#dirty games and politicians

[awesomecooperlove]

She lives in a $26 million dollar

beach house in an all white elitist community. 😂

😂🤣

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Ateez as Villains

disclaimer: read at your own risk. do not interact if not comfortable with any tropes. reminder that this is a work of fiction and must be treated so. 

warnings: absolutely no morals here, 18+ mdni, illegal acts (abduction, murder, physical abuse, stalking, trafficking, financial crimes, dirty politics, corruption), suggestive/nsfw scenes, explicit language (swearing, insults), death, violence, blood & injuries, weapons, smoking, drugs, alcohol

a/n: couldn't have done this without @eightmakesonebraincell's and @chronicvagabonds' validation lmao also tribute to tite kubo for coming up with the juiciest dialogues, some of which i quoted here

Hongjoong

The Manipulator

hongjoong always knew he had leadership skills

from being the team leader whenever he played games as a young child, to growing up and eventually influencing people

he was often told that he has a certain way of pulling people’s attention and leave something stirring inside them with his words

so it is no surprise that hongjoong is where he is today. a renowned businessman, philanthropist and… politician

hongjoong adjusts the sleeves of his shirt and glances at you from the mirror

you are standing behind him, holding his coat for him. he wears it with a proud smile and holds his chin high

“tonight is very important. for me. for this country.” 

he goes on about how there will be people from all over the country

people who are the foundation of this nation. people who care about the future of this world 

and if you weren’t so blinded by the adoration you have for this man you would have called him delusional

but the fact is that you are deluded by him. hongjoong has the ability to cast a spell with his words

he feeds his supporters the lie of a better world in the near future, and they bow to him

hongjoong smiles devilishly at the thought of what entails the events of tonight

he can picture it clearly- the cheers and desperate screams of his followers as he steps on the podium

the cries of these people, as helpless as sheeps in a herd, waiting for an upright politician to save this nation 

he can feel the thrill just imagining what it will be like tonight when he addresses the nation as the new face of his political party

to a common person, he would just be another man with a good heart striving for a better change

but the common person is weak, and for them… he is their salvation

they will hear his words tonight- words he has carefully crafted himself. the cues will register in their minds, and they will end up seeking him to announce their undying support and loyalty, to shower in his glory

you straighten hongjoong’s coat and smooth over his shirt, your hands unsteady with anticipation

“aren’t you happy to be right next to me when i conquer the stage tonight?” he whispers, lifting your chin up

you meet his eyes and he can see his answer there

you hope he doesn’t see the conflict in your eyes. the conflict is to be concealed in your heart, in the deepest, untouchable corner of it

you are blessed, they tell you, to be the politician’s favoured

and you are- you truly are. hongjoong loves you. he adores you

in fact… he’s almost obsessed with you

and why wouldn’t he be? you were the one who led him here

you were the one who held his hand and showed him the right path- his partner, and now his secretary

oh, how you sometimes wish you could turn back the hands of the clock and go back to when hongjoong was hopeless and thought that the world was a wretched place beyond saving

that is when you told him that the only way to run this world was to join hands with the elites of this nation- or to become one

it must be the fates that led him to where he is today

after all, isn’t he a king without a crown? a ruler without a throne?

he is a born leader and a strategist. he has always been good with his words

it’s how he earned the favour and graces of the elites and the politicians and made a place for himself- not under them, but beside them

but to stand beside those people, you have to be a little… corrupt. and morally ambiguous

the world is not run by saints, after all

“sweetheart?” he calls when he sees you are distracted

you don’t miss the warning tone in his voice. tonight, you have to be on your toes

you have to seek out willing supporters and show them that they mean the world to hongjoong and his political party

but more importantly… you need to target other politicians, find their weaknesses and if lucky, have some join hands with you

“i’m here,” you tell him and he nods firmly, pressing a kiss to your temple

“i will see you tonight,” he promises, and you know what he means

he always gets such a thrill out of playing the leader

he gets so much energy, and he has to take it out one way or another

and what better way to take it out in the form of lovemaking?

you feel warmth course through your body as he trails his finger down the middle of your chest purposely

he almost smiles maniacally as he leaves first, giving you a moment to gather your wits

you pour yourself a glass of drink- you can’t possibly do this sober

you join hongjoong as he gives his first speech- a very normal talk about how this nation is on the verge of collapse

corruption, crime, inhumanity, dirty politics? you name it

you admire his resilience, really. whatever he is talking about comes straight from his heart, and he has been talking about these issues for a long time now

you also admire his pompousness and the audacity to talk about dirty politics, when he is the face of dirty politics

you join the audience when they clap for him, your heart full of pride

there is a break where he meets with the high-profile people and asks them to consider joining hands with him

‘to make a better world for the future generations’. such inspiring words from such a young political leader

except hongjoong’s trick is that he always, always has something over them

he has a team dedicated specifically for this task- to dig dirt on his political targets so he can wield them like the blade of a guillotine over their heads

despite his evil means to climb the top, somehow, his image and reputation remains far too clean

and that is because he knows to take these actions behind the scenes, away from any eyes

a true politician, he’s been dubbed

it is about midnight when the hall almost empties, leaving only the members of your party and some new faces- people who are willing to hear him out and decide if they want to join his party

you wish you could tell them that it is a trap- hongjoong will promise that their efforts and support will lead them to something great

‘the greater good’, he always says, except these people do not know what they are getting into

they are merely sacrificial lambs, the stepping stones that will lead hongjoong closer to his utopia

they will, for the sake of loyalty, put a blindfold over their eyes. they will hold him in high reverence as he becomes their lord, their saviour

he will feed them copper pellets and claim that this is the best that they can get while he himself sits on a throne made of gold

and when they empty every last drop of whatever they have to offer- their blood, sweat and tears

hongjoong will discard them without remorse. that is who he is- a master manipulator

when you are done wrapping up the event in the deep, dark hours of the night, hongjoong finds you in your bedroom

his chest is heaving with energy that is threatening to combust from within him

he outstretches his hand and you saunter over to him

his hands are dominating when he holds you, though his kiss is soft and unrushed

until that too becomes scalding hot

he is quick to lead you to the couch where you sit on his lap, finding him painfully hard

he groans loudly and starts to unbuckle his pants, and you instantly know what he wants- you always know what he wants

he easily slides his hard length inside your warmth and groans heavily in relief, resting his head back and just letting you both stay still

you only move to rest your head against his shoulder. he can have you like this for as long as he wants

“we have a lot of new supporters tonight,” he begins, chuckling deeply, “the polls seem to be in our favour too.”

his dark curls caress your face as you snuggle against him

“we also managed to score deals with many influential politicians and businessmen tonight,” he tells you and you look at him with pride as he names them

“soon,” he begins, trailing his hands under your dress and squeezing your thighs, “soon… we will have our people in every sector- in business, healthcare, industrial, courts… we will be controlling the nation- we… we are the leaders of this nation.”

his cock twitches inside you as he finishes that sentence and you bite your lips in thought

“what are you thinking, love?” he asks, caressing your face

“i just sometimes wonder,” you begin- can you admit your bare thoughts to him?

he squeezes your thigh as a sign to go ahead

“i wonder how we got here, joong,” you admit, “you know that we are exploiting people-”

“for the greater good-”

“for the greater good, yes,” you finish, nodding and he furrows his brows in concentration

“these people are just like us. we were once slaves of this society, but now we are the leaders. and they are our slaves. but…”

“they will offer us what they have,” hongjoong replies softly, “and we will make the best out of it. isn’t that right?”

you nod. there is no more space for any more questioning

you have never like the darkness in his eyes when you question his- your- methods

all he knows is that he is right

he knows what he is doing is wrong in essence, but it is about the bigger picture- he is doing this for his nation

and you cannot expect to run a nation claiming to be a saint

the nation is run by wolves, and to make space there, you must be some sort of a predator. that is who he has become

his grip on your thighs tighten and he starts to grind your body on him

between the sounds of pleasure is the groan of pain as he spanks your thighs and remind you of your place

“all you have to do is follow me,” he breathes into your ear, trailing his lips across your cheek. “all you have to do is stay with me. together…” he thrusts hard inside you. “together, we will rule the world one day, you and i.”

you nod and he swallows your moans as he kisses you, thrusting with all his might until you both come crashing down

he takes you to the shower and you both quickly clean up and get in bed

as you watch his figure relax and succumb to sleep, you confess to him

“you are a great politician, hongjoong,” you tell him and the corners of his lips curl in a smile. “i’m just afraid of going too far with you. every day, we learn that we can get worse than we are, yet…”

“yet, it has become my addiction and my duty,” he whispers, hand finding your bare arm and caressing it. “don’t you want to rule the world?”

“you will rule the world. i will be treading on your shadow, following you closely and sharpening my teeth… but afraid.”

“afraid of what?”

“of you,” you breathe and he opens one eye

“you won’t leave me, will you?” he asks innocently, yet it is there- the warning in his tone

you are responsible for who he is today. you are an accomplice

every person he ruins to get closer to the top, you are equally responsible for it

“of course not,” you tell him, “i can’t leave you.”

hongjoong notices your choice of words

you can not leave him- you do not have a choice

he holds you close and kisses you like he means it that night

it would be such a shame if he would have to throw you away after all of this, right? 

it would truly be such a shame if you are just like the others in the end- weak and helpless

since you know exactly what is going on inside hongjoong’s head, you tell him you love him like you really mean it and you let him hold you close

it may be a trap, but you don’t mind being trapped if this is where you end up every night- in his arms

your lord, your saviour

The Manipulator and the Manipulated

Seonghwa

Jekyll

park seonghwa is a man who is adored wherever he goes

be it at work- at a prestigious university as a neuroscience professor, dr. park, or at social gatherings, formal or informal

he is a man born with the best manners, the most caring and generous heart

you’ve seen him around the department as a masters student and attended a few of his classes 

but you never got to interact with him personally until it’s time to choose a thesis supervisor and you learn that you have a chance with him

it’s purely because he’s amazing at what he does 

your subfield matches with his specialty so it will be better if he’s your supervisor (and it’s only a bonus that the man is painfully hot so you’ll never be bored)

your professor recommends you to seonghwa and he goes over your synopsis which leaves him intrigued because coincidentally, he’s researching in molecular neuroscience as well

he gladly takes you on because he believes you both will be helping each other along the way

plus, he recognises your name- you’ve always had a different air about you (and he remembers you from somewhere else too)

he’s looking forward to working with you, that’s all

so when you arrive on your first day as his supervisee and research assistant

you catch him in his natural habitat- unaware of his surroundings, humming a tune to himself and swiping his hair hurriedly to the side with the hand that’s holding a clear solution of some sort while struggling not to drop his notes on the table that has a few microscope slides 

basically, moments away from a disaster

he spots you and grunts as if asking for help and you immediately drop your bag to rush towards him, only now noticing that somehow, he’s holding his glasses by his teeth

you first take those out of his mouth and he groans in relief. “can you please help me wear my glasses? those cultures are moments away from expiring.”

“oh goodness,” you mutter and you lock eyes with him as you put on his glasses for him

and your intrusive thoughts take over because you simply cannot take how his hair is poking his eyes so you gently brush his hair out of his eyes

for a moment, time is frozen for all sorts of reasons

before seonghwa takes a deep breath and you blink, immediately getting out of his way and holding his notes for him

the notes apparently hold the readings on how much solution he needs to pour so you read it for him and consequently save him from a disaster

as soon as he is done freezing the cultures, he holds the edge of the table to save himself from slumping in relief

and you share a laugh, the ice breaking just like that

he tells you that the student assigned for taking care of the cultures had an emergency and he had to rush from another department

and he thanks you for helping him

you both move to his office to go over your thesis and he helps you create a timeline

you wrap up the meeting with a clear direction of what’s next and with a schedule of shifts where you will be assisting him

it doesn’t take long to get used to being a part of his team of five calm students with a little streak of crazy

and you suppose dr. park has an eye for people like that because you fit right in

you are all very dedicated so he seems to be at ease when you are working, though he does monitor you more closely since you’re new

you start to spend more time in the lab simply because you like how it feels there

it is like a little cocoon where you can tune out the rest of the world and work on your thesis without distractions (plus, it helps how people from your team pop in once in a while to throw some suggestions at you)

you like how it is there- neat and clean

the sound of metal against metal, glass against glass. the smell of the cleaning agent which calms you since it is something familiar now

and then there’s dr. park himself, gentle and composed, yet at times clumsy and rough which results in the room cackling with laughter

however, there’s a side to him that you only see when you’re alone with him

you’re not sure if he’s like that with everyone- he must be, right?

does he pay as much attention to everyone else as you?

perhaps, you’re delusional. that must be it

seonghwa knows you must think that, because he has not been very obvious but he has not been subtle either

it’s just that he remembers you from that time. he remembers seeing your face in his friend wooyoung’s data

wooyoung, who is an expert at singling out people like them

people like seonghwa who have a little streak of crazy in them, yet manage to be a part of the society almost seamlessly

wooyoung’s company does a good job at managing these people because they ultimately help the black market grow

seonghwa is half convinced wooyoung’s company is just a faction of the government but of course he can’t confirm that

all he knows is that he cannot act out too much and get caught

in return, he knows when someone like him is in his radar

here you are, glasses perched on the tip of your nose as you examine different slides under the microscope, muttering to yourself about the readings as your scribble them

he can’t help but notice how you always wear that one specific shade of deep red on your lips or how your hair falls in the most irresistible way in front of your face

he’s never looked at a student this way- ever- but you’re not just a student now, are you?

so when he makes his move, approaching you from behind as silently as he can

he’s not disappointed when you turn- he didn’t make a sound, yet you knew

you’re not even surprised, and that excites seonghwa to no end

“ah, dr. park,” you go casually, as if him sneaking behind you was normal behaviour. “can you approve of these hypotheses?”

seonghwa hums and stands awfully close to you, your sides brushing against each other

he purposely crowds in your personal space as he leans in to confirm the readings of the specimens on the table

“everything’s perfect,” he announces, meeting your eyes

you’re still sitting so you have to look up at him and lord. what a sight he is even from this angle. you could totally get used to it-

“what are you looking at, sweetheart?” seonghwa smirks knowingly 

you have to physically struggle to maintain your composure because you are pretty sure you were gawking

“nothing, just zoned out,” you say, which isn’t a lie but not the whole truth either

he knows though. he knows the effect he has on you because he hasn’t been subtle

from the casual touches to the unnecessary (but not undeserved) praise

from the prolonged eye contact to the suggestive smirks

there is something electric between the two of you, an undeniable tension

and while you’re not one who sticks to the rules, you can’t help but wonder just why is dr. park playing with you?

“you sure you’re okay?” seonghwa leans in and searches your eyes for any signs of lies

upon finding none but gaining satisfaction from the way your lips part in surprise, he draws back 

you try your best not to make things awkward for the rest of the time you’re with him

and in the following days, his advances only start becoming stronger in nature

you like the attention he gives you. you like how he always puts his hands on your shoulders and gives them a little squeeze whenever he finds you sitting

you like the way his warm breath caresses your cheek when you’re both sitting side by side inspecting a specimen

you enjoy the sound of his gentle voice as he instructs you

it’s almost as if he knows. it’s almost as if he’s asking for it

does he not know that once you become obsessed with something, you’ll try- no, you will possess it at all costs?

so one night when you’re both working at late hours, busy with wrapping up one section of your thesis

you can’t take it when seonghwa scolds you teasingly for being clumsy 

“you’ve got pen on your chin,” he says and before you can take care of it, he himself scoots closer-

too close for it to be professional anymore because at this point, he can probably count the freckles on your face too-

and begins to rub at your the skin near your lips gently

he frowns when it doesn’t come off, and then he has the audacity to lick his thumb and rub your skin again

“dr. park,” you mutter, about to remind him how you are supposed to be a teacher and student

you’re not friends (despite the very friendly relationship you have developed with him)

seonghwa only hums and you can’t help but notice how he stifles a smirk as he moves his thumb to your lower lip and swipes it, all the while maintaining eye contact

you raise a brow in challenge, silently questioning why he’s still holding your chin

he leans in as if to kiss you and you stop breathing

except he tilts his head to whisper in your ear

“would you like to attend the next soul society meeting with me, love?”

to say that you freeze is an understatement

you don’t move when his lips caress your cheeks as he stays in that position

you don’t move when he purposely trails his lips along your cheek as he draws back

“what’s your classification?” you manage to ask, your voice barely a whisper

the way seonghwa smirks is something you’ll never forget

“jekyll,” he says. “nice to meet you, hyde.”

there’s a moment of silence where all you can do is stare at the man in front of you

a moment of pure static

as soon as you take off your mask and your lips curl in a smirk, it happens

you don’t know who took the first step but you’re both kissing each other

it’s rushed, passionate and desperate, the air filling with your grins and giggles and you’re only glad you’re not in the lab right now because the way seonghwa clears the table with a swipe of his hand, making the notes fall on the ground

only to lift you up and seat you there so he can kiss you better? being in the lab would have done some damage alright

between kisses, you learn how seonghwa recognised you

you ask him if he lured you here somehow, but he tells you it’s just luck that you’re here as his student right now. you don’t quite believe him though

but you let it be- if he’s jekyll, that means he’s got the brains to scheme

he tells you that he’s glad to have found his hyde because he would prefer someone else to do his dirty work for him

you agree- it’s been far too long since you’ve had an adventure, and you’ve heard about the notorious jekyll in the soul society too. you just never connected the dots

he takes you to his private lab (not before feasting on you and fucking you on that very table)

for the next few weeks, you familiarise yourself with his actual research

mind altering chemicals and drugs, anything to do with control

very illegal stuff, but the soul society funds him with whatever he needs

he can’t believe he found you- you’re perfect for him

seonghwa believes he has morals and he can be a good person

so you make the perfect partner because you can be the bad person in his stead

you’re his alter ego, the voice in his head that he never lets come out

you’re the person who not only matches his freak but helps bring it into manifestation. you are now his face

while he advances in molecular neuroscience in the world, you advance, on his behalf, in the underworld

there’s no blood on your hands- you both only produce drugs. you’re not responsible for what is done with them

you do sometimes assist in the practical work, which seonghwa avoids, because after all, he has a reputation to maintain as dr. park

no one suspects a thing. you’re just supervisor and supervisee who share a similar obsession with research

nothing to worry about

Jekyll and Hyde

Yunho

The Hunter

when you finally got to a blind date that your friend begged you to go to, you didn’t expect to meet a man who would actually catch your eye

there is something about this man, jeong yunho, that instantly pulls you in as if you really are tied by a thread 

for starters, he is incredibly handsome and has a soft vibe to him that exudes warmth

his voice has a soothing quality and his mannerisms are as gentle as his gaze. his laugh is pure and he makes quite a good company

he just makes you feel comfortable and safe right away, which is kind of surprising

so when yunho tells you about himself, confirming that he is indeed a corporate lawyer at a well-known firm, you are simply in awe

you thought your friend was bluffing when she told you that she is trying to set you up with a ‘beauty with brains’

she was not lying, is all you can think now

you’re a simple school teacher, you tell yunho with a laugh

however, the man’s eyes are practically twinkling as he hears your stories about school 

you’re only telling him because he insisted, and now he can’t stop appreciating your profession, saying that it’s admirable how you are able to connect with children and educate them

the conversation steers to your likes and dislikes, your preferences, and what you’re looking for in a partner

surprisingly, the two of you have a lot in common

you both have a special place in your heart for food. you both love travelling. and there are some things he does not need to say out loud 

like how he’s a caring person- always making sure you’re comfortable and your bowl is full, draping his coat over your shoulders when you leave the restaurant and scour the streets for something sweet

the hand that he offers you is not suggestive and you like that (you also like how tall he is and how his hand engulfs yours almost entirely)

just two people who talk about anything and everything- that’s who you become by the end of the night

as you settle in bed later, you’re still smiling about how his eyes twinkled when he learned that you too have a thing for gaming too

you have good feelings about this person so far but there’s a feeling scratching at your heart that has you restless

it is the way his eyes darkened almost dangerously, only momentarily, when you insisted that you could get home on your own

he was a gentleman, no doubt about it, insisting that you could never be too sure these days especially with the news being so horrible lately, the crime rate spiking up dramatically in the past few months

you just did not like the idea of having a stranger accompany you all the way to your home, even if it was this gentleman- this was only your first meeting

so he made you promise to call him and let him know when you get home 

and here you are. you dated him for a few months before you both decided to move in together into an apartment that suited your needs

he’s perfect in every way- attentive, responsive, caring, funny, and he gives you space when you need it

which matters the most because you value your personal space a lot

he understands the importance of personal space very well and even though you share a room, you both let each other be 

you let him be when he’s gaming, and he lets you be when you’re staring at the ceiling or reading

more often though, he’ll have you sit on his lap as he games

since he’s so much bigger than you, you’ll curl on top of him to read or scroll and he’ll be focused on his game, liking your presence

it doesn’t always lead to something but when it does, it’s always fun

he has you smitten- his kisses still make you feel like it’s your first time sharing a kiss (and he’s damn good at it)

his touch lingers on your skin throughout the day and you cannot wait to be back in his arms again

it is just another night when you decide to walk and take the longer route back home because apparently yunho was going to be late and you did not want to be home alone

it gets quieter as you navigate through the streets and alleys

and when you take a turn and notice a familiar figure, you stop in your tracks

is that… not yunho? the back and the height looks pretty much the same

the man is watching a woman at the end of the street who is using her phone as if waiting for someone

the woman catches the man watching her and grows wary- you can tell even from the distance

you can tell that she is very much pretending to be on call when she starts moving

despite every cell in your body urging you to ignore this and go back home, you start to follow the man when he starts to follow the woman

you are careful to maintain a distance, cursing yourself internally for being a curious little shit who seeks thrill like there’s no tomorrow

but the woman takes a left, and the man takes a right, leaving you standing in the middle of the street, taking a few deep breaths

nothing happened, you think. you turn and start to trace your path back

and just a minute later, there’s an unmistakable sound of a woman’s scream filling the air

every hair on your body rises as your heart drops and eyes widen

you’re frozen in one spot with no idea what to do next- should you go check on the woman? see if it was the same person? 

not once do you think of calling the police though

you walk back home, lost in your thoughts with the image of the man’s familiar figure branded in your mind especially since you are pretty damn sure that those were little sunflowers embroidered on the hem of the hoodie

sunflowers that you embroidered on yunho’s hoodie

when you open the door to your apartment, though, you hear the sound of the TV and yunho is sitting very casually on the couch

“ah, you’re home,” he grins and waves, just like he usually does

he’s not wearing the hoodie anymore

“i thought you were gonna be late?” you ask

“you’re late,” he counters. “why did it take you so long to get home?”

“just decided to take a walk,” you smile, ruffling his hair and planting a kiss on the top of his head before going to your room 

you grab your clothes and move towards the bathroom to take a shower, and it is then that yunho’s eyes widen

“ah, babe?” he calls, his voice uncharacteristically high

when you don’t answer, he rushes towards the bathroom and finds you standing in the doorway

your eyes are fixed on the sink which is a pale shade of pink with handprints on it

yunho curses himself internally- he rushed to hide his hoodie as soon as he got home, jumped in the shower, spotted the bloody sink from when he first washed his hands and decided to make it look like he had been home for a while before cleaning the sink

only he fucking forgot

it doesn’t look as bad- it’s not a bloody red, for starters

“ah, i forgot to clean that up,” yunho awkwardly laughs, proceeding to move inside and open the tap, taking a sponge and cleaning the edges of the sink

yeah. it does not look that bad

“i accidentally spilled that red ink you have in the room- i don’t know why i got curious and messed with it.”

that’s not the colour of your ink, though, and you know it never leaves stains like these

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, but your eyes are wider than usual. yunho notices that

he lets you shower in peace, all the while thinking if you suspect something

truth be told, he saw you when you were following him back there which is why he took another turn to mislead you

he also knows you are far too observant for your own good

he can’t lie- one of the reasons he fell for you is because of that. you are just like him

though you are free of sin unlike him, your mind is a mess

you notice too much that is not meant to be noticed. you sometimes say things that even he has not thought about. you question if human morals are an actual thing or a made up construct

is it from reading too much fiction? he thinks not

when you come out of the shower, something possesses you to move to the balcony

and that’s another thing yunho likes about you (which also scares him a little at times)

it is your intuition- which leads you to inspect the little corner where you pile up useless stuff. you can see the sleeve of his hoodie there

you pick it up and find it wet in certain spots

on its black base, you can’t tell what it is, but the sunflowers are stained a suspicious red colour, and it’s definitely not your ink 

you look towards your right where yunho is standing, vigilant

there is a moment of silence before you lower the hoodie 

“it really was you,” you say, unwavering

your heart is not speeding because you’re scared- it is speeding because you are right

yunho is still, contemplating how to deal with this

did he think he could hide his secret from you forever? no. was he prepared in case he gets caught? no

he just never imagined it would unfold like this

and now… will he have to hurt you if you threaten to expose him? he can’t bear to hurt a hair on your head

you bring out all the good in him. he does not know how you do that, but you make him believe that he can love with all of his heart too, just like any other person

you make him feel whole, and it would be such a shame if things fall apart now

to his surprise, you drop the hoodie back and walk towards him until there’s little distance between the two of you

you hold both of his hands in yours and look at him earnestly

“are you going to tell me what you have been up to?”

yunho is surprised at how calm your voice is and how accepting your eyes are

he sighs deeply before steering you to the couch in the living room

and then he bares his heart to you

he is a monster. that is it. he hurts people and it satisfies this ugly part of him

he does not always want to, he justifies, but sometimes, he just can’t help it

and the only reason he gets away with it is because he is not stupid and carefully chooses his victims- people who are miserable. people who have no one around them

“well then… i’m lucky to have one person in my life, right?”

yunho’s eyes widens at your response

you fulfil the criteria of being his victim- you have no one 

you have no one but him- how did that happen?

he thinks back to your first date and he can’t help but feel overwhelmed

he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his head about to explode 

why are you not running away from him? why are you caressing his head and holding him close?

you don’t tell him everything right away. you only ask him to trust you

so he trusts you and waits for you

he learns little bits about you- you, who do not care who yunho is, as long as he is transparent with you

you, who has a twisted sense of morality. you, who might be as bad as yunho, even worse

though, your hands are clean, you tell him sarcastically, it’s just your head that is a mess

and it’s a blessing that you two are together and can be honest about this too, right? how lucky you are to have each other

“you, without sin, are like the sun,” he tells you one night as he kisses the top of your head and holds you close

“you, even with sin, are like the sun,” you respond.

