#marble floor products

[neelamexports]

Buy Online for Mosaic Art Making Materials in India - Neelam Exports

Mosaic art has captured the imagination of artists and designers for centuries, blending ancient techniques with modern design aesthetics. Whether you're a hobbyist or a professional artist, finding the right mosaic art materials in India is crucial to achieving the best results in your projects. One of the best places to buy mosaic art making materials online in India is Neelam Exports, known for its vast selection of high-quality materials and exceptional customer service. In this article, we will delve into why Neelam Exports should be your go-to source for mosaic supplies and explore the array of products they offer to ensure your mosaic masterpiece shines.

Why Choose Neelam Exports for Mosaic Art Making Materials

When it comes to mosaic art, the quality and variety of materials directly influence the final product. Neelam Exports stands out among other suppliers because of their dedication to providing only the finest materials sourced from reliable manufacturers. They offer a seamless online shopping experience, ensuring that artists from all corners of India can easily access their top-notch mosaic supplies.

Key reasons to choose Neelam Exports include:

1.Extensive Product Range: Neelam Exports offers a wide range of mosaic art making materials, including different types of tiles, adhesives, tools, and more. This extensive variety ensures that artists can find everything they need under one roof.

2.High-Quality Materials: Quality is non-negotiable when it comes to mosaic art. Neelam Exports prides itself on delivering only the best materials, from durable glass tiles to weather-resistant grout, to ensure the longevity and brilliance of your artwork.

3.Competitive Pricing: While the quality of materials is premium, Neelam Exports provides competitive pricing that ensures artists can create beautiful works without breaking the bank.

4.Customer Support: With a customer-centric approach, Neelam Exports ensures timely delivery and professional customer support to answer any queries related to product selection or order status.

A Comprehensive Selection of Mosaic Art Making Materials

Neelam Exports provides a wide variety of mosaic art materials that cater to different types of projects, from home décor pieces to large-scale installations. Here's an overview of the major categories of materials available:

1. Mosaic Tiles

Mosaic tiles are the building blocks of any mosaic art project. Neelam Exports offers a wide selection of tiles in different shapes, sizes, and materials, each designed to cater to specific artistic needs.

Glass Mosaic Tiles: Known for their vibrant colors and translucency, glass mosaic tiles are perfect for creating colorful, luminous art. Neelam Exports provides glass tiles in a spectrum of colors, including both opaque and transparent options.

Ceramic Mosaic Tiles: If you're looking for something with a more traditional touch, ceramic tiles are an excellent choice. These tiles come in a variety of textures, finishes, and patterns, adding a distinct character to your artwork.

Stone Mosaic Tiles: For artists who want to create a rustic, natural look, stone tiles are ideal. Available in a range of earthy tones, these tiles bring a sense of organic beauty to any project.

Mirror Tiles: To add reflective elements and a touch of elegance to your mosaics, mirror tiles from Neelam Exports are a great option. These tiles create dynamic light effects and elevate the overall visual appeal.

2. Adhesives and Grouts

The right adhesive and grout are essential to ensure that your mosaic pieces remain securely in place and can withstand the test of time.

Mosaic Adhesives: Neelam Exports offers specialized adhesives designed to bond a variety of materials, from glass and ceramic to stone. These adhesives are water-resistant and provide a long-lasting bond, making them suitable for both indoor and outdoor projects.

Grouts: Choosing the right grout can enhance the overall look of your mosaic. Neelam Exports stocks a range of colored and neutral grouts, allowing artists to create striking contrasts or subtle transitions between tiles. Additionally, their grouts are designed to be crack-resistant and durable, ensuring your mosaic art remains intact for years.

3. Mosaic Tools

Creating intricate mosaic designs requires precision tools, and Neelam Exports delivers on that front as well.

Tile Cutters: For accurate cutting and shaping of mosaic tiles, Neelam Exports provides a variety of tile cutters that are easy to use and highly effective.

Grouting Tools: To apply grout smoothly and evenly, Neelam Exports offers a selection of high-quality grouting tools, including spatulas and sponges.

Design Templates and Guides: For artists who are new to mosaic art or those looking to create intricate designs, Neelam Exports also offers templates and guides that simplify the creative process.

Read more - Buy Mosaic Art Supplies Online in India — Neelam Exports

How to Buy Mosaic Art Materials Online from Neelam Exports

Shopping for mosaic art materials online has never been easier. Neelam Exports’ user-friendly website allows you to browse through their vast catalog of materials and place orders with just a few clicks. Here’s how you can do it:

1.Visit the Website: Head over to Neelam Exports' official website and browse their extensive collection of mosaic art materials.

2.Browse by Category: Use the categorized product listings to explore the various materials available, including mosaic tiles, adhesives, tools, and more.

3.Select Your Products: Add the items you need to your cart, making sure to choose the right quantities and any specific colors or sizes if applicable.

4.Place Your Order: Once you’ve selected all your materials, proceed to checkout. Neelam Exports offers a secure payment gateway to ensure your personal information is protected.

5.Delivery: Neelam Exports ships their products across India, ensuring that your materials arrive promptly at your doorstep.

Expert Tips for Working with Mosaic Art Making Materials

Once you have your materials from Neelam Exports, here are a few expert tips to help you create stunning mosaic art:

1.Plan Your Design: Before starting, plan out your mosaic design. Use a pencil to sketch your pattern on the surface you’ll be working on.

2.Use the Right Adhesive: Ensure that you choose the correct adhesive based on the type of tile you’re using. For example, glass tiles may require a different adhesive than stone tiles.

3.Grout Carefully: When grouting, use a small spatula to apply it between the tiles. Be careful not to apply too much pressure to avoid displacing the tiles.

4.Seal Your Work: If your mosaic piece will be exposed to the elements, consider applying a sealant to protect it from moisture and wear.

Conclusion

When it comes to buying mosaic art making materials in India, Neelam Exports is a trusted and reliable source. From a wide variety of tiles and adhesives to essential tools, Neelam Exports ensures that artists have everything they need to create beautiful, lasting mosaic art. With competitive pricing and excellent customer service, Neelam Exports is the ideal choice for artists who value quality and convenience. Start your mosaic journey today with Neelam Exports!

[stoneartbyskl]

Best Modern Patterns in Decorative Wall Cladding: A Complete Guide

Modern patterns in decorative wall cladding have become a key element in contemporary design, adding texture, depth, and visual interest to any space. By blending art and architecture, these patterns not only enhance the aesthetics but also create a statement that reflects your unique style. This guide delves into the top modern patterns in decorative wall cladding, featuring Indian Sandstone and Indian Marble, known for their durability, elegance, and versatility.

Top Modern Patterns in Decorative Wall Cladding

Random Wave Design

The Random Wave Design introduces a sense of motion and fluidity to your walls. This pattern mimics the natural flow of water, creating a dynamic effect that changes with the light. For a dramatic impact, use Black or Grey Indian Marble to execute this design.

2. Mint Texture Panels

Mint Texture Panels offer a modern take on traditional cladding with fine lines and grooves that provide a soft texture. This design works beautifully with Beige or White Indian Sandstone, adding a fresh and clean look to any space.

3. Abstract Arch Design

The Abstract Arch Design combines bold curves and sleek lines to create a statement wall. This modern twist on classic arch shapes exudes elegance and sophistication. Enhance this design with Green Indian Marble for a rich, luxurious focal point.

4. Abstract Pattern Wall Cladding

For a bold, avant-garde statement, choose Abstract Pattern Wall Cladding. This design blends various shapes and textures, making it a standout feature in any space. Indian Sandstone in Black or Grey amplifies the impact, ensuring a cohesive yet striking look.

5. Curved Fluted Blocks Design

The Curved Fluted Blocks Design adds depth and dimension to your walls. Curved flutes create shadows that shift throughout the day, bringing a dynamic quality to the space. Beige Indian Marble enhances the three-dimensional effect, making this design a captivating choice.

6. Circle Mountain Design

Inspired by natural landscapes, the Circle Mountain Design captures the beauty of mountain ranges. Concentric circles resemble peaks and valleys, evoking a sense of tranquillity and balance. White or Green Indian Marble amplifies the organic feel of this design, making it a serene addition to any room.

7. Ripple Wave Design

The Ripple Wave Design brings a touch of elegance and fluidity to any space. This pattern creates a rippling effect, reminiscent of gentle water waves. Use Black or Grey Indian Marble for a striking feature wall in living rooms or bedrooms.

8. Linear Wave Design

The Linear Wave Design offers clean, straight lines that form a wave-like pattern, perfect for a minimalist aesthetic. This subtle yet sophisticated design suits various spaces. Enhance the linearity with White or Beige Indian Sandstone for a sleek, modern look.

9. Fluting Marble Layers Design

The Fluting Marble Layers Design provides a contemporary take on traditional fluting techniques. Layered flutes add depth and texture to your walls. The rich Green or Black Indian Marble creates an opulent effect, making this design ideal for luxurious interiors.

10. Grey Wave Design

The Grey Wave Design combines soft waves with the neutral tones of Grey Indian Sandstone or Marble. This pattern creates a calming, serene atmosphere, making it a popular choice for bathrooms and spa-like spaces.

Materials Used for Decorative Wall Claddings

Indian Sandstone: Indian Sandstone stands out for its natural beauty and strength, making it an excellent choice for both interior and exterior cladding. Available in timeless colours like Black, White, Grey, and Beige, it easily complements a variety of design styles.

Indian Marble: Indian Marble brings a luxurious finish to any project, making it a favourite for high-end spaces. It offers a wide range of colours, including Black, White, Grey, Beige, and a rich Green, adding sophistication and elegance to your design.

Techniques of Installation

The installation method you choose significantly impacts the final appearance and durability of your decorative wall cladding. Two primary techniques are commonly used:

Wet Cladding Technique: In this method, a mortar mix is applied to the back of the cladding, which is then pressed onto the wall. This technique works well for outdoor installations, providing a strong bond that withstands various weather conditions.

Mechanical Fixing Technique: This method uses metal anchors or brackets to secure the cladding to the wall. Ideal for large panels or wet conditions, mechanical fixing offers a clean and durable finish, making it suitable for indoor installations.

Conclusion:

Modern patterns in decorative wall cladding offer endless possibilities for transforming your space. Whether you prefer the natural beauty of Indian Sandstone or the luxurious finish of Indian Marble, the designs mentioned in this guide cater to various tastes and styles. By choosing the right material, colour, and installation technique, you can create a stunning visual impact that will stand the test of time.

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you leave megumi with your husband so you can make them breakfast. you quickly realise that that might have backfired.

wc. around 1.3k

tags. dad!toji x wife!female reader. fluff. reader gets called ‘mama’ by both toji & megumi. half beta read.

“ow, careful there, brat.”

your husband’s deep voice echoes from within the bathroom. you’ve left megumi in his care this morning so you’d be able to make breakfast in peace. toji was all grumpy about it, since he had to wake up early when he had no work, but eventually agreed to your proposal.

you hum your favorite song while frying eggs. the sizzling in the pan did help avert your attention from toji’s grunts of annoyance somewhere in the distance, though only for a couple seconds. your hear your child’s laughter slip between the noises of aggravation. it piques your interest.

“one more time and i’m putting y’r ass in time out,” toji’s deep voice sounds muffled. he sounds rather serious about whatever is bothering him.

you turn the stove off and walk towards the hallway, standing at the doorframe as you look in the direction of the bathroom. you tilt your head and try your best to pick up on snippets of the conversation between your husband and son.

the sound of bottles dropping on the floor is the first thing that allows you to guess that megumi’s acting up. you know how mischievous your little toddler can get, especially at his age. toji isn’t one to gentle parent his kid—he tries to, of course, but sometimes he can’t help but be a bit rough.

“megumi fushiguro.”

you raise your eyebrows as toji uses your child’s full name. he rarely does, only when he’s really upset or about to lose his marbles. you decide to see what was going on for yourself. you walk towards the bathroom, cleaning your hands against the material of your apron. you knock once before pushing the door open.

you stick your head through the little gap, ready to identify the cause of the commotion. the first thing you notice is the chaos on the floor; bottles, tubes, toothbrushes, and all other kinds of products lay cluttered on the bathroom tiles.

your eyes then land on your husband’s broad and scarred back, “hey, honey. did something hap—”

your voice trails off once toji turns around, revealing the jaw dropping scene. nearly his entire face is covered in loads of shaving cream and even his black hair hasn’t escaped the soft foam.

the bathroom counter is completely wet, and the water runs down the edges in small drops. the culprit of this entire scene is sitting right on that same counter, clapping his dirty hands together that were smeared with toji’s shaving cream.

you blink and walk towards the two. you can’t possibly be mad at the sight, finding toji’s situation more funny than worrisome. You try to act serious and clear your throat, “uh, yeah. so what’s happened here?”

your husband rolls his eyes and nods his head at the little boy in front of him, who’s giggling and kicking his legs. toji tries to wipe the shaving cream from his nose, attempting to get it out of his hair as well, “i tried to be a good dad and include him in my morning routine, that’s what.”

the man clicks his tongue as he now realises how dumb of a mistake that was, “gave him the opportunity to put some shaving foam on my jaw ‘n the brat totally blew it. started attackin’ me with the stuff.”

toji grumbles. he wipes away the foam that got on the mirror afterwards. it’s nearly gotten everywhere. he lightly nudges megumi’s forehead with a scoff, “never again, y’hear? the little shit can’t sit still for even one second.”

that explains the stuff on the floor. you know that megumi could grow bored easily if he isn’t the centre of attention. he’d start doing anything to be the focus of his parents. toji probably didn’t pay him much mind, wanting to get his morning routine over with.

