#crosspost

[watercups]

aikazira

[stationed-here]

sings a chorus out of tune~🎶

(textless version!)

[sweesou]

This is the abridged version I had to cut some dialogue so it would fit that's why the pace is weird

[riotgurlll]

ׂ╰┈➤ SUCKER PUNCH! ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁

Chapter One: Knuckle Sandwich

MIKE WHEELER X NOBODY!READER.

↳ in which a loser boy meets an even bigger loser girl.

𖤓 ch.1 CONTENTS: reader is described as chubby, unfortunately I do use Y/n for simplicity sake I’m sorry, mentions of bullying, awkwardness, friendlessness, eventual yearning, shitty nerd x grumpy loner trope, silliness, 80’s, physical violence, mentions of blood and slight gore..? (Scrapes n’ stuff like that), verbal bullying, talking poorly about oneself, 

𖤓NOTE: This doesn’t focus on canon lore for the most part, I wanted a more domestic approach because it’s simpler and can be seen as some sort of filler. This can either take place before or after the events of season 5, honestly it’s up to you guys?

I do want to turn this into some sort of actual fanfic, so I’m writing the ‘pilot’ chapter as some sort of test, just to see if you guys are interested! Anyways, I’ve always been a Mike girl, and I haven’t seen much for him here on tumblr OR anywhere else, so here goes nothing.

I WILL BE UPLOADING THIS TO WATTPAD AS WELL! I like wattpads formatting :)

CH.2

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

THE bell rang louder than hell, its shrill cry rattling against the white brick walls like it was echoing through a prison block. The sound bounced endlessly down the hallway, drilling straight into your skull and leaving a dull ache behind your eyes.

You snapped out of your bored trance in the back of Calc, blinking like you’d just woken up. Groggily, you reached for your bag, shoving folders and your pencil pouch inside without even looking. Loose papers bent and slid crookedly into the leather satchel, corners sticking out at awkward angles. You didn’t bother fixing them. You flipped the top closed, the worn clasp clicking softly, and stood as the rest of the class filed out.

The room emptied in single file, chairs scraping against linoleum and the teacher’s voice already lost to the noise outside. You followed, lingering behind just enough to avoid the rush, slipping into the hallway last.

The corridors were already packed—waves of denim jackets, varsity sweaters, and teased hair moving as one mass toward the cafeteria.

 Giggles, loud laughter, and half-yelled conversations bounced around you, the sound thick and overwhelming. Someone brushed past your shoulder, another nearly clipped your arm, but no one apologized.

Your face stayed flat, unreadable. One hand tightened around the strap of your old cross-body bag, the leather cracked and soft from years of use, as you shuffled through the crowd like a walking corpse. Step by step, you drifted toward your locker, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the smell of floor cleaner and cafeteria food mixing in the air.

Lunch. Just another stretch of time to get through.

The clicking as you entered the locker code was drowned out by all the commotion behind you—friends gathering with friends, girlfriends gathering with boyfriends. What was different about the painful high school experience for your senior year? Absolutely butt fuck nothing. Everything was still the same, and unfortunately, that went for you too.

You swung the door open at the same time you opened your bag again, taking out irrelevant folders and a binder, those classes now over for the day. You replaced them with your English supplies, sighing as you slammed the door shut. God, you just wanted to go home. There was nothing you hated more than high school—this school, specifically.

It was a sudden slam against the metal lockers that made you want to daydream about moving far away, about getting a clean slate. What would be a nice state to live in? You debated California, maybe South Carolina. You looked at the perpetrator—the one responsible for thundercunting you into your poor locker.

Veronica… fucking Veronica Steel.

Her obnoxiously permed brunette curls and loud purple eyeshadow matched her bangles and comically large earrings. She let out a snide giggle, clutching her books to her chest while her posse behind her shared the same laugh.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself!” she started. You rolled your eyes. Not again. (Of course again.)

While you waited for her to continue, you picked up on a group of geeks walking around you and Veronica—one with a curly mullet muttering something to the likes of, “Jesus… lucky it isn’t us, huh?” with a slight lisp to his friends, an old Hellfire shirt on. Whatever. Yeah, you should be fucking ecstatic that the meanest bitch you’ve ever met doesn’t make your life a living hell.

Veronica’s grating voice snapped you out of your bitter jealousy—wishing you were able to just walk by like those randos were. You knew they got their fair share of bullying, but Veronica was just unmatched.

“You know how shitty these lockers are… it needed something heavy enough to keep it shut!” She laughed. She gave you a shrug, and suddenly you felt your blood boil over.

“Yeah, tell me about it. You must get it, though, right?” You faked a genuine reply.

She and her friends gave you a confused look, mixed with disgust, as if they were appalled you spoke back to them today.

“Yeah, might wanna lay off the protein bars, Steel… catching up to me there.” You shrugged, voice flat. She scoffed, looking to their friends as they immediately started to pamper her.

“She’s crazy, Ronnie!” “And you’re fit—don’t even trip.”

You rolled your eyes again, shaking your head. Can they just fucking move? You just wanted to eat lunch.

“Whatever, watch your back, lardass,” she spat. With a quick spin on her heels, her friends followed as she sauntered to her Spanish class. It was like a weight lifted off your shoulders. You couldn’t help but cringe at the pain in your jaw where it had collided with your locker door. 

Your fingers brushed the tender spot, brows knitting as the pain finally caught up with you. Your other hand dropped to your side. You didn’t look at anyone. You didn’t need to.

—

PURPLE and red bloomed in the reflective glass.

You leaned back in the chair behind the record shop counter, jaw tilted toward the reflection on the display shelf, the bruise splotched across your skin like it had been waiting for you to notice it. What a bitch. 

Blondie echoed throughout Afterglow Records. Your pen scratching at the crossword puzzle on today’s newspaper that the owner lazily tossed onto the counter that morning and hadn’t bothered to throw away. 

Fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, reflecting off the glass display cases that housed cassettes, tapes, and a few rare vinyl singles behind a counter cluttered with stickers and faded posters. The walls were a riot of color: band posters plastered from floor to ceiling—Metallica, The Cure, Madonna, Prince—some peeling at the edges, others layered over older promotions so thick the old paper sometimes cracked under your fingers. 

A rack of new releases spun lazily near the door, while deeper inside, the “used vinyl” bins were carefully organized but smelled faintly of dust and coffee, a testament to the shop’s age and character.

The vinyl on the record player at the counter scratched gently as ‘Call Me’ played throughout the shop. One thing you loved about working at Afterglow was that when you were clocked in, you got to play whatever you wanted. Your foot kicked to the beat as you propped your legs up on a clear space on the counter, pondering about who the Rolling Stones Frontman was… Six letter word…

You chewed your gum quizzically: mind blanking on the name. Before you could dig yourself farther into the hole that was a brain fart, you heard the bells above the entrance door jingle. You peeled your eyes off the back of the paper, clocking the familiar faces that walked in. 

It was the guys from earlier, the ones that thanked whoever was listening that they weren’t you. 

The door jingled as Lucas and Dustin stepped into Afterglow Records. “I still don’t get why you think Spider-Man’s better than Batman,” Lucas said, grabbing a comic off the display. “Because Spider-Man’s relatable! He’s funny, he messes up, and he actually has a life outside fighting bad guys,” Dustin shot back, holding up a copy of Amazing Spider-Man like it was sacred. Lucas rolled his eyes. 

“Relatable? Please. Batman has gadgets, style, and actual villains who aren’t just giant green lizards or random henchmen.”

Dustin waved his hands dramatically. “Style doesn’t mean anything if your life sucks all the time! Peter Parker actually matters to people!”

Their petty argument faded out as Mike looked automatically at who was behind the register—and to his surprise, it was you. The girl everyone had see around school but never spoke to. What was your name again? 

He swallowed as your eyes were already on his. Not in a strange way, no. He was a little taken aback at your expression. Your eyes were half-lidded, sharp and unimpressed, like you’d  seen too much and wasn’t interested in seeing more. He looked away, directing his focus to the posters on the wall.  You did the same, looking back at the paper you held in your hands. “Welcome in.” You yell out above the music with a flat tone. 

“Duuude, they have Megadeth cassettes!” Dustin exclaimed, running over to look through the displayed options. Lucas joined him, intrigued. Meanwhile, Mike just looked around, taking in the scenery. 

He wandered further into the shop, letting his fingers ghost over the edges of vinyl sleeves. Posters and stacks of records towered around him, each corner smelling faintly of dust and coffee, a mixture that somehow felt comforting. He picked up a few random albums, flipping them over to check the liner notes, occasionally glancing at the little display crates for anything that caught his eye.

Then he spotted it. A pristine copy of The Cure. He lifted it carefully, tracing the letters on the cover with his fingertips, appreciating the moody, dark artwork. A small smile tugged at his lips—this was exactly the kind of record he’d been hoping to find.

