#silco my love

[ursawastricked]

Staking a claim

Silco x gn!reader (implied afab in some places)

Silco catches Finn's eyes wondering to you during s meeting, and he takes it upon himself to set a boundary and show him as well as the others where you belong

WARNINGS: SFW Fluff, violent impulses, thoughts of violence, mention of knife, jealous Silco, possessive Silco, Finn in general being kinda creep, light man handling (Silco and you) if you squint. Mostly a fluffy, jealous, self indulgent Silco being possessive fic

word count: 1879

The meeting room filled with the sound of the Chen barons banter, talking over each-other, yelling at each other, trying to make the deals that helped their empires survive. Despite this, Silco sat quietly. He held his head, his forefingers resting on his tightened temples as the barons tried to argue over little things that felt rather insignificant, at least to him. His eyes flickered upward as Renni screeched something about her child..his work, why Silco hadn't checked his workers conditions recently. "So tell me Silco, why the FUCK IS MY CHILD COMPLAINING OF A LACK PROPER BREAKS?" She howled like a cat, pointing her finger at the Eye of Zaun as if he was a common resident of the under-city filth. "..If you don't like it..take him for your factories. It's not as if he does much for me, I can always replace it." "It?" She snapped, twitching her head to the side before the rest of the table erupted in annoyance at the remark, aggravated as the subject changed from business. Silco leaned forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose and nearly scraping his nails across the surface of the table as Finn decided he too was going to throw an unwanted opinion into the mix. "Maybe the old man has grown too senile too track who he has working for him?" He snickered, flicking his lighter open again before snapping it closed in time. He smirked amusingly, his golden lower jaw making a light click noise as his upper lip curled. Silco thought he was going to have an aneurysm..this was ridiculous, these people were insane, what the hell happened to business talk? Stats? Perhaps a fucking report on sales or territory? Exhausting..EXHAUSTING. His muscles felt tight, tense and aching from simply being around these people, and he began to memorize exactly how to reach his blade in time if he grew so tense that he would need to bury it in someone's head. As the gaggle continued their squabbles, his kind flickered someplace else, his schedule carefully recited in his head, anything to distract him from this gossip. And that distraction came just in time, his hand nearly to the hilt of his blade when the knock on the glass door cut though the noise in the room, their gaze all falling upon the shadow behind the door before it entered. Sevika glanced at the handle of the door, then to Silco for his approval, which he promptly gave. Opening the door, the Barons watched the shadow form reveal itself. You stood close to the door, hurrying in once it was open. You give a quick nod of hello to Sevika, before turning to find Silco in the sea of Zauns royals. Silco caught your eyes swiftly, sparking a obvious sense of relief in the his gaze as you slowly began to make your way over. Silco moved his gaze away from your form for a moment, "Forgive me for not informing you all before hand," he started, his hand slipping away from his blade easily in favor of placing it instead against the grain of the table, "An associate of mine is here to deliver something important for all of us I believe" His eyes flicked back to you, stopping in front of the group to quickly give a little bow of acknowledgment to the table before awkwardly moving around the opposite side from Silco, not seeing a way to get to him the other way. He glanced over your body as he often did, memorizing the outfit for today..it wasn't often he saw you in trousers. But today you wore an exceedingly high waisted pair, pinstriped down and a button down waist band that extended to just under your breasts, perfectly expressing your curves. As usual though, you wore one of those frilly white button down shirts, fitting loose around your collar bone as you had left the first two buttons go unfastened. The glint of a high neck chocker wrapped your long neck, a lovely black velvet with a lining of gold.. definitely chose that with purpose. The Barons swiftly disregard the new comer, returning to their now mostly business mind set and conversation. Silco explained further, buying you more time to find a way to his side, "My associate," he quietly udders your name, its short..affectionate,  "has found business in surveying the under city..hiding cameras everywhere in order to catch any activity they're able to catch." The words sent a bit of tension around the table, the idea of records being kept of business seeming unnerving, "However, I have struck my deal with our lovely audience" He brought a hand up, gesturing toward you in reference to his comment "And they in turn have offered their services for our cause, in-fact they have already proven quite a valuable asset to my own business..surveillance is a powerful tool in terms of anyone trying to sneak or steal products." He explained, causing the tension to turn quickly to interest. It was true that thieves and the firelights had caused quite a few issues for all the Barons business, but camera..footage of the assailants could help it stop. Silco caught the unrest rising