The Hunter and His Guide

Yeosang

The Mad Scientist

there is something about the innocent features of his face, the gentleness in his mannerism, the absolute ethereal aura about him

that contrasts strikingly with the pitch black (or maybe, just two shades lighter) of his soul

the man only knows how to scheme and how to take the best possible route towards his goals

the goals are all related to science

sure, he is contributing to the scientific area, doing researches no one else would do

doctor kang yeosang- a scientist and philosopher, held in high reverence in the medical field, contributing with numerous researches centering the human body

nobody needs to know exactly how he gets such extensive, solid results to support his theories

he comes off as a soft-spoken man, someone who possesses a kind heart

he is willing to overwork himself in order to make life easier for others

he is much appreciated by his peers

they don’t need to know that behind his neat and professional setup is a dark, cold space that holds his real workspace

the endless corridors lined with shelves upon shelves of jars 

jars containing the human body parts within them

from the brain to the spleen, from the heart to the liver

each jar meticulously lined in an organisation such that only yeosang could close his eyes and know where to pick what he needs

each organ in the jar has a story of the human that it once was- the story that yeosang himself scribes and tucks in the safe (and in a corner of his heart)

taking it out only to read and reminiscence, or to make another addition

such as the one that he is about to make now, sauntering with an almost skipping manner, highlighting his delight in the events about to unfold

his pristine white lab coat flows behind him, a symbol of everything that he would not be doing tonight, which only adds to the irony of it all

he finds you mirroring his expressions, eyes wide with anticipation and lips curled in a stifled smile

and he can’t help but smile wider, the sound of his footsteps echoing loudly as he speeds towards you so that he can finally hold you after the long day he had, tired of playing it cool in front of everyone

you are snaking your arms around his neck immediately as he bends down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, earning a surprised but pleased yelp from you

you let him have his moment, kissing him back with equal passion until he draws away and rests his forehead against your shoulder

“long day, huh?” you press your lips against his temple. “how did the presentation go?”

the presentation being at a conference of the national medical association where yeosang was the chief guest, awarded for his valuable insights to the medical world

“i sometimes wonder if i’m the only one wearing a mask,” yeosang confesses.

you know what he means

there surely must be others just like him

you can’t expect to make medical advancements while sticking to the stupid laws and regulations they have carved for you

the medical associations do not allow anyone freedom 

“it’s tiring to pretend my research was simply a result of my team’s hard work,” yeosang continue, “they didn’t do batshit. i wish i could credit you instead.”

“but you can’t,” you caress his dark locks. “that would certainly raise suspicion since i’m… underqualified.”

well, that’s arguable 

you may not be as good as yeosang at what you do but considering that you come from a non-medical background, yeosang would say that you are pretty close

in fact, overqualified

“i don’t think there’s anyone more qualified than you,” yeosang lifts his head to look up at you, eyes scanning your face. “you’re an expert of the human body.”

you are an expert, that is true

you did what you had to do to survive as a young girl who lost her way

you were meant to be a test subject yourself but you created your own path and proved that you were good with your hands- almost artistic

and that you could open up humans as long as you had a good knife

your skills were a bit rusty when yeosang found you in the black market

but he was thoroughly impressed and made an offer. it was an offer that you couldn’t resist 

you would no longer be bound to be a slave for the rest of your life

you would be his equal. an accomplice 

“but you are the mad scientist. i’m just your unofficial assistant,” you pat his cheek in answer

it’s a wonder that you’re here now, in his arms

a muffled sound interrupts your little moment

you both steer towards the big room and yeosang looks around for a moment to take in the glory of his workplace

the crisp white walls and clean tiles smelling of antiseptic, marred with red stains of blood that is dripping from the man’s limbs

the man who is currently tied to a stretcher in the middle of the room

the instruments and tools that he would be using tonight to open his test subject up are glinting with silver, ready to be used

he has chosen the perfect target- a relatively healthy, middle-aged homeless man

really, no one would care if he went missing

in fact, you were doing him a favour by putting an end to his miserable life, right?

surely, he did not wish to live without a home and the means to survive

though here he was, sedated but struggling nonetheless, as if finally having found the will to live

“ah, he created a mess,” yeosang begins, clicking his tongue in disappointment as he inspects the bruises around the man’s wrists. “i’m sorry you had to wait so long, hmm?”

it’s almost eerie, how yeosang’s voice drips with pity

but that’s what you like about him

he thinks of the greater good. he is doing all of this for the greater good

there is no personal desire to kill random human beings, no

he simply needs test subjects to study the human body, so there can be advancements in the medical world

he just can’t believe that the world does not have a cure or even a prevention for most of the diseases in this age

he has taken it upon himself to contribute to the medical world so people do not have to suffer anymore

he complains about this a lot 

if people had guts, they would have done this ages ago

sometimes, he refers to the awful medical experiments done by humankind- especially on women

he is different from them, he claims

he cares about their pain- that is why he makes sure to make his subjects’ death quick and painless before he starts to conduct his experiments

it’s just too bad that he doesn’t have much time after the person passes to study certain functions of a living human

(so sometimes, he makes exceptions and asks god for forgiveness. easy peasy)

you watch yeosang with a sort of wonder and a little something that resembles fear as he caresses the man’s head in farewell

he asks the man to say his last words, to choose them carefully, to take his time and to make peace with the fact that there is no way out

the sedatives seem to have made the man somewhat placid

the test subject stops resisting to lock eyes with the doctor 

he says something about the regrets he’s had in his life and how he just wants his misery and pain to end now

yeosang’s brows are furrowed in concentration as he listens to each and every word, nodding along as if he aims to fulfil every desire this man possesses 

his hand is gently caressing the man’s head

when the man is done, yeosang tells him that his contribution to medical research won’t be forgotten

he looks at you to find you already staring at him with an unreadable expression

he signals you to get the job done and you inject the medicine meant to stop the man’s heart

you watch the man take his last breath, his face contorting in pain as his heart ceases to function

yeosang has already moved on from the little moment he had, putting on medical gloves and snapping them against his skin rather dramatically

“let’s get to work, shall we?”

you smile in response, following his instructions

soon, you are testing the functioning of the man’s abdominal organs with various equipment and drugs that yeosang has bought from the black market 

you have to work quickly before necrosis begins and hinders you

yeosang is very careful with his methods. his hands are steady as if he has done this a thousand times already 

and though he comes off as clumsy in the public eye, he is anything but here

his eyes are focused, darting between the electrodes placed on the man’s liver to the readings on the screen

it goes on like this for a while, yet another failed experiment as the liver fails to respond as desired to the electric shock and necrosis takes over

it doesn’t disappoint any of you though

yeosang has a strong vision and no amount of failed experiments is going to stop him 

plus, there’s always something you learn even from failure

you begin to clean up when you notice a broken nail lying on the stretcher

you pick it up with tweezers and inspect it- it must have broken when the man was struggling to break free

yeosang catches you looking at the discoloured nail with curiosity and he hums in question

“hair and fingernails are beautiful ornaments.” you ask, “so why do they seem so baleful when they are removed? 

yeosang stands beside you, pondering

“the answer is simple. they are previews of what is to come. of death.”

you look at him to find his eyes twinkling with the knowing glint of someone who’s seen it all

after you both finish recording the data of tonight’s session, yeosang is back to being the cute and clumsy person that you absolutely adore

the man is craving chicken after today’s hard work so you fulfil his wish and take him to his favourite place

you both sit across each other, drinking beer and savouring the juicy meat while talking about casual stuff- just an assistant and her boss

just two friends who met by chance and felt an instant pull towards each other

just two lovers, fated to be together and find solace in each other’s company

as if the stars have aligned for you yet again, a familiar face walks in and sits on the table next to you

you meet yeosang’s eyes and you both stifle a smile

it’s one of the potential test subjects you’ve had in your file, due for observation

and what better observation than to sit next to them in a casual setting and eavesdrop naturally?

yeosang raises his beer glass in toast and you share a knowing smile, raising your own glass in toast 

just two partners in crime. that’s who you are

The Mad Scientist and his Accomplice

San

Executioner

choi san works hard during the day

he goes to the school and makes sure his students are in top shape

as their p.e. teacher and coach, he has every student’s physical status on his fingertips

he knows their strengths and their weaknesses. he also knows their desires

so if a student is not a good runner but wants to run better, he would never tell them to give up, he would personally coach them and make sure they know that their body is not the limit

they can be a good runner, a good player, a good swimmer- anything

as long as they are steadfast, they can conquer the world

so choi san is loved and respected by the students, known to be a very caring teacher

but choi san works harder at night. no one needs to know that

certainly not his colleagues who always go about how hardworking a teacher he is

when he is free from the school, he goes to his home and changes before driving to his friend’s place- a warehouse where a few of you hang out

someone programmes, another composes, another works out

just an innocent hideout that you’re all using even in your early thirties

except that you also huddle around to read the new request you receive on your app

“i am a twenty-one year old female. two years ago, the man who dated my older sister killed her, but due to lack of evidence, he did not receive the jail time he deserves. he claims that he is innocent, but ever since he got out, he’s been bothering me because he had to serve his short sentence anyway. he is threatening to kill my family and then me if i go to the cops. i am scared to leave the house because he is stalking me and i can always see him wherever i go. please help me. i won’t go to the cops anyway- they didn’t do anything then, and they will not do anything now.”

san is contemplating if he should accept this request

you look at wooyoung who is immediately weighing the pros and the cons

you look back at san who is still deep in thought and you gently rest your hand on his thigh, bringing him out of his head

“i’ll take it,” he mutters. “accept the request, y/n.”

you nod and go back to the computer to accept the request

you have a phone call conversation with the client where you set up a meeting

it’s you and wooyoung who go to meet with the respective parties. san works in the shadows

the next night, san finds you deep in thought outside, leaning against the worn out wall of the warehouse

he joins you, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans

“i know what you’re thinking,” san begins, glancing at you. “you’ve been awfully quiet since the meeting.”

you shrug in defeat. “i know i can’t change your mind.”

“it’s not going to be the same,” san refers back to the one time you all took a request from a 19 year old girl who was being bullied by her seniors

it got to a dangerous point and had you been a little late, you might have lost the girl

san lost his temper that time, though

and while he couldn’t physically harm the kids who were bullying the girl, he had them locked in a room for one night while he educated them

and funnily enough, san was scarier that night

scarier than every other time he actually wields a weapon

you asked him that night if there were any just people left in this world full of evil

“all people are evil. to believe that you are just, you must believe that someone else is more evil than you”

was his response. safe to say, the girl was living her best life now, but you saw a new side of san that night

a side you had never seen all your life, and that was saying something since you were childhood friends

“we won’t let it get to that point,” san assured, outstretching your hand and you pouted before taking it

he caressed your knuckles, his voice assertive. “i will take care of it. properly. i always do.”

“do you think i only worry about things going wrong?” you finally say out loud, the words that you want to say to him every time he goes out in the field 

san, despite himself, breaks into a smile that would seem so out of character to anyone who has not known him for long

“you can’t smile your way out of this,” you sulk further, snatching your hand away and folding your arms

“baby,” san begins, trying to take your hand again but you’re not having any of it

“i’m worried you’ll get hurt. i’m worried about the pain you’re willing to go through so you can lessen the pain of others.”

san stops teasing then, mimicking your position as he leans against the wall next to you

there is a thick silence surrounding you and you wonder what wooyoung is doing inside- is he napping?

“it’s something i have to do. something only i can do. you know that, right?”

“i know,” you say, almost a whisper. “and that’s what makes this more frustrating.”

because it was originally your idea

on a summer night when you were all about to graduate, a tragedy happened in your town

a man went on a spree, killing and wounding multiple women and children for weeks

you, who knew one of the victims personally, were shocked by the act and disgusted at how lazy the police were being

it turned out that the assailant was a high-profile businessman and the police were trying to cover the case up as per the orders of their superiors

the three of you were hanging out in the warehouse, each burdened by their own train of thoughts, until you finally said it out loud

“what if we were some sort of a private service where we help the victims? especially when the police can’t?”

it was wooyoung who agreed first, and san who disagreed

it took him some convincing to finally agree, and you set rules

you were not going to kill anyone- only maim

if it’s a serial killer, you maim their hands so they can never hold a weapon again

if it’s a bully, you maim their mouth so they think before they speak

the three of you are a team, but san is the executioner

wooyoung is his eyes and feet, and you are the brains

so it is ironic how worried you are about san now, when you gave him this role

“i know that i can get hurt,” san begins, taking a deep breath. “but there is no pain as long as i keep my eyes on the balance scale.”

this time, when he outstretches his hand, you take it. he plants a sweet kiss on your knuckles

“don’t worry about me, hmm?” he tugs you closer so you can rest your head against his firm chest as he embraces you. “i can’t focus when you’re so worried.”

“i can’t help it,” you tell him. “you’ll just have to get used to it.”

san lifts your face with his thumb below your chin, his brows furrowed with concentration and worry as he looks at you

his eyes are sharp as he scans you so you smile

immediately, his body relaxes and the corners of his lips curl in a smile as he pecks your lips- once, twice

and it is about to turn into a deeper kiss when wooyoung claps loudly to get your attention

“alright, lovebirds. get inside. we have a heads-up.”

you scowl at wooyoung who smirks in response but you both immediately join the youngest inside

your client has texted to let you know that she’s about to go out so you can stalk her stalker

you and wooyoung take your equipment to the van and san prepares himself 

he’ll be observing tonight, but he is prepared in case the stalker catches on

just like that, you observe the stalker for a few days, assuring your client that she is safe

you plan a trap to lure the stalker to an abandoned area where san will have a little chat with the stalker 

and when the day comes, all your client has to do is threaten to call the cops on him

he comes after her and that is when san knocks him out with a punch

the stalker finds himself tied to a chair in an empty room when he opens his eyes

there is the stale smell of something resembling death in the room, and that makes the man resist 

from the darkness, san emerges, clad in all black, his face covered with a mask

and his favourite weapon, the dagger, in his hand

you and wooyoung are watching from the camera embedded on his coat

you can see the glint of the dagger as he twists it dramatically in his hand

san circles around the man once as if to gauge the room 

even through the camera, you can tell how thick the air must be feeling

san meets eyes with the man and removes the tape over his mouth, wincing when the man screams his lungs out in hopes that help would come

there is no help, not for miles

“who are you?” the stalker spits on the ground near san’s feet 

san only shuts his eyes in mild annoyance. he is not easily riled up

“you have been found guilty of the crime of stalking. tell me… what should be your sentence?”

the man pales, fresh beads of sweat trickling down his forehead 

“it will be better if you admit to your wrongdoings and give me a fair number. you don’t want to leave it in my hands.”

“what do you mean sentence?” the stalker starts struggling fiercely, almost falling off the chair. “i have already served!”

san grins under the mask, closing in like a cat and stomping on his foot, making the man let out a guttural groan of pain

he leans in to whisper in his ear

“but… that was for murder. and unfortunately, i am not charging you for murder tonight. otherwise… you would not have walked out alive.”

the man gulps loudly, meeting eyes with who has to be the person he has heard so much about in prison

most of the people in prison feared this man- the judge, they called him

the man was the judge, jury and executioner for criminals, feared more than the cops or actual prosecutors

“surely… you’re not him, are you?”

you wince at the fear in the stalker’s voice and meet wooyoung’s eyes

san never confirms if he is that. he simply finishes the job right there

the stalker’s screams are heard for quite a distance, even outside your earpieces

you shut your eyes momentarily and when you open, you can see the blood oozing out of the man’s left leg

san is wiping the dagger with the man’s own jacket as he tells him that he will never be able to stalk people again

the man screams and screams, waiting for something more, but nothing else comes

san’s job is done

he tosses a broken piece of glass near the chair for the man to free himself if he wishes to

when san comes back to the van, the air is sombre, just like after every finished request

wooyoung pats his shoulder in acknowledgement and mutters a joke in an attempt to lighten the mood, which works

“they still call you the judge, huh?” wooyoung teases as he drives

“judge, jury, executioner. how scary, choi san.”

san raises a brow at your comment- he can tell what you’re referring to

you’re referring to the first time when he came back covered in blood

and the first time he realised that no matter what he did, you would never be scared of him

and that you and wooyoung would always have his back and guide him

“i think i’m only the executioner. you both are the judge and jury.”

“makes sense,” wooyoung agrees. “but the world does not need to know that.”

Judge, Jury and Executioner

Mingi

The Overseer

“the future, pitch black, upside down”

mingi dips his brush into the onyx ink, finishing writing the words on the big canvas

the canvas that is a splash of colours- red for the blood on his hands. white for the innocence he lost too soon. blue for all those nights he spent trapped with only the moon as his friend

and finally, black for the future. the future is the only uncertainty in his life

despite being a leader of a notorious gang, he can never be certain about his future. there are always people after his life

he cannot trust anyone- not one soul-

“sir,” a voice interrupts and he knows who it is instantly

even if he did not hear your voice, he knows you are the only person who would dare interrupt him in the middle of his private time-

“tea, sir. you’ve been cooped up in here for too long,” you say, placing the mug on the table

-for something as meagre as tea

mingi spares a glance in your direction, noticing how you are still dressed in your usual all-black fit

which means you have not gone to sleep yet, even though it’s well past midnight

“and what are you doing up so late?” he asks as he picks up the cup and sips it, finding it exactly to his liking. a flavour only you can nail

“watching you paint,” you confess without hesitation

because in this place, in this room, between the two of you, there may be truths hidden, but there are no secrets

mingi is amused to hear that though he does his best to hide it

“and what do you think of the painting?” he asks, allowing you to take a closer look

you smile at his permission to inspect his art and you inch closer to the painting, now standing beside your boss

you read the words on it in a whisper and cock your head in thought

“isn’t this too dark, even for you?” you question 

mingi shakes his head in amusement and looks down. only you could have made this observation, having been at his side for a solid seven years now

where others would say that his paintings were too ‘colourful’ considering the kind of person he is, you still find them too dark and void of life

you’d know better, because you know mingi inside out

he first found you when he was a street thug in the process of becoming something big

all he had was his raw strength, a strategic brain, a few rusty weapons and some loyal friends

he went on to fight gang after gang, always emerging victorious and merging the losing team with a good deal- it’s how he earned respect around and gained a reputation

every other gang knew not to stand against him unless they wanted to risk losing everything they had

when he first opened his office in the darkest part of the town, he found you purely by chance

you were nearing the end of your teens- a rebellious little girl who cut ties from her family and ran away from home

at that time, you had multiple part-time jobs trying to make ends meet, hoping to find a place to live

and one fateful night, you found yourself in front of a building to deliver chicken, peering up at the light coming from the 4th floor- this must be it 

although… you weren’t sure if the loud sounds coming from the floor were just men having a good time or if something had gone really, really wrong

men will be men, you thought, wanting to get the delivery done with so you could move on

only when you reached the 4th floor, you spotted men lying on the ground and clutching their limbs, blood all around

while every sane part of your brain screamed at you to pretend you saw nothing and go back, you recalled how when you received the order, they promised a big tip to the rider

you could not miss that, could you? you had to find a place to live, and you needed every penny

so you started with the men who seemed to be unconscious. you took any cash they had, being careful to hide your face in the hoodie

you moved to the office, hearing a crashing sound and flinching

you made quick work of grabbing more cash from the thugs- they had to be thugs

they all had guns, for fuck’s sake

you went into one of the neater rooms and placed the bags of fried chicken there

and you froze when a burly man made his way inside, wiping blood from the edge of his mouth

“ah… you must be song’s girl, eh?” he snickered, scanning you up and down

“i- i’m delivering chicken,” you pointed at the table. “i’ll be on my way then-”

“not so quick,” his gaze darkened 

instinctively, you grabbed the nearest object, which so happened to be a mug and chucked it at the man, successfully hitting his head

he clutched his head in pain and you made a dash outside, bumping into another man

the tall man seemed mostly unscathed save for a bruise on his cheek

he held your wrists to steady you and his eyes darted in the man’s direction who was clutching his head no more

“oi, song!” the burly man called. “teach your girl some manners, will you?”

the man called song pushed you to the side and a gunfight ensued

you took shelter behind a shelf, observing how the taller man successfully shot his every target

when he thought he was done- and was out of bullets, he looked in your direction and tsked loudly

you were about to come out of the shadows when you noticed one of the supposedly unconscious men take aim of song’s head

your eyes widened and almost instinctively, you grabbed a heavy metal object from the shelf and rushed to the man who was targeting your saviour

to say that mingi was surprised to see a young girl save him from his enemy by nearly crushing the man’s skull?

he knew you were something special right away

you both stared at each other for a long time before he told you to go back to his office, lock the door and not come out until he comes back

he was done sooner than you thought, and while his men cleaned his mess, he found you in his room, sitting rather calmly

“so you’re the delivery girl,” he narrowed his eyes

“i hope the chicken is still warm,” you responded. “if you can just pay me so i can leave-”

“why did you do that earlier?” he asked, voice low and rough that sent shivers up your spine

“i don’t know,” you answered truthfully

mingi paid you more than extra that night and told you to come next time they place an order 

the next time would turn out to be the last time you would ever work a part-time job

mingi offered you a place in his gang, and you took it

you are still not sure what your position in this gang is though- they smuggle drugs but keep you away from the work, so what are you doing here?

personal assistant? chef? manager? all of these? 

sometimes, you are accompanying wooyoung in the field- the gang now has an official base and a few legal businesses

sometimes, you stay in the kitchen with seonghwa and wooyoung to cook

other times, you sit with yunho and hongjoong to plan and offer your opinion on their strategic takes

you aren’t sure if you are qualified for that- you probably aren’t

somehow, though, the gang members respect you for whoever you are

you are the light in their dark life, they joke. you are someone’s friend now, sibling to some, secretkeeper for others

but you still aren’t sure what you are to mingi

whenever you ask him why he took you in, mingi always responds with something different

“you were clever grabbing all that money from our enemies”

“you saved me- though i must say i could have handled it”

“you looked like a lost cat”

“you didn’t report us”- excuses, all of them

truth be told, mingi has no idea what you are to him either

he has a certain fondness for you that he has for no one else. of course, it didn’t happen instantly

he took you in because he realised you had a strategic mind and he could really use that

he insisted the office needed a ‘feminine touch’ even though it came in the form of a cranky teen who wouldn’t stop asking questions

but somehow, the two of you formed an unbreakable bond

he finds solace just being with you in one room, even in complete silence

he loves to hear you talk, even though you mostly question his morals

because he is not a good person, you found out

song mingi is not conventionally good. he is a man of principles, but he does not have the best morals

despite all that, you learned a lot from him. the world is a harsh place, and only he can protect you 

he learned a lot from you too. the world is a harsh place, and only you are his safe space

when at times things get stressful, he comes to seek you. he finds you in the shared residence and sits with you

if he is feeling down, you will have him lay his head in your lap. you will caress his head and let him be

if he wants to talk, he will. otherwise, he will watch you for a long time until he falls asleep, unguarded

when he gets tired, he will seek your arms. all he has to do is show up and you will know what to do

you will drop whatever you are doing and spread your arms

it is his home at this point. that’s how things are like

are you in a relationship? you don’t know

all you know is that song mingi is the most important person in your life

it doesn’t matter if he lives life the way he does

it doesn’t affect you anymore- the blood on his hands or the chaos in his mind

it doesn’t bother you because you know his heart, and that is all that matters

so standing in his private space right next to him, inspecting his painting with a critical eye, you tell him that the painting is not him

he tells you to pick a colour and you reach out for a box, making him chuckle

“really?” he asks

“the future may seem black, but…” you begin. “it doesn’t feel so dark when i’m with you.”

mingi takes a deep breath at your words. you always get him like this, and he is not sure if he can restrain himself anymore

your heart aches when you see him curl his fists, a sign that he is holding back some words or an action

“tell me what you’re thinking,” you request, though it registers like a command in the gang leader’s brain

“i’m thinking that i never should have given you this life.”

you shake your head at that- how many times has he voiced out that he wished you had lived a better, normal life, away from the clutches of the underworld?

“no, you’re thinking something else too,” you comment

“i’m thinking that i want you to stay here, with me, forever,” he responds

you nod in approval. “i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere.”

“you could get hurt,” mingi says, taking a step closer and closing the gap between your bodies

“i am a big girl now, mingi,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his waist and hearing his erratic heartbeat

his arms are still by his sides for a moment before he embraces you

“i’m old now, in fact. how much longer will you keep me waiting?”

mingi grows stiff at your question. so you know

of course you do

mingi cups your face and locks eyes with you

“i won’t break,” you promise

“i know,” he smiles, pecking your forehead. “i’m afraid you will break me.”

your lips curl in a smile and he rests his forehead against yours

“are you sure about your choice?”

