#severence core and what you can do w extra gyroids just get two of the same one for each desk inside, and have them walking around outside the “office” space. Thats their other half inside

Deleting the good game profiles is harder than I thought yall …. 😞😞

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hihi!

I’m kind of interested in just small projects rn, so I’m going to be opening my requests!! Just send in an ask (and follow the rules , they’re super simple) and I’ll get to it when I can!

Please remember I only write for NCT Dream and 127! I’m just not super familiar w wayv or wish , hope yall understand 🩷🪽

-Gwen 😚

Ps. It’s not letting me edit my request post so it currently says closed. It’s open, I promise <3

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Serotonin

Angel - massive attack

The secretary, Britney Spears office siren, jeno in a suit (do you blame a girl cmon now) Don’t you guys know I’m utterly insane? Lmfao anyway sorry I was feeling some type of way for yearning office jeno tn I guess lol, should I make a whole smut for this or just keep being silly?? Anyway I love the secretary and I love this office siren/ceo BDSM relationship trope what can I sayyy like please imagine pouty jeno who just wants to please reader 😭 also definitely listen to angel by massive attack while reading thanks (just click link!)

Warnings: highly suggestive, office romance, switch!jeno x switch!reader kinda?, INSANE foreplay, mention of public masturbation, intense sexual yearning

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It was a game you played, the two of you. Between the boring office talk, long meetings - even longer hours - and cups of burnt coffee with stale muffins; there was that ache. That ache you only felt when his burning gaze turned towards you. When your eyes shifted away from your computer every hour or so - the repetitive glare from your screen burning through your corneas and begging for a release - slowing trailing up the length of the grey, monotoned carpet and to the edge of his desk; chills burning through your spine as his brown eyes are caught locked on your frame, already staring; already waiting.

The game was simple.

How many times could he make you uncomfortable in an eight hour work day? How many times could you hold yourself back from the shiver he forces through your body, like when he softly touches your waist in the break room, or “accidentally” spills steaming hot coffee down your top while during a routine status check? How many minutes are spent unfocused; day dreaming of the night time when you know he’ll be yours to play with? You find yourself sitting at your desk, mind off in lala land as you unknowingly rub your thighs together - biting the tip of your No. 2 pencil so intensely, one might assume a dog chewed at it. You imagine his callused hands running up your legs as he kneels in front of you in awe, worshiping you as a deity. You glare down at him in disgust, your grip on his tie strong. You don’t let him take off his suit; you like to see him dressed in his work clothes. You like to imagine forcing him to slowly take your clothes off with his teeth, feeling his hot breath down your body as he struggles to keep mental control over himself. He wants you to feel bad for him; to pity him. Really, it just makes you laugh.

“Poor puppy wants attention, doesn’t he?” To solidify your point, you pet through his messed up, yet perfectly shaped hair and watch as he ruts hits head into your palm in glee. He doesn’t say anything, choosing to instead nod as he finally finishes taking your panties off and sits nicely, waiting for further instructions. His reaction makes you scoff, shocked at his audacity.

“Cat got your tongue, puppy?” You force two long, red pedicured nails down his throat, and he immediately starts sucking at them, “well, good. You don’t need anymore attention from me, don’t you agree?” And as if using your fingers as your controller, you push his head up and down in a nodding motion, “I thought so,” and pop your fingers out of his mouth without another word. “Now, I had a long day at work, and since you’re not willing to talk, let’s put that mouth to good use, yes?” You don’t even have to ask before he’s eagerly getting up and rushing to the bed, laying down on the position he knows you like. If he thought anything about your endearing laugh, or even had the mental capacity to acknowledge it at this moment; he didn’t say anything. Before you can walk to the bed, however, you’re thrusted out of your imagination by the sound of paper slamming onto your desk.

“I need these done by tonight, y/n. I’ll stay late with you if I have to but we’re getting them done.” Jeno no longer occupied his usual space across the office from you, instead he was hovering over you, staring at you once again with that all-consuming greed in his gaze, “and don’t fuck them up like the last set. It’ll just keep us here longer.”

“Yes sir.” A small smirk played on your face as you picked the stack up and moved it closer to you. Without another word, Jeno nodded stiffly and turned around, walking back to his desk. Shortly after that, you once again felt that familiar sensation of being watched, and turned to look at him through your lashes - breath getting heavier when you see him slowly palming himself under the desk; the depraved act only noticeable to you, just like he liked.

You know how much it got Jeno off; knowing that while walking around this office you both had very specific roles to play - Him, The Boss, and you, The Lackey. The power he held in his hands controlled him; forced him to spiral every minute he looked at you, knowing that he had the ability to decide how your day was going to go, every day. It’s the reason why work was a living hell for you. It’s the reason why Jeno would pull you to the side almost every day and degrade your outfits (if the skirts were too long, or heels; too short) or work style. You despised Jeno at work; he loved it. Because he knows the more he gets you to hate him at work, the more he’ll be punished after work. Every verbal assault, every push of his body against yours like when he forces you to bend down in front of him, every glare of disgust he sends your way; it was all for fun.

And that was your game. You don’t know who started this sick and perverted routine you and your boss have somehow fallen into. Who pushed first? Who fell first? Who could push each other more? Who cared. In the end, it was all the same; it was all Serotonin.

This bitch is my icon

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