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ijwrsmff · 1 year ago

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Yandere! Vander x Reader

A request I got in DMs =~= It took a while to get to it, but here's the second story of the day! I got inspiration and knocked it out. I gotta head to work soon, but I hope y'all enjoy it!

Tw; swearing and yandere-typical behavior.

Word Count: 1,297

You didn’t think anything was wrong…at first. You were a good bit older than Vander’s kids, and they became like your own as well. They were a rowdy bunch, and you considered yourself just as much of a cool parent as Vander was. Although he could be much more strict than you. Never wanting the kids to “risk�� their lives or legal action when going topside.

After a while, you began to go with them. Just in case things went awry. Vander wasn’t aware of it for a while, but when he found out he was livid. It was a side of him you rarely saw. Initially, you thought he was mad at you for taking the kids on a risky mission to help him afford their living expenses, but no. He was mad for something entirely different.

“The hell is wrong with you?” It wasn’t an angry yell, but rather a venomous mutter. “You’re risking your life for a few coins, don’t you know how dangerous that is?” He walked closer, and you stood your ground. You would defend those kids, and yourself against him. It wasn’t the first time, but it still made you anxious. But in your heart, you knew he’d never hurt you or those kids.

“How else are we gonna pay for everything? It’s not like running this place is cheap, we know you’ve been struggling with it.” As he walked towards you, his look became even more…unhinged. “We’re just trying to help, and I wouldn’t ever let those kids hurt at the cost of my own life.” You decided to play his game and take a step closer, but you were completely caught off guard by his next action.

He grabbed you, not roughly by any means, but enough to keep you in place. He was stronger than you, by far. You knew no matter how much you struggled he would only let you go when he allowed it. “That’s the whole problem. You baby them too much, they can take care of themselves. Especially Vi. She’s the oldest, she’ll make sure they don’t get hurt. You, on the other hand, are weak. Sensitive, and naive.” He leaned forward and his look turned softer. “You’re better off to stay here with me.”

You glared at him, and ended up trying to take a step back to get some space, but he didn’t let you. “Vander, they’re still kids. If you’re not going to go with them to make sure they’re safe then I will.” Your gaze almost faltered, but you tried to show your determination in that look. Even as you could see the wheels turning in his mind, you tried to show you were brave enough to stick up to him.

“No…no you won’t.” His voice was soft, and it was clear he came to a decision. Without another word from him, he dragged you to the basement of your home, where you stayed with him and the kids. “I figured something like this might happen eventually…” Despite your words of protest there would be no way to stop him with how strong he was.

The basement was a place no one was allowed, and only Vander had the key. Not that anyone could get in or out without help from several, with how big and heavy the door was. It was almost like a vault, and you and the kids had always thought it was a place where he kept the finds that wouldn’t sell, or a place with items of significant value to Vander. Even now…that might still be what it’s used for.

But those thoughts were halted when he opened the door to find a large room. A fridge, kitchen, bed, closet, and desk. “Vander…what is this?” You looked around the room, which was almost like its own home although in a single room and looked at him in confusion. He wasn’t…going to keep you here…right? “Vander?” He wasn’t answering, but his eyes looked full of resolve.

He thought long and hard about his words, and eventually dragged you to the bed and shoved you down. “Don’t worry…you’ll be safe here. No risk, no threats, any of it. You have everything you need. Food and water, a bed to sleep in, and most importantly…me.” He smiled softly, and eventually headed back to the door. “I’ll come see you every day, I promise. You’ll love it here. It’s not much, but it’s the best I have.”

He opened the door, and you screamed as you rushed at him. “Vander you bastard! Let me out of here!” As you swung, he turned around and grabbed your fist. His look was calculating, and you couldn’t make out what he was thinking. “The kids will know something is up! They won’t just let you trap me here like this!” It was the best defense you had, but he didn’t seem to care.

“People go missing in the lanes all the time. They’ll be sad you’re gone, but they’ll be okay. They’re tough kids.” He grabbed both your arms, preventing you from screaming again and said, “I can take care of them. Just as I can take care of you. I can even teach you to cook some of the dishes you like me to make for you.” He smiled for half a second before going to his usual cold expression.

“Vander you’re crazy! You can’t just keep me here like some sort of prisoner!” You kicked him, but he wasn’t phased. Within seconds, you were on the ground several feet away from the door. “LET ME OUT OF HERE!” You rushed at him once more, but he was already out of the door as you banged against it.

Within days, your will was nearly broken. He came in, talked to you and left. Every night. You became silent at some point, and simply did whatever he said. Ate when he told you to, slept when he told you to, anything. Hoping that eventually, he would let you see the kids again. He talked about them a lot, how they would still go topside to get some extra coins. How they missed you, but grew closer to them when they realized they could lose him too.

After several days, of which you lost count, you were completely broken. When he entered, your eyes were glazed over. He smiled, and touched your cheek. You didn’t even flinch anymore. He talked to you, or rather at you, but you couldn’t form words. Those kids…they missed you. You considered them your own. And Vander…you loved him. You did before, but did you now? It was hard to say.

Before he left, you walked up to him as he approached the door. The only words you could think to say, sat on your tongue as he looked back at you. This was the first time you’d willingly touched him without him prompting it. He turned, and smiled, but the smile was small when he heard your words…

“Vander…Please…Let me go.” Tears had fallen for days and days prior, there were none left for you to shed. Broken was the only word that seemed fitting of you. And even as he replied, you couldn’t find it in you to cry, or scream, or do anything, really.

“Not before…not now…not ever.” He turned and kissed the top of your head, and left.

This was your life now. Sitting alone, your only contact with another living soul being from the man you loved. In some form or another. He was all you needed…he was all you wanted. Sitting and waiting for him to come back, didn’t seem so bad. He loved you so much he couldn’t bear to let you go. And maybe…just maybe…

You didn’t want him to.

#yandere! arcane x reader #vander x reader #yandere! vander x reader #gn reader #tw; swearing #yandere x reader #x reader #request #arcane x reader #vander arcane x reader

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conretewings · 2 years ago

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Don't imagine ducking into the Last Drop about closing time to find it quiet and peaceful for once, the old jukebox still going softly

The oddly inviting scent of old wood, with the faint traces of alcohol, age, and a metallic tinge pulls you further in

Don't imagine looking to see Vander sprawled in a booth, arms across the seat back, his pipe sending wisps of smoke skyward and heavy brow crooked curiously

He rests easily yet powerfully, his posture both vulnerable and intimidating, like a lion or wolf surveying his territory

Those gorgeous steel-blue eyes, the ones you secretly adore, study and entrap you and you find yourself temporarily frozen

"'Aven't seen ya around in a while, love. What brings ya in tonight?"

Don't imagine his voice like honeyed bourbon, deep and smooth but burning through you and sending sparks flying up your spine

You stutter out an apology for coming in so late and whirl to leave but-

"Ey! Where ya goin'? I'm still open, it's pourin' out, and 'sides, I could use the company."

You thank him, trying not to stare as he braces his hands on his knees to stand, the thick muscles of his arms on display

He goes around behind the bar to grab a bottle and two glasses, then returns to the booth, and to your surprise gestures for you to join him

Time passes easily, too quickly as you treasure this, chatting and sipping the liquor, some sort of high-quality stuff, the kind that goes right to your veins

Those veins that are now on fire with how he's gazing at you

When did you two move so close?

Don't imagine him casually putting an arm around you to pull you in fully

"It's gettin' chilly. Why don't ya come 'ere?"

Definitely don't imagine him giving you a devious grin, or reaching out to gently grasp your chin, his large thumb swiping your bottom lip

You feel like you'll burst into flame at this point and you've never wanted something more than the promise those eyes held

"Ya know...I've always liked ya. Was kinda hopin' we'd get a chance like this..."

Don't imagine resting your hand on his face, your heart hammering like a wild thing as you silently all but beg him to do it

Don't imagine his lips meeting yours, that flame roaring to life and you inhale sharply

He tastes faintly of bitter tobacco and the sweet liquor and you've never had something so wonderfully intoxicating

Don't imagine tangling your fingers in his thick, surprisingly soft hair, involuntarily letting out a soft groan as his tongue swipes across yours

He pulls back, cradling your jaw with one hand while the other grasps your thigh, a downright devilish grin on his slightly flushed face

And definitely don't imagine him murmuring, "Well then...now that we're on the same page, where this goes t'night is up to you, darlin'..."

@immortalbumblebee @archerofthemists @barbersjoy @band--psycho @vander-affectionate

#vander arcane #arcane vander #vander x reader #gn reader #arcane vander x reader #vander imagines #arcane imagines #vander smut #shameless self indulgence #look this was in my head so I had to share #god I want this man so bad it's embarrassing

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the-darklings · 9 days ago

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FOR YOUR ARCANE PROMPTS LIST POOKIE: "hands under your lover's clothes" w/Silco??? perhaps?? perchance?? PLS PLS POOKIE, MY GLORIOUS QUEEN, MY EVERYTHING <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ silco x gn!reader, complicated relationship, a little angst, no spoilers for s2, cat & mouse dynamic but who is who? wc: 768

“It’s dangerous playing games with a patient man.”

“Are you? Patient?”

Silco’s mouth flutters into what could pass for a fleeting smile. It’s a rare expression on him, an ease that is seldom seen in the years since he left Vander’s side. Nowadays, he is nothing like the fresh-faced youth so desperate to fix the world you first met.

“More so than many, I’d reckon,” he replies placidly, watching you with idle interest. You lean on his oak wood desk, the rough grain of the wood warm beneath your fingers as you skim over his notes and ledgers. His meticulous nature is evident in the way he organised everything about the Shimmer trade. It’s almost irritating. “You are here for a reason.”

The gentle accusation falls on deaf ears.

“I was just saying hello,” you drawl, your voice low, swinging your attention his way. Silco’s scoff is a low, throaty sound, barely audible, but filled with disdain.

You’re not sure when it started, you and him. If it was survival or a desire for a better life that drove you both from the start. You wanted freedom and independence and then he took the Undercity, and, in a way, you too. Since then, you’ve existed in his sphere, enjoying his favour. Flaunt it without making it obvious, slipping past the cracks of his rules.

He appears so collected on his chair, a king on his throne in truth, but his immaculate clothes are wrinkled, buttons undone, and his Adam’s apple bobs when you touch his tie. You know better than to go near his throat. The last time you did, fingers eager and teeth nipping at the taut flesh there, he jerked back as if shocked. Terror and rage had overcome him, twisting you on his bed, still tangled in each other, before you could turn back your instincts. When his hands closed around your throat in response, you didn’t fight him off, and maybe it was that above all else that made Silco snap out of his spell.