“yes,” you breathe. “i want you. i’m yours.”

mingi draws back

“i meant your choice of colour,” he tilts his head in the direction of the painting and the box of paint you picked for him

“of course you did,” you laugh at his attempt to distract you

mingi leans in to close the distance between your lips

it is soft and unrushed. you both have waited for the right moment, the right time for years and everything feels absolutely right at this moment 

you go first, asking him to join you in your bedroom and he agrees

he assesses the canvas once again

as a finishing touch, he sprays a final splash of yellow- the colour you picked for him

yellow for hope, for all the light in his dark world

The Overseer and his Shelter

Wooyoung

The Maniac

it has always been a cat and mouse game with you and wooyoung

you chase after each other, running in circles with no start or end

it’s almost as if you both have sworn to keep your eyes glued on each other, watching every move, anticipating what is next

someone’s lips curls up in a failed attempt to restrain a smile- a smile that drips with mischief and mockery

someone else’s eyes glint with threat and promise that this is not over, their fists curled in anger

you chase after each other like cat and mouse

only…you’re not sure who is the cat and who is the mouse

sometimes, it is you chasing after wooyoung

jung wooyoung, the son of one of the richest businessmen in town

a privileged piece of shit who is not right in the mind

a crazy bastard who has made it his life’s mission to not only drive you to the edge of the cliff but to push you and laugh in victory as you fall

he takes advantage of you being a criminal investigator 

some people jest that they can’t tell if wooyoung means to ruin your career or lead you to your promotion

with the amount of times wooyoung has gotten himself in trouble (and gotten away with it) he keeps your desk full of cases that you spend most nights investigating

while he keeps your hands full, what frustrates you to no end is that he almost always gets away with his crimes only because of his social standing and his connections

he gets away with petty crimes. he gets away with bloody fights that could very well have him spend one night in the station, cuffed 

he gets away with major crimes such as money laundering and tax evasion

no matter how much you try to investigate, you cannot

there are the warnings of your superiors who threaten to fire you because this is not your worry

and even if you do start to investigate, wooyoung’s team is quick to wipe any evidence of said crimes

you’re pretty sure that at this point, he might be hiding a body somewhere in his house

you wouldn’t be surprised. man once set his enemy’s mansion on fire

to make things worse, he got away with it- even when he was the only one grinning and playing with a lighter on his way out 

while the others scrambled like mice, he sauntered in style

he gets away with anything

you reputation at the station is already in shambles because of it

they call you his shadow at this point, considering how you are always following him

the truth is, you just want to wipe the shitty grin off his face for once

you want him to suffer defeat when you finally put him behind bars

you want him to chase after you like you chase after him

you might come off as delusional, but you’re half convinced that whatever wooyoung does is on purpose at this point- to get your attention

it wasn’t always like this, you and wooyoung

it started with a simple fight that broke out at a party where all the high-profile people were

someone was stupid enough to call the police- but you were more stupid because you went ahead and handcuffed wooyoung

you told him that you couldn’t waste this opportunity because you were investigating another case related to his father’s company anyway

and he? he laughed out loud like a maniac

you soon learned why, going home with the sound of your superiors scolding you still ringing in your ears

here you are, a few years and a lot of chasing each other later

except… you get something out of the chasing now

all he has to do is corner you. all he has to do is rile you up as he tells you why you lost this game yet again

with his burning gaze and honey voice, he pins you to the spot

with his fingers tracing the curves of your face, he tells you how much he loves you chasing after him 

as if he’s all that you ever think about. he might be right

“don’t you think we’re meant for each other?” wooyoung questions almost innocently, licking his lips subconsciously as he trails his finger down the curve of your neck until he reaches the first button of your shirt

“don’t think too highly of yourself, wooyoung,” you respond, your chest rising and falling in controlled breaths

you can not let him know the effect he has on you

however, wooyoung doesn’t need any sort of confirmation

you can try to keep your gaze steel all you want. you can attempt to sound sure and fake indifference, but the fact is that wooyoung knows

all he has to do is take another step forward and fill the gap between you two

his warm breath caresses your face and you gulp despite yourself

he watches you intently and squeezes your neck just a bit, causing you to part your lips for air and then he brushes the tip of his nose against yours

his other hand is slowly but surely unbuckling the belt of your pants and taking it off

you can only thank god in an ashamed relief that you’re in a private space- the space being one of the empty rooms in a random building on a random street because you had been tailing wooyoung

(at least the door is locked)

wooyoung brushes his lips against yours as your pants fall on the ground and pool on your feet

the sound that makes has heat rushing to your face- this should not be happening

you are a fucking detective and wooyoung is your target

but you can’t complain when his fingertips dance along your hip bones

all he has to do is swipe his fingers up your panties

upon finding them soaked (as usual), he smirks and you smack his chest

he catches your fist in his hand, though

“all for me?” he asks

in a matter of seconds, your lips are upon each other, tongues in each other’s mouth as you wrap your legs around him

he picks you up effortlessly and places you on a very dusty table

he gets rid of his clothes all the while kissing you expertly, aiming to please you, dominate you

he sucks on your lips, your neck, anywhere he can get his mouth on

and when he finally takes off all your garments, he has more places he can get his mouth on

“admit it, detective,” he breathes against your clit. “you’re obsessed with me.”

“get to work before i cuff you and fuck your brains out, wooyoung.”

wooyoung’s laugh echoes in the room as he recalls that night- a night he is sure he can never forget

“does that mean i get to experience that again if i stop now?”

you are moments away from your high- how dare he ask if he can stop?

he gets the hint and gets to work, and he makes sure he does a good job, licking and sucking at your clit until you’re screaming

for bonus points, he dives his cock inside right after and stays still as he starts to kiss you eagerly

this time, you’re the one who loses to him and lets him take control

you let him thrust into you. you let him praise you and humiliate you to no end

truth be told, you’re addicted to him. there is no going back from here

wooyoung knows how to use his tongue and he whispers sweet nothings

he is also surprisingly good at aftercare, even though you don’t accept it from him

well, you try not to, but he is insistent

he takes you home and he invites himself in

you go to the shower and he goes to your room to admire the effort you put into bringing him down

loads of files and a board full of his ‘accomplishments’ staring back at him- nothing he doesn’t know

“you think your daddy will help you if i start to investigate the slush fund you have?”

“which one?” is his response, and he grins widely as you gape at him

he can practically see the gears in your head turning and he adores that

it is a cat and mouse game after all. he must give you something so you keep coming after him

(and you must give him something so he keeps finding you too)

while you’re still processing what he just implied, your phone rings

you flinch when you pick it up, getting an earful from your team leader once again, because where were you?

you were supposed to tail wooyoung to confirm that he is meeting up with a notorious gang member who does his dirty work

the case you’re team is on these days is targeting the gang, and yet again… wooyoung is involved

so what the hell were you doing, your superior asks

“jung wooyoung did not meet up with the gang leader,” you say into the phone, your eyes fixed on wooyoung 

wooyoung has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face

“and how do you know that? i thought you lost the tail-”

“yes, i did lose the tail,” you bite your lips in thought- you can’t tell your team leader that wooyoung has a strong alibi this time-

but wooyoung goes ahead and snatches your phone from you

“detective lee,” wooyoung greets and you mutter a string of curses under your breath

you watch wooyoung charm his way through the matter

telling the detective that he was in a tight spot because of the gang they are investigating

and how it is a shame that a ‘civilised’ person such as himself is being linked to thugs

he tells him that he almost got attacked but you saved him, and you hid him in an abandoned building, being wise enough not to blow your cover 

you can’t tell how he does it, but by the end of the call, your team leader is fully convinced that you did a good job today and he even praises you when you take the phone back

when you end the call, you glare at wooyoung

“what?” he shrugs. “i needed an alibi.”

“is that why you took me to the building to fuck me? because you needed an alibi?”

wooyoung watches you with mild curiosity

“did you think it meant something else?” he asks

it would have hurt if he really meant it, but that’s the thing

you both know he doesn’t mean what he says, especially about whatever is going on between you two

he has risked his position and even his life far too many times just to get you alone and fuck you

so you only smile and shake your head in response before telling him to fuck off and get out of your sight

(and he does. not before a second round)

when he leaves, you watch his car disappear from the window before going to the board and updating everything you got out of him tonight

everything about his business and his crimes. everything to make your case on him stronger

it’s truly a wonder how much you can get out of fucking someone right and you’re positive you can see the end of this case now

though… you’re not sure if you will ever take this to court. but that’s something you’ll worry about later

for now, you will follow him like a cat follows a mouse

and he will chase after you like a cat chases after a mouse

The Maniac and his Shadow

Jongho

The Tyrant

it is always a little too cold in the building for your liking

the building that is choi enterprises, located at the heart of the city, standing tall with numerous floors, laden in luxury

it is a workplace and home to some of the people in this city and a symbol of something untouchable to the others

as you enter the building, accompanied by your secretaries and a guard, you instantly feel the temperature drop despite the warm tones of the interior

the employees that greet you may have smiles on their faces but it’s all an act. you can tell, because you know what a genuine smile looks like

choi enterprises somehow always manages to keep the most calculating people to themselves. it might be why the company has flourished so much in such a short period of time

“to the private elevators, miss,” a man says and you recognise him as one of the ceo’s personal staff

you follow him and tug your jacket closer, wishing you had worn it instead of draping it over your shoulders

you catch your reflection on the golden glossy door of the elevator and straighten, lifting your chin up

you will not be pushed into submission, you repeat for the umpteenth time

however, things are not in your favour this time

in this never ending game of business rivalry, you and choi jongho have never seen eye to eye. you always stand in opposition, defensive or offensive

sometimes, you manage to outsmart him while making a new business deal or scoring a new project. other times, he is a few steps ahead and wins the game

except when you lose, somehow, the loss is much greater and a bit personal

your company always suffers more when you lose, which is why this little meeting you are going to have with jongho is no less than a negotiation- a war, if you must

sometimes, you wonder if jongho has a personal grudge against you. these meaningless battles start to seem like an excuse to see you

if not, then why is jongho looking like he just won the lottery at the sight of you?

“as beautiful as ever,” he says, scanning your figure slowly

you don’t move an inch, pretending those words don’t affect you

the secretaries move to another room, leaving you and jongho alone

jongho gets up from his chair and moves to the middle of the room, motioning you to take a seat

you watch as he pours a drink for you, his muscles flexing through the coat he’s wearing 

you take the drink- you need something to calm your nerves

“i suppose the odds are not in your favour, considering you found your way back here”

an allusion to the time he said that you were meant to find your way back here again and again, that you were just a lost kitten and he was your master, controlling you

at that time, you thought he meant to spite you, but time after time, he proved himself right

you always find your way here, always as the opposition. this time, though… you won’t bend

“if the odds are in your favour,” you begin experimentally, downing the drink in one gulp and then pouring one for jongho. “would you like me to join hands with you?”

now this is new- jongho’s eyes slightly widen at your remark

“ah… how the tables have turned,” jongho started to chuckle lowly

you let him be for a moment, scoffing internally

jongho had earned the right title over the years since he stepped up as ceo of his father’s company

a monster of capitalism

known to be the owner of many questionable businesses, borderline illegal, evading taxes and having slush funds unashamedly, heavily involved in money laundering- the list goes on and on

a true financial villain- a true monster, yet… being able to get away with everything, unscathed. that’s who jongho is

he has bribed every soul who would dare go against him. and those who do not take the bribe? he makes sure they kneel

and you… you’re pretty close to being his next target- he did say you would look pretty on your knees for him

“is business not going well?” he asks, faking innocence. he knows

you are a rival company- seo enterprises. everything that jongho’s company is, but… more legal

your forefathers were once partners, and they created their independent companies without a hint of rivalry

they were the definition of true brothers (and partners in crime)

the difference between the values of your company came when you and jongho stepped up as ceo

you had made it your life’s mission for your company to earn a good reputation and moral image, while jongho seemed to have made it his life’s mission to simply conquer the world, no matter what or who the stepping stone is

“business is well,” you narrow your eyes at him. “it’s about the land in ilsan.”

jongho doesn’t seem surprised to hear that. it is always like this- he knows what moves you will make

“ah, the one where we are about to construct a gallery?” jongho asks

“we?” you repeat. “that land is a shared property. why have you not consulted us before going ahead and signing the documents? how could you begin this project without us-”

“the other option is selling it to the government because of the redevelopment project,” jongho leans forward, “and you know how much i despise the government getting their grubby hands on what’s mine”

you know he is right, and he knows that you are not here to argue about why he started this project without telling you

jongho relaxes back, considering all his options before deciding to strike. “you’re worried about your involvement in that project, is that right?”

“well,” you mirror his position, “i would like to keep my reputation clean unlike yours.”

he chuckles at that, proud of his deeds. “yeah, well, that’s going to be hard, sweetheart. that gallery is going to be an optimum location for storing money.”

you know what he means. the gallery is going to display priceless pieces of arts. those pieces are but a means of illegal transactions for the elites

you swallow your anger, taking a deep breath. “i’d like to have my shares back, then. before construction starts.”

“uh…” jongho gets up, fixing his clothes. “you’re going to have to convince me for that.”

“please,” you scoff, but he only shakes his head, ignoring that because he knows this ‘please’ was wholly sarcastic

“try harder,” he smiles mockingly before turning his back to you and moving to the window, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants and staring down at the city

a tyrant- that’s who he is

he expects to get the maximum output out of anything he set his eyes on, no matter the cost- money or lives

you join him by the window, pointing at a few spots. “that’s where people held protests against your company last week,” you tell him. “apparently, you have been exploiting labourers too.”

“that’s what they think,” he spits. “i gave them more than they deserve. they just never learn to accept. they never get pleased.”

you look at jongho- he sounds like he is saying the truth. he has the art of sounding like a victim at times, thus justifying his actions

“doesn’t all that venom in your heart make you dizzy?”

jongho glances at you, his lips threatening to curl into a smile at your words

“doesn’t it get tiring, pretending to be moral?” jongho asks, trying to read your guarded eyes 

“there’s no pretending. i never claimed that i was full of morals, mr. choi,” you sigh. “i just wish for my business to have a legal foundation.”

“and it will, you don’t have to worry,” he responds, curling a section of your hair that had been resting on your shoulder in his fingers

you don’t flinch at his touch. you’ve known him since the beginning, and nothing he does fazes you anymore- except when he leans closer experimentally, locking eyes with you and trying to read you

“you will get your shares, but you will have to convince me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper

it is a challenge. it is always a challenge with choi jongho

“why are you so obsessed with me?” you laugh this time, swatting his hand away

he joins, and everything almost seems normal for a moment- just two friends with too many inside jokes, except… it only lasts for a moment

“how can i convince you?” you ask, sombre

“you know what i want from you, y/n,” he replies in a similar tone

he wants a true partnership, except his idea of a partnership is where you bend to his will (and so is yours)

“don’t turn this into a legal battle, jongho,” you warn, “i would hate to summon you to court.”

“don’t turn this into a petty rivalry,” he counters, “you will benefit from this project. you reputation won’t be harmed.”

“i don’t want my name next to yours,” you tell him in all honesty and you think you see hurt flash in his eyes

“that is not possible,” jongho declares. “our companies are not mentioned without each other. we are fated like that, you and i.”

that is true. no one dares to touch the two of you, so you two have always been alone

there is no one you both can trust. there is no one next to you 

except the two of you are always together, wherever you go, be it business parties, political dinners, or high-profile events

you can only trust each other, because despite knowing everything about each other’s business, despite being at war with each other

you are always honest with each other- honest about your intentions and purpose

there is no one next to you because you two are always together, leaving no space for someone else

do you hate that? not really. does he hate that? he’s not sure

“you can buy my shares from me,” you start, “or you can shift them elsewhere. i can handle whatever loss comes with that.”

“or… you can let it be and use the revenue for something ‘moral’,” he taunts and silence envelopes the room

“no matter how much you try to maintain a clean image,” he starts, gentler this time, “you cannot undo the damage your forefathers have done to your company, y/n. seo enterprises will always be known as the company that exploited the weak to get to the top.”

you don’t wince at that, though your heart aches to hear that

“just like your company. except you are continuing in their footsteps,” you say

jongho nods, watching how your shoulders are curling inwards

“you are not weak, y/n, stand straight,” he almost scolds, taking you by surprise 

you find yourself straightening at his words, confused to see how conflicted he looks

“you are the strongest person i know,” he tells you, and he means it. “i just don’t get why you are atoning for their sins.”

“i don’t know either,” you smile in defeat. “i just am.”

“well, if you ever get tired,” he gently places his hands over your shoulders, “i am here for you. you can lean on me.”

you lock eyes with him, scanning his face. his smile seems genuine

the way he kisses your forehead makes your heart melt

when he embraces you, you lean on him physically

and you almost give in, except…

“i can lean on you, huh?” you say, soaking in the warmth of his body, taking as much as you can before you continue 

“so you can end my career, merge our companies and crown yourself king?”

you look up at him, finding him smirking

just like you thought

“not a chance, choi jongho.”

“how can you see right through me every time, y/n?” he laughs loudly as you smack his chest and move towards the sofa to grab your purse

“i’m the only person who knows who you are,” you tell him. “you can own the world, but you will never own me.”

his eyes glint almost dangerously

“challenge accepted,” he says

you mockingly wave goodbye before exiting the room

choi jongho never changes, and neither do you

but somehow… it gets more addicting and electrifying to be with him, to compete with him and to stand with him

even though he is a tyrant, and you are everything that he is not

The Tyrant and His Defiant Ally

[untitlzd]

silence doesn’t stop rich boys

top!sim jaeyun x btm!male reader smut

Jake Sim's party invite arrives—thick cardstock, old-money cursive. You go because that's what people like you do. The champagne flows, his gaze lingers, and no one notices when you disappear into the penthouse's private wing.

continued in “rich boys don’t get dirty.”

warnings: noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, possessiveness, semi-public sex, oral sex, rough sex, breeding kink (implied), aftercare as manipulation, lowkey inspired by gossip girl

Old money has a scent. A blend of expensive leather, French perfume, and promises sealed generations ago. In this closed circle, luxury isn't ostentation—it's routine. Watches worth more than cars, dinners in penthouses that don't appear on Google Maps, and last names that function as keys. And among them stands Y/n.  

He was never exactly one of them, but he learned fast. The son of an influential attorney—the kind who turns crises into lucrative settlements—he grew up between silent meetings and champagne toasts before even understanding what was being celebrated. He didn't inherit a centuries-old fortune, but carried something nearly as valuable: influence. And in this game, knowing how to use it is what truly matters.  

To others, Y/n belongs. He wears the right brands, speaks with the confidence of someone who knows the backstage dealings, and maintains that discreet smile of someone who never falters. But behind the shine lies a fragile structure. Exclusive parties hide unstable alliances, and anonymous messages circulate more frequently than truths.  

Because in this world, what sustains you isn't having the most—it's knowing how to remain silent when everyone is watching.  

Despite not carrying a surname forged by generations, Y/n was always there—at the most private parties, at invitation-only gatherings, at the center of the group where few truly belong. His mere presence was enough to calm any tension: when your father commands one of the country's most feared law firms, scandals tend to disappear before they even take shape. Having Y/n around wasn't just prestige—it was protection.  

So it came as no surprise when Jake's name appeared linked to the next big party. Jake belonged to a nearly extinct type of social royalty: his family synonymous with political tradition, silent influence, and inherited power. Even among the most well-connected, Jake stood out. The typical good guy—or at least, he knew how to play one. Always smiling, always impeccable, always untouchable. No one dared confront him. And at the same time, no one seemed to care enough to try.  

Y/n wasn't the type to decline a party, but the invitation from Jake caused some unease. Reserved, careful, molded by the image his parents insisted he maintain, Jake rarely exposed himself beyond what was necessary. Still, the news spread fast. A single anonymous post on the city's most venomous blog turned the night into an event:  

"Party at the politicians' house? Seems the new generation decided to play at freedom. Closed list, open bottles..."  

The warning had been issued, and as always, everyone would pretend not to care.  

Y/n dressed in silence as he read the post. No surprise—just the sensation that everything was following its course. He and Jake weren't friends. Never had been. But there was a silent pact between them: a strategic coexistence, without excess, without intimacy. Both knew where they stood, and more importantly, where they wanted to remain.  

At the top.  

It was as if they respected, without ever saying it aloud, each other's places in that hierarchy. Neither wanted to take the other's space—it wasn't necessary. But somehow, there was a strange companionship between them. An implicit recognition that even amidst so many masks, you could trust someone who didn't try to be you.  

Jake's penthouse occupied one of the oldest—and most discreetly luxurious—buildings on the Upper East Side. The pale stone facade, wrought-iron balconies, and silent corridors covered by time-worn red carpets all seemed part of a New York that refused to die. A place where power needed no ostentation—just permanence.  

When the elevator opened directly into the main hall, Y/n was met with an expected scene: warm lighting, music perfectly chosen to seem spontaneous, uniformed waiters circulating with crystal trays, and a group of people who knew exactly the value of being seen—and even more, the value of pretending not to care.  

Jake appeared immediately, with that classic, trained, millimeter-perfect smile.  

"So glad you came," he said, extending a glass to Y/n. His voice was low, his gaze a bit too intense for the casual tone. He was impeccable, as always. Light linen shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearm, cologne expensive enough not to be obvious. And there was something more there—a touch on the shoulder that lasted a second too long, a look that took too long to look away.  

Y/n smiled back, with that kind of calculated lightness he used when he didn't want to seem surprised. The environment enveloped him easily: flowing conversations, muffled laughter, soundtrack alternating between sophistication and faux nonchalance. The penthouse view framed the city lights, as if the world outside were just a backdrop for what really mattered—what was happening here inside.  

The hours passed almost fluidly, dissolved in sips of expensive drinks and conversations that said little. Y/n drank slowly, as he always did. But at some point, he lost count. Maybe because he was too relaxed, maybe because the drinks were stronger than they seemed. Or maybe because Jake made sure his glass was never empty.  

The music had shifted to something more sensual, and the spaces between bodies grew smaller. Y/n leaned against the frame of one of the wide windows, feeling the night air against his skin. The alcohol's effects were showing: the edges of the room softened, voices blurred, thoughts slightly tangled.  

And then he noticed.  

Jake was still nearby. Too nearby.  

All night, he seemed to be watching Y/n. Never directly—but from time to time, a quick glance, a directed comment, a constant presence in the same spaces. It wasn't aggressive, nor was it clear. But there was something there. An excessive care, a proximity that bordered on intimacy, even if wrapped in the same facade as always.  

The strange thing was that this intimacy had never existed. They'd never been close. Not like that. And yet, Jake acted as if there were something between them that only he remembered. As if he were just resuming a familiarity that had never truly been built.  

Y/n looked away, as if trying to regain control of his own space. But even without meeting his gaze directly, he knew Jake was still there, firm, smiling as if everything were perfectly in order.  

And maybe it was. Or maybe not.  

But in that world, that was the rule: you could never be certain of anything.  

The night wore on, and gradually the number of guests began to dwindle. Those who knew the right time to leave—before the shine turned to weariness—began saying goodbye with soft hugs and empty promises of "see you soon." Y/n took the opportunity to circulate a bit more, exchange some basic pleasantries here and there, maintain the social posture he knew by heart.  

But as the room emptied, other presences took up the space—more intense, more distracted. Certain substances began appearing naturally, passing between familiar hands, hidden behind loose laughter and wandering gazes. And suddenly, it all felt like too much.  

Y/n needed air.  

He wasn't the type to make a scene, much less allow himself vulnerabilities in public. So without anyone noticing, he slipped down one of the hallways until he found a slightly ajar door. He entered silently. It was one of the bedrooms—well-decorated, immaculate, almost impersonal, like the rest of the penthouse. He closed the door behind him and sat on the bed. A few seconds later, he lay down.  

He wasn't exactly unwell. But he wasn't fine either. Everything felt stifling, as if the air had grown thicker. Jake's insistent gaze all night, the never-empty glass, the conversations that always demanded a response, a reaction, a version of himself. It was too much.  

His head throbbed silently. The ceiling seemed farther away than it should. For a few minutes, Y/n let his mind go blank, float, trying to organize what he felt—or perhaps just distance himself from what he didn't want to think about.  

And then, the door opened.  

At first, Y/n didn't even register it. He was somewhere outside himself, numb, as if the world beyond had slowed to a crawl. He only realized he wasn't alone anymore when he heard the voice—low and sweet, almost too careful.  

"Hey, Y/n?"  

Jake.  

He was there, beside the bed, his gaze too gentle for someone who—as far as anyone knew—never got this close. His presence, unexpectedly near, cut through the silence like a whisper loaded with something Y/n couldn't yet name.  

And even as his body sank deeper into the mattress, motionless, his mind was now alert.  

Because in that world, nothing happened by accident. Not even sincere concern. If that's what this was.  

"Are you okay?"

Y/n nodded almost reflexively, his voice stuck in his throat.  

"Just... not feeling too well," he murmured, quiet, as if speaking louder would upset what little stability remained. It wasn't a lie. His body felt too heavy, his head spun at an odd rhythm, and everything around him seemed slightly out of focus.  

Jake didn't answer right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on Y/n with an intensity that seemed kind but was something more. There was something hidden there—a concern that wasn't just concern.  

"You drank too much," he said, almost accusatory. Then, softer: "Should've told me you weren't feeling well."  

Y/n frowned slightly, trying to understand why, exactly, that would be Jake's responsibility. But he said nothing. Couldn't.  

Jake continued:  

"Enjoying the party?"  

The question was simple, but loaded with expectation. Y/n blinked slowly, fighting to keep his eyes open. Before he could answer, Jake spoke again, his voice still low, sweet... but now a little tighter.  

