#smoke snuffed on sight

[samuelroukin]

this band really made a 15 minute long album, consisting of eight tracks, and called one of them 'smoke break' which is just some slow instrumentals lkjfhkhgsht

[lovebugism]

hi! can i request shy/innocent reader who blushes at any sex talk, but one day she shows up covered in hickies that she didn’t notice and eddie, robin and the gang are grilling her trying to find out who shes with and steve’s just standing in the corner like🧍‍♂️

ty for requesting :D — the gang finds a hickey on you during movie night (shy!fem!r, fluff, 1.3k)

Slasher films, Eddie tells you, are just excuses to make the goriest, raunchiest movies known to man. But that’s why they’re so good! he exclaims like a giddy teenage boy before sliding the bulky VHS into the tape player. 

Your stomach’s been in knots about it since. You’re made of something more delicate than that — not particularly built for gruesome horror — but you swallow down your worrying anyway. 

Robin’s smacking on gummy worms at your feet, Eddie hasn’t stopped smiling since he sat down beside you, and Steve’s got one toned arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder. The combination of familiarity takes your mind off the whole thing when you threaten to scare yourself about it.

A half-hour in, and the scariest thing you’ve seen so far, is an overtly theatric sex scene. You only get a glimpse of the static nudity before a clammy, ringed hand splays itself over your eyes. It doesn’t save you from the high-pitched squealing and gruff moans, though, so you’re not entirely sure it’s doing much.

“What are you doing?” you ask Eddie through quiet giggles.

“This shit’s gross,” he answers, muffled through the candy in his cheek. “You don’t need to be watchin’ stuff like this.”

Your brows furrow beneath his palm. “I’m not a child, Eds.”

“Yeah, but you’re too pure! I wouldn’t feel right if I just let you watch it!”

Steve returns from the kitchen then, with a bowl of refilled popcorn in hand. He scoops a handful into his mouth and scolds through the mouthful. “Eddie. Leave her alone.”

The pale hand slips from your face when the scene ends — the climax sufficiently interrupted by a serial killing, chainsaw weilding psycho. The wild-haired boy scoffs. “Jeez! Sorry for trying to take care of your girlfriend, Harrington!”

“I do that on my own. I don’t need your help, freak,” Steve retorts, unthinking, before plopping down beside you and shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

All three of you glance at him with unwavering stares. He blinks back at you for a moment until the realization hits him. Rolling his chocolate eyes, he grouses, “Not like that, you pervs.”

Eddie grins. “Oh, so it’s not like that, then?” he wonders in a teasing lilt. 

“Well,” Steve shrugs, trying and failing to hide his smirk. “I mean, obviously it is, but—”

“Steve…” you waver in an inaudible whine, shrinking back into the couch, hoping it’ll swallow you whole. 

The boy seems confused by your sudden sheepishness. He’s never been shy about anything in his life. “I’m just saying!” he chuckles. “I’m your boyfriend. I take care of you. That’s, like, my whole job… One that I do very well, might I add.”

Robin grumbles while Steve and Eddie laugh like a couple of teenage boys. She rises from her comfy spot on the carpet and reaches for your hand. She pulls you into the kitchen behind her and calls to them over her shoulder. “You guys are such freaks, you know that?”

——————

Tired and slightly tipsy, you stand with Steve on his back porch. A cigarette hangs loosely from his plush lips. His chiseled jaw tightens every time he takes a drag. The sight of him is impossible to look away from.

“You don’t think I take care of you?” he blurts before blowing smoke from his mouth. The wisps disappear beneath the starry velvet sky.

“Huh?”

“Earlier. When Eddie was making that stupid joke,” the boy explains, snuffing the cig out in the ashtray on the railing. He glances at you with sparkling honey eyes, half beneath his lashes, before turning away again. Almost shy. “I said it was my job to take care of you or whatever, and you just… Kinda grumbled about it. Like you don’t think I do or something.”

Your chest stings.

“Of course you do!” you answer sheepishly. “It’s just… hard for me to talk about, I guess. In front of Eddie and Robin and everything…”

“Oh,” he hums, nodding with his pink lips softly pouted. When the realization passes, he bites back a bashful beam. “So… you do think I take care of you, then?”

You roll your eyes, still impossibly shy. You know that he knows that answer now — he just wants to hear you say it. “Obviously…” you murmur with a quiet smile you try hard to keep hidden.

“Good,” he says to himself, nodding like he’s proud. “That’s good…”

You’re not sure how, but you end up squished between his body and the deck railing in record time. Steve kisses the breath from your lungs with lips tasting of nicotine, cola, and sour candy. His golden hands dig into your hips while his mouth trails to your jaw. 

You twist your hands in the strands of his silky chestnut hair as his plush lips lock with your thrumming pulse. A sigh spills from your mouth at the tingling feeling — warm and wet, then stinging for a moment. Steve runs his tongue over the bruise he left there. 

“Don’t leave a mark,” you scold in a slurred whine.

His chuckle fans across your neck before he parts from you. The lovebite is hardly noticeable now, just beginning to blossom beneath your jaw. “I think it might be a little too late for that, babe,” he teases with lidded eyes.

The backdoor slides open before Steve can kiss you again. Eddie stumbles out with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Robin nearly runs into the back of him when the boy stops suddenly in his tracks. His chocolate eyes flit between the two of you, now separated and trying to play it cool.

“…Are we interrupting something?” he murmurs through the stick in his mouth.

Steve shrugs and puts his hands on his hips, so not cool. “What? No. What are you— What are you even doing out here?”

The lighter clicks. “…Smoking?”

He glances at Robin, then. Her ocean eyes widen as she shrugs. “I just didn’t wanna be left out,” she murmurs in an answer to his silent question.

“Fair enough.”

Eddie squeezes between you and Steve, clumsy and unknowing. He glances at you innocently once, then again with suspicious, squinted eyes. “Is that a bruise?” he wonders before turning away to exhale the smoke from his lungs.

Your chest wrenches. “Huh?” you hum with pinched brows.

“You have a bruise on your neck,” he tells you, pointing a ringed finger to the blooming mark Steve left some minutes ago now. “What happened?”

He says it like he’s concerned. Like he’s worried something had happened to you. The possibility of it being a hickey doesn’t even cross his mind — ‘cause you’re just too pure for that. 

You shrug and start to stammer, somehow less cool than the overtly uncasual boy on Eddie’s other side. “I don’t know. It’s probably just... The lighting or something.”

His fluffy brows pinch together as his eyes dart over your face. You’re visibly flustered, lips softly swollen and shining with spit. He looks at Steve next and finds the boy looking much of the same. Only then does he realize what he’s interrupted.

“Eugh!” he groans in disgust, features screwed-up and puppylike.

Steve fights back a laugh. “What?!”

“You guys are a bunch of dirtbags!” Eddie shouts.

“It’s just a hickey, Eds,” the brunette boy says, chuckling before he can help it. “It’s okay. Calm down.”

“Absolutely harlot behavior. Both of you,” he chides, shaking his head until his wild curls sway around his jaw. While the rest of you laugh, he grumbles. “I don’t even feel like smoking now. You guys just ruined this cig for me.”

The three of you blink at him when he takes another drag. It takes him a moment too long to register the stares. When he does, he spreads his palms in defense and mumbles through the stick. “Well, I’m not gonna waste it!”

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 2/?)

Do you know what the main problem with addiction is? It's that it always demands more. And unfortunately for you, Silco was an addicted man.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 5,2K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, orgasm edging, overstimulation, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut), Silco being the little control freak that he is. Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1

Okay, I didn't expect the previous chapter to be so successful, so thank you to everyone who read it. Just a few warnings: Silco's actions can be quite controversial (you'll understand at the end), he's an antagonistic character and we have to recognize that he's not a saint. If you came here expecting something like "love at first sight", I'm sorry to tell you that there's going to be a long road to that. Remember, there's a fine line between love and obsession.

The month had flown by too quickly, and you barely noticed Silco's absence from the brothel. Since that night, he seemed to have vanished, and the days resumed their usual rhythm. With the generous bonus he had left, you managed to cut back on your workload, bringing a sliver of relief to your otherwise exhausting routine. Today was one of those calmer days. Your last session hadn't been physical; your regular client, Kate, a young woman with stunning green eyes, just wanted to talk.

You spent the time discussing her recent achievements. She had been clean from shimmer for three months and, with visible excitement, shared her plans to become a designer. She had even landed an internship at a boutique in Piltover. Despite being a paying client, your relationship with her felt closer to a friendship. You genuinely cared about her progress and rooted for her, even though you knew the harsh world of Piltover could extinguish the dreams of Zaunites as easily as a gust of wind snuffing out a candle.

The brothel had this misunderstood duality. It wasn't just a place of pleasure and debauchery, as many thought, but also a refuge for the lonely, even if those moments were as rare as fresh air in Zaun.

After the session, you sat at the vanity in the dressing room, touching up your makeup. It was a moment of pause, preparing to finally leave for the night. That's when hurried, hesitant footsteps reached your ears. Through the mirror, you saw Babette enter, her yordle face pale as if she'd seen a ghost.

"What's wrong, Babette?" you asked, frowning.

"He's back," she said in a hurried whisper, and you froze. There was no need to specify who. His name hung like a curse that no one dared to utter. "And he asked for you... in the same room."

A sigh escaped your lips as you nodded, trying to mask the storm brewing inside you. Your body moved automatically, brushing past a Babette who looked almost regretful on your behalf.

The conflicting sensations within you were hard to define—a mix of nerves and something akin to excitement. Part of you was eager to see him again, while another feared what this meeting might bring. It was a wave that swung between the warmth of reunion and the chill of apprehension. It was impossible to predict Silco's intentions with you.

Yet, despite the uncertainty, a part of you relished the idea of facing him again.

The curtains parted just as they had during your first meeting, and you stepped into the room with hesitant steps—but firm enough to mask the storm raging within you. There he was, Silco, seated on the sofa like he owned the world—or at least your little corner of chaos. This time, a cigar rested between his fingers, its smoke spiraling lazily toward the ceiling. A bottle of amber liquor and two glasses were set before him on the table.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you regarded him, trying to keep your expression impassive. "Miss me?" The provocation slipped out in an almost sweet tone, but the mockery woven into the edges of your words was there for anyone sharp enough to catch. And, of course, he did.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and the smile that formed on his lips was... unsettling. A slow, predatory smile that made your entire body tense, unsure whether to prepare for a fight or flight. But running from Silco was never really an option, was it?

"Miss you?" he repeated, his voice low, almost a dangerous purr, as he brought the cigar to his lips and took a long drag. The smoke escaped in a deliberate exhale as he leaned back even further into the sofa. "I've been rather busy, dove. Running a city isn't exactly a part-time job."

His voice carried an intensity that seemed to cut through your skin and lodge itself directly in your nerves. His eyes were a weapon all their own, assessing you with clinical precision as though he could decode every emotion you tried to hide. Frustration? Undoubtedly. Curiosity? Perhaps. And something else... something you refused to name but which made your stomach churn and your breath quicken.

"Ah, of course... I forgot you rule Zaun. I thought it was just a hobby of yours." The words left your mouth dripping with sarcasm, a smirk tugging at your lips. You knew exactly how to provoke him, even if it meant walking a tightrope with Silco.

But he laughed. Not a short or biting laugh, but a rich, full chuckle that echoed through the cramped walls of the room. His reaction was almost disconcerting, as if he were genuinely amused by your defiance.

"I prefer to think of it as a calling. Someone has to keep these streets in line, after all," Silco retorted, bringing the cigar back to his lips and taking a deep drag. "Drink with me." He gestured casually toward the empty glass beside his with a flick of his hand, as if this were the most normal thing in the world—as if he hadn't disappeared for an entire month and was now acting as though nothing had happened.

You blinked once, twice, frowning at his offer. Surprised was an understatement. Even so, your feet carried you to the sofa, where you sat down beside Silco. Your gaze drifted to the glass placed in front of you, but you made no move to pick it up.

"Drink something from you? I thought I'd made it clear I'm not naive." Your voice was sharp, cutting, and you made no effort to hide what you thought. The accusation lingered in the air, but Silco seemed unfazed. On the contrary, the smile on his lips deepened, as though your suspicion was yet another point in his favor.

"Relax, dove." He set the cigar in the ashtray and leaned forward slightly, his eyes fixed on yours. "I may be many things, but I'm not the type to drug my... companions. I prefer them fully aware of what's happening."

Before you could respond, you felt his hand rest on your thigh, his fingers drawing lazy circles over the fabric of your skirt. The touch was too light to be casual but confident enough to show he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Besides," he continued, leaning in a little closer, "I don't need tricks. You came to me willingly last time, remember? And I'm certain you'll do the same again."

You held your breath for a moment—not out of fear but from the tension building in the air. It had been mere minutes, and already you were spiraling into this dangerous, sexual dance. When he reached for the bottle and poured two glasses, the sound of the amber liquid filling the glass seemed to fill the charged space between you. He slid one of the glasses in your direction, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, and that fleeting touch was like a surge of heat, reigniting memories you'd rather not dwell on now.

The cold glass against your fingers was solid, tangible, but the same couldn't be said for Silco's intentions. Swirling the liquid in the glass, you watched its viscosity under the light, searching for any sign of hidden betrayal. You brought the glass to your nose, inhaling deeply. Nothing unusual. No suspicious scent. Just the strong, familiar aroma of an expensive drink.

"Now, don't be rude. It's a rare vintage, and I insist," he said, his voice dropping a few tones, more of a command than an invitation. "Or are you afraid you can't handle me after a drink?"

He raised his own glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours, taking a long sip and savoring the warmth the liquor seemed to bring. He was testing you, and you knew it.

"Oh... I can handle more than you think." You let the double meaning linger in the air, noting how quickly Silco caught on from the faint curl at the corner of his mouth. Then, your gaze shifted back to the drink in your hands.

A sigh escaped internally. Damn it. Against all your instincts, you decided to trust him—at least this once. Bringing the glass to your lips, you took a small sip.

The flavor was unexpected, complex. First, a gentle warmth spread across your tongue and slid down your throat, followed by a hint of sweetness that balanced the burn. You licked your lips, savoring the woody notes mingling with a subtle touch of caramel. It was... different. Something you'd never tasted before.

You almost let out a surprised sigh but managed to hold it back. However, you knew your expression had betrayed you. Worse still, you were certain Silco had noticed. His sharp gaze seemed to miss nothing, and he'd been watching you the entire time. Quickly recovering, you masked your face with indifference, though the effort felt pointless. Pretending nothing affected you had always been one of your sharpest weapons for surviving life in Zaun, but it seemed to fail irritatingly often when it came to him.

"So, tell me..." Silco resumed the conversation, his tone adopting a casual air, as if you were merely chatting. "What have you been up to while I've been away? I hope you haven't been entertaining any other clients in my absence."

"Well," you began, leaning back on the sofa, mimicking his casual tone while swirling the glass in your fingers, watching the liquid sway with the motion. "As far as I know, we're not exclusive."

You let your words hang in the air for a moment before taking another sip of your drink. This time, you kept your eyes fixed on the glass, pretending Silco's presence was just a shadow at the edge of your awareness. "So yes, I've been with other clients."

When you finally lifted your gaze, you met his eyes. They glimmered with something between amusement and danger, and the smile you offered Silco was anything but innocent. You knew you were playing with fire by provoking him so openly without any idea how he might react, but as the damned gambler you were, you could never resist a risky game—even if it meant losing your winning hand.

"Why?" you asked, your voice dripping with audacity as you calmly placed your now-empty glass on the table. "Are you jealous?"

"Jealous? No, I wouldn't say that." He paused, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his drink. "More like... protective. You see, dove, once I set my sights on something, I have a hard time sharing."

He set his glass down on the table with a faint but deliberate thud of glass against wood. You had pressed his buttons, that much was clear, but he didn't seem annoyed by your bratty attitude.