No, instead, you slip your hand past the unbuttoned shirt, tracing over his sharp collarbone. Silco rests his cheek lightly on his hand, watching you through a narrowed eyed stare. Daring you, yes, but also curious. The heavy scarring on his face never bothered you. You didn’t lack scars of your own, but this…

You slip forward, knee resting on the chair between his parted legs, hand slipping lower, to rest over his thudding heart.

“Hello.” Your lips shape the word before you breathe them against his lips again. Your free hand cups his face and the hard beat of his heart echoes against your palm.

The kiss is gentle, more civilised than either of you are used to, a sweetness that lingers even though it’s not what either of you normally craves, but when he doesn’t pull away, a secret thrill shoots up your spine. His deep inhale fills your ears, the heat of his lips imprinting on yours. A deep, rumbling sound vibrates through his chest when you deepen the kiss, your fingers moving in gentle circles over his skin.

With a viper’s swiftness, Silco snaps his hand behind your head when you break the kiss, keeping you close. Nose to nose, your breaths mingle. You can’t quite tell what lingers in his burning gaze, one icy blue, another molten gold.

“Are you hoping to endear yourself to me?” he asks, knowing and throaty. “A foolish play.”

“I won��t say that,” you say, breathless. “And if I was… well, I think you’re holding up just fine.”

Licking your lips, you pull back, grinning at him. He hasn’t moved, his knuckles returning to his cheek. Nonchalant, except for the heavy weight with which he still examines you. Silco won’t indulge you in admitting you do this because you’re the only one he can rely on in this shitty, twisted world of yours. You support his vision, you’ve always believed it, even when you were younger.

Adjusting your dishevelled clothes, you look over at him once more. Not so crisp and orderly for once. Satisfaction nestles in your gut at the observation that the usually perfectly groomed and dressed man—this infamous crime lord—is a mess in the dim light of his office. Undone. Caught. Even if predatory hunger reflects in that golden hue.

You wag your fingers in a playful wave. “It’s dangerous playing games with patient people, love, haven’t you heard?”

#arcane #arcane x reader #silco x reader #arcane fic #arcane silco #arcane silco x reader #ANYTHING FOR YOU POOKIE BEAR.

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nausicaaandhermouth · 5 days ago

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A Kiss For Loyalty

masterlist

young!silco x gn!reader [1.2k][AO3]

summary: You find him after the attack on the bridge, and you're left to figure out how to tread the fragile state of him.

tags: young silco, a few hours after vander tries to drown him, angst, established relationship, hurt silco, not betad

a/n: mid-lecture we were looking at photos of gash wounds and i couldn't help but think of young silco's face fresh after the drowning, so ofc i had to write a comfort fic for him. kinda comfort. it's mostly angst.

Vander couldn’t look you in the eye, couldn’t form a single word. And at first, worry was what overtook you—Silco hadn’t survived, lost in the fight. But the more you looked at the larger man who had returned, the more you recognised something else: the aftereffect when he’d had too much to drink, had raised his voice, had felt guilty. Regret.

You find Silco in your bedroom, curled up on the worn mattress that had held you both some countless nights. It had overheard the visions for your new nation, the sloppy passion of drunken evenings, the quiet rise and fall of breaths during winter. Now it’s witnessing something new.

You’ve never heard Silco cry. Your bedroom shrinks at the sound of it, as if the corners darken and round themselves to hold and hush him. It’s a sharp sting, an undeniably pained cry bleeding into his palm, cupped around his mouth.

When you approach, you’re silent—assessing, investigating, worrying if this isn’t something you can fix. He’s never been so evidently broken. You’re not sure whether it’s about Vander or at the failure of their uprising, both of which had taken a large portion of his heart.

“Silco?” you whisper, taking another step forward.

“Don’t,” he manages, his sobs becoming quieter, but affecting his breath, bubbling out of him in squeaks and chokes. “Please,”

You shake your head, keeping your ground but keeping your eyes on him. He’s refusing to remove his reddened hands from his face, his hair curtaining over his left side, black, wet strings.

“You’re hurt,” you furrow, focusing on the blood down his hand. You rush forward, chest attempting to wrangle in a frenzied heart. “Show me, hey, S—”

“Stop!” he inches away from you, a childlike recoil that makes you freeze.

It’s a foreign behaviour, a desperation he’s never worn, never come close to mimicking. As far as you’ve known him he’s been the opposite. Even in pain, he stitched together a composure so convincing it made others doubt he could ever truly feel the hurt he was raised around.

You suppose that it’s something he’s worked on, refined throughout the years after taking on the responsibility of becoming Zaun’s face, alongside Vander. His ideologies had spilled straight from his heart into your ear. You understood why he worked so hard to maintain a strong face.

That man was gone; he hadn't entered the room this time.

He’s hiding, you see, shielding his face from you. This, you understand, is something he thinks may spare you from even a fraction of the pain he must be feeling. He’s always been so. To hoard the suffering and smile.

“You don’t want me to see you?” you ask, kneeling by the bed and retracting your hands.

Silco doesn’t answer, the chokes of suppressed sobs the only sound from him.

“It’s alright,” with a shake of your head, you turn around, facing the other way and leaning against the bed. “I don’t have to see you. Just… just talk to me,”

You wait a beat, then another, waiting for his voice, willing his voice to regard you again. Anything with a meaning that you could warp into a sign of hope.

“Please,” you add. It’s unintentionally desperate, pleading, giving him the power of controlling where the conversation goes. Something he needs, you suppose, something he’s certain is still predictable.

You hear a sharp breath behind you, then the shuffle of your bedsheets. Your eyes slide the farthest they can without turning your head, attempting to see any glimpse of him.

Then his hand enters your periphery, pale skin against scarlet, fingers twitching and shaking as his forearm rests on your shoulder.

You take gentle hold of his hand, turning it this way and that in search for wounds. But nothing. “Who…” your breath escapes, “Is this your blood?”

“Yes,” he responds, a word that pricks at your lungs sharply.

You see the moment clearer now. A wound so deep that to reveal it is its own pain.

You recall Vander’s face. The shame that distorted his features, how ugly it becomes as you try to piece together the fragmented pieces.

“Vander did something,” you surmise. Your breath quickens, a sneer creating brackets around your flared nostrils. “Did Vander do something?”

You feel Silco’s breath near the top of your head, but before you’re able to turn, a weight settles over you. Momentarily, you hold, letting the firmness of his muscles process on your body, around your shoulders, his other arm snaking over your bones and holding you backwards to him.

You hear his soft sniffs over your head and slightly to one side, the bone of his cheek pressing against your crown.

There it is again. It’s a spear through your body, the sound of him. It strikes a fissure along your lungs, each sudden inhale a crack veining in your airways, each tremoring breath he takes an earthquake on your skull. Vander, what have you done?

You take his hand and hold it to your cheek, the cool back of his hand against the warm apple of your face. You interlace your fingers, a familiar practice, just as fluid as the locking of legs in the night, or the pressing of palms for a prayer.

Next was the chaste kiss on his index knuckle, for loyalty. Then on the middle knuckle, for liberty. Another on the ring knuckle, for luck. And lastly, a kiss on the pinky knuckle, for love.

It was a silent conversation he and you had made, meeting mouth to bone always easier than devoting a voice to each word.

His other hand wrapped around your wrist, bringing your arm upwards and over your head, your own knuckles meeting his familiar lips. But they tremble.

He breathes a kiss, gentle, on your index knuckle, starting, then failing. His breath falls jagged on your skin.

For a moment he restarts, the warmth of his air hovering over your knuckle. But again he fails.

Your frown deepens. Even more so when he moves your hand and skips to your pinky knuckle, the only promise fulfilled.

“How bad is it?” your voice slightly muffles against his hand near your mouth.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “At the… we were at the river, he—” he grips your hand slightly tighter.

“It’s still hurting?”

His clothes shuffle. “Yeah,”

“Let me look?”

Silence.

You start to think he’ll reject you again, not yet prepared to face you in whatever shape Vander had left him. But he loosens his arm around your shoulders and moves away, his presence at your back fading.

Your other hand remains in his, the anchor, as you shift on the floor and turn.

You look up and your eyes meet. No. One eye meets yours.

You sense his panic by how the one remaining blue jumps between your eyes, tips of his mouth downwards. He brushes aside his wet hair.

The left side of his face had been marred, a trench of exposed muscle, skin, and blood bared at you. The blackened sclera is haunting, a flame moving in tandem with the watery blue of his other eye.

You’re more than certain there’s nothing but indignation gushing through your veins. Yet, Silco remains beautiful. You realised a long time ago it was difficult for him to not be, no matter the state of him. And still now, left eye diseased with the molten of betrayal, mouth frowned by grief, fear in his good eye.

“It’s not over,” he whispers, leaning forward as you reach up and cup the unmarred side of him. “We’ll take back Zaun,”

There he is. No man, no river, could ever kill him. “You’ll show them,” you press a kiss to his index knuckle.

#arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane silco #young silco #arcane x reader #silco x reader #silco x you #gn!reader #silco x gn!reader #silco fanfic #young silco fanfic #nausicaas fics

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mx-pastelwriting · 5 months ago

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Move Over

Vander x GN! Reader

Summary: The kids asking if they can spend the night in you and Vander's bed.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Cuddles & Snuggles

Waking to the noise of feet running down the hall with pitched voices hushing each other, the creek of your shared bedroom door added to the mix. Sitting up, turning on the light next to you shows all four of the kids standing in the door frame, all dressed in nightwear, some hugging stuffed toys.

"What are you guys doing? What's wrong?" You say sleepily to the nervous children. "Can we sleep in bed with you?" Vi speaks up for the group.

"We got scared," Powder says next, softening your heart further. Just as you nodded, Vander wakens, but it was too late for his say as they all climbed in. "What?" Vander asks confusedly, but the kids tuck themselves in, the girls cozying up to you while the boys nearly push Vander out of his bed.

Already planning the morning out, knowing you'll need to make Vander a big steaming pot of coffee, maybe even running the last drop for the first hour to let him sleep in without the kids, of course.

Just as they fell asleep, Vander sat up, seeing the labyrinth that is his bed. Hearing him sigh loudly, which received a shush from Mylo. Accepting defeat, hearing the bed creek as he lay back down, pulling the covers over the kids before cuddling them close.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @sophieissleepy @birbita @joretgasbf

#vander arcane #vander x reader #vander fanfic #vander x you #vander arcane x reader

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silcoitus · 2 days ago

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Could you write a (young)Silco/Disabled Reader, who for the most part is able to walk just fine with the help of a brace but on bad days they’ll bring out the cane and on really bad days a wheelchair but is still insistent on trying to do things no matter how much they shouldn’t?