in his gaze, however what he caught also was the Silvery green eyes that had too began to track your careful movements. His attention snapped away from the other barons, letting them begin to whisper and conspire without him, this was more of his concern. Finn had now leaned back in his chair, watching as the figure quietly slipped closer to the head of the table where he resided, his eyes half lidded as he got a closer look at you. You made eye contact with him, giving a polite little greeting as you went to slip behind his chair, only to be cut off as he slid his chair back, offering to let you instead pass in front of him, "Please, allow me, little pet" he purred, swaying his hand across his lap suggestively. You nodded a little awkwardly, a pit of anxious tension settling in ur stomach at the sight of the gold plated man, stepping forward and turning too shimmy past his head of the table. Finns gaze dropped instantly to your lower half, not shy about how interested in the accentuated waist allowed your ass to be far more noticeable. Silco wasn't a jealous man, of course you don't belong to him however..you didn't belong to him by any capacity either. He could feel as his jaw clenched, at the almost painful sound of Finns new nickname for you. His hand slipped from the table, tickling down his side as he could see Finn hungrily watching your form move past, and his fingers grazed over the handle of his blade again. Finn let out quiet whistle as you turned back too your original position, erupting a quiet almost seething rage in Silcos stomach before he recognized the smell of your perfume as you finally arrived to his seat. The click of your heeled shoes finally ceased as you stopped next to Silcos chair. He lifted his searing gaze from Finns face, feeling the sudden chill of his nerves as his eyes met with yours and the fires were suffocated. You awkwardly nodded in hello, this time speaking, "Silco.." you muttered lightly. His hand impulsively moved from his blade, traveling up toward yours out of habit. "Hello dear," he returned, a hushed whisper of affection through a privately used nickname, meeting the feeling of a folder rather than your hand. His nerves tingled a bit, confused by the lack of warmth they expected. After a moment he snapped back to his original mind set, flipping open the folder and nodded after checking for the proper information needed. The folder slide to the center of the table, the Barons watching it as if it were a meal after days of starvation, "these are the recent photos taken from their surveillance of each of the local docks..as you will see they have a wide range that reaches across the under city," he started, not being able to help himself, checked to see that Finn still caught his eyes on you once again. He surveyed the pair as he spoke, "these however are photos I have of the recent firelight raid on a group of my distributors, and now with help we have identified the specific agents," his gaze fixated on the movement of Finn's eyes, flicking to meet Yours and smirking lightly, jutting his head upward as he made an attempt to gain your attention. Which is when he caught your eyes flickered toward the golden jawed man, not giving too much acknowledgment before tensing at the placement of Finns hand on his lap. "Now this all sounds..helpful surly," Smeech started, "what do your private eyes prefer payment?" He asked, tilting his gaze upward to You for her own reply. Silco torn his gaze from the interaction, taking a moment to let the barons fall quiet. You didn't reply, a little too focused on decoding Finns advance, but your attention quickly snapped back as you felt the sudden warmth of a hand snaking around her thigh. "They have agreed to negotiate their prices based on work." Silco cooed, his arm now wrapped around you, hand taking a firm grip on your clothed hip as Silco, tugged you lightly that you leaned against the arm rest in his chair. Your cheeks warm a bit, accepting however the advance, and propping yourself up on the arm rest. The group quietly muttered among themselves, Smeech speaking up again, "I will take the information for your contacts before we leave today," Silco nodded toward him, as well as accepting to gift the contact information to the rest who requested your info. His head tilted up to meet your gaze. In it he found a glimmer of pride, excitement surely at the prospect of this much business. You tilted her head downward, gifting Silco a little chuckle. 'Oh how Lovely..' he thought to himself quietly, slipping his hand further up your form to your rib cage as he tilted his head back to catch Finns frustrated expression. Silco smirked wildly at him, before returning to his business, now with a new toy to play with while the meeting continued. The barons were easy to please after a while, not quite as irritating once he had a firm place to grip on your side. You had now slipped a bit and tilted your weight into his shoulder, a movement Silco caught with eagerness. He didn't need to see you to know your intentions, especially once your hands rested on his shoulder. Reclining against him like a house cat did, however give him a much needed boost to his once sour mood. At this point all he could focus on was Finns annoyed gaze, all fixated on the pair. Deviously sour over the clear claim Silco had made on the pretty newcomer, and simply wanting the meeting to conclude so he could crawl back to whatever slimely home he had come from.

