#Good Intentions

[shirtlesssammy]

Dean and Cas every day not often enough -- 76/?

Supernatural 13x14//Good Intentions

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-Seven

The fallout from Silco's most recent stunt sends shockwaves through the Haven... but not as much as his latest attempt to ensnare you.

Ongoing Silco x fem!reader fic (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,900

Warnings: Drug mentions, mentions of addiction and relapse, mentions of poisoning, innuendo, unprotected sex, restraints, emotional conversations, references to Silco's operations in Arcane Season One

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

The fallout from Silco’s stunt kept the Haven occupied for almost a month. 

Not only had he leaked Shimmer into the streets, he had ordered his distributors to offer it at one-third the usual price. Anyone who wasn’t fully recovered had been unable to refuse an offer like that, and the patient relapses you’d seen in the neighborhood had numbered in the triple digits.

The only thing that had kept you going was that the neighborhood had poured out support for the Haven. Jazper and Ronid had come by with two additional doctors, hired temporarily to help assist with the recovery efforts. The other members of the Undercity Innovation Committee had donated other things: enough food to support the Haven without sparing volunteers for kitchen duty, free electrical and maintenance work, help writing grant proposals, and some extra donation money. 

Even people who had nothing to do with governing the Undercity had reached out to support the Haven, doing everything from clearing rubble from the entrance to guarding the building at night. 

It was humbling, and you worked around the clock to take care of everyone who had chosen to keep fighting their addiction. 

Fortunately for both the Haven and the struggles of its patients, Silco’s Shimmer sale seemed to have been an isolated incident. The dealers had been pulled from the area and no one had seen them since that fateful night. It didn’t speed the recovery of the people who had been impacted, but it helped reduce the number of people who came in needing help. 

An unexpected downside to Silco’s new, self-imposed business limitations was that he was doing his best to start communicating with you again. 

Every day, you found a letter waiting outside of your door. More often than not, you found a different letter waiting on your desk at the end of the day. You had briefly started avoiding your office, but the envelopes appeared on your pillow. 

No matter how many people you asked, no one admitted to delivering letters for Silco. Clearly, he had someone at the Haven who was willing to do some work on his behalf. The problem was that you had no idea how to figure out who it was. There were more unfamiliar faces in the Haven than familiar ones, these days, and it wasn’t as if you could start turning people away on suspicion that they were working for the head Chem Baron himself. 

You suspected that Silco wanted to meet. It was only a suspicion, since you refused to read any of the letters. You didn’t know who was delivering them, so it wasn’t as if you could send them back to him unopened to make your point. You settled for burning them, leaving enough for whoever was sneaking into your office to see that you had never opened a single envelope.

But at last, the number of patients began to dwindle. Having beaten their Shimmer addictions back for the moment, people left the Haven. Some of them came back to work with other patients or to volunteer on a more permanent basis. That helped, but you were still relieved when the number of patients from the surprise Shimmer release returned to the single digits. 

The day your borrowed doctors left the Haven was the day you finally relaxed. The remainder of the patients were in the final stages of their withdrawal and actively working toward recovery. Things were wrapping up nicely, but there was also the benefit of having fewer people in the Haven who could be delivering Silco’s letters. 

And yes, you did feel bad about counting that as a benefit. 

You stopped by your office that night, tired almost beyond reason. Perhaps that was the reason you were filled with near-rage at the sight of the envelope on your desk. 

You snatched it up from the desk, but your hands refused to obey your commands from there. Instead of flinging it into the fireplace, they ripped it open and pulled the page free. Silco’s angular writing was difficult to read in the shivering light of the fire, but you managed. 

My dearest philanthropist, 

I would say that I have given up all hope of you reading my letters, but I know two things: firstly, that you are insatiably curious. If you were not, I believe our association would not have lasted nearly so long as it has. 

Secondly, and more importantly, you know that I would not reach out idly. Surely you know me well enough by now to suspect that I would make an offer. 

Of course, you would have recognized far earlier than this that I was interested in bargaining with you, but it has been reported to me that you have yet to open a single one of my letters. 

Before I propose any further deals, I will assume you are still upset about your lost opportunity to work for Piltover. Have you not yet realized that I acted as I did as a favor to you? Piltover has never worked toward any ends that did not benefit them directly. It is likely that they would have positioned you as a scapegoat when their task force failed… and it would have. 

In any case, you would have lost your reputation in the Undercity as surely as you believe it has suffered across the river. The recovery of a reputation in Zaun is a far longer and more arduous process than it is in Piltover. 

I find myself rambling in this letter, and I blame you. With no guarantee of when you will finally open one of my messages, I am forced to write from somewhere softer than my mind. Perhaps not my heart, but somewhere nearer its vicinity than I am accustomed. 

Allow me to make my offer before this letter grows still longer: come to The Last Drop. I want to discuss terms with you face-to-face. For my end of the deal, I will vow to keep Shimmer from ever entering the Haven’s neighborhood again. You can decide what you are willing to give in exchange. 

I hope to see you soon, sweetheart.

- Silco 

You stared at the page long after you had finished reading. You didn’t trust Silco’s offer - not in the slightest. But if there was a chance you could keep Shimmer off of the streets permanently, wouldn’t you be far more foolish not to look into it? 

That was what had gotten you into this mess, and the one before it, and the one before that, but what was your alternative? If there was any hope you could help someone, how could you refuse to take the risk? Even if you were the one who would suffer if that hope turned out to be false. 

You didn’t burn the envelope. Not because you were tired, or feeling sentimental. If you were going to show up at The Last Drop, you were going to make sure Silco knew you were coming. Whoever was leaving the envelopes had clearly told him that they were going unread. With any luck, they would report back to him that you had read this one. 

Silco would know what it meant. 

You slept soundly that night, dreams held at bay for the first time in well over a week. The plan had been formulated, and there was nothing left to do until the following day. 

Just after ten the next morning, you left the Haven. Okkan had wanted to come with you, but you had assured him and Fletcher that you were fine. Yi was sleeping after her late guard shift; she would have been much more difficult to convince. 

The Lanes were quiet, as they always were in the morning. In the weak midmorning light, you could almost consider them peaceful. Fortunately, you also weren’t stupid, so you kept your guard up to avoid any enterprising and motivated pickpockets deciding to practice their craft first-thing in the morning. 

The door to The Last Drop was unlocked, and you let yourself in without a fuss. If the unlocked door hadn’t convinced you that Silco knew you were coming, the sight of the main bar would have. 

The mismatched tables and chairs that typically filled the space in front of the bar had been cleared away. Instead, there was a small table draped with a white tablecloth and topped with a small flower arrangement. Chairs sat on either side of the table, angled so that neither had its back to the main door. 

“Good morning,” Silco greeted, walking around the bar. 

He looked incredibly… domestic. His sleeves were rolled up so he could carry a silver tray with a cover on it. You watched dumbly as he set the tray on the table, worried for a moment that it would hold a severed head or something equally horrifying, but he removed the cover to reveal breakfast. 

The plates, both bearing your favorite breakfast - when had he found that out? - were placed in front of either seat, while a smaller dish of pastries ended up beside the flowers. Silco tucked the tray and the cover behind the bar and rejoined you.

“Do not worry,” he told you with a smile. “I remember that you do not trust the food I offer you. You choose your preferred seat and I will gladly sample everything first so you know it is trustworthy.” 

You frowned for a moment, wracking your mind for what he could be talking about. At last, a shadowy memory appeared, one in which you were waiting for your first meeting with Silco. You hadn’t touched the food he had sent out for you. Apparently, he was determined that the same thing wouldn’t happen again. 

You took a seat, watching as Silco sat opposite you. He cut a bite of food, checking to be sure that you were watching him. 

“You don’t need to do that,” you told him quietly. He paused, eyes searching your face intently. “If you were going to kill me, you would just kill me. Poison isn’t really your style.” 

Silco’s smile faded. “I would prefer that you trust me because I have proven myself trustworthy, but I suppose that is a point well-made. Poison has never been a favorite tool of mine, and never one I would deploy against you.” 

You hummed skeptically and took a bite of your breakfast without further comment. 

“If I may,” Silco said, breaking the silence that had fallen between the two of you, “what drove you to open one of my letters?” 

You pondered the question, taking a sip of water before offering your answer. “I’m not really sure. Maybe I just hoped you had something worthwhile to say.” 

Silco’s polite smile turned to something sharper. “And I assume, from your presence here, that you were satisfied?” 

The way he purred ‘satisfied’ wreaked havoc on your body, not least because your psyche had decided that now was the perfect time to play back all of the hyper-realistic dreams you’d had about him over the past month. 

With any luck, none of that was showing on your face. “Maybe I’m just curious to see what price you plan to ask in exchange for keeping Shimmer off of the streets.” 

Silco’s face grew serious once more. “I meant what I wrote. You name what you are willing to give for it.” 

“Last time, you had a specific price in mind,” you remarked, half-hoping for another smirk. 

Silco didn’t take the bait. “I mean for this to be a negotiation, one taking place between two equal parties. You name your offer and I will decide if it is fair.” 

A distinct throb between your thighs let you know that your libido would be thrilled to make the same deal as you had last time. Your brain warned that it was a bad idea, but that voice was growing steadily quieter under the flood of lust surging through your body.

It would be easier, you realized, if Silco just wanted your body. If you could narrow down what he wanted to something as simple and limited as the option to fuck you a few times a month. 

But in the light of your newly realized feelings, you couldn't ignore that he hadn't done that. Silco hadn't given any hint of what he might want from you, but he also hadn't limited you to making offers based on physical pleasure. 

It was so much worse. You would rather keep yourself from having any hope at all rather than risk everything for the slim possibility that he felt a shadow of what you did. 

You set your fork down, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You had come here for a purpose - to keep Shimmer away from the Haven. It didn't matter if doing that meant denying yourself. You were used to that. The important thing was helping people. That was all that had ever been important. 

“If we want this to be a business discussion, maybe we should go to your office,” you suggested. Silco watched you blankly, and you expanded, “I've seen you do quite a bit of business and none of it ever happened in an empty bar.”

“Would you care to finish your breakfast first?” Silco asked. 

Your stomach was right with nerves, with fear that you wouldn't be able to come to an agreement with him. Even the few bites you had taken were sitting heavily. 

You shook your head. “Not unless you need the time to finish yours.” 

Silco stood immediately. “Unnecessary. Follow me.” 

You were amused despite yourself as you followed Silco to his office. It wasn't as if you hadn't been there before - you knew the way. But if he wanted to lead, there was something more to it. Maybe he just wanted to prove that he was willing to have you at his back. 

Silco’s office was precisely the same as it had been the last time you were there. The desk spoke of the messy mind and busy life of someone doing his best to rule a city. The wicked-looking lance he used for his eye was kept carefully behind the desk, but it was softened slightly by the neon doodles on the handle. The furniture was just as austere as ever, though it was less intimidating when you could vividly remember every time you had been sprawled naked across each surface. 

Somehow, it felt like home, and that made your stomach tighten reflexively with nerves.