And then he noticed you. Behind the counter, you glanced up, eyes dry, cool and detached, but somehow…unflinchingly aware of him. Mike blinked. He hadn’t known you worked here. It didn’t even occur to him that someone like you could have a day job at a place like this—you seemed almost entirely removed from the world around you. That realization made him think: you were even farther down the loner tier than he had ever been. You weren’t paying them any mind, didn’t even glance at the argument Lucas and Dustin were having in the background. You existed in your own orbit, and Mike, holding The Cure like a treasure, stood there with his eyes glued to the bruise on your jaw. 

The next song on the record started to play as you went back to minding your business. 

Mike wheeler… One of Hawkins’ notorious nerds. You had remembered him from your freshman year science class, but the two of you never interacted. Both of you, including his friends, were treated like shit by  the Hawkins Hot-Shots: and yet, you weren’t even on his level. Not that you minded, but you knew realistically that it was pathetic. Whatever, you respected it: it was nice to know that even losers could find a group of people that they’d be close with. You were just waiting—watching the clock as if at a fixed point in time you’d be blessed with a nice group of friends. Bull.

His tall, lanky form walking up to the counter snapped you out of your thoughts. Looking up once more, and I mean really looking up—cuz damn this kid had gotten tall as the years went by—you swung and planted your feet on the floor, setting the paper down and sitting up straight. “So, The Cure?” You asked, offering out your hand to take the record. His brain stalls for a moment before he nodded. “Uh—yeah- yeah.” 

You gave him a look before putting the vinyl carefully into a paper bag. “It’ll be 10 bones.” You nod your head at his stupid Fanny pack. He gave you a confused look. “Uhm.. huh?” 

“…ten dollars?” You reply slowly giving him an expecting look, and you can see the way he mentally face palms at how he didn’t clock that. God, what was getting into him? Were you really that intimidating that he couldn’t focus, or what? Your voice snapped him out of it. “It’s a standard LP, new release. Since it isn’t used, it’s more.”

Mike couldn’t quite clock it, so he just shook his head and rushed to grab the ten from the pack. “Right—yeah, of course. Sorry..” he awkwardly stammered. He handed you the crumpled up cash and you gave him a look, judgey simply based on habit. You take it and give him change back, breaking the twenty. After you put the cash in the register, you slide the bag to him with a sigh. “S’all yours.” 

He nodded, eyes locked on you for a second too long as he took the bag. He looked over at his friends, now arguing about music instead of comics. He shook his head and looked back at you. “Uhm, I didn’t know you worked here.” He started, trying to make conversation.

He hated to admit it, but he kind of felt bad for you. He knew he shouldn’t: partially because he knew that being classified as a ‘loser’ wasn’t always a bad thing, and partially because he had a sneaking feeling that if you found out about the pity, you’d beat him up or something. 

That was kind of just the vibe you gave off. No one spoke to you, both because of your established social status and because of the intimidating, unapproachable energy that radiated off of you. Ever since kids started making fun of you for your weight or your lack of friends, you became colder and colder to the world. You weren’t sure why you were so put off all the time, but it had just grown to be normal. After so long, you didn’t even want friends anymore—so when freshman year came around, you sort of just gave in. If the rest of the world wants to label you as some tubby loner, then so be it. You were content.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You nodded slowly. “Yep..” you drawled out. “I’ve been working here since the middle of junior year… not too long I guess. Never see you come in, that’s probably why.” You point out. Mike knew you had a point: he never came in here, maybe once or twice because Nancy dragged him inside, but those were times where you weren’t working. 

A thick silence fell over the both you as he felt himself grow more and more awkward. Gosh, why was it hard to talk to you? Loser or not, he felt like you just were not interested in small talk… probably because you weren’t. 

He looked out the tall windows at the front of the shop, watching as people walked by in groups of at least three, holding shopping bags. A group of kids rode past on bikes down the road, getting in peoples ways. If it weren’t for the music, he’d be able to hear the way the older man with the brief case outside swore at them.

“Anyway… you ever do crosswords?”

Mike blinked. “Uh… yeah, I guess?”

You nudged the newspaper toward him, pointing at a question near the top of the page. “Frontman of the Rolling Stones. Six letters.”

He squinted at the puzzle, lips twitching as he thought. You leaned back again, arms crossed, watching him struggle without saying a word, the faint hum of Blondie in the background.

“…Jagger,” he said finally, almost like a whisper, as if afraid to be wrong.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing with a subtle smirk, and the corner of your mouth twitched ever so slightly. “Correct,” you said dryly, almost as if it were an afterthought, before returning to your crossword and the soft scratch of the record spinning behind you. “Thanks, dweeb.”

The bell above the door jingled faintly somewhere in the distance, but you didn’t look up. Everything else—the world, the chaos, the noise—could wait. It was just you and your precious crossword puzzle. 

-

You went home that night like you always did, bomber jacket zipped up tight as the air crept colder. When you stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapped around you. From the kitchen, your mom called out over the sound of running water, finishing up the dinner dishes.

“There’s a plate in the fridge for you—meatloaf and carrots.”

She set a plate onto the drying rack beside the sink. You nodded out of habit, even though she couldn’t see you.

You dropped your bag onto the sofa and headed for the cramped kitchen, brushing past your mother as you opened the fridge. That’s when you noticed her freeze. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the way she did a double take.

“For Christ’s sake—what happened to your face?” she gasped.

Before you could react, cold, damp hands were at your jaw and neck, tilting your head toward the light. She stared at the bruise like it had personally insulted her. You winced at the touch, pulling away with a grimace.

“Jeez, Mom, relax,” you muttered.

“I lost grip of a box at work today,” you lied quickly, peeling the plastic wrap from your plate and shoving it into the microwave. It’s fine. You could practically hear her calling bullshit in her head, and you avoided her gaze, focusing instead on the slow rotation of the plate as the microwave hummed. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, waiting for the timer.

“What happened to whose face?” your dad’s voice cut in as he wandered into the kitchen.

“Your daughter’s,” your mom said, already turning back to the sink. “She dropped a box on herself.”

Your dad chuckled, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You clenched your jaw. God, you hated that. “Clumsy ass,” he teased, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Language,” your mom warned.

He cracked the bottle open and took a swig. “How was your day, kid?” You shrugged, exhaling through your nose. “It was okay. Got a good grade on the test I was freaking out about.” He patted your shoulder in approval before heading toward the living room. A moment later, you heard something thump against the floor.

Right. Your bag. You’d put it in his spot.

After you finished eating, you got ready for bed, letting the heat of the shower soak into your bones. The steam filled the bathroom as you stood there, shampoo worked deep into your scalp, scrubbing like you could wash the day away.

Your thoughts drifted back to earlier—to the Afterglow.

You’d seen him there. Mike. Yeah—Mike Wheeler. He and his friends from the D&D club. You sighed, letting your hands fall to your sides as you just stood there and let the water rain down on you, rinsing away the shampoo. You hadn't ever spoken to him, not that you could recall-- well, besides today. He was weird, you thought. Not necessarily in a bad way, just... Strange. Even with that in your head, you couldn't help but wish you had a group of friends like he did. It would be nice... And with that, you started to imagine what it would be like if you were, well... not you. You conjured up fake friends, put yourself in already existing friend groups. You hated that you did that, but sometimes that's the only way you could find comfort in your day to day life. You told yourself you didn't need friends, but deep down you yearned for connection.

You rinsed the soap from your hair, eyes closed, trying to push the memory down with the rest of the day’s garbage.

You had no idea then that tomorrow would be so much worse.

THE next day at your lunch period, you slide into your designated table at lunch, shoved against the wall like it’s been reserved for permanent solitude. Tray clatters softly against the scratched plastic surface, but you barely notice. Alone.

Peace..

--Until Veronica Steel spots you. Her posse follows like shadows, heels clicking on linoleum, laughter trailing behind her.

“Hey, loser,” Veronica sneers, leaning on your table. “What are you doing all alone? Waiting for someone to notice you?” her voice is filled with faux pity.

You shrug, calm and unflinching. “Just enjoying some peace and quiet until your lame ass showed up.”

Veronica smirks, folding her arms. “At least I don’t sit around pretending to be better than everyone else,” she snaps, voice sharp, trying to land a blow in return. You meet her glare evenly. “Yeah? At least I don’t sleep with my friends’ boyfriends.” You flick a glance at Kathy, letting it land.

Time freezes. Veronica’s smirk disappears, replaced with a flash of shock. Kathy gasps, eyes wide, mouth opening slightly.

“What—?” Veronica hisses, stunned.