[frenchublog]

[wishfulsketching]

I hope they danced in the bar as young adults, not stressing over the revolution, just living it up

[irlplasticlamb]

there’s a monster inside all of us.

prints + merch + commission info pinned to profile :)

[lilly-townshend]

hey STEB NATION (me and 5 other fish enthusiasts) how are we feeling

[sosooley]

while the world turns around, he holds me down for sure

Our Love - Curtis Harding

[ivyithink]

how predictable am I? very. VERY predictable. of course the happier!au consumed my mind immediately

[hazelcallahan]

Hating you... I've hated myself. I just don't have the energy for it any longer.

[tamdoesart]

Dreams of better days

[omnipresentlemon]

While I know most Vanco/Zaundads enthusiasts are focused on the family dynamic centered around Powder for obvious reasons (alternate timeline w/ Vi dead, we’re not really sure when Vanco reunited in that timeline, Jinx and Silco’s relationship in S1, etc.), I feel like we’re missing out on some solid Father-Daughter antics between Silco and Vi. For example:

- Vi growled at people she didn’t like until she was like 10 because she heard someone call Vander the Hound of the Underground and thought that was the coolest thing ever. Silco threatened to muzzle her if she didn’t stop.

- While Powder loves helping Vander out at The Last Drop, Vi insists on being Silco’s “bodyguard” whenever he had business to deal with, whether it’s with the Chem Barons or Piltover elite. Silco appreciates it but also cannot have every meeting end with a fistfight, please just stand in the corner and look menacing, Violet.

- Silco is the only one who calls her Violet. When she was really little he gave her the nickname Petal, which she loathes once she’s older but also secretly loves.

- He’s also the one she goes to when she wants to hear stories about her parents. Vander will tell her the big stuff, how Connol and Felicia met, when Vi was born, etc., but Silco will tell her about how her mom would sing the raunchiest ballads when she got drunk, how her dad hand-carved her crib when he found out Felicia was pregnant; the sweet little in between moments that made them who they were.

- Vi will keep Silco company when he stays up late working, a warm, solid presence pressed into his side. Vander loves it, because the second Vi starts drifting off, Silco will put down his work and help shuffle her off to bed. It’s the most effective way to keep Silco from burning the midnight oil.

Please feel free to add on, I’m obsessed with the entire Zaundads dynamic and want my girl Vi to get some love, too. ♥️♥️

[yellowyola]

Benzo doesn't get paid anything at all to deal with this 😔

[pinklunarprincess]

When I tell you I’m obsessed with this series…. I’M OBSESSED!!!!!

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 11

For your first date, Silco has a lot in store for you: a harrowing tale from his past, along with the oddest of surprises...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 4.6k

beta reader: @silcoitus <33

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 |Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

Life in the Undercity is short, so courtship rituals are fast and intense, especially for the youth. Maturing quickly is a matter of survival in Zaun, and romance is no exception.

 You have a decent amount of experience yourself, maybe a little less than average. But it wasn’t something you ever discussed with Silco. As curious as you were about that aspect of his life, you didn’t know how to bring it up casually, especially without drawing attention to yourself. Once, Vander had asked Silco how long it had been since his last visit to Babette’s. Your friend had rolled his eyes and retorted coolly, but had still flushed a deep red to the tips of his ears.

 Needless to say, you hadn’t pressed him to answer the question directly.

Sometimes, your shifts at the Embrace involve supervising children. You’ve lost count of how many times kids and teenagers have confided in you about their own relationship woes. Of course, you always listened sympathetically, offering comfort, advice, hugs, snacks, or a shoulder to cry on depending on the situation. But you can’t help but feel an amused awe when a girl around Vi’s age vents to you about a love triangle she’s involved in. 

Now, on the night of your first date with Silco, you curse yourself for not paying closer attention, wracking your brain for any helpful suggestions you could follow tonight. According to one teenage girl you overheard, you shouldn’t kiss until the third date. 

So much for that advice. 

At the time, Silco had seemed enthusiastic when he kissed you back. But you had days to exhaustively replay that moment over and over again in your head. 

Did he really want you? Or was he just caught up in the moment? Had he pulled away too soon? Was he smiling or grimacing?

 You tried to tell yourself that everything was fine. He hadn’t canceled the date, after all.

 But your worries still gnawed on you, late at night when the giddiness and anticipation turned to anxiety. It led to a lot of sleepless nights that worsened the dark shadows under your eyes.

