#silcoitus answers

[silcoitus]

Can we maybe have silco x reader who he bites out of habit (could be nsfw, while making out of something) and they moan from it? How would his reaction be to it?

As I was writing a continuation to Practiced Hands, I realized I could incorporate this request into it! So behold, second installment of Young Silco! Reminder that this turns into an AO3 link in one month's time! So read it here while you still can!

Practiced Hands (Part 2)

Masterlist | AO3 link

Previous Chapter

Rating: Explicit—Minors DNI

Tags: Young Silco, f!reader; biting; couch sex; cunnilingus; penis in vagina sex;

Word count: 1.5k

Betas: @juniper-sunny

“Why don't we continue this upstairs?”

You'd answer if you had any energy, but with the way Silco's hands worked you, you're entirely spent. Turning your head toward him, eyes half-lidded, you look at him through your hazy afterglow.

Twin oceans stare back at you behind a curtain of raven hair, the fringe he so stubbornly styles obscuring his face like a thick forest canopy hiding the form of a hungry tiger, nothing visible except for its predatory eyes. Silco’s gaze is possessive and carnal, an animal running solely on instinct.

And with one small nod, you yield to it.

At that, Silco bends down to scoop up your legs in one arm, the other supporting your back. He lifts you with such ease that you're suddenly reminded of the hidden strength behind that lithe frame. Muscles toned in the mines, forged out of necessity. 

His footsteps are light as he carries you out around the bar, heading for the staircase that leads to the office. All the while, you press your face to his neck, breathing in his scent. 

The office door left ajar, he shoves it open with his shoulder before swiftly kicking it closed behind him. It's not long before he's depositing you onto the couch, his hands now free to shove aside a box to clear a space on the floor.

You sit up to watch him, your pants still hanging open from before. And when he kneels in front of you, long fingers digging under the waistband of both your pants and underwear to yank them down, you suddenly awaken from your fuckdrunk stupor. 

You gasp when the air of the room hits your core, Silco pulling the garments past your knees. But when your boots halt his movements, he curses under his breath, bending down to remove one. One leg freed—just enough to have you spread open for him—is all he needs. You're left with the strange sensation of your left calf draped in a pool of fabric while your right leg is completely exposed. But you're given no time to protest the arrangement when Silco's hands are tucking under your knees and yanking you forward. Your ass is practically hanging off the couch when Silco dips his chin and dives into your core, mouth first.

“Ah!”

His tongue is hot against your folds, greedily licking your glistening arousal from his previous ministrations. He ravishes you with the fervor of a man starved, doing nothing to hide his enjoyment, his hums of approval vibrating through you.

Your knees rest on his shoulders as his hands smooth up your thighs to grip you by the hips, keeping you rooted to the spot so he can thoroughly pleasure you with his mouth. You throw your head back as your hands reach for his head, fingers tangling in his long raven hair, nails dragging against his scalp. That sharp blade of a nose parts your folds to nestle over your clit, breathing in your musk. 

You can feel another orgasm building within you and you're powerless to stop it, so overcome by the way Silco makes a meal out of you. Just as you stand on the edge and stare down your ruin, he pulls his face away.

You let out a soft whimper, looking down to see the lower half of his face absolutely drenched in your arousal. He wipes most of it off with the back of his hand before standing, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his pants.

“Don't want you coming yet,” he explains, voice almost hoarse. “Not until I'm inside you first.”

He shoves his pants down over his hips, his hardened cock springing free. Your eyes widen at the sight as he continues to push the fabric down to his knees.

“Lie down.”

Wordlessly, you obey, shifting on the couch to lie on your back. Silco joins you, seemingly too impatient to take his pants off all the way, his boots proving too much of an obstacle, just as yours had.

You spread your knees for him, one leg hanging off the couch as he scoots toward you, one hand gripping his shaft to line himself up. And as the head of him glides through your folds, gathering your slick, you close your eyes and wait.

“I’ve wanted you ever since you joined the Children,” he says, voice ragged with desire. “I’ve wanted you since I first laid eyes on you.”

You open your eyes to see him towering over you, his cock prodding at your entrance but his gaze solely on your face, drinking in your ruined form. 

“Tell me,” he grunts, bringing his free hand to grip the armrest behind you. “Tell me you want me, too.”

Half naked beneath him, you can’t help but chuckle, a little bit of your old self returning, no longer a prisoner to your own lust.

“You fucking idiot,” you say breathlessly. “Of course I fucking do.”

You lift your head and crash your lips into his, bringing both hands up to grab his face, fingers digging into his cheeks and behind his ears. He groans into the kiss, mouth hanging open as you swipe your tongue against his. The two of you almost seem to forget about his hardened cock at your core, so focused on tasting each other like this for the first time. 

Your absentmindedness is short-lived, as Silco is quick to press himself against your entrance, prying you open. And as you continue to kiss each other in a mess of lips and tongues and teeth, he pushes into you in one smooth—absolutely blissful—motion.

You whimper against his mouth and dig your fingers into his scalp at the feeling of fullness, acutely aware of how easily he pressed in with how thoroughly drenched your core is. And when his hips pull back just enough to piston back into you, you break off the kiss to let out a shattered, hedonistic moan, filling the office with the sounds of your ecstasy.

There’s a roughness to Silco’s movements, sending the various buckles and metal rivets on his clothing jingling with each thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep into you. Both his hands grip the armrest now, the top of your head pressed against the stiff side of the couch, your mouth hanging open as he fucks you. 

Your spread legs are a sinful display, one hanging off the cushions while your other knee hooks over the back of the couch, granting Silco all the access he desires. As he continues to pound into you, you bring your hands up above your head to the armest, holding on for dear life. Silco’s eyes spot the movement and he’s quick to lace his fingers over yours, gripping them in place. 

The couch shifts with every thrust, the squeaking of wood on wood unmistakable as Silco rails into you. You feel on the edge of oblivion, your body limp while Silco uses you. And just when you think you can’t take it any longer, his hands leave yours to grab you by the waist, his torso flush with you as he brings his face to your neck. Breath hot and labored, he squeezes you like a boa constrictor with his arms as his teeth drag against your pulse point. His teeth clamp down, biting you harshly as his hips stutter frantically, signaling the beginning of the end.

As Silco’s teeth sink into your tender flesh, you can’t help the wanton wail that escapes your lips, the exquisite pain of his bite sending lightning to your core. At the sound of your loud approval, he laughs against your skin before soothing the bite with a long, hot swipe of his tongue before shifting his mouth and biting down again, marking you once more.

Your walls clench around him at that and you can feel your demise thundering toward you, heavy and overwhelming. 

His grip is tight on you, the harsh metal pieces of his jacket digging into your chest. He ruts into you at a staggering pace and you can do nothing but dig your nails into the wood of the armrest as he comes undone inside you, his cock pulsing against your walls and sending you spiraling into your own release. Silco’s breath comes out as short grunts as he paints your insides, while your walls flutter around him, milking him for all he’s worth. A heady warmth fills your veins as vibrant colors dance behind your closed eyes, mouth hanging open as you ride out the brilliant sensation that is your orgasm.

When finally you pry your hands from the armrest, your fingers shake from exhaustion, your forearms sore from how tightly you had held on. Silco lets his full weight flop onto you, his torso heavy, but strangely comforting.

He lifts his head just a fraction, peeling his cheek off your sweat-dotted skin to bring his mouth to your ear. You’ll think he’ll whisper something to you, but he instead nips at your lobe, as if he’s still hungry. But there’s no vigor behind the gesture, his energy too spent.

Finally, he speaks, voice ragged.

“I’m never letting you leave this office.”

You laugh with what little breath you have left.

“This is how the revolution dies. Not on the bridge, but on the couch.”

He chuckles.

“We can pick the revolution back up tomorrow.”

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[dewdropdinosaur]

Little Fire Lies

SILCO X READER

Summary: Silco is puzzled, why wouldn't he be? His long-time assistant has apparently been harboring secrets from him and he didn't know. What he doesn't know, however, is how much his curiosity will come back and bite him...on the neck.

Warnings: Cussing, mentions of torture and sex. PG-13. Inspired by 1) Season 2 coming out soon and 2) @silcoitus because I read all of their stuff religiously. Word Count: 3500 words.

Silco's expression softened as he listened to her humming. It was a familiar song that echoed the anger and pain felt by many of the citizens, including himself. The anthem of the revolution, a strange choice for a song to hum during the work day.  He knew it well, having heard it many times before. He stood there quietly, listening to the tune with a mix of understanding and resignation

"You're an interesting one, you know that Y/N?", he said under his breath, his gaze still fixed on her form.

Y/N peers at him from her periphery 

“Hmm? Is that so?”

Silco smirks lightly, his gaze still fixated on her.

“You have a habit of using songs to express your thoughts and feelings, don't you? It's quite an unusual, and somewhat impressive, way to cope."

Y/N huffs and mumbles 

“There are worse coping mechanisms”

Silco chuckles at her comment, a smirk forming on his face. He nods, knowing all too well the truth in her words

"That's true, I suppose. I've seen my fair share of unhealthy coping mechanisms in this city. But I must admit, yours is certainly the most... creative I've come across. And oddly fitting, considering your... talent."

Y/N finally raises her head from her paperwork, quirking a brow and eyes narrowing toward the man. 

Silco's smirk grows slightly, a hint of playful banter in his tone 

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about, Y/N. Don't play coy now. Your uncanny ability to stay completely calm and composed, even in the most precarious of situations. I've seen you handle difficult negotiations, tight deadlines, and volatile clients, all with a level head and a smile on your face. It's impressive... and slightly unnerving."

A hum follows. 

“Well, thank you...I think.”

Silco chuckles again, leaning slightly against the desk in front of Y/N.

"It's both a compliment and a note of caution. It's remarkable how you can remain so unfazed by anything. But it also raises the question of what could break that unshakable composure, if anything at all."

Y/N, even the world at large, could see the dangerous curiosity in Silco’s eyes. The Eye of Zaun has always been a man of deadly inquiries, even to those who he trusts most. A way to test loyalty and more so, a way to test vulnerability. She could feel fear creep into her throat as she realized what was happening...an interrogation 

“Thus far boss, haven't found anything yet.”

Silco's gaze remained intently fixed on her, his expression unreadable. He watched her every subtle reaction, the way her eyes might glance away, or how her fingers might fidget slightly.

"Oh, I don't doubt that," he says, his tone smooth and steady, yet there's an undertone of danger "You've always been good at hiding your weaknesses, haven't you?"

She keeps her expression neutral and her tone casual despite her brain running rampant 

“One has to in this line of work–”

Silco nods, silently applauding her facade of calmness. He leans back from the desk, crossing his arms as he continues his questioning.