Silco sat behind his desk, motioning for you to sit across from him. When you did, he folded his hands on the desk’s surface, fixing you with a mismatched stare. “If you prefer to get straight to business, let us do so. What are you willing to give me in exchange for the Haven’s neighborhood remaining free of Shimmer?” 

You smiled mirthlessly. “I have nothing you want.” 

“I wouldn’t go that far, my dear,” Silco said, openly admiring you. 

The exchange was familiar, a faint echo of the conversation that had started you both on this path. There was a gleam in Silco’s eyes, a fond reminiscence that made you want to smile at him in earnest. 

But you gathered your willpower and shook your head. “We can’t make that deal again, remember? When you came to the Haven last month, you said that was the only chance to resume our original deal. I turned you down.”

“I could be persuaded to make an exception.” 

You arched a brow. “Really? This would be the first time I’ve ever seen it. Why?” 

“I miss you,” he admitted openly. When you frowned, he leaned toward you. “No lies or manipulations - I have missed you. I have felt your absence every day since we ended our meetings.”

“You missed me, so you released Shimmer outside of the Haven?” you asked, wincing at the open hurt in your voice. “You missed me so badly that the only thing you could do was try to destroy everything I’ve worked toward for the past few years of my life?” 

“I had to-” Silco broke off with a rueful laugh. “I had to give you a reason to come back to me.” 

You gaped. “So you-?” 

Silco raised his hand, cutting off your protestations. “No, pet, let me say this. I need to, and I need you to listen. And if you still hate me afterward, I will let you live in peace. No more Shimmer and no more contact with me, I give you my word.” 

After a moment of consideration, you sat back in your chair and motioned for him to continue. 

With a deep breath, he did. “I know you have no need for me. Everything I provided for you, you are well capable of getting for yourself. You have managed without my security team, you found support for your Haven that has nothing to do with my donations, and you stood against Shimmer sales in the area. You have built a fine enterprise. I- I have nothing to offer you anymore.”

“So I had to resort to underhanded dealings.” Silco shook his head with a rueful little smile. “Perhaps you do not realize how well the Haven withstood my Shimmer. I pulled my dealers, but they were far less profitable than I had expected. I would have withdrawn them regardless. I did regret my actions, but they were born of desperation. You wouldn’t agree to a new deal, and I realized how capable you are even without assistance from me. ”

Silco pressed his hands against the desk’s surface, making grim eye contact with you. “I hoped that I could push you into answering me. More than that, I hoped to force you into making another deal with me, into seeing that you could not survive down here without my protection. I was wrong. You have made a place for yourself here and - more importantly - you have found a way to care for the people of Zaun. I see what you have done to change and shape their lives and it has forced me to accept what I have known for months: I am yours.” 

The kind thing would be to say something in reply to that revelation. You wanted to, but it was so far from anything you had expected him to say that you couldn’t do anything but gape at him. Silco’s gaze stayed trained on your face, but there was a tightness around his eyes and mouth that spoke of nervousness. 

“If-” You broke off to clear your throat, trying to make your voice sound less waveringly uncertain. “If you aren’t being sincere, please don’t say that. Don’t joke about it or use it to manipulate me. Please.” 

“Manipulate you?” Silco repeated, sounding irritated. “Pet, you don’t seem to understand that I have done the very opposite. I have given you the keys to everything I can offer. I have given you the simplest possible way to manipulate me.” 

“I wouldn’t,” you assured him instantly. He lifted a brow and you repeated, “I wouldn’t.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” he asked. “You could everything you wanted without being required to give anything in return-”

“Because I care about you, Silco,” you snapped. 

Immediately afterward, a deathly silence fell in the office and you leapt to your feet. There was nothing to do but leave after that. 

You didn’t make it even halfway to the door before Silco caught your arm, holding you steady as he stared down into your face. 

“If you are being insincere, please don’t say that.” You might have thought he was mocking you if he hadn’t looked so terribly concerned.

“Silco, why would I possibly lie about that?” you asked. “If you’re right and you’ve given me everything, why would I lie about my feelings? To not use the keys you gave me?” 

“You-” It wasn’t often that you saw Silco thrown off his game, but he seemed to struggle to find the right words. “You love me?” 

Strictly speaking, neither of you had said anything about love. But in the privacy of your thoughts, you had realized weeks ago that your feelings for Silco had run deeper than you had ever assumed. There was no other reason you would still care about him after everything he had done. 

Besides, you had already come this far. 

“Yes.” 

Silco was studying you with the stunned, slightly suspicious look of a mad scientist watching a successful experiment and you were starting to think this entire meeting had been a mistake. 

“Maybe we should-” 

Your suggestion was left forever unfinished as Silco kissed you suddenly, deeply, and with such fierceness that it took your breath away. When your lungs were screaming, you pushed him away. He didn’t go far, staying close enough that you could feel his rapid breathing across your kiss-swollen lips. 

“Feels like we should talk about this.” 

Silco chuckled against your neck. “I can think of several more productive ways we could spend our time…” 

Everything in your body voiced a sudden and vehement opinion that Silco was right, and that sounded like a much better idea. You lifted your face for another kiss and Silco was quick to indulge you. 

The next few minutes were a bit of a blur. There was kissing and touching and the marvelous scent of Silco - how could you have missed one person so much? - and when it was over, you were lying naked on his bed. Silco was finishing stripping off his own clothes, eyes already devouring you with a predatory eagerness that probably should have scared you. 

When he was as bare as you, Silco joined you on the bed. He was on top of you almost immediately, kissing every bit of skin he could reach and exploring the rest with his wandering hands. You arched against him, fighting for as much contact as possible. It was like your body was drinking him in, soaking up everything you had been missing out on since your deal had been on pause. 

Silco’s fingers were even more dextrous than you remembered, plying your flesh and molding you still closer. If there was a breath of space between you, it was only so that he could sneak a touch into that same spot. You felt like you were on fire, but it only drove you to kiss him with more desperation. 

When you couldn’t stand it anymore, you reached down and took his length in a firm grip. The heat of him throbbed in your hand and Silco’s natural eye went heavy-lidded. He leaned forward to press another kiss to your lips, pulling away just far enough to whisper, “Missed you, pet.” 

It reminded you so strongly of the vivid dreams you had experienced that you nipped his lip to see if he would react like a real person. If you were dreaming again, you would be incredibly disappointed…

Silco pulled back with a garbled curse before plundering your mouth, delivering a wicked pinch to your hip at the same time. He took full advantage of your gasp to deepen the kiss even further. 

Without any clear thought or plan, you tightened your legs around his narrow hips and rolled, forcing him to the mattress while you straddled him from above. Your hands moved back down to his cock, teasing the head of it against the throbbing point of your clit. 

Silco bared his chipped teeth up at you. “You’re killing me, lovely.” 

“Can’t- mmmm… Can’t help it,” you babbled. “Feel so good…”

You bucked mindlessly on top of him until both of you were thoroughly slicked up and aching, but you couldn’t tear yourself away from the sensation long enough to line yourself up with him. 

That horrible, shining thread of tension broke for both of you at the same moment. Silco’s eyes narrowed and his fingers dug into your hips, lifting just as you planted your feet to do the same. 

Despite your best joint efforts, you weren’t properly aligned and the two of you slid against each other awkwardly. Silco growled while you let out what could only be termed a whine, but the frustration seemed to sharpen your concentration. The second time you tried to impale yourself on him, your breath caught at the feeling of his head notched against your entrance. 

Then you were lowering yourself and Silco was thrusting upward and he slid home with a teeth-rattling slam. If there was anyone else in The Last Drop, they would have heard your cry. It bounced off the high ceiling, echoing back to you in a cacophony of ecstasy that only drove you and Silco higher. 

If you had thought grinding against Silco felt wonderful, it was nothing compared to the tremendous depth of pleasure you felt at having him so deeply inside of you. All you could do was lift and lower, fucking yourself on him as Silco’s hands took some of your weight and tried to speed your movements. 

The slap of flesh meeting flesh was loud in the room, almost drowning out the shaking breaths that you and Silco were panting. His thumb found your clit, drawing a quick circle before he pressed down against the sensitive nerve cluster. It made you tighten desperately around him and Silco swore vividly. 

Of course, that didn’t stop him from repeating the torment. 

“I’m going- going to-” Your voice was far beyond breathy. It was almost reedy with the effort it was taking to stave off your impending orgasm.

Silco groaned, loud and hoarse. “Been dreaming about the way you feel when you come around my cock. Come for me, darling. Show me everything I’ve been missing.”

As if he had some sort of direct line into your nerves, the muscles of your core started to flutter and spasm, constricting around him like you were going to collapse in on yourself. 

That was more true than you realized. If there was ever a person in your life who felt like a black hole, it was Silco. Mysterious and fascinating and utterly unknowable. It was a strange series of thoughts to have during an orgasm, but your mind was locked into it by that point. Silco was such an outsized presence in your life, and to think that he loved you… well, it was almost beyond what your mind could comprehend. 

Then your mind went fuzzy and you didn’t have to worry about comprehending anything anymore. All that was left was pleasure and heat and the feeling of Silco fucking upward into you with every bit of force he could muster. He buried himself deep as he came, spreading more heat through your core and dripping out to smear between you. 

When your shaking thighs refused to hold you up any longer, you collapsed forward and onto his chest. Silco held you there, arms tight around you as you both caught your breath, then rolled you gently to one side so he could curl himself against your back. 

“I cannot believe you exist,” he murmured, tracing a tickling line over your temple. “And the idea that you love me… it is impossible.” 

You smiled despite yourself. “I feel the same way about you loving me.” 

He kissed your fingertips, humming softly as he folded your hand into his. 

Eventually, the flood of hormones receded enough for you to think clearly. “Silco? What does this-? Do we-? What, exactly, does this change?” 

Silco chuckled softly, and you felt the warmth of it against the nape of your neck. “As much or little as you’d like, pet. The Haven will be under my protection, but I can be as subtle about it as you’d like. And there will be no Shimmer in the neighborhood.” 

You thought that over for a while. The idea of Silco having a hand in the Haven again made you a little uncomfortable, but more for appearance’s sake than any real concern. And the majority of people had already proven that their morals were performative - you were horrible and the Haven was worthless… until they needed something. 

In the end, you relaxed against Silco. “This city isn’t going to know what hit it.” 

Silco laughed - a genuine, happy sound totally unlike the sardonic smirks you usually saw from him. “Too true, my little philanthropist. You and I united will be a force unlike anything they’ve ever seen.”

“I have a few ideas on where to start,” you confided, eyelids drooping with weariness. 

“I do, as well,” Silco agreed. “In fact, I’ve already begun the preparations for our final push for freedom.” 

You hummed, nearly asleep already. Silco pressed a kiss to the curve of your shoulder and you stirred yourself back to wakefulness. “Hmm? You have a final push worked out?” 

“Of course.” Silco sounded affectionately amused, as if it was adorable that you thought he would do anything without planning it fully. “I’ve hired a scientist to work out the details. He tells me the final product will take a few years to develop, but we have the time. We can continue our improvements to Zaun until then.” 

You were fully awake by that point, frowning blankly at the far wall. “Wait…” With some effort, you wiggled around until you were facing Silco directly. “You’ve hired someone to work on… what? What is this product? Sounds like you already have some things set in stone.” 