“What?” Kathy blurts at the exact same moment, voice small, confused, eyes darting between the two of you. “Yep, I was at that party last weekend, Steel. Saw you and Kathy’s boy toy goin’ at it in his Mercedes..” you cringed.

You knew that saying that was a mistake the second you saw Veronica's expression settle in. You also knew you weren't even supposed to be at that party--you snuck in uninvited cuz' you wanted free booze. It was worth it, but you did have to pay the price of witnessing that shit show.

Veronica’s shock quickly twists into rage. Her fingers clamp onto your collar, yanking you up slightly as her jaw tightens. Before you can react further, her fist connects with your jaw, the impact sharp and immediate. Your head snaps sideways; pain blooms hot and bright. Gasps ripple through the cafeteria. The blow on the same spot you had a gnarly bruise sending you backwards against the bench seat, hardly keeping yourself from falling over.

“You think it’s funny stating rumors, bitch?” Veronica snarls through clenched teeth, every word trembling with fury.

You touch your jaw, grimace tugging faintly at your expression despite the sting. Veronica finally releases your collar, breathing hard, but then her eyes soften slightly as she turns toward Kathy, brushing a hand down her friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Kathy… you know I’d never do anything like that, you're my best friend.” she says, voice carefully sweet, consoling, the performance of innocence perfect. Kathy swallows, nodding slowly, still unsure but reassured—or at least distracted from your comment.

From across the cafeteria, Mike Wheeler and his friends freeze mid bite, eyes wide along everyone else.. Mike’s fists twitch as he watches the scene unfold, caught between instinct and caution, while Dustin whispers frantically to Lucas, and Max frowns, shaking her head. All they can do is watch.

“Isn’t that the girl from the record shop yesterday?” Dustin whispers to Mike. Lucas nods along as Michael just watches. He felt a familiar pang of guilt rack over his body as he watch the brutal scene unfold. He could practically feel the embarrassment you must have felt, with everyone’s eyes on you like that..?

“Veronica is such a bitch.” Max mumbles.

The cafeteria hums with whispers and murmurs, but here, at your corner table, all you can feel is the heat of Veronica’s glare and threats. 

“Hey!” A staff member yelled through gritted teeth. The woman grabbed Veronica by the sweater and yanked her away from you. “That’s enough! Steel, are you crazy?!” She scolded, mentioning something about the cheer team and how this could get in the way of some scholarship. Veronica whined about how ‘cruel’ and ‘mean’ you had been, starting rumors about her and her private life. It was all bullshit. 

Your ears rung as the panic set in, palms sweating. You could feel everyone's eyes on you... you could hear the laughing, the whispers. The sound of Veronica complaining and defending herself faded away as all you could do was look around: back at everyone looking at you. This was a mess.

Well, eventually the staff member dragged Veronica to the principles office, and you were taken to the nurses office by a lunch lady that the woman called over. Turns out that staff lady was actually her Aunt, and long story short Veronica got let off with a warning and you both got detention. Her, for physically assaulting you: You, for telling the truth. (but apparently it was a rumor now, since little miss Veronica Steel always got her way.)

You sat outside the nurses office on a broken chair, the back snapped in half because some jock tried to crack his back over it. You have an ice pack pressed against your jaw, now twice more painful and bruising worse by the minute. Your bag was next to you as you waited for the lunch bell to be over. God, why does time go so slow at times like this? You debated leaving, sneaking out of school and running off literally anywhere but here. You knew you couldn't... That you shouldn't, because not only would you most likely get suspended but your parents would also blow a gasket.

“Are you good?”

The voice pulls you out of your spiraling thoughts. You look up to see a girl standing a few steps away, red hair catching the fluorescent hallway lights as well as the sunlight that shined in through the glass doors down the hall that lead to the courtyard. Headphones rest loosely around her neck, and she’s holding a juice box in one hand, the straw still still taped to the side.

You don’t answer right away.

Do you look good? The question almost makes you scoff, but you keep it to yourself. As stupid as it sounds, you can tell she’s not trying to pry—just trying to be kind.

“Uh,” you mumble finally, eyes dropping to the table. “Could be better.” She nods, awkward but understanding. “Right…”

There’s a pause. Then she shifts her weight and holds out the juice box, offering it like an olive branch.

“My name’s Max,” she says. “Um, I noticed you didn’t really have time to finish your lunch, so… I saved you mine.” You glance back up at her, really looking this time. Max. The name settles somewhere in your memory, fuzzy but familiar. You hesitate, then take the juice box anyway.

“Thanks,” you murmur, fingers curling around the cool cardboard.

Before either of you can say anything else, the bell rings—loud and sharp, slicing through the cafeteria noise. Chairs scrape back, voices rise, and suddenly everyone is moving at once.

Max winces. “Guess that’s it,” she says, slipping her headphones back around her neck.

“Yeah,” you reply, already standing. You sling your bag over your shoulder, the knot in your stomach tightening. The thought of walking into class with everyone—feeling their eyes, their whispers—makes your chest feel too tight. Max looks a bit confused as to why you're heading towards the doors that lead outside. "Where- Where are you going?"

"literally anywhere else. "

As the bell’s echo fades behind you, you let out a slow breath. Anything was better than facing a room full of people right now.

𓏲ּ𝄢🎼ılılıll|̲̅̅●̲̅̅|̲̅̅=̲̅̅|̲̅̅●̲̅̅| llılılı🎼

Chapter 2?

yes

nah

Voting ended onDec 22, 2025

[keiosity]

Sweetest Poison | Silco (Arcane)

PART ONE, part two, part three

SUMMARY: Sevika suggests Silco to visit a brothel to relieve some stress. Against his better judgement, he heeds her words. Upon asking to pick his poison, Silco requested something different. He never thought poison could be so sweet. And now that he had a taste, he wanted more.

CONTENT: Age Gap, Age Difference, Brothels, Sex work, Sex worker! Reader-insert, Touch-starved Silco, Sexual Roleplay, Possessive behavior, PIV sex, Oral sex (fem receiving), Roleplaying, kinda ooc silco but he's just committed to the bit

RATING: EXPLICIT

WC: 7K

AO3 LINK: Sweetest Poison

────────────── ★ ───────────────

Out of all places, this was the last place Silco expected himself to be in.

Madam Babette's Brothel has an ulterior reputation long established since Vander’s time, and everyone in Zaun knows what kinds of acts they perform. The services they offer to those curious enough to get a taste. The selection varied, but it's up to the client to choose what kind of poison they wanted to drink. But Silco didn't have the time to choose, he wasn't supposed to be here in the first place.

It wasn't the fact he had a negative regard on this line of work. If anything, he has cordial ties with Madam Babette and her long-standing business. It takes one ambitious individual to acknowledge another, and despite their differences, Silco can respect her standards. And as far as he knew, all of the people working for her were well taken care of.

At least, that's what Sevika unnecessarily told him.

You would've thought he'd run the moment he entered the establishment, but Silco was not a coward who felt shame upon visiting a brothel. He might have a reputation as the Eye of Zaun, but that meant exactly what it entailed. He could get whatever he wanted. He could hardly care less if anyone he knew saw him. Not that they had the power to use the information against him anyway.

If they were to talk about what conspired here, then he'd simply do whatever means necessary to ensure that would be the last time they'll ever do so. After all, his purpose here was simple—to simply release his frustrations—and isn't that what everyone here was after?

He was still a man after all.

A man who kept this city afloat from sinking beneath the depths of Piltover. A man who carried the weight of his past and lives haunted by it. A man who barely let anyone get close just to ensure his enemies won't reach him. A man, while perfectly composed on the outside, who'd snap at any given moment if someone dared to test his patience further.

And that was the reason why Sevika suggested the idea.

Recently, he was quick to lash out.

He didn't have the patience to bear all of Marcus’ negotiations. The recent Chem-Baron meeting ended up with his fist slamming against the table, and insulting everyone for their incompetency. He was harsher on Jinx whenever she acted out of line again. And of course, his right hand was the first to notice. She was always by his side after all.

“You know, Silco. I’m starting to think your frustration isn’t because of them.”

He pierced her a narrowed stare, daring her to elaborate. “Where do you think it’s from then?”

“You’re a man. You can figure it out.”

“Oh, no. Do tell.”

Sevika met his gaze, she was the only person who could rightfully do so. “You need to fuck it out of your system. Pick someone from the brothel. Get fucking laid. Maybe then you wouldn't make it everyone's problems.”

“And you think I'm just someone who'll do such a thing?” Silco cannot believe the idea at first, he could almost laugh at her face. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need their services.”

For a while, Sevika didn't say anything.

Until—

“That's a shame,” The taller woman shrugged, breaking off the stare to head towards the door. “I've already talked to Babette. She'll be expecting you tonight.”

Rarely did Sevika step out of her line to even provoke such conservation with him, so he figured why not let it slip?