“language, honey.” you sigh and look down at megumi who’s still reaching his messy hands up to his dad.

toji huffs and leans back, not giving the little boy a chance to put more shaving cream on his face. he’s learnt his lesson; kids do not understand it when you tell them to ‘only put a little bit’.

megumi whines and threatens to throw a tantrum. you notice that immediately and try to keep his mind off things by picking him up. you turn on the faucet and try to wash his little hands, “c’mon. give mama your hands.”

the little boy shakes his head furiously, squirming in your embrace in attempt to get away. you sigh and grab his little wrists gently. you lower him to the sink, trying your best to wash away the shaving cream as the first step of solving this grande mess.

“no, mama!” megumi is stubborn as he voices his complains. toji watches from a distance whilst he struggles to clean the overload of shaving cream from his face.

you make the mistake of letting go of your child’s wrists to grab a washcloth. megumi takes his chance and pats his messy hands against your face, leaving you no space to process what he’s doing.

your mind takes a second before you realise what’s happening, “hey! quit it, ‘gumi.”

you try to grab ahold of megumi’s tiny hands again, but they move too fast for you. plus, he’s pretty skilled at avoiding yours. you can feel the foam slowly cover your entire face; from your jaw and cheeks, to your nose and forehead.

it was inevitable at this point.

“toji, do something,” you grunt and struggle to contain the energetic toddler in your arms. you take a peek at your husband and find him grinning at the predicament you’ve gotten yourself in.

toji simply shrugs and enjoys the fact that you’re experiencing exactly what he had experienced just moments ago. seeing you struggle to contain your disobedient child only proves that his parenting skills are not the problem in this situation, your toddler is.

“ye did that to y’rself, mama.” toji hums in amusement. he leans against the wall, the blue towel now loosely hanging off head after he’s given up on getting the foam out of his hair, “now y’know what i’m talkin’ about. he’s a lil’ monster.”

megumi squeals in victory after he’s gotten both his parents covered in shaving cream. you want to say something to your child, but you’re at a loss for words. even now, you cannot bring yourself to be mad at him. he’s just a kid who’s having fun with his parents.

“i made mama pretty! hehe.” megumi grins and encourages you to look in the mirror. he points at your reflection and awaits the words of confirmation. his blue eyes look up at you, nearly sparkling with joy, admiring how pretty he’s made you look with that white foam all over your face.

toji joins in on the fun. he comes to stand behind you, looking at you through the mirror. he snickers, already forgotten about his irritations that occurred in the first place. he nods in approval at megumi’s words, “gotta agree, son. y’r mama looks much prettier like this.”

your husband’s teasing comment adds fuel to the fire. though again, you cannot bring yourself to be upset at the situation.

you look at the reflection in the dirty mirror. you all may appear disheveled due to the foamy mess on your bodies—and yet even at that moment—the only thing you actually manage to see is a happy family of three.

[sidemari]

• Love Hurts •

Character: Viktor (Arcane) x Fem!Reader

TW: Mild angst, masturbation, use of sexual toys, voyeurism, alcohol consumption, oral sex (both female and male giving & receiving), swearing, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, marking, mild overstimulation, use of sex as an apology, emocional negligence, smut with plot.

Image: Umibe no Onnanoko's Manga.

You sighed in frustration, entering your apartment after a long day at work.

The first thing you did was to get rid of your coat and shoes, exhaling in relief.

Soon after, you tied your hair up and headed towards the bathroom.

In the meantime, your fiancé also arrived home, exhausted and almost irritated by the things that had gone wrong in the lab.

"I'm home" He murmured so quietly that you didn't hear him as he removed his shoes. Heading towards your bedroom, he caught a glimpse of the bathroom light.

You had a weird habit of leaving the bathroom door open while you showered, giving him the opportunity to watch you during such an intimate moment.

Your hands undid the buttons of your shirt, exposing your unprotected breasts before unzipping your skirt, which slid towards the cold marble floor.

Sliding your panties down your legs, you entered the secluded area of ​​the shower, carefully turning the faucet to allow a cascade of hot water to slide down your back.

Sighing in relief, you took a few minutes to actually start washing yourself, your hands exploring your body masterfully.

He watched you during your nightly routine, extremely quiet so as not to disturb you or make you notice him. There was something oddly addictive about watching you.

The way you spread the bath products on your skin, the sighs of pleasure when some sensitive spot was stimulated, your wet body... It was all absolutely perfect for him.

Finishing your shower, you dried your body with a warm towel before heading towards your bedroom.

Lying naked on your bed, you didn't notice that your fiancé was still watching you through the crack in the door, even with the main light source in the room turned off.

"Fuck, I'm so tense..." You gasped quietly.

You had to unwind after such dreadful day and you had to do it alone since your own needs had been coldly ignored by your fiancé for weeks now.

It wasn't like Viktor would agree to have sex after a full day of tireless work on Hextech just because you had a bad day at work. He simply would not give in without further explanation.

You started exploring your body to see if you would have any reaction at all, only for you to realize how starved for attention you were.

Stimulating your breasts, thighs and clitoris with your fingertips, you remembered something that could help you in the midst of your despair. Opening the desk drawer next to your bed, you found the device that you hadn't used in many years in a discreet package.

How pathetic it was to use that even though you had a fiancé.

Still your body had been crying out for attention for days on end and you couldn't ignore the urge any longer.

Viktor.

You stimulated your clitoris with the vibrator, setting it to the slowest possible pace before gradually increasing the speed.

"Oh, just like that..." You whimpered, closing your legs involuntarily due to the intense pleasure. "Faster" You moaned, changing speed abruptly. One of your hands squeezed your breasts again, as you imagined that someone in particular was doing it instead of you.

Biting your lip, you inserted the long part of the vibrator inside you, starting a few slow but deep thrusts. "Fuck, just like that..." You shuddered in pleasure, approaching your orgasm with ease. "Harder, Viktor!" You moaned, pressing the fastest vibration button there was as your thrusts became harsher.

He watched your little show with pleasure. Who would have thought that a girl as responsible and delicate as you would be so naughty away from the eyes of others?

"I'm so close... Keep going, please." You whispered, your fingertips caressing your hips, sending shivers down your spine. "Viktor!" You whimpered as your orgasm finally hit you, wave after wave, your pussy contracting around the now-turned-off vibrator.

Your legs were shaking and spread wide enough for him to see how excited and wet you were, your breathing heavy and a thin layer of sweat covering your skin.

"What a view." He thought.

Taking the vibrator out of you and placing it on the desk, you enjoyed the relaxation brought on by your selfish act.

"I wish you were here." You whispered, staring at the ceiling with disinterest before getting up from the bed and tying your silk robe around your body to head towards the kitchen.

You sighed in frustration, pouring some wine into a glass before tasting it with satisfaction.

"Was your little game enjoyable?"

"What?" You asked confused, looking back to see your fiancé staring at you with enigmatic eyes, the emotion behind them not quite clear.

"It's been a while." His voice was firm and so pleasant to hear that you felt your blood heat with desire.

"Your little show. You seemed quite pleased with that stupid vibrator."

"Viktor... When did you get here?"

"How did you know that I..." You hesitated.

"Oh, that? Perhaps watching you is a little hobby of mine and I must admit that you impressed me." He chuckled against the sensitive spot below your ear. "You get even hotter when you moan my name."

"Viktor... I miss you."

Your relationship was wearing thin, day after day, the neglect with which Viktor had been treating your needs as his fiancée was frustrating.

In the beginning of the relationship, he was extremely present, always making a point of being by your side, even with countless things to be done.

But with the discovery of Hextech, that gradually changed. Day after day, he seemed more and more distant, never really paying attention to what you said, spending hours on end without even contacting you.

Gradually, he took longer to get home at night, or even didn't come home at all - claiming to pass out from exhaustion in the lab.

Your relationship had lost its sparkle, with him always refusing to have moments as a couple with you, with the excuse that he had too much on his shoulders to think about something as banal as cuddles, kisses or sex.

"Hmm?" He murmured. "Missing me?"

"Viktor, it's not..." You hesitated.

"It's not...?" He encouraged you.

"It's not fair to us..."

"What's not fair, my dear?"

"Your absence." The pain in your voice made his heart flutter in a bad way.

You pulled away from his touch and poured yourself another glass of wine, downing the entire liquid in one go in a stupid attempt to wash your feelings away with the help of alcohol.

"Hey, don't drink so fast." His hand gently held your wrist.

"Don't tell me what to do." You furiously wiped away the few tears that ran down your cheeks. An uncomfortable silence took over the room and the tense atmosphere was palpable.

"Forgive me." His voice cut through the silence, making you turn around. "Can I at least try to prove you that you are all that is most precious to me?" After awfully long minutes you nodded uncertainly.

His hands held your waist, pulling you closer, his lips asking for permission against yours. You gave in and a kiss was initiated.

The kiss was desperate, fervent and urgent, his tongue exploring your mouth with ease. His erection pulsed against your abdomen, making you moan against his lips.

"I'm sorry, I-I..." He was embarrassed by his body's reaction to such a simple stimulus, but your hand went down towards his pants, slowly feeling him.

"It's okay." He pressed his erection against your hand, moaning a curse when you squeezed him over the fabric.

"I need you." You whimpered, kneeling down and begging with your eyes for permission. "I need you so much, Viktor." He nodded as the hand that wasn't holding his cane stroked your hair lovingly. You kissed his erection through the fabric, your hand massaging his most sensitive spot.

Untangling his belt, you unbuttoned his pants, gently lowering them to the floor as quickly as your own desperation would allow before also removing the underwear that restricted him. You stared at his cock with devotion, your index finger collecting some of the pre-cum that accumulated on his tip to taste it.

You smiled at the taste.

It was strangely pleasant.

Your fingers contoured his cock and you took it into your mouth, slowly sucking only the head before starting to suck him all the way, or almost. You choked when you felt his tip touch your throat, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

"Fuck... I missed this." He whimpered as his free hand gripped your hair tightly enough to make you moan against his cock. "You don't have to suck it all if you can't." You pulled him out of your mouth for a few seconds, him sighing at the absence of the warmth of your mouth around him.

"I want to try. Guide me, please."

"Fuck, you're perfect." He moaned your name as you took him into your mouth again, your lips almost touching the base of his cock, saliva dripping down the corner of your mouth.

His hand guided you, at first bobbing your head with just the right pace to make him shudder with pleasure. Soon he kept your head still and started thrusting his hips so he could fuck your mouth at his will.

"You look so pretty sucking me." He exasperated, humping into your mouth even faster. "You're so good at this, bunny." Your heart pounded at the pet name he hadn't used in a long time.

"I'm going to cum if you keep going..." He stopped his thrusts when he felt his cock hitting your throat again, staying like that for a few moments, just watching how sexy you looked with your mouth occupied. You gasped once more, staring at him with teary eyes. "Did I tell you that you're perfect?" He pulled out of your mouth, helping you up. "Come here, kiss me." He pulled you in for another needy kiss, guiding you slowly toward the bedroom so as not to overload his leg while he tasted himself on your tongue.

Arriving in your room, he noticed the vibrator on top of the desk that belonged to your side of the bed, laughing with disdain.

"You know you won't need that for tonight" He kissed the most sensitive spot of your neck, causing you to moan. He started removing his vest and tie before undoing the buttons of his own shirt, exposing his body completely to you. You guided his hands to undo the tie of your robe, giving him the freedom to take it off at any time. And so he did.

"You're absurdly beautiful." He whispered against your lips, giving them a quick peck right after.

"Come, lie down here with me." You invited him. He nodded, climbing on top of you, his palms resting on the free spaces next to your head. You placed a pillow under his bad knee to minimize the possible discomfort caused by the position.

"Don't you want me to be on top?" You murmured with concern, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. His eyes examined you with curiosity and caution, his pupils dilated, his breathing shaky and head shaking negatively.

Years ago, he had no idea what it was that he felt bubbling up inside him. He thought it was just a temporary physical attraction.

That was when he realized he was stupidly in love with you.

"I'll let know if it bothers me." For now, his focus was only on spreading kisses all over your body until he reached your hips. "Open your legs for me, my love." You obeyed him without resistance, exposing your sex to him, his lips forming a mischievous smile that made you tremble in anticipation.

His tongue savored your clitoris, sucking it skillfully. Your hands pulled his hair gently as he sucked you.

"Fuck, I've missed your taste so much." He moaned against your thigh before marking it with a hickey.

"Viktor!" You pressed your thighs against his head in reflex due to the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling.

"That's it, just like that..." He spoke in a muffled voice due to the circumstances. "Fucking smother me with those pretty thighs of yours." His tongue explored your walls with urge, his nose brushing against your clitoris in a delicious way.

"Viktor..." You moaned, pressing your thighs even tighter around his head, making him groan in pleasure. "I'm so close!"

"I need to fuck you so bad..." He whimpered against your sex. "Lie on your stomach." You changed position, but he was still on top of you. Aligning himself with your entrance, he penetrated you slowly, giving you a few seconds to adjust to his size.

You whimpered his name at the invasion, your hands gripping the bedsheets beneath your body for support. His hands, in turn, were now on your hips, gripping them tightly enough to leave marks.

"Always so tight." He grunted between the first thrusts, your body jerking upward with each thrust due to the force of the movement. He pushed your loosen hair to the side, exposing the spot where your neck met your shoulder before attacking it and marking it with a hickey that would be hard for anyone to ignore.

"Viktor!" You moaned, biting your lip in pleasure. "Fuck me harder." He obeyed you, his thrusts becoming more violent as his cock stimulated the most sensitive spot within you with each movement.

