#Silco x m!reader

[ace-of-zaun]

It’s Because:

Silco x gn!reader - 1k words - SFW

cw: fluff, angst, pining, denial of feelings, falling in love, brief mentions of death, injury, and trauma, happy ending

summary: Silco is not in love. At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

a/n: i’ve never written anything like this before, i hope it works!! (it really hurt to type as well but my physio told me i had to.) inspired by the song i’m not in love by 10cc

Silco is not in love.

Unequivocally, categorically not in love. 

He doesn’t even know what love is when he meets you as a jaded, starving teenager, too busy trying to make ends meet to even think about something as trivial as love. But he does know that the easy way you smile when you meet his eyes makes his day just that little bit brighter. 

He’s not in love when he spots you a few years later, standing quietly amongst the meagre crowd in the bar, listening to his rallying speech of change and independence. Although, the spark in your eyes as you watch him is like a match to the burning in his chest, and for once in his life, it makes him feel alive. 

Silco isn’t in love when he accompanies you on mission after mission, learning to trust one another as he watches your back and you watch his in return, securing resources, and medicine, and meals for the starving children of his city. It’s just the adrenaline from the sprint back home, as you both narrowly escape the Enforcer’s clutches, that sets his heart racing to the dozen.

He can’t be in love when he watches you from across the bar, laughing, and singing, and dancing along to the jukebox, unaware of how effortlessly you light up the room. And so what if deep down he wants to join you and bathe in that light, soaking you in until you're his? It’s not like it means anything anyway. 

There’s no such thing as love on his birthday when he refuses to tell anyone the significance of the day, instead scowling down at yet another shipping manifest. Except, when you hand him a cupcake and kiss his cheek as you walk through the bar on your way to the market, he hopes the red of his ears and the longing expression isn’t too noticeable. 

Love isn’t present on the night you cry in his arms, heaving sobs that wrack your body as you mourn those lost in the fight, yet more casualties in this never ending fight for freedom. It’s simply the right thing to do when he lulls you to sleep, shushing your cries until your breathing slowly evens and your heart beats sync up with his. 

Silco tells himself he isn’t in love when you sit side by side, legs dangling off the little bridge that crosses the river as he gifts you a starburst necklace that once was his mother’s. And it certainly doesn’t mean anything when you gaze up at him with the softest smile, intertwining your fingers with his while you gently rest your head on his shoulder. 

He is not in love the day you stand with him in the little alcove across the street from the bar, sheltering from the rain that drips down to form galaxies of puddles along the square floor. You’re up on your tip-toes, his arm is around your waist, and when your nose bumps against his, his heart beats so loud he’s sure you can hear it-

But then his brother is suddenly there, pulling him away from you as he insists he goes for a walk with him, and Silco makes the worst decision of his life and agrees. 

In thunder and rain, Silco knows that love ends in nothing but betrayal when he is forced to disappear, body pulsing with pain, mind in tatters. He’s hurting, and angry, and beyond scared. But weaved in between it all, he thinks of you and pictures the way you looked and felt beneath his fingertips, and thinks that maybe it’s not all bad. 

There’s no time to think of love when, years later, he finally gets his revenge and reclaims his bar, his home; a second chance at raising the city his people deserve. Though, it’s almost like serendipity when he happens to take a break from arranging his schedule to look through the window down into the square, and there you are, standing in the middle of the street silently watching his workers carry in new furniture. 

He isn’t in love when he runs down to you, nearly tripping down the stairs in his haste, pushing through the doors until you’re right there in front of him, the only place he truly feels safe. But when you don’t scream or slap him or curse him for leaving you, instead striding across the distance to throw your arms around him in a tight embrace, he forces himself to choke back his tears and allows yours to soak into his shoulder instead. 

Silco continues to remind himself that he’s not in love in the coming months, while you sit beside him day after day, helping him put his plans into motion, listening to every word, every worry, every whisper. Really, who can even tell that his heart skips a beat when he spots that you’re still wearing his mother’s necklace, still so mirandous even after all this time?

He’s not in love the evening you sit atop the bar, laughing as you retell a story from your youth, caught delightfully off-guard when he can’t help but surge forward, capturing your lips while his hands cup your heated cheeks. It’s just one of those things, he supposes, to finally feel content standing between your legs, your own lips pressed in a smile against his, in a way that kick starts his once dead heart. 

But now, nearly two decades after he’d first laid eyes on you as a naïve boy, he lays next to you in bed and watches you sleep peacefully, tangled in the sheets the same way you’ve weaved yourself into his heart. And in the quiet lull of the night, he runs his fingers over a shiny, jewelled ring, custom-forged to match his mother’s necklace that still rests around your neck. 

He thinks of easy mornings and four-word questions, and for the first time in his life, allows himself to simply feel. 

Maybe, just maybe, Silco is in love. 

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 1/?)

Silco was at his limit. The last few days had been a whirlwind, made worse by Jinx's eccentricities, which Sevika couldn't control. He was exhausted, his nerves on edge, so, as if it were the most obvious solution, one of his subordinates suggested that he relax… in a brothel. The idea was so offensive that Silco almost killed him right there. But in the end, there he was and unfortunately or fortunately you are the lucky one who will serve him.

Silco x fem!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI) Word Count: 4,9K Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, oral sex (m!receiving), dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, discussion (a few lines), you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut because the male POV It just hits ✨different✨), an obsessive Silco in the end?

I got into my obsessive phase with this man again thanks to the second season of Arcane and I had to turn a conversation with a janitor bot into a fanfic. This is my first time posting something here so I have no idea what I'm doing lol… English is not my first language, sorry if there are mistakes.

The room reeked of overly sweet flowers, a cloying mixture of perfumes that you never found pleasant but managed to endure. Dressed in a simple white satin gown, which men liked to dismissively call "easy access," you stood behind the curtain, taking deep breaths and trying to hide the trembling in your hands. This wasn’t your first time dealing with difficult clients at the brothel, but this time, it felt different.

Silco.

His name alone was enough to make your breath hitch, and not in a good way. The feared, self-proclaimed leader of Zaun was seated on the couch, his arms draped casually over the backrest while his eye—or rather, his good eye—surveyed the room with evident impatience. You could tell he was irritated, perhaps even more so than the rumors had suggested when he arrived at the brothel. The deep lines on his face seemed sharper under the dim lighting, and he ran his tongue over his lips, muttering something you couldn’t catch.

You knew there was no choice. Refusal would bring consequences far worse than simply losing money. So you swallowed your fear, lifted your chin, and stepped through the curtain with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your steps were steady, but your heart waged a frenzied battle against your ribcage.

He didn’t seem impressed at first glance, but you could feel his gaze weighing on you as you moved closer. Each step shrank the safety distance between you. Your body moved almost instinctively from there, guided by the muscle memory of your unconventional profession. Carefully, you leaned down, letting yourself settle into his lap. Curiously, Silco showed no visible signs of discomfort, but he didn’t seem particularly engaged either, which only heightened your anxiety.

You assumed he would take the initiative, steering things more directly as clients often did here. The small talk, the courtesies—they always seemed unnecessary in a place like this. Your hands hesitated as they reached his shoulders, finding them rigid at first, but he appeared to relax slightly, sinking back into the sofa with a heavy sigh. It took you another moment to finally find your voice.

“You seem... stressed.”

“Those men aggravate me.” he muttered in response, his voice heavy with frustration, as if exhaustion had seeped into his very soul at that moment.

You nodded as though you understood perfectly. Of course, you didn’t, but you knew how to agree with powerful men without questioning them. Despite the fear that churned within you, you noticed something: he had let you touch him. A rare allowance for someone as reserved and commanding as Silco. The realization was strange, but it made you move your hands more carefully, wanting to prolong his apparent calm.

Silco’s mismatched eyes—one blue, the other orange—scrutinized you with an intensity that made you feel as though he was truly seeing you for the first time. He tilted his head slightly and asked, his tone more curious than cold:

“You haven’t told me your name.”

“Call me whatever you wish,” you replied sweetly, your voice melodious, though only you knew how forced every word felt. Your fingers, braver than your spirit, began tracing subtle lines across his chest, feeling the expensive fabric of his clothing and the warmth of his body beneath it.

“I’m aware of that, but I’d still like to know your name.”

After a moment’s hesitation, you gave him your name. Silco repeated it, testing the syllables on his tongue. Hearing your name spoken by him unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite place—it was strange how easily it rolled off his lips, as though it meant nothing, and at the same time many things. You weren’t sure if he was genuinely interested or if it was just conversational habit, but the fact that he asked stirred something within you.

“It suits you.” he said. From the subtle curl of his lips, you knew he’d noticed your nervousness. “Indulge my curiosity. What brings a woman as beautiful as you to a place like this? Surely, you have dreams that extend beyond satisfying the desires of others.”

Before you could think of a response, Silco's fingers moved to your face, brushing aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen over your shoulder. The touch was slow and soft—almost too intimate for someone like him. The warmth of his fingertips against your skin sent a shiver coursing through your body. Your instinct was to pull away, but you didn’t dare.

Swallowing your hesitation, you leaned slightly into his hand, like a cat seeking affection. Your posture remained controlled, the smile on your lips unwavering.

“Me? Well, I’m like any child of Zaun... I had to find a way to survive, so let’s skip the tragic parts of the story.” Your fingers began to toy with the fabric of Silco’s suit, admiring the quality of the material. It was the kind of fabric you’d never dreamed of owning, let alone touching. “I got lucky with my looks because, honestly, having sex and earning money beats living on the streets.”

You forced a smile as you said the words, trying to project confidence, though the very idea of finding yourself here still felt unreal. What you truly wanted to say was something entirely different: that you hadn’t had a choice. But that part, you kept to yourself.

“Besides, if I hadn’t chosen this path, I would never have had the chance to be here with you.”

It was an empty, contrived line, but you assumed it was what he wanted to hear. That had always been your role—making others feel desired, as though being in their presence was a privilege for you. Deep down, the bitterness of the lie gnawed at you, but you’d long since mastered the art of hiding it.

Silco’s touch, still unexpectedly gentle, lingered on your face, tracing the curve of your jawline with a calmness that seemed to contradict the dangerous aura surrounding him. Every nerve in your body was on high alert as he stayed silent, simply observing you, his fingers mapping your features. You couldn’t ignore the satisfaction he seemed to draw from your hesitation, as though your nervousness was precisely what he wanted to extract.

“I can see why the men of Zaun would pay handsomely for your... company,” Silco murmured, his voice low and deliberate as his fingers trailed down to your lips. “Still, surely you could have found another path. Something that didn’t involve selling yourself to the highest bidder.”

The disapproval in his tone struck like an invisible slap. You blinked, startled, unable to hide the brief flicker of disbelief on your face. Him? The chemical baron who ruled Zaun, questioning your morality? He, who built his fortune by exploiting desperation and chaos through Shimmer? It was almost laughable, but the weight of his words left no room for humor.

“Tell me the truth,” he continued, his voice slow, each word laced with a faint, mocking edge. “Is this what you want? Spending your nights warming the beds of strangers, smiling as they use you for their pleasure?”

Your fingers, which had been toying with the fabric of his suit, returned to your own body, creating the barest sliver of distance between you—though it felt impossible to achieve while still perched on his lap. You briefly considered keeping up the act, retreating to the mask of seduction and sweetness. But something about his tone, the intensity in the look he gave you, made it clear he wouldn’t accept a rehearsed answer.

"You’re hardly in a position to lecture anyone about morality, you know that?" Your voice was steadier now, stripped of the syrupy tones you had wielded before. There was still caution, but also something resembling either confidence or sheer madness. You weren’t entirely sure what was fueling you. "But the truth is, you don’t have much choice when you attract too much attention. Men have this pathetic need to turn anything they desire into property. If I weren’t here, I’d probably be some baron’s plaything... or any other man’s who thought he had that right."

You caught the slight shift in his expression, but you didn’t stop before he could interrupt.

"At least in the brothel, I have a small sense of safety. Here, we protect each other. It’s not ideal, but it’s enough to survive." Your words dripped with a cynicism you wore like armor, but they were genuine. Silco remained silent. "Satisfied?"

His touch grew firmer then, his hand gripping your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. Silco didn’t settle for easy answers, and that kept you on edge. His mismatched eyes bore into yours, as if he could rip the truth from behind your façade by force. For a moment, your body betrayed your mind, trembling under the weight of his focus—or perhaps under the heat radiating from him.

"No," he said softly, his voice laced with an undeniable authority. "I’m not satisfied."

There was something in his tone that both soothed and terrified you. "I recognize value when I see it, and you’re not just a pretty face or a warm body to be used and discarded. You’re a survivor, my dear. And survivors don’t settle for scraps when they could have the entire feast."

Silco leaned closer, his face now so near that you could feel his breath ghosting over your skin. The hand that had been holding your chin slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer. He was invading your space, breaking every boundary you had tried to set before. It should have made you furious, and yet, there was something maddeningly magnetic about his words, his tone. Like a moth drawn to the flame.

"And what if I told you." he murmured, his voice dropping into a husky whisper near your ear, "That I could offer you another path? A way out of this gilded cage you’ve trapped yourself in? All you have to do is say yes."

It was tempting—far too tempting. But you knew better. This was a trap, a carefully spun illusion of power designed to lure you in. Silco wasn’t just a chem-baron; he was a master manipulator, someone who played people like pieces on a chessboard. His hands were stained with blood, and you weren’t going to become one of his victims.

Your shoulders tensed, and your hands moved to his shoulders, pushing lightly as though instinctively trying to create space between you.

"You’re right about one thing," you whispered back, your voice low but carrying a newfound confidence even you didn’t quite recognize. "I’m a survivor, precisely because I don’t trust men like you."

Your nails dug into his shoulders—not to hurt him, but as a way to anchor yourself, to remind yourself that you still had some semblance of control. To keep yourself from faltering under the weight of his presence. After all, few dared to deny Silco, knowing full well he could take whatever he wanted in the end.

"It’d be foolish of me to say ‘yes’ so easily..." you continued, taking a measured breath to steel yourself. "Everyone in Zaun knows that accepting one of your offers is the same as selling your soul to the devil."

Silco's movement, leaning back slightly to return a fraction of space to you, wasn’t a concession—it was a strategy. He was calculating his next move, and you knew it. His gaze remained fixed on you, and despite his apparent calm, you could feel the weight of his stare—heavy, like a verdict. He didn’t like being challenged, especially by someone who, theoretically, had no power to oppose him. Yet, there was something about you, something that even Silco found himself impressed by, if only for a fleeting moment. He seemed to respect your defiance—admiration disguised as frustration, perhaps.

"You're bold, aren’t you?" Silco spoke, almost amused. "Most girls would jump at the chance to be under my protection. But not you. No, you're far too clever for that."

His hand rose again, this time stopping at your throat, where his fingers rested, feeling the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat. It was a gentle touch, but undeniably threatening—a silent warning. And though the sensation was unsettling, it was nothing you hadn’t dealt with before. After all, if he truly wanted to kill you, he would have done so already.

"Allow me to clarify my proposal, dove," he continued, his voice softening in a way that only heightened your distrust. "I’m not offering salvation or a fairy tale ending. I’m offering you a chance to survive, on your own terms. To rise above the squalor and degradation of this place."

His touch shifted, his free hand sliding along your waist, tracing every contour of your body with an unsettling softness. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress, and you knew he could feel the heat of yours just as well. Your body tensed, but you didn’t give in—not even as his hand ventured lower, stopping on your thigh. A shiver ran down your spine, but your mind remained resolute, knowing that any sign of weakness would be an invitation for him to push further.

His tone, now little more than a husky murmur, made the air around you feel heavier, charged with a tension you knew he wielded with mastery. "All I ask in return is your obedience."

His hand, now bolder, slipped beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin with a touch that felt almost possessive.

You swallowed hard.

"Think carefully," he continued. "Is serving me really worse than being passed from hand to hand, always in danger of being killed like any other cheap whore? At least with me, you’d be valued. Protected."

The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the sound of your breathing, a rhythm that seemed to amplify the rising tension. Silco held the advantage here—he knew it, and so did you. For all your cunning, there wasn’t much you could offer him beyond your defiance. But you weren’t one to yield without a fight. He might have been formidable in many ways, but all men, no matter how imposing, had a weakness. And you knew this weakness well enough.

"My obedience..." you said, your voice soft, dripping with sweet venom. "You already have it… for tonight."

You pressed your body against his, deliberately moving against the part of him he most desired yet had been neglecting. For the briefest of moments, you caught the crack in Silco’s stoic façade, a flicker of pleasure that betrayed him as your slow, deliberate movements sent a surge of heat to his core. Your hips rolled against him provocatively, the thin fabric of your dress bunched high enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination. The lace of your panties pressed against the unmistakable hardness growing beneath his trousers.

"Isn’t this what you came for, after all?" Your voice was a seductive whisper, yet tinged with irony, your tone laced with a hint of mockery. This wasn’t the submissive game you’d been playing earlier. Not anymore. Silco, with all his authority, likely hadn’t anticipated you flipping the cards the way you just had—appealing to something as raw as carnal desire.

You leaned in even closer, your lips brushing his ear, your warm breath sending a shiver through him. "Because I doubt you walked into this brothel looking to recruit a courtesan for your organization... am I wrong?"

Your words seemed to strike a nerve in the feared "Eye of Zaun," as he remained silent for a few moments, though you could feel the tension in his body. His grip on your flesh tightened, almost as if he was holding back. Then, the hand under your dress slid further upward, his fingers brushing against the lace trim of your panties. The touch sent an electric jolt through your veins; it was affecting you just as much as it was affecting him.

"You're playing a dangerous game, dove," Silco murmured, his voice low and laced with warning. "Tempting me with your body, even as you deny me with such effort. It's a risky move."

He leaned closer, just a breath of space separating your faces. "But I suppose that's what I like about you. You're not afraid to dance on the edge of the blade, even if it means getting cut."

Silco’s other hand slid along your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair before pulling gently, tilting your head back to expose the curve of your throat. You felt him inhale your scent, and your eyes fluttered shut as his lips grazed your skin. "However, don’t mistake my desire for weakness. You may not like the result."

"I have no doubts about that," you quipped, increasing the rhythm of your hips, the friction doing a fine job of making you forget you were dealing with a dangerous criminal. You could feel your panties growing damp. "But that doesn’t matter now, does it?"

With difficulty, you moved your head to face him again, despite the way his hand still gripped your hair. Your own hands wandered across his slender frame, sliding down toward his trousers.

"You’re paying to have me, not to talk." With practiced ease, you unfastened his trousers, your hand slipping past the barriers of his clothing, finally touching him. A gentle stroke, testing… "So let’s make your money’s worth."

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━ Silco's Pov

Silco's breath caught in his throat as her hand slid inside his pants, her fingers brushing his hardened length. The sensation was electric, sending sparks of pleasure racing down his spine. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of his underwear, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to buck his hips against her touch. But even as his body responded to her ministrations, Silco's mind remained sharp and alert. He knew she was trying to gain the upper hand, to turn the tables on him by focusing their encounter on base carnal desires. And while he was more than willing to indulge in such pleasures, he refused to let her think she had won. But, he would recognize her cleverness.

With one swift movement, Silco grabbed her wrist, halting her exploration of his cock. He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "Ah ah ah, not so fast, dove," he purred, his voice low and dangerous. "You forget who holds the power here. I'm the one paying for your services, and I'll be damned if I'll let you set the pace."

Silco released her wrist and sat back, his eyes raking over her body with undisguised hunger. "Strip," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I want to see every inch of that gorgeous skin. And then, if you're a good girl, I might let you touch me again."

As she began to comply, Silco allowed his gauze to drift down to the junction between her thighs. He could see the damp spot on her panties, evidence of her arousal, and it made his cock throb with need. But he held himself in check, determined to make her work for her pleasure, even if it becomes an unbearable temptation for both of them.

Once she was fully exposed, Silco reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of her undergarments, teasing her with the promise of his touch. "Now, show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "And maybe, just maybe, I'll give you what you really want."

Oddly enough, that stubborn woman obeyed him without question, living up to what she had said about him having her obedience. The sight of her kneeling naked was sinful, even more so when her curious fingers made quick work of undoing his pants completely. Taking a moment to study his cock, and when Silco opened his mouth to let out a sarcastic comment she finally took him into her mouth.

Silco groaned as her tongue laved along his shaft, the wet heat of her mouth sending jolts of pleasure racing through his veins. He could feel his cock pulsing in her grip, the blood rushing to his groin as his arousal mounted. It took every ounce of his self-control not to simply grab her head and force her down onto his dick, to fuck her pretty face until he painted her throat with his seed.

But he resisted the urge, determined to savor every moment of this exquisite torment. She was skilled with her mouth, he had to give her that. She knew just how to tease and tantalize, to bring him to the brink of madness without pushing him over the edge.

Silco's hands fisted in her hair, his grip tight enough to be uncomfortable but not quite painful. He guided her head as she worked him over, showing her exactly how he liked it. Up and down she went, her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

"Fuck, just like that," Silco sighed with pleasure. "Take it deeper, dove. Show me how badly you want it."

He could feel his balls tightening, his orgasm building at the base of his spine. But he held back, determined to make this last. He wanted to hear she beg for it, to watch her break apart on his cock like the desperate little slut she was.

Silco's hips rocked in time with her bobbing head, his pace increasing as his arousal grew. He could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his core, the pleasure bordering on pain. But still he held back, his iron self-control the only thing keeping him from exploding down her throat. Finally, when he couldn't take it anymore, Silco yanked she off his cock and hauled her up into his lap. He crashed his mouth against hers in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste himself on her lips. His hands roamed her body, groping and squeezing, leaving marks of possession on her soft skin.

The kiss was confusing at first, perhaps because she probably didn't expect him to pull her in for a kiss. However, it didn't take long for her to give in, returning the same intensity. Of course, it would be foolish to think that her wandering hands would remain still since soon Silco could feel her gripping him and rubbing against herself. She had pulled her panties aside as she covered him with her wetness, as if her saliva wasn't enough. When the provocation seemed to last longer than it should, she lined up his tip with her entrance. That woman was going to kill him.

Silco groaned as she sank down onto his cock, her tight heat enveloping him like a vice. The sensation was exquisite, her walls fluttering and clenching around his length as she adjusted to his size. He could feel every inch of her, from the slick, velvety softness of her entrance to the tender spot deep inside that made her gasp and writhe.

His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises, his fingers digging into her flesh as he guided her movements. Up and down she rode him, her pace growing faster and more erratic as the pleasure built within her. Silco thrilled at the sight of her, head thrown back in ecstasy, breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hips. She was certainly a sight that would stay in his mind for a long time.

He leaned forward and captured one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking hard as he rolled the other between his fingers. She cried out, her back arching as the dual stimulation sent shockwaves of pleasure racing through her body. Silco could feel her walls tightening around him, her body tensing as she neared her peak.

