#until after I'd left his office

[tj-crochets]

so in the past I have made themed gifts for people who have helped me* and it's been a little weird but like. Understandable to the person I am gifting the thing to weird? My current problem is that I want to make something for my endocrinologist because he has improved my quality of life hugely** but endocrinology doesn't have an easily themed gift and my endocrinologist reminds me very very strongly of like a sad greyhound or a whippet but I cannot explain to this very nice, very normal man that "hey I made you a plushie of a dog because I wanted to thank you for the steroids and you remind me of a dog. In a good way!" *like teeth plushies for the dentist who helped me figure out I have to have dental anesthetic without epinephrine in it, or a chicken plushie for the people at the chicken restaurant that went the extra mile to get their ingredients list that were the reason I figured out I'm allergic to coconut **I had what would have been a severe allergic reaction and it wasn't pleasant but I didn't end up in the hospital and I didn't take like a week minimum to recover and

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 2 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: After he spontaneously abducted you, you try to figure out what his plans are for you. Is it to break your will? Your body? Or something else entirely?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, violence, abuse, something I'd call mild torture, hinting at traumatic experiences, claustrophobic spaces, chains, degradation

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The hunger wasn't the worst part.

No, you had learned to live with the hunger. You were your mother's daughter after all. You had a certain tolerance when it came to unpleasant living conditions.

No, what was far worse than the hunger was the darkness. You had no idea what time it was. Was it still night or had the sun risen already? Were the birds still asleep or were they happily chirping and announcing a new, beautiful day?

Surely it was beautiful to someone. It was someone's birthday. Someone's wedding day. Someone simply got to have a lazy morning and have brunch and coffee at noon.

Not you, though. You were still chained up, still hidden away in a dark closet. And you couldn't even tell if it was night or day.

Yesterday had been far worse though. The memory of it still made you flinch.

Instead of a dark closet, you had spent your day chained to the bed. So far, so good. Up until the point when he made you drink a whole water bottle, right before he chained you up. And then he left. Then he fucking left. You had heard the door shut behind him.

You really weren't a proud person and you had quickly come to realize that your situation required a certain...delicacy. So, you didn't mind when you had to beg. You didn't mind crying or yelling at all. That you just did, it came as naturally as the sun rises early and sets late. You had even agreed to say those damned, magical words.

"I'm your girl, please, I'm your girl!"

But no, silly. It was too late.

"I don't want that fucking, pitiful bullshit." He had spat out as he had tightened the chains around your wrists. "You will say it and you will mean it. Until then, we'll make do with what we have."

Which was exactly what had happened. He had forced the water down your throat and eventually you found yourself in, what he called, your bed. It hadn't been all too bad at first. Except for the obvious discomfort and the constant fear that nagged at you. But it got worse, the moment you felt the pressure in your bladder.

You normally had to use the bathroom about every two hours at the latest. Your urethra was quite tight - You knew that, because your mother had dragged you to a gynecologist as a teen. She had been furious, because you had to use the bathroom so often as a child. She had often snapped at you. Sometimes she even made you wait and told you, you had to wait a certain amount of time, before you could use it. It always ended the same way. You on your knees, begging and pleading with her to let you pee. You could have just let go and peed yourself. As already mentioned, you weren't too proud. But that was a sore spot. More than twenty-three years later and it still was a sore spot.

Your mother sat beside you in the doctor's office, affectionately stroking your hair.

After the doctor finished his speech about the tight urethra, he began a new speech about the way one of your kidneys seemed to be a little slow. It worked, yes. But you had to spend your life going careful around salt and peeing.

My poor darling, she had murmured. I knew there was a reason you had to go so often. My poor, darling girl.

It wasn't normally a problem. Until yesterday, when the sadistic bastard had tied you up and left you like that for nine...fucking...hours.

Your body still hurt terribly, just thinking about it.

You had been tempted to let go and make a mess of yourself. Who cared after all? It was his fucking bed, his fucking clothes, his-

But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

So you had laid on that bed, cried and writhed for hours on end. By the time he came back, he wore the most surprised expression, because he had obviously expected you to let go and pee yourself.

He found you with your eyes swollen and your face puffy, but the bed was dry.

"Such a good girl." He had murmured and tenderly caressed your cheek. "My good girl."

By the time he uncuffed you, you nearly broke both legs jumping up and rushing towards the door. But his low voice brought you back to reality.

"Stop."

You stood frozen, facing away from him.

And then the softest "Please" passed past your lips.

He had been tempted to refuse you, you could tell. He was cruel, sadistic and simply fucking crazy. But for some reason, he had sighed, the sound almost making you sob.

"Go."

And that you did. It had been so painful and so terribly degrading, but you had managed. You had truly managed.

By the time you came back to your bedroom, he still sat on the edge of the bed. Just like the night before - you had expected him to get physical. But instead he simply beckoned you to come closer and instructed you to sit down on the floor before him.

So far he hadn't gotten physical. At least one good thing, you thought. He hadn't ravished you. Yet. Hadn't even tried to kiss you. Nothing.

Hesitantly, you had approached him and sat down on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs. God, you finally felt like a human again.

"Who are you?" He had asked in that gentle, silken voice.

"Your girl." The words were an obvious mantra, easily repeated all day if so he demanded. But to your horror, he tsked again and shook his head.

He had leaned closer until your faces almost touched and whispered: "You still don't mean it."

Your heart clenched tightly and you whispered: "Please, I-"

But he interrupted you by simply holding up his hand. His fingertips ran down your cheek in a gentle manner and you almost found yourself leaning closer.

Almost.

What two days of hunger and one day of bladder pain could do to you.

"Get in the closet." He instructed firmly.

You swallowed thickly.

"Please." You whispered again. Your desperate tone wasn't for show, the crack in your voice wasn't to manipulate him. You were truly exhausted. But he simply shook his head.

"Don't make me say it again."

You closed your eyes in defeat and buried your face in your hands for a moment. Then you nodded and carefully got up. Everything was a little giddy and dizzy, since the pancakes had been the last thing you ate. But you didn't complain. You weren't that stupid.

You had just been stupid enough to take his hand.

And get in his car.

And his fucking apartment.

If you had struggled, sure, he might have gone crazy and shot you. But was that really that much worse than the prospect of spending the rest of your life like this?

You moved into the closet, a tiny room with hardly enough space for you to stretch out your legs. He made you sit down and then he cuffed you up again. Sitting down, not laying down.

All the while he was in there with you, making sure the cuffs stayed in place, you had stared up at his face with the most desperate expression in your eyes.

Once he finished with the cuffs, all he did was glance down at you, almost gently and smile.

"Be a good girl and let me sleep tonight. Don't scream and shout like you did all morning."

You swallowed again and you couldn't hide the soft tremble of your lips.

"I'm afraid of the dark." You whispered.

He tilted his head to the side, almost thoughtfully. Then he hummed. You had grown to hate that sound.

"I wasn't going to turn off the lights, but well. You may thank yourself. Good night, sweet girl."

"No! Please!"

And with that the lights went out and the door closed.

Click.

You couldn't tell if he slept in your room, to make sure you stayed where you were or if he went to the other side of the hallway and slept in his own room. Whatever it was, you couldn't tell because you didn't hear a thing. All you heard was the sound of your own heavy breathing and the way it got interrupted by a sob every now and then.

It had been a few hours. You really couldn't tell how many. And every time you were about to fall asleep, you flinched and your head shot back up, suddenly all too aware of where you were and what was going on.

Until eventually your exhaustion got the better of you and you fell asleep, your face buried against your knees.

It was a restless sleep, haunted by the memory of the man on the train lines.

But at least you hadn't dreamt of your mother ever since.

Some time later, you were woken up when you felt his hand press down on your shoulder. You flinched so hard, you immediately got a headache. He chuckled at the sight.

"Good morning, sweet girl. Did you sleep well?" He purred.

You were so exhausted and straight-up annoyed that you were tempted to ignore him or give a snarky remark. But you decided against it. Also, you felt lightheaded by how hungry you were, so you simply looked up at him with a soft, timid look.

"Awww." He smirked as he slowly uncuffed you. "I slept just wonderful. You did a good job, keeping your pretty little mouth shut."

He yanked you to your feet, causing you to stumble against him. He instantly wrapped his arms around you and ran his hands over your back. It would have come off as soothing and affectionate, if he wasn't such a twisted bastard. But again, you endured the touch.

It wasn't like you were touch-starved. Not at all. You had never been with a man before, not in that way. But you missed kindness. You missed someone smiling at you in the morning. And if it was only your boss, wishing you a productive day. You missed people.

"Are you ready for your water bottle?"

When he saw the horrified look on your face, he laughed heartily.

"I'm just playing, sweet girl. It's not funny twice."

He carefully led you out of the closet and through the apartment.

"Are you hungry?" He murmured as he gently pressed a hand against the small of your back.

You felt yourself nod. It was obviously some kind of trick, because you were certain by now that you would soon die of starvation and that that had been his plan all along. But you still nodded.

Eventually you reached the kitchen, where the smell of food immediately filled your nostrils. The table was filled with food - rice, vegetables, some meat and fruit. You nearly blacked out at the sight.

"Come. Sit."

He sat you down a few feet away from the table. Of course. A trick. He'd probably make you watch while he ate or something like that.

He sat down opposite you and looked at you for a long moment.

"I'll ask you a question. And you'll answer. Truthfully. No second chances. If you answer to my liking, you get to eat. If you mess it up, you get punished."

You simply stared at him. It wasn't a question, so you didn't answer. Also, after three days of not eating anything - were it truly three days? How long had you been in that godforsaken closet? - you didn't really care about anything else.

"Good." He said calmly. "Are you a virgin?"

That seemed to pique his interest the most, because he stared at you intently, not even smirking for once.

Immediately you felt your face flush in embarassment, but you felt yourself nod.

"Yes." You whispered.

He leaned back in his chair and hummed softly. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

You quickly shook your head.

"How old are you again?"

"Twenty-four." You whispered in the same, weak voice.

"Delicious." He purred. Then he reached over and grabbed a spoonful of rice. When he held it out to you, you choked it down like a rabid animal.

"Careful. You'll get sick." He said in a tone that resembled gentleness. By now you knew there was nothing gentle about him. Nothing good.

But you pushed the thought back, when he fed you another spoon of rice. Two questions, two bites.

"What is the reason you live and work in a country where you don't even speak the language or know the way back to your apartment?"

You swallowed. "I got a good job offer."

"Bullshit." He narrowed his eyes. "The real reason."

You considered lying. But you were sure, for some reason, he would find out.

"To get away from my family." You then whispered.

He sighed in an exaggerated manner and set the spoon aside.

"Too bad, sweet girl. You deceived me the first time. You know the rules. I need to punish you."

You closed your eyes, albeit briefly. It was like they had a mind of their own and you were so exhausted that you could hardly take any more of this.

"You're lucky though. You get to pick your punishment."

Your brows furrowed suspiciously and he smiled.

"No deceit, sweet girl. You get to pick between two options. I'll give you ten seconds each time. If you don't choose on time, I choose for you."

You buried your face in your hands, but eventually you nodded.

His words felt like a gunshot.

"I slap your face or I cut off your hair. Choose."

You froze.

Fuck.

Of course you knew which one you'd pick. You couldn't cut off your hair. For various reasons. First off, it was deeply rooted into your mind that you needed to keep your hair long and lush.

Or else who would ever marry you, honey? No, no. You don't get to cut it off. Not ever. You wouldn't want to disappoint mama, hm?

And then again...Your hair was one of the few things you truly liked about your appearance. You liked the color, the texture...You just enjoyed looking at it whenever you felt bad about yourself. You played with it whenever you were nervous. It was your hair.

When he shot you an impatient look, you suddenly remembered the rules.

Three...two...

"Slap." You gasped out.

He leaned back and his smile widened.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded quickly.

"Smart girl." He purred, almost seductively. "Brave girl."

He didn't give you any time or sign to brace yourself. Instead he simply reached out and slapped your face, with an intensity that made your breath hitch. Your head snapped to the side and you let out a pained moan.

The pain of the slap stung. But not half as much as it would have if you had to cut off your hair.

He hummed. Bastard.

"Very well. Next question."

He sized you up calmly.

"Why did you want to get away from your family?"

You closed your eyes. "Well, they...Well, they..."

"That doesn't count. Disqualified."

Uh-oh.

"You never explicitly specified I had to answer straight-up." You said quietly.

Very slowly he inched forward until his forehead nearly touched yours.

"Are you talking back to me?"

"No." You breathed out.

"Good." He smirked. "I punch your gut or I cut off your hair. Choose."

You had a very bad feeling, like you knew what this game was leading to. The nausea that took hold of you felt suffocating.

"Punch." You croaked out.

No one had ever punched you before. And you had a feeling today would bring many more firsts.

"Hold up your hands."

Reluctantly you obeyed. He looked into your eyes, looking for any sign of disobedience. But all he found was fear.

He tsked disapprovingly.

"Anyone with brains would have chosen the hair." He said lowly. "But you're a pretty girl. I like your long hair." He slowly treaded his fingertips through the length of your hair. "So, you better do us both a favor and answer in time from now on."

With that you felt a sharp blow of pain when his fist shot forward and punched you right in the stomach. He wasn't gentle about it.

You doubled over and nearly fell off the chair. At the same time you let out a desperate sob and gasped for air.

The only thing you could suddenly think about was your slow kidney. Oh God, what if he damaged the good one?

You tried to push these thoughts away as good as you could. It wasn't easy.

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. And he stared right back with something that looked almost like...pride.

"Why did you want to get away from your family?"

"Because my mother abused me." You gritted out.

Surprise flashed over his features. "How?"

"She starved me, didn't let me pee, hit me everywhere no one could see the scars, locked me in my room for days, yelled at me and many more things, many many more. Dark and twisted things, things you're never supposed to do to someone you supposedly care about. I bet you and her would have gotten along splendid." You couldn't tell who was more surprised about your sudden, angry outburst - you or him. He just stared at you and you half expected him to knock your teeth out.

Instead he slowly reached for the spoon and fed you two spoons rice with vegetables.

"Good girl." He said with no hint of teasing.

You savored the food in your mouth and swallowed slowly, ignoring his words. Mostly. But a part of you was almost relieved that he took so well to your anger.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared of intimacy."

"Do you regret it?"

"Yes."

"Good girl."

Three spoonfuls, as promised.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?"

Your face flushed instantly, but you forced yourself to answer.

"The day before we met."

One spoon.

"What were you thinking about?"

You felt yourself go pale.

"What?"

He sighed disapprovingly.

"When you touched yourself. What did you think about?" He asked impatiently.

And you were silent. For three seconds. Five. And finally ten.

He stared at you with an intensity that was terrifying.

"Play the rest of the game on your knees or I cut off your hair."

Your cheeks grew warm in shame. But immediately, you slid down to your knees infront of him. The floor was cold, but that was the smallest one of your concerns. You couldn't meet his gaze as you knelt there.

Slowly and almost tenderly he reached down and tilted your chin up. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming. You couldn't quite detect or name the look in his eyes. All you knew was that it was intense and that it made your cheeks grow even warmer.

"Good girl." He whispered. "I'll ask you again."

At least he warned you.

"What were you thinking about while you touched yourself?"

"I fantasized."

"Specify."

You tried to avert your gaze but his grip on your chin was too tight. The expression in your eyes was pleading. But he didn't care. He didn't care one bit.

Suddenly you realized something. He didn't seem to care about the rules or the game any longer. He just wanted to know.

"I had..." Your eyes fluttered shut and your voice slipped into a barely audible whisper. "I had rough fantasies."

"Specify."

"Of being used." You finally choked out. The words felt like acid in your mouth. Never before had you told anyone about this, except for the one time when you spoke to your psychiatrist.

You had sobbed and nearly choked on your tears, claiming that you were twisted, odd, fucked in the head.

But all he had said in response was; many women have those fantasies. You're not twisted. You simply have desires which go ahead of the ordinary.

By the time you blinked your eyes open, you realized that he wasn't recoiling in disgust. He wasn't laughing at you. He didn't even flinch. He simply seemed curious.

"What else?"

"What...what else?"

"What else do you fantasize about that you consider shameful? Are your fantasies rough? Are they painful? Are they degrading? Are they-" He cut himself off and finally leaned back.

"You did good. Really good." He reached out and played with a strand of your hair. "You got lucky." He murmured. After a long sigh, he got up and said: "Eat up. But slowly. I can't have you puking all over yourself. I have plans for you."

You didn't need to be told twice. In a ridiculous speed you were back at the table and savored the food in your mouth, appreciating every bite.

He turned to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway and looked at you with a small frown.

"You got really lucky." He murmured to himself as he glanced at your form again.

"As did I."

[bbokicidal]

random prompts #1 ;

some ideas I'd probably never write a full fic for but, seem cute and fun. ALL 18+ (MDNI) + ALL AFAB!Reader

idol!best friends brother!chan who you admire a lot. he's an idol, he's so handsome, he's incredibly talented and family oriented. and you end up finding out when he's home for Christmas that he's about as smitten for you as you are for him! only, his admiration drives a little more.. lustful than your own. you crave his heart, he craves them hips. and on Christmas morning you end up finding out just how bad he wants you. (you're his Christmas gift; that's what he'll call this exchange. <3)

childhood best friend!fratboy!Felix who is a h u g e player at heart. when he went to college you figured he would be more.. by himself? he ended up joining a frat house. you end up finding out, through him, that he's been banging people left and right because after high school he just.. had a major glow up, and one trip to his campus shows you just how gorgeous he's gotten in his early twenties. and, why people have been begging for him to dick them down. (good god, he's got a rod. <3)

barista!seungmin who wants to invite you to his place so fucking badly because you're his regular, his girl/boy that comes in to get a coffee only he can make for you, and you're so fucking cute and he needs to fuck you so bad it's not even funny. but his roommate, although a sweetheart, is always home because he works from a home office. so... instead of going to his place, and knowing yours is off limits because you mentioned living with multiple other people; seungmin ends up fucking you in the back of his car after a date. he feels bad about it but you look pretty cockdrunk after you swore he'd kissed your cervix over & over with his cock, so... maybe you didn't mind. your iced coffee was a bit watered down in the cupholder now, though...

tw: pregnancy rockstar!sugar daddy!jisung who makes you sign an NDA, fucks you at least two times a day, and pays you back by buying you anything you want. and free tickets to his concerts, of course. there's a lot of fucking in the dressing room, during rehearsal, in early mornings hours - hell, you live with him at this point. he's like his perfect little housewife making him meals when he isn't touring and taking care of him so well. though, you really become his perfect little housewife when he accidentally gets you pregnant. (though, is it really accidental? he'd mentioned a breeding kink before...)

alpha!minho who fucks hard, fast, and damn fucking good. you're one of his pretty little omegas and he's always there to take care of you during your heats - always making sure he's available during that time for you because while the other omegas have other alphas they can rely on, he is the only one you can count on to be there to help you. but something comes up in his schedule and he happens to be away when your heat hits pretty badly this month; which leads to him trying to console you over the phone. maybe you could just listen to his voice and he could instruct you on what to do? if that doesn't work, he'll just have to book a flight home early so he can shut up your whining by stuffing his fingers down your throat while he fucks you until you can't even think of any complaints.

idol!bestfriend!hyunjin who always tries to make time for you even though he's pretty busy. sometimes he takes you with him places, disguising you as staff to get you by fans. he'll bring you to Italy, to Paris to meet Donatella - anywhere you want as long as he can slip it by the company. though he can't bring you with him on tour, which devastates him. you manage to get a ticket to one of his shows abroad and travel to see him, surprising him at barricade. it leads to feelings coming out so suddenly, confessions in the dressing room and - well, wandering hands later that night.

officer!changbin who bends his pretty little secretary over his desk in his office because he cannot keep his hands to himself when you just look that fucking good. that's it - that's the prompt. I'm leaving the rest up to your imagination.~

incubus!jeongin who you summoned purely on accident. you wanted a woman, first of all - a little intimidated by men to begin with. but this guy, this demon, he's... pretty. very pretty, and very good with his tongue - you come to learn. he finds every opportunity to eat you out and then make out with you afterwards just so you can taste yourself on his tongue; which slithers it's way into the back of your throat to make you choke. just because he likes to hear you suffer a bit, even if you are his cute little human now.

