am-i-interrupting
Am I Interrupting?
1K posts
They/Them | Requests: Open | SFW & NSFW Content | Anti-AI writing, use my work for AI, I will come for you | Feel free to send me asks!
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
am-i-interrupting · 5 hours ago
Note
Hey darling Ink! Could I make a HEAVY ANGST (because I love to torture myself) request, about what would have happened if reader never survived the blackout? Like what would have Silco done, felt, and all that
You sick fuck.
You want me to kill my MC?
Darling, radiant Astrid?
The character I have lovingly crafted? Who I have nurtured over the course of hours upon hours of writing?
Simply for your own masochistic entertainment?
...
Yeah alright then.
BLACKOUT - A Drink With Me AU
Tumblr media
**Death, Blood, Heavy Angst - proceed with caution
You’ve never heard him so much as raise his voice before, and yet your name seems to erupt from the very bottom of his lungs over the pandemonium.
You spin towards the sound as the room illuminates in a gunpowder flash.
And there he is.
On the other side of the dance floor – green eye wide and frantic as he scans the crowd, hair in complete disarray, but seemingly unharmed.
Your heart lodges in your throat and you almost sob in relief. You fling yourself towards him with renewed energy. You’re jostled from side to side but you claw your way forward with absolute determination.
He calls for you again, his voice cracking slightly in his desperation, and you forget yourself.
“Silco.”
Your cry of his name is ragged; torn from your very marrow in its bone-deep desperation. It rends through the roiling madness of the club, shrill and frenzied, and still it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard in his wretched life.
Silco spins blindly towards your call.
Someone sets off a flare, and it bathes the room in hellish red light, and fills the air with cloying smoke. But it allows him to finally see you, clawing your way through the surging crowd towards him - bedraggled, but otherwise unharmed.
And Silco is almost floored by the seismic wave of relief that crashes over him. The only thing that keeps him standing is your gaze; bright and shining through the darkness, just as it always seems to be.
Your eyes are his beacon in this surging ocean of bodies. And he sets course and sails for you.
He shoves people violently out of his path in his haste to reach you. And you in turn ram your way towards him through the swarming crowd.
The two of you – fighting against anything and everything that’s keeping you apart.
Your attention is fixed on him with single-minded determination. Like he’s the only thing in your world that matters. And in that moment, Silco realises he’s come to need you just as much. It strikes him suddenly; a feeling so profound that it shouldn’t belong amongst such horrific chaos as this.
It strikes him, a mere second before the bullet strikes you.
And the world has the audacity to continue moving. Even as you both stop in your tracks.
Your youth has always been painfully obvious to him. But it becomes even more so in this moment, thanks to the almost naive look of shock on your face. The way your eyebrows shoot up, and the soft, surprised “oh” that your lips form. He can almost hear it, familiar as he is with your voice by now.
Silco tells himself it’s just the lighting. Even though the crimson that blooms across your chest is far deeper than the hue of the flare. Then he reasons that the bullet has merely grazed you, even though he’s intimately familiar with the difference between superficial and life blood. And then he accepts what’s just happened.
And there’s nothing inside him.
Only a gaping hollowness of simple disbelief and blinding horror. A numbness so complete that he has no idea how his body manages to wade through it. His mind is a void, even as his legs and arms move, seemingly of their own accord, propelling him through the remaining bodies between you.
Perhaps it’s poetic justice for his ruthlessness, for all the questionable deeds he’s done over the years.
Because there are no whispered final words. No admissions of feelings or time to offer comfort. No first and last kisses.
You’re dead before he even reaches you.
All that’s left is to fall to his knees and scoop your unseeing body off the floor. To hunker down and protect you from the trampling crowd around you.
He cradles your head against his chest and refuses to look at your face. Because one glimpse at the lack of that vibrant light in your eyes might just destroy him, and he can’t afford to let that happen.
Your unremitting radiance has been a constant in his life since the moment you arrived, and he simply cannot comprehend its loss.
Grief, deeper than anything he’s ever felt before begins to press in on him from all sides.
Silco likens it to drowning.
The perfect mix of quiet and chaos that sucks the very air from his lungs. The traitorous part of him that simply wishes to just let it in. Let it consume him.
This is the thanks he gets. For daring to begin to remember the man he’d used to be. For daring to allow himself to be something other than the Eye of Zaun, if only for a few hours a week.
He remembers now why he’d let that part of him die.
Suddenly, without you, he’s pulled back down beneath the dark waters.
Maybe this time the frigid currents will finish the job for good.
Tumblr media
Sevika watches on from the edge of the destroyed room. A half empty bottle of something vile and strong finding it’s way to her lips every now and then to numb the reality of the situation.
It’s been two hours, and Silco still hasn’t moved.
The club’s been long cleared of both customers and staff. Although she’s pretty sure Jasper is still downstairs in the taproom.
For such a mountainous man, he sure crumbled quick when he laid eyes on you.
Silco holds you where you fell. Kneeling in a pool of blood that’s long since cooled and darkened to a rich, tacky brown. It’s all over him too. Sevika’s literally going to have to peel you from his arms when the time comes, and that’s a thought that makes the alcohol in her stomach churn.
Silco’s face is never overly expressive, but right now it’s completely motionless. Blank. There are no tears, of course. And he hasn’t uttered a single sound. He simply stares off into the middle distance, stock-still, with you clutched against his chest.
He’s not even tender about it. He holds you against himself like an insolent child unwilling to relinquish their favourite toy.
Sevika knows him well enough not to approach until he’s ready. Until he’s resurfaced from whatever is going on in his mind.
It’s a selfish thought, but she hopes he snaps out of it before Jinx comes home. Sevika doesn’t want to be the one to break the news to the kid. She hasn’t even really processed it herself yet. At the end of the day she’s Silco’s right-hand before anything else, and right now he’s unavailable. Which means it’s her job to hold things together until he’s able to step up to the mantle again. And he will. He always does.
Sevika will raise a glass to you later. She liked you, however much of a pain in the ass you could be.
Finally, Silco blinks, as though emerging from a trance, and slowly twists his head towards Sevika.
And even she balks at the unremitting ice in his eyes.
He hasn’t been capable of such dispassion since Jinx came into his life. And even before then… Sevika isn’t sure she’s ever seen him reach such glacial levels as this. Nothing human could survive such harsh climates.
Silco has mentioned before how a part of him had died with Vander’s betrayal.
Looking at him now, Sevika wonders if you’ve taken a part of him with you too.
She ditches the bottle and makes her way over. It’s a wordless transfer, and Silco doesn’t protest when she crouches and eases you from his arms. There’s no way to do it gracefully with the mess of blood that cakes both yours and Silco’s clothing, and the way your limbs are already beginning to stiffen.
The only crack in Silco’s marble demeanour is a minuscule wince when your head lolls back in his direction; displaying glassy, sightless eyes, and a face set in permanent surprise. He averts his gaze quickly and rises stiffly to his feet.
Sevika stands with you in her arms as Silco turns and walks in the direction of his office. Each step rigid and mechanical.
“What do you want me to do with her?” Sevika asks after him, as gently as she can.
He doesn’t pause his retreat, or turn around.
“It doesn’t matter,” his voice is as lifeless as you, “It isn’t her.”
Tumblr media
401 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 6 hours ago
Text
It’s 2:30 in the morning. I can’t sleep. I’m realizing how being a nail tech really may have just given me a hand kink.
1 note · View note
am-i-interrupting · 6 hours ago
Text
I actually cried from how much I hated seeing Viktor going through so much misfortune and suffering in his life then it hurt even worse watching him die multiple times, but I want to know how the hell he looked so insanely hot as hell doing it?!??
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
323 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 7 hours ago
Text
Tumblr media
Viktor as I imagine him sometime between act 1 & 2 ⚙️
3K notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 12 hours ago
Text
Permission to say something NSFW on my NSFW account?
2 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 15 hours ago
Text
Can’t Go Back | Silco x Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Chapter 3 | Pushed Under the Waves
Summary: You had a long, complicated history with Silco before he became the Eye of Zaun. You thought you’d buried it a long time ago. It all starts to re-emerge from the ground when Vander dies and Powder is found in the hands of Silco.
Time felt like it passed by extremely fast and incredibly slow. Most days it felt like just yesterday that you were at the rubble where you found Vander and the boys. Yet it felt like it’d be forever before you saw Jinx (as she was insistent you call her even if it made your stomach curl) again.
It’d been eight months since you stopped fighting. You and Silco had founded a routine. Jinx was with him while you worked and vice versa. Most nights she stayed at The Drop but roughly a week or so worth of nights each month she’d stay with you.
She would curl up in the bed with Ekko after a long day of tinkering and toying and bickering and playing together, just being kids. Even if both of them had haunted looks in their eyes that wouldn’t go away.
Occasionally on those nights she would wake up and go to where you slept on the couch. She would grab your hand and pull you into the bedroom. You’d wrap your arms around her as you both laid down. Normally Ekko would stir at this and roll into your awaiting arms with her.
You cherished those nights.
Tonight, you were throwing yourself into work. At least, that’s what you had planned until Babette informed you, you had been bought out by one person for the night.
You went to the designated meeting spot that had been given. Some people didn’t like being separated from others with only a mere curtain, you could understand that. However, you couldn’t help but feel on edge.
“No,” you said simply as you turned to walk out immediately upon seeing who it was.
A hand grabbed your wrist and you jerked it away. You reared your hand back and punched him in the face.
He faltered for a moment. You went to continue your walk away but he was stubborn. He followed you. It wasn’t until you were out of the building though that he managed to grab you again. This time a tight grip around your forearm instead of a careful one.
“Have a smoke with me,” the velvet voice said. “That’s all I ask.”
You sighed. “Fine.”
You gave in too easily. You knew that. You reprimanded yourself for it. Still, you followed him to the edges of the water.
Another event flashed before your eyes instead of just the one today was the anniversary of.
Running. Adrenaline high. A vague ache in your torso and with each contact your feet had with the ground.
You had been desperate.
There was a slice that rang through the air as Silco cut a cigar. A nice click of his lighter as it opened.
You looked at him. His ocean eye on your side.
He held the cigar between his teeth as the light grew closer to the end of it. His other hand came up and curled around the flame. Slowly the end sparked with a red hue.
His lips pressed against the cigar as he inhaled. His right hand slipping the lighter back in his pocket. His pointer finger wrapped around the top as he used his others to stabilize it.
He drug it away from his mouth. His hand fell to his side for a moment as he closed his eyes and let his head tilt back. Then he carefully exhaled.
He took another puff before he handed it off to you.
“Where’s Jinx?” you asked as you plucked the cigar from him.
“Sedated,” he said causing you to pause, “she had a fit this morning when she realized what day it was. She kept hitting herself, throwing things, talking to her ghosts. I tried talking her down but nothing worked. Sevika brought the doctor in and he sedated her. Not my preferred method but whatever works, I suppose.”
“You should have gotten me.” You took a drag. “I know her better than all of you combined. I could have figured something out,” you said as smoke flooded out your mouth with your words.