Silco settled back into the sofa, mirroring your posture, but with an air of authority that seemed to dominate the room. He leaned back slightly, his legs spreading just enough to make a point, the motion causing his coat to fall open. The glimpse of what looked like a holster at his hip seemed accidental—perhaps he didn't even remember carrying it. It was as natural to him as breathing.

He turned to you, his hand moving to your chin, tilting your face so your eyes would meet his. "But I'm a reasonable man," he continued, his tone soft, almost comforting, yet carrying an intensity that made your skin prickle. "I understand the nature of our... arrangement. You're a courtesan, and I'm merely a client. Nothing more, nothing less."

His thumb brushed against your lower lip, the touch as light as a feather, teasing. "Which is why I think it's time we renegotiate the terms, don't you?" His voice dropped a few tones lower. "I'm willing to pay for your exclusive services."

You couldn't deny the tension rippling through your body as Silco leaned in further, narrowing the space between you until his presence felt like the only thing that existed in your world. His touch on your chin was firm but not rough, a silent reminder of the absolute control he maintained over himself—and, in some ways, over you.

You allowed him to guide your face upward, a silent concession that you were willing to play along—at least within the rules that suited you.

His eyes were both an invitation and a threat, a contrast that should have been intimidating. But, to your surprise, you felt something else entirely.

It wasn't fear.

It was pride.

There was an unexpected, almost visceral pride within you, knowing that he wanted you—and made no effort to hide it. It was both unsettling and... perversely satisfying.

When Silco moved again toward you, the motion caused his coat to fall open further, fully revealing the holster strapped to his hip. The metallic gleam of the pistol's barrel caught the dim light, and your eyes lingered on it for a moment. The sight evoked a disconcerting mix of emotions: fear and excitement, battling for dominance within you.

You knew the gun wasn't there merely for protection. It was a silent statement, a symbol of power—and also of control. Silco didn't make empty threats, and the presence of that weapon made it abundantly clear. So classic, so predictable, you thought, though you couldn't deny there was something undeniably alluring about the image: danger so blatant yet so meticulously restrained.

That contrast was almost suffocating. The implicit threat of the weapon combined with the soft, almost intimate tone of his voice stirred something deep within you. It was a brutal reminder of the risks of being this close to him, but also irrefutable proof of the kind of power he wielded—not just physical but psychological.

This is not good, you told yourself, suppressing a shiver that could have been apprehension—or excitement. You knew how dangerous it would be to let Silco see you as his. The words you had spoken the last time you met applied to him perfectly, and to your misfortune, Silco was possessive by nature, his ambition only amplifying that trait.

But it was too late to turn back. You had already captured his attention once, and here he was again, returning to your arms like an addict seeking his next fix. And it was clear he wouldn't stop until he had you entirely.

"This negotiation..." you began, your voice lower, tinged with something that could have been scorn or desire, even you couldn't tell. "Isn't open."

The silence that followed was heavy, every word hanging in the air like a scale about to tip. There was refusal in your voice, but despite your efforts, there was also a trace of something else... something that could easily be mistaken for lust. And his gaze caught every nuance of it.

Slowly, your eyes drifted from his to his lips, but not before letting him see the small detour they took back to the pistol. As though you were weighing your options, calculating the risks, even though you knew all of them ended with him.

It was like walking a tightrope over an abyss, and both ends led directly to Silco. Two different fates, equally perilous.

"But," you continued, and your voice was almost a whisper now, deliberately laden with heat. Your mind screamed at you to stop, but the words had already taken shape. "You can try to convince me." It was a dangerous strategy, and Silco was toxic in every sense. But just like an addict depended on their drug, perhaps you could turn that dependence into an advantage for yourself.

Silco's eyes darkened, a fierce hunger burning within them as your defiant words left your lips. A low growl reverberated in his chest, heavy with intensity. He noticed the way your gaze roamed over him, like a flame consuming everything in its path. He also noticed—with dangerous satisfaction—the subtle quickening of your pulse, visible in the delicate line of your neck.

You were playing with fire, and Silco was more than willing to let you burn.

Before you could react, he moved with the swiftness of a serpent, pinning you against the couch. In one fluid motion, he seized control, trapping you beneath the weight of his body. His hands captured your wrists with firm precision, raising them above your head as he positioned himself between your thighs.

His hips pressed against yours, a slow and deliberate motion laden with intent. Your body acted before your mind could comprehend, arching to meet the contact.

"Oh, dove..." he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word caressing your skin like silk. His lips hovered near your throat, and you felt the warmth of his breath against the exposed skin. "I intend to convince you, and I think you'll find I'm quite... persuasive."

His lips found the curve of your neck, skimming over your skin with a dangerous blend of gentleness and possessiveness. When his teeth grazed your flesh, they didn't break the surface, but the implicit promise in every touch made your heart race. You knew he could, and you also knew you wouldn't fight him.

The control he exerted over you was intoxicating, but it wasn't just physical. There was something about the way he read you, how every sigh, every tremor of your body seemed to fuel him.

When his fingers released your wrists, you didn't move your hands from where he had placed them, as if the freedom he had given you was an illusion. Instead, you closed your eyes, feeling his hands glide down your body, his fingers tracing an almost lazy path that ignited every nerve in your skin.

His fingers reached the curve of your waist, pausing just long enough to apply a slight squeeze—a possessive touch that sent a shiver down your spine. He followed the contour of your hips, his movements as subtle as they were provocative. Then, with a deliberate motion, he tugged the hem of your skirt upward, revealing your skin inch by inch, as if each bit was a gift to be uncovered. The air grew heavier, each second stretching into eternity.

"You have no idea what you make me feel," he murmured, his voice a mix of confession and temptation, perhaps more to himself than to you. "The things I want to do to you..."

His breathing grew uneven, heavier, and before you realized it, your thighs tightened around his hips, as if to hold him there, in that exact place where the world seemed to have stopped.

"Then do them," you murmured, your voice hoarse, barely a whisper. This moment was his. And somehow, it didn't feel wrong, even though part of you knew you might regret it later.

But right now, in this instant, regret was the furthest thing from your mind.

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━━

"Careful what you wish for, dove..."

Silco's eyes darkened with lust as he watched her writhe beneath him, her body arching into his touch as if she were starving for it. He could feel the heat of her core pressing against his cock, even through the layers of clothing that separated them, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to rip them off and bury himself inside her right then and there. To feel that warm feeling that had been trapped in his mind for that damn month of being away from her. But he held himself back, it wasn't about him this time, as he would have other opportunities. He wanted to savor every moment of her surrender, to engrave the memory of it in his mind for years to come.

Slowly, teasingly, he trailed his lips down the column of her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin before sucking on her pulse point, leaving a mark. Relishing the way she gasped and writhed beneath him, her hands finally moved to tangle in his hair.

He leaned back, standing erect with his gaze fixed on that which he now coveted. He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs, exposing her to his hungry gaze. This was something he had wanted to do since their first meeting.

Silco settled between her thighs, his breath ghosting over her slick folds. He looked up at her through his lashes, his eyes glittering with dark promise. "Look at you, dove. So wet for me already... Such a needy little thing." he murmured before dipping his head and pressing a kiss to her clit.

He started slowly, his tongue lapping at her slit, savoring the taste of her arousal. He traced the seam of her lips, teasing her entrance before flicking his tongue over her clit, again and again, until she was writhing beneath him, her hands fisting in his hair.

He slid a finger inside her, then two, pumping them in and out of her tight heat, at first slowly. He curled them just so, searching for that special spot that would make her see stars. Silco felt her inner walls contract and vibrate around his fingers. He could tell she was getting close to her peak. Leaning down, he sealed his lips around her throbbing clit and sucked hard, flicking the sensitive nub quickly with the tip of his tongue.

At the same time, he pumped his fingers faster, rubbing mercilessly against that specific spot. Her thighs trembled and tensed on either side of his head as he took her right to the edge... then pulled back a little, wanting to prolong her torment a little longer before finally pushing her over the edge of blissful oblivion. He heard her whimper his name, her voice sounding tearful and frustrated. Then her little fingers tried to pull his face back into place between her thighs: "Easy, dove." He let his fingertip slide over her clit, circular motions that drove her to the edge, but weren't enough to give her what she wanted. "Silco..." her voice escaped in a hoarse moan, filled with a mixture of need and desperation. Sounding like a melody for Silco. "Say 'please' and I might let you cum." Silco's voice left no room for reply and this only made her even more frustrated. Her back arched and she tried again to pull Silco towards her. Her attempts failed. Silco then sped up the movement of her finger, noticing how easy it was to bring her to the edge again... and just as easy to slow down.

The second denied orgasm drew a reaction from her. "Please! Fuck.. I beg you... please!

He smirked as she begged so sweetly, the word "please" falling from her lips like a prayer. Oh, how he adored when she got like this - pride and poise cast aside in favor of raw, aching need. Silco was more than happy to oblige her, diving back in with renewed fervor. He savored the taste, groaning low in his throat as he feasted on her like a starving man, his fingers pumped steadily, curling just to brush that spot inside her. He felt her thighs clamp down around his head, heard her screaming his name as she came undone, her release flooding his mouth.

But Silco didn't stop. He kept going, riding her through her orgasm and straight into another, his tongue lashing at her sensitive flesh, his fingers pumping in and out of her clenching heat. He could feel her fighting it, her body tensing, trying to pull away from the too-much sensation, but he held her in place, determined to wring every last drop of pleasure from her.

He felt her come again, harder this time, her body convulsing beneath him, her hands fisting in his hair so tightly it bordered on pain. He swallowed every drop of her release, groaning at the taste of her, the feel of her coming apart for him.

Only when she went limp beneath him, her body spent and trembling, did Silco finally relent. He pulled back, licking his lips as he admired his handiwork - His sweet dove sprawled on the couch, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. She looked utterly debauched, and fuck if it wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. A sight that had to be for his eyes only.

"Perfect." He whispered to the void as you seemed to be passed out. Nothing could take away his sense of pride in having reduced you to a limp body lying on the couch, although a part—the one deep inside him—was irritated by the mere idea that someone else could do the same to you. "We can't let that happen, don't you think?"

A rhetorical question to which he already had an answer.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━━ 

You blacked out for a second. You'd like to say you lasted longer after the first, but that would be a blatant lie. With Silco consuming you completely—in presence, touch, scent, and the rough sound of his voice—it was impossible to resist. He pushed you to the edge once more, and when you finally fell, the orgasm that crashed over you was even more devastating than the first.

You collapsed onto your side, utterly boneless, as though every bone in your body had dissolved. The exhaustion was so overwhelming that the line between consciousness and unconsciousness blurred with each passing moment. Every muscle in your body screamed in surrender, yet you still found enough energy to let out a soft whimper as you adjusted your legs, trying to ease the discomfort.

Your body was in a state of hyperawareness. You could feel every little detail: the slow but persistent throbbing between your legs, the sensitive, swollen ache of your clit, both painful and pleasurable as the pressure of your thighs shifted.

The heavy silence of the room was broken only by the sound of your ragged, uneven breathing. Each breath felt like an effort, but you began to relax, letting your muscles go slack against the couch. And then you felt it.

His gaze.

Even with your eyes closed, you knew Silco was watching. It was impossible to ignore. Those eyes had the power to strip you bare, as though he could see beyond flesh, directly into what you tried to hide—vulnerability, desire, surrender.

Opening your eyes slowly, you blinked a few times, dislodging the tears that clung stubbornly to your lashes. Your lips curled into a trembling, tired but genuine smile as your gaze found his face. Silco didn't look away. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—dangerous and tender all at once—that made you shift uncomfortably, even in your exhaustion.

"That was the first time..." you began, your voice breathless, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. "By Janna... twice in a row... How is that even possible?"

The words came out in an almost incredulous tone, with a hint of exhausted laughter. You didn't know how he did it, but it seemed Silco knew exactly what to do with your body. Where to touch, what to say, which buttons to press... absolutely everything.

"Give me a minute," you continued, your voice strained with fatigue. "I don't think I can do anything else right now. My body has officially shut down, and it's your fault."

Despite the exhaustion, there was a note of humor in your voice, something you knew he'd pick up on. But it was the truth. Every fiber of your being felt like it had been pushed to its limit, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you had no urge to fight it.

Silco leaned over you, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle, almost reverent gesture. The touch was a stark contrast to the roughness of his calloused fingers. "Don't worry about me, dove," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, like a whispered melody in the darkness. "I'm more than satisfied with how the night turned out."

He then pressed a light kiss to the corner of your mouth. The fleeting touch was almost contradictory, an unspoken promise hidden behind the faint, teasing smile that played on his lips. "Now, catch your breath. Compose yourself."

He moved away with his usual natural elegance. As he adjusted his clothes, straightening his suit with meticulous care, smoothing out his trousers; taking more careful care of this part for obvious reasons, and running his fingers through his slightly disheveled hair, you watched him silently. He seemed lost in his own world as he tidied himself.

Silco then turned his attention back to you, extending a steady hand to help you sit properly on the couch. With surprising care, he adjusted your skirt, a gesture that felt almost chivalrous coming from the same man who had undone it in the first place. But what truly caught your attention was the way he picked up the garment he had removed from you earlier—your underwear—and slipped it into his trouser pocket without even attempting to hide the act.

You opened your mouth, perhaps to protest, but before you could utter a word, he had already shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The weight of the expensive fabric pressed against your skin, warm from his body heat, carrying his unmistakable scent: lingering tobacco, worn leather, and a metallic note that reminded you of burnt gunpowder or rust. It wasn't necessary—you knew that—but he seemed to relish the idea of covering you, marking the moment with a gesture that was as possessive as it was protective.

"In any case," he said, his voice taking on a teasing tone as his hand rested firmly on your shoulder, the touch deliberate, "You can return the favor next time."

"So that's your excuse to come back to this brothel?" you replied, your tone laced with sarcasm as one eyebrow arched slightly. A sly smile curved your lips as you looked at him. "How predictable, Silco..."

"Oh, I assure you, dove," he murmured, his voice laden with a dangerous softness that made every word sound like a promise. "It's not the only reason I'll return. But, I must admit... it's a rather tempting incentive."

Yet, as he spoke those words, something shifted inside him. A dark and familiar shadow rose, staking its claim on his mind. Suddenly, Silco pulled back. His face, previously brimming with desire and mischief, turned into a mask of indifference.

"I need to go," he said abruptly, the tone of someone ending a conversation with no room for argument. "There's something I need to take care of."

And with that, without another word, he was gone.

Leaving you behind, confused, and his jacket.

[...]

The days following Silco's visit were a series of unsettling events. The changes came slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, but you had a knack for picking up on nuances. You were a survivor, and survival meant knowing when something was wrong before it became a bigger problem.

First, there were the furtive glances. Your colleagues at the brothel seemed to watch you with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. There were hushed whispers and abruptly interrupted conversations whenever you walked by. That wasn't new—gossip was as common as the smell of cheap perfume in that place. But this felt different now. Heavier. As if they knew something you didn't.

Then came the anonymous donation. A substantial amount of money, accompanied by a short and direct note, unsigned. Just three words: "For your comfort."

You found yourself staring at the note longer than you should have, the paper trembling slightly in your hands. The tone of the words seemed polite, even kind, but in context... there was no comfort in them. Only confirmation that someone was meddling in your life.

Finally—and perhaps most disturbingly—was the sudden drop in the number of clients. At first, you thought it was a coincidence, something seasonal. The brothel's clientele had its ups and downs, after all. But as the days went by, the reality became unmistakably clear.

The few men who still requested your company exhibited strange behaviors. Gone were the hungry gazes, the invasive touches. They were stiff, as if walking on eggshells, and most seemed incapable of relaxing in your presence. They didn't want closeness, avoided more intimate advances. Instead, they merely asked for your company, remained in an awkward silence while sitting far from you, and left far more money than necessary.

It was disconcerting. The break from routine, the absence of the predictable... it was almost worse than dealing with the unwanted touches you'd learned to ignore.

And then came the confirmation you didn't want. It arrived through a conversation you weren't invited to but overheard from the other side of a door: the men who had been appearing and specifically requesting you, were none other than subordinates of a certain chemical baron.