"Oh fuck... You drive me crazy." He murmured against your hair. "I'm such a fool to have neglected you all this time."

His voice held genuine regret.

But you couldn't care less about the delicate situation your relationship with him had reached. Not now, at least.

"I'm gonna cum!" You whimpered, your eyebrows furrowing at the intense pleasure you were feeling.

"Cum for me, bunny." He kissed your shoulder desperately, his own orgasm extremely close now. "Cum nice and hard around my cock."

"Viktor..." You moaned loudly as the pressure building inside you released, your walls clenching his cock over and over again.

Before your own orgasm could fade, you felt his cock pulsing inside you just before he filled you with his cum in long, hot spurts.

Viktor kept thrusting into you a few more times, not wanting any drop to go to waste before his body collapsed on top of yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat.

He kissed your shoulder.

And again.

And again.

"I don't want to move." He murmured against your neck. "But I need to kiss you so badly." He slowly pulled out of you, making you moan at the absence of him.

"Switch places with me." You whispered, helping him get comfortable under you as you sat on his lap.

You leaned your body forward, capturing his lips in a romantic and devoted kiss that only ended when you broke apart for air. His hands went to your breasts, squeezing them gently.

"They're so soft..." He gasped, then wetting both thumbs with his saliva to tease your nipples, making them harden in seconds.

"Viktor..." You whimpered, rubbing your sex against his cock, which began to throb, slowly becoming erect again.

"Oh, fuck..." He groaned, arching his body back in pleasure. "Ride me, love. Ride me like the good girl you are." He begged, one of his hands still working on one of your breasts while the other moved down to stimulate your clit.

You then lined his cock up with your entrance, sinking yourself into him inch by inch and shuddering in bliss.

"That's it, my girl, all the way to the base." He groaned, the hand that was stimulating your clit moving to your lower belly, groping it to feel how far he could reach within you. "Fuck, so deep..." You began to ride him, guiding his hand from your abdomen to your clit again.

"You're so wet... So tight..." He whimpered, his brows furrowing in overstimulation as the minutes went on.

"Viktor!" At some point, your movements became erratic as your third orgasm of the night approached.

"Cum with me, love." He begged. And your body obeyed his words, melting against him as he filled your insides once more with his essence.

His heartbeat pounded against your ear as you leaned against his chest. His hands stroked your hair slowly, allowing a wave of sleep to take over you.

"Viktor, I know your routine is excruciating and that this Hextech project is the most important part of your life..." You cut through the silence, bringing the sensitive subject up. "But I just want you to know that I don't want to lose you."

His heart sank at your words, the bitter taste of an agonizing guilt taking over his tongue.

So you truly felt like his second option, a mere distraction from his grand goals.

How could he be so cruel to you?

Viktor didn't answer you right away, instead, he took long minutes to actually say something back.

"I'll be the best I can be for you." He muttered. "Even if it means my projects take a back seat." Yet his words fell on deaf ears: you were already asleep with a serene expression on your face.

Serenity.

So different from the anguishing feeling that took hold of him as soon as the realization hit him: he had hurt the feelings of the one he loved most, once again.

He remembered when you used to say that "Love hurts, but that hurt makes you feel like you're alive. Love hurts, but it still transcends the bad things" during difficult moments of your relationship.

"Guess you were right, after all." He whispered, even though he knew you wouldn't hear him.

[markwickens]

Bridgeport Kitchen Great Room

[lovealesia]

DC Metro Dining

[mariasont]

Okay , so a smutty Spencer x reader fic where is very alternative with tattoos and piercings. Maybe she works with the team as an entomologist or something idk BUT she always wears her contacts and one day she comes in thick black frame glasses. Spencer goes feral, he's never seen her in glasses before and he just kinda drags her into a hall closet and just "keep the glasses on" there's a lot of fanfics about the reader going feral seeing Spencer in glasses for the first time but what if it was reversed.

Framed Fascination

A/N: omggggg i loved writing this, you just know spencer would sooo be a sucker for a woman with tats and piercings, so canon

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING xoxo

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x alt!fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, glasses kink, praise, p in v, dirty talk, degrading sort of, office sex

wc: 2k

When you began dating Spencer, it raised a few eyebrows. Spencer Reid--reserved, a bit awkward, and endlessly knowledgeable--had ended up with someone who they thought was his complete opposite. And to that he would always say, "while the prevailing research suggests similarity is more common in relationships, there's an interesting phenomenon where sometimes, the very things that differ between two people can create a complementary dynamic, much like how two puzzle pieces with different notches fit."

At times, you would point out your differences solely to prompt this response. But, in truth, aside from your outward styles, you shared more similarities than not. Your tattoos and piercings were the first details Spencer noticed and quickly became his favorite as you strode into the morgue on a particularly demanding case. You were immersed in explaining how arsenic disrupted the body's functions, but Spencer was lost in the visual narrative of your ink, his gaze lingering on every etched symbol and shaded figure. From that moment, he was wholly engrossed, and vowed to eventually explore all the unseen tattoos that your clothes kept from view.

Spencer may have had the whole 'nerdy boy-next-door' aesthetic down to a science, but you? You took pride in being called 'intimidating', knowing it was just a first impression. You knew that beneath that surface lay as Spencer would say, 'a cinnamon roll'. Spencer seemed to see through it from the beginning, which is why he didn't hesitate to ask you out as soon as the case closed.

In the span of eight months, your life had been transformed into its healthiest chapter with Spencer as the culprit. He filled every day with thoughtful gesture--surprise art museum dates, breakfast in bed, flowers that would mysteriously find their way to your desk, notes you'd find tucked inside your coat pockets. In fact, if you had seen it in a cheesy rom-com, he probably had done it. You had been tackling each day with a little spring in your step.

Just like today--you bounded into your office humming—you were humming as you went over paperwork. Tasked with consulting for the consumer safety department, your focus was zeroed in on the pervasive issue of phthalates creeping into beauty products. You adjusted the unfamiliar weight of the thick black frames perched on your nose--an odd sensation since you habitually opted for contacts--as your eyes dragged over the papers.

The hum of the fax machine broke the silence, and you swiveled in your chair, a smile dawning as you recognized the documents from last week's BAU case--giving you a chance to steal a moment with your boyfriend.

Paperwork in hand, you made your way to the BAU office, the click of your heels on marble floors keeping time with your quickening pulse. The bullpen was a whirlwind of activity as you greeted Morgan and Prentiss with a nod and smile, your gaze sweeping through the room until it landed on him. 

"Hi there, handsome," you greeted with a playful lilt in your voice, your fingers rapping gently against the wood of his desk.

"Hi, sweetheart--," he began, but his words trailed off as his eyes met yours. There was a pause, a momentary lapse in his ever-flowing stream of thoughts, as he took in the sight of you.

Glasses? He couldn't recall you ever wearing glasses, yet there they were, and the effect was undeniable. The sight sent a wave of unexpected thrill through him--a visceral reaction that left him speechless, his lips parting in awe. 

Spencer's throat cleared, a subtle sound amid the bullpen's activity. His gaze flickered around the room, a silent plea that his colleagues were too engrossed in their work to notice the way he practically undressed you with his eyes. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

"Since I nearly scratched my eye out trying to get my contacts in this morning," you said with a laugh, though the action of straightening your glasses was more of a nervous tic.

His stare was unyielding--intense and almost piercing. It unsettled you slightly as you studied his expression, your head tilting inquisitively as he said nothing else. 

"Well, uh, anyway I have to drop this off to Hotch," you murmured, your voice trailing off as you felt the weight of Spencer's penetrating gaze. 

You lingered for a heartbeat too long, hoping for a word, a smile--anything. But nothing came. With a shaky breath, you turned away, hands trembling ever so slightly as you handed the paperwork to Hotch. You whisked yourself back to the comfort of your office. The was weird, right? I mean, sure, Spencer had never been one for being overly affectionate in public, but he at least had more to say than that.

You pushed the nagging doubts to the back of your mind, focusing on the monotony data and figures that sprawled across your reports. He was probably just having a bad day, too maybe theoretical thoughts brewing in the beautiful mind of his.

The hours crawled by, each minute punctuated by the drone of the office--uninteresting reports, pesky coworkers, and the persistent buzz of thoughts circling back to Spencer. When it was an appropriate time to take your lunch, you pushed your laptop aside with a little too much eagerness, hands diving into your bag for your food. 

But before you could do that, a soft interruption at the door caught your attention. Your head snapped up, meeting Spencer's gaze as he leaned causally against the frame of the door.

He stood there, watching as you glanced up at him, the rims of your glasses framing your eyes in a way that made an involuntary shiver down his spine, his gaze lingering on your face. You appeared tired, yes, but the image of you like this had been imprinted on his mind all day, rendering his work secondary to the thought of seeing you again. 

"Spence, hi," you greeted, a sweet smile blooming on your lips as you peered up at him. Your brows knit together slightly; his visits were rare unless case-related. "I was just about to take my lunch, wanna join?"

"No," he replied with a swift shake of his head, the corners of his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Could I borrow you for a second?"

Your gaze returned to the lunch that lay before you, untouched and suddenly unappealing. Letting out a small sigh, you nodded. "Sure," you replied, still trying to piece together Spencer's odd behavior today.

He tilted his head back subtly, a silent cue for you to follow him. You obliged without hesitation, following after him, your steps echoing his through the hallway. Your confusion mounted, etched into the deepening furrow of your brows with each corner turned. 

"Spencer," you said, a giggle escaping your lips. "I trust you're not taking me down some ominous hallway to meet my untimely end?"

"Actually, it is an interesting fact that the majority people meet their 'untimely end' at the hands of someone they love." 

"Great, thank you for that, I think that's my cue," you joked, pivoting away in an attempt to make a dramatic exit. But Spencer's reflexes were quick, his grasp secure on your wrist as he steered you into the nearest supply closet. The small space muffled your surprised oomph as you nearly collided with a stack of supplies.

You stumbled into the warmth of his chest, your glasses skewing comically as you steadied them with a fingertip. "Spencer! What has gotten into you?"

"You," came his growl, rough and urgent, while his hands frantically sought your legs, pinning you against the wall.

A soft moan slipped through the surprise of parted lips as his lips found yours. Your fingers tangled in the soft locks of his hair, pulling him closer, your mouth meeting his with the same intensity. 

Your laughter mingles with the kiss as you pull back, lips brushing. "Not that I'm complaining, Agent Reid, but someone is definitely going to catch us."

His eyes meet yours, equally amused as he pins your hands over your head. He makes quick work of open-mouthed kisses on your neck, your body instantly melting into his as his teeth scrape along your sweet spot. "Don't care."

His lips trailed back to yours, his fingers fumbling to push your skirt up to your stomach. You let out a surprised gasp into his mouth, finding the sudden intensity of him incredibly hot. He pressed his thumb into your clit as you dug your fingers into the nape of his neck, your head lolling back as you all but thrusted into his hand. The room swirled with heat, your glasses misting up. You reached for the pesky frames, but his fingers intercepted, pining them against your chest.

"Those stay on, sweetheart." The words tickled your ear, intimate and close, as his fingers traced through your slick folds, coaxing a contented pant from you.

"That's what's got you all worked up, Spence?" You moaned out as his fingers glided over your skin, now slick, drawing a line of warmth up your body. 

He settled his thumb on your tongue, shutting you up as he grabbed a handful of your ass. You wrapped your lips around it, savoring the taste as your eyes locked with his over the foggy veil of your glasses. His gaze held a quiet pride as he smirked. 

"Drove me crazy seeing you like that this morning." He said as he ground his body into yours, his erection settling on your stomach. "Makes you look so fuckable. Couldn't focus on anything else."

Your mouth vibrated softly around his thumb, muffled as he drew it away with pop. He makes quick work of undoing his belt, shoving down his pants and boxers just enough to release his length.

Your mouth watered at the sight, your body instinctively lowering to your knees, but his hand was there stopping you with a firm, "No time."

He pinned your shoulders to the wall with his body, his mouth crashing with yours with desperate need. Your mouth fell open into his as you felt his length press into your opening, his fingers holding your panties aside.

"You feel so good, sweetheart."

You don't think you would ever get over the feeling of him inside you, the way he stretched you out just right. You let out an unrestrained moan as he proceeded to pump inside you, his movements ruthless.

His palm sealed over your lips, a sudden barrier that sent warmth spreading across your face, glasses clouding rapidly, obscuring your view. "Quiet, baby. You want everyone to know how much of a slut you are for me? Letting me fuck you in the office?"

You all but sobbed against his palm, your hands fisting the material of his sweater as he continued to abuse your pussy with deep strokes.

"Sp-Spence, please baby," you managed to breathe out as he released his hold on your mouth, grinding against him in an attempt at friction with your sensitive clit.

"What do you need, sweetheart?" He questioned, almost condescendingly as his fingers traced your cheek gently, a stark contrast to the way he pounded into you. "Need me to take care of you?"

"Please," you choked out.

"You're so good for me, baby." He said, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as he pressed his thumb to the part of you that ached most. You let out a sob of relief as you ground against his movements, the familiar coil in your stomach beginning to wind up as you clutched at Spencer's face.

"Spencer, shit, 'm so close," you babbled, tears welling in your eyes as each of his thrusts seemed to urge the ache.

"Go ahead, baby." He moaned as his you felt his thighs twitch against you. "Come on my cock, sweet girl."

His words were all you needed to push you off the edge, your back arching against the wall as your legs shook, threatening to collapse as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He came shortly after you, his form yielding to gravity as his head nestled into the crook of your shoulder, both of you panting softly as you tried to catch your breath.

After savoring a few heartbeats of content, he gently disentangled himself from you. His fingers deftly rearranging your skirt, with a touch so soft, so different from his demeanor two minutes ago. 