"True," he responds, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s face, "In this city, showing weakness is a dangerous game. I've seen more than my fair share of people fall thanks to a single moment of misplaced honesty."

Silco's gaze becomes more intense as his voice drops to a lower tone

"But everyone has a breaking point, don't they? A moment where the facade slips, where the careful control is lost. Tell me, Y/N, what's yours? What would it take to break that calm facade you wear."

Y/N pauses, racking her brain for bullshit answers but none come to mind. A flurry of lyrics comes to her brain, the coping mechanism to calm herself but alas she can't voice the fears. Turning to face his intense gaze, her eyes betray nothing that is going on in her head 

“I implore you to figure that out on your own, boss.”

Silco's gaze continues to bore into her skull, his face unwavering. He leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving her as he ponders the response. A hum erupts from his throat, a soft smirk playing at the corners of his scarred lips. He can see the subtle flicker in her eyes, and the slight tightening of her jaw, indicators of the internal battle she’s fighting. He would applaud the facade if it hadn’t been one defended against him. 

 He takes a step closer, his voice low and deliberate

"Now you're just being stubborn," he says, a hint of humor in his tone "But then again, when have you ever been anything but." He pauses, his gaze still intense "You're hiding something. I can feel it in the air. Something you don't want to admit, even to yourself."

She turns back to her paperwork, softly humming 

“Like I said, you can figure it out...on your own.”

Silco lets out a huff, a mix of irritation and frustration at the continued display of nonchalance. Taking a step closer, he towers over her.

"Oh, you really think I won't find out, hm?" he asks, his voice low and almost challenging.

"I've found out everyone's secrets and weaknesses, eventually. What makes you think you're any different?

Y/N felt her heart race at his proximity, a small silent gasp leaving her lips.

“Because...you trust me. You said so yourself.”

Silco pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he processes the bullshit response. He slowly circles the desk, his footsteps echoing in the silent office. His movements are slow and precise, like a prowling tiger stalking its prey. He stands behind her, his presence practically enveloping her form; pinning her between his chest and the desk.

"You're correct," he says, his voice a low rumble "I trust you far more than I've ever trusted anyone else. But trust, as you know, is a fickle thing. It can be broken, sometimes irreversibly."

Y/N’s palms start to sweat, heart pounding inside her chest. She can't admit defeat...even to him. 

“Silco, please. Just let this one be.”

Silco leans down slightly, bringing his face close to hers. The air is thick with tension as his voice drops to a soft rumble, his breath warm on her ear.

"Give me one reason, just one, why I should let this go. Why I shouldn't pry and dig until I find what it is you're hiding from me."

His tone is smooth, almost seductive, yet there's a hint of danger underneath. He is determined to uncover this secret, unwilling to back down this time.

“It’s—it’s really not that important….”

Silco's smirk widens as he notices the slight blush on her cheeks, he’s winning. Leaning in closer, his nose almost touching the base of her neck, he lets out a hum, a low and dangerous sound.

"Not important, huh? If it wasn’t important, you wouldn't be so reluctant to reveal it. I know you, Y/N. You're hiding something deep, something that even you may not fully understand."

He moves even closer, his body almost pressed against the small of her back as he whispers "Just tell me, darling. I can keep a secret."

Y/N holds back a whimper at his closeness, the way his breath tickles the sweet spot on her neck 

“Boss, please don't–”

Silco lets out a soft chuckle, his voice low and gravelly. He can feel the tension in her body, the way she’s struggling to hold back her reactions to his closeness. He moves even closer, his body now fully pressed against hers.

"Don't what, Y/N? I haven't done anything."

He leans in further, his nose now tracing along the flesh of her jawline, his breath warm against the skin.

 "All I'm asking for is honesty. Is that so hard for you?"

“Fine, okay! I’ll tell you…just promise you won’t overreact.”

He can practically feel her resistance crumbling, the way her body responds to his touch. He's enjoying every response far more than he should, but he can't help it.

"Finally," he says, his voice a low rumble "Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Go on then, tell me. Let me in, darling."

Y/N pauses, closing her eyes in a silent prayer. 

“I am in love with...you?”

Silco freezes, his eyes widening at the confession. He was expecting anything but this, the words coming out of her mouth, the honesty in her trembling voice, the revelation of love, it was all too unexpected, too dangerous, too...perfect

He steps back slightly, his eyes fixed on her as he processes her words. The room is silent except for the soft sound of the ragged breaths escaping from his mouth He continues to stare, his heart pounding in his chest, the silence between her thick and heavy with unspoken emotion.

Y/N sighs and places her head in her hands, running them through her hair in frustration. 

“See why I didn't want to tell you?”

Silco's expression remains stoic as he continues to stare at her, his mind racing. He can feel a mixture of emotions coursing through him: shock, disbelief, excitement, and...fear. He takes a deep breath, trying to collect himself before speaSilco

"Y/N..." he begins, his voice thick with emotion "Are you...sure? About what you said?"

Y/N nods slowly and closes her eyes in a plea for a swift end should it come.

“Yes...fuck I–I can't help it, boss. Look if you just wanna fire me, I will never see you again and we don't have to talk about this at all–”

Silco's expression softens at the words, his heart clenching at the thought of her leaving. He reaches out, his hand gently lifting her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his and silence the rambling.

"I'm not going to fire you, you stupid girl," he says, his tone both frustrated and gentle at the same time. He lets out a sigh, his eyes locked in a steely gaze. 

"How long have you felt this way?"

“I have worked for you for 3 years so I would say about...a year of that time.”

Silco's expression darkens slightly at the words, his frustration growing at the realization that she had been hiding this for so long. His fingers tighten on her chin, his hand not letting Y/N look away for even a second.

"A year..." he mutters, his voice low "You've been feeling this way for a year, and you never told me, never even hinted?"

“What was I supposed to do, admit that not only I loved my boss but the King of the Underground himself?”

Silco huffs in disbelief, his grip on her chin tightening further. His eyes are locked on her features, demanding attention, and submission.

"Yes." he says firmly "You should have told me. I can't read your damn mind, Y/N. You just expect me to know your feelings, to know what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

“I didn't want you to know! That's why I didn't tell you–”

Silco's expression hardens as he glares down. His fingers dig deeper into her chin, his touch almost too painful, waxing possessive.

"Why not? Why did you want to hide this from me? Don't you trust me?" he asks, his voice a rough growl "Because if you don't, why the hell have you been worSilco for me for the last three years?"

Y/N whimpers, his nails digging into her chin in a way that will surely leave bruises.

“I trust you I promise, I was just scared…I have seen you do worse things to people in this line of work boss.”

Silco huffs at her words, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. He can't deny the truth in them, but he doesn't like being reminded of his brutal nature, especially not in this moment.

"You think I would treat you like those other people, like one of my employees?"

His voice is a low rumble filled with both anger and something else, something he can't quite name. Y/N tries to pull her chin away, the bruises forming already from his grip

“That's what I am though, your Y/N.”

Silco's grip doesn't waver as she tries to pull away. His eyes darken as he feels his control slipping, the anger and frustration boiling up within him. He leans down closer, his face inches from hers. 

"Damn it, don't do this. Don't belittle yourself and don't reduce what you are to me to just an Y/N. You know it's more than that, damn it."

Silco's eyes flicker back and forth from her lips to her eyes, his control hanging by a thread. He can feel the pull between them, the unspoken tension that's been growing over the years. He can see the desire in her eyes, the need for something more than just a business relationship, and it threatens to break him.

"Damn it, Y/N," he mutters, his voice a low, rough whisper. "Don't look at me like that."

“Like what boss?”

Silco's eyes bore into her skull as he tried to hold onto the last shred of control he had. He's been keeping his feelings locked away for so long, and the innocence, the honesty, it's breaking him down, making him weak; and he hates it, and he loves it.

"Like you want me," he growls, his voice hoarse "Like you want to kiss me."

Barely above a whisper, the Y/N voices her finality “But I do want you, always have.”

She places her lips softly on his, allowing him to push her away, denying his affection should he choose it. Silco's eyes widen in surprise as her lips touch his. The last ounce of control he had evaporates like smoke. He hesitates for a moment, the conflict between reason and desire raging within him until finally the latter wins out. With a low growl, he pulls her closer, his hands wrapping around her waist as he kisses back, fiercely and hungrily.

One hand grips her waist, the other clutches her neck to pull her closer. The kiss is messy, full of tongue and teeth. Fierce and hungry, a place where she is not in charge.

Silco's lips leave her, a whine escaping her throat at the loss, but he moves to her jaw, peppering kisses along the skin, his teeth nipping at her jawline. He can feel his self-control slipping further with each passing second. He's wanted this for so long, and now that he has it, he's not holding back. His hands explore her body, tracing over her curves, possessive and demanding.

She moans softly as his teeth nip the sweet spot on her neck, hands tangling themselves in his neatly combed hair; head dizzy with want

“Silco–”

Silco smirks as he feels her hands in his hair, his ego stoked by her need and the sound of the soft moans that break from her soft lips. He continues to kiss and bite at her neck, enjoying the way her body reacts to his touch. He lets out a low growl, his voice a rough rumble against her ear.

"Say it again," He orders, his teeth nipping at her earlobe "Say my name, darling."

"Say my name, louder, I want to hear you moan it."

The Y/N gasped as his teeth continued their assault on her neck, his possessive grip leaving a small trail of bruises on her hip

“Silco please–”

The Silco shivered at the sound of his name. It sounded like honey, a dulcet candy for only him to hear. Only she could call his name like that and he would make sure she did it for the rest of her life. He can feel himself losing control, it’s driving him further into dangerous territory. His lips continue their assault on her neck, sucking and biting, marking her as his, making her beg in a way that's so damn satisfying.

"Please what, darling?" he growls, his hands gripping her hips tighter, grinding her core against him "You have to tell me what you want."

A tug on his hair and a wave of arousal pool and paint a spot on Silco's pants. The tug effectively ends his lip's attack on Y/N’s neck. Her eyes are blown with desire and her hair is disheveled as a thin line of salvia drips from puffy lips. Her neck is marked with the purple and red emblems of his handiwork. 

“Please kiss me again.”

Silco's eyes widen at the sight below him, marked as his possession, hair disheveled, lips slick and wet, it makes his heart race, his body tense and needy. He almost laughs at the question, not believing she would think he could refuse such a request.

"You don't even have to ask," he growls, his voice low and full of desire "I'll kiss you as much as you want, darling." He pulls her closer, his lips crashing into hers fierce and dominant; his tongue seeking and demanding.

Y/N allowed his tongue to explore her mouth but soon slows down the kiss, letting the fit of passion fade and lead the way to a more slow and sensual one. One that expresses that this is more than carnal, it's an unspoken quiet desire that consumes her heart and soul. 