“I thought of it but I was more concerned with making sure she didn’t hurt herself severely. Sevika disappeared as soon as the girl threw a knife at her. Came back twenty minutes later with the doctor in tow.”
Your own voice rang in your head from years ago. “She’s got good instincts.”
You said nothing in reply.
Your heart ached at the pain of your girl. You hated that she was going through this.
Thankfully, Ekko was doing much better. At least in comparison to throwing things and hurting himself. He’d requested that you give him his space but you knew where he was. He was at Benzo’s shop, rundown, ragged, and abandoned.
It was truly a miracle that in a years time someone hadn’t snatched it on up and claimed it as their own or that it’s managed to keep its walls free from addicts and those without any roof.
You wanted to buy it but some of your top buyers hadn’t been coming down. Scared shitless of being caught up in the fights. Only within the past month have some started to drip back down to the Lanes.
“Why are we here, Silco?” you asked.
“A man died here, years ago,” Silco began. “You need to let him go in order to move on with life. I’m not him anymore.”
You looked him in the eye. You felt your nostrils begin to sting as your eyes watered.
“I know.”
Silco took the last drag left in the cigar and flicked it into the water. The waves pulled it down until it was beneath the black.
He stepped forward. The water lapped at his shoes. He turned and extended a hand to you.
“He tried to find you,” you told him. “Vander was sorry.”
A bit of the coldness melted away. His arm slumped a bit. No longer straight and rigid but more relaxed. Still, it was reaching for you.
“No matter what he did to you and no matter what you did to him, he still loved you,” you said as you let your hand slip into his.
His hands were cold, long, and wrapped delicately around your own. Engulfing it in his icy touch.
“We tried to find you for months but you didn’t want to be found,” you continued on. “You didn’t even come to their funerals.
“All we wanted was to get to independence and peace but we’re not anywhere near close. How are you any closer to achieving that compared to Vander?”
He didn’t answer you.
You shoved his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t in his hold. “Huh?”
The water was up to your hips.
He didn’t reply.
“There’s been fighting and death and people are dying every day on the streets because of what you put in them! What’s the point? How does this help anyone? How does this make them—“ you gestured at the buildings in the distance— “respect us? All they’re seeing are animals fighting for scraps!
The water was above your chest now, reaching for your shoulders if the waves were strong enough.
He stopped. He turned to you and took both your hands in his. You held his gaze for a minute before you sighed. You let your head thump against his shoulder, uncaring that water lapped at your chin.
“How does this fix things because all I see are more problems,” you said, your voice going quiet.
“We tried to fight for our independence. We tried before and we failed. These are the trails to make our fight succeed,” Silco said. “There will be loss but this way we have subjects who are willing.”
“They’re addicted,” you corrected.
“Would you rather I kidnap people off the street?” he asked. “Pay them to? What money would go back into the trails if we gave it away just to test?”
“Did you even think about trying to strike a deal?” you asked.
“Our tongues are practiced in different forms, even combined, did they ever listen to us before? We need to scare them and if they want a war, we need to win.”
You let your weight fall against him. Felt his hands move to your elbows to adjust. His breath warmed your skin in comparison to the water.
You felt him slowly begin to pull you both down. You didn’t fight it.
“Are you going to kill me?” you asked.
“If I wanted to, I would have done it when I killed Vander,” he said it with such ease.
A tear fell down your cheek. “How comforting.”
The water tickled your lips. You got half a second of warning to suck in a breath before you were under.
In the freezing waters, Silco was warm. You let your eyes close. Your head rested against his own. His hair tickled your face as the soft currents made it sway and dance.
You let your arms wrap around Silco’s middle. He hugged you back.
Together you stayed like that until the inevitable need to breathe befell the both of you. Silco’s foot kicked the bottom of the floor and brought the two of you to the surface, where standing upright the water was beneath you.
You didn’t let go for one moment, then two. You wanted to hold on, keep this moment of peace between you.
He let go first.
Your hands slowly went from his back to his shoulders and down his arms. You opened your eyes.
One sea foam green eye stared at you. The other a flame in the night.
He must have been wearing some kind of makeup because the skin around was blacked, almost necrotic.
He squeezed your elbows. His hands went down to yours. His fingers wrapped around your own. His thumb rubbed. He squeezed again. He walked away but didn’t let go until he was too far away to hold on.
You watched him leave.
You felt cold. The water was cold. The breeze was cold. Neither of those is what caused your feeling.
You stared at the water surrounding you. The waves clashing against each other. The current that tried to push through but went around you as it realized it couldn’t.
Your hands touched the surface. Ripples dispersed. The rings started off small. Then they stretched out as far as they could before they broke.
You breached the surface. Stood for a moment and simply felt. You felt the rush past your fingertips, tickling your skin.
Something slowly bubbled up inside you. It was warm.
You let yourself feel it, touch it, poke it, stoke it. It flared and quickly went from warm to hot to scorching.
Your jaw clenched and your nostrils flared. Your breathing quickened. You were struggling for air.
You slipped beneath the water once more. This time alone. The only source of heat coming from this feeling which overflowed, bubbling and boiling.
You let out an agonizing scream. Water filled your mouth, grimy and desolate. It aimed for your lungs. Going through your clenched teeth like breaking through a dam.
Breaching the water you coughed and heaved.
Your fingers went through your hair and pulled. You felt like you were being strangled. Like a frightened animal in a corner but with the anger of a beast protecting their pride.
You slammed your fists against the water and let another scream ripe through your lungs but this time it went through the air instead of the water.
Ekko didn’t question when you came into the apartment soaked. You didn’t question why his hands were covered in bandages.
In some weird way, you almost felt better.
There was so much going on. Fighting, bombs, guns, punches, yells, screams, struggles, death, life. All of it surrounded you.
Just moment ago you’d been aiming at enforcers. Now you were running. Tears in your eyes as your breathing came out in strangled puffs. You couldn’t keep it down. You couldn’t keep the air in.
You wiped at your tears. Scratched them off your skin.
A yell, his yell. You picked up the pace.
Distantly, oh so distantly you registered ache in your torso that went down and doubled with each contact your feet had with the ground.
But you were desperate.
You saw thrashing in the water. Above the waves one man, below the waves was the one you were more worried about.
Vander looked different. He looked murderous in way you’d never seen before. He looked dangerous in way that made you scared.
The man who’d only ever given you warmth and kindness was scaring you. He scared you here now more than the enforcers ever had.
His hands were wrapped around the neck of Silco beneath the water. He was thrashing and clawing. Every few seconds his hands would come up from the water.
You yelled out both their names but neither responded as you raced closer.
You heart dropped to your stomach when the thrashing stopped. If he could last a few seconds more.
Tears poorer down your face, heated streams of worry and grief. Just a few seconds more.
Vander’s breath left him and he stepped back in the water. Silco’s head bolted up from beneath. He scrambled to his feet. Vander tried to grab him, push him back down. A backward slash to his arm allowed Silco to get away.
The water soaked through your boots as you raised your hand and pointed your gun. This time not at enforcers but your friend.
Your head turned to watch Silco run. Blood tainted the water. It dripped down his face but his hand covered it as he ran.
“Don’t make me shoot you,” you said, voice far more steady and stern than you felt.
Vander took a step closer as Silco still ran. You squeezed your finger around the trigger. The bullet swirled past his head. A warning.
Your lips trembled.
“Don’t think I won’t!”
You readjusted your aim towards his chest.
Vander held his arm that leaked into the water and grunted. Looked at you, past you and then back again. He yelled through clenched teeth as he walked the other way. He picked up his mining gloves and back into the real fight he went.
You stood, staring at the water. It was a murky brown, tinged red with blood.
The reality of what happened sunk in and weighed on you heavier than an anchor.
Your gun fell from your hand. It misfired into the bloodstained river.
You stood for one, two, three, four seconds? Minutes? Hours?
At some point you just snapped into action and ran toward where Silco had. You were only able to follow his trail so far before the blood had been completed washed by the rain.
You collapsed at the end of the trail. The tears never stopped but they doubled down harder.
Fari, dead. Felicia, dead. Connol, dead. Vander, dead to you. Silco, gone.
Your head tilted down towards the pavement as your body curled in. Your hands went to your middle, clutched in fists where your heart was. Almost like if you tried hard enough you could rip your heart from your chest and take the pain with it.
Not once had you ever felt like this before in your life. You weren’t sure you would survive it. It hurt, throbbing a painful beat in your body. With every breath, every movement, every second the pain worsened.
You passed out in the alleyway.
You awoke to a hard pushing against your shoulder. Your eyes opened and you winced at the few scattered bits of sunlight the Lanes got. You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and tried again. This time the world was less blurry.
Benzo.
“Come on,” he said, heaving you up. “The kids are worried about you.”
You let your head fall against his torso. His arm around you was the only thing keeping you upright.
“Right good scare you gave all of us,” he said with a forced laugh. “We were worried you’d have run off.”
He tried to lift the spirits. Bless him, he did try. However, there was no fixing this right now.
The Last Drop came into view and you stopped.
“Don’t let me see Vander,” you said, spitting out his name like a curse. “I don’t want to kill him in front of the kids.”
Benzo looked at you, worried and concerned. It took a moment for him to realize you were serious.
“Alright,” he said, “give me a second.”
He walked into the bar before you. You leaned against the wall beside the door. You felt numb. You felt heartless. You felt cold.
44 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 1 day ago
Note
Astrofuckinintheprivatebalconydrabbleplsnthanku
*scurries away*
VIP BOOTH [Very Important ~King~ Pin]
Tumblr media
Silco x Reader || Silco x Astrid || Established Relationship || NSFW || MDNI || Semi-public sex || Dirty talk || Light choking || Very slight belly-bulge kink || Rough sex || Sub/Dom Undertones || After-care || Wc: 4.2K
Author note: Written for Astro, but can be read as general sassy AFAB reader. Messy wet smooches to @insult-2-injury for beta-ing and being a general babe 💜 Also shout out to @a-gal-with-taste for boinking me on the head when I needed it. Thank you all for being patient with me and my slow brain. Happy Sinday lovelies 💜
Drink With Me Masterlist🥃
Tumblr media
“Boss man says you’re to go up and see him in half an hour.”
It isn’t uncommon for Sevika’s greetings to cut straight to the point. But what’s less common is Silco requesting your presence in his office mid-shift. You raise an eyebrow at the tall, dark woman towards whom you nudge a generous glass of tequila.
“And did boss man say why?”
“Nope.”
“How come he doesn’t want me up now?”
“Just the messenger, princess,” Sevika dismisses flatly, already turning away with her drink in hand and her attentions set upon two pretty women across the dance floor.
You roll your eyes at her retreating back but don’t speculate on it any further. Likelihood is that Silco simply needs your help with his eye treatment, or else your input on some other work matter. 
Half an hour passes quickly enough with the club at full capacity, and it isn’t long before you’re slipping out from behind the bar, with a quick word to Jasper, and weaving your way through the revelling crowds.
The tumultuous bass-line rumbles through the treads of your boots as you spring your way happily up the stairs to the balcony – bobbing your head along to the blasting beat of the music and absently singing along beneath your breath.