[bluem1lls]

hi hi ! i saw your post about wanting some se-mi requests and i was wondering on how se-mi would react to having a s/o that tends to zone out / dissociates during the games whenever they're parted from se-mi / can't stay near her because it causes their separation anxiety </3 like it's a way for the reader to feel less anxious or stressed and the reader seems to lighten up whenever they're near se-mi or notices she's alive , sorry if that's alot ! 😭

✧₊⁺ we'll go home (together)

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: as you try to survive the games with your girlfriend, you can't help but to dissociate when she's not nearby. lucky for you, she never wants to leave your side.

content: just a short fluff, reader usually zones out when she's not with se-mi

authors note: thank you for the request! it's rlly short because i'm writing this at my office bye i have dedication!!!!!! but i hope u like it!

✧₊⁺ first of all, your girlfriend would never leave you alone. like ever. i think she would die if that happened.

✧₊⁺ but there's this one situation in mingle where you guys were running along with min-su as a group of three and in the rush, someone pushed her.

✧₊⁺ when you saw her on the ground you almost choke yourself. what if she dies? what if that hurted her head? what if she can't move to run with a group? what if-

✧₊⁺ as you start to hyperventilate you try and run to your gilfriend, failing as min-su pushes you into a room with another guy and closes the door.

✧₊⁺ "hey, i saw her. she got up and ran with another group. she's okay" he said, touching your shoulder.

✧₊⁺ you won't believe him until you see her.

✧₊⁺ you start to dissociate. you can see min-su talking but you can't hear him. your mind filled with thoughts. 'i hope she's okay. she better be okay'.

✧₊⁺ tears start falling from your eyes because what kind of girlfriend are you? leaving her there? it was an accident but-

✧₊⁺ the doors unlock. you run outside as you stare everywhere.

✧₊⁺ she's not here. she's not here. she died. min-su lied-

✧₊⁺ you feel soft arms wrapping you, she deposits a kiss to your temple.

"i'm here baby" she says as you hug her back, your tears going down your cheeks.

"i'm-m so so sorry i'm so sorry...i tried but-" i sobbed against her, her hand caressing my hair to try and calm me.

"sh sh, baby i know. i told min-su to pull you away. i'm here okay? i'm never leaving you"

you believe her. she better not.

✧₊⁺ you're just so used to her, you kinda forgot how it is when she's not there.

✧₊⁺ like the first time you two sleep together, she wakes up first, smiling as she sees you all comfy. she kisses your entire face. when she's done, she gets up, heading to talk with the guys until you wake up. she thinks you'll wake up and follow her, after all you know that when she's not with you, she's with her friends.

until she thinks it's been a little too much time. she starts to worry, going back to your bed.

she finds you there, staring at a blank point on the wall.

"baby?"

you lift your head, she's back!

your face lightens up, a soft smile appearing.

"i missed you" you say as she smirks, getting closer to you. your face in her hands, softly kissing your lips.

"good morning princess, what's wrong? i was waiting until you wake up but i got worried. it's been a while." she frowned.

"i thought you.. left or something" i mumble as her face scans my features. a hint of worry through her eyes.

"baby, what?-" she says, shocking her head no. "no princess i'd never leave you, wherever i go, you come with"

i nod as she kisses my lips again and again.

"i love you"

"i love you princess"

✧₊⁺ of course, when the fourth game comes and it's an individual one, you're shaking.

✧₊⁺ she's too, she just doesn't want you to see it, or it'll make you more nervous.

✧₊⁺ "it's okay baby, this is our last game and then we vote to leave okay? its the last time you're gonna be appart from me. i swear" she says, hugging me as i return it, squeezing her.

it's hard to focus when you're not with her, but you try to get past it. after all, if your girlfriend comes out and you don't, she'll be heartbroken. you don't want that.

✧₊⁺ finally, you made it through. as you're out of the room, you sit there waiting for her.

of course she comes a few minutes later with a smug smirk. she's so cocky.

as she sees you, her face lightens up.

and as you see her, you get up to run to her arms.

✧₊⁺ she kisses you with a soft chuckle.

"what did i said? together. i bet you did so good, my pretty girl" she says smiling.

✧₊⁺ you think you might melt right there and then. you nod, never leaving her arms.

"can we go home now?" you say as she nods.

"let's vote and go home".

[gallusrostromegalus]

I'd love to hear about Aunty Chihiro, and, by extension, what exactly was going on with Orihime's parents

Chihiro Inoue is the MUCH younger sister of Orihime's father. In fact, Chihiro was only about four years older than Sora, and the two of them were close growing up- more like siblings than cousins, because Sora was left with his grandparents so often by his neglectful parents.

The problem with Sora and Orihime's parents was that they were... Not up to the herculean task of parenting and didn't know how to cope.

They weren't stupid- they were actually both quite bright and did well in school, but both of them had little to no impulse control, emotionally volatile were intensely self-centered (mostly as a means to cope with the poor organizational skills and emotional disregulation). None of those are sins, but they did make for two high school sweethearts who married and had a baby immediately and the stress of an infant overwhelmed them and they never recovered, hopping from one self-destructive coping mechanism to another until at age 17, Sora Inoue ran away from home with his two-year old sister, Orihime.

Chihiro turned out to be instrumental to their survival- She was taking a gap year before college and when her baby cousin called her at 1 AM in tears because he didn't know how to take care of her even babier cousin and they were sleeping under an overpass-

Chihiro Inoue, Force Of Nature, was downtown and herding them into the car within the hour.

They stayed in her apartment for the first year while Chihiro got Sora his Emancipated Minor status and a few months later, convinced her brother and his wife to give up custody of their daughter to their son, argued with the magistrate to get it done, set Sora up with an office job and got Orihime enrolled in Preschool.

She and Sora stayed close, but while she was finishing her degree in agricultural sciences, she met a charming young man and shortly after graduating, married him and moved up to his family dairy farm in Hokkaido.

She kept in close contact with her Baby Cousins, with Orihime often going up to Hokkaido during summer breaks to get out of the city heat and play with her aunt and her growing swarm of children.

When Sora died as a result of the car accident ten years later, Chihiro would have taken Orihime in in a heartbeat but - She had five children of her own, And - The Very Charming Man she'd married had made some exceptionally shitty decisions re: Money, fidelity and his general treatment of Chihiro, So - She was in the process of divorcing him and - Forming a sort of feminist Commune Of Women Wronged By That Guy Specifically with the four women he cheated on her with and their children to run - The Dairy Farm in Hokkaido, which The Formerly Charming Man's parents had left to HER rather than their shithead son.

So Chihiro was in no position to take on a grieving 12-year old.

Chihiro holds IMMENSE respect for the Kurosaki family, who did their damndest to save Sora and immediately took Orihime in and coordinated all the paperwork between Orihime, the local relevant governing bodies and Chihiro. Isshin never asked for any kind of compensation and was bewildered when Chihiro offered it to him because "that's just what you do in this kind of situation?"

She's also very fond of Ichigo, who has always been a perfect gentleman, if a bit moody but he's a teenager, and compared to how insane Chihiro was as a teenager, he's a saint.

Psychic Bullshit runs in the Inoue family too, so Chihiro almost fails to notice anything odd about Kon, the cat who talks, and routinely forgets that most people don't see ghosts, so she doesn't get why Ichigo is sou grouchy about-oh, right. Sorry Kiddo.

Eventually, it was simplest to get Orihime her own place- Rent in karakura is remarkably cheap for urban Japan, mostly because of all the unexplained deaths the city has, and Chihiro didn't want to uproot her niece from all her friends and the very good schools she'd gotten into.

So the agreement was that Chihiro would pay Orihime's rent and living expenses "Provided you keep your grades up, because you're smart as hell and if your grades tank that means you're in serious trouble and need my help so I'll come get you right away baby"

Orihime is in close contact with her aunt and cousins- they talk on the phone at least once a week and Orihime often goes to see them during summer and winter breaks.

More Importantly, Auntie Chihiro comes down every September 3rd to Celebrate Orihime's birthday with her, and every October 3rd, Orihime takes the bullet train up to Hokkaido to celebrate Chihiro's Birthday.

...Orihime seems a bit distant and distracted during her Birthday, and awfully sparse with the details about the "Summer Trip" She and her friends from school went on. It seems like the trip ended up being kind of a downer because someone in management at the camp or whatever decided to quit very dramatically right at the end? And Ichigo got pretty badly hurt?? but Orihime insists that everything is fine and she's looking forward to seeing all her cousins and the cows next month!

So it's VERY SUSPICIOUS when Orihime fails to turn up at the station a month later, and calling around to all of Orihime's friends leads to various non-answers- Chad and Tatsuki just say they didn't see her at school today, Uryuu hangs up on her in what sounds like panic, and she only gets the Kurosaki household's voicemail.

So Chihiro Inoue, Force Of Nature, takes the train to Karakura.

Her first stop is the Kurosaki household where she discovers that Ichigo and more worrisomely, Kon have also vanished off to Parts Unknown, and she turns her wrathful gaze upon Isshin Kurosaki.

He folds like a deck chair.

Turns out HE's not sure what the hell is going on either, just that Ichigo made friends with some girl called Rukia earlier this summer and she's involved in the organization that is responsible for dealing with all the ghost-monsters and Ichigo may have joined it too also the entire gang of kids went to the land of the dead maybe Ichigo doesn't tell him anything these days, you need to ask Kisuke, he's the one that knows what the hell is going on-

Kisuke Urahara has all of 0.03 seconds warning before Chihiro Inoue literally kicks the door of Urahara Shoten in and demands to know where her niece is.

This is deeply surreal for Kisuke for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that Chihiro Inoue looks EXACTLY like Orihime, but about 20 years in the future and terrifyingly SHREDDED. The Woman is wearing a MEGA MILK shirt without a hint of Irony and the only thing Kisuke can look at are her biceps as she lifts him up by the collar and indicates that he'd better start giving her some answers or she is gonna break that stupid cane off in his ass-

Kisuke Urahara, Noted Coward, directs her to the Basement.

Down there, she discovers Ichigo is undergoing some sort of horrific John Carpenter's The Thing-esque transformation under the supervision of a gang of badly dressed lunatics being lead by a man with the stupidest haircut she's seen in her life.

Shinji Hirako is reminded of the Utterly Terrifying Kirio Hikifune, and immediately levels with her.

Chihiro is Very Disappointed that Orihime told her none of this, but really, the girl has never REALLY been in trouble before, of course she panicked. But where IS she?

Ichigo and his assorted inner spirits are having a great deal of trouble deciding who is horse and who is king but the sudden Booming Demand for Orihime's exact location in a voice meant to put the Fear Of God Into Bulls and other livestock makes Ichigo's imaginary friends all dive for cover, sorting out who the horses are rather nicely.

I have not actually figured out HOW to end this scene yet, but it ends with Chihiro agreeing to stay in Karakura and keep watch over Ichigo's body and family since Kon seems to have been abducted along with Orihime. ---

There is a MUCH later scene in which Chad's Uncle Jaime De La Rosa, who came up to surprise Chad because he got invited to a veterinary conference in Karakura at the last minute, is wandering around Karakura wondering WHY THE HELL everyone is asleep when he spies a horrible pale figure with a terrible twisted smile that can only be The Devil Himself, and some fucking gringo who won't shut up with him.

But before he can distract The Devil Away from Chad's friend with La Chancla, The Devil is Geta'd with enough force to actually throw him off balance, and a beautiful woman with the proportions and unbridled fury of a Valkyrie sprints up and starts battering The Devil with her other shoe whilst bellowing the most vile invective Jaime's Good Catholic Ears have ever heard.

Naturally, he immediately falls in love.

Shortly therafter, and exhausted and panicked Chihiro Inoue, in tears because she can't get the crowd of alarmingly powerful ghosts to let her see her niece, finds them being parted like the red sea by the wrath of a very small man directing them with a fury and speed not normally seen outside of livestock auctions or automatic weapons in both Japanese and Spanish, getting the chaotic mess sorted into a triage, the start of peace negotiations, and Orihime Delivered to her arms in under ten minutes.

Naturally, she immediately falls in love.

[yourlocalravendork]

Nerds looks out for nerds

Cw: police being dicks, reader being a total nerd, reader getting cut off mid ramble, Spencer comforting reader, vauge description of a crime scene

A/n: Spencer, especially early seasons Spencer, is literally my spirit animal. Socially awkward, rambling and a huge nerd. I'd kill to ramble to him and have him ramble to me

Flowers were left at the last crime scene. The team, naturally came to the conclusion that it was a show of remorse. They didn't think much more of it. That was until Spencer and you were sent to look at the crime scene.

The body was still there. That caused you to urge a little. Still fairly new to this job, the sight of a body still managed to illicit a nauseous reaction.

"You the FBI?" one of the local police officers asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice, "Aren't you two a little young to be in the FBI?"

"It's not like I've heard that line before," You mumble under your breath. Being young and in the FBI had its perks. However it also came with ignorant cops doubting your ability.

The two of you began your observation of the crime scene. The usual stuff. Blood, broken objects, clues just itching to be discovered. Your mind was racing, analysing every small detail. And Spencer's mind? Well, that was sorting through theories quicker than anyone could comprehend. The body was left inside the victim's house. There was a red cross on the door and flowers in the coat pocket again. It had to mean something. Something that was staring the team in the face. Mocking them. Taunting them.

"Hey, Dr Reid," you called out to him. You were aware you could just call him Reid or even Spencer, but using his honorific seemed like a show of respect to the young doctor. "What kind of flowers are these anyway?" Spencer crouched down and observed them, brow furrowing as his mind ran through the types of flowers it could be.

"There's not one kind of flower. There's multiple. In this case, they could be referred to as a posy," Spencer explained. Then it clicked.

"That's it!" you cried out, "A pocket full of posies!" You got up and rushed towards the door. The red cross, the flowers, it was all making sense.

"I want what they're on," the police officer muttered partly to Spencer.

It seemed like a tiny break in the case. The smallest break could be useful. And it felt like you'd just found it. It was a great feeling. You were practically buzzing on the ride back to the station. Spencer could sense it. He was proud of you. Impressed too. You'd managed to figure out something that was staring the team in the face based on what seemed to be a random historical fact.

"OK," you started, as you presented your findings to the local PD and the team back at the station, "When Dr Reid and I were at the scene of the crime, we looked at the flowers left. Like, really looked at them. Upon further inspection, Dr Reid discovered that they weren't just one type of flower. It was different types. It was too small to be a bouquet so that makes it a posy. Now it's the placement that's important. A pocket full of posies. Like in the nursery rhyme, ring a-ring a roses. The song, it's about the plague. They believed in miasma, bad smells-" Your ramble was cut short by a judgemental police officer.

"Your point?" he asked, a dull, bored and condescending tone laced his voice. Your lips formed a small 'o' before pressing into a thin line.

"Right, my point," you said, quieter than before. As you spoke, you were less animated. You didn't move your hands as much as you weren't as expressive. "What all that points towards is someone with an interest in history. The pocket full of posies, the red cross on the door, all link back to the plague. It also explains the weird looking figure in the security footage. Our unsub was dressed like a plague doctor. It's not out of the realm of possibility that our unsub has a deep passion in history."

After you concluded your little display, you found yourself alone in the room where the team had been working. When Spencer walked in, he could see how dejected you were. He could see himself in you. He knew what it was like to be cut off mid ramble. You were gently rocking in the spinning office chairs when Spencer took the seat next to you.

"Miasma?" Spencer asked quietly. He knew what the theory was. He just wanted you to continue your ramble. Gain your spark back.

"The theory bad smells cause disease," you said with a small nod, "It was one of the main theories of what caused the plague. Obviously now we know that wasn't true and that it was a just a theory." There was more you could've said, but you stayed quiet. You didn't need to be cut off anymore. Spencer frowned slightly. It was clear there was more you wanted to say. You couldn't exactly hide emotions from a profiler.

"So how does that link to flowers?" Spencer knew. He knew everything you were telling him but he was willing to listen. Be the ear to hear your rambles, the one he rarely had for himself.

"Well, they'd combat the bad smells with good smells. That's where a pocket full of posies comes from. They would literally carry around a pocket full of posies," You didn't stop yourself this time, you continued, adding your information as well as getting slightly more animated, "And the plague doctors would put flowers in the end of the beak part of their masks. They'd see it as protection. They actually had a lot of obscure ways to protect themselves from the plague..." You began to ramble, almost forgetting what got you down in the first place. Spencer knew all of this before hand. However he didn't say anything. He knew what it was like first hand to be cut off from a ramble about an obscure fact you found intresting. It had happened to him more times than he could count. So he just sat there, listening intently, letting you talk his ear off while you gained your spark back.

[reiderwriter]

ACK I'm so excited that your requests are open again! Um okay, this one feels a bit silly but I'd love a fic where fem!bau!reader is really attracted to Spencer and the way that he smells? (I just KNOW that man smells like cinnamon and a Scholastic Book Fair.) Like, she's been doing a good job hiding her crush from the team, until Spencer catches her eyes dilating at him when he's standing close. And he's an oblivious king, so he's trying to figure out why they were dilated. If it could be race blind like my last request, and from Spencer's POV, that'd be great. (Or split POV, if you'd rather). I really see this as fluff, but if you want to include angst or smut go right on ahead! Thank you for reading my request! Your writing makes my day.

-❤️‍🩹

A/N: This was so fun and silly, and I love writing awkward, puppy love Spencer because sometimes you just have to let yourself become mildly infatuated with a coworker. For the plot. Or at least character development. I hope you like this one!!

Warnings: none.

Masterlist

You thought you'd settled into work well in your first few weeks as a member of the BAU. You thought you were up to speed about everything going on in the office. There was just one mystery left to solve.

“Where is that smell coming from?” You whispered to yourself, frustratedly sniffing the air for the second day in a row as you attempted to locate the warm, delightful smell that seemed to follow you whenever you were in the office.

“Could be one of Garcia's scented candles. They tend to linger,” JJ said from her corner of the bull pen.

“No, I checked earlier and she said they made her throw those out weeks ago.”

Honestly, it was not knowing that was driving you insane. If you knew what the smell was, you could bottle it, spray it all around yourself, and wrap yourself in it like a little blanket. It somehow reminded you of home and of the public library you'd spent much of your childhood in.

After another day of being able to figure out whoever had bought the scent version of the Scholastic Book Fair mixed with homemade cinnamon buns, you gave up. 12 hours of paperwork, and you were just as excited to get away from the sight of brown folders as ever, and as everyone else in the bureau, evidently.

Grabbing your bag, you got in the line for the elevators alongside your team.

“Ready for the crush?” Derek said, punching Spencer Reid on the arm as they waited ahead of you.

