You slide a hand along his collar, your cool fingertips brushing the pale skin at his neck. “Do you want me to be jealous?”

Jimin holds your gaze for a moment, silently noting that you haven’t raged, sulked, or thrown a tantrum. That’s precisely what makes the situation so dangerous for him. He sighs inwardly—at this point, the only winning move is to spoil you.

“Hungry?” he asks, giving your chin a playful rub. “I made some sweet spiced chestnut porridge. It should be done by now.”

You’ve loved warm, comforting flavors ever since you were little. When you were a kid, your mom used to make chestnut porridge to soothe your stomach. Over time, you developed a soft spot for that aroma. You never told Jimin about it, so you have no idea how he found out. The more time you spend together, the more it feels like half your world has switched sides and started giving him intel.

Reading your expression, Jimin steers you toward the kitchen, looking smug. “Your mom and I have been getting along really well. She told me all kinds of funny stories about you as a kid.”

You pause, offering a tiny, helpless smile. Great—he’s recruited yet another ally. Jimin has always been a pro at charming elderlies: any hint of mischief in his personality disappears, and magically transforms into the perfect “ideal son-in-law.”

You take a small sip of the chestnut porridge. “It’s kind of bland,” you remark.

Jimin raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Really?” He seems ready to defend your mom’s recipe, but thinks better of it and goes to grab some sugar instead.

“Actually, I’ve been into chocolate lately.”

Preoccupied with whether he’s adding too much sugar, Jimin freezes. He turns around just in time to see you pull a pink box out of your bag.

A pink, heart-shaped box of chocolate.

You unwrap a piece and pop it into your mouth, only to be assaulted by a sickly-sweet burst of artificial strawberry flavor. It nearly makes you see stars.

“Mmm, so good,” you force out, swallowing hard and managing a smile.

“Since when do you eat sugar bombs?”

“Tastes change.” You retorted nonchalantly.

Jimin narrows his eyes. Something’s definitely up. He sets down the sugar and walks toward you. “What do you mean, your tastes changed?” he asks, voice dropping an octave.

You glance up, giving him a silent enigmatic smile.

He watches you carefully, and then a knowing grin flickers across his face. He finally realizes the game you’re playing. It’s both exasperating and thrilling, and he feels a spark of anticipation for whatever’s coming next.

Leaning in, he places his hands on either side of you, pinning you against the counter. The gentle warmth of his presence closes in around you.

“So,” he says smoothly, “who gave you that chocolate?”

“Curious?”

You hold your ground, resting your arms on his chest. Your gaze drifts from his lips back up to his eyes, and you flash a tantalizing smile.

Jimin’s heart gives a jolt under your teasing. His arms wrap more snugly around your waist as he leans in for a kiss.

But just as he takes the bait, you push lightly against his chest. Turning around, you take another piece of chocolate from the box and hold it to his lips.

“Eat this, and I’ll tell you.”

He gives a rueful little laugh, staring at the candy as if trying to decide if you’re actually poisoning him for the sake of some grand scheme. Then, right on cue, your phone rings—loud and shrill—shattering the heated atmosphere.

♡

It’s your phone. Jimin is closest, so he picks it up and hands it to you. Glancing at the caller ID, you are surprised.

Well, isn’t this convenient, you muse. You answer and surreptitiously turn the volume up.

“Noona, it’s Ben Hyuk. Sorry to call so late… is this a bad time?”

Hearing the young male voice from the other end, Jimin lifts his gaze to you.

“No, It’s no problem at all. What’s up?” Your voice is sweeter and lighter than normal, carrying a faint lilt of flirtation. Immediately, Jimin’s expression stiffens, displeasure carving a deep furrow in his brow.

“I’m sorry I gave you your birthday gift so late. I just… wasn’t sure if you’d like the chocolate?”

The moment “chocolate” is mentioned, the temperature in the room drops another ten degrees. You can practically feel Jimin’s heated stare burning holes through that pink box, as if he’d like nothing more than to reduce it—and possibly the whole kitchen—to ashes.

Ignoring the tension, you continue, “Oh, that’s perfect timing. I’m actually eating it right now! My friend thinks it’s too sweet, but he obviously has no taste. I think it’s delicious.”

You cast a sly, sidelong glance at Jimin, lips curving into a subtle smile.

“Oh… that’s great. Um, actually, I was wondering if you’d have time this weekend to grab dinner downtown. There’s a new restaurant I heard is really good…”

“Of course! I’ve finally wrapped up that merger case, so I’m free to celebrate.”

Meanwhile, Jimin’s expression has turned dark, all his earlier tenderness gone. The jealousy in the air is practically visible, roiling like a storm about to tear the roof off.

“Ah… t-that’s great,” Ben stutters, clearly not expecting such an enthusiastic yes. “If it’s too far away, we can always pick somewhere else… I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“No need for that. I’ve got a ‘friend’ who can drive me wherever I want—so of course I want the best place,” you say, looking directly at Jimin and arching an eyebrow: You’re available to chauffeur, right?

He’s had enough. Snatching the phone from your hand, he switches on speaker and discards it on the bar table.

“Let him hear it…”

♡

Your lips are claimed by an impatient kiss, a small cry escaping before you can stop it. The faint warmth of his breath mingles with yours as your fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer. At the edge of your vision, the kitchen lights blur into a soft, hazy glow…

♡

The rich, cozy scent of dinner hangs thick in the kitchen, and the timer on the stovetop lets out a long beep. The pot has hit its boiling point—time to turn down the heat and let everything simmer...

#jimin #bts jimin #jimin fanfic #jealousy #bts #bts au #bts fanfic

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