“Not quite, darling,” Silco assured you. “Just putting some pieces in place. I’ll still need to work out the final plan. In fact, I would welcome your help with that.”

“Okay, but say I want some of the details now,” you pushed. “What product are you having developed?” 

He sighed, rolling back on the pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “Very well, since you are so interested… It is a compound, similar to Shimmer in some ways, but not addictive. Not in the slightest.” 

Your hum was distinctly skeptical. “But what does it do?” 

“It mimics the increased adrenaline and reduced pain reception of the user,” Silco explained. “The adrenaline allows the user to push their body past many natural limits. They will accomplish incredible things.” 

You tensed, fighting the urge to sit upright. “So it turns people into super soldiers. But what about after the effects have subsided? Are there negative health impacts? And even if it isn’t chemically addictive, people can become obsessed with feeling like they have that kind of power.”

“It isn’t addictive because the user rarely survives,” Silco said, finally looking at you once more. You flinched, and he cupped your cheek. “This is precisely why I wished to spare you the details. You have a the ideals of a dreamer, despite your willingness to fight for a good cause.” 

“You’re planning to have people take a drug that will probably kill them.” You shook your head slowly. “What cause could be worth that? Scaring Piltover?” 

“No, I have no use for frightening them,” Silco said, grimacing. “They are fearful enough already. My soldiers would be dispensed to fight off guards, infiltrate the city, and clear the way to the Piltover Council.” 

“And-” Your pulse was thundering so hard that your voice shook with it. “And when you get to the Council?” 

“I kill them all, of course.” 

You gaped at that, horrified by the casual ease of his answer. Silco seemed oblivious to your feelings, kissing and nipping along the sensitive skin of your throat. 

“Silco, you can’t do that,” you said, gently pushing him away.

He blinked at you, the beginnings of irritation growing on his face. “And why, precisely, can I not?” 

“Because you can’t take Piltover by force!” 

“No, I cannot,” Silco agreed, a sly smile growing on his face. “Not yet, at least. But the initial trials are more than promising.”

“This isn’t an option,” you argued. “You’ll do even more harm if you come in by attacking the Council and using drugged soldiers as your muscle.” 

A muscle ticced in Silco’s jaw, and you changed your tone to a logical one instead. “Think of it this way: if you take the city by force, you’ll hold it for a while. You’re clever and you have the ability to draw followers. But if you present yourself as a powerful enemy, the people will combine forces to fight  against you. They will always see you as an invader to repel. You’ll never manage to quell the resistance to Zaun.” 

“Have you already forgotten that I’ll have an army powered by one of the most potent substances ever developed in this city?” Silco asked archly. 

“You’ll have a single-use army,” you countered. “And as more and more of them sacrifice themselves for this war, you’ll have fewer and fewer supporters willing to fight for you.” 

“Then I’ll make it so they have no choice but to fight for me,” Silco bit out. 

You furrowed your brows, studying him more intensely than you had since you first met. There was nothing but resolve in his expression, and you knew without further questioning that you wouldn’t change his mind. He was going to destroy Piltover - and, in doing so, he would destroy any hope for the nation of Zaun. 

With a sigh, you tossed back the covers he had tucked over you and made to rise from the bed. 

Silco caught at your wrist, pinning it to the mattress. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m not going to convince you to change your plan, and you’re not going to convince me that it’s a good idea.” You smiled sadly at him. “It seems we’ve finally found something we cannot agree on.” 

You tugged a little harder at your wrist, but Silco held firm. “But you love me and I love you. You’ve admitted as much.” 

“I do love you,” you agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I can support you in this. Whatever concessions you were going to make for the Haven, consider them either paid for or unaccepted. I think it would be best if we don’t meet up again.”

The cool slither against your skin was followed by two distinct clicks. You turned slowly, both knowing and dreading what you would see when you did: Silco had handcuffed you to one of the rings embedded in his headboard. 

“Silco, take this off of me.” You managed to keep your voice even despite the panic rising in your chest. 

“No.” 

You couldn’t help but pull against the metal encircling your wrist. It did nothing but make you feel more trapped. “Silco!”

“No,” he snapped again, voice harsh enough to make you stop struggling momentarily. “I lost you once. I don't intend to be so careless as to allow it to happen a second time.” 

“Silco,” you pleaded, striving for a less confrontational tone. “This is insane. I can't just stay locked in your room.”

“We love each other,” he reminded you, buttoning his pants. “Everything else will work out in time.”

And then he left, slipping shirtless into his office. You tugged fruitlessly at the handcuffs and tried to keep your breathing steady.

---

Author's Note - They were SO CLOSE to a happy ending. But Silco will always be Silco and our dear reader just can't handle some of his more pragmatic plots.

We're in the final stretch now, friends! Only a few more chapters until the end of this story.

Thank you for reading! If I can ask a favor, I haven't had the chance to watch any of Arcane Season Two yet, so if you choose to review (thank you!), please try to avoid including any spoilers. I can tell from my tumblr notifications on this story that Silco must be in S2, but I'm trying not to know how much or in what capacity. I'll try to be caught up by the time I post the next chapter.

I'll see you soon!

[elliottkay]

You ever miss your hometown so much during a pandemic that you wrote a whole novel about it with magic and car chases and sexy immortal mercenaries and a sketchy secret FBI task force and adorable cats and the sweetest monster-chomping ghost dog ever? Or is it just me?

GRAND THEFT SORCERY is out now! You can read chapter one for free on my website!

The vampire lord of Los Angeles is dead, plunging the nightlife into chaos. His subjects fight over his title and his missing treasure hoard. The conflict brings werewolves, sorcerers, and djinn close to open war.

Repo man Evan Murphy knows nothing of the supernatural. He only wants a roof over his head and food for his cats. When a risky job lands him in the dungeon of a Hollywood Hills necromancer, a forgotten god offers him the power to escape—making him the target of a beautiful immortal mercenary and every monster within a hundred miles. Evan’s new magic may save the city from its shadows, but only if he can save himself.

WARNING: Grand Theft Sorcery contains explicit sex, explicit violence, explicit criticism of American law enforcement, bilingual profanity, a meet-cute that ends in homicide, conspicuous consumption, Los Angeles, demons, monsters, cops, vampires, talent agents, tautologies, street racing, attempted murder, successful murder, axe murder, motorcycle helmet murder, matching basketball hoodies, carjacking, kidnapping, brief torture, discovery of animal abuse (past/off-page), destruction of evidence, rampant traffic violations, premeditated hotel reservation with Only One Bed, desecration of the dead, awkward meetings with the ex, awkward meetings with the ex’s mom, deadly bisexuals, hypermasculine podcaster trash, acknowledgment of white privilege, false license plates, conspiracy, squatting, looting, mauling, home invasion, trespassing, witchcraft, abuse of authority, aggressive generosity, arguable cannibalism, destruction of private property, search warrant violations, outright lies, phone hacking, petty theft, grand larceny, vandalism, arson, defenestration, resisting arrest, driving under the influence of existential shock, appropriation of queer meme culture, shooting, punching, kicking, biting, couch surfing, bribery of wildlife, old timey Hollywood stereotypes, internet sexism and exploitation thereof, unflattering implications about Heaven and angels, two entirely normal cats, and the Black Dog of the Mojave.

GRAND THEFT SORCERY stands alone as a thrill ride unto itself, yet it shares a world and characters with the Good Intentions series. No prior reading required, but GI readers will recognize events and a few very familiar faces. Again, if you want a good preview, chapter one is here on my website!

Cover illustration by Julie Dillon, title design by Lee Moyer!

[thoughtartistry]

Always. 🔅✨️🌼💓

[mi-a-mor]

At this point I'd be so so happy if anyone geniunely hugged me so tight that I stop breathing for sometime

[dessertbird]

Daily Destiel 💙💚

❤️❤️❤️❤️

[winchestress]

[myhauntedsalem]

Motivation and Success Spell Jar

Cleanse area and jar

Add Sea Salt to charge

Rosemary for motivation

Sage for Protection

Cinnamon for Good Luck

Ginger for success and motivation

Red pepper flakes to get the job done

Green Adventurine for success

Light yellow candle with intent.

Hold over jar – wax to seal – As you seal jar

Chant:

“Motivation come to me, Inspire me.

Let success blossom within me”

[mayapapaya33]

Ow ow ow. I just saw the parallels between Zerxus and Cassida both wanting to save a God. Zerxus wanted to save Asmodeus, both spiritually, by redeeming him, and physically, right at the beginning of Calamity, he wanted to save him from The Dawnfather, the "pitiless face of the sun." Cassida wanted to save the prime deities, all of them, but specifically The Everlight. Possibly both spiritually, by supporting the Everlight with worship, the Everlight, who's worshippers were slaughtered by Asmodeus, and physically, by ending the war with the Betrayers.

Zerxus and Cassida both doomed themselves and their cities (with help from their friends/coworkers!) because they wanted to save the gods. They committed incredible acts of hubris and incredible acts of love. And to have it be those two gods specifically! Oh No. I'll definitely probably speak more about this in depth another time, I just needed to get this out. Ouch.

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Twenty-Eight

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 28

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten]  [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve]  [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] Part Twenty-Eight [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

If you had thought that the relatively good note that last gala in Connton ended on was a sign of things to come, you would have been wrong. Despite his more jovial turn at the end of the night, Dale’s melancholy in the garden persisted far more than that last mood. If anything he’d been more distant, with hints of a frustrated temper that worries you in its reminder of the man you’d no longer thought you’d have to deal with. You can’t tell what is causing the mood, though you know of many potential culprits. 

It could be the investigation. Early the last morning in Connton, you’d seen Dale conversing in the stable loft with a pair of rough-looking folks. From their serious, almost sharp demeanor, and their nondescript brown clothing, everything about them screamed mercenaries. Dale was crouched in the shadows and you almost didn’t recognize him. In fact, you were fairly certain you weren’t supposed to be able to as nothing of his physical features were discernible beyond the vague outline of a person, but his eyes were glowing bright blue with white pupils. The way they had reflected briefly with the light of the single swinging lantern had made you think they belong to a cat at first. The mercenaries certainly looked respectful of his obvious inhuman appearance. When Dale was playing his own contractor, he must be pretending to have demonic enhancements. 

You don’t think they noticed you—you hurried on your way quickly enough—having only been up this early to accept the box of herbal ingredients you’d ordered from a local shop. Still, it worried you because the mercenary angle of the investigation wasn’t expected to move forward quickly enough for them to need to meet again so soon. Not that you’d had a chance to speak with Dale about it, or could admit to what you saw in mixed company. 

Between the trip back to the Northridge estate, settling back into the estate, and then preparations for the wedding, you’d not had a single moment alone with him. One of his grandparents was always present. They spoke only of wedding matters in the company of others and pressed him for updates on the investigation when alone, which he refused to grant. This left you without any new notes on the situation either.

Dinner the last couple nights had been pleasant, with Dale spending an acceptable amount of time with family. However, nearly all wedding guests had arrived by now–with no sign of Great Aunt Deborah to the Northridges’ collective relief. Dale had elected to spend the majority of his socializing with the friends with which he’d traveled abroad. Even if it did result in him getting rather more drunk than he usually had.