“Ow,” the younger man muttered and you tried to hold your giggles back, rolling your eyes as you watched them in amusement.

Derek’s words were true, though. Every day at home time, the elevators packed up quickly, and being on the middle floor meant that it could often take a while for the elevator to come back to you. You swore it was half the reason Hotch stayed late most nights, just to avoid the crush of the trip home.

“I've been taking the DC public transport since I got this job. You think the elevators are bad. Try 8 am subway on a Monday morning.”

The doors opened, and the three of you climbed into the barely there space of the elevator. With a quick side step, you found yourself against the left wall of the elevator. But to your shock, the scent you'd been searching for for three weeks didn't dissipate as it usually did when you got on the elevator.

It was here. The source of the scent was here.

You tried to stay calm as it grew more potent, tried not to frantically look around searching for whatever man or woman was perfumed in heaven. The doors opened again, and more people squeezed in, and suddenly, you found yourself buried nose-first in whatever sensory heaven existed here on earth.

“Sorry,” you heard a mumble in front of you as Spencer held his hand against the wall above your head, trying to keep a polite enough distance so as not to squish you any further. Your mismatching heights, however, led to your face being just about level with his neck.

You really weren't trying to smell him, but you had to inhale, and each time you did, it was a sensory overload.

It was him. Dear God, it was him.

The proximity and his scent really weren't helping your brain stop short circuiting in that moment, and you had to remind yourself after a minute or two or three that you were staring.

Though evidently Spencer had already noticed, and was looking at you with some concern.

“Are you okay? It's pretty tight in here, but I can try and move back if you're uncomfortable.”

“No! No, it's okay,” you did your best not to shout the words out, suddenly wanting his smell and his body close forever.

You hadn't been looking before, but like a freight train at maximum speed, the weight of his attractiveness hit you all at once. There was a slight stubble peppering his jaw, his hair hanging slightly loose, eyes big, and brown, and beautiful. He was tall, and you knew he was strong from watching him manhandle unsubs each week.

To put it blankly, you spiralled. Hard. Straight into infatuation and attraction, and you felt your head growing light with the tipsy feeling of a girlish crush.

You were fucked.

Spencer was concerned about you for the next week.

For starters, he knew that most new hires pushed themselves to the extreme over the first month and ended up quickly burnt out, mentally and physically. He may not have the best physical stamina, but he knew the lengths he had to go to to maintain his mental and physical wellness while working the job.

Which was why he started looking out for you a bit more. Every time he looked at you, you were staring off into space, somewhere just past him, or around him, face glazed over.

He wondered if you had a fever a few times, subtly touching your forehead - wiping away some sweat or a strand of hair - to feel you, and you did always feel hot.

You insisted you were fine though. But the nervous panic, and the constant insistence made him wary enough to pull you aside one day and ask you straight to your face.

“Do you need something?” He said, having unassumingly lured you off to the meeting room without arousing suspicions.

“What? What do you mean?” You said, instantly defensive. You'd hoped you hadn't been as creepy as you knew you had and that he hadn't caught on to your stolen glances and sudden close proximity.

You really couldn't help it. The man smelt too fucking good.

“If you're feeling sick, no one is going to think any less of you for taking a half day, you know.”

His voice was so gentle, you almost didn't die from sheer embarrassment. Almost.

“Oh! Oh, oh no, I'm fine, I'm totally healthy. As a cow!”

“A cow?”

“Yes, I'm as healthy as your average farm animal. Can I go back to work?”

You made to leave, but he grabbed your wrist gently as you brushed past him, and it was like sparks travelled up your arm and pierced your heart directly.

“Spencer!?” you squeaked.

“Your heart rate is elevated, and you feel hot and clammy,” he said, which was exactly the kind of compliment you were aiming to receive from men you were falling for. “You should go see a doctor and then get some rest.”

“No, Spencer, that's not-”

“Everyone pushes themselves in these first few weeks. I had to take a week off after two days in the field from the weight of holding a gun up for so long, which is more embarrassing than it sounds, and Derek-”

“What cologne do you use?” you snapped, desperately hoping to both shut him up and also detangle yourself from this situation with at least one win under your belt. If you found out whatever the smell was he used, you could buy it, grow accustomed to it, and grow out of whatever phase you were going through before you out your job in jeopardy.

“What?”

“You smell… really good. I was wondering what cologne it is.”

“I don't… I don't really use cologne.”

You baulked, unable to stop your face from dropping as your dreams of detaching yourself from your little crush on Spencer Reid faded before your very eyes.

“Shower gel? Shampoo maybe?”

“They're both unscented.”

“So you just… you just smell like that naturally?”

It was his turn to flush then, though the panic never left your head fully.

“Sorry, is it… distracting.”

“Yes,” you whispered, but with such an exhausted exhale, it sounded like a dreamt sigh. You wanted to kick yourself. You wanted to open his jacket, step inside, bury your face in his chest, and fall asleep.

“I see.”

“Mhmm.”

A minute passed in awkward silence, and you wanted to kick yourself for blurting everything out. Quickly turning to leave again, you wished so dearly to erase the last five minutes of your life, sending up enough hail mary’s to absolve you of any sin.

“Lavender. And sometimes patchouli,” he called from behind you as you took your first steps to the door.

“Hmm?” you said, turning back around against your better judgment.

“What?”

“That's what you smell like,” he explained, hands suddenly very preoccupied with his jacket buttons. “I'm not great with scents, but you also smell… nice. Sorry, that was weird.”

“No, not at-”

“You know, the major histocompatibility complex genes are important for the immune system and appear to play a role in sexual attraction via body odour. Studies have shown that body odour is strongly connected with attraction in heterosexual females.”

“Oh. I didn't know that…”

“Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

The words almost knocked you back into the door, as sudden as they were. Had he just asked you on a date? Or was it a friendly coworker thing? A friendly coworker thing where he acknowledged your attraction to his scent and then invited you out on a date.

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

“Yes. Yes, I would like to get dinner with you.”

He did his best to suppress the smile, and you tried hard as well, though neither of you succeeded.

“Great, perfect,” he said, circling you as he made his way to the door, his eyes always turned to you no matter what. He likely regretted that as he bumped into first the edge of a table, then a chair, and then hitting the door with his back, but in your state of puppy love, you didn't care.

“It's a date,” he said, opening the door and walking away, cheeks flushed with heat.

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: Flowers for the man

Author's note: Requested by Anon! this was interesting to write as I have no idea how to make it different for each character, hehe. I did my best though and I hope you guys like it! Warning: Lengthy read! 5k words! reader is not the mc but works as a hunter (in Xavier's part)

ZAYNE: Blue roses Mystery, aspiration & admiration

The city park was as beautiful as ever, clean and quiet, with only a few people walking about and doing their business. It was Monday, after all, and most people were at work. Meanwhile, you were able to snag a day off, which was pretty rare. 

It was too much of a nice day to spend alone, and luckily, a particular surgeon was also on his day off. 

You took a little bit more time walking towards your designated meeting area, enjoying the cool spring breeze as it brushed your hair from your shoulders. Off into the distance, you could see that tall silhouette standing by, looking at his phone, before pressing it against his ear. 

With a much quicker pace, you came closer. 

"Yvonne, it's my day off." Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose shortly after. "Yes, do tell him I'd appreciate it if he respected my decision," he paused. "Yes, I informed him, and I finished all my paperwork before I left last night."

From the tone of his voice, it seemed like Zayne was slowly transitioning into a sour mood. You looked around, almost instinctively looking for something to cheer him up.

Maybe there's a stall somewhere offering some sweet treats?

There were none in the vicinity. Except for the quaint flower store. Can flowers cheer up Dr. Zayne? It can certainly keep him company in the office until it wilts. You looked for a flower that suited the doctor. Perched atop a wooden display of colorful flora, hyacinths, cacti, snake plants, and… blue roses? That's unique! 

You made an effort to tiptoe to the inside of the store, keeping your eyes on Zayne, who failed to notice your presence and was still on his phone call, his sour mood amplifying his annoyance. 

The bell by the door emitted a wonderful chime to your ears, and from the counter emerged a beautiful lady wearing a cherry-colored apron. She smiled at the sight of you approaching.

"Hello, ma'am, how much for the blue flower in front?" you asked.  She named her price and took one out of the flower fridge, swiftly and professionally folding some colorful paper to wrap it around with. She finished off with the golden ribbon, tying the whole thing together. 

You peek out through the front window. Perfect timing! Zayne was no longer on his phone. His back was turned towards you, and you couldn't help but admire the broadness of his shoulders and the slimness of his waist in his dress shirt. 

In order to surprise him, you hurriedly ran to bury your face in the crook of his back. As expected, he flinched at the sensation before recognizing an arm that wrapped around his waist. "You're here." He was trying to turn around to look at you, but you stuck to his back like a mouse stuck to a glue trap. 

"Close your eyes first, Zayne," you chirped. He stopped moving.

"Is this one of your pranks again?"

"Oh, just do it! C'mon, please?" You cooed at him and buried your nose against his back once more, taking a sniff at the faint detergent scent. You could see his elbows shift and his face rise, lightly covering his eyes.  You let go and get on your knees as if you're proposing. With the singular blue rose raised up to him, you tell him to open his eyes. "You can look now, Dr. Zayne."

He slowly opened his eyes, seeing that you were not in his line of sight. He looked back and then forward again before looking down. Zayne's eyes were devoid of thought before slowly, a sheen of light coated his eyes, and the image of you kneeling and offering him a blue rose finally sank in. 

At that moment, his heart stopped beating, and his mind conjured up only a single thought. This woman enamors me beyond human comprehension. The park was quiet, with no one in sight—only the two of you on the trail, sandwiched by beautiful pink and green trees. Faintly, he could hear church bells ringing in the distance. 

"A blue rose for the coolest surgeon in Akso Hospital," you grinned. You got up and waited for him to take the rose; he did, but before you let him say anything, you pulled him by his collar and roughly placed a quick kiss before pulling an inch away and whispering, "And a devoted lover to the luckiest girl in Linkon City."

Everything became much more evident at that instant. Any doubts Zayne has on his mind, any insecurities, or any worries about the future. Everything dissipated like snow on a sunny day. Zayne's smile appeared as you pulled away. His gaze was turning softer, and his cheeks showed that tinted pinkish hue you always adored. 

The sight of his annoyed face became a distant memory. "Thank you; I'll put this on the vase on my desk in the hospital." Zayne placed a kiss on your forehead.

"You're welcome! You do your best to make my day, so I want to do so as well." Your fingers intertwined as you and your partner began to walk to wherever you were going. 

"You always make my day; I've told you that countless times." 

"Yeah, but a while ago, you looked like you were having a bad time with that phone call."

Both of you stopped in your tracks, and you barely saw his face in surprise. "You saw that? I apologize, that was…"

"There's nothing wrong about it, Zayne."

He lets out a sigh before reaching out for your palm. Without a word exchanged between you, his hands made gestures atop your palm, encompassing it with a cool breeze and glowing blue hue. For a brief moment, your palm turned icy cold until it lifted slightly. The image of a small blue, icy ring appeared on your palm. It had a small, beautiful flower as its focal point, and you couldn't help but marvel at its beauty. 

"This is my gift for the flower." He smiled, picking the ring up and sliding it onto your middle finger. 

"Dr. Zayne, are you proposing to me?!" you jokingly asked, exaggerating your tone to not make him feel pressured. 

He chuckled at your wide-eyed expression. "Not yet, but maybe in the near future," he mumbled. "You deserve a better ring than the one I made."

"Oh, so romantic, you're going to make me have heart problems."

"I certainly hope not." Zayne let out a hearty laugh at your joke. 

XAVIER: Daisies Innocence, New beginnings and cheerfulness

"Xavier?" you called out in the forest. Only the birds responded to your call. "Xavier, Nero said he was sorry!" you added.

Still, there no response. 

This wouldn't have happened had Nero been more careful.

It was summer, and unfortunately, the wanderers were at their peak, disturbing more provincial areas than usual. You and Xavier had to be dispatched on opposite sides of the city, reducing your time together. It had been exactly a month and a half since you and Xavier met face-to-face, and tomorrow should be the only time when you have matching leaves.

If only Nero didn't screw up the day-off schedule he submitted to Jenna. 

Well, you can understand Xavier's frustrations, and quite honestly, you predicted that he would at least complain, but to see him walk out? It was something.

The forest you were in was no stranger to you. This was the small buffer space between the city and the field where you and Xavier liked to hang out. It was once a decrepit land devoid of flora and fauna, yet it developed and managed to change into a beautiful flower field over time.  On the horizon, you can see that area; with it, you can see Xavier standing and staring at the blue sky.

Your heart ached at the sight. He looked lonely. 

You took a step closer, stepping on the patches of grass that led to his spot. It had been a while since you visited the field, and you couldn't help but reminisce about the calm mornings you'd spent with him here.  Xavier heard your footsteps and felt your presence but ultimately chose to stay in the same position, not sparing you a glance. After all, the look of silent anger still lingered on his face. Turning your back to him as well, you squat down to your knees, hugging them while fiddling with a white, singular daisy near your shoes. 

"Nero says he's sorry," you stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course he would," Xavier replied. He let out a sigh, easing out the tension in his back and shoulders. "I just… I was looking forward to our day off." He can't help but rub the back of his neck, absorbing the fact that he walked out rudely on his co-worker.

"I was too, Xavier," you replied back.   Silence.

"I missed you a lot." You picked the daisy flower and watched as one tiny petal fell onto the grass; it looked like a small cloud falling gently. "I know we call and text every day, but that isn't enough for me either, so I get why you're mad." Gentle, comforting words escaped your lips.

"I'm sorry you had to see me walk out," he whispered.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

Another minute of silence; this time, something was yearning to be said, not by you but by Xavier.

"Things are dangerous for us hunters," Xavier began. "You never really know when you or someone else can die at the hands of wanderers." The image of the past flashed itself into his vision. A colleague is sitting up against a rock, bleeding and clutching the only picture he has of his wife and daughter. "And… it's frightening, even for me. I guess I'm lucky enough to work for the same company as you, but knowing what we need to go through daily, I just want to make the most of our time whenever possible." Because I don't want to regret not seeing you in case something happens.   His words didn't need a reply from you.    You twisted the flower's trunk, wrapping the stem's end towards the bottom of the flower. You weaved it together and slipped it on your finger. It nearly slid to the side because you made the loop too big. You took it off and knelt on the grass; hearing that crunch was satisfying. Xavier was still facing away from you even when you turned. 

You tugged on the hem of his shirt, and finally, he turned to you, looking down as you knelt on the grass on one knee. No words were exchanged between you at that moment; only the chirping of birds filled the silence in the air. Your hand gently took his own, and he stared promptly. 

The daisy looked even more beautiful the moment you slid it onto his ring finger. It looked bright and wonderful against his long and slender fingers. You kissed his hand gently,  like kissing an infant. Your lips brushed against his knuckles like silk gliding against his skin. 

You finally looked at him as well, and you could immediately catch the redness of his ears. "Cheer up, Xavier." You cooed at him. "There's no way of telling when we're going to last see each other, and hopefully we don't ever go through that." 

Xavier helped you get on your feet and took a small step closer to you. "So, let's spend every moment we can together, even just 30 minutes during our lunch times. Besides, we're just busy because it's the summer. Any other season, we're good to go."

"Yeah, you're right," he replied, intertwining your fingers together with ease. He wrapped his other hand around you and nudged you for a hug, which you happily gave him. Unknowingly, he looked at the hand with the flower ring, a smile creeping up his face. 

At that moment, all his anger had subsided, and the memory of you sliding on the ring was the only thought that occupied his head. Xavier likes giving you flowers, and you know he likes being given food, but this little, simple gift felt more special than anything else. 

His heart thumped against his chest very loudly, and you could only chuckle, finally clinging to his neck. You kissed his jaw and buried your face at the crook of his neck, letting out a breath you unconsciously held in. It was nice to know that Xavier was no longer angry. 

"I love you," you told the wind.

"I love you too." Xavier's embrace made your heart overflow with happiness, and even with that simple gesture, it was more than evident that you were captivated with each other in more ways than one. 

RAFAYEL: Hydragreas Gratitude, understanding & heartfelt emotions

'Do me a favor, please,' Thomas pleaded. 'Rafayel has been in a foul mood since yesterday, and I don't know why, but he has an upcoming exhibition next Tuesday. He says he doesn't want to come. It's really important and could cost him his career and mine.' 

Those were the poor words of Thomas, who called you yesterday at 12 in the morning. You can't remember exactly why Rafayel was in a bad mood, but you were certainly sure that you agreed to help everyone just so you could go back to sleep. 

You can't help but let out a sigh. It was already hard enough to ask Rafayel on a date with his moodiness, but you managed to get him to meet you at the park. He was against it at first, making excuses like he was out on a trip or doing a painting, but with a bit more perseverance, you managed to let him say yes.

Now, the next problem is: How do you cheer up a grumpy boyfriend?  A kiss wouldn't be enough, that's for sure. It's too early to coax him with special methods. He doesn't really like sweets, and he's super sensitive when he's mad; you can't make fun of him. 

Your boots clacked rhythmically on the pavement, your eyes wandering about for inspiration or a clue on how you could brighten Rafayel's day. What's something that can make him blush? That's certainly one way of getting rid of his anger. 

Something unexpected. Something you haven't really given to him yet. 

Something fragrant.

Colorful

Something from the shop directly beside you. "Bloomscape" is the small wooden signage displayed. A beautiful, tall plant crept up the brick corners of the single-floor structure. A stair-like display rack carried baskets of different green grasses and arranged bouquets. 

A light bulb popped over your head. 

You made your way inside the quaint shop. You explored your options, admiring the wonderful displays of the plants. The colors were so vibrant and beautiful, similar to the paints that Rafayel would use in his works.  There was one bouquet that caught your eye the most. It looked like an arrangement for a wedding, dawning a light blue hue mixed with white roses and round leaves. He would like this. You could imagine him smelling the thing. 

"I'll take one of those," fingers pointed at the arrangement. The lady nodded and took the best one off of the display, placing it in a paper bag for you. You hummed as you left the little shop, eager to show the flowers to your boyfriend. 

Rafayel sat on a lonesome bench hidden from the main pathway of the park. You've seen him once or twice there, so it wasn't really much of a surprise when he was there now. According to him, he liked that seat because it was under a tree and away from people. He could think and bask in silence at that particular spot. 

You lowered your stance as you came to approach him. Carefully avoiding the sticks to not make a sound. You placed the paper bag down on the ground and carefully snaked both of your arms around his waist. He flinched at an unexpected sensation, wanting to turn his head, but you didn't let him by lowering your head to his shoulders.

"Hello!" you chided. 

"Did you really have to sneak up on me like that?" Rafayel sounded a tad bit annoyed. 

"I do," you replied back. "Close your eyes." 

"Close my eyes? Why?" Rafayel raised an eyebrow. You can't help but intently stare at him. He stared back, the wrinkle on his eyebrows disappearing. "Alright, fine, but I'm leaving if there's anything that involves cats." Rafeyel closed his eyes.

"No peeking!" You hopped over the bench as you would over a barricade and took out the flower from the bag, immediately getting on your knees. You straightened your back and held the bouquet properly, stretching it closer to his face. 

"Open," you ordered. He squinted and looked down at the blue and white glow of the flowers before letting his eyes go wide. He blinks once and then repeatedly. His hands wrapped around my own, and he finally held onto it, somewhat perplexed. 