Silco. Part 3

[deliciouskeys]

“And here I thought you finally wanted to try one.”

Lovely art by @plague-cattle-burial-ground who drew this in record time. Thank you ❤️🚬💋

Commission them! Highly recommended.

Butcher never expected to end up tangled in the sheets with his sworn enemy. No, he was going to keep his gaze off of the man sprawled out languidly on his right, tempting as it was to drink in the sight of this dangerous Vought creation, ravished, chest still heaving, cheeks flushed, looking docile and innocent at least for the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Butcher can see that Homelander is watching him, maybe awaiting a compliment about how good it was. It was good, better than it had any right to be, but Butcher will never admit it out loud and stroke this cunt’s ego.

He lights up instead. He always smokes after sex. Some partners wrinkled their nose, some ignored it, some asked to share. When Homelander reaches over to take the cigarette out of his lips, Butcher makes no protest, curious if he’s about to see America’s poster child take a drag.

No such luck. Homelander puts the cigarette out on his tongue, the orange light at the end snuffed out in a puff of smoke, the innocence in his expression from before gone up in smoke just as quickly.

“And here I thought you finally wanted to try one.”

“Why. They taste as terrible as they smell.”

“No one asked ya to taste that end of it.”

Butcher tries to take the cigarette back, intent on relighting, but Homelander flicks it into the corner of the room.

“A villain through and through,” Butcher grumbles, rolling back on top of the other man, squeezing his throat in his hand, letting himself pretend that it could have any effect.

Homelander just laughs, clearly basking in the attention, meeting Butcher’s mouth eagerly when they lock lips, the flavor of cigarette ash swirling in their kiss.

And because seeing the process is cool and even the draft is so pretty:

[almondamaretto]

omg hihi i love how u write sooo i wanted to ask if u could write where the reader tries getting matt jealous by flirting w chris (?? optional it could be anyone else) and he eventually gets jealous and that turns into a smut 😛😛 if that even makes sense 😭 PLSPLS thank you

Attention

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: y/n gets matt’s attention by flirting with chris

Warnings: weed, smut.

IM BACK (maybe) SO EXPECT MORE SHIT (hopefully) I LOVE YOU GUYS AND I WILL BE MORE ACTIVE I PROMISE (i don’t)

like halfway proof read

✄┈┈┈┈

Wind blew through her hair as she sped down the highway, one hand loosely holding the colorful steering wheel, the other holding a joint up to her pink, glossy lips. 

The glowing warmth of the orange sun hid behind the tall trees, golden rays painting her face as she sped down the street. 

Sza's "Julia" was blasting through her speakers as she pulled up to the triplet's house, music cutting off abruptly as she cut the ignition and exited the black jeep. 

She sucked in a final hit of her joint, snuffing out the half-smoked spliff against her car and tucking it behind her ear. 

With a final tug on her black miniskirt and one last readjustment of the straps of her thong, she strutted her way up to their front door, not bothering to knock. 

climbing up the stairs, the sight of Chris sitting on the couch, legs spread wide welcomed her. Matt was sitting a few feet to his right, scrolling on his phone. Everyone else was scattered around their living room, holding separate conversations as music played lowly in the background. 

"Ayy, y/n! c'mere" a very blasted Chris exclaimed, patting the plush material of the cream couch next to him. 

Matt's head shot up at the mention of her name, eyes fixating on her scantily dressed figure as she sat right next to Chris, leaving barely any space between the two of them. His brow quirked. 

"Hey Matt!" she said, looking at him up and down. His jeans sat low on his hips, his muscle tee riding up just enough to show off the band of his Calvin Klein boxers. 

He held up a peace sign, a silver ring wrapped around his pointer and pinky finger--he shot her a flirty smirk. 

She blinked at him slowly, expecting more of a greeting. 

Rolling her eyes, she brought her knees up on the couch, resting them against Chris and looking into his eyes. 

He started to ramble, sativa taking control of his senses. 

"Y'know we were all waiting for you to get here. Matt especially. He kept asking if his outfit was good enough--and his hair, he messed with his hair way too fucking much." 

Chris grabbed a small strand of her silky hair, toying with it absentmindedly as he spoke with a raspy voice, close enough for his warm breath to raise the hairs on her neck. 

"Yeah? Well he doesn't seem to be interested now." She giggled, brushing a lock of his hair out of his face. 

"Well, that's ‘cause he wants to seem all tough. Don't tell him I told you but he's just a big pussy." He said in a hushed tone, pulling a smile from her lips. 

Y/n couldn't deny Chris' charming and dorky personality--if she were anyone else, she was sure she would be chasing after him rather than sitting on his couch leading him on. 

Matt, however, could have her chasing for miles. Everything he did seemed so intentional and suave; he was always calm and collected--he felt like a refreshing soda after a day at the beach. 

Suddenly, Chris focused on the joint sitting behind her ear. 

He stopped tugging on her hair to slither his hand behind her neck, fingers brushing her skin and creating goosebumps. He grabbed the rolled paper between two fingers, looking at it with heavy eyes and a smile. 

"Thank you, weed gods" He cheered, searching for a lighter. 

Y/n reached into her bra, pulling out a bedazzled lighter. Chris placed the lipstick-stained paper in between his lips, gazing up at y/n with hot cheeks as she brought the lighter up to the end, igniting the paper. 

Matt watched the events unfold with a clenched jaw, losing the faint grasp on his buzz. 

Y/n breathed in a large puff, closing her eyes, and letting the burning in her throat subside. she turned and crawled over to matt, removing the joint from her flavored lips and handing it to matt. 

He took two deep hits, letting the intoxicating substance flow through his anticipating lungs and into his bloodstream. She sat on her knees and watched him intently as he visibly relaxed. 

Reaching up to grab the paper again, he grasped her wrist with a firm, yet gentle grip. They sat like that for a few beats before he stood up, dragging her with him. A large hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her to his side. 

He quickly passed the drug to Chris, who tried to conceal a knowing smirk, before pulling the teasing girl into his dimly lit room, shutting the door with their combined weight pressed against it. 

"Have fun!" Chris faintly yelled. 

The sunset lamp y/n bought for Matt projected an array of warm colors along the pair, the orange light kissing y/n's face, and ethereal and angelic aura surrounding her. 

The denim in matt's jeans became more restricting, he found himself itching to free himself from the confines of the blue material. 

She held eye contact with him, pouty lips parted slightly. 

No words were exchanged, but there was an understanding. Of their shared desire; their shared need. 

His slender fingers gripped the plush skin of her hip, tracing the black elastic band of her thong. His other hand traced up her side, barely caressing the skin and sending a tingling sensation to her spine. His hand caressed the side of her neck. 

Her fingers hooked into the two front loops of his light-wash jeans, searching for somewhere to place her earnest touch. 

“P Power” by Gunna echoed throughout the house, a nice touch from Chris, the designated aux. 

Both were breathing deeply, as if they had just finished a light jog. 

It happened in an instant--she squeezed her tan thighs together, his pinky finger dipped underneath the seam of her miniskirt, and their lips clashed together with feverish haste. 

They each fought for dominance like the push and pull of the ocean. Y/n wrapped her arms around Matt's craned neck as Matt pushed the two further into the door. 

Bringing his hand to the front of her neck, he squeezed the sides of her soft skin lightly--she gasped, tugging on the baby hair at the nape of matt's neck. 

He took control of the kiss with a low groan, applying more pressure to her neck, grinning into her lips as her head fell back. He took this opportunity to start working down her jawline and neck, biting small, aggravated marks into her silky skin. 

Their chests heaved, her hardened nipples poking through the sheer fabric of her shirt and against the rough material of his worn cotton shirt. 

"Oh, fuck." She said breathlessly as his teeth found the sensitive part of her neck, working a dark mark into the flesh. 

Once he was happy with his work, he pulled away from her touch completely, nearly pulling a needy whine from her throat. 

"Fuck, you're hot." He gaped, trailing his eyes up and down her flustered figure. Her hair was messy; eyes droopy, staring at him with need. A thin layer of sweat caused her skin to glow under the sultry lighting, her thighs pressed together and hands resting at her sides. 

A wave of confidence surged through her veins, a product of the drugs in her system. She pushed herself off the door, "you have such a way with words, Matthew," she breathed out, pressing her lips to his once again. 

He sat back on his bed, tilting his head up to meet hers as she climbed onto his lap, shaky legs straddling him.  

Her hands ran back and forth through his fluffy brown hair, pulling sporadically to rouse a reaction from him. 

His hands explored her thighs and hips, each time threatening to push her skirt farther up her skin. He gripped her hips once more, lifting her slightly to lay her down on the bed, lips never disconnecting. 

Wandering hands traced underneath the thin fabric of her blouse, caressing her chest and pinching her hardened nipples, kissing them through the sheer material. 

He continued his assault down her stomach, leaving a trail of wet, needy kisses. The tips of his fingers dipped under the top of her skirt, pulling them down slowly as he left closed-mouth kisses to her hips. 

Y/n’s thin excuse for a skirt was discarded somewhere on Matt's bedroom floor, along with his shirt. 

He hovered above her lower torso, ringed fingers toying with the thin black bands. Her manicured fingers shoved his forehead gently. "Don't be a tease, Matthew." 

He planted slow, teasing kisses to the fabric of her underwear, speaking with a smooth, deep voice in between each. 

"Such a hypocrite. How would you feel if I got with one of those girls out there, huh?" He finished his sentence by pressing one final kiss to her clothed clit, watching her shudder with a grin. 

"That's hardly what happened," she breathed out, sending a pointed look to him. "You know would never get with Chris. Just wanted your attention." 

He continued to kiss down her thighs whilst gently removing her soaked-through thong. 

"Hmm. And is all this for me?" He kissed her inner thigh, centimeters away from where she needed him the most. 

"Yes, god yes. Please Matt." 

"So sweet." He finally said and wrapped his arms around her stomach, pulling her legs over his shoulders. 

His mouth attached to her bundle of nerves, tracing small shapes with his tongue. His movements dragged a long whine from her lips, manicured nails reaching to grip his hair. 

He traced his tongue up and down her core, orchestrating her audacious sounds, needing more. 

He brought his middle and ring finger up, gathering her arousal and pushing his slender fingers into her warmth. The metal of his rings pressed against her skin sending chills over her skin. 

Her noises grew in frequency and amplitude, his other hand shooting up to her mouth to muffle the loudness while he repeatedly stroked her spongey walls. 

Matt could tell she was getting close, harshly sucking her clit while continuing to trace patterns with his tongue, fingers never losing their furious pace. 

Her moans grew louder and louder despite Matt's efforts to muffle them—though he didn’t really mind, anyone who was paying attention when they left already knew what was going on. 

He continued his ministrations even as her thighs threatened to close around his head and as her hips lifted off his silk cotton sheets with overstimulation. 

When the stimulation became too much, she pulled him away from her sensitive cunt. He was as equally out of breath as her, his eyes had become droopy like hers, and his boner pressed harshly against the denim of his jeans. 

He earnestly pressed his lips against hers again, kissing her harshly and sloppily, his hands quickly working on removing their remaining clothing. 

He quickly leaned over to his dresser and searched for a condom, y/n lifting herself to rest on her elbows, peppering his chest and neck with quick kisses. 

“You have all my attention now, doll.” He muttered quietly, almost to himself. 

He slowed down, rubbing his length up and down your cunt, gathering your wetness, watching as you practically drooled at the sight of him. 

“Is this what you want?” He used his other hand to caress your jaw sweetly. 

“More than anything, please Matt.” 

He slowly pressed his length into her, letting her fully adjust to her size before beginning to thrust, slow and gentle movements quickly becoming deep and harsh. 

His enthusiasm elicited loud moans from deep within her chest, hands looking for anywhere to anchor into, landing on his freckled back, leaving raised, stinging marks all over. 

In an instant she was flipped over, and her flushed face was pressed into a plush pillow. Matt continued to drill into her, quiet groans and curses falling from his lips every few seconds. 

“So fuckin’ loud. Want everyone to know what we’re doin’ in here? Huh? You want Chris to hear how good I’m fucking you?”  

She thought was strange thinking about Chris when his brother was fucking into her like this, but the thought didn’t maintain one Matt reached around to rub her clit, mind going completely blank other than thoughts of Matt. 

Once the familiar knot started to coil in her lower stomach, she reached back to grab Matt’s wrists for more stability, her legs starting to shake as her orgasm washed over her, tears beginning to soak his silk pillowcase. 

Strong hands gripped her hips harder as she clenched around him repeatedly, causing Matt to throw his head back in pleasure and let out a sharp breath. 

“Ah, shit. Fuck!” 

He fucked them both through their climaxes, slowing his staggering thrusts and finally pulling out of her pillowy walls. He threw his condom into his trash next to his bed, before leaning over and pressing sweet kisses to y/n’s back. 

“You did so good, sweetheart. So good for me.” he praised, running his hands up and down her sides and back. 

Once she regained her strength, she flipped herself over, heaving chest lifting up and down. Her shaky hands grabbed Matt’s arm and she pulled him down next to her, snuggling into his side. 

“I think you might’ve got a little jealous in there...” 

“Yeah, ya think?” 

[lostinlovingrevery]

Vans Valentines- Cynical Romantic

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

A/N: This is a little short but I actually really enjoyed writing this one!

Plot: Logan doesn't like Valentines day, but he loves you

Warnings: Logan being a grump, fluff, suggestiveness, established relationship, smoking

Word Count: 1243

Valentines Day,

Another holiday that corporate greed has grabbed with its slimy hands, ripping it apart, twisting it and contorting it, picking it apart in every way possible to make sure they can get every cent worth out of the holiday. 

Holiday that was supposed to be based around love, about giving appreciation to the ones you loved. Buy them roses, chocolates, little stuffed animals, maybe a cheesy little card with some pun like “We are a perfect match Valentine!” and a cartoon of matches drawn on it. Maybe if they liked their gifts enough, if you say the right words, and spare enough flirty glances, you’ll get lucky later.

It’s stupid, considering you should be showing the one you love appreciation every day. Not only because a date on a calendar tells you to. 

He’s been around long enough to pick up the bullshit that the world sells to people.

“You brooding again?” 

Your voice makes Logan raise his head. His eyes soften at the sight of you. You were wearing that pretty red dress he got for you a while back. The one that complimented your figure well. 

“I don’t brood.”

“Uh-huh.” You smile, a teasing edge in your voice as you approach him, reaching his side and kissing his cheek. “You’re a total brooder Lo, always have been.”

He shook his head, looking down as he opened his blazer, his hand slipping inside and pulling out a cigar he had been smoking earlier and hadn’t finished. He was savoring it because it was his last one. He pats his pockets, searching for the matches he had, but you stop him, stepping in front of him with a flirty smile, reaching into the back pocket of his trousers, your hand sensually sliding down into the pocket, fingers curling around the small box and pulling it out. 

You flipped the small lid open, taking the match and scratching it along the edge, the wooden piece puffed into a flame, and you held it up to his cigar, he leaned forward, not breaking eye contact with you, as he puffed on the cigar, the butt of it turning red, small embers falling to the concrete ground. 

You shook the match, blowing it out and dropping it to the ground as well, his foot coming over to make sure it was fully snuffed out. He puffed on the cigar some more, small amounts of smoke escaping his lips before he brought his hand up to pick the cigar out of his mouth.  

“Oh, yeah-” He turned, standing up from the car, his chest bumping into yours, as he gave you a suspicious look, a raised eyebrow before he turned and reached his arm into the window of the driver's seat. He pulled out a large bouquet, a mix of roses, lavender, and eucalyptus- all your favorites. 

You gasped, a big smile stretching across your face as you took the bouquet, practically bouncing on the heels of your feet. He couldn’t help but smile warmly at your reaction. 

God, she’s so beautiful

“Lo! They’re beautiful!” You smiled, and you leaned forward, taking in a deep sniff of the fragrant flowers. Then you moved to give him a kiss, which he happily accepted. “I thought...” You turn your body slightly, a sly tone in your voice as you give him a side glance with half-lidded eyes. “We weren’t getting each other anything for Valentine's?” 