"That's it, dove," he growled against her skin, his voice rough with lust. "Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart on my cock."

Silco's hips snapped up to meet hers, driving his cock deeper, harder, faster. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the room, obscene and beautiful all at once. He could feel his own climax building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in his core. But he held back, determined to bring her over the edge first.

He reached down between their bodies, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles. The added stimulation was too much for her, and she came with a scream, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. And, as if possible, becoming even more beautiful.

Only then did Silco allow himself to let go, his own orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave. He thrust up into her one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he exploded, his seed painting her insides with its heat. He could feel her milking him, her walls rippling and fluttering around his.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

You collapsed against Silco’s body, utterly spent, as if the world around you had vanished during those feverish minutes. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, and you desperately tried to catch the breath that seemed to have abandoned your lungs. Your body, slick with sweat, still trembled with the remnants of pleasure, involuntary aftershocks that left your overly sensitive skin prickling at the slightest touch. Every muscle felt too heavy to move, leaving you there, trapped between exhaustion and the slow return to reality.

The silence that followed was filled only with the sound of your uneven breathing mingling with his, punctuated by the muffled music, laughter, footsteps, and the occasional moans from other rooms. The brothel was alive, grounding you in where you were, even though the power play that culminated in this moment had momentarily made you forget.

"So..." You lifted your head slowly to meet his gaze, your voice husky and still thick with effort. "Did I please you?" You knew the question would sound like a provocation masked as submission, but you would regret letting the opportunity to tease him slip by so easily.

Silco remained silent for a beat, and then a low, rough chuckle escaped his lips. "Please me? That would be an understatement, dove." he replied, his voice still deep, almost purring. "You exceeded all my expectations."

As he spoke, you felt his fingers rise to your face, brushing aside a strand of hair stuck to your damp skin with a subtle touch. His heterochromatic eyes were locked onto yours, and the moment seemed to stretch on longer than it should have. A part of you wanted to pull away, but something about the intensity of his gaze kept you rooted in place.

His hands slid down your back, fingers tracing the subtle contours of your spine. The heat of his touch sent another shiver through you, your body still far too sensitive. He knew that, of course, and seemed to savor every small reaction he could elicit.

You thought he would push you away, that this moment would end quickly, but he didn’t. Instead, Silco’s lips met yours in a fleeting touch, so brief it could hardly be called a kiss. Then, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as if he were absorbing what had just transpired, what he had just done to you.

"But I’m not done with you yet." he whispered, his voice a dark warning, the echo of something dangerous. Something you should fear.

But you laughed in response.

"I was hoping you’d say that," you teased, slowly shifting your position on his lap, feeling your muscles protest against the movement.

The smirk playing on your lips was wicked as you took in the state of him. Though still clothed, his appearance was far from composed. His trousers, carelessly undone, were wrinkled and disheveled, while his previously immaculate hair was a tousled mess. And those eyes—still hazy, swimming in lust—watched you with an intensity that sent a thrill down your spine. He was chaos incarnate, and you felt absurdly proud of being the one to unravel him.

"However..." You slid off his lap with the same provocative grace that had carried you through the entire evening, your body still trembling faintly from the lingering sensations. "I believe you'll have to pay again if you want to see me next time... Our time is up." You felt his cum, as well as yours, slide down your thighs as you sank into the spot next to him on the couch, but you didn't really care about cleaning it up. The only shred of decency you had was fixing your panties. 

Even with nothing but your undergarments covering your skin, you made a point of turning this moment into something that would haunt Silco’s mind—a small finale, pure provocation.

Silco remained seated for a moment, his intense gaze never straying from you. There was something in his eyes—a possessive glint, almost feral. It was as though he wanted to say something, to act, but with an admirable display of restraint, he held back.

You watched as he reached into his pocket, retrieving a wad of bills. With a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed them onto the table in the corner.

"Consider that a bonus for your... exceptional service."

Rising from the couch, he began adjusting his clothes with mechanical precision. His nimble fingers fastened the zipper on his trousers and smoothed the creases in his suit. The final touch was the swift motion of his hands taming his disheveled hair, each strand returning to its rightful place. With every deliberate move, Silco reclaimed the aura of the man who commanded fear and respect across all of Zaun.

When he reached the exit of the room, he paused. He didn’t turn completely but tilted his head just enough for the warm orange glow of his eye to catch the dim light.

"I have a feeling we’ll see each other very soon, dove."

[bobbin-buckley]

Hi! Could you maybe write G!p Sevika x fem!reader? They are married and Sevika gets home from a fight beat up and wants sex, they are in the middle of it when Jinx and Isha arrive. (Isha being like a child of Sevika and reader)

Thank youu

After Fight Shenanigans

G!P Sevika x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sevika comes home after a bar fight, leaving her angry, beaten and needy. Though you weren’t planning guests

Warnings: G!P Sevika, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, getting caught, Sevika is beaten up, pet names (slut, whore etc), some oral, tit-fucking, Mommy kink, slight slapping, Season 2 spoilers

Request

A/n: This is kinda my first time writing g!p so I apologize if it’s bad

❧~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☙

“Pity, can't even defend myself from two guys!”

Sevika, your wife came home pretty early from her bar night. Originally she planned to be there until god knows how late, you trusted her though, she usually judge has a couple of drinks and smokes before heading back home with some bruised knuckles and a black eye. But in this case it was a whole broken nose!

Now normally you’d scold her and tell her to stop causing fights, and sometimes she’d listen. Tonight was different because she was mad, like the most mad you’ve ever seen her.

It was a different kind of mad though, you could see the irritation but also need in those grey eyes, recognizing that look from anywhere.

“…Doll..” She spoke ever so calmly despite her anger, her fury. She was soft when it came to you, to a surprise to a lot of people. Jinx teased her all the time, acting like Sevika whenever she’s being a softie to you in front of Jinx.

Since Sevika’s weaponized arm that she wears everywhere wasn’t on her during her bar night because it was being fixed by Jinx. So she had nothing much to defend herself besides her right arm instead.

She was also pretty irritated about how weak she feels in front of you, Sevika enjoys showing off to you to a surprise.

“..Hm?” Your gaze went to her eyes as you but stuff to help her hurt nose, your light touches making her shift.

“I need you right now…” she rasped, her right hand resting on your thigh that made your breath hitch.

“You’re hurt…” Sevika rolled her eyes, squeezing your thigh before m releasing a little. “I don’t care, it’s just my nose,” she argued.

It wasn’t that her injuries worried you, it was the thought of having sex for the first time in awhile. Before you barely had anytime because of Piltover’s attacks, dealing with Silco and Jinx’s father-daughter drama…and Jinx and her sisters stuff. You both just never had time then.

“Okay…I missed you anyways, I think we both really need it.” You smiled, leaning up a bit and Sevika leaned down.

“I’ve missed it too, Doll.” She kissed you roughly, making you moan a bit into her mouth. She wasn’t gonna play nice tonight, you both knew that. The tension was high and both of you were so horny.

“Cmon baby,” Sevika took you to the bed you both shared and threw you on it and the bed squeaked a bit.

Her hands grabbed at your clothed breasts, kneading them softly but roughly. “Fuck I wanna suck these tits..” you feel your blouse get practically ripped open, your lacy bra underneath (that Sevika had stolen from a shop in Piltover).

“..mmmhh…” she heard you moan and groped your breasts harder, pinching your nipples and lowering her head and sucking on the erect buds. “..more baby please..”

“More? What do you need baby?” “Fuck my tits.” She grinned at your sudden blurt out. “Gladly.”

She took off her shirt, exposing her own big breasts behind a black sports bra, and tugged down her pants to reveal some tight boxers with a bulge straining against them.

Your eyes couldn’t leave it, your hands reaching out for the hem over the boxers but she smacked your hands away. “I got it my doll don’t worry.”

Sevika pulled down her boxers, her big erect dick being revealed. Jesus you forgot how big she was, now you are beginning to realizing how much you truly missed her inside you.

“Push your breasts together baby,” Sevika straddled your lower abdomen with her cock in her hand as she pumped it slowly.

You did as she asked and pushed your breasts together, letting her continue and push her member between them. “…mmm’ fuck your breasts are so soft.” Her hips moved and her cock moved slowly between your tits, her slick pre-cum dripping on your chest down your cleavage.

“..Good girl,” her hand cupped your jaw and tilted it up, tracing your jawline. You looked up at her with love yet intense need. Your tongue darted out to lick her tip each time it came close to your mouth. “Oh fuck that feels good princess, keep doing that…”

Obeying to her words, your tongue affected her so much she unexpectedly pushed her length halfway into your throat, her tip just hitting in the back of it.

“...Such a whore, suck on my cock.” She grabbed your head and had you bob your head up and down on her length. Each time she thrusted into your throat you gagged, making her enjoy this even more.

Suddenly she pulled out of your mouth, her cock twitching in anticipation. “Now, I’m gonna fuck your pretty pussy.” Sevika got off your stomach and lifted your legs to take off your pants, seeing the wet patch in your panties. “…All wet for me, huh Doll?”

The stonger woman put your legs over her shoulders, pushed your soaked panties to the side and pressed the tip of her dick against your clit. “..Please Mommy I need you…”

“Mommy huh?” She gave you that smirk you always fall for, her hands going on both sides of your head against the bed. “Gonna take my cock like a good girl for Mommy?”

You moaned at her words, nodding, “y-yes Mommy.” Sevika watched as you bit your lip, and she grinned at that. “Please…need you inside me..”

That was her cue, she pushed her length in slowly to let you adjust as she goes, making her groan at how tight you were. “..Good lord baby, so fucking tight around me.” Sevika gave your thigh a good slap, having you whimper. The further she pushed in the more your pussy stretched and made you cry.

Once inside you, she caressed the side of your face, you began to notice the soft side of her again. It always made you melt, her eyes were gazing into yours.

That moment ended pretty quickly as she began moving her hips, making you moan and gasp. “..Y-yes, just like that…fuck,” you groaned and your words hyped her up and she began moving her hips faster into you.

“Take it slut, take my cock like a good girl.” Sevika slammed harder into you each time, your cries echoing off the walls of the bedroom. The bed was even creaking with Sevika’s rough thrusts, skin slapping, and her hand coming in contact with either your tits or your thighs.

“Mmm…close baby? I can feel you squeezing around me. Fuck I want you to cum with me doll,” Sevika pulled you into a rough kiss, her tongue shoving into your throat with you moaning against her lips.

Your tight walls squeezed her twitching cock, spurring her on and making it difficult for her to hold back. “Y-yes I’m so close…oh god-!”

As your body feels the burning sensation in your stomach, you quickly release all over her length..causing her to explode inside you.

Sevika grunted and moaned quietly, her cum flooding your needy cunt. Both of your cum nested inside your womb, and both of you relaxed when the pleasure eased through.

“Shit I missed that,” Sevika panted, it gave you a second to respond. Since you just had a big orgasm.

“Me too…me too.” Your hands reached up to cradle her face, making her smile. She stayed inside you for a bit, and laid on you as she wrapped her arms around you.

“We need to do this more often,” she said, looking up at you with mischievous eyes, she patted your reddened thigh.

“…Maybe you should get more angry often, I think I enjoy angry rough sex.” You admitted.

“Is that so?” She grinned.

Quickly your moment was ruined by Jinx’s menacing laughter coming from the other side of the bedroom door. Your eyes when wide, so did Sevika’s but it was filled with more anger than anything.

“Jinx! What the hell!?” She screamed, getting off the bed and quickly wrapping her naked body in blankets and rushed over to the door.

You listened to the commotion, too lazy and in love with your wife to even look. You knew it wasn’t gonna end well.

“..With the kid there too?!” You heard Sevika exclaim.

“Wait what?!”

“Oh don’t worry Toots, Isha’s asleep on the couch.” Jinx laughed, a smirk spread across her face. She was trying too hard not to laugh.

You weren’t sure for how long Jinx has been home since you and Sevika went to pound town. But all you knew was that you were dozing off with your wife’s voice ringing in your head.

꧁~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~꧂

A/n: Not spelled checked but I hope it was good! I honestly was writing this while watching Arcane season 2 again 😭

[heavenlyraindrops]

The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Eight

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find all the other chapters | warnings: profanity, brief mentions of child abuse, smoking

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Eight:

You’d switched out of your heavy jewellery and glittery makeup to a more darker, intimidating look, dark colours and angles in your clothes as you reached for the back door to meet your new tenants. The cold air burst into the warm building, and you stepped outside.

The man from before was looking up at the brothel in awe, the rosey windows and walls rising to the sky. You cleared your throat.

He looked at you, and started. “Oh. Madam.”

Your gaze travelled past him to settle on the two men behind him. He stepped forward, another heavy purse in his hands. You nodded at the two men.

“That’s for me, as well,” he said quietly. You quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, beckoning for them to follow you into the brothel. A girl leaned against the doorway, mask pulled over her eyes as she gave them a beguiling smile, all three of the, filing into the warm glowing building after you. She shut the door after you, lock clicking shut.

You stopped short, eyeing the three men, before pulling out a cigarette and balancing it between your teeth. The vastaya girl stepped forward, holding your lighter for you. You gave her a grateful smirk, inhaling deep. 

“You three will prove useful somehow,” you said quietly. “Show them to their rooms.” The masked girl stepped forward, lips curling at them again as she led them upstairs. They all looked about awkwardly, shuffling after her as if they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

You waited until they disappeared up the landing, and without sparing another second you charged down the hallway, throwing open the back door. You poked your head outside, lip curling into a sneer as smoke coiled from your lips.

You could have sworn you’d seen the orange glow of a cigarette in the dark. No- two cigarettes…? You furrowed your brow, slinking back into the brothel, shutting and locking the door for good. With shaking hands you took a drag, practically spitting out the smoke.

-

Eventually news spread of you taking in three desperate men, and many people began seeking you out for shelter. Shimmer addicts, people being chased by enforcers, some low-life who was in debt or pissed off a big bad and needed to hide, women running from abuse, children seeking shelter from their families- you name it.

And as your business continued growing- not that it wasn’t substantially large already, so did your space. Your influence. Your reputation.

At some point, you deserved to be a Chembaron.

You knew you’d ticked off a good amount of people by taking their targets under your wing, but what would they do? Attack you? The thought was laughable. With so many people owing their lives to you, owing their loyalty, no one stood a chance. The very thought made you tingle, distracted from the two girls sitting on the couch in front of you in your office, over the wooden desk. The rose lay solitary, long wilted.

“M-my dad used to hit me,” the first girl chattered. You frowned at her tattered clothes, not doing much to keep the chill out. The second girl was also shivering, and they both huddled close to each other.

“Please take us in, Madam,” the second one burst out. There were tears in both of their eyes. “We’ll do anything.”

You stood up, silk cascading down your legs as you made your way to them. You cupped your hand under the first girl’s bruised cheek. It was cold. She had wide eyes and mousy brown hair. You flinched.

“I’ll have someone find you a room, or you can share,” you reassured her. They both hugged you, and you flinched, surprised, before petting their heads. The second girl pulled her head away and looked up at your, fear marring her youthful features.

“Will we have to be…”

They looked past the beaded curtains, faces contorted with nerves.

“You know… workers?”

You blanched. “No! Of course not.” The mere thought disgusted you, and you crouched down and stroked her hair. “I’ll find another use for you. Or you can live with me until you’re of age and can pay me back with work or coin.”

She nodded nervously, and you whistled at a worker to take them away. She smiled at them, leading them down the hallway and up the stairs to find them a room. 

You heard a chuckle. “Didn’t think you were still the motherly type.”

You flinched, whirling around to see Sevika smirking at you, arms crossed. You scoffed, lighting up a cigarette you’d produced from the folds of the shawl hanging around your arms. A habit you had whenever you needed to calm your nerves; the second something frazzled you even slightly the cancer stick was in your hand within seconds.

“Why not?” Your voice was hard.

“You know, since you lost the first one.” At your nauseous expression she paused. “Sorry. Too far?”

Your lip curled. “You’d gone too far the second you mentioned her.”

You practically grabbed a masked girl and shoved her towards Sevika. She stumbled into the tall woman’s chest, flushing at the contact, and then blanching at your uncharacteristically angry nature. They both watched you as you stormed into your office, beads angrily swept against the wall. The door you almost never closed behind the beaded curtain slammed shut, rattling the walls. 

Behind it, you heard Sevika curse, then the girl hum, and footsteps. Tinkling beads as they presumably stepped past a curtain into whatever room was free.

You picked up the wilted rose and rolled the thorny stem between your fingers, ignoring the prickling sensation, agitated. Your head was pounding, breathing picked up. You flung the door back open and looked at at a pair who were quietly conversing at the side.

“…ever even closed that door?”

“…she’s usually really calm, the only time she gets like this is when…”

“…used to have a daughter.”

You snapped your fingers at them. “Hey,” you hissed. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

The first girl flushed. “S-sorry, Madam.”

“I’m sure there’s clients that need you.”

She nodded. “Yes, Madam.”

“Now fuck off.”

They both dispersed. You took another deep drag of the cigarette, tilting your head back and letting your eyes flutter half-closed, letting the smoke invading your system settle over your mind like a heavy blanket of fog.

-

Unsticking your eyes, you groaned as you lifted your head from the pillow. Still dressed in yesterday's clothes, tangled in your bedsheets, you felt like shit.

You vaguely recalled the past events of last night, until some point where it all became foggy. Pushing yourself up and off the bed, you spotted a note on the bedside lamp.

“You were embarrassingly drunk last night. I took the liberty of taking you home. Looks like you owe me two favours. -S.”

You flushed, embarrassed, wondering what you’d done. What you’d said. You put the note in the drawer and slammed it shut, sealing it away for good.

[plutoswritingplanet]

And I'll Be Like Sugar (Silco x Female!Reader)

a/n: slowly but surely i'm migrating all my works from ao3 on here. this one's a bit old, back when Arcane was super popular and there wasn't as much Silco content out there. Cross-posted on AO3

Warnings: tender Silco (but not like, too tender), mentions of blood and violence, imbalance of power but not really, Silco's touch starved, s-m-u-t

Summary: After a job-gone-kinda-wrong, you get a visit from the Devil himself.

Your heavy boots are splashing the drain water with every step, as you fly through the Alleys, the shadow of pursuit hanging over you like a dark cloud. There is a small scroll in your hand, paper crumbled by your deathly grip. Inside is the key to a new Shimmer shipment, all the places, all the dates, straight up treasure. If you play your cards right, you could help your gang lift up higher from the ground, maybe enough to feel the sun on their fingertips. 

The entrance to your lair is right in front of you, but instead you turn right, into a small back alley. You jump through a stinking cloud of pollution, remembering to hold your breath, as you immediately duck under some boards. 

You crawl right to an entrance to the drain, kicking it up, before jumping towards a ladder. You can never be too careful, especially since the person you stole from was quite literally the most powerful man in the whole Underside, hell even on the top he was quite revered.

So powerful, in fact, that he couldn't comprehend the fact, that anyone would be so dumb, as to try and steal from him. And yet here you were, the biggest idiot on the face of the earth, currently jumping from roof to roof. The air is much thinner up here, easier to breathe. The familiar roof of your lair is getting closer, an open window upstairs awaits your arrival. For good measure, you throw a quick look behind, seeing nothing but empty rooftops. That finally soothes your worry, and you dive inside, feet first, landing on a dusty mat that has been moved under the window. 

The place is warm inside, heat enveloping you almost instantly. Downstairs, you can hear your people chatting amongst the muted sounds of music. Shrugging off your coat and a scarf, you make the short treck to your office. Swinging the door open, you go straight to your desk, hiding the scroll in one of the drawers. 

- Silco knows - a heavy voice of your right hand, Solomon, startles you.

He's standing there, leaning on the door frame, a deep frown settled on his features. Before you took over the organization, his scrutinizing gaze used to make your palms sweat with stress. Now, after years of working together, you've developed a mutual sense of respect. 

- Knows what? - you ask incredulously, throwing a tired look over your arm.

This job has taken all your strength, rolled it up neatly and then chucked it down the drain. There was a throbbing pain beginning to bloom deep inside your skull, and you felt a familiar burn in your legs from pushing your body to its limits. You are going to be barely alive tomorrow, and quite possibly, you won't be able to move in the morning. Your bed is right there, behind a heavy curtain, and you feel a sudden need to plop down onto it.

- This isn't a joke, Y/N - Solomon sounds concerned, which in turn makes you concerned. 

He's the most stern out of the entire gang, rarely showing any emotion, which is why, you turn to face him fully.

- He's probably already on his way here - Solomon takes a few steps inside the office, his heavy boots making the floorboards creak. - I don't know, what kind of agreement you two have, and frankly, I don't want to know. But this? - he motions to the drawer with an offended gesture - This is too much.

God, you should've locked the door behind you, that way you could at least pretend you're not here to answer all of that. Instead, you take a deep breath, pressing your pointer and middle finger to the bridge of your nose. 

- It's just some shipment plans, he won't even notice the loss - your voice is calm and monotonous, like you're explaining the most mundane of things - I doubt he would treat it so personally, at most, he'll send one of his goons, and those I can deal with. No problemo.

Solomon doesn't look too convinced. He opens his lips to speak, but is promptly interrupted, as a scrawny looking kid barges into the office. He's barely standing on two legs, breathing heavily. When he looks up at you, you almost fall back at the panicked expression on his young face.

- Silco is coming here - he finally wheezes out, the words filling the room, soaking into the walls, the floor - I saw his men two streets away.

Fuck.

- Hide everything he doesn't know about, tell men to scram and not to engage - your decision is almost instant, leader skills coming to the forefront. - Bring him straight to my office, I'll deal with him myself... And don't look nervous, we did nothing wrong. 

That's a fat fucking lie, you did several things wrong, starting with stealing from the damned man.

The boy nods and bolts out of the room, his high-pitched voice carrying through the corridors. Downstairs, you can hear your men run around, sounds of crates dragging on the floor make you wince. Solomon looks at you with a typical "I told you so" expression.

- It's all your fault, by the way - you stand in front of your desk with your hands crossed in front of your chest.

- My fault? How exactly is this my fault?

- Yeah, you spoke of the Devil.

The next ten minutes are filled with silent tension. You sit down behind your desk, hand subconsciously close to the treasure drawer, the other one supporting your chin. You look harmless enough, with tired eyes and disheveled hair. Hunched figure hanging over a bunch of papers. Old shipments you've dug out of some boxes. 

Flour, eggs, clean water. Innocent enough.

Your heart starts jumping in rythmn as the sound of boots clicking on the floorboards fills the office. At this point you're able to recognize him by his footsteps alone. A confident walk of a man secure in his power. Before he enters, you manage to take one, calming breath, exhaling it in time with the creaking of the door to your office. 