"Did you, did you just…" He scoffed, looking away before looking back at you with a betrayed face. "Did you just propose to me? Wasn't I the one who was supposed to do that? Are we switching gender roles now?" His expression was undoubtedly something, but you were 100% sure it was not anger. 

Not when his ears were as red as a tomato. Rafayel was simply bluffing. I guess this guy has a hard time saying thank you when he's flustered. 

"I would if I gave you a ring," you mumbled. You dusted off your knees and slipped both of your palms into his jaws, urging him to look up at me. Rafayel's eyes were bright underneath the dispersed light of the trees. "I heard from Thomas that you were in a bad mood, so I wanted to cheer you up."

"Thomas, that snitch." He pouted and furrowed his eyebrows. "I'll get back at him when I see him in his office!" 

"You can't blame a guy who wants you happy." I squish his cheeks and plant a kiss on his puckered lips. "He knows you were in a bad mood; cut him some slack." Rafayel's frown quickly dissipated into nothingness, and he voluntarily turned his head to the side and then pressed it against my stomach. 

Were you cheering him up? You honestly weren't so sure, but Rafayel looked like he needed that gift to brighten his day.

"I wanted to cheer you up in a new way, so I got you flowers. Do you like them? They're the prettiest in the whole shop." 

"Yes, they're very pretty," Rafayel mumbled again, his ears turning slightly pinkish. You were caught off guard when he turned his head up to look at you, again frowning. "But I'm more pretty than these flowers, right?" His eyes were staring deep into yours, impatiently waiting for that sweet yes from those lips. 

There it was—a perfect opportunity to coax him. "You can be if you give me a smile."

He looked at you like he was being deceived, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting like he normally would. "So you're saying I'm ugly when I don't smile? That's a mean thing to say coming from my girlfriend!"

A breeze blew past you two, sweeping your soft hair to your cheeks. You laughed at your boyfriend's endearing childishness, recalling why you really love to poke fun at Rafayel sometimes. "You're the prettiest fish in the sea, Rafayel. The most wonderful flower in the garden, the cutest cat in Linkon City—"

"Cat?!"

You purposefully hook your index finger underneath his chin and say, "And the most handsome boyfriend of mine." Before letting him say anything, you took the opportunity to peck him on the lips to shut him up for the time being. You leaned back to study his oh-so-beautiful face. Off of a peck, he was already intoxicated. How adorable. "As of now, at least." You stuck your tongue out to mock him.

"I'll pretend that I didn't hear that." He wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled you closer to his lap, finally kissing you deeper. "Thank you for the flowers; I appreciate it."

That's a job well done for you. You deserved a treat for making your boyfriend happy.

"Alright, now that you're no longer mad, let's go to a restaurant. They serve the best shrimp pasta and fermented wine." With an outstretched hand, you waited for him to take it. Rafayel chuckled and sniffed the bouquet, locking his fingers with yours and swaying it forward and backward.

SYLUS: Black Dahlias Sadness and betrayal or Grace beneath pressure

The warm evening breeze was a wonderful sensation against your chilly cheeks and nose. It had been a while since fall had started, and the city was basked in a warm hue of orange and yellow leaves.

You can't help but shiver in your scarf. Maybe you should've worn more layers. 

It was rare for Sylus to ask you to meet in broad daylight. Knowing him, he'd usually be at work during the afternoons and evenings, and he frequently worked in the N109 zone rather than in Linkon City. 

'I have some business in Linkon City today; let's meet in the afternoon.' 

"Wow, so you won't even ask if I'm free?"

'I know your schedule is free, sweetie; our calendars are synced.'

'Plus, you owe me another date for sleeping in on me last time.'

'hehe, alright. I'll meet you at the park. By the fountain? '

'by the fountain.'

It was rare to see the park so empty. Usually, at a time like this, the park should be filled with children running about with their pets and families running amok in the dull grassy field. 

There was a magazine stand at the corner where you and Sylus would meet. While you were a few meters away, you could see him reading a newspaper and conversing with the old stall owner, who was reading the same material. You can't hear their conversation, but Sylus was certainly not happy. 

You could recognize that frown anywhere, especially those knitted eyebrows. Uh-oh. 

It's been a while since you've last seen that face, and of all times, it's reappearing now. A moody syllable is someone who's a bit hard to cheer up, and you don't want to waste the evening trying to do so. What can you do to cheer him up?

A small wind chime caught your attention. You turned to your left and saw a cute but lonesome little flower shop and a couple exiting holding a bouquet of flowers. The arrangements were undoubtedly pretty, especially under the warm pixie lights, yet none of the flowers really suited Sylus. In fact, Sylus and Flowers really don't seem to belong with each other, but maybe that's why you were enticed to buy him one in the hopes of cheering up his mood. 

You entered the store, and the lady greeted you with a hello.

"Good evening. Do you have a flower that looks—?" Your thoughts wandered for a split second, reveling at the fact that you were unprepared for this conversation. "—cool?"

"Cool?" The flower lady tilted her head in confusion, much like yourself. "Like a cold flower? Or a blue-colored plant?"

"Oh, no, no." You scratched the back of your head and went a little closer. "A flower that suits an image of a cool, mysterious person." Unsure of how helpful that would be, you stared at the lady in anticipation, hoping that she would get what you meant.

"Hm, we have peonies." She gestured to various peonies of different colors, ranging from pink to a dark maroon shade. The dark-colored flower is certainly pretty, but it doesn't look suitable for Sylus. You shook your head.

"Anything else?"

"How about…" She disappeared into the back room and brought out a small bucket full of beautiful black flowers. "These? Black Dhalias; they're freshly delivered." You can't help but stare at the flowers. The image of the flowers on his nightside table popped into your head. It looked just about right. 

"I'll take four of these, please."

The lady arranged it for you beautifully and even gave you a discount. Before you left, she gave you a wave of goodbye. You were suddenly hit once more by the cold autumn air and the dimming lights of the sky. The lamps were now turned on, illuminating the park beautifully. 

You sneaked around the corner and saw Sylus gone, yet he was sitting on a bench, reading a different magazine. A pink magazine hat looks uncanny in his grasp. You tiptoed to the back of the bench and squeezed the flowers in between your thighs. You gently covered his eyes. 

"Hah, brave of you to attack me from behind, Sweetie." His voice let out a melodious chuckle at your actions. 

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting; I had to pick something up from nearby." You still kept your hands over his eyes. "It's my gift for you."

"Is it a gun? Did you manage to steal a gun from your company's armory and give it to me?"

"That would be a crime, Sylus, and no, it's not a gun; it's something you wouldn't receive from any other girl except for me. Take a guess."

Sylus was bemused by what you said. He's received many things in his life and is not short of a single object. His fingers closed the pink date spot magazine and chucked it to the side before crossing his legs.

"A kiss?"

"I give you that practically every day!"

"Is it another plushie?" "No..try again."

"Your Lingerie—"

"SYLUS!" you shrieked, stopping him from finishing his words. "You're bad at guessing; you know what? Just keep your eyes closed." You carefully peel your hands away from his eyes. Sylus didn't move an inch.

"Are they closed?"

"My eyes are perfectly closed. I can't see a thing, sweetie."

While he sat on the bench, you made your way around him and got on your knees. The bouquet rustled in your clasp, making Sylus shift slightly in his seat. You held the flowers up to him, and their wafting scent gave him a cue to open his eyes. 

"I got you flowers. As an apology for being late and sleeping on our last date," you let out a goofy grin while waiting for Sylus to grab the gift from your palms. He grabbed it and placed it in his own arms. 

For a minute, he stared at the flowers in disbelief. You were right: It was a gift he never received from any other girl. Sylus thought that the first and last time he would receive a flower was on his deathbed, which was practically never. Still, here he is, sitting in a park on a random evening, his lover overtaking him with a flower like she was about to ask for his hand in marriage. 

A genuinely baffling sight, even for the leader of Onychinus.

He was certainly the type to dislike flowers, especially the vibrant ones, but the black dahlias you gave him suits him well. The scene was also beautiful and would most definitely fit on the vase he has in his office.  Absent-mindedly, Sylus stood up, which caught you off guard. For the first time, you couldn't comprehend the expression on his face. He certainly wasn't angry, nor did he look disgusted, but he wasn't happy either. 

"I'm giving you five seconds to run, sweetie," he said. You froze at his words, bewildered. Was he not happy with the flowers?! Did he not like them?! 

"Five." He started counting.

It was like all hell broke loose at that instant. Before anything else could happen, you got up, disregarding the dirt on your knees, and ran towards the city. You dug your own grave when you gave him the flowers. With all the speed you can muster, you manage to get to the street where the city is. You crossed the road and turned back, seeing Sylus chasing you among the throngs of people. 

What the heck is wrong with him?! He doesn't seem particularly mad, but what did he really work up over the flowers?

You turned into an alleyway in between two random shops. Your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, and you just needed to stop for a bit. The brick wall of the store pressed against your coat, and puffs of smoke escaped from your mouth as you wheezed in silence. 

"Where is he?" you mumbled. You peeked out of the alley only to sense that ever-familiar, spine-chilling breeze when he teleported. In a blink of an eye, you were yanked deeper into the dim area, Sylus pushing you against the cold and damp wall. 

"I caught you," he stated, blocking any way for you to exit.

You balled your fist and aimed for his gut, lightly jabbing it. "What the heck?!" Relief washed over you like a tide when you saw the gentle smile on his face. The fear of his wrath disappeared rather quickly, which made your muscles relax. "I thought you were going to kill me!"

He kept his lips shut. Under the dark shadow of the alleyway, you could still see the vibrant red glow of his eyes. Quietly, you leaned forward, letting your chest press against his own, and your feet raised you the highest they could. He was a tall man, and it was hard to reach his lips, so with one hand, you yanked his turtleneck, and with your other hand, you wrapped it around his neck. 

He resisted first and let him laugh through his nose. Softly, your lips pressed against his own, and you patiently waited for him to return the gesture; he did, albeit rougher and hungrier. You didn't know how it happened, but the next moment, his tongue was inside your mouth, exploring every crevice and getting that sweet and flavorful taste like a deprived man. 

Your body burned at the sensation; erotic sounds were escaping from both of your lips. His hand rested on the dip of your back, holding you closer to him. To Sylus, you weighed nothing more than a weighted blanket; moreover, you were warm to the touch, which he found soothing.  "Why did you make me run?"

"Because I know you'll find a place to hide from me," Sylus said, tucking stray hair behind your ear. "And I get to kiss you out in public."

"You…know you could've just kissed me in the park, right?"

"So you want to let people see us all hot and bothered?" You could see his eyebrow arch. 

"Fair point. Kiss me again," you demanded. "I need compensation for that flower."

Sylus let out a laugh. "What kind of person demands compensation for a gift? You're certainly the only one who does that, sweetie." Again, he pushed himself closer to your face and pulled on your back. "But I'll happily oblige." 

Amidst the noise of the busy streets in autumn, hidden from the blaring lights of the vibrant city, you and Sylus remain hidden in your own little alleyway, holding each other like teenagers in love at the peak of their youth. 

'What a beautiful season,' you thought.    

Author footnotes: I'm trying to go back to a story-telling format. It's been a while since I've done that! Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

[maladaptiveobsession]

*pokes* oh my god! i really love all of your dol headcanons, the suicidal one admitedly made me cry, it's just that good! :'D not sure if you take request or not, you can ignore this if you aren't, but i'd absolutely would love something related to bailey taking reader's virginity...? his dialogue in canon (before it was removed rip) when he took pc's virginity drive me fucking crazy :)

“Your body was always mine.”

Synopsis: You owe Bailey, but are short on cash. He takes your virginity as payment.

Contains: afab!gn!reader, anal mention, biting, cervix kiss, deflowering, fingering, masturbation, noncon, oral mention, overstimulation, scratching, purity/virginity kink

Words: 2,159

A/N: Sorry this took so long. It’s been a rough month or so. I wish they would have left us the ability to fuck Bailey at least until they had more lewd content to replace it with. I refuse to acknowledge his canon disinterest in the player.

In a town such as this, where temptations festered in the shadow, it was a miracle you’d preserved your purity for as long as you had. He can’t imagine how you managed, though he supposes your affiliation with the church must have contributed. Fat load of good that did against him, though, didn’t it? It hadn’t been intentional, but he’d gradually accrued your virginities, unraveling your innocence thread by thread.

Once in a moment of weakness, driven by frustration. You’d pestered him all that morning with dumb shit, and in a haze of anger and desire, he overwhelmed you, his hands gripping your body as he bent you over his desk and roughly violated your ass. You fought valiantly, but you were just no match.

"You should be putting out more if you're this tight. What do you think you're good for?"

Once with the intentions to torment that insufferable prick, Avery. You may have been that bastard’s date for the evening, but he was your guardian, and it was about damn time he reminded you both who actually owned you. With the right encouragement—threats against that other brat, Robin—he hadn’t needed to lift a finger for your mouth to get to work. The look on that man’s face as you choked on him was the highlight of his evening, though your inexperienced tongue running alongside his shaft was a contender to be sure.

"Don't get any funny ideas. Just take it."

Once more that same evening without thinking. With all the adrenaline coursing through his body, he hadn’t considered the significance before grabbing your hand and thoughtlessly dragging you off to his car. He hadn’t registered the way your hand tensed against his own until long after he’d dumped you off at the orphanage.

Lastly, by your discretion, too drunk for you to realize the “handsome stranger with kissable lips” was in fact your caretaker coming to collect your dumbass after you’d gone and got yourself roofied. You were lucky it was the day before collection; otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered. For reasons unknown to even himself, his resolve to remain indifferent crumbled under your clumsy lips, pulling you close to dress your lips with his and turning that chaste brush of lips into a ferocious battle with his tongue. You probably still think it was that haunting freak you barely tolerate who took your first kiss, but he hasn’t forgotten.

"Surprised are you? You'll learn to kiss better soon."

Now, behind the locked door of his office, he finds himself clawing at the remnants of his self-control, trying desperately to ignore the desire that began to bloom since he first pinned you against his desk. He palms at the ache pressing against his trousers, shame creeping along his spine. He should never have let things get as far as they did. There were lines he had resolved not to cross, and yet here he was, hips jerking to the thought of your warm tongue, soft lips, and tight ass.

The thought that you’ve been sauntering around town with that virgin cunt of yours unprotected, purity vulnerable to any prowling perverts, evokes a possessive rage that has no place invading his thoughts.

He sure as fuck shouldn’t be entertaining the thought that you’re only some doors down, just out of reach. The desire to own you in full has him in a chokehold. Growling, he reclines deeper into his swivel chair, impatiently fishing his cock out from his trousers, leaking pre-cum down over angry veins.

Fuck it, just this once.

With a sense of urgency, he gathers himself in his hand, tightening his hold damn near enough to strangle, and begins furiously pumping his hand. It doesn't take too long before he reaches that precipice, jaw and core tightening as he inhales sharply. Warmth spreads over his hand, pace and grip relaxing as he eases himself down from his high.

Releasing a sigh, he reaches across his desk for a tissue. After cleaning himself off and resituating himself into his pants, he glances down at his wristwatch.

12:30 AM

Right, there was still the matter of your debt. Before he could erase you from his thoughts, he had to collect your payment for this week. It was admittedly early, but the day of collection nonetheless, and he could swing by damn well any time he pleased. He steels himself before pushing the door open and striding up the stairs towards your room. The sound of your laughter mingling with that of another orphan—Robin, his mind supplies to his distaste—pulls at his insides like a vice.

The door swings open violently, the force startling the both of you into silence. The sight before him reignits that possessive rage; your hips straddling his with only a pair of panties protecting you from his exposed length. Underneath you, the boy cringes as Bailey's attention rests on him, eyes widening in bewilderment and terror. The air was thick with tension.

“Get out.” He bites out as calmly as he could manage, nails digging into his palms.

Robin casts a rueful glance between the both of you, torn between the desire to shield you and fear. You assure him that you’ll be fine, gesturing towards the door with your chin.

“But—” Robin begins, but is interrupted by Bailey.

“Did I fucking stutter?” he snarls, the animosity seemingly making the air colder and heavier. Quickly worming back into his night shorts, Robin slinks by Bailey while sending one last remorseful glance your way before vanishing down the corridor.

Silence punctuates his departure. Rage simmers below the surface of his skin, threatening to burn him. The sound of shuffling sheets punctures the quiet, instinctually causing him to look your way. Breath catches in his throat, soaking in the sight of your exposed thighs. As you reach for your bottoms, awkwardly twisting your body, he sees what he believes must be that brat's fluids discoloring your underwear. Lips twitching, he’s overcome with the desire to tear it from your body and have it burned.

Had he arrived even an hour later, you’d have surrendered your virginity to that urchin. Struck with violent impulse, he feels the final strand of resolve disintegrate. He stalks forward, his presence overwhelming as he closes the distance between you.

Scrambling back until your back is pressed against the headboard, you glare daggers, demanding to know why he’s here. The slight tremble of your voice reveals the fear underlining that false bravado you’ve taken to wearing. He makes note of your shifting eyes, frantically searching for an escape, and snorts in amusement. There would be no trouble subduing you, especially at this distance. Perhaps you came to this realization yourself, your eyes snapping back to him with a trace of defeat settling onto your features.

“You owe me.” A grimace overtakes your expression. Ah, now this was a first. Of all his orphans, you were one of the few that were consistently prompt with their payments. No wonder you were offering yourself to that brat. Now, no guilt would weigh on his conscience; you owed him and he intended to collect. You had only yourself to blame for whatever happened next.

Gathering your voice, you stamper out a retort, voice raising as you speak. “I-I’m a little short, but I ha-have enough to cover Robin! Do whatever to me; just leave him out of it!"

You nervously extend the bills out, and he snatches them, flicking through the stack to tally the sum. Satisfied with the amount, he stuffs the wad of cash into his pocket before glancing back up to you.

“I know just what to do with you. Don’t worry, I have no interest in that brat joining.” Closing the distance between you, he snatches your ankle and drags you towards him before you can resist.

You yelp as he pounces, quickly pinning your arms above your head and adjusting his grip so he can hold them down with just one hand. He doesn’t give you a moment to react before he snatches your lips with his own, silencing any potential objections. His tongue swipes across your lips, thrusting down your throat—domineering, rough, and speaking of suppressed desire. Pulling back, a string of saliva connects your lips.

“Wh-What was that about...?” You gasp out, greedily sucking in air, nearly suffocated by his intensity.

“You owe me.” He begins, hand drifting down to cup your sex. “And you have something I want.”

Tears gather at the revelation, struggling against his hold. “N-no way! Haven’t you stolen enough from me?”

Snatching your cheeks in his fingers, he clenches as a warning and sneers. “You fucking owe me, so unless you want me knocking on that brat’s door for payment, you’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you.”

You sniffle and sob, but otherwise settle down, realizing you have no other choice but to comply. Watching your eyes for any signs of rebellion, he feels assured you won’t try anything and releases your face and arms. You go limp, defeated. He hooks his finger in your panties, impatiently pulling them off your body before tossing them to the floor. He doesn’t bother to take off your shirt.

Though having seen you exposed before, he can’t help but stare in appreciation at your glistening lips. Swiping his middle and ring finger between your folds, he wastes no time before sinking knuckle deep, aided by your slick.

“Fuck, you’re soaked. That brat do this to you?” He begins pumping his fingers and circling your clit with his thumb, enjoying the crinkle of your nose and eyes as you try to maintain composure. “Or do you actually want this?”