And he did admit.

It has been a long time since he has the time to welcome a carnal encounter.

As a man who busied himself with power and worked in the intricacies of control over Zaun, it wasn't his top priority to worry about. It had crossed his mind before, but rarely did he indulge in the thought. Not when he had other more important matters to worry about.

“Silco, what a pleasant surprise.”

He crossed a leg and leaned back on the couch, inclining his head to acknowledge the approaching Yordle.

“Madam,” Silco kept his tone neutral, tracking her figure leisurely. “Indeed. I have yet to grace my presence here. I can only assume you weren't expecting my company.”

Madam Babette sat herself across from him, pursing her thin lips. “All clients are welcome. Your right hand is a frequent patron of mine, after all.”

Of course she is.

He frowned, very aware of the fact. “Then, you must know this was her idea?”

The Madam nodded, releasing the smoke from her pipe. “She did drop by earlier to… warn me you were coming. Gave me specific instructions too. No other clients can come in once you've arrived. Don't give the same girls she bought. And make sure you're satisfied by the end of the night.”

Silco hummed, mildly impressed by Sevika's effort of making him comfortable.

“I believe that is sufficient.”

“Good. Is there anything that interests you?”

“What have you to offer?”

“Many,” Madam Babette quipped, pride evident in her tone. “You’ll find unique talents and beauties here. But I need to know your preferences. Man, woman, human, or not. As we all say here, pick your poison.”

Dangerous words to offer to a man like him.

Any desperate fool would have chosen the most beautiful one here. Or the most popular one. Someone who knew what to do with their hands or mouth. Perhaps an ideal preference on their body. But his tastes were far more different. He didn't just want anyone here. Not the deadliest poison, or the finest one.

Tonight, he wanted something new.

“Sweet,” That was the first thing that came to mind. “I'm looking for someone who can submit easily. Someone who won't test my patience and disobey. I've had enough headaches dealing with barons. I want your sweetest poison.”

From the sight of the Madam's knowing gaze, Silco knew she already had someone in mind.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

You saw him when he entered the Madam’s room.

Hard not to notice when everyone else was already talking about it in hushed surprise. As if seeing the Eye of Zaun walking in a brothel was completely taboo. It almost was, until it actually happened. However, seeing Silco here didn't surprise you as much. After all, he was a man who could get anything he wanted. So if he wanted to spend a night here, then he could easily do so right?

No one will dare question it.

But the fact that he has never been here before raised questions amongst everyone.

Was he here for business or for pleasure?

What kind of poison was he looking for?

Who would he choose?

Will he come back?

Everyone was well-aware of what kind of a man Silco became after he had killed Vander and took over the Lanes.

Unforgiving, untouchable, and unpredictable.

A very powerful man who could snap his finger and have anyone he wanted dead.

So why would he be here?

You were just curious as everyone else, who wouldn't be?

For many years you've lived under the Madam's rooftop, you've only heard stories about his calibre. Never once have you seen him in person, and you only pictured a detailed graphic version of him from the stories you heard. Until tonight. It was only a glimpse, but it was enough to sense the absolute power he exuded with each step he took.

Whatever he was here for, he was bound to get it without question.

Answers. Leverage. Pleasure.

Maybe he'd want someone like Leya, a fierce and clever woman who could rival his wit in conversation or in bed. Or maybe someone as unpredictable as Mavine, who garnered a reputation for overpowering her clients. Or perhaps a man like Roan—cunning, sly, and knew the right words to rile someone up. They were Madam's most popular poisons after all.

So when you heard knocks on your door, dread filled your body.

She chose you.

No.

He chose you.

Adjusting your dress in the mirror, you took measured steps towards your door and opened it fully to see two figures standing outside.

The Madam and the Kingpin.

You made eye contact immediately with the latter, meeting a mismatched stare that sent shivers down your spine like a warning. One the color of calm waters, the kind that gleamed seafoam underneath a cerulean sky. The other, the infamous Eye you’ve heard, was pure molten heat surrounded by darkness.

And you felt the dread turn into shame.

Despite the warnings you've heard before, the countless stories about the Eye being a horrid monster, he was handsome. Unfairly so. Older, but still capable of attracting any attention he wanted. Sharp features, neatly groomed, and impressively tall. If he wasn't wearing that scowl on his face, maybe you would've appreciated his beauty more.

Silco appraised you silently, not a slip of emotion seen through his cold countenance.

His eye, the sea-green one, never went past your chin. He didn't pay attention to the glimmering dress you wore for the night, or the deep cut that flaunted your cleavage, intent to fix you a calculative stare that pieced you apart.

You lowered your head, stepping aside to welcome them into your private room.

“Madam. Sir. What an honor to have you both here.”

You kept your head down, but still felt his unwavering stare on you as they entered the room.

Madam Babette shuffled inside, glancing up at you with a calm smile. The sight always eased you, the Madam has always been kind to you ever since she took you from the streets and raised you as her own.

“No clients yet?” The Madam questioned, and you shook your head in return. “I'm sorry if this is sudden, dear, but your service is required by our guest here. He specifically asked for you.”

You tried to keep your heartbeat steady, but you can't deny the fact your blood was racing wildly through your veins. He specifically asked for you? Did he know who you were? Or did the Madam recommend you to him after he listed his requirements? The last one seemed the most logical one, but what exactly did he ask of her that made her pick you?

Looking up, you met Silco's gaze again and gulped at the rapt intensity.

“Of course,” You nodded, clasping your hands together and giving him a smile. “Whatever he needs, I'll do my best to cater to them.”

He didn't seem amused nor pleased.

Just bored.

But you saw through him. It wasn't just boredom.

It was something else.

You saw it through the way the muscle in his jaw clenched. The way his shoulders looked so tense, like a coiled snake ready to strike or flee. He might have perfected a calm and collected image of an unimpressed king, but in the eyes of a slave, you saw the same you see in the mirror everyday.

Exhaustion.

Shifting your attention back to the Madam, you watched her study your dress. “You're wearing the gold one. Is the Piltie coming again?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Silco finally blink.

You decided not to acknowledge it.

“He is,” You addressed her, glancing at Silco. “But you can tell him to come back another time, Madam.”

“You have clients from the Topside?” You didn't expect Silco to speak, his words carrying a slight venom at the end. “You allow Topsiders to venture deep into my Lanes, Madam?”

You were about to answer, when Babette spoke up for you.

“Clients are clients, Silco. Plus, they pay a pretty sum for our services. I'd never refuse it. Especially to our sweetheart over here. Most of her clients are from up there.”

She gestured towards you, and Silco turned to sweep his seafoam eye down your figure.

You've never felt so exposed in all your life, but somehow it wasn't unwelcome. His kind of stare wasn't the same lecherous hunger you've received before. A dark curiosity that glinted sharp. And if you prod more, you were afraid to get cut in the process.

“Pilties, hm?” Silco pursed his lips, intrigued. “She will do, Madam. Thank you for your generous assistance.”

Taking that as a sign to leave, the Madam bowed her head and shuffled over to pat your leg.

“Will you be alright, dear?”

“I will, Madam.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, Madam.”

When she was satisfied, you walked her out of your room and locked the door in the process.

Silence.

A dagger-like sensation bore down your back, no doubt Silco’s unflinching stare, and you gathered a long breath before turning around to smile at him.

“Please,” You gestured to the crimson loveseat beside your bed. “Make yourself comfortable, sir.”

Wordlessly, the Eye of Zaun wandered over to the direction and sat down with a sigh.

“At least you have manners,” You watched him pinch his eyebrows, adjusting in his seat. “I can see why the Topsiders like you. A polite little thing like you is a rarity down here.”

There it was again.

The exhaustion.

His tone. His posture. His sardonic words.

Everything screamed of it.

And you wondered if that was the reason for his visit. Maybe he was looking for someone to ease the taut tension from his shoulders. To release it through a fleeting experience. Maybe that's why the Madam chose you for him. Luckily, you've had enough experience dealing with stressed Topsiders to know what you should do.

Stepping forward, you continued to smile to disarm his walls. “Some even doubted I was born here, but I always assured them I'm a Zaunite through and through."

The word Zaunite caught his attention, and perhaps earned a bit more approval.

He regarded you with another hum, looking less apprehensive than before. Still, that line on his shoulders and the small scowl on his features hasn't left.

You were planning to remove it entirely.

“Well?” The Kingpin raised an eyebrow, a slip of impatience peeking through his voice. “Are you just going to stand there and make me wait?”

Oh.

He wasn't just exhausted.

He was frustrated.

Now, you understood why he was here.

Maybe you could use it to your advantage.

You clasped your hands in front of you. “Before we begin, sir. I'd like to inform you of my specific services.”

He didn't answer, so you continued.