"Guess I need to wear the glasses more often, huh?"

A soft laughter bubbled up from him, his fingers lightly grazing under your eyes, brushing away the stray smudges of makeup. "Please do."

[willqraharn]

Dining Room - Kitchen Dining

[its-avalon-08]

it all fell down (ln4)

part1

multipart story! next

✦ pairing - lando norris x female reader

summary : lando norris and y/n were friends for 20 years, fell in love and dated for five. until it all fell down. they left each others lives abruptly and never spoke again, until they met again in the most unexpected way. can they find their way back or will certain scars never heal?

The bustling streets of Monaco were as busy as ever, a stark contrast to the calm that Y/N felt inside. The rhythmic tapping of her heels on the marble floor echoed through the sleek office building. She had always loved the city, but now it represented something more than just beautiful scenery; it was her sanctuary, her fresh start.

"Morning, Y/N," greeted Claire, her assistant, as she handed Y/N her daily latte.

"Morning, Claire. Any updates for today's schedule?" Y/N asked, taking a sip of the coffee, savoring the familiarity of the taste.

"Just the usual. The meeting with the investors is at 10 AM, and you have a lunch appointment with Mr. Dupont at 1 PM," Claire replied, handing over a neatly organized file.

"Perfect. Let's make sure everything is set for the presentation," Y/N said, her voice steady and professional.

As the CEO of her own thriving marketing firm, Y/N had built a reputation for herself. She was known for her sharp mind, impeccable work ethic, and the ability to turn even the most mundane products into must-haves. Her company, InspireVision, had taken the European market by storm, landing high-profile clients and creating groundbreaking campaigns.

But behind the polished exterior and the confident demeanor lay a heart that had been shattered two years ago. The memories of Lando were locked away in a corner of her mind she seldom visited. The laughter they shared, the dreams they built together, the love that once felt unbreakable—all of it was a distant echo now. They had both moved on, or so she told herself.

sneak peek into lando's life

The sound of engines roaring filled the air as Lando Norris stepped out of his sleek, black McLaren. The circuit was alive with energy, mechanics bustling around, and the smell of burning rubber in the air. For Lando, this was home.

"Hey, Lando! Ready for practice?" called out Carlos Sainz, his teammate and close friend.

"Always, mate," Lando replied with a grin, adjusting his racing suit. "Let's show them what we've got."

The past two years had seen Lando rise to new heights in his racing career. He had secured multiple podium finishes and even a race wins. The world saw him as a fierce competitor, a young talent with a bright future. But beneath the helmet and the bravado, there was a part of him that still ached.

"Hey, Lando, I was thinking about grabbing dinner at that new place by the marina. You in?" Carlos asked as they headed towards the garage.

"Sure, sounds good. Need to unwind a bit," Lando replied, though his mind was only half on the conversation.

Racing was his escape, his way of pushing away the thoughts of what could have been. The nights were the hardest, when the adrenaline faded and the silence crept in. It was then that memories of Y/N surfaced—her smile, her touch, the way she used to laugh at his jokes. They had shared twenty years of friendship and five years of love, only to part ways abruptly. They had never spoken again, both too proud and too hurt to reach out.

back to y/n

Y/N's day was a whirlwind of meetings and phone calls. By the time she sat down for lunch with Mr. Dupont, she was mentally exhausted but maintained her poised demeanor.

"It's impressive what you've done with InspireVision, Y/N," Mr. Dupont said, raising his glass in a toast.

"Thank you, Mr. Dupont. It’s been a journey, but I have a great team behind me," Y/N replied, clinking her glass with his.

As they discussed potential collaborations, her phone buzzed with a notification. She glanced at it briefly—an update on the Monaco Grand Prix. She quickly dismissed it, burying any thoughts of the racing world and its connection to her past.

and here is lando again

The practice session went well, and Lando felt a familiar rush of excitement. After a quick debrief with his team, he headed out with Carlos for dinner.

As they walked along the marina, the city's lights reflecting off the water, Lando felt a rare moment of peace.

"You ever think about what's next, beyond racing?" Carlos asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Sometimes. It's hard to imagine life without it, though," Lando admitted.

"Yeah, I get that. But there's more to life than just racing, you know?" Carlos said, giving Lando a knowing look.

Lando nodded, understanding the unspoken words. There was more to life, but it was a life he had once envisioned with Y/N. Now, it was a blank canvas, waiting for new memories to be painted on it.

The two former lovers, now strangers to each other's lives, were both thriving in their own worlds. They had built walls around their hearts, focusing on their careers and new dreams. Yet, the echoes of their shared past lingered in the background, a silent reminder of the love that once was. Neither spoke of the other, living as though the other didn't exist. But fate had a way of bringing people back together, sometimes in the most unexpected ways.

taglist ---> @misspygmypie @kol67-t @sltwins @f1fantasys

comment to get added to taglist

[neelamexports]

Best Marble Floor Manufacturers and Suppliers in Jaipur – Neelam Exports

Marble flooring has always been synonymous with Best Marble Floor Manufacturers and Suppliers in Jaipur. From ancient palaces to modern homes, marble floors add a touch of class to any space. In India, particularly in Jaipur, the craftsmanship and quality of marble products are world-renowned. Among the top names in this domain is Neelam Exports, a leader in marble floor manufacturing and supply. With an unparalleled reputation for quality and craftsmanship, Neelam Exports has made a mark both nationally and internationally.

Why Choose Marble Flooring

Marble has been a preferred material for flooring for centuries due to its durability, natural beauty, and elegance. Its unique veining and patterns make every piece one-of-a-kind, adding a distinct charm to any space. Furthermore, marble is available in a range of colors, allowing it to complement various interior design styles.

Some key benefits of marble flooring include:

Durability: Marble is a hard, dense material that can withstand high traffic areas, making it perfect for both residential and commercial properties.

Aesthetic Appeal: The natural beauty of marble cannot be replicated. Its veining and unique color combinations bring sophistication to any room.

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Versatility: Available in different colors, textures, and finishes, marble can suit a variety of architectural and interior styles.

Neelam Exports: The Leading Marble Floor Manufacturer in Jaipur

Neelam Exports has earned a reputation as one of the best marble floor manufacturers and suppliers in Jaipur. With years of experience in the marble industry, they specialize in providing high-quality marble that is not only aesthetically pleasing but also highly durable.

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Neelam Exports, quality is paramount. The company sources its marble from some of the finest quarries in India, ensuring that every slab meets the highest standards. Their team of skilled craftsmen ensures that every piece is meticulously cut and finished to perfection. From traditional designs to modern patterns, Neelam Exports can cater to any design preference.

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Neelam Exports uses a state-of-the-art manufacturing process to ensure that their marble flooring products are of the highest quality. They employ advanced machinery and technology to cut, polish, and finish marble slabs with precision. This attention to detail ensures that the finished product is free from imperfections and ready to be installed in any setting.

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Neelam Exports offers an extensive range of marble varieties, each with its own unique characteristics. Some of the popular marble options include:

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Green Marble: With its deep green tones, this marble is perfect for creating striking and unique designs.

Each of these varieties is carefully selected and processed to ensure it meets the highest quality standards.

Tailored Solutions for Every Project

Neelam Exports is known for offering customized solutions that meet the specific needs of their clients. Whether it’s for a residential villa, commercial building, or a large-scale hotel project, they offer tailored marble flooring solutions. Their team works closely with architects, interior designers, and builders to ensure that the marble flooring fits seamlessly into the overall design of the project.

Expert Installation Services

In addition to manufacturing and supplying marble flooring, Neelam Exports also provides expert installation services. Their team of experienced installers ensures that the marble is laid perfectly, creating a smooth and flawless finish. The installation process is handled with precision, ensuring that the flooring will last for decades without any issues.

Why Neelam Exports Stands Out in Jaipur’s Marble Industry

Jaipur is home to many marble manufacturers, but Neelam Exports stands out for several reasons:

Experience and Expertise

With decades of experience in the industry, Neelam Exports has established itself as a leader in marble manufacturing and supply. Their expertise in selecting, processing, and installing marble flooring makes them a trusted name in both domestic and international markets.

Sustainability and Ethical Sourcing

Neelam Exports is committed to sustainable practices. They ensure that all the marble they source is obtained ethically and in an environmentally responsible manner. This not only helps preserve the environment but also ensures that clients receive the finest, most authentic marble.

Global Clientele

Neelam Exports has built a strong reputation both within India and abroad. Their marble products have been exported to various countries, where they have been used in prestigious projects. This global reach speaks volumes about the quality of their products and services.

Competitive Pricing

Despite offering premium-quality marble products, Neelam Exports ensures that their prices remain competitive. They believe in providing value for money, making luxury marble flooring accessible to a wide range of clients.

Choosing the Right Marble Flooring for Your Space

When selecting marble flooring, it’s essential to consider factors such as color, texture, and finish. Neelam Exports offers a variety of finishes, including polished, honed, and brushed, to suit different design preferences. Whether you’re looking for a glossy finish for a formal living room or a more natural, matte finish for a contemporary space, their team can help guide you in making the right choice.

Maintenance Tips for Marble Flooring

To keep your marble flooring looking pristine, it’s important to follow some basic maintenance tips:

Regular Cleaning: Use a soft cloth and a mild cleaner to wipe down your marble floors regularly.

Avoid Acidic Cleaners: Acidic substances can etch the surface of marble, so it’s important to avoid cleaners with harsh chemicals.

Seal Your Marble: Applying a sealer to your marble floors can help protect them from staining and wear.

Use Rugs and Mats: Placing rugs or mats in high-traffic areas can help protect your marble floors from scratches and dirt.

Conclusion: Neelam Exports – Your Trusted Partner for Marble Flooring in Jaipur

When it comes to marble flooring in Jaipur, Neelam Exports is the name to trust. Their commitment to quality, expert craftsmanship, and wide range of marble options make them the go-to choice for anyone looking to enhance the beauty and value of their space with marble flooring. Whether you’re working on a residential project or a commercial development, Neelam Exports offers the best solutions for high-quality marble flooring.

[parkitrighthere]

The Black Orchid Project

Pairing: billionaire CEO!Jeon Jungkook x Secretory!Reader

Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, Thriller

Word count: 8.3k

Trigger warning: This chapter contains morally grey characters, dark romance, trauma, violence, mentions of murder, conspiracy. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary:Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face.

a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @parkitrighthere. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support.

MASTERLIST 01

CHAPTER TITLE: The Thoughtless Encounter

As you approached the entrance of the building, the bold letters of "Jeon Enterprise" loomed above you like an imposing gatekeeper. The guard stationed at the door gave you a sceptical once-over. You held out your ID with a steady hand, your fingers trembling slightly. “Thank you,” you said, your voice smooth yet quivering with a hint of anxiety. The guard barely met your eyes, his nod curt and indifferent.

You had just aced an interview with one of the biggest companies in Asia. Today marked your first step into the role of personal secretary to Jeon Jungkook, the most sought-after bachelor in the region. Your heart raced with a cocktail of nerves and excitement. You had meticulously chosen a sleek black pencil skirt that showcased your curves and a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into your waistband. Your black blazer was tailored to perfection, adding a layer of confidence, and your pencil heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, each step echoing your resolve.

Inside, you approached the receptionist's desk, your voice soft but steady. “Excuse me,” you said. The receptionist, with her eyes fixed on her computer screen, barely glanced up. When she did, her eyes flicked over you with a scornful sweep. “So, you’re the new secretary for the CEO?” she asked, her voice laced with derision. “Yeah, won’t be for long,” she added, a sneer twisting her lips as she scrutinized you from head to toe.

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and indignation. It wasn't the kind of behaviour you expected on your first day, you clenched her jaw, trying to dismiss the receptionist’s attitude. The receptionist finally emerged from her cubicle, her heels clacking authoritatively as she motioned you to follow. As you walked behind her, the elevator ride to the 10th floor was a tense silence, the confined space amplifying your anxious thoughts.

When the doors opened, the receptionist led you to the HR office where Jimin, the director of Jeon Enterprises, awaited. Jimin stood with a warm, welcoming demeanour. His eyes sparkled with genuine friendliness, and his smile was like a beacon of reassurance. You felt a flutter in your chest, a welcome contrast to the coldness you had faced earlier.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed Jimin’s hand waving in front of your face. “Y/N?” he called gently, his voice a soothing melody that pulled you from your reverie. You blinked up at him, feeling a rush of relief at the softness of his tone.

“Please follow me,” Jimin said, his voice calm and encouraging. He began walking, and you followed closely, your heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. As they moved through the office, you glanced back and caught the receptionist’s glare. The receptionist’s lips curled into a venomous sneer, her eyes cutting through you with unmistakable disdain. The insult, “Slut,” was unspoken but clearly written on her lips.

Your face flushed with a deep red, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. Anger and embarrassment surged within you, but you forced yourself to maintain composure. You were not able to understand her behaviour towards you; the dread was already pilling in your stomach. Saying you were nervous would be an underwater, and you didn't wish to think about her. She wasn't worth it. You refocused on the welcoming figure of Jimin and the new chapter ahead, pushing aside the sting of the receptionist’s malice.

Jimin led you to the elevator, his hand hovering over the buttons before pressing for the 26th floor. The ride was smooth and silent, filled only with the faint hum of the elevator. When the doors slid open, your eyes widened, your breath catching in her throat. The entire floor was a masterpiece of modern elegance—every surface was a sleek, polished black that gleamed like obsidian. The sharp, clean lines of the architecture screamed sophistication, while the soft, warm glow of hidden lighting softened the atmosphere, making it both imposing and oddly welcoming.