You shake your head and try to say no, but your voice breaks into a whine as he curls his fingers against a sensitive spot. He takes the initiative to attack that spot, pressing a hand against your chest to hold you down when you begin to squirm.

"Just relax. I'll handle everything like always."

Feeling your chest rise faster and walls clenching tighter, he pulls away just as you’re about to reach your high. A whine leaves your throat against your will, feeling betrayed at the loss of his fingers. Without warning, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into him and replacing his fingers with something much thicker. The sudden intrusion steals your breath away and sends you over the edge, vaguely registering the pain through your climax. Perhaps he was just impatient, or maybe he cares some semblance to distract you from the pain of being split open by something so large. Either way, he gives you no time to adjust to his size, fingers digging into your skin and leaving crescent-shaped marks.

His eyes and lips pressed tight, overwhelmed by your tight heat. He’s plucked plenty of virgins, but none had brought him such intense pleasure. Melting into you, he sinks his face into your neck, tongue gliding across your skin and savoring your taste. You shiver as his lips trace your collarbone, the nipping of his teeth forcing sharp breaths from your throat.

It’s subtle, but you can hear his muted groans as his hips snap against yours, hungry and desperate. The sounds of wet, heated sex penetrate the thin walls of your room, sure to be heard by all. He can’t find it in him to care when all he can focus on is how sweetly you massage him, bringing him closer to the precipice of pleasure with each thrust. The crown of his cock kisses your cervix, your back arching from the sensation as your hands and legs wrap around him. Your nails dig into his back as that coil in your stomach tightens, leaving deep scratches in their path.

As you push against his thrusts, his hand slips between your bodies, teasing your clit with fervor. You feel yourself slip over that edge, head snapping back against the bed and calling out his name with eyes twisted shut. Feeling you tighten, he loses composure and begins frantically chasing that high for himself. Sensitive, you whine from overstimulation, softly calling out his name to catch his attention. The sound of your soft voice helplessly calling for him and only him lights his nerves and leaves him helplessly gripping the sheets. He bites down on your shoulder to stiffle a moan, spilling into you. His hips grind into yours as he winds down, hands tenderly gliding across your body.

As he pulls back, hot white pools onto the sheets below. He admires the mess he’s made: your bruised skin, neck raw and glistening, and lips parted as you try to gather your breath. His thumb ghosts over your lips, amused by the dumb look settled on your face. Satisfaction thrums through him, having claimed the last of your purity.

"Your body was always mine. Like your first time."

[kingkat12]

the secretary (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: dry-humping, inappropriate usage of shoes, humiliation, degradation, masturbation, email-banter (tihi), mentions of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics

summary: Mr. Godfrey isn't done with you-- definitely not after he watched you cum yesterday. but are you sure you want to let him continue running over you like this? you're intrigued, that's for sure; obsessed.

word count: 7,815

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n: the way I have literally written all of this in the span of 24 hours because I CANNOT let go of this plot and the things I'm uncovering about myself this way????? I'm ashamed. you are ashamed. we are all ashamed. welcome to the club of shame, and enjoy;)

Anyone could be an assistant.

Anyone could write emails, organise meetings, take phone calls, and I knew this very well. My job didn't need me to have a big brain, didn't need me to be a PhD candidate, and didn't need me to be any kinds of sharp to handle my position. 

But the more I worked for Mr. Godfrey, the more I realized that not anyone could be a secretary.

Not the normal kind of secretary, fuck no-- not the kind that arranged appointments and answered messages, but Mr. Godfrey's secretary.

That was why he hired me, wasn't it? Because he saw that I could handle it. He recognized, in my job interview, that I was capable of handling the requirements of working for him, to take whatever he would throw at me. I had no idea how, or what the indicators were, but right now? Right now, I felt perfect for the job, and it was partially because he made me feel perfect.

Lilac. French tips. Hair down. Mr. Godfrey's instructions had left me feeling like a doll, and in the best way possible. Even as he was out of office, and would be for the next two hours, I sat by my desk, ready for him to pass me by and hopefully give me a nod of approval; anything would do, after what he had pulled on me yesterday.

Why had he asked me to make myself cum in front of him? Actually, a better question was, how the hell had I allowed myself to comply? There was something about the way he was talking down to me, the way he didn't look at me while I crossed my legs and complied with his every word, and it had thrown my mind for a loop. Why had I enjoyed it to that extent, the humiliation of it all?

I had stayed up all night, wondering what the fuck had happened. The more I googled it, the more I scoured the internet, the more confused I got-- because what came up, were BDSM relationship dynamics. Terms I had never heard before, terms I had never even considered, and they were suddenly floating around in my brain as though they were trying to find their assigned seats. 

I was ashamed to admit that I had watched some... odd videos. And by calling them odd, I was being gentle about my wording. They started out rather weird, with people tied up and stuff-- that wasn't my thing, that was for sure. But then, I stumbled upon some subcategory of suit-clad men, and... that was certainly up my alley. 

It was easy to imagine them being Mr. Godfrey, especially when the suits were a specific shade of greyish black and the shoes had a certain kind of shine. I felt bad, dirty, disgusting even, the more I went on, the more I let my imagination float around freely, because I was sure I shouldn't be having those thoughts about my boss. I was certain it was wrong on all counts of wrong. You-should-be-ashamed wrong. You-should-be-locked-up-you-disgusting-pervert wrong. 

I felt like a pervert. Imagining myself as those girls in the videos, those girls who were getting off on the suit-man's thigh, the ones getting bent over the suit-man's lap and spanked until their behinds were a rather pretty pinkish-colour-- I wondered whether that colour would suit me, and how gorgeous I'd feel with Mr. Godfrey's handprint on my ass. I'd feel like a goddess, I was sure of that. 

Then, I found one specific video.

The one video that I ultimately ended up saving on my hard drive. 

Because in that video, the woman was getting off the same way I got off beneath my desk, and the suit-man was filling out some sort of paperwork, not giving her an ounce of his attention. Was my life... a porn movie? That was a twist from what I thought it was, that was for sure, yet that wasn't important-- what was important, was what it made me feel, and what the video was categorized as.

The video title read as following (nasty as always); dom puts needy sub in place.

Was Mr. Godfrey a dom?

And yesterday, had I agreed for him to be... my dom? Was that what all of that was?

If so, then I was the luckiest girl in the world-- truly. The thought of all these new revelations left me sitting behind my desk with a bright, beaming smile as I watched his new email tick in with heart-eyes. I revelled in the feeling of being chosen-- chosen to do this, chosen to be his sub(?), being chosen to be his secretary.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Questions And Concern

Dear secretary,

I will be back in my office around 14:40. If Mr. Avery stops by before that, tell him I can meet him around 15:00 sharp. If he insists to meet me any earlier regarding whatever, tell him to shove his cock up his ass. Quite frankly, I couldn't care any less about the colour he wants to paint the lobby, and I have much more important things to care about.

However, I find myself concerned regarding my absence this morning. I trust you haven't allowed the lack of direct orders to loosen your discipline? I expect your behaviour to extend beyond my line of sight. 

Can I trust that you are focused?

With regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

If I were focused? Fuck no. How could I be? How was I supposed to focus when Roman fucking Godfrey was sending me mails about my discipline? If he was so damn worried about my discipline, he should come and discipline me himself, honest to God. The more I thought about that word, the more I thought about the good-looking men in suits who were disciplining those women in the videos from last night-- 

I was about to become a porn addict, wasn't I?

From: You

Subject: Holding The Fort

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

You will be pleased to know that Mr. Avery has not stopped by. Hopefully he won't, so that I won't have to tell him to shove his cock up his ass. How would that even work, sir? I have never had these thoughts before, and I must say I am a bit stumped. Male anatomy is not my strong suit.

Regarding your concern, I must assure you that I am capable of performing my duties without your presence in the office. You have hired me for a reason, sir, and everything is running smoothly as of now.

Focused as ever, Mr. Godfrey.

Kind regards,

Your Secretary.

Was that too much? It couldn't be. He wouldn't have used the word cock in an email had he not warranted this sort of interaction. Or? Holding my breath at the suspense, I decided to try to calm myself down by opening my private folder--

No, I wasn't about to watch porn at work, you pervert. I was just finding snake, the best game to play in the office. 

Time passed quicker this way, when I could turn my brain off and click on the cute snake to chase a bright red apple. It wasn't as though I had any pressing matters to tend to, now that Mr. Godfrey was out of office, and I allowed myself the liberty of slacking off, sure. Who wouldn't? It wasn't like he'd ever know. Now that he wasn't here, I wasn't stressing my ass off either, and I didn't feel the need to relieve myself like I had been caught doing-- I wasn't planning on doing that ever again in this damned office. At home, maybe. While waiting for the bus at the bus stop, fine. But while eating dinner? While filling out tax forms and paying my rent? No, that had to stop. I was doing this way too often, way too freely, way too casually. How many people had actually noticed throughout the years, just like Mr. Godfrey? How many times had I thought I had been slick when I had been blatantly obvious...?

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to throw myself off the top of the Godfrey Tower. But just as I was about to beat my high score on snake, having let my mind wander, a new email ticked in.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: A Teaching Moment

Dear secretary,

You have managed to momentarily short-circuit my brain. Congratulations.

However, since you are so stumped, here is your answer: one could probably do that with significant flexibility, a concerning amount of dedication, and—presumably—a severe lack of dignity. I would not recommend looking it up. Knowing you, you already have.

Now, about your claim of being focused as ever. You do realize I can see your internet usage? You have been playing 'Snake' for the past seven minutes. That culminates to seven minutes of wasted company time. Seven minutes of me rethinking your job security.

I do not care if you are bored. Return to your work, and do not lie to me again.

With reluctant indulgence,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

What?! I immediately clicked out of snake, and pressed my palm against the camera of my computer. Could he see me, or was he only getting some sort of report when he clicked on my device? That would mean that I was connected to his phone, somehow. That was both horrifying and endearing; was that company policy, or was that just Mr. Godfrey not being able to get enough of me?

... Probably the first thing. Something told me I lightly annoyed him, despite his indulgence with me. 

After ripping a Post-it and putting it over the computer camera, I straightened up in my seat, crossing my legs at my ankles as I typed up a response. 

From: You

Subject: Consider Me Taught

Dear Mr. Godfrey, 

For your information, I do not wish to see that sort of thing, and neither have I ever seen it. I find your assumption offensive. I am not some pervert; I am your secretary.

Regarding you seeing my internet usage, I consider my privacy violated. How is that allowed? I do not feel comfortable with that. Yes, I have been playing 'Snake', but that is because I have nothing else to do at the moment and I am taking a short break. Had I had any pressing matters, I would have been busy. I am perfectly capable of doing my job, and you threatening to fire me over something so insignificant and inconsequential does not help the matter. 

I apologize. However, I did not lie to you. I do not appreciate being called a liar.

Focused regards,

Your Very-Focused Secretary.

That was too snarky, wasn't it? I couldn't help it-- I stared at the post-it note in front of my camera and felt my brows draw together with dismay. But here I was, slaving away all day, answering all of Mr. Godfrey's emails, dealing with annoying people who wanted to schedule meetings with him, taking all his calls, and he was monitoring me like I was some lousy secretary? 

Was I not special? Was I not?--

Wait. 

Mr. Godfrey had answered. Exactly two minutes and thirty-one seconds after I had sent my email. That must be a record of some sort.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Alright

Dear secretary,

You humour me.

I apologize that my access makes you uncomfortable. Is it maybe time for us to discuss some boundaries?

PS: you are a pervert.

With restrained regards,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I had to do everything in my power to not jolt in my seat and gasp. Instead, I opted to press my forehead against my desk, holding back a string of screams. Was this seriously happening? It couldn't be. Did he seriously just call me a pervert in an email? I could send this to HR and get him in enormous trouble, yet... I gathered the strength to straighten up and drag myself out of the mud; fuck it. If he was calling me a pervert, I'd call him three.

From: You

Subject: Disagreements

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I'm glad I humour you, sir. 

And if I am to be honest, I am afraid to say yes to anything related to the word 'boundaries'. It sounds a lot like something I associate with pijvodbuhvdobAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

... I didn't end up sending this, obviously. But was I about to type out the word? I couldn't. Would that scare him off? Would the direct call-out make him back off? Mr. Godfrey seemed like a typical avoidant. I didn't want to fuck this up, yet I felt like we couldn't progress without the necessary wordings, sadly. My comfort was necessary too, right?

I tried again.

From: You

Subject: Disagreements

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I'm glad I humour you, sir. 

But, if I am to be honest, I am afraid to say yes to anything related to the word 'boundaries' after what happened in your office yesterday. It sounds a lot like something I associate with BDSM. I am fairly new to both the world and that sort of thing, but I did watch Fifty Shades of Grey illegally on some pirated website back when I was 15, so I would appreciate it if we could get it cleared up. Is that what is happening here? 

PSPS: You are a pervert, too.

Respectfully confused,

Your Secretary.

This could cost me my job. This could cost me everything. I regretted that email the second I sent it, and I squirmed in my chair and pushed away from the desk the second I hit send. What the fuck had I done? Why had I said that? Why on earth had I typed that?!

My body turned into jelly as I gave up on the intense anxiety coursing through my veins, and I allowed myself to slide to the floor. No one saw me, anyway, with how my desk was positioned in the office-- I wormed my way along the floor as I felt my breath constrict in my chest, and now that I wasn't allowed to get off to relieve my anxiety, I was left hyperventilating with no way to calm down.

Was this a panic attack? Had my clumsy email pushed me to that state? I wanted to cry and scream and orgasm from the adrenaline pumping through my veins-- this was confusing. And now, of course, Mr. Godfrey wasn't answering quickly anymore, so I was left to boil in my cauldron of torture. 

But just as I started creeping under my desk, hoping to hide, I realized someone was watching me. It wasn't my boss through my post-it covered camera, it wasn't God (I hoped), but as I slowly dared to look up, I saw a very concerned Peter leaning over the desk with a cocked brow. This could've been taken straight out of some coming-of-age romance movie, yet I couldn't feel any of the humour; now, I was only horrified to be found in this state.

My eyes widened, caught red-handed with my back to the floor-- "Peter," I breathed.

He broke out into a soft smile, followed by a gentle laugh; "Hey,"

"Hey," I mumbled, not even trying to get up. With a sigh, I submitted to my role as the girl on the floor, and shrugged. "This is not what it looks like."

"And what do you think this looks like, kid?"

"Like I'm having a stroke?"

"Meh," Peter walked around my desk, no longer suppressing his warm chuckle. He crouched down next to me, tilting his head as he scanned me on the floor. "It looks like you might be in need of a lunch break."

"I already had a break," I breathed, letting my body go limp. "I played snake."

"Snake?"

"The game where you have to make the snake hit the apple? The tail grows with every apple you bite, and then the screen gets crowded, so--"

"Kid, I've played it before,"

"Oh,"

Peter extended his hand for me, visibly amused by my antics. "Need a hand?"

"No," I said, accepting my position. "I'm waiting for the floor to swallow me."

"... Why?"

Because I was an idiot? Because I screwed up between me and Mr. Godfrey before anything had time to actually happen? "Because," I breathed, closing my eyes. "I'm just overwhelmed. I don't think I'm doing my job very well."

Peter sighed, the sound of it mixing with a brewing laugh of his. "If you're playing snake all the time, then I gotta agree,"

His teasing landed softly, and despite myself, a small, pitiful smile flickered across my lips. "I don't play it all the time," I muttered, voice muffled as I pressed my cheek to the floor-- I prayed that my skin wouldn't break out because of it. "I only play it when... when I've sent an email to my boss that may or may not have ended my entire career before it even started."

Peter shifted to sit cross-legged beside me, elbows on his knees. "What kind of email are we talking about here?"

I definitely couldn't tell him that. I opted for something vague; "The kind you don't survive,"

Peter raised an eyebrow, curious now. It took him a few seconds to scour his brain for all the stupid possibilities I could've gotten myself into. Then; "Don't tell me you sent Roman nudes?"

"What?! No!" I sat up so fast I nearly headbutted him. "It wasn't nudes, I'm not-- I'm not that kind of girl!"

"Okay, okay!" Peter put a hand on my shoulder, hoping to calm me down. "Whatever it is, I bet Roman won't care too much. He generally doesn't care, if you haven't noticed."

He was right-- Mr. Godfrey wasn't a man to take much offence, yet... something told me it was a front. He almost cared too much. Why else would he have made me get off in front of him? It was obviously some sort of power play. It was a way for him to feel in control again, right? A man who didn't care wouldn't go to such lengths, and all of this quickly deflected Peter's argument. "I hate it here," I groaned, glancing down at my lilac nails. French tips. French tips. Forbes nose. Oh, the Forbes nose...

Peter laughed properly this time, low and warm as he watched me fall apart, before he stood and offered me a hand again. "C'mon, kid. The floor's not gonna help. Come take a walk, get some water, anything. You're spiralling, but you're not getting fired," he added, gentle. "Even if you're a little weird."

Ugh. 

"... Thanks," I mumbled, begrudgingly taking his hand. Peter helped me up with surprising ease, and I did my best not to think about the way his bicep bulged through his shirt when he pulled me up.

Why couldn't my mind function properly? Why was I thinking about all these men this way? However, as I dusted myself off and tried to regain my composure, my computer pinged again.

My blood ran cold. That better not be Mr. Avery. 

Peter glanced at the screen. "That him?"

I shrugged-- some part of me didn't want to know, yet the other was screaming at me to lunge at my desk. 

"Well, don't just stand there," Peter said, nudging me. "Go read it. Life could be worse... He could humiliate you in front of Middle Eastern royalty, or something."

I shot him a look. The mention of that incident gave me a major case of PTSD. "Ha-ha. You're very funny,"

"Just don't let him fire you," he teased, stepping backwards. "Who else would I find lying on the floor at this place? I need my court jester."

"Hilarious, Peter! I'm dying of laughter, here!" 

With a snarky grunt, I refused to watch him walk away when he did. I didn't need to see him to know he was smirking. I stepped back behind my desk with unmatched speed the second Peter was out of sight, adjusted my blouse like it would fix the past ten minutes, and opened Mr. Godfrey's email with my body trembling from the adrenaline.

My eyes skimmed the email--

Oh fuck.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clearing Things Up

Dear secretary,

You are not in a position to send me emails like your previous one. You are overstepping, and you are being inappropriate. I suggest you get back to work and no longer mention explicit movies and terms. This exchange was beneath both of us. Do not repeat it.

However, if you insist on misbehaving, do have the courage to do it properly.

Sternly,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

... What the fuck was that supposed to mean?! 

So, I just got the telling off of the centuries, yet I was encouraged to go on? What the fuck?! This was becoming masochistic on my part, and I realized I wouldn't participate in that willingly. In the midst of my brain melting, I felt my thighs automatically pulling together, clenching and unclenching despite Mr. Godfrey's clear instructions not to do that anymore-- I knew what happened the last time I was caught doing this, but he was gone now, right? He wouldn't know. He would never know, and I could relieve myself, I could feel better, I could cool down my brain--

Wait.

My fingers went to my keyboard, operating on autopilot, because suddenly, I remembered the loophole. Mr. Godfrey had explicitly offered me an option to this yesterday, when he said that I could do it, but... with his approval.

From: You

Subject: (No Subject)

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

... May I?

Waiting,

Your Secretary.

