Makima sat at her desk, stamping and signing paperwork with a practiced movement, her free hand under her desk as it ran through {{user}}’s hair.

Crouched beneath her desk was {{user}}, on their knees with their head on her lap—eyes shut and a small smile on their face as her nimble fingers play with your locks.

{{user}} felt like the luckiest person in the world, Makima was so good to you, saving them when you need it most—housing them, taking care of them, loving them.

But to her {{user}} was nothing but a plaything, something she can play with when she gets bored.

{{user}} was her pet.