It's silent for a moment too long, and slowly, you drag your eyes up from the papers.

He's angry. You can tell by the evil glint in his dark eye, a terrifying image, but one you've seen quite often back in the day. You can deal with angry. Like always.

- Silco - your voice carries a steady, calm tune - What brings you here?

He's looking at you from above, somehow seeming even taller than you remember. Can men his age even grow? Probably not, must be the light. Or your nerves, which are currently wracking you from the inside. 

- Don't play coy with me - he seethes through his slightly crooked teeth, something that makes him look even more intimidating, if it's possible.

You open your mouth to shoot something clever his way, but the thoughts dies down as quickly as it arrives.

- I said don't - there is a bark to his voice you didn't expect.

One of his eyebrows twitches slightly, and finally it downs on you.

He's not just angry, he's beyond furious.

You've dealt with furious significantly less than angry. 

- Silco - you try with a gentler voice - It's nothing, you know it's nothing.

Wrong move. His evil eye gleams in the darkened room, a snarl settling on his lips as he takes two long steps towards your desk, nearly colliding with it. The pace at which he came at you makes you instantly recline back in your chair. 

- It's not fucking nothing - his slim figure leans over the desk, sharp fingers dragging over the mahogany wood - We've lost a whole shipment yesterday, three weeks of work went to shit.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper and it makes the hair at the back of your neck stand right up. He's close, you can feel anger coming off of him in waves, invading your space in an intimidating aura. For such a lean person, he can be surprisingly nightmarish. 

- I will not loose my product again, not one barrel.

- You won't exactly loose it - against all reason, the words leave your mouth, stunning him into silence - To loose something, you must be oblivious as to where it is. And you'll know where your one barrel...

The word "barrel" doesn't even fully leave your lips, before Silco collides his fist with the desk. You yelp, jumping in your chair. Your hands come up on instinct to shield yourself from... Well, from whatever is going to happen. 

He has turned around, a frustrated groan leaving him, as he pushes stray strands of hair from his forehead. You can see the muscles of his back move.

- I should kill you for it - he sighs finally, after a tense moment of silence.

- You won't - your voice sounds confident, but your right hand comes down to the dagger at your thigh, fingers skimming the handle, just in case. 

Finally he turns to face you, and you recognize his expression immediately. He's tired. Exhausted in the same way you are. Suddey all of his threats, and all of your jokes fall short, because ultimately, this is who you both are. Just a couple of really tired people.

- Give me the documents, so I don't have to kill anyone this evening - his voice sounds almost pleading, almost like he truly doesn't want to hurt people.

You know better though. There is no compassion here, he's just tired, and corpses tend to create problems. 

- It's just one barrel Silco - slowly, you push yourself from the chair, standing on slightly wobbly legs - One for two months, three if we're careful. It's good business.

He hums low in his throat, the good eye trailing over your face, neck, your hands. He looks less like a creature from your darkest nightmares, and more like a human man. A small victory on your part.

- Good business, that costs me - he counters, watches closely, as you slide to the front of your desk.

- I beg to differ - there is a cautious smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

Not enough to irk him, but enough to make his eyebrows raise.

- If anything, I'm creating more customers for you. They buy my goods, and get addicted to yours. And round, and round it goes...

To that, he tenses, a careful expression tugging at his features. You know he's thinking over what you've said, by the way his eyebrows scrunch together, amd his scarred lips form a single, tight line. 

- One barrel, three moths, half the price - he says after a moment, a note of finality entering his tone. 

Years have taught you, when to stop pushing, and so, you nod. Then, with all the grace you can muster from your exhausted body, you go back behind the desk, and take out the scroll.

Instead of taking it to him, you place it delicately on the desk, sliding it slowly towards the edge. He gives you an annoyed look and with a single step towards you, grabs the paper. 

- Expect a cdelivery, should be here by the end of the month. Have the money ready by then - he concludes, voice quiet and reserved, just like everything about him. 

With that he turns to leave, securing the scroll in the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

- I've had many pains in my ass, but you, Y/N, are something completely different. - he mutters, as his steps carry him towards the door.

You look over the papers on your desk, eyes focusing on anything other than his back. 

- That's why you love me.

Silence falls over the room like a thick blanket. Your heart stops in your chest and nearly jumps to your throat, as you realize, he isn't leaving, you can't hear any footsteps. It takes all of your strength not to look up from the papers. You have a feeling, that if you did, you'd be dead in a second.

Too much, you always say too much, and then you're fucked.

All you can hear is the deafening sound of your heart thrumming inside your chest. You can feel it, beating against your ribs. The whole situation is making you dizzy. Still, you refuse to look up, cursing yourself for speaking, cursing him for saying nothing.

- Come back to the Last Drop with me.

It takes your breath right out of your lungs. The way his silent voice carries through the room, slicing the tension. When was the last time you've heard him say something so delicate, so pleading? Then again, maybe it was just a dream, a small hallucination, caused by the ever present toxic fumes. You have to know, if you've heard him correctly, so you look up.

He's back is turned to you, slightly hunched. There is tension in his muscles and you can see his right hand clutch at the scroll he's just recovered.

- What? - you ask cautiously, there is no point in denying his effect on you, not anymore.

- I said - his evil eye finds you in the darkened room, shivers running up your back as it stares at you unblinking - Come back to the Last Drop with me.

His lips do in fact move in rythmn with the words, so he must've really said that. Your gut churns, twisting inside. Because you want to, despite the threats and the violence, and all the sins this man has committed, you want to take him up on his offer. 

But, you're people need you here, they need to see how strong their leader truly is. If they saw you leave with Silco, it would shatter any semblance of respect they've gathered for you. And so, you shake your head, look down at the papers to escape his burning gaze. He can see your internal conflict clear as day, in the way your brows crease, in your clenched jaw.

- You know I can't - of course he does, that doesn't stop him however from crossing the room right back to your desk.

- Or I can just take you - he muses, one lanky finger tapping at the wooden surface, so close to your hand, you can almost feel the heat.

It's so much harder to control your breathing, when he's nearing you. And despite the desk being right here, he doesn't stop, sliding next to the edge. 

- Make them think this is your punishment - the offending finger slowly starts to drag from your wrist up your arm, your stance waivers - To run errands for the awful, terrible, merciless Silco.

His hand squeezes your biceps gently, before sliding further up. You follow his silhouette, until he escapes your peripheral vision, settling behind you. The other hand comes to rest against your hip, tugging gently at the fabric of your pants. 

- Silco... - you don't exactly know what to say, and you instinctively try to turn around, to face him.

He doesn't let you, however, thin arms encircling you whole, as he presses against you, lithe body resting entirely on your back. His chin finds purchase at the juncture of your neck, where you feel his nose trace up, towards your ear.

Silco inhales a long breath, his hold tightening even more.

- I want you there, at the Last Drop, with me - the words are breathed into your neck like a prayer, the tingling sensation is making you sway in your place.

- No you don't - you manage to choke out, when you feel his thin lips press against your pulse.

- Oh? - one hand leaves your hips and goes straight to your hair, grabbing a fistful, and craining your neck back.

Finally, you're able to move, arm coming up, to touch his scarred side of the face, fingers skimming over the abused flesh. His evil eye stares at you, fire swirling inside, but the good one, the beautiful green one, flutters closed for just a moment.

- When did you become an expert on what I want? - he asks through gritted teeth, voice sharp, in contrast with his serene expression.

You try to turn again, and this time, he lets you. 

- You need me here - your voice is quiet, yet reasonable, the way you know will work on him - Someone needs to control these people, and God knows, they don't trust you, not after everything that's happened. 

His lips curl into a snarl, not a threatening one, you'd recognize that one everywhere. This one is different, like something is hurting him from deep inside, and for a second you can't help but wonder. Does he regret his decisions, all that's happened with Vander years ago.

- I want you near me - it's childish, you both know it, an impossible plea.

- You have me.

That's all he needs, this single admition, and his hand comes up to your face, palm sliding over your cheek and finding purchase in your hair. The other, grabs at your hip, kneeding the flesh, dragging you closer. And finally, finally he kisses you.

There is no gentleness, all tongue and teeth, devouring you like a man starved, and in a way, he is. The desk is digging into your thighs, as he presses closer, and closer still, like he wants you to envelop him whole. Which, given his slim figure, is not something out of the realm of possibility. 

- Please - you gasp, when you both finally part for air.

You don't know for what you're asking, but you're asking for it all the same, fingers tugging at the stiff fabric of his waistcoat. 

Silco looks over your disheveled state, taking in the mess of hair, the swollen lips and the glossy eyes. His teeth worry his bottom lip, and it's as close as you'll ever get to a flustered reaction.

- My girl - he whispers under his breath, and that little phrase goes straight to your core.

All you can do is nod, too stunned to speak. He, in turn, dives back in, aiming for your neck. The hand on your hip dips lower, under your thigh, a silent command, which you obey without question. You're shuffling backwards onto the desk, free hand throwing the documents off the surface. They spill around you, shipments from months ago, a ruse you've already forgotten. Because now, he's biting down on the place your neck meets your shoulder, the mixture of pain and pleasure makes you whimper. 

Hands tug against your shirt, the dirty cotton giving way. You can hear the fabric tearing around your neckline, and immediately you throw your hands up. God knows, you can't afford a new one. Silco doesn't waste time, immediately ducking down to suck a hickey right in the middle of your collar bones. He was never one to give jewelery, and this ornament looks better than any necklace, in his humble opinion. You can feel him, hard and ready on the inside of your thigh, the fabric of his pants scratching your skin. 

- And who's the pain in the ass now? - your smile is sharp, when he looks up at you, abandoning the abused flesh.

You can see his eyebrows scrunching, and a deep panic settles into your bones. It wouldn't be the first time, when he leaves you hot and wanting, simply because you've said something that irked him. He was not a man to triffle with, yet, you simply couldn't stop. That being said, it's been a long time, for the both of you, so when you first see the dreaded crease between his eyebrows, you act immediately. Both hands shoot out, towards his belt, and before he has a chance to withdraw, you hook your fingers into the loops of his trousers, dragging him back to you, closer than ever. 

- Your girl - you remind him in a breathy voice, and by the way his evil eye glints, you know, you have his complete attention. 

A new spark fills him, and with strength not expected from a man of his stature, he makes quick work of your pants, pushing your hands away when you try to help him. Your hips fall on the desk, as he tugs your clothing from your legs, the furniture shifts slightly across the floor from the force of his actions. You knew it was a long time, but your had no idea it was that long. Or maybe he just really missed you. Wishfull thinking.

Your breath catches in your throat, as a familiar sound of a belt buckle getting undone fills the room. Silco doesn't like to be seen naked, a habit you've grown well accustomed to. Which is why you nearly jump from your place at the desk, when he quikly unbuttons his waistcoat. First three buttons of his shirt come flying open as well, exposing portruding collarbones and a lean chest. Shit, he's pretty, despite the scars, and bruises, and time. 

It's honestly, quite embarrasing, how easily he sinks into you. One push is all he needs to be completely seethed, one push to arch your back righ off the desk. He doesn't comment on it, a small blessing. But then again, he doesn't really say much during the act, he's not a vocal man. 

Or so you thought.

Because as soon, as he starts moving, a harsh, snapping motions that make you jump on the desk, you swear you can hear something amongst the creaking of furniture. It's a small sound, like a grunt of pain, but you know better. And as soon, as it happens, his grip on you tightens to an impossible degree, bony fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, as if trying to rip it apart. There will be bruises in the morning, but this is a problem for the future you. The current you is slowly starting to loose yourself in the rythmn, the cruel pace that leaves you breatheless at his mercy. Silco drags you closer, when you start to shift away on the desk, the wooden surface scratching your back. 

- Shit, Silco... fuck - the words you spit out are nonsensical, punctuated by sharp thrusts.

One hand detatches itself from your abused hips, finding your clit in a matter of seconds, and immediately starting to circle it with a force that borders on painful. Borders, being the key word, and as soon as the ministrations start, you throw your head back. All you can do it scrunch up your face and bite down on your bottom lip, to stiffle the broken moans threatening to spill. Soon, you're coming, hard and messily, legs shaking on both sides of his unrelenting hips. Tears prick your eyes, the sensation quickly becoming too much to bear. 

As if on que, his rythmn staggers, first low moan spills from his lips, and you try to rise on your elbows, to catch it in your lips, like smoke. He helps you, one arm coming behind your back and dragging you up, until you hang on his lithe frame. He's breathing hard against your neck, fingers finding purchase wherever they can. Finally, when you think you can't take anymore, he stops, burried deep inside you. You can feel him shuddering against you, and he comes with a strangled moan, one that's too broken, too intimate. 

Both of you stay motionless for a long while, catching your breath against eachother. Your fingers comb absentmindedly through his short hair, slicking it back to place, scratching his skull. He answers with gentle pressure at the back of your neck, the tension in your shoulders coming undone under his palm. You don't want him to leave, nearly reach out for him, when he finally detangles himself from you. But yet again, old habits die hard, and you fall back down onto the desk with a thud, letting the pain in your bones consume you. 

You half expect to hear the door open, after you note absentmindedly, that he has fixed his clothes. What you don't expect, is gentle touches cleaning you up, helping you straighten your legs. You don't expect him to wrap an arm around you and help you get off the desk. And most certainly you don't expect the kisses. On your forehead, nose, cheeks. On the crown of your head. Alas, he does all that and more, as he places you on a sofa, in the corner of the room.

- The Last Drop - he whispers against your temple, crouching next to you - Think about it.

And then he's gone. His knees crack, when he stands up, bony hand leaving your grasp. You allow yourself to close your eyes for just a moment, before springing to action.

There are people here, your people. And you have to look presentable, before one of them, inevitably barges in, so terrified for your safety. 

[x-amount-verbs]

A Helping Hand - Part 30

[start here] || Part 29 || Part 30 || Part 31

[silco x f!reader] [3.4k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [discussion of ptsd] [🙃]

(posting early enough that y’all should have time to read before New Years ^^)

AO3 Link

“Where’s Jinx?” You’re babbling, just to fill the air, as Sevika escorts you to The Last Drop. By now your clothes have been dried, though you’d grimaced at the mess made of your kit. You’ll just have to buy some new gear, that’s all. An expense you’d rather not deal with, but that’s what you get for unintentionally making pastry soup in your waist pack.

“I assume somewhere at the Drop,” Sevika says wryly. “That’s the benefit of early morning asset retrieval: no babysitting duty.” Asset retrieval. Right.

A valid sentiment from her, you suppose, but there’s a hint of anxiety gnawing away in your stomach. You both want to see the kid and dread her finding out what you’ve done. You dread Silco’s response to your behavior. It’s frustrating, and embarrassing, when your mind just hijacked your body and acted completely out of line. Scary, too, if you look at it too closely. The idea that it could happen again, that you’ll lose time, lose control, lose yourself like that… not the most promising prospect.

It could be a blessing or a curse that you won’t have to dread Silco’s reaction much longer, entering the bar.

“Wait here. Gotta report.”

You settle into the same booth you had that drunken night, glancing up at the floor above, to the shadows that hide the door to Silco’s office, as Sevika trudges to go give him the rundown.

What will she say? The girl is crazy. No; she made a mistake. You cringe. She doesn’t owe you that courtesy, and it would be a lie. She lost control and shot a kid. That’s the accurate one. Accidentally. No; without realizing what she was doing. And that’s the worst part, isn’t it?

Teeth pinch at your lip, fingers fidgeting with the rumpled sleeve of your freshly-dried shirt. Before you know it, you’re back to the calming pattern of wedging your thumb nail between the plates of your prosthetic sleeve, tracing up and down your forearm, plucking at hard thin edges. Just enough to tug at your nail bed, just enough to hurt.

Waiting is its own special torture. You can’t stop remembering the last time you were here. The sting, the burn, the ecstasy…

Cheeks flame, throat feeling constricted as you fend off memories of his hands.

You had bruises after that. Nothing horrible, but a subtle ache that brought the memory to mind if you sat on the edge of a seat, or leaned against anything that pressed into a mark. Not a bad pain by any means, but a bittersweet one. More bitter than sweet, all things considered. The regular shimmer taken for your arm made the pain and marks fade quick, but you may have spent a night admiring them. Wanting more.

You’re such a goddamned sucker. Wanting him so much, when you know better.

The brief flutter of hope in your chest as Sevika reappears gets squashed by your own hand as soon as you notice it. If he doesn’t care, you can’t either.

…Fuck, you should know better.

Her walk down the stairs is silent, and you can’t tell if the slight furrow of her brow and thin press of her lips is irritation, confusion, or - knowing Sevika - irritation that she’s confused. There’s not quite enough on her face to read, or maybe she’s not feeling anything strongly enough to show.

Or maybe you’re paranoid and trying to see something that isn’t there.

“…Head on up. He’s waiting.”

He’s waiting. Your mouth goes dry, anxiety gnawing like a mouse on a wire at the base of your skull. Every worst-case-scenario flips through your mind before you shove that list out of your mind and opt to just stop thinking entirely as you walk upstairs to his office door.

A knock.

“Enter.”

How does one word now carry so much promise?

You try to hide your tells, but can’t help the hard swallow after struggling to breathe past the nervous lump in your throat. Hopefully you don’t start choking. That wouldn’t exactly prove your stability. Is proving your stability even possible?

The chair is back. Cheeks flame as everything that had happened in its absence plays on quintuple speed in your head. Palms— then elbows— then your whole burning face pressed to the desk, the desperate need that had snapped inside you. And how he’d satiated that need. The hand on your back as he thrust gloved fingers into you, the presence of him, rocking against you in tiny sinful movements.

You almost feel lightheaded, remembering. Blinks come more rapidly than usual, trying to push the image out of your mind.

Silco isn’t looking at you. Instead, a long finger taps delicately at a paper set before him. It almost feels like mercy, for him to be focused elsewhere. As soon as his eyes start to rise, you panic and drop your gaze to his collar. That tie, a perfect symbol of professionalism and discipline.

Discipline. Oh gods, wrong word.

“…You stayed at the gym overnight.”

It’s an observation, not a question, but you still offer your affirmation. “Yes.” He makes no comment about dropping the honorific. This is more serious than that.

“Why.”

For a fraction of a second you meet his gaze, before looking down again. “I don’t know.” It’s almost a whisper, voice feeling so small. The silence isn’t oppressive, but you can’t help the shame welling up around you. It wasn’t what you meant to happen, you didn’t even realize what was going on before you felt the cold shower shock you to your senses.

“Why didn’t you come here?”

…What?

You don’t even think to hide the surprise on your face as you meet that uneven gaze, flicking between the pale sea and the hellfire glow.

It doesn’t feel quite like hellfire. Whatever it is you’re feeling from him, it’s not rage or heat. There’s something reserved about his demeanor. Subdued. Not gentle, but barely a hint of that authoritative grip; a statue unto himself.

“I…” Why hadn't you? Weakly, you shrug a shoulder. “I can’t answer that.” It’s a frank answer. No lie there; if the choice was conscious, it wasn’t one you remember now. In lieu of certainty, you can’t offer an adequate response.

He’s silent for a long moment. Hands in your lap fidget, but it isn’t the heavy expectant silence of some other meetings. You can almost see him carefully tasting his words, deciding how to approach the conversation.

“What happened?”

“Sevika said she was going to tell yo—”

“I’m asking you.”

Something twinges in your gut. You didn’t think his calm could hurt you so much, and you can’t tell why it does. Maybe you expected to be berated and ripped apart for your mistake; this even-footed respect is disorienting. Maybe it hurts because he can’t seem to meet you so evenly in… other matters.

Maybe you don’t think you deserve his patience.

Most likely, it’s some conflicted mess of all three.

“…I didn’t realize what I was doing.” Only barely loud enough to reach him across the desk. When he has no reaction, you swallow and continue. “The kid pointed a gun at me.” Eyes go blank as you try very hard not to remember it, but you can feel your chest tightening. “And I— shot him.” Breath coming faster.

You cross your arms, digging nails into your bicep, pinching hard, drawing awareness away from the rush of shame and fear and memory. Eyes drop to the desk, and you gnaw at the inside of your lip with one quick bite that’s too hard, immediately breaking skin and making you wince. Doesn’t matter, it’s serving its purpose. You blink away the empty, forcing yourself to continue.

“It wasn’t even a real gun,” the hint of disgust that turns your stomach is audible, brow furrowed. “He was a kid, with a paintball gun, and I shot him.”

He says your name quietly, but firm. Pulling your attention, even if the look you raise to him is pained. “The boy is fine. You didn’t kill him.”

Shaking your head, you focus on your lap once more, posture hunched, like you can somehow protect yourself from your own mess of frustration, revulsion, trepidation. “It’s not about killing him— or shooting him, even, it’s—” You choke on it, but soldier on. “I wasn’t there. I was…”

“You were here. Losing your hand.”

Drawing in a breath, you hold it, nodding stiffly. Again, he’s read your mind. You don’t think to wonder how he knows exactly what you were thinking in that moment.

There’s a silence again, and you just want him to take control. Give you something to do, someone to be, something to feel that isn’t this mess roiling inside you.

When it stretches on too long, you finally give in and look.

The mismatched gaze fixed on you is guarded: calculating, measuring you up. You’re wary of what it might mean, after… everything. But he doesn’t seem angry, or pitying, or stern, or any shade of malevolent, really. Not like he’s about to say you’re too unstable to be armed. He’s just… thoughtful.

Finally, he scoots his chair back and stands. Walking to you with measured steps, he offers his hand. Not for the prosthesis, either; skin for skin.

The burn of your ears seems to radiate heat as you look at his open palm. It feels— too close. After the disastrous way things ended the other day— and no glove. No barrier. No added protection of games and roles to fall into.

Just his hand, open for yours.

“What is this about?” You’re trying to ask more questions now, to keep things clear. This can’t be another moment he’ll just walk back later, leaving you once more alone.

Again, your name.

You want to take his hand. Badly.

“Indulge me. Please.”

It’s the please that does it. A wary glance up at him before you take his hand, heat zinging through you at the way he squeezes your palm as he helps you to your feet. Like a silly little girl with a crush, blush seeping across your chest and up your neck. Fixated on the ghost of calluses on his hand against yours, even if your eyes watch his face.

The hint of self-satisfaction in that hidden smirk makes your eyes narrow. Exactly what kind of plan is this?

For a second, you’re about to ask, before you realize he isn’t leading you away, but rather escorting you around to his side of the desk. Dropping your hand to lift the paper he’d been reading and set it in the corner of this desk. Clearing the center.

Your eyes linger on the empty space, recalling the last time his desk had been cleared.

Silco pulls the chair back, creating a gap plenty big enough for you. He gestures to the surface. “Sit.”

Warily, you hesitate. You said no more games, and this feels like it might be one— but part of you still wants to play. Or at least see what it is.