You take a sip of your own wine and gently chide yourself that he isn’t that bad—and certainly not as bad as some of the others. However, you want to spend that time with him. You want another private walk in the garden. You want his hand in yours. You want his support with your family—who you were weathering, but primarily on your own. It still irks you to have talked more with his relatives and your own than with him or even much with his friends these past nights. He’d given cursory introductions, but seemed intent on socializing with them without you. 

Perhaps he knows you’d not get along. Perhaps he is trying to afford you more time to speak with your family, to reestablish yourself as an adult with them. You’d thought you’d made your appreciation of his support clear, but maybe he just thought you only needed him to smooth over the beginnings of conversations and not throughout? Perhaps he is attempting to gather information for the investigations on either Eastmont or the Heiress. Maybe he’s trying to verify the people he excluded from the list were proper. If these friends of the original Dale are more likely to open up with only their old friend and not his new, wallflower fiance, is that so unreasonable?

Dale hasn’t discussed any of this with you and you hate how your mind jumps to the conclusion that he’s avoiding you when it’s as likely that he was simply too busy to take the time. Because that guess is too close to your other fears. That perhaps he has made other plans. That maybe getting back into the world of demonic mercenaries is tempting. Or maybe he can see now that noble life came with its own dangers. Or all the pretending was making him realize he’d be playacting as Lord Dale for the rest of his time here and he isn’t sure he wants that anymore.

A body bumps into your own, startling you out of your reverie and your spiraling thoughts. A baron you barely recognize says, “My apologies,” as he hurries over to catch a servant’s attention. You sigh as you finish your own glass of wine and look for something lighter to drink for the rest of the evening. If you’re already this nervous, with so many anxious thoughts tumbling around in your mind, the clearer you can think the better.

Grandmother had left for the evening, with your blessing and thoughts on one of the dessert dishes for the chef you’d hired for the wedding. Your mother had followed her. Your father had retired early with the grandchildren. Callalily and her husband had been with some of Dale’s more distant relatives all day because Callalily could and would find a way to expand her social network anywhere.

You’d better join Marigold, her husband, and the artistic circle they had accrued before Douglas charitably drew you into his circle of military compatriots. You’d sacrificed last night to that group, wanting to see the sibling you knew the least—and you think it had been worth it—but your lack of personal experience often left you feeling like an outsider or plain confused. With the way your mind is intent on gnawing at itself this evening, you’d best avoid them. Unless you see Dale join them of course—he’d made a few comments when he was there last night that worried you in the attention they received.

At this rate you were going to leave your wedding only to immediately fall asleep for a week. But until then, where is Marigold? Had she gone to inspect the gardens and the statues within? The sun was setting, but there was still plenty to see by for all the servants would start lighting the torches soon. Accepting a glass of iced tea, you walk along the side of the room with doors out to the gardens, trying to see if any groups are out there.

You think you might have spotted a handful of people in a courtyard, when a hand on your arms startles you. You turn abruptly enough to have to adjust your grip on your glass to keep from spilling only to find Callalily.

Before you can say anything, she links arms with you and begins to walk away from glass doors outside. “I have been meaning to speak with you,” she leans in closer to add, “in private.”

“Oh?” You furrow your brow, but gesture her into the nearby alcove, decorative screens blocking most of the view into the great hall. This unoccupied musician storage room is as close to a separate room as you are going to find without leaving the area entirely. Is Mother doing something again? Has one of Callalily’s children broken a vase? She has been alluding to her and your other married siblings giving you some sort of advice which could be nice, but where are the others? And is a dinner in the great hall with so many people around truly the time for such a thing?

“Yes,” Callalily replies, glancing around, before adding, “about your fiance.”

Ice shoots through your veins. Has she seen something? Did he do something in front of her? Callalily was clever and sharp, able to pick up on nuances others missed with ease, not to mention her memory. Why hadn’t you thought of it before? Simply because no one in Dale’s family hadn’t noticed enough discrepancies to make them suspicious, beyond Grandfather’s now put-to-bed worries about you, did not mean no one would. You swallow. “What about Lord Dale?”

“Are you certain…” Callalily begins before stopping. Callalily never pauses like that, as if she is hesitating. You rack your mind for any time that she might have been alone with Dale and seen something you cannot explain away—that she has not already dismissed as a trick of the eye. However, she doesn’t look frightened, merely apprehensive. Has Dale made some other sort of mistake? “I am aware that you are looking forward to marriage and your independence from our parents. However, is there a possibility you might be acting with some rash or willful blindness regarding the betrothed you’ve chosen?”

You need a minute to parse what she’s said, it's so far from what you were expecting. It sounds as if she knows nothing of his true nature instead she’s suggesting... When you finally comprehend her words without your fears overshadowing them, you blink in shock. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting I choose a different fiance? You believe I should sever my engagement?”

Instead of immediately correcting you, she only looks apologetic. “I am only saying that this will affect the rest of your life and it’s important—”

“—Important I give the decision a due amount of thought?” you finish for her, parroting back her words from when she questioned your choice of school and later questioned focusing your studies on administration rather than medicine despite always attempting to impart upon you the importance of making your own choice free from others influences. “I cannot—.” You can’t believe she would ask you something like this, that she would still doubt your ability to make decisions for yourself. And to ask this now, of all times. “I do not know what is worse, that you think I have not already done so or that you think I’m fickle enough to change my mind three days before the wedding.”

“That’s not what I am saying!” she protests.

You’ve always given her the benefit of the doubt, that she worries about you and only wants what’s best for you. This is so far beyond that. Angry frustration fills every line of your body as you resist the urge to throw your hands in the air. You take a deep breath and say, with as little emotion as possible and as much fake patience as you can muster, “Then what are you saying?”

Callalily falters for a split second before straightening her spine with renewed confidence. “If new information comes to light, then it is necessary to change one’s course of action. There are always legitimate reasons to delay or reconsider important decisions. You are allowed to change your mind.” Her voice gentles at the end and you hate it more than you did the self-righteousness of the beginning. And at the heart of it, all she is saying, in more general words, is exactly what she claimed not to be saying. 

You take a deep breath. “I am allowed such a choice. You are not wrong that such a thing is possible. But you are still advocating that I break my betrothal, or at least my wedding date.” You pause, to give her the chance to dispute you, but she keeps her lips pressed together. “Do not act as though doing so would not have far-reaching consequences. Do not act as though I shall do so on the word or suggestion of one other person, no matter how I care for you.” Your stern voice breaks, no matter your attempt to keep up the facade. “I do not understand why you are proposing such a course of action. Has something happened, Callalily? Why are you saying this to me?”

“He does not seem trustworthy,” Callalily says urgently, stepping closer. “The rumors that I’ve heard just since coming here have me concerned. He does not seem worthy of your hand.” That should be flattering to hear, that she thinks so highly of you, and in a manner it is, but it also fills you with worry about what she has heard, what secrets she might be edging around. Simultaneously, you’re embarrassed that she thinks you so ignorant as to not have known any of this yourself. “I’m starting to doubt why Mother and Father even entertained the notion of an engagement with Lord Dale. He is not right for you.”

You don’t even know what to say in the face of such vague accusations. The comment regarding your parents is both surprising and not. Callalily’s faith in your parents decisions always corresponds with if they are in concert with her own—if they agree, it is because they are intelligent, logical parents worthy of respect and if they do not… You’ve no idea what rumors she might have heard otherwise, and her concerns might be more valid with the original Dale, but even in that case, you had committed to this course of action and she’d not have swayed you then, at least, you hope not. “Well, I appreciate your concern, sister,” you try to politely brush her off because the worst thing is when she digs her heels in, “however it is unnecessary in this instance. So let us return—”

“Do not “sister” me,” she hisses. You wince, perhaps you overstepped with your more casual dismissal. “My concerns are valid. You’ve not even heard them out.”

“Fine,” you reply stiffly, trying to hide your fear and weariness with having to defend your choices to the person who most advocates you making them. “Name them. What has you so convinced I should not marry? Has he threatened you? Me? Did you catch him with a lover?” You are careful to name the events least likely to your mind, in order to guarantee her negative response. You know they also give away how fed up you are with having to discuss this, but you find yourself beyond caring at this point. If she wants to do this, it shall be at least as unpleasant for her as it is for you. “Please enlighten me.”

Callalily’s expression vacillates between shocked at your anger and annoyance at your continued downplaying of her worries. “I did not have to stumble upon him with a lover to know he’s taken them before.” You want to point out that many nobles do. That you’d known he had done so. That at least he had been discreet enough that there were no children or even solid evidence of who his lovers were, which is far more than can be said for others. “He’s left a string of them as he traveled and left all dissatisfied with how the affair ended. It appears he prefers to make promises of permanence and position and then break any such vows.” You can believe that of the original Dale. The only reason he had been honest with you in the beginning is because he thought you a guarantee. “Not only to his lovers, but to his proclaimed friends as well. Many were thought to have been guaranteed a position in his household only to have such promises broken with ease.”

That final comment might actually be due to the change in Dale, how you have decided together to choose those deserving of such positions and not simply how politically advantageous bringing in certain people might be. You don’t know how many such promises the original Dale had made, nor how many this Dale has broken. The prospect worries you, could that be why Dale is spending so much time with his friends and why he is in such a tense mood these days? Regardless, you can tell Callalily none of this and so you try hard to keep your expression neutral.

It must be working because Callalily frowns at your lack of response and continues before you can rebut any of her concerns. “Then there are the rumors of his interest and experimentation with the Depths, no matter Northridge’s reputation of staunch opposition.” Your eye must twitch at that, or something else gives away your trepidation with this topic. Callalily’s mouth flattens into a grim smile. “I’ve heard from multiple sources about his study of such subjects and his interest in performing such rituals. Any man who seeks the aid of the Depths, against his family’s wishes and without an obvious need, cannot have good intentions. He falls victim to the lesser vices too: gambling, drinking, spending freely on vanity.”

She holds up a hand and counts off on her fingers, “He’s ambitious, selfish, a liar, and a cheat. He’s not to be trusted or relied upon.” 

You wait a few extra seconds to see if there is more before you reply. “I appreciate your concerns, however—”

“However, you’re not going to listen, are you?” Callalily’s hands are on her hips and she purses her lips together in frustrated dismay. “I thought only Marigold was this hard-headed. I thought you knew better, I thought you couldn’t be swayed by a handsome face or—”

“That is enough,” you snap, unable to keep the words in any longer. “Is this a discussion or a lecture? I have let you voice your concerns and if you’re not satisfied with my acknowledgment, then I’ll take my own turn to speak now.”

“Very well.” Callalily snaps. “Go on, what do you say to this?”

You’ve no idea where to start and decide to simply go through in the order she did. After a sip of your drink, you begin, “Firstly, I did do my own research in my prospective spouse as I of course considered this decision very seriously indeed. While my contacts and methods are not your own, I do have some.” While Callalily’s were likely other nobles, foreign officials and the like, you had grown close with your servants—maids and nursemaids alike who cared for you in your illness and you’d continued the habit at school. If your maid, Martina, hadn’t had to help her family, she’d have come with you to Northridge. She’d truly retired from being lady’s maid when you went off to school. She’d apprenticed under a nurse and completed her training, but had agreed to be your maid once more, if only until you were betrothed.