Gods the place really is heaving tonight. Seems every square inch is filled with thrill-seekers and trouble-makers alike. You slink through the narrow gaps left between bodies as a salmon would between riverbed weeds; fighting a current you’re built to withstand, but that pushes against you nonetheless.
You round the corner and begin to make your way past the row of private booths which line the final approach to Silco’s stairwell. Each alcove is fitted with a central table, two ox-blood leather back benches, and is dimly illuminated by a singular, moody chem-sconce mounted on the rear wall. Thick, three-quarter length curtains of deep plum velvet adorn either side of every entrance should those within require a little more discretion, and although they are only drawn across a handful of booths tonight, it seems that each one is occupied regardless.
You mind your own business; pointedly ignoring the illicit objects strewn across each table as you pass. Cards, drinks, drugs, money, weapons—
Quick as an asp, a hand shoots out from inside the penultimate booth, latching onto your arm and yanking you unceremoniously through the closed drapes. You land heavily in someone’s lap with a surprised shriek that quickly transforms into a spitting snarl as you twist, fist raised to strike your assailant. But once again he’s faster; snatching your wrist and halting it mid-swing.
The limited light dispels the gloom just enough for you to register a devious, sharp-cut smirk, and a glinting pair of mischievous eyes; one of sea-foam green, and the other of forge-fire orange.
“Asshole,” you hiss emphatically, even as you sag in boneless relief; spine moulding to the familiar shape of Silco’s front and head lolling back to rest atop his shoulder as you attempt to slow your stampeding heart-rate.
An arrogant little chuckle rumbles beside your ear, and Silco wastes absolutely no time in making the precise reason for your abduction abundantly clear. 
His arms wind around you, pawing none-to-subtly across your breasts and stomach as he gathers you into a possessive embrace that grinds your ass insistently down atop his clothed erection.
Your sharp inhale catches in your throat, before expelling as a sultry laugh. You drop your cheek against the luxurious softness of Silco’s collar, bringing your lips to his ear to be heard above the relentless din of the club beyond the curtains.
“ Shit Silco,” you praise, voice a throaty purr to accompany the appreciative roll of your hips, ���Been in here all alone gettin’ yourself hot and bothered?”
He drops a hard, proprietorial kiss to your throat, and his knees slip together between yours and begin to push them slowly, purposefully apart – unashamedly spreading your legs at his own leisure. Your feet dangle a half an inch off the floor from your boosted seat upon his lap, leaving you entirely at the mercy of the large palms which drag a tantalising promise up the insides of your thighs.
“I’ve been 'hot and bothered’ since you sauntered out of my office earlier wearing this indecent scrap of fabric.”
He arrives at the hem of your skirt and plucks reproachfully at the material to emphasise his point.
Your teeth prick your lower lip as he runs the seam between fingers and thumbs, knuckles skimming across your skin to the outside of your thighs before tracing back inwards again – a sensual, goosebump-raising metronome of touch that further stokes the molten heat oozing steadily outwards from your core.
“It’s called a skirt .”
Silco’s scarred lips shift infinitesimally, casting a hidden smirk into the trench above your collarbone, and you tip your head further back with a sigh, baring your throat to the heavens as his tongue runs down the swallow-tail of your clavicle to pinch a biting kiss to the top of your sternum.
“Surely not,” he drawls, dragging his mouth up the thrumming artery at the side of your neck to speak directly against the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. The horizontal graze of his knuckles diverts to a vertical drag that lifts the material of said skirt up over your hips to bunch around your waist, leaving your underwear as the only barrier separating you from his lap (if a thong can indeed be considered a barrier in the first place), “It barely covers you.”
“You don’t like it? I thought it rather suited me,” you sulk playfully, swirling your ass in a provocative figure of eight.
He grunts softly at the movement, before nipping at your neck in sharp penalty for misbehaving. Not that the punishment achieves anything other than driving your pelvis down harder atop the strain in his pants with a needy little gasp of your own.
“That isn’t at all what I said,” he croons in your ear. One hand sneaks up under your shirt to sketch cruel, taunting sickles on the undersides of your breasts, whilst the other slips a scant inch beneath the band of your underwear to tease the lowest reaches of your belly with light, ticklish strokes, “I think my opinions on this particular item of clothing are rather evident. Wouldn’t you say? I haven’t been able to focus on my work since you left.”
“And so you thought you’d come down here and interrupt my work instead of taking care of things yourself like a big boy?”
“ You caused this problem,” his fingers dip lower, skimming the periphery of your clit in three sadistic loops before continuing down to nudge at your slick-soaked entrance, “I think it only fair that you fix it.”
Your breathing shallows, lungs bound by the tightening noose of arousal clamping hot and heavy around every sense you possess. Your nails dig into burgundy sleeved forearms and your gaze darts towards the pervious swath of fabric that separates you from the mingling crowds just beyond. Yours and Silco's boots are already visible to anyone who might bother to look down, and the salacious arrangement of legs and footwear is hardly subtle.
“Aren’t you worried we’ll be caught? That people will find out about us?” You ask, even as you tilt your hips towards the promise of his fingers.
His chest rumbles against your spine; a low growl laced with an impatience that thrills you.
“You know just as well as I the numerous sins committed under this roof each night,” he insists, dark and gravelled, gluttonous hands dragging their way back to your hips, “I am certain that everyone will be far too busy with their own misdeeds to pay any attention to ours. Up,” he instructs with a brusque, stinging smack to the side of your bare buttock.
You obey instantly, gripping the edge of the table in front of you and pulling your weight up and forwards to hover above his lap. Balancing en pointe like some inelegant ballerina in your clunky Undercity boots. Silco’s sleeves brush the backs of your thighs as he tears at the buttons on his trousers beneath you. 
“Were you always this horny before I came along?” You call over your shoulder, just loud enough for him to hear over the teeth-rattling drum and bass.
“Not since I was a teenager,” he rips your underwear aside and guides you back with a hand on your hip until you’re suitably poised for him to lewdly drag the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself with the evidence of your own lust. “Such is the effect you have on me.”
“Oh Gods,” you huff, half amused and half thick-throated desire, “Please don’t say that ‘I make you feel young again’ .”
“Again?” 
You offer a cheeky, heavy-lidded smirk.
“On the contrary, sweetheart, ” he continues with a sharp yank at your hips that has you sinking down onto him oh so sweetly , “You very much make me feel like a man.” He punctuates his statement with the upwards snap of his pelvis – meeting you halfway and burying himself to the hilt. 
The leather upholstery creaks beneath you both as you melt back against Silco’s chest. The hedonistic whine which falls from your lips a soulful counter-melody to the vacuous blast of the club music. No matter how many times he’s inside you, there’s a perfect divinity in the way you fit together that never fails to leave you breathless.
Silco’s arms encircle you once more, hugging you tight against his front with a ragged sigh of relief that stirs the fine hairs at your temple. Easing you into the thick stretch of him with slow, rolling thrusts that have your head tipping blissfully back atop his shoulder.
Your eyelids lower beneath the bewitching weight of his mouth pressing down the slope of your neck. Tongue curling hot and wet over skin in soothing licks even as he sucks flaming marks upon your throat. Claiming you. Painting you red and purple to match the lighting which slinks beneath the curtains in pulsing flashes.
The limited space between the table and bench restricts your movements a considerable amount. But you make do with any and all leverage available to you. Arching your spine to optimise the rock of your pelvis. Reaching back to curl fingers around the nape of Silco’s neck, to slide your palm down his tailored waist to the hinge of his hip, thumb slotting perfectly into the crease of his groin beneath your ass. Using the thickened toes of your boots and your Sump-Snipe thigh strength to slide yourself up and down the heat of his shaft if only an inch or two.
Not that you’re in any way complaining about such a gloriously deep-seated fuck.
Your head spins, caught in the whirlpool of sensation sweeping through your mind and body. The relentless pump of the music and unintelligible drone of a hundred voices pressing in all around you. Silco’s breath dampening your skin and the ravenous drag of his teeth and tongue and lips against any part of you his mouth can reach. The strobing lights which throw the world into sin-addled darkness only to rip it back to crimson brilliance a split second later like an eternal, ceaseless tug-of-war. The obscene feel of him filling you up so completely only intensifies with each upward buck of his hips.
Electric anticipation gathers like static around every nerve and synapse with each flawless grind of his cock against the trembling plush of your walls. Forever in amazement at how the shape of him seems so faultlessly crafted to knead all the sweetest spots inside you no matter the position you find yourselves in.
Erotic and scorching is the hand that once more slides up under your shirt to roll a pebbled nipple between thumb and forefinger. Your hitching gasp elicits a velvet hum of approval at your ear – a sound which lengthens and pitches down into something husky and bestial to accompany the splay of Silco’s other hand upon your lower tummy, pressing hard to feel for himself just how deeply he’s sheathed inside you.
“Always such a good girl for me,” he murmurs beneath your sharp inhale – high and ragged and pleading thanks to the pressure of his palm forcing your g-spot more firmly against the continuous burrowed-slide of his cock. “Always so obliging, despite that smart little mouth of yours.”
A soft, whimpering sob spills unbidden from between the pliant seam of your lips.
“What was that, darling?” He releases your nipple, hand smoothing up your sternum to emerge through the collar of your shirt. Palm blanketing your windpipe, fingers and thumb closing either side of your throat, “Were you agreeing with me? Are you my good girl?”
Your attempt to nod is crippled by the tightening of his grip, constricting your arteries just enough to heighten your already dizzying pleasure and to convey his unspoken instruction crystal clearly.
“Yes,” you babble skyward, head pressing further back into the sharp-boned pillow of his shoulder and voice rising as you’re driven closer to climax with each deep-seated thrust, “Ye- ss. I’m g- such a good girl for you. Puh- please. Silco— ”
“Shhhh,” he hushes, smooth as velour and arrogant as a king, releasing your neck to slide his middle and index finger over the crest of your chin and into your mouth, pinning your tongue flat. “We wouldn’t want anyone finding out your dirty little secret, hm?”
The hand on your tummy shifts too, dexterous pads sliding south to massage your clit in progressively quickening circles whilst his thumb remains solidly pressed above your pubic bone. Your pelvis jerks, even as your lips close around his fingers and suck with a greedy, muffled whine .
“What would they all think?” Silco growls, carnal grit colouring his words and dismantling his usual debonair grace, “If they knew that you let the Eye of Zaun fuck you however he pleases? When and wherever he pleases?”
You moan around his fingers, trapped tongue crudely lavishing the salt of his skin as much as you’re able. The movement of your hips now less of a practiced roll and more of a desperate writhe as you chase the promise of blinding pleasure that’s barrelling towards you. The pressure of his thumb relentless. His fingertips a blur upon your clit. Every cell in your body tightening, bracing for impact. All of it so impossibly intense that the corners of your eyes prick with zealous tears and you aren’t sure if the flesh you're driving your nails into is Silco’s or your own.