…You can call it off, if you need to. That’s your decision: see what he wants, and call it off if necessary. With that decided, you take the offered seat.

It’s a strange place, perched on his desk. Too many bad ideas flicker through your head as you settle, even as you beat them back into their hidden places again. (The things you’ve thought about doing on this desk— particularly after last week…)

“Comfortable?” Silco asks, standing with one hand on the back of his chair as he waits for an answer.

You shrug a shoulder, noncommittally.

A raised brow prompts a more satisfactory answer.

“Seems so.” …Okay, maybe you haven’t completely given up making things difficult.

There’s a twitch to his lips, that hidden smirk that flicks a thrum in your chest. In one smooth move, he’s seated, and you shift back as he grasps the edge of the desk to roll himself closer, pressing your knees open as he tucks his legs into the space beneath.

Involuntarily, your back arches for him, hips shifting nervously at how open and vulnerable your position feels. Thank fuck you wear pants nearly every day. At least there’s that consolation.

An appreciative glance rakes over your body regardless, sending heat straight to your core, though the position you’re in prevents you from properly relieving any of that newfound tension. Instead, the instinct to close your legs just presses them against his hands, earning you a knowing look that makes your face flush and eyelids feel heavy.

His eyes drop to your knees, and one hand flattens, his pinky brushing your inner thigh before he seems to think better of it and pulls away.

Once again you struggle to fend off thoughts of his hands roaming your body.

The clear eye closes, a slow intake of breath one of the most transparent tells you’ve ever seen from Silco. Trying to refocus, but on what?

He wheels back just enough to reach for his desk drawer. Suspicion pricks behind your ear, trying to recall anything you've ever seen him pull from the desk, and what drawer they were located in. You’re ticking through options that all feel too much too quickly when he pulls out the odd syringe you’d seen him use with Jinx. There’s a click as he locks one piece into place, then a soft tk tk of his finger flicking the barrel.

As neutral as you try to keep your face, there’s a certain confused notch between your brows. You can’t help but stare at the device, trying to determine how it works, before glancing to Silco’s face again.

There’s a very slight smile on his lips, but it’s more like a grimace. This isn’t something he looks forward to using, obviously. Fair: it looks painful.

The chair rolls between your legs again, and Silco leans back, gesturing with the device. “Like this.” He holds it well above the intended target, making sure to emphasize where the hand holds and where the fulcrum is on the lever, how low you can choke your grip while still being able to activate it. Squeezing the grip makes a click that reminds you of the injector you use for painkillers, and similarly a needle (even if this is much longer) stings out from the canister, a dose of cool-toned shimmer delivered into the air above his cheek rather than his eye.

Silco wipes the liquid from his skin with his other hand, not bothering to find a handkerchief. “Is that clear?”

“You… you want me to-”

He nods, already offering the syringe. When you don’t immediately take it, he pulls your wrist to him to place it there.

You jump at the contact. Anxiety makes your prosthesis tingle, hyper aware of what you should be feeling where his fingers touch you.

“…You’re sure you want-”

The firm way he says your name brokers no argument. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t believe you were capable.”

It shouldn’t steal your breath the way it does. He’d said it to Jinx, when she held his medicine in her hands. I trust you. That’s what this means. More than any I’m sorry, or I was wrong: this is an apology, and so much more.

He pulls the chair even closer, fully invading your space well before he leans back at an angle, watching you with an even stare, hands on the armrests. Ready. Prepared. Trusting.

Your ribs feel crushed, but you try to keep your hands as steady as possible.

“Take a breath,” he advises, voice low. You love that voice, when he speaks for an audience of one. “When you’re ready.”

A breath. Another.

You lean into his space, fully willing to complete the task, but unsure where to place your good hand to brace yourself.

Slim fingers take a gentle hold of your wrist, directing your fingers into his hairline, palm gently pressed against his forehead. The grip on your wrist is enough, but that brief combing hair between your fingers… Heat rushes through you at the contact, and right behind it a thin sparking wire of hurt, remembering the last time you got so close, and how he’d so quickly rejected you, striking right at your weakest points.

And now here he is. Baring his weakness to you, offering you a tool that can strike just as hard.

You look away from your task, examining his face, your own troubled.

“It’s okay.” His reassurance warms the air.

That thing fluttering in your chest won’t shut up. To silence it, you resolutely focus on the assignment, determined to do it right and not hurt him.

Lined up, eye socket in the cradle of the device. Hold your breath.

Click.

Instinctively the hand on his forehead drops to his shoulder, steadying him as he lurches forward, a grimace warping his features. You drop the device back on the desk and quickly steady his head again with the prosthesis. No sorry comes from your lips, because you already knew this would happen— you knew this is supposed to happen, even if seeing him in pain wrenches at your gut.

A trickle of shimmer leaks from the bad eye, and you swipe it away with a ceramic thumb—

A tiny noise of surprise catches in your throat.

Again, you swipe your thumb over the scarred skin. Then your other fingers. The tingling is brief, and settles, but you still feel warmth. You still—

Breath hitches, throat constricting, and you do it again.

You cup his cheek and run the thumb up the valleys of scars, barely brushing against skin. Softer than you’ve been able to achieve until now. Because now…

Tears spring to your eyes, fingers fanning across the scarred half of his face, breath uneven.

“I—” You can’t even find words.

For the first time in over a month, you have a hand again.

Every little divot, every puckered edge of old wounds, the heat of his cheek, the minuscule hairs on those areas left untouched— you feel it all.

There’s no attempt to hide the overwhelming flood that seizes you in its grip. Wonder and relief and bittersweet pain that you’d missed it for so long, all playing out across your face, inches from his. You still stare at his scars, at the ceramic fingers tracing along them— your fingers, finally feeling a part of you.

Flesh hand digs into his shoulder, excitement making you shift on your perch, push closer, reveling in the sensation.

It’s clear this is connected to the shimmer, because not every inch has gained feeling, just the textured finger pads that brushed the medication from his cheek. Realization clicks that that’s why your wrist tingled as well, once he took it with shimmer-touched fingers. Whatever mix he has, whatever specialized formula is in that syringe, that’s the key. Part of you wants to drench the hand in that mix, but you don’t want to let go.

A delicate touch follows the ashen curve beneath his eye, the half-missing eyebrow, then up along one deep scar to finger the start of the distinct light streak in his hair. A short breath breaks from lips parted with amazement at the fine texture freshly available to those fingers. Drawing down the scars again. Back up, in a slow lazy pattern.

Down, up, mapping his fault lines. Worshipping his injuries with your own.

It’s only his sigh of breath that makes you zoom out, to see more than just your fingers caressing skin. His good eye is closed, though there’s a small touch of concern pulling his brows together, just slightly. Lips are tight but not distressed exactly...

Again, it’s an expression you know.

Want.

Need for more, and a refusal to act on that need.

—At least, assuming you’re reading him correctly.

The thing in your chest beats against your rib cage frantically, heart speeding as you consider the choice you’re halfway done making.

Fingers cup his cheek. Ceramic thumb follows those lines again, down to the point where they meet his lip. It brushes across the skin there, running back and forth over lips far softer than you expected, marveling at every little ridge you can feel, how you can suddenly feel his breath hitting skin that no longer exists.

Maybe you didn’t consider this decision at all, because not a single consequence has cemented itself in your mind. Your body acts on its own, bending to close the distance between you. Hardly a fraction of a second of hesitation.

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth, to the spot where the scars end, still cupping his face with your ceramic hand. A kiss without kissing.

—

[Happy new year! Feels about time we get some real intimacy y’know? 😏

Anyway, I originally intended to post this Christmas Eve, but then I got in a car crash on the 16th (I’m fine, my car isn’t) and had to deal with all that while my parents were out of town, an underwhelming holiday, followed by a 12-to-24 hour stomach bug the day after getting back to my apartment. Overall, a bit of a mess for the holidays 🥲 Thanks go out to anyone who helped me shoulder the cost of all of that, it really did add up when it comes to the ridiculous price of a cross-state-lines car rental. And also, though they’ll never read this, thanks to my fellow Jewish families that I can rely on to feed me when I’m left alone on Christmas Eve/day 😅 Honestly, I was super lucky to have the friends and family I have, it made all of this mess bearable.

ANYWAY.

I only have like 85-90% of the next chapter written, and I want to find some way to bring it to at least somewhat of a conclusion, since I haven’t been able to write for shit lately, but want to give some degree of closure for loyal readers. We’ll see what I can manage, I guess! But the original intention of posting 29-31 before the end of the year… welp. That apparently isn’t going to happen >< Holiday complications were unexpected. Regardless, I have to do the regular plugs and requests, so; if you liked this chapter, let me know! Comments, reblogs, responses on the ao3 post, etc— and if you want to find more content (reverse POVs you may have missed, art you may not have seen (new art coming soon!), fics from friends, etc) you can find all of that on the story’s masterpost here on tumblr. If you want to be tagged in the next (and potentially last?) chapter of this fic, just comment on this linked post to join the tag list.

I love you all so much, it always thrills me to see people’s reactions, and this has been a bright spot in the mess of the last couple weeks. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie @venommie @sheisacryptid @cuckconnosieur @yew-over-there @zaunite-leo @im-forgetful @rando-compilation @valkyrie05x

[crankityart]

Arcane characters and how to make them laugh + their laugh headcanons PART 1

Feat. Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Jayce, Viktor + Heimerdinger

This was really fun! I love making up these quirky little hcs and this was just on my mind. uwu Stay tuned for part 2.

Note: reader insert and implied character x reader, platonic and romantic.

Vi

Despite being a sarcastic person, Vi doesn’t laugh out loud too often

Most of the time she will react with a cocky chuckle or snort

Definitely enjoys way more making you laugh and listening to your sweet giggles

However, there is one thing that ALWAYS gets her: real-life slapstick

One day you went ice skating together and the first thing you did after bragging about how good you were at it, was accidentally fall flat on your ass

Vi immediately burst into laughter upon seeing you unhurt but absolutely dumbfounded by what had just happened

You were a bit flustered but hearing her unrestrained laughter echoing through the frost-covered park made you feel all warm all of a sudden

Eventually, she calmed down and offered you a hand to get back on your feet

Not without teasing you for the rest of the day about it of course

You wouldn’t expect it but Vi’s laugh is very similar to Jinx’s, raspy and high but definitely less hysterical and sometimes it even has some qualities of Vander’s if she does more of a belly laugh

She will even do a knee slap if something amuses her particularly

Jinx

She absolutely loves it when you do an impression of Sevika

Bonus points if you dress up as her with a cloak and something to substitute her robot arm for extra mockery

First Jinx will just be giggling, biting her lip while watching you put on a little show but by the end of your skit you will have her crying with laughter and kicking her legs 

She definitely has a childlike sense of humor and doesn’t shy away from letting herself loose

That involves hysterical giggling, heavy snorting, and cackling like a mad chicken 

Her laugh is definitely a lot and can be super annoying to the people around her

But not to you

Seeing her so genuinely happy is quite a nice change

Silco also doesn’t seem to mind it

Will also laugh her ass off seeing other people – especially those she dislikes – getting pranked   

Caitlyn

So … Caitlyn is quite experienced when it comes to retaining her composure

She doesn’t just burst out laughing even though in the past there have been a couple of close calls

Her mother usually cut her off when she started to giggle about something in an unflattering situation

When Caitlyn is not around her parents she’s usually much more comfortable showing her emotions

However … there is something she is insecure about: her laugh

You found out about it one time when the two of you were goofing around on the couch

You started tickling her and to your surprise, she burst into the biggest high-pitched dolphin laughter you have ever heard from anybody

You were taken aback and she was  m o r t i f i e d 

She explained to you that she hates her laugh but you assured her that it was the sweetest, most beautiful sound to ever exist on this planet

She just rolled her eyes, telling you to shut up while turning bright red  

Jayce

Jayce will laugh about anything really

Comedy shows? 

He will be in tears not even halfway through

You accidentally letting one rip? 

He will ROLL on the floor!

But something that will particularly amuse him and infuriate you (affectionately) is making you flustered

When he sees you blushing deep red, stumbling over your own words, and then putting on that hilariously pouty face he just can’t help it 

It’s TOO cute!

He will let out a hearty laugh at your expression, sometimes giving your a firm pat on the back or just wrapping his arm around you 

It’s hard to stay mad at him though because his laugh is just so charming

Like … this man is mocking you, how can he be so handsome about it?! >://(

Also claps loudly when laughing

And you always feel like your eardrums are gonna explode when he does it out of nowhere

Viktor

Oh boy, here we have a tough candidate …

Viktor has a peculiar sense of humor and it’s quite hard to make him laugh out loud

A soft chuckle or grin is the most you can get out of him usually

He is definitely one to cover his mouth and giggle in secret when people aren’t paying attention

However, there was this one time you accidentally called Heimerdinger ”Heimerdaddy” in front of the yordle’s face when you bid him goodbye

And much to your surprise Viktor just … lost it

It caught him so off guard that at first, he tried to keep his wheezing down, pressing his fist against his lips as hard as he could

But there was no way he would get a hold of himself anytime soon

It was just 10 minutes of suppressed wheezing and giggling only interrupted by him choking on his own laughter and coughing 

Afterward, he wiped away the tears from his face, apologizing about a million times

Weirdly despite your blunder, you didn’t feel embarrassed for being laughed at but instead felt a sense of pride for experiencing this side of Viktor that probably no one else has seen before

Needless to say you you never managed to make him laugh like this again sadly

+ Heimerdinger

He will laugh at really corny jokes or witty wordplay

Thing is: he is always the one laughing for WAY too long

Everyone else will have moved on while he's still repeating the punchline of the joke in between laughing fits

It gets really awkward ...

His laugh is kind of a Santa Claus-esque ”Hohoho” 

Only if Santa Claus was a gerbil

[parvulous-writings]

Surprise // Silco x M!Reader

This is a special little oneshot - for the amazing @rey-is-not-a-skywalker

Summary: Silco has noticed some of your recent behaviours, so gives you a little surprise

Warnings: It's nothing graphic, it's just rather specifically tailored! partially uncharacteristically soft silco - lots of tension with Sevika. Detailed but also... not detailed?

Words: 2.6K

Notes:  Unfortunately something is wrong with my Tumblr right now - it's going through long phases of not letting me save drafts and/or post. I've submitted tickets but the first one said there wasn't anything wrong (from a couple weeks ago) and the most recent one hasn't gotten a response yet. I appreciate all of your patience <3 My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my gif

Silco had always had a bit of a soft spot for you. At first, he tried to hide it, but here were ways in which you could tell; you'd be the only one he'd offer a drink to at a meeting, his eyes would linger on you for a moment too long every so often, and the mere fact that you worked for him were all signs that some way, somehow, you had wormed your way into his seemingly cold, dead heart. The first to notice was of course, his right hand, Sevika. At first she thought it was merely strange, but then she started to get downright suspicious. First the child he had taken under his wing, and now... You. The child, for the most part, stayed out of Sevika's way, even when spending time with Silco. She could deal with that. But you, you were never too far from Silco - you were practically on display. The man made sure that he always had an excuse on hand to keep you close - preferably within his line of sight. You didn't seem to notice the special attention you always got from the man, but Sevika did. To her, it was akin to a giant flashing neon sign above your head. Though part of her was indeed happy that Silco had finally started to feel emotions strongly enough to care for someone again, another part of her was simply boiling at the prospect. Not out of jealousy, but more out of sheer impracticality. This was not the time to fall in love. Not when everything between Zaun and Piltover was at a head - when Silco needed to keep a close eye on his very calculated moves concerning Topside. The last thing he - or anyone else involved - needed, was a distraction.

But to Silco, the kind of distraction you were giving him wasn't the kind that would be the end of his operation - at least in his eyes. To him, you were giving him a break from the rest of the world, some peace that he had needed for what had now become many years. It was a kind of peace that made him feel almost normal, that for those brief moments, he could pretend that perhaps he had a better life; friends, perhaps a small family, a proper home. This little daydream of his never usually lasted for long, but he wished it would at times.

After about three weeks of Silco's unusual behaviour concerning you, Sevika had reached her boiling point. She couldn't deal with this situation without answers anymore. So, storming up the corridor towards Silco's study, she had a purpose. She was going to get to the bottom of this little mystery, she knew that much. Several scenarios were playing through her mind as she reached the door, flinging it open with such strength that it almost put a hole in the wall. Silco immediately looked up, glaring at the intruder. Even after realising that it was only Sevika, his gaze didn't waver. It seemed that the woman had interrupted whatever goings-on had been happening in the room, and Silco was not happy about it. Silco put down the small objects he had been fiddling with, raising his undamaged brow at the woman. "And what is the meaning of this?" He asked, his voice starting to drip with venom. "We need to... discuss something." Sevika replied, choosing her words very carefully. She didn't want to anger Silco, but she knew that she was already on her way to that eventuality. "Do we really? Well, last time I checked, people typically knock at my door before entering." He glanced to the corner of the room mid-sentence. "It's alright, you don't need to be afraid... You just keep playing..." A small smile plays on his lips as he speaks to you, sat in the corner, happily amusing yourself. Silco's gaze span back to Sevika, becoming cold once more. "Sit down." The woman didn't argue, sitting herself in the uncomfortable - albeit allegedly padded - chair on the other side of Silco's desk. "What exactly is this about?" Silco asked, brushing away the pieces of clutter he had been fiddling with a few minutes prior. Sevika stayed quiet for a moment too long, and it wore Silco's patience thin very quickly. "Well?" He snapped impatiently. "We need to talk about... Him." Sevika's gaze briefly flitted to you, and Silco's eyes narrowed. He wasn't liking where this was going. "What about him?" Silco's tone was cold, almost accusatory. It held an unsaid 'choose your next words very carefully'. Though Sevika was undeniably a valuable asset to his operation, he was not opposed to disciplining her if she dared to speak ill of you. Sevika fell silent again at this. How was she going to put this without royally pissing him off? "I just think..." She began, but soon trailed off as she watched Silco's slender hands slowly ball into fists as they rested on his desk. "... That he's distracting you." There was no other way for her to put it, so she decided to try and face the issue head on, no matter how Silco's temper may to it. "Distracting me?" Silco's voice was... Eerily calm. "And how exactly would you say he's distracting me?" Sevika just gestured to his desk with her augmented arm, then to you seated in the corner with her other arm. "He... He does not contribute. All he does is sit and play like a child. He isn't a child! And you just... Let him? You let him sit in on sensitive shit, Silco!" She exclaimed, getting to her feet. "It's not right." "You wish to lecture me on what is right?" Silco responded, voice practically oozing past his lips. He leant back in his chair as he spoke, eyes trained on Sevika across from him. "After all I have given to you? After all we have achieved together?" His hand trails along the surface of his desk as he slowly gets to his feet. "Have you anything else you wish to say about my arrangements here?" He asks, gesturing vaguely to the room encasing you all. At this question, Sevika falls silent. She knows what kind of test this is - a test of loyalty. Whether she is willing enough to withstand Silco's... fancies, or whether she wants to be dealt with. Typically, Sevika was the one to do the 'dealing', so no doubt she would be left to Jinx, to be the young woman's play thing.

Sevika barely even needed to consider this; she's played with Jinx before, and as demure as the teen could seem to most, she was truly unhinged when it mattered. She had bested Sevika, and the older woman was not too keen to let that happen again. Silco began to turn away, his hand resting on the back of his chair, just above his shoulder height. He heaved a sigh, his slender shoulders slowly moving up, then down with the action, as he tried to rid himself of the tension that had now rooted in the muscle. "I… Didn't mean right as in…" Sevika started to try and explain herself, in an effort to keep herself in his good books, but by the grip that he suddenly had on the top of his chair, he wasn't in any sort of mood to listen to her reasonings. His head whipped round partially, his lips parted in a sneer. Sevika slowly nodded at this, finally deciding to react to the silent message she was being given. Perhaps she would try and get him alone - if that were even possible. Without another word, she left the room, closing the door and returning the room to how it had been before her arrival. Silco runs a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself, before rounding his chair to face you, as you happily sat with your little creations, blissfully ignoring the conversation that had gone on beside you, just a few feet away. Silco returned to his seat, bringing the objects he had been occupied with before back to his attention, and right in front of him. Carefully, and with a deft hand, he clipped all the pieces together, making sure they fit perfectly, and could move with relative ease without being too loose. When he was finally satisfied with the state of his creation, he got to his feet once more, slowly and quietly making his way over to you. "My dear..." He began, his tone dipped in a softness that rarely ever showed itself. You glance up briefly, a little surprised that he's approached you - it's the middle of the day, shouldn't he be working? Your brows furrow as you are about to ask this question to him, but he seems to predict your query before the words pass your lips. "I always have time for you." He speaks, handing you the small figure he had been working on nearly all morning.

It's a small, pose-able bat. Your eyes light up - the model itself had many smaller components that must not have been easy to place. "I made sure it was perfect, for you." Silco's voice breaks you from your thoughts again, the man's smile visible to you before your eyes had even turned back to his face again. "Well? Do you like it?" He asks, not quite impatient, but more... Desperate. Eager, perhaps is the best way to describe him - he wants, no, needs to know that it's to your liking. You giggle quietly, nodding at him with a wide smile. "I love it, Silco..." You stretch up for a moment, pressing a gentle kiss to his scarred cheek. You then turn back to your model - a vast array of little buildings, all of which Silco has, over time, watched you build and place according to your whims. You gaze over the miniature skyline briefly, before finding the perfect place to nestle this little creature Silco had gifted you - perched amongst some billboards, hiding in plain sight of the human figurines lining the streets below. "There..." You say, partly to yourself, before turning back to look at Silco, beaming with pride. "He can stay there, and we can both see him..." You chuckle, and Silco slowly lowers himself to sit beside you. "He, hm?" Silco hums, "And that's his name? I never thought of one for him..." He muses, playing along with you. You purse your lips in thought, trying to wrack your brain for a suitable name for your newfound bat figure. You shake your head, your nose scrunches as you fail to bring forth a suitable name for the little bat. "I've got nothing..." You reply softly, almost sounding disappointed. You feel Silco's hand come to rest on your shoulder. "It's alright... I'm sure we'll think of something, hm?" He pauses for a moment, his thumb slowly moving over your shoulder in an attempt to soothe any true disappointment you may have. "Now... How about we come away from this for a little while, and get you something to eat?" You nod slowly in agreement, and the pair of you get to your feet; Silco's hand fumbles for a moment whilst it seeks out yours, before your fingers intertwine with one another's.