Silco's eyes dilate at the sudden shift in the kiss. He can feel the change in energy, the way the kiss becomes slower, more sensual, more loving. It makes his heart clench in his chest, and for a brief moment, his mind whirls with emotions he's never felt before.

He responds to the change, matching Y/N’s pace, his hand going to caress her cheek lightly, his thumb tracing over the skin. Though, he eventually pulls away, breaking the kiss with a soft gasp. The intensity of the moment, the way the kiss had changed, it had completely thrown him off guard. He gazes into Y/N’s eyes, his expression a mix of a million different things: desire, love, confusion, fear. He exhales, one hand still caressing her cheek, trying to find the words to express what he's feeling, but they all seem to get lodged in his throat. 

Y/N takes the pause to caress his cheek, tilting her head in mild confusion as to why they had stopped. Maybe he had decided he regretted it, maybe she had overwhelmed him maybe–

Silco leans into her touch, his eyes flutter closed for a moment as he relishes the feeling. He had never been touched this way, with such gentleness, such tenderness.

Y/N gives him a broken smile, while his expression is unreadable, she can sense he is struggling with something

“It's okay...you don't have to know how you feel. We can end this right here if you want.”

“No," he says, his voice rough and urgent "No, I...I don't want to end this. I just...I don't understand. These feelings, these emotions, they're all so damn new to me, I don't know how to cope with them."

He let out a frustrated huff, running his hand through his hair. Y/N let out a chuckle, sitting up in her chair and allowing him to kneel on the floor before her. Running her hands through his hair and settling them by cupping his cheek. Gazing into the eyes she has come to adore

“Then how about this. We take this one step at a time yeah?”

"One step at a time," he repeats, his voice a quiet murmur. He nods, opening his eyes to meet yours once more

"I can do that."

“We can do that”

Silco's heart lurches in his chest as Y/N says ‘we’ and he can't help the small smile that plays at the corner of his lips. The fact that she is so immediately willing to walk this path with him, to help him navigate these unfamiliar feelings and emotions, means more to him than she could know. He reaches up and covers her hand with his, holding it against his cheek, his thumb tracing small circles against the skin.

"One step at a time. Together."

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 6

It's Silco's turn to give you an invitation, and you're not quite sure what answer to give him. Then something chases you through the dark corners of the Undercity—and you end up somewhere unexpected...

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 | TW: Stalking | WC: 4.1k

beta reader: @silcoitus <333

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

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

Even though you told Silco you’re not painting today, you still have to check on the mural. When you arrive at your worksite, you lift the plastic sheeting and rest your palm gingerly against the wall; the rough stone is cool but dry to the touch. The colors seem a bit dim in the overcast weather, but the paint is still intact. It looks like your protective measures were successful.

The desire to linger persists, though. You extend the scissor lift higher to reach the rooftop, climbing up onto the ledge. You lean forward, kicking your feet against the wall. Staring out into nothing and shivering at the cold air that blows through your clothes.

Silco’s sleepover was already a significant disruption to your usual routine, but that’s not the only reason you feel disoriented. It’s been a while since you’ve made a new friend, and the buzzing excitement is enhanced by how much you have in common with him. 

Unfortunately, it’s tainted by anxiety about the heist. According to the papers, the shipment will be arriving in two weeks. It seems unlikely that you’ll see Silco before then.

Still, you can’t help but wonder. Should you go looking for him? It would be a change of pace if you were the one to initiate contact for once. Would he find that refreshing? Or would he think you’re coming on too strong? 

Something tells you he wouldn’t want to be disturbed during the planning phase of the raid. It’s an important mission, but he doesn’t have a lot of time to prepare for it. Maybe it’s better to leave him alone for now; he knows where to find you if he can make time for a visit.

These thoughts and more circle your mind like Poros chasing each other. You probably would have sat there for even longer, but a light raindrop taps your cheek. When you look up to the sky, the clouds are blotting out the sky, heavy trails of dark blue and gray ink swirling above your head.

As you wipe your face, the back of your neck tingles, goosebumps rising as your hair stands on end. The chill at the base of your skull isn’t caused by the weather.

Someone is standing behind you.

“Silco?” you call out, turning around in surprise.

You almost don’t hear it over your own voice and the rumble of thunder: a mechanical click and whirring, low like a buzzing insect. Simultaneously, a blinding, white flash bursts in your face, burning into your retinas. 

As you squeeze your eyes shut, footsteps patter away; metal clanking echoes in the distance as something jumps onto rooftops. When your eyes readjust, you carefully jump off the ledge onto the roof.

“Who’s there?” you say in a small, quivering voice.

But you’re all alone. Whoever that person was, they’re long gone by now. You pull your jacket tighter around you. You’re just about to leave when you spot something small floating to the ground.

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you walk over to the thing and pick it up. It’s thin, glossy, and square, artificially smooth and warm to the touch. There are undefined shapes on it, blurred edges slowly sharpening into focus as the dull gray smears become stained with color.

The shock of what you’re looking at almost makes you drop it.

It’s a picture of you, your face blurred as you’re turning to look over your shoulder. But it has your clothes and your hair color, framed by a cloudy sky.

On instinct, you crumple the picture and stuff it into your pocket. Your body moves on its own, climbing onto the scissor lift and running away.

Stalkers aren’t unusual in Zaun, but their presence is still unnerving. No one’s ever followed you this closely before, and the picture proves that their issue with you is personal. 

Instead of heading home, you make your way Topside. You had meant to go shopping for new art supplies, and now seems as good a time as any. Hopefully you’ll be able to lose them in the streets of Piltover, where there’ll be more scrutinizing eyes. 

This one time, you’re grateful that Pilties are so judgmental of people from the Undercity; if you’re being watched like a hawk, they’ll be able to spot whoever’s stalking you. So you take your time browsing in an art store, not bothering to step away from the shop attendants that shadow your every footstep. It's late and raining hard by the time you finally leave. When you step out and take several careful, cautious steps, the tingling sensation doesn’t come back. You start walking faster to take advantage of your pursuer’s absence. 

On the second full day without rain, you return to the mural. But just as you pry open a can of paint, the feeling strikes you again. This time, your scalp tingles and stings painfully, as the stalker seemingly observes you from the rooftops. You jam the can’s lid back in place and run away again.

For days after, they don’t come back. But those close calls are enough to make you dread going to work. You keep your sessions short just in case you need to flee. The shorter workdays aren’t a problem for now, as you’re still laying down the base coat for the mural. However, longer sessions can’t be avoided when painting the finer details, as they’ll require focus and precision.

The fear of being stalked embeds itself into the very air around you, making you hyperaware of your surroundings. It doesn’t help that your nights have become restless, disturbed by nightmares of faceless figures towering over you and footsteps growing louder and louder as they approach you. 

Still, you’re determined to not let your newfound paranoia get the best of you, especially on the day after the raid. Silco had promised that he would find you, after all, so you steel yourself and head out to the mural.

To your immense relief, Silco is already there waiting for you, a triumphant grin on his face blazing like the sun. All your worries fall away as you rush to the scissor lift, impatiently slamming the button that extends it to the roof. During the ascent, you take a deep breath to calm your hammering heartbeat, hoping to regain some semblance of dignity.

As you pull yourself up and over the ledge, Silco extends a hand out to you. You take it, savoring the feel of his calluses and scars, solid and rough as you find your footing. He lets go of you all too soon to rummage in his backpack. You shove your own hand in your pocket, squeezing reflexively.

“We were right about the shipment,” he says excitedly, pulling a bottle of wine out of his backpack. “Noxian goods were just some of the many illegal imports we found last night. The councilor’s in trouble.”

“Hello to you too, Silco,” you say, laughing with relief. “Are you okay?”

The fire in his eyes diminishes to something softer, a warm hearth as he looks at you properly now with appreciation. But his smile widens as he holds out the wine to you.

“We prevailed thanks to you,” he says proudly. “It isn’t much, but we wanted you to enjoy your share of the spoils.”

“Oh—” you say, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

“Is this not enough? We have much more stashed away—” he asks.

“No, no,” you shake your head, hesitating. “I—I just need to hear you say that you’re okay.”

He doesn’t tell you those exact words, but instead launches into a grand retelling of last night’s events: staking out the warehouse for hours, bribing some of the less disciplined guards, knocking the rest of them out, hurrying away with as much cargo as they could carry, and dumping the rest of it in the harbor. He puts down the wine bottle and pulls a flask out from his pockets, toasting to the Children’s victory.

His tale is probably a very thrilling one, and you’ll have to ask Silco to tell it again someday. 

But right now, your attention is focused on his sleeves; despite the warm weather, he has them pulled almost all the way down to his wrist, bandaging peeking out like a dog sneaking into a dining room for table scraps.

When he holds the flask out for you to take, you instead seize his left wrist, shoving the sleeve up as high as you can. His entire forearm is bandaged past his elbow; it’s not unusual for him to accessorize with unnecessary bindings, but he hisses in pain from your manhandling.

You handle him more carefully now, fingers lightly grazing over the makeshift wrapping. The cloth is gray and dirty, smeared with dirt and coal dust. A tight, stubborn knot in the crook of his elbow refuses to untangle despite your best attempts to press your thumbs into its crevices.

“Dummy,” you say, exasperated. When you let go of him, he pulls his forearm close, rubbing it gingerly. “You broke your promise.”

“What do you mean?” he asks defiantly.

You climb over to your scissor lift and grab your bag, placing it carefully on the ledge. After pulling out a first-aid kit, you wave at him to come closer, scolding him gently, “You promised you’d stay safe.”

“There are always mishaps in battle,” he fires back, but there’s no malice in his voice. “And I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?”

“I’ll be more specific next time.” You roll your eyes and gesture again. “Besides, if you die of infection then that will count as you breaking your promise.”

“My own well-being is of no importance—” he protests.

“Silco…” You glare at him. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

His eyes widen in surprise at the anger in your voice. He’s almost meek when he finally steps forward, extending his forearm out to you. You take the flask from him and put it on the ledge next to your kit.

“What happened?” you ask, pulling out a pair of scissors to cut off the knot. You unwrap the dressing slowly, peeling it away layer by layer. On his arm is a long, jagged cut, almost spanning the entire length of his forearm. Another shorter cut closer to his wrist runs parallel to the first one. Neither are very deep, with dried flecks of blood already crusting at the edges of the wounds. His fingers are cut up as well, with tiny nicks at the joints that have already scabbed over.

“Climbed out of a broken window,” he says dismissively. When you narrow your eyes at him, he says defensively. “Time was of the essence—”

You sigh. “I know.”

Your first-aid kit is an expensive, deluxe product from a Topside pharmacy, stocked for almost every kind of emergency. First, you use a sanitizer on your own hands, making sure to meticulously scrub underneath your fingernails. Then, you carefully pour clean water onto a sterile cloth, just enough to dampen it but not soak it. 