“This is where you’ll be working,” Jimin said, his voice carrying a hint of pride as he stepped out, motioning for you to follow.

You hesitated for a moment, taking in your surroundings, then followed him down the corridor. Each step echoed lightly against the smooth marble floor. You both stopped in front of a large glass door, and your eyes immediately fell on the silver plaque beside it. Your name was already etched there, shimmering under the lights. A mixture of excitement and nerves bubbled in your chest as you pushed the door open.

The office inside was pristine and perfectly arranged. At the centre of the room was a large black desk, its surface almost empty except for a sleek computer and a few files aligned with almost obsessive precision. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows revealed a breathtaking view of the cityscape, the sunlight flooding in and casting a gentle glow over the minimalist black-and-white décor. To one side was a small seating area—plush leather chairs arranged around a low, glossy table, inviting yet formal, perfect for quick meetings or a quiet moment alone.

“This is… incredible,” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe as your fingers lightly traced the edge of the desk, still absorbing the room's atmosphere.

Jimin’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as he watched your reaction, a small smile playing on his lips. “Glad you like it,” he said warmly, before gesturing for you to follow him again.

He continued down another hallway, and you followed along, each step bringing a subtle shift in Jimin's demeanour. His posture straightened, and the usual lightness in his expression grew more serious as you both approached a set of imposing double doors. “And this,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “is Jungkook’s office.”

He pushed open the doors, revealing an expansive room that radiated power and meticulous organization. The design echoed the sleek black aesthetic of the rest of the floor but felt more intense here. A massive desk dominated the centre, with a high-backed leather chair stationed behind it. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, filled with neatly arranged files, hardbound books, and glittering awards. On one wall, a large screen displayed a detailed, colour-coded schedule—everything was planned down to the minute.

Jimin’s gaze shifted to you, noticing the way your brows furrowed slightly as you absorbed the details. “Today’s schedule is pretty packed,” he said, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s got seven meetings lined up, back to back.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your lips parted slightly. “Seven meetings?” you echoed, your voice almost breathless. The very idea of keeping up with that kind of pace sent a shiver down your spine.

Jimin chuckled softly, catching the hint of concern in your expression. “Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly, his voice taking on a lighter tone again. “You won’t need to run around too much. Just call the office attendant if you need anything delivered or handled. They’ll take care of the legwork.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding as you mentally prepared yourself for what lay ahead. The day was going to be intense, but as you took one last look around Jungkook’s imposing office, you couldn’t help but feel the challenge stir something within you—a mix of nerves and determination.

Jimin began listing the seven companies Jungkook would be meeting with today, each name more daunting than the last. His tone was smooth but carried a subtle edge, as if he was testing your resolve. “And remember,” he added, his lips quirking into a teasing smile, “don’t mess this up. Jungkook isn’t exactly known for his patience, especially when things go wrong.” The lightness in his laugh barely masked the weight behind his words. Your heart thudded faster, your mind racing as you tried to absorb everything being thrown at you.

Jimin’s expression softened as he reached into his bag and handed you a sleek iPad. “Here, I’ve set up a detailed schedule for you,” he said, tapping the screen to show you the neatly organized agenda. “This should help you get through the day without losing your mind. You can access it from your computer too. Unfortunately, I can’t stick around more than this.”

Your fingers gripped the device a little tighter, your eyes scanning the clear, step-by-step instructions. The knots in her chest loosened just a bit. “Thanks,” she murmured, though her voice trembled slightly with nerves.

Jimin’s gaze sharpened, his playful demeanour shifting to something more serious. “One more thing,” he said, leaning in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “Among all the companies, Kim Enterprises is the one you absolutely cannot afford to mess up. Make sure every document is ready and double-check everything. If anything goes wrong in that meeting… let’s just say you won’t like the outcome.” His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, your stomach twisting with unease. You nodded firmly, determination hardening your features. You weren’t about to let one mistake ruin the opportunity you had fought so hard for.

Jimin studied you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, before a faded smile tugged at his lips. There was something about the quiet determination in your expression that made him believe you could be different. It was why he had picked you. You weren’t just another candidate with a polished resume—you were someone who needed this job as much as you needed to breathe. He was tired of watching secretaries leave after a few days, scared off by Jungkook’s impossible standards and cold demeanour.

Jimin hesitated at the door, one hand resting on the handle as he turned back to you with a look of quiet urgency. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, his voice dropping slightly. “Jungkook likes his coffee black, no sugar. It’s 6:55 now, and he’ll be here in exactly five minutes. He’s never late, and he despises laziness. It’s going to be tough, but if you put in the effort, you might just be the one to stick around longer than a week. Please, just don’t quit on me—I’m tired of interviewing new secretaries every other day,” he said, a trace of exhaustion seeping into his voice.

His almost pleading tone caught you off guard, your eyes widening as you registered the sincerity in his words. You managed a small, determined smile, masking the anxiety swirling inside you. “I won’t,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Jimin. Your resolve tightened, and you straightened your back, readying yourself for whatever awaited you in the next five minutes.

With that, he left, the door closing behind him with a soft click. You stood there, your thoughts scrambling to catch up with everything he’d just said. Every other day? The chill that ran down your spine was sharp and unsettling, but you pushed it aside—there was no time to dwell on it. First impressions mattered, and you needed to nail this one.

Coffee. You clutched onto that thought like a lifeline. Jungkook needed coffee. But the moment you stepped out of his office, your stomach twisted with a sinking realization. Where was the coffee machine? Your eyes darted around the floor, scanning the sleek black surfaces and cold glass walls. The space was immaculate—too perfect—devoid of anything useful like a kitchen or even a break area.

A knot of panic coiled in your chest as you paced back and forth, your heels clicking sharply against the polished marble. The sound echoed in the empty hallway, a constant reminder of how out of place you felt. Your breaths grew shallow, your mind racing in circles. Think, think! But there was nothing—no vending machine, no kitchen, not even a discarded coffee cup to hint at where you should go.

Just when you were on the verge of rushing back to Jimin for help, the elevator dinged, its doors sliding open smoothly. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. A man stepped out, his presence instantly shifting the air in the room. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, the fit tailored to perfection. But it wasn’t just his clothes—it was the way he carried himself, a quiet authority that radiated from him like a dark cloud.

His eyes found yours instantly, locking onto you like a predator locking onto prey. For a heartbeat, everything stilled. The tension in the room was almost tangible, thickening the air between you. Your heart skipped, your breath coming out shaky as you fought the urge to look away. But those eyes—dark and intense—kept you pinned in place, searching you, dissecting you as if he could see every anxious thought swirling in your head.

He moved toward you with purpose, each step slow and deliberate. Your pulse quickened, your mouth going dry as he closed the distance. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if that would somehow steady your racing heart. His gaze never wavered, slicing through your composure with a razor’s edge.

Just as he was about to pass you, he halted, his eyes narrowing slightly. It was subtle, but the way he tilted his head, how his gaze raked over you, made your skin prickle with a mix of fear and something else—something you weren’t ready to admit to.

He leaned in just the slightest, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. The way he looked at you was like a challenge, a silent test you didn’t even know you were taking. Your breath hitched, the space between you crackling with tension, thick and electric. You couldn’t tell if it was his piercing gaze, the way his jaw tightened with restrained power, or the way his lips barely twitched into something close to a smirk.

His eyes flicked down to your lips before snapping back up to meet your gaze. The way he did it wasn’t casual—it was deliberate, like he wanted you to know he noticed your nerves, that he enjoyed watching you squirm.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, caught in the pull of his magnetic presence. He stared at you a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Who the hell is he? And why did you feel like you were already in way over your head?

Your stomach plummeted as realization struck like a cold slap to the face. Jeon Jungkook. The CEO. The man you were now working for. It felt like the floor had been yanked out from under you. Your eyes widened, pupils blown as panic clawed at your chest, heartbeat thudding in your ears. Why is he staring at you like that?

Jungkook’s expression shifted, his eyes widening in a flash of surprise before narrowing, a mix of curiosity and something darker flickering across his features. His jaw tightened, and his gaze roved over you as if trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Your throat went dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth as you stood frozen, every nerve screaming at you to do something—anything—but you couldn’t move. You were caught under his intense scrutiny like prey trapped in a hunter’s sight.

What did you I wrong? Your mind spiralled, grasping for answers. I didn’t greet him properly—I didn’t bring his coffee— The panic welled up inside you, pushing you to bow hastily, words spilling out in a rush. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon! I didn’t mean to be rude. I was trying to get your coffee, but I couldn’t find the machine…”

But your apology seemed to bounce right off him, completely ignored. His eyes remained locked on you, unreadable, probing deeper as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface. Your pulse raced, breath catching in your throat as he took a deliberate step closer. The air between you thickened with tension, electric and suffocating. Instinctively, you took a step back, your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Suddenly, your back hit the wall, cool and unyielding against your skin. Jungkook was now mere inches away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. His eyes bore into yours, dark and unrelenting, pulling you under a spell you couldn’t break free from. You tried to speak, to regain some control, but your voice stuttered weakly. “W-What are you doing?”

Jungkook didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear as he demanded, voice rough and edged with impatience, “Who the hell are you?”

Your mind went blank, every coherent thought wiped out by the shock of his question. You gaped at him, lips parted but no words coming out. Your confusion only seemed to frustrate him further. His brows furrowed, tension rippling through his features as he raised his hand in front of your face, his tone sharp and urgent. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

You blinked, struggling to focus through the whirlwind of emotions tangling inside you. “F-Four?” you stammered, uncertainty lacing your voice.

“Damn it, think!” he growled, eyes flashing with irritation.

“I am thinking!” you snapped back, your own frustration flaring in response. What the hell does he take me for? The thought only fueled your rising anger. Just as you were about to bite out a retort, the elevator chimed, and the tension between you shattered.

Jimin burst onto the scene, his eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the sight of Jungkook practically looming over you, his expression dark and intimidating. In an instant, Jimin rushed over, grabbing Jungkook’s arm and pulling him back, breaking the magnetic pull that had kept you glued in place. “Jungkook, what the hell are you doing?” Jimin hissed, shooting you a quick, apologetic glance.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Jimin said hurriedly, his voice tight with concern. “Please, just get ready for the meeting. We’ll handle everything here.”

Still reeling, you nodded stiffly, your face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and fury. You turned on your heel, grateful for the excuse to leave, but rage simmered beneath your skin, heating your blood as you marched away. No longer scared—just pissed. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to focus on your task. You weren’t going to let this shake you. You had work to do, and nothing—not even him—was going to distract you.

Meanwhile, Jimin dragged Jungkook into his office, shoving him toward the desk. “What the hell were you thinking, cornering her like that?” Jimin’s voice was low and furious, eyes narrowed as he glared at Jungkook, who quietly sank into his chair, still distracted.

Jungkook barely registered the scolding, his mind replaying the encounter on a loop. Why couldn’t I hear her thoughts? Why is she different? What is wrong with her? The confusion gnawed at him, blending with an inexplicable pull toward you that he couldn’t shake. Jimin’s words faded into the background as Jungkook’s thoughts remained fixated—on you, on that moment, on the way you looked at him with those wide, defiant eyes.

Jungkook flinched at Jimin’s sharp tone, his jaw tightening. His gaze drifted, staring blankly at the wall as if searching for answers. “I couldn’t hear her thoughts,” he finally murmured, almost like he was confessing a crime, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Jimin’s brow furrowed. “What? That can’t be right. Are you sure? Maybe she just wasn’t thinking anything important.”

Jungkook snapped his eyes to Jimin, his stare cutting. “Do you hear yourself? I can hear your thoughts before you even say them. But with her… it’s like she’s a ghost. A complete void.” His voice was laced with frustration, every word feeling heavy, like they were something he couldn’t quite swallow down.

Silence stretched between them, thick with tension and disbelief. Jimin’s mouth parted slightly, searching for a response, but he was just as lost for words. The air crackled with something unspoken, both of them grappling with the strange reality Jungkook had just revealed.

Before they could delve deeper into the unsettling truth, a soft knock shattered the charged quiet.

“Come in!” Jungkook barked, his voice a rough command. He leaned back in his chair, fists clenched on the armrests, fighting the urge to pace.

The door creaked open, and you stepped in, your expression composed but your eyes sparking with quiet defiance. In your hands, you held a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma wafting through the room. Your movements were deliberate as you approached his desk, every step measured like you were consciously holding yourself together.

“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Jeon,” you said, your voice level, but the slight edge in your tone didn’t go unnoticed. You didn’t bow this time. You simply placed the cup down with a subtle firmness that spoke volumes. “Sorry for the delay. It won’t happen again.”

Jungkook didn’t move a muscle. His gaze zeroed in on you, dark and probing, as if he could pull the answers he wanted from you without needing words. You felt the heat of that stare crawling over your skin like a touch, but instead of shrinking away, you stood taller, meeting his eyes with a quiet fire. Your heartbeat drummed in your ears, but you refused to let it show.

The silence between you and Jungkook was suffocating. Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your face, searching, assessing, his expression unreadable. A muscle ticked in his jaw, but still, he said nothing. There was something about you that gnawed at him—a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and it infuriated him.

Sensing the escalating tension, Jimin quickly stepped in, his tone light but carrying a subtle urgency. “Thank you, Y/N. The meeting with Kim Enterprises is about to start. Could you arrange everything?”

Your eyes flicked briefly to Jimin before locking back onto Jungkook’s, daring him to say something. But when nothing came, you gave a curt nod, turned on your heel, and walked out with a sharp, assertive grace. You didn’t miss the way Jungkook’s gaze followed your every move, almost like he was trying to burn the image of your retreating figure into his mind. Your hands balled into fists at your sides as you left, your determination steeling. If he thought he could rattle you, he was dead wrong.