I tried to be as sensitive as I could towards reader's disability. I hope it comes across sincere and that I haven't committed any faux pas. If I have, please let me know in the comments and I will happily revise. Like young Silco in this fic, I will quickly apologize and learn if given the opportunity.

A Voice Like Yours

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: gn!reader x silco; disabled reader; Silco; Felicia; Connol; Vander; Benzo; fluff; angst; hurt/comfort;

Word count: 3.5k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

You would've liked to get to the market sooner, but getting out of bed was particularly hard today. Typically, you're able to handle just fine with only your brace. And when that doesn't work, your cane will usually suffice. But with rough sleep last night and a flare-up this morning, you opt for using your chair today to get to the market. Just until you can get your bearings again.

With your later arrival, you're unable to beat the morning rush, sandwiched between what seems like every citizen of the Undercity. Most give you a wide berth, but others shove past you unceremoniously. You're used to it by now, but your fatigue plasters a permanent scowl on your face as you try to find your usual vendors.

As you make your way through your shopping list, the bag sitting on your lap getting slightly heavier with each new stall you visit, you feel a bit better. (You used to keep your bag slung over the back of your chair, but stopped when some asshole stole it.)

You're on the last item on your list when you get settled in front of one wooden stall and make small talk with the shopkeep. He greets you by name and grabs your usual order, setting it down on the counter before turning his back to fix something. You try to reach for your purchase, but it's just a touch too far. You're about to move your chair closer when a stranger waltzes up and plucks the bag off the counter.

“Hey! That's mine!” you protest, rolling closer to him.

“I know,” he replies, handing it to you. “I was just getting it for you.”

You snatch it and shove it into your canvas bag, still frowning at the tall, slender man with long raven hair.

“I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own.” You grab your wheels and in one fluid, practiced motion, reposition your chair away from him. You start to leave, but pause, looking over your shoulder. “I don't need your help.”

Out of your periphery, you see him raise both hands in surrender, but from this angle, you can't tell if his expression is sincere or sarcastic. You try to shake it off, ready to go back home and wash your hands of the interaction.

The Undercity is supposed to be the city of self-reliance.

So why does everyone still treat you like a child?

The following day fares better. You bring your cane (just in case) for your shift at the shop, settling into your stool at the cash register. You're reading a book during the slower hours when a customer comes in and sets a stack of papers down onto the counter. Your eyebrows furrow at the flyers and you lift your eyes to see a familiar face.

“If it's alright, I'd like to add these to your bulletin board,” the man from yesterday says, not even looking at you. He leans on the counter, looking out the large windows to the street. “Got a meeting coming up and want to get the word out.”

Finally, he turns to you.

You watch as his face cycles from apathy to confusion to recognition. His eyes dart down to your stool and the surrounding area, seemingly looking for your wheelchair. When he comes up empty, he looks back up to your face, head tilting to the side.

“I didn't need it today,” you preemptively answer. “Not that I owe you an explanation.”

“Right, right, sorry,” he's quick to apologize. “I didn't mean to insinuate—”

“That I'm faking?”

“No! Never!” he says, hands coming up in surrender, again. His shoulders sag forward slightly and he runs his fingers through his hair, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “I'm sorry, can we start again?”

He puts his hand out. You eye it warily.

“Hi, I'm Silco.”

Your lips thin, but you take his hand.

“Hi, Silco.” You give him your name.

“I would like to put these up on your bulletin board,” he says, nodding to the corkboard behind you.

You put your hand out.

“Only two,” you instruct. “One here and the one in the back.”

He starts to hand you the flyers, but then pulls back.

“I can put up the one out back,” he offers.

“It's fine,” you say, insisting with a gesture of your hand. “I can do it.”

Silco looks at your hand then up to your face, understanding slowly spreading across his features. He nods, mostly to himself, as he hands you the papers.

“Of course.”

You take one flyer and a thumbtack from the corner of the board, stabbing it in place with a bit more force than necessary.

“You should come,” Silco says from behind you. “We could use a voice like yours in the Children.”

You turn back to him, eyebrows furrowed.

“Just think about it,” he says softly, gathering the pile of papers. With a small, almost apologetic, smile, he leaves.

You lift the remaining flyer, scanning it.

Children of Zaun

Town Hall

Wednesday

4pm

The Last Drop

“Hey, Monte?” you call out. “If it's okay, I think I'm gonna head out a little early.”

Your boss peeks his head out from one of the aisles, his glasses slightly crooked on his nose.

“That's fine,” he reassures you, calling your name. “We're pretty slow today; I can take it from here.”

You take your cane from behind the counter, slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

“Thanks! I'll see you tomorrow!”

You make your way to The Last Drop, having spent a couple days wrestling internally about whether or not to go. You had heard of the Children of Zaun, but not really given them much thought. From what you'd heard, they were a ragtag group of misfits posing as rebels, claiming to want independence from Piltover. You had rolled your eyes in disbelief at the notion. Besides, you have plenty of your own concerns to worry about; it's not as if you have time to take up some righteous cause.

But Silco's words ring in your ear, propelling you forward.

“We could use a voice like yours in the Children.”

What did he mean by that? “Like yours”—what’s that supposed to mean? So they want some sort of token disabled person on their crew to make them look better or something?

But the sincere remorse on his face and the softness of his tone told you otherwise.

Maybe he meant it.

Maybe he does actually want to hear what you might have to say.

So you walk up to The Last Drop, hand clutching your cane, holding it less like a walking stick and more like a blunt force weapon (which it has had to be, on occasion). Taking a deep breath, you pull your shoulders back, and push open the door.

You're by no means early, but there's no way this is the entire gang. You can count on exactly one hand the number of people that showed up. There's Silco, standing with his back to you, what looks to be a couple sharing a table, and then two larger men standing by the bar. You're immediately filled with regret and start to turn back around, until you hear someone call your name.

“You came!” Silco says, more excitement in his voice than you'd expect. “Hey, this is who I told you about.”

Four pairs of eyes turn to you and you feel rooted on the spot.

You shoot Silco a look.

He told them about you? What could he possibly have said?

He gestures you forward, leading you to the couple at the table. You take one of the empty seats and Silco sits in the one next to you. He leans forward, one forearm barred along the wooden surface as he addresses the couple.

“I told you we were missing something,” he starts. “That this—” he gestures to the group, forefinger pointed and moving in a circle, “wasn't enough.”

That same forefinger comes down, tapping incessantly on the table.

“If we're to be the voice of Zaun, we need to make sure that everyone has a spot at the table.”

The woman glances at you before turning back to Silco, nodding slightly as she speaks.

“Okay…” she nods a little more, as if the thought is taking root in her head. “Yeah. That makes sense.” She turns toward you. “My name is Felicia and this is Connol,” she says, leaning her head toward the man next to her.

“Felicia. Connol. Nice to meet you.”

You shake hands with both of them.

“Would you like a drink?”

You pull your lips through your teeth and Felicia is quick to reassure you.

“Don't worry; it's on the house.” She straightens up, calling out to the large man behind the bar. “Vander! Some beer!”

“Get it yourself!” he calls back.

“Fuck you,” she laughs.

“Oy,” the other man says, bringing a tray over. “Watch yer language ‘round the new recruit.”

Felicia laughs.

“They’re an adult, Benzo; they can handle it.”

You look back at her and she offers you a smirk. You take the free mug of beer and Silco raises his up in toast.

“To the Children of Zaun.”

Felicia and Connol mirror the movement.

“The Children of Zaun!”

You lift your glass and say the words, though you don't take them to heart just yet. But as you bring the mug to your lips, you can't help the small smile from creeping onto your face.

Every Wednesday, you leave the shop to go to the bar. And every Wednesday, you become a little more smitten.

With the cause.

With the man that introduced you to it.

The more you get to know Silco, the more you realize your first impression of him wasn't a good representation of the man he is.

Or, perhaps, maybe it was the perfect representation.

A man who only wants to help, eager to uplift those around him. So excited to do so that he steps on a few toes in the process. He's stumbling and clumsy with his help, but he's quick to apologize and quick to learn.

It doesn't take long for you to realize—he’s that way with everyone. It wasn't just you and it wasn't just because you're disabled. He's always on alert for if someone could use a hand, always first to arrive when someone asks for assistance. That's just who he is.

And if this is one of the rebels trying to uplift the Undercity, the Nation of Zaun is in good hands.

Silco is keeping you company at the shop, following you around as you restock some items. He carries a crate of goods while you arrange them on displays, your discerning eye careful to make them look as appealing as possible.

You drop one of the small boxes and Silco is quick to bend down to grab it.

“Silco,” you warn, “What'd I say about helping without being asked?”

“Sorry, right,” he says, straightening up to let you retrieve it. “Force of habit.”

You grin up at him, chuckling. “I'm just fucking with you.”

With some assistance from him, you get out of your wheelchair and resume your place at the cash register. Silco takes the opportunity to sit in your chair, long fingers fiddling with the wheels. You laugh as he tries to maneuver the chair around the front of the shop.

“Have you learned any tricks on this thing?” he asks, trying to lean back and balance it so that his feet lift off the ground.

“It's a wheelchair, not a skateboard, you jackass.”

“That's a ‘no’ then,” he says, smirking. But the smirk is wiped clean off his face when the chair tumbles backwards, sending him crashing to the floor.

You let out a bark of a laugh at that, laughing even harder when he starts to groan.

“Serves you right!” You grab your cane, gingerly getting off the stool to help him back up. “If you broke my chair, I swear to Janna… Do you know how hard these are to get? I had to pay so much coin for it.”

You point your cane at him threateningly, but he wraps his fingers around it and tugs, pulling you forward. A startled squeak at your throat, you fall on top of him, catching yourself just in time so you don't headbutt him.

“Silco—”

“Now we're both down here,” he teases, smirking.

“Wonderful,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “What a masterful plan.”

Something sparks behind Silco's ocean green eyes, something playful, mischievous.

“I'll say it is.”

And with that, he lifts his head, closing the distance between your lips. Your eyebrows lift and your eyes flutter closed, savoring the warmth of his mouth against yours. His hand comes up to tenderly cradle your face and you lean into the kiss, pressing your chest to his so you're flush with him. You don't know how much time has passed, but as you kiss him, you feel as light as a cloud, until—

“Hey!”

You straighten up, face red with blush.

“I don't pay you to swap spit with the customers,” Monte says, but there's no bite to his words. “Get up before someone trips on you.”

You laugh, pressing your forehead to Silco's.

“Here.” You push yourself up, offering him a hand. “Let me help you.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had a friend group like this. Ever since the accident that caused your disability, no one seems to have the patience to deal with your rougher days, as if you’re holding them back.

