Request: SMUT SCENARIO OF OFFICE WORKERCEO JIMIN PLS (((((:
I changed the idea a bit, hope you’ll be satisfied anyway :)
“Mr. Park. We have to go.” You said out loud after peeking into your boss’ office.
He raised his head from the papers right away and nodded, gathering some important documents to put into his briefcase. In the meantime, you fixed your tight, black skirt to make sure that it covers a bigger part of your legs. With the corner of your eye you noticed your boss glancing at you, while you were busy trying to look decent enough for a business meeting.
An important conference was being held in the company you were a secretary in. Back a few days ago your boss, Mr. Park, asked you to reserve some time for today to keep him company and make a protocol at the meeting. Especially for this occasion, you picked your outfit very carefully. From what you’ve gotten to know, a few important personas were invited to attend the meeting, so you had no other choice, but to represent your company well along with your boss.
We really should start calling it “Republicare”, because not only is it catchier and easier to spread, but it’s the Republican party that’s going to have to eventually own this garbage, and when people are being refused coverage and Medicaid has no funds and everything is garbage, people can remember exactly which party was responsible.
So a while ago, I came up with this theory. Because all fuckboys are assholes but not all assholes are fuckboys.
There are 5 types of fuckboys:
Type 1- The Prep
Usually includes MOST football players(and other sports), as well as most rich guys. Will deny to the ends of the Earth that they are fuckboys.
Type 2- The Stoner
Looks perpetualy high. Often has shit grades. Is probably higher than your self-esteem. Will deny to the ends of the Earth that they are fuckboys.
Type 3- The Mexican Fuckboy
(Subject to your area) Usually plays soccer, walks around saying Spanish cuss words. Sort of naturally short. Calls most teachers “Mr.” Or “Mrs.” Will deny to the ends of the earth that they are a fuckboy.
Type 4- The Lowkey Fuckboy
Possibly the most dangerous type. They don’t wear confidence on their sleeve nor are they cocky right off the bat. But don’t be fooled you won’t know they’re fuckboys till you been played. Will deny to the ends of the universe that they are fuckboys.
Type 5- The Wannabe
The most annoying type. Isn’t cute enough, smart enough, clever enough, or charming enough to be a fuckboy but they usually hang around them and act like a douche to everybody as if they are. Only there cuz they’re friends with a fuckboy.
Many guys can be two types so refer to them through slashes. EX: “He’s type ½”
Summary: You’re failing math class and are forced to see a private tutor by your teacher. “It can’t be that bad,” or so you thought before you met the strikingly attractive tutor from hell with seemingly sweet personality. Little did you know that Mr. Kim’s charming smile was simply a facade for the real devil that resided within.
Word Count: 4.6k
A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Lemme know what you guys thought of part 3!~
“And that concludes our lesson; I will see you all next week.” Mr. Park spoke loudly over the sounds of desks and chairs scraping against the floor as the other students stood up to leave. You, taking your sweet time, slowly rose out of your chair and began to pack your bag before you felt someone behind you poke your ribs.
“You’re back!” You exclaimed upon turning around, diving in for a one-armed hug as you slung your bag over your shoulder.
“Yeah, I was out with that cold for so long I forgot all about Mr. Park’s terrible math jokes. God, where does he even think of those?” Yoongi shook his head; a small smile played on his lips and you were relieved to see that your friend was back in good health.
“No idea. Hey, we should catch up since it’s been so long, you got time for a coffee?” You asked, leading Yoongi into a nearby cafe off campus as he nodded silently. The two of you ordered your drinks before settling down into a quaint corner in the back of the shop.
“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Yoongi said in between long sips of coffee, “how are those tutoring lessons going for you? What did you say the guy’s name was, Mr. Kim?”
“It’s been…fine.” You gulped at the sound of your tutor’s name, your cheeks glowing a soft pink as you thought back to your lessons with him. In your mind, you specifically replayed the second lesson with him, reminiscing in how things had taken a pleasant turn after Mr. Kim apologized for his harsh behavior during the first lesson. You left the library that day feeling buzzed, yet still slightly perplexed at your tutor’s sudden confession to you. One-half of you wanted to return the pleasure he’d given you because of how tempting it was given his charming nature. The other half of you continued to question everything he did because you were well aware of how quickly his mood could change. This confliction left you on edge debating between channeling your disdain for Mr. Kim into turning the anger into fiery passion or simply continuing to tolerate him.
one of the psychiatric evaluations says 'Mr. Roof denies having any romantic or sexual relationships'. So I wonder, who did he lie to, Joey or his psychiatrists..