 Then there was the matter of what you’re going to wear. Silco had said he wanted to bring you somewhere “special”, and he was fairly confident that you hadn’t been there already. He refused to give you any more hints, saying that he wanted to surprise you. Was this place in Zaun or Piltover? You’d have to take the answer into consideration when planning your outfit. Undercity garb would be too scrappy for the upper city, but Topside couture would be too fancy for the underground.

 For now, with less than an hour left before Silco is due to pick you up, you put on your nicest dress from the Undercity. It’s sleeveless and clean, light gray with plenty of decorative dark straps and brightly polished brass trappings. A wide, leather wrap pulled tight around your waist helps emphasize your curves like a corset. The dress ends just above the ground, long but still loose enough to be breezy; you can’t help but admire how it twirls flirtatiously when you spin. Your black ankle boots have a low heel, scrubbed clean of all grime from the Undercity.  

To add a romantic flair to your look, you style your hair elegantly and pick out a corsage of nightbloom flowers. The petals are long, silky, and pointed, the outer layer a seven-pointed star of purple and the inner star of red. The green and white stamens complement the pale pitcher plant next to it, its red veins matching the crimson ribbon tied in a bow around your wrist. Zaunite flora might not be able to match the beauty of their Piltover counterparts, but you know that Silco will appreciate you wearing your Undercity pride on your arm.

Just as you throw on a vest jacket, someone knocks at the door. 

Nervous, you force yourself to take some deep, steadying breaths. You still can’t help but run to the door and almost trip over yourself before you open it.

Silco stands there, tall and straight, his handsomely carved profile illuminated by the low sun. He has most of his hair neatly pulled back in a bun, except for his bangs hanging rakishly over his left eye. With his hair out of his face, he looks so dashing that you almost miss the pale gold tie knotted at his throat, tucked snugly under the collar of a blood-red shirt. The tie slips under a dark vest with brass clasps and studs, clinging close to his lean waist. He has his jacket sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his wiry forearms. A picnic basket hangs in the crook of his arm. 

“Good evening,” he says casually, taking a step closer to you. The movement of his lips brings back the irrepressible memory of the kiss, and you blush deeply.

 Even with your eyes turned downwards at his polished, steel-toed boots, you struggle with the impulse to close the distance between you and kiss him. Your shyness wins out and you force yourself to stay put on your threshold, dragging your gaze up his cheekbones before meeting his brilliant eyes. ��Hi.” 

He looks at you gently, the softest you’ve ever seen, a light and warm smile playing around his mouth. It spreads into a toothy grin of appreciation when he says, “You’re beautiful.” 

“Thanks,” you stammer out, blushing even deeper. Your face is hot as you turn away from him to pull your front door closed behind you, your hands fumbling with your keys as you lock it. “I like your new hairdo.” 

“Is my hairstyle the only facet of my appearance that appeals to you?” he asks teasingly. 

“No! You look great tonight—I mean, you always look great—but tonight you look—extra great—red is an amazing color on you—” you babble, inwardly cringing at your inability to shut up. “You look good in everything—Topside formalwear is overrated, you know? It’s so expensive for no good reason—” 

He chuckles, extending a hand out to you. You clamp your mouth shut as you take it, savoring the feel of his rough calluses sliding against your palm. He squeezes your hand reassuringly as your fingers intertwine. 

“Thank you,” he says, still amused. He starts walking leisurely, thoughtful and considerate of your slower pace. “Perhaps we’ll have the opportunity to don formalwear on another date. We can show Topside how we wear it better than they could ever dream of.” 

“You’re already thinking that far ahead?” you ask, glad to tease him back. 

“Of course,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d be a fool to ever let you go.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you say happily. “Maybe we can go suit shopping someday; you’ll need a bunch when you’re sitting at that fancy Councilor’s table.”

“Is that so?” 

“Yeah; Janna forbid you wear the same suit two days in a row. Then they’ll never listen to anything you have to say,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. 

“I’ll be sure to budget for a new wardrobe when the time comes,” he laughs. 

The stroll through Lower Piltover is relaxed, but somehow so exhilarating. Your enjoyment of Silco’s company is enhanced now that you don’t need to hold back your affection for him. You take every chance you can to touch and compliment him, staying close to his side even when moving around other pedestrians on the street. 

Maybe you’re too hopeful, but he seems to match your energy. His smile never leaves his normally stoic face, his eyes twinkling at you even as the sky dims with the setting sun.