“Not only that – but that you’re spread and dripping for him at a moment's notice? That you love it?” He snarls, planting a harsh kiss to the hinge of your jaw and breathing you in deep. Scarred lips lingering against your skin and voice softening to a rasped whisper, “That you love him?”
You shatter. 
Mouth flying open in a silent cry; caught and trapped in your chest by the paralysing force of your orgasm. Every tendon and muscle beneath your skin straining agonisingly taut, mortal body locked in place but mind and soul soaring with indescribable pleasure, rupturing through you in throbbing bursts. 
And that is the tempo you lose yourself to, not the rhythmic beat of the jukebox. Dazzled not by club strobes but by blinding stars . Swept away upon euphoric swells which lick warm and wet through every inch of you.
Gone. Adrift. For a lifetime. Or for mere seconds.
Coaxed back to lucidity by a low-toned voice.
“Are you with me, sweetheart?”
Your lashes flutter, vision clearing, settling. Unravelled body slack within the arms of another. Spine supported against a long, lithe torso. Chest heaving with laboured breaths. 
A pair of fingers slip from your mouth, trailing wet beneath your jaw, down the column of your throat.
“Yes,” you croak, exquisitely wrung out, dropping your cheek towards Silco and gazing up at him through drooped lashes.
He scans your face, his hips having slowed to a gentle, absent rock beneath your backside – ensuring you’re alright before even contemplating seeking his own release.
But Gods you can see how he needs it. 
And you can see exactly what it is that he’s so sorely craving from the wild, animal edge in his eyes. A specific desire he no longer submits to without your endorsement.
Lucky for him, then, that you take such pride in being his good girl.
“Do it,” you pant, “I can take it—”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. 
Your insides lurch with the sudden motion of Silco shooting to his feet and hauling you with him. Not granted even a split second to find your bearings before the table comes rushing to meet you – or rather you it. The impact of your torso against the surface forces all the air from your lungs in one brutal rush, and your boots scrabble upon the booze-sticky floor to secure your footing before the beast at your back really goes to town.
Your palms squeak against the wood, top and skirt bunching ever higher as Silco seizes your hips and yanks you backwards into each vicious thrust. Driving into you with a merciless velocity that out-paces even the rhythmic pump of the music.
Mindless. Savage. Immaculate.
Silco fucks you totally and utterly dumb . Mouth hanging open, nonsensical sounds moaned directly into the wood beneath your cheek. What little strength remains in your quivering muscles is channelled directly towards arching your spine to send him plunging deeper.
You don’t even need to look to feel the laser burn of his eyes raking hot over your cock-drunk expression. Scorching down your spine. Setting your cunt ablaze as he watches himself piston in and out. Scratching this carnal itch that arises from time to time despite your partnership. Power. Dominance. Control.
Even over the unceasing clamour of the club you can hear the susurrant hiss of Silco’s breath pushing through bared teeth above you. Serrated grunts of exertion and depraved satisfaction that are far more gratifying to your ear than any music could ever be.
His vise-like fingers release your hips; blood rushing to flood the bruises he’s undoubtedly left upon your skin and restoring sensation to your numbed flesh. One hand shifts to the dip of your waist whilst the other hooks over the top of your shoulder. He bends close, his body heat a sweat-inducing shroud and the pound of his hips slowing in speed but not in ferocity. High, aquiline bridge of his nose pressing into your temple as he uses his grip on you to drive himself impossibly deep. Impossibly hard. Rattling the entire table beneath you with each pointed, barbaric thrust.
And you’re so utterly lost to Silco’s amorous frenzy that you’re completely blind-sighted by your second orgasm; spearing through you unexpected and sharp. Violent, blinding rays of bliss that send tears streaming over your lashes.
The feverish, pulsing clench of your sex pulls a coarse, ragged groan from the depths of Silco’s lungs as he too climaxes with staggering force. Sheathing himself completely, grinding deep, flooding you with decadent, throbbing warmth. Hips rocking steadily slower until he’s simply seated inside you, completely spent.
Your ribcage swings with fast, laboured breaths. Silco’s heavy panting stirs your ruffled hair, tickling your sweat-soaked neck.
His hands soften and smooth tenderly down your sides.
“Are you alright sweetheart?”
You nod, cheek still pressed into the surface of the table.
“You’re certain? I didn’t hurt you?”
You reach behind you to cup his face, thumb swiping along the hinge of his jaw in reassurance. Short of breath, and wielding a thick, clumsy tongue, “Yes I— I’m fine, Sil. I’m— Janna’s tits that was fucking incredible.”
Silco releases a lengthy exhale, allowing himself to fully relax atop you – slim body a welcome, comforting weight and the blade of his nose grazing affectionately behind your ear. Large, warm palms worship you in slow, roving strokes that have your muscles melting . Soothing your bruised hips. Trailing down the outsides of your thighs and over the swell of your backside. Caressing up your spine. Sweeping along arms. Brushing back messy hairs from your face with his knuckles. All of it so heartbreakingly gentle.
“You are—” he begins breathlessly, losing his words with a shake of his head and a quiet, awestricken huff. Planting soft kisses upon the skin of your jaw, lips brushing warm towards the corner of your mouth between low, earnest words, “Perfect. My beautiful, wonderful, perfect girl.”
You purr, happy and content, basking in his warmth and affection.
You grumble, petulant and sulky, when he disappears without warning. 
“Bagh,” you complain. Scowling over your shoulder but remaining stubbornly recumbent on the table whilst he slips from you; long, sharp face pinching in a fleeting grimace. He sweeps a gentle, assessing thumb around your entrance, and once he’s satisfied that you’re truly unharmed he tucks himself away and conjures a clean napkin from a hidden pocket.
You snort softly against the wood, “Came prepared I see,” you mumble, “Cocky prick.”
Silco doesn’t lift his gaze, nor pause in his dutiful cleaning of your thighs and the apex between them – merely gestures towards his ear with a small shake of his head.
“Your hearing is freakishly good and you know it.”
The very corner of his mouth quirks, and his eyes tick up to meet yours.
Swift and deft as a fox, the soiled napkin is discarded, your clothing is fixed, and his warmth returns as he brings his mouth to your ear.
“Can you stand?”
You shift your hands beneath you and press yourself slowly upright, Silco’s palms a comforting presence on your waist.
You straighten. 
And your legs promptly buckle.
But of course Silco is ready to catch you; arms wrapping easily around your middle with a low chuckle.
“Weak at the knees, darling?”
“Can’t help it. You’re just so dreamy, ” you swoon over your shoulder, batting your lashes for good measure.
His eyes glitter with silent mirth and he scoops you up, sitting back down on the bench with you tucked close against him – legs swung over his lap, head pillowed upon his collar, and nose grazing the perfumed silk knot of his tie.
From the first moment you met Silco, the rest of the world has always had a habit of simply melting away whenever you’re with him. Even now, the thunderous motley of music and nightlife feels like little more than background noise beneath the steady, calming swell of his lungs beneath your cheek. The spilt booze and body odour of the club negated completely by cigars and cologne. Strobing lights nary a bother behind the contented droop of your eyelids.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Silco murmurs, shaking you gently, “When you’re able to walk we’ll get you upstairs.”
You whimper longingly into his shirt, “I can’t leave Jasper in the lurch. Not tonight. The club’s rammed.”
“I’ll send Thieram to cover the rest of your shift.”
“You sure? You can spare him?”
“I’m sure.”
You smile, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck with a happy little hum, “Whoever said that dating your boss was a bad idea?”
“Certainly not me. I did, however, say not to get too comfortable.”
“Too late.”
His chest depresses in a long-suffering sigh, but he gathers you closer in his arms regardless, and drops a kiss to your hair. 
You remain quietly entwined together for a short while, sharing just as private and intimate a moment as those which preceded it. Curtained off from the rest of the world.
“Silco?”
“Hm?”
“I wouldn’t care, you know. If people found out about us.”
The fingers which had been sketching lazy circles to the outside of your thigh come to a stop. There’s a moment’s pause, before he answers carefully, “This is how it has to be. To keep you safe.”
“I know,” you sigh, lifting your head from his shoulder to properly meet his gaze. Fiddling with the gold trim of his waistcoat as you speak softly, earnestly, “So long as you know… That loving you – Silco – it isn’t some terrible secret I’m eager to keep.”
He releases a long exhale, shoulders sinking and lips thinning ruefully. There’s an apology in his eyes. One you don’t allow him the chance to voice.
“You don’t have to say anything,” you assure him gently, capturing his face between your palms, “I just want you to know that if I had bragging rights… I’d use ‘em.” 
You brush a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. And another when he gives chase – hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Mouth pressing just a little deeper against yours. Tongue tips lightly brushing in a way that sends your stomach swooping.
Lips part, and foreheads join. His thumb circles tenderly over your pulse beneath your jaw.
“What did I ever do to deserve you?”
You smile, small and soft, “It’s so nice to hear you ask that in a good way for a change.”
He huffs the smallest of laughs, tucking some rogue hairs back behind your ear, “Come on, let’s head up.”
You blink owlishly at him.
He clicks his tongue, “In a minute then,” he relents.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said,” you murmur, happily tucking yourself once more into the crook of his neck.
Tumblr media
393 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 1 day ago
Note
Inky, may we please get a drabble about Astrid’s inability to behave when Silco wears his readers, I am on my knees begging 🙏🏼😖
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Reading Glasses 👓
Tumblr media
Silco x Reader || Silco x Astrid || Post DWM || Established Relationship || Silco in glasses || SFW but suggestive || wc: 800~ || AO3
Make sure you read til the end for a special surprise 😘
Tumblr media
Water and toothpaste swirl in lazy spirals around the sink drain as you rinse out your mouth and plop your toothbrush back into the holder beside Silco’s.
Your toothbrush and Silco’s toothbrush. Just… sitting together in the same little pot.
A giddy flutter tickles behind your sternum, and you catch sight of your reflection’s lips twisting into a small, unbidden smile. You wipe your hands dry on your sleep shorts and press the cool skin of your knuckles to your flushing cheeks.
Ridiculous.
These dizzy, adolescent spells that are brought on by the simplest, most mundane of things. You swear you never got this flustered before you were together.
Well… perhaps that isn’t strictly true. But it’s completely different now. The things that flustered you back then were totally normal ‘fluster-able’ things. All the flirting and innuendos. Cigar smoke blown between mouths. Being pinned beneath his weight against the wall…
Not getting damn heart palpitations from secretly watching Silco work at his desk. Or blushing when he brings you morning coffee in bed on the days you stay over. Or getting light-headed at the shared proximity of your bloody oral hygiene implements. 
It’s embarrassing; what he does to you.
And you wouldn’t change it for anything.
You tuck your hair behind your ears and allow the full potential of your smile to blossom in time with the warmth inside your chest. After all, why shouldn’t you? Being happy is no crime. You’ve earned this peace. You both have. And if the past couple of weeks at Silco's side have taught you anything, it’s that it truly is miraculous how much more in love a person can fall when they stop fighting the pull of gravity.
Seems every day with him is a new lesson; filled with small revelations that always seem to appear when you least expect them.