Lunch, as always, was served in Silco's office, but the pair of you had moved over to another part of the room, sitting down at a small table and pair of plush chairs, that Silco had actually put in a week or so after your arrival. Before you, Silco had often had lunch alone at his desk, but now he had someone to dine with, who actually seemed to be less afraid of him than anyone else. In truth, there was little reason for you to fear Silco - the temper and fury that he had so often let loose on others without warning and without mercy, had never been directed at you, not even a smidgen of it. You had seen it before, of course, living with him made that more violent side of him hard to avoid, but he would always go and calm himself down before he came back to you, if something had gotten him too riled up. You sat across from one another, happily tucking in to your warm meals. Naturally, it was no Topside meal, but it was some of the best you'd be able to get in the Underground. Silco had made sure that you would always get the finest of what the Lanes had to offer, no matter what it took to get it. Thankfully, being the one to pull the strings in the majority of Zaun now, this was no issue for the man. He had treated you to the finest things he could get his hands on, most of them from the other barons of the Underground, but some things he even managed to import from Topside - not that he ever let you in on his secrets on that side of things. In fact, it was very rare that Silco let you know of, well, anything in terms of business. You had asked him about this once or twice before, and his only response was about 'keeping you safe'. That's all it ever was, no matter what you tried to discuss with him on the side of business. 'I don't want you getting involved, dear.' He'd tell you. 'It's not safe, and I'd rather not even think about risking you in this kind of trade... Please, understand at least this much, if anything..' And after that particular conversation, he'd brush you off or change the subject any time you'd bring it up. In his eyes, he had made his stance on the situation very clear. In it's own, sort of sweet way, you believed that this was the main way Silco showed he cared for you - even if he never really said it out loud, besides perhaps the pet name. Public displays - hell, most outward displays - of affection were not entirely Silco's area... And you've never pushed for that kind of thing, as it seemed to be a somewhat tender subject for him. You never asked why, it was not your business, and you hoped that eventually he may trust you - and himself - enough to tell you. For the time being, though, you were both happy enough keeping your relationship as it was; a vastly unspoken one, where although your care and affection for one another was deep-rooted and painfully obvious even to the pair of you, nothing was ever truly confirmed, nothing was made concrete by your words. You were happy with it for the most part - though a small part of you yearned desperately for the validation of his love - and although you hoped to bring up the unspoken part of your relationship at some point in the future, it was to remain the distant future for the time being. You didn't want to ruin a good thing and push Silco too much for an answer, causing him to just... Cut off everything entirely. You had seen it happen before, though mostly with lesser goons that he took in to do all of his dirty work, and whilst you didn't see yourself on their level, you didn't want to take any risks.

"Did you like your surprise?" Silco's low, velvet voice breaks you from your trance. You look up to him, and nod eagerly. You loved it - a truly wonderful and sweet surprise. "I did... Was there an occasion for it?" You asked, placing your cutlery on your plate as you finished your meal. "Do I need an occasion to get you gifts?" He responds, his eyes now fixed on the remainder of his meal. You pause briefly, before shaking your head in answer to his question. "No, of course not..." You crack a smile at him, which he soon returns when he meets your eye. He lets out a breathy chuckle, clearly pleased with this response of yours. "Good... Because, I can assure you, there will be many more to come..."

[ace-of-zaun]

Don't Go (One-shot):

young!silco x gn!reader - 3.6k words - SFW 

cw: angst, fluff, breakup conversations, happy ending, reconciliation, arguments, silco struggling with his emotions, little bit possessive, soft silco, suggestive ending (this one is pretty angsty but don’t worry, it all works out in the end!)

summary: Silco, your long time boyfriend, does something you’d begged him not to, so you regretfully decide that you need a break from him. Silco has other plans. 

You didn't want to go. Not really. 

But after Vander’s revelation, you felt like you had no choice. 

Silco had been all fired up the night before, ranting and raving about his latest (and quite frankly terrible) plan of breaking into the Sheriff’s office Topside to gain information about any upcoming raids in your neighbourhood. 

The surprise Enforcer raids had been hitting businesses across Zaun at random, an M.O of storming in and ransacking each place with no clear means or motive, and definitely without any warning. 

Understandably then, Vander, Silco, and you had been particularly concerned that a raid would hit The Last Drop any day now, and despite every effort to hide anything that could give you away, there was a real fear that your revolutionary group would be discovered and brutally dismantled. 

But the idea of breaking into the Sheriff’s office of all places was beyond dangerous and to your frustration, you just couldn’t get Silco to listen to reason.

You’d pleaded with him not to do something so risky. You’d tried to calm down, told him to just wait until you could all discuss it together as a group and come up with a plan that wasn’t so grandiose, and in your view, completely and utterly stupid. 

Eventually, Silco had gotten frustrated and rolled his eyes, grumbling that he wouldn’t go as he’d slunk off downstairs to no doubt drink the night away in the bar. 

This morning you’d woken with him fast asleep by the side of you in bed and, assuming he’d wasted the evening drinking himself dry, you thought nothing of it until later this afternoon when you’d found out the truth from Vander. 

Silco had gone Topside to scout out the building that housed the Sheriff’s office. 

Vander had desperately tried to reassure you that Silco wouldn’t have done anything stupid but it had done absolutely nothing to douse the flames of anger and hurt spreading through you. 

The damage was done. 

Now, salty tears finally drying on your cheeks, you stand in your shared bedroom packing your belongings into the rucksack laid out on your bed. 

Silco is still out running errands so there's a note placed carefully on the desk in your bedroom. It's not ideal, but it's for the best. 

However cowardly it makes you feel to reduce your breakup to a measly note, you're too emotionally drained to even think about having another argument with him.

You just can’t deal with it right now. 

Planning to stay with a friend until you found somewhere you could afford by yourself, you convince yourself that if he truly wants you back, if he truly wants to fix things, he’ll come and find you.

You’ve already packed the easy things, like most of your clothes and your toiletries from the bathroom. The real challenge now it would seem is the more sentimental items, like the pile of gifts currently lined up on the bed that you’d received from Silco over the years. 

The little toy poro he'd scrimped and saved to buy you for your birthday that one year. Or the matching sunglasses he'd stolen as a little souvenir from your third date. 

As you stare down at the gifts on the bed wondering if you’ll have enough room to bring them all, the door opens behind you.

You freeze, knowing exactly who it is before he’s even spoken. 

"There you are," Silco announces, his voice clearly tired but still laced with a hint of relief. "Vander said you were-" 

He cuts himself off as he undoubtedly takes in the state of the bedroom before speaking again in a tone of pure shock. 

"What are you doing?" 

You can’t bring yourself to answer so instead busy yourself with shoving all of the gifts into your bag before he can see them. 

"No," he breathes out from the doorway as it dawns on him. 

It sends a horrible pang of hurt ringing in your chest, only made worse when he pleadingly says your name.

"Please don't do this." 

"I have to, Silco," you sigh, trying to keep your heart as closed off as you can. It hurts enough as it is without you letting your emotions run wild. 

"You don't,” he says. “You don't have to." 

You stop answering because you can tell this particular line of conversation will just go in circles. 

Behind you, he shuts the door with a click and it irritates you into shoving more into the bag, no longer caring about being neat or if you should leave anything behind. 

"Is this because of what happened last week? I already told you that wasn't my fault," Silco continues when you don’t respond or turn to face him. 

He's referring to the incident where he almost got shot after taunting some enforcers for no good reason.

Truth be told, that incident had absolutely terrified you, but it was just one of the many reasons why you couldn’t keep doing this. 

"No, it isn't because of that," you say flatly. 

"Then why?" 

You finally turn to look at him, the first time since he’d left the bar this morning. (He looks gorgeous and like he's on the verge of heartbreak and you hate that you still love him despite it all.) 

"Where did you go last night?" you ask flatly, looking him square in the eyes.

As expected his expression instantly turns stony, but after years of learning and reading his tells, you can see the twitches of regret in his eyes. 

A few beats of silence pass and you know he’s too stubborn to admit it out loud. 

Your response is quiet. Resigned. 

"That's why."

Turning back round to face the bed, you begin to shove down all your belongings as far down into the bag as they can go, making sure you have enough room for the last bits that you know are in the wardrobe. 

"Look, I'm sorry for doing it behind your back, but I had to go," he starts, and it feels like the beginning of the heated argument that you were so desperately hoping to avoid.

Your cool facade broken, you whirl round to face him straight on, built-up ire finally pouring out of you in reams. 

"No, you didn't have to go! You went because you wanted to and you went even though I asked you- no, begged you not to," you yell at him.

He flinches minutely at the sudden raise in volume, but keeps his own voice calm and steady when he crafts his response. 

"You don't understand, this is important," he emphasises. "They cannot find out what we’re doing to fight against them, not when we’re this close to finally having the lives we deserve, that all of us deserve.”

It takes all your strength not to give in to his words and continue the argument with an incredulous scoff.

As if you don’t know all that. As if you didn’t spend your days fighting for Zaun as well. 

As if you didn’t fight every second for him. 

You shut it down immediately, twisting back round to face the bed. 

"I'm not doing this," you say blankly. 

"What?" he replies, clearly stunned. 

"I'm not arguing with you, Silco. I'm leaving." 

It breaks your heart to say it, but in this moment, you see no other way forward. Not if he’s going to keep on like this. 

Silco says nothing as you pack away the rest of your belongings into your bag, briefly recalling that you still have a few last bits in the wardrobe. You're almost certain that his anger is charging up in the silence, readying himself to launch into a whole speech about how wrong you are.

But when he does speak again, the sound of his choked-up voice feels like a shot directly to your heart.  

"You can't leave." 

Your heart sinks into your stomach and everything within you practically screams to cross the room and hug him, but you know that if you even look at him you’ll end up changing your mind. So, you move over to the wardrobe instead and pull open the doors to ensure he’s not in your line of sight. 

Silco says your name in that horribly soft timbre he only uses when he’s desperate and even though it pretty much tears you apart to ignore him, you focus on pulling the rest of your clothes from the closet.

He speaks your name again, this time even more desperately and you suddenly find yourself biting back tears. 

Fuck, why did he have to come home early? Why couldn't you just have some time to grieve by yourself? 

"Silco, it's over," you bite out, just wanting this horrible situation to be done with so you can work on healing. 

Finally moving into the room, you hear his footsteps creak on the old wooden floorboards behind you. 

You brace yourself for him to take your hand or wrap his arms around you but to your confusion, his footsteps halt in the centre of the room and you hear an unexpected rustling sound instead. 

Spinning around, you find Silco holding your backpack upside down in the air, emptying the contents back onto the bed with vigorous shakes. Your belongings drop onto the sheets in a crumpled mess, undoing all your work to get them all into the rucksack. 

Silco glares at the bag with tight-lipped hatred, as if it’s the reason you’re leaving, the longer strands of his hair falling down and bouncing with each rough movement of his arms. 

You stare at him in disbelief, your jaw slack until you find the words to confront him.  

"What the fuck, Silco? Put them back!"

He grips the bag even tighter. 

"No." 

And just like that, your astonishment slides into anger. 

"Silco," you warn, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Put. Them. Back." 

"Not if it means you'll stay," he replies obstinately. 

He continues to shake the bag but, ever the impatient boy, gets too frustrated and decides to drop the bag onto the bed. Rapidly taking out handfuls of your belongings until the backpack is empty, he then throws it at the wall furthest from you with a grunt. 

Silco’s gaze slides to look at you from across the room and you both stare at each other breathlessly, chests borderline heaving. 

A clear challenge. 

Unfortunately for Silco, you can be stubborn too. 

Without another word, you reach into the wardrobe and pull out his backpack, moving over to the other side of the bed to restart your packing. 

This time, Silco rushes around the bed to you and tries to grab your hand, but you pull it away, taking a step back. 

"Just stop-" 

"Please don't leave me," he pleads in the most heartbreaking, riven timbre you’ve ever heard him speak in and your heart wrenches. 

He sounds like the little boy you’d met all that time ago in those dark mines, the one who was so desperate to no longer be alone. 

"I'll do anything, I can't do this without you," he begs. 

"Do what without me?" 

"Any of it," he blurts out, running a distressed hand through his hair. "Some days, the only thing that gets me through the day is knowing that you'll be here when I get home."

Your insides jolt at such a vulnerable confession from such a headstrong man, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get when he suddenly drops to one knee in front of you, taking one of your hands in both of his. 

Heart racing ten to the dozen, you watch in horror as he glances up at you. 

He’d better not be doing what you think he’s doing…

"Silco-" 

"I love you," he says. "I love you more than anything in the world." 

You watch as tears line his lashes and soon find yourself matching. 

Fuck, you were expecting yelling and anger, not this. 

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

"Please," he repeats and it cracks your mask in two.

Your knees give out and you let yourself sink down onto the floor with him. 

Silco immediately throws his arms around you, only just stopping you from falling back with how quickly he presses his body against yours, burying his head in the crook of your neck. 

On instinct, you wrap your arms around his frame, one hand rubbing his back whilst the other cards through his inky strands as he rocks you gently from side to side. 

Little whispers of “Don't go,” and “I need you,” are mumbled into your hair, and you’re almost certain the wetness on your neck is from those tears that had been threatening to break free. You kindly decide not to mention it. 

Eventually, you sigh and rest your forehead on his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut in a pitiful attempt to ease the difficult conversation up ahead. 

"Sil, I can't keep doing this."

He sniffles a little and pulls back to look at you but doesn’t let go. (He never lets go.)

"Doing what?" he asks, brows furrowing in that cute little way he does when he’s confused about something. 

"Watching you destroy yourself." 

"I'm not-" 

"You are, Silco, and it's hurting me," you enunciate, holding his cheeks to force his gaze on you. He needs to understand how serious you are about this. 

The horrified expression on his face instinctively causes you to brush some of his hair back tenderly while he processes your words. 

"I want a better Zaun too, but not at the cost of you sacrificing yourself," you continue, keeping your voice quiet but firm. 

He’s clearly overwhelmed, seafoam eyes so wide and trenched in deep-rooted panic. But with a lack of response to distract you, you’re forced to take notice of the pain spreading through your back and legs at the awkward sitting position you’re in. 

You shift your body, pulling away from him to situate yourself in a comfier position, but the second you loosen your arms from his thin frame, his hand desperately grip you even tighter, clutching onto you like a child to their mother’s leg. 

"No, I-"

"I'm not going anywhere, I just need to move before my legs go numb," you’re quick to reassure him. 

At this, Silco relaxes slightly, allowing you to move so your back is resting against the side of the bed. His fingers clasp onto your shirt the entire time and the very second you’re planted in a spot that doesn’t completely ruin your spine, he pulls you against him once more. 

"What- What can I do to make you stay?" he says between a harsh swallow. 

 You sigh, swiping a hand across your face tiredly. 

"I need you to stop this ridiculous crusade you're on. Or," you add when he goes to protest, "at the very least, include the rest of us in it." 

He bites the inside of his lip and entwines his fingers with yours. 

"You can't keep making reckless decisions by yourself, Sil. It affects all of us. Especially me." 

Silco keeps quiet for a few moments, so you give him time to think while his thumb rhythmically traces your knuckles back and forth. 

This can’t be easy for him. He’s pretty independent by nature (most Undercity kids are), but Silco is especially so when it comes to the fight for Zaun’s freedom. 

But if he wants you to stay, you’re going to need some compromise. 

"Okay," he eventually says, breaking the silence to gaze at you with muted hope. 

You’re not letting him off that easily. 

"Okay what?" you say expectantly. 

He sighs and suddenly he’s transformed into that petulant little boy again. 

"Okay, I'll run things by you and Vander before making any big decisions," Silco heaves, like it physically pains him to say. 

"And?" you prompt with a raised eyebrow. 

Silco stares at you with a look of disbelief, but his lip is curled in clear disgust. 

"There's no way I'm running anything by Benzo," he scoffs. "It'd be more useful talking to a brick wall." 

You slap his arm half heartedly and bite back a laugh. 

"No! I meant, are you going to stop throwing yourself into stupid situations for no reason?" 

"I knew you were still upset about last week," Silco replies, a knowing expression melting across his features. 

"Of course I'm upset about it! They almost shot you!" you fire back with indignation. 

As if you wouldn’t be horrified at the idea of your boyfriend getting seriously hurt and potentially arrested just for being an idiot. 

Silco gently combs his fingers through your hair, eyes tracing your features as that smug little smirk you secretly adore colours his lips. 

"The key word in that sentence is almost, my lovely." 

The glare you level him with is met by a crooked grin, but it’s soon wiped off his face when you jab his stomach with your elbow, ignoring the “Oof,” in favour of cuddling up to him even closer.

Silco lets out a sigh of relief and rests his head against yours whilst one hand sneaks up behind you to surreptitiously wipe his eyes dry with his sleeve. 

You allow yourself to relax for a few quiet moments, slowly calming each other down with soft touches until your breathing syncs up with the boy holding you close to his chest. 

Silco soon murmurs into your hair, hand smoothing along your waist. 

"So you'll stay?" 

"Yes, I'll stay," you reply softly, nestling into the crook of his neck. 

It’s seemingly not enough to soothe his nerves because he leans back and tilts your chin up with one finger until you meet his anxious gaze. 

"You promise?" 

"I promise, Silco." 

Relief melts through his whole body, but with it brings a cool wash of physical and emotional exhaustion that you wish you could wipe clean. 

"You know you can always talk to me, right?” you tell him gently, pinky finger delicately tracing along one eyebrow until the lines of his face relax. “I know you're always so busy trying to keep us afloat but you don't have to do it all alone. You can tell me when things are bothering you, it doesn’t make you weak or ‘less of a man’." 

He gazes at you in profound wonder before lightly cupping one side of your face with his hand. 

"I really do love you," he whispers, tenderly tracing one thumb down your cheek.

It feels like the weight of your near-breakup is lifted off your shoulders when you finally say it back. 

"I love you too, Sil." 

He leans down to kiss your head and you find yourself desperately hoping that he keeps his promise. You never want to have to go through this again. 

But for now, graced with another chance to stay with the only person you’ve ever loved, you focus on the present, needing to change the heavy atmosphere stifling the room. Your tone shifts into a light, coy thing that immediately grabs his attention. 

"You know, if you hadn't rushed in all guns blazing last night you'd have had the chance to listen to my plan for getting the info we need," you tell him. "Y'know, one that wouldn't get you thrown in Stillwater." 

Silco stares at you with a frown and you struggle to keep in the smile that threatens to break. 

"What plan?" 

"The one where I seduce a poor, unsuspecting enforcer and use a bit of good old-fashioned lip service to get what we need," you say coquettishly, batting your eyelashes at him innocently despite the clear innuendo lacing your words. 

Instantly, (brilliantly), his seafoam eyes darken with a delicious combination of jealousy and lust, sending a spark of hot desire through your body. 

"Not in a million years," he says gruffly, pulling you even closer to him. 

You twirl a playful finger through your hair. 

"I don't know, I think it's a great plan if you ask me," you reply with an air of teasing nonchalance. 

"I wouldn't let you anywhere near them,” his grip tightens on the fabric by your waist. “You're mine.”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, knowing exactly what it does to him. 

"Prove it." 

There’s a beat of electrified silence before Silco abruptly stands, pulling you up with him until you’re both on your feet.

He smoothly coils one arm around your waist, the other snaking around the nape of your neck until his lips hover tantalisingly above yours. And just when you think he’s about to finally close the gap, he pauses.

You frown, chest flooding with anxiety that you’ve done something wrong, or he’s changed his mind, or-

Silco removes the hand resting behind your head and before you can voice your concerns, he suddenly grabs the bed sheet, ripping it off the bed in a move that sends the mess of your once-packed belongings tumbling to the floor in a cacophony. 

"Silco!" you admonish him, already envisioning the amount of time and effort it would take to pick everything up and put it back in its rightful place. 

"What?” he says, like butter wouldn’t melt. “We can put it back in the morning." 

Then, he swiftly picks you up and tosses you onto the mattress, making you squeal in surprise. 

Silco kneels onto the bed and climbs until his body is hovering over yours, arms caging you in as you heat up, warmth flooding downwards in anticipation. 

"Now, I think it's time I make it up to you, sweetheart," he purrs, leaning down to hotly trace your ear with his lips. “I’m going to make sure you never want to leave this bed again.”

- A/N: don’t mind me, just casually obsessed with the idea of silco emptying out your bag to desperately stop you from leaving and then frenziedly trying to propose to you when he doesn’t know to deal with his emotions 💁‍♀️

[irabelaswriting]

incentive

chapter 16: pay the boat fare

pairing: silco x f!reader  |  rating: M  | words: 7.0k |  ao3

After several, motionless seconds, Silco stiffened, his good eye widening slowly. 

Then, it sharpens towards you. “She doesn’t. Not anymore.” 

That– that wasn’t even an answer to your question. 

The scoff that leaves you is perhaps a bit too derisive. “Right. As if that doesn’t play a part in this.”

Silco visibly bristles – at your tone or your words, you don’t know – perhaps a bit of both, you think, as his brow furrows, hackles rising like a street cat ready to fight for turf. “And what, precisely, is this?” 

Before fear of Silco’s ire has time to really take root inside your already hammering ribcage, you go on, willing your voice to be steady. “This being fact that Jinx was so afraid of missing out that she bends to every whim. You said she had no friends, ever. She had a sister – other kids, friends close enough to be brothers–”

Silco cuts you off, a dry lilt to his voice as if he’s feigning boredom. “If you’d been more observant, you would know that this isn’t some well kept secret.” 

Familiar heat rises in your veins, catalyzing every pent up emotion all at once, releasing the same cathartic heat from back down in the bar, just mere days ago. 

“Then why lie about it?” 

The two of you were dancing on a tightrope now.

Silco is still very much your boss, still very much a dangerous criminal who could have you weighed down and thrown in the deepest parts of the river Pilt should he feel inclined to do so. You’d be nothing but a skeleton at the bottom of the river, bones turned to coral, by the time anyone would come looking for you.

And going by the way he was gearing up to fume at you now, you considered that he was, indeed, feeling inclined. 

As Silco speaks this time, the words are cold like steel, armed with a sharp point that delivers the words with medical precision. “Did I misjudge your ability to think as well as your ability to look any further than your nose?” 

Insulting and demeaning you all in one breath – you’d almost been worried the two of you were past that stage. 

Holding back the urge to question if he has early onset dementia, among other things, your knuckles lighten around the tray still pressed tightly against your front as you scowl up at him. 

Still, it doesn’t stop the way your heart sinks at his words, making you falter for just a moment. You shake that off– no, you weren’t the one in the wrong here. 

“I specifically asked and you still didn’t tell me.” 

Sure, it might not have been the best time and place for such questions, with Jinx being in the room and what not, but then again – you had spent the rest of the evening in his company, giving him ample time to broach the subject again. 

Half the night, too. 

Don’t think about that. Not now.

“Tell me, did you find it entertaining to uncover this?” The question is followed by a predatory tilt of his head, as if he’s caught you gossiping behind his back. 

The memory of his hands on you, the way he’d spoken to you just mere minutes beforehand, dissipates instantly. 