“I perform acts,” You slowly made your way over to your closet, a walk-in extension of your room where you could swiftly change in private. “The Pilties seem to like those. Sometimes, I'm a student eager to please their professor. Other times, I'm a dumb little whore they can order around and use as please. Most of the time, it's Enforcers punishing me like I’m a prisoner.”

Before you could disappear into the closet, you looked back over your shoulder with a smile.

“And I think I know the perfect act for you, sir.”

Silco didn't blink, nor did he move to express any discomfort. But you caught the intrigue again, shimmering beneath the seafoam eye of his. It was subtle, barely there if you didn't catch it, but you certainly captured his interest. And for a while, neither of you broke the stare—waiting for the other to break.

Clicking his tongue, Silco waved his hand dismissively. “Fine. Just make it quick.”

You beamed, nodding. “I'll be right back, sir.”

Then, you disappeared through the curtains.

────────────── ★ ───────────────

The moment the door opened, Silco didn't expect someone so young.

No, you were a grown woman.

That much was clear, but you were definitely younger than him. Perhaps no older than thirty. Like all of Madam’s workers, a beautiful one too. But your features were soft, softer than any Zaunite he'd seen. As though you weren't born here at all, until you reassured him otherwise.

And much to his surprise, you were polite.

It was a rare thing to someone like that down here, almost like finding a gem amidst the roughened coals in the mines.

But that was exactly what he was after.

Obedience. Submission. Sweetness.

From what he discovered, most of your clients were Topsiders. Patrons most likely. The Madam slipped it from her question.

Is the Piltie coming again?

You must be someone special for the conceited prudes to keep on coming back for more. And that made him curious. What kind of poison were you to have those Topsiders addicted? Perhaps they were simply bored of their fancy decorum that they decided to seek what they can't have in their high walls. A shameless fuck that wouldn’t tarnish their reputation and name.

Perhaps they wanted a taste of what the Undercity had to offer, and that's why they flocked towards you.

An illusion of the Topside, but with the edges of Zaun. Someone who could easily mold into another person to fit their sick fantasies. Playing into another role to satiate their carnal curiosities. And Silco would just be another curious soul woven into your web.

And an act you said?

He casted a look to the curtains where you disappeared, tapping his finger against the armrest.

Did you mean playing a role like how children pretended they were princesses and knights?

Childish.

But oh so curious.

He greatly expected to be served immediately. A quick release of his frustrations, and he'll be back in his office before an hour's done. No attachments. No promises of his return. A purely transactional business. That's what he was after in the first place. So why was he waiting for it to happen?

Sighing, Silco uncrossed his legs and decided to make a turn around the room.

A queen sized bed with a wooden beamed canopy, plush pillows, and silk sheets.

It's a wonder where you managed to acquire such luxury. Those kinds of fabrics were only ever produced on the Topside. But after discovering your patrons, he figured it must be from them. A very special case indeed. No windows, the only furniture present were a loveseat beside your bed, a chaise lounge at the foot of your bed, and the little make-up station you had at the corner.

Just when Silco could inspect the items on the desk, he heard your footsteps emerge from behind.

“Finally,” He expressed his impatience with a sigh, keeping his back towards you. “I almost thought I wasted my time here–”

“My love.”

The words made him freeze.

Slowly, he turned to look at you.

His good eye widened, taking your new attire.

A silk, white robe with a flowing hem and a bow tied around your waist. With the help of your lamp light, he was able to see through fabric and trace the silhouette of your figure. His fingers twitched. His gaze betrayed him, and before he knew it, it fell dangerously low until it stopped at the hem past your bare hips—

“My love?” You repeated, and it snapped his attention back to your face. “You didn't tell me you were coming home tonight.”

Home?

The Kingpin could only watch you in confusion, stepping back the moment you approached closer.

Was this the act you were referring to?

It might be the case, since you were addressing something so ridiculous. Still, he stayed silent to let the scene unfold—curious and stunned at the unfamiliar play.

You stopped right in front of him, looking up at him through those long lashes. Your lips formed into a small frown that made his skin heat with an indescribable desire.

Then, your hands were trailing up his chest.

And Silco knew he should've slapped them away.

No one was allowed to touch him. But somehow, he was captivated by the action. Gentle, almost familiar, as if you were a long lost lover greeting him back. Or in this act, it was exactly like that. Your hands continued its travel, finding the lapels of his coat first, before you reached his shoulders.

He still remained motionless, peering down at you with a stoic mask. “What are you doing?”

He didn't realize his voice was strained. If you noticed it, you wisely didn't comment.

Instead, you pouted at him. “Can't your wife dote on her dear husband after he's been away? I rarely see you home, since you're always so busy on whatever work you drown yourself in.”

Wife? Husband?

He didn't know what exactly he should do.

Play along your story or demand to get on with it.

It has been a long day, and he doesn't know if he has any more patience to wait any longer. But then the curiosity at the back of his lingered. Wanting to see where this would lead. How this night would go if he were to play along. If he were to choose the latter option, he might return to his life haunted by the possibilities if he had chosen the first.

Very well then.

Silco raised an eyebrow, allowing you to feel the textures of his coat and vest. “Is that right? My wife is disappointed by my lack of presence?”

He saw a gleam in your eyes, surprised at his compliance, but it was gone the moment you reverted back to your role.

Sighing, you let your hands fall from his shoulders to grasp his hand. “Come sit, my love. I know it's been a long day for you.”

Silco could honestly not believe how he was just letting you do this.

Touch him so easily, pull him away from where he stood, and lead him towards your loveseat again. He should've pushed you off the moment you laid your hands on him, but somehow he possessed no urge within him. Not when your hand was the softest feeling he's ever felt in a long time, so different from the rough callouses on his—though you didn't seem to mind it.

Your hands were back on his chest, lightly pushing him back until he was seated again.

Silco didn't let his eye stray away from your face, but failed when it momentarily flickered down again. And just lower, he could marvel at the softness of your thighs.

Just before he could admire it more, your knees were sliding beside his legs, and he froze in place at the realization. His hands remained on the armrests, his eye widening the moment your weight settled over his lap. He processed the moment, you were straddling him and he was letting you.

“You can touch me,” You continued pouting at him, and he blinked in surprise. “You haven't touched me in such a long time, my love. I missed it.”

What am I doing?

Silco still hasn't moved.

You were expecting him to play along, to be your husband for the night, and he was here—frozen like a terrified virgin who has just visited the brothel for the first time. He should be taking control, not letting himself be swayed easily by your charm. He's dealt with worse before. And certainly a beauty clad in a silk white robe and eyes that shone like gems will not scare him.

Composing himself, Silco finally lifted his hands and rested them on your thighs.

Soft.

Before he could get lost in another trance, the Kingpin raised one to cup your cheek.

So unbelievably soft.

“Does my wife miss me?” He didn't understand why the sight of you nuzzling his palm pleased him. “Poor thing. Must've been so lonely all by yourself.”

You placed a hand over his, welcoming his touch eagerly. “I was. You always leave me alone. I wait for you all day to return. I missed you dearly, my husband.”

A tight, burning sensation sparked in his chest.

He knew this was just an act, but those words. Those two meaningless words triggered a possessive flare within him. My husband. He wasn't as such, he never desired to be tied to someone in matrimony. Never in all his life had he imagined someone addressing him that way. But he wanted to hear more of it. More from you. He wanted it to be reserved just for him. Even if it was just for one night.

“Hmm,” Silco stroke your cheek, clicking his tongue softly. “Now that won't do. I must apologize for my absence, my dear. How shall I atone for my sin?”

You turned your face to his palm, kissing the rough skin with a kind of tenderness he didn't deserve.

“Stay with me,” Your hands returned to his lapels, tilting your head to whisper in his ear. “Please. Just for one night. Stay with me, my love.”

He felt the spark in his chest sear through him.

He felt your hands cradle his face.

He felt your body moving closer until your chest was flushed against his.

And when he felt your lips, soft and plush on his jaw, his resolve finally crumbled.

In the next second, Silco turned your face towards him and crashed his lips to yours.

You whimpered, tugging on him closer by his papers. His hand snaked to the back of your neck, keeping you close to him, while the other gripped you by your waist.

The kiss wasn't soft at all. No, it was impatient. Like you had been waiting for him all day, and he was finally letting go of his control. He devoured the sounds emerging from the back of your throat, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste yours. When you sighed into him, he quickly realized why those fools kept on coming back.

He never thought poison could be so sweet.

And now that he had a taste, he wanted more.

Your hips began to roll, grinding against him desperately. And he groaned into your mouth like he had been punched in the gut. Silco didn't stop you. Instead, he pushed his hips up to chase the friction. Both of his hands were at your hips again, helping you move and guiding you faster. When you broke off from the kiss to gasp into the air, Silco wasted no time to sink his teeth at your throat.