“I ain’t one for rules darling, you know that.” 

You smiled big again, your hand slipping into your purse, as you pulled out a black box, handing it to him. “Me neither.” You winked.

He gave you a knowing look, sticking the cigar back between his lips before taking the box, holding it in one hand, and pulling the lid off with the other. His eyes widened a bit, and a small scoff escaped him.

Cuban cigars. His favorite kind. The pricey kind he hasn’t gotten to taste in a long time. Cohiba 55 Aniversario. He looked down at you past his furrowed eyebrows.

“Always gotta show me up darling dont’cha?” He mumbles with the cigar between his lips, but the grin on his face gives away his attitude. You moved to face him, leaning in,

“It’s the thought that counts.” You hummed, tipping your chin towards him with a cheeky smile. 

He tipped his chin up, looking down at you with a quirked brow, throwing the small box into the driver's seat and pulling the cigar from his lips again. His arm roughly went around your hip and pulled you against him, making you giggle as your hands went to his chest. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke in a low sultry tone “It’s alright, I’ll make it even later tonight.” 

“I know you will.” You grin, your hand coming up to his cheek as you look into his hazel eyes. Most days, Logan looked tired and angry. However, whenever he looks at you- you see the same youthful fire you saw in him when you first met him- 15 years ago. 

The day you met him, he looked at you like you were the love of his life- only to figure out that indeed, you were the love of his life; and he was yours. Logan was a young- well…younger man then. He pursued you with a stubbornness and arrogance that drove you insane and eventually, you gave into his whims and discovered someone so much more than the rough exterior he gave off outside, deep inside. 

You were the only one Logan trusted with his heart. 

His free hand came up to yours cradling his cheek, careful of the cigar still resting between his fingers. He turned his head, softly kissing your palm, eyes not leaving yours, as his lips made contact with the ring on your ring finger. You smiled, your eyes crinkling in the corner- faint signs of crow's feet lingering, showing your age catching up to you. 

Thank god he didn’t lose you.

When the Westchester incident happened, he didn’t know what to do. By some luck, if you want to call it that - you weren’t anywhere near the school that day. You and him got Charles, and ran, protecting the old headmaster from the government and other threats, becoming his caretakers and working tirelessly to keep him fed, medicated, and comfortable. You and Logan have both grieved the loss of your friends- your family together. You worked together taking care of Charles, and have supported each other through everything. He didn’t know what he’d do without you, and you without him. 

You were partners. Nothing less.

“You ready doll?” He finally asks. You nodded, leaning up to give him a passionate smooch, squeezing his hand for reassurance and letting go.

‘I told Caliban not to wait up.” You say, as you walk around the other side of the car, Logan following you- and opening the passenger side door for you. “Charles told us not to get into any trouble.” You say with amusement. 

“He knows us well,” Logan mutters, shutting the door before walking back into the driver's seat. He turned the car on, his hand moving to the gear shift.

“Hey-” Your hand went to his, stopping him for a moment. “Happy Valentine's day.” You smiled. He grinned, leaning over to kiss you.

“Happy Valentine's, love.” 

Yeah, Valentine's Day was a crock. He’ll give you his love, every day.

[yeehawbvby]

Safe (Sebastian x GN!Reader)

Rating: Teen+

Summary: You run into Sebastian on your way into town from the bathhouse, and he invites you to go for a ride with him. The thing is, you’re terrified of motorcycles.

Luckily, he helps you feel safe while you prepare to accompany him.

Author's Note: This was 100% wholeheartedly inspired by these images by sinsydia.. when I say I have been rotating that last one in particular in my brain for DAYS I'm not exaggerating!! ;;w;; Hope y'all like this x

Check it out on ao3!

It was a rough day. 

A new season had just started so you spent more time than usual tending to your crops, and then had to delve into the mines for a good few hours to fulfill a bulletin board request. 

Got your ass kicked by some bugs and bats all for a stupid topaz… Elliot better need it for something good.

After dinner, you felt awful, but didn’t want to go to bed just yet; you figured you at least deserved a nice dip at the bathhouse first to relax. So after cleaning the dishes, you trudged through the backwoods, up the mountain, and then across the broken, dirty tiles of the worn-down building feeling half-dead; wondering, Is this really worth the hike? 

About 20 minutes into your soak, you realized that it totally was worth it. You found yourself shoving your swimsuit back into your locker with a second wind that only a nap could usually supply, ready to enjoy the rest of your night.

Rather than turning right into the backwoods, you made your way further down the hill with an extra pep in your step, deciding to take the long way home. A round headlight stopped you in your tracks, though.

You squinted through the beam and smiled, noticing a tall, hooded figure resting against the bike that beam came from, with a cigarette hanging between his lips. Had to try your best not to ogle at how good he looked. As much as motorcycles freaked you out, you couldn’t deny the appeal of seeing Sebastian leaning so coolly against his own.

As you approached, he turned to you, nodding his head once in greeting. “Hey,” he offered before turning for a moment to breathe out some smoke.

“What’s up?” 

“I was just about to head out.” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back his hood in the process. 

“Oh, cool,” you nodded, sparing a glance south towards the town. He probably wants me to leave, then. “I won’t keep y—“ you stopped yourself at the sight of a goofy and mischievous — albeit very handsome — grin staring down at you when you faced him again.

A nervous laugh slipped its way past your lips while you looked around at the scenery once more to distract yourself. Hopefully your cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt…

Through some residual giggles, you asked, “What’s with the face?” 

He flashed you a toothier smile. “Wanna come with?”

You took a deep breath in. On one hand, a night out with your crush sounded amazing. On the other… 

You puffed your cheeks, still holding your breath while you stared down Sebastian’s vehicle.

Finally letting that air escape your lungs, you hesitantly responded with a question of your own. “You… you mentioned a while back that you'd keep me safe if I ever rode with you, right?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “of course.”

“You promise you will?”

“I’ll do ya one better.” He held out a pinky, his face softening as he wiggled it at you.

You could’ve sworn your heart melted a little when you linked your little finger through his. The two of you remained comfortably intertwined for a few beats while you decided what to do.

You knew you’d be wondering about what you were missing out on all night if you didn’t go with him… well, wherever he was going. 

Fuck it.

With a sigh, you nodded. “Alright, yeah.” The words came out airy, your nerves putting themselves on full display. 

Sebastian’s grin grew wide and genuine while he snuffed out his cigarette in the ashtray he kept near the garage door. 

“Sick.” He nodded towards the bike, “You get on first. I’ve gotta grab a few things.”

Nodding at the instructions he gave you, you padded over to the motorcycle, inspecting it a little before straddling the seat. 

Your heart raced thinking of what was to come. You trusted Sebastian, of course, but you didn’t trust other drivers on the road. Weren’t sure how you felt about being a passenger without a roof or doors to shield you, either. 

Your friend came back with two helmets in hand — one very clearly old and worn, and the other sleek and new, as if recently polished. He handed you the fancier one.

There was a noticeable shake to your hands while you took the protective gear from him. 

“Hm…” he hummed at that observation, his mouth crooked. “Scoot forward. I wanna try something.”

With the helmet in your lap and your view plastered to the instrument panel, you did just that. Then, you stiffened as you felt Sebastian climb on behind you, reaching around your frame to hold the handlebars.

He hummed pensively again, his baritone reverberating through your back and sending a shiver down your spine, before nodding. “I can work with this.”

“Is this even legal?” you asked, looking behind yourself and up at him. 

Yoba above you’ve never been this close to him. As if your anxiety regarding the motorcycle wasn’t enough stress on your poor heart…

He shrugged and looked down at you, grinning. “Probably not.” His breath was minty and smokey as it brushed your face. He winked as he tacked on, “That’s what the backroads are for.” The small gesture had your stomach doing flips.

You nodded, still unsure, but again trusting his judgment; and after putting his own helmet on, he put a large hand on your shoulder and leaned down, getting close to your ear.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll take it slow, yeah?”

Too nervous to look at his eyes this closely through the polycarbonate between you, you kept your view on his knee, nodding. 

After a pat where his hand was, he reached around you and grabbed the other helmet, plopping it down over your head. The action made you laugh. Definitely helped to lighten the mood.

“Alright, a few things,” he went on while you adjusted the headgear, pointing towards some metal bars near the front wheels of the vehicle. “You see those crash bars there?” 

“Yup.”

“Keep your feet on ‘em. Any dangling when we’re in motion could get dangerous.” Next, while you heeded his words, Sebastian brought both hands around you and grasped the handlebars near where they met. “If you need to grab anything, which you should if you want to really feel secure, hold onto this. Any higher,” he slid his hands towards the grips, “and you could mess with my steering.” You could hear a sly smile in his voice as he suggested, “Unless you wanna steer—“

You cut him off, your own tone amused. “No way in hell.”

He barked out a quick laugh. “Whatever you say. Now, one more thing.”

“Hm?”

“Let me know if you feel too spooked at any point and I’ll pull over, or we can just turn back, or whatever.” 

Your anxiety had already been washing away, but that suggestion solidified how safe he really made you feel. 

You breathed deeply.

He really would keep you safe.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you nodded. “I trust you, though. I think I’ll be okay.”

Braving the closeness, you turned your head towards his again. He was looking down at you already, so your helmets bumped in the middle, leaving both of you chuckling as a result. 

“Thanks, Seb.”

“What for?”

You shrugged. “For looking out for me, I guess, I dunno.” You could see his eyes grin through the lens of his helmet before he headbutted your own with it. You stifled a giggle.

“No problem, ya sap.” He started up the bike before looking down at you again. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “Let’s do this.”

[sebastianswallows]

Nobody's Darling — 2. The Motel

— PAIRING: Benny Cross x F!Reader — SYNOPSIS: Benny comes across a girl walking alone in the middle of nowhere and offers her a ride to the nearest town. They stop at a motel. — WARNINGS: angst, a hint of smut (masturbation) — WORDCOUNT: 3k — A/N: Continuation of Part 1. After a couple of weeks I could finally work on this again! The story continues. I hope you enjoy it, my loves 😘

She wasn’t sure what she expected before she stepped inside. There were tables and dartboards, a pair of old jukeboxes, and a long bar all along the left side of the room. A few people were playing pool and a few more sat drinking, all wallowing in days-old sweat under the pale light. She almost stepped back out at the sight of all of this but he stood behind her. He eased her in with a hand around her waist.

“It’s ok,” he mumbled with the shadow of a smile. “Nobody’s gonna hurt ya.”

He led her in keeping his hand around her all the while. She scowled up at him, at his familiarity, but soon realised this was probably his way of making sure nobody else would touch her.

“Take a seat anywhere you’d like,” he softly said.

She took the table furthest from anybody else and hugged her purse tightly to her chest. Everyone else looked at them until, almost in unison, they stopped and went back to whatever they’d been doing.

“What do they have to eat around here?” she asked as he sat opposite from her.

“Burgers. Beer.”

“That’s it?”

He pulled his pack out and offered her a cigarette.

“No thank you…”

“They got peanuts at the bar, I guess.”

“Right,” she said with a scrunched nose. “So, where’s the bathrooms?”

He stared at her in silence as he lit another smoke.

“Well, I’d like to at least wash my hands before I eat…” In truth, she felt filthy head to toe after the night she’d had.

He braced his arms on the table and took a deep drag, then turned his head to gaze across the room. It gave her the chance to look at him in better lighting. He was deceptively young but aged around the edges — from the drinking and the smoking and a rough life in the wind. Every slip of softness was threaded through with something harsh. His lips were pillows surrounded by the blond bristles of a beard, his eyes were icy cold, fanned by thick long lashes, and although his hands were callused and beringed and heavy he held that cigarette as gently as if it were a lover’s dainty finger.

“In the back,” he muttered through a puff of smoke.

“What?”

“Ladies’ room.”

“Oh. Alright. I’ll, erm, be right back.”

And just as she got up he added with a smile,

“If there’s no soap left, try the men’s.”

She left him not thinking that she would ever do that, but she did. The ladies’ bathroom was well-used to the point she had to hop around to avoid dubious puddles. The men’s room was no better except they never seemed to use the soap. She dipped in and out of it as if the door could bite her.

By the time she returned to their table, he had already ordered and was chugging down his beer waiting for her. His eyes didn’t leave her as she sat down and started to inspect the meal.

“Is this it?” she asked with a curl of her nose.

The plate was chipped, the bun was shiny with grease, the pickles underneath were slathered in ketchup, and she didn’t have the courage to look further than that. He nursed on the bottle and hid a shy smile around the rim.

“I could ask them to get you somethin’ else.”

“You said they didn’t have anything else.”

He shrugged. “They could make it.”

“At this hour? The chef’s likely to —”

“They ain’t got a chef,” he shrugged. “Old guy, think his name’s… Tex. He tends the bar and the kitchen out back.”

“Yeah… All the more reason to stick with this,” she muttered to herself.

He chuckled and snuffed out the cigarette, and then his sooty hands grabbed hold of the burger, its insides dripping lazily onto the plate. She looked at him, and picked hers up, but immediately decided she’d rather try the beer first.

It was surprisingly decent, not too strong, flavourful… She drank until it sated her thirst and her throat was no longer burning. By the time the bottle was half-empty, the burger didn’t even seem so horrible anymore.

“What’s your name?” she asked with a sigh.

The boy raised his pale gaze to hers and slowed down his chewing. He seemed surprised that she had asked at all.

“Benny.”

“Benny,” she smiled. “Ben. Benjamin?”

He put the messy burger down and took another swig, looking at her over the edge of the dark bottle. “Just Benny.”

“I see…”

“How ‘bout you?”

She introduced herself but after that, the conversation settled into silence. They kept eating and drinking while the chime of the balls at the pool table filled the emptiness around them. She felt awkward sitting opposite him, trying to be polite, pretending that she didn’t quietly judge everything about him in spite of her friendly tone. Benny seemed to sense it. Did he just not like her asking about his name? She thought “Benjamin” to be quite dignified and she regretted not getting to tell him. But then again, perhaps he wouldn’t like that…

Or perhaps he didn’t like her staring at him. At his grimy hands holding those buns even as they seemed ready to fall apart, at how he held the bottle by its thin delicate neck, at his lips, his lidded eyes, the way his throat flexed as he swallowed. Soon she found herself quite uncomfortable and not because of the awkward silence anymore. He looked up when he was done, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and although she looked away he seemed to pause in thought at the sight of her. His chair scratched lightly across the floor as he leaned back to finish off his beer.

“It’s just oil and dirt,” he said with an awkward smile as he crossed his arms over his chest and started smoking “Ain’t gonna hurt me.”

“You’re probably sick of me, aren’t you?” she smiled. “You’d rather be over there at the bar, or playing pool.”

Benny’s arm tightened around himself and she tried not to stare at how nicely those muscles flexed. “And you’d rather be at home,” he said in a quiet rasp. “Takin’ a hot shower. Layin’ in a nice clean bed.”

She leaned back as well, her hand already reaching for the beer again. There was no meanness in his voice but she still felt guilty for wanting something better than… what his life seemed to be.

“So what were you doin’ out there?” he asked as he wiped the corner of his lips.

“I, er, got lost.”

He looked at her in that quiet way of his she’d already gotten used to.

“I fell asleep on my bus ride home,” she finally confessed, smiling sheepishly.

That got a chuckle out of Benny. “How long were you walkin’ for?”

“About an hour.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“You look it.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, you still look nice.”

“T-thanks…”

She twisted the bottle between her fingers as she cast her gaze across the bar, at the slowly rolling smoke and swaying patrons getting drunker. And from the corner of her eye, she could see Benny staring with those sad blue eyes, hunched over, lips pouting while the cigarette slowly burnt away, and there was such a pleading in the way he looked at her that she wanted against her better judgment to just go ahead, invite him home, and ask him to stay… But she knew better than to get involved with a troublemaker in a motorcycle club, even one that drove her back to town, even one whose voice was soft and tender.

“You said they had rooms?” she said after a while.