“Clearly they weren’t skilled,” Callalily cuts in to diagnose, “if they did not return with similar information.”

“They did,” you correct, because that was in their report, “baring I assume any information that’s related to Dale’s activities from the last two months, of course. The difference is my context for such information and my personal experience with him. Beyond that, you’ve never grappled with the choices I have.”

“Excuse me?” she looks offended, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am married. It was a decision I made with Mother and Father, but I was the driving decision maker, not them, not societal pressure, nor anything except my own drive for my future.”

“And that cannot be what I have done,” you cannot help but allow a certain sardonic edge to enter into your voice at her implication, “what I am doing.”

“You—”

“No,” you interrupt, ignoring her startled expression. “I believe it is time you listened to me, properly for once.” You take a deep breath while she waits, eyes a bit wider than before, for you to do so. “You were the second oldest, with intelligence, a talent for language, and more confidence in society than I’ll ever have. And robust health, of course. Your options for marrying, for how to spend your days—your vision—none of those are mine.” You can see she knows you can want different things but that she’s still not facing reality when it comes to your opportunities. You swallow and continue, “Mother and Father did their best to keep word of my ill health minimal, but they did not try so hard when I was young. Not until I was older did they begin to believe I’d live to be an adult who had to worry about marriage prospects. They expected me to die young or at least not to outlive Aunt Katherine’s age.” 

Callalily pales at your statements and rushes to reassure you, “That’s not, no one wanted—”

“I’m not discussing what they wanted,” you reply gently. “I am stating what they believed to be true.” When she still looks as though she will protest, you ask her outright, “Are you going to say they did tell you as much? That I was born in a fragile state, too late in Mother’s life and with the fits just like Father’s little sister. She was twelve when she died.” They had believed you would do the same. No matter how they tried to hide it, you can barely remember a time in your life you did not know that death chased you far harder than it did others, haunting your every spasm. “You should have seen how Father looked at me from eleven ‘til I went three months without a fit, when he could look at me at all.”

Callalily has no notion of how to response. She places a hand on your shoulder, trying for some sort of physical comfort, “I...”

When nothing further escapes her mouth, you try for a smile. “I’m not saying this for pity, Callalily, I’m saying this because you act as though I was not the one who lived through it. As if I was not the one in pain, not the one who was dying. As if I slept through those years.” You’ve never been able to understand that belief. As if, despite certain medicinal efforts, you were in some sort of un-rememberable haze during those times. It was your life, your body. 

You straighten as you proclaim, “Well, I did not. I was very aware. My dreams were not your dreams, but I did have them. As it is, I’ve been quite successful, for a given metric of success as I have achieved most of them by. I can walk across a room without worrying I’m going to hurt myself. I can run and ride and dance.” You remember counting steps and keeping track of days and pushing yourself to grab every tiny chance to live. How hard and easy it had been to achieve some of those goals once you began the upward climb to recovery. “I have been able to leave our country estate and attend to school and participate in galas.” You gesture to the ball beyond you.

“At the school that I wished to attend, even if it wasn’t the one you still believe I should have gone to, I was finally able to dream beyond even that.” It had taken some time, your dreams so distant for so long, that you had felt lost once you were there, life overwhelming in a manner you were unaccustomed to. “I do not want to become a diplomat as you are, or an artist, or a knight. An academic or a physician do not appeal either, although I know you think I should become a doctor.” She had said as much in her letters and in person. You have explained that you enjoy the topic and taking care of yourself, but you do not wish it for a career. She thinks it is Mother’s influencing pushing for a more traditional noble life or your own insecurities and fears holding you back. You simply do not want it.

You’ve tried to persuade her you are not settling or giving in or whatever else she believes. You want her to listen so badly this time as you say, “I spent too much time with Asher in his study. I enjoyed my administration classes too much. I was on an estate too long. My wish is to aid in the running of a fief, even if I’m fifth born. Even if the rumors of my sickness were so persistent that the first few potential suitors I was introduced to thought I’d died years ago. I begged Mother for the extra health reports.” You’d hated them, hated how invasive they were and how skeptical the doctors were. You had feared them telling you the illness would return or that you were unfit to be married. However, in the end, you’d needed their assurances to the contrary nearly as much as your prospects had. “Our parents increased my dowry in response to my wishes.” They had still managed the process and it had been what they were hoping for, to see you follow the most traditional path, but why shouldn’t you have encouraged them when it was in service to your own ends?

Callalily did appear to be listening, or at least she made no further motions to interrupt. You feel bolstered by that and say, “There were others we considered. True, not many, but a handful. I’ve no desire to do the socializing and connection forging a new baron would require,” you begin covering the reasons you turned down the few you’d had even a single conversation with. Perhaps it's disingenuous to mention these who you’d no formal discussion about marriage, but they were people and families that had been tangible enough that you recall your reasons of rejection. “I’ve no desire to shoulder all the administration a collegiate heir would ask. I’ve no desire to raise another’s children, never sure of my own future if they move against me. I might not run as cold as Mother likes to believe, but I do not want to spend months in the snow. I do not want to move somewhere I cannot speak the language fluently.” At the last one, you can’t help but give her a pointed look to remind her that you don’t have her facility with language, to reiterate that you want different things.

You take another deep breath, because now you must discuss Dale—without giving voice to any of the changes that have happened with him. “Lord Dale, even with his concerning reputation at times, did not come with such obstacles. Many take lovers prior to marriage, do you think me ignorant?” You are aware she thought you on the naive side, but you need her to remember that you’ve been an adult for years now and do not require such coddling. “He was discrete with those matters, as I am certain you cannot identify them all. Not to mention, they are liable to spin such affairs to have faults that are his rather than their own.” Callalily reluctantly nods her agreement at that.

At least, having connections with who you did meant you were more confident that she might be in the main point. “I made certain he’d sired no bastard children, through my medical contacts.” You can see she hadn’t considered that you might have such advantages, but you’ve no desire to dwell on this topic. You need to confront her concerns with his personality head on before you lose steam. “He’s on the arrogant side, spoiled to a degree given how his grandparents raised him after his parent’s untimely death,” you quietly acknowledge with a glance to ensure you are still alone in your alcove, before continuing, “but many heirs are. As for gambling, he plays cards, yes, but he has no concerning debts I could find. He’s not violent with his friends nor his servants. He’s not a drunkard, if we’re wanting to discuss vices. Did you truly find anything to support such activities?”

“No,” Callalily admits. “You are correct, there was nothing to obvious excess that I discovered in my minimal investigation. However, his research into concerning topics…” She trails off, obviously allowing you to have the floor back.

You’re grateful she’s letting you, that she seems far more interested in a true discussion than she had originally. It’s still more than you’ve perhaps ever said at one time to her and naturally it is on the most complex topic in your life. “As for his academic interests,” you say carefully, “I’ve spoken with him and am aware of his stance on such matters. He disagrees with the rigidity of his grandparents’ laws and actions. In the manner of many rebellious youth, he had pursued the opposite. Now, he seeks to ensure he knows enough to protect himself and Northridge. He has moved on from his more careless experimentation, to my knowledge.” Whatever else he does now, it cannot be more careless, that’s for certain.

“And the broken oaths?” Callalily asks, sterner and more skeptical after your most recent answer. 

You sigh, wishing you’d had the foresight to realize how this would appear from the outside. “As for certain promises made to his friends, after he discussed them with his grandparents, myself, and the steward, some were retracted due to unsuitability. It is a sign of the better judgment of the study room rather than the rash wishes when traveling and drinking. It is expected, to change one’s mind in light of the advice of trusted advisors, is it not?” you can’t help but add, echoing her original point.

She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t disagree. You’ve provided a rebuttal to the majority of her points, right? You take advantage of her still rather open mood to attempt to state as clearly as you can where you stand. “My desire is to marry Lord Dale and be his lady of Northridge. I’d thank you to respect my decision. It’s already been made.”

She frowns, but it's more thoughtful and resigned than angry or frustrated which you hope is a good sign. “I see. You certainly have an answer for everything, do you not?” She sighs heavily, but you think you hear only defeat in the sound, not her preparing for another fight. “I had no idea you were so aware of how concerning we all found your condition, nor had I thought since your recovery of what else your illness might still cast a pall over. I think you are still—well, I suppose that’s only my view, is it not?”

“I can continue speaking, explain further,” you offer, but your voice gives away how wearing you find the concept. “You might eventually make a point I haven’t considered.”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head and glancing back at the still bustling grand hall. “I’ll not put us both through that. Not here, not now—though anything you want to confide in me, I’d hear,” she offers with a small smile. “I suppose the only question I have left to ask is: has he been treating you well? Not only in public, but in private?”

She’s sincere in her question and you appreciate the feeling of familial support it gives you. You know if you answered to the contrary, she would help you break such an engagement. The prospect makes you feel safer, even if it is unnecessary. “Yes, he has.”

“Even so, some do not reveal themselves until time passes,” she warns, but you can tell it’s for the sake of it, out of general protectiveness, not doubt in you.

That lets you answer her calmly instead of defensively, “I’m aware. I have contingencies for that outcome, should it occur.” She raises a brow at that, but you’ll not discuss that here. You’ve no notion how she’d see you medicinal protections. “I cannot wait for the clear, perfect, future—I can only grasp what is in front of me.”

“I suppose that is all any of us can do,” she agrees. Then she ventures a more tentative observation, “You have appeared weary and tense over the past few days. I thought he might be the cause.”

You blink in surprise, you hadn’t thought she’d notice. So much for hiding those feelings, you think ruefully. “I’m not one for all these parties and socializing, no matter how I used to long for them. They are more enjoyable in theory, or in moderation.” You smile sheepishly. “Truthfully, I will be pleased after the wedding, when we can stop having them so frequently.”

She smiles back at that admittance. “I see. My apologies, for my presumption. I did not mean to insult you. I was only worried for you.”

“I know.” You place your hand over hers on your shoulder and give it a squeeze. “I thank you for your concern, truly, but please do not broach this topic again,” you plead, eyes darting beyond her once. You try for a casual attitude as you say, “I’ll have no rumors about my wedding being called off, thank you very much.” 

“Of course, of course,” she hurries to reassure you. “Let’s rejoin the others.” You follow her out of the alcove and back towards where the majority of guests are congregated, past a few of the now open doors to the gardens. “I don’t think we’ll stay too late tonight—I’ve far too many letters to write in the morning, but I believe I saw Asher—”

Wherever Callalily might have seen Asher, you don’t find out. A commotion in the courtyard directly outside catches both your attention. In one of the courtyards off the grand hall, a knot of courtiers your own age are gathered. The shouting appears to be coming from one particularly drunk figure if the way they are swaying is any indication. The air has the sudden awkwardness of a group who had been having fun only for the tone to abruptly turn serious and uncomfortable. A small circle of space is forming around him, revealing another figure as well. One you recognize all too well.