You look up at Silco apologetically. “Sorry, this might hurt a little.”

Carefully, carefully, you dab away at the caked dirt and blood on Silco’s arm and fingers. To his credit, he’s a good patient, enduring your administrations without complaint. He winces when a particularly stubborn scab refuses to chip away, his tendons flexing involuntarily. When it finally does, a tiny droplet of blood oozes out.

“It’s a good thing you don’t need stitches,” you remark as you finish wiping up. You pull out a fresh roll of bandaging and start wrapping his forearm securely, but not too tightly. The cuts on his fingers have healed enough that they don’t need to be covered.

“That’s quite a shame; I would have welcomed the scars,” he jokes.

When you secure the wrapping at his elbow, you slide your hand down his arm, assessing your handiwork. The dressing’s grainy bumpiness gives way to Silco’s rough skin as your hand reaches his palm. 

Reluctantly, you start to pull away, but he squeezes your hand appreciatively, his thumb sweeping across the back of your hand. 

You can’t help but squeeze him back. His palm feels warm against yours, your own skin molding against his calluses.

“I missed you,” he says lightly. But when you look up, his eyes are sincere, turquoise waters as clear as a fountain. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you before the raid. But I would like to ask: did you make any effort to find me?”

You look away, mouth suddenly dry. His intense and earnest gaze has your legs feeling unsteady. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

(Also, you weren’t sure how closely your stalker was following you. You would never forgive yourself if they followed you straight to his doorstep.) 

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he chuckles.

You purse your lips at him, annoyed; he didn’t deny that a visit from you would be bothersome. You open your mouth to tease him, trying too late to stave off your rising embarrassment. 

But before you can speak, he reaches out with his free hand to tuck a lock of your hair behind your ear. His fingertips linger on the shell, tracing the shape of it all the way down to your lobe. His touch is gentle, a soft and tender caress. 

Wild heat blooms under your skin at his touch, no doubt spreading across the rest of your face and neck.

You yank your hand out of his grasp and jerk back, hitting your first-aid kid with your elbow. It falls sideways off the ledge and you catch it just before it hits the ground. Some of the supplies within tumble out, rolling across the roof.

“You’ll—uh—you’ll probably need painkillers for those cuts—I’ll get you some—uh—some pills and stuff later,” you stammer out. You seize the opportunity to look away from him, leaning over the ground to pick up the fallen items. “What about your friends? Are they okay?”

“They’re alright, thank you for asking.” He crouches down to help you pick up a roll of gauze. When he holds it out to you, you swipe it from him, careful to avoid touching him directly. He frowns, a little notch sinking between his eyebrows, but he doesn’t remark on your sudden skittishness. “In fact, they’ve expressed interest in making your acquaintance.”

“Huh?” You were about to grab a container of sterile water when you stop, hand still outstretched in midair.

Silco picks it up for you and puts it away in your kit. “They wish to express their gratitude, as I have mine. Your aid was a monumental factor in the raid’s success.”

After craning his neck around you to look for more medical supplies, he stands up. With the kit fully reassembled, he zips it shut, putting it back inside your bag. You get to your own feet as he turns to face you, leaning casually against the ledge.

“Our preparations were more than adequate due to your intelligence,” he says solemnly, looking straight at you. “I do not mean it lightly when I say you helped save many lives that night.”

“Oh…” You fold your arms, hugging yourself against a sudden breeze. It ruffles Silco’s hair, and he pushes his bangs out of his face. “I just took some pictures, that’s all.”

“All it takes to set off an avalanche is a pebble,” he says. “We struck a single blow against Topside last night. And we’re going to do it again and again until they finally fall at our feet.”

“Don’t call me a pebble just because I’m shorter than you,” you joke.

“We’re all ‘dirty little animals’ living in Topside’s shadow,” he smiles ironically at you. “We ought to stand united because of that. If you ever find yourself at our doors, they will always be open to you.”

“Hmm… The Last Drop is in the Lanes, right?” you ask. The name of the Children’s headquarters is common knowledge, but you’ve never been there yourself.

He nods. “I could lead you there, if you like.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you say quickly. “I’ll think about it.”

Silco grins at your answer. You bite your tongue, unwilling to dampen his mood by voicing your reservations. 

So far, you have no regrets in helping Silco, but opening yourself up to an organization of strangers is a different story. If they learn about your connections to the Council, the other Children might want to exploit them.

What would Silco do in that instance? Would he stand by your choice to remain uninvolved? Or would he also pressure you to officially join their cause? He seemed respectful enough of your decision during the sleepover, but you wonder if his friends would change his mind.

Silco picks up his flask again and unscrews it open. When he offers it to you, you take it automatically, still lost in your own thoughts as you take a sip. Instead of water, the tart taste of the Noxian wine floods your mouth. Caught off-guard by the alcohol, you cough and choke. He laughs and thumps you on the back.

You don’t get any painting done at all today. Instead, you both relax, talking about everything and nothing. Silco shows you some knife tricks, his own smile as sharp and shiny as the blade dancing through the air. You make up more stories about the dark-haired woman you’re painting.

He visits you at least once a week after that. Each time he does, the fear of being stalked fades away. Maybe it’s because the harasser is scared off by his presence, or you just feel safe around Silco. Either way, his visits never fail to cheer you up. You enjoy his company, and you pay polite attention every time he launches into a monologue about the Undercity’s future. His seemingly endless well of ambition means that he always has some new insights to share. At least these conversations distract you from darker thoughts about your stalker.

One day, you tell him that you have errands to run in the Undercity. You try to ask him as casually as possible if he wants to accompany you; you’re just interested in hanging out again later, nothing more and nothing less. When he declines, you let some lighthearted disappointment show, but hide the sinking dread that sinks through your chest and into your stomach. 

But maybe you’ll get lucky. After all, the underground never sleeps, its children traversing the alleys at all hours of the night. They might provide enough cover for you to slip undetected to your destination.

________________________________________

You should have known better than to be optimistic. 

It might be easier to lose your stalker in the crowded streets, but that also means it’s harder to pinpoint what direction they’re coming from.

Every conversation you overhear seems to be about you.

When you sidestep a pair of men wearing long capes and pointy Ionian hats, their sideways glance at you seems to linger unnervingly.

A weapons vendor catches your eye and he smirks at you, licking one of his knives before he stabs his table with it.

Silhouettes in windows point at you before disappearing from view.

As much as you dodge and sneak through the lanes, you can’t outrun the sense of impending doom that chases you.

Your palms are sweaty. 

Your breath is loud and fast in your ears. 

Blood drains from your veins to be replaced by a howling anxiety. 

Your heart beats a rapid and running pace that the whole of the Lanes can hear. 

Colors and noises swirl together in a dizzying and incomprehensible spiral.

When you sidestep into an alleyway around the corner from a fruit stall to catch your breath, you review your options. You could head straight to the elevators, but that still runs the risk of the stalker following you home. If you wait it out at Babette’s, they might charge you a premium for a room, especially if you have no intention of spending time with any of her employees.

You’re forced back onto the streets when the stall’s vendor yells at you to get away from his merchandise unless you’re buying. You swiftly step around him, keeping your gaze locked forward. Even in your compromised state, you can’t afford to look weak.

An unmarked, large, multi-story building at the end of the street seems safe enough. It lies at the junction of three different avenues, and you speedwalk through the open courtyard as fast as you can. The edifice is painted over in flaking shades of orange and brown, revealing rusted gray and turquoise steel underneath. Curlicues of metal pipes encircle the front door artistically, iron vines crawling up the walls reaching up towards the sky.

The establishment seems to be a pub of some kind. Most of the chairs are filled, patrons drinking or lounging at tables and booths. You sidestep a tall woman dragging a babbling man out by the collar. From the muted smack of flesh on steel and squeals of pain, the woman used the man’s face to push open the door. You can’t help but chuckle under your breath as you make a beeline for her recently vacated booth, enticing worn red fabric welcoming you as you scoot in to observe the other customers.

Low music leaks out of a brightly lit jukebox by the entrance. The furniture looks handmade, all made of sturdy wood with metal trimmings at the joints. Tables of mismatched sizes and shapes are spread unevenly throughout the room, seemingly moved around at the patrons’ whims. Exposed lightbulbs cast warm, yellow light, illuminating assorted portraits and posters on the walls. Worn brick peeks out from underneath peeling wallpaper. Wooden barrels sit in quiet corners.

A tall, burly man stands behind a counter, wiping it down. A wide selection of various alcoholic drinks occupies a glass shelf above him.

In a more peaceful world, this place could be… cozy. Some patrons allow themselves to slouch in their chairs, even though their hands never stray too far from belted knives. One man has fallen asleep in his cups, but nobody bothers him or his pockets. A group of rowdy friends laugh and encourage each other at one of the pool tables.

“Hey.” The tall woman you walked past steps in front of you, blocking your view of the bar. She’s muscular and tough, a bright red poncho draped proudly around her shoulders. Her short dark hair is tied neatly back in a half up-do, almost girlish except for the dark scowl carved into her face. “You’re in my seat.”

You finally glance down at the table, only just now noticing an almost-empty glass of orange alcohol and a half-full ashtray in front of you, still warm from recent use.

“Sorry,” you say hastily.

You slide out of the booth as quickly as you can, scanning for an empty table. The woman’s energy tells you that she could have just as easily picked you up and thrown you to the floor, and you’re thankful that she opted to evict you more politely.

She raises an appraising eyebrow at you. You draw your hood lower over your eyes, avoiding her gaze.

 “If you grab me a drink, I’ll let you sit here.” She takes a seat in the booth, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket, still staring at you. “You look like you need it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, relieved.

“Tell him Sevika wants her usual,” the woman says, jerking her head at the barman.

You make your way to the counter, leaning against it. When you place your hands on its edge, it’s cool to the touch, polished to a brilliant shine. You crane your neck to look for the bartender; he’s at the far end of the counter, finishing up with another customer. 

Just as you raise your hand to catch his attention, he spots you. He slaps a towel over his shoulder and saunters over to you.

“Never seen you ‘round here before, miss,” he says, curious. The glass he picks up looks tiny in his massive, boulder-like hands. He holds it out to you flirtatiously, his wink as shiny as the spotless glassware.  

“It’s my first time here,” you say politely, taking the glass from him. You put it down carefully in front of you. “Can I get Sevika’s usual, please?”

He nods, a slow grin spreading across his wide cheeks. He pushes his short brown hair out of his face before he grabs a second cup. When he grabs a bottle of orange liquor from a shelf, you belatedly realize that you have no idea how much drinks cost here.

“Does she have a tab?” You pat down your pockets, groaning internally at your carelessness.