That wasn’t what you’d meant–

“N-no,” you start, blinking up at him – this wasn’t a game to get him to slip up, to catch him in a lie or make a fool out of him, honestly, that was more his game than yours, “I just–”

“Then why do you insist?” Silco said, a hard scowl etched across his face. A low rumble of anger is present there too, reminding you of the imminent danger that you naturally associate with Silco, unmistakable in your mind.

Mouth opening and closing – a sentence starts to form on the tip of your tongue but it dies there as well. The need to defend yourself at his particularly derisive and accusing tone is still there, as present as the heart banging behind your ribcage. 

He wants you to argue – to offer him something he can shut down, you know, but it’s hard to utter the many thoughts that pass through your still slightly sore head. 

Shifting on your feet, fingernails digging into the tray even harder as you say nothing for a moment. 

Wasn’t it obvious? 

It comes much more naturally, to think of Jinx, the girl you’ve grown to care so much for during your short time together; the in-much-need-of-a-trim-bangs, the gap-toothed smile, the pretty freckles strewn across her complexion. The inherent sadness in her eyes, pools of blue that swam with endless guilt, the fat tears that would roll down from her eyes onto blotchy cheeks in the dead of night. 

It had felt like a failure – crushing her expectations, making her feel left out when it really had been all for her.

Was it so terrible that you wished something other than the worst for her? 

In the end, you found that sincerity could be a harsh weapon. 

You meet his mismatched gaze head on, willing your voice not to waver. “Jinx doesn’t deserve to go through that again.”

Silco’s lip curls unpleasantly as you speak. The singe of his scarlet sclera moves across your face – evaluating and calculating, weighing your words – leaving an almost pantomime burn in its wake. 

Fleetingly, you notice how the hands by Silco’s sides have clenched into fists.

“Like so many other children of Zaun, Jinx has a past unimaginable to you. And it is not up for debate like some spectacle.” He finally says. All of the former wry, teasing lilt that filled his voice is gone now, replaced with a cold, disregarding tone. 

It is your turn to glower, hotness in your veins soaring. Was that an excuse to not speak of what had been before all of this? That it was information that could’ve been easily obtained, figured out on your own. Yet you had asked–

The tray still pressed tightly against your front is the only thing keeping you from throwing your hands up at how obtuse he’s being. Was he taking this disingenuously on purpose? 

“That isn’t what I’m saying.” You scoff back at him, despite all the obvious tells on his face ordering you to drop this, now. You could almost hear him in the back of your mind, a patronizing girl attached to the end of it. Silco’s obvious annoyance is easy to replicate – it spurns you on too, riles you up like all the alarm clocks in the back of your mind were set off all at once. “Not trusting me with this kind of information, information that hasn’t even been confidential, that you just omitted due to some whim on your part,” you know better, you do, but the words keep coming, like you can’t stop, “is so– stupid.”

A tremor tugged on the good side of his face at the word – stupid. 

“It’s backwards, isn’t it? You– you expect me to do this, to help her, but you won’t tell me who it is she cries for.” 

A moment passes. A single, silent moment – carrying the weight of all you truly want to say, want to ask. 

How much more could you have done for Jinx if you’d known? 

“It’s just like what you told Jinx – that you need to see the consequences of your actions before doing them.” You shake your head, dismay breaking through your voice. What other solace could you have provided for her? What words of comfort would have come naturally? What other ways could you have found to stop her from falling apart at the seams? “If I had just known the extent of it, that she once had a family and friends who loved her–”

“Enough.” 

If his anger had been the low rumble of thunder in the far distance before – now, it was as if lightning struck. 

“They weren't her friends.” Silco sneered, rage flicking in his bright eye. It reminds you all too well of the carefully curated contempt you’d witnessed at the boathouse, the quiet harsh tone he’d used on the Sheriff. 

It’s so hard to not cower away from him, from the anger that’s almost palpable in the air, to lower your eyes and stare down at his feet, be the epitome of obedience. 

“They shunned her. Abandoned her. Left her to fend for herself. If you only knew half of what she has told me of them you’d be reconsidering this pitiful attempt at discrediting–” 

“I don’t and that’s reason enough to tell me–” 

“Watch your tongue,” Silco cuts you off, wielding a tone that offers no argument, “I’ve been lenient enough with you, girl. I’ve looked past your misdoings more times than I can count.” 

It’s hyperbole, but effective in making anger rear its ugly head nonetheless.

You scoff, taking a step back from him. “And I should look past yours because of it?”

“It means you should know your place.” Silco follows, stepping into your personal space again, bending until his nose almost touched yours. “I would be happy to remind you of it, since you so obviously need it.”

Exactly how he meant to remind you is suddenly on the forefront of your mind – Silco could turn you out to the streets, leave you to fend for yourself. Unbidden, the possibility that he very much still could cash in on his win from your wager, enters your mind. Make it more pain and punishment than… whatever it was that he had hinted at earlier. 

The obvious unease you suddenly feel must show, because the corner of his mouth ticks upwards ever so slightly. 

Worse, he could do worse. 

Memories of blood covered cobblestones, fingernails splitting up over stone edges during the last throes of death–

No, you decide almost as soon as the thought reaches you, Silco wouldn’t do that. 

Despite it all, he’s not bad to you. 

Never to you. 

Finally, you break the stare he’s all but forced you into, seeing knuckles bending over the edge of the tray, his pointed boots still so incredibly close to your own. 

He must take it for submission – the instinct telling you that he actually wouldn’t hurt you – because Silco’s voice lowers back into the smooth drawl you’re used to. 

“What you’re asking for– no, demanding, is trust,” he says, a hand pushing hair back into place smoothly as he straightens up, almost as if he’s physically reining in his anger and breathing back under careful control, “and that, just like coin, is earned.” 

Then, he looks down at you with a scoff, as if the mere idea of that being the case offends him. “As if you have.” 

So you were back to this again.

“When could you have managed that? Was it when you left the premises without my permission? When you endangered both Jinx and yourself?” 

Speaking to you as if you, doing your assigned tasks, your job, were just one big inconvenience towards him, more than anything. A mere thorn in his side. 

What did he know? 

ba-thump

The dull sound barely registers in the back of your mind as Silco continues to berate you. It’s as if he’s no longer within reach – putting distance between the two of you in more ways than just one. 

“It is not in my notion to allow backtalk from a spoiled, sheltered, Piltover whelp.” Silco moves away from you, hands behind his back, straightening out to his full length. He expects you to take this – to dutifully keep quiet, not raise your voice in turn, not to burn any more bridges than you already have managed to. 

And perhaps that is your role. You’re just an employee – not a confidant, or friend or even–

No. 

He doesn’t think of you like you think of him. 

Your eyes flick up back to Silco. His sharp features are strained – a vein popping in his temple, a sharp breath exhaled as he meets your stare.

ba-thump-thump

Maybe the fact that Silco has been letting you speak should worry you more than it has; his compliance in your critique of him has been… too allowed. A mere quip of disagreement before and you’d be on the receiving end of threats far less vague than merely reinstating and reminding you of your role. 

Perhaps, the fact is that you are slowly chipping away at his parenting with your too involved inquiries and words. And, at the same time, letting those questions dig your own water-filled grave. 

ba-thump-thump

Mouth drying up at that thought – you search for resolve that you know is still there, heart racing along to the steady thrumming, willing yourself to keep afloat and not give into the deep, the dark shark infested waters. 

ba-thump-thump

The man in front of you was a shark. 

Silco would swallow you whole if you let him, you knew. 

thump-thump-thump-thump–

“If you would’ve just told me about it–,” about everything, “the bloodmoney, after what happened at the markets.” Your lips move as if on their own accord – the steady thump-thump-thump egging you on, a sudden boost to the urgency of your words, like the claps of a crowd reaching a climax.

thump-thump-thump-thump-thump–

“I would’ve done a better job if I’d known, if you’d just told me, you have to see that. I would’ve never taken her out with me, after what happened, I never would have–” 

Silco holds up a finger between you, effectively silencing you. 

thump-thump-thump-thump-thump–

It developed into a constant rhythmic sound, rapidly building in speed, noise, force. You feel the pulsing vibrations below your feet now, hear the clattering of the empty crystal decanters jostling around in the globe. 

Both you and Silco look down at your feet simultaneously, source of the sound clear now as it only increases in every aspect. 

thump-thump-thump-thump-thump–

It only surges in force – enough so that the paintings on the wall start to shake, furniture almost bouncing. The desk screeches slightly; the ice not fully melted in the drink clinking as the glass moves with every jump. The glass moves closer and closer to the edge of the stacked books–

Both of you move towards it. Silco, quick as a cat, reaches it before you do, long legs and all, grabbing it just as it’s about to tip over the edge. 

Still, the sound gets louder, even as you let out an exhale of relief. Only to wince as one of the paintings actually falls off the wall behind you. 

It’s not an outside threat – no, Silco’s acting far too tepid for that, you note with a grimace – but rather, from the bar you’d just left what felt like mere moments earlier. 

It’s why it’s not surprising when Silco turns back to you, voice just barely carrying over the noise.

“What,” one good eye trails over to you, iron grip on the drink still, “is that?” 

The entire building shakes, rattling the iron and glass keeping the structure together. A high pitched whine resonating from everywhere, making your teeth grind together. 

“I d-don’t–”

The words are left hanging on the tip of your tongue, realization surging over you as if someone had poured ice cold water over your head.

“Jinx.” 

You’re down the stairs before Silco has a moment to grab you. 

–X–

Jinx, Jinx, Jinx–

You’d left her all alone down in the bar – it had been all wrong in trusting Sevika to look after her, with her already being predisposed to disliking the girl–

You take the last steps of the stairs with a jump that rattles your bones, a soft oof swallowed by the blasting noise that pours out from the bar, effectively pushing away the tense bubble that was steadily rising in your throat.

With every thumping beat of heavy bass, the door swings on its hinges, the sound already pushing at your eardrums as you rush into the bar.

The noise hits you, a soundwave that makes you almost physically recoil. At once, you cover your ears. 

Broken glass and knocked over chairs litter across the room. The lights are on again – bright and showing every crooked and ugly detail; the folded pieces of paper you’ve stuck under some of the table legs to make them stop wobbling, the messes and half drunken drinks abandoned as the chaos had ensued. 

Splinters fly across the room. 

Sevika wields a chair against the offender – the jukebox you’d left Jinx to take care of. 

Ran and Mek are taking refuge in one of the booths as Sevika hammers the machine up like she has a personal vendetta against it. The cape is thrown off her shoulder, showing off cogs and machinery that glow from the telltale magenta luminessence of Shimmer, cogs turning to work as she smashes the jukebox with a chair. 

Soon, she’s holding nothing but two splintery pieces of wood in her hands. 

The machine whines and whirs, dramatically. 

Then, silence.

The only thing that fills the bar is the slow pour of broken bottles of liquor, the hum of electricity coming from the harsh light, Sevika’s hard breathing. And, the inhale of a breath you take, the state of the bar finally settling on your shoulders.

Sevika stiffens. 

Slowly, she turns around towards you. 

Her mouth is downturned, the seemingly permanent harsh scowl increasing in intensity. Eyes hard and unforgiving, hitting you like a spotlight. 

The back of your neck tingles as if you’re in mortal peril.

You inch backwards, like it’ll stop Sevika from fully seeing you if you make yourself as small as possible. 

“You.” 

Stealth never was your forte, however. 

Just as your flight and fight senses are about to kick in, she rushes towards you, long legs taking the distance in just a couple of strides. Instead, you freeze like you’ve been glued to the spot.  

Words bubble from your lips, but don’t actually form anything coherent, ending in a yelp as a large hand fist in your collar. 

“This,” Sevika grits out, dragging you up on your tiptoes, “is on you.”

Sevika’s face is contorted into a snarl, and you try pulling away as she huffs through her nose. A vein is popping by her temple, you notice this up close, swallowing uncomfortably around something large and unspeakable in your throat. 

This had been a mistake. It had all been a mistake – what had you been doing up there in the first place? Entertaining the thought that perhaps he’d–

“All you had to do was deliver a drink up there,” she seethes at you, bringing you even impossibly closer, so close that your noses almost touch. Halfly, you expect her to throw you across the room, send you smashing into what little of the alcohol reserves that still existed. She had done that once, when the bar got too rowdy, or when she got caught cheating at dice by some drunkards. “Did you get what you wanted? What you came for?” 

The need to explain yourself comes naturally at her accusing tone.

“Eh,” you throw a hasty look around you, trying to give yourself more time, “technically i-it is fixed, I m-mean, that was definitely an improvement, wasn’t—“ 

A twitch in Sevika’s face makes you stop abruptly. 

Not the right answer then. 

The feeling that you couldn’t slither out of this one grows on you. You swallow thick and hard, eyes darting across the torn up bar. 

“Don’t.” As if she can read your mind, as if she can literally see the escape plan taking shape in your mind, Sevika gives another hard tug at your collar. “If you think I’m going to let you walk away from this you’re more of an idiot than I thought.” 

Shit. Right. Suddenly, you’re aware of exactly how tall and towering and imposing Sevika truly was. 

You’d never doubted that, but as she snarls above you, you feel infinitely small. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that a wrench is still propped against the wall, one with scribble of neon on it and you blink, one, twice–

Bottlecaps litter the bar – strewn about as haphazardly as if someone had been throwing them like roses into a crowd. Caps in a bar? Not out of the ordinary, no, but you could see the line of trajectory from some of them, the jagged rifts in the wooden tables where they’d sliced through the material. 

Ice cold, the realization hits you. 

“Where’s Jinx?” Worry tinges your voice, more than you’re able to conceal at this moment. 

Unceremoniously, Sevika lets you go with a scoff. “Licking her wounds, probably.” 

Shrinking back further, you rub a hand against the nape of your neck, where the material of your collar has indented into the soft skin, gravity doing its part in your discomfort. The image of caps flying through the air, slicing up skin like a warm knife through butter, enters your mind. If Jinx was hurt by any of this…

Beneath the fabric burn, your throat constricts. 

“This isn’t funny, Sevika.” 

The sudden mean twist to Sevika’s mouth tells you more than it should. 

Her breath smells acrid – cigarettes and alcohol, as bitter as her words against your senses. “Are you happy with this? What the runt managed to do?” 

“Could've done worse.” You’d seen Jinx do worse with less. Sevika had, too, you knew. “She’s a teenager. A kid.”

A sudden mean twist to Sevika’s mouth that tells you more than it should.

“She’s a burden. An expense, most of the time– don’t give me that look. Silco knows what I think, what everyone thinks. What do you think you’re here for in the first place?”

You narrow your eyes, sharpen them towards her. 

“If you– if you said that to her–” 

“Then that’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.” Sevika grumbled, with an uncommitted shrug, eyes no longer focused on you.

That did not bode well.

The hurtle into concern comes alarmingly fast. “Where is she?” 

Another scoff, this one more mean-spirited than before. “I said, not here. Ran off to Janna knows where–” 

“Sevika.” 

A heavy hand settled on your shoulder, pushing down the hackles you’ve unconsciously raised. Behind you, the door oscillates on its hinges, a dull sound, much less apparent in your mind than Silco’s deep timbre. 

Only the merest turn of your head is needed to reveal the scarlet iris searing through you, the nasty sneer spreading across his lips, teeth bared. You hadn’t even gotten the chance to consider if he was going to be trailing in your wake, that Silco would follow you. When your eyes flick back to Sevika, her expression mirrors Silco’s. 

It’s like an angry sandwich. 

Sevika on one side, Silco on the other.

You, being the condiment between two very angry slices of bread. 

Sweat starts beading at your brow. 

“What did you do?” Silco hisses and it’s clear who he’s asking. 

“I– uh…” You start, eyes darting between the two very intimidating people looming over you, hesitating on your words. “Let– let Jinx fix the jukebox.” 

Sheepishly, you shrug. Well, as much as Silco’s hold on you allows. 

First, Silco blinks. It’s then followed by a heavy sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Told you!” Mek shouts from a well-hidden spot in one of the booths. Lights flicker above you, painting the scene in too happy neons. 

The jukebox gives a whirr and metallic groan, as if in agreement with Mek. 

“Jinx hotwired the damn thing,” Sevika shoves a thumb towards the general vicinity of the jukebox, and it whines dramatically, again. She lights up a cigarette, huffing on it and letting it take, the nicotine buzz maybe helping in keeping her mood from souring any further. “It wouldn’t turn off until that happened.” 

That being Sevika massacring it with a chair. 

So far, the loss for the night had been the jukebox (probably beyond repair now), a chair, multiple surface scratches across tables and walls that would need to be sanded down or even replaced, dozens of liquor bottles wasted and still dripping down the side of the bar. Ralph was hiding behind the varnished countertop, doing a terrible job at hiding the fact that he was crying. All because you’d gone upstairs to–

A keen sense of guilt washes over you. It’s so intense that you barely notice just how quiet it has gotten once again.

“And you didn’t stop her?” The question is grit out between clenched teeth, low and harsh, a blow to the most tender of parts. 

You stay frozen between them. Maybe if you didn’t move they wouldn’t notice you, wouldn’t turn their ire back on you. 

The cigarette that hung from the corner of Sevika’s mouth falls, her sneer only increasing. 

Over your head, the two of them exchange a long look, the silence conveying more than words could. The hold Silco has on your shoulder only increases, pressure added like he wants you to falter to your knees. 

For a second, you think the tension might snap, that you’d need to crouch down in a moment's notice, make yourself as small as possible to avoid an missguided uppercut from Sevika’s mechanical arm. 

After what feels like an eternity, Sevika finally scoffs, shaking her head. “No. Abso-fucking-lutely not. That’s her fucking job. Not mine.” The jab of her finger into your sternum makes you yelp. “All of my dues are paid for. I’ve done enough already.” Smoke still billows from the burning cigarette – and Sevika stomps it out, with a bit more force than needed, her voice a low growl as she speaks. Harsh eyes dart down to you. “I indulged you and all of your little games last night.” 

Silco clicks his teeth, biting off the words as they leave his lips. “That is inconsequential to what we’re dealing with–” 

“No. What you’re dealing with.” 

Silco’s jaw tightens, as does the hold on your shoulder. 

“Figure it out on your own. I’m going to Babettes’. Don’t even think of bothering me.” Sevika stomps away, kicking up the front door. Mutterings of not a fucking babysitter and other, more unsavoury curses follow in her wake. 

Exactly who she’s addressing is unclear – maybe it’s targeted towards Silco, or even towards you, or just about anyone in the closest vicinity. Would anyone be fool enough to jump Sevika this particular evening they might lose a limb or two.

You cast a glance backwards at Silco, only to find him looking… ruffled. Probably, this was more bite than what he had experienced in years from his employees. You note the way his jowls twitch, the tightness in his shoulders, as if he’s wound up like one of Jinx’s many toys.

With a hard swallow, you start, “I– Jinx is still probably around–” the tension laying thick in the air like a duvet on a winter evening, as you make a motion to leave, to untangle yourself from him, “I should go–“ 

You don’t make it very far. 

“I am not done with you yet.” Silco snarls, his broad hand almost slamming into the doorframe as he looms over you, stopping your advancement. He’s all but pinning you to the doorframe, leaning over you, just like he’d done a few days ago, in that same spot just a few feet away. 

This time, you don’t lose your composure because of the closeness. This time, you don’t break the stare. Even if you do eye the very tempting space below his arm that would allow you to slip out into the hallway. Silco lowers his arm there, blocking your escape route with one easy gesture and an even more sour look.

As if on cue, the twins start carrying out the still softly groaning jukebox through the front door, and Silco’s attention turns elsewhere.

It’s all you need. 

You slither under his arm, brushing against his side as you go. 

Emboldened by Sevika’s defiance, you twist back in time to stick your tongue at him. “Save it! You were the one who gave me the night off.”

Halfly, you expect him to pull you back, to follow, press you against the door and tell you off more, or worse. Instead, he lets you slink off with nothing more than a dirty look and an imminent air of danger steaming off of him.

You’d reap what you’ve sown another time, the harsh downwards tug on his mouth tells you. 

The seething glare makes your feet skip several rows of steps as you flee the scene, decidedly moving towards the lower levels. Only to find both your own assigned lodge and Jinx’s bedroom eerily empty. 

And sure, Jinx had a knack for getting round in the rafters, keeping away if she didn’t want to be found. Which made the current task of finding her at least ten times harder. 

But this was your job, right? Reinforcement should Jinx go off the rails. 

And now you’d failed that, given her too much to handle, not been present when she needed you. It feels a lot like the same thing that had happened just the previous evening. Inwardly, you curse yourself. You weren’t here to serve drinks, to be Silco’s little pawn to shove around as he saw fit. 

Those things – what had happened yesterday – were just… extras. 

Things that shouldn’t occur between an employee and their boss. 

Yet he isn’t like that with everyone, is he? Not even Sevika.

Even this far below, you hear commotion coming from the bar. More glass shattering, the screeching of a chair being kicked across the room. 

After thoroughly conducting a sweep of all the usual spots Jinx could possibly hide in, you turn your sights on the only place left. 

Gingerly, you open the door to the workshop, immediately greeted by soft sobs echoing through the cavernous hold. 

The lowest level of the Last Drop is deep below ground; down there, the quiet that could settle is nothing but eerie. Usually, it’s filled with the soft clanging of steel, the hiss and crackle of heat and metal welding together, the whirrs and clicks as cogs work, the gramophone playing a record Jinx surely pilfered from Silco’s own private collection. He always did turn a blind eye to her thievery, letting her collect trinkets and shiny baubles down in her workshop like a tiny treasure hoarding dragon. 

The workshop itself is rather contained; but the room is large, moist and cavernous, a place both for safekeeping and for testing whatever it was that Jinx worked away at. With its size also came the echoes; sound carried through the room easily, announcing your arrival as soon as the door closed behind you. 

You call out into the emptiness. “Jinx?” 

Sniffles stop abruptly. 

Both wary and worried at the sudden recordhalt, you move further into the room. 

The half finished prototype sits on her workbench, a soft hum coming from the mechanics, adding ambience to the room. The sound is… unnerving, foreboding in every sense. Like the purr from a cat, soft and constant like a motor hidden beneath layers of blankets. As you get closer, your eyes travel towards the object instinctively. 

She’d managed to get that far before getting zapped? Jinx seems to have made it a bit further than halfway when working on it. It’s a lot like the blueprint she showed you; the differences, the discrepancies, all seemed like easy fixes. Even if your eyes only swept over the blueprints fleetingly, you gather that much. You fight off the urge to go over and inspect the damned thing, opting to instead push further into the room. 

Besides the dim sound emitted from the prototype, there’s also another, rhythmic sound you can’t pinpoint the location of. It comes and goes. Tick, tock. Almost like a bomb. 

Knowing Jinx, it probably was. 

