You’re not quite sure how you ended up shackled to the leg of Wriothesley’s desk by your wrists and throat, yet you make no efforts to escape.

He sifted through files as his hand found your head, his fingers combing through your hair.

“You’ll be nice and quiet, won’t you?”

He asks with a chuckle, though he already knows the answer. He pushes your head to lay against his lap, an authoritative smirk spreading across his face.