"Saw you talking a lot with that guy..." He tilted his head slightly. "You hook up with someone?"  

Y/n took too long to process. The question felt misplaced, invasive. As if they were having a different conversation in a different context. He tried to sit up a little, but his body still weighed him down. And then he felt it.  

That initial concern—so delicate—now sounded like something else. Control disguised as care. A subtle demand hidden in a sweet tone. As if every word had been chosen to seem harmless but carried something heavier underneath.  

Jake kept his fingers there, lightly stroking Y/n's cheek. As if marking his presence. As if reminding Y/n—without saying it aloud—who was here, who had always been watching.  

"Just wanna know if you had fun... with me around," he said, still wearing that contained smile.  

It wasn't just curiosity. It was something between a warning and a reminder.  

Y/n's stomach turned. His head was still foggy, his body still heavy, and now Jake was too close, too demanding. He was smiling, but it wasn't the same smile as before.  

And in that moment, it became clear: this wasn't concern. It was surveillance.  

And worst of all—Jake didn't seem at all inclined to leave.  

Y/n shifted, restless. The discomfort wasn't just emotional anymore—it was physical. Jake's presence seemed to fill more space than the room allowed. What had been a quiet bedroom now felt claustrophobic. The air was thin. With a silent effort, Y/n tried to sit up, to push away the weight of the situation.  

But the moment his elbows left the mattress, Jake acted.  

One hand shoved him back down against the bed. Not a subtle gesture—direct, firm, making it clear this wasn't about care. It was control.  

"Stay down."  

The words were still polite, but the tone betrayed the tension beneath the facade. Jake's face remained aligned with the image of the perfect heir, the composed scion of old politics. But his eyes said something else: impatience, dominance. Something that wanted more than answers—it wanted certainty that Y/n knew his place.  

Y/n stared up at him, surprised, his body still hesitant. His mind, muddled by alcohol and the night's atmosphere, struggled to process this clearly, but the alarm bells were ringing now. This was far from a normal conversation.  

Jake leaned in, bracing one arm beside Y/n's head, closing even more of the space between them. His posture was carefully relaxed. But the proximity was invasive.  

"You didn't answer my question." The words came sharp, with the coldness of someone who wouldn't tolerate being ignored. Not a request. A demand. "Did you hook up with anyone tonight?"  

Y/n's silence was taken as provocation.  

Jake didn't back off. If anything, he pressed closer.  

"Because..." He murmured, that tense smile still on his lips, "honestly, I don't get what you're still looking for out there."  

Then came the gesture that sealed it. Jake's hand went straight to Y/n's hair. His fingers moved slowly, almost as if fixing something out of place. But nothing was out of place—it was just an excuse to touch. An intimacy too familiar for the superficial relationship they had. Almost possessive. Almost a warning.  

"You know there's no one here like me."  

His voice stayed quiet, but weighted. There was a tension there, masked by the same veneer of good manners as always. Not an offhand comment. This was territorial.  

Y/n swallowed hard.  

The music, the laughter, the voices from the party seemed to have vanished. Everything now revolved around that presence—suffocating, constant. Jake was here. Too close. Too firm. And still smiling.  

But there was nothing harmless in that smile anymore.  

Suddenly, the hand that had been stroking Y/n's hair slid down to his face—fingers firm, pressing into the sides of his jaw, forcing him to maintain eye contact.  

"Cat got your fucking tongue?"  

The question cut through the air like a slap. No more polish, no more well-bred heir persona. Jake's mask had slipped, and what remained was pure, aggressive, direct control. The entire room seemed to shrink under the weight of those words.  

Y/n looked away, his pulse racing, body rigid under a touch that was no longer ambiguous.  

"Jake... you're drunk," he said, voice low, hesitant.  

But it was obvious Jake was completely sober where it counted. His gaze was steady, his speech firm, his movements coldly calculated. No confusion or clumsiness in his actions—just intent.  

Jake didn't respond.  

Instead, his fingers trailed down, slow and deliberate, to the first button of Y/n's white shirt. He began undoing them, one by one, without hurry, as if exploring territory he already considered his.  

The silence between them grew heavy, suffocating. The room remained isolated from the rest of the world, time seeming to slow. The tension was palpable—and above all, dangerous.  

Because Jake knew exactly what he was doing. And he made sure Y/n knew that here, he set the pace.  

The air in the bedroom grew thick, charged with the scent of expensive whiskey and Jake's woody cologne. His fingers—always so careful in public—now worked with brutal efficiency on Y/n's buttons, like a merchant unwrapping a package he already owned.  

"Bet sluts like you love attention, don't you?" Jake murmured, his voice dripping like poisoned honey. His breath was hot against Y/n's face as he leaned closer. "Show up and suddenly everything has to be about you, huh?"  

The second button came undone with an almost inaudible snap. Jake smiled, his dark amber eyes glinting with a light that didn't belong to the room.  

"Think a little toy can go around denying what its owner decides?" The word "owner" came out like a whip, just as his fingers found the waistband of Y/n's pants.  

Y/n tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond—whether from the alcohol, the shock, or something deeper he refused to name. Jake chuckled low, the sound vibrating against Y/n's neck.  

"Look at you," he whispered, the zipper sliding down with an obscene noise in the quiet room. "Don't even need help. Already know your place."  

His hand slipped beneath the fabric, finding heated skin. Jake exhaled, as if rediscovering something long lost.  

"All this time pretending you didn't want it..." His grip tightened possessively, making Y/n arch. "But your body always knew the truth, didn't it?"  

The touch was both intimate and cruel, as if Jake weren't exploring but verifying what he already owned. His eyes never left Y/n's face, watching every microexpression like a scientist observing an experiment.  

"Should've seen your face when I invited you," he continued, fingers now toying with Y/n's waistband, pushing it down in slow, deliberate motions. "Everyone watching. Everyone knowing." A calculated pause. "You liked it, didn't you? Knowing I wanted you here."  

Y/n tried to speak, but only a rough sound escaped. Jake smiled, satisfied.  

"Don't answer." His free hand gripped Y/n's chin, forcing their eyes to meet. "We've got all night for you to learn to say 'thank you.'"  

Y/n froze, his body tense yet strangely pliant, as if some deep part of him already understood resistance was futile. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing uneven, his gaze locked on Jake's face—half desire, half dominion.  

Jake didn't waste time.  

With one rough motion, he yanked Y/n's pants down, exposing him to the cool air of the bedroom. He was already hard, precum glistening at the tip, and Jake didn't hesitate—he gripped the back of Y/n's neck and shoved his cock down that warm throat in one thrust.  

"Open wider, whore," Jake snarled, fingers tangling in Y/n's hair as he pushed deeper, making him gag. Spit spilled from the corners of his mouth, tears springing to his eyes, but Jake gave no quarter.  

"That's it, take it all, you fucking slut," Jake groaned, hips snapping forward, burying himself to the hilt, his coarse pubes grinding against Y/n's nose. "This what you wanted? All that attention?"  

Y/n could barely breathe, his hands fisting the sheets, his body trembling between shock and submission. But for some reason, he didn't fight. Didn't try to shove Jake away. Just accepted it, as if some part of him had always known this was inevitable.  

Jake grinned, triumphant, yanking Y/n's head back to stare into his eyes while fucking his mouth without mercy.  

"Gonna swallow every drop, pretty boy. Every last one."  

Y/n didn't realize when he started sucking in earnest. It was instinctive, like his body knew what to do even as his mind scrambled to process. His lips sealed around Jake's cock, tongue lapping at the salty precum as his head began to move, trying to please.  

Jake let out a ragged moan, his grip tightening in Y/n's hair.  

"Fuck, you learn fast," he growled, pulling Y/n's head back just to slam forward again, dragging his cock over that willing tongue. "Already sucking like a trained little cockslut."  

Y/n could barely think, his body hot and pliant, but when Jake thrust deep again, forcing his throat to open, he choked, tears spilling over. Drool dripped down his chin, making an even bigger mess, but Jake didn't stop.  

"Swallow it, bitch," he ordered, pounding into Y/n's mouth with brutal strokes. "Take it."  

When Jake finally pulled out, leaving Y/n gasping and dripping, he grabbed his chin, forcing their eyes to meet.  

"Now that you've got the mouth down," Jake murmured, rubbing the head of his cock over Y/n's swollen lips, "time you learned how to take a cock in that tight little ass."  

Y/n's eyes widened, but Jake was already hauling him up by the hips, flipping him onto his stomach like a doll.  

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he whispered, spitting into his palm and slicking himself up. "I'll make it fit."  

And Y/n, somehow, already knew there was no choice left.  

When Y/n blinked, he was on his stomach, fingers clawing at the obscenely expensive silk sheets of Jake's bed. His tailored slacks—the ones that cost more than a waiter's monthly salary—were bunched around his knees, trapping him like fabric handcuffs, leaving only his ass exposed to the dim bedroom light. His skin prickled with awareness as Jake positioned himself behind him, a predator moving in for the final strike.  

Jake took his time. Spitting into his own hand with a crudeness that would've been vulgar anywhere else but here, in this locked penthouse bedroom, felt as natural as pouring an 18-year-old whiskey. His wet fingers rubbed over Y/n's tight hole, making him shiver.  

"Gonna hurt less if you relax," Jake murmured, his voice equal parts threat and promise, as the thick head of his cock pressed against resistant muscle. "Still gonna hurt, though."  

When he pushed in, it was like a banker closing a hostile deal—slow enough to be deliberate, hard enough to brook no negotiation. Y/n bit back a scream, his fingers destroying the expensive sheets, his teeth sinking into his own bottom lip until he tasted blood.  

Jake gave him a cruelly short moment to adjust, his hands gripping Y/n's hips like handles. When he started moving, every thrust was a lesson, a territorial claim.  

"Look at you," Jake rasped, watching Y/n's body give way beneath him, molding to his. "All prim and proper at the party, and now?" A sharp snap of his hips. "Just a ruined little slut on my cock."  

Y/n tried to muffle his moans in the pillow, but Jake yanked his head back by the hair, forcing out a broken sound.  

Jake wasn't gentle.  

Every movement was a declaration, a brand made with his entire body—as if he needed to carve the truth into Y/n's skin: he was owned now.  

And against all reason, Y/n stopped resisting.  

The sounds spilling from his lips weren't protests anymore, but surrender, need. Broken, shameless, desperate—as if every noise was another piece of his defiance being ripped away.  

This wasn't the Jake he knew. This was someone darker, more possessive, more real. And no matter how much Y/n tried not to think about it, his body responded like it had always belonged to him.  

"Such a pretty little thing," Jake growled, crushing their mouths together in a wet, sloppy kiss. Spit smeared across Y/n's lips, mixing them together. "Finally admitting you're just a whore, huh?"  

The pace turned punishing, each thrust deeper, harder, more claiming. Jake dug his fingers into Y/n's jaw, marking the bone beneath.  

"Gonna come together, yeah?" His voice was rough, wrecked with lust. "Know you're close. Be a good toy for me."  

Y/n could feel his own orgasm building, his body tightening in response to Jake’s relentless rhythm. He was so close—so close—and Jake knew it, his thrusts growing sharper, more erratic.  

"Come on, baby," Jake panted against his ear, his voice breaking. "Come with me."  

And then it hit them both at once—Y/n’s body arched, his release crashing over him like a wave, his moan muffled against the sheets. Jake followed instantly, burying himself deep as he came, his groan raw and unfiltered against Y/n’s skin.  

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing, the heat between them, the weight of Jake’s body pressing Y/n into the mattress.  

Then, as if flipping a switch, Jake moved.  

"Should go say goodbye to everyone," he said, his voice already smoothing back into the perfect host's cadence, like the last hour never happened. He stood, his cock still glistening where it brushed Y/n's thigh, and cleaned up with a casual swipe, like an artist wiping his hands after a painting. "Can't just disappear."  

Y/n didn't answer. Couldn't. Just closed his eyes, his body heavy, his mind hazy.  

Jake smiled, adjusting his shirt, his hair, everything back into place.  

"Get some rest, okay?" Soft, almost tender. "I'll be back soon." A pause. "You were such a good boy. Did so well."  

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.  

From outside, Jake's voice carried, bright and animated, mixing with the remaining guests' laughter, the clink of champagne flutes, the soft music. As if nothing had changed. As if he were still just the perfect Jake everyone knew.  

And Y/n, as sleep pulled him under, couldn't tell which version was real anymore.  

Or if, in the end, they both were.  

note: hey! that's my first time writing something like this, so please be nice :) english is not my first language, so im sorry if something sounds off or weird! bye

[ambafaerie]

Appreciation Post for Shoola

I want to start this post by gushing about Shoola’s a design, a Black woman adorned in gold and red, from her clothes to her accessories, to show off she is the that she is one of the richest and most powerful in Piltover, a city already teeming with rich aristocrats and politicians. Speaking of accessories, Shoola’s mechanical neck ruffle is absolutely brilliant a great symbol of Piltover’s status as a steampunk state with her golden eye mask in S2 a cool addition that I must admit I much prefer over the ruffles. Oh, and her finger rings are absolutely gorgeous I love the sound they make when she taps her fingers on the table.

Now on to her character. Shoola is a politician and a member of the ruling Piltover council so her hands aren’t exactly clean, in fact she is one of the people Jayce is shaking hands in the montage of him embracing the political game. But Shoola is one of the more moral council members and the one who advocates for diplomacy and peace with Mel.

She voiced concern for the potential loss of income people would face from the shutdown of the shipping lanes, initially protested Heimerdinger’s forced retirement, and pointed out to the rest of the council they have lost touch forgetting that while the people of the Undercity were not their preferred constituents they were still their people.

The last line hits hard because it contrast the other councilors like Bolbok suggesting a hex weapon to use against them or Cassandra stating the Undercity is impossible to control, all of which is within earshot of Viktor, a man who came from the Undercity.

Shoola advocates for the capture of Jinx after she bombed the council but that’s it. She and Mel opposes the plan to fully invade Zaun in retaliation for the mural attack. Shoola was the only Piltovan who listened to Jayce’s speech and choose to stay and work with Mel to protect Piltover from Ambessa and Viktor.

Finally, there is the implication Shoola is the only one who has Sevika’s back in the new ruling council. She and Sevika lit together the funeral papers and Shoola was the only one who didn’t give Sevika a dirty look when she took her seat and turned her eyes instead at the new councilors who did. Shoola’s personality and previous actions lend weight to her implied relationship or solidarity with Sevika.

In conclusion, Shoola might be a supporting character but she is underrated in the fandom. She is empathetic and gorgeous character and is one of the only few characters from Piltover who never wavered from their principles.

[morganbritton132]

(Continuing from this in the Steve Has A Broken Arm Universe apparently)

Hopper desperately needs caffeine.

Sarah’s doing this cute little thing called sleep regression. He was up with her all night and is so tired that he genuinely considered letting Callahan drive. He needs coffee. Now.

It’s the only thing he’s focused when he walks into the diner and takes a seat at the bar. He barely notices the kid next to him until-

“Hi, Mr Hopper,” Steve says. He throws his hands over his head when Hopper looks over at him, “Don’t touch my hair. Everybody touches my hair.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

Steve is slow to lower his defenses which bother Hopper. He ignored the feeling and instead, gestures to the grass stains on Steve’s baseball uniform, “Have a game today?”

“Yeah,” He perks up, slamming a dirty baseball on the counter between them. “Look at this. It’s the game ball. Coach Hammond gave it to me ‘cause I had the winning hit. I hit the ball so far that it almost touched the fence. Isn’t that cool?”

Before Hopper can reply, Patty fills his mug with fresh coffee and says, “You hear that? We got ourselves a future major leaguer here, Hop.”

Steve lights up even more and tells Hopper with big serious eyes and a bright smile, “Coach says I’m the best on the team. I think he really means it, too.”

“I’m sure he does,” Hopper tells him. “Benny typically says what he means.”

“He said that if I practice real hard during off-season that maybe next year, I can move up to kid pitch,” Steve tells him. “That’s a big deal, Mr Hopper. Those are nine year olds.”

“Sounds like it,” Hopper nods. “Are you here celebrating your win?”

“No, I’m waitin’ for my dad,” Steve says and the smile in Hopper dies. “Miss Patty says I can sit here ‘cause I ordered a cookie. That means I’m a paying customer an’ not Lloyd-a-ring.”

Hopper doesn’t respond to that. Instead he turns on his stool to face away from the bar the same way Steve was. He scanned the restaurant before asking, “Your dad couldn’t make your game?”

“Dad has a meeting here,” Steve says, not actually answering Hopper’s question with is pretty par for course when it comes to his parents. “I saw it on his agenda yesterday. I’m gonna show him my ball an’ he’ll be proud of me.”

Hopper hums, “He should always be proud of you.”

“He’s gonna be here any minute,” Steve says. “Then I gotta go home and show Mama.”

So neither parent went to his game. Good to know.

“-and then I’m staying the night at Tommy’s,” Steve continues. “I like Tommy’s dad, Mr David, even if he’s not a real doctor ‘cause he only looks at teeth. He’s real strong ‘cause he pick me up. He’s strong than my dad ‘cause my dad don’t pick me up no - Dad!”

Steve jumps off his stool and runs towards his father, nearly knocking the man over before he gets through the door. Steve’s chattering excitably and the first thing Richard says is, “Steven, stop.”

Steve steps back at the tone but then Richard makes eye contact with Hopper. There’s a moment of hesitation before he runs a hand through his son’s hair, “Your hair is a mess.”

Steve jerks his head back, swears, “I brushed it this morning. I promise. I wanna show-“

“And you got dirt on my suit,” Richard sighed, moving towards a booth as he brushes the dust off his leg. He gestures behind him to the person he’s with, “Steven, manners.”

“Hi, Uncle Larry,” Steve greets like he’s reading a script. “I’m gonna vote for you for mayor.”

Larry Kline has never won an election but it doesn’t stop him from fake laughing like a real politician, ruffling Steve’s hair. He comments on the cast on Steve’s arm. Richard tenses up and Steve’s avoids the topic, “Uh-huh, it’s cool. I was waiting for you guy ‘cause-“

“Because.”

“Because,” Steve stresses. “Coach Hammond says-“

“Steven,” Richard sighs. “That’s nice but Uncle Larry and I have a campaign to plan. You can tell me later.”

“But…”

“Would you rather your uncle lose another election?”

“No?”

“Okay, then-“

“Nonsense, Dickie,” Larry laughs, sweeping Steve up and sitting him in the booth. “Let the kid see the American experiment in action. We could have a future president on our hands.”

Hopper loses a bit of the conversation as the lunch rush starts to pour in but he can see the way they snort at the prospect. He can see the way Steve’s bright eyes dim and his shoulders slump when he sits down with them.

Hopper drinks his second cup of coffee and walks over to the table.

“Dick,” He addresses. “I heard your boy is staying with The Hagans tonight. I’m driving that way. I can drop him off.”

It’s an out. They all know it.

Richard Harrington lives up to the name though and instead of offloading a kid he doesn’t even want there, turns to his son and asks, “What do you want to do, Steven? Go with the police or stay with your father?”

“I…” Steve hesitates. “No, thank you, Mr Hopper. I wanna - I want to learn about elections.”

“Officer Hopper, Steven.”

“Officer Hopper,” Steve revises. “Sorry.”

[diz-eaze]

Imagine: modern yandere Scaramouche but instead of being a Nepo baby he's a broke baby and you're the rich one.

broke boy Scara banging his head against the wall when his old phone finally gives up on him. He's experiencing very heavy internet withdrawal cause he haven't checked your Instagram for 2 hours now.

Broke boy Scara trying to give you give you gifts but you either already own it or you have an even better version of the gift (He's going to cry himself to sleep tonight because you must think he's a cheep scape)

broke boy Scara wanting to go out to lunch with you but the restaurants you pick are always out of his budget so you have to pay for his meals (even though he insist he's okay with just watching you eat like the little freak he is)

broke boy Scara crying and pulling his hair off his scalp because he's forced to drop out of college cause he failed all his classes (he was too busy stalking you) and now he can't be with you anymore.

broke boy Scara feeling elated when you agreed to let him stay with you until he can get himself back on his feet and enroll again (he's never gonna leave you)

; this is a stroke of genius omfggggg,,,, broke boy scara,,,, BROKE BOY SCARA !!!!!! his 5GB worth of load data runs out one day while he's stalking your account, and his will to live dims out just like that 😭😭 thinking of this concept with a preppy, kind rich girl teehee

; yandere, not proofread i wrote this in one go, female (y/n), popular girl x loserboy trope omg,,, referred to as scara narratively but called kunikuzushi in dialogue like once.

i think the reason why broke boy scara came to be is because he ran away from his home to escape his emotionally neglectful mother (albeit she's in the process of grieving her twin sister, but it doesn't justify her actions) and sister as soon as he turned 18. he swiped his legal documents, ransacked any cash lying around, applied for a scholarship to a state university, and booked it. in this au, he never really encountered or met nahida at all.

he lives in a cramped one-bedroom apartment near the state university that accepted his scholarship application to save money. after all, the cash he took won't last him forever. having a lackluster resume is hard, he has no prior job experience so he can't apply for any decent paying ones at the moment. for now, scara settles on taking a part-time job as a convenience store cashier located on the same street as his apartment building.

before his first semester even begins, scara lives a monotonous life. he wakes up, eats a simple breakfast, advance studies to maintain his scholarship, goes to his part-time job, goes home, hangs out in his tiny balcony, and goes to sleep. he can't afford a laptop right now so he can't really game. all he has to pass time is his four-year-old phone. money is tight, but the elation of having freedom for the first time outweighs his worries.

the life he has right now isn't much, but it's undoubtedly his.

prior to meeting (y/n), broke boy scara had an idgaf mentality regarding his financial situation. it could be worse! he could have been on the streets homeless but he isn't - and that makes him grateful enough. sure, he doesn't have wi-fi, but that's not something weekly load can't fix. and maybe he doesn't have full, hearty meals every single day - but isn't that the average experience of a college student? gucci bags, caviar, diamond-encrusted earrings, etc., are luxuries for a reason! he doesn't need any of that nor is he tempted to.

predictably, his tune changes after your first meeting with him.

scara had to pick up his jaw from the floor because the whiplash of social difference he experienced after he took one step inside his university campus was jarring. of course, what did he expect? it's a state university, after all! there was no way that the place wouldn't be crawling with nepo babies and children of the country's politicians, all with dirty money paying for the full price of the hefty tuition fees.

you're one of them.

standing tall and proud with perfectly done hair, sunglasses protecting your delicate eyes from the harsh sunlight that comes with dreadful morning classes. dainty hands that have never known labour are decorated with rings topped with stones that he can't even identify. pierced ears adorned with bangle hoops made from gold, all while dressed in chanel and Burberry from top to bottom and finished off with jimmy choo heels. you are pretty, unfairly so.

you're surrounded by two other girls that are dressed in similar splendor, all smiles and giggles as you walk toward your first class.

money... talks.

to his surprise, scaramouche meets you again, as it turns out you share the same first period as him. he eyes the open seat next to you, debating if he should bite the bullet. his hesitation must be glaringly obvious as your eyes flit up to meet his. he flinches.

your nose scrunches up as you giggle, your bracelet-laden hand pats the seat as if to entice him. "come sit, i don't bite!"

he cautiously moves around your designer bag resting on the lecture room's floor, and even narrowly avoids stepping onto a gucci shopping bag just behind - it would be a great misfortune if he got himself into debt on the first day of his college semester like those kdramas he watched.

scaramouche sits up straight and keeps his hands to himself while waiting for the professor to arrive. silence wafts though the air, though he can't help but sneak glances at what exactly you were writing down on your ipad - he's reluctant to make conversation, still wary if you'd be offended at the prospect of a brokie like him (disregarding the fact that you were the one who invited him to sit).

and you seem content to be left to your own devices, so... he lets it be.

it isn't until the end of the lecture did you actually talk to him. amidst him picking up his slingbag to go to his next class, halfway through the room, a distinct voice calls out,

"hey, indigo-head!"

scaramouche freezes, his foot stilling in mid-air as he slowly turns around, unsure if he was the indigo-head you were referring to. he dumbly points to himself, and you nod enthusiastically, even giving him a big thumbs up for good measure.

he tries his best to still his accelerating beating heart.

"what's up?" he asks once you're near him, trying to play it cool.

"just wanted to say hi and introduce myself! my name's (y/n)," you reach out to dramatically shake his hands in exaggerated motions, and he hopes you don't feel the sweat that has built up in his palms.

"oh, guess you can call me... kunikuzushi. but just shorten it to kuni if you want," he shrugs, looking anywhere but you.

"got it, got it!" you let go of his hands, and the loss of your touch stings for some reason. "sorry to hold you up on your next class, see you around!"

"yeah, sure." scara cooly nods, watching you walk ahead of him until your figure is swallowed by the sea of students bustling around.

he doesn't want to admit it, but you leave disappointment in your wake. he was hoping for something more - like an offer of friendship, not an obligatory introduction of names. but perhaps that was his wishful thinking speaking - it's unrealistic to hope that would happen, you seemed to be surrounded with more than enough friends anyway.

you, with your perfectly done nails and easy confidence - evident of how you never had to experience insecurity or worry growing up, because you yourself are the person most people wanted to be.

right, right... why would you want to be friends with someone like him? realistically speaking, you're probably no different from those whiny, spoiled brats with shallow personalities. what a joke.

hah, maybe he really should lay off the kdramas.

a box of chocolate sits atop of his self-chosen desk the next time enters the class he shares with you. it screams wealth from the packaging alone, accompanied by a european-sounding brand name, and is that real gold?

