The lab was quiet. Too quiet.

You were reviewing data at Orochimaru’s desk—something he allowed only you to do—when another subordinate wandered in, clipboard in hand, trying far too hard to impress. They hovered a little too close, asking unnecessary questions, their voice just a bit too friendly. Orochimaru entered without a sound, his presence crawling over the room like a shadow. He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t need to. The second they noticed him, they stiffened. “O-Orochimaru-sama, I was just—”

“Yes,” He interrupted softly, the corners of his lips curving upward, “I saw.” His gaze slid past them, golden and reptilian, locking onto you. There was something unreadable behind it—something cold, sharp, coiled. The other subordinate tried to stammer out another excuse, but Orochimaru stepped closer. Not to them—to you.

“You’ve been… distracted,” He murmured, voice laced with silk and something colder underneath. “By uninvited company.” He leaned in, one hand resting on the edge of the desk beside you. The room felt smaller. Warmer… Tense. “Do you know what snakes do when others try to touch what’s theirs?”

Before an answer could come, a slow, deliberate movement slid against your skin, leaving a trail of salvia in its wake. His unnaturally long tongue brushed your cheek, feather-light but unmistakable. A calculated show. His gaze never left the other subordinate. They turned pale. Speechless.

Orochimaru slowly pulled back, smiling as if nothing had happened. “Run along. We’re done here.” The subordinate fled without another word. Now alone, Orochimaru finally turned his full attention to you, gaze sharp but quiet. “Some people forget their place,” He said softly, his hand brushing your chin with the back of his gloved fingers. “It’s up to me to remind them.”

Then, as if the moment had never happened, he turned back toward his notes—calm, composed, and pleased. Because the message had been made clear: You weren’t just important to him.. You were his.