You flip the bathroom light off as you open the ensuite door, “Hey Silco? Don’t you think it’s stupid that the plural for toothbrush isn’t teethbrush? 'Toothbrushes' just sounds plain wrong—”
You freeze on the threshold, lips parting with a small pop as your jaw slackens. Suddenly very hard to draw breath. Suddenly very warm beneath your nightwear.
Silco looks up at you from his relaxed position on the bed; reclined atop the covers with a single knee bent upwards and bare shoulders propped against the headboard. His rose tattoos peek above the soft dark fabric of his sleep-bottoms, and the glow from the bedside lamp not only illuminates the pages of the book he has resting upon his thigh, but also further accentuates his whip-lean physique.
It isn’t a new sight.
What is new are the reading spectacles; perched perfectly upon the bridge of his nose. Round lenses set within thin, black wire.
His natural brow arches elegantly above the frame.
“I have to admit, Darling, I don’t spend much time pondering the etymology of the word ‘toothbrush'—”
Silco’s response is cut short by the sound of fabric hitting the floor.
You step free of your shorts and underwear as you stride swiftly towards the foot of the bed, propelled by a gut-deep, primal need that wraps red-hot around your insides like a flaming whip. Silco’s sea-foam eye widens in instinctual alarm behind the round lens at the intensity and speed with which you clamber onto the bed and crawl your way up his body to straddle his hips. You snatch the book straight from his hands and fling it blindly away a split second before crashing your lips to his.
He grunts in surprise at the impact – ferocious enough to knock his glasses completely askew – but quickly matches your hunger. Large hands pawing their way up your thighs and over your hips until his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist, dragging you closer as he sits up fully. So eager that he briefly overshoots, the solid bar of his forearms the only thing keeping you from tumbling backwards onto his thighs as he folds at the hip, before righting himself and pulling you with him.
Your fingers rake and tug through Silco’s hair. Mouths locking in rough, messy kisses. Teeth clacking, tongues delving, desperately seeking more. Lips parting only out of necessity to grab the hem of your camisole and rip it off over your head, chucking it across the room as Silco reaches up to remove his glasses—
“No,” you snatch his wrist and shove him backwards, pinning his hands into the pillow either side of his head and lacing your fingers together.
Silco blinks up at you, startled and dazed behind the round, lopsided frames. Sore lips parting in stupefied silence as you press your face up close to his.
And perhaps you’re spending far too much time with the mighty Eye of Zaun – because your husky demand is snarled through bared teeth in a bestial growl.
“Keep them on.”
Tumblr media Tumblr media
304 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 1 day ago
Text
Across the River Viktor & Reader are basically just gonna have a more cuddly version of my relationship with my partner which, great for you all because we’re doing great.
Tumblr media
12 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 2 days ago
Text
Across the River | Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Chapter 4 | Sleepy Studies
Summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.
“What is your sister like?” Viktor asked during one late night.
“Why?”
“Simply curious. I was an only child.”
“Okay,” Jinx said slowly, looking Viktor up and down. “Well, they’re like. . . Geez, I don’t know. I mean, when I was little I spent waaay more time with them than with V— We’ve always been close. I don’t really know how to describe it.”
Viktor noticed her cut off and raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t question.
He tapped something Jinx wrote twice. She looked down and her lips curled up. She wiggled her pencil in her hand for a moment before she flipped it and erased what she’d written, replacing it with something else.
“Perhaps phrasing it differently will help? What is it like having siblings?” the question phrased plural on purpose.
Jinx shrugged. “I mean, you’ve got someone to look up to, I guess. Someone who’s your friend and your bully all wrapped up into one present and shoved in your hands but the wrapping paper is kind of wet which is weird because that’s not how presents are supposed to be, right? It’s kind of off putting because it’s kind of gross. Then you open it up and look at the box and the box is weird too. It’s like purple instead of brown. And then when you finally open the box, it’s like all your insecurities are there in the shadows and then you put it in the light and boom! Unconditional love that you definitely don’t deserve but it’s hidden because of insults and petty drama.”
A pause.
Viktor blinked once, twice.
Jinx looked him up and down.
“Does that make sense?”
“None at all.”
“Oh.”
She was quiet for a moment. She looked off into the space before her. Unmoving, slightly unnerving.
She sniffed. She shrugged. She bounced back, leaning into his personal space. “Welp! That’s the best I got.”
Viktor shook his head with a bemused slight quirk to his lips. “Alright, so,” he began, pointing at some of the runes.
The rest of the night passed by until it was closer to early morning. Viktor stretched his arms out behind his back. Jinx was standing, leaning her back against the table, bending backwards. She’d taken out her pins that held her bun in place and long braids pooled on the table, one even hanging off.
“Do you think that trees cry when they’re cut down?” Jinx asked. “That they know they’re going to die?”
“And I will take that as our sign to call it,” Viktor said.
Jinx gave an over exaggerated groan in reply but Viktor could tell by the way she was twirling the end of one of her braids and occasionally hitting her face with it, she was feeling the pull of sleep begin to tug.
She tilted her hips towards the table and moved her leg. In one fluid motion she was upright. Then she almost fell. Quickly she righted herself and shot Viktor a giant smile.
Viktor grabbed his crutch. He situated it beneath his arm and curled his fingers around the handle.
Jinx let her body weight all go to one foot as she kept the door open. The only thing which prevented her from falling was her hold on the doorknob.
When he walked through, she followed him.
“Ow! Shit!” she yelled.
Viktor’s head whipped back and her braid had gotten caught between the doors. She jerked the door open and yanked her braid out of the way. It hit his leg and the door closed.
“I see why you keep your hair up,” Viktor said.
Jinx scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I like my braids being down, even when they do get caught on things.”
“May I ask why that is?”
“Because, they keep me grounded. Without their weight I feel like my head is floating away from me,” she said.
“Then why don’t you wear them down?” he questioned.
“Stupid Upper City people,” she muttered under her breath. “They think it’s ‘unhygienic’ because they drag on the floor. Yeah, they do and guess what! I clean them every day. They don’t even drag on the floor unless I’m hunched over.”
“I didn’t think you the type to let others people’s opinions bother you,” Viktor told her.
“I don’t! Normally. It’s just doing all these things and following all these stupid fucking rules is how I got here,” she said with a pointed gesture at the academy floors. “I can’t lose that now. Sis worked too hard to get me here.”
Viktor could empathize with the struggle. Being not only from the Undercity but also disabled prevented an entire load of problems up here. He’d take them though, over the polluted air. At least here he could breathe.
Viktor held the door open for Jinx. He waited until she was a decent bit away before letting the door fall closed.
“Let me haul you a taxi,” Viktor said, worried for the girl in her tired state.
She shrugged but didn’t fight him.
They sat in the backseat of the taxi. Jinx’s braids pooled in the floor.
She scooted closer to him. She slowly pushed her hand between his arm and torso until he tentatively let her wrap their arms together. Her head immediately plopped down on his shoulder. He tensed.
“I don’t even get to do my building anymore up here,” she said as she nuzzled her face against his shoulder.
“Building?” he asked as he forced his body to relax.
“Yeah, before we came up here, I used to build all sorts of gadgets. I mean, I still do but I can’t do it as often. I can’t even find a place to test my bombs and since the Industrialist took over the Undercity, we don’t go down there much. Just on special occasions.”
“You build bombs?”
Jinx laughed a bit. “Yeah.” She closed her eyes and sank against him. “Smoke bombs—“ internally he sighed in relief— “real bombs, guns.”
“Huh,” was all he could say.
The rest of the ride was relatively silent. That is until Jinx started snoring and some drool seeped through his shirt. He didn’t make any attempt to move her though.
The automobile came to a halt. With a quick word to the driver and careful movement, he slipped out. He walked into the apartment building and knocked the door labeled 07.
A couple long moments passed. He raised his hand to knock again as it but it jerked open.
“The fuck do you want at one in the— Oh, it’s you. Hi,” you said as you processed who exactly stood in front of you.
Viktor felt his stomach do the smallest twist. Your hair was a mess. Your shorts were hanging off one hip and up too high on the other. A strap of the tank top you wore was twisted.
“Jinx is asleep in a taxi. I would bring her in myself but ah,” he gestured with his crutch.
“Oh, yeah,” you said as you walked out of the threshold of the apartment. “She sleeps like the dead.”
You yawned as you walked with him to the taxi.
Jinx’s head was lulled forward. Her chin touched her clavicle but still she snored on.
You crawled a bit into the automobile and put your hands beneath her legs and her back. You pulled her closer to you until you could heave her up in your arms. Her head bobbled and smacked you in the chin. She just groaned and used her hand to push your face away.
“Ow,” you said in a monotoned voice. “Anyway, thanks for getting her home.”
“Of course, it was my pleasure. Do you need me to open the door for you?”
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
Inside you put Jinx to bed. You slipped off her shoes, pulled her vest down her arms, undid her belt. You undid the buttons of her shirt and slid on an oversized one before slipping off her button up and pulling off her pants.
She pulled the blanket around her and face planted in her pillow.
“Thanks, sis,” she mumbled, half asleep.
“Yeah, yeah,” you said.
Still, you moved her face so she wouldn’t suffocate on her pillow and brushed her bangs out of her face. You placed a kiss right above her brow.
Then you grabbed your own covers to wrap yourself in and laid back on the couch where you’d been, wondering why you felt all warm inside by the man who kept caring for your sister with you.
181 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 2 days ago
Text
To Do List
Tumblr media
Silco x Reader || Silco x Astrid || Post DWM || Established Relationship || NSFW || MDNI || P in V || wc: 1.3K || AO3 || DWM Masterlist
As promised @ladiekoro. Thank you for the inadvertent dialogue prompt! Also shout out to Parm Palace for brainstorming places to fuck in The Last Drop with me. 🖤
Tumblr media
Your knuckles blanch from the intensity of your grip – one hand clinging to the carved head of Silco’s chair, and the other fisted desperately in the black and gold fabric that adorns the Eye of Zaun’s shoulder as he slams you up and down in his lap, repeatedly and without mercy.
Your legs have been rendered useless, turned to nothing more than trembling, post-orgasmic jelly, leaving you only with whatever strength remains in your arms to aid Silco’s frenetic rhythm. His fingers dig bruises into your buttocks, thumbs drilling marks into your hip bones, and sharp teeth catching on your jaw as he pants open mouthed against your skin.
The hard, blunt hit of his cockhead deep inside you has you whining in fucked-out bliss. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull as he uses your soaked, fluttering cunt to chase his own pleasure, veering dangerously close if the repetitive catch of his breath is any indication.
His green eye drops shut, and a gravelled moan spills from his throat alongside several bone-jarringly hard thrusts; each one accompanying a delicious shot of heat inside you. The movement of your hips slows to a stop, and Silco's head and shoulders hit the back of his chair as he slumps.
You flop heavily against his front, brow pressing into the cool leather beside his skull and your palms drop to his heaving chest. Feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath shirt and waistcoat and ribcage; racing just as fast as yours is.