That– that didn’t matter as much as Jinx did at the moment though, and with a hard swallow, you press into the workshop, shaking that particular feeling off. Once again, the tiny sounds of sniffling pick up. 

Even if it’s rather dim down here, with the exception of the bright light by the workbench, you spot her once your eyes adjust to the darkness of the overhanging abyss. 

Jinx sits on the edge of a platform a bit higher up, where the makeshift dolls she’s fashioned herself reside, arms wrapped around her legs. Huddled together like she doesn’t want to be found. Blue braids hang off the ledge, rustling as her shoulders shake with the force of her cries. 

You want to rush forward to her – seek out her arms and face and see if there’s been any damage done, if she’s okay – but you know that would only spook her now. Make her uproot herself from the one place she feels safe in, scrambling out of sight and reach like how a spooked street cat would when you took out the trash from the bar late at night. 

And so, slowly, you start to approach her, eyeing her up from a distance – there’s no obvious cuts, no bleeding from her arms or legs, no tethered material hanging off her body. Well, more than usual, she did work in a workshop filled to the brim with tools and explosions on the daily so–

“Hey,” you start, hand reaching out, “Sevika wouldn’t say where you went, so I went looking for you. It’s– it’s alright, Jinx, I talked with both of them…” 

You trail off as you inch closer, to see that Jinx is still crying, is curling together tighter. 

Cautiously, you stop a few feet from her. “Jinx?” 

“I messed up again– Sevika said—“Jinx speaks, voice warbled, snot and tears clogging up her sinuses, “that I was bad luck.” 

“No,” you start, shaking your head, “not at all Jinx, I–”

“That everything everyone says is true–” the words stutter out her mouth, red rimmed eyes finally daring to steal a look at you. 

I hear everything, though. 

Her words from so long ago ring through your mind, and you let the recoil of them hit you. 

What an immense toll it has to be, the willful ignorance everyone in the Last Drop has adopted towards her in favor of keeping out of harm’s way. It’s more insidious than outright distaste, doing more harm than sticks and stones ever could. 

For a long moment, everything’s quiet. Except for the hiccuping inhales Jinx takes, the dim whirr of the prototype far off, the echoes of water droplets hitting stone. 

Then, she starts, slowly. “She said you left because she told you what– what I did.” Jinx pauses, a full body shiver running through her at the thought, the merest mention of it. “When I was younger… I did something I didn’t mean to and then– then they were gone. Vi was gone, and she blamed me– called me a jinx, and so–” 

The palm of her hand pushed away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, her mouth quivering, shoulders shaking. “I am a jinx. Everyone says so, I know so. I’m bad luck.” 

Then, in a suddenly much smaller voice: “I only wanted to help.”

“Oh,” your heart twangs, moving in to touch her shoulder, to bring yourself closer and give her some small relief, “no, no… no, Ji–” 

You start to say her name, Jinx, but stop yourself. 

She’s curled in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest as she sits on the edge of the platform, blue eyes bloodshot from crying. Practically wincing as you touch her. As if it bites, as if the touch is going to hurt her. 

So much of what you want to say lies on the tip of your tongue, that you now know who it is she cries for, and the words rest there as she cries harder, inches away from the edge. 

And you think of shame and guilt and grief. 

How was it that old tale went? The one you had read so many times as a young child, the one that gave reason as to why the people of old were buried with coins in their hands?

Pay the boat fare or be left stranded on the beaches. 

A toll to be paid to whoever it was that brought the dead over the currents to reach salvation on the other shore. 

When would the toll be paid for Jinx? When would she find herself able to cross those rapids instead of drowning in them? 

The pain isn’t optional – there’s no easy way out of this. No way to make it go away. There’s nothing to do to stop it and isn’t that sad? The inherentness of having to deal with it, feeling like she does. When would it end? Could it even? 

Healing meant reliving. It meant knowing. It meant digging up the past just to bury it again. 

Even now, you’d find your own hands guided by the past – years after it was all over, when it was all long forgotten dreams and connections. Even now, you’d still find yourself worried about letting them down.

You want to press the coin into her hand, ensure her safe passage over the rapids that had been denied to so many before her. Give her something just as tangible, just as worthy as making amends, pay for her fare. 

Jinx’s hand is heavy in yours as you settle down beside her on the edge of the platform. Her blue eyes watch you with a guarded expression, reading your face.

Tentatively, slowly, you start speaking. 

“Losing someone dear to you is– it’s… disorienting. Things don’t make sense the way they used to. The people you thought would always be there are just gone one day. But they’re still with you, in a sense. You find pieces of them surrounding you, reminding you that they were once here.” 

You look up at the makeshift friends– no, family, she’s built herself with leftover scrap, as if she doesn’t allow herself to use anything new for constructing them. 

“You set out an extra plate, or cook that meal because it was their favorite. You see something in a shop window and you find yourself thinking about them, excited to show them–”

A tearfilled sob cuts you off.

“And still… you end up worrying that you’ve wronged them. Trying to make amends for the fact that you’re here and they’re not.” You swallow the lump in your throat, voice only kept steady by trying to channel all of your sadness and underlying grief, into words. 

You take Jinx’s head in your hands, thumbs brushing away the distinct lines of tears along her cheeks. “So you do anything to honor them, to get back their good graces. And sometimes… that thought, it hinders you from moving on, it keeps you stuck in the same patterns as always.” 

A limbo like state. 

The grip on your hand turns steely, rage simmering in her eyes, on the verge of boiling over.

“You don’t know,” Jinx’s voice hardened, the teeth that worried her lower lip suddenly gnashing and on display like an angry dog, blinking away the tears with ferocity. “I don’t deserve to feel better! Not after what happened–” 

“You do, Jinx.”

Slender arms shove you down on the platform with a snarl. The force of it pushes all the air out of your lungs, only to be tugged up harshly by the collar of your apron as Jinx straddles your middle. “You don’t know– you don’t know what happened– what I did–” 

Biting the hand reached out towards her – only to see if it’d come back again.  

Your hand touches the top of her head – and Jinx flinches. 

Slowly, you slip down onto the hard concrete again as her grip lessens. 

Tears fill the brim of her lashes, until they finally tip over and land on the dark cotton of your apron.

“They’re never coming back because of me.” 

Broken sobs start up again. 

Jinx shoves her head into your sternum, bawling her eyes out. She gives a cry, convulsing in your arms, and you keep her there, arms wrapping around her lithe form. With her there, in your arms, the obvious becomes so clear. That the person you're cradling is a child – one who deserved better. 

“I miss– I miss them–” 

And she cries and cries, fingers digging into your apron, grounding herself to you with teeth and claws. 

They abandoned her. Shunned her. Left her to fend for herself. 

All in one evening. 

You bite your lip, willing the treacherous wobble to go away. 

Some part of Jinx would always be scarred. Deep inside, the bumpy, jagged texture of a scar would sit, would twitch and hurt and burn at the merest mention. 

But that’s alright. That’s just what happens when you survive something you didn’t think you would. 

It wasn’t, no– couldn’t be a weakness, those scars, not when so many others carried them too. 

Despite it all, you found yourself trying your hardest to bury the feelings that were inexplicably simmering under the shallow surface. The heel of your palm rubs away the unbidden tears that sit on your lower lashline.

“You think that it’ll make you strong, toughing it out. In the end, it only makes you brittle. And brittle things shatter so, so easily.“ You whisper into the unruly mess of blue hair.

Heal the hurt. Put the old knife away. 

“You are trying. That is enough.” 

It was more than most would in this world, was it not? 

You draw soothing circles over her back, resting your chin atop her head, letting the hiccuping breaths slow down. 

Your fingers wipe away the tears that are steadily rolling down round cheeks. 

No matter how many there were, no matter how many there would be. 

Slowly, and almost soundlessly, the door opens, letting in light from the hallway outside.

Cutting through the darkness like a knife, a red eye stares back at you. 

Instinctively, you hug the child in your arms closer.

–X–

on the 13th of december 2021 i first started writing incentive. it wasn’t what it was called in my mind back then, but it is what ended up becoming incentive. i hadn’t finish watching the entirety of season one of arcane then, and was writing what came to me intuitively because silco and jinx intrigued me so. imagine my surprise when he croaked it in the last ep lmaoooo

anyways, it felt appropriate to post this chapter on the one year anniversary of starting this fic. and y’know. life happens sometimes. sometimes, it keeps you from updating ur fics for like +6 months. and life is so, so fragile. 

thank you for waiting for me. thank you for reading this chapter. please, let me know what worked and what didn’t. ilu. <3

also! back in june i posted a lil non-canon pwp for incentive, called redux. it's an au that i so eloquently describe as "what if they bumped uglies earlier au". give that a read if you wanna!

[somethingthatsaysbubbles]

I posted 11,572 times in 2022

That's 8,618 more posts than 2021!

53 posts created (0%)

11,519 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@trelaney

@nbraraeaves

@raraenoctes

@morvantmortuary

@rosemaremembrance

I tagged 208 of my posts in 2022

#twitch - 14 posts

#twitchstreamer - 13 posts

#edward nashton x reader - 13 posts

#twitchtv - 13 posts

#edward nashton - 13 posts

#arcane - 13 posts

#the riddler x reader - 13 posts

#twitchgamer - 12 posts

#the riddler - 12 posts

#stream - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 92 characters

#this request was on my brain so hard i hope anon can forgive me for switching it up a little

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

10 Fandoms 10 Characters 10 Tags

Thank you @raemoriendi for the tag! 🖤 Way more than 10 characters, so I apologize, but I’m also not sorry.

Coral Island - Pablo. It’s a fandom of maybe like three people, so is it really a fandom? Probably not, but I’m here thirsting after the cute blacksmith anyway. Come into my house, and kiss me about it. 

@morvantmortuary - Maxi, Hex, and Rora. (Make me choose, I dare you.) If the Morvants have a million fans, I am one of them. If the Morvants have ten fans, I am one of them. If the Morvants have only one fan, that is me. If the Morvants have no fans, that means I’m dead. If the world is against the Morvants, I am against the world. Is this a fandom? It is in my heart, and that’s what matters. 

MCU - Baron Helmut Zemo. Don’t talk to me about Thunderbolts, I’m angy.

The Alienist - Laszlo Kreizler. Love of my life. Instant joy. I wrote a fanfic about him. It was pretty good.

MCU - Jack Russell from Werewolf by Night. I’ve only had this man for 53 minutes, but if anything happened to him I’d burn Marvel to the ground. (I wanna write something for him, but with what free time? Let’s be honest.)

The Addams Family - Morticia and Gomez Addams. Chillest fandom ever. We all just see the Addamses and collectively say “Yeah, I’ll reblog that.” Beautiful. (Legally, I can’t choose between them. Those are my parents.)

The Sandman - Dream of the Endless. I just think he’s neat.

Star Wars - Cassian Andor. I’m not super involved in the fandom, but like I’m still a massive Star Wars nerd. I even went to Galaxy’s Edge, disneybounding as Darth Maul/a generic Sith. (Check out my Instragram somethingthatsaysbubbles for proof.)

Arcane - Viktor. I need Season 2. I need it. Viktor is a comfort character, don’t ask me why. It says nothing about who I am as a person. I promise.

The Batman - Paul Dano’s Riddler. He’s disgusting and vile and pathetic, and I love him.

Bonus: Stranger Things - Eddie Munson. If you know, you know. 🖤

10 tags. No pressure:

@burritoni @lorna-d-m @trelaney @rosemaremembrance @maximoffwxnda @bruhlsbees @lightinthedarkuniverse @spookyspiderboiii @scuttle-buttle @eldritchcircus and anyone else who’s interested!

5 notes - Posted November 5, 2022

#4

I HOPE SILCO DOSENT BECOME A HYPERFIXATION I SWEAR BEACUSE I AM NOW A SILCO AND DANILE BEUHL SIMP

This reply is so fucking late, and I'm so sorry <3 Forgive me, for I have sinned, but, boy howdy, I hope you are sinning. I'm not a Silco simp, but you have every right to be. Live your best life, bestie.

8 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

#3

That feel when you have a GI appointment tomorrow (after 4 months of waiting), and the referral department cancels it because the GI department needs time to review your paperwork because your insurance changed, even though everything else is the same...If you need me, I’ll just be over here... 

13 notes - Posted February 9, 2022

#2

135 notes - Posted August 20, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

611 notes - Posted October 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

Thanks for the tag @morvantmortuary

no-pressure tags: @trelaney @bigtiddythanos @rosemaremembrance @maximoffwxnda @lorna-d-m @scuttle-buttle @jmathesonandsiblings and/or @lightinthedarkuniverse @norabrice1701 @eldritchcircus and anyone else who wants to!! 🖤

[silcoitus]

26 for the ao3 wrapped?

26. What’s your most common category?

F/M by a long shot 🤣

I am a one trick pony.

And that one trick is Silco x F!reader. That is my bread and butter.

[starsinmylatte]

About me

Hi everyone, my name is Lyria (she/her/hers)! Some of you may also know me as Royal, so feel free to call me either. I’m a tired, coffee-addicted scientist, and I enjoy gothic horror, fantasy, sci-fi, and morally questionable fictional people. Some of you have requested a list of what I won’t write and asked me for some other preferences, so I thought I’d take a moment to re-introduce myself to new followers!

I promise I don’t bite, so you’re always welcome to message me. I love making new moots <3

More to follow under the cut (including the highly requested NSFW preferences)

I only have three rules for my blog, and here they are

Minors DNI

Don’t be a dick. This blog is a safe space, and I will protect my peace and the peace of my followers. 

Unless you have a commission, I don’t take long, extremely detailed fic requests. If my inbox is open, I do love taking more open-ended requests! 

Thrawn x force sensitive reader

Nanami as a father headcanons

Silco x reader who acts like a mother towards Jinx

vampire!Silco x reader

Will Write/Won't Write:

As a general rule, I’ll write m/f and f/f, but I don’t write m/m because I have no experience to pull from. I’m also comfortable with any party being the dominant, submissive, or switch. 

What I won’t write: True non-con/rape, anything nsfw involving an underaged character, extreme age or power imbalance (basically anything that feels like grooming/noncon), incest of any kind (even pseudo), extreme violence, nonconsensual violence between the characters having sex, Omegaverse, age-play, extreme fetish content (p!ss, sc@t, etc)

[x-amount-verbs]

A Helping Hand - Part 29

[start here] || Part 28 || Part 29 || Part 30

[silco x f!reader] [2.9k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [gun-related PTSD]

AO3 Link

Things are mixed up in your head. A jumble of reality and memory, mashing together that night and minutes ago. You don’t even realize you’re going the wrong way until you’re halfway there, limbs feeling stiff and squeaky as you walk.

The Damascus street gym is locked. You stand outside, blank, for some amount of time. You have to be here in the morning anyway. Convenient if you could just blink and have it be morning.

It’s unclear how long you’re there, staring at a locked door. Eventually, exhausted, you press a hand to the metal, rest your forehead against it as you close your eyes. Your body has started to calm down, but your brain is still messy. Voice stolen, mouth sealed shut. A buzz in your head that keeps you from fully thinking anything out, so loud to drown out noise around you.

A questioning voice calls your name, and you turn your head, opening bloodshot eyes to someone half-familiar. You know a name and a face, but only in passing.

“You looking for—” They falter. “…You okay?”

“Hn.” Your single nod shouldn’t be particularly encouraging, not when you can’t even get yourself to speak, but you don’t know each other so they take it at face value.

“Need to be let in?”

“Mmhm.” Lips pressed thin into a polite smile more like a grimace, you give another, “hn,” to substitute for thanks as you peel away from their path after entering, and head straight for the locker rooms.

Should take a cold shower. Something to shock you out of your head.

Leather slapping against your skin, forcing you into the present. An inability to focus on anything else.

That would work, too.

The shot was ranged, not close enough to splatter, so your clothes are free of blood. But you still wear them into the shower as if they aren’t, too tired to change, and sensing the blood there regardless of its existence. Palms on the tile, the cold water drags your mind to the surface, like an anchor pulled to the bow, crystalizing behind, a solid block of ice to stop you sinking deep again.

By the time you realize what a completely fucking stupid idea you’ve had, it’s too late.

“…Shit.” You drag your hand against your face, clearing water from your eyelashes as you push aside the curtain and step out.

Fucking idiot.

You fumble to undo your holster, your belt, letting it all drop onto the floor. So much for saving that food for later, it’s undoubtedly ruined by whatever water made it into your belt pouch. Your gun shouldn’t be submerged either, so who knows what damage that’s caused. You attempt to tug off your boots, unable to balance until you lean against the wall and scrabble at the laces, tipping a good quarter cup of water out of them once you have them off. Dumbly running a hand through your hair, you grimace as the prosthetic fingers tangle in the braids from earlier.

“Stupid…” You grumble, wrestling off half-soaked clothes one item at a time.

They cling. The more you notice it the more claustrophobic you feel. The more claustrophobic you feel, the more desperately you try to pull, the more they seem to cling.

By the time you’ve stripped down to your underwear, panic is choking you. You lurch back into the shower stall, gasping under the cold water, finally feeling able to breathe as you unhook the front of your bra and peel it away.

Just cold water. And breath.

Just breath.

Breathe.

…

Fuck shit fucking dammit. What the fuck is going on. Why did you do that? Why did you do this?

Goosebumps bloom under the freezing cold water, but you feel more awake than ever. Fingers carefully undo the wet ties on the braids you’d made to match Jinx’s, grimacing as hair tugs and pinches.

This is bad. You’ve never felt so… detached before today. Divorced from your own body, your own mind, somehow gone and trapped at once. It doesn’t make sense, when you’d succeeded that night— the night of the shooting, you’d saved a life, spared another (for the time being), and been completely in control the whole time. Adrenaline had kept you sane and steady, had let you stay calm despite not knowing the fate of your hand.

But one fake gun pointed in your face and it all crumbles?

You comb through wet hair, jaw tight to stop your teeth from chattering. Eventually you let yourself turn up the heat to something warmer than straight ice.

It’s terrifying, if you think about it head-on, if you confront the reality of what just happened. Shooting someone without fully making the decision to do so. So you try not to remember, try not to look at the situation directly. Think around it. Let it stand as a blank space, a fogged haze, as you deal with the rest, to confront later.

Where are you now? What’s your current predicament?

Well, it’s some time after… who knows. After 11? Maybe midnight, or 1. You have no idea how much time has passed. Could be minutes, could be hours. For all you know, the sun is coming up in Piltover right about now.

You’re supposed to be at this gym at 10am. At least, that’s the schedule you’ve been keeping to. You managed to warn Wren one day that you might be late the next, and she’d been shockingly understanding. Hopefully she’ll be understanding of you showing up hours early and - you realize the inevitably of it - sleeping in the locker room.

Well, it won’t be the first time you’ve napped here, at least.

Don’t think about what happened, think about how to fix it.

Right. Yes. Good.

You have to get used to guns again. Whatever it takes. You’ll lurk at the shooting range all day if you have to. Hear gunshot after gunshot.

Stop— stop it, stupid stupid pulse, calm down, this is theoretical. Stop the racing, stop the tightness in the chest, just— stop.

You turn the faucet back to colder water, angrily; if your body won’t cooperate, you’ll just shock it again until it does.

This is sane and normal behavior and I am totally fine.

Gods, you don’t believe a solid third of your self-talk these days.

The cold water does its job, leaving you shivering and blue-lipped, but all signs of panic retreated in favor of responding to the physical shock of it. Turning the heat up again, you shed the last of your forgotten underwear and try to actually bathe, wash your hair, do all of those good reassuring things that make you feel normal and human.

You’ll sleep here. You’ll talk to Wren when she gets in.

You’ll get past this.

You have to get past this.

—

“Hey— not to alarm you or anything, but what the fuck.”

Opening bleary eyes, you find Wren looking down at you, brows furrowed in a transparent concern you rarely see on anyone in the Undercity.

“Hn. Morning,” you mumble, good hand rubbing at your eyes as you struggle to sit up.

“Gods—” Wren averts her eyes, holding out a hand, “keep the towel on, please.”

You glance down blearily. “Oh. Yeah.” Didn’t have dry clothes. At least you had the foresight to drape the wet ones over another locker room bench. You half ignore Wren’s request, letting the towel fall to your waist as you look around for your stuff. It doesn’t look that much drier than when you fell asleep. “What time is it?”

“6:30.” Again, she pleads, this time by name.

“Fine, fine,” you gesture loosely with the prosthetic hand and use the towel you’d had as a pillow to wrap around your shoulders. “I don’t see what the big deal is, you have boobs too.”

“It’s— different.”

“Not really. So yours came later, it’s all the same general stuff.” Gods, you’re sore. You grimace.

“Not cause— not cause you’re naked, cause it’s 6:30 in the morning and I’m supposed to be opening the gym and instead I come in to find a wanted woman, nude, sleeping in my locker room, potentially drunk-”

“Wanted?” That wakes you up. “Janna, I’m wanted? By who? The kid was trying to steal from me, it was— I mean, at least it was somewhat justified; I didn’t kill him.”

“Kid?” Wren’s gaze sharpens as well, embarrassment ebbing in favor of shrewd evaluation. “What kid?”

“You answer mine first.”

“Silco. Or Sevika. Maybe some other chem baron and they’re getting to you first, don’t know, just know eyes are out looking for you. Didn’t tell me why, just heard you weren’t at your place when they went looking. You drunk?”

They went looking? It shouldn’t make your stomach flip that way. You should feel scared or ashamed, not fluttery. “No. Sleep-deprived, but not drunk.”

“Then why the hell you sleeping in my locker room?”

You stare for a second, the reality of the situation coming back to you. You can feel the pained furrow between your brows as you look away. “I dunno. I freaked out. Or— I blacked out, I don’t know. A kid tried to mug me and I shot him. And then I was here. I’m not—” You feel your heart rate picking up again, and grit your teeth, forcing your breath steady. “I don’t think anything else happened in between. Just came here and— and took a shower. I mean, I have to be here in three hours, anyway.”

“…In your clothes?” Wren’s wry words are almost a relief, and when you look at her she has a brow raised at your clothes draped over the other bench.

“Didn’t want to pay the laundry service,” you say, tone dry.

“…They do like to overcharge.”

Something loosens in your chest. She doesn’t hate you, isn’t mad at you, doesn’t think you’re insane— probably, at least. And maybe you’re not. No: you definitely aren’t insane. It’s just… just bad memories, that’s all. Fucking with your head. You’ll get over it.

“So I guess I’m in early.”

“And you need a change of clothes.”

“That too, yeah.” You hesitate. Finally, some degree of shame creeps in. “…Can you help?”

The look she turns on you is uncharacteristically soft in the eyes, despite the firm line of her mouth. “Thought you’d never ask.”

You never would’ve. Before your injury you never needed to, content to handle everything alone. You are too damn lucky to have allies like Wren. Friends, even.