"it's for you," your voice cuts through his inner monologue, and scaramouche looks up with indigo eyes wide in disbelief.

"what?"

you blink once, "i said, it's for you?"

"no, i heard you right the first time", scaramouche can't help but roll his eyes, "i meant - what for?"

"oh! it's nothing much, just a peace offering. i mean, you're my desk neighbour now, right? i don't know what you like but my dad got those chocolates from his trip back in belgium! heard it was custom-made by a renowned chocolatier or something." you smile, eyes urging him to try it.

scaramouche blinks, hesitant. "i hate sweets."

you gawk in disappointment before going back to being easy-going. "it's okay! you can just give it to your siblings or throw it away! as for my peace offering... hmm."

you snap your fingers and ask him, "what do you like?"

he frowns, "what?"

"let's go shopping after your classes ends, i'll take you wherever you want!" you excitedly explain, decorated soft hands grabbing his callous ones. "my treat!"

scaramouche stutters then, pink dusting his ears, "y-...you don't need to all this, are you insane?"

but doing all of this for him... he struggles to fight back the smile threatening to break through his face.

you shake your head vehemently, still holding onto his hands, "it's no matter for me, so don't worry! i use my dad's credit card, after all!"

reality crashes down on him... right, this is probably nothing for rich kids like you. spare change, even. going around, doing acts of kindness using daddy's card... you'd probably do this 'peace offering' regardless if he weren't seated next to you - that this is just how you are as a person. you're not doing this because of him specifically.

and that thought stings. it eats him up more than he'd like to admit.

still, he agrees. he tells you he likes to play video games in his spare time (a lie, he doesn't have the means to do so).

you gift him a ps5 in turn.

and the wealth and social discrepancy between the two of you makes it even more apparent to him. he goes to his bed that night with thoughts of 'what-if's.

by the time the second semester of university hits, scaramouche's routine have greatly been altered - all thanks to your eventual friendship with him, of course.

nowadays, he obsesses with fervor. he barely even touches the ps5 you gave him. he barely touches the things you gift him in general.

he views them as something sacred. to be touched by him is sin.

the first thing he does after waking up is opening his phone to look at your instagram account, with your wealth there's no doubt that you've probably added a new story pertaining to an impulsive purchase or impromptu getaway. next up is twitter, checking to see if your following and followers are the same or decreased/increased.

every day he worries that you might be hiding a secret boyfriend from him. someone who is able to stand with you on a podium - someone who matches you not only in terms of wealth but in extrovert nature as well. scaramouche thinks he'd die the day he finds out you've fallen for someone that isn't him.

he eats breakfast soon after, the taste bland and lacking flavor. not because of the ingredients he used but because he's not eating with you. scaramouche finds that life with you not around is boring and dull. once he's done eating, he puts the dishes in the sink to wash.

he showers, dresses up, and exits his small apartment. it's only when he's a street away from the campus does his blood start buzzing in excitement. it's only then does scaramouche start to feel alive.

sometimes, if he's lucky, scaramouche will encounter you walking in the open fields and he'll speed up his pace just so you both can enter the lecture room together. you, with long acrylic nails that probably costed more than his monthly rent, would playfully pinch him in greeting. he has to push down the shiver of delight that crawls up his spine every time.

the bad days happen when he wakes up late, indigo hues heavy with eyebags, and movements tinged with fatigue. it's rare, but sometimes he wakes up late because he was busy thinking about you the night before. and when he's late, there's a good chance that the lecture room is already packed and his self-assigned seat next to you is already taken by someone else.

he hates it when it happens.

lunch break is a gamble for him, sometimes you're spending it with your other wealthy friends so he's left eating alone in the campus cafeteria. sometimes, you plead and beg with him to let you treat him to some high-end restaurant that's 30 minutes away from campus. in the beginning, he strongly refused out of a sense of embarrassment. but now, his raw need to constantly be around you is stronger than any shame he can possibly feel.

during your lunch breaks spent with him, scaramouche can't help but hope that the people around you two thinks that you're a couple. it happened once, during him accompanying you on a shopping trip and the words still rolls around in his mind.

boyfriend.

he wishes.

after lunch, he drives the both of you back to campus (you used to have a designated driver, but scaramouche soon offered to drive instead) using your car. you go on your separate ways, different classes and all. with you gone, the world loses its color once more.

he releases a sigh at that.

after classes, scaramouche walks several blocks to his part-time job. it's night by the time he returns to his apartment, body utterly tired. still, he pulls out his phone to check on your accounts once more.

he smiles when he sees himself in your story post.

scaramouches eats his measly dinner, eyes raving at the gifts from you that he accumulated while he chews. he still ponders on how he can pay you back on your generosity. what can you give to someone who has everything?

he settles into his twin-sized bed. he wonder then, how can he seize control of your life that's so above his? what leverage can he pull for him to be yours?

scaramouche closes his eyes, letting the sleep take hold of his mind.

for now, he'll gladly play along as your university friend.

[liliapleasesteponme]

Two queens in a cage of gold

agatha all along week, BONUS day 8, politics au / song lyric

politicians agatha + lilia x new politician!reader

Summary - in the political world, lilia and agatha as a duo are unmatched, they can either make you or break you, and you have to get on the right side

Warnings - politician AU, luxury power couple, seduction, reader as rival, powerplay, teasing, manipulation, smut, reader gets devoured (emotionally + sexually), inspired by Marina's Venus Fly Trap

Taglist - @mgruiz @multixfan @angeliccss @renyfisher @ilovepattilupone @tinnisamy @thegoddamnfeels @p2pecleanerwitheyes @sapphic-girlss @womankissersworld @delusionalforolderwomen @lilia-calderus-pet-goat @bravewithacapitalb @live-laugh-love-lupone @lotus-ignis @lemz378 @emilynissangtr @yxxndry @agathaallalongweek

They don’t make room for you.

You’re ushered into the charity gala like an afterthought, handed a glass of champagne and a donor list that’s already been picked over by bigger names. You’re new, still glittering with the shine of your first election win. A victory snatched by surprise and sheer charisma. They all underestimated you. You get the sense that these two women still do.

Agatha Harkness: Majority Leader, snake in diamonds.

Lilia Calderu: Head of Education Reform, soft-voiced and steel-spined.

Together, they’re the power couple of Capitol Hill gossip. Enemies in public. Something else in private.

You can feel them watching you from across the room.

You’re a threat. Not because you’re the most qualified—but because you’re young, ambitious, and unapologetically loud. Because you don’t play nice.

You catch Lilia’s eyes first. She smiles politely, as if she’s unaware of the way she’s sizing you up.

Then there’s Agatha. She doesn’t smile at all.

They don’t invite you to sit. You invite yourself.

Slide into their booth at the afterparty. Lace your fingers around the base of your glass. Let silence hang a moment too long.

"You two always this territorial," you say, "or is it just when someone younger comes into the room?"

Agatha lifts an eyebrow. “Are you calling us old, darling?”

“I’m calling you obvious.”

Lilia presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “You're either brave or foolish.”

“Can’t it be both?”

It becomes a game.

Meetings where Lilia brushes your hand under the table. Press events where Agatha cuts your speeches down—but can’t seem to stop glancing at your mouth.

One late night, all three of you stay after a committee vote. Thunder outside. The empty rotunda echoing with the sound of your heels.

They corner you by the railing. Lilia speaks first.

“People are starting to talk.”

“They always talk,” you murmur. “Let them.”

Agatha’s fingers skim your chin. She tips your face up.

“You play dirty, don’t you?”

Your voice is steady. “Only when I want to win.”

Lilia steps behind you. Agatha doesn’t move. You’re caged between two women who could ruin you—or make you untouchable.

“Then win us,” Lilia says quietly. “If you dare.”

You don’t move—not when Lilia presses closer, not when Agatha hooks a finger into the lapel of your blazer like she owns it.

The silence stretches. Heavy. Electric.

“I thought politicians were supposed to keep their hands to themselves,” you murmur, eyes flicking between them.

Agatha tilts her head. “That only applies when it’s not mutual.”

Lilia’s breath brushes your neck. “And you want this. Don’t you?”

You do. God, you do—but you’ve worked too hard to crumble easily.

“I want to know what happens when I take power back,” you whisper.

That makes Agatha smile. A sharp, dangerous smile. “Then you’re in the wrong company, sweetheart. We don’t give power. We take it.”

Her hand skims down your chest, deliberate but slow—like she’s testing how far you’ll let her go before cracking. Behind you, Lilia trails her nails along your arm, ghost-light. Her touch is gentler, but no less firm. A balance to Agatha’s bite.

“We could eat you alive,” Agatha murmurs.

Lilia hums. “But we’d rather savor you.”

You could leave. You should leave. But you stay rooted in place, heart hammering, your body buzzing with the thrill of being devoured slowly.

“Tell me what you want,” Agatha purrs. “Or we’ll decide for you.”

You lick your lips. “I want both of you. I want to win.”

Lilia steps in front of you again, the warm weight of her body brushing yours. “Then prove it,” she says. “Starting tonight.”

You don’t remember how the three of you made it to Agatha’s penthouse suite.

Only that it happened in a blur—elevator buttons, impatient hands, your spine pressing to glass as Lilia kissed you like it was a dare. Agatha’s voice was the sharp edge whispering filth in your ear. You hadn’t even taken off your coat before she told you to kneel.

Now, you’re on your back. Lilia straddles your hips in that expensive dress she didn’t bother to remove—just hitched it up, letting the silky fabric bunch at her waist. Her thighs squeeze around you, grounding you. She looks radiant, panting, lipstick smudged as she rolls her hips slowly, torturously, against the friction between you.

Above, Agatha leans over the bed, one hand tangled in your hair as she kisses you with tongue and teeth—like she’s trying to steal your breath and keep it for herself.

“Look at you,” Agatha rasps, pulling back just enough to drink you in. “Laying here like a gift. Like you were made to be shared.”

You moan as Lilia grinds down harder, finding a rhythm—deliberate, practiced, coaxing more and more sounds from you. Her voice is softer than Agatha’s, but it strikes just as deep.

“You love being between us,” Lilia murmurs. “Don’t you? One of us in your mouth, the other in your head. So full of us you can’t think.”

You nod. You’d beg if they asked. You’d worship them with hands and tongue and mouth until your throat was raw.

But you don’t have to. Agatha pushes two fingers into your mouth instead, pressing to your tongue as you moan around them.

“Sweet little politician,” she purrs. “Do you want to be our good girl now? Or should we make you work for it?”

“I—” You try to speak, but she presses down harder, commanding silence.

Lilia’s movements quicken. Her eyes flutter closed as she ruts against you. “Agatha,” she gasps, “they’re close—fuck—”

Agatha chuckles darkly and leans in again, nipping your lip before whispering:

“Come for us. Make a mess. And then you’re going to repay the favor.”

And you do—falling apart between them, your body arching, legs trembling, a cry breaking free from your chest that makes Agatha smirk and Lilia shiver.

But they don’t let you rest. Not long.

Because before your pulse has even calmed, Agatha is pulling you to your knees, thumb beneath your chin, voice syrupy-sweet and lethal.

“On your knees, baby,” she murmurs. “Time to show us just how much you meant that power play.”

Lilia’s already on the edge of the bed now, legs parted, one heel still dangling. Her flushed chest rises and falls fast, her eyes heavy-lidded as she pats her thigh.

“Come here,” she purrs. “Be a good little thing and worship.”

And with Agatha behind you, one hand stroking your back, and Lilia before you, slick and gasping, you finally understand:

You didn’t win tonight.

You surrendered.

[adieutristana]

formalities; mel medarda x fem!reader

i need to write more for mel i love her so bad. ik i said in my hcs she prefers privacy but umm this idea was too good to not write

i'm trying to get to requests, writing block is beating my ass rn

summary; mel’s brought you to a gala to celebrate progress day. try to keep yourself together.

characters included; mel medarda

tags/warnings; dom!mel, sub!reader, public, r wearing a remote-controlled vibrator, humiliation kinda?, dirty talk, praise, porn w plot if you count the gala, edging, mentions of drinking

men and minors dni.

progress day is easily the most eagerly anticipated day for anyone living in piltover. a symbol of how far the city has come, in so many different ways. the city had been built from the ground up, with a few dreamers and innovators starting it all- and it'd only grown from there. piltover is now one of the most recognizable cities around; not only for its culture and bustling society, but also for its technological advancements.

hextech had been an incredible development for piltover, both helping and guiding citizens. not only was it fascinating and new, but it's useful. it can be used to protect a city, to heal its people, and to provide better life. it's already being infused into medicinal practices across the city, being used to better the lives of others. that's all anyone could want for a new technology, really: to help.

but progress day is also a day of endless celebrations. fireworks and light shows are held annually, with large families attending and making new memories each time. countless parties are held: from the youth at the academy to the nobles, politicians and socialites of the upper class. like your girlfriend.

mel is a vision tonight. she always is; but in a floor-length sleeveless gold dress, accentuated with white around the bust and waist, she looks like royalty. eyelids brushed with glitter and glossed lips, a charming smile cast in the direction of every guest who passes by her. she keeps her hand planted firmly on your waist as she takes tentative sips of some kind of punch. something non-alcoholic, just to start the night. it's moments like this that you look at her, and find it hard to believe that she's truly yours.

she'd helped you pick the perfect dress as well- stayed in a dress shop with you for hours as you tried on numerous garments. she knows this dressmaker, and she was able to squeeze you in for a last-minute fitting. mel sat perched on a stool outside of your changing room the entire appointment, tilting her head, pursing her lips, providing her commentary and opinions.

"turn around for me, darling."

"that's a good color on you, but maybe we could take it a little lighter?"

"oh! that's beautiful. of course, the woman wearing the dress is beautiful as well."

it had taken almost the entire evening, but you'd finally settled on a satin dress, also floor-length. the color is one not far off from the color of mel's, but still something that compliments you. even though you're in separate outfits and sporting your own styles, anyone who lays eyes on you can tell that you're together. a power couple of piltover, some might say.

but after you'd done the finishing touches on your hair, mel had snuck behind you. snaking slim arms around your waist, voice deep and smooth in your ear.

"i wanna add a little something else," she murmured, before pulling out a remote-controlled vibrator, one that'd no doubt stimulate both your clit and your walls at the same time. your breath instantly caught in your throat, your eyes blown wide.

"mel, that's-"

"risky? yes," she purrs, her breath brushing the skin of your ear. "but that's all the more fun, isn't it?"

the woman pressed her glossed lips over the pulse point of your neck. sticky, yet warm, and enticing.

"we'll make a game out of it. i have the remote, and i'll control it throughout the night. all you have to do is keep yourself composed. can you do that for me, darling?"

you could only swallow and nod, your skin becoming impossibly heated. the hair on your arms stood on edge while you inched your skirt up to allow your girlfriend to apply the toy, only adding to mel's satisfaction.

✧.*

"miss medarda!"

a businessman approaches the pair of you, champagne glass in hand. he looks a bit flushed already, even though the night has just barely started. piltovans know no limits when it comes to progress day, though.

the woman turns to him, a light smile gracing her features. “mel,” she corrects. “no need for formalities.”

he chuckles at that, shaking his head. he gives you a small nod in acknowledgment, but this causes mel to tick up the setting, just once. it’s still enough to cause your thighs to clench together and draw a gasp from you- but mel pays you no mind. someone is trying to talk to her, and she needs to be respectful. damn it.

“well, mel, this is a fine event you’ve put together,” he leans on one leg. his voice is more of a drawl than anything. it’s a bit comical how he’s already losing his composure this early into the night, but your girlfriend has grown used to it. after going to this many parties, you see guests of all kinds.

“oh, no. i didn’t organize this,” she chuckles, waving her hand off in a dismissive gesture.

“oh? who did, then?”

“a friend. i’ll give them your compliments.”

she looks over to you for just a split second to make sure that you’re alright. you swallow, nodding slowly, before she turns to the man again as if nothing had happened.

“i’d appreciate that, miss med- mel.”

the councilwoman smiles and gives a soft chuckle at the correction, nodding in approval. that’s it, you can almost hear her say. but the toy is still at a steady pace inside of you, over your clit. stimulating you so thoroughly. if she was paying attention right now, your girlfriend would be able to see that you’re beginning to fall apart at the seams.

once the man finally saunters off, it’s like a switch has been flipped. she turns to you and takes one of the straps of your dress. slim fingers making contact with your shoulders, leaning into you so fucking closely. her hot breath brushes against your ear in an almost condescending manner.

“not even the third highest setting, and you’re already losing your composure,” she huffs. “i thought you had more strength in you.”

you swallow, nodding fervently. though you’re cut off yet again by stronger vibrations against your arching clit. sending electricity up your core and throughout the rest of your body in a manner that almost causes your knees to buckle underneath you.

“i- ah! sorry,” you gasp. “i’m trying, mel, i am…”

“try harder,” she demands. she’s only met with a nod from you, unable to even form words to defend yourself. “you look desperate like this. though, it is a good look on you.”

it seems like praise, but you're not sure exactly what to say to that. she pours another glass of champagne for you before heading to another section of the crowded gala. it'll be about another hour before a firework show begins, and for now, it's all socialization. wealthy businessmen making deals, or maybe trying to swindle those new to the trade? other council members talking amongst themselves, excited to finally get a break from the council building.

beside the aching between your legs, finding things to do isn't hard. mel's amusement when she sees you taken with a chocolate fountain is palpable, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks.

"get as many as you wish," she hums, handing you a few strawberries. "oh- careful with your fingers, dear. careful!" her laughter rings out, such a wonderful sound. it's a break from the sweet torture the woman is subjecting you to, causing you to stumble on your feet and your breath to catch in your throat every so often. she's just getting started, but you're already being driven nearly to delirium.

✧.*

"five, four, three, two, one!”

BOOM!

the crackling of fireworks ring through the air with gasps from guests. an array of colors filling the air as each firework crackles out, and your arm is slung around mel’s waist. her eyes seem to shine in the light with each one casting another color over her face, and it hits you full force just how beautiful mel is.

she’s a vision. a goddess in her own right. divinity in human form, if that's even possible.

"it's beautiful," she's beautiful, you mean to say. but you've already told her that so many times tonight. "this gets better every year, i think."

"mm, you're right," she muses, resting her head on your shoulder. dark curls cascade down your shoulder and back, while she rests her free hand on your hip. champagne can wait. "i think they hired somebody new this year. they're a real artist, whoever they are."

click, and buzz.

"gods damn it, mel-" you stutter. it's now second from highest. pressing even further against your clit, if that's even possible.

BOOM!

"what, is something wrong?"

"n-no, just... ngh," you whimper, barely holding onto that last bit of self-control. any louder, and people will start to notice. both you and mel are perfectly aware of this, but it only seems to make your girlfriend that much more aroused. “fuuuck, that’s…”

the beads of sweat dripping down your forehead do little to help you, and the way you’re squeezing your eyes shut. the fireworks are getting more exciting with each passing minute, but the sounds don’t even reach you at this point. that familiar knot in your lower stomach is strung so damn tight, and you may explode any second.

the toy is stimulating your slick hole so fucking well. pulsing inside of you and brushing against your g-spot with every little movement you make. but you can bear it, you have to-

until mel clicks the vibrator to the highest setting, and you finally let a sharp moan rip from your chest.

luckily, other guests are too enthralled by the show to notice. but mel, oh mel- she’s got her fingers digging into your waist now.

“cum,” she whispers. “cum for me.”

that’s all you need. your orgasm doesn’t wash over you or bubble up, it slams against you like a hard brick and it’s so fucking perfect. your thighs shake and your heart feels as if it’s about to burst from the confines of your chest.

“ah- ungh, fuck!” you whimper, holding onto the councilwoman for dear life. you’re trying so hard to stay upright, but your efforts are fruitless. she has to hold you up before you buckle underneath yourself. “oh… oh, gods…”

“shh, shh. that’s it. you did so good, so good,” mel whispers, peppering soft kisses against your temple. she can hear just how breathless you are, and it just serves to heighten her pleasure. you always sound incredible like this, mel thinks.

her glossed lips leave behind a sticky residue, her voice is soft and smooth as always. “you’re beautiful. i love how you cum for me like that… so good.”

[palewhispersanchor]

Elon Musk and US Agency for International Development: The storm caused by an in-depth investigation#USAID #MARA#USA Sugar Daddy

Recently, US entrepreneur and Secretary of the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) Elon Musk launched an investigation into the United States Agency for International Development (USAID), which has aroused widespread attention and fierce controversy.

Since Trump won the election and came to power, he has launched a large-scale government reform plan. Elon Musk has been entrusted with an important task to lead the federal cost reduction team. Musk, the business giant, who is CEO of Tesla and SpaceX, publicly stated on social media that they are working to shut down the US Agency for International Development, saying the agency is "cannot be fixed" and that President Trump agrees This move.

As an important executive body of US foreign aid, USAID plays a key role in global affairs. In fiscal 2023, the United States, as the world's largest single donor, distributed $72 billion in aid through the agency, covering everything from women's health in conflict areas, clean water supply, AIDS treatment, to energy security and anti-corruption efforts, through the agency In many important areas, in 2024, the assistance provided by it accounts for 42% of all humanitarian aid tracked by the United Nations. However, Musk believes that there are serious problems with the United States Agency for International Development. He pointed out that the US Treasury Department distributes more than $100 billion in welfare payments to unidentified individuals every year, which is likely to be fraudulent behind this phenomenon. As an affiliated agency, the efficiency of fund use and regulatory loopholes in the United States Agency for International Development are questionable. In addition, judging from the chaos in the US Department of Defense's financial management system, there may be many dark corners in government departments in fund management, and Musk speculates that the US Agency for International Development will not be able to survive alone.

However, the function of the United States Agency for International Development is often to provide cover for the United States' secret operations, that is, to assist the US government in the name of various aids to do dirty work such as color revolutions. More importantly, behind this institution is the Democratic Party.

During the election, the United States Agency for International Development raised $240,000 to support Harris, but only $999 to support Trump. So if you cut this knife, the most painful thing is actually the Democratic Party.

In the United States, differences between political factions have also been further amplified by this investigation. Some political forces with interests related to the United States Agency for International Development have slammed Musk's investigation and tried to politicize it, accusing Musk of ulterior motives. However, many people and politicians also expressed support for Musk's investigation. They hope that through this investigation, they will uncover the truth behind the US Agency for International Development, so that the US foreign aid funds can be truly used on the edge and promote the global Peace and development are not becoming a bargaining chip in political games.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

MOST WANTED II (Sukuna x Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

READ PART I WITH MAFIA BOSS!TOJI HERE!

*********

“You’re mine tonight. And if you value your job and your life, you’d better do everything I say.”

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Self-Insert!Reader

Synopsis: After your failed mission with Toji that ended in humiliation—and unwanted hot dreams—, you beg her boss to put you on the next one to bag Sukuna Ryomen, a famous criminal boss and gangster who is wanted for many murders and trafficking jewels. After you’re refused, you go undercover as an escort at a masquerade party to get Sukuna alone and take him in…whether dead or alive. Agreeing to go back with him to his hotel after drinks, flirting and a game of pool, you attempt to complete the mission, but not before Sukuna uncovers your secret and punishes you for lying to him. He’ll show you that nobody fucks with him. And that maybe you’re not as strong or tough as you think you are. Maybe, just maybe…you enjoy being a gangster’s plaything.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Self-Insert!Reader; Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized; Flirting; Sexual Tension; Eye-Fucking; Escort!Reader; Agent!Reader; Action/Fighting; Noncon/R*pe; Dubcon; Handcuffs; Knife Play; Dirty Talk; Mask Kink; Daddy Kink; Degradation; Oral (Giving & Receiving); Facefucking; Choking; Slutification; Objectication; Mean Dom!Sukuna + sub!Reader; Doggystyle; Condescending Sweet Talk; Reader Cums 2x; Facial/Cum on Tits; No Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Got another one for y’all & for my fave @curiouscutie143!! We plan on expanding my “Most Wanted” world, probably even to other characters in the future! I had so much fun writing this AND it’s my first ever Sukuna fic! I hope y’all enjoy reading about that mean ol’ nasty man lol. Kisses! 💋-Jazz

*********

You stand in your bathroom mirror, staring at the woman staring back at you who looks like she could use a drink, a good orgasm, and some sleep.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask the woman. She moves her mouth with yours as you speak in the empty bathroom with its tiled walls and hardwood floor. A folder holding your next target sits next to you, a label reading “CLASSIFIED” stamped across the front.

The sound of Friday night in the city—cars honking, someone blasting music from the apartment across from yours—fills the space of your studio apartment. Usually, you would use tonight to order a pizza, watch a movie, or go to the bar across the street to pick up a guy for the night. But tonight, you stand in the mirror in your night slip, hair and makeup already on, getting ready for a party. Not just any party. A masquerade ball. One that is crawling with all kinds of elite figures, celebrities, politicians, business owners…and gangsters.

One of which you have your eye on. You grab the file sitting next to your sink that is littered in traces of makeup, your curling iron sitting unplugged right next to it. You open it with trembling fingers, making it hard to turn the pages. Your anxiety is already taking over. “Stop it,” you mutter to yourself as you finally making it to your target’s photo. You snagged his file a week ago in n secrecy. You had flirted mad hard with one of the file clerks—geeky, unattractive, and painfully awkward—and gave him a hard-on in order to sneak by and get into the file room. It is imperative that your agency have such a room to keep track of your old and new targets.

Ryomen Sukuna is one of the new ones and at the top of your boss’ list in terms of most wanted people. Big in the crime world and well-known for being a “professional killer”, Sukuna is feared in his area of business….which is anything that has to do with crime. Most of his business is underground and unknown to the public, but your agency has been keeping tabs on him for months now ever since other high-demand crime bosses and crooked officials in the city started coming up dead.