“Dale,” you say quietly, immediately changing course. Callalily is only a step behind you as you cross the paving stones to the group. The setting sun and the newly light torches cause light and shadow to dance in the wind and by the heights, you hope that's all that’s causing it.

“…believe what I am hearing with these ears,” the drunk man is saying. He tugs on one of his ears for emphasis even as the other clutches his goblet. He turns to another and asks, “Can you Millie?”

“I heard it as well, Willie,” a woman sounding near as drunk as him replies. “Said he required an individual with a greater range of skills. A person more ree-lie-able.”

Willie scoffs. “For how long have you found me so inconsistent, Dale?”

“Wilhelm,” Dale’s voice is easily heard above the chatter around them. He’s clearly trying for calm reason, which you know won’t work on someone who’s clearly had as much as Wilhelm has, but you’re glad he isn’t upset. “You have had too much of your own gift and—”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” he gives an exaggerated and very low bow you hope he can’t recover from. Unfortunately, despite a half step to the side, he straightens once more with only a mildly more exaggerated sway than before. “How inconsiderate of me.”

You slip through those forming the loose circle, recognizing them as various members of Dale’s traveling party. You come up on his left and murmur, “Lord Dale,” to warn him of your presence as you slot yourself next to him. You can’t help the hand that skates down his side, checking however briefly that he’s still in one piece and with no shadow tendrils to speak of. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sana,” he replies, his dark eyes meeting yours for a second before they fix back on Wilhelm. They’re not even glowing, which is a profound relief, even if this lighting might excuse such a thing more than others. “Everything is fine.” His tone is still light enough, if anything it contains an apology for you having to join him in dealing with this problem.

You relax at his attitude, hoping that this is routine enough that this group won’t think it out of the ordinary. That it can be quickly handled. 

“Is this your doing?” Wilhelm accuses and you look over at him to see him not glaring at Dale any longer, but at you.

You nearly step back in surprise, but Dale’s strong arm wrapping around your back helps you find the support to stay where you are. You’re still not sure what the argument, if there is one, is even about—let alone why he might think you’ve anything to do with it. “Excuse me?” You finally place the name and hesitantly identify him as, “Lord Wilhelm of Aliers, yes?”

“As you rightly must know!” he slurs back before gesturing emphatically with what must be a nearly empty goblet of wine given how careless he’s being with it. “Do not play coy with me!”

You think you were introduced to him the first night you were back on the estate along with the rest of his family, but you’ve not had a true conversation with him. “I do not know—” you try to protest before he cuts you off. 

“Are you manipulating Dale into abandoning his friends?” He takes a step forward and Dale’s grip on your upper arm tightens. “Whispering in his ear until he betrayed his oaths?”

You open your mouth and then shut it, no notion of how to respond. What is he even talking about? Dale answers in your stead, retorting, “There was no oath to betray and you are well aware of that.”

“There might as well have been,” Wilhelm hisses and you finally remember that he had been one of Dales’—original Dale’s—choices for a position in the Northridge household. A training master of some kind until this Dale had reconsidered the intelligence of such a choice. Wilhelm takes another step closer. “How dare you, you meddling little pest.”

“Watch your tongue,” Dale’s voice has lost the mild veneer of humor he previously had. “Apologize to my fiance this instant.”

Before you can try to diffuse the situation as if it might be a misunderstanding, Wilhelm takes another gulp of his drink, which evidently was not yet emptied of its contents, and says, “Not a chance. I want, want an answer.” He draws his sword with a surprisingly clean motion and points its wavering tip at you. Even yards away, you do not appreciate the threat. “Is this your doing? Are you the reason he’s all, all, yeah? Did you convince him to abandon me and give my promised posting to another?”

“I did noth—” you try to protest.

“My betrothed has nothing to do with us or the posting,” Dale interjects, pulling you closer and now with his own sword in hand. You’re aware of the circle of space has grown around you. Wilhelm’s other friends don’t appear particularly inclined to reign him in, most just watching for the skeptical. You think you see two exchange coin. “And you shall apologize for the grievous insult you have paid to us both.”

Wilhelm notices his goblet is empty and that Dale’s own sword is drawn, in that order, causing his scowl to deepen. He shoves his cup into someone’s hand with a brisk order to fetch him another before walking closer to Dale into the growing space around the two arguing nobles and yourself. “Are we going to settle this properly? Or do you not care for such activities these days either? Domestic and cowardly, eh?”

You almost want to laugh at the idea of either of those words describing either Dale, but the tension and possibility of a genuine fight keeps any such more light-hearted responses frozen in your chest. You glance up to see Dale’s darkened expression. You feel the tension in his body as he says, “Do not push me, Wilhelm. I will answer you if you continue to do so and you shall not appreciate the result.”

“No,” Wilhelm cries, “it is you who will regret their actions.” And then he charges at the pair of you. Dale releases you, thrusting his cane into you hands and pushing you behind him in the same motion. You stumble into the steadying hands of his valet as he baits Wilhelm away from the spot you’d been standing. You absent-mindedly thank Mr. Murray for keeping you on your feet after the abrupt motion, but you can’t take your eyes off the fight.

The two circle each other after that charge fails and luckily for you, Wilhelm seems to have forgotten you exist. “There’s no need for this, Wilhelm,” Dale says, obviously still trying to talk his friend out of this fight. Wilhelm doesn’t even seem to hear him. Even drunk he proves to be an expert swordsman as he manages several near blows. You can see why Dale considered him for swordsmaster, despite his obvious weakness for drink. He manages a strike that gets past Dale’s guard. Luckily Dale is able to step back so it does nothing more than cut his vest.

It's obvious he’s unhurt, but you watch as Dale’s whole demeanor focuses, as he finally stops trying to prevent this fight. He’s graceful and controlled compared to Wilhelm’s swaying, fast movements. You can’t help but admire the picture he creates as he moves. You don’t fear he’ll get hurt, only what he might reveal, and surely a single duel such as this is nothing compared to the tournament. If you worry for anyone, it’s Wilhelm as his skill might force Dale to answer back more strongly than he wants to given his friend’s condition. Although, perhaps they are no longer quite that close.

In the end, Dales doesn’t bother trying to best a swordsman of such caliber, even if he’s soused. Dale seizes the first opening he sees and presses in bodily, catching and tilting the sword points to the left and locking hilts. Wilhelm sputters something about a foul while trying to get free only for Dale to send both rapiers clattering to the floor. Unfortunately with it gone from his hand, Wilhelm seems to remember how to use the rest of his body and he kicks out at Dale’s knee. 

“Rotten cheater,” he spits as Dale grunts and tries to stay on his feet. “Why are you—”

Whatever he’s trying to say is cut off by the whole body check Dale gives him, turning his shoulder into Wilhelm’s chest to knock him back. Wilhelm stumbles, trying to stay standing, but Dale follows him. Wilhelm manages to dodge first one punch and then the next, but the third hits him square on the side of the head. His eyes roll back as he drops like a stone.

Someone catches him before he can hit the ground and Dale’s eyes dart around, as if looking for another threat to handle. You finally look away from Dale’s form and notice that the one who caught Wilhelm as he fell wasn’t one of his friends, but your brother, Douglas. In fact, as you look around you, very few of the original group is still present. Callalily’s whispering in the ear of one woman who is being escorted out by Callalily’s husband, who you don’t even recall joining you out here. Callalily walks over to another lingering couple after sending you a wink.

“I apologize for the spectacle,” Dale says to the dwindling group at large. He focuses on Douglas and adds, sounding bewildered at how quickly everything escalated, “He’d been in pleasant spirits earlier.”

“Clearly he ended up deep in the unpleasant ones in the meantime,” Douglas replies with a cheeky grin. “You two,” he looks right at the remaining couple who are currently tending to the drunk woman, “Millie”. They look startled to be addressed while the woman you finally identify as Millian of Sunston pouts at her empty goblet. “Would you be so kind as to guide me to his,” he jostles the still unconscious Wilhelm, “rooms?” Despite that his words are technically a question, Douglas makes it clear there is only one answer he expects. He’s always been rather good at that. Being taller than even Dale helps. “I think it best we aid these two in sleeping the night's events off in peace.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” the woman replies, grateful enough you don’t think she even noticed the implied threat. “My apologies, Dale, for my brother. He—no, no. I apologize profusely for his misbehavior and offer no excuses. We could give none that would be adequate.”

“Peace, Helena,” Dale says, sounding tired. “I should not have encouraged him to enjoy himself so in order to compensate for changing my mind regarding his posting. Regardless, his actions are not your own.”

“Nor yours,” she replies with a self-deprecating smile, “As he has proven himself worthy your reluctance in one foul swoop. I appreciate your understanding his disappointment manifesting itself as it did.”

Dale nods, uninterested in making the night’s ordeal into a longer affair with more obvious recompense as is his right as the challenged noble, the winner of the informal duel, and the owner of this home. For all her feigned confidence, Helena seems relieved at Dale’s easy agreement. You walk over to them, handing Dale his cane back. His eyes are as intent as they ever have been as he looks you over, even though you were not even in the fight. Once secure in your well being, he turns back to Helena. “Please do impress upon him my intolerance of slights aimed at my bethrothed, if not at myself. He’d be wise to apologize.”

“Of course,” Helena reassures him before meeting your eyes. “I beg his pardon and apologize in his stead tonight, my lady. He should never have said what he did and he would never have said them, if not for his overindulgence.”

“I understand and accept your apology,” you reply formally. “We all are aware of how too much fine wine can befuddle the mind and confuse the tongue.”

Millian scoffs at the word ‘confuse’ and Helena and her friend take the opportunity to hustle her away, leading Douglas to sling Wilhelm over his shoulder and follow.

As soon as they are back inside, you notice everyone else in this courtyard has gone as well, only Dale’s valet waits for you within the grand hall’s doorway and Callalily’s district purple and gold dress is evident through the glass window to the right. Grateful you’ve no more audience, you turn to Dale, reaching to trace the cut scored along his vest from Wilhelm’s rapier. “Dale, are you alright? Truly?”

Dale catches your hand in his own larger one. “I’m fine, sana,” Dale says, trying for a smile, but not quite reaching one. 

Your disbelief must show on your face because he wipes his free hand down his face and sighs. “I am only tired, as we have discussed.” His thumb absentmindedly strokes the back of your hand, both comforting you and sending a pleasing tingle down your arm. He looks contrite as he says, “I apologize for instigating such a scene.”

“It was no more your fault than Lady Helena’s,” you say, aiming to reassure him. You hope he can tell you’re referring to both his handling of the situation tonight and his decision not to give the swordsmaster posting to Wilhelm in the first place.

You think he understands you, some of the tension in his shoulders dissipating. And yet, he still looks more upset than you’d like from the night’s events. He shakes his head lightly. “All the same, my apologies for the trouble I’ve played a hand in causing.”

“Dale, there’s nothing you’ve done that warrants apology,” you say as sincerely as you are able to.

He gives another small smile in function, if not in sentiment, and lets go of your hand. Reluctantly, you pull it back to yourself, unable to reach back out after he’s pulled away. You glance back inside the hall and try for a smile yourself, hoping to get everything back into a more typical mood. “Shall we return?”

“I’m more tired than I expected after that confrontation,” Dale confesses, shoving his hands into his pockets. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll retire for the night.”