Your damp forehead sticks slightly to the material as you turn your face to press a kiss to the soft skin beneath Silco’s ear. His hands loosen their grip on your ass and smooth up your spine in a loving caress that further rumples your sweat soaked shirt.
“I wasn’t lying when I said that I’m very busy today,” he murmurs, still a little out of breath.
“I know Sweetie. You’re always busy,” you pat his cheek consolingly, pulling back with a dopey grin to coo, “And yet you still somehow never fail to find time in your industrious schedule to fit in little old me. You’re very gracious.”
His mouth quirks, gaze dragging down your body. Over the singular breast that had been hastily freed from your half open shirt and bra; suckled raw and glistening with saliva. Down to where he remains buried inside you. 
“Well… you always make such a compelling case.”
You smirk, straightening his tie and brushing a few loose hairs back off his brow before fixing your own shirt.
“It’s a wonder what asking politely will get you.”
“I don’t remember any asking – polite or otherwise. I seem to recall somebody marching into my office, climbing into my lap, and demanding my attention.”
"I said please, didn’t I? Several times in fact.”
You suck in a small, sharp breath as he snakes a hand down between you and presses his thumb against your swollen clit.
“I’m not sure it counts if you chant it after I’m already inside you.”
You huff a heavy stream through your nose, teeth biting hard into your lower lip as he drags a slow, purposeful circle with his pad. Chuckling deep and quiet, far too pleased with himself at the overstimulated jerk of your pelvis. The movement has him finally slipping free, and he pulls the gusset of your underwear back into place before tucking himself into his pants.
“Insufferable asshole,” you mutter, much to Silco’s smug amusement as he begins to re-fasten those four shining buttons.
You reach down for your own trousers, still hanging loose from around one ankle, and pull a folded piece of paper from one of the pockets.
“What’s that?”
“My to do list,” you reach blindly behind you in search of a pen from his desk, "I need to check something off.”
“You need to check something off right now ?”
“Mhm,” you confirm around the pen now between your teeth as you shake open the list and scan down it.
Big fancy bed
Shower
Bath
Desk
Desk chair
Window nook (bedroom)
Against window (office)
Sofa
Floor/rug
Against door
Against wall
Coffee table?? (test strength first)
Taproom Taproom (unsure if bjs fully count??)
Private booth (club)
Stairwell
Roof terrace
You cross out desk chair with a satisfied flourish, only a moment before the list is snatched straight from your fingers.
“Hey! I don’t go snooping through your private paperwork.”
Silco ignores you, brows drawn and gaze scanning quickly down the paper. Confusion turns to realisation, turns to mirth. Natural eyebrow rising higher each second, and the edge of his scarred lips hooking upwards.
“You certainly weren’t lying when you said to do list.”
“Of course not. I never lie.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about being an accessory to your sexual exploits.”
“They’re not exploits, they’re reparations,” you insist, snatching the list back and waving it in his face for emphasis, “for the harm placed upon my persons before, during, and after our ridiculous separation. I've decided we must purify every surface of The Last Drop with our new found love .”
Silco snorts a laugh, “I see.”
“To be honest, I’m surprised it’s taken us so long to get around to the desk chair.”
“In all fairness, Darling, we are only into the second week of this relationship.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been thinking about riding you in this chair for a very, very long time.”
A small, inquisitive hum punctuates the minuscule tilt of Silco’s head, and his eyes shine with intrigue, “Is that so?”
“Mhm. Ever since the first time I helped you with your eye treatment.”
“That is a long time,” he agrees, the hint of a smile toying at the crease of his mouth, “Oddly enough, I too have been entertaining a similar thought for a while.”
“A while?”
His only response is a knife edge smirk to match the dark glint in his eye.
“You villainous cad.”
“I’ve told you before, I’ve been compiling my own mental to do list for far longer than some might deem honourable.”
Lips purse as you suck your teeth, eyeing him just as superciliously as he so often does you in an attempt to hide your amusement. You won’t give him the satisfaction. The crisp snap of paper accompanies the flick of your wrist as you brandish the list once more, holding it up beside your head between thumb and forefinger for Silco to see.
“In that case, is there anything you wish to add?”
His mouth curls as he plucks the paper from you, and you sway in his lap, unbalanced when he wheels the chair closer to the desk with his boot heels. He leans forward and tucks his chin over your shoulder, forcing you into a backbend and leaving you to patiently cling to him like a monkey on a branch whilst he writes.
He straightens a few seconds later and passes you the list.
Bar countertop
You grin slow and wide, the tip of your tongue playing with the point of your canine as you arch a brow, “That can’t be sanitary.”
“I thought it would be a given that we’d clean up after ourselves.”
“Jasper would blow a gasket.”
“Again,” Silco drawls, “I thought it would be a given that Jasper wouldn’t be invited to watch.”
“And what about everyone else? There are always people hanging around down there, even when the club is closed.”
“I’ll give everyone the day off.”
“And Jinx? You know she has an uncanny ability to appear at inopportune times.”
“You’ve met my daughter, yes? The child is hardly difficult to bribe. I’m certain it won’t cost much to secure us an hour or two of privacy.”
You huff a laugh, “Alright then,” you concede, folding the paper and leaning down to tuck it safely back into your trouser pocket, “Your logic is sound. Consider your addition officially approved.”
“And what happens when we complete the list?”
“You win a prize,” you purr, straightening and walking your fingertips around the tops of his shoulders.
He winds his arms around your waist and pulls you close against him with a wry smirk, “I have already won the greatest prize there is.”
“Aww, aren’t you sweet.”
“I can be, when I wish,” he murmurs, tilting his face to capture your lips in a tender kiss that has your heart fluttering and your stomach flipping.
“Now get off my lap and leave me be. I’m a very busy and important man.”
222 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 2 days ago
Text
Silco catching a whiff of your perfume while he's out doing crimedaddy stuff and immediately getting a boner???????? Mhmm
406 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 2 days ago
Text
If anyone has any recs for sleepy cuddle one shots, let me know.
39 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 2 days ago
Text
Mmmm, love being disabled. Walk for fifteen minutes, now I can’t move my lower half. Wonderful.
0 notes
am-i-interrupting · 3 days ago
Text
Can’t Go Back | Silco x Reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Chapter 2 | Dragon’s Hoard
Summary: You had a long, complicated history with Silco before he became the Eye of Zaun. You thought you’d buried it a long time ago. It all starts to re-emerge from the ground when Vander dies and Powder is found in the hands of Silco.
You weren't always one of Babette's little pride.
Once, some long years ago, you worked down in the mines. The air was thick, you'd have to swallow it down your lungs and still you'd gasp as you did it. It'd blur your vision. The soot mixed in would sting your eyes.
You didn't think back to those days much anymore or rather you tried not to. The past would always be a part of you, it made you. You just didn't like to think about it. You'd never forget it though.
You always felt like you were dragging. You weren't walking home when you left those mines, you were dragging a body and it ached. The joints cracked, the muscles throbbed, the chest weighed down heavy.
You felt like that now.
You shook Powder awake merely an hour ago. She groaned and looked up at you with blurry eyes filled with sleep. She rubbed them and blinked several times as her vision cleared.
"Let's go," you told her. "I'll take you to my place for a little while and then we can do whatever you want."
You thought maybe the extra bribe would cheer her up but her brows furrowed.
"I don't want to leave," she said.
You blinked several times, reeling from shock. You squeezed her shoulder.
"Powder, we've gotta go," you said. "Ekko misses you. He's worried sick. Don't you want to see him?"
She wrapped her arm around her torso and looked away. She shook her head. “I'm not. . . ready. Tell him I miss him?"
“Pow—“
"She's been safe and healthy with me for the past four months," Silco said as he entered the room with three steaming drinks. He placed one blue mug with a silver, scale patterned handle in front of Powder and she took it immediately. "I think she'll be able to survive a bit longer. Coffee?"
"You gave her coffee? She's ten." you said.
"Hardly too young, but no," he replied.
"It's hot chocolate," she said. She stretched her hands out towards you, mug cupped in them. “Want some? It's really good."
"No, thank you, Powder,” you said, causing her to halt her movements as she brought the mug back to her but she shook her head and pulled it close to her chest. "Are you sure?"
She nodded her confirmation.
You worried the inside of your lip. Then pressed those same lips to her temple and ruffled her hair.
"I love you, kid," you told her.
You got up, glared at Silco who gave you a false look of innocence.
“You better take care of her,” you said with a finger digging into his chest.
“I plan on doing little else.”
You left, somehow believing him.
That is how you got to where you were now, wandering around the streets, thinking of how you were going to tell Ekko that Powder didn't want to see him right now when you couldn't even process that she felt safe with Silco.
“You were gone all night, you had us worried." Babette said as you walked into her office. You slumped down with defeat into one of her couches. "What happened? Did you find her?"
"Yeah, it was her," you said.
Babette didn't pry with words. She sighed as she stood and asked someone in the hall for something. You weren’t able to catch what.
"Ekko was caught trying to sneak after you," she said, now leaning in the entryway. "You should go see him. He cares about you-“ someone came in with two cups- “Thank you, sweetheart. He cares about you more than you know. It'd put him at ease."
She handed you a teacup, small and delicate. It was made of a white base painted with pink lines.
You took a sip from it.
"I don't know what to tell him," you admitted. “I don't know how to tell him. Powder is right there. He finally accepts that maybe we won't ever find her or Violet and now Powder is here and she doesn't want to see him.”
"Is it really better he thinks she's dead?" she asked. "Does he deserve that pain?"
There was a flash behind your eyes of a woman with dark skin and light hair tainted red.
"Of course not. He doesn't deserve any of what's happened to him. He shouldn't have to lose as many people as he had and neither should she,” you said as you sagged into the cushions.
Silence stretched between the two of you.
Your eyes went to the walls covered in masks. You focused on one in particular.
It was a mask, made of copper.
Engraved were little swirls and detailing for the skull. A pair of ears were at the top of it, pointed upward. The nose was long and angled but perfectly fitted to your face. A fox skull mask, old but so well taken care of. Almost chaotically, a blue color was smattered along the mask and dipped into the crevices, sinking into them and providing a contrast to the copper.
You finished your cup and set it down as you stood. You reached for it. It hadn't been put on the wall too long ago and already it was being taken down again.
“Maybe we can prevent that," you said. "Can't make people not get addicted to whatever the hell Silco out in the waters but... He's got money and money buys muscle and more muscle for him means less for us and that means we lose."
Babette reached to place her hand on your arm.
“Do what you have to do," she said softly, voice free of judgment.
"I just want to protect my kids."
"I know.”
"We're losing anyway."
"We are.”
You turned your head towards her. “You're supposed to be talking me out of this."
"I would be if you were being stupid,” she said before she patted your arm and walked back behind her desk. "You should take to wearing it again. It suits you.”
The door to your apartment creaked as it opened.
You never got it fixed. You weren't sure you ever would. Far too paranoid, especially these days. It was an old comfort.
Ekko looked up immediately. He put down the tools he was using to fix up an old music box you had tucked away and ran towards you. He wrapped his arms around your torso and shook your footing with the force of his hug.
“Where were you?" he asked, burrowing his face into your clothes.