Grasping his shoulders, you continued grinding on him while he left marks on your neck.

“My poor wife,” He rasped, pressing more kisses upon each mark. “All alone with no one to touch her. To please her. But don't worry, my sweet. I'm here to remedy that.”

You released another breathy sound, and he surged forward to claim it from you.

“Silco,” He shivered when you moaned it on his lips. Sweet and intoxicating. “Come to bed, please?”

Oh, how could he say no to that?

He didn't think twice before he lifted you up, one arm supporting your back and the other under your legs, standing up from the loveseat to direct you towards the bed. His lips never left yours, ravishing you completely as he placed a knee on the mattress to place you down. You were pushing his coat off, and he wasted no time shrugging it from his shoulders until it dropped on the floor behind him.

His clip-on tie was removed and thrown over his shoulder the next second. Followed by his vest, which he skillfully unbuttoned using one hand and shrugged it off to be forgotten. Then, his hands were back on your body—slipping beneath the thin fabric of your robe to caress your hips.

His mouth parted from yours to travel down, trailing a path of wildfire along your throat.

Silco braced himself above you, wild eyes fixed on the silk bow around your waist. “I have a beautiful wife waiting for me at home, dressed up like this, while I'm away doing work. How foolish of me.”

Lips swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, and your hair surrounding your head like a halo.

You were truly a gem he was fortunate to stumble across.

Long, lithe fingers danced around your waist, teasing the silk strips holding your robe together. Just one tug. One. And everything would fall away for him to see. But he played with the bow, cruel and all knowing, while you writhed beneath him.

“Please,” You begged so sweetly too, and it brought a rare smile to his face. “Please. I've been waiting for so long. Don't tease, my love.”

Silco stopped at once, leaning down to erase the pout from your lips. “As you have, my sweet. Perhaps you deserve a reward for being so good–”

He tugged one end of the bow, as easy as that, the ribbon fell away and your body was bare for him.

“–Don’t you think so?”

Before you could answer, Silco was already lowering himself to your chest.

He breathed you in like smoke, letting his eye fall shut at the scent.

Sweet.

Everything about you was just so. How could someone like you exist in the shadows of the Undercity? An angel trapped amidst sin, where you were more fitted above the clouds where saints were made. But no, you were here underneath him—gasping his name and threading your fingers across his hair.

His lips found one of your breasts, kissing the swell of it before he sucked your skin. Leaving one mark after another. And he planned to leave many.

Just so those silver-spoon fed idiots could see when they visit again. So that they know you were being claimed by another man. When he was satisfied with it, he left more on the other side, making sure to soothe the pain with a languid sweep of his tongue afterwards.

Your breathing became ragged, arching yourself into him to have more.

“Please, Silco.”

“What is it, my sweet?”

“Lower please.”

The Kingpin lifted his gaze, burning through you with its heat. “Lower? Is that where you need me?”

You nodded, panting. “Yes. Please, my love.”

So sweet.

He smirked against your skin, planting a final kiss on your sternum. “As you wish, my wife.”

Then, his lips descended.

He lingered at your stomach, enjoying every slight twitch from you. Sensitive. He continued exploring your skin, while his knees met the floor. He never broke eye contact with you, allowing you to see the sharp hunger on his features.

Face between your legs, Silco finally let his eye flicker down.

White lace.

He wasn't a fan of the fabric, preferring his silks and satin, but somehow the sight was not unwelcome. At least with it, he could easily see the skin underneath. Along with the damp wetness soaking through the center.

“All for me?” Silco stroke your hip, admiring the floral patterns. “How lucky am I?”

He kissed you through the lace, returning his focus on your face, before he used his teeth to tug the lace off of your legs.

Grabbing it from your ankles, he pocketed the piece. “I hope you don't mind missing a pair. I'll buy you more.”

Before you could formulate a response, two fingers were parting your folds apart and a tongue dragged through the soaked middle. Silco groaned aloud, his eye fluttering shut at the taste of you coating his palette. You weren't poison, you were a drug—and he wasn't any different to all those poor souls scattered along his streets because of his Shimmer.

Oh, you were so much better than he had anticipated.

His fingernails dug into the flesh of your thighs, holding them over his shoulders. It was curious at first, learning what kind of pressure and movement to provoke more reactions from you. A quick study for pleasure. Both his and yours. When he finally found what made your breath hitch and legs snap around his head, Silco dove straight into you.

A simple taste quickly became a rabid urge to consume. He pushed himself deeper, his nose bumping against your clit every time.

You tugged on his hair the moment he sucked on it, the pain only fuelling more vigor.

It has been a while since he's indulged in anything like this, but learning it again wasn't too much of a problem. Not when you were so responsive to his touches. You kept chanting his name so sweetly, growing louder and louder the moment he started using his fingers as well—plunging in and out of your warm walls.

This was a reward to him as much as it was for you.

And he was very much pleased with how responsive you were.

Your body twitched every time his fingers curled at the right spot deep within you. Your breathing became strangled whenever he sucked on your swollen clit. Your voice cracked into sobs when he groaned into you, lapping more and more until he had to physically hold your thighs apart to stop them from crushing his head.

All the while, he never removed his sight on you.

The moment you suddenly became silent, breathlessly gasping for air, Silco knew you were close.

So he didn't relent.

His wife earned it after all.

When you finally came with his scream, it spurred Silco to drink every last drop until he felt your legs shaking against his hold. He groaned at the taste of you. Divine. You didn’t stop chanting his name, whimpering and arching against the sheets. He didn't stop devouring you, tugging you closer to the edge and not letting you escape his grasp.

So sweet.

Only when you started pushing his head away did he stop. “Silco, please. Too much.”

It would've disappointed him to stop, but hearing the crack in your voice as you sobbed filled his chest with pride. And so, Silco finally pulled away from you—lips and chin glistening with your release—his sea-green eye almost entirely black. Flushed skin, heaving chest, parted lips, and body melting against the silk sheets.

You were truly a sight to behold.

After your grip loosened on his hair, Silco hummed in satisfaction.

Silco caressed your trembling thighs, laying tender kisses on the insides. “I must apologize, my sweet. It seems I've missed you too.”

It took you a while to come back from the clouds, remembering where you were and the act you were performing.

Eventually, Silco brought himself up from the floor. Kissing your stomach, up to your chest, until he was braced above you again. Whatever spell you casted onto him must be powerful to have him act so… strangely. He'd never allow himself to be this close to someone. To succumb to his desires, burn with lust and need, yet somehow he was surrendering himself to you—an unknown woman who he didn't know before this night.

But just for tonight, he wasn't the Eye.

He was simply your husband.

“Stay with me,” He murmured into your neck, kissing the skin of your racing pulse. “I'm not done with you yet.”

Your arms circled his neck, tilting your head back. “My love, please. Please, I need more.”

A low hum escaped him. “And you shall have more, my dear.”

He kissed you again, savouring the sweet moan you released. With deft precision, he swiftly undid the buttons of his pants. In the next second, he was freed from his confines. Since he tasted you moments ago, he's been straining painfully in his pants. It brought him shame he almost came the moment you did. But he stopped himself before he could. If he'll come undone tonight, it'd be inside of you.

Holding himself in hand, hard and throbbing, Silco soaked himself with your arousal. He broke from the kiss to curse, gritting his teeth, momentarily distracted at how easily his length glided between your folds.

You rolled your hips back, grinding harder against him. “My love, please. Please don't make me wait.”

This act felt too intimate. Too domestic. Too soft and sweet. All of the things he wasn't.

But why did it feel so natural?

What have you done to him?

Silco finally lined himself at your entrance, raising his face above yours. “Keep your eyes on me, my dear. And don't look away.”

You obediently heed his words, gazing up at him with desperation.

He never broke the stare.

Even when his eye threatened to snap close the moment he slid himself into you. Slowly. So you could feel the stretch of him.

You gasped at the feeling, laying completely still, lashes fluttering as he continued pushing through your walls. Maybe because it’s been so long since he had this. Maybe because you felt just so divine that it has his defenses weakening. Maybe it was because this meaningless act made him lose all sense of control—and he had become another person he didn't recognize.

“Please,” You sobbed, kissing his scarred cheek. “Move. Please, my love.”

His jaw tightened.

He held your hip in one hand, and cupped your face with the other. He didn't say anything else. Only gazed down at you, thumb sweeping across your bottom lip, before he started moving. Your mouth fell open, and he took the chance to slip his thumb inside while he began thrusting.

Slow and deep.

Branding himself into you so the feeling of him can linger.

If this night had gone his way, he would’ve been rougher. He wouldn’t be so sweet and doting on you. He wouldn’t be kissing your neck like a lover on a clandestine. He would’ve been impatient and uncaring about attachments. But somehow, whatever spell you put on him made him do the opposite.