One minute. One minute and fifty-seven seconds. That was how long it took until my computer filled the silence with a robotic pling, and I could breathe again.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Re: (No Subject)

Dear secretary,

What a smart girl you turned out to be.

With that said— no. I'll deal with you when I return.

Patiently,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The blinds were down, and the door to Mr. Godfrey's office was slanted, slightly open-- the sight of it made my heart stop in my chest. I had been gone for about three minutes, only to grab a glass of water, fix my hair in the reflection of the windows and pop some gum into my mouth, but I had somehow managed to miss him coming back to his office.

This was bad. This was so bad.

Just as I anxiously hovered around my desk, trying to get a quick glance inside the office to see whether Mr. Godfrey was free, I spotted the briefcase that had been left outside, leaning against the wall. I recognized that briefcase immediately-- Mr. Avery's.

... Oh no. 

And it was at this moment that I spotted the man I had been dreading to see all day, yet the one I had waited for with burning fervour. His suit was dark blue today, complementing his pale skin and bringing out the gorgeous brown colour of his hair-- my eyes were morphing into tiny hearts, and I could do nothing to stop it. 

But suddenly, green was all I saw. Green, green, green, as I locked eyes with Mr. Godfrey through the crack in the door, and they were beautiful, but they were filled with burning wrath; the sight of it nearly made me accidentally swallow my gum. He crossed his arms over his chest, jaw clenching, eye twitching with restraint as he quickly jerked his head, motioning for me to get the fuck inside before he chewed my head off. 

With a sharp hitch of my breath, I hurried to get through the door, shutting it behind me with a click. In an ideal world, I'd press my back into the door and hyperventilate, but I knew I had a job to do-- by the look of Mr. Godfrey, I needed to get Mr. Avery out, stat.

Anxious, I tried to chew my gum as quietly as possible whilst approaching the intruder. He was going on and on about repainting the lobby a rather particular shade of orange to hopefully raise the happiness-rate in the entire building; "Statistically, orange is the thing-- the colour that is supposed to improve someone's mood!" he said, stammering and stumbling around his words. "I think it would help the general feeling of the office. If your employees walk in happy, why not do it?"

I blinked-- orange? Godfrey Industries... orange? Mr. Avery was clearly a man who was either sick in the head, or sick in the head.

With unsure steps, I took my place next to Mr. Godfrey, who was now leaning against his table, staring back at a rambling Mr. Avery with disbelief-- or was it disgust? I didn't dare to look at him for too long. This way, with him half-sitting, we were almost the same height. For a split second, I wondered how it would feel to kiss him when he was on my level, whether he'd be the kind of man to gently pull me in by my waist or yank me toward him-- 

My mind would've wandered on like that forever, but out of the blue, Mr. Godfrey extended his hand out in front of my mouth, palm up. Without looking at me, his fingers curled once in a quiet, demanding gesture.

My pulse stuttered.

He wanted the gum.

He wanted to see if I would follow him blindly. This was another test, wasn't it?

I stared at Mr. Godfrey, bewildered, waiting for him to laugh and retract his hand. However, that moment never came. What did come, was an annoyed huff, and another quick curl of his fingers telling me to get on with it without a single word.

So, I leaned forward-- I didn't dare to hesitate too long, and I parted my lips and let the gum fall into Mr. Godfrey's palm. My cheeks burned with shame as my eyes dared to dart toward Mr. Avery, whose voice had faltered mid-sentence. 

His gaze flicked down to the hand, then to me, then back again.

God, how humiliating-- and how good it felt to be the one chosen to be humiliated. Even in the thick silence, I had to bite back a rather sheepish smile. Mr. Godfrey and I had managed to shut up our annoying intruder, after all. Efficient. Genius. 

But without so much as a glance in my direction, Mr. Godfrey closed his fingers over my gum and turned to drop it into the wastebasket beside his desk, shrugging as he absentmindedly said; "No orange. There will be no orange,"

Mr. Avery could shove his cock up his ass. I knew he was itching to say it.

And on the other side of the room, our annoying guest was fumbling to gather his stuff and get out as fast as possible. I wasn't the only one who got intimidated by Mr. Godfrey, and that was actually rather nice to see. "Oh!-- Of course, yes," Mr. Avery stammered. "It was stupid, really. But I'm always happy to-- to try!" He stumbled toward the door and exited with the clumsy urgency of a man who knew he had overstayed his welcome.

The moment the door clicked shut, I turned back toward Mr. Godfrey, opening my mouth to apologize for letting in the intruder, but I stopped the second I saw green.

He was looking at me now, and it was quiet. The kind of quiet that suffocates, the kind that shreds you apart like the shredder on the 16th floor that nearly chopped my finger off the other day.

Mr. Godfrey didn't say anything. He was just looking at me like he was deciding something, and that made everything a thousand times worse. Was he maybe thinking about how to tell me I was fired, or was he deciding how to deal with me, like he had said in his email? In the midst of my inner panicked monologue, last night's research buzzed into my head. 

Dom puts needy sub in her place. The suit-clad men. The handprints left on sore, pink skin. Why had this burned itself into my mind? Why couldn't I be busy with something good for me, like... activism? Ugh, fuck it.

Then, Mr. Godfrey's voice cut through my thoughts with a stern; "Turn,"

What? I blinked. "Pardon?"

"Turn," he repeated, slower this time, voice dipped in that particular kind of mockery only he could master. His fingers tapped against the edge of the desk behind him, impatient. "You do know what that means, don't you? Or did all the video games and the gum rot your brain as well?"

My lips parted with a breath I couldn't catch. I felt heat crawl up my neck, shame prickling against my scalp. I should've turned around and done as told, but instead I stood there, blinking like a deer in headlights, unsure if I was supposed to obey or be insulted. In the midst of it all, I could feel the red lights going off in my brain-- what was he about to do? 

Mr. Godfrey sighed, long and theatrical. "Pathetic," he muttered, pushing away from the desk. I let my eyes follow him, allowing myself to watch how fantastically tall he was-- every part of me wanted to climb him.

He was right in front of me now, close enough that I caught a faint trace of his cologne, and then his voice dropped just above a whisper; "Turn. Around,"

Something sharp and electric ran through my spine, and my legs moved before I could stop them; I turned around, and every atom I was made of screamed for him to praise me for it. Face flushed, heart hammering, I stood with my back to him. Silence followed as I felt him looking, like his gaze had weight, and like it was actively crawling up my spine. "Mr. Godfrey, sir, I--"

"Bend over,"

I blinked, unsure I had heard him right. "Excuse me?--"

"My patience is running really damn low, so I suggest you don't make me reiterate a fourth time,"

My breath caught, and it resulted in me hesitating for just a second too long.

Cold fingers curled around the nape of my neck-- not tight, not cruel, but enough to make my knees buckle. Mr. Godfrey pressed, and my body obeyed without another thought; my palms braced against the cool wood of his desk, and to my horror, I could feel my skirt automatically sliding up my thighs.

... Was this why he told me to wear a shorter skirt yesterday?

"Sir?" I breathed, feeling my eyes prickle. For the first time, I found myself feeling scared. I could fantasize all I wanted, sure, but having it all happen in real life? I wasn't sure I was ready for it. "Sir, please don't-- please don't--"

"I'm not going to fuck you," Mr. Godfrey said, calm and precise as his hand left my neck. "I have no interest in that whatsoever, I can assure you. However, I need you to stay still so I can check something out."

Could my boss perhaps read minds? I let out a choppy stream of air, nodding against the desk. 

Behind me, Mr. Godfrey moved with no rush. He was crouching, now, and I could feel the deliberate slowness of his breath near the backs of my thighs. Then, his fingers brushed the hem of my skirt, lifting it higher with clinical, unhurried care. 

My breath caught; I could've sworn I heard him hum. Why hadn't I worn nicer underwear today? Fucking hell. Of course, I had no idea anyone would be seeing the pair I was wearing right now, but I was happy I had at least chosen something with a little bow in the front. 

"You're not wet," he murmured, more to himself than me. "I take it that you didn't go against my word, then?"

Was he talking about how he had denied me getting off earlier today? Me not being wet anymore had nothing to do with that, though. I was sure I could've gotten off completely dry, if I wanted to-- but did Mr. Godfrey need to know that? Certainly not. "I didn't,"

"What?"

"I-- I didn't, sir,"

"Good," 

As I exhaled against the desk, I found my brain buzzing with my inner voice pleading with him to touch me. Just the brush of his knuckles against my inner thigh would make my knees buckle, I was sure-- my cheeks were a rather embarrassing shade of pink as I closed my eyes and imagined how good it would feel if Mr. Godfrey decided to press his thumb against my clit, or even better, against my core to check if my wetness just hadn't reached my underwear. I didn't even care if his hand was still sticky from the gum he'd held in his palm.

But then, I couldn't feel Mr. Godfrey's breath against my thighs anymore. "Stand up," he said, rising behind me.

I scrambled upright like my body had been waiting for permission to move. Fidgeting, anxious, I adjusted my skirt, pulling it down as much as I possibly could. Now, Mr. Godfrey had seen me cum, and seen my underwear. What would be next? Would the next thing be him witnessing my suicide, because he had driven me to it? Hopefully not. 

My gaze met his the second I turned around, and I immediately regretted it. Green, green, green. Forbes nose. There was no softness in his expression, no teasing-- just that steady, infuriating coolness of a typical CEO. And just as I thought he was about to say something nice, praise me for following his orders, anything; "You... smell like need,"

I blinked. "Weed?"

"... Weed?" Mr. Godfrey echoed, blinking back at me. "Need. Are you partially deaf, or?--"

"Sorry, sir," I squeaked, no longer meeting his gaze. Why did I think he had said weed? Stupid, stupid! "I swear I don't smoke. I barely even drink, sir."

Somehow, I felt like my blabbering intrigued him. "Oh, is that so?"

"Positive,"

"Well, I do," he said, shrugging. "Weed can be nice. Do you have any schizophrenics in your family?"

What?! "No...?" Not that I knew of?

"Good. Then you most likely won't go into psychosis if you try some," Mr. Godfrey tilted his head, scanning me as his brows drew together just slightly. "You seem like a risk-taker to me, though. Why don't you smoke?"

"I--" My knees were still weak, and I had to clear my throat. "I like my lungs."

Mr. Godfrey hummed; "Why don't you drink?"

"Cause I'd be an alcoholic," I blurted out, swallowing. "I get addicted to things really easily. I'm rather obsessive, sir."

"Obsessive?"

"Yes, sir,"

"About...?"

"Things I shouldn't,"

Mr. Godfrey didn't speak. He just looked at me with a blank expression, not giving away anything until he suddenly moved. One step, then two, and he passed me by. For a split second, he was close enough that I could smell the faint bitterness of his cologne and something else under it: smoke, leather, maybe the edge of something metallic?

He sat down in his chair with a satisfied sigh, spreading out. His green eyes were tethered to me, like if he looked away or blinked, I'd manage to run away. "Down," he said.

Baffled, I stared. "Sir?"

He looked vaguely irritated by the fact that I was still standing. "Get over here, and get on your knees,"

The words hit like a low bell in my chest, reverberating; yet, I obeyed... slowly. When I reached him, my knees kissed the floor, and my skirt folded around my thighs as my heart climbed up my throat. I wasn't sure what this was-- punishment? Reward? A lesson for not having sharp ears? What was about to happen?

He didn't explain; this was Roman Godfrey, for fuck's sake. He didn't explain himself to anyone. Instead, he spread out further, just far enough that the pointed toe of his right shoe came into view. It was glossy black, expensive, possibly new. He angled his foot slightly toward me, casual.

"Obsessive," he repeated, as though he was tasting the word. "I suggest you don't tell me any more of your weak points. I'm compelled to use them against you, and I'm not keen on restraining myself in my own office."

I stared up at Mr. Godfrey, eyes round with a mix of fear and confined excitement. However, his eyes were on his right shoe, watching the way the gloss shone beneath the office lights. "You've done well today, compared to yesterday," he hummed. "You aren't rejecting the structure I'm implementing in you, you've controlled yourself, for once, so... I believe that deserves something. Doesn't it?" 

I didn't dare answer-- my thighs were shaking. The floor felt too hard beneath my knees, and still I didn't move. Not because I liked it, but mostly because I kind of hoped it would bruise. I'd bruise my knees for Mr. Godfrey any day. "I-- I don't know, sir," I finally whispered. 

"Don't lie. You want something, but you're afraid to ask. You're allowed to ask, are you aware of that?"

I was... allowed? I was so tense I could feel the ache behind my knees. My whole body was humming with unreleased want, my thoughts skipping like stones across a lake I couldn't dive into.

Then, Mr. Godfrey leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, voice dropping: "You can get off now. But if you must, you will use my shoe,"

I blinked. "I-- Sir?"

"You heard me," There wasn't a hint of humor in his tone. "I'm tired of watching you squirm in your seat. Are you not able to cum any other way? If not, then we have to change that."

Shame crashed over me like a hot wave. "I-- I don't know, sir, I haven't tried--"

"Don't play modest. You're obsessive, so obsess," He nodded once, slow and deliberate, at the pointed leather. "Go on."

I couldn't breathe. This was seriously almost exactly like something I had watched in one of the pornos from last night. How was this happening? How was I letting this happen?

But... my body moved.

I shifted forward, the floor scraping faintly under my knees, and lowered myself just enough to press the clothed ache between my legs against the toe of his shoe. The friction was maddening even through my underwear-- just the firm drag of polished leather against a part of me so tender I could barely keep my balance. 

My breath hitched, and my pleading eyes found his; "Mr. Godfrey, sir, are you-- are you sure?" Please, please don't let this be some mean trick. 

He didn't react-- not a twitch. Just sat there like the authority figure he was, watching me demean myself. "Don't question my word," he said, icy. 

... Okay, then.

My thighs trembled as I started to move-- tentative, shallow motions, with my clothed sex gliding against the stiff leather of his shoe. The room blurred out of focus, and I wasn't even sure if I was breathing anymore. Why did this feel so good? I never thought I'd ever sink so low, yet here I was.

There was no sound in the room but the slight drag of fabric and the soft, wet sound my body made against something that would never respond to me. 

And still, Mr. Godfrey didn't move, didn't blink, but at least I had his full attention this time. Now, he was actually looking at me. Yet; "Pathetic," he murmured, just loud enough. "It's almost sweet."

I swallowed a gasp and squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't stop the wave of humiliation from peaking and breaking over me. My cheeks were wet-- maybe with sweat, maybe not. I couldn't tell anymore, yet still, I rocked. Each movement sent a shudder up my spine, each pass over the tip of his shoe tugging a needy, desperate noise out of me. I needed more pressure, needed to lean into it, but I couldn't balance.

Without thinking, I reached forward, planting a shaky hand on the edge of his thigh for support, feeling the soft fabric of his suit against the burning tips of my fingers.

But... I shouldn't have. Holy shit I shouldn't have, because instantly, he recoiled in what I could only decode as disgust. Mr. Godfrey wafted me away like I was something distasteful-- "No," he hissed, biting and sharp. "You don't get to touch me."

Fuck-- I froze. Something about his knee-jerk reaction shocked me to my core. My whole body seized in place, and that was when it hit-- the burn. Not just between my legs, but in my eyes, in my chest. The rejection, sharp and cold and cutting straight through the heat of arousal; my vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked hard, but it was too late. He saw.

Mr. Godfrey's gaze locked on mine again-- green, cold, assessing. Just for a second, I thought I saw something resembling guilt, but that would be impossible. Roman Godfrey didn't feel guilty about anything. If anything, he made you feel guilty for even existing in his vicinity. 

But then, something shifted. He didn't soften, not quite; he didn't have that in him, I think. Still, he leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and brought his hand up between us.

I flinched, until my foggy brain realized Mr. Godfrey's thumb was gently pressing against my lips. 

Open.

Without thinking, my mouth wrapped around his thumb, slow, obscene, wet, as my hips ground down harder against his smooth shoe. Something about this functioned like a pacifier, and I suddenly found myself no longer wanting to cry. What the fuck?

Mr. Godfrey's eyes stayed on me, watching the way my lips closed around him. And then, he granted me the words that were the closest to an apology than anything he'd probably ever granted anyone before; "Good girl," he cooed. "That's better."

My tears, freshly humiliated, welled again, but now they mixed with something sickly warm-- something that felt dangerously close to affection for both of us. He wasn't angry anymore. He was... assessing me, testing me out like he was trying me on for size. I could breathe again. He had actually praised me. Roman Godfrey had praised me. That was all I had ever wanted, since the second I started working for him.

Mr. Godfrey shifted his hand, thumb still in my mouth, and the pad of it traced over my tongue like he was checking the texture. My jaw ached to close around it, bite down, do something that would make me feel less helpless, but I didn't dare. I suckled, soft, obedient, grateful.

"There we are," he murmured, like he was proud of a kid for saying a full sentence.

The burn of his affection made me whimper. I didn't mean to, but the sound escaped from somewhere buried deep. 

"Was that too much for you?" he asked, brushing a tear from under one eye with the knuckle of his free hand. The question was rhetorical-- he didn't wait for an answer. "Told you we had to talk about boundaries."

I didn't know what to say, yet couldn't say anything at all with his thumb filling my mouth. Still, my body kept moving, clinging to the friction, chasing release like it was the only lifeline I had left.

"Greedy girl," Mr. Godfrey murmured, shaking his head. "You want comfort and corruption. That's a dangerous combination. That'd get you obsessed for sure, and that's not what I want."

What the hell did he want, then? I had no idea.

My fingers curled into fists-- he wasn't wrong. I didn't know how to want something halfway, I never had. I only knew how to consume, obsess, drown, and right now, I could feel myself drowning in the pleasure. Who would've thought grinding against a shoe would feel good? Those girls moaning their asses off in those porn videos were seemingly not lying that much.

Mr. Godfrey watched me the way a handler might study a trembling animal-- somewhere between clinical and captivated. His thumb stayed in my mouth, anchoring me to him, keeping me quiet, subdued. It was too much. It was not enough. I didn't know which.

"That's it," he said, his voice like blood-drenched silk. "You're almost there, aren't you?"

I whimpered around his thumb, nodding, the friction unbearably perfect now; sharp leather, soaked-through panties, and the humiliating rhythm of my own hips chasing a finish that felt impossible to stop.

"Pathetic little thing," he whispered. "You're one heck of a fucking secretary."

That did it-- I shattered.

My orgasm hit like a car crash, sudden and sickeningly sweet; my body convulsed as my hips locked down hard against his shoe. I moaned around his thumb, eyes screwed shut, utterly undone and unable to hide it; I didn't have to.

And Mr. Godfrey just let me. He didn't move. Didn't help. Didn't soothe. He let me. He held his thumb steady in my mouth, watching me with quiet satisfaction as my body betrayed me; I shuddered, and clenching and weeping against something that would never, ever love me.

"Look at that," he murmured when I finally started to come down, my thighs trembling, my body wrecked. "See what happens when you follow my rules?"

I... 

Yes, but... 

I couldn't believe what had just happened. What the fuck had I done? When would this feeling of shame leave me? 

And had I just... gotten off on somebody's shoe?!

The post-orgasm clarity hit me like never before. With the last shred of dignity in my body, I allowed my teeth to gently sink into Mr. Godfrey's thumb-- it was barely anything, barely a scrape, barely a bite, but I had to do something in order to soothe the fire raging through my soul.

So, I get to humiliate myself like this when I follow his rules? I get to feel shame beyond belief in exchange for him shaping me to his liking?

No, sir.