He nodded.

“Who — I mean, where do I —”

“Come on,” he said as he got up. “I’ll show you.”

“What about dinner?”

“What about it?”

“Should I just leave some money on the table or —”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that,” he smiled. “Tex owes me me.”

She somehow doubted it but before she could say anything Benny had gone around the bar, taken two keys from a shelf behind a canopy of glasses, and was on his way up the stairs. She wondered if this was his way of getting away from her for the night. Perhaps by morning he’d be gone, leaving her there to figure things out for herself.

The floors felt rickety and noises from the bar followed them however far they went. In a symphony of creaking and chirps from the cicadas outside Benny led her to a room at the end of the corridor on the second floor. A lone lightbulb came on to bathe the room a sickly yellow, cramped with a veneer of stains and spots and each surface looking a bit uneven. The mattress on the bed looked a bit caved in. The door to the bathroom was ajar and crooked. The little square window by the door was black with soot.

“Right, so, er… You good for tonight?” Benny asked, his face turned to her in worry.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s fine,” she said and took a cautious step inside. “Thank you.”

He didn’t seem convinced and his frown turned a little sad. It made her feel bad for seeming so ungrateful.

“Beats walking in the wilderness at night,” she added with a smile.

“High praise,” he chuckled. “Water runs alright. There’ll be towels in that drawer there. It’s… Well, g’night,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Just as he turned to leave he added, “If you need somethin’, I’ll be in room 5 just up the hall.”

“Alright,” she said as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Good night…”

And with one great stride, the lean tall shape of him was gone, closing the door after him.

She knew she couldn’t expect the kind of cleanliness she had at home but it was still uncomfortable to navigate this temporary bedroom. She put her suit up nicely on a wooden chair to be ready for tomorrow morning and laid out her stockings nearby. There were no slippers anywhere so she walked with her beaten dusty shoes into the bathroom and managed to clean herself up a bit before bed. Every surface seemed dubious to her, but Benny had been right that the water ran well. There was soap and towels too, and even if she could hardly call it a shower she managed to make do.

“I can’t wait to go home,” she whispered to herself on the verge of tears.

After checking twice that the door was properly locked, she laid down on the bed still in her slip. The pillows were thin and the springs of the mattress were noisy, but she curled up and made her best attempt to fall asleep.

Every now and then the popping sound of balls hitting each other at the pool table would reach her, and in between that the singing of crickets and the buzzing of flies filled the air. She tossed and she turned, breathing in the unwashed scent of musky pillows, rotting wood, old cigarette smoke and ashes… And even though she was exhausted and full after her greasy meal, she just couldn’t fall asleep. It wasn’t the pain in her back and shoulders, it wasn’t her feet aching from the walk, it wasn’t even how dirty she still felt or the fear that any moment one of those drunken men from downstairs would try to sneak in and rob her — or worse. She turned from side to side feeling at odds with herself.

This wasn’t the kind of bar she went to and it wasn’t the kind of place she spent the night. And Benny… Well, Benny wasn’t exactly the kind of guy she went for — but why was she thinking like that? He was only supposed to give her a ride home. That is if he didn’t just leave her there. He’d be entitled to, after how coldly she’d treated him all night. He’d bought her dinner, he’d gotten her that room, and still she couldn’t get over the fact that he was in her eyes a vagabond. A vandal, as said his jacket.

“I just have to make it through the night,” she told herself. “I wouldn’t even have to see him again tomorrow. I’ll wake up early and… and… he might not even still be around.”

She rolled onto her back and stretched with nervous energy, her arms covering her face. The thought of not seeing him again drove her strangely restless. Something about that boy made her want to touch him gently. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, to look into his eyes for hours, to hold him and be held... Yes, he wasn’t her kind of guy, but underneath that cold hard leather and the denim and the dirt, she had seen a trace of sweetness, innocence, and hurt. And before she knew it she’d pulled the pillow down before her, tucked it between her legs, wrapped her arms around it, and held its tattered end to her neck as if it were somebody’s face. It comforted her just a little, made her feel less alone — like she’d felt when she held onto him on the back of his bike.

Her eyes opened in the dark, her own thoughts shocking her, but she had enough courage to admit that it was true. Sure enough, as soon as she stepped foot inside that ugly bar or laid down in that bed she only wanted to go home — but in the dark her deepest thoughts turned to how lonely, how harsh, how empty her life was... She’d never thought she struggled with living all alone, not until she’d wrapped her arms around Benny and he drove her through the night. She’d been afraid to hold onto him at first but by the end of their ride, she didn’t want to let him go. And now her arms felt empty and her head felt full and whichever side of the bed she turned on wasn’t right because nobody else was there.

With a sigh, she pushed the useless pillow away and sat up on the side of the bed. The cold floor soothed her feet but there was an itch inside of her, a restlessness that would not be assuaged by anything less than the real thing.

“You’re crazy,” she mumbled to herself. “I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t…”

But she did. She got up, put her shoes back on, and wrapped the blanket around herself like a shawl. And before her mind could catch up with her body she was out the door.

The sounds were softer than before, more stilted, less precarious, and the noises from the distant bar had dimmed together with the light. Blackbirds were singing in the trees that swung beside the balustrade. The moon was dim and fogged with shallowed clouds but if she focused she could see the numbers on the door. When she finally reached room 5, she paused. What if he was sleeping? What if he wasn’t there? What if took this the wrong way? And most terrifying of all was — what if he wouldn’t care?

Her hand was poised to knock but stopped just short of it. No light was coming from inside but there was tension in the air as if the silence was still filled with something. It had a deliberate quality to it that made her hair stand on end and nearly scared her back to her room. It’s him that I’m afraid of, she thought to herself. What he would think of me. What he would say… But she refused to let herself feel that way and be scared of him again after she’d just gotten over it earlier that evening. He’s just a boy. A stupid, dirty little boy with blue eyes and long lashes…

Her fist tightened but she still didn’t dare to knock. And as she stood there caught between her fear and longing, something called to her from the other side. It was a stilted sound, almost a voice, but not quite something wakeful. He must’ve been asleep… Rather than knock and risk waking him up she chanced turning the handle and to her surprise the door gave way. Of course he’d sleep with it unlocked…

If he’s not awake I’ll go back to my room, she thought. I’ll let him rest. I’ll —

She opened the door enough to peek inside. It was dark but she could still make out something. Benny was on the bed. That’s where the sounds were coming from — quick breaths, low moans, and a sticky wet sound on repeat. A slow and languorous melange that made her body warm. There was a rounded sheen of muscle that moved in the shadows and each tug was coloured by a whimper vulnerable and loud.

She gasped quietly, mouth agape, and just then a bike rolled by outside. Its rumble drowned him out and its lights shone past her into the room to give her just a glimpse of Benny. He was lying in bed propped up against the pillow, messy head leaned back, full lips parted, lidded eyes. The jacket must’ve been somewhere else because he was left in a white tank top that strained against his chest. He was still wearing those dirty jeans but they were bunched low on his hips, and his hand was closed in a fist around —

He stopped moving.

“I-is that you?” he rasped.

The light from the bike outside was gone but she could feel his gaze on her, could hear in his strangled voice a weak, frail shiver, so at odds with how carefree he’d been.

“Yes?” she wanted to say but all that came out was a choked whisper.

“Come inside…”

[itsalola07]

The evening light slowly faded with each step into the dark cavern, the encroaching darkness suffocating as Jeremiah descended down the stairs into the cavern. He held his breath as the faintest of oranges and yellows could no longer pierce the pitch black bottomless depths ahead of him. Pulling out his phone, he flipped on the flashlight settings, the small bright light illuminating a few feet in front of him, the wooden stairs built into the cave floor, the shelves carved into the solid rock. With the long rusted golden candle holders and encrusted gemstones, this path must have been extravagant a few hundred years ago or as extravagant as a hidden crypt could be. Jeremiah continued his journey, wishing for nothing more than Sally to be at his side in that moment. Her warm fingers entangled in his, her loud, over the top bravado, just her presence, something to help conquer the sickeningly thick discomfort. But she had her own trial to overcome, and like her, he had to do this alone.

His footsteps splashed and creaked, smelling stagnant water and rot as the surface was truly gone, only inky blackness and the smallest pinprick of light from his phone.

Time didn't seem to matter on his trip to what may as well be hell, it could have been minutes or hours or days, all he knew was he just kept going down, down, down, into the dark, his light catching an old relic lining the wall or his foot snapping a rotted wooden board under his weight.

And then, there was nothing.

The light from his phone blinked out completely. Jeremiah tried to click on the screen, but the device was either completely dead or the dark itself snuffed it out.

Jeremiah was a big man. He was a strong man. To cross him was a death sentence to a mortal man, and to challenge him was laughable. He couldn't tell if that affirmation was in his head or out loud.

He shouldn't be scared of the dark. He wasn't a child. He wasn't stupid. But as his eyes were stripped of what little sight they had, so too was the air in his lungs. An inhale, too small an exhale, another inhale. He wasn't scared, he wasn't. He could feel himself grow lightheaded.

There was no way he could give up now, whether he had walked ten minutes or ten hours, he knew he was long beyond the threshold of turning back. But the void in front of him, behind him, all around him, he couldn't move. Like the reality of everything that was happening to his town, happening to Sally, happening to him, was crawling out of the dark and wrapping its skeletal hands tight around his throat.

He placed his hand to his chest. His heart was pounding, lungs desperate for air. But he was still alive. His heart was still beating. As ragged as they were, he still drew breath. He tried to focus on that, to calm himself before the cavern truly did swallow him up.

And then his fingers grazed against something in his breast pocket, small and rectangular. Familiar. Pulling it out, he could feel the ignition against his thumb, the cheap plastic feeling like a lifeline, his dollar store lighter he had bought just a day ago so he and Sally could smoke one last cigarette before they went their separate ways.

Jeremiah would say he laughed in relief, but the sound he made was more along the lines of a strangled croak as he flicked the lighter, a small beacon of orange against the black.

It was cheap, though, and the fuel would not last too long. The cave smelt and sounded of water, so he was careful where he moved his hand, cupping the light to keep it safe, looking at the shelves along the wall. Not as numerous as before, but he could see one, a little more polished than when he first arrived. A faded gold, scratched and chipped engraving of flowers and symbols, the gaudy candelabra still held candles, melted and small, but with a wick nonetheless. Gripping the cold metal, he lit the ancient candles, the rock around him illuminating with orange and yellow. Fear began to disappate, slinking back as he could see path ahead of him, Neverending, but a path all the same. He had to keep going, for so many people's sakes.

[sister-lucifer]

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Fluff, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and you and Tim are stuck inside the cabin together. You can’t sleep because of the thunder, and decide to see if Tim can help you out. 

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral reader, brief mentions of alcohol, uh…if you can think of anything else let me know! This is pretty damn soft, but actually not explicitly romantic.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You don’t really notice the sound of the rain against the windows anymore. It’s been raining nonstop since, what, 7 AM this morning? Its not quite storming, at least not yet, but everything is soaked, and you can hardly even walk out onto the patio without your shoes filling with water. It’s dreary, sure, but not exactly unpleasant. It’s a good day to stay in, that’s all. 

You shift your sitting position a bit, wrapping one of the woven blankets from the back of the couch around your shoulders as you gaze out the window. You’re not really expecting to see anything, it’s just trees and trees for miles around, but you always seem to find yourself gazing out into the endless pines. You only turn away when you hear Tim sit down in the recliner, sighing lazily as he puts his feet up. This is a sight you’ve seen many times: A few strands of hair falling between his eyes, an old flannel half unbuttoned over a stained white tank, a beer can in one hand and a nearly finished cigarette in the other. It’s practically Tim’s natural state.

He takes one last drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ash tray he keeps on the end table, chasing the smoke with a sip of his beer before that, too, is set aside. He glances out the window, whistling softly. 

“Ain’t nobody goin’ out in that weather,” He drawls, “Nobody with half a mind, anyhow.”

You nod in agreement, taking a little sip of your hot cocoa. It’s a wonderful way to keep warm in this homely old cabin.

You glance over at Tim, who is now absentmindedly flipping through TV channels. He’s probably looking for sports or Storage Wars or something, you think. Some old man show you’ll never find interest in.

As you look at him a bit longer, just spacing out a bit with your eyes on his face, your mind meanders back to before you two were this comfortable with each other. It feels weird to think about that now, though. You couldn’t imagine being in that place again.

Tim’s told you before that you reminded him of himself when he was a younger, when he was ‘new and green’ as he’d say. You were a wide eyed, scared kid, just like he was. You deserved to be living in a dorm somewhere, getting shitfaced at college parties and making choices you’ll regret the next morning but laugh at for years, not to be forced to cope with this reality. No one deserves it, really, to wake up in an unfamiliar place surrounded only by endless woods, no one and nothing around to help you and your body aching all over with injuries you don’t recall getting. 

He knows that feeling. 

He’s never felt worse. Neither have you. It’s hard to get worse than that, really. 

You were still a bit dazed when he first helped you back to his cabin, but something about the worn walls and cozy, lived-in feeling of the old rugs and antique furniture told you you were safe, at least for now. You were out the second your head hit the pillow. You slept for nearly two days straight. You really needed it. 

Since then you’ve been a permanent fixture in Tim’s life. You don’t really leave the cabin, and you’ve never left alone. Tim says it’s just until you can find a job and a place of your own, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to kick you out. You’re thankful for that, of course, but you can’t help but smile every time he insists that this is only a temporary situation, that if you don’t get off your ass he’ll quite literally throw you to the wolves, but he always smiles too. You’re definitely on the same page, and the headline says you’re not going anywhere.

The rainy day melts into a rainy afternoon, then an evening, then a quiet night. The rain has slowed down a bit, but now the thunder has rolled in, and every ten or fifteen seconds or so you can hear it clapping loudly overhead. The sound is a bit more…penetrating than usual, a bit more raucous, and far more bothersome. You’re not sure why. The only thing you are sure of is that your once comforting outdoor ambience is really ticking you off. 

You sit up with a yawn, glancing at the clock and groaning with annoyance when you see it’s already passed 2:00 AM. Damn, you’ve been lying here a while, and still no luck getting to sleep. 

The thunder crashes outside once more, making you roll your eyes. It’s mocking you, you think, poking and prodding in an attempt to get a reaction. You simply sit there for a few moments, debating turning your TV on or reading a book to tire yourself a bit more, but neither of those are particularly attractive options at the moment. You bring your knees up and rest your head on them, half lidded eyes lazily wandering around your dark room. It looks the same as usual, no surprise there, but when you look down the hallway you notice that Tim’s door is cracked open. 

Hm. Odd. He never leaves it open. Must’ve stumbled off to bed and failed to realize he didn’t close it all the way. 

It’s not a big deal at all, really, but the light of his TV leaking out through the cracked door paired with the noise of the thunder gives you an idea. 

You slowly slip out of bed, cringing a bit when your feet hit the cold wood. You’re as quiet as you can be, avoiding all the floorboards you know will squeak. There’s really no point, Tim sleeps like a rock most nights, especially if he’s been drinking, but you figure you’re better off safe than sorry.

You make your way to his door, pushing it open just a bit to peek inside. You wince when the door creaks unbearably loudly, but Tim doesn’t move a muscle. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on his bed, limbs in all directions and his single blanket only half covering his body. He looks foolish, but in a charming sort of way. He’s even snoring a bit.

You cautiously make your way to his bedside, watching him for any sign of consciousness. You don’t want to startle him. Even if he didn’t mean to, he could really hurt you if he thought you were a threat, though at the moment he’s not very intimidating. His sweatpants are ratty, there’s no hiding his dad bod in that old sports tee, and his face is illuminated by the cheesy sitcom he left on; not exactly the pinnacle of danger. 

You step up to his bed, debating what to do. You should wake him gently, it reduces the risk of injury, but how do you gently wake someone who could sleep through an aerial assault?

“…Pssst, Tim?” You whisper, but get no response. You repeat yourself, a bit louder this time.

“Tim, wake up.” 