The bartender ignores your question, instead pouring both glasses half-full with a flourish.

“Oh, nothing for me, thanks,” you protest.

“It’s on the house, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “Welcome to The Last Drop.” 

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

If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! <3

Chapter 7

[lullabyes22-blog]

I’ve caught up with FNF and I’m going stir crazy with nothing to read 🥲 apologies if you’ve answered this before, but are there any fics you recommend within the fandom? Ones you’ve enjoyed? Silco-central or otherwise. Ya girl needs feeding

ghgf

I wouldn't know where to start with fic recs as I tend to either read them all in one go, so all the stories blur together, or hold off reading altogether as I work on FnF's plotting T_T

I will say that I have some fabulous folks on my tumblr who write Arcane and all their stuff is stellar. In no particular order:

@the-blue-quetzalcoatl @frostybearpaws @revelisms @ravenkinnie @letters-to-rosie @ink-and-dagger @silcoitus @astudyincontrasts @space-blue @constantfragmentation @juniper-sunny

Guys, feel free to make this a reblog chain and include your own faves and recs<3

[deny-the-issue]

As Above So Below

Chapter Ten: A Different Perspective

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter coming soon

As Above So Below Masterlist

Summary: Your friends try to help you, and Silco attempts something reckless.

Thank you to @silcoitus for beta reading! <3

AO3 Link

Ko-fi Link

Taglist: @arcaneincorrectquotess, @lazycondensedmilk, @zauns-eye, @crunchlite, @alva-dore, @roxannadanna831, @astudyincontrasts, @mmartos, @ilikemymendarkandfictional, @juniper-sunny, @roxnpens, @a-gal-with-taste, @artwithvivien, @leave-me-alone-doctor, @fantadym

[Explicit Language] [Demon!Silco] [Silco x reader] [silco x fem!reader] [gore] [angst] [medical equipment] [3.6k words]

Grim

He knew he shouldn’t have bothered you yesterday, but he was just so bored going from shop to shop with his mother. Seeing you Topside was too good to pass up. 

How could he have known you and his mom had such a violent history? 

Besides—that was like forever ago. He doesn’t care what his mother says; people can change, and you certainly did. You helped save the Lanes! 

What kind of monster would do something so heroic? 

The anger keeps his rationality from catching up to him. No matter what he says now, he knows there is a world of trouble awaiting him at home now that he’s run away. 

Starting from the tunnel entrance you caught him tagging, he zig-zags methodically through the streets looking for any sign of you or your home. Hands firmly tucked in his pockets, his lost feet kick some rubble out of the way as he trudges through the streets of the Undercity. Even in the daylight, the air has a bite to it, forsaken by the sun. 

With each abandoned street searched, uncertainty chills the obstinance within him, and he thinks about heading home. He can’t hide forever, and he knows what Ekko would say if he went to the tree. 

A heavy sigh passes his pouty lips, and with slumped shoulders, he turns down an unsearched path that leads back to the lift. The way is lit with dim electric lamps, unlike the others, giving a sense of welcoming from the otherwise dim atmosphere. 

His heart jumps with hope at the sound of a door handle turning, but the joy lodges in his throat like a pill at the sight of a stranger in a long black coat. The man sees Grim out of the corner of his eye and freezes. This was not a reaction of surprise but of calculation. Eyes unblinking, the man turns to face Grim. 

He steps back, the hair on his neck prickling with the sense of unknown danger. Like a flip of a coin, the man’s face relaxes into a welcoming smile. 

“Hello. Are you lost, boy?” 

Shaking his head, he answers nervously. “No—I’m just headed home.”

“To the lift?” The man inquires, taking a cautious step closer. 

Grim nods without thinking, an uneasy feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

“Do you mind if I join you? I so easily lose my way,” the man pleads. 

Grim shrugs, “Sure.”  

Ever the polite young man, Grim tries to hide the discomfort the stranger causes him. Shoulders tense, he averts his gaze when he starts the journey again. The man joins Grim’s side, matching his pace. 

“You must spend a lot of time down here,” the stranger breaks the silence, “but I wonder—do you know the history of the Lanes?”

“Only what they teach in school.” Grim knows that it’s the glorified version because of Ekko, but he withheld most of the details.

“Well, let me give you a little lesson on the way. They say a ruthless revolutionary started the war, but in truth, it was his daughter. He dominated the Lanes with an iron fist; so much so, people began calling him the Eye of Zaun after a local religious deity.”

This sparked Grim’s interest—he never heard this before. The culture of the Lanes only lives on in the people who lived it, but this man doesn’t seem old enough. Grim wonders how he knows and listens with rapt attention. 

“If you like, I could show you the statue that was built in their honor.” 

Grim wants to agree but listens to his gut. “My mom’s waiting for me, sorry.”

“Oh, but it won’t take long at all! It’s just around the bend, see?” The stranger urges, pointing around the corner. 

Grim turns away from the man to look in the direction he indicated. 

Brow furrowed, he squints at the dark alley in confusion. “I don’t see—“

He feels a sharp pinch in the side of his neck and then the stranger is on him. Grim thrashes against the man’s hold, but his arms and legs grow heavier by the second. It takes more and more effort to move until his mind feels as foggy as the Pilt on a cold autumn morning. 

He clings to consciousness just long enough to hear the man say, “I never understood why he gave it all up for a child.”

When Grim comes to, he has no perception of time passing. Groggy mind and heavy eyelids—the panic doesn’t set in until he tries to move his bound arms. 

He wiggles about trying to get free, but the effort makes him feel woozy. What happened? The stranger's face floats up from his cloudy memories. He did something. 

With wet cheeks and panicked, shaky breathing, he starts to look around for anything that could help. He spies a sharp scrap of metal on the ground some feet away, near the piled-up equipment. Horrific screeches drown out his grunts as the chair scrapes across the floor with each flail of his body. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sine sneers from behind, grabbing the back of Grim’s chair and dragging it back into place. 

“Piss off!” Grim spits, just as fierce. 

Sine stomps in front of Grim, brandishing a knife threateningly. “Listen here, boy. I don’t normally kill children, but it’s not a moral—it’s self-preservation. You kill one little shit and the whole city hunts down the killer. But that’s not the case with you, is it? The Lanes are treacherous—who knows what could befall an adventuring kid. Why, you could just disappear, never to be found again.”

For the first time in his life, Grim feels the icy tendrils of death licking at his back. The fear lodges in his throat as he holds back a silent sob. 

“So, be a good boy, and stay quiet. One more outburst and I’ll kill you in front of our mutual friend; is that understood?” Sine waits for Grim to nod before gagging him, pleased with his compliance. 

What does he mean by “mutual friend”? Dread seeps into his veins, slowing time to a crawl. Sine strolls past a set of doors on the far wall and hides behind one of the protruding metal beams. 

The minutes tick by, measured only in the sounds of leaky pipes and the groaning of a derelict building. Waiting, watching, feeling like a foot blindly searching for the next rung of a ladder that isn’t there. Grim’s thoughts spiral, dizzying, pulling him down into the pits of drug-induced sleep. 

In and out of consciousness, Sine’s voice rips through the vale. The next moments rush by like water in a stream, memories slipping through his fingers just as easily. 

He doesn’t know why he was let go, or even remember what you said. One fact remains in his frenzied mind as he staggers through the Undercity: you need help. 

Shredded knees and bloodied hands, he bolts toward the first human voices he hears. 

“ELI!” His mother cries as soon as he rounds the corner, running to catch him as he falls. 

He did it—he’s safe. 

He notices Ekko and another burly man standing close by, and relief washes over him at an alarming pace. Fearing he could fall asleep at any moment, he tugs the collar of his mother's shirt, urging her to listen. 

“I know you hate her, but she saved me. You need to help her, Mom! Please help her.”

“Where is she?” Ekko interjects, knowing instantly that he is talking about you. 

“T-the old factory—the bloody one…” Grim slurs, fading fast. 

It was up to them now to decipher what he meant. He did the best his frantic mind could muster. His mother looks to the others with pleading eyes.

“These knees haven’t run in a long time, but I can stay with him and call for help,” Ekko offers. 

She takes one last look at her son, kissing his forehead before making a makeshift pillow for him out of her jacket and placing it under his head. 

Ekko dials for the enforcers on his cell, anxiety twisting his face as he watches them sprint off. 

One last prayer echoes through Grim’s mind like a lullaby, singing him into slumber. 

I hope you’re ok. 

Silco

Molten breath fogs the window Silco faces with unseeing eyes, too stuck in his head to truly be aware of his environment. Face tense, brow furrowed, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Shadowy tendrils wisp off of him like smoke from a fire as his demon magic seeps through his cracking facade. 

Silco is seething. 

And you’re the cause. Of course, he could have handled that better—why didn’t he?! 

All of his bedroom furniture vibrates with the physical manifestation of his rage like a frightened animal. 

Precious and fleeting though it may be, life is worth living. Your life is worth everything. You see him and do not flinch. He is the visage of nightmares, yet you do not turn away; you embrace him in a grotesquely familiar way. 

Why did you have to wrap your fragile human hands around his demonic heart? Perhaps you remind him of himself in his past life. 

Damned if he knows. 

His face twitches and the glass cracks as the building groans under the building pressure of his unrestrained magic. 

Instead of staying by his side—staying safe—you’re running towards danger to get away from him. This feels fitting, somehow; like it’s what he deserves, and it cements his feet to the ground while his mind chases after you. 

A dusty, faded painting crashes to the floor as his mood grows more turbulent, finally pulling him from his stupor. Grumbling, he leaves his home in peace. He means to haunt the Lanes, but somehow always manages to fixate on the revolutionary statue like a nail to a magnet. 

What is it about this hunk of metal that draws him to it? He chose his name off the placard because it felt right. It’s the only thing that felt right in this new world. 

He knows he has lost so much—he feels it in his bones. He wonders as he peers at the metal figures before him. Was it a lover? A child—no, a daughter? Or perhaps a brother? 

He should tear the damn thing to shreds and be done with it! Someone already started; it wouldn’t be hard. But the flames of destruction peter out, extinguished by the cool breeze. With fresh air filling his lungs and caressing his face, he finds it hard to dwell on his emotions. 

Clean air mixed with earth from the sheer depth of the Lanes. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like victory running its fingers gently through his hair. 

Silco enters a familiar, meditative state, drinking his fill of lost memories at the fountain’s edge. Until the rushed sound of footsteps pounding across the stone ground pulls him back to the present, and his mind instantly thinks of you. 

Listening closer, there are two sets, their steps jumbling together in a cacophony of panic. With the stealth of a ghost, he hones in on their location and stalks them from the rooftops. 

Something is happening in his Undercity, he feels it bubbling in his chest like one of those infernal fizzy drinks everyone is obsessed with nowadays. 