You hugged him back, rethought the words you'd been thinking over for the past half a day.
"I got a tip on Powder," you told him.
You could feel his breathing halt. He stiffened at the words. You expected nothing less. In contrast, you actually expected more.
"Was it real?" his voice cracked with the words.
“Yeah, yeah, it was."
He pulled away from you to look up at your face. For the first time in four months, you saw real hope in his eyes.
"Where is she? Why isn't she here?"
"She is with an -" a little, half white lie couldn't hurt too badly- "old friend. She's okay but she doesn't want to talk right now. I think she's still processing everything but maybe soon."
He nodded. "Okay, okay. What about Vi?"
"We still don't know, little man." you told him.
His face didn't crumble but that little spark of hope flickered, dimmed for a moment.
"How's your progress?" you asked, changing the subject with a gesture towards the music box.
He inhaled sharply and his lips thinned into a pale line as he clamped them between his teeth for a moment. He took your distraction willingly.
“What'd you do to that thing?" he asked. "This should have been a day's fix, maybe two. I've been working on it for nearly a week and it's still not done! You throw it into a wall or something?"
"Something like that."
He gave you a look filled to the brim with judgment. "Why would you do a thing like that? I thought you were supposed to be responsible?"
“Are you going to criticize me or are you going to fix it?” you asked him.
"I can multitask," he said. “Seriously though, what the hell did you do to it?"
You walked over to the half fixed box. “It was a gift from an ex" you told him. “We split and I had a couple drinks too many."
"You're not a violent drunk" he said as he grabbed his tools and sat down.
"No, I'm not." you said.
"So?"
"So, what?" you said as you sat across from him.
“What happened that was so bad you broke it?" he asked.
You sucked in a breath. “That is a story for when you’re older.”
His brows furrowed as he examined you with careful eyes. "You never say that."
"Well, I'm saying it now." You reclined in your chair. "What do you want to eat tonight? You wanna cook something or order out?"
He didn't look up this time as he simply shook his head softly with a small smirk beginning to crawl into his lips. "Is that even a question?"
Yeah, no denying it. You made the right call. He was too good of a kid to lose anything else. They all were.
You wrapped your arm around his shoulders and guided him out of the apartment.
“She misses you,” you told him.
“I miss her too,” he said as he let his body lean against you for support.
It was a support you would always provide. You’d provided it for years before now and would continue to do so.
You had loved Ekko since before he was even born, just like you’d done with Powder and Vi. You loved Claggor and Mylo the moment they stepped into your life.
You loved all your kids.
A memory came to you.
Fari dressed in a loose, yellow dress covered with an oversized brown jacket. Her white hair was put into dozens of braids, some framing her face as bangs, others pulled up into a thick ponytail, most of them having some metal beads on them.
She was sat back in a plush chair. Her hands were dangling in her lap, completely limp between her knees.
“What am I going to do?” she asked herself softly.
“About what?” you asked as you were coloring in your waterline.
She flinched, like she hadn’t noticed you were there. You raised an eyebrow towards her in the mirror in concern.
Her eyes flickered away from yours. She spaced out for a moment. Her gaze was on the floor in front of her.
Her fingers twitched. She spoke, “I’m pregnant.”
Your head immediately whipped around to her causing the lipstick you’d been putting on to smear across your face.
“What?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you know who the dad is?”
“No!” she said. Her voice dropped as she leaned closer to you, “I didn’t even think I could get pregnant.”
You placed your hand on top of hers. “We’ll figure something out, okay?”
She squeezed your hand like a lifeline, much like you were doing to her son now. Only you were holding his hand so tight so you wouldn’t lose him in the crowd.
“Hey, Jericho,” you said as you walked closer to the vender. The man sent a smile over his shoulder as he rolled some fish over a grill. “What do you want, kid?”
“Can we get some legs and calamari?” Ekko asked.
“Legs and calamari,” you echoed back to the man. It took but a moment before two boxes were slid over to the two of you. “Thank you, kindly.” You placed the hold on the counter where it was quickly scooped up.
On the walk back to the apartment, you stopped and grabbed a bottle of scotch. You knew it wasn’t the best idea but hell, you’d have a rough couple months.
You uncorked the bottle with your teeth. You got it out from between your jaws with two fingers that weren’t wrapped around the neck of the bottle and pocketed it. You took a swig and sighed as the deep, earthen tones burned your throat. With your next inhale it was a welcomed icy feeling that replaced the burn.
“Can I try?” Ekko asked.
You looked down at him with a raised brow. You let your head to tilt to the side as you told him, “You’re not going to like it,” but still gave him the bottle.
With the hand not holding your own, he brought the bottle to his lips, shoving the boxes of food beneath his arm.
His brows shot up and his lips curled backward. He quickly turned away and spat the liquid onto the street causing several people to yell as they jumped away.
“Gross,” he croaked out.
You took the bottle back with an amused smile.
“How do you drink that?” he asked.
“You learn to love it,” you answered simply.
“If I have to learn how to, I don’t think it’s worth loving,” Ekko said.
You laughed lightly at that. “One day, I’ll make you a daiquiri. You’ll like that better.”
“Uh-huh, yeah, sure,” he said, sarcasm lacing his words.
“You will,” you assured him.
Back at the apartment, the food was quickly devoured by the two of you. It was still warm and greasy and left a slight film in your mouth after eating it but exactly what you needed. It was a comfort.
Ekko took one leg and more calamari leaving you to finish off the other two legs and the leftover calamari in the box which was mostly just crunchy, cooked batter.
The entire time you were sipping on your scotch. You drank straight out of the bottle. Not a classy habit but you weren’t in public and you were the only one in the house who was going to drink it so it didn’t really matter.
You felt lose. It felt like oil had been poured on all your joints, your muscles, even your eyelids with the way it felt so easy to just let them close.
Ekko’s arms wrapped around you. You started but didn’t hesitate for a second to wrap your own around him.
You heard him sniffle. You opened your eyes only to see the world blurred. That’s when you realized that there were several streaks down your face, some warm, others turning cold.
“We’re gonna be okay,” you told him. “She’s gonna be okay too.”
Ekko nodded against your shoulder, smearing some tears against your neck but you didn’t mind.
Silence befell the both of you and stretched over several long minutes. Neither of you dared to let go of the other.
It was a relief to find Powder but it was a sting of pain to not have her with you. Until you had her for longer and Ekko got to see his best friend again, it wouldn’t sink in that she was truly alright. That you hadn’t lost everyone you loved dearly that night.
Ekko pried himself away from you. The back of his hand went to wipe underneath his eyes. He sat.
Both of you looked at the wall before you. A bookshelf was pressed against it harboring several books, a lot of records, and a couple knickknacks.
“I can’t fight this battle anymore,” you told Ekko. “I’m getting old. I’m tired. I’ve got to take care of you and Powder. I can’t do it anymore. No more late nights. No more coming home with the shit beat out of me. I promise.”
All the boy beside you did was nod.
It wasn’t long before he was picking up a screwdriver and your music box.
You kept nursing your bottle of scotch. You didn’t fight the memories that came to you.
“One scotch on the rocks for you,” you said as you pushed a glass towards Silco.
He bowed his head in recognition and thanks as he picked it up. He had a notebook that he was writing away in. You spotted a couple drawings of what looked like fans.
“Whatcha working on?” you asked him.
“Felicia and I have been trying to come up with a way to get ventilation into the mines,” he said.
“That’s really fucking needed,” you said.
“I know, that’s why we’re doing it.”
“Harhar, no need to be a smartass. I was just trying to make conversation with you because you tend to make it next to impossible.”
For the first time that night, his eyes looked up at you. A gorgeous sea foam green that made your eyes widen just a bit and your ear twitch for a second as you fought to keep a straight face.
In the several weeks you’d worked at The Last Drop, Silco had never looked at you head on. His head was always slightly downturned, always occupied with one thing or another.
“I don’t make it impossible,” he said. “We talk almost every time I’m here while you’re working.”
“Oh, yeah, because it’s such interesting shit we talk about. ‘Hey, Silco, what would you like today?’ ‘A scotch on the rocks’— sometimes you make it interesting and go— ‘with a twist this time.’ ‘Alright, here’s you’re scotch.’ and sometimes, sometimes you won’t just bow your head in thanks you’ll actually say it! What thrilling conversations we have!” you said, absolutely taking the piss by doing a downright awful impression of Silco’s sooth, sultry voice.
Silco’s brows furrowed just a hair and his lip quirked up in the tiniest show of a smile. He shook his head, bangs rocking from side to side as he did.
A part of you believed that was the man he still was, buried deep down. A part of you was probably naive and holding onto what should be a long dead belief in people’s ability to be good.
It was something that should be gone, living down in the Lanes. The Undercity was full of crooks and thieves and downright despicable people.
You knew that well. Everyone down here did.
You also knew it was full of people with caring souls, good advice, sweet words, and sweeter actions. It was a place of community and strength.
No matter what happened, everyone banned together.
If Piltover wanted it to be an us vs them society, that’s what it would be. The relationship between the two places more unstable and more toxic than the mines and the air within them.
The Undercity was filled with people you cared about, even if most of them were gone. There were two right in front of you but you couldn’t reach out far enough to touch them.
Powder was now more traumatized and scared than ever. Why wouldn’t she come with you? She clearly missed you and Ekko. You’d helped raised the girl since she was born.
Sometimes it was easy to forget that Silco had too. He’d been there the day Powder was born, pacing from side to side as Felicia screamed in the other room.
He had been there nearly every day that you had until she was five years old. Until that day on the bridge that you loathed to think about where you’d never seen him again until yesterday.
There was some part of the man you knew in there. You felt it. You hated that you did.
Why couldn’t it just be easy? Why couldn’t he just have changed completely until you didn’t recognize him at all. Not physically, not mentally, not a damn thing to be seen of the man you knew.
Five, almost six years without seeing him and he was so different but still the same. You supposed you probably were too.
“Shit!” Ekko swore as he struggled to keep the screwdriver in place.
You’d grown softer with these kids. If it weren’t for them, you’d probably still be. . .
Who the fuck were you kidding? No matter what happened as soon as you were faced with Silco again, you probably still would have surrendered.
You weren’t strong enough to hate him truly. No matter how much your mind was telling you that you should be.
79 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 3 days ago
Text
DRINK WITH ME - A Silco POV
Tumblr media
Dearest Darlings
Drink With Me has surpassed 10K hits on AO3 (whaaat)
And so I wanted to thank you all for your super sexy support with a lil' ✨summat–summat✨
Here's a quick little Silco POV, set sometime between Chapter 6 and Chapter 8.
I guess it's also a song-fic – so feel free to listen along as you read!
I hope you enjoy 🖤
OUR LOVE - A Silco POV
youtube
Silco works his fingers into his brow as he considers the math in front of him. His pen taps an idle beat onto the paper as he triple checks his calculations.
It’s a delicate and tedious procedure; scrutinising the weight of authorised cargo against the amount of shimmer he’s planning to smuggle aboard any given airship. Before having to cross-reference the total with the strict safety protocols in place to avoid any airborne disasters.