You’re tempted to say that in fact you will not excuse him. You want to demand to know what is weighing so heavily on him these past few days, to shoulder the burden in some way. The most you can likely do is listen to him and he won’t even allow that much. All you need to do is wait three more days, you remind yourself. In three days, you’ll be married and finally alone with each other. You can finally have an honest, private conversation and start your partnership together. You can wait that long. You can. “Of course,” you allow, however reluctantly, “have a restful night.”

A sardonic smile crosses Dale’s face and you think he’s going to make a quip about his tiredness or how much sleep he requires, but then it fades. Do demons get nightmares? Is something else contributing to his exhaustion beyond the galas or the investigation? He looks up at the now dark night sky for a moment before he looks back down at you. He opens his mouth and you think he’s actually going to confide in you. In the end, all he says before walking away is, “I wish the same for you.”

[Part Twenty-Nine]

[shirtlesssammy]

Dean Winchester every day -- 278/326

Supernatural 13x14//Good Intentions

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Chapter Twenty-Eight

You reluctantly adjust to life in your new situation.

Ongoing Silco x fem!reader fic (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,700

Warnings: Imprisonment, confinement, nonconsensual bondage, kidnapping, themes of hopelessness and feeling trapped, Silco is in denial about how badly he's fucked this up, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), ass play, handjob.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

After enough time, you stopped noticing the restraints. 

Not for the first few days, obviously. In the first few days, you had struggled so hard against it that your wrist and forearm were scratched up and raw. It had been bad enough that Silco had replaced the metal cuff with a padded one on the other wrist so he could treat the wounds and bandage you up.

He had been careful not to let you have both wrists freed at once. He seemed suspicious that you would run if given the opportunity. 

Silco always had been clever. 

Eventually, he agreed that binding you to his headboard was a bad idea. If nothing else, you were sure he was tired of cuffing himself to you so you could reach the bathroom. Not to mention the crumbs you got all over everything when you tried to eat one-handed. 

He had settled on a padded ankle cuff, linked to the footboard with a long length of thin chain. You had hoped the smaller links would mean they were easier to break, but you hadn’t managed it yet and the switch had been made days ago. 

You had enough range of movement to go into Silco’s office if you chose, but you never had. When you were away from him, you could try your hand at picking the lock as many times as you needed without worrying about being caught. 

Unfortunately, you had never found enough reason to learn how to pick a lock, and poking around with the back of a tie pin turned out to be ineffective. 

Far more of a concern than your lack of skill with lock-picking was that you were starting to lose the willpower you’d started out with. In your weaker moments - particularly when falling asleep - you wondered whether this was such a bad situation after all. You cared for Silco, and being away from him had been painful. Now, you were around him all the time, except when he was conducting private business in his office. But he had even welcomed you to sit in on some of those meetings. 

For his part, Silco was nothing other than a doting partner. He brought you meals and snacks - the highest possible quality of all your favorite foods. He wasn’t impatient when you lashed out or grew moody. He switched the cuff from one ankle to another every day, massaging the other ankle with a healing balm to take away any pain in the joint. 

He never touched you unless you initiated the contact. In your first few days, you had refused to share the bed with him. On your second night on the floor, he asked if you were going to continue sleeping down there. If so, he would purchase a second mattress so you could be more comfortable.

It had struck you as terrifying. Silco had shown that he was more than willing to do this long-term. The idea of keeping someone captive to have them nearby was clearly not a problem for him. You had snuggled closer to him in your sleep a few nights before and he had kissed the crown of your head, murmuring that he would do anything for you. 

Even now, you wondered why Silco’s strict routines felt so comforting.

But then you would think of the Haven, or catch sight of a Shimmer addict in the street. Were they looking for you? It had been well over a week since you had met with Silco and they still hadn’t heard from you. Silco had never sent anyone to retrieve your belongings, either. As far as anyone knew, you had left the Haven and never came back. 

The reality of your isolation rose up, threatening to send you into a spiral, but you made yourself remember that there were people who would find your absence suspicious. The Haven’s volunteers. Jazper. Jayce and Viktor. Surely your friends at the Haven had raised some kind of alarm about you being missing. 

Hope for that started to fade when there had been no grand rescue. The terror had faded, as had your anger. The anger lasted far longer, but when its warmth left, you had to come to terms with how utterly bored you were. 

Without Silco around, his room was profoundly uninteresting. The door to his office was locked intermittently, whenever he had a meeting with someone who was particularly dangerous. Silco had admitted that he met with some people who may get the wrong idea about you. The sight of a bound woman was likely to attract dangerous attention. That was especially true for you, given how public your ‘feud’ with Silco had been. 

So you had decided to try your luck with one of Silco’s other doors. The chain around your ankle wasn’t quite long enough for you to wander out onto the balcony that overlooked the Last Drop’s dance floor. That left only the door that led to the circuitous route Jinx had led you along during one of your trips here. 

You reached the door easily, even managing to make it down the first few steps before the chain had stretched as far as it could. You stood there for too long, bound ankle stretched behind you while you stared longingly down the darkened stairwell. There was no way to leave, but the illusion of freedom was enticing. It lured you in like- well, a lot like Silco had.

With that disconcerting thought, you turned and started back into your makeshift cell. 

The ugly vase still stood on the table at the top of the stairs… but it wasn’t the only thing on the table. There was a little mechanical… thing perched beside it. It was an incomprehensible mass of gears and springs to you, but the neon paint told you that Jinx had made it. Not that you had needed the help - there was a messy sign in front of it that read Hey, Dad!

You studied the gift. If you squinted and tipped your head to one side, it almost looked like a little creature. Its legs were stumpy twists of wires. Two gears formed its eyes. It had a fanged mouth made of a dozen sharp metal points on a hinge. You smiled at the ingenuity despite yourself as you passed it.

…And then you circled back around, staring at it intently. Jinx never built anything that wasn’t capable of doing lethal damage. Those sharp teeth looked strong. 

Strong enough, perhaps, to bite through a thin chain.

You had snatched up the device the instant you thought it, suddenly uncaring whether or not it had been designed to explode. Fortunately, it didn't, and the jaws really were on a hinge that you could operate by hand. 

You didn't try to break the chain near your ankle. Silco checked it often and you knew, if this worked, that you would only get one chance at it. 

Somewhere around the middle of the length seemed like the best option. The first bite didn't do any visible damage and you held your breath as you tried again. The second one left no mark and neither did the third. You didn't expect much from the fourth, fifth, or sixth, or any of the dozen squeezes you gave after them. Anger was your excuse and you swore, quietly enraged at the option that had been taken from you. 

Somewhere around the thirtieth bite or so, the chain went slack. It took a moment for realization to filter through the cloud of grief and fury, but you snatched up the chain. Sure enough, you had managed to break it. 

It wasn't neat or clean. The ends were ragged, discolored by the paint on the thing's teeth. If Silco looked too close, he would know what had happened. 

So you spent an hour carefully tying the ends back together, tucking the straggled parts into the tiny knot as well as you could. You wound the excess into a thick coil on the floor the way you sometime did when you were feeling particularly domestic and trying to neaten up the room.

It was late in the evening by that point and crowds of The Last Drop were thinning. More importantly, Silco would be coming back into his room soon. There was no choice but to wait, bide your time until the next day. If you broke the knot and left as soon as Silco went to his office, you would have hours before anyone knew you were gone. 

You could only hope that your acting skills were up to the task. 

When Silco returned to the room at the end of the night, you were lying on the bed with your free ankle crossed casually over the cuffed one. Your head and shoulders were comfortably propped up on a pillow and you were reading a book. 

He undressed quickly, stripping off the layers of his outfit. When he settled onto the bed beside you, he gave a contented sigh. “You look comfortable, pet. How was your day?” 

“Quiet.” 

Silco hummed. “For the best, I think. At least you avoided meeting with the fools who wasted my time this evening.” 

“They can’t have been too terrible if you didn’t need to be distracted from them,” you answered, striving to sound normal. Silco couldn’t know anything was going on. The slightest hint of oddness from you would put him on alert. If he didn’t catch you outright, it would make escaping that much more difficult. 

He chuckled. “Did you want to hide under my desk again, sweetheart? I would gladly let you, but you leave a trail at the moment.” 

You held your breath as Silco reached down to give the chain a sharp tug. It held, thankfully, and he continued speaking as he ran his thumb over the narrow links.

“But perhaps not for much longer.” 

The considering tone in Silco’s voice made you tilt your head at him. “What does that mean?” 

Silco released the chain. “You’ve done well, better than I credited you for. You have adjusted to this life more gracefully than I believed you would, and it is only right for me to reward that effort.” 

You lifted a brow, pulling your chained ankle upward. Silco smiled, patting your leg gently. “Not yet. You are moving in the right direction, and if that continues, I will gladly afford you more freedom. You will earn your release from the restraints soon, but I can’t risk you making some kind of ill-considered escape attempt.” 

Oh, if he only knew how much thought you had put into your escape attempt, he wouldn’t dare to call it ‘ill-considered’.

You were pulled from that line of thought when Silco’s hand - having rested comfortably on your calf - moved slowly upward. You looked at his face, startled. 

The beginnings of heat flickered in Silco’s expression. “Though perhaps you have earned release of a different sort.” 

That was a surprise. Silco hadn’t touched you since he had first chained you to his bed - not in a sexual way, at least. You woke up entwined with him most afternoons, and your days were filled with casual touches from him. But he had never pushed himself on you. And you had been far too furious with him to initiate anything.

The moral part of your mind wanted to shove him away. He had betrayed your trust in almost every way you could think of, and the last thing you wanted to do was reward that. 

The other part of you was less certain. You were still mad at Silco - of course you were - but your body wasn’t so sure about it. Being so close to him and not having sex had made every nerve sing with uncertain need. You had conditioned your body into associating Silco with sex and it was a difficult thing to fight. 

You marked your spot in the book and set it aside so you could give Silco your full attention. “You want to have sex?” 

“No.” 

The sudden refusal made you blink. “Then what are you talking about?” 

Silco drummed his fingers thoughtfully against your thigh. “I believe it would be best to avoid sex until you are no longer bound to my bed.” 

That seemed counterintuitive, especially since he was the one who had bound you to his bed. Apparently, your thoughts were clear on your face because Silco chuckled and patted your thigh. “I have all the power, pet. It would be unfair.” 

That made you laugh disbelievingly. “You’ve set up a power imbalance in our relationship from the first agreement we ever made! And now it’s a problem?” 

“Because our first agreement was about business,” Silco told you, expression solemn. “Our second - the security for the Haven - was about your safety. And now we love each other. In the spirit of starting our relationship off on the correct footing, we cannot fuck until you are free to walk away from me. Otherwise, how can I be certain that you are not accepting me out of mere obligation?”

Attempting to convince him was futile. Silco didn’t change his mind after he made a decision… but if he was so concerned with the health of your hypothetical relationship, you couldn’t believe that he would refuse to listen. 

“I may love you, but I haven’t agreed to be in a relationship with you.” You headed off the fast-growing darkness in Silco’s eyes, quickly adding, “I want that, but I can’t stand by while you plan to hurt the people of Zaun in an attempt to fight a war with Piltover. There has to be another way.” 