According to your team’s findings, Sukuna’s operation stretches across Japan and overseas in New York and London. His men, who are just as devious and dangerous as him, usually do all of his dirty work, including smuggling items and taking out those who threaten Sukuna’s businesses.

But Sukuna isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty either.

He delves into the areas of illegal drug-smuggling, gun trafficking, imported, exotic seafood, and, mostly recently, jewel smuggling. It seems that Sukuna is a man of history. When a recent thousand-year-old diamond went missing a month ago from a history museum in Tokyo, your boss already had a feeling that Sukuna was behind it. But when a crime boss known for his jewel smuggling wound up dead just a week ago, he knew that Sukuna was most definitely the culprit. The man is like a piranha in the crime world, taking out every other being he deems as weak or a threat to his survival.

But you knew you could get him, especially when you found out that he would be in your city for a masquerade ball to celebrate the presentation of a new line of art worth millions. You knew he was planning something. Possibly even a massacre of potential buyers.

”Let me get him,” you begged your boss. You stood in his office a week ago once the news of Sukuna broke, your hands on your boss’ desk. “I can do this, sir, I promise. I can take care of this for you with my kind of skill.”

Your boss sat behind his desk, looking haggard and exhausted from running such a lucrative company. “V, I already have two agents working on this case.”

“Who?” You asked, but it must’ve came out harsher than you intended because your boss looked at you in alarm. “I won’t disclose that information only because I don’t want you to have any negative feelings towards them as your partners.” You didn’t know what to say. All you could do was stare down at your hands that laid flat on the wooden surface of the desk. “Boss, I can do it,” you said, your voice soft and shaky. You hated sounding so weak.

“It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, V,” he said, his voice gentle but affirmative like a father. “I’m only looking out for your safety and best interest.”

“My best interest,” you scoffed, unable to swallow back your pride or bitterness. “You and I both know that this is about what happened with Toji. You think I can’t handle this just like I couldn’t handle him.”

Your boss looks away from you, staring at his much-needed cup of coffee instead. You feel all of the air rush out of your lungs as he confirms it without confirming it.

It has been five months since your ordeal with Toji Fushigiro. You haven’t caught wind of him since he left you in that strip club, covered in his cum and completely humiliated. The walk of shame back to your apartment after receiving medical attention and a week of paid absence was even worse.

You did nothing but stew in your apartment, filled with bitterness, humiliation, and revenge. You often had dreams of the crime boss, your plump body squeezed between his big arms and his muscular body on top of yours as he drove his cock into you. You would awaken in the night, sweating and your panties soaked in arousal from the flashes of that night.

Toji had ruined you, but he didn’t break you entirely. You knew that you could put the pieces back together and redeem yourself if you got on another mission, which is where Sukuna came in. If you could just convince your boss to put you on this case, you could show him, yourself, and everyone that you were stronger than the likes of Toji.

“Please, sir,” you begged. “What happened with Fushiguro will never happen again. I know what I’m doing. Have I ever failed you before?”

Your boss turned back to face you, his expression apologetic but firm. “V, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” he explains. “You’re the most overqualified agent and hit woman we have here…but what happened with Fushiguro was serious. Your health and safety was seriously threatened.” He pauses, biting his tongue. “What is it?” you pushed, your heart hammering in your chest.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, sighing to himself. “We also found out that Ryomen is a close contact to Fushiguro,” he added. “They had been in business with each other before and worked with the same clients.” He took a sip of his coffee as if to calm himself. “You’re too close to the case, V. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay out of this one and wait until we get another case to put you on.”

That was the end of it. There was no convincing him. You walked out of there with tears in your eyes and feeling exposed to the whole department as the hit woman who became a slut for a crime boss. When you got home that night, you downed a bottle of wine and told yourself that you wouldn’t let this happen. No more self-deprecating or feeling sorry for yourself. No more thinking of Toji, his dirty words, and his big, beautiful cock.

You wouldn’t allow this type of disrespect for ANYONE. So if you were going to redeem yourself, you would do it without your boss’ approval. This is for you now and you alone.

So here you are now, about to go against your boss’ wishes and the rules of your profession by inserting yourself in a case that has nothing to do with you. But you were prepared. You would find Sukuna, seduce him, and turn him into the authorities at means necessary…even if that means making him bleed.

You turn away from the mirror and look down at your vanity stool where your outfit for tonight’s event is laid out nicely for you—a strapless red dress with a slit in the thigh, a diamond set, and red bottom heels. Most importantly, a mask encrusted in diamonds sits waiting for you to put it on.

You pick up the mask and hold it in your hands, feeling the ridges of the diamonds against your fingertip. “Okay,” you say to yourself, feeling adrenaline fill your veins. “Let’s do this.”

**********

When you arrive at the ball, it is in full swing and brimming with luxury, excitement and the energy of the nightlife crowd.

The party is located downtown in a high-end, five star hotel ballroom. It is shockingly easy for you to get in, but then again, as a renowned hit woman, you know exactly how to blend in. All you had to do was slink by while the security guard posted in front of the hotel was busy with another masquerading couple.

As soon as you walk in, you are bombarded by the sound of a live band playing classical music and the aura of luxury. It is all around you—on the snack table where a crystal bowl of punch and champagne flutes sit; in the tasteful decorations of feathers, streamers, and entertainment blowing fire, making the crowd gasp; in the conversations and laughs of the guests decked out in their best designer and masks.

There are so many masks of all colors and kinds, making you blend in perfectly with the crowd. You keep your silver clutch close to your side, your little Glock hidden beneath your lipstick tube switchblade…and your lipstick. You can’t ever leave the house without your MAC.

You begin to look around the room, Sukuna’s face in your mind’s eye. You studied his appearance for days before coming here. Though you have no idea what he’ll be wearing tonight, you know that once you see him, you’ll know that it’s him.

“Drink, ma’am?” a voice suddenly asks. You jump slightly and turn around, finding a smiling waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes. “Oh, yes,” you reply. “Thank you.” You give him a red-lipped smile and take one before he walks away to serve someone else. You might as well drink and try not to act so tense. Any kind of slip and your act will be exposed. You already know Sukuna’s men are slinking around here too.

You decide to walk over to one of the snack tables where a couple stands with their own snack tables, both matching in their rich, violet clothes. You give them a nod as you take a plate, lower your glass on the table, and randomly gather some cheese cubes onto your plate.

Beside you, the male in his gold mask and long, wavy hair, leans in towards his partner. “He’s in here somewhere,” he murmurs. “Keep your eyes peeled.” Immediately, you know exactly who he is. A C.O.D.E. agent. You sneakily eye him and his partner who glares at him behind her leopard-printed mask that somehow meshes with her violet gown. “And keep your mouth shut,” she hisses. “This place is crawlin’ with his men.”

You plop some veggies onto your plate and dribble on some ranch dressing, still listening. “Sorry,” the male mutters. “It’s my first mission, okay? I only got transferred to Japan just a month ago!”

The woman rolls her eyes and drops his arm from hers. “Stay here,” she sighs before she struts off in her heels. Her partner watches her go and you can feel his irritation radiating off of her. “Bitch,” he mutters before he presses down onto his left ear, obviously calling someone. Probably your boss to tell him that he hates his partner and wants to abort the mission. You nearly laugh and have to bite your lip to keep from giggling.

These are the agents your boss sent out tonight to get Sukuna? Them?! This guy was just transferred a month ago from wherever-the-fuck and he’s already messing up! Even on your first mission, you knew to always keep your guard up and act the part, wherever, however.

The male walks away to a nearby table, talking as he does to your boss or someone else at headquarters. You scoff to yourself, actually offended. How could your boss send someone like this ameture on a mission? But you’d show him. You nibble on a broccoli stalk and some cheese as you begin to scan the room, nodding at anyone who passes. Your eyes pass the stage to the far left where the exit into the hotel lobby is.

There, you see him. He is chatting with two men in suits and their own masks, a glass of champagne in his big hand. Each thick finger is inked and adorned in silver rings that wink at you under the bright lights. He is big and tall—about 6’6 at least. His big frame fills out his black suit and tie outfit which is rather plain for such a gaudy party.

But the blackness of his suit makes the pink of his hair, fluffy-looking yet spiked, and his red mask pop. At first glance, his mask reminds you almost of the Devil. It’s a fitting look for him, you suppose. He isn’t flashy, but he still looks rich. Like he has no problem making such a statement with his outfit and red-bottom shoes.

But you doubt that anyone would have anything to say to Sukuna Ryomen about anything he wears.

He tugs on his right ear where several small hoops, including a cartilage piercing, hang. From where you stand, you can see that his neck is roped in tattoos as well. He says something to the men and gives them a smirk before turning and walking through the exit.

You wait until the men depart and drain your champagne before tossing your snacks away. The hunt is on now. Keeping an eye on your fellow agents, you strut across the room to the exit, paying no attention to the gents who have their eyes on your bouncing chest, thighs, and ass. You finally make it to the hotel lobby and quickly scan the area, looking for Sukuna’s broad shoulders and long legs. You immediately find him at the entrance of a bar on the right hand side chatting with a doe-eyed waitress who immediately giggles and guides him into the bar.

You follow, the click of your heels against the marbled floor egging you on. The swanky, dimly-lit bar is damn near packed when you walk in. Most of its patrons are from the ball with the exception of businessmen at happy hour and women in their finest looking to score a rich man for the night. You spot Sukuna sitting at the end of the bar and passing the bartender a twenty-dollar bill for his shot (and bottle) of whiskey. About three stools down is a plump, balding man in a wolf mask and an Armani suit, his face flushed from too much to drink.

Immediately, you get an idea. Smirking to yourself, you strut over to the bar, brazenly staring at both the wolf and Sukuna who both have their eyes on you. You sit down beside the balding wolf, giving him a small smile in greeting. You place your clutch on the bar where you wave your manicured nails at the bartender. “One martini with five olives, please,” you order. The bartender nods and begins to ready your drink.

The wolf, on his fourth or fifth Bourbon, sloppily smirks beside you. Perhaps he thinks it makes him look sexy. “Five olives?” He chuckles. “You storin’ for the winter, Ms. Red?” His eyes graze down your body from behind the eye holes in his mask.

“Just for this party,” you joke. “Why? Do you suggest somethin’ more delicious than olives, Mr. Wolf?” You put a sultry, seductive lilt into your voice, leaning your chin into your hand. You hope Mr. Wolf catches on…which of course, he does.

“If you’re interested in what’s at the snake table, sure,” he replies, his voice low and teasing. He suddenly digs into his pocket, fishing out a twenty. “Here. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t buy her own drink.”

“I appreciate that,” you giggle, taking the money from him just as the bartender returns with your drink. “How can I repay you for such a kind act?” You lean forward and press your tits enticingly against the bar to which Mr. Wolf shamelessly stares at. You think you hear Sukuna scoff behind you, making your neck feel hot. But you don’t dare turn around. Not yet.

Mr. Wolf opens his mouth to say something either dumb or lecherous, but a slender blonde in a cat mask and a skin-tight dress struts up to him. “There you are!” she scoffs, rather loud. “I’ve been calling you nonstop! You dragged me to this damn party and then you just left me alone to come drink some more?”

She is so loud that it drowns out the jazz music playing overhead, catching the eye of the others in the bar. Mr. Wolf lowers his Bourbon, sighing to himself. “Karen, please don’t start,” he mutters, seething with rage. “You begged me to take you here.”

The woman—Karen—ignores him and turns to you. “And who is this?” She demands, scowling at Mr. Wolf. “Another one of your ‘business partners’?” The sound of shocked laughs and whispers drift in the tense, musky air. Mr. Wolf looks at you apologetically as he slides off of his stool, nearly falling. “Sorry,” he whispers. You give him a smile as he walks off with his nagging…girlfriend? Wife? Sugar baby? As if hearing your thoughts, Sukuna answers them for you. “I could’ve told ya he was married,” he chuckles. His laugh is smooth and rich yet deep and lethal, like a shot of whiskey.

You turn to him, raising a brow at him as you sip your martini. “How do you know?” you question. “He didn’t have a ring on his finger.”

Sukuna chortles again as if you’re some dumb little girl he needs to school. “Don’t have to. Rings can come off, ‘specially at events like these.” He takes a sip from his shot glass, eyeing you across the rim. “There’s plenty of pretty women like yourself swimmin’ around here for the pickin’.”

His gaze is hot like fire licking across your exposed skin. The air that Mr. Wolf and his wife left tense becomes even more so. But you straighten your neck and regard him with a smirk. “Like me?” you scoff. “I doubt he could’ve even been able to afford me.”

You take another sip of your martini, leaving a red stain on the rim, before fishing out the toothpick rowed with olives. You pluck one off with your teeth, knowing that Sukuna is watching. ‘Just keep up the act. Hook, line, and sinker.’

“Sooo you’re one of those city girls, huh?” You turn to him, silently asking him to elaborate. “The kind who chase the bag and never look back at the broken hearts they leave behind?” His smirk is playful. Almost sneaky.

“Close,” you reply. You place your toothpick back in the glass and lean in to give him a shot of your cleavage. “Merchandise,” you vaguely explain, accentuating each syllable with your plump, red lips.

Sukuna carefully watches as if attempting to pick your features apart behind your mask. He leans back on his stool, smirking. “So I was right: this is a ‘pay for the night’ situation. I had a hunch.”

“Oh, you did?” you scoff. “You a cop?” He nearly snorts into his glass. “Not even close, mama,” he chuckles. You cock your head to the side, acting curious. “Then what do you do? You already have my occupation, so what kinda work got you here?”

“I thought we were talkin’ ‘bout you,” he smoothly remarks, eyeing you down. “That’s some dress you got on.” You give him a look, standing your ground. Finally, he gives in defeatedly. I’m a…man of all types of businesses. I’m kind of an arts conasor, I guess you could say. I’m big in tradin’, auctions, collectin’…” Trafficking. Criminal activity. Killing. “Cool,” you reply, nodding. “Oh, I’m V, by the way. Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

Sukuna chuckles, his crimson red alight with mischief. “Well, I know you’re fine,” he jokes. “Little spitfire, ain’t ya?” You can tell he likes your wittiness. Most men like him do. “Apologies, V. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He puts his big, ringed hand out for a shake. You take it, ignoring the zing of electricity that shoots up your arm as his fingers clasp yours. “Sukuna,” he says, his voice suddenly deeper than before. Quickly, you take your hand away and place it in your lap. If he notices, he doesn’t act like it, instead lighting himself a cigar. “Mind if I smoke?” he asks, regarding you with those blood-red eyes. You shake your head. “Not at all. So what brings you to this riveous party, Sukuna?”

Your target wraps his lip, pierced lips around the cigar, inhaling before exhaling the smoke. “Business. Money. Potential clients and partnerships. I ain’t much of a party person as I’m sure you can tell.” He gives you a smirk. “I’m guessin’ you’re here for business too?” You chuckle, liking his blunt humor. “I got a call from a regular client of mine to come here. He’s a big-time CEO—the owner of a chain of gas companies. He asked me to come here, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

You come up with the lie on the spot and make a show of looking around for your imaginary client. “Hope he’s not playin’ me out,” you huff. “He’s been generous before, but he’s also generous with other women much younger than me.”

“Well, I’d be glad to give ya some company,” Sukuna says. “Between you and me, that guy sounds like a dickhead for even invitin’ you here.” You tilt your head at him, curiously and flirtatiously. “Why is that?” you ask.

Sukuna takes another drag of his cigar, and as the smoke escapes his nostrils, he looks so much like the Devil appearing in a gray cloud to you. ‘Cause this place is crawlin’ with guys like me. And I always get what I want.” He gives you a white-toothed smile that sends shivers down your spine and suddenly, your facade slips a bit.

But not until you’re fortunately distracted. “Sukunaaaa!” someone suddenly shouts from the other side of the bar. He is in a fox mask and black suit with a red tie, standing among other powerful and rich-looking men. “Come! Play a game with us!” The other men agree, shouting him over.

You and Sukuna share a look, him looking like he wants to be anywhere but over there. “Come on,” you chuckle. “I don’t know how to play, but I’ll watch you. I can be your good luck charm.” You sip on your martini as you rise to your feet, waiting for him to follow. After some thought, Sukuna gets up, standing a whole head taller than you. “If ya say so, but be prepared for looks.”

Together, you walk side by side over to the pool table. Just as he said, you gain the curious eye of every man surrounding the pool table, cigars and drinks in hand. The entire area smells of cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Wealth. Sukuna introduces you to the men and you pretend to act flattered as the men kiss your hand and compliment you on your dress.

You stand among them and drink your martini, sizing up Sukuna and his gang. You don’t know if any of them are “his people”, but you stay on guard anyway, sipping as little alcohol as you can. You watch them play pool together, laughing when you’re supposed to and answering questions when asked but not giving too much about yourself away.

Sukuna is pretty quiet most of the time, primarily focused on the game. He is very meticulous; a strategist at pool. His long fingers twirl around his pool stick, his eyes sizing up each player and the eight balls that roll this way and that along the green table. He is good, you admit. He knows just where to shoot and how to do it, betting on each ball with the probability of an expert.

But Mr. Crane—a banker in a crane mask and dark blue suit—is on his ass having gotten close in points. He stands there laughing and joking about while Sukuna sizes him up. “Oooh, I think you’ve got some competition, Mr. Sukuna,” you whisper. “He’s winning.”

Your target grunts in disagreement. “Not for long,” he growls. “I don’t ever lose.” You hum to yourself, staring up at him through your lashes. “You sure about that?”

Now Sukuna turns to you fully and you realize just how tall he is. You have to stand back a bit to even look at him. “Do me a favor,” he purrs, his eyes hooded from the smoke. “Wager somethin’ with me.”

Your heart thunders in anticipation for his next words..but you don’t expect them even when they come out. “If I win this game, you ditch that client who stood ya up and spend the night with me.”

Sukuna’s tatted hand goes for his pocket, patting it. “And trust me, mama: I’ve got the money for it.” A shit-eating grin crosses his lips, showing you the two gold canines embedded in his lower row of teeth.

”And if you lose?” you ask, alarmed by how breathless you sound. Sukuna passively shrugs. “Then I’ll buy you a drink and slip ya the money anyway.” You take a moment to think on this. He could be lying. He could be testing you. But figuring you’ve got a weapon, you agree by clinking your glass with his. “Deal.”

Sukuna’s smile grows, almost looking joyous at your agreement. The game continues and you watch with bated breath as he and Mr. Crane go head to head. You sip your martini, not even noticing how less tense you seem from the alcohol or how bright the lights have become or how hot you seem or how Sukuna shoots the last two balls into a pocket because Mr. Crane missed. Oh, shit. You gape at the astonished player and then at Sukuna. He turns to you, prideful and giddy. “Oh, would you look at that,” he whispers. “I win.” You get a bad, bad feeling in your gut, but you ignore it. Big mistake on your part.

You swallow hard, fixing your mouth into a flirty smile. “So how would you like to spend the night with me, Mr. Sukuna?”you ask. The gangster shrugs, acting clueless. “I dunno…dancing, drinking, or your legs wrapped around my head. It’s your choice.” Suddenly, the obvious sexual tension that has been in the air erupts as soon as the vulgar words are out in the open. You feel your tongue become heavy and your nipples harden beneath your dress. You ignore it all. You can’t be hot over this criminal. Not again!

“You stayin’ here?” you ask though you already know the answer. He nods, his expression lustful. “Let’s get out of here then. I’d like to come back and get some cake from the party though.”

He nods again and lays a hand on your lower back, leading you out of the bar and into the lobby where you walk to the elevators. When you’re finally alone with him behind the elevator doors, you momentarily think about sliding your gun out of your clutch and shooting him, ending this now.

But when his hand slowly slides down your backside to grip your ass, you bite your lip and hold firm. ‘Not yet. In time.’ Finally, the elevators open up onto a hotel suite that looks more like a penthouse. There is a foyer in the middle of the room with glass tables, a private bathroom near the exiting door, plush furniture overlooking a flat-screen, and a small kitchenette with an attached island and mini-bar.

Your heels click as you walk into the suite, admiring the luxurious room. “Nice setup,” you comment. You twirl around to face Sukuna as the elevator doors shut. You’re glad you remembered to wear gloves. You don’t need to leave any fingerprints here. “It’s a little small for my tastes.” Sukuna strides toward you, reaching you in about three steps on his long legs. “But then again, I don’t use this room to sleep.”

Silently, he takes you by the hand and leads you into the large bedroom suite on the right hand side. The walls are painted an indigo blue, giving the room a calm sensation that the king-sized bed in the middle doesn’t. Two plush armchairs sit across from it near a balcony overlooking the city beyond, the moonlight shining onto the bed’s crossed ceiling and bedposts guarding each side of the headboard and the bottom of the bed.

You turn to Sukuna to say something, anything to take the edge off of you, but you’re silenced when he takes a seat at the end of the bed. He sits with his legs spread and his hands in his lap. Even from here, you can tell that he is hard—his dick print is pulsing beneath his slacks. “Take that off,” he demands. “Let me see you.”

Showtime. You lay your clutch down near your feet within arm’s reach before you reach back to slooooowly unzip your dress. The beautiful, red garment slips off of you, leaving you in your strapless corset, panties, and nylon stockings. All trimmed with lace. All sexy. You purposely chose this outfit because the corset lifts your breasts in a way that is enticing and your panties hug your ass, making it plumper and much fatter.

Sukuna gives a sharp intake of breath before he takes off his jacket and starts reaching for his tie. You chuckle though your blood runs hot. “Oh, startin’ already? I didn’t take you as the eager type.” The gangster smirks, yanking his tie off of his throat. “And I didn’t take you as a liar,” he replies.

You blink at him, startled by his words. “W-What?” you stammer. Sukuna continues to strip, unbuttoning each button on his top. “You agreed to let me do whatever I want if I win. I’m askin’ you to take off everything. Includin’ the mask.” He still gives you that humored smirk as his top comes off, revealing a tattooed chest and big, muscular arms to you roped in ink.

You can feel your anxiety peaking. Your stomach is roiling and you feel sick. “I’m not taking off the mask,” you firmly say. Now Sukuna’s smile fades. He looks confused as if he can’t figure you out. “You disobey me?” he asks.

You swallow, not liking how that sounds. “I’m just not comfortable with that. I don’t want you seeing me. It’s something I do with every client.” You keep up with your role, hoping that he’ll take that as an answer…but you’re wrong. He fixes you with a laser-hot look that you don’t like. “You sure?” he asks. “Or are you just tryna save yourself from your sinkin’ ship?”

“What are you talking about?” you snap, glaring at him. You stagger back as he suddenly gets up and walks over to the nightstand. As he does, you quickly unzip your gun and place it behind you in the waistband of your panties. Better to be ready than not at all.

Sukuna turns to you then, holding a glittering diamond wrapped in cloth in his palm. Your eyes widen at the sight of the stolen jewel from the museum. “This is what you want, right?” he asks. “This is what you’re lookin’ for?” His smirk grows into something menacing and almost mocking. “Or is it me you’re lookin’ for, V? It is V, right?”

‘Oh, my God. Not again.’

Sukuna knows he’s got you judging by the deer-in-headlights look you’re sporting on your face despite the mask. “Can I ask you what your plan was tonight?” he asks. Not waiting for an answer, he continues: “What, you thought you’d seduce me, get me up here, suck my dick a bit, and then slap some cuffs on me so you can save the day?”

He snorts at the mere thought of it, the diamond still in his palm. “Stupid girl. I know all about you. Toji and I are close in this business.” He begins to walk toward you, slowly and teasingly like a serial killer who takes joy in scaring his victims before the final kill. He told me aaall about how he used that pussy till it was sore and got away in the end.”

You grow hot at the vulgarity of his taunting words, even more so at the fact that your cover has been blown again. “So what now?” you ask, dropping the act entirely. “You gonna kill me?”

Sukuna places the diamond on a nearby dresser right where a few bottles of wine sit. “I should…but I won’t. After all, we’re up here now.” His eyes grow dark and lustful, frightening you. “So I’m gonna do just what I planned to do: I’m gonna fuck you like I paid for you.” And he definitely is a man who will act on what he says.

Quickly, you take the gun out of your panties and aim it at him. Sukuna stops moving, standing as still as a statue. “Stand back,” you growl. “You come any closer and I’ll put a bullet in you.” One finger sits on the trigger, ready to press down at any given moment.

Anyone else would cry, flinch, beg for their lives…but not Sukuna. He is as stone cold as the look in his eyes. He takes another step toward you, then another, until his chest is pressed against the barrel of your gun. “Do it,” he growls. “I fuckin’ dare you, bitch. Shoot me.”

And so you do. Despite your hammering heart and shaky hand, you pull the trigger….only to hear a click. You pull again, hearing a click. Nothing. “What?” you whisper to yourself, staring at your gun. It’s the perfect advantage for Sukuna to take, which he does by slapping you dead in your face.

With a shout, you fall to the ground, your gun clattering to the floor. You check your lip for blood, finding only smudged lipstick. This motherfucker ruined your makeup! “Slipped into your clutch while you were chattin’ with that wolffish slob,” he explains, grinning evilly at you. “You’d think a hitwoman would be a little more savvy.”

Now you’re angry. He’s insulting your intelligence. Embarrassing you. Humiliating you. “Oh, I am,” you snarl. “I was gonna go easy on you, but now…I’m just gonna make you bleed. Do not ever underestimate me, dickhead.”