Silco leads you through the cobblestone streets, which gradually empty out as people head home for the night. He approaches a long, yellow-and-black-striped barricade at the end of the avenue. Attached to the barricade is a sign with the words “NO ENTRY – CLOSED FOR REPAIRS” painted in bold letters.

Your date glances around surreptitiously, making sure that no one is watching from the nearby buildings or the sidewalk. 

Then he swiftly ducks under the barrier, pulling you along with him.

You laugh at the thrill of rule-breaking. Silco’s pace quickens into a jog. He looks back at you over his shoulder as you stride to match his pace. His steel-sharp, mischievous grin has your heart pounding harder than the running.

Just as the stone under your boots gives away to wooden planks, Silco skids to a halt. He spins and catches you in his arms as you collide with his chest. His hands are warm on your elbows as he holds you, patiently waiting for you to catch your breath.

“Could you wait here a moment?” he asks. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

You nod, still panting too hard to speak. He turns and strides off purposefully, leaving you to hunch over with your hands on your knees, wheezing with your whole chest. You try to pull yourself together, not wanting to look undignified in front of Silco. But your lungs still burn, scraping against your ribs. You can barely hear the faraway scraping of wood on wood over your own huffing and puffing. A metallic click rings through the air, followed by Silco’s careful footsteps heading your way.

Just as he rounds the corner, you straighten up, retying the corsage around your wrist. You busy yourself with readjusting it, trying to look nonchalant even though your heartbeat hasn’t slowed down yet from the exertion.

“Thank you for waiting,” he says as he comes to a stop in front of you. This time, he offers you the crook of his elbow. You hook your hand around it, glad to be touching him again.

“Is this safe?” you ask, thinking back on the barricade.

“I placed the barrier there myself,” Silco says with a smirk. “Just to ensure that we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

He leads you carefully onto the wooden pier, steering you around large barrels and missing planks where a careless step could have your foot plunging into water. You both walk out onto the end of a dock where three wooden crates have been assembled into a makeshift dining arrangement. The crate in the middle is covered with a picnic blanket. A cheerfully burning candle and two carry-out boxes that you recognize from Jericho’s sit on top of the improvised table. Silco’s basket is tucked next to the boxes, its lid now open to the evening air.

Framed against a deep blue sky tinged with orange and streaked with indigo clouds, the scene is very charming and cozy, a hidden oasis in the Undercity that you’re encountering for the very first time. 

“Welcome! To Zaun’s finest seaside dining establishment: the East Shore Diner,” he proclaims with a grand sweep of his free arm. He speaks with all the gravitas of a circus showman, but he swallows subtly. His glance at you is nervous, turquoise eyes darting between each of yours as if hoping to find your approval there. 

You wonder if Silco has been as anxious as you for this date. A genuine grin spreads unbidden across your face as you squeeze his arm encouragingly. “I can’t believe you were able to get a reservation for tonight! I’ve been on the waitlist for ages.” 

“I may have threatened the owner to ensure a table would be made available for us,” he chuckles. “They’ve saved the freshest catch of the day for our dinner.” He steps ahead of you to pull one of the crates out for you to sit on, as if it were a chair at a more formal restaurant. 

“Silco… thank you,” you say softly as you take a seat on the box. “This is so nice.” 

He smiles at you while he picks up the carry-out boxes, opening the one in front of you first. The delicious smell of sharp spices wafts out of the box, and you look inside to see kebabs of juicy, fatty dark meats from Jericho’s, still warm and steaming. 

“I’m afraid I’m not much of a chef,” he admits. “I’m incapable of making anything on par with your cooking—” 

“You remembered my favorite!” you beam at him. 

He grabs two glass cups from his basket and places them on the table. You recognize them as his favorites from The Last Drop, as thick as crystal and embellished with elegant gold trim at the rim and bottom. After grabbing a flask from his basket, he pours into both glasses with a flourish, the orange drink sparkling in the candlelight. 

“If you’d like some alcohol, perhaps we could stop by The Last Drop later tonight,” he says, finally taking a seat opposite you. “But I know you have a shift tomorrow at the Embrace—” 

“Silco… this is perfect,” you say warmly. “I wouldn’t ask for anything different.” 

Your date is a wonderful companion and friend, polite and charming as always, if a little more flirtatious than usual. When you ask if he brought napkins, he reaches across the table to touch the corner of your mouth with his thumb, wiping a drop of sauce off your face. He holds your gaze as he licks his finger clean, the candlelight dancing in his eyes. It’s only when you blush and look away that he finally reaches into the basket to grab a napkin for you. 