He stirs a bit, but all you get is a groan and a minute twitch of his eye. Dammit. 

You sigh and roll your eyes with annoyance, reaching out to softly shake his shoulder.

“Tim, it’s me. Wake up.”

He lazily swats your hand away, groaning again and mumbling a reply without even opening his eyes. 

“Whaddya want, kid…?” He asks, practically chewing his words.

“I can’t sleep,” You respond simply, giving a little shrug. Tim is not amused at this answer. 

“And why does this have to involve me?” He huffs, glancing at you for a moment before his eyes close again. He turns onto his side towards you, yawning as he tries to pull his blanket back up. 

You don’t really have an answer to that one. Why did you feel the need to come in here and wake Tim up? It’s not like he controls the thunder. It’s not like he controls your inability to sleep…

…But maybe he can help. 

“I can’t sleep,” You explain, trying to figure out how to word your request without sounding stupid, “The thunder is too loud. I thought maybe I could…you know…” 

Tim’s eyes finally open, for real. He raises a brow at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve overstepped, but his expression shifts to tired once more as he turns onto his back again. 

“Kid,” He mutters, clearly annoyed but trying to be gentle, “If you’re old enough to share a beer with me, you are definitely too damn old to be running into my bed ‘cause you’re scared of a li’l thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” You quickly protest, “It’s just too loud for me to sleep. I didn’t know what else to do, I just thought…”

You trail off. You’re not really sure what you thought.

“…Never mind.” 

You turn to walk away, hoping he’ll be too tired to remember this in the morning. You’re in the doorway when his gruff voice stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” He drawls, sleepily waving you over without moving from where he’s lying, “Get back here, I ain’t chasin’ ya off…” 

You pause at that, then slowly walk back to his bed. He’s silent, and for a few moments unmoving, but then he scoots over a bit, patting the bed next to him. 

“C’mon.” 

You sigh in relief, happy to see Tim responding at least somewhat positively. You climb into bed next to him, though you’re careful not to get too close to him. You and Tim don’t really do physical contact beyond a high five for a job well done. 

That’s what makes it all the more surprising when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side but making sure to be gentle, giving you ample opportunity to pull away if you need to. You don’t.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, keeping his eyes closed and his face towards the ceiling, his free hand idly resting over his stomach. 

“…You ain’t too scared, are ya?” He drawls. You’re confused for a moment, but then the thunder sounds again and you realize what he means. You hadn’t even noticed the thunder since you walked in. It was nice. 

“No, I’m fine, really,” You insist, “I’m not scared, it’s just hard to sleep with the noise. It’s more annoying than anything else.”

He gives a grunt of acknowledgment. 

“You get on to sleep, then. Ain’t no reason for you to be tired tomorrow.” 

You nod, moving a bit closer to him. He, in turn, wraps him arm a bit tighter around you. It feels…nice. Foreign, yes, but far from unpleasant. He smells like pine trees and faded Old Spice cologne. 

You yawn softly, pulling the blanket up over the two of you as you get comfortable. A comfortable silence settles over you both as the sound of the thunder mixed with the blurry noise of the TV. You’re the first to break it, a question falling from your lips before you can really think of stopping it. 

“…You were worried I was afraid?” 

Tim shrugs, scratching at his stubble as he answers. 

“I mean, I guess…I just wanted to make sure, ya know? Make sure you didn’t need me to do nothing to make you feel better…” 

That makes you smile.

“Didn’t think you’d care that much…” You murmur with a hint of a giggle. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim quickly snaps, “Course I care. I care about you. Ain’t no way for me not to. I’ve cared about you since the second I took you in. You’re not that young, I know, but back then you were just a kid to me. You’ve matured since then, yeah, but I’ll never forget the way you looked when I found you wandering the trail that day…” 

“Yeah, yeah, and you remember when I was three apples tall, I get it,” You tease with a playful laugh. Tim can’t help but chuckle, giving you a little squeeze. 

“Can it, ya little shit. You know what I’m sayin’. I knew what I was doin’ when I let you into my home, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t care.”

He’s got a point there. Most of the time Tim’s number one priority is self preservation. He rarely goes out of his way to do anything that doesn’t directly benefit him. He must’ve seen something in you absolutely worth the trouble. What exactly it is you’ll never know, but you’re certainly happy with where it’s gotten you. 

You turn to him a bit, giving him a tired smile. He turns to you as though he can sense your stare, cracking open one eye to return your smile before laying his head back again. 

“Alright, alright, ‘nuff yammerin’. Go to sleep,” He orders, reaching over to ruffle your hair before his hand rests back on his stomach. He never was good at being strict.

You stretch a bit before settling into your spot, getting as comfortable as you can so that you won’t have to shift around and risk bothering or waking up Tim later on. He hasn’t moved a muscle, his breathing already slowed and all of his muscles relaxed for once. It’s an odd sight, really. Usually he’s always holding some tension in his brow or jaw or shoulders, but he’s completely relaxed now, as are you. You finally feel like you could fall asleep.

“Night,” You mutter, your eyes fluttering shut. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Tim’s southern drawl ringing in your ears. 

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

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[sfehvn]

switch

Description: Tav takes matters into her own hands when seducing Astarion. A/N: Literally just a thousand words of pure smut. Astarion and Tav have fun being switches for a bit. This was the vibe while I wrote. Enjoy! Xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1,119 Characters: Astarion x Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

  The sway in your hips was magnetic as you hummed quietly to yourself. The lake's cool water came up to your waist, leaving your chest bare to any prying eyes. Prying eyes there indeed were; a predator skulked silently through the shadows of the trees. He observed you conspicuously. Or so he thought. His presence was no secret; you were determined to give him a show that would leave him yearning for more. Your shoulder blades rolled back as you straightened out your posture. You sensually palmed the frigid liquid over your breasts. Your head tilted back to face the moon as a mischievous smirk played on pert lips. The liveliness that could typically be heard from the campsite had long died down, and you could make out smoke billowing from the snuffed-out fire in the distance.

  You had been eagerly awaiting an opportunity to get Astarion alone. Since the night you two shared, shrouded by trees and the carnal lust of one another, he had been the one constant on your mind. Keeping a clear head was necessary; that knowledge was not lost on you. The journey before you and your companions was still a long one. Doing what you do best, you decided to take matters into your own hands. The permanent ache between your thighs would persist until you’ve scratched that itch. Or rather, until Astarion did. The flirtation and teasing had only made your craving for the vampire worse. Pride prevented you from simply voicing your needs to him. Instead, knowing that he’d be out hunting, you settled on giving him something worthwhile to hunt for. You.

  Water sloshed and calmed as he entered the water. His form is pressed to yours within seconds, his hard length against your ass. His hands come up to cup your breasts in his palms, lips pressed to your ear as he whispers, “I was on the prowl for a deer, but how could I pass up a meal as delicious as yourself?” Goosebumps rise across your delicate flesh. His cold lips find the crook of your neck, laying wet kisses in their wake. No doubt the same place he’d be feasting upon shortly. Fingers lace into his silver hair, sinking your weight against him. Your back arches in a desperation you try your best to conceal. It’s no use; Astarion is already tsk’ing playfully. “Tell me how you’d like it, darling. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Your little games are not lost on me.” He presses his stiff cock further against you with emphasis on his following words, “You only have to ask. I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought about that pretty little body of yours.” 

  Dominant demeanor be damned, you needed him. You needed to feel him inside of you. Feel his mouth on every single inch of your flesh. You turn in his arms and disregard the perceptive smirk on his face. Mouths press together, tongues fighting for dominance over one another. He hoists you onto his waist, your legs wrapping around him willingly to maintain your balance as he carries you from the body of water. Your back is pressed to the dirt beside the lake; his hungry hands explore your body. You watch him through half-lidded eyes as his mouth latches onto your clit. Instinctively, your back arches while your hands slink into his hair again. His tongue flicks, circles, and laps expertly at the bundle of nerves. Astarion had a long list of sexual conquests and had specifically been trained to watch for what makes people tick. With you, it felt natural. He watched you, not intending to learn but for his own self-gratification. The sight of you writhing beneath him was one to behold and made his cock twitch in anticipation.

  The balance of control shifts. You pull away from his mouth and sit on your knees, pressing his shoulder in a silent demand for him to lay back. Your lips place a teasing kiss on the tip of his cock before your tongue juts out to lick over the side of his length. You take the entirety into the warm confinements of your mouth. It’s only moments before you pull away, producing spit that strings down to rest on the head of his member. You use your hand to spread it over his length, taking your time with the action. You note the way his chest heaves as he gasps, eyes never leaving yours as you slink your leg over his hips. You slide down onto his cock, taking as much as you can before you feel him bottom out inside of you. You position yourself, hands pressed into his chest as you bounce, hair flitting over your shoulders with the movement.

  Astarion’s eyes flicker between your face and your breasts, relishing how they seem to react with every slight movement you make. His fingertips dig into your hips as he urges you to go faster. This time, you tsk in response, leaning down until you’re chest-to-chest with him, purposefully tightening the walls of your pussy around his length, eliciting a pleasurable groan from deep in his throat. “This is my little game, hm? Is it not?” Your words are sultry, and he thrusts further into you in response. “Tell me how you’d like it, darling.” You tease, stealing his mockery from earlier.

  “Gods, Tav, faster-” A proper moan escapes with his words, his mind spinning with excitement. Grinning pridefully, you oblige, sitting up to work your pussy rhythmically over his length. A whine leaves your throat with each moment, his cock perfectly hitting your sweet spot with every thrust of your hips. You collapse over him from the continued satisfaction, not quite to your peak. He takes the cue. His hands grasp your ass as he pounds upwards and into your dripping center. You bare your neck to him, and he wastes no time with sinking sharp fangs into your flesh. The perfect balance of pain and pleasure pushes you over the edge; your hands grasp at his hair as you feel yourself come undone. His seed fills you in tandem, his name sounding too sweet leaving your lips to hold out any longer. 

  He continues to feed on you once he’s come down from his orgasm and only pulls away once he feels your already-limp body still further. “Next time you’re feeling hot and bothered, just drop by my tent. As fun as this was, darling, I’m sure it would have saved you a few days of pining after yours truly.” Astarion teases, and you roll your eyes in response. However, you would be sure to take him up on his offer.

[lovebugism]

hello sweetheart, i read your prompt list and saw this one "hug?” “clingy, much?……” but hugs them anyway and my heart melted, i don't know if you already did this, but can we have something like that with our sweet but grumpy eddie? 🤍

ty for requesting! — eddie doesn't know why you're avoiding him (fluff, ditzy!reader, 0.9k)

Eddie lost sight of you ten minutes ago. 

You were squished between Robin and Steve on the loveseat last he saw you, giggling into your solo cup while they belted Total Eclipse of the Heart to you — at you — over the music and in their best Muppet impressions. 

He only remembers it so vividly ‘cause he was jealous. Not jealous because you were subjected to Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum’s drunken antics, of course, but jealous because you were with them. And so, so far away. 

Now you’re gone, and he misses you like a stray dog — aggressive and hungry and hurt. He walks up to Steve in the kitchen just the same. Hair wild. Button eyes glittering. Slightly reluctant. 

“Where’d she go?!” he shouts over the music, half-muffled into his drink. He uses the plastic cup like a shield ‘cause he doesn’t want people to know he’s missing you. The metalhead freak from the wrong side of town isn’t supposed to need the ball of sunshine from the suburbs. 

But alas.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Steve slurs, half-distracted as he pours himself a drink. He doesn’t need Eddie to tell him who she is. There’s only one person in the whole world he’d go looking for. “She went outside with Robin, I think—”

Eddie spins on the worn heel of his sneaker before the words can properly leave his mouth. He ducks through the bustling, drunken crowd and finds you sitting lonesome on the porch outside. Prettier than the full moon and all the stars in the velvet black sky combined. 

He walks to stand beside you, shoes thunking heavy on the wooden deck. You tilt your chin to smile brightly up at him while he slips a cig into his mouth. He cups the stick as he lights it. Pretends that’s what he came out here for. Not to see you, of course. 

Definitely not.

“What are you doing out here by yourself?” he mumbles beneath the cigarette in his mouth.

“Robin just left,” you answer plainly, half-shy.

“Why didn’t you come find me?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, still trying to play it cool. ‘Cause there’s nothing less metal than yearning.

You shrug. “‘Cause you were busy?”

It’s easier than telling him that you thought he wanted the space. Or that you actually spent the whole night aching to hang on his side — too scared of embarrassing him in front of all his friends to act on it. 

You know who you are just like you know who he is. Bubblegum pink doesn’t always go well with black. It gets in your hair. Makes everything go all sticky. It’s an acquired taste you know Eddie’s still getting used to — too much of it, and his stomach will start to hurt. So you figure it’s best to keep your distance.

You just didn’t think he was as grieved by it all as you were.

Eddie scoffs. I’m never too busy for you, he wants to say. He might’ve if he wasn’t such a coward. Instead, he blows smoke from his lungs and jokes, “I wouldn’t call keeping Argyle from crowd-surfing in the living room busy, sweetheart.”

A laugh tumbles from his plush lips. The golden sound falls over your skin like stars. You smile absentmindedly back at him as you rise from the creaking rocking chair. You plant your feet ahead of his and smooth your palms beneath his leather jacket, over his warm sides.

Eddie meets your twinkling eyes with narrowed chocolate ones. “What?”

“Hug?” you ask in a mousy voice.

The boy laughs like he’s too cool for affection, though he’d be lying if he said your offer doesn’t have his chest sparkling something fierce. He flicks the cig to the ground — sheepish gaze going with it — before snuffing it out beneath his sneaker.

“Clingy much?” he scoffs.

You nod with a proud smile. 

Eddie’s chest swirls with an unfamiliar feeling. You’re strangely brave about all this — affection and love and all things sweet enough to make him gag. 

It makes him feel like he can feel brave, too.

He wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you with all the intensity of someone wanting to swallow you whole. You hug him back just the same. “I missed you,” you murmur with your cheek squished against his chest.

“Then what’re you avoidin’ me for, huh?” he teases, chin bobbing against your head.

You pull slightly back to squint at him. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“You’ve been hangin’ out with Steve and Robin the whole night,” he grieves, hiding his sincerity behind boyish theatrics. With a feigned pout that feels totally real, he says, “And you didn’t even sit next to me when we played Never Have I Ever.”

“I thought you wanted the space,” you confess in a hushed voice.

His face screws up like he’s tasted something sour. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “You always talk about how much you like being alone and stuff, so—”

“Well, yeah! I like my space— just not from you!”

It’s likely the least metal thing he’s ever said.

“Oh,” you hum, mouth contorting into a sheepish beam. “Well… Sorry.”

“Yeah. You should be,” he scoffs, mostly joking. He pouts softly and pulls you back into him again, nosing at your hair until his chapped lips brush your temple. “Just don’t let it happen again, alright?”

[christinarowie332]

these moments

sturniolo triplets x reader

friend group oneshot

warnings : drug use , nicotine use , profanity,

no established relationships . just a couple of besties .

—————-

“shit” i say bending down in my seat to pick up the freshly lit joint i just dropped on the floor . “my bad guys” i say while laughing and attempting to re light the now snuffed out blunt .

be we’re all sat on chris’s balcony , around a glass table , decorated with a candle ,canned drinks , random vapes and our speaker shuffling our “sheshysesh” playlist ; containing a mix of all of our favorite artists.

“bro didn’t even hit it yet and is allready droppin shit” matt says rolling his eyes and smiling . before laughing at the sight of me struggling to light it .”here jesus” he continues grabbing the lighter from my hand and lighting it for me . joint held between my lips .

“simp” chris says over a fake cough looking around pretending he heard something.

“shut the fuck up chris” nick mumbles , trying to be serious but also starts laughing at the sight of matt staring at chris in disgust as he pulls out a can of pepsi from his cargo pocket.