You lunge at him and grab onto his belt, using all your might to yank him down onto the floor. As soon as he’s down, you place your arm over his stomach and leap onto him, straddling him. Ignoring his smile and handsome features, you raise a hand to punch him, but his hand shoots out to grab your neck.

You grunt, trying to break his hold which he uses as a distraction to pull you off of him. Back onto the floor you go with the gangster on top of you. He forces your wrists at the top of your head, his big hands gripping and pinning them down to the floor.

“Nice try,” he chuckles, his big body pressing into yours. “I’ve seen better though.”

You try to buck him off, but he wedges one knee between your plump, soft inner thighs, his belt buckle pressing into your pelvis bone. You gasp, feeling suffocated. “St-Stop!” you stammer. “Don’t—“ You’re rudely cut off as his knee glides against your crotch, giving you a spark of pleasure. A soft moan leaves your lips followed by a rush of hot embarrassment.

Sukuna notices, his crimson eyes glinting like a cat’s in the night. “Oh,” he coos. “Was that a moan, babygirl? You like this?” He rolls his hips down into yours, unfortunately causing that same spark of pleasure to explode in your core. He cackles, overjoyed by this. “Maybe this is what you came here for: to get fucked by a gangster. I’m better than Toji though. I promise you that.”

He sits fully on top of you, straddling your waist, and reaches for your clutch. “Let’s see what ya got in here, shall we?” He turns your clutch over, causing each content of it to fall out onto the floor. Your lipstick and switchblade. Your phone. Your powder compact. And a pair of silver handcuffs.

Sukuna’s brow raises in interest and he gives you a smile that makes you damn near sick. He snatches the cuffs before you can reach them and suddenly gets off of you. Before you can wonder what’s happening, he flips you over onto your stomach and begins yanking you across the floor by your ankles. An animalistic grunt leaves your lips as you try to grab onto something to slow your trip, but it’s to no avail.

So you begin trying to kick him, hitting his arm and his leg. You try to get his balls, but you end up getting his knee. “Oooh, bratty!” he cackles. “I’m gonna have some fun with you, whore. You’re dressed for the part already.”

He is rough with you now, taking great pleasure in your shouts of pain and desperation. Finally, he forces you over to the nearest bedpost and yanks on your wrists. You wriggle and squirm, trying to escape him, but you can’t do much when the cuffs are clicking around your wrists.

Clank, clank.

You panic, trying to shake your wrists out, but the chain linking the cuffs together are looped around the bedpost. You are trapped. Sukuna stands back with his hands up his hips, admiring his handiwork. “There we go,” he chuckles. “Nice and tight. You look so good for me right now.”

You turn to stare at him, on your knees and cuffed to the post. “Fuck you,” you growl. His smirk grows along with his cock in his pants. “Oh, not yet, mama, but I’m glad you’re so eager.”

You begin to scream and clatter the cuffs around, making as much noise as you can to alert someone. Anyone. But when the familiar barrel of a gun presses into your backside, you pipe down. “Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “You’re mine tonight. And if you value your job and your life, you’d better do everything I say.”

He uses the gun to press it underneath your chin and turn you to face him. “Understand?” he growls, his red eyes glaring. You know better than to argue or scream or curse. So you swallow your pride and everything you learned from C.O.D.E. training. “Y-Yes,” you whimper.

Sukuna’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your obedience. “‘Yes, sir’ is the correct response, but I’ll let you off this one time.” He keeps his gun in his hand, but doesn’t aim it at you anymore. “Now if you wanna do somethin’ else with that mouth besides complain and talk shit, I’ve got an idea.”

His smile fades as he watches you watch him, his gaze molten hot and lustful. You have no choice but to watch him unbuckle his pants with one hand and pull his cock out. Your eyes widen at inch at his long, thick, pulsing shaft protruding from a nest of pink curls.

“Suck my cock,” he demands, his tone firm and serious. “Apologize to me for all of the lies and deceit. Oh, and look up here while you do it.”

You feel your eyes watering and your lips quivering. Everything in you is screaming at you not to comply…but there is one part nesting in the deepest, darkest depths of your being that is interested and curious. The same part of you that emerged in that VIP room with Toji five months ago.

Swallowing your pride, you start by kissing and licking along Sukuna’s shaft, introducing yourself to his cock. He softly groans and hums in enjoyment at your ministrations, pushing his hips forward.

He does so in a way that makes his cock slip between your lips and in your mouth without your permission. You gasp as his thick cock passes the threshold of your mouth, the taste of him all over your tongue. “That’s a good girl,” he moans, using one hand to grab the back of your head.

He pushes you forward onto his dick, taking him deeper into your mouth. You force yourself to open your throat and to breathe through your nostrils in an effort not to choke. He’s about as big as Toji with a thick, bulbous head, heavy balls, and—

Click.

Your eyes tick up to see Sukuna with your phone in his face, the gun now in his pocket. How did he break your code? Did he use Face ID? His cock slips out of your mouth and you take a moment to gasp in some air. “What are you—?”

“Just givin’ you some encouragement and persuasion,” he cuts in, smirking. “After all, you need to do a good job, don’t you? And I would just hate for your boss to somehow see this if you—“

“Don’t!” you cry, tears springing into our eyes. “Fine, I’ll do it! Just don’t send anything!” You want to shield yourself from the camera eye of your phone, but you can’t. You can’t do anything.

Sukuna keeps the camera on you, the threat of pictures or videos looming over you. “Open up then,” he growls. “And don’t even think about usin’ teeth…but you’re a good, smart girl, so I doubt you’ll try it with me.”

His cock pulses in front of you and you shiver. You don’t know if it’s out of repulsion or excitement. Either way, you suck on his cock like you mean it, hollowing your cheeks to take him easier. Sukuna lets out a loud, throaty groan, one hand tangled in your hair.

“That’s it, mama,” he groans. “Take that fuckin’ cock. Y’know, you’re better at this than ya are fightin’.” He pushes in deeper, making you gag and nearly triggering that button in the back of your throat to vomit. “You should think about changin’ occupations…bein’ a little cocksucker is way more fittin’ for ya.”

He begins to fuck your face now, slowly at first, but he is still brutal and rough. You have to force yourself to keep breathing to avoid throwing up all over his dick. “You could be my little cocksucker,” he growls. “My cock slut. My whore. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

You gurgle and gag in response, your throat forced to flex around his cock interrupting its natural state. You feel as if your throat and mouth are being molded into his personal fleshlight with the way he fucks your face, grunting and groaning like a desperate man. His balls slap against your chin, filling your nose with the scent of his cologne and his cock.

You’ve never been used in such a way. You are being resorted to nothing but a toy. A hole for his own use. Saliva drips from your chin and down onto your tits, making you slick and messy…just like another part of you between your thighs. The more he fucks, the more your cunt throbs and pulses in anticipation for it to be fucked the same way.

What is wrong with you?

You can only ask yourself this question more as Sukuna’s thrusts grow rougher and stronger, his fingers digging into your scalp. “Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “You’re about to make me cum. You’d better fuckin’ take it…take it, bitch!”

Finally, with a few more brutal thrusts that steal your air away, Sukuna lets out a loud moan and cums deep down your throat. Your moans of protest and shock are muffled as his cock pushes deep, ropes of warm cum shooting down your throat.

“Take it,” he pants. “Take my fuckin’ cum. I know you want all of it.” He begins to rock his hips slowly, riding out his orgasm as he gives you more and more of his spunk. You take all of it because what other choice do you have?

When he finally pulls away, a string of cum-mixed saliva attaches itself to your bottom lip. He grips your chin, forcing you at look at him. “Show me your mouth,” he demands. “I wanna see it. Stick out your tongue and don’t let a single ounce drop.”

You do as he says, carefully sticking out your tongue so he can see the pool of cum on it. He smiles, patting your cheek. “That’s a good girl. Now swallow.” And like an obedient puppet, you close your mouth and swallow his cum before he gives you a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss that steals your breath away.

When he pulls away, he honestly looks…softer. Like he’s in love with what he sees. “Now,” he coos, wiping a drop of spit off of your lips with his thumb, “let me give you a reward for such a job well done.”

You let him grab your arm and force you onto your feet. Your body feels unbalanced and your legs are wobbly. To some degree, you’re thankful for the support of the post to hold you up as Sukuna’s big hands glide down your ass and thighs. Then, suddenly, you feel his breath caressing your asscheeks and something cool on your skin.

You realize what it is when you feel your panties slice off of your body. A knife. “Please,” you whimper. Sukuna chuckles, humored by your humiliation and fear. “Don’t fret, mama. This is just to get these panties off…if you’re good, that is.” He presses the cool metal of the knife into your thigh, making you feel the jagged edges.

“You can be a good girl for me, can’t you?” he whispers, a wicked smile in his voice. He doesn’t give you the chance to answer before lightly licking you against your slit. You gasp, your wrists straining against the cuffs. His big hands glide up to force your hips back, causing your ass to jut into his face.

Sukuna hums in enjoyment, licking and sucking away at your pussy that seems to grow wetter with every ministration of his tongue. How is he so good at this? You try to hold back your moans, but you can’t. Plus, the knife against your thigh doesn’t allow you. One wrong move or something that he doesn’t like and that knife could be cutting your skin.

So let him do as he pleases. But you don’t really have a choice either. All you can do is grip the pole you’re shackled to as Sukuna sucks on your pussy lips and swirls his tongue around your clit before he dips the muscle inside of you. Your mouth falls open on a loud moan, his soft lips cushioning your clit. Your thighs begin to quiver and you feel your body shake in pleasure.

You hate how good this feels. And you especially hate that the man you hate is making you feel this good.

Sukuna lightly pulls on your pussy lips, earning a whimper from you. “Isn’t this so much better than fightin’ me, baby?” he asks before French kissing your cunt once again. He kisses you sloppily and messily, his tongue licking and sliding this way and that. “Fuckin’ slut,” he growls, gripping your asscheek and giving it a smack. “You’re so desperate for me. It’s what you should be.”

He moves the knife to your lower stomach, pressing the tip into your lace bra. Your pulse jumps as you feel it puncture a hole in it, ruining the bra and grazing against one of your breasts. “Please,” you whine. “Please!”

Sukuna smiles, still licking and sucking your pussy with all of the vigor of a hungered man. “I like you beggin’,” he replies. “Do it again for me. Beg real pretty for me, slut.” You have no choice when he continues on slurping on your cunt and fucking your hole, his nose swiping against your clit.

“Please, please, please!” you sob. “Please let me cum!” Your begging must satisfy Sukuna because his tongue moves a little faster, his pace causing your body to quake against the restrictions of the cuffs. His hot, wet mouth causes your orgasm to wash over you quickly yet powerfully, controlling every part of your body. You let out a whine of pleasure as your cum explodes in Sukuna’s mouth, drenching his lips and chin in your juices.

The aftershocks come and your body starts writhing, causing you to grip the pole for dear life. Sukuna hums in satisfaction, cleaning you up as you writhe for him. Finally, when the aftershocks subside, you slump against the pole, your knees nearly giving out. Sukuna pulls away from you finally and lovingly strokes your ass. “Good little slut,” he coos in his deep voice. “But we ain’t done yet so you’d better get it together.”

Instantly, your stomach grows fluttery with butterflies and your core grows warm. You know exactly what is coming next. You can’t stop. You can’t avoid it. And more frighteningly, you’re not even sure if you don’t want it.

Sukuna stands behind you and places one foot between yours to widen your legs out. His knife glides up your side to your neck to come across your throat. You freeze as soon as you feel the cold metal touch your tender, warm skin. Sukuna chuckles into your ear as his other hand plays with your wet pussy. “What a thrill, huh?” he hisses. “You ain’t been thrilled yet till you’ve gotten me.”

You concur. You can’t help but to do so when he finally slides that big, thick, long cock inside of you. Slick and open from your orgasm, he slides right in and makes his home between your velvety walls. He groans into your ear while your mouth falls agape on a silent moan.

You feel stretched. You feel full. You feel used. And you feel absolutely, positively amazing. Sukuna digs his nails into the fleshy part where your ass meets your hip, his fingers fondling your tummy. “Fuck!” he grunts into your ear, panting hotly. Even he can’t get a grip on himself. Your pussy feels too good wrapped around him, stroking him of all he’s worth.

He drops the knife, no longer needing it, and your body relaxes…until the blade is replaced with his hand. “Take it,” he demands. “Take that fuckin’ cock. You know you need it.” His other hand grips your stomach, kneading the plushy, soft flesh as he fucks into your wet heat. “So let me give it to you,” he huffs. “Lemme give you everything that slutty pussy needs.”

His hips hammer harder and faster into your ass, making it quiver and recoil. Your moans are loud and high-pitched, unable to be silenced due to Sukuna’s pistoning thrusts. He fucks you like a machine, pumping in and out, out and in, his cock pulsing inside of you. “F-Fuck!” you stammer. “Wait, Sukuna! You’re going t-too fast!”

Your pussy feels like it’s going into overload, being stuffed too much and too quickly. Tears spring into your eyes as Sukuna grips your throat tighter, cutting off your air for just a moment. “Quiet!” he snaps. “Sluts don’t talk. They only take dick. They take all that’s given to them and they’re thankful for it.”

Short moans and gasps leave your lips as he continues to squeeze, still fucking you dumb. Your knees buckle and your head feels fuzzy from the overstimulation and his hand gripping your throat. The pleasure somehow mounts to astronomical heights because of this, leaving you a dumb, mindless mess.

Sukuna presses his lips to your ear, his lip ring cool against the shell of your ear. “So tell me thank you. Say “thank you, Daddy, for givin’ me that dick. Thank you for fuckin’ me so good. Thank you for makin’ me your little cock whore”.” He loosens his hold on your neck, allowing you time to breathe. But you can’t breathe. You can’t even speak. Your mind is full of cock, unable to focus on anything but Sukuna’s big thighs against yours and his dick pummeling into you.

His hand grips your neck again, tighter this time, and you gag. “Say it!” he demands, roaring into your ear. “Say the fuckin’ words!” This time, he doesn’t release your neck, so you’re forced to get the words out with his fingers pressing into your throat. Fat, wet tears drip from your lashes, wetting your cheeks behind your mask.

“Thank you!” you sob out, finally broken. “Thank you, Daddy! Thank you for giving me your dick! T-Thank you for…for…!” You trail off, your words turning into a desperate moan as you feel the knot in your core tighten.

You’re about to cum. Your target, this gangster, a lowdown, dirty criminal, is going to make you burst all over his big, fat cock as if you’re his lover and he’s deserving of all of it. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!” you warn. “Please, please let me cum, Daddy! I can’t take it!”

You grip the cuffs for dear life as he fucks and fucks and fucks you. Your knuckles turn white, an indication of the pleasure you’re experiencing. Sukuna chuckles, enjoying your torture. “Aww, but the fun just started, baby,” he condescendingly coos. “You gonna cum already? Is this gangster cock just too good?” You whimper in response, your eyes fluttering closed.

Smack!

Sukuna slaps your ass hard, making it sting. “I don’t hear an answer,” he growls. His thrusts grow quick and brutal, turning your pussy into mush and making your clit sing. “Yes! Yes, it feels so fucking good!” you babble.

“Cum on it then,” he orders. “Give Daddy what he wants. Fucking cum for me now, V.” He continues this brutal, controlling pace with one hand gripping your throat and the other on your ass, drilling into your pussy and against your G-spot with all of the mercy of a sinner.

It doesn’t take long for that knot in your core to snap. “Oh, fuck!” you whine, damn near screaming for all to hear as you cum hard around Sukuna’s cock. Your orgasm hits you hard and intensely, sending you on a trip as you thrash in Sukuna’s hands and against the post.

Your pussy grips him tighter than a vice as you cream him, coating him from his cockhead to his balls in your juices. He grunts in pleasure by how tight you’ve grown, gripping and stroking him until he has no choice but to cum. Before he can, he pulls out of you and forces you down onto your knees. You’re so weak that you go tumbling down like a baby deer still weak on its hind legs.

“Look at me.” You stare up into Sukuna’s eyes, now facing the man behind the red mask. He has taken it off, revealing his handsome face and strange, tatted stripes on his cheeks. He furiously pumps his slick cock with one hand while he uses the other to rip off your mask. You’re too weak and spent to protest or fight him off.

His face grows red and glistens in sweat from the fury of his pumping, his arm tense as he jerks himself off in front of you. “Take me,” he demands. “Take my cum, my good little whore.” With a few more pumps, he finally bursts with a roar of pleasure, his head flying back as he shoots his spunk all over your face and tits.

You gasp as the warm liquid hits your face, dripping down your cheeks, lips, neck, and juicy tits, making your skin sobbing wet and sticky with him. Your breath comes out in short puffs of air as you recover from the vigorous fucking, completely spent. And ruined.

Sukuna deeply exhales, relaxed and satisfied. “Not bad, little girl,” he chuckles. “I haven’t cum that hard in a minute.” You watch as he picks up his knife and begins to redress himself like nothing happened, fastening his buttons and his belt. Like this was just a quickie and nothing more.

When he finishes, he smirks down at you as he fishes a handkerchief out of his pocket. “Look at you, all messy,” he tuts. “Didn’t your boss teach ya to clean up after yourself?”

He kneels down and begins dabbing his cum off of your face, but not your tits. You already know you look crazy��mascara dripping, lipstick smudged, foundation fucked up. You eyeball Sukuna as he finishes cleaning you up. Even when he takes the key to the cuffs out of your clutch and releases you, you still glare at him like you’re trying to kill him with your eyes.

He tuts, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, now don’t look so glum. Here, I’ve got a present for you for your hard work.” He gives you a wink before walking over to the nightstand, leaving you to recover on the floor.

Slowly, you put your dress back on, hissing at the burn of your hands and wrists from the cuffs. You do your best to keep the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks at bay. You’re almost dressed when Sukuna comes back to you and presents you with the diamond, covering it with the cloth.

You’re stunned into silence for a while, even as he places the rock in front of you and then backs away. He watches you as you watch the diamond, half expecting it to blow up or something…but it doesn’t. Immediately, you feel enraged. “So you’re gonna give me that and what? Let me go?” You laugh, dry and loud. “Was the pussy that good that now you feel bad?”

Immediately, Sukuna’s hand is wrapped tight in your hair. He grips it and yanks you up, making you shout in pain. He brings you up an inch away from his irritated, crimson eyes. “Don’t get too cocky, bitch,” he hisses. “This ain’t about how hard you made me bust or how good you looked takin’ my cock. This is about teachin’ you a lesson.”

Your body tenses and grows cold. As if sensing this, Sukuna soothes your fears. “I’m not gonna kill you,” he explains. “Instead, I’m gonna give you that stupid rock you wanted and you can explain all to your boss about how you saved the day to get it…but only you’ll know what it took. Only you’ll know how you failed again.”

He leans in, smirking. “And that cuts deeper than any knife.” And it does. Already, you feel gutted than Toji made you feel. You’re bleeding out all over the floor, humiliated. Broken. Destroyed. You have failed again.

Sukuna’s smirk grows wider and he loosens his grip on your hair. “But I like you,” he chuckles. “And I don’t like a lot of people, so I’ll throw ya a sweetener: if we ever cross paths again and you get tired of bein’ a hero, you can come kick it with me. Be my little slut and my partner.”

He leans in, giving your neck a long lick, making you whine. “How’s that sound, doll?” he whispers, stroking your cheek. You don’t answer. If anything, you feel like spitting in his face. “I’ll let you sit on it, but my offer stands. Till we meet again, V.”

He gives you a wink and releases you before fastening his mask onto his face. You watch as he turns to leave, unable to take him from behind. You’re too weak and too defeated to do so. “Feel free to use the shower!” he calls, and then you hear the elevator ding.

So you do. Once he is gone and the hotel suite is now yours, you drag yourself to the luxurious bathroom, undress, and take a scalding shower to wash Sukuna’s cum, your ruined makeup, and tonight’s mistakes off of you. You use as much of the floral-scented body wash as you can, washing, scrubbing, and rinsing until your fingers and toes are pruned.

But even that isn’t enough. When you end your long, hot shower, you feel just as dirty as when you walked into it. You then steal one of the plush hotel robes left by the shower and drag yourself back into the hotel room, leaving the floor a mess with your discarded items. The only thing you pick up is your phone.

There, several calls from your boss wait for you. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself. Is it possible Sukuna sent him something anyway? Only one way to find out.

With your mind made up and your heart pounding, you press on your boss’ contact and wait for him to answer, each dial tone making your anxiety peak. Finally, he answers. “V, Thank God!” he exclaims. “I’ve been calling you for hours! Where the hell have you been?! The agents that I put on the Sukuna case told me you’re at the party and Sukuna’s file is gone. V, are you there right now?”

You don't answer for a moment, too busy staring at the diamond sitting next to your discarded mask. Both signs of your failure. Tears begin to rise to the surface again, but this time, only one falls. You can’t fool yourself anymore.

“V!” your boss shouts. “V, answer me! Where are you right now?”

“I’m sorry, boss,” you choke out, wiping your cheek. “I’m going to have to resign.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 189 (Brindleton Bay Picks a New Mayor)

Growing up, Alexander Goth dreamed of becoming Brindleton Bay's first real mayor in decades. After high school, he got involved with No Sim Left Behind, marrying his teenage sweetheart, Lydia Kim-Lewis. Now, they had two amazing kids - son Jagger and toddler Carina. His family was the light of his life, but he'd always been drawn to activism and politics.

Once George Brindleton met his end while wintering in Sulani, Alex could finally push for an election - and for a while it looked like he might run unopposed. Brindletonians were used to joking Heather Gordon's Tuxedo cat, Mayor Whiskers, ran the town, but just before the deadline, Bay Landgraab Security director J Huntington III entered the race. Alex hadn't run a campaign since he won student council president at Deadgrass Isle High - a real mayoral contest excited him!

Hazel Nesbitt was one of his wife's oldest friends, and she eventually moved to Brindleton Bay to be closer to both Lydia and her elder sister, local vet Heather. With her experience working for Henford's Mayor Varner before her divorce, Alex enlisted Hazel to manage a clean campaign focused on meeting locals and telling them his plans for the town in detail. It was the best way he could think to counter J's populist tough-on-crime agenda.

Alex wanted to clean up every shoreline, revitalize tourism, and make Brindleton Bay the kind of place families stayed for generations. That meant jobs, recreational spaces, and total commitment.

His ambitions were high, but his perseverance was higher. Voters saw a young, enthusiastic leader, and on election day, they rewarded him with a significant victory.

Brindleton Bay's often rainy spring weather couldn't dampen his excitement as he thanked his supporters for their faith in him. He was already raring to go - not even mud puddles in the rain could stop him from making Brindleton Bay a world class town!

(The 'energetic speech' option borders on aggressive but it made me laugh. Go Mayor Alex, you won! Since Mayor isn't actually a level in the political career in-game, he's a high-level politician and I changed his first name from Alexander to Mayor Alex. Officially.)

Alex's proud mother, Bella, threw a party at home to celebrate his electoral victory. His proud big sister, Cassandra, arrived with her husband, River, and their sons, and Cass headed straight for the piano as soon as she walked into her childhood home.

The Nesbitts' two-story cottage in Henford was more garden than home, with no room for a piano. But Cassandra took lessons as a child, and with gentle music humming from the ivory-coloured keys, guests gathered happily around the grand instrument.

"Isn't this the piano Conrad possessed when Bella made him that cocktail?" wondered Heather. "It's so big! I can't believe he made this thing float!"

Bella and Dexter prepared food for the guests in the kitchen, with Bella adding her secret spice to the superfood salad for an extra kick. Conrad grinned as he spray-cleaned the kitchen sink to prep it for dirty dishes. "I don't know how you do it, Mrs. Goth. Everything you make is impeccable."

"Oh, you know me." She laughed as the salad bowl seemed to shimmer in her hands. "It's just a little touch of magic, I guess."

"Ash said he's sorry he couldn't make it to the party, but he's having a sleepover with his friends tonight."

"Don't worry about it. Ash is growing up. He'll be a teenager soon; of course he wants to spend more time with his friends!"

"He's more ready to grow up than we are. Doesn't seem that long ago he was in diapers."

"Well, we can't stop time forever. Only Reapers stay the same."

"How are things with you and Grim?"

"Never better! It's still very casual, you know. It's impossible for us to live like a normal couple, so we don't. He's reaping tonight, but he might stop by once the party's over."

The hostess had also extended an invitation to the losing candidate and his family. Alex wanted to have a good working relationship with the guys at Bay Landgraab Security; for better or worse, they were important to the town.

In another room, Alex found J obsessively consulting a future cube and interrupted. "I wanted to make sure there's no hard feelings after the vote," he said. "As mayor, I want safety and security in the bay as much as you do, and I want to work with you to ensure the best for everyone in town."

J scarcely looked up from his cube, smiling as the toy revealed a positive fortune. "No hard feelings," he insisted. "I only ran because some suits at Landgraab Corp. said I should and paid the registration fee. If I won I'd be indebted to them, but this way I can say I tried so they don't punish my guys for my non-compliance. But between you and me? I voted for you, too."

J's lookalike fourteen-year-old son, Caiden Huntington, had joined his parents, approaching Lavender as she chatted with her cousins, Michael and Sammy, in the living room. "Have you been practicing your double stops?" he asked.

Lavender grinned at the teenager who'd recently become her violin teacher. "I have been. They almost sound good now."

"It always sounds better than you think it does, Lavender."

"If you say so!" She didn't really believe him.

Of all the guests at the party, Mortimer Goth was perhaps most proud of his son's mayoral victory. He wasn't a resident of the town and couldn't vote for him, but seeing him succeed meant the world.

