the deception game // izaya orihara x reader |oneshots+headcannons|

05.END ; change

// i just realised how many parts there are to this :')

"Namiiiieeeeee~"

Namie cursed.

"Namiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeee~"

Namie glared.

"NAMIE-CHANNNNNNNN~"

Namie snapped.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ORIHARA?!"

"I'm bored."
A satisfied smirk sat smugly upon the smirking informant's countenance.
His secretary gritted her teeth, the only barier to the torrent of acid-like comments that could flow out at any moment. "Well don't look at me- I'm not your jester..." She hissed, glaring up from the mass of paperwork he had bundled her with that morning.

A sultry chuckle emitted from the informant, the vibrations echoing around the spacey apartment as he swung lightly around in his office chair, the playful smirk laying dutifully upon his lips as he glanced up at her with crimson eyes.
"Yes, but you can always be promoted~!" The cheeky response came, drawing another growl from the already agitated woman, how immediately rose with a huff.

It was too early for this shit.

"I'm going to sort the folders." She declared in a matter-of-fact tone, striding out the room muttering curses and leaving behind the smirking devil to watch after her.
---
"I swear to god I want to punch that bastard so badly..." she muttered begrudgingly under her breath as she stalked into the main reception, heaving a great box of faded cream folders from their shelves and sifting through them with a sigh.
Why did mornings always have to be so unfair?

"U-um... excuse me?"
The almost timid voice of a female captured the sulking woman's attention as her gaze snapped up from the folders to a young woman of about 20 in years. Loose curls of (h/c) locks hung lazily around her shoulders, her fingers knotted together anxiously as if she were about to confront a beast (and strictly speaking, it wasn't far off).

"I would like to speak to Mr. Izaya Orihara..?"

Sporting a simple (f/c) blouse and black (jeans/skirt), she shifted her weight onto her right leg as Namie looked her up and down- analyzing her.

Of course, it wasn't uncommon for Izaya to recieve many visitors, regarding his occupation. In fact, it was fairly noticeable that the large percentage of them were in fact girls. Teenage girls to be more precise.
Often searching for a sense of securirty, a guide or perhaps if one were to phrase it... a saviour. Someone to hold the ropes for them or to look for answers, begging him to lend them the slivers of information they so desperately required. Others fawned over him, treating him like a God- all you would have to do is look at Saki... And there were even few who sought his help in illegal business that would never see the light of day.
Namie wondered what her business with him was.

The point was, Namie had seen many girls of all types nervously walk into his office and walk out either even more nervous than before, crying or basking in a false sense of security. And so Namie concluded that this girl couldn't possibly be any different. Which was a shame. Namie grimaced, Izaya would eat the poor lamb up. But of course, she was just here to do her job.

"Do you have an appointment?" She inquired, taking the authorive tone she was accustomed to as her attention was seized by the cream folders once more.
"U-uh no but-"
"Well then I'm sorry." She replied bluntly, immediately cutting the girl off, not bothering to glance up from her mundane task. Tsk- if only she had.
"I'm not sure you understand..."
Namie sighed and rubbed her temples, "Listen, it's common courtesy to schedule an appointment with someone before you meet them. You don't just waltz in here and demand and appointment wh-" And when she finally did spare the girl a glance in frustration, she almost surely regretted it.
The barrel of the gun was pressed firmly against her forehead in an instant, immediately cutting off her words and leaving her mouth agape as she carefully trained her gaze up to the girl in surprise.