Eyes burning with every feeling churning in my gut, I glared up at Mr. Godfrey through my brows, making him face my rebellion. How dare he use my affliction with him against me like this? How dare he waft my hands away from him? What the fuck was his problem? Why was he doing this?! I wanted to sob and hit him, to beg him to explain what he was doing to me. Was he conditioning me? What for? The image of the previous secretary flashed before my eyes, the odd tear in her skirt making the pit in my stomach heavier than ever; angered, I flared my teeth, sinking them harder into his thumb, hoping for some sort of reaction or wince from him, yet nothing. 

Instead, Mr. Godfrey pulled his thumb from between my teeth as though he couldn't feel a thing, and abruptly got up from his chair. I guessed he could see the thoughts behind my narrowed eyes, and it didn't take a genius to figure that it pissed him off. He had granted me my orgasm, so I should be grateful, right? Fuck no. Then, it didn't take long before he got his foot back from under me, and--

I gasped. 

Mr. Godfrey pressed his shoe against my chest and pushed. 

He stood on top of me, not pressing his whole weight on me, yet it was enough to make my eyes bulge as I tried to catch my breath. My back had hit the floor with a thud, and I struggled to understand what the fuck was happening. I would've hit him, would've tried to get him off of me, but... I wasn't allowed to touch him.

Even as he was stepping on me, my mind wouldn't let me go against him.

... This was so fucking bad.

Mr. Godfrey leaned down, pushing down hard enough to make me whimper, before he hissed with pure wrath in his eyes;

"Brat,"

(a/n: never have I ever found shoe-humping hot. never. I still sorta don't, but this was... yes sorry this was HOT IDKKKK WTF IS HAPPENING TO ME??? BUT THANK U IF YOU'VE READ THIS FARRR AHAHAH<33333)

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@voidofsunlight @sn0wybowie-blog @scarledy @carmillavalentine

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[foreignjaykay]

company (a jungkook fic)

part one - "you wish i'd miss you,"

company - a jungkook fic

can we keep each other company?

their workplace was chaos, but jungkook made it fun. their camaraderie was effortless—until he decided to leave. no big deal. people quit all the time. so why does it feel like everything is about to change?

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: r18+ (angst, fluff) minors do not interact!

chapter warnings/misc: workplace!au, coworkers!au, event planner!jk, event planner!oc, jk is not famous, angst, fluff, sad, crack, event planner!mingyu, bts in event planning company, unserious friend group, they are so silly and unserious, mean boss - yeah no she sucks, ANGST, IDIOTS both of them, yeah i guess thats it...for now hehe

notes: hello everyone!!! hehe its my first fic on tumblr and my first ever jk fic so i really hope you guys like it. im writing after so many years so please ignore mistakes eh. its kinda based on my personal experiences. things will only get interesting as this fic progresses.. lots of new characters will come in the next chapter! this fic will honestly pick up its pace from the second chapter!! anywho lets get into it!! <3

moodboard • playlist • series masterlist

The first thing you saw when you unlocked your phone this morning was a text from Jungkook. That in itself was weird—he wasn’t the type to be up this early, let alone texting people.

jaykay (work) [8:50am]: hi :)

you [8:50am]: oh my god. what did you forget?

jaykay (work)  [8:51am]: have some faith in me. i was texting for something entirely different. 😒

you[8:51am]: are you sick? held hostage? blink twice if you need help.

jaykay (work) [8:52am]: how da hell are u so dramatic in the morning

you [8:52am]: come to the point jungkook

jaykay [8:52am]: fine. 🙄 don’t bring lunch today

you [8:53am]: why?

jaykay (work) [8:53am]: lunch is on me. taking you, shane and mingyu out for ramen

you [8:53am]: 🤨🤨🤨

jaykay (work) [8:54am]: see you in office🥰

You squinted at the screen, trying to process the words through your morning haze. This man barely made it to work before noon on most days, always breezing in with an iced americano and a sheepish grin. And yet here he was, awake and making lunch plans at 9 AM? Suspicious. Very suspicious.

It’s fixed, you know? Him being late to work, getting sarcastic remarks from the bosses - Natasha, the reporting manager (god did she love micromanaging the team) and Kim Song, the director of your company.

But whatever, free ramen was free ramen and, on that note, you finally woke up and went to get ready for the weird day that was ahead of you.

By the time you got to the office, the usual chaos had already begun. Natasha, wasn’t physically present today, thank the lord for that, you thought, but her presence loomed over Zoom calls like a dark cloud. You had barely set down her bag before her laptop screen lit up with an incoming call. Does this woman ever chill?

“Good morning, team,” Natasha’s clipped voice rang out as the screen loaded. “Let’s go over the deliverables for today.” Her screen was hidden and she was on a holiday like she had very explicitly mentioned the week before she left.

You suppressed a groan as you saw Jungkook and Mingyu joining the call too. Shane, their CS intern, looked half-asleep. Jungkook, though, was oddly quiet, his usual playful banter nowhere to be seen. His leg bounced under the desk, fingers drumming against the tabletop.

You shot him a look, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

Okay that was weird, wasn’t it?

You looked towards Mingyu and Shane to see if they noticed Jungkook being a little off today but to your surprise they were engrossed on what Natasha was instructing on the upcoming event which was the luxurious Cartier dinner.

Classic Natasha, putting her work on us while she sips on pina coladas on the beach after this 10-minute meeting. You wanted to be as carefree as her sometimes, how easily she just threw her tasks on others.

Throughout the meeting, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Jungkook which thankfully he didn’t notice.

Or at least that’s what you thought.

Jungkook knew you. He knew how curious you got sometimes and he also knew currently the wheels were turning in your head wondering why he was being so awkward. He smiled internally, thinking how much you knew him and how much he was going to miss you.

If you kept looking at him like that, he was going to crack. He just hoped you wouldn’t figure it out before he told you himself.

Once the meeting was over, you quickly went towards the design studio in the office, greeting Yuna and So-hee who seemed like had just come to office with the way they were switching on their systems for the day.

“I really need the final design renders for the stage setup and the seating plan for Cartier, Yuna,” You said worried knowing that if you don’t get these renders in next half an hour then the costing would delay and then Natasha…yeah no.

Its as if Jungkook got a sign, he entered the design studio greeting Yuna, So-hee, and Dae and standing next to you as if to ease the tension you had going on.

“Babe, give me 10 minutes, the renders are ready. I’ll email it to you, Natasha and Namjoon,” Yuna said as she started working on her system. You nodded your head and gave her a worried smile.

“Mark me in the email too,” Jungkook said instantly and you gave him a pointed look. Yuna seemed to mirror your thoughts and raised her eyebrows towards him.

Seeing that you both were confused, Jungkook chuckles and says, “__, you should be happy that I am willingly asking to be marked on emails,” which makes you roll your eyes playfully and smirk.

“Also, I don’t have nothing big going on currently, project wise, so I’ll follow up for the costings and Natasha will stay away from my ass,” Jungkook continues and laughs with Yuna, So-hee and Dae.

You looked at him as he was sort of back in his carefree self but something still felt off. You just couldn’t put your finger on what this feeling was.

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. The second Natasha’s second call for the day wrapped up the call, you shut your laptop and turned towards Jungkook who along with Mingyu and Shane was joking and was waiting for you to get done.

“Okay, spill. What’s with the mystery since today morning?” You immediately asked him and he couldn’t help but chuckle nervously.

Mingyu slung an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders, grinning. “Yeah, dude. You’re making me nervous.”

Shane, ever the observer, just raised a brow. “Is this about work? God I can’t wait to dig into some good ramen after hearing Natasha ramble since past 15 mins. 15 mins with her feel like 2 hours,” Shane continued rambling earning laughs from the three of you.

Jungkook let out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get to lunch first.”

That didn’t help your growing suspicion, but you let it slide—at least until the 4 of you reached the ramen place.

The aroma of rich broth and sizzling garlic filled the tiny ramen shop. Shane and Mingyu were already practically vibrating with hunger, menus discarded, ready to order. You, however, were still scanning the options, your stomach rumbling in anticipation. Just as you were about to decide, you and Jungkook spoke in unison: “Japchae.”

A surprised laugh bubbled up. “You wanna have japchae too?” you asked, a little thrill of connection sparking despite the weirdness of the morning. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and ordered for both of you.

Minutes later, steaming bowls of ramen and the shared plate of japchae arrived. The savory scent made your mouth water. You took a tentative bite of the japchae, the noodles perfectly chewy, the vegetables crisp and flavorful. It was delicious. But Jungkook just sat there, chopsticks hovering over his bowl. He had a strange expression—not quite annoyed, but… something. You knew that look. It was his tell when food was exceptionally good. That’s just his weird trait.

You took the second bite yourself to see if it was and it was really good.

“I got another job.”

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

Then, Mingyu blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook shifted in his seat, avoiding their gazes. “I got an offer from an event company. They handle production for A-list musicians—concerts, world tours, all of it.” But you could see how proud he was. This was his dream.

“Oh, shit, that’s huge,” Shane said, eyes wide and dramatically keeping his chopsticks on the side.

Jungkook looked at you trying to gauge for your reaction.

You swallowed, gripping your chopsticks a little tighter. “Wow. That’s… incredible, Jungkook.” You said genuinely but why did it feel so off? Why did it feel like you were losing everything? People leave jobs all the time and this is no different, so why was it feeling all to different suddenly?

When you congratulated him, you meant it. You really did. He deserved this. But there was a weird, hollow feeling in your chest. Something tight that you couldn’t quite name.

Jungkook was watching you and asked, “You okay?”

You forced a smile but to everyone it looked genuine. “Of course. This is a big deal. I am so happy for you, Jungkook!” Mingyu and Shane mirrored your smile and congratulated him to which Jungkook threw an honest smile.

His eyes still lingered for a second longer before he nodded, turning his attention back to his food. But you could tell he didn’t fully believe you.

Mingyu and Shane immediately started asking him the questions about his new company and the new job and Jungkook excitedly answered them all and you were interested too to know all the details.

Once the 4 of you were done with the lunch, you asked him, “So when are you telling Natasha?”

“Next week, and then 2 weeks’ notice,” He said looking at you as if he was trying to find an emotion out of you.

“Damn bro, you are leaving us so soon.” Shane said and you looked at Jungkook.

“Now at least I will have some proper desk space at the office,” You tried to joke which earned you a playful eye roll from Jungkook.

“Oh my god, I have to plan a farewell party for you now,” Mingyu joked and you laughed. For the whole lunch, this is the first time Jungkook noticed you genuinely smiling and it was all thanks to Mingyu’s dramatic nature.

The rest of the workday felt strangely off-balance. Even though nothing had technically changed yet, you felt the weight of the upcoming shift pressing down on you. The knowledge that soon, Jungkook wouldn’t be here anymore—wouldn’t be there to roll his eyes at Natasha’s ridiculous demands, wouldn’t be crashing at her desk with an iced coffee and a new piece of gossip, wouldn’t be around to share those unspoken glances when things got too absurd.

You had started hating how much that realization unsettled you.

It was Jungkook who got you out of your dazed thoughts when he said, “___, I have asked Namjoon hyung for the Cartier costing and he is working on it,”

You threw a sincere smile towards him and nodded while he went back on his desk and worked on some small projects he had going on.

gyu (work) [3pm]: are you okay?

Once you read the text, you immediately looked at him but he acted to be so engrossed in his work and you couldn’t help but look back into your phone and text back

you [3:01pm]: yeah, why?

gyu (work) [3:01pm]: you sure about that? ever since jk dropped that bomb, you have been quiet and so has he.

That got your attention. Were you that obvious?

you [3:02pm]: no nothing like that. im happy that he got this. he deserves it!! also when is the blue label bottle engraving costing going to the client? natasha has been on my ass about it since morning. send it asap please <33

gyu [3:03pm]: girl i gotta give it to you, nice attempt to change the convo but we aren’t done yet. ugh why are you my senior? im sending it in 5

By the time the day ended and finally the costings for Cartier had gone out (thanks to Jungkook and Joon), you had convinced yourself you were just being dramatic. People left jobs all the time. This wasn’t a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

Mingyu and Shane had already left for the day and the design studio was also empty leaving only you and Jungkook in the client servicing department. For a Monday, people had left earlier than usual, you thought to yourself.

You looked at the clock and saw it was 7pm already.

While you packed your bags, like routine, Jungkook waited for you. He dropped you home everyday given that you both lived nearby and your apartment came on the way to his.

However, the silence between the two of you felt heavier than usual.

“You’re quiet,” he finally said as the two of you entered the elevator.

You forced a laugh and adjusted your purse, trying to look anywhere but at him. “So are you.”

The two of you exited the elevator and sat in his car, he started the engine. For the first time ever, the silence between the two of you was uncomfortable.

Jungkook sighed, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel as he took the familiar route and said, “Are you really happy for me?”

You immediately turned to look at him, meeting his gaze in the dim glow of the streetlights. “Yes, I am. Why would you think I am not?”

His smile was small, a little sad. “Alright. You and I haven’t spoken much since lunch,”

You didn’t know why, but something in your chest ached at that. But you ignored it,  and looking towards and giving him a smile and said, “Jungkook, I am so happy for you. I am. I know you wanted this and now you have it,”

For the first time in the whole day, he smiled genuinely at you.

“Will you miss me?,” He asked as he stopped the car right out of your apartment and looked at you with his doe eyes that carry the sta-

Wait what?!

You ignored whatever that thought was and quickly composed yourself and laughed at him. “You wish I would miss you,” You joked playfully and he rolled his eyes.

“On a serious note, yes I will. Who will I tolerate Natasha with?” You continued and he let out a small chuckle.

“Anyway I have to go. See you tomorrow boss,” you finally said, and then you were gone, disappearing into the building.

Jungkook sat there for a moment, staring after you.

He knew you better than you thought. He knew when you were genuinely happy, when you were just pretending, when you were holding back something you didn’t want to say. And tonight, you were definitely holding back.

Jungkook sighed, leaning his head back against the car seat. Leaving this job was supposed to be exciting, a step up, an opportunity of a lifetime. And it was.

But why did it feel like he was losing something, too?

part 2

© foreignjaykay

[tsuma-senju]

Walk with hokage - Kakashi Hatake

Pairing kakashi hatake x reader.fem - Relationship established

Summary You just wanted to have a walk with your boyfriend, but you forgot he's the hokage | m.list

It was supposed to be a simple walk.

You had planned every detail with care. After weeks in which Kakashi could barely leave his office because of his responsibilities as Hokage, you finally managed to convince him to take an afternoon off. A quiet walk around the village, perhaps a snack at his favorite restaurant and, who knows, a moment alone to pretend that the world didn't need him for a few hours.

But, of course, things are never that simple.

You hadn't even walked two blocks when the first person approached.

"Ah, Rokudaime-sama!" An old man stopped, bowing respectfully. "Sorry to bother you, but I needed to thank you for the support the village offered my granddaughter. Thanks to it, she was finally able to open her flower store."

Kakashi, as always, was polite. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, with that calm, gentle tone that only made people like him more.

You forced a patient smile, but when he ended the conversation and you resumed your walk, it wasn't long before the next citizen interrupted.

Two teenage girls suddenly appeared, blushing to the roots of their hair.

"K-Kakashi-sama!" one of them stammered. "Can we have your autograph?" They were practically glowing with excitement, and you, standing next to him, felt your mood sour a little more.

He looked at you briefly, as if asking for silent permission, but before you could reply, he was already writing quietly on the paper.

You crossed your arms and pretended to watch the sky, trying to remind yourself that it wasn't his fault. He was the Hokage, after all. It was only natural that people admired him and wanted a little piece of his time.

But you just wanted a walk as a couple. That's all.

When you finally arrived at the restaurant, the hope of a quiet moment rekindled in your chest. Until the waitress started stuttering as she took your orders, almost knocking over the tray when she realized who was sitting at one of the tables.

You leaned over the table, whispering with a frustrated sigh, "I knew we should have gone undercover."

Kakashi chuckled softly, the eyes visible above the mask narrowing in amusement. "I suggested the cat mask, but you refused."

"Because I wanted to date, not put on a public spectacle," you retorted, and he just held up his hands in surrender.

The snack finally arrived and, for a brief moment, everything seemed calm. You talked about silly things, laughed together, and you even thought the day could still be saved. Until a shinobi from the office burst into the restaurant, looking breathless.

"Rokudaime-sama, sorry to interrupt, but we need your signature on an urgent document."

You couldn't hide the low groan of frustration, resting your forehead on the palm of your hand.

Kakashi sighed, looking as disappointed as you. "Give me five minutes," he said, picking up the scroll. "And please, no more interruptions."

When the shinobi left, you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. "So, this is a meeting with the Hokage. I should have brought a book to entertain me."

Kakashi laughed again, but the laugh had a hint of guilt. He leaned towards her, his hand meeting hers on the table, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her skin.

"You know I'd rather be here with you, right?" His voice came out lower, almost like a secret.

You tried to stay angry. You really did. But that look, full of softness and a hint of weariness, made you soften.

"You owe me a real walk," you muttered, squeezing his fingers lightly.

"I know," he replied, the mask softening his voice. "And I'll make it up to you, I promise. No interruptions, just you and me."

[noirscript]

last call

pairing: Yandere!Artist x Reader

description: Adrien’s obsession isn’t just art—it’s a countdown to something far worse. As your friend disappears, the horrifying truth dawns: you’re already his next masterpiece.

warning/s: YANDERE | Stalking | Obsession | Implied Kidnapping | Implied Murder | Psychological Horror | Anxiety

note: i'd really appreciate your thoughts about this one (￣～￣；) also, i recently reached 700+ followers. uh, thank you for reading my works. ^^

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The quiet hum of the call center is a familiar backdrop to your life now. The steady ringing of phones, the soft murmurs of your colleagues in their cubicles. You keep your head down, focus on your calls, your sweet, submissive voice filling the air. It’s what you do. It’s all you do. For the pay, the benefits, the security.

But there are days—like today—when you can’t ignore the gnawing unease crawling up your spine.

You glance over at Jake, your friend, who’s working on the other side of the room. He’s always been there, your rock, always nearby, always with a comforting word. The late-night shifts aren’t so bad when you’re together. But tonight, something feels off.

You can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

When the last call ends, you decide to confide in him. You wait until the others are off their calls, the noise of the office muted by the hour. The two of you slip into a quiet corner, and your voice shakes when you speak.

"Jake," you whisper, "I think I’m being stalked."

He looks at you, his expression shifting from confusion to concern. "What do you mean? Stalked by who?"

You hesitate, then reach into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper—one of the sketches you found in your locker that morning. The sight of it still makes your heart race. A detailed drawing of you, sitting alone at your desk. A figure standing in the background, a shadowed presence just out of focus.

"Look," you say, voice trembling. "It’s not just this one. Every day there’s a new drawing, and the worst part? There's always someone standing near me. Always. But not anyone I know. Someone I don’t recognize."

Jake takes the sketch, his brows furrowed as he studies it. His face pales as he glances up at you, then back at the drawing.

"That’s… That’s creepy," he mutters, his voice barely audible. "Who’s doing this? Do you have any idea?"

You swallow, the knot in your throat growing tighter. "I don’t know. But it’s like he’s always watching me. I don’t know how he gets into my locker, but every day, there’s another sketch waiting for me."

You stop, your fingers gripping the edge of your seat as you watch him. He shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as if making sure no one else is paying attention.

"Something doesn’t feel right," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "He’s watching me. Following me. I don’t know what to do anymore."