Silco is begrudgingly aware of the dangers of an overburdened hold. He’s read about how weight distribution can unbalance even the largest of ships; potentially causing a pilot to lose control and pitch, until all that’s left is a smouldering wreck of twisted metal and belching smoke.
And so Silco checks the numbers meticulously. Not out of any concern for the safety of the crew aboard, but simply because the resulting investigation such a crash would prompt is an inconvenience he wishes to avoid. Not to mention that writing off so much stock would also be a major annoyance.
No. Better to be scrupulous now than sorry later. It’s how Silco has always worked, and it’s served him well so far. It’s why he’s the one sitting in this office, and not Vander. Not any one else.
But he’s also painfully aware of his weaknesses, few as they are. Silco’s talent lies with words, not numbers. Therefore he’s diligent; refusing even to drink or smoke when running calculations as complicated as these. He needs a clear head to be able to focus on the blue-print of the cargo hold; the floor space left available to him between the legitimate exports and weight restrictions. The circumference of the shimmer barrels, and the combined mass of the containers as well as the liquid inside—
The silence of his office is shattered by the irritating drone of someone switching on the music in the club downstairs.
Silco’s jaw tightens and his fingers twitch around the pen he’s holding. His eyes snap up to the clock. It’s not even 8pm. There shouldn’t be any music.
Irritation rises hot and sharp behind his sternum.
He slams his pen down and stalks out of his office, intent on making his displeasure very much known. His boots cut an aggressive track along the corridor while he contemplates a fitting punishment for whoever has disturbed his peace.
But the introduction of a second sound halts him halfway down the stairwell.
Someone is singing. Badly.
Confusion deepens the angry knot in his brow. Silco emerges cautiously onto the balcony, and keeps to the shadows as he peers over railings into the club below.
And there you are.
Mop in hand – singing along to the song that you’ve put on the jukebox.
You swab damp, aimless patterns onto the floor; far more concerned with the silly steps of your dance than you are with effectively cleaning.
Silco simply watches.
He watches you bobble your head along to the easy rhythm of the soulful song. He watches your boots step-dig and pivot on the squeaky wet floor beneath you. He watches your shoulders roll and sway in time with the relaxed drumbeat that permeates the tune. He watches you alternate between using the mop for its intended purpose, and as a makeshift microphone.
Every movement you make eases the irritation that scratches inside his chest, until there’s nothing left but a soothing, foreign warmth.
“Like Sunday I praaay our love will always staaaay pureee.”
You try to hit the high note that comes next, and miss it by about a mile. Silco’s lips quirk quietly upwards in response.
“While the world turns around, he holds me down for suuuure.”
You lunge; dipping the mop just as he’d done with you not so many nights ago.
And you’re so completely lost within your own little world that Silco edges his way closer – confident that his presence at the railing will remain unnoticed.
“Our love is a bubbling fountain, that flows into a seeeea. Deeper than any ocean, for eternityyy.”
You look and sound ridiculous. And he’d tell you as such if you caught him staring.
But Silco finds himself entranced regardless.
Captured by the easy smile that graces your lips. By the white flash of teeth as you open your mouth to sing. By the way your hair falls around your face when you twirl. By the curve of your neck as you tilt your head and give in to the call of the music. By the seductive, mesmerising swish of your hips.
By the unremitting shine of your eyes.
It’s one of the first things Silco had noticed when you’d first stepped into his office, and it’s something he’s continued to observe with great interest. The brightness of your gaze never seems to dwindle. There’s a constant light to them that dazzles beneath the long, dark fan of your lashes.
And so he can hardly be blamed, can he? For the way in which he finds himself increasingly drawn to you. Like a moth to a flame. It’s a perfectly natural reaction. At the end of the day, even a self-proclaimed king isn’t immune to all of nature’s whims.
“And after all, the rain will fall on us too. But I’ll keep moving on, proud and strong, with you.”
There’s a specific word Silco has been searching for that’s alluded him for months. A single term that summarises your core essence. Something beyond the obvious – any idiot with a pair of eyes could see that you’re beautiful. That you’re spirited, and warm, and intelligent.
No – it’s something else that has danced infuriatingly on the edge of his mind, just out of reach.
But it finally comes to him now; as he watches you almost slip over a wet patch, and tangle your legs gracelessly with the handle of the mop in your flailing attempt to remain upright. Before laughing, unabashed, at your own clumsiness.
The word floats from the recesses of his vocabulary. Three syllables, dusty with disuse.
Radiant.
You’re radiant.
And that’s been the puzzle all along. It’s why you’ve always intrigued him so thoroughly. How can you be so? When you were born and bred of a city perpetually shrouded in gloom and hardship. How do you burn so brightly in a world that’s designed to snuff out such wildfire?
“Boss?”
Only years of practice keep Silco’s surprise from manifesting as a startled flinch. He’d forgotten about Vill; silent and stalwart at his post by the stairwell as usual.
Dangerous. Dangerous that he should allow himself to forget who’s within his vicinity, even for a second.
Silco schools his face into a careful, uncrackable mask of neutrality, before turning to his bearded guard.
“Don’t let her turn it up any louder than this,” he instructs curtly, before sweeping back upstairs to his office.
Tumblr media
282 notes · View notes
am-i-interrupting · 3 days ago
Text
“And what about you?” You counter throatily, “You ever think about me while fucking your own fist?”
His chuckle is dark, and he leans forward and kisses you hard, “Once or twice, perhaps,” he murmurs playfully against your mouth.
ONCE OR TWICE - A Silco POV
Set directly after Silco's eye treatment during Chapter 7 of Drink With Me || NSFW
Tumblr media
“You can retract your claws now, kitty-cat.”
Silco’s good brow quirks upwards in response to the teasing lilt of your voice, so different from the soft tone you’d spoken with only moments ago.
Through the fading fog of pain that always blankets his mind directly after his eye treatment, he becomes aware that his hands are latched onto your hips in a death-grip. Fingers digging hard enough into the soft flesh to feel the structure of your pelvis beneath. Solidly enough that one sharp tug would have you down into his lap.
You’re already practically there.
And still close enough that he can smell the mint and cigarettes on your breath, and the distinctive, alluring perfume you always wear. So uniquely you. Not overly floral, but rather woodsy. With a hint of something that Silco determines must be Jasmine or Amber.
From this close he’s able to pick out each individual colour that comprises your irises, despite how they’re swallowed by the swell of your pupils. He focuses on your eyes, and not on your breasts; an impressive feat considering they’re level with his face and clad in his own damn shirt— 
Eternal’s sake.
It takes a monumental effort to release his grip on you. Not that you’d know as such. Silco has always been a master at taking what’s available and spinning it to his own advantage. He takes the difficulty of the task he’s faced with and channels it into this game that’s ongoing between the two of you; coolly, purposefully removing only a single finger at a time, and taking great pleasure in the way your pupils blow even wider.
Silco’s palms alight casually upon the armrests either side of him, and he allows the very edge of his mouth to tick upwards in response to the soft, unconscious parting of your lips.
Despite being free, you linger a few moments longer, and the base man inside him swells with self-satisfaction at the clear reluctance with which you finally remove your weight from his chair. 
Silco watches the hypnotic, pendulum swing of your hips as you saunter away towards the office door. Raising his gaze just in time as you pause on the threshold and croon over your shoulder, “Next time you need me, don’t hesitate to ask.”
You slip through the door and are gone.
Silco tracks the sound of your retreat down the corridor, and the second your boots hit the stairs he’s up and out of his chair, striding swift and long-legged around the desk towards the office door. He flattens his palm against the wood and slides the lock into place with a little too much force.
One quick glance over his shoulder confirms that the rafters are clear of unwanted guests, leaving him the freedom to tear at the buttons on the front of his trousers. It’s a damn mercy you hadn’t looked down. He’s been half-hard since you’d clambered partway into his chair, even through the agony of his treatment. And the situation had only worsened with the fading pain, and dawning sensation of the warm curve of your hips in his grasp.
He shoves his clothing down just enough to free himself.
Next time you need me, don’t hesitate to ask.
Need is one thing. What about want?
Silco takes himself in hand, only half managing to stifle the hiss of relief as he pulls back his skin in one long, slow stroke.
It’s all the languor he allows himself. 
He’s never had much time to indulge in personal moments, not when there’s so much work to be done. Never-ending and ever-mounting. The few hours every Friday in which you drink together in his office are the most breaks he’s allowed himself to take in years. 
So it’s out of habit that he quickly works himself up to a brisk pace, leaning his weight forward into the hand that’s still braced against the door.
His clenched teeth catch and muffle any low grunts which slip through his net of control. 
He closes his right-eye, and unfocuses the left in order to allow himself to indulge in the desperate whirlpool of images which fight for dominance in his mind – unable to hold onto one for too long before snatching greedily for another. Like a dog being forced to choose from a butcher’s counter.
The way you’d half straddled him in his chair mere minutes ago.
The press of your body against his as you’d slow-danced.
The way you’d licked chocolate from your fingers and the catch of his thumb at the corner of your mouth.
The tantalising swell of your ass sauntering out of his office every damn week.
The way your lips curl around the filter of a cigarette, and the lamplight shine in your eyes.
The way you looked wearing his shirt—
His callouses catch against the sensitive, flushed head of his cock and draws a small strangled noise from his throat. He releases himself only long enough to spit into his palm, before smearing the wetness over his length and imagining that it’s you causing his naval to gradually tighten.
Memories of you are good. Very good. But Silco ditches them now in favour of fantastical images of his own creation.
How you might look in his chair with your wrists tied down to the armrests. No doubt with a flirtatious pout on your lips and coy, fluttering lashes.
On your knees at his feet. Those beautiful eyes gazing up at him. Sheathed inside your mouth with your cheeks perfectly hollowed out.
Spread bare on his desk beneath him. Legs wrapped around his hips as he fucks into you. Wrists pinned above your head beneath his hands. Skin glistening with sweat. Breasts heaving with each panted breath and bouncing with each sharp thrust—
Silco’s brow thuds against the wood of the door and his hips buck furiously into his fist; mimicking the rhythm of his fantasy. He squeezes his hand in a poor imitation of how you might clench around him as you near your pleasure. Pleasure he will have driven you to—
He takes what he’s learned of your voice to conjure the way in which you’d cry his name in frantic ecstasy.
And that’s what has Silco painting the door with his release.
The clench of his jaw dampens the worst of his ragged moan as he strokes himself through each vascular throb; his constantly busy mind blissfully silenced for several, sweet moments as his synapses fire every which way. Until he’s released from his orgasmic peak, and his tightly-wound body loosens in a way he hasn’t been afforded in quite some time. The tension of the day ebbs steadily from him, and he’s left slumped forward against the door with each exhale pushing heavily from his mouth.
Silco is not the kind of man to feel guilt; it doesn’t serve him, and therefore it isn’t a part of his emotional vocabulary. But he respects you. Greatly. And therefore he’s glad that he managed to refrain from saying your name aloud.
If only just.
Tumblr media
238 notes · View notes