But his eyes flicker to the water whenever he thinks you’re not looking at him. You ask him a question while he’s still chewing, and he turns to gaze at the river, a faraway look in his eyes. It’s the same look he gets while he’s thinking hard about something—something visible only in his imagination, but intangible to everyone else. Even after he swallows and sips his drink, he continues staring out at the horizon. You have to repeat your question a few times before he turns to you with a snap, startled as if he forgot about you. 

“Do you have a date with an aquarian Vastayan later or something?” you tease him. 

“My apologies,” he says, wincing with embarrassment. He focuses all his attention on you now, his gaze intensifying as he reaches across the table to take your hand. You let him, entwining your fingers through his.  

A muscle in his jaw twitches as he scoots forward, leaning towards you. 

“I almost drowned in these waters,” he says quietly. 

Your eyes widen in shock, and you can’t help but gasp. Even though he’s sitting here in front of you, alive and well, your heart lurches in terror at the thought of his near-death. 

“Ever wonder what it’s like to drown?” he asks. “Story of opposites… 

“There’s peace, in water,” he says slowly. “Like it’s holding you, whispering in low tones to let it in… and every problem in the world will fade away.”

You squeeze Silco’s hand tighter, determined not to let him fade away. Hoping to convey how much you care about him, that he can rely on you to pull him out of the depths whenever he needs rescuing. 

As you ponder his statement, you purse your lips. You’ve never experienced a sensation like that before: to be held in the embrace of the elements, an all-encompassing comfort surrounding your whole body, even as they drag you closer to oblivion. It’s too frightening to think of for long. 

You keep your gaze fixed on Silco, patiently waiting for him to continue.  

“But then there’s this—thing—in your head, and it’s raging,” he says with bared teeth at the last word. He continues staring in your direction, but now through you, into the middle distance of some unseen horizon. 

His free hand drifts to hover over the candle. He brings his palm close to the tip of the flame, letting it graze his skin. The blinding flare and Silco’s smooth, deliberate turning of his hand hypnotize you, as if the flame were a puppet he was controlling expertly. 

He clenches his fist forcefully, the flame flickering in the sudden burst of wind.  “Lighting every nerve with madness—to fight… to survive.

“And all the while this question lingers before you… ‘have you had enough?’”

His gaze turns back to the river again. You fight the urge to cup his face in your hands, not wanting to interrupt him. 

“It’s funny,” he continues. “You could pass a lifetime without ever facing a choice like that… but it changes you forever.” 

You bite your lip. It’s hard to fight back the instinct to get up and hug him, to hold him tight and never let him go. But you know he would feel smothered by your concern.  

“You said… this place was ‘special’ to you,” you say carefully. “Is it okay if I ask what happened?” 

“A platoon of Enforcers pursued me here. I had no choice but to take shelter in these waters,” he says simply. 

“That was brave of you,” you say in awe. Everyone from your side of the bridge knows that the Piltover River is engorged with pollutants from Topside’s industrial operations. The water is slick to the touch, swirling with colorful oils. It’s unsafe to drink, much less submerge oneself wholly in. 

“It was here that I learned, I had to take control of my life,” he says grimly. “To become what they cannot kill. 

“To be shown your own weakness is a gift… one that I would like to share with you.”

“Are you telling me that I’m weak?” you ask jokingly in an effort to lighten the mood. You bite your tongue, cursing yourself for your poor timing.  

He stands abruptly. You raise an eyebrow at him when he takes off his jacket. His vest is next, and he folds his clothes neatly before placing them on his chair.

 Just as you begin savoring the sight of him in his tight red shirt, he whips off his tie and begins unbuttoning his top.

“What are you doing??” you ask in alarm. As reluctant as you are to look away from Silco undressing, it still feels wrong to ogle. You clap your hands over your eyes when he untucks his shirt. When you catch a glimpse of his lean, pale torso between the gaps in your fingers, you clamp your eyes shut.

 The rustling sounds of his undressing continues, now joined by the clinking of his belt buckle. Followed by the snap of metal clasps on his boots being loosened, then the quiet creaking of wood as Silco walks lightly towards you. 

“Let me show you,” he says earnestly. 

“Show me what?” you blurt out. You don’t have to look at him to know that he’s extending a hand out to you. 