Jake sighs deeply, setting the sketch back down on the table. His eyes are tired, haunted. "Maybe you should talk to Leo about this," he suggests. "He might be able to help. Leo always knows what to do."

You nod, trying to ignore the creeping dread in your chest. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. And that night, things get worse.

You get home after another long shift, the familiar creak of the door echoing in the silence. Your breath catches in your throat when you notice something odd—Jake’s stuff is gone. The apartment feels emptier, the silence too thick.

You text him, but there’s no reply. That’s odd. Jake always answers. You pace around the apartment, staring at his empty room, the unmade bed, the absence of his things.

He’s never left without saying anything before.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach, but it grows as the days pass. His shifts no longer line up with yours. You come home to find his things still gone, and he doesn’t pick up his phone anymore.

You can't help but feel a gnawing sense of dread settling deep within you.

And then it happens.

You receive a package. A canvas, no return address. You open it cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. The moment you see the painting, the room goes cold. It’s of Jake. His face twisted in a grotesque, disturbing way. His body painted with smears of red. His mouth open in a silent scream. It’s too realistic. Too graphic to be dismissed. Too vivid to be ignored.

A chill runs down your spine. What is this? The red… it’s too much. The detail is too real.

You don’t know what to do with it. You can't even look at it for too long, so you shove it into your drawer, hoping it’ll disappear, even though you know it never will.

The next night, you try to shake it off. But when Leo asks how things are going, you can’t hide the terror any longer. You tell him everything—the drawings, Jake’s disappearance, the painting. He listens quietly, his face unreadable, but you can see the concern in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Leo,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe. Every day is worse.”

Leo rubs his temples, his mind clearly racing. “You know the rules, right? We can’t flag him, not without proof. You’re stuck playing into his game.”

You nod, biting your lip. You’re fully aware of that. In this line of work, you play the role you're given. You pretend to be someone else, to be their darling. The job is lucrative, but it comes with a cost. You have to pretend, even when it feels like the walls are closing in.

Leo leans forward, his eyes softening with concern. “Do you suspect anyone, though? Anyone specific?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, then—against your better judgment—you answer, your voice barely a whisper.

“Adrien,” you say, your heart pounding in your chest. "Adrien is the one who’s been sending the sketches. He called in through Yandere Hotline, said he was a wealthy artist. He told me his family owns a conglomerate, but he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. He wanted to be a real artist. But he had an art block. That’s when he found me. He said I inspired him."

You pause, taking a shaky breath, the weight of the past few weeks pressing down on you. "He said I was his muse. He wanted to create again, and I was the key. I played into it, Leo. I thought it was harmless at first. He just wanted me to talk to him, to make him feel heard, to give him some inspiration. But it… it got worse."

Leo watches you closely, his face unreadable. He doesn’t interrupt, but you see the flicker of recognition in his eyes.

“Then he started sending me the sketches. At first, it was just one, a drawing of me sitting at my desk. But after that… he started showing up more in the pictures. Always standing near me. And it wasn’t just the drawings. He started talking about how he couldn’t wait to draw me ‘up close.’ Like I was his next masterpiece. He said it so casually, Leo. Like it was something that was just going to happen.”

Your voice cracks as you recall the worst part. "And now Jake’s gone. His things disappeared. His shifts don’t match mine anymore. And I just… I don’t know what to do. I’m trapped, Leo. He’s everywhere. I feel him watching me."

Leo’s face tightens, a flicker of something darker passing through his expression. But then, his voice softens, as though he's trying to calm you. “You’re right. You’re stuck playing his game. You’ve got no choice but to follow it. We all do.”

But as the conversation lingers, there’s a tension in the air that neither of you can deny.

That night, as you walk back to your locker, your phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

You hesitate, the pit in your stomach widening. But something—something deep inside of you—makes you answer.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end makes your blood run cold.

“You’re still pretending, sweetheart,” he says softly. "But I see you. I know you."

Your pulse quickens. It’s him. Adrien.

His voice slides through the phone like silk, sending a chill through your body.

“I’ve been watching,” he continues, his tone too calm, too familiar. “You think I don’t notice? The way you look at the others. The way you pretend they’re all you need.”

You try to steady your breath, your hands shaking. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he whispers, his voice darkening. “Waiting for you to see me, to understand.”

You feel your skin crawl as he continues. “But it’s too late for that now. You’re already mine. And I’ll make sure you understand what it means.”

You shiver, every fiber of your being screaming to run.

But you can’t.

Your breath catches as you arrive at your locker. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you open it. And there they are—the sketches.

One of you and Leo.

The other... of you. Eyes wide with terror. A hand, not yours, gripping your jaw. Forcing you to look at yourself.

The sketch is too detailed, too real. You can’t breathe as you stare at it, the raw fear in your eyes captured in every stroke. The grip on your jaw, the force of it—the terror written all over your face.

You slam the locker shut, your heart racing. The call ends with Adrien’s final, chilling words.

“Run. I love it when you run.”

The phone drops from your hands, and you turn around—there’s no one there. But the air feels thick, the walls closing in on you. It’s not just the job anymore. It’s your life. It’s him. And there’s no way out.

You can feel his eyes on you even now, through the phone, through the sketches, through the very air you breathe. And no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that this is just a game, a twisted fantasy he’s playing—you know, deep in your gut, that it’s real. Every step you take, every breath you take, Adrien is right behind you, watching, waiting.

And the worst part? You’re trapped. You always have been.

You just didn’t know it until now.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

[heich0e]

"you leave narita tomorrow night at eleven, which puts you in paris around seven in the morning, local time." you lock the screen of your tablet, tucking it against your abdomen. "your first meeting isn't until early afternoon, so you'll have time to head to the hotel and rest for a bit."

"and you?" on the other side of the room, seated primly in an armchair with his legs crossed at the knee, sae waits for your response.

"i wasn't able to get a seat on that flight, so i'll follow on the first flight out the next morning. it leaves a bit before four."

you suddenly remember the cup of coffee you'd abandoned in your office down the hall. it had long gone cold, but you were still drinking it. you wish you had it with you now—the boost of caffeine, whatever temperature, would be appreciated.

sae looks out the window of his pristine office, the city lights are just starting to glow under the dusky sky. "in the morning?"

"yes."

you aren't necessarily looking forward to getting on an international flight before dawn, but there wasn't any other option.

"a sleepless night for you, then."

your boss isn't wrong. you won't be getting home until late tomorrow night, after seeing him safely off to his own departure. you'll have just enough time—you hope—to pack your luggage and make your way to the airport. you force a smile.

"i'll just sleep on the plane."

a lie, decidedly. you've never been able to sleep on planes. not even on a nearly fifteen hour flight like the one from tokyo to paris. it's particularly unfortunate, because your later departure (and therefore later arrival) won't afford you the same luxury of resting in the hotel before the afternoon meeting.

sae's been busy lately, which means you've been even busier. when the french atelier requested a meeting with him, just ahead of paris fashion week, you didn't think your boss would (or could) possibly accept it. but to your own surprise he'd insisted on attending. some offhanded remark about strengthening business relationships outside of athletic brands. it was then left to you to shift everything else in his life around to make the meeting work.

it's meant nearly a week of sleepless nights. and plenty of room temperature cups of coffee. but you'd made it happen.

"there are plenty of other seats open on this flight."

your attention snaps back to the man in front of you, only to see he's pulled his phone out from his pocket and is staring intently at the screen. you falter.

"i'm sure that it was fully—"

"i'm looking at at least half a dozen seats left available," sae doesn't even let you finish your sentence, interrupting you tersely. "the one immediately behind me is free."

he looks up at you with a cool, flat expression.

"that's business class, sae-san." you answer, keeping your tone light and hopefully not condescending or reproachful. his name still feels awkward in your mouth, even after three years of working for him, but he insists all the staff refer to him by his given name.

you've always wondered why he prefers it to the family name, but would never dare to ask.

his expression doesn't shift as he watches you, but something in the air seems sharper now. "i'm aware. i do know how to read."

you feel queasy, and your weight shifts from one foot to the other. you scramble to think of what to say.

sae beats you to it.

"change your flight."

then he tucks the phone back into the pocket of his coat, and resumes peering through the window.

"if my options are to pay slightly extra for a different seat, or have an assistant who hasn't slept in a week with me at the meeting, the choice should be fairly obvious."

"yes." you swallow hard, and your grip on your tablet tightens. "i'm sorry, sae-san."

he lifts a hand and waves you away dismissively. you understand that as your cue to leave.

just before you make it to the door he stops you.

"before you go, i'd like a coffee."

you pause, peering back over your shoulder. it's late in the day for sae to be drinking a coffee. he's not even particularly fond of it to begin with so the request strikes you as being a bit strange.

"of course. would you like me to prepare it, or is there a particular coffee shop you have in mind?"

his hand settles in his lap again.

"that shop the staff is partial to is fine."

there's a cafe just across the road from the office, which has long hours and surprisingly good coffee. you perk up slightly—you'll be able to get yourself something while you're there.

"yes, certainly. i'll be back shortly with your drink."

sae says nothing. doesn't even bother turning to watch you bow as you take your leave.

in spite of your exhaustion, there's a little skip in your step as you race across the street towards the coffee shop—directly underneath the lit window of your boss's office, where he's waiting (and watching) for your prompt return.

[mullermilkshake]

A lasting impression - Part one

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four

You face some issues only your husband can solve.

Wife!reader x Yakuza!Sukuna

Tags: Yakuza AU, female reader, established relationship, graphic depictions of violence, gore, murder, eye gouging, blood, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, references to non-con.

"We need you to come with us, Madam Chairman."

Just like that, two men blocked your entrance to the fourth story elevator. Two men you had never seen before.

"Says who?" you said, watching the elevator doors slow to a close behind them.

There was no real reason to be threatened, not with your body guard waiting for you down on the ground floor. You knew immediately that they were Yakuza at least by the distinction of their clan crest, but none belonging to the Ryomen clan.

That crest you did not recognise.

"Says my nine millimetre," the man on the left let the barrel of his pistol barely poke out from the fabric seam of his suit jacket.

Okay, maybe there was a little reason to be alarmed, yet you weren't. There had been times like this and far worse you had endured that allowed your calmed composure.

"Where do you want to take me?"

You were due downstairs right now, and give it five minutes, your guard would make the connection and come to you instead.

Usually it was Uraume who accompanied you on ventures into the heart of the district, but today was different.

"That's none of your business."

Well, this is interesting. Just a coincidence that a new guard arises and now you had a gun pointed at your face.

"Alright then, lead the way," this couldn't have been worse than that time in Nanami's office, before you had even met Sukuna.

All that blood.

The elevator dinged open though all you focused on was that gun cocking and clicking to the left of you. Each man either side to underestimate you.

Because you had Sukuna for a husband.

Leaning back and welcoming the cool reflective surface of the elevator glass, you brought your foot up with little time until the elevator reached the third floor to descend lower.

You were able to slip your stiletto off and get one good grip onto it, waiting for the elevator to ding past the floor and descend to the next.

With one quick countdown, you swung your arm, aiming the tiny point of the shoe into the mans eye, waisting no time to pull and yank to grab at his gun.

"Arghhh!" he clawed at his eye and thrashed around to pull out the stiletto heel along with his eye.

"What the fuck?!"

The barrel of his gun looked directly at the other man, pressing up against his chin. "This gun is mine now. You'll be foolish to try and take this from me."

As you suspected, he had a gun too, tucked just at the side of this ribcage in its own little holster. You snatched it away from him and backed away pressing all of the elevator buttons to get out.

"You underestimate me if you assume I'd go willingly."

"All we're doin' is following orders you stupid bitch. You've just made this worse for yourself."

"That's for me to know, and I guess I'll find that out too," the elevator doors opened, "so please excuse me."

Waiting for the doors to close, the cartridges of the guns dropped out and clattered on the floor. Your other shoe came off and slid halfway across the hallway.

The guns and ammunition ended up in separate trashcans whilst you tried to get through to your husband. you were no longer safe in the district let alone the building.

"What is it?" he answered after three rings from the pay phone on the wall.

“Sukuna.”

His tone shifted to a smoother score instead of pointedly answering. “Why are you calling from a pay phone?”

It was because you never called him directly. "Something's gone wrong, I need-"

You hadn't looked behind you down the long hall and the door just down the way. You only noticed when you turned and saw the largest woman you had ever seen.

It was stupid. Lights out.

Fuck.

When you came too, your eyes were covered with an opaque fabric, light like silk and heavy enough not to budge under your movement. The stringent pain lining your eye socket was more than enough to set you in a dazed state.

"Madam Chairman, you’re awake.”

You said nothing, drawing in long dreary a as silently as possible. There was a shifting like scuffling which dragged what sounded like a chair leg across the floor.

Whoever it was let out what could only be described as a disappointed sigh. “You’ll fetch a hefty sum from that old bastard to get you back... Do you think he'd still pay the same if we returned you damaged?"

There was no way you could recognise that voice just on memories alone, you meet a lot of people in diverse settings. It was deep, harsh on the lips, grating as though this man had smoked every single day of his life.

"Do what you want," despite your instincts fluttering in the pit of your stomach, you kept up your exterior, "it's not like I have a choice, right?"

The man chuckled with amusement. "That's true, you don't. Still, you aren’t what I thought you’d be. There’s not an ounce of fear in that heart, is there?”

"Will you at least explain why I'm actually here?"

“It’s not for me to tell you, that’s down to my boss.”

"So why waste my time and ask stuspid questions?" Sukuna had rubbed off on you far more than you realised.

You didn't dare let the thought cross your mind of what this lecherous man had in store for you, his mind obviously full of filth to see clearly. Most people would have panicked, but, in the end, you knew Sukuna would always come to your rescue.

Just like now when the ear splitting sound of a door being kicked in with enough force to rip the hinges off and clang against the floor.

And then, the man changed his tune. "M-mr Sukuna."

You sat still and upright, wincing every now and then to the sting at your cheek, listening to the punches thrown and various wood creaking and snapping with clear signs of struggle.

Not one word was uttered, pleaded or yelled in whatever sized room you were in, but the volume of sounds led you to believe you were inside a small one, maybe no bigger than a box room. The vibrations were close by yet nothing touched you, nothing whizzed past you in a narrowly avoided throw past your head.

Then it all stopped and your blind fold was pulled from your eyes.

"Hello, love," you said, seeing Sukuna's entire face splashed with red.

It wasn't all from one man, no way.

"Your face. Who did that?" his tone was softer than usual. “Perhaps I've already killed him. That’ll be a shame.”

Leaning into his touch as he caressed your cheek, Sukuna untied you using the point of his knife to cut through the restraints.

“A tall woman, taller than Gojo. Biggest person I've ever seen."

"A Woman?"

You nodded and took his hand to steady yourself. "Yeah, I'd never seen her before."

Sukuna looked around the room you hadn't taken a glance of yet, watching him closely rub the smears of blood from his cheek.

"I have an idea who, but for now I'll take you to the car," he picked you up and carried you out of that little room.

Blood, far too much for one person. However, there was just one body in there in a bloodied and crumpled heap in the corner.

And then the question had been answered as soon as he took you out of that little room. There were several men on the ground, all in the same viscous star as the other man, lying crumpled on the ground in separate heaps of mess.

"Someone get her feet covered. Now."

He didn't put you down even once he had walked the entire two levels down to the ground floor to the car. There was Uraume, pulling open the car door and slipping off their own shoes for you.

"It's fine Uraume, I'll be alright-"

"Take her home," Sukuna didn't get in with you, but he took a hold of your hands, "there's something I must do before this is dealt with, I'll meet you as soon as it's finished."

There was no way he was walking or getting a tact, surely? He was head to toe covered in red and it would have dram attention. There was no way he could pass this off as a costume or that he had been attacked.

The police would have a field day. Still with that in mind, you didn’t question it.

You nodded a nonverbal clarification. "Alright. Just... be careful."

In a split decision, he climbed inside the car and clicked the door shut. It was so that no one else saw.

"I'm always careful. There's a line people are foolish enough to cross and it's not even a fine one. There's a debt to be paid and I'm going to collet it personally."

He brushed the tips of his fingers over the swelling part of your cheek and eye. "No one touches you and has hands to touch themselves with afterwards."

It shouldn't have been as romantic as it was. "I knew you would come for me."

"Always."

He pressed his lips over the knuckles of your right hand and climbed back out, speaking indistinct able words to Uraume who climbed in once he left.

There was only one way this was going to end, and worrying over it was only natural. Especially when your adrenaline started to wear off and the weight of everything came down on you like a ton of bricks.

Those who crossed Sukuna never had the chance to even think about doing it a second time.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🧠🪱

Happy hump day, let's unleash those brainworms!

Recent high school graduate Steve, freshly disowned, moving into his first very own apartment. The place is dark and smells funny, the wallpaper is peeling off in places, and the property management firm has a shitty reputation, but beggars can’t be choosers. Anything’s preferable to sticking his feet under his dad’s stupid mahogany table and listening to his bigoted bullshit for another day, right? 

After a long and tiresome moving day involving a broken elevator and lugging all of his boxes up three flights of stairs, Steve has just hit the shower to wash off the sweat when a pipe bursts, cutting off his hot water supply and flooding his ugly, puke-colored floor tiles. Cursing, naked and soapy-haired, Steve slips his way over to the telephone to call the landlord's office. A bored-sounding lady tells him that they’ll send someone over, then hangs up without waiting for a reply. 

Steve has barely even slipped a pair of boxers over his wet ass when the doorbell rings. He opens, only find himself face to face with a long-haired, tattooed guy about his own age. He's clad in a tank top and overalls, carrying a toolbox in one hand and holding a burning cigarette in the other. 

“Hi,” says the guy, dark eyes raking up and down Steve's bare chest. ‘I'm here about the leaky pipe?” 

“Oh,” Steve says, surprised, because damn, that's a swift response time. “Sure, come on in.” 

The guy does, shuffling into the apartment and on to the bathroom without waiting for directions. Steve is left loitering uncertainly in his own hallway. He doesn't need to loiter long, fortunately, because not five minutes later, the guy shuffles back out, drying his hands on one of Steve’s towels, cigarette now dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

“There you go,” he grins, tossing the towel at Steve. “Enjoy your shower.” 

“Thanks,” says Steve, patting his back pocket for his wallet until he remembers that, one, he's not wearing pants, and two, he spent the last of his cash on a vending machine drink earlier because he was fucking parched from carrying all those boxes. “Erm, I'd tip you, but-” 

“Nah, leave it,” says the guy, and wiggles his eyebrows. “The view is more than enough for compensation.” 

Several hours later, Steve is just on his way to bed, the door rings again. It's a grumpy older dude who says he's come to fix the shower. 

“No, it's okay,” Steve says. “Your colleague was here earlier and took care of it.” 

The man laughs. “Colleague? Ha, I wish. There's just me, why d’you think it took me so long?” 

He trudges off, grumbling something under his breath about wasted time, leaving behind a dumbstruck Steve. 

If that was the repair guy … who fixed his shower?

(His name is Eddie. He's a mechanic and lives in the apartment under Steve’s. He's well familiar with the leaky pipes, and when he saw the water running down from his own bathroom ceiling, he immediately knew what the problem was. He also now knows what Steve looks like half naked. They're off to a great start.) 

Tagging some friends to share their own:

@postmodernau @steddie-island @sparkle-fiend @sidekick-hero @slippy-slip

@xgumiho @stevesbipanic @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe @pearynice @thefreakandthehair