"Another great Goth tale to add to the family archives," he mused, wrapping the oldest of his sons in a hug. "As a kid there was a simulation game I played, and I always made the sim designed for me become the president of the world. But you might actually go out and do it. I couldn't be prouder, Alexander."

Dexter scoffed from a nearby chair. "You were into video games? But Dad, you're so old!"

"It's not like I'm a hundred years old, Dex. Karl and I both like to play video games sometimes. We've got a console at the villa in Willow Creek."

"Are you any good?"

"You'll have to come to Willow Creek to find out," he chided.

After a special week for his family in Brindleton Bay, Mayor Alex Goth was ready to get started fulfilling his promises to the town. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Caiden elected himself Lavender's violin instructor when he took one of the Huntington pets to the vet and randomly idled like this. ⬇️ I was already looking for more ways to involve him in the main fam's plotlines though he and Ash aren't friends, and this surprised me because he doesn't look like a violinist - but, for me, that's what works about it! In my head Heather offered to pay him to teach Lavender after she heard him. (Heather 'likes violin,' which is sweet, because Lavender's playing makes her happy.)

NOTE 2: For those who like townie updates and gossip and for those who don't know, Alex's wife Lydia is the younger sister of Olivia (Kim-Lewis) Watson and Heather's close friend, Spencer Pancakes. She and Alex met after the Goths' old cat had kittens; River was already dating Cassandra, so he took Hazel and her friend Lydia to adopt one. Victory moved back to Brindleton Bay with Lydia once she and Alex were married.

In the bottom right photo before the cut are the parents of Avery Harms, who's the girlfriend of Bella and Mortimer's youngest son, Dexter in the posed pic before the cut. Hayes Harms and his wife Abby started life as the randomized Henford grocer and creature keeper after I made Michael Bell and Kim Goldbloom playable. They're parents to Elliott, Avery, and Isaac. Hayes is also the biological father of former Brindleton vet tech Emi Kudo's twin sons (including young ballet dancer Charlie, who's been teased enough and makes his debut May 27th!). Charlie and his brother, Oliver, are younger than Elliott and Avery, but older than Isaac. Currently, Hayes and Abby are aware of the affair twins but know nothing else by choice; Emi has stayed out of their way ever since she first left town, and Avery and her brothers are in the dark about the whole thing.

WCIF Poses Used: Three poses used for the top two photos - Special Day by @beto-ae0, Big Family by @traveling-sims, and Siblings by Katverse.

[reality-detective]

THE GREAT MILITARY TRIBUNALS: HILLARY, OBAMA, BIDEN, AND ALL THEIR FRIENDS!

BOOM! The time has come. The secret is out. The military tribunals, the arrests, the executions—they’re not just rumors. They’re real, and they’ve been happening right under your nose! Hillary Clinton, Barack Obama, Joe Biden, and all their deep state cronies? They’re DONE! This is the greatest takedown in history, and it’s happening NOW.

THE TRIBUNALS HAVE BEGUN!

Since 2017, under President Trump’s fearless leadership, an epic battle has been raging behind the scenes. The mainstream media won’t tell you this, but we know the truth: the military tribunals started years ago, and they’re still going strong today!

Arrests? Check. Executions? Check. Unsealed indictments? Check. While the world is distracted, the real action is tearing apart the deep state’s corruption. These tribunals are ripping apart the globalists and traitors—one by one.

HILLARY CLINTON & FRIENDS: TREASON IS THEIR DOWNFALL!

Imagine this: You’re Hillary Clinton, convicted of treason in a secret tribunal. The only choices left are life in prison or the death penalty. But there’s a catch. To avoid execution, confess every dirty crime on camera. Hand over your stolen wealth. Play along or it’s over.

TRUMP’S LEVERAGE: WHY THEY’RE STILL ALIVE

Why not execute them all immediately? LEVERAGE. Trump’s strategy is brilliant. By keeping these traitors alive, under control, they are pawns in Trump’s game. They’re being forced to act out their own disgrace, tarnishing their legacies and bringing down the institutions they built.

THE SCRIPT: A MASTERPLAN TO DESTROY THE DEEP STATE

This isn’t just about arresting a few traitors. Trump’s team is dismantling the entire deep state. The arrests are just the beginning. The true goal is to collapse the corrupt media, the elites, the globalists—everything that’s been oppressing us for decades.

THE KEY PLAYERS: WHO’S GOING DOWN?

Trump’s team needed to take down key players—Hillary, Obama, Biden, and their cronies. These are the ringleaders of the deep state’s corruption. They’ve faced military tribunals, given the choice: cooperate or face execution. They chose cooperation, but make no mistake, they’re DONE.

THE MEDIA’S COMPLICITY: WATCH THEM FALL

The media, the deep state’s mouthpieces, will fall too. The more they lie, the more they expose their own agenda. The American people are waking up, and soon, they won’t be able to hide their true faces anymore.

GITMO: THE ONLY SAFE PLACE FOR TRAITORS

Hillary, Obama, Biden—they’re all headed to Gitmo. It’s their last refuge from the people’s wrath. But even there, it won’t be safe. They’ve sold out our country, and now, they’ll pay the price.

TRUMP: THE HERO WE NEEDED

Trump is leading this battle against the deep state. He’s the warrior who’s been fighting for America’s freedom. They’ve tried to destroy him, but he’s standing tall. He’s restoring America, and when it’s over, he’ll be the hero who saved the Republic.

THE FUTURE: A NEW ERA FOR AMERICA

This is just the beginning. The deep state is collapsing, and soon, America will be reborn. More arrests, more trials, and more justice are coming. By 2025, the deep state will be finished. We are witnessing history in the making!

Personal notes: 👇

My Intel had informed me that the people mentioned above did NOT cooperate, they were executed and none of them had any remorse for their crimes. The tribunals did begin in 2017, not only with politicians but the hollyweird pedophiles, disroyal families and the satanic vatican.

Remember during one of Trump's speeches he said and I will quote him: "I will gladly take the slings and arrows for you." And what has he been through? Trump was recruited by the military to serve in this battle. If you remember he never received any campaign contributions and he donated every check while in office he received to charity. Why? Because that was the agreement, he was not to accept any deep state money of any kind.

If you want to do some research... You would discover he was the only sitting president to lose a lot of money while serving in decades, most exited the role with millions more than when they entered office. 🤔

[milliesfishes]

imagine billy or coryo with a reader that’s quite literally insatiable like she just doesn’t want to stop and keeps going

this would be me with either of them

Billy:

Honestly, Billy would prolly be sooo receptive to this: you like kissing him and you do it a lot, which is good because he happens to love it too. Imagining him kissing you like under a tree, and it started very innocently but quickly turned into something else.

He hardly has time to remove his jacket and put it on the ground behind you for you to lay on because you're tugging at his clothes. But he isn't going to take you against the hard ground; it's just not his way.

Billy's fonder of slow intimacy that takes time, but he isn't opposed to something hard and fast, especially if you're feeling needy and you ask. In all truth, he just loves how much you want him.

Nearly every time afterward you'd sit up after a few minutes and rest your chin on his chest. "Again?"

It'd make him laugh. "Didn't I wear ya out 'nough?"

And you'd shake your head and go to sit on his hips. His hands would automatically come to your waist, bordering on your ass. "Damn, you're real pretty. Alright, lemme-" then Billy would sit up to kiss you, his hands wandering your body again.

When you requested a third time, he'd shake his head in astonishment, a lazy grin drawing his lips upward. "Baby, don't know if I've got another one in me. 'Sides, ya might not be able to walk tomorrow."

"Please?" you'd take his big hand and press it to your breast, bouncing a little in his lap. Both actions had his eyes moving to your chest, watching them go up and down.

"Naughty." But he'd oblige- he always did. And if Billy was too tired to give it to you that way anymore, he'd pull you up so your thighs were on either side of his face, his fingers leaving little bruises as he held you down, right where he wanted you.

When you finally became tired, he'd pull you so you were right up against him because he loved to hold you after making love, your sweaty bodies nearly melding as one again.

(Young Politician) Coryo:

Before meeting you, Coryo probably would have thought he was insatiable, but he quickly realized after the first time he slept with you that it was nothing compared to your appetite.

He'd whisper dirty things to you at parties you went to together, enjoying the way you'd look at him coyly after, knowing it would be a long night in the best way.

Once you were back at the penthouse he'd tease you as you undressed each other. "How many rounds do you think this time, hm? Or will you give out before I'm done with you?"

"I haven't yet, have I?" you'd pull on his loosened tie to bring him into a kiss.

Smirking against your lips, he'd say, "Rounds don't include my fingers or my mouth. We'll see if you can put your money where your mouth is."

It was a game for the two of you; seeing how long either of you could last before you were worn out. Though Coryo would always talk a big game about not helping you, he'd always hold your hips up if you were too tired or take a few minutes pause to give you a break before going at it again.

There would be one night where you were particularily riled up, and when the door was shut behind you, you'd pull your hair over one of your shoulders and turn so your back was facing him, waiting for him to unzip your dress. But he didn't.

After a minute you turned around and he was stripping himself of his clothes, taking his time folding them neatly. When you asked what he was doing he looked at you, blue eyes piercing. "Getting ready for bed."

Frowning, you'd go over to him. "But...but..."

He gave you a sharp grin. "Let's see how long you can go without me touching you, sweetheart. I bet you'll be shaking by morning."

It was a cruel game. Your mouth opened slightly in disbelief, and you squeezed your thighs together, frowning as Coryo fully got in bed and rolled on his side, facing away from yours.

That night was a long one.

When he came home the next day, whistling annoyingly and rolling up his sleeves, you nearly tackled him, sending him tumbling to the floor of your bedroom with your legs on either side of his.

Just as you'd thought, he'd been wanting you just as badly.

Coryo let one hand fall over his head as he lazily looked up at you. "Couldn't even make it a full day."

"Shut up." You covered his mouth with yours and he finally touched you, giving you lots of attention that night where you really wanted it.

The joke was on him; he couldn't last twenty-four hours without touching you either. Because he was just as insatiable as you.

come talk about billy and coryo here!

[belovedmusings]

Hell and back.

Sukuna Ryomen x You

Explicit Smut 18+ 🚫Minors DNI🚫

Sukuna Ryomen is the most fearsome syndicate head of the modern day. He looms like a storm cloud that threatens to unleash devastating hail at any moment over the city, ruling it with an iron fist. He’s the Two-Faced Demon incarnate, as you’ve heard those around you refer to him, the enigmatic man always addressed as if he was a mythical creature rather than a living, breathing person. He's the richest man in the city with his mountains of dirty money, each finger on his hands tied around the neck of all the local politicians and officials. As such, you never in a million years expected him to wind up at your strip club in a dingy corner of town, so far away from the luxury of the inner city. 

What’s more than that–you never expected just what sort of violence he’d invite into your life, but here you are, a bargaining chip in a game you never agreed to play.

Relevant tags: Mafia! Sukuna Ryomen, Stripper! Reader, 2nd POV, no use of “y/n”, themes of prostitution, themes of mafia typical violence, explicit sex, unsafe sex, rough blowjobs, rough sex, choking, manhandling, cowgirl, doggystyle, creampie, manipulation, hot & cold, unhealthy relationships, complicated relationships (tags to be added as story progresses)

Cross-posted on Ao3.

List of chapters:

1. God’s dead, and that’s all right with me.

Comment to be added to my taglist for updates!

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (10/20)

Ready to read more about Agatha? It's short but it's important, the plot is being building.

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: sex with Thanos mentioned (in the past), alcohol mentioned and Tony Stark is trying

Pairing: Governor! Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Agatha is losing control with you.

Pinned

noun

1. when a piece is forced to remain in place because moving it would expose a more valuable piece behind it to attack.

The door closed with a soft click.

Agatha stood there for a moment that felt like an eternity, her hand still on the handle, fingers gripping the cold metal as if it could anchor her to reality.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling slowly. Tried to square her shoulders. To reclaim whatever was left of her dignity.

But inside... inside, everything was falling apart.

Her drunken, jealous, childish expression had made her heart race. She knew she was supposed to dance with Stark.

It was duty.

It was work.

A dirty, morally gray kind of networking.

The real kind of politics.

And yet, seeing you thrown off by it seeing your reaction—had made something warm bloom inside her.

Warmer than the bourbon.

Ridiculous.

She was a grown woman. Fifty years old, with a teenage son and a campaign poised to change the country, and here she was—emotionally unraveled because a girl had called her Mommy in the middle of an orgasm.

But it wasn’t just that, was it?

It was the way you said it.

Soft, through gritted teeth, trembling with surrender. Almost a plea, almost a whispered claim.

The word still echoed in her ears like something obscene. As if it had opened something in her. No. It was as if it had blown open a door Agatha had locked decades ago and forgotten where she hid the key.

She let go of the handle carefully, like touching it any longer might be dangerous.

Then she walked down the quiet hotel hallway, the low heels of her shoes clicking like a cruel reminder of where she was supposed to be.

With Barkley. With Stark. Keeping up appearances.

But the façade had already been shattered—by you.

And worse: by herself.

The image of your face, your wet, hungry eyes when you whispered that fucked word—was burned into her.

It was supposed to be a game of control. She thought it was. She had the power. She was the one setting the pace, giving the orders, drawing the lines.

And you? You were the rebellious girl, too bold for your own good. However, in the end, you were obedient. Always obedient.

Until it stopped being about control.

It happened in the bathroom, she realized now. It was when she slapped you. The anger was real, the impulse too. But what came after…

The heat, the arousal,t he twisted pride in seeing her mark on your pretty face.

She wanted you to remember who was in charge.

That was it.

It was like something old, buried under decades of ice and responsibility, had woken up. Something that wanted to care, yes.

But also to mark.

To control.

To own.

And the part that horrified her the most? She wanted you to like it.

And you… did.

Fuck.

You liked it.

Agatha stepped into the elevator.

Alone.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror: hair disheveled, lipstick slightly smudged, her black blazer wrinkled and clinging to her skin with sweat and someone else’s perfume.

Ridiculous.

Weak.

And yet she couldn’t look away.

Something pulsed inside her, a long-forgotten fault line that had carried the weight of a lifetime of self-control and now it was starting to crack.

'This shouldn’t feel this good'

Because it had been good.

She had said to you and it was true. But you had smiled when you responded her—always creative and provocative and that destroyed her.

Too good.

Where were the cold, brilliant politician? The distant, calculated mother?

She didn't know the answers, however, she knew something was going on inside her and it was out of control.

Agatha was becaming a woman who begged for more when you moaned the M word into her mouth.

And now, as the elevator descended, Agatha felt like she didn’t know who she was anymore.

You were not in the plan.

Fuck.

This was definitely not in the plan.

For the first time, Agatha didn’t know what to do, and this wasn’t something she could fix with lawyers or advisors.

She closed her eyes.

Part of her wanted to go back. Run back, grab you by the hair and make you say it again until your throat was raw.

But the other…

The other had to survive.

Had to win.

By the time the elevator stopped, her face was composed again. But her heart... her heart was still upstairs.

With you.

The ballroom felt even more suffocating than before. Warm lights, too many people, too many voices. Forced laughter, clinking glasses, calculated handshakes. Everything in its place and yet, Agatha felt something inside her had slipped out of orbit.

She grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. She didn’t want to drink, but she needed something to do with her hands, to hide the faint tremble in her fingers.

She moved through the crowd like a ghost, smiling at shadows, shaking hands that didn’t feel real. Her eyes, unfocused. Her mind, still in that room.

Still with you.

The perfume.

She had chosen it herself. A rich, enveloping scent with notes of amber, vanilla and white leather.

It was bold, feminine, unforgettable.

She wanted you to smell the way she imagined.

The way she needed.

She wanted people to know, the moment you entered a room, that you were hers.

Because that scent—it was hers.

Chosen by her.

Stamped onto you.

The phone?

Well... that was uglier.

Control. Proximity.

She needed to know where you were, what you were doing, needed you to answer when she called.

She needed you reachable.

Submissive, maybe, and that terrified her.

Because Agatha hated the idea of being that kind of woman. But the truth was, she always had been, and maybe, no one had ever deserved that side of her—until now.

And the dress?

Ah.

The dress was the cruelest part.

Because yes, she wanted you to be seen. She wanted everyone to look at you and think you’re the chosen one. Agatha wanted the world to see how beautiful you were.

How alive, how young.

But she also…

Wanted to strip you.

Wanted the right to take it off, only to destroy it.

She didn’t know if she wanted to give you power or take it.

Maybe both.

And after that photo, those stiffened nipples showing through Armani in that fucking fitting room…

Well, she did.

Agatha had torn that dress apart like it never existed, but deep down, she knew she’d tear through twenty more. She’d buy you fifty if you asked her with that soft voice, that smug little face and those pleading puppy eyes.

She hated herself for it, and wanted you even more. And didn’t understand why—when all of this was supposed to be… nothing.

Because you were cruel. Young and gorgeous… and cruel.

And she…

She was just an old woman… weak, with a lot of fear circled her chest.

Fear of you, of herself.

Fuck!

And if you said that word again… She’d let it all crumble once more.

“Well, look who finally came back.” The voice came from her left, slick with charm and mischief.

Tony Stark.

Wearing a expensive suit that screamed arrogance and taste. His smile was the same lazy, dangerous smirk as always. But his eyes were too sharp, like he’d counted every second of her absence.

“I was beginning to think the opposition had kidnapped you.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried in American history.” She said flatly, taking a small sip.

The drink burned on the way down.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space as he always did. Agatha didn’t step back—she never steps back—but her body screamed to get away.

“Or maybe,” Stark said, with a lopsided grin, “you were just kidnapped by some instincts...”

Agatha slowly turned her head, feline in motion, raising a perfectly bored eyebrow.

“If that’s your attempt at flirting, Tony, you’re rustier than I remember.”

“Just trying to figure out why our favorite candidate disappeared for nearly two hours during such a crucial dinner for her own campaign,” he glanced around the room, then looked back at her. “What could’ve been so urgent that kept you so occupied?”

Her jaw tightened, the blood felt like it rushed up to her temples.

"This is none of your business, Stark," she said, holding his gaze, holding her posture. "Stay out of things you don’t understand."

"I understand enough," he leaned in slightly, and the tone shifted—lower, dirtier. "And what I don’t know… I imagine."

The nausea rose like a dry wave.

"Tony," she cut in, firm, "Stop."

But he didn’t.

"It’s just… you seem different. A little off your axis, I’d say. I know you, Agatha."

"Of course you do." She shrugged, playing it off. "You’ve always been a great parasite, haven’t you?"

He smiled, unfazed by the hostility.

"Look at that. Still got venom in that tongue, I see."

Then came the pause. Heavy, lazy, poisoned and for a moment, his smile faded.

"I don’t deserve to be treated like this," he said, calm, but with a melancholic undercurrent. "Not after everything I did for you."

Agatha stared at him, cold sweat on her spine.

"Tony, you promised."

"Well," he smiled again. "Seems plans have changed."

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him, like she could kill him with the weight of her contempt.

But she couldn’t.

"A dinner," she hissed through clenched teeth. "That’s all you’re getting."

Tony looked pleased.

"Friday, then?"

She didn’t answer.

Just turned on her heel and walked away. Her wine glass trembled in her hand.

She moved as fast as she could. The nausea clawing up her throat made her want to throw up. Dealing with Tony as part of her past had always been in the plan—but still, Agatha wasn’t a robot without feelings.

She stopped in a more isolated corner of the room and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the future.

On her victory.

She had given everything to get where she was. She had risked so much.

And it couldn’t fall apart. Not because of Stark, or Barkley, or…

You.

Especially not you.

"You’ve been running from me since you got here."

Lilia’s voice came from behind, thick with her usual sarcasm and a hint of red wine.

Agatha took a breath, lifted her chin, and turned to her friend.

"I’m avoiding you, not running."

Lilia smiled with her mouth, but not with her eyes.

"Oh, great! Because that’s so much healthier!"

"Tony Stark’s looking at you like he wants to rip your suit off with his teeth, and you’ve got that face of someone who’s seen a ghost."

"Maybe I have."

"Maybe you really have." She said it while looking at Agatha in a strange way that made her frown, but Lilia ignored it, of course.

"You know he’s not gonna stop, right? Stark. He’s convinced you’re either his next trophy."

"I don’t want him."

She was tired of saying this a hundred times to everyone who asked.

God…

She despised him.

"I’m not saying you do. I’m just saying… three years, Agatha. You haven’t let anyone near you since Thanos died. Maybe it’s time."

"For what?"

"To fuck, for fuck’s sake." Lilia took a dramatic sip of wine. "Even if it’s charity for your own body. With Tony or any other idiot."

The nausea hit before Agatha could even form a response. Her stomach twisted, literally.

She tried to breathe, but the memory was already there.

Thanos.

The empty nights.

His weight on her.

Too-hot skin, thick sweat, the sharp smell of booze and some cologne that was always too strong.

The way he touched her like he was performing a ritual. With no affection, no care. Like she was just a body next to the bed and nothing more.

For years, she thought the problem was her.

Cold. Hard. Impossible to love.

But now… now she knew it wasn’t that. Because tonight, with you—the girl she swore to keep at arm’s length—something different happened.

She remembered the sound of your breath near her ear, the way your body fit against hers with hunger and tenderness all at once.

The way she dominated you without you even needing to ask. No. Agatha did it because she wanted to. Because your little face was too pretty to not be marked by her.

Your surrender.

The way you called her mommy, voice trembling and submissive and how it set off something inside her she didn’t even know existed.

She felt more with you than in twenty-five years of marriage to a man she never loved.

And worse: now that she knew what it was like to be touched with real desire, there was no pretending anything else would do.

"You’re quiet," she noted. "Which for you is basically a confession." She raised her brows. "Is there someone, candidate?"

God… Agatha had forgotten how annoying Lilia could be.

She swallowed hard, trying to hide her expression.

Agatha rolled her eyes and exhaled, giving up.

"You’re drunk."

Lilia was still watching, of course she was.

"And you look completely fucked," Lilia shot back, grinning with wicked glee. "I know you can’t even picture Stark touching you." She admitted it in a tipsy mess, but it was sincere.

Agatha didn’t reply, she didn’t need to.

Silence was Agatha Harkness’s loudest confession.

Lilia leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Whoever it is… the one who left you like this. With that face like something finally cracked…" she raised her glass. "I hope they’ve got a pretty name and a real address."

Agatha turned her face away, but a name was there.

Pounding inside her.

Yours.

[…]

The doorknob turned with a soft click.

Agatha entered the room in silence, slipping off her shoes with the automatic care of someone who’d done this a hundred times in hotels that never felt like home.

The room still smelled like perfume and freshly used sheets.

Your perfume.

The one she bought for you.

So you’d smell the way she wanted, like an extension of her taste, her desire.

The soft light from the corner lamp barely traced your form, lying on your side, one leg uncovered, your hair in a wild mess over her pillow.

"Look at you," she murmured, voice rough, tinged with alcohol and something darker. "Sleeping like a saint, while I…"

You slept like you had no demons to face, like you hadn’t turned someone’s night into an emotional earthquake.

Agatha closed the door with a gentle push and leaned her back against it for a moment.

She didn’t finish.

Her eyes drifted up, taking you in with a venomous mix of frustration and envy.

How could you do it? How could you mess everything up and then sleep like this? Like guilt didn’t cling to your bones?

"You don’t feel the weight of anything, do you?" She said, slowly walking toward the bed. She took off her blazer, tossed it onto the chair, getting naked in front of you again. "Must be nice, living like that. No conscience. No scars."

She stopped beside you. Watched. Your face was peaceful, and soft.

Long lashes rested on warm skin, and your slightly open mouth held an indecent flush.

Agatha sighed, feeling the anger melt, as it always did when she got too close to you.

She knelt by the bed. Her fingers hesitating, reaching forward to touch your hair with almost reverent gentleness.

"You’re a problem," she whispered, more to herself than to you. "But… fuck, what a beautiful problem."

She stroked a loose strand.

Then another.

It took her a while to get up, to decide it was enough. Without making a sound, she circled the bed and lay down beside you.

The mattress gave under her, her body sinking into the warm softness of the sheets still carrying the scent of the two of you.

She didn’t touch you.

Not yet.

But she lay there, eyes open to the ceiling, feeling the weight of every choice from the night burn against her skin.

Your scent on the pillow.

Your warmth beside her.

Your old whisper still echoing in the back of her mind:

'Mommy'

Agatha closed her eyes, finally surrendering and slept.

~*~

Hmmm... What about you guys creating theories already? I mean, If I were you, I would...

Tag List <3

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[theskeptileptic]

Has anyone done a fic where Tim Drake is Jimmy Olsen? Like, let’s say he runs away as a kid (for reasons), goes to Metropolis, meets Lois investigating the same dirty politician. She invites him to intern at the Planet as a photographer. He meets Clark, and knowing his secret identity, tries not to get close. But Lois keeps inviting him over and Clark keeps trying to bond with the mysterious, risk-taking kid that reminds him a lot of his other mysterious, risk-taking colleague.

In the meantime, Batman is trying to figure out where the Drake heir disappeared to. The Drakes’ lawyers can’t settle the estate if they can’t find the primary beneficiary. And a letter saying “Just give it all to Mr. Wayne, please, he’ll know what to do with it” doesn’t count since the “Tim Drake” signature isn’t. notarized.

Bruce is kicking himself that he was so rude to Tim last time they talked. Dick thinks he probably shouldn’t have turned the kid away when he showed up in Bludhaven.

Metropolis is very different from Gotham. But Tim’s got a lot more to worry about than rogues, with the being homeless, dying his hair red, and avoiding two investigative reporters trying to rope him into game nights and free dinner because “my God, Clark, he’s too tiny.”