“Do you know how to swim?” 

“Maybe,” you squeak out, too agitated to give him a straight answer. “You want to go in the water, right? Go ahead—I’ll watch our stuff.” 

Silco’s breath on your forehead startles you; you hadn’t sensed him leaning in so close. He presses his lips to your cheek, soft and lingering, whispering your name imploringly. 

You crack open your eyes and peek at him. Even though you can only see a sliver of his face, his gaze is intense and adoring, too earnest to refuse. 

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. “Do I have to take my clothes off too?” 

“It’s better to be unencumbered by them,” he says with a delighted grin. 

“If you wanted me to take off my clothes, you could’ve just asked—” you grumble under your breath. 

“Pardon?” 

“Nothing!” you exclaim too loudly. “Just—just get in the water already, Silco. I’ll be there soon.” 

He waits for you to lower your hands before he plants another excited kiss on your temple. In his haste, he clumsily bumps against your forehead, jostling you in your seat. 

Just as quickly, he runs gracefully towards the end of the pier, his long limbs streamlined as he raises his arms and brings them together above his head, fingers forming a sharp point to pierce the river. The splash is quiet, reminiscent of a paintbrush dipping into water. 

You get to your feet slowly, stretching to get some blood flowing after sitting for so long. The night is cool, and you rub your arms for warmth. But a quick, surreptitious peek at Silco’s neatly stacked clothes confirms that he stripped down to his underwear. For the sake of fairness, you do the same, stacking your clothes next to his. You carefully untie your corsage and lay it on the table. As a precaution, you blow out the candle. 

When you stand on tiptoe to scan the water, Silco is nowhere to be seen. You walk carefully to the end of the pier, one small step at a time, conscientious of splinters stabbing your bare feet.

“Silco?” you call out when you reach the edge. 

A breeze gusts past as if in response. You shiver as the chilled wind brushes against you, goosebumps sprinkling across your skin.

You kneel down cautiously, then take a seat. When you dip a toe into the river, you flinch at the cold. Ripples unfurl and spread across the surface as you slowly, slowly, lower your foot into the water, adjusting to the temperature. 

Eventually, the water’s chilly void becomes a tolerable caress. You kick your feet in boredom, watching the reflections of the moon and stars distort on the river’s surface.

A strong grip closes around your right ankle.

You’re yanked off the pier. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. Wind rushes past you. 

You crash into the water with a shriek.

Dark oblivion surrounds you completely, bubbles dancing all around you as you scream. A muffled sound comes out of your mouth only to be smothered when the river floods it. You gag and try to cough out the greasy, bitter liquid, flailing every which way to right yourself. The water already coalescing into a film against your rapidly blinking eyes.

Disoriented, you spin around, unsure of which way is up. Panicking at the thought of your corpse sinking into the depths, Silco and your friends never learning of your demise—

Something takes hold of your sides. You instinctively kick out, your foot colliding painfully with something long and thin.

Before you can kick it again, the thing’s grip on you tightens, solidifying its hold on your waist. 

You’re propelled to the surface, limbs dangling uselessly as you resign yourself to your fate.

But your head crashes through the surface. You spit and sputter out mouthfuls of water, taking in heaving breaths of rejuvenating air. Your arms thrash wildly as you struggle to stay afloat.

In between the dripping locks of hair plastered against your eyes, you see Silco. His mouth is open in laughter as he swims towards you.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

You cough, hard and hacking, throat scraped dry despite all the water you almost swallowed. “Help!!”

“Pedal your legs,” he instructs calmly, still smiling. “Spread your arms out and push downwards. The water is your cushion, not your enemy.”

You shake your head furiously, water drops whipping off your head. “Bastard—!”

“You can do it,” he says encouragingly. 

You panic as your chin dips underwater. Out of desperation, you follow his advice.

Instead of flailing your legs, you pedal. The water doesn’t resist, and your legs glide through the river easily. Your splashing becomes less frantic as you find a rhythm to push against the surface, more efficiently keeping you afloat.

All the while, Silco watches you patiently. You cough one final time as you find your footing, so to speak. Treading water adequately, if not gracefully.

Finally, he swims to you, closing the distance as his hands find your waist. His hold feels familiar, and you frown even as your arms automatically wind around his neck.

“Did you pull me in?” you ask in a hoarse voice.

He nods, still mirthful. “I only meant to ‘sweep you off your feet’.”