He watches intently as the large man and blond woman bolt through the gate Silco himself broke. Why here, of all places? Did they not take the violence as a sign?

Silco grits his teeth as he prepares for another massacre. But when the pair enter the building, a scream follows soon after. Silco’s in the factory within the flutter of a butterfly's wing, rushing to the source with inhumane speed. 

He expected blood, he expected death, but he did not expect you. Your final breath rattles from your lungs and he just stands there. An all-powerful demon, completely helpless to save your already extinguished life. 

Silco pushes the woman out of the way roughly, cuts his palm with one of his claws, and places it on your stomach. Red light pulses from him into you, but nothing happens. He growls, high-pitched and broken as he fruitlessly tries to revive you with every ounce of magic he has. 

The crimson glow fades with a fizzle, taking his hope with it. Bowed and bent, he cradles you in his arms. The familiar feeling sparks something within—a memory. A recent one, at that. 

You talked of a scientist, didn’t you? If he could help a demon, it’s possible he could revive you. Is it mad and desperate? Yes. But you’ve left him no choice. 

With the look of a war-torn man, he rises, determined to carry you into the next life. The burly man looks to block his way but thinks twice about it, instead running to check on the woman. 

It’s the best decision he could have made. Silco is in a mood that would obliterate all who stand between him and this scientist. 

He walks to the place where the maniac fell all those nights ago holding your broken mask. The physical trail is long gone, but a demon’s senses are far superior to humans’. Even from a good distance away, he can smell the rotten decay of magic and meat. He follows the scent deep into the Lanes until he comes upon the cavern. Viridescent light seeps out of the mouth with echoes of someone tinkering within. 

Silco’s heavy footsteps are greeting enough, and when he stands in the middle of a cluttered laboratory with a surgical table in the middle, he feels an odd sense of nostalgia. 

“I see you too have forsaken death,” rasps the huddled form of a man emerging from a side alcove. 

Silco can see the human underneath the monstrosity of black oozing veins creeping up the man’s neck and face. The skull of one, perhaps. 

Silco brings forth your body, laying it on the table with utmost care. 

“Help her,” Silco commands with fire behind his eyes. 

The man drags himself closer and examines your body with a series of pokes and prods. “How much for the body?”

Silco grabs the man by his throat, snarling over him. “Bring her back to life!”

When Silco releases his hold, the man lets out a wheezy cough, desiccated hands leaning heavily on the table’s edge for support. 

“It would change her, possibly beyond recognition. The past experiments were quite—“ the man takes a long, gurgling breath, “unpredictable. This may be a side effect of the shimmer; the compound is as chaotic as the results.”

“Would another power source work?”

“If it is stable, the subject might undergo less transformation,” the decrepit man nods. 

Silco holds out his palm, igniting a blood-red, magical flame. The scientists' eyes light up and the veins crawling up the side of his neck wriggle and pulse with excitement. 

The cogs of his mind go to work, all too eager to begin his next experiment. With the flick of his wrist, one of his sharp nails slices a gash into the flesh of your arm but sighs dejectedly as the wound barely bleeds. Limping over to one of his many tables of equipment, he peers into a large, hand-written book. 

He mutters to himself as he runs a shaky finger over the page, “...blood from the living body.”

Silco’s conviction wavers, and he sinks further into despair. Looking down at your cold corpse, he hates himself for what he said to you. 

Spewing endless poison without an ounce of the care that resides deep within his cold heart; that’s the last impression you had of him. He wonders if you loathed him in the end. Gently, he removes the strands of hair covering your face, trailing a claw down your cheek as his face trembles, threatening to break. 

The scientist teeters over, pulling a tray table with a scalpel, fabric scissors, and medical pliers on it. Without an ounce of care, he goes to work, cutting a long line up your sleeve. 

“Silco, please fetch her blood from the freezer,” he asks as he hastily discards your bloody clothing. 

Silco’s demeanor perks up, hope restored. Confused about how he came in possession of such a thing but unwilling to question it, Silco remains vigilant as he strides to the large commercial freezer. It was big enough to hide a large human body, and it probably has at some point. 

Cautiously, he opens the hinged lid. Cold air freezes his face as he peers in. Vials upon vials of blood fill the interior, each with a different name. Yours is close to the end of an unfinished row, but surprisingly not the last. 

Did every one of these people willingly give him his blood? Unlikely—but he knows you did. You would do anything for the people you care for, even if you wouldn’t admit it. That’s where he was wrong. There is a fine line between suicidal and selfless. To be honest, Silco himself does not know where it lies, and he shouldn’t have pushed so hard. 

The lid closes with a heavy thump, and he offers the vial to the scientist. It quickly exchanges hands and is placed on the tray beside the scalpel, rolling to clank against the raised lip. The scientist works with surprisingly deft hands, and your naked body is exposed to the ambient air in no time. 

Without consulting Silco, the man begins to carve runes into your skin with the scalpel. Starting from your wrists, and traveling up your arms. 

Uncomfortable with how he’s handling you, Silco’s skeptical mind returns. “How did you know my name? Did she tell you about me?”

The man wheezes, and Silco cannot tell if it is from humor or bad lungs. “How much do you remember?”

Silco sneers at the strange question, defenses rising. But seeing you on the table made him remember his promise. 

“I remember nothing of my life before, only the carnage of the spell that brought me back to this world and everything that has happened since.”

The scientist hums, one brow raising with interest. “That is unfortunate, old friend. We accomplished quite a lot together before your untimely death. You may call me Singed.”

Silco blinks, stunned that this man has the answers he’s been looking for. Then, confusion twirls his mind in knots. 

“You knew me as Silco… before my death?” he asks for confirmation. 

Singed nods, continuing his work all the while. The runes are running down both your arms and one of your legs so far. 

That statue, those people—they call to him from beyond the grave, through the infinite webs the magic has weaved to shield him from the truth. It is no wonder he keeps finding himself at its fountain edge—why the deep, sinking loss weighed like an anchor on his soul. 

Nothing breaks a man more than love and loss. 

Singed finishes the line of runes down your torso and the scalpel clangs as he drops it onto the metal tray, his good eye closely inspecting his work. Next, he shatters the glass vial on the tray, picks up bits of frozen blood with pliers, and places them in some of the wounds in your abdomen. Singed thinks deeply for a moment before remembering the last step, then fastens the table’s straps firmly around your wrists and ankles.

Satisfied, he looks to Silco. “Empower the runes with your magic. It is imperative you do not stop until the magic has run its course. The transformation will be torturous, but, as we know, you cannot have eternal life without pain.”

Steeling his heart, Silco holds his palm just above your damaged abdomen. He falters as he thinks it through one last time. Would you even want this? 

Could you forgive him if you come back as a monster? 

He grits his teeth, the tension showing at his temples. Damn you! Damn you for dying on him. Damn you for growing on him like mold. 

Selfish though it may be, he has to try. 

Shadows seep from Silco’s form and his hand begins to glow as his power gathers. The room dims unnaturally, and Singed steps back just before a needle of red-hot light shoots into your body. 

A crimson wave of magic whips through the room when Silco’s hand is pulled flush with your wounds by the wild magic. The light spreads through the marks on your skin like wildfire until your whole being is lit from within. Wind howling, loose pages swirling around the room, glassware clatters and crashes to the floor while bolts of red lightning shoot from the illuminated runes and ricochet around the room like ethereal bullets. 

Singed quickly retreats behind a heavy door leading deeper into the cave, bony hands held above his ducked head for protection. Silco’s magic continues to build, a thaumaturgic tornado full of broken glass, torn paper, and scarlet hail. 

The destruction and sheer intensity are a window to what’s within him. Too much to control, he lets loose an inhuman roar as he unwillingly transforms into his demonic form. He towers over you like the beast he is, eyes and horns blazing with ruby flames as his torn clothing flaps in the arcane windstorm. 

Ethereal and dancing like the sparks of molten steel, Silco pours himself into you, willing to tear himself apart to imbibe you with new life. 

[roxnpens]

Firefly

Chapter Five: First small Success

TW: [Gore], [bodily harm]

Chapter summery

Your shoulder its hurt, your mood? Don’t start. But a certain somebody certainly is full of surprises…

Taglist:

@juniper-sunny @deny-the-issue @fantadym @mmartos @astudyincontrasts @averagecrastinator @ace-of-zaun @artwithvivien @zaunitekiwi @x-amount-verbs @chaoticlicense @silcoitus @sirenofzaun @spoczkot @writingmysanity

——————-

——

I’ve seen your face around here

Come alone, tell me under the table

What do you seek?

Welcome to the playground,

follow me

- Bea Miller, Arcane, League of Legends - Playground -

——

___________

Silco carried you the way from the River-Side-Area to the Last Drop. Upon arrival at the Last Drop all eyes were on you - again - this time in shock and horror seeing the knife embedded in your shoulder. Silco sits you down in his booth.

“Sit down - Princess, I’ll get the first aid package.” His calm tone was indeed calm for yourself. But you couldn’t let that nickname slide.

“My name is not “princess“ either.”

As he was leaving, Silco smirked over his shoulder. “Suit yourself - PRINCESS.”

You give him a groan of displeasure and leave it at that. At least you don’t try to kill each other anymore. You sit back into the upholstered seating area, but moving still is a bad idea. The short way from sitting upright to sitting back is very hurtful - did the knife hit a nerve or what?

Silco comes back with a few items: bandages, some tapes, disinfectant (namely the worst vodka you have - the one that’s not drinkable because it’s disgusting) and whiskey - one of the best bottles you have on your shelf. Upon arrival, he places all the items on the nearby table.

“Undress” he says and turns away to fetch two tumblers. Your eyes grow big.

What did he say??

He turns back to you. “Must I repeat myself? Undress.”

“Uhm no? Are you a pervert or what?”

“Undress. I know you always wear a tank top underneath.”

You were gobsmacked. How did he know? He was not wrong to be honest.

Silco rolls his beautiful cerulean eyes. “To answer your next question: I know because I’m more observant than you think. Now: Undress!”

Without contradictions, you do as he tells you on one side while he helps you on the other side. Then he hands you a cooled tumbler with whiskey.

“Drink up and don’t stop till I can see the crystal clear bottom of this glass,” he says, holding the rest of your shirt with one hand while taking a sip of whiskey himself.

After you finished the glass in one go, you looked sideways at him. “Say, Silco, have you done this before? I mean getting a knife out of someone?”

He slips you a smile and puts some of the vodka on the wound.

“Fortunately for us - I have. Now hold still; this might sting a little.”

With that, he pulls the knife out in one go which has you screaming between clenched teeth. Silco immediately puts more vodka into the wound and presses a fresh towel onto the wound. The story of your injury must have reached Vander, because he comes running right at the both of you.