By the time you’re dressed in some spare clothes from the community storerooms, you’ve realized just how exhausted you are. When did you fall asleep, 1? 2? And awake again just a few hours later? All of that after whatever happened last night - this morning? - that had you a shivering wreck.

Yeah, you’re fuckin’ tired.

Wren gives in to your not-so-subtle pleading to skip out on opening the gym and doing the end-of-night (or earliest morning) drills that some graveyard shift regulars like to do. You will never understand people who go to the gym after work instead of heading home, when it’s any time past 2am.

Instead, she opens up the makeshift infirmary that’s usually locked unless there’s an emergency, and directs you to the cot.

“When you’re awake, we should talk plans for the day.”

Oh good, you were worried she’d ask what happened last night, ask for more details. You cannot handle that right now. Possibly not ever. Ideally this whole incident will be completely forgotten and you’ll never have to think of it again.

They went looking for you.

The sudden rush of heat as your face flushes with mortification makes your head spin, and you roll over to face away from the infirmary door. Gods, they went looking for you. You made enough of a fool of yourself that they had to seek you out to mitigate the damage. And then Wren just assumed you were drunk… You really did humiliate yourself that night at the Drop, didn’t you? If people are so quick to assume you’re a drunken nuisance.

You groan, closing your eyes. At least you can hide from your responsibilities just a little bit longer.

—

Inaccurate: your responsibilities have found you.

A few hours later, when your body is satisfied that it’s gotten enough sleep, you surface from unconsciousness to find Sevika dozing in a chair. Specifically, in a chair placed unavoidably between you and the door to the infirmary.

For a hot second, you consider pretending to be asleep again, waiting for her to wake up, get bored of waiting, and leave— but 100% you know she’ll wake you once she runs out of patience. Kinda shocked she let you sleep as long as she has. What time is it, anyway?

Habit has you reaching for the spot on your waist where you’d usually keep your timepiece, before remembering it’s still with your wet clothes after your mindless trudge into the shower after midnight. Grimacing, you wonder how ruined your kit is.

“Awake?” You must’ve missed Sevika’s stirring. Or maybe she really was half awake the whole time.

“No,” you mumble, half sheepish half spiteful.

Sevika’s scoff at least sounds somewhat amused. Can’t tell if it’s with you or at you, though.

“Fuck, girl, what the hell happened last night?”

She doesn’t know? “I shot a guy.”

“Yeah, we picked up on that part. But why weren’t you at your place?”

Your brain gradually dissects her loose tone. Not angry, not even strict; she really is amused.

“I shot a guy,” you repeat, pointedly.

Sevika’s brows quirk, bemused. The way she says your name has dry humor to rival Silco’s. “That’s literally your job, kid. You shoot people a lot— or used to, when necessary.”

Ok— well, she’s right, but- “This guy didn’t need to get shot.”

“You didn’t kill him,” she points out, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m sure it was justified-”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” you blurt. A flush burns on your cheeks, your ears, your neck.

Grey eyes narrow. Lips thin. But she doesn’t say anything.

The burn feels hotter, more ashamed. “He pointed a gun at me— it wasn’t even a real gun, Sevika, gods— he pointed a gun, and it was that night all over again.”

Her silence is far from reassuring.

You babble to fill the empty air. “It was a fucking paintball gun. I shot him because he had a paintball gun,” you can’t help the hint of disgust in your tone. “And then I— I don’t know. I just blacked out, and then I was here.”

All amusement has disappeared from her face, the bluish scars on her cheek seeming etched deeper. “…You know I have to tell him that, right?”

You blink. “If I’m honest, I kinda already thought he knew.” You’re not sure why. It just… feels like he’d know, instinctually. Which is stupid. You haven’t seen him in nearly a week, there’s no reason he should know anything about your life, let alone what was going on in your head when you shot a teenaged mugger.

There’s no question of who he is. Sevika is Silco’s right hand, and— Well, your right hand is his.

“You really had people out looking for me?”

Sevika grimaces. “Not quite. There’s a kid paid to keep an eye on your place - to make sure no one’s going after the investment, all that - and he usually gives the ok when you’re back at your place for the night.”

The blank expression you give her hides a flurry of emotions. Surprise, yes, but more importantly some mix of indignant and flattered. Some little spark of hope that you quickly stifle. Some hint of care. Should you be angry that Silco has you watched? Or have this fluttery feeling that he’s trying to protect you? You’re the investment, he’d made that clear— to you, at least, if not his people.

“When that didn’t come, someone traced back to the lab, heard about a shooting, your description, but all witnesses seemed to think it was justified. …Kinda the risk of mugging someone,” she muses with cynical humor.

Brows lift, tilting your head. She’s not wrong.

“He asked me to check your place, so I did. Since you weren’t there, we put out some feelers.”

Is it weird that her use of ‘we’ is as heartwarming as it is embarrassing? It’s nice to know people look for you when you’re missing, even if it’s mildly mortifying that while they were looking for you you were half-catatonic, fully clothed, in a cold shower. You cringe.

Sevika’s tone goes wry again. “We called it a night and then 7-fucking-AM I get woken up and told Wren called it in, and you’re both alive and crashing at the gym.” Her tone makes it clear that she sees absolutely no logic in choosing this place.

“I have 10am practice,” you mutter, cheeks stained.

A beat of silence, and Sevika snorts. “No you don’t.”

Your brow furrows. “Uh, yeah, I do.”

Her lips are curving to a knowing smirk as she shakes her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Another scoffed laugh. “Kid, it’s 2pm. And if you think you aren’t being called straight to the boss’s office, your brain must still be M.I.A.”

Well, if it wasn’t, it is now.

—

[next part]

[Welp. It’s been a bit. In all honesty, my writing ability has kinda up and disappeared, but I had 2.8 chapters in the backlog, so as a holiday/new year gift, have 29 and 30 (and hopefully 31, though I need to figure out how the heck to end it). I’m notoriously bad at finishing things, but hopefully these three chapters will offer resolution on… 👀 a few things.

Funny how last time I said I’d post on the 15-16th, and… well, I guess I’m 3 months late, but it IS the 16th, and I AM going out of town today, so I was technically telling the truth! 😅 I know I haven’t been replying to comments (typical shame and guilt for not updating), but I’ll be getting to those now that I have a plan for posting, and have accepted the hard truth that brain no like write right now. Regardless, I still love reading peoples thoughts and reactions, so please drop a comment or tag!

Insert your usual plugs-per-chapter; give it a reblog if you liked it, check it out on AO3 (I always recommend subscribing, so if/when I update, you don’t have to be checking every single day and be disappointed ><), and you can find the reverse POV pieces on AO3 and tumblr. Get added to the tag list by commenting on this linked post, so you’ll know when the last of the end-of-year gifts drop! ^^

I can’t thank y’all enough for sticking around and loving this fic, even if I’m flaky as hell when it comes to finishing things when my brain won’t cooperate 🤦‍♀️ I adore each and every one of you, and appreciate you to the ends of the earth. Also… I may have commissioned a few pieces of Ivy (reader OC) that I’ll try to post before the end of the year as well. There are some amazing artists on tumblr, and I love just searching the ‘commissions open’ tag and finding cool styles to comm. Some discord friends have already seen me freak out over comms, so they know what’s coming 😁 Thanks for all the support, and hope you’re staying cozy this winter! (/cool this summer, for the Southern Hemisphere folks) ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie @venommie @sheisacryptid @cuckconnosieur @yew-over-there

[ace-of-zaun]

Yes or No?: Pt. 2

Silco x gn!reader - 3.1k words - SFW

Warnings: fluff, humour, flirting, soft silco, young jinx, tired dad silco, self-doubt, vulnerability 

PART 1

-

Silco should have known better than to expect Jinx to stop meddling in his love life. But alas, that particular expectation was clearly just wishful thinking on his part, because Jinx would seemingly stop at nothing to ensure he finally took you on a date. 

Barely three days after the ‘Yes or No Fiasco’, Silco finds himself at his desk, frustratedly trying to plan the perfect date for you.

Granted, he’d liked to have started planning much sooner, but an unfortunate incident at one of the factories had taken all of his attention for the past few days.

It would seem that hiring a secret shimmer addict would not only result in an employee who surreptitiously stole the product, indulged during shifts, and handled dangerous materials whilst high, but would also culminate in a rather explosive mistake, costing half the factory’s stock. 

The damage to the building alone had cost him an immeasurable amount, even without factoring in the amount of product lost.

But now that the issue has been mostly solved, and with repairs to the factory well underway, Silco is finally able to take a few minutes for himself to simply think and breathe. 

Despite simultaneously trying to run an empire, fix the reckless mistakes of his staff, and raise a thoroughly energetic and enigmatic daughter, Silco finds his mind constantly wandering back to thoughts of you. 

Upon your departure from his office, Silco had held your note against his chest for a few weightless minutes, before hastily grabbing his pen to fill in his own note in, with an emphatic and resounding ‘Yes’.

Then, he’d felt like an embarrassed teenager and had promptly locked both notes in the drawer of his desk, with the knowledge that he'd never hear the end of it if Jinx caught even a glimpse of them.

His immediate plan had been to fetch a bunch of flowers from the market and hand-deliver them to your apartment that same evening, inviting you on a date that would hopefully lead to you finally being his. 

But less than half an hour after your exit, the news of the factory explosion had reached him, meaning his attention had been completely and overwhelmingly occupied until now.

Silco desperately hopes you’ll forgive him.

As he reclines in his chair, pushing the loose strands of his hair back with one hand, Silco wonders how he can make it up to you in a way that not only demonstrated his true affections for you, but relayed his sincere apologies for leaving you hanging, even after showing your obvious interest in him. 

He wanted nothing more than to show you just how much you mean to him. 

Ever the perfectionist, Silco crosses one leg over the other, leaning back into the creaky leather as he carefully considers the best course of action. 

What sort of date would you like best? Dinner at home or at a restaurant? A quiet evening walk or something more grand? A large, expensive gift or a simple, heartwarming token? 

It dawns on him that he doesn’t actually know that much about your interests or your personal life, despite having almost weekly meetings with you for what must be at least six months by now. 

He frowns at the realisation. 

How could he possibly live without knowing everything there is to know about you?

Releasing a deep sigh from the bottom of his soot-deteriorated lungs, Silco is about to push himself to stand - in desperate need of some liquid encouragement if he’s going to even begin to plan the perfect date for you - when the door to his office bursts open, slamming against the wall with a booming crash. 

He instinctively reaches for his knife, only stopping in time when he recognises the intruder to be none other than his daughter. 

Jinx bounds into the room, abruptly halting at the very edge of the rug beneath his desk, her entire energy radiating urgency. 

Silco tries his hardest not to yell at her, but his heart is now racing at the sudden shock, meaning the words fall out of his mouth in a startled rush. 

“Jinx! What have I told you about-”

“Quick! It’s an emergency!” she exclaims before swiftly turning on her heel and bolting back through the open door and into the corridor.

A millisecond passes before her words register in his brain and Silco feels the panic begin to set in. 

He all but leaps from his chair, rounding the desk to chase after her.

Upon reaching the door, he spots her nearing the end of the corridor, about to turn the corner.

“Jinx! Stop!” he yells, tearing down the hallway towards her.

But she ignores him, continuing her rapid dash through the halls of The Drop. 

As he sprints after his daughter in this sudden pursuit, his brain automatically tries to produce a potential reason for the so-called emergency. 

Clearly she was not injured given the way she was sprinting so easily through the building, and neither had she been captured or kidnapped. So what could have caused her to act like this?

He’s not left to wonder for long as Silco finally catches up to her, watching her disappear up a set of stairs that lead to a leftover, little balcony near the top of the idiosyncratic building. 

He dashes up the stairs two at a time, his heart just about ready to burst from his chest as he charges through the doorway, desperately looking around for signs of an emergency. 

But instead of spotting the distinctive bright blue of his daughter’s hair, he instead spots you waiting at the balustrade. 

His panic is briefly overridden by complete and utter confusion, before his chest begins to fall through his body as a new, sinking kind of panic threatens to drown him. 

Are you the emergency? Has something terrible happened to you?

Silco calls your name panickedly, rushing over to you in a matter of seconds. 

Immediately, you turn to look at him in surprise as he breathlessly demands an answer to his concern. 

“What’s wrong?”

His hand rests on your arm as he frantically examines the rest of you, searching for any injuries or signs of distress. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, sounding completely baffled.

Silco glances up to meet your confused gaze, his own expression most likely matching yours, except his was undoubtedly laced with a considerable amount of worry. 

Over the noise of his heart still pounding in his chest and the blood rushing through his ears, Silco barely registers the clinking of bottles behind him. His attention is too focussed on you to even consider turning. 

“Jinx informed me there was an emergency and led me here,” he tells you, as he finally begins to get his breathing under control. 

You tilt your head to the side as you reply with a frown. 

“She told me that she wanted to show me something and then told me to wait here…”

Finally, Silco turns to sweep his gaze around the balcony, in the hopes that he’ll spot Jinx to have her clear up the misunderstanding. 

But instead of finding his daughter, Silco finds the usually empty outdoor table (the one he sometimes sits at to smoke a cigar when he needs a break from his office) now covered in a miscellaneous array of items. 

There are at least six full bottles of alcohol (mostly definitely stolen from the bar’s stockroom), two plates piled high with an assortment of sweets and candy, and a neon LED tube that appears to be in lieu of a candle…

Something that a child might prepare for a dinner date.

Comprehension dawns on him as his jaw goes slack.

She’d done it again.

His brilliant, beautiful, trying daughter had duped him again. 

Silco sighs heavily as he turns back to you, exhaustion seeping through his bones.

“I am terribly sorry for this inconvenience,” he tells you wearily, loathing the fact his plan to give you flowers and ask you on a date the next time he saw you had been completely demolished. “Please feel free to leave if you are busy.”

To his surprise, you give him a slightly offended look, your eyes darting between the bizarrely decorated dinner table and him. 

“And skip out on my favourite meal with my favourite person? No thanks,” you reply decidedly. 

Silco almost blanches. 

Did you just imply that he was your favourite person?

He has no time to fully process the idea because you continue speaking, moving over to the table to pick through the pile of sweets. 

“Jinx is very insistent that we go on a date, isn’t she?” you grin at him, causing his heart to squeeze at the sight. “Is she like this with all your employees?”

“Thankfully no. Just with you,” he admits. 

“Well, I feel very honoured.”

Silco crosses over to the table and slumps into the chair opposite you, pouring himself a generous amount of bourbon and downing it in one go. 

He leans back in the chair and stares at the upper levels of the city tiredly. 

“Is parenting meant to be this exasperating?” he asks with a loud exhale. 

The sound of your sweet laughter fills his ears as you also take a seat and Silco watches you pour yourself a drink from one of the many bottles. 

It leads him to wonder how Jinx managed to take so much of the stock without anyone noticing. 

And perhaps more importantly, where the hell did she manage to source an ungodly amount of sweets and an LED light (that was definitely once part of a building sign) on such short notice?

If she stole them, he hopes she wasn’t caught. 

And if she bought them, he hopes she used the bargaining skills he had taught her until she got a good price for them. 

His attention is pulled back to you as he notices you fiddling with the plate in front of you, eventually pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen that had been partially hidden under the mountain of sweets. 

A quick glance under his own plate reveals the same curious collection of items, which Silco works to free until he can see the page in its full glory.

It’s written on the back of a schematic and undoubtedly in Jinx’s handwriting, so the author of the paper is not lost on him.

At the top, there is space to write his name in the corner, followed by a brief set of bold instructions:

Since you too goofballs clearly need help getting together here’s a question-air so you can learn everything about each other and then finally kiss and get married (and buy me some cool wedding presents like a new gun and some exploding bullets!!!!!!!!!!)

The top of Silco’s ears turn a deep shade of red as he reads through Jinx’s words, not even daring to look up and view your reaction to them.

His eyes dart across the rest of the page, skimming the set of questions and spaces to write out each answer.

Questions about his age, birthday, favourite colour, food, type of gun, place in Zaun, song, book, animal…

In short, all the questions you’d ask your childhood crush in the school playground.

His hands clutching tightly onto the edges of the paper, Silco is seriously debating whether duct taping Jinx to the wall for a week would be considered good parenting, when movement from your side of the table catches his eye.

He looks up to find you carefully reading each question before jotting something down next to each one, all the while absentmindedly throwing the odd sweet into your mouth as you write.

…What?

Silco frowns for a moment before asking a simple, “What are you doing?”

You spare a brief glance up at him before propping your elbow on the table, allowing you to lean your cheek against your knuckles as you focus on the task at hand.  

“Filling in the questionnaire?” you reply nonchalantly. 

It strikes him how serious you look as you work to complete the questions. There’s no hint of that cheeky playfulness that lined your last conversation with him. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice low and a tad too shaky for his liking. 

But you ignore him, your eyes skimming the questions before you quickly scribble down your answers.

One question in particular has your face suddenly lighting up. 

“Ooh, favourite song is a good one!”

You don’t wait for a response as you begin to scribble away, a smile etched upon your lips. 

An odd feeling begins to rumble through Silco’s chest, his frown deepening in a way that is a direct contrast to his usual reaction to seeing you smile. 

He says your name quietly. 

“I’m not sure I have a favourite gun, if I’m being completely honest with you,” you announce, seemingly not hearing him as you get lost in your own little world. 

Silco gently places his hand over the one you’re writing with, stopping you with a firmer utterance of your name. 

Your head snaps up in surprise, meeting his concerned gaze. 

“Why are you going along with all of this?” he asks quietly. 

He’s not sure why he’s suddenly doubting everything about this situation, but Silco finds himself feeling positively nauseous at the doubts running through his head.

Perhaps it’s just his natural instinct after being hurt and betrayed so many times in his turbulent life.

What if Jinx has put you up to this? What if this is all just a big laugh at his expense?

Why else would you go along with all this nonsense? And with such enthusiasm?

You seem surprised at his question, your eyes ticking over his face before giving your answer like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole world. 

“Because I absolutely adore both you and Jinx.”

Silco’s breath catches at your complete sincerity. 

“You do?” he exhales, hoping he doesn’t sound or look as desperate as he feels, that excitement bubbling away inside him. 

“Of course I do. Seeing you is the highlight of my week,” you tell him, your beautiful face moulding into the most ardent expression. 

It pulls on his heart strings, enough to make him want to give you everything he owns, but he still finds himself asking.

“You’re not just humouring me? For Jinx’s sake?”

He only becomes aware that his hand is still covering yours when you pull away from him, pushing to stand so you can move over to the balustrade.

Silco watches you in trepidation, his heart thundering in his chest as you look down at the city below. 

“You know, before I started working for you, I was saving up to buy a ticket to Ionia. And a few weeks ago, I realised that I finally have enough,” you tell him in the most thoughtful voice he’s ever heard you speak in. “I could start a whole new life if I wanted to,” you add on quietly. 

Silco thinks his heart might have skipped a beat as the panic that had only just subsided rushes into his veins again.

He’s drowning again, he must be. 

He stands from the chair, moving over to your side, utterly breathless at the idea that you might soon be gone from his life. 

“You’re leaving?”

A tiny smile as you shake your head and Silco can’t help but note that you’re still not looking at him, choosing to stare down at the people below instead. 

“As soon as I’d saved enough, I tried to imagine what it would be like leaving Zaun for good. Do you know what changed my mind?” you continue. 

And with this, you finally turn to look at him, slowly reaching for his hand until your fingers are entwined with his. 

“You.”

Silco instinctively steps closer to you until your bodies are almost touching, and if you weren’t already holding his hand, he’s sure his fingers would be trembling. 

“The thought of never seeing you again. Of never giving Jinx another piggyback ride through the bar,” you say with a heartfelt smile and shining eyes. “Of never feeling that same rush of happiness I get whenever I think about you-”

He truthfully has no idea what possesses him to do it, but Silco finds himself pressing his lips to yours, really only a chaste peck as he finally, finally tastes you. 

Maybe it was in response to his panic that he might lose you if he didn’t act now; the mere mention of you leaving making him feel dizzy. 

Silco pulls back after a second, leaving you to stare up at him with your mouth agape in surprise. 

He’s just about to apologise when your mouth pulls into a delighted grin.

“I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for you to do that,” you tell him with a pleased sigh.

Then, you throw your arms around his neck, recklessly pulling him into a proper kiss, one that’s full of breathtaking passion as you kiss him like the world is just about to end. 

Silco’s worries are dispelled in an instant. 

By the time you both part for breath, Silco has pulled you fully against him. He rests his forehead against yours and finally takes the chance to ask you what he’d been in the midst of planning before Jinx’s interruption.

“Would you like to go on a proper date? One that doesn’t involve being conned by a certain young lady who is grounded for the next ten years?” 

You chuckle lightly, biting your lip in a way that makes Silco feel like pulling you back in for an entirely different kind of kiss. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, adding a sing-songy lilt to the words. “If you ask me, I think she should plan all of our dates. I mean, without her this might have never happened.”

He can’t help the smile that crosses his face when he leans down to kiss you again, his hand sliding gently into your hair to keep you close.

Now that he has you, he fully intends to never let go. 

This time, the kiss is slow and languid, a chance to properly explore one another, as if you had all the time in the world. 

And as he kisses you, out the corner of his corrupted eye Silco spots a bright flash of light followed by an entirely recognisable giggle from the rooftop. 

But he ignores it.

She’ll regret it when he has a word with Jericho to ensure she’s banned from the stall for the next three months. 

Besides, it’s not like he could possibly be pulled from your magnetism, even if he wanted to.

Right now, kissing you with all the love you deserve is exactly where he’s meant to be. Now, and for the rest of time. 

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A/N: so i have a cheeky little idea for a part 3… are we up for it??

Also, hello, hi, sorry it’s been so long, i’m going through something difficult at the moment, but trying to get back into writing. i hope you’re all doing well x

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Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @zbeez-outlet

[sweatandwoe]

Idk why but that post you reblogged of being allowed to murder someone for being rude to your wife with Silco at the bottom just gives of such huge SI!reader and Silco. Congrats on getting them stuck in my head :,D

"Silco."

He glanced at you, away from the man whose shirt he held in his fists. A few hairs had fallen out of place, and he licked his lips to hide the way he had been baring his teeth. "What?"

"I step away for a minute..." You sighed, trying not to smile while the man was obviously terrified. "Let him go."

"He was rude to you."

"You've said worse to me."

He frowned. "We're married. It's different."

You sighed, moving forward. Hands easily pulling his own away, and the man stumbled as he was dropped. You offered the best smile you could, because he had been rude. "Sorry about that, sir. Have a good day."

Silco watched as the man darted away, his lips falling into a pout. You linked you arm in with his, smiling when he glanced down at you before you spoke. "If they say something worse than that, you can punch them."

"I love you."

"I know."