Also “when asking about his relationship and sexual history, Mr. Roof suddenly stopped speaking, turned his head sideways and made a grimacing face. When asked by the examiner if he was o.k., he stated in a strained voice that ‘I can’t talk right now.’- After this episode concluded (~ 1. minutes) he reported that he has “pathological blushing” and that during this episode he felt very hot and uncomfortable. It was notable that no reddening or blushing was evident to the examiner during this time. He refused to speak further about the topics that he felt triggered this episode.” This is weird
This sketch was done by eyewitness
Don Prater of a strange beast he saw on October 3rd, 2012. The mystery animal was dubbed the Creature from Curridge by residents of West Berkshire, England. Some residents believe it could be an escaped llama or alpaca, but Prater denies this.
Mr Prater explained what he had seen during his encounter: “After the footpath bends left, about 25 yards ahead of us were two animals. One of the animals looked like a domestic cat but the other one stunned me. It was a dark or grey colour. The height of its head was about two foot but it had the head of a deer. The neck was about eight to ten inches long and thin like a swan’s neck. The body was a cross between a cat and a dog. It had a bushy tail. Everything about it was wrong.”
imagine you and H are in Jamaica and you are at a cute little cafe type place and the waiter brings you an extra drink and you know neither you or Harry ordered it and the waiter is just like "It's on the house" and winks at you. How do you think H would take it would he get jealous or kinda just laugh it off since you two are newlyweds lol
TBH I think Harry will take it the fun way. Laughing the statement away, he’ll run back of missus’ hand. Soft skin under his thumb as the deep laughs comes from his mouth. The rubbing hand thing will obviously show that somewhere he is jealous. But doing the soothing thing will tell missus that he’s all good with it and know to whom you belong.
No doubt his blood would boil a little seeing a waiter being flirty to his miss, but being the humble and understanding man he is, he’ll take in the reality that she’s been married to him not the waiter.
“Can’t deny the fact that Mrs. Styles is absolutely breathtaking. Especially when she’s glowing after the love making session” he’d say with a chuckle sending a wink to the missus, making her blush.
“Aye. Shhh” she’d giggle leaning over to capture his lips with hers.
Summary: An unsub pushes on your buttons during an interrogation, but Spencer seems to be taking it harder than you.
Warnings: mentions of abuse, self harm, suicidal actions- no graphic descriptions though
A/N: if you or someone you know is dealing with abuse please call the police x stay safe everyone, im here if you need to chat xo
“Tell me where she is.”
Your voice was low as you leaned across the interrogation table, getting closer to your suspect. Byron Stevenson was obviously guilty for murdering and kidnapping four men. While the other members of the BAU investigated his home and other properties, you, Rossi, and Spencer stayed to interrogate him. You had volunteered to take charge of the interrogation.
However, as he smirked devilishly at you, you felt regret from the decision. “Where’s my deal?” You forced an airy laugh, crossing your arms over your chest before leaning back. “Deal? You must of misheard me. You tell me where she is, or I throw your ass in prison right now for the other two charges. You give me the information I need, and I’ll see what I can do about a ‘deal’.”
He laughed and copied your position, tilting his chair back slightly. “Ok, agent. But first, let me ask you something.” Your brows quirked up in response. You had wasted too much breath on the scumbag.
“How did it feel when your daddy hit you?”
Spencer scowled as he watched the exchange behind glass, glancing at Rossi whose brow was furrowed in confusion. He made a move to get to the door, ready to intervene, when Rossi put his hand up. “She’ll be okay,” he assured, stopped fm saying more by the unsub’s voice. “When he pulled your hair, slapped your cheeks, either ones, if you know what I mean,” Byron said with a tight lipped smirk.
“Is that why you wear those long sleeves, even though it’s 90 degrees outside? Because little fifteen year-old Y/N went on a spree with a blade? Or maybe because she still does.” Your straight face never faltered even though your chest burned with anger.
“All because daddy hurt you?” “Did your father hurt you?” you retorted. “Is that why you killed him first?” His face went flush as his denied your accusations. “Mr. Stevenson was an alcoholic, and since you know so much about abuse, what am I supposed to think?”