Instead, he savored the feeling.

He took his time memorizing your body. Maintaining his pace languid. Enjoying your breathless moans and wistful sighs. His grip firm on your waist. Your legs loose around his hips, curled behind his lower back. One hand cradling his head, and the other holding his shoulder. At that moment, Silco forgot where he was. He wasn't in a brothel, he was simply on your bed. This wasn't just a transaction, it was something else.

Something he feared to name.

Something he might come back to.

“I understand now why the Topsiders like you,” Silco grunted, spitting their name like venom. “So soft and pretty. You'd let me do whatever I want with you, as long as I play into your act.”

You couldn't answer him, but that didn't matter.

It was the truth anyway.

And he didn't know why it felt bittersweet.

All he knew as he didn't like the idea that he wasn't the first one to have you like this. And if you continued to stay here, he would certainly not be the last. Somehow, the thought of that angered him. He'll leave after this act is done and you'll welcome another client to start another. He didn't like the idea that you'll have another one after him, and perhaps many more.

His pace quickened, channeling the unknown rage into his thrusts. Suddenly, his hands were holding the back of your knees to push them up your chest.

His thrusts deepened, fueled by the possessive jealousy that originated from his own thoughts.

You cried out his name as you threw your head back, clutching the silk sheets beneath you.

Then, Silco imagined you like this—lost in the throes of pleasure at the hands of another client. It didn't matter if they were men or women. It was all the same. Moaning beneath them, singing their name, clinging to them as you came. His gaze darkened at the image. His hips snapped quicker, rougher, until you could barely produce any sound except for high-pitched whimpers.

He leaned down to your ear, ragged and strained.

“I'll make sure you won't ever want another like this. I'll have you ache for days. Only seeking this feeling from no one but me. And you won't ever find another who could touch you the way I did.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks, and Silco didn't hesitate to kiss each one.

“After all,” He grasped your jaw, forcing your eyes open. “You're my wife. Isn't that right, my dear?”

Sobbing, you could only nod at him.

“Answer me.”

“Ye–Yes.”

He thrusted harder, wrapping a hand around your throat. He didn't choke you, but kept his grip firm to remind you he could.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir!”

Silco clicked his tongue. “Husband.”

You clenched around him, sighing softly. “My husband.”

His rhythm faltered, but he quickly resumed to regain control. “That's right. Don't forget that.”

He glanced at your hand fisting the silk sheets, and imagined a golden ring gleaming on your finger. He shook his head to erase the intrusive thought. He shouldn't be thinking about that. This was an act. Nothing more. He shouldn't be this attached.

But when you tightened around him again, whispering you were close, Silco found himself not caring any more.

Once this is over, no one else shall have you again.

Leaning down, he whispered against your lips.

“Come for me, my sweet.”

He let you pull him down by his collar as you came, moaning into his mouth. He felt your walls pulse around him—tearing a strangled groan out of his chest—before he began chasing his own relief through your orgasm. Not long after, Silco slammed into you in one deep thrust—spilling himself inside of you. You clenched on him again, moaning weakly as he buried his face on your neck.

He didn't move. Not yet.

Not when your hands felt so soothing caressing his back, fingernails gliding across the red long sleeve.

Not when your lips were pressing soft kisses at his temple on the scarred side of his face.

Not when he felt peace after a long time.

After a while, Silco finally made a move to pull out—hissing as he did so—before he quickly tucked himself back in. He never looked away from you, studying your features while you were lost in the afterglow. Divine. The white robe clung to your body like second skin, so did some strands on your forehead.

He didn't know what possessed him to brush them away. Or when he retrieved a kerchief from his other pocket to clean the mess between your thighs. Or when he kissed your forehead afterwards, murmuring hushed praises, while you hummed in contentment. Or when he gently moved your body so he could lay next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You nuzzled your face against him, lashes fluttering close. “Thank you, my love.”

The spark in his chest returned even when the burn in his body had subsided.

Strangely, Silco didn't remind you that the act was over. And he realized then that he should've left by now. He didn't need to stay longer than necessary. He didn't need to watch you fall asleep, tucked against his side. But he still didn't move.

Only when he knew you had truly fallen asleep, Silco carefully unlatched himself from your grasp.

He dressed quietly, not sparing you a glance.

Because he knew if he looked back, the sight would tempt him too much.

And so, the Kingpin fished the payment from his coat and placed it on your desk. Before he left the room, he spared a final glance behind his shoulder to look at you—soft, sweet, and sleeping.

The temptation itched him to walk back.

To return beneath the silk covers and welcome your warmth again.

He ignored it, turning to unlock the door.

Then, he was gone.

And just like that, the act has ended.

Sevika was still at the Last Drop by the time he returned, seeming to have been waiting for him by the bar while nursing a drink.

“So?” The woman eyed him suspiciously, taking note of anything different. “Picked a poison?”

Silco paused at the stairway, unmoving for a second. Until he finally looked at her, the corner of his lip stretched into a half-smile.

“I did,” He thought back to you. To his dear wife he left at home again. “And she was undeniably sweet.”

Sevika only raised a brow, smirking lightly. “Think you’ll come back for more?”

He ascended the stairs, not looking back.

Not hesitating. “I might.”

[b-type-a]

What time is it?

Sanji x Reader who forgets to eat

That’s about it, you just like doing your own thank and forget to eat and Sanji think you might lowkey hate his cooking or something.

A/N: It’s hardly proofread and I did this at work 🤤

Thanks for the inspo @underthemoonandthestarstonight

WC: 1,584

Masterlist

Being a jack of all trades comes at a price. Not only are you a master of none, but you’re also the one everyone turns to whenever something needs doing.

One moment you’re down in the workshop with Franky, helping him tweak some half-finished invention. The next, you’re covered in sawdust, holding boards steady while Usopp hammers together a new contraption. He’s been awfully creative recently, so you’ve been extra busy helping him.

When you finally wipe your hands clean, Robin is already waiting with a neat stack of freshly acquired books, asking if you’d mind helping her sort and catalog them. And even if you were dead tired, you would always find time to help her sort and catalog her books.

By the time you’re done, Nami is calling you over to double-check the ledger, her sharp eyes scanning every number while you run through the calculations again. Nami did most of the math herself; you just helped make sure she didn’t accidentally write a 6 where she needed a 9 and vice versa.

All of that comes on top of your own projects and hobbies—the little things you promised yourself you’d do when you had free time. It’s not like you didn’t have time, you had plenty, but between helping the others and wanting to do your own thing, sometimes things wiggle past.

Days blur together in a steady stream of tasks and favors, and somewhere in the middle of it all, details start to slip through the cracks. You forget where you left that half-finished blueprint for Franky, or which idea you meant to write down before bed.

You can’t remember whether you promised Chopper you’d help him later, or if that was something you only thought about doing. Being useful to everyone feels good, but it leaves your mind cluttered, pulled in a dozen directions at once, always one step away from forgetting something important.

Like eating.

Now it’s not like you have this unhealthy relationship with food, you quite like it actually, it’s just not the most important part of your day. You occasionally tried to sit down and have a snack, but then you would remember something you just couldn't wait to do. By the time you finish doing that, the thought of the treat and the moment of silence has escaped you, and you're back to finding something to do with only the constant lingering feeling that you're forgetting something.

You were always running around having fun or doing some self-imposed chores, you needed to fix this, log that, draw this, list that. You just made your to-do list so endless with miscellaneous activities that the growl of your stomach did little to remind you of the hunger you were supposed to be appeasing. It only got more entertaining when Sanji realized.

You’re currently whittling a peg to repair some railing bars Luffy accidentally broke while playing with Chopper. You’ve been carefully crafting the perfect fix for about two days now. It’s all you can think about; even lying awake at night, you can only picture how to smooth and carve the wood to make it stronger and more unique than before.

Your stomach aches and growls, but you shrug it off to stay on track with your workflow. What you don’t realize is that this growl travels through the air at high speed, straight to Sanji’s ear. His head snaps up mid–dishwashing as a shiver runs down his spine. There’s a hunger on the ship—and it isn’t Luffy.

Sanji stares at the door, expecting someone to walk in at any moment. He waits, washes the dishes, glances back. When he finishes the last plate, and still no one has appeared, he huffs, quickly dries his hands, and steps out of the kitchen. Glancing side to side, he follows his instincts to the left, walking over to peer down the side of the ship.

He found you curled up like a shrimp, hunched over the wooden peg, your fingers carefully digging into the grain. You were checking for imperfections, completely absorbed in your work.

Before Sanji could even greet you, an ungodly, monstrous growl escaped your stomach. The sound echoed in the quiet space, but all you did in response was sniffle once and turn the wooden piece in your hand, examining it from a new angle.