The door clicked shut, and Jimin exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair as he turned to Jungkook, frustration evident in the furrow of his brow. “You were—” he started, but Jungkook cut him off, sarcasm dripping from his voice like venom.

“Oh, was I staring?” Jungkook sneered, leaning forward with a mocking smirk. “My bad. I meant to be glaring.” His eyes gleamed with something wild, as if he was teetering between fascination and fury. He leaned back again, fingers drumming restlessly on the desk. “You don’t get it, Jimin. It’s not just curiosity. For the first time, there’s someone in front of me, and I can’t read a damn thing she’s thinking. It’s like standing in front of a locked door with no key. And it’s driving me insane.”

Jimin shook his head, clearly exasperated, but he softened his tone, trying to get through to him. “You need to let it go for now. We’ve got bigger things to handle—like the meeting. Taehyung’s probably waiting.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened, his smirk fading as he mulled over Jimin’s words. But he couldn’t shake the gnawing curiosity, the pull of that mysterious void you seemed to embody. He was drawn to you in a way that unsettled him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Jungkook had never been comfortable around people, preferring solitude above all—except for Jimin. Jimin was the one constant in his life, the only person whose presence Jungkook truly cherished. Losing his parents at a young age had left a void in his life that Jimin had filled. Jimin’s father had taken Jungkook in, raising him alongside his own son, providing a semblance of stability amid the chaos.

The memory of the car crash that killed his parents was a blur—just a shattered image of their last moments. Jungkook had been in the car, too, but somehow, he had survived, pulled from the wreckage by Mr. Park. The trauma was too much for his young mind, and he had lost all memory of the accident. The details were locked away, buried deep where he had no desire to unearth them. Jimin had been his refuge, his silent comfort in a world that had turned upside down.

Jungkook vividly remembered the terror-stricken night at the hospital. He had huddled in a corner, clutching a pair of scissors he had picked up from a nurse's cart, not really knowing how dangerous it was. His small body shook with sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks as he screamed for his parents. The doctors hovered around him, their faces grim with worry. The panic in their thoughts—He’ll hurt himself, His father died saving him—only intensified his fear. He was too young to grasp the finality of death but was forced to confront it.

The doctors, overwhelmed and frustrated, began to discuss their options. Jungkook could hear their unspoken worries and anxieties. They thought he might hurt himself with the scissors, and their growing desperation led them to consider sending him to a mental health facility. The idea of being sent away intensified Jungkook’s fear, and his sobs grew more frantic. He felt as though he might vomit from the panic swirling inside him.

Mr. Park, standing by the door, was visibly shaken and began to cry, his face a portrait of helplessness. The doctors, seeing that Jungkook was not calming down and fearing for his safety, began to back off. They whispered about the possibility of a mental health facility, and their thoughts made Jungkook’s cries even more desperate. The overwhelming fear and the impending idea of separation drove him to clutch the scissors tighter, his small frame trembling uncontrollably.

Jimin, observing his father’s emotional breakdown, felt a pang of empathy for Jungkook. Despite his own recent loss, he couldn’t bear to see Jungkook suffering alone. As his father prepared to leave with him, Jimin’s heart ached with a sense of duty and compassion. He sprinted toward Jungkook, his small feet making soft, hurried thuds against the floor. His face was a mixture of determination and worry, driven by a need to offer comfort.

When Jimin reached Jungkook, they both stared at each other, fear and confusion written across their faces. Jimin’s hands were trembling as he cautiously crouched in front of Jungkook. His eyes darted nervously between Jungkook’s terrified face and the dangerous scissors.

Jimin, his hands shaking, finally managed to reach for the scissors, his movements hesitant and painfully slow. The fear in his eyes was evident as he finally managed to grip the scissors tightly. With a quick, nervous motion, he snatched the scissors away from Jungkook. The moment he successfully took the scissors, his fear transformed into a small, relieved smile.

Jimin’s smile was small but genuine. He held out the plushie he had brought, his hands still trembling slightly. The simple gesture was meant to comfort. Jimin’s face was a mixture of fear and hope, as if he was unsure but determined.

Jungkook’s wide, tear-streaked eyes locked onto Jimin, his fear evident in every quiver of his lower lip. Jimin, sitting down beside him, gently wiped Jungkook’s nose with a tissue, his touch tender and careful. “Na-um,” Jimin said softly, "you have running rose" though he winced at his own mistake. He meant to say “nose,” but the word came out wrong.

Jungkook blinked, his confusion evident. “Rose?” he asked through his sobs, trying to make sense of the word. Jimin smiled, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “No, no,” he corrected, wiping away Jungkook’s tears. “It’s nose.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he processed the correction, his small frame still shivering with distress. Jimin extended the plushie, his smile never faltering, and Jungkook took it, clutching it tightly to his chest. Jimin continued to wipe away the tears, his touch soothing and reassuring. “I want dada,” Jungkook whimpered, his voice cracking with the weight of his grief.

Jimin looked at him with a mixture of sadness and resolve. “Your dada and moma went to meet God,” he said softly, his own voice thick with emotion. “But don’t cry, my mama is there too. She’ll take care of them. You can come with me.” His arms enveloped Jungkook in a tight, comforting hug. “Dada and I will love you too,” he promised, his voice gentle yet firm.

Jungkook buried his face in Jimin’s shoulder, his sobs muffled against the older boy’s warmth. The comfort of Jimin’s embrace was a balm to his wounded heart, even as the pain of loss clung to him.

Jungkook snapped back to the present, his thoughts interrupted by Jimin’s voice. “What are you thinking?” Jimin asked, his gaze steady and inquisitive, eyebrows raised in concern. Jungkook met his eyes, the depth of his past mingling with the present moment, a silent testament to their unspoken bond.

Jungkook shook his head, trying to clear away the haunting memories of his past. His fingers raked through his hair, and he rubbed his face roughly, a frustrated groan escaping him. “How many people are going to be there? You know I can’t stand crowds,” he muttered, his voice tight with irritation.

Jimin forced a small, reassuring smile, though he knew it wouldn’t do much good. “Not many. Just a few key people.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, the annoyance evident in the clench of his jaw. “A few is already too many. My head’s already pounding,” he snapped, his fists clenching at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he braced himself for the chaos ahead.

Jimin nodded, choosing not to press the issue further. They exited Jungkook’s office and entered the elevator. As the doors slid shut, Jungkook’s fingers hovered over the button before he pressed it with a reluctant, almost resentful force. His jaw was set in a tight line, his gaze unfocused as he mentally prepared for the storm he was about to face. The constant hum of thoughts from others—their fears, their doubts, their deceit—always hit him like a relentless hammer.

When the elevator finally dinged open, they stepped out and headed down the corridor toward the conference room. Jungkook’s pace slowed, and his eyes narrowed with growing discomfort as he glimpsed the crowd inside. He froze in his tracks, his expression darkening as he took in the scene.

Jimin noticed the shift and turned, his eyes widening in alarm as he saw the room packed with over ten people, all engaged in animated discussions, flipping through files, and shuffling papers. He swallowed hard, bracing for the outburst he knew was coming. Jungkook was not just angry; he was seething.

Jungkook’s pulse throbbed violently in his temples, the noise in his head growing louder and more chaotic with each passing second. Why the hell are there so many people? His vision blurred with a red-hot rage, the voices in his head swirling like a storm. Thoughts of greed, nervousness, and the pointless chatter of those who didn’t belong in that room assaulted him. It felt like a thousand nails being driven into his skull.

He clenched his fists tighter, his nails biting into his palms as he glared at the chaotic scene before him. His shoulders tensed, his breath coming in short, angry bursts. Jungkook’s eyes were hard, his face a mask of barely restrained fury. Ever since childhood, his ability to hear thoughts had been a curse, leaving him drowning in the relentless cacophony of other people’s minds. It bred paranoia and distrust, deepening his isolation with each passing year. In business, it was a weapon that cut through deception. But in moments like this, it was pure, unrelenting torture.

Jungkook had always maintained strict rules—rules designed to keep the chaos at bay and ensure he never felt overwhelmed. These weren’t just for his comfort; they were integral to the company’s policies. Everyone knew the consequences of ignoring them.

Now, every one of those employees was breaking the most critical rule. And you—you were responsible for this. It was your job to ensure everything was in order. This wasn’t just a lapse in competency; it was a violation of the very structure he had meticulously built to shield himself.

Inside the conference room, one of the employees glanced up and spotted Jungkook standing just outside the glass door. The color drained from his face as the gravity of their mistake hit him like a freight train. His eyes darted around the room, and panic spread like wildfire. Heads turned, and whispers flared as the realization of the impending disaster set in.

Jungkook’s eyes were a smoldering fire as he fixed his gaze on you, seated at the head of the table, engrossed in the files before you. You were blissfully unaware of the storm brewing outside. You’re about to learn the hard way, Jungkook thought darkly, his anger mingling with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Beside him, Jimin’s shoulders tensed, bracing for the inevitable explosion. He knew Jungkook’s temper, fueled by his ability, could be a force of nature when pushed to the edge. Jimin could only hope that you wouldn’t face the full brunt of Jungkook’s fury and end up quitting—or worse, being fired on your very first day.

Jungkook’s gaze swept over the employees, each one scrambling to hide their files or avert their eyes, but it was too late. The damage was done. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, flicked to Jimin. The silent exchange between them crackled with tension—Jungkook’s fury was palpable, simmering beneath the surface like a volcano ready to erupt. Jimin, acutely aware of how Jungkook could hear every thought forming in his mind, swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation. Though he wasn’t frightened for himself, he was deeply concerned for you.

Before Jimin could piece together a proper defense, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “It’s our company policy. We went over this before hiring employees. Didn’t you tell her?” His tone was frigid, emphasizing that no more than four people were to be present in a room when he was there, especially for business meetings. The more people, the harder it was for him to think and focus.

Jimin’s heart pounded as he tried to formulate a response, but he knew Jungkook had already heard the scramble in his thoughts. Despite that, he forced himself to speak, his voice trembling. “I did. It was the first thing we discussed. I-I don’t know why—”

Jungkook didn’t wait for more. His anger radiated off him in waves as he spun on his heel, the force of his movement causing his coat to flare dramatically. He stormed toward the conference room, his steps heavy and deliberate, each one a sign of the tempest brewing inside him. Jimin stood rooted to the spot. He knew what was about to break loose.

Jungkook yanked the door open with a force that made everyone inside flinch, the loud crash of metal against the frame echoing through the room. The atmosphere shifted instantly—from anxious to petrified. Fear rippled through the group like a cold, biting wind, sending shivers down their spines. The employees sat frozen, their bodies rigid as they instinctively shrank back in their chairs, eyes wide and filled with terror.

You, who had been engrossed in your document, sensed the sudden silence and glanced up. Your confusion deepened as you took in the sight of your colleagues’ horrified faces. Your gaze settled on Jungkook, who stood at the door, his presence radiating a raw, menacing energy. Your heart pounded in your chest, a cold knot of unease tightening as you realized something had gone terribly wrong.

Before you could fully comprehend the situation, Jungkook’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Everyone out. Now.”

His command was like a whip cracking through the room, the harshness of his tone making you flinch involuntarily. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you barely managed to suppress the yelp that threatened to escape. Around you, the cacophony of chairs scraping against the floor filled the room as employees scrambled to their feet. They moved with frantic, jerky motions, their faces pale and their eyes darting nervously as they rushed toward the door like animals fleeing from a predator.

Your pulse raced as you followed the surge of panicked workers, your own fear pushing you toward the exit. You stumbled slightly as you tried to keep pace with the chaotic stampede, your hands gripping the edge of the table for support. Your face was a mask of anxious determination, your eyes scanning the room one last time before you joined the flood of people spilling into the corridor. Each step felt like a race against your mounting anxiety as you hurried to get out of Jungkook’s way.

But just as you were about to slip past him, a hand shot out, clamping down on your arm with an iron grip. Jungkook yanked you back, his hold unyielding, and the force sent you stumbling. You barely regained your balance, your breath hitching as shock flickered across your face. It was only for a split second before you masked it, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was low, dangerous—a quiet menace that slithered down your spine like ice.

Didn’t he just dismiss everyone? Your brow furrowed, confusion and wariness mingling in your eyes as you looked up at him. But your silence only stoked the fire in his gaze. It infuriated him that he couldn’t read you like he did everyone else. He’d always resented the noise in his head from other people’s thoughts, but now, faced with your unnerving quietness, he almost wished he could hear you. The not knowing clawed at his insides, tightening his jaw as he stepped closer.

The distance between you evaporated, replaced by the electric tension crackling in the air. You found yourself pressed back against the cool glass, caged between it and his broad frame. His presence was suffocating, a potent mix of power and danger that made it impossible to think straight. Your breath quickened, your chest rising and falling as you felt the heat of him, the scent of his cologne mixing with the underlying sharpness of his irritation.

But even as fear coiled in your belly, there was a flash of stubborn defiance in your eyes. You straightened your back, refusing to shrink under his scrutiny. You might be cornered, but you weren’t about to cower.

Jungkook’s lips curved into a smirk, dark and taunting, his gaze holding yours captive. “You really have no idea what you’ve done, do you?” The words slipped out in a smooth, taunting drawl, each one cutting deeper than the last. His eyes searched your face, hunting for a crack in your composure, a hint of the emotions swirling beneath your surface. But all he got was the same maddening blankness, a mystery he couldn’t unravel.