It’s hard to not internalize that feeling.

But with Silco and the rest of the Children of Zaun, you feel different. Whereas before, it felt like your mere presence was a burden, you feel seen and appreciated. You feel heard.

When you tell Vander that the bathroom stalls are too tiny for your chair, he knocks the dividers down to make room.

When you lament about the small step outside the front door, Benzo throws together a small wooden ramp.

More and more, The Last Drop feels like home, though going to the basement or the upstairs office still eludes you. It’s not that you can’t. It’s more that you’re worried that you’ll have to ask for help to get you back on the ground floor should you get stuck in either place. But, there’s never really been any reason for you to visit either floor, so you’re content to stay in the main bar area, occasionally ducking into the back room when the crowd gets a little too loud.

It’s on one such trip to the storage room that Silco finds you, huddled on the floor, your cane propped up next to you. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your palms pressed flat against your ears, trying in vain to drown out the sounds of the bar. You had made the mistake of visiting during peak hours and didn’t have the energy to go all the way back home. You thought you could power through it until the customers dwindled, but it became too much. So, you retreated to the back room, holding back tears.

“We have one more!” Silco calls over his shoulder as he opens the door, talking to Vander who tends the bar. “After this, we’ll need to get more.”

He turns over his shoulder to see you on the floor. Immediately, his voice lowers and he crouches down to get eye level, your name a reassuring coo on his throat.

“Hey… are you okay?”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut.

“Okay, just… give me a second.”

You hear him pick up a crate of bottles. The door swings open, letting in the raucous noise from outside. You let out a whimper as the door swings closed. After a few tense minutes, the door opens again and you hear footsteps approaching you.

“Hey, I’m back,” Silco coos. There’s shuffling as he moves to sit next to you. “What do you need?”

It’s a sentence you practically trained him to ask. With his tendency to charge forward offering the help he thinks you need, you managed to finally get him to learn to ask you first.

It’s a small gesture, but at this moment, it’s everything.

“I need…” Your breath is shaky, your eyes holding back tears. “I need quiet. And— And it’s too far to walk home.”

Silco shifts, moving to crouch in front of you, hands on either of your shoulders. He squeezes them and you look up to see a tender expression on his face. Not pity or condescension. Concern. Sincere, genuine concern.

“It’s much quieter upstairs in the office,” he offers. “Do you think you can make it?”

Your lips tighten. It’s hard to think with so much noise; you can barely hear your own thoughts. It doesn’t help that you can feel a flare up coming on, pain shooting through your legs.

“I… I don’t know.”

You watch Silco chew on the inside of his mouth, thinking.

“I could… carry you.”

You shoot a look at him, equal parts indignation and humiliation.

“I know, I know. It’s not ideal.” He looks around the storage room as if he’ll find an alternative answer. “But the sooner we get you out of here, the sooner you can feel better.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, wrestling internally. The sting behind your eyes is threatening to push past your defenses. Finally, wordlessly, you nod.

“Okay,” he says, tone firm.

His ocean green eyes dart around your body, trying to figure out how best to pick you up that keeps your dignity intact. But before he can reach a decision, you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him to yourself, holding him in a tight embrace.

“Oh! Hey…” He melts into the hug, bringing both arms around your back, squeezing you gently. “It’s okay.” He rubs your back with one hand, palm warm against your shirt. “It’s okay. We all need help sometimes.”

“I did too much today,” you say into the crook of his neck, tears escaping your eyes. “I should’ve stayed home.”

“Shhhh…” he shushes, shifting his arms as he slowly rises to his feet, bringing you along.

You manage to get to your feet, but your legs feel wobbly and unstable under your weight.

“Here, let me…” Silco bends down and hangs your cane over the crook of his elbow before bringing one arm behind your knees. “On three. One… two… three.”

You lift your legs up and he scoops you up in his arms, straightening to a stand. Instinctively, you wrap both your arms around his neck, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

“I got you,” he coos. “I’ve got you.” He takes one final look around the room before pushing the door open with his back. “We’ll go behind the bar; no one will even know.”

You nod, tears flowing in earnest now to stain Silco’s shirt.

You press one ear to the crook of his neck, trying to dampen the loud voices of the bar patrons. At that, Silco walks a little faster, making his way up the staircase. In his haste, he drops your cane on the landing.

“Shit! Sorry, I’ll go back for it,” he says, continuing forward.

After opening the door and carefully depositing you onto the plush red cushions of the couch, he darts out the door, returning with your cane in hand. He sets it on the coffee table in front of you before sitting next to you.

“There.” He rubs your hip as you lay on your side. “Is that better?”

You nod, reorienting yourself to rest your head on his lap. Silco settles on the couch, bringing one hand to your head, smoothing down your hair in soft reassuring strokes. His other hand grazes your cheek, wiping away your tears.

It’s finally quiet.

Your legs still ache, but it’s not as bad as it was before. You can feel the rise and fall of Silco’s chest against your back, his breathing a calming rhythm.

“Thank you, Silco,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he whispers back.

After a moment, he shifts, bending down to bring his lips to your temple. You smile at the touch, feeling warmth settle behind your ribs.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” he cuts you off. “I’ve never heard you apologize before and I don’t want to hear it now.”

The firmness in his voice has you turning your face to look up at him. There’s a resoluteness in his expression, a confidence you typically see reserved for Children of Zaun meetings. He looks off into the distance, as if seeing something that’s not there. A vision. A promise.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he continues. His chin dips and his ocean green eyes find yours. His eyebrows lift and his lips curl into a soft smile, full of pride and affection. “You’re perfect.”

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon

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thus-spoke-lo · 2 days ago

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pairing: silco x gn!reader. cw: angsty. reader implied to be close to Silco's age. wc: 1.2k

Silco bends at the waist and leans down to meet your gaze as you sit perched on the edge of the couch cushion. He runs his fingertip along your orbital bone and down to trace the contours of your jawline, places a dry palm on the side of your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. His eyes narrow as he examines every inch of you, as if he’s confirming again and again that it’s really, truly you.

“My word,” he says after a moment, a hint of something close to reverence in his voice, “you look nearly unchanged.”

Of course, it isn’t true. There are lines around your mouth whenever you smile, deep-set creases in your forehead where there was once smooth skin. Your bones creak, your joints ache, your muscles scream at you when you sleep the wrong way on the floor of your tiny, barren home. Your body isn’t as flexible as it once was, nor as reactive—it’s how you were caught in the first place, how you ended up in the hands of Silco’s men, dropped unceremoniously onto this sofa with no warning that it would be Silco you would be faced with.

“Thanks,” you mutter, trying to focus your gaze on his good eye. “You certainly know how to flatter.”

You want to tell him he is just as unchanged, but the uncertainty of his reaction turns your stomach; he looks at you just as he once did, with the same softness hidden in his features, but with a veneer of harshness over it. Despite this, he is, in ways, the same man you knew: the same striking aquiline nose and sharp jawline, the same blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smirk, the same glint in his eye when he was trying (often unsuccessfully, but still amusingly) to flirt.

“How did you ever find me?” you finally ask, placing your hand on his as he cradles your face. His skin is cool to the touch, and you can feel him react, just slightly, at the warmth of your palm.

Silco pauses for a moment. “Sheer luck, I suppose—one often finds lost objects when they’re looking for them the least.”

A grin creeps up the corners of your mouth. He’s still just as charming as he was then, when he wants to be. Of course he would deny ever searching for you, probably still would under duress if you still had it in you to threaten those in power, but such pursuits didn’t come as easy as the once did.

“You kept yourself well-hidden.” He says it almost chidingly—you’d made it difficult on him.

“I had to, you know that.”

Silco kneels before you, places his other hand on your face and holds your head still, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. “I could have protected you.”

“Not then, you couldn’t have.” Certainly not like he could now, as the Eye of Zaun. No, you couldn’t expect to rely on others then, not him, not Vander, not anyone else, only yourself. And if that meant living a life of solitude barely worth living, then so be it—at least you were alive.

“Of course I could have—I would have.” The accusation seems to rattle him, and his grip on your face becomes more vice-like, his hands beginning to shake. “I would have done whatever it took. I would hope you would have known me well enough to know that, hm?”

“Silco, you’re hurting me,” you finally eke out, a rasped whisper, and he immediately releases his hold on you.

Silco sits back on his heels as you rub your aching jaw, his mouth opening and closing as words seemed to catch in his throat. “Tell me—why did you really stay away?”

All the reasons begin to flood you, burning in your blood, all the things you’d turned over in your mind year after year. Because I was afraid. I was afraid of losing you. I was afraid of you losing me. I had to leave before you abandoned me, before the world abandoned us both. But all that you manage is a soft, defeated, “I don’t know.”

You slide down to the floor with him, press your forehead to his. The room melts around you, the architecture and the furniture disintegrating until all that remains is you and Silco, and the remains of what was and the scaffolds of what could be.

A low creak brings the room back together again, shocks you back into consciousness. Sevika stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her broad chest, her gaze fixed on some point just above and beyond the two of you; she clears her throat and gestures towards the door.

“I-I’m afraid I have business to attend to.” Silco stands, straightens himself as he nods and waves a hand to dismiss Sevika, leaving the two of your alone again, for now. “Unavoidable, I suppose.”

“Of course.” You clear your throat and scramble back to the couch, sitting up ramrod straight, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly raw. “It was lovely catching up, Silco. But I...I suppose I should be going as well.”

He cocks his head, glaring at you almost incredulously as he smooths his vest. “Go where?”

“Home, I suppose,” you shrug. Anywhere but here. Anywhere you won’t be captivated by memories, lured by the life you’d built in your head, pulled into the unknown by years of want finally able to be realized.

He inhales deeply and sits beside you on the sofa, his lean hip digging into yours, hand settling on your thigh. “What could possibly be there for you now that you need to leave so abruptly?”

Nothing. There is nothing for you there. Everything you wanted is here, right here, because he forced your hand and dragged you back in time with him against your will. You run your fingers over his forearm, dancing in the fabric peaks and valleys of his shirtsleeve and your heart pounds and your brain buzzes and everything in you aches for him.

“You act like time stood still when we last saw each other. Like we can just pick right back up where we left off.” Hot tears form at the corners of your lash line, and you do nothing to stop them from tumbling down your cheeks. “But time never stopped, I never stopped. I kept running. I had to.”

Silco grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns your head towards him. There’s the softness you missed, the same concerned expression and furrowed brow he’d wear whenever he’d catch you in a rare moment of melancholy. “What if you don’t have to run anymore?”

“Silco, time just keeps moving, even if I don’t want it to.” A sob hitches in your throat and comes out a deep and mournful wail, years of want and need, of anguish and grief, all escaping you at once.

He slides a hand to the back of your neck, squeezing it gently, and waits, waits for your cries to become hiccups to become soft sniffles. He leans in close, so close his breath warms your skin and his lips ghost yours and you want him to kiss you so badly, more than you ever have and ever will. “Then let it halt for a moment with me...won’t you?”

#lo writes #silco x reader #arcane x reader #arcane.silco

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deathbxnny · 14 days ago

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◇《ARCANE MASTERLIST》◇

》Masterlist Navigation

-----♡

》Started on: 13/11/24

》Updated on: 26/11/24

》General headcanons:

Arcane women accidentally confessing to you. | Sevika, Jinx, Caitlyn, Vi x Gn!Reader

Arcane characters when someone flirts with you. | Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Sevika x Gn!Reader

Imagine the reader being there at the Vander statue during the attack (part two)

What Arcane characters are like when drunk. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

Arcane characters saying things they'll regret during an argument with you. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

Making up with Arcane characters after a bad argument. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

Arcane characters reacting to you having a panic attack! | Caitlyn, Sevika, Jinx, Vi x Gn!Reader

Arcane characters with an s/o that has ADHD. | Viktor, Sevika, Vander and Vi

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

Arcane characters reacting to their s/o dressed up really pretty. | Vi, Ekko, Jinx x Gn!Reader

》Caitlyn Kirammann:

Our blood will drip from your hands. | Caitlyn x Fem!Reader

Caitlyn with a childhood best friend Navia-like!Reader.

》Vi:

Vi with a Vastayan!Reader

Vi taking care of drunk fem!Reader.

Vi with a best friend Wriothesley-like!Gn!Reader.

》Sevika:

Being besties with Sevika!

Sevika with a devoted and loving s/o!

》Jinx:

Please don't leave me. | Jinx x Fem!Reader

"I'm sorry you lost your way home." | Jinx x Reader

Jinx with a Vastayan Gf!Reader.

-----♡

●《REQUEST INFO》●

#bxnny-talks #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane masterlist

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kodamaghost00 · 6 months ago

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𝑰𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖,𝑽𝒊𝒌𝒕𝒐𝒓?

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

Fandom: Arcane 2021 (NETFLIX ORIGINAL)

Pairings: Viktor x GN!Reader

Genre: Long-lost Friends to Lovers, Fluff

Summery: After you thought your Best friend died you reunite with him after 12 years of being apart.

Warnings: Loosing close people, Death, Fights, Spoilers EP3, Emotional, Slow burn, forced to move on fast

Word count: 2,4K

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

“Viktor! Viktor over here, look at this!!” You are around 11 years old and call out for your best friend. He walks over to you as fast as he can. “What’s going on, Y/N?” He asked cautiously, but then looked at what you pointed out. “I’ve never seen something like that before…”. Now you both stare at a little bug crawling around in the dirt in front of you. You and Viktor watch the bugs and animals around you all the time, but this one... you’ve never seen it before. It had short legs, but the colors were beautiful. “Do you think it’s a new species?” You chuckled. “Well, maybe it is. What shall we call it?” He smiled at you softly. “Hm. I’ll name it sooner or later!” You two watched it crawl away. You stood up and helped him to do the same.

“Let’s go home you look tired…” He just nodded, and you both made your way to the small shed you called home. You both laid down facing each other. “Viktor? Do you think we’ll make it big one day? To the topside, I mean.”. He thought about it but responded calmly back to you, “I know we will. With my brain and your brawn, we make a pretty good team.” You chuckle. “That’s right. Goodnight Viktor…” "Goodnight, Y/N…” and with those last sentences, you two fall asleep.

*BOOM* Something exploded, and your little shed crumbled to pieces. Everything burns, there’s smoke everywhere, you can’t see anything but call out for Viktor. There’s no response. You try to free yourself from the remains of what you called home once, but you’re trapped underneath. There’s no way out. You are in so much pain that you black out. There’s nothing, only darkness. Then the memories of the happy day before came flooding back, and you violently woke up, tucked away in a cozy-looking bed.

“Where am I?” You ask cautiously. Looking around for any enemies you could encounter, the only thing you see is a large man with a beard. "Oh, you’re awake, kid. How are you?” He came closer, and you flinched away. “I’m not your enemy, kiddo. I’m here to help you.” He said reassuringly as he handed you a glass of water to drink. “What happened? Where’s Viktor?!” You asked, looking around to find your best friend again, but to no avail. “Viktor? You’re the only one I found. I’m sorry.” You started to cry, and he came to hug you. You cried on his shoulder for a while until you calmed down. “Do you want to stay with me? I assume you don’t have family here.” You nodded quietly and held his hand, not wanting to let go. Then another man came into the room. He was big and scary-looking but had a rather friendly aura. "HAHA, Vander is gonna be a dad now? That’s something I never thought was possible!” The man shouted. “Shut it, Benzo…” he said, rubbing his nose bridge. You only giggled at that, maybe your new life won’t be that bad after all.

From that day on, Vander was like your dad. He taught you how to fight. How to defend yourself. How to protect the ones you love… You didn’t even notice the 12 years that went by. Now you basically have 4 younger siblings. VI,Powder,Mylo and Claggor. You were the best role model for them, and they looked up to you. You trained with them and taught them valuable lessons. Especially VI, she was young and naive, but you knew that she only wanted the best for your family.

Then the tragic day came. Silcos people attacked you guys, and not only Vander, your beloved father, but also Mylo and Claggor died during that incident. You fought with them, but to no avail, the shimmer was too powerful. You got hit badly by one of silcos men, you didn’t know what happened to VI and powder before your body gave in and you blacked out. “Is that what happens again…? I don’t want to die. I don’t want them to die! NOT AGAIN!” The next thing you know is that you woke up in a fancy-looking hospital.

You woke up in shock and looked around, panting, “VI? POWDER?! WHERE ARE YOU??” Then someone calmed you down. “ You looked down at the creature that’s trying to help you. “A... a furball…?”. Heimendinger was amused by your comment. "Well, I wouldn’t say a furball, but that’s a fair assumption.”. He laughed. “Where am I? Who are you? Where are my siblings?!” You asked frantically, starting to panic again. “Calm down, young one. I’ll explain.” He took a deep breath as you went quiet again. “You’re in a hospital right now. I am the head of the council, Heimendinger. And your family…” he frowned. “Where are they?! My sisters!?” You asked in a demanding manner. “The chief enforcers told me you were the only one found alive… I’m sorry.” You were so shocked that the fact didn’t register at first. Then you cried. You were sobbing hysterically into your own hands. You didn’t process the fact that all your loved ones died. ‘Once again? I thought I got stronger? I wasn’t able to do anything…’ The pain was talking out of you, and you thought it should’ve been you, not your beloved family. Under your sobs, you managed to form one sentence. “What am I going to do now?” Heimendinger looked at you with the most heartbreaking expression anyone ever gave you. “If you want to, you could become my assistant. I already have one that’s been with me for a while now, but... I don’t think another one would hurt.” He said this to you while resting his hand on your shoulder. You looked at him again, not realizing what he said completely, but you nodded. The chance to help someone… you won’t throw that away. That’s what dad would’ve wanted, after all.

Heimendinger sat by your side for a long time before asking you something again. “How old are you, my child?” “I am 23, sir…” you responded hesitantly. You knew Heimendinger wasn’t a threat, but opening up to strangers was even harder now. “23… so young. Yet you had to go through all of the misery. I’m really sorry for you, child. I’ll leave now, we will discuss the more serious details tomorrow. Please take care!” He waved you goodbye and left the room. Now it’s just you. Alone. In a hospital bed in Piltover. All the events came flooding back, and you cried again. So hard that you cried yourself to sleep.

The next morning arrives sooner than you wanted. The sun is coming through the window, and with a clear sky, you sit up and pinch your nose bridge. “Such a headache...” you whispered to yourself. As you stretched out. You glanced at the nightstand beside your bed. “A letter?” You take the letter and open it gently, and it reads:

Dear Y/N,

When I came to visit you again, you were dead asleep! I didn’t want to disturb your peaceful sleep, so I decided to write this letter instead. I asked one of the nurses when you could go out again, and they told me you could go today. Talk to a nurse before heading out to my office later,alrighty?

P.S. . The clothes are also for you, so you blend in a little better.

In best regards, Heimendinger!

You chuckled at the fact that Heimendinger wrote you a whole letter just for you to sleep a little longer.

You still mourned a lot about your family, though, so it's understandable that you weren't the happiest. You put on the clothes he gave you and went out of the room to call a nurse, and one came rushing to you.

"H-Hey! You can't just stand up like that!!" She rushed over to you, helping you back to your room. "I feel better. Can I go now?" You ask, wanting to go out of here as soon as possible. "Oh, you're the one that heimendinger favorites... what's your name? So I can look you up in the system." She pulls out a device you never saw before. "It's Y/N". "Last name?" She was a bit confused. "Don't have one." You snarled back a bit. She looks confused but enters your name anyway. "Ah! Y/N! Wait a second!" She rushes out and comes back with a small bag in her hands. "Take one of them per day it's best if you do it right after breakfast." You looked at the bag suspiciously but nodded. "Thanks." And you're on your way out. "Rude..." the nurse whispered to herself.

You totally forgot to ask the nurse where heimendingers lab is, so you wander around the halls of the academy. “Why is this place so big…” You looked around and admired all the pretty painted walls, amazing wooden floors, and bright chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. When you were focusing on the big windows next to you, you ran into someone. "Fuck, I’m sorry… I should’ve looked where I was-“ you were cut off as you looked at the man in front of you. Tall, flawless brown hair and a cane. You stare a little too long, and he asks, “Are you okay?”. You nod “I’m sorry… You just remind me of someone who I was close with a long time ago.” He doesn’t respond until you ask something. “Excuse me, but where is heimendingers lab? I was supposed to meet him.”. He looks a bit surprised but points in one direction. With a thick accent, he says, “Turn left around that corner. It’s the third door; you won’t miss it.”. You thank him and walk away. You can’t shake the feeling that this man you were talking to was Viktor. But no… He was dead, right? There’s no chance that he’s here…

You couldn’t think about it longer as you stepped into heimendingers lab. It looked scary but fascinating at the same time. “You wanted to see me, sir?” You say this as you quietly close the door behind you quietly. “Ah! Y/N! Just in time, young one.” He smiled as he stood up from his chair. A little horned furball barks at you happily. "Oh, you just missed my other assistant! He’s bringing us some papers for you to fill out so we can make your employment official!” He says he is smiling. He seems super happy that you’ll work with him soon, he has high hopes for your future.

Then Viktor comes into the room after a few minutes. And heimendinger brings you two closer. “Y/N, that’s Viktor, my assistant for years by now. Viktor, that’s Y/N, the second assistant that will work with us from now on. I hope you two will be a good team from now on!” Heimendinger says, and the room falls silent. “Y/N…?” Viktor said it with a shocked expression. “Yes Viktor?” You smile at him, and he lets his cane fall to the ground, running into your arms as best as he could. You knew that must’ve took everything within him... “I thought you died… I’m so sorry for not recognizing you earlier. You’ve grown so much I…” he said as His eyes widened, his voice shaking. "No, no Viktor… Please don’t apologise…” you say as you go through his fluffy hair, and you both have a very emotional moment. Heimendinger notices and leaves the room quietly. “I have missed you so much… I’ve been searching for you for so long…” you say softly, hugging him deeply as you missed him and partly for his support. “What happened to you that day?” He said this as he stood up straight again, stumbling over his own feet. You grab his cane and hand it to him. “How about we talk about that in peace later? We have so much to talk about…” you declared, but Heimendinger opened the door again and chimed in. "Oh, young ones, you can take the rest of the day off if you please…”. You wanted to protest, but he cut you off and sent you two away.

Now you both are on your way to Viktor's lab since you don’t have your own home yet. As you both walk next to each other, an uncomfortable silence is in the air, so you try to ease it a bit by trying to hold his hand. Just like in old times, he takes it gladly, and you both walk to his room. With a pink hue on his face, he closes the door behind you. “You have a lovely lab.” You try to start a conversation with something small. As you sit down on the couch he had in there, Viktor does the same and looks at you. “Thank you… I appreciate it. What happened that day, Y/N? I haven’t thought of anything else since that day… It’s haunted me ever since.” He says straight up, not wanting to let any more time pass. “There was an attack near our home. I called out for you, but you didn’t answer, so I thought…” You go silent, and he notices that you assumed he was dead. “I went to our home every day to look for you. I missed you so much.” You feel your tears well up. He suddenly spoke up. “One of the enforcers took me with them. The attack was so intense that I blacked out on the spot. Heimendinger raised me. I’m sorry that I left you like this…” You listen to him but nod. “I had a good family as well… but they…” You started to cry now, giving in to your emotions, and Viktor hugged you, noticing that you had lost important people once again… “I’m here now... I’m here for you, Y/N. And I will never leave again.” He pulls you in, hugging him even deeper. His presence is so comforting that you let it all happen. “We’re together again… that’s all that matters now…” he says caressing your hair, kissing your head gently. You leans his head on yours and burry your face into his chest gently. “Thank you, Viktor… I’ve missed you so much…”. “I think you should rest now… It’s been a long week for you…”. You nod and fall asleep on his chest. Quickly, before you fell asleep, you heard his voice saying one last thing that made your heart bump like crazy.

"Goodnight, Y/N… I love you.”

You wanted to answer, but your body caved in, and you fell asleep.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧ *✧･ﾟ: * *✧

A/N: Hello and thank you for reading this short story that came into my mind! It’s my first time writing out my thoughts out actually so please don’t be too harsh on me. I’m so excited for S2 and I think many of my fellow Arcane fans are as well. Have a great Day/Night and goodbye!

#arcane #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x yn #viktor x reader #arcane viktor x reader #character x reader #gn!reader #gn reader #Viktor arc #arcane netflix #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n

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whoreforsexymen · 4 days ago

Text

Strong Drinks & Broken Links 🍺⛓️‍💥 CH. 1

Gray Hair & The Absence of Care

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Pronouns: GN!Reader (for now— please see this post for details)

Rating: SFW, except for strong language and consumption of alcohol (drink responsibly, people). Reader is old enough to drink, despite what Vander thinks.

Word count: 4.7k (the rest are going to be far longer, so be prepared)

Tags: Slowburn, Reader is implied to be 21+ years old, Age Gap, Heavy Use Of Language/Alcohol, Reader might be a little too angsty (I’m sorry), Tense Situations, Vander being the caring mentor type he is but in a poorly thought out way.

Notes: I don't think I've ever posted a fic on this account. So, welcome to my only outlet for the brain rotting obsession I have for this man. ALSO I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT SEASON 2, OR I'LL FIGHT YOU.

((If any of you want to be added to a tag list for this fic, please lmk!! Ask box is also open for requests/suggestions/comments 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 🤍🤍))

It had been a terrible night so far.

Not only had you been shortchanged more than two-thirds of the agreed-upon pay for a job you’d completed—but that paltry sum had quickly slipped from your grasp entirely, taken by a gang of thugs.

You had to give the undercity credit—it had an uncanny ability to remain a perpetual cesspool. You’d managed to take down two of the muggers, but the third—the one who’d made off with your coin—had slipped away while you were dealing with the others. Just your luck. The payout had been pathetic to begin with, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. It looked like you’d be scraping the dregs of the city to find enough for your next meal, yet again.

That is, unless you decide to drink your dinner. As well as your sorrows, in the process. The idea struck you as you neared the central bar of the undercity, still sulking as you were making your way back to the shack you called home. The Last Drop. A name that said it all. If there was any place where the undercitizens of Zaun gathered, it was here. No doubt the owner had to be the wealthiest man in the area, though that wasn’t exactly saying much in a place like this.

You made your decision. A warm meal might be out of reach, but liquor could suffice—if you drank heavily enough, that is. Or at the very least, it might dull the sting of the night’s failures.

The bar was an eyesore, a hulking building among the rundown structures of The Lanes. A garish neon sign blinked above the entrance, buzzing like an angry fly, casting sickly light on the grime-streaked pavement. Inside, the din of loud music and the clatter of drunken chatter spilled into the street. It was a haven for folks with any background, no matter if they sought business or pleasure within its walls.

You pushed through the door, noting how no one even bothered to glance your way. That was how you liked it—under the radar, always out of sight, always out of the mind of untrustworthy beings.

Then again, you didn’t trust anyone anyway.

You duck and weave through the crowd of rowdy patrons, eyes scanning the bar for a table or booth at which you could hunker down and nurse your drink in peace. Your frown deepens beneath the hood of your jacket when you come up empty-handed. Typical. No matter, though. You’d have to order at the bar anyway, regardless of where you sat.

It’s when your eyes settle in the direction of the bar that luck seems to briefly shine upon you—there’s an empty stool. Without hesitation, you make a beeline for it, not wanting some drunken fool to snag it before you could. You practically dive-bomb onto the seat, landing with a small grunt, air knocked from your lungs. After the night you’ve had, this stool feels like an oasis, despite the new absence of oxygen beneath your chest. You settle into it like it’s the only thing left in the world, clutching the seat as if someone might try to commandeer it if you let your guard down low enough.

The realization dawns on you that, in order to get a drink, you’d have to interact with the bartender. You hold that fact in high regard with contempt.

Chit-chat? Not tonight– or truthfully any night. You’ve never been crazy about casual conversation. The events of the evening have only soured your mood further, and the last thing you need is some eager bartender trying to make nice. Normally, you’d avoid sitting at the bar for that reason alone, yet here you are.

Thankfully, the bartender pays you no mind, his attention fully set on the patron he’s currently tending to. That is, until said patron leaves and the barman finally turns to you, his new source of focus.

The sheer momentum with which you rolled your eyes almost knocked you out of your seat.

“Welcome to The Last Drop. What’ll it be?” His voice is deep, and heavy, garnering a thick accent that clung to every word.

He’s an older man, though exactly how old is hard for you to pin down. His hair’s gray, his eyes tired, the lines of age having etched themselves into his face long ago. However, there’s something youthful about him—something that makes it hard to tell whether he’s an old-looking thirty or a young-ish fifty. Frankly, you don’t care enough to continue your mental evaluation of him. Age shouldn’t matter when it comes to bartenders. They either know how to pour a decent drink, or they don’t.

You don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Something strong.” You mutter, your voice mostly flat, but with a hint of irritation that danced along the edge.

The bartender scratches at his graying beard, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your request. You grit your teeth, hoping he won’t try to scam you by giving you something weak and overpriced, just to line his pockets with your hard-earned coin. You’d seen it happen to others, and you’d be a damned fool if you let it happen to you.

The bartender studies your face, or at least what he can see of it beneath your hood, before his gaze shifts to the shelves beneath the counter. After a moment of deliberation, he selects a bottle with thoughtful ease, pulling the cork out with his teeth. With his free hand, he grabs a tin cup and pours in a copious amount, sliding it toward you with a swift flick of his wrist. You’d almost call it a generous decision on his part, considering the fact that you hadn’t even paid your dues first. His choice to serve you first goes a long way in easing your suspicion, at least for the moment.

You dig into your pocket, retrieving the few gold coins you’d managed to hold onto when dealing with the aforementioned thugs. They weren’t enough for one measly meal, but they were enough for a drink or two– or three, but who’s going to keep track? Certainly anyone but you. You’d only stop once your pitiful wealth ran out. Without a second thought, you toss them onto the bar top, making it unspokenly clear to the bartender that you were hoping for much more than just this one drink. You grab the cup, lifting it to your lips and downing the lot of it in one quick, greedy gulp. The warmth spreads through you almost immediately, and it feels like a small victory over the obnoxious turn your night has taken.

The bartender watches this with a faint chuckle before you slam the empty cup back down onto the counter. He takes it without a word, refills the tiny tin chalice, and begins passing it back. Without missing a beat, you grab the cup from him, draining the contents in a second gulp before he even has time to set the bottle back down.

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” he remarks casually, his voice low and steady as he finally reunites the bottom of the bottle with the countertop.

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” you mutter, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The words come out flat, though there’s a weight to them. It’s more than just a refusal to talk—it’s a refusal to let anyone look too closely. You avoid eye contact like the plague. Eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul. And letting someone peer through them is a risky gamble you’ve never been apt to take.

You were clearly beyond uninterested in the beginnings of this conversation. The lack of willingness to be friendly reigning clear as you shove the tin cup towards him yet again. He grabs the empty cup and refills it once more—your third drink in under five minutes. He seems reluctant to hand it back. He maintains a grip on it as he eyes you again, this time much more thoughtful.

“Care to chat about it? Might be healthier than drownin’ yourself at the bottom of a bottle,” he offers plainly.

You give him a sidelong glance, not even trying to mask the edge in your voice.

“Doesn’t sound like a good business strategy, encouraging your paying customers to cut back.” You fire back quickly, the sharpness of your words outpacing even your annoyance at the unwanted conversation.

The bartender chuckles again, a spark of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his smile—maybe he’s seen more than a few like you in this dive. Or maybe, he knows in the same fashion as you, that sometimes it’s more palatable to fill the silence with alcohol than with words.

“Fair point, but I’d prefer to keep my patrons alive. Helps me sleep at night, y’know?” The bartender shoots back, his eyes fixed on you, all too curious about what’s hidden beneath your hood. The conversation quickly turns uncomfortable, a painful reminder of why you’ve never liked bartenders—they always talk too much and ask too many personal questions. As far as you’re concerned, they should stick to the charade for the sake of their regulars, and leave all unsuspecting customers alone.

The momentum of yet another roll of your eyes causes your head to bob ever so slightly— your hood creeping back towards the line of your hair. The new, incredibly subtle, view of your face made the barman clench the cup in his hands with rigor.

His eyes narrow slightly, the amusement fading from his voice.

“Where’re your parents, kid?” He asks, his voice low and in demand of an answer.

The question hits you like a slap, and for a brief second, you find yourself caught off guard. You’re not someone who’s usually thrown by imbecilic remarks from the residents of The Lanes, but this one? It’s different. Not just the audacity of asking such a personal question, but the clear assumption of your age being made so boldly.

Your head snaps up, and before you can stop yourself, you push your hood back, breaking your own rule about eye contact. Why? Who knows. Today has already gone off the rails, and you’re too far gone to care. The liquor’s sudden grip on your senses began to cloud your judgment, and honestly, it was far from shocking. To be fair, you had asked for something strong… Not to mention having no substantial food in your belly to dilute the potency you sought after. All in all, there was no ignoring how the liquor was starting to pummel you like a brick to the face would.

You meet his gaze, eyes scanning his face for any sign of what he’s gunning after by asking such a question. But there’s nothing obvious behind those gloomy eyes of his. No clear motive. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to get under your skin or if he’s just another fool with a quick tongue.

“Rotting in their graves,” you mutter, voice sharp and, in addition, spiteful.

“Which I’m sure you’ve got one foot in, yourself, Gramps.” You make a mockery of the decades that are clearly stacked against you, hoping to push him back into his corner.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he practically snorts, running a hand over his silvery beard as he crosses his arms; resting them across his stomach with the casual authority of someone who’s seen it all. He’s not rattled by your quips—no, not in the slightest.

“How old are you, kid?” His voice is flat now, a hint of something more serious creeping in, though you can’t figure out why. You’re even more unsure now about his intentions. Constantly expecting the worst from people was your lot in life.

“Too young for you.” You snap back, pushing forward with your usual sharpness, trying to regain some control over this ridiculous conversation. You reach for the cup he had refilled for you, but before you can even graze it, he snatches it away, clicking his tongue like a disappointed parent.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, as if you’ve done something wrong.

“I asked how old you were.” he repeats, his voice now devoid of any amusement.

He watches you carefully, his gaze inspecting your face as if he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know were there.

You roll your eyes, irritation growing, and narrow them at him, unwilling to back down. You can’t tell if he’s probing for something deeper, or if he’s just getting off on making you uncomfortable. Either way, you’re done playing his game.

“Why are you so curious, huh?” you scoff, leaning in and making a bold decision to double down on your irritation. “I’m just another patron here to drown in my sorrows and drink them away. Not to mention, I’m paying for the privilege.” Your words are bold, and with that same boldness, you reach across the bar and rip the cup from his grasp.

You try to bring the drink to your lips, intent on finishing it off. But just as the cup nears your mouth, the bartender’s large, rough hand slips over the opening of the cup like a solar eclipse.

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up with a look that could strip paint. In that moment, something clicks in his mind. The defiance in your voice, the way you’re carrying yourself—it all reinforces his suspicion. You’re not old enough to be here. When you walked in, your hood had obscured most of your face. But now that it’s gone, he can see it clearly: you’re just a kid, trying to score some alcohol. The only thing that kept him from throwing you out on your ass, was your cadence. You looked young, and spoke carelessly, but you sounded grown. If you were in fact grown, he’d ease up.

However, with the way you look—bloodied and bruised, no less—he’s convinced you’re in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble he doesn’t want being drug through his bar. He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve pissed off, or what kind of people you run with. But this? This is his bar, and he’s fought too hard to maintain the fragile peace that reigns here. He won’t let you ruin that for him and his loyal patrons by dragging your poor choices in with you.

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” he says, his voice no longer playful but flat and serious. “Either tell me your age, or you’re cut off.”

The room seems to hush around you. The muffled chatter of patrons behind you fades as the bartender’s tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. It’s a quiet threat now, the kind that lets you know exactly how much leverage you have—and how little he’s willing to tolerate.

“You didn’t strike shit,” You hiss. “and I don’t need to answer to shit.” You add.

The bartender bends over the counter, his face inches from yours. The bitter scent of smoke hangs thick on his breath, hot and rancid, and it presses against your skin like a physical weight. The damp air in the bar swirls around you, brushing your cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth that feels suffocating, as if the room itself is closing in.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll have no problem lettin’ my loyal patrons cut your tongue out for us to hang above the bar.” He says fiercely.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the eyes of the dozens of patrons who have fallen silent, their conversations and business abruptly halted. It’s clear—they’re waiting for a signal, ready to back up their beloved bartender if things escalate.

“You can call off the cavalry, Gramps. I was just leaving,” you retorted, swiping one of your coins from the counter, as if to refund yourself for the drink you’ve yet to have. You release your grip on the cup, almost slingshotting it backwards from the sheer force you two had each been bestowing upon it.

“Sit down.” the bartender commands, his voice low and final, as you attempt to abscond.

You don’t reply, instead moving to shoulder through the row of patrons who are standing like silent sentinels, waiting for the slightest nod from their bar’s gatekeeper. It’s not like you expected them to part, but the way not a single person dares budge makes your blood boil. The crowd might as well be a wall of stone.

“Sit. Down.” the bartender demands again, his tone sharper this time, a razor edge cutting through the haze of the bar.

You grind your teeth, your patience wearing thin.

“I’ll take my patronage elsewhere—”

You don’t even finish your sentence before a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, pushes you roughly back. You stumble, barely managing to stop yourself from falling flat on your ass. The sudden movement sends a rush of heat to your head, the anger spiking through your veins like fire.

You seethed at the touch, the anger burning hot in your chest, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. But you knew better than to keep pushing your luck. Not today. Not in a situation like this, with dozens of hungry eyes watching, their hands twitching near their weapons of choice, waiting for the slightest excuse to make a move.

Biting back a torrent of curses, you forced yourself to swallow your pride, choosing to stay quiet—at least for now. It wasn’t worth the fight. You could practically feel the heat of their glares digging into your back as you turned on your heel, eyes locking once more with the bartender’s. You reclaimed your seat at the bar with deliberate flair, each movement oozing a sense of defiance and attitude. It was a performance, one you were used to. To you, it felt like you were playing the part of someone tough. But you knew, deep down, that to anyone else—especially the bartender—you probably looked like nothing more than a naive, immature idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. It wasn’t a great look, but at least it kept people from getting too close.

“I’m sat,” you muttered, voice brimming with the remnants of your irritation.

The bartender shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. You could feel the tension in the room dissipate, the energy shifting as the crowd behind you resumed their rowdy conversations. The noise began to swell again, and for a moment, it almost felt like the bar was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He grabbed a dirty glass from the counter, handling it with practiced ease, and pulled a rag from beneath the bar. As he began polishing the glass, he didn’t so much as glance your way. His focus was on the glass, and for a few moments, it felt like you were nothing more than a background detail to him. You could feel your impatience growing with each passing second. If he had something to say, you wished he’d just say it already. At least that way, you could get out of here—and maybe keep some of your pride intact.

The bartender continued his slow, methodical motions, running the rag around the rim of the glass with an almost exaggerated calmness. He didn’t bother to look up, yet you could feel the weight of his gaze on you through the silence.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he said, his tone neutral, almost too much. “How old are you?”

You weighed your options. If you didn’t answer, you had no idea what would happen next. If you did answer, you still had no clue. It was a gamble either way.

“(Insert age here),” you muttered, the words slipping out begrudgingly, each one like a weight lifting off your chest.

The bartender scoffed lightly, a soft laugh escaping him that made your skin crawl. Your fingers began tapping impatiently on the bar’s edge, the rhythm a soft counterpoint to the growing tension between you.

“____ years old and still so naive… You really are just a kid, eh?” His words hung in the air, his eyes still locked on the glass in front of him, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There are worse things I could be,” you shot back, your voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and defiance.

“S’pose that’s true,” he replied, finishing up his polishing with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. He set the glass down next to the others—clean, polished, and waiting to be used. With a fluid motion, he slung the rag over his shoulder, then placed one hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the counter. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into the bar, his posture relaxed yet somehow still imposing.

“But on the other hand,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “what you already are ain’t too good either.”

It wasn’t a threat—more of an observation, one that hung heavily in the air, like the smoke in the room. You felt the weight of it, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or just another way to mess with you. Either way, you could tell this conversation wasn’t over.

You could feel the first few bubbles of anger rising in your chest, the heat creeping up your neck as your blood threatened to boil. You’d always been quick to anger—an unfortunate side effect of your temper and stubborn streak. They were the crosses you’d carried for as long as you could remember.

You scoffed again, the sound sharp and biting, as if it were the only defense you had left. You had already rolled your eyes a dozen times tonight, but it felt like you were on the verge of an explosion.

“What’s your goal here, Gramps?” you spat, your voice dripping with sass, every word a little jab. You didn’t care to hide your bitterness. You liked to fight with words just as much as you did with your fists, and the bartender was starting to see that loud and clear.

“You got the answer you were looking for. Whether you believe me or not, you’ve already served me twice. If my age was such a concern to you, you would’ve kicked me out long before I even sat down.” Your words hung in the air once more, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

He just let out a quiet laugh, as if your logic amused him. And he didn’t bother to answer, not even in the slightest.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and it was clear he wasn’t going to explain himself. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of an explanation. He simply leaned back, eyes flicking over to the rowdy crowd behind you.

It was infuriating.

You stayed silent for a beat, but only because you knew you’d have more to say. And damn right, you did.

“Do you do this with every new customer?” You snapped, your voice rising now, the frustration boiling over. “’Cause if you ask me, I’m not sure how this shithole’s still in business. You discourage your customers from drinking, even though this is a fucking bar, and that’s all people come here to do. You make it impossible to drink peacefully, just like you make it impossible to drink at all!”

The words spilled out like fire, each one more forceful than the last. Your temper was no longer something you were trying to hold back—it was running rampant, and it felt good to let it out, even if it was in the form of a scream. You weren’t about to let this bartender—this stubborn old man—have the upper hand. Not when it felt like he was deliberately pushing your buttons.

“So if it’s alright with you, Gramps, you got your answer, and I don’t owe you shit. I’m leaving.” You actually raise your voice purposefully this time, slamming your hands down onto the counter as you push yourself off of the stool once more.

The bartender wasn’t fazed by your outburst. In fact, he’d dealt with feistier, louder, and much more difficult people than you—people who could out-shout you or out-punch you if they had to. He wasn’t bothered by your temper. He had raised four kids on his own, after all. He’d learned a thing or two about handling stubborn personalities, whether they were kids or grown adults who carried themselves like children. And you, in his eyes, were just another brat testing his patience.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steady, calm, and authoritative, with an edge of finality that cut through the noise of the bar.

Before you could react, his hand shot out faster than you expected, grabbing your shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. He tugged you back into the seat with a kind of effortless force that made your breath catch in your throat.

You shot up from the bar stool in a flash, but his hold was stronger than you anticipated.

Instinct kicked in, and your own hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his wrist with a quick, almost violent motion. You shoved it off your shoulder, irritation flaring up like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you glared up at him, the heat of the moment burning in your eyes.

You huffed, your fists clenching at your sides, teeth grinding. The room seemed to close in around you, but you weren’t backing down—not now, not after all of this. The tension between you and the bartender was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent attention being drawn to you once more as they waited for your next move, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t have time to be.

The man let out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with disappointment.

“Look, kid—”

“By the fucking god’s, I’m not a kid!” you snapped, your eyes flashing a level of ferocity that sliced straight through him.

He pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, his gaze cemented on you still as he took a long, steadying breath. Patience was his virtue, and he was willing to endure this sparring match for as long as it took.

“It’s clear you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe, just maybe, instead of lashing out, you could let someone help—”

You cut him off mid-sentence, your words an unpleasant interruption.

“Help? You want to help? Surely that’s the wrong word. Surely, I heard you wrong, cause, from the way I see it, you’ve done nothing except cage me in here, threaten me, and withhold what I paid for. So if it’s with any consolation, take your ‘help’ and fuck off.”

Enough was enough. Without another word, you climbed atop the stool, bracing yourself for what came next. You steadied your balance, then launched yourself toward the crowd with calculated precision. The dismount was quick—intentional, forceful. You tucked your legs in, soaring over their heads in a perfect flip, and extended them just before hitting the ground behind them. Without pausing, you bolted for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, you made it—flying through the door and slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying crash. Finally, you were free, never to be seen within a hundred yards of this bar ever again.

The patrons had made a half-hearted attempt to grab at you as you rushed past, but a sharp, deafening whistle from the bartender stopped them in their strides. He shook his head softly, a silent message that it wasn’t worth the chase. That it was better to let you go. If you were in trouble, it would catch up with you soon enough.

Deep down, the bartender hated seeing someone so young seal their own fate in such a way. But, in the end, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save them all—no matter how badly he wished he could.

He couldn’t help but wonder— if maybe, just maybe, he’d been a little too assertive, or downright impetuous with you after all.

But it didn’t matter now. You were gone. All he could do was hope you’d survive out on those streets.

taglist: @blogforhoes @committingcrimes-2047 @dirtandcrime @eternalgoddessofart @woozulo @lutaaaslostacc-d8

#arcane #arcane x reader fic #arcane x reader #vander arcane #vander x reader #vander x reader fic #vander x reader smut #vander x gn!reader #vander x reader arcane #vander x female reader #arcane imagine #vander x reader imagine

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ace-of-zaun · 1 year ago

Text

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 💁‍♀️

#silco x reader #silco x you #silco x gn!reader #silco x f!reader #silco x m!reader #silco #silco fic #silco arcane #one shot

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hyperfix-wip · 7 days ago

Text

Next to You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN!Reader/ Spider-Punk x GN!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Author's Note: I am not sorry @the-kr8tor , @yumeaoka-chan , @pleaktale. And @rexlroze , YOU have specifically kickstarted the Loser!Hobie rabbit hole, and I have now got myself into loving these losers lmao. I'd like to thank @pinksugarscrub for beta reading for me and helping me out with this piece! Also, this piece contains some spoilers for Arcane Season 2, so don't read it if you don't want to be spoiled!

Tags: Lovestruck!Hobie, Loser!R, Nerd!R, Fluff, Spoilers for Arcane Season 2, Some Explicit Language

Hobie knew what he signed up for when he asked you out.

Despite your typically quiet personality, he knew you were passionate at heart. He knew that when he jumped through the portal to your universe and landed on your bed, only to see you bawling your eyes out over an animated show before you screamed bloody murder from his sudden arrival and fell down on the floor. He knew that when he looked around your room and saw all the posters of different shows and artists covering your walls, all your favorite books and figurines lined up on your shelves, the sketchbooks filled with all of your favorite characters in your specific art style. He knew that when his eyes landed on your pajama bottoms with some cute bison-like mascot from a show he overheard you talk about with Miles at the Spider Society.

Even if you were scrambling off the floor, too flustered to make any coherent words to him while struggling to pause your show, he knew he liked this new side of you he discovered. And he especially knew he he was smitten with you the moment he asked you about the show you were watching, watching your eyes instantly light up before you drag him onto the bed and restart the show for him, obliviously nestling against his side while you eagerly ran your mouth about the premise of the show.

Yeah, he knew what he signed up for when he asked you out after binging the whole series with you.

Which was why he was prepared for you bawling your eyes out and smearing clear snot on his shirt while he cradled you in his arms. He gently shushed you while the end credits quietly ran in the background, running his long nimble fingers through your hair before pressing his lips against the top of your head.

“ ’s okay, lovie,” he whispered against your skin as he peppered more tender kisses, “I know, I know…”

Hiccups and sobs wracked up your body as you buried your face into his chest, your voice muffled into the cotton fabric. “It’s– It’s not fair! They were– they were together again! The writers couldn’t even let them be together for one full day?!”

Hobie quietly pulled the fluffy duvet from the end of your bed over the two of you, wrapping you into a tight embrace within the blanket and in his arms. “I know, darling, I know…”

“It’s just– it hurts so much! The fact that Isha was the one who did that, and it just paralleled with–”

“Yes, I know, luv–”

“Like, they didn’t have make Isha’s last moments an alternate version of Powder’s attempt in Season One where Powder’s plan worked–”

“I know, sweetheart–”

“And the pastel colors during the memory sequence for Isha– fuck– she basically remembers the Undercity as this bright and fun place because of Jinx, and not only did Jinx and Vi had to relive the trauma of losing Vander through Warwick again, but Jinx had to basically watch her baby sister, her inner child, and a version of herself sacrifice herself in front of her eyes…”

A hiccup wracked up your body again before fresh tears flooded your red-rimmed eyes, and Hobie wrapped his arms tighter around you while you sobbed into his chest again. “Fuck– I can’t– I don’t think I’m gonna last for the next three episodes–”

Hobie shushed you gently again while brushing his lips along your hairline, his fingers gently scratching your scalp while his other hand reached out for the cup of water he set to the side before you played the new episode. “C’mon, sit up for me, lovie,” he whispered against your forehead before carefully shifting the both of you up against the headboard. “Don’ wan’cha ta turn int’a raisin on me…”

You could only nod with a sniffle in response, blinking away the bleary tears in your eyes and snorting the clear mucus back up your red nose, before you sat up and grabbed the plastic cup from him. The moment you took a sip, the cool water instantly flooded and alleviated your raw throat, and you slowly drained the cup until it turned up empty.

A small smile curled up on Hobie’s lips as he gingerly grabbed the cup from your hands and set it back onto your nightstand. Without another thought Hobie then grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled it off, goosebumps instantly pricking his skin as the cold air hit it, before gently pushing the shirt against your nose.

“Blow.”

You instantly obliged and blew your nose into his shirt, and he carefully pinched your nose and rubbed the snot off before tossing it across the room and on top of the pile of your dirty laundry in your hamper.

“Kobe.”

“Still don’ know who tha’ bloke is, but sure, lovie.”

A shaky chortle slipped through your lips before Hobie pulled you back into his arms and wrapped the blanket over you two again.

“Y’know, you could've gotten up to get a napkin instead of using your shirt–”

“It is too bloody cold to get out of this bed,” Hobie snickered while tucking your head underneath his chin. “Plus my shirt was already your personal snot rag, so it didn’t make a difference.”

You rolled your eyes with a sniffle before you nuzzled against his chest, and he in turn pressed his lips against your forehead again with a slight smirk. Your television gently illuminated the both of you in the dark, and you glanced up to see the blue light glinting from his piercings and his warm, dark eyes. His face softened at the sight of you, with splotchy skin and red-rimmed eyes, and he couldn't help but find you adorable in that moment. His arms pulled away in lieu of cupping your cheeks with his hands, and he gently tilted your head up to brush his lips against yours in a brief, comforting kiss. Your lips reluctantly parted from each other, with you trying to chase his lips to steal another one in vain, before he wrapped his arms around you in another tight embrace.

“...was this season as good as you hoped it would be, lovie?”

“God, yes, it’s so fucking good.”

Hobie huffed out a small chuckle while you tangled his lanky legs with yours. “Like, I can’t wait for Act Three to come out in a few days, but I also know it’s going to hurt so much watching those last episodes and have to watch the conclusion of it…”

Hobie nodded along with a tender smile as he gazed back down, his chest warming up as you started your cute little rant again. One of his hands trailed up your back and lingered on the back of your neck, gently massaging it while you continued talking.

“Like, I know there is going to be a clusterfuck of emotional damage for me at the end of this season. We still gotta see Ekko and Heimerdinger, we gotta see what’s gonna happen next for Jinx, Vi and Caitlyn, and we also have to deal with Jayce and Viktor– oh my god, that fucking scene of Jayce aiming that fucking cannon at Viktor–”

Hobie’s smile grew softer the more he listened to you, your voice still slightly raw and hoarse from the prolonged crying and your eyes glinted with the same eager light he saw that fateful day months ago, and his chest warms up just the same, his heart just as smitten with you as before.

You instantly stopped talking the moment a weight pressed down against the top of your head, and you pushed your head up to see Hobie’s eyes closed and his lips parted with shallow breaths. Your heart fluttered at the sight of the sleeping man huddled against you, his demeanor relaxed and languid as his lips curled up into a small, boyish smile, before you carefully pulled the blanket over him and pressed a gentle peck against his lips and nestled against him to join him in his slumber.

-----

Song Recommendation of the Day courtesy of @pinksugarscrub

#hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie brown x reader #hobie x y/n #loser!R #hyperfix wip wips #Spotify

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