Silco sighed, raking fingers through his hair. “Do you truly need to have this conversation again? Very well. There is no other way. Piltover has the advantage on every front imaginable: they have superior numbers, weaponry, economy, food sources, medical care, infrastructure. How can we fight them without some advantage?”

“But this advantage?” you pressed. “You will hurt our people. Kill our people. How many of them are you willing to sacrifice for this takeover?” 

“As many as it takes,” Silco told you steadily. “However many give their lives, it will still be less than those who lost their lives to Piltover’s abuse and neglect over the past decade. It will be less than the number who will survive in the future because Piltover can no longer heap their disdain on us.”

“And while you turn the people into monsters, you’ll make sure they can’t possibly have a future alongside Piltover,” you summarized. “Even if you kill their Council and replace them with our people, Piltover will look for a chance to retaliate against Zaun. Our people will forever live in fear of some revenge plot.”

“Not if we create a terrible consequence for retaliation,” Silco told you, thumb tracing circles against your hip. “During the first rebellion against Piltover, we came to a realization. The only way to defeat a superior enemy is to stop at nothing. To become what they fear. And what Piltover fears is that we are precisely the monsters that they have painted us.”

Your shoulders eased away from your ears at the intractable set of Silco’s face. You weren’t going to change his mind after all. It was a counterintuitive relief - you didn’t have to keep fighting for this relationship, not if it was doomed before it ever truly began. 

With a resigned sort of smile, you picked up your book again. Silco snatched it from you, putting it on the bedside table behind him. “What does that mean for your decision?” 

“I’m not sure,” you lied. “I need time to think about everything.” 

“But you will consider it?” he asked. 

You gestured down at your ankle. “Not like I have a lot of other things to do.” 

“Mmm,” Silco hummed, bending to kiss your shoulder. “You have options at this moment.” 

“Do I?” You frowned at him. “I thought you didn’t want to sleep together until you decide to take off this chain.” 

“I will not fuck you,” he corrected, sliding down slightly to press another kiss to your hip. “But there are other ways I can bring you pleasure.” 

You fought that for approximately half a second. You were furious with Silco and half-grieving the relationship that you could clearly never have, but your body was still reacting to the way he touched you. Besides, if you accepted this, it would reduce the risk that he would decide to examine your chain before the two of you went to sleep. 

“Yes,” you agreed softly. “Please.” 

Silco grinned, chipped teeth on full display as he began to strip off your clothes. “I’ve missed this, sweetheart. Missed the way you taste. The way you feel, bucking against my face. The sounds you make.” 

You groaned, leaning back against the pillows as your nipples tightened with need. The moment your shorts had disappeared from around your ankles, your thighs fell wide without any instruction from you.

“Beautiful,” Silco whispered, studying you greedily. He leaned in for a kiss, meeting your lips passionately as you melted beneath him. He made one brief stop to tease at one of your nipples, then delved between your legs. 

You cried out in shock at the suddenness of it all, but Silco didn’t so much as pause. His lips parted around your clit, sucking it into his mouth quickly and with such strong suction that it stung. Your hips wriggled, fighting to dislodge him and retreat back to a place with less overwhelming sensation, but Silco had wrapped his arms around your thighs. He held you in place, not allowing you to close your legs or move away. Instead, you were forced to lay steady under the onslaught. 

When he moved away, your abused clit was swollen and distended enough to peek from between your swollen lips. That left it uniquely unprotected from the pressure of the bridge of Silco’s nose as he delved in to thrust his tongue into your channel. 

You made a wordless sound of delirious pleasure, hips jolting again. This time, your body was fighting to push closer to him instead of pulling away. Silco still didn’t let you move, stiffening his tongue to thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm.

Your head tipped back as the pleasure overwhelmed you, but you caught sight of Silco’s hips grinding into the mattress. The idea of him getting hard and needy from eating you out made your inner muscles clamp down around his tongue. 

Silco’s mismatched eyes were burning up at you, peeking over the top edge of your mound. You watched his eyebrows furrow slightly as he pulled his tongue from you and reapplied his efforts to your clit. 

One of the hands that had held you pinned down moved, sinking two fingers deep into your pussy. Unerringly, they found the wonderful, terrible spot that made you see explosions of color behind your eyelids. He rubbed, pressed, and teased against that place until you felt like you couldn’t take a full breath. 

Just as you saw the chasm of release opening up ahead of you, there was a tickling sensation at your rear as Silco teased at the puckered ring of muscle with his pinky. It was enough to make you pause for a split second, then his smallest finger sank as deep as it could get and everything hit you with the force of a train. 

You screamed with the overwhelming sensations. Sucking mouth, teasing fingers, and one cheeky digit playing in a private place all combined to turn you into a shaking, babbling mess. You were pleading incoherently by the time Silco finally pulled away from you. 

“Shh, my love,” he soothed, gingerly pulling his fingers free of you. “We are almost finished.” 

“Almost?” you repeated, dismayed. 

Silco kissed your inner thigh briefly before sinking his teeth into the flesh and biting down. You groaned - not quite a cry, but loud as your abused throat could manage. It didn’t hurt, not with the flood of endorphins you were currently floating on, but you could feel it in a way that warned you would be sore later. 

“What was that for?” you asked when he pulled away with another kiss to the throbbing skin of your thigh. 

“I wanted to make sure I left my mark on you,” he said. “Perhaps I meant it as a reminder while you consider a relationship with me.”

Silco rolled onto his side, revealing a throbbing cock. It was flushed red, the tip visibly leaking precum. A damp spot on the sheets marked the exact place where he had been laying.

You reached toward his length. “Need some help?” 

“I will not take advantage,” he insisted, trapping your hand against the mattress. 

“I’m offering a handjob,” you said, exasperated. “Nothing advantageous.” 

Silco hesitated for just long enough that you freed yourself and took hold of him in a loose grasp. He immediately wrapped a hand around yours, forcing your grip tighter as your combined hold moved up and down throbbing flesh slicked by precum and sweat. 

It took a shockingly short amount of time to take Silco to the brink. He had half-risen to his knees, holding your hand steady as he thrust into it over and over again. He was panting with exertion and need, gritting out your name every half-dozen strokes. 

Silco snatched up a piece of discarded clothing, holding it against his tip as he went ever-closer to the edge. His hand spasmed around yours, clutching himself with your hand as his blue-green eye went heavy-lidded and his mouth went slack. The rest of his body went rigid with tension and he spilled hot cum in waves that seemed like they would never end. 

He finally released your fingers from around his cock when it started to soften within your grip. He cleaned off your hand with the same shirt, briefly smearing your skin with more cum and kissing you deeply before you could comment on it. 

“You remain perfection itself, my love,” Silco commented, tucking you against him. 

He fell asleep as the muted dawn started to brighten the sky outside the window. You lay awake long afterward, silent tears soaking the pillow beneath your cheek. 

How terrible it was to have something so close to perfect but have to walk away.

---

Author's Note - Only two more chapters, can you believe it? They're both going to be a lot, so brace yourselves!

Thank you to everyone who's still reading this story after nearly three years. I read your kind comments over and over, and I'm stunned every time at the general positive response over the years. Thank you all for sharing your thoughts, theories, and reactions - they're such a treasure!

Have a great day and I'll see you next month!

[elliottkay]

Hi, I’m Elliott, and writing smut changed my life.

I also write military sci-fi and fantasy and D&D shitposts, but this is about the smut. I promise it won’t get weird. Much.

In 2010, I was scraping by as a substitute teacher and things were not great at home. I had only written gamer fic for friends, my aspiring mil sci-fi novel was stuck, and I needed some sort of escape… and I thought, “Well, I like sexy stories, and Literotica is free, and…”

My story was a feel-good adventure about a college guy with a heart of gold, a jaded demon weary of evil, and Heaven's hottest mess. It was silly. It was sexy. It was polyamorous, warm, and irreverent, and Literotica loved it: high ranking, tons of comments, and holy shit am I getting positive feedback from the internet?

So it became my first book:

…and that book plugged some holes in my life. It didn’t get me out of subbing, but it filled the financial gap, and it picked me up after a break-up. More importantly, it gave me an audience. When I published Poor Man’s Fight, I already had readers, and that led to more readers… many of whom then picked up Good Intentions and loved that, too, though some had the shocking experience of “Oh my god, it’s full of butts!”

If you’ve read this far, it’s probably time for the content warning. I’m a big believer in these, for serious reasons and, um… less serious.

WARNING: “Good Intentions” contains violence, explicit sex, nudity, inappropriate use of church property, portrayals of beings divine and demonic bearing little or no resemblance to established religion or mythology, trespassing, bad language, sacrilege, blasphemy, attempted murder, arguable murder, divinely mandated murder, justifiable murder, filthy murder, sexual promiscuity, kidnapping, attempted rape (which is never comedy), immolation of said attempted rapists, persistent disrespect for vampires (which is always comedy), arson, dead animals, desecrated graves, gang activity, theft, assault and battery, panties, misuse of the 911 system, fantasy depictions of sorcery and witchcraft, multiple references to various matters of fandom, questionable interrogation tactics, cell phone abuse, reckless driving, even more explicit sexuality, illegal use of firearms within city limits, polyamory, abuse of authority, hit and run driving, destruction of private property, underage drinking, disturbances of the peace, disorderly conduct, internet harassment, bearers of false witness, mayhem, dismemberment, falsification of records, tax evasion, bad study habits, and an uncomfortably sexy mother.

…and that’s just the first book.

They've all got those warnings. Even the short story collections.

Credit to the incredible @leemoyer for all my book covers, and for teaching me so much about this biz. And while he's not on the book covers, I've gotta share the other central protagonist as illustrated by the awesome @juliedillon:

...yeah, Alex gets into some shit.

If you're looking for protagonists who really communicate, if you want polyamory instead of love triangles, and if you hate when steamy scenes fade to black, I've got you covered.

If you’ve read this far and you’re interested, or even if you just want to see more content warnings, please give my stuff a look on Amazon (including Kindle Unlimited) or on Audible where they’re narrated by Tess Irondale. Give her a listen and you’d be happy to hear her read just about anything.

[thoughtartistry]

Life is magic. 🕯

[quotablefanfiction]

Every once in awhile, Shinichi found himself wondering how he could possibly be related to two such flighty, insane people as his parents. Then genetics would rear their ugly head, and he’d realize he’d just done something completely senseless and stupid too late to do anything about it and he’d have his answer.

Shinichi has regrets (chp. 5)

Good Intentions by tsuanyue (FF.net) Case Closed (Meitantei Conan) – Teen/Mature – Kudo Shinichi/Kuroba Kaito #Humor #Romance #Secret Identities #First Date #Oblivious!Shinichi #Mild Violence

…and you know where those lead. Less than half the trouble Shinichi gets into is because he’s nosy. Really, he’s just too nice for his own good. Something Kaito takes advantage of.

[i-used-to-be-a-spy]

Michael is surprised Sam is doing dishes which makes me think he normally just leaves dirty dishes and Michael has to clean them lol 😆

S3e15 Good Intentions