“dude that’s been in there since this morning” matt states , still looking at chris with furrowed eyebrows, and his lip curled in distaste.

chris keeps eye contact with matthew , staying silent as he opens the can and takes a long loud sip before exhaling dramatically and speaking . “your point is ?”

everyone including chris himself laughs at this before nick looks towards me still smoking the joint . “SHARE BRO!” nick shouts before grabbing the joint from my fingers .

i freeze and purse my lips before exhaling the thick yellow smoke and giving him a tight lipped smile .

he takes a long drag of it , squinting his eyes and taking it deep into his lungs . he blinks away the smoke that made their way into his eyes before passing it to matt , who was sat opposite me , next to him , in our square around the table.

“ did y’all see malcom’s tiktok ?” nick asks after getting comfy , underneath his cream blanket and leaning back in the chair .

matt breathes the smoke out quickly, looking at nick but putting his arm towards chris who sat opposite nick, “yeah , have u spoke to him recently?” he says putting his elbow on the arm of the chair and placing his chin on his hand .

nick and matt continue to talk , matt intently looking at him . i chuckle under my breath and grab my phone to take a photo of him and nick on instagram. cropping out the vapes on the table or any evidence of a sesh . captioning the photo . ‘the way he looks at her 😍😍😍😍”

i smile before posting it and putting my phone on the table to grab the joint now shoved in my direction from a now distracted chris . he blows the smoke through the side of his mouth , away from me .

i smile at the small gesture before taking a drag of the joint , passing it infront of nick , who declines . then matt , who also declines before turning to look at chris . a goofy smile plastered on his face allready carrying himself and his chair towards me and sitting next to me .

me and chris share the rest of the joint together . placing a blanket over us both and putting my head on his shoulder.

we all stay like this for a while , listening to nick rant , laughing and talking. listening to the music in the background, sharing vapes and jokes . carrying on into the morning , me asleep on chris’s shoulder . matt and nick getting deep , chris on his phone sneaking photos of me , adding it to his private story and smiling .

————-/

milkie talk rq:

this is so boring but it’s just a filler , imma cook i swear i’m just busy as fuck . but i have a five hour flight and a 6 day holiday , so i will have plenty of fics comin soon . 🤍

i love u all -🍼

@mangosrar @sturnphilia @soursturniolo @biimpanicking @sssturniolofart @littlebookworm803 @lividnity @deatthmatch @daddyslilchickenfingers @parkerssecrets

[mw4n]

Should ¥XX,000,000 Make Fushiguro's Shit Worth It? - ch. 1

༄ synopsis - Being Toji Fushiguro's in-house private solicitor may pay well, but recently you're reconsidering if the pay makes all the stress (read: Toji himself) worth it. At this point, with all the less-than-legal actions Toji commits on the regular, you're practically a certified mob lawyer. [ full synopsis ]

༄ series tags - toji fushiguro x reader; lawyer! reader; no curses; yakuza/organised crime; violence; explicit content; dilf! toji; tags to be added

༄ wc - 5.8k

<< teaser || ch. 2 >>

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── \(˚☐˚”)/

“You know, you really shouldn’t smoke.”

High-heeled shoes clicked against the floor of the rundown bar, a sagging tote filled to the brim with court documents unceremoniously plopping onto the barstool next to Toji Fushiguro’s lone frame. The bartender didn’t even greet you, knowing you weren’t here to drink but just to fetch Toji. 

A hand intercepted the fresh cigarette in Toji’s hand. So fresh, he hadn’t even had the chance to set down the lighter. 

He turned to you, raising a brow. The incredulous look on his face increased by two more points at the sight of the cigarette now in between your lips. You inhaled the nicotine, tugging the cigarette from your parted lips to blow the haze out with a tilted head. The tenseness in your face relaxed as the sensation of the drug entered your system. 

You rarely, if ever, smoked, but the recent events really did call for it. 

“You’re smoking my cigarette.” You had been working with Fushiguro long enough to know when he was actually annoyed, and this was nowhere close.

You rolled your eyes, snuffing the cigarette out on the ashtray next to Toji. “With all the stress you give me, I need it more than you.” A pause. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. “And you shouldn’t smoke anyway, you’re the one with the kid.”

“I could put a kid in you, easy enough.” Toji smirked.

Externally, you looked as unperturbed as ever, ignoring his quip to rifle for his document in your tote. That was what you were here for, afterall. Externally, you were the image of a perfectly professional lawyer. 

Internally, you had just creamed your underwear. 

--

The first time you met Toji Fushiguro, it was through the second encounter with his son: Megumi. You say second, well, because you’d met Megumi before when his bike had crashed into the side of your parked and stationary car on Sugisawa Lane.

Given that the meetings were only a week apart, it wasn’t too difficult for you to recall how the events had unfolded. 

“Motherfucker-!” Someone cursed, almost in tandem with a jostling abrupt impact at the side of your car. It was moments like these where you were reminded that in times when most people deliberated between flight and fright, you were an outlier and chose to freeze. 

You tear your eyes away from where they had been fixed onto the mirror, carefully focused on navigating yourself into this tight parking spot, and slowly turn your attention out the window. Just nestled underneath was a teen sprawled disgracefully over the road, legs all sprayed. 

He was dressed in the uniform of the local middle school nearby: a white buttoned shirt, a jacket, black pants. With hair that spikes out in every direction, he has an uncanny resemblance to the sea urchins your grandmother used to bring from the wet market. The urchins that you would watch split orange-tinged liquid all over the sink. Hmm…

As the student rubs said spiky hair, wincing all the while, your vision slowly pans towards the banged up bike next to him. No doubt the culprit behind a fresh dent in your car. 

Wait- middle school uniform? Your mind catches up to the observation you made. 

The stream of expletives from his mouth finally clarify into real words in your mind, now morphing into a variety of legible curses ranging from ‘motherfucker’ to ‘dogshit piece of shit’. Privately, you thought, the last one lacked creativity. Really? Dogshit piece of shit? But you had more pressing issues. 

“Watch your mouth, kid,” you frown, unclipping your seatbelt. If he’s in middle school, that puts him at thirteen, at the very oldest. 

Almost instinctively, he retorts a petulant, “make me.” Then, realisation that he’s the one in the wrong here dawns on him and he flushes. “I mean- sorry, miss.”

You sigh. From the sound (and the feeling) of the crash, you would have to inspect the damage on the side of your car yourself.

Your new car! 

There’s an all-too familiar little wail in your heart. You’d heard it when you paid your law school tuition, you heard it when you found out that your tuition hadn’t covered your graduation gown or other expenses, and you heard it when you had put the down payment on this brand! New! Car!

Admittedly, ‘brand new’ might have been a stretch. The car was comfortably second hand. But you had just acquired it! It had barely been two weeks and a kid scrapes it up with his bike? It was brand new to you!

“You alright?” You have the dedency to ask. The car door clicks as it opens, prompting the pre-teen to shuffle out the way. He’s grimacing. “Crash sounded bad.”

At this point, you’ve tuned out his minor hisses. You assess him as you step out of the car and, aside from a couple scrapes and a smudge mark of… something on his cheek, the kid looks fine. Your focus of attention pivoted onto the state of your car.

He mutters darkly to himself, something about a shitty bicycle ripoff seller, before answering you. “I’m sorry about this, miss.”

You finally gauge the damage, pinching the bridge of your nose to ward off the incoming pressure in your sinuses at the sight of the accident. A comical sound effect of coins clinking plays in your head as you imagine the damage your bank account could take. 

There’s a rippling crater in the side of your new, albeit, second-hand car, and a long gouge. A part of the bike had caught onto the metal as it used your car as a veritable crash cushion. The damage either said something about the strength and tenacity of this kid’s bike or the fragility of your car.  

You close your eyes.

This was as clear cut as a case as it gets. You were peacefully and calmly exiting your parking spot, checking both mirrors and making sure there were no obstructions. You had done your duty. It was this kid who came out of nowhere and slammed into your car with his bike. 

Good thing you had car insurance. Though you had nearly bit through your lip when you paid it, words couldn’t describe how relieved you were now. 

“Where are your parents, kid?” You turned to him fully, crossing your arms.

He takes in your whole one hundred seventy centimetre self. Your tight pencil skirt, flats, and buttoned blouse. You look every bit like the office slave you are.

He’s also trying to estimate how amenable you would be towards eating his bullshit, and judging by your unimpressed pursing of the lips, you don’t look like you’d take it with a spoonful of sugar.

You stare down at him, waiting. 

But still, he gives it a try.

The teen pulls out a phone, punching in some numbers. It’s the newest model. The phone rings for a bit and a cheerful voice picks up.

You hear a cheery “Megumi~!” through the tinny speaker before the kid starts speaking, still sprawled on the road floor. 

“I need some help. My bike accidentally bumped into someone’s car and now she’s asking to speak to my parents. Probably about the damage. It looks pretty bad. Can you sort this out with her?” For someone who had caused such hefty damage, he seems relatively nonplussed by the whole situation. 

A beat goes by, clearly the person on the other side asking a question. The kid - Megumi - makes a ‘mhm’ in response. Then he hands the phone over.

You don’t even reach out to receive it. 

“That’s not your parent.”

He blinks up at you. “It’s my dad. He’ll handle this.”

You look away. “Call your actual dad.”

The likelihood of someone manually hand-dialing their dad’s number when asked to instead of selecting from contacts on your phone was way too unlikely for you to believe that Megumi had just called his dad.

Your eyes had caught that little action. Coupled with the fact that he hadn’t called the person on the other side ‘dad’ once, only added to your suspicion.

Megumi scowls. Without even saying bye to the person on the other side, he hangs up. 

This time, he taps the phone app and selects someone from speed-dial. Satisfied, you lean back on your car and wait. 

In no time, someone - a deeper voice - picks up. 

“Megumi?” 

A sharp contrast from the first person. Megumi stays silent for a bit, and then speaks. 

“Hey dad,” he says in a resigned manner. “I hit someone’s car with my bike by accident-”

His dad says something. Megumi pauses. He shakes his head and then seems to remember that his dad can’t see him. “No, I’m fine.”

Another question.

“Yeah. Yeah. She’s asked to talk to my parents-, I called him but…” Megumi rolls his eyes now, “he’s a bit unreliable. So in the end I still called you.” 

His dad says something and then Megumi hands the phone over to you. His eyes dart to you, almost nervously, and he bites his lip.

Finally, you receive the phone, flicking your hair out the way. 

    “Hello?” His voice is deep, the kind of deep that must reverberate in his chest, and stern against your ear. At such close quarters… meeeeoww!

You perish the thought. 

“Hello, it’s as your kid said. I was parked when his bike slammed into my car.” There’s a thin veneer of professionality that you’re gripping with the edges of your fingers, but you’ve played the game long enough to know others can’t tell that. 

Megumi’s father is rather cooperative, providing his insurance details and his number for any further inconveniences. You expected there to be some resistance, maybe some blame from him onto you, but there was nothing.

During your conversation, Megumi busies himself with straightening out his bike. The front wheel is busted. The spokes? Busted. You have no idea how the crash had actually happened, having only caught the aftermath of it, and not enough knowledge on bikes to know how the wheel spokes can protrude and bend like htat. 

He’s still inspecting it when you conclude the conversation, thanking Megumi’s father - Fushiguro, going by his minimal introduction - and hanging up. 

“It’ll be sorted now,” you hand the phone back over to Megumi. 

The teen tucked it into his pocket. His spiky hair looks less energetic, noticeably drooping and reflecting his dejected demeanour.

“I just got this bike too. I got ripped off.”

Judging by the state of his bike, it’s unusable.

Maybe there’s some sympathy in you for that. You too had also just gotten your car when this had happened.

Looking away awkwardly, you run a hand through your hair. I better not regret this.

“Kid… you want a ride?” You ask hesitantly.

-

You’d actually just meant a drive to the nearest train station, but somehow Megumi seamlessly manipulates you into driving him pretty much all the way home. Which is annoying, because after a long day of work, there’s nothing more you want than to be at home, showered and in bed. 

But instead, you have to deal with your itchy pantyhose for thirty more minutes. 

Whoever made your piece of shit workplace dress code was a demon. Who makes heels mandatory? A small curse goes out to your ageing, withering male-dominated management who care little for female comfort and more for female eye candy. 

If you keep thinking about it actually, you’ll get too worked up. 

You distract yourself by driving through the unfamiliar suburbs. 

“A lawyer, huh?” He says, impressed. “What kind?”

You hmm for a bit. “I’m early enough in my career where I’m kind of still figuring out what I want to settle in. Ideally, something that uses a mix of everything, but I’m not sure.”

“What about criminal law? Locking up murderers or whatever,” Megumi stares out the window. “Left.”

You shrug, turning left. “Could.”

The area around you slowly transitions towards some expensive looking apartment complex. It’s gated for goodness sake. There’s little decorative glass lanterns for goodness sake.

The black gates stay closed as you approach, but when Megumi rolls open the window and sticks his head out, the gates open. 

He doesn’t even speak. 

A deep seated envy in your heart!

Wasn’t being a lawyer supposed to rake in the big bucks?

And here you were, ferrying a kid in a busted second-hand car. 

Another reason to hate your current boss. He’s definitely underpaying you. 

Despite the gate being open, you don’t drive in. Honestly, you’re too embarrassed to have the people who live in this apartment complex possibly seeing the state of your car. But you don’t tell Megumi that.

“This is as far as I’ll take you,” you insist stubbornly. “And it’s more than what you deserve, running into me like that.”

He nods at that. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks for the ride though.”

You watch the kid struggle with getting his banged-up bike out of the trunk of your car through your rearview mirror, and then you drive off to your mechanic. At least you can invoice it to Megumi’s father. 

But taking the metro to work tomorrow! Another wail in your heart goes off at the thought of that. You can already imagine how packed it’ll be during peak morning time. 

--

The second time you encounter Megumi Fushiguro, it’s on the train, and you’re on the way home. Having had to stay behind for an hour or so to catch up on last minute added work, the usual intense numbers brought on by rush hour has ebbed a significant portion. 

Originally engrossed in responding to an email on your phone (can your piece-of-dog-shit boss really not see that you’ve attached the relevant document sixteen hundred times for him in the previous emails?), your thumbs tapping a mile a minute, a shout by the end of the car draws everyone’s attention - including yours. 

As a rather low-presence member of society, you’re quite surprised that you recognise one of the participants in the altercation. Still, you feel no desire to intervene, content with maintaining your bystander status.  

A middle-aged man, puffy and red-faced, appears to be the main instigator. Shouting abrasively, he’s manhandling the collar of a familiar looking spiky-headed student.

Though there’s an easy two meter gap between you adnd them, you can make out the white knuckled hold he’s got on the student’s uniform, speaking volumes about how much strength he’s putting in.

He’s so angry, you can hardly understand what he’s saying, an undercurrent of a gai-jin accent protruding too much from his words.

Interestingly enough, despite the numerous gaze concentrated on them and spittle flying in his face, the student looked almost bored by the whole situation. 

You’ve already identified him via the unique hair he sports, but the expression locks it in. 

Megumi?

He’s so carefree from the situation that his wandering eyes make contact with you, flickering with recognition. 

You mean to raise a hand up in greeting, but a sudden jolt of the train over a rough patch of track forces you to grab a nearby pole for stability.

You flail, stumbling, causing the person next to you to look at you with alarm. By the time you’re balanced and looking up, the situation’s reversed.

Instead of Megumi being gripped by the man, you manage to catch the tail end of a new student - his friend, you presume - socking the man squarely in the jaw. Gasps fly up in the crowd, and even you can’t help but blink in shock. Dumbfounded. 

“Get your hands off him, you creep!” 

Compared to Megumi, his friend appears foreign, sporting lighter tawny coloured hair and strange birthmarks on his face that make him stand out from the homogenous crowd.

 He’s not even breathing heavily, frowning as he stands  defensively in front of Megumi. The latter of which has placed his hands in his pockets and settles into a near-mocking slouch. He’s clearly not even taking this seriously. 

“Why you-!” The middle-aged man bulges like a frog. You have no idea what caused the conflict, but when the man starts rolling up your sleeves, that’s when you start looking around. No one’s intervening.

You feel your conscience twinge.