“Shit, Silco, what happened to her - why is she injured???” he asks out of breath.

Silco takes a moment to think.

“She… saved me. The knife was meant for me. I was a little careless.” he admitted. Then Silco applied a compress then a can of beer and binds it with extensive pressure. Vander leaves you both to it and goes back to the bar. You marvel at his work.

“Have you been a doctor in one of your former jobs?”

He chuckles. “No…” Suddenly he hesitates “… I have an acquaintance… who is medically trained. He taught me a few things.” He takes another sip of his whiskey.

“Oh… good to know who I can come to when I have to save your butt from incoming knives again.” You smirk and the whiskey you had drunk slowly fulfills its purpose - you begin to get sleepy and fall asleep in Silco’s corner.

A few days pass and your shoulder begins to get better. It still hurts, but at least you can work again as bar manager - you trained two more bartenders (and Vander) and kept the place clean for customers. Silco checks up on you sometimes and asks about your shoulder. Then one day - Vander suddenly calls all rebels to the Drop in the middle of the day. Many men and women come together for this occasion - even Silco, who called in sick at work today. He throws you his signature smile and you answer it by smiling back.

He comes up to the counter. “Hey there, bar girl…” another sly smile on his lips “… can I get some water? Seems like my throat is a little sore…”

Bar girl? His nicknames for you get more creative with each time you meet.

“Sure, little baby boy - I’ll get you something for your throat.” You smile at yourself and Silco huffs shortly.

You get a little glass and mix whiskey, lemon juice and some honey together. An old recipe from your mom… she told you to drink this when you’re older, but that it will heal any cold symptoms.

You put it before Silco and also get him a glass of water.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early for a drink?” He picks the up glass with the mixture and turns it a few times. “…what is that by the way, sweetness?”

First bar girl - now sweetness? … well can’t say you don’t like it…

“An old family recipe against a cold… drink up and you’ll be as good as new,” you say in an attempt to still make this professional.

“If you say so…” Silco winks at you and empties the glass. Then he turns around to face the others. Suddenly the room is quiet as Vander walks in with a big map of the Undercity.

“Listen folks as you all know: if we do nothing - we get nothing…” he makes a pregnant pause “… so Silco and I thought about a few things and came up with a plan. Silco and our fantastic bar manager over there…” he points at you “… figured out that the Enforcers were transporting something that they defended quite specifically. So… we did some more digging and in about two days another convoy will come by… taking this route.” Vander lines out the trail of the convoy.

“We planned to ambush them here - at the corner of the market alley and this little brothel. There are a lot of possibilities to hide and seek shelter from the enforcers in certain areas.”

The market alley - one of the places where they would most likely expect an ambush. It would be a good idea if it wasn’t so obvious. The enforcers WILL cover this weakness for sure - you know this… you were one of them once…

“Anyone against this plan? Details follow when most of us agree,” Vander added.

You should keep your mouth shut. You MUST keep your mouth shut or they will find out that you were one of them… once with the enemy.

But you can’t. You can’t let them walk straight into their demise. Straight into the arms of the grim reaper who will shoot them down with iron weapons.

“I’m against it.”

The whole room was silent as you raised your objection.

Shit… you hate this attention on yourself.

Vander quirks an eyebrow. “Ookaay? What's wrong with it? Silco said it’s literally bulletproof.”

“Well for one…” You feel very VERY uncomfortable… “… since we interrupted their routes last time, even though by accident, they will be more on the lookout for all of us. Second…” Your finger rounds the market alley on the map. “… if I were an enforcer - I’d look out for myself especially in this area. The criminal rate in the area is not secret to anyone - so if we’re them: I’d EXPECT an ambush right here and prepare myself with smoke bombs and short range weapons. Hence why… I think this area is not the very best spot to ambush them.”

Now you’re being stared at. BY EVERYONE!

Nicely done, idiot…

"Oh, really? You think they’d expect us especially there?” Silco’s face told you that he wanted to choke the life out of you right now, since you picked apart his nice and neat plan right in front of everyone.

You’re really an idiot….

Silco’s eyes narrowed you down. “How would you do this then?”

You took a short minute to look at the map. There was a really narrow road a few blocks down from the market. Only the convoy vehicle could fit there and if you could block their path somehow, then take care of the guards and THEN disable the tracking device… you should be able to make it.

Silco sucks air into his lungs, coughs a little and is about to tear you down, when you quickly begin to talk.

“Well… see this area?” You point at the narrow road. “I’d try the operation right here. This narrow road is perfectly suited to stop the convoy. We need to get the convoy to stop about here, then take out the guards - which should be easy, since they can’t walk beside the convoy to protect it. The last steps to disable the convoy’s tracking device and get the hell out of there… then it should work… I think. I don’t have any details yet, but give me some time and information about this little passage of the road and I can fix a plan, I think…”

The room is still silent and the only two people who are not staring open mouthed at you are Silco and Vander. They looked highly concentrated at the map to imagine what you plan would look like in detail. Finally, Vander speaks again.

“How long would you need to have the plan ready for execution?”

“Depends on how much time I have left till the convoy gets there..." you answer.

“About seven days,” Vander asks a little into his own thoughts.

“Hm…” you consider everything before you “… about four days and two to build any tools we need for our plan.”

“Good… then you’ll have the lead on that. But take care of that shoulder will you?”

You roll your eyes… Everybody has to keep reminding you about injuries… little did they know you already trained with a stiff neck and open cuts on your back….

”Yeah - gonna keep it in mind.”

Vander smirks, “Good. Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

The rebels leave in all directions but you can still feel Silco’s stare in your back, like a cube of ice slowly rolling down your spine.

A hand suddenly forcefully pats your shoulder blade and you can barely resist the urge to scream. You turn your head only to see Silco’s eyes staring down on you, but instead of being scared, his cerulean eyes lock you into their spell again. You both stare at each other for a while, Silco’s hand resting on your shoulder, his eyes searching for something in yours or trying to come to a decision about you and you… can’t keep your eyes off his.

From one moment to another, he lets go and only two words leave his mouth.

”Follow me.”

You follow him, out of The Drop and along some streets you’ve never walked. He stops at an old Underwater entrance to a maritime lookout - left behind by Piltover years ago.

”Come,” he says and holds the gate open for you. Your gaze goes from him to the gate, to the entrance and back to him before you enter.

‘What a lovely place to kill someone and get rid of his corpse… hopefully he didn’t mind the thing at the gathering too much,’ you think and doubts fill your mind.

You both walk through a dark underwater corridor, where a door is opened at the end and light shines through the gap of the open door.

A man sits in the middle of a small laboratory, seemingly unaware of your presence, researching something.

Silco is the first to talk: “Singed… I have someone who needs your nimble fingers.“

The man who Silco called ‘Singed‘ turns around and eyes you. He was just as slim as Silco, but less trained than the charismatic mine worker. He eyes you up and down with the schooled eye of a doctor, that much you could gather from Singed’s gaze.

“Next room,” Singed whispered and only now you see the sleeping child next to his lab-desk. She looks so calm and peaceful, you cannot help but stare at her and envy her calm sleep.

That little smile on your face sneaks in without you even noticing, until Silco whispers in a calm, rumbly voice: “It’s rude to stare at sleeping people - at least that much your parents should have taught you.”

You snap out of your little trance.

“Yeah… right… sorry…”

Together with Silco and Singed, you walk into the next room. There, Singed indicates for you to sit on a chair.

“Silco… you bring someone here… a rarity for you. I assume that this is a stab wound?” Singed's surprisingly soft voice surprises you and you look at Silco, waiting for his answer. Singed was right - it was uncharacteristic for Silco to help someone so much.

Silco turns his head away and mutters, “None of your business… just get it done please.”

He walks back to the lab and closes the door behind him.

“Free your shoulder… it shouldn’t take long. The stab is a bit deeper, but will heal in no time once treated,” Singed stated and prepared a little operating procedure. In the matter of 20 minutes the wound sealed.

You can barely lift your shoulder, but you couldn’t do that before either.

You put on most of your clothes again, except for your jacket and extend your non-injured hand towards him.

“Thanks, Singed."

Singed shakes your hand in return, “A young lady with manners… a rare sight down here.”

“I wouldn’t have brought her here if she didn’t know how to behave…”, Silco states, suddenly leaning against the doorframe in the open door. He pushes himself off the doorframe and signals you to come along, “…no need to bother the good doctor more than you already have, Lucky Loser.”

“Hey, knock it off, Silly.”

“Don’t push your luck… or I give you a nice pat on this bandaged shoulder of yours.”

“Just for the record: you started this.”

Silco sighs and together you leave the maritime lookout.

[ilikemymendarkandfictional]

About Me 💜

Tagged by @silcoitus and @juniper-sunny

Nickname: Kels

Sign: Taurus

Height: 5'2"

Last Google search: "Do you capitalize 'the force'" (this is your doing June)

Song stuck in your head: Flowers by Miley Cyrus because I hear it about 4 times a day at least

Followers: I have 80 on my writing blog (OMG), don't really care how many for main

Lucky Number: 42. It is the answer to everything.

Sleep: Anywhere from 6 to 8ish hours usually

Dream Job: I would love to work in a library

Wearing: Jeans and and Avengers shirt

Favorite Songs: This changes daily, but lately I've been listening to Summertime Sadness by Lana Del Ray a lot

Aesthetic: Usually a T-shirt and various types of pants depending on weather and laundry status. But purple and daisies is my general vibe for everything else.

Favorite Author: I don't know if I have one. I read so many different ones.

Favorite Color: Purple

Favorite Animal Sound: My kitty says mrrrch all the time, which has become a common noise amongst our family

Last Song: Whatever was playing on the radio when I left my car. I don't remember.

Last Series: Bunheads! Been rewatching it with my mother.

Random: I have a buying problem when it comes to hobbies. The amount of books and diamond paintings I have is concerning.

Tags: @photogirl894 @monako-jinn-stories @deny-the-issue and whoever else wants to do it

[ink-and-dagger]

Banner by @kikorenart 🖤

Drink With Me 🥃

[Main fic link 👆🏼 ]

Silco x Fem!Reader | Explicit, NSFW | Wc: 138K Slow Burn | Tension | Romance | Drama | Cocky Bartender Reader | Humour | Eventual Smut | Found Family

The Lanes never sleep.

The sunken streets may lie beneath Piltover’s heavy shadow, and the faults are numerous and deadly; but no one can claim that the Undercity is boring. 

There is always colour to be found, if you know where to look.

It’s something you pride yourself on – the ability to see what others can’t. Some mistake it for simple optimism. But you know it’s more than just that. It’s the thing that’s kept you alive this long, in more ways than one. You've always been happy to go wherever life has taken you, and you're a big believer in gut instinct.