“Shut up,” he murmured. “Isn’t that what he told you, so you’d keep quiet? Is that why you shot him? I sure as hell hated my father after that!” you raised your voice, hoping to get a rise out of him. “He deserved what he got, right?” you yelled, causing Byron to stand up. His palms landed against the against the steel table top with a loud “bam!”. “Damn right he deserved it!” he screamed back at you.
“Woo!” you clapped sarcastically, standing up and circling the table. “We’re really talking now,” you whispered into his ear, patting his back with force. “So what did you do to make him pay? Because I would’ve been pissed at him!” you continued. “I killed him! I killed him,” he whimpered the last part, sinking to his knees. Sobs wracked his body as you joined him on his level.
“Do you regret it? All those other people?” He nodded. “You can still save one if you tell me where she is,” you whispered. “No I can’t.” His voice was hoarse. “What do you mean..?” “She’s nailed to one of the trunks in the forest,” he confessed, crying even harder than before. You wasted no time standing up and storming out the room. “Call Hotch, the body’s nailed to a tree in the forest,” you sighed to Rossi, who nodded before leaving the area.
It was silent as you sat down on a nearby bench, burying your face in your hands. “You did well,” Spencer spoke up, sitting down beside you. “Made a fool of myself trying to get that confession,” you laughed while rubbing your temples. “I didn’t think so,” he hummed. “So, um, your father…” he trailed off, avoiding your eyes.
“Yeah, it’s all in the past,” you dismissed, self consciously pulling your sleeves over your hands. “That’s why you always wear long sleeves?” You nodded, looking away from his now direct gaze. “Can you please talk to me? I want to understand.” Your breath hitched as he laid his hand atop of yours.
“When I was a kid, my mom left me and my dad. She got tired of being abused I guess. But for some reason I’ve never understood, she left me there. Me, a nine year old girl, alone with this abusive grown man. No one ever found out and I never told. When I was about fifteen, ironically enough, I self harmed. Hell, I tried to kill myself twice. It never worked.” You glanced up to gauge his reaction, frowning at his glossy eyes.
“It lasted for years. I went to college as far from there as I could get, after making one more attempt, that is. I was so scared for so long that he would come get me. I stayed with friends for a long time, too afraid to be on my own.” Spencer looked more hurt then you felt. His lip pouted slightly and a few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.
“But hey, it’s all better now, right?” you said quickly, smiling at him. “I found you guys, I found a family of my own,” you kept your voice quiet, afraid it would break if it got any louder. “Y/N? Do you still… hurt yourself?” he asked. “No, I don’t see any reason to,” you answered honestly, pulling up your sleeves to reveal a few pale, raised lines. “See? Only scars,” you reassured.
Spencer stared at you for a while, leaning in to embrace you. His arms held you tightly as he buried his face in your shoulder. You hugged him back, whispering soothing phrases into his ear. “It’s ok, Spence, it’s ok.” “Don’t ever leave me,"he pleaded. He felt absolutely pathetic as you comforted him. He wasn’t the one who had been abused, or tried to kill himself on multiple occasions, and yet here he was, shedding tears.
"Spence, I need you to look at me,” you said finally, pulling away just enough to face him. His eyes met yours as he complied. “I’m ok now. I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry. I love you, ok? You know that, don’t you, genius?” you teased, wiping under his eyes with your thumb. He cracked a smile, raising a hand to secure yours on his cheek.
“I love you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m glad,” you half-joked, glancing between his eyes and the way his hand pressed yours to his cheek. “When we get home, do you think you could maybe come over? I just-” “You don’t owe me an explanation,” you smiled. “I’ll be there, Spence. I’ll always be there.” He smiled widely at your response, leaning forward to kiss your cheek hastily. “O-oh my- I’m so sorry, that was really unprofessional I’m-” you cut him off by pressing your lips to his softly.
Your only intention was to help him calm down, but as his lips moved in sync with yours, you couldn’t help but smile. His face was flushed as you pulled away. “That, was unprofessional,” you joked, taking his hand in yours. “C'mon, we’ll finish this later. Now we have a murder investigation to wrap up.”
Disclaimer: I did not have time to do research on how divorce proceedings in Scotland in 1958/1959 would have unfolded so this is almost certainly in no way historically accurate. I also don’t care that it’s not.