“Dummy,” you say, headbutting him in exasperation. “I could’ve drowned.”

“I would never let that happen,” he vows solemnly.

You snort in annoyance, but you don’t pull away from him.

You’re so close to him now. It’s different from that time in the councilor’s closet, when you were forced into his proximity by necessity. You could let go and swim away; as unorthodox as his teaching methods are, you no longer feel helpless in the water. 

Instead, you’re hypnotized by the sight of Silco dripping wet, dark hair sparkling like dewy grass on a misty morning. Droplets sliding down his temples to trace his cheeks, dripping off his nose and chin. The moonlit gloss of water on his lip that you’re aching to taste. His turquoise eyes brighter and clearer than the dark azure of the river.

You cling to him, a tall buoy in the river, solid and warm against you as you hug him close. Shivering as your bodies align, your breasts pressed flat against his chest.

His fingers glide against the waistband of your panties as he wraps his arms around you.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder. His warm exhales tickle your skin.

You cautiously coil one leg around his waist. You’re rewarded with a sharp, surprised inhale from Silco when your cunt grazes his pelvis.

Your other leg hooks around him, slotting him perfectly against you, a key nestled into the lock of your embrace.

The temptation to kiss him feels different this time. To open the floodgates of not just affection, but lust as well. The craving of feeling his skin against yours with nothing between you, the friction of your bodies warming you hotter than a bonfire. Even now, you almost wish you had stripped fully nude.

It’s the next step you’ve wanted to take with Silco long before you kissed for the first time. But now that you’re at the threshold, there’s something about it worth savoring, just before you take the plunge. The contradiction of bobbing peacefully in the river with him, entwined in silence even as your heart hammers underneath your rib cage. The slow caress of his hand on your side even as his cock hardens against your cunt.

You nudge your nose against the shell of his ear. Blinking water out of your eyes as you drag the tip of your nose against the contour of his cheekbone.

Pressing the bridge of your nose against his.

He swallows hard. Water drips from his chin to outline the tendons of his throat.

Waiting. 

Wondering.

Wanting.

You kiss him.

Bursting with desire, it’s more disorienting than when he pulled you off the pier. Marveling at the novel sensation of him dripping wet, kissing him dry while reacquainting yourself with the shape of his lips.

He responds just as eagerly, a devouring hunger in the movements of his mouth against yours. Groaning as his tongue fills your mouth, wet, heavy, eager to taste the inside of you and forgo all other flavors forever and ever.

His fingertips dig into your hips, nails biting into your flesh. Water splashes as he insistently grinds his cock against you, furious at the barrier of clothing between your bodies. 

You gasp as your shoulders dip below the water, sinking without the aid of Silco treading water. He kicks out impatiently, as if staying afloat was less important to him than kissing you. 

“Take me home,” you beg, so breathlessly that you’re not sure if he heard you.

He moans deeply as you capture the corner of his mouth in a kiss. You drag your lips against his cheek, settling on the hinge of his neck and jaw. You plant yourself there, eyes closed as his soft, damp hair brushes against your brow.

“Are—” he stutters, breath hitching. “Are you sure?”

You gently trap his earlobe between the tips of your teeth before letting go, whispering in his ear:

“Yes.” 

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! My inbox is also open to requests for both sketches and drabbles, or just to chat. Feel free to say hi :3c

[frenchublog]

[wishfulsketching]

This happened

[insaneption]

young vander and silco hits different..

[kanskje-kaffe]

Silco was born in the dark. Home to him is the greasy green of oil-lamps and the buzz of the electrics, powered with bunched cables that trailed overhead and fanned out at the tunnel junctions. It's the smell of coal and tallow, stone dust and diesel backwash. It's the crunch of grit between his teeth. It's thirst. The fissure folk were always wary of miners, said they could see in the dark. It's true. Silco can. --- Silco endures wounds upon wounds, and still he doesn't die—but he's not the only one. Don't all monsters come from the dark? Tell me about Zaun again, Vander.

Howl Right Back on AO3

Pairing: Silco/Warwick, Silco/Vander Rating: Explicit Chapters: 1/3

---

This is a gift for the amazing @wishfulsketching and their bomb ass Silco-meets-Warwick fanart. I was sooososo inspired by the image of Silco screaming the fuck back into Warwick's face! That's a love language babey! I think Silco deserves a werewolf boyfriend who eats people!

(Thank you to @withercrown and @spicedrobot for the beta and edits! Mwah mwah!)