It’s true that in between three guys, you really shouldn’t get in the middle of things, but you know Megumi’s only in middle school. He’s just a kid! And as a law abiding member of society, you feel it’s kind of your moral duty to at least try and dissuade the conflict from escalating any further.

Suppressing the urge to cast a powerful stink eye at the cowards remaining silent, you step forward and approach the man cautiously. 

Differentiating from the crowd makes you nervous, but who cursed you with a bleeding heart? 

“Sir, if this goes any further, I’m going to have to call the police.” You say calmly, brandishing your phone. The numbers 110 are stark against your screen’s light-mode. 

The man turns to you, and you suddenly feel like a matador standing in front of a bull in an enclosed area. Sweat starts to prickle down the nape of your neck, though your expression remains as stony as ever.

“He punched me and started it! Go ahead, call the police, see what they say!”

Megumi’s friend looks faintly surprised to see someone intervening on their behalf. Megumi doesn’t. 

“Please step aside, sir. You need to calm down.” In the corner of your perception, you can see the announcement that the train is approaching the next station roll by on the panel. Perfect, there’ll be staff there. You can just hand it o-

???

Stars flash by your vision from the abrupt pain shocking your system. The man lunged at you, shocking everyone and sending you crumpling towards the floor.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

He probably meant to get your face, but he tripped over someone’s briefcase on the floor and the fist swung lower. 

You have mixed feelings. On one hand, he’s punched you. On the other hand… at least it wasn’t your face?     

Apparently watching an older man beating up two middle-schoolers isn’t anything to fuss about, and people are generally content to let it all play out. But when an older man tries to pummel a defenceless, beautiful woman who’s just trying to be a good citizen? That’s what gets people to fly up in a frenzy.     

“Hey, that’s too much!”

    “Back off her!”

    A whole bunch of white knights. 

    You’re still dizzy with the force when you’re pulled out of the flurry. With the posture of pulling a drowning man ashore, arms under your shoulders, you look up to see Megumi’s friend holding you.

    A (this is estimated) thirteen year old easily lifting you? 

    You feel a little flattered by the internal thought that you’re so light (though, of course, Megumi’s friend could just be really strong, but you dismiss that consideration). Just a dust mote, you are. People should be careful not to brush you off their clothing next time you go out. 

    He’s looking all concerned, staring down at you. The birthmarks along his cheekbones catch your attention, but you have the sense not to gawk. 

“Are you ‘kay, miss? Sorry you had to get all mixed up in this.”

    Using his solid, stalwart stance as a support, you stand on shaky legs. The dull pain across your collar compounds with the ache in your heeled-feet, and you just wish you were home again. 

    Really, who gave you such a bleeding heart? 

    That was less of a rhetorical question, and now an annoyed query to the divine up ahead. 

    ���I couldn’t just watch things get worse for you and Fushiguro without doing anything. You’re just middle schoolers,” you sigh. Your imposing manner against the man is nowhere to be seen now. “And who would’ve expected he would be so crazy that he would just lunge at me?”

    Megumi finally speaks, arms crossed over his chest. “I could’ve handled it without your help.”

    You shoot him a glare. “This the thanks I get?

    He looks away but the tips of his ears pink. “Thanks.”

    You’re reminded a little bit of your first meeting, when Megumi had been similarly embarrassed but repentful all the same.

Heh. 

    “Eh? You know Fushiguro, miss? That makes more sense.” His friend scratches the back of his head, looking friendlier. You’re reminded of the dumb looking golden retriever your childhood neighbours used to raise. The round one that would press between the bars of the gate, fat fur spilling out through the gaps, and whimper for pets as anyone walked by. “I was wondering why someone like you intervened.”

    The words ‘like you’ shoot into your heart like two arrows. 

    What does that mean?!

    “Like… me?” You say slowly, despair leaking into your voice.

    “!!!!” He waves two hands, shaking his head concurrently. “No! I meant, why an office worker like you stuck your head out!”

    “Like… me?” Your eyes look empty. 

    Am I getting old? 

“!!!!!!!!! Because you’re dressed so neatly, I didn’t take you for someone who was so righteous! It would be one thing if it had been a big, tall guy, but you know, you’re just a frail miss!”

Frail! 

A third arrow pierces into your heart. At least he didn’t call you aged or withered or decrepit or-

“Alright, enough, Itadori,” Megumi claps a hand onto his panicking friend’s shoulder. “You’re making things worse.”

The friend deflates.

You don’t look much different. 

    The train doors slide open, finally arriving at the station, and you’re taken off guard by the two policemen standing in front of the incoming passengers.

Clearly someone during the whole ordeal called the police, and during the conversation with Megumi and Itadori, the crowd has long subdued the rampaging man. 

Disgruntled, he’s thrust over to the authorities to be taken away. Megumi and Itadori get singled out, and follow after the arrested man to have their statements taken.

You watch them leave with mixed feelings, but shake your head in the end and head towards your exit.

At least, you would’ve been heading towards your exit if it hadn’t been for the policeman stepping into your path.

    With a serious face, he blocks the path - undoubtedly preventing you from leaving. Passengers waiting for the next train watch unabashedly.

    Your eye twitches.

    “Yes?

    “Miss, the other passengers said you were involved in the altercation. Unfortunately, you’ll have to come with us.”

    Then the thought occurs to you.

If Megumi hadn’t crashed into your car, forcing you to bring it to the mechanic, you wouldn’t be on the metro in this situation in the first place! Did you owe the Fushiguro family in your past life? 

    Oh, how the chips fall.

Regretting that you had intervened after all, you ended up following the policeman with undisguised annoyance. 

    You hate cops.

--

    It’s at the Kanekaburo police station where you finally meet Megumi’s father - the man financing your car repairs and cosmetic tune-ups - Toji Fushiguro.

He arrives when you’re in a stare-down against the middle-aged man’s lawyer, crossing your arms, Itadori and Megumi behind you. The policemen sweat nervously.

“He might be a minor, but he still punched my client. Everyone saw it!” The other lawyer sneers, his client - of which you had learnt was called Mr. Nakamura - stands with a puffed chest. 

“It’s self defence,” your lip curling. “With your client as the aggressor. Honestly, they’re just middle schoolers. It’s unnecessary for him to have been laying hands on them in the first place!”

Mr. Nakamura puffs even more. “That’s only because they had been so rude with me!”

You don’t know what happened before so you ignore that. “And what do you think you’re doing, punching me? That’s battery, and if you really want to escalate this, section 47 assault.”

The lawyer glances at Mr. Nakamura but then looks like he’s made up his mind. “Do you really want to bring this to court?”

You hesitate. To be honest, you’re not really sure if this is really worth the trouble, and you’re not too clear on the situation of why Megumi had been in the altercation with the man in the first place. Settling might be better. 

Opening your mouth, you’re cut off from answering by a third party entering the scene.

“Megumi,” a familiar voice drawls. “Get over here.”

The tone, though dulcet and lazy, sends your back straightening and hair prickling. You furrow your brow, turning to see the new entry that even the police couldn’t stop from waltzing into this area.

Dressed in a tight black shirt that does nothing to conceal hard muscle lines and loose grey sweatpants that hang off his hips, you can’t help but let your eyes wander appreciatively down his broad frame. The contrast between his tight upper clothing and baggy lower clothing only draws more attention to his taut waist. 

He thumbs at a pale scar at the edge of his lips, like a subconscious, absent-minded habit, and his other hand runs through his ink-black hair with a troubled sigh. 

“You’re such a troublemaker, Megumi. I only just get home, when I get called in for this?”

It’s only then his voice registers. 

You had heard his voice before, albeit filtered, so it doesn’t take long for you to put the two and two together and realise this is Megumi’s father.

Your eyes dart to his huge hands, where two observations promptly wrap around your thoughts. One, he hasn’t got a ring. (You don’t know what that says about you, noticing that.) And two, his fingers are huge and, almost as importantly, long.

Something indescribable paws at the edge of your thoughts but you don’t even think twice before punting it decisively to the recesses of your mind. 

Your travelling gaze makes eye contact, and a spark travels up your spine. 

!!!

His arms cross over his chest. 

Holy mother of biceps, you think, almost in pious prayer.  

“Who’s this?” He smirks.

As his stare connects, you squash the quivering in your knees at his full undivided attention crashing onto you. The image of a lost tree trunk in the ocean, buffeted by tempestuous stormy waves, fizzes into your mind. 

There’s just something about the air he exudes.

Like a black panther lounging on a branch, one wouldn’t dare relax from the feline’s lazy flicking tail or careless posture. You just know instinctively that every single muscle is coiled tight and ready to pounce at the scent of weakness. 

    Megumi saves you, stepping forward and taking the heat. There’s a furrow that manifests in his brow that you haven’t seen at all today. 

    “Stop that. This is Y/N, she got roped in because of us.” 

    Peeping from behind Megumi, Itadori beams and flaps a hand. Out of all three of you, he seems to be the most unbothered by the appearance of Megumi’s father.

    “Heyyy~ Mr. Fushiguro.” 

    “Yo, Itadori,” Megumi’s father raises a palm. Tilting his head, he thinks to himself for a bit. “Y/N? You wouldn’t happen to be the reason why that invoice from Chezai Mechanics of-“ he spits a series of numbers that, for your mental health, you immediately filter out, “-is sitting on my desk, would you?”

You raise a brow. 

“I think we both know that the reason for that invoice, Mr. Fushiguro, is really because of your son.”

An indescribable sense of pressure leverages onto you, but you just scoff and turn to the side. Your thin nonchalance barely conceals the tenseness in your posture.

Then he snickers, and the feeling is gone.

“You’re right. It is because of Megumi.” 

Megumi grumbles. 

    Everyone relaxes.

    It’s at this moment that the huffy middle-aged man seems to have had enough of the spotlight taken off him, making another fuss.

    “Now that the father of the one responsible is here, you should know to educate your son! I’ll- I could take this to court, you know!” He swells, tinting pink in the face. His lawyer looks mildly panicked. Clearly they hadn’t discussed this. 

Megumi’s father narrows his eyes and the power in the room shifts invisibly. The airflow almost stagnates. As if subconsciously aware, everyone seems to hold their breath. No one seems to take heed of the fact that the police have literal guns strapped to them, least of all the policemen, who stay silent with wide eyes. 

    Then, just as quick as it happened, the moment passes, and Megumi’s father is chuckling.

The colour leeches from Mr. Nakamura’s face, the red fading to reveal a fear-conjured white that only serves to highlight his greasy skin texture.

“Oh, really? For what?”

In hindsight, this should’ve been your first sign that Megumi’s father wasn’t just anyone. How could a regular person hone that kind of presence without spilling some blood?

“F-for- for-“ 

You cut in. “For the two counts of assault and battery you’ve committed against Fushiguro’s son and me, you mean.”

The bluster flies out of Mr. Nakamura just as fast as it had accumulated. 

In the end, all that heat that Mr. Nakamura had mustered faded once Mr. Fushiguro smiled a bit more at him. Even the hotshot lawyer who you had been butting heads with felt like he had tamped down.

You had received Mr. Nakamura’s number and details for any injury-related bills incurred, and were rather satisfied.

As you leave the police station, dreaming again of your shower but knowing you’ll have to get on the metro and jostle again, both the Fushiguro’s and Itadori are right behind you.

“I’m so~rry, Megumi,” Itadori sheepishly says behind you. Megumi harrumphs in response. From this snippet, you can tell that whatever the reason is for Mr. Nakamura’s anger, Itadori was most likely the primary member behind it. 

Though you can’t see it, you can almost hear Megumi rolling his eyes.

Heading towards the bus stop - because you really can’t stomach incurring more transport costs - you’re a little taken back by the extra set of footsteps behind you. In the reflection of the shiny bus stop advertisement, you can see Fushiguro looking at you.

“Y/N, right?”

You pause. “Yes.”

He doesn’t say more than that, just looking at you thoughtfully.

A premonition… 

“It was nice meeting you and your son, Mr. Fushiguro. Itadori.” You nod at the trio. 

Mr. Fushiguro opens his mouth but you’re already skating off. Who said your heels hurt! 

--

You think it’s all behind you, casting the series of events from your mind. The injury on your collarbone has deepened into a gross yellowish-green bruise that pangs every time your blouse even brushes against the skin, but you’re actually regretful it wasn’t worse. 

With little else but a bruise ointment from your nearby convenience store to bill Mr. Nakamura with, you can’t help but feel you’ve lost out.

It’s not like you advocate hurting yourself to hurt your opponent, and a pyrric victory isn’t a true victory… but… some part of you is miffed that you hadn’t been able to take a bigger chunk out of the man who punched you. 

You should’ve fought harder.

Still, you’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Your boss has just ripped into you for about thirty minutes- well, you and the rest of your team - for work that he definitely had just lost by himself and not because none of you guys had emailed it to him, so you’re slumped over your office chair in a defeated manner.

Uncaring of your image, you cover the back of your eyes with your forearm. Your skirt crumples against the chair and you kick off your heels under your desk. 

At least in your private cubicle, no one can see you like this. 

That’s when you get two identical notifications to both your private email and your message inbox. The alerting vibration against the plastic table buzzes. 

You don’t recognise the string of numbers and most of the message is cut off by a line break, but you don’t open it - pressing onto the notification to enlarge the whole thing.

Y/N, 

What do you think about working for me? 

You’re a bit curious as to why this number had reached out to you in this manner rather then just through your L**kedIn, but that curiosity is outweighed by the fact that someone has your personal email (it’s not really hard to guess that one), your phone number, and your name.

Your thumb moves over to the block button when a second message rolls in, again pinging into your email inbox and your phone messages.

Of course, annual salary negotiations start at ¥XX,000,000. 

HOLY SHIT- Before your mind can catch up to your actions, you’ve opened the message, read it, typed, and sent a response.

Sorry, who is this? 

The mysterious person doesn’t respond for a couple minutes. You’re just about to turn off your phone, dismissing this as a cruel prank on an office slave when another message pings - just in your messages, this time. 

…Fushiguro. Megumi’s father. 

I did give you the correct contact, no?

Ahhh…. a searing sound akin to steak on a grill rings in your head. 

You’re embarrassed that he’s caught you in the act.

In truth, he had indeed given you his comprehensive details but it wasn’t like you actually saved it into your contacts. You had just written it down onto your notes app and handed it to your mechanic to be processed.

You weren’t good with numbers.

You don’t respond, but he doesn’t push the topic, continuing.

What do you think about being my own private solicitor? 

There’ll be an exclusivity fee, of course. To ensure you’re not busied by other potential clients. 

More?!

The calendar app opens on your phone in a heartbeat, and you strike out the upcoming ‘private’ meeting with your boss mercilessly. You might get an annoyed shout for that, but you’ll probably just gaslight him into thinking he scratched it out himself. He wasn’t the best with tech, afterall. 

I’m free at 16:30 today to discuss.

You refrain from adding an exclamation mark at the end. It would be bad to come off as too eager, would it?

Fushiguro stops responding and your momentary passion ebbs, leaving you overthinking. Was it too much? Maybe he wasn’t even free today. Maybe he was just probing your interest. 

You turn off your phone, feigning disinterest - only to pounce when the screen lights with another notification.

This time, there’s no words, just a location pin for a nearby cafe. 

You check the time. 

If you rush the scrapped document, you can make it!

Your fingers fly over the keyboard immediately. With this motivation, even the tedious work that you had agonised over is nothing. 

Unknown to you, you’re biting at your lip, filled with anticipation. 

¥XX,000,000.

In a couple months time though, you would be lamenting your decision. 

---

next chapter link here

(Years later…) Megumi: actually this was all masterminded by me when I was twelve years old- Reader: !!!! You were twelve?! Itadori: ...you're ignoring the mastermind portion?

༄ A/N - whewwww! chapter one of this series out! i hope everyone likes my tumblr jjk writing debut (シ_ _)シ and my writing style !

(♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈) please feel free to interact w me in any way shape or form, I'm always excited for new friends new mutuals~~~ shoot me an ask or a like or anything hehe