But you never expected to end up working as a bartender at The Last Drop – having been scouted by a blue haired girl who wouldn't take no for an answer.

Neither did you expect to find yourself landed with the terrifying task of ensuring Silco's personal drinks cart is kept well stocked.

And you certainly never expected to find yourself inadvertently become the weekly drinking partner of the Eye of Zaun himself.

One More Round 🥃

Bonus content set during DWM:

Silco's Weird Habit - Headcanon

Smoking Short - ft. Artwork by Kofemate

Chapter 8.5

Chapter 8.75

Silco POVs:

First Sight - Silco POV

Pretty - Silco POV

Once or Twice - Silco POV (NSFW)

Our Love - Silco POV

Perfume - Silco POV (Chapter 10)

Red - Silco POV (Chapter 14) - ft. Artwork by Aromansoul

Bonus content set after DWM:

Silver Fox - Post DWM Ficlet

Brushing Silco’s hair drabble

To Do List - Post DWM Ficlet NSFW

Fluffy bracelet drabble

Reading Glasses - Post DWM Ficlet

VIP Booth - Post DWM Ficlet NSFW

Backseat Bumpers - Post DWM Ficlet NSFW

Shag Rug - Post DWM Ficlet NSFW

A Toast to the New Year - Post DWM NYE drabble

Admin - Post DWM drabble

Happy Valentine’s Silco, Sweetie - Post DWM Holiday Ficlet semi-NSFW

Drunk with me - Post DWM Ficlet

Insomnia - Post DWM Ficlet NSFW

Morning After - Short follow-on from Insomnia NSFW

Snapshot - Post DWM Ficlet

DWM Alternative Universes:

Blackout - Chapter 8 Death AU

DWM - The Virgin AU - Part 1 // Part 2

DWM Young Revolutionary AU

Last Drop - Chapter 17 Death AU

Foam - Modern AU Coffee Shop Domestic Fluff

The ‘If-Reader/Astrid-had-never-slept-with-Marcus’ AU

Chapter 9 Strip Poker AU

Five sentence Astro ficlets:

Astrid helping Silco to shave

Astrid has Silco gagged part 1 - NSFW

Astrid has Silco gagged part 2 - NSFW

Silco has Astrid gagged - NSFW

Astrid surprises Silco with lingerie

Fan Art 🥃

Because this fandom is far too talented and generous for it’s own good, I’ve had to move all fan art links over to a separate post. To feast your eyes on all the glorious, sumptuous DWM artwork then please visit…

The Drink With Me Fine Arts Gallery✨🎨🥃

Videos 🥃

DWM as told by Vine Part 1

DWM as told by Vine Part 2

DWM as told by Vine Part 3

Silco x Astrid friendship as told by Trixie & Katya

Drunk Astrid Cosplay - Chapter 9 live-action TikTok (Lizzthefrizzzz) Part 1

Drunk Astrid Cosplay - Chapter 9 live-action TikTok (Lizzthefrizzzz) Part 2

Fool that I am - Original song by The Siren of Zaun

Miscellaneous 🥃

Astrid Character Profile - ft. Artwork by Kikorenart (Astrid & Silco)

Jasper Character Profile

Max Character Profile

DWM Playlist

Drink With Me Spanish Translation 🇪🇸

Astrid Cosplay - Silcoitus

Astrid Cosplay - Lizzthefrizzzz

Astrid Cosplay - Lunaoticworld

Astrid’s Gala Gown

[purplefangirl42]

Who We Were (Part 3)

Series Summary: Silco has returned to take over Vander’s position as leader of the Undercity, only to find himself facing a new challenge. The woman that had once been devoted to him wants nothing to do with him. Can he convince her or have things changed too much in his absence?

Pairings: Post Act 1 Silco/OC (Olillia), Implied past Sevika/OC, Young Silco/OC

Parts: Series Masterlist || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Injury, Blood, Needles, Grief, Loss of Limb Mention

A/N: I made a playlist for this story! The link to it is on the masterlist if you would like to check it out. I also have a song specifically for this chapter (mostly the flashback part). Listen here. Much thanks to a friend of mine for introducing me to it. Thank you to @silcoitus​ and @deny-the-issue​ for beta-reading!

The noise of construction was one that quickly got annoying. Sevika scowled as she entered the work zone that The Last Drop had become. The constant banging and crashing that filled the space didn’t do her raging headache any favors. Her latest micro-dose of shimmer was starting to wear off, soreness creeping into her muscles. Sevika rolled her good shoulder and tilted her head to crack her neck before walking across the room to the foot of the stairs and trudging up them to the upper level.

Sevika hoped Silco was in a better mood than he had been the past few days. Whenever she checked in during her recovery, he was snappy and quick to dismiss her. She would have thought that his success would have put him in a better mood, but something seemed to be interfering with the sense of victory. She had an inkling that Lil’s continued absence had something to do with it.

When she reached the door to Silco’s new office, Sevika raised her hand and rapped her knuckles on the frame. The low ‘come in’ from the other side encouraged her to enter. She shut the door behind her and moved to stand before the desk sitting in front of the window. The high-backed chair on the other side spun around to face her, revealing Silco. 

“Sevika. How is your healing going?”

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug and gestured to her left shoulder. The implant site was still healing and hurt more than she could put into words.

“I still have some healing to do before anything else can be added. The biggest issue is getting used to only having one hand for the time being.”

Silco hummed before leaning forward to grab the cigar from the gray ashtray on his desk. He brought it to his mouth and lit it before turning his attention back to her again.

"The doctor has shown great progress in his healing, so hopefully, he should be able to help you soon and expedite the process."

Silco turned his chair away from her and focused his gaze on the ceiling. Sevika followed his gaze and found nothing. He must be in a melancholic mood rather than the snappy one of the past few days. The longer he was forced to wait for Lil to return, the stranger his attitude became.

“Sir?” 

Silco only hummed again, indicating that he heard her.

“Is there something you need?”

Silco blew his cigar smoke upwards toward the rafters before turning his gaze toward her.

"Answers would be nice. It's been nearly a week, and I haven't heard anything from Ollilia, either positive or negative.”

“What kind of answer are you expecting?” Sevika asked. “Do you want her to come running in here and lay herself at your feet? Because she’s not going to.”

Silco scowled at her and snubbed out his cigar. He leaned forward across his desk and pinned her with a glare. 

“You led me to believe that she would. Instead, I found her gathering a group to come after me in Vander’s defense. When I went to her apartment to talk to her alone, she attacked me with a staff and shoved me into a wall.”

“You tried to touch her, didn't you?"

“I grabbed her arm. She had never been aggressive like that before. Where did that come from?”

Sevika’s eyes flicked away from him, avoiding his gaze.

“I’m assuming you had something to do with that?”

“A pretty waitress at the busiest bar in the lanes, she was often the center of many people's attention. Especially after you disappeared.”

“Me? What difference would my presence make?”

Sevika looked back at him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you seriously asking that? She may as well have been wearing a sign that said ‘Property of Silco: Do Not Touch' when you were around. No one dared come near her. But, once you were gone, they flocked towards her like vultures."

“I can say that it wasn’t intentional.”

Sevika didn’t believe it for a second. If his current behavior was any indication, he definitely felt he deserved Lil's attention. She knew that wasn't a new phenomenon and that he wouldn't have tolerated having competition. She hadn't personally experienced the ire from encroaching on what Silco viewed as his territory, as she hadn’t made her move until after he was long gone. She had seen a few gutsy idiots scurry away from The Drop when they had built up the courage to approach Lil, only to be chased off by Silco’s piercing gaze and intimidating nature.

“Whether it was or not, your influence didn’t last long once she returned. She needed a way to make them back off. So I worked with her until she felt confident she could take care of herself."

“Wait…once she returned?”

Sevika stared blankly at Silco. As intelligent as he was, he sure missed a lot.

"She didn't stick around after your 'death.' When Vander returned and said what happened, she took off. Nearly did your job for you before she did too."

Sevika saw Silco’s head tilt in confusion before his eye widened as he realized the meaning behind her words. He truly didn’t seem to know how much he meant to Lil. She hoped this information would get it into his head.

“I found her by the river and brought her home. After that, she was awol. I didn't see her for at least a year after that, and it was another two before she set foot in the Last Drop again. Don't be surprised if it takes her time to warm up to you again."

She could see the disappointment in Silco’s face. She could tell that he thought getting himself into Lil's good graces would be easy.

“If she was so bothered by what happened, why was she gathering forces against me? Why would she go save Vander?”

“I honestly don’t think she was doing it for Vander,” Sevika said. “When I left the bar, I could tell she was itching to follow me out.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“Because just like Vander, the kids were holding her back. They were the only reason she came back in the first place. She cared about them, including the brat you brought back.”

“Yet she said she has no claim over her as a mother.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” Silco scoffed. “Everything is complicated with her.”

With her?

Sevika rolled her eyes. If he continued with that attitude, he wouldn’t get very far with Lil if he tried to talk to her again.

“If she does decide to come back, keep in mind that she tried to attack a man twice her size while she had an injured shoulder for you.”

Lil hissed in pain as she plopped down on the booth Sevika had led her to. After Silco’s departure, Sevika had appeared to finish tending to the wound on Lil’s shoulder. Agreeing that the warehouse was much too crowded, the pair of them had made their way back to the Last Drop in a torrential downpour.

“Your bandage got all wet,” Sevika said, pulling away what remained of the part of Lil’s shirt covering her shoulder.

“I’ll fix it later. Leave it alone for now,” Lil said, waving Sevika’s hands away. “Get me something to drink.”

Sevika stood from her crouch at Lil's side and made her way over to the bar. Lil leaned her head back against the booth, closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths. She tried to think about anything but the searing pain in her shoulder. She hadn't taken anything to help lessen it, leaving the available meds for people that needed them more than she did. What she needed most was rest, but she wanted to see Silco again before that happened. 

Lil’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the front door of the bar slamming open. Vander stood in the doorway, absolutely drenched. He was breathing heavily and clutching his right forearm. Sevika abandoned her mission behind the bar and rushed to his side. 

“He’s bleeding a lot,” she said. “Lil, I need your help!”

Lil stood stiffly from her seat in the booth and moved as fast as she could across the bar to grab the emergency med kit from behind it as Sevika guided Vander into a chair. She tossed a towel across the room into Sevika's waiting hands, which was pressed on Vander's forearm to slow his bleeding. Lil crossed the room again, pulling over another chair with her uninjured arm. She sat in front of Vander and opened the kit on the table.

“What happened?” she asked. “Have you been bleeding like this since the bridge?”

Vander wouldn't look at her, only shaking his head in answer to her question. Lil pursed her lips and got to work on tending his wound. When Sