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lullabyes22-blog · 1 year

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Mel x Silco - Married AU - A Drabble Thing

Based on this ask by @the-blue-quetzalcoatl <3

Part of an AU meta of the Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO universe.

tw: tubal ligation, pregnancy, miscarriage

tw: dysfunctional family dynamics

"A Medarda has to stay a Medarda. Our lineage is the future. It has to continue. And it must be your priority."

In the Married AU, Mel would still go through with the sterilization. On the outset, Silco would know, and have taken it as a given. In his mind, it'd be smarter to have their bases covered, since having a child caught between two politicking nations is not a fate one would wish on any whelp.

Worst case: they'd end up being used as leverage for politics.

Worst-of-the-worst case: Ambessa might abduct them.

However, I do headcanon that Silco would begin alarming Mel, as the years pass and the two grow closer, by idly speculating what sort of family they'd have made, and what any children he might've had by her would look like.

It would be very difficult for Mel to know whether he's being serious or pushing her buttons - which in turn would start making her second-guess herself.

She'd privately have no desire to have any children. And by this point, she'd be very close with Jinx, and feel a sense of fulfillment in how the girl is blossoming.

In fact, it'd be a private joke between them—

Mel: "So many families have a passel of daughters. It's like they're trying to get the ingredients just right. I already have a daughter. She's perfect."

Jinx: “Damn straight.”

And yet, the more Mel listens to Silco's lazy post-coital musings, the more a nagging part of her brain goes, "Maybe... maybe I could have another?"

And, naturally, once she'd admit that to herself, the question would become, "How? I've already burned that bridge."

The thought would occur to her: "What if we were to find a surrogate?"

She'd nix it the moment the idea comes up. If an outsider were involved, it would only leave room for things to go wrong. There'd be too much risk to their lives, their plans, their position. A few times, she'd catch herself eyeing up Sevika as a potential candidate. Sevika, nobody's fool, would suss out exactly what Mel has in mind.

She'd put her foot down - and take her grievance to Silco.

Sevika: "Your Missus keeps sizing me up like she's assessing property for acquisition."

Silco: "Nonsense. She's admiring your physique."

Sevika: "She asked if my family had any history of issues."

Silco: "With the law?"

Sevika: "With birth defects, sir."

Silco would stop short.

Sevika: "Your lady wife is thinking of putting a bun in my oven. Tell her to knock it off. Or else I will."

Naturally, this would lead to a confrontation between Silco and Mel. He'd demand to know what the hell she was thinking. And she'd snap that it's his fault for putting the idea in her head. He'd insist it was just playful banter, and she'd retort that he wouldn't have said it unless some part of him meant it.

Sophistry is both their weapon of choice, but in this instance, he'd find himself cornered, as nothing leaves his mouth by accident, or without design.

She'd press him: Why does he keep bringing it up?

And he'd fold: "I think you'd make a fine mother."

The honesty would shock her, and the realization would hit: This isn't about lineage. He wants a child.

With me.

They'd end up having an emotionally exhausting but cathartic conversation, where they'd both lay their cards out on the table.

Mel would admit her fears - of everything as surface-level as having a baby and ruining her figure, to as intimate as becoming the woman she sees when she looks at her mother. Besides: pregnancy is moot. She'd made her choice to get fixed, and she can't undo that.

Likewise, Silco would concede that he was playing dirty, and that it's an issue best left alone.

They have Jinx, and Jinx is enough.

The conversation would end with both of them feeling raw, and strangely exposed, but lead to a ravenous reconciliation that would leave the sheets torn up the next morning.

But in the coming days, Mel would realize the thought hasn't gone away.

She'd sit with Jinx, the two of them painting a mural together. Mel would watch the girl, smudged in pink and cackling, and feel a sense of quiet pride.

And she'd wonder: "If I had a child, would I feel this way towards him or her, too?"

Or she'd watch Silco with Jinx, as he patiently teaches her the Demacian Waltz, the two of them sweeping gracefully around the room, and think, "Would he be like this with our son or daughter?"

And each time, the thought would sting: a wound that refuses to scab over.

Mel's pride and her pragmatism would war within her. Her pride would demand her to tell Silco the truth, and suggest they look into feasible options: surrogacy, or adoption. Her pragmatism would whisper that it's an unnecessary complication: a wild card that would threaten the intimate accord that they've fought tooth and nail to establish.

It'd be a constant battle, one that she'd keep secret.

In the summertime, Ambessa would arrive in Zaun for her yearly visit. She'd bring her entourage as usual. Same fanfare, same bluster, same backhanded threats to Silco.

During their greeting, Mel would catch her mother appraising her. Still not with child, her eyes would say. Mel, of course, would play it off, and make her own barbed comments about her mother's advancing age. They'd have dinner, each party polite as if at knifepoint.

In the morning, Mel would be woken up by a knock at the door. Ambessa would be waiting at the threshold.

She'd be cordial, but also brisk, demanding a few moments of her daughter's time.

Mel, knowing her mother, would grimly oblige.

Ambessa would inform her, in clipped tones, that she has made a decision regarding her line's future. She is ready to give Mel the reins of their empire, as well as a healthy supply of wealth, as long as Mel agrees to go through with a procedure to reverse the sterilization she’d done years ago. She has trusted surgeons, who are more than willing to operate.

Mel's gut would heave, but her face would betray nothing.

Ambessa would continue: "You have proven yourself a fine stateswoman, Mel. But in all other respects, you remain a headstrong child."

That would hit Mel like a slap in the face, and her mother would keep going: "I am getting old, and it's time I start preparing for my exit. But I want our legacy carried forward. I'd have preferred it not be spoiled by that no-name Trencher. But he has drive, if nothing else. Perhaps his nation will thrive on its own. Either way, he has his claws dug in too deep for me to oust him from your life."

She'd lean in: "But a Medarda has to stay a Medarda. Our lineage is the future. It has to continue. And it must be your priority."

Mel would swallow the bile rising in her throat.

"Think on it, Mel. It's a small thing. But it would mean the world to me."

Mel would excuse herself with stiff formality, and make her exit. She'd wait until she was alone, and then run to the bathroom and vomit.

Afterwards, she'd sit on the floor, and think.

She would weigh the options in her head. She would weigh the costs and benefits; the haves and have-nots. She would look at it objectively.

And she'd make her choice.

In the afternoon, Ambessa would be told to pack her bags and leave. No reason given.

Silco would find Mel sitting at her vanity, staring into the mirror, her eyes hooded. He'd come over, and rest his hands on her shoulders.

Mel: "If we're going to do this... let's be thorough."

Silco: "Do what?"

Mel: "Have a child. Let's do this right. We'll find a doctor. The best there is."

Silco: "What in Kindred's name has gotten into you?"

Mel: "A little bit of madness. And a lot of clarity."

Long story short: after a hushed conversation with a private Piltover physician, the three of them would discuss options, and it'd be determined that the procedure can be reversed. Mel would be breathlessly giddy, and Silco would be cautiously optimistic.

For the next year, it'd be a frenzied dance – one that would leave Mel jelly-legged each morning. Hers and Silco’s physical quotient, high to begin with, would be turned up to eleven, and every month, Mel would wait with bated breath.

And nothing would happen.

Month after month: nothing.

Mel would start growing anxious. The doctor would assure her there's nothing wrong. The procedure went as smoothly as could be expected. There's no reason why her body shouldn't be responding. She'd begin looking at her belly in the mirror, waiting for her body to change. She'd try every old wives' tale: eat certain foods, drink special teas, sleep with her back facing a wall.

And month after month: nothing

Silco would notice her growing despondent. He'd ask her if she wants to give it up, and she'd tell him not yet. Inside, however, the doubt would gnaw her to pieces.

"Why isn't this working? Why am I failing?"

Her paintings would grow darker, and her silences longer. Jinx would notice, but Mel would keep her worries close to the chest, not wanting to trouble her.

Month after month.

Until one morning, she'd be roused by Silco shaking her awake. The bedsheets would be stained with blood. Not period-blood, but a darker, heavier flow.

The medicks would be summoned.

The doctor would later confirm she'd suffered a miscarriage. Mel would protest she'd not even known she was pregnant. And the doctor would say the signs were there. She'd been drowsy (lack of rest, Mel had speculated); she'd been experiencing morning sickness (a bad batch of oysters from an Ionian gala, Mel had surmised); her mood had been off (she'd been under pressure negotiating an Ionian arms treaty, Mel insisted).

And the list would go on.

Her body had tried to tell her. She just hadn't listened.

Mel would be in bed for a week. She'd cry into her pillow, without sound. Silco would try to console her. She'd explode at him, raging and screaming, and then break down begging for his forgiveness in the next breath.

In her mind, she'd see her mother, shaking her head:

"How could you fail? You're a Medarda. Our family line has never failed."

By the end of the month, Mel would emerge from seclusion and dust herself off. She'd dress in her loveliest gown, put her golden mask on, and return to work.

And she’d never speak of it again.

Jinx would prove her deepest solace. She'd spend time with the girl, teaching her, painting with her, talking about anything and everything. She'd try not to look at her and see her failure, but instead, the daughter she already had.

This girl is the best of the two of us, she'd think. She is enough.

She is perfect.

Silco would be relieved to hear the music of feminine laughter filling the halls again. At night, Mel would visit his room, and they'd take each other with a renewed ferocity.

She'd never ask if he was disappointed.

He'd never offer his pity.

Afterward, she'd hold onto him, and bury her face in his neck, and know she wasn’t alone.

In the summertime, Ambessa would visit, and Mel would meet her at the threshold, her hands folded primly in front of her. She'd greet her mother with cool cordiality, and invite her in. They'd talk politics, and war, and the state of the city. They'd never mention her womb.

It'd be a tacit understanding. The terms of their truce.

A few months later, Mel would order paperwork to formalize Jinx's adoption as her heir, and make sure her name would be inscribed next to Silco's: husband and wife.

Ambessa would receive the announcement in a missive.

She'd read the contents, and then, without reading further, crumple it up and toss it into the fireplace.

Then she'd summon her scribe and have the Medarda line of succession changed to reflect the new arrangement.

Ambessa would think, privately, "What a waste."

And yet, a part of her would admire her daughter's tenacity.

The Medarda line, after all, was spawned by cutthroats and bastards too.

Mel would resume her duties as Councilor with a rekindled fervor. She had a daughter, and her daughter would inherit a brighter tomorrow. Zaun and Piltover would have a strong alliance, one built by her hand, and Silco's. And they'd have a dynasty, one that would carry on their name, and bury the bones of all who stood against them.

They had a family. And a future.

On the Equinox, the three of them would go sailing in the canals. Mel would lean against Silco's shoulder, and watch Jinx dance across the deck, as lanterns twinkled across the water. She'd see a girl, free to choose her own path, not the one Ambessa had carved out for her. She'd have her father's vision, and her mother's compassion. She'd have the best of both of them.

And, if nothing else, the girl would have her.

Later, in the dark, Silco would whisper:

"We'll try again, if you want."

Mel would think of her mother, and a lifetime of expectations.

She'd shake her head, and nestle deeper against him.

"No," she'd whisper, with a smile. "I have all I need."

#arcane silco #arcane league of legends #arcane #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #forward (never forget)/xoxo #mel medarda #ambessa medarda #arcane ambessa #silco x mel #melco #arcane jinx #jinx

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sweatandwoe · 3 years

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Silco hiring prostitutes but only ones with baking skills and he has them act like reader and he's just a petulent child. "It's just not the same sevika!" "Then call her and tell her you want her!" "No she hates me now!" "WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU LIKE THIS BOSS!?"

"I'd like some buns in the oven."

The woman's eyes widened. A step backwards from the kitchen he brought her too. You were out with Jinx and you hadn't been baking as much as since you were upset with him.

Silco held out the container of baking supplies. "Babette said you could bake."

The woman blinked owlishly. "I think she meant I'll get baked with my clients."

The man sighed, shoulders slumping as he stared down at thebsupplies. "Goddamn it."

#man just wants a good sandwich #thats all #sweaty asks #secret ingredient #silco #hell go cry to Sevika next

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nyjinxliterotica · 7 years

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Pizza Passion

You and your crew are working right out front this pizzeria, Armands. When your boss calls and says you need to go in and tell the owner to shut the gas off.

You go into the restaurant and no one is around. You walk around the back and notice the door wide open. “Hello?” you call out. Nothing. You walk in a little further and notice the lights on and smell pizza in the oven. Then you hear someone.

I’m leaning into a closet rummaging around. My hair is wrapped up in a sloppy bun with a pencil sticking out and my face has flour sprinkled on my cheeks. You look me down and see I’m wearing a white cut off t-shirt (dirty and wet with splatters of sauce and oil) with the name Armands – my nipples slightly poking through the fabric. Black wrap skirt cut way above my knees with a short white apron wrapped tightly around. I’m barefoot, too. “I’m Marie and I’ll be right with you,” I straighten up and look at you. I give you a wry smile and say, “hmmm, what can I do for you, bella.”

You’re confused and intrigued at the same time. “We’re working on the gas lines outside and need to shut off your gas,” you start to explain. “Shhh.” I say putting my finger to your lips. “You look hungry. Don’t work so hard. Come follow me.”

We go into the back kitchen. You see the utensils and pots hanging up and the wooden cutting board table in the middle. Ovens on the side. “The utility closet is over there,” I point. You walk over to the closet and begin doing whatever it is you do, but starting to feel a little horny though.

After a little while you notice that I have my elbows propped up on the wood cutting board table, hands under my chin and watching every move you make. “Stop,” I say. I walk over to you as you are on your knees pulling at valve. I bend down and cock my head to the side and look at your ear. I move my mouth closer and start breathing and licking your ear.

“I’ve been watching you work now and all I can wonder about is what you taste like.” You let go of the valve you’re holding. Not sure what to do next. I pull you up by your ear lobe with my teeth. There’s nowhere for you to move so you just give in. I guide you to the wood table. With one wave of my arm the pans and flour fly off the table and onto the floor. I push you against it. “lay down on the table for me, will you?” I take off my apron and drop it to the floor, and it falls in a dust of flour.

I take my hands and slide them under your shirt moving them onto your chest and stretching your t-shirt. I tear it off. “Your skin is very dry.” I reach behind me for the bottle of olive oil. “This is my special blend – straight from our family farm in Italia.”

I start dripping it onto your chest and rubbing the oil on each of your nipples. “How does that feel?” You start to move your hands to my thigh and SLAP! I smack your hand down. “I didn’t say you can touch me. Avremo niente di tutto questo ora.”

I reach to the end of the table and there’s a spool of thick string, used for wrapping the stuff sausage rolls. I pull the end out and tie your wrist to one table leg. You wince. Then I tie the other to the other side. I make way to your jeans. Unbutton the top. I pull down the zipper. Your legs start to bend at the knees, upward. I push them down and shake my head and give you a stare. I reach inside your jeans and your cock is already stiff.

I’m pleased.

As I lean over the table, I pull your shiny cock out and bring my mouth to the tip. Don’t need any oil here. It’s so soft. My tongue licks the top as my hands slowly pulls your pants off. You breathe in deep and your head goes back against the table. From the side you can see up my wrap skirt open a bit revealing my upper thigh. Thong undies, you think. I catch you smiling and I scowl at you. “I think you are enjoying this too much.”

I go over to the other counter and grab the large wooden spoon. I hit you hard on your chest, right next to your oiled left nipple. Instantly your skin starts to redden. You let out a yelp. I move to the end of the table by your legs and rub my hands upward between your thighs. I spread your legs apart. My fingers touch the sides of your balls and play a little underneath. Your cock rock hard sticking straight up.

I move in. My mouth hovers over it and as I drool, I take you in, deeper with each stroke of my mouth. My tongue moves inside, outlining every vein and the ridge of tip. I stop at the v for a few seconds.

And then take you in deeper and faster now. You’re watching as my head moves up and down. My fingers are exploring around your ass hole and I stop. I get up a smile across my face.

I get a pan from the floor and turn on the stove top. I pour some oil in it moving the pan side by side, heating the oil. Your eyes widen.

I pick up the wrong end of the wooden spoon and dip the handle in the now heated olive oil.

I come back to your cock. I take the handle of the wooden spoon and place the end at the puckered entrance of your ass.

It’s in ever so slightly. “Non ti muovere” I demand. The oil feels hot in your ass – not burning, a warming sensation actually and you get this urging feeling from your hole rising up into your chest.

Now I take your delicious cock in my mouth and continue to suck hard. It taste so good. The spoon is still at the edge of your ass rim. You don’t dare move, but you’re enjoying me devour your cock so you can’t help it. I feel your movement, so the handle starts to go in a little deeper now.

I keep sucking, taking you in and down my throat. You feel my swallows. You can’t believe it – no gagging? You watch as I show you how long your cock is, inch by inch, slowly in and out of my mouth and throat. I suck harder. My fingers around the spoon, begging to go in further. I feel you throbbing. I don’t want you to cum yet. “You haven’t proven yourself yet,” I say, I take my mouth away and in a slow steady pulling motion I remove the spoon from your asshole. And get up off the table. You’re now a gasping, quivering mess from my sucking and spoon probing.

I walk around so you can see me. So you can watch me. I untie my skirt. It drops to the floor into a pile of flour, so the powder smokes puffs up around my legs. I reach and pull my shirt off. My hair falls from its loose tie-up to the side of my neck. I reach for the oil. I slick some on my lips, giving my finger a suck. I walk my naked self over to you. I get up on the table and straddle your face. “Now, I want you to stick your tongue out of that gorgeous mouth.” I rock my clit over your mouth with your tongue out. It’s traveling around my wet pussy, digging into every crevice. “Mangiarmi buono e con la forza.”

I have my hands behind my back now reaching for your nipples. I pinch them as you eat me out. You feel me quiver inside with your tongue. I’m cumming hard. My pussy starts dripping on your chin. “Molto bene…so good” I moan. I swing my leg over and jump off the table. Your cock still hard and standing straight up.

You ask me if I can untie your hands.

“No, sorry, non e possible, but I will loosen a bit since you were so good to my pussy.”

I carefully loosen each of the ties on your wrists. Taking your fingers in my mouth and playfully sucking at them and putting them near my crotch so you can touch the mound between my legs.

I then walk over to the oven and grab the large wooden spatula open the door and pull out a huge delicious smelling pizza pie. I lay it on the counter, pick up the pizza cutter and make slices. Your mouth is watering, you’re so hungry, thirsty even.

I sling out a slice from the pie and lift it to my mouth and take a bite. The oil dripping down my fingers. Not taking my eyes off of your mouth. Your tongue is licking your lips. I move closer to you with the pizza in hand and sit naked next to you. I let you take a bite. It’s delectable. The cheese stretches off the dough and sauce drips down. I feed you one more bite and take the rest of the slice away.

Your eyes plead with me for more. “hai finito” I declare.

You look at me and see this strange gleam in my eye. She’s up to something else, you think. Shit, now what?

I slide off the table and walk over to the wine closet. I pull out a bottle of Malbec. Open the cork. I take a swig from the bottle. My tongue circling the tip. “Want some?” You really do, I bring the bottle to your lips and give you just a small taste. I move around your laying, tied up body and straddle your waist. You feel my wetness on your tummy. I pour the wine on your chest. It’s cool and tingly. I start suckling the wine from your nipples. I nibble, then bite a little harder with my teeth. You moan. Your cock is rising even more, getting harder with each pinch of my teeth. I slowly move down your middle and fit my hole over your hard cock. It slips right in. I ride you now, faster. Taking in every inch of your hardness. You can feel the top of my inside, you’re so deep.

I moan in delight. My eyes are fixed on yours as I rub my clit on the base of your cock. I’m cumming hard and you feel my walls come together tighter in waves. I’m wailing in ecstasy as I ride you faster and harder. You push yourself into me in perfect rhythm with me. You feel yourself starting to build up in your shaft, you breathe out that you’re about to cum. I take my finger and wiggle it near my cock-filled pussy to get some of my juices – put it to my lips and taste myself. Yummmmmm.

I do it again but this time my finger finds it way to your asshole. You know what I’m about to do. I move it into you as I ride your cock, faster and harder. Two fingers now inside you, moving in and out in the same rhythm as our bodies.

And finally you can’t hold it any longer, you explode inside me and I cum all over with you.

Then reach for the rest of my slice and feast!

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outlawbeauty · 8 years

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Beasts and Deceivers - Chapter 1

So, this is basically my attempt to do a better twist on Beauty and the Beast than OUAT did. I’m loosely basing it on Red Beauty, but very loosely. Soooo... yeah.

It was cold the evening Queen Tempeste stood as a dubious, cloaked figure by the lake near her palace. It was black and all Tempeste could see was the stars in the sky, but she could hear everything. She could hear the wind blow and the frogs croak, and she could hear the loud pop in the air when the man she was waiting for arrived in a puff of smoke. "Ignace!" Tempeste turned around to face the man. The two could barely see each other, but they could still sense the two foot height difference between them, Tempeste being the tallest of the two. "Your, majesty." The raspy, yet proud voice of Ignace responded. "How may I be of service?" "In times of great urgency, I must confess my weakness." The Queen sadly stated, to which Ignace let out a small chuckle. "Well, it's about time you do, my love." Ignace mocked. Tempeste clenched her fist at Ignace's mocking. If she did not need this man, she would have the royal guards throw him into the palace dungeons for what he said. Sadly, Ignace had value, and he knew that. He knew that he had the upper hand over the Queen. "Your magic is more powerful than mine, I need your help." Tempeste began. "Does this have anything to do with your beastly daughter, by any chance?" Ignace chortled. Tempeste was in shock. How could he possibly know of her daughter's curse? She locked her away in a castle in the middle a forest, riddled with every jinx and hex at her disposal. No one could get in and out of that forest alive, unless Tempeste wanted them to. "How do you know about that?" She asked. "The Enchantress' handy work, am I right?" Ignace asked, to which Tempeste nodded her head. "Let's just say I'm a fan of her work." Tempeste felt hopeless for a moment, did this mean that Ignace would not help her break the curse? "That being said, I will help you." Ignace stated. "For a price, of course." "What do you want?" The Queen asked, trying to stand her ground and maintain confidence in her voice and stature. "I'll collect what I want when the cruse is broken." Ignace answered. He then reached out his hand. Tempeste couldn't see it, but she just knew that he did. It was what he always did when he made a deal. She was left with a choice. She could either shake his hand and magically bind herself to pay an unknown price, or let her daughter ascend to the throne upon her death, the beast that she is, and ruin the kingdom that she built from the ground up. Through fear, through lies, through death. "Deal." Tempeste reached her hand out and shook hands with Ignace. "I knew you loved your kingdom too much to let it be ruled by a beast." Ignace smirked. "And with the King dead, and no bun in the oven, breaking this curse is the only thing you can do." Tempeste suddenly felt so small, Ignace knew her so well. She was his student once, his lover. But in the end, she made her choices and he made his. Ignace pulled out a mirror, though it was hard for Tempeste to see in the darkness. "True love's kiss breaks the curse, am I right?" Ignace taunted. "Love magic has never really been your forte, has it, dear? There again, love isn't your forte either." "Can you just help me?" Tempeste snapped. "I need a lock of your daughter's hair." Said Ignace. Tempeste fumbled into her bag, she could not see a thing, but she managed to find the lock of black hair in her pouch. She handed it over to Ignace, who then rubbed it upon the magic mirror. The mirror shone a bright light and showed the faces of two beautiful people. Tempeste could see this scene perfectly, it was the brightest light in the dark night. The first was a handsome young man with sleek brown hair. He had a chiseled face and a strong, muscular stature. He had blue eyes and was dressed in fine silk. The other was a girl, who was evidently the sister of the young man. She had brown hair and blue eyes, just like the man, but she was much more petite and much more feminine. Her beauty was so radiant that the Queen felt drawn to her for a second. The scene showed the two siblings sitting at a banquet table, eating their supper. "Finish your food and head off to bed, Belle." The man told her sister. "Father would not wish for you be dreary when you meet with Gaston." "I do not even like Gaston." Belle muttered. "Why must I court him, Onille?" "Because mother is dead, and father shall be gone, soon." The man explained. "You need someone to look after you, and Gaston is almost as rich as we are." The mirror then turned to black, and Tempeste could hear Ignace's voice in the darkness."It appear's that your daughter's true love goes by the name Onille." "Where can I find him?" Tempeste asked, trying not to sound desperate. "Don't worry about finding him, I'll do the horrible task." Ignace said coldly. "You just cast this spell over the castle where you hold your daughter captive." There was another loud pop and Tempeste could feel a parchment in her hand, and could sense that Ignace had disappeared.

#beasts and deceivers

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