Your pulse raced in your throat, so loud you were sure he could hear it. The steady hum of the air conditioning felt like the only anchor in a room that was spinning out of control. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unreadable, while yours darted briefly to the door—your only escape. But the moment you did, his hand slid to the side of your face, forcing your gaze back to his. The touch wasn’t rough, but it was possessive, a silent command not to even think about leaving.

“Mr. Jeon, I don’t understand…” you murmured, trying to sound steady, but the tremor in your voice gave you away. Your cheeks burned, the embarrassment only adding to the tension coiling tighter between you.

“Oh, you don’t understand?” he mocked, his voice dropping lower as he leaned in, crowding your space even more. His breath brushed against your cheek, warm and laced with an edge that sent goosebumps rippling down your arms. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as his smirk deepened. “Then let’s simplify it. Did you miss the part about company policies, or are you just too stubborn to follow the rules?” The disdain in his voice was thick, each word slow and deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you fought to maintain some semblance of control. You knew you were trembling, and it infuriated you that he could see it—that he was enjoying it. But you couldn’t back down, not when every nerve in your body was screaming to run. Your heart pounded in your chest, both from fear and from something else—something dangerous that curled in the pit of your stomach, making you feel both cornered and alive in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Jungkook’s patience snapped like a fraying thread. His eyes darkened, and before you could react, he slammed his hand against the glass next to your head with a crack that made you flinch. Your breath caught in your throat, heart hammering as his looming presence boxed you in. “Still don’t get it?” he growled, each word dripping with disdain. “N-O M-O-R-E T-H-A-N F-O-U-R. How hard is that to grasp?” He dragged out each letter slowly, his tone condescending as if scolding a child.

Your stomach twisted with dread as realization hit—you’d seriously messed up. Your voice felt trapped in your throat, your mind scrambling for an explanation that might save you. “I thought it was okay since it was an important meeting,” you stammered, hoping to justify your actions. But the second the words left your mouth, you knew you’d made it worse. Jungkook’s eyes blazed, his jaw clenching so tightly that you could see the tension in his neck.

Before he could lash out again, Jimin quickly stepped in, grabbing Jungkook’s arm. “Jungkook, calm down,” he urged, his voice tinged with concern. He knew the drill—Jungkook’s temper had already chased off three secretaries this month alone. You were barely hanging on by a thread, and it was only your first day.

Jungkook roughly shrugged Jimin off, his gaze snapping back to you with a dangerous intensity that made your skin prickle. He leaned in so close you could feel the heat of his breath, his words laced with venom. “Thought?” he sneered. “That’s generous. Clearly, thinking isn’t your strong suit.”

The insult hit like a slap, stoking a fire deep within you. You were scared, yes, but also furious. Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you glared up at him, refusing to back down. “You don’t have to be so rude. I was just trying to do my job!” you shot back, your voice trembling with both anger and fear.

Jungkook’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was nothing warm about it—it was pure mockery. “Oh, you’re doing a fantastic job—if your goal was to completely ignore the rules and make my life a living hell.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, every word cutting deeper.

“I didn’t ignore the rules! I just didn’t think it was that big of a deal!” Your voice grew louder as frustration took over. You were tired of being belittled, tired of him acting like you were some incompetent fool.

“Not a big deal?” Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his expression turning ice-cold. He stepped closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over you. “You have no idea the chaos you’ve caused. Maybe you should go back to whatever hole you crawled out from.”

His cruel words hit like a punch to the gut, but you forced yourself to hold your ground. You lifted your chin slightly, meeting his gaze with a defiance that you weren’t sure you could sustain. But despite your best efforts, your voice wavered as you said, “That’s uncalled for! I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to insult me!”

Jungkook’s eyes glinted with a predatory edge as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your skin. “Insult you? I’m just stating facts. If you can’t handle the truth, maybe this isn’t the place for you.” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper, each word pressing down on you like a weight.

The air between you was thick with tension, both of you staring each other down as if waiting for the other to break. Your pulse raced, your chest tightening with fear as you realized how serious he was. You were teetering on the edge of losing everything you’d worked for.

The weight of his words crushed your confidence. You froze, your face paling as the realization set in—was he going to fire you? Panic clawed at your chest. You needed this job. You had worked so hard to get here; you couldn’t lose it on your first day.

“Please, Mr. Jeon. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break the rules. It won’t happen again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you fought back tears.

Jungkook didn’t even look at you as he sat down, his posture commanding the room. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’re a liability. I could fire you right now and make sure you never work in this industry again. You’d be left with nothing.” His tone was indifferent, as if he were talking about the weather.

You glanced desperately at Jimin, who was already stepping in again, his tone firmer this time. “Jungkook, it’s her first day. She deserves a chance to learn from this.”

Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver as he shot back coldly, “I don’t give second chances, Jimin.” He turned away, heading toward the conference table like he was done with the conversation. Your heart plummeted. You were losing your job. Panic clawed at your chest, and tears stung at your eyes as you fought to keep your composure.

“Am I fired?” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hands trembled as you struggled to keep the tears at bay. “Please, I—I need this job.”

Jimin shot you a sympathetic look before turning back to Jungkook, his expression pleading. “Jungkook, she deserves a chance.”

But Jungkook’s gaze remained cold and unyielding. You felt yourself crumble under the weight of his indifference, desperation clawing at your chest as you stood frozen, waiting for his final verdict.

He walked over to the conference table, his presence dominating the room as he sat down in his designated chair. You remained standing nearby, your tear-filled eyes desperately seeking Jimin for some sign of comfort or reassurance. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill over, but your gaze remained locked on Jimin, silently pleading.

Before Jimin could say anything, the door swung open with a soft whoosh, drawing everyone’s attention. Kim Taehyung, the charismatic CEO of Kim Enterprises, strode in, flanked by directors Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon. Their entrance was like a burst of fresh air after a storm. They greeted Jimin with warm hugs and hearty laughs, their easy camaraderie bringing a stark contrast to the charged atmosphere.

“We’ll discuss this later. Right now, let’s get to the meeting,” Jimin muttered hastily, his tone strained as he guided you back to your seat. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you fumbled with your notebook, your fingers almost too unsteady to hold the pen. The cold sweat on your palms made the notebook feel slick and foreign.

The meeting began, and the room buzzed with business talk. Taehyung’s easy charm filled the space, his smile warm and engaging as he discussed strategies and future projects. His gestures were animated—hands slicing through the air, a thoughtful tilt of his head as he spoke. Seokjin and Namjoon chimed in, their voices confident as they shared insights on market trends and potential expansions. Their ease was a stark contrast to the oppressive silence that lingered around Jungkook.

You tried to focus on taking notes, but your concentration was shattered by the weight of the earlier confrontation. Your gaze repeatedly flicked to Jungkook, who sat rigidly at the head of the table. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes, though directed at the documents in front of him, held a simmering intensity. The muscle in his cheek twitched occasionally, betraying his frustration. The tension in his posture was palpable; even the slightest shift seemed to radiate hostility.

Each time Jungkook shifted in his seat or cleared his throat, your heart skipped a beat. The fear coiled tighter around your chest with every passing minute. Your thoughts were a chaotic swirl of anxiety, replaying the confrontation in a loop. The uncertainty gnawed at your insides, a relentless reminder of how precarious your situation was.

As Taehyung continued to speak with infectious enthusiasm, you struggled to keep your focus on the meeting. Your eyes betrayed your fear, darting nervously between your notebook and Jungkook, who remained an imposing, silent presence. The contrast between Taehyung’s relaxed demeanour and Jungkook’s brooding silence only heightened your sense of dread.

The fear of losing your job, the very job you’d fought so hard to get, was like a shadow hanging over you. The room's buzzing conversations faded into a distant hum as you tried to hold onto a shred of composure, your thoughts a tumultuous storm of anxiety. The possibility of being fired on your first day loomed like a dark cloud, overshadowing every attempt to engage with the meeting.

Was it really possible to lose everything you’d worked for on your very first day?

a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! I'd love to hear! If you want to be tagged for future chapters, just send me an ask.

And drabble requests and character asks are open!

Taglist: @lola75111 @pitchblack0309 @whoa-jo

[mouldremovalservice]

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[temporarywelcome]

Leash - Spencer Reid

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Spencer caught his girlfriend cleaning up after a terrible act.

CONTENT WARNINGS: blood, swearing, unsub!reader

A/N: lol I wrote this for a creative writing project and gave Spencer a different name so if there's a typo I missed that's mb

____

The signs his girlfriend was a serial killer were there. 

They were clear, bright as day, he was a profiler for God’s sake of course he saw the signs. Yet he ignored them, practically had a hand over his eyes to block out the issue. Just pretending he didn’t see it. Pretending he didn’t know. 

A part of him tried to rationalize the situation. There was no way his lovely girlfriend was the one doing these heinous crimes. The same lovely girlfriend who listened to his nerdy rambles without getting bored. The same girlfriend who was always ready to comfort him after a traumatizing case, stroking his hair and rubbing his back and telling him everything was going to be okay. The same girl who constantly spoke about the future she saw with him. 

No, she couldn’t be a serial killer. 

But the blood on her hands said otherwise. 

Spencer was supposed to be on a case, but it ended abruptly. The killer had chosen a victim that was able to outsmart him. Less of a victim story, more of a survivor. So Spencer found himself and his team back on an airplane home, FBI duties over. He had planned on surprising his lover at their shared apartment, flowers in hand as he quietly unlocked the door. 

Closing the door, he silently padded through the halls, passing all the photographs on the walls of them together. The photographs Y/N had taken the time to print and put up, many of them being her idea to take. She was so loving. So sweet. No, she was no killer. 

No killer would have surprised him with that dinner date at the beach. No killer would have bought him a new telescope for his birthday. No killer would be the woman photographed throughout these walls with that beautiful smile and big heart. 

Hearing the sound of the faucet in the bedroom, Spencer entered, seeing the bathroom door open. He was expecting to see her hastily doing her hair, working diligently with products laid out throughout the entirety of the marble counters. Or doing her intensive skincare routine after a face mask, scrubbing the colorful clay from her face. 

Yes, he expected something simple and mundane like that. 

So when he stepped through the open doorway and saw the tub, he was in shock. The water was running, it was the tub, not the sink, but the water in the tub was tinted red. His mind immediately tried to rationalize it, she was doing some crazy project. She was dyeing a dress red, right? Yes! Something like that! That must be it!

But no, she was seated on her knees, hands hovering over the water. Red hands. Bloodied hands. No no no, Spencer, not blood! Red dye! Yes yes yes.

No amount of gaslighting could explain the butcher knife balanced on the edge of the tub. The mysterious red (Jesus Christ, Spencer, it was blood, stop trying to play yourself!) that stained the front of her purple shirt.  

“Spencer,” she breathed out. They were staring at each other for a good thirty seconds before she spoke. He stared. She stared back.

He finally spoke, “Who’s blood is that?”

She looked down at her bloodied hands, bottom lip between her teeth, “Um,”

“Who’s blood is that?” he repeated. He should be drawing his gun right now, releasing it from its spot on his belt. But it stayed in its holster, his hands at his sides. 

“I don’t know,” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” he felt his palms begin to sweat, eyes darting around the bathroom anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Y/N repeated, dunking her hands into the water, beginning to scrub at them. How could she be so calm right now? 

Because she did nothing wrong, of course (of course she did something wrong, there’s so much blood)!

His eyes went to the floor, checkered tiles. Black and white, now with red splatters. Festive. “Did you kill somebody?” Stupid freaking question. He was a supposed genius, asking his girlfriend who practically painted the walls with blood if she killed somebody. 

“Yes,”

“Were they trying to hurt you?”

“No,”

How the hell was she so calm? Telling her FBI boyfriend she killed someone for no necessary reason? It then occurred to him she was so calm because she knew. She knew he wasn’t going to do shit. He was still standing with his feet planted, hands at his sides, flower bouquet forgotten on the floor. No gun drawn. No cuffs out. Nothing. 

“Why did you do it then?!” he was starting to get frustrated, thin fingers trembling, He brought a hand up, biting his thumbnail in nervousness. His heart was beginning to beat so fast he feared a heart attack coming. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N started scrubbing at her hands faster, sniffling.

His poor heart was telling him to fall to his knees and bring her into his arms, tell her everything was going to be okay as he wiped her tears away. His brain, his rationality kept him unmoving. She was a murderer. His job was to literally catch people like her when the police couldn’t. 

“...how many?”

She stopped the scrubbing to look up at him, “What?”

“How many fucking people have you killed, Y/N?!” his voice rose, quivering as he felt his throat tighten. Tight, scratchy, sore, like when you wake up in the morning and realize you have a cold or fever. 

“This is a third,” she replied. 

Three. She really was a serial killer. 

“You killed three people,” Spencer whispered slowly, finally sinking to his knees, “Oh my God,”

“You don’t believe in God,” she pointed out simply. 

She was right. He didn’t. He was a man of science, he always was. But he was in distress, was he not allowed to say whatever came to his mind? To be fair, he felt there were more important things to discuss than his religious beliefs. Or, well, lack of.

“Does that even matter?” he snapped, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at the strands in stress. And like always, almost as if it were a reflex, Y/N reached out, pink-tinted hands gripping his.

“Don’t pull your hair,” she said in that stern but loving voice he was so used to, the voice he was honestly craving and needed to hear right now. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself,”

‘I hate seeing you hurt yourself,’ said the killer in front of him. How odd. How ironic and strange. 

Yet he still allowed her to bring his hands to his sides, still gripping them. Yet he still leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. Her usual assortment of mixed fruits blended into her favorite body spray, with a little mix of blood, which kind of ruined the comfort he was trying to get. 

Everything was kind of ruined. 