Sanji’s jaw was on the damn floor. He stared at you, blinking a few times as he tried to process your complete lack of self-awareness. Finally, with a huff, he rushed over and placed a hand gently on your head, trying to catch your attention.

You blinked out of your daze and looked up at whoever had disturbed you. When you saw it was Sanji, you smiled brightly and greeted him, the corners of your eyes crinkling with genuine warmth. But he didn’t smile back. His expression was strangely solemn, and seeing that, your smile slowly faded.

Wordlessly, Sanji offered you his hand. He still hadn’t said anything, and that silence made your concern grow heavier in your chest. What was happening? What was wrong?

You quickly took his hand, your fingers wrapping tightly around his as he pulled you up from your seat. You didn’t let go. The uneasy feeling only grew, and you held on as if his hand was the only steady thing in the moment.

Without a word, Sanji led you toward the kitchen, his grip sure but gentle. The walk felt longer than it was, each step giving you more time to worry about what he might say.

When you reached the kitchen, he carefully guided you into a chair, his hands light on your shoulders as he urged you to sit down. By this point, you were freaking out, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.

Clutching your shirt, you reach to grab Sanji's wrist, squeezing in comfort. When he looked back up at you, he looked practically heartbroken. What in the name of Gol D. Roger was he so depressed about?

Sanji lifted his other hand to place over yours, his lip trembling. You braced for the worst. Slowly, he opened his mouth as tears bubbled in his visible eye.

“Do you not like my cooking?”

What. Be so dead ass.

You recoiled a little, confused. You blinked hard, face turning into a scowl. You asked him what he meant by that. Slowly letting go of his wrist, but he grabbed your hand to prevent you from pulling away completely.

“Just give it to me straight!”

You rolled your eyes and sighed deeply. He almost gave you a heat attack over this! You lean forward with a reluctant smile, patting the hands that clasped your own. He seemed to take that as a sign of agreement and wailed. You jolted before rubbing your head. You called his name softly, and he peeked up at you, his baby blue eye watery and puppy-like. You snicker and tilt your head, asking what possibly made him think you hated his cooking.

He looked away, using one hand to rub his face before sitting up a little.

“I noticed you've been missing some of the meal., Usopp always says you're busy and promises to take you some. Now that I'm thinking about it, he probably uses that excuse to eat the portions Luffy snatches from his plate.”

His tone went from sorrowful to quizzical. The moment of silence was broken when your stomach growled like a bear, and you even jumped with Sanji this time. Your head shot down, and you made a loud oh sound. You began to laugh awkwardly from embarrassment. It seems like now you realize how hungry you've been. When was the last time you ate, anyway?

Sanji tilted his head as you chuckled. With a sigh you explained the notion had just slipped your mind you didn't mean for him to think you'd been avoiding his cooking. You loved his cooking, more than you sometimes gave him credit for. With another deep sigh you took both his hands fiddling with his fingers, despite his sad eyes the ends of his ear turned pink and his lip threatened an upturn. When he seemed to be feeling better you smiled and asked if he could make you something good to eat, you were hungry after all.

Sanji perked up and beamed hearts practically floating around his head. He stood and made a beeline for the kitchen before slamming on the brakes and turning around. You raise a brow as he slowly leans down and places a kiss on the top of your head. You flushed and swatted him away playfully. He grabbed your swatting hand and placed a kiss on your palm before letting go. You laugh as he scampers away, very pleased with himself.

From the kitchen, you can hear him say he was going to help you remember to eat more often now that he knew something so important could so easily slip your mind. He promised to make a schedule and everything so you and he could eat alone, mainly so Luffy wouldn't try to take your food and so you could still do your own thing. He goes on and on while cooking a dish with precision. He watched him from the table, eyes falling to your hand where he had pressed his lips. You closed your fist around it with a contented sigh and looked back up to watch him.

Man, you were really in love, huh?

[111mystic-moonlight111]

LIKE A PIECE OF CANDY

gunner eating candy turns you on just a little too much, what’s he gonna do abt it?

cw: smut, fingers in v, jerking off, LIGHT pet play (like one mention) candy, mouths tasting like candy, mentions of xav, masturbation, sub! gunner, dom? reader, weed, spanking, NOT PROOFREAD SO SORRY IF ITS BAD

“Fuck ma, this weed is strong as hell…” Gunner mumbles, spreading his legs out and passing you the blunt. “Yeah? I’m not feeling much…” you chuckle, knowing that your totally greened out. “Hand me those gummy worms, I’m hungry as hell.”

You toss him the opened bag of gummy worms, then you take another hit. “No, no.. I can’t have you too high… you won’t be able to do nothing, ma.” He laughs, twirling the candy in his mouth. He licks at the gummy, sucking the sour sugar off.

You feel some heat grow in between your legs, fuck, your really fucking wet from gunner eating a gummy worm. What the fuck.

“Gunner, I’m gonna go take a piss, I’ll be back.” He nods, flipping on the tv.

You enter the bathroom, locking the door and slamming yourself against it. The image of gunner licking your clit instead of that gummy worm is all you can think about. His tongue dipping in and out of your pussy, sliding around your clit as you beg him for more.

You slide your hand into your pants, letting a little moan slip out. “F-fuck.” You mutter, rubbing your clit in tiny circles. “Gunner..” You get impatient, pumping your pussy with your fingers.

“So- fucking, clos-“ and right as the words leave your lips…

“Yo gunner, what’s up?” No, no it couldn’t be. Xavier, fucking Xavier has to show up right now. Your hand in your pants, trying to get into gunners.

Footsteps. Shit. Footsteps. “Yo ma! You good in there?!” Gunner shouts? Knocking on the door. “Yea- yea I’m good Gunner.” He walks away, shouting with xav.

“Yo, ma, what’s up?” He smirks at xav. “Ain’t she stunnin’? My girl, all mine xav, don’t even think about any shit.” He smirks, xav laughing. “I gotchu..”

“Gunner? Can we talk? Like in private.? Please?” Gunner smirks, nodding and patting xav on the back before leading you up the glass staircase.

“You know I heard you.” He mutters, closing the bedroom door. Your lips quiver, “gunner, I’m so sorr-“ he grabs your waist, pulling you closer to him. “No saying sorry, I want you to tell me what I do to you. Let the whole house hear.”

You gulp, panties getting wetter, mouth dryer. “You make my pussy clench around nothing, you make me moan in my sleep, you make me want to be devoured and cherished at the same time. Gunner, I fucking need you.”

He grabs onto the sheets, whimpering. "Fuck..." he mutters. Almost primally, you reach your hand to grip onto his crotch, palming his hardening cock. You feel your panties get wetter, stickier, as you feel his cock twitching under your power. "Yeah ma, that's the shit you do to me, cmon, gimme more."

You rub your palm up and down onto him, digging your hand in and out. "Take it, that's what you do to me." "fuckkkkkkkk," He whimpers, using his free hand to grip onto your hair.

You slide your hand into his pants, going past his boxers, flicking your fingers at his skin. You tap your fingers on his v-line, trailing down to his twitching cock. "m-mmph- fuckkkk- ma, please."

"Are you gonna be a good boy?" You trail your hand lower, your fingertips tapping the head of his cock. "Yes, yes, ma, please, I'll be so good for you."

"Mhm... Good boy, so good for mommy... Do you think good mutts deserve rewards?" He moans, gripping and pulling your hair, "please..."

You grip your hand around the head of his cock, rubbing the pink-ish tip in circles. "fuck, I'm coming, fuck, fuck!" His breath shortens, and his cum oozes onto his thighs and crotch.

"I gotta return the favor ma," He mumbles, still coming down from the orgasam. You chuckle, getting on your knees, on the bed, your ass right in front of him. Like a trophy, a reward for his patience; and now he gets to ruin it.

His hand reaches up and comes down to make a "smack" on your ass. "There we go baby, nine more..." His hands raise and put 3 more firm slaps on your ass. "two, three, four..." You moan, eyes rolling back. "Five, six, seven." He smacks your ass, slow, hard, deliberately. "Eight... Nine... Ten..."

"Here we go, baby... Such a good girl for me. You ready?" You moan, spreading your knees. He reaches his hand in between your pussy lips, shoving his fingers in. "There you go, take it. Won't take you long to cum will it?"

"Gunner, fuck!" He chuckles, pumping in and out, quicker and quicker. Your vision blurs, your ears ring. "Oh my-"

"So good, good job, ma. Gonna text Xav, he'll be worried as hell. Go hop in the shower, I'll be there to join you.."

THANK YOU FOR READINGGG COMMMENT AND REBLOG N EVERYTHING I NEED ME SOME GOOD ENGAGEMENT!! DM FOR TAGLIST!!

taglist: @chesspend

[thinkspam]