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” she whispered, releasing his hands so she could wrap her arms around him, rubbing his back in that soothing motion that always made him melt. Oh God did he just want to melt into her and forget this was fucking happening. Forget all she has done. “I love you, and nothing is going to change that. Nothing,”

It didn’t sound like she was lying. He was a profiler, he knew how to catch a liar. However, he didn’t catch when she killed two other people. He didn’t catch that. He didn’t see the signs. So what are the chances she was lying about loving him? 

He never paid attention to how she always was so emotionless with anyone but him. He never paid attention to how she refused to get any pets, and when he brought a stray cat home one day thinking she would love it, it mysteriously vanished. He never paid attention to how possessive she was of him, the amount of times he had to pull her off of girls giving him advances. 

He saw none of the signs. So what did he really know?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what broke Spencer Reid’s heart into a million tiny pieces. 

“Hey, look at me,” Y/N pulled away, gripping his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes, “I never even knew what love felt like till I met you. Do you really think I’m going to throw it all away? Throw away everything I’ve built with you?”

“Y-You’re a liar,” he stuttered out, eyes darting over her shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze, “You’re lying to me so I’d let you go,”

“I’m not lying to you,” she sighed, cupping his cheeks, “Arrest me, I don’t care. I just want you to know the truth. You’re the only thing that seems right in my life,” 

“Stop it,” Mustering up the courage, he finally pushed her away, a harsh shove to her shoulders sending them both in opposite directions on the ground, “Stop lying to me!”

Y/N yelped as she fell onto her back, giving him a glare, “Spencer what the hell?!”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m crazy? You killed three people, I’m allowed to act crazy!” his hands balled into fists at his sides, digging into the flesh of his palms in an attempt to calm himself down. Why did it feel so hot in there? He was sweating so hard. It felt like he was going to collapse of heatstroke. He scrambled to his feet, taking deep breaths to calm his breathing.

“Baby…” she stood up as well, “It’s going to be okay-”

“No it’s not!” How could she say something like that? She really thought that after ending three lives, everything was going to be okay? They were screwed.

“Fine,” she groaned, “Let me rephrase that. You’re going to be okay,”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer shook his head, and with that, the first tear fell. Crap. “How am I going to be okay knowing my freaking girlfriend just became a serial killer?!”

“Because you’re going to arrest me, and I’m going to go to prison, and you’re going to move on with your life and find someone better and get married and have a bunch of nerdy, genius babies and live a happy life.” she held out her arms, “Do it.”

“Do what…?” he already knew what. But the thought of it was terrifying to him. It’s what he should do, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage. 

“Cut the bullshit. You know what? Arrest me. Grab the cuffs,” 

Just grab the handcuffs and be done with it. Arrest her. Let her go.

Let her go.

Yes, figuratively. Let her go from your mind, your life.

Let her go…

Yes, be done with her. Handcuff her and let her go… to prison.

“Get out of here,” 

What?

She blinked, looking at him with her arms still outstretched to him, trying to figure out if she had heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer turned on his heel, walking out and into the bedroom. Opening the closet, he began yanking her clothes off of their hangers and tossing them onto the bed, “Get out,”

“Um,  no,” she followed after him, pressing her wrists together and raising them to his face, “Cuff me!”

“Get the hell out,” he grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf, bringing it down and placing it on the bed. 

“Why aren’t you arresting me?” Y/N stayed hot at his heels, right behind him through every step he took, “Why aren’t you arresting me?”

“Because you’re going to leave,” Spencer unzipped the suitcase, beginning to fold her clothes messily and tossing them inside in his hurry, “And never come back,”

“...really?” 

“Yes.”

“But-”

“-Y/N,” he stopped his movements, looking at her, “You need to leave,”

“Why aren’t you arresting me?!” she was getting frustrated now, scared he was now playing some game with her. She knew Spencer though, this was not in his personality. Toying with her. Letting a serial killer go, however, was also not in his personality. 

Biting his bottom lip, he replied with: “Because I love you,” 

Letting her go was a mistake. 

He knew that it was going to be a mistake when he had let her go. Yet he still did it. He still had let her go, sent her off with a passionate kiss, then proceeded to cry himself to sleep that night. And every night for the first ten days. 

After that, he still felt terrible, but forced himself to move on with his life in the best way he could. 

Which was hard when every month or so, opening up the P.O. box in the lobby of his apartment complex, he would find letters. Anonymous letters typed out in what he knew was typewriter from the smudges. 

He didn’t need to be an FBI agent to understand who this anonymous person was. 

Letters expressing how much this sender missed him, how they thought of him everyday. How he would always be the love of their life, how they would ever forget about him. The sender was confident they would not be caught, describing which city they were in at that moment, what they were up to.

Spencer never wrote back. This anonymous writer didn’t care. Y/N didn’t care. 

He knew where she was, but never went to her. He noticed the trail of bodies in the media every time he would research any crimes in the areas she was at. He never went to stop her. 

Wouldn’t that make him just as bad as her? Just as much of a killer? Allowing her to continue this? Allowing her to end these lives?

To him, yes, that made him just as bad. 

Yet he never stopped her. 

He created a new profile on Y/N practically every day, trying to make sense of her behavior. Much of it made sense. The urge to kill, not being able to stop herself. The remorse in how she laid out the bodies. A common occurence. Her being a woman threw off the profile slightly, considering usually female serial killers didn’t act on impulse, going for more calculated and purposeful murders. Other than htat, the profile was solid. 

Well, except for one other thing. 

Him. 

Maybe he only thought this way because he wanted it to be true. Maybe he was being delusional and lovesick. But it seemed like she genuinely loved him, genuinely did think of him as the love of her life. 

She shouldn’t be capable of such emotions. 

Yet she wrote to him every week, told him way more than someone on the run should. Yet she would sometimes send little packages for him. 

Yet as there was a knock on the door and he looked through the peephole, she was there. There with her usual smile and a box of whatever goodies she came up with. How dare she show up here after her whole spiel about him moving on and finding someone better? How dare she show up to the home of an FBI agent when she had killed over twelve people at this point? 

Perhaps it was because she was lonely, always moving, always alone. And she knew he would never let her get caught. She was always his priority.

He had tried so hard to let her go, when in reality he was handcuffed to her, bound to her like a dog on a leash. 

Reaching out, his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting it open.

[moonsaver]

Yan!Dr. Ratio has an eye for observation.

That's one of the key basics, obviously. Observe, understand, break down, rearrange.. it's the most basic way to study the general constitution of basically everything.

However, desire does not elude the study of a subject. It continues to stain the pursuit of knowledge, leaving an ugly mark on his streak.

But desire is not what he would exactly frame it as.

Veritas did not ever predict voyeurism would become one of his hobbies, as disgusting as it sounds.

First comes curiosity, a spark. Then interest.. then the overwhelming urge to observe and understand.

His curiosity led to the small crack of your room's door. The dark hallway yet to be lit up by sunlight pouring in from any other rooms was somehow pierced through with a tiny string of light pouring in from your room.

He stepped carefully, as to not make a sound. His brows furrow in contemplation, as he observes your figure. It seemed you were changing into your daily wear, the soft thud of your night wear hitting the bare floor being the only noises that he could hear. He observes the stretch of your body as you put your clothing on, the slight movements you make as you adjust the clothing to your body, tugging and pulling the fabric. He decides to leave, quietly sighing under his breath.

His keen eye for observation, or rather, observing you, becomes much more clearer to him after a few more incidents of similar behavior.

Perhaps when he clicked his tongue as he saw you spill water over yourself, the wet fabric squelching slightly as you pull it over your head, some of the liquid transferring onto your torso. He watches, almost absentmindedly, the sheen of your wet skin under the light as you curse under your breath.

Or perhaps he sees you unbuckling your bra, sighing at the feeling of the fabric loosening around your chest, as he watches the muscles of your back relax, and expand with each deep breath. The strap of your bra falls over your shoulder, and Veritas decides to look away. He knows when to stop observing.

And when, as usual, he decides to force you into bed with him, hands wrapped tightly around your waist pulling you closer to him, he has a chance to study your body in a closer proximity. His coarse hands are coated with oils, or lotions, as they massage a bit too slowly and sensually for your liking, into the curves of your waist, the sides of your hips, etching closer and closer to your chest, as he stays quiet, observing your body with a tense expression, eyebrows knitted in concentration and faux irritation. The glow of your body after he's done reminds him of the water sticking to your skin.

He huffs and moves back when you ask him what's wrong, breaking his minute of silence. He closes the product with a loud "click", and adjusts himself into bed to hold you against him much too close for your comfort. As if that matters to him.

Veritas starts to notice details about your body. Placements of moles, stretchmarks, cellulite.. he should consider these the next time he decides to capture you in clay and marble.

[blogport]

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[shalomniscient]

jingliu angst where she only tolerates you cus u remind her of baiheng sjjahagsab im dead

[nsft utc]

tw. mentions of vomiting (?), unhealthy/toxic dynamic, identity loss

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.

it began back on your home planet, ravaged and carved by interastral powers of all its resources, leaving behind a gnawing, gaping hole in the ground and the hearts and bellies of its people. you once mourned your more normal childhood—but the hunger in your stomach and in your soul consumed that too. your meals were few and far between, snatched from the hands of other starving husks, and it was the only joy you ever had as a child. the trickery and the thrill. it’s the only joy you get to keep into adulthood, a twisted elation that grants you a place in the cosmic court of jesters; the masked fools.

it’s—predictably—fun. trickery and thrill are the bread and butter of the fools. your mask affords you many, many opportunities for both, and though you have never had your belly achingly empty since, that hunger in your soul is not so easily sated. now, what you crave is the rush, the adrenaline, the oxytocin. and so you dance on marble floors with a different face each time, with partners who either wish you dead or in their beds, the space between you measured in an unfathomable amount of risk which you exchange for an unfathomable amount of thrill. you scamper along the length of this cosmic ballroom like a starving, feral fox in tall grass, the red of your fur as inviting as the white of your teeth are sharp. you hunt and you haunt, seeking something to fit between your aching teeth, something that will burst on the sharp point of your canines and smear your lips with pure elation and maybe satisfy that abyssal hunger in your psyche.

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps.

and you have never seen more tantalizing a meal than a devil with a coffin and a woman who seeks to kill a god. she holds the tip of a ice-hewn blade beneath your chin the first time you meet, nicking the delicate skin of your neck, just above your pulse. you swallow. let out a laugh that sounds like a barking fox, and the woman’s sword falters. surprisingly, it doesn’t take much for you to convince her to let you tag along on her fool’s errand. it’s almost poetic. you learn of her name—jingliu. it’s pretty. rolls off your tongue. jingliu doesn’t bother to learn yours, but she calls you fox. you don’t mind the scrap of attention. after all, you’ve spent your whole life living off scraps.

travelling with jingliu (and by extension, luocha) does not lack for excitement. the road to deicide is paved with elation, even if your blue-haired companion refuses to see it. through battle and through the long travel between star systems in pursuit of the great fleet, you get somewhat closer to jingliu. it doesn’t take very long for you to slip into her bedroll (or cot, depending where you are). mara, you find, though cannot be cured can certainly be sated; much like the permanent hunger that curls in your belly. jingliu fucks you until neither of you are coherent enough to feel much of anything, madness or hunger. it’s an arrangement you find yourself enjoying. and as a by-product of such intimacy, you learn more about jingliu. her mannerisms, her illness—her past. she doesn’t tell you any of this, of course, but you can put two and two together from the things she lets slip deep in the throes of some nightmare after fucking you senseless. she gets many of those. the pattern is always the same. at first, she’ll sleep relatively soundly. but then, her brow creases, and her lip curls, and she angrily mutters a few names under her breath; a certain dan feng and yingxing. she curses them, then almost makes a noise like a sob, and something else leaves her lips— another name, but this time spoken with heartache and longing.

baiheng.

it doesn’t take much to infer that this baiheng was someone jingliu cared very much about. though when you ask luocha more about her, he reveals a little detail that makes her moderately more interesting—baiheng was a foxian. in some ways, that makes you similar to her, even though foxian you are not. the thought amused you once, as you looked back upon jingliu’s restless, sleeping form. perhaps jingliu saw her lost lover in you. how… quaint. the assumption never bother you, not really—until she starts to call for baiheng while she’s fucking you.

you’re no stranger to casual sex. even before jingliu, you never lacked for partners eager to share a bed with you. no, the fucking itself isn’t the problem—it’s how she’s fucking you. it isn’t with the detachment and pure lust like you’re used to. instead it’s almost like she cares, hands gentle on your hips as she drives her cock in and out of your greedy cunt. she fills you like she never wants for you to want for anything anymore, and even though you know it isn’t you this affection is for, that jingliu is barely even aware that you’re you and not baiheng, you can’t help but devour it feverishly every time.

you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and like this, with jingliu’s cock filling your pussy as she deliriously presses the shape of a dead woman’s name against your neck, you finally feel full.

and it makes you sick.

you crawl out of her embrace and spill your guts every time she falls asleep. your body utterly rejects the feeling—you’ve been so used to starving that the sensation of being full turns you ill. and yet, you can’t seem to push her away. you always come back, always relax under her touch, always pliant for her just to chase that brief, beautiful high you’ve never been able to find anywhere else only to bleed it once she’s done. your heart’s a pythagorean cup; a little too much and you’re spilling over. but you’re so greedy for it, still greedy for her. of all things it is affection that’s the most potent drug you’ve ever tasted, beyond the cheap thrill of oxytocin and adrenaline—even if none of it is meant for you, even if it’s just scraps. but that’s fine.

after all—you have always been a stray, hungry for scraps. and if that means wearing the face of a dead woman and letting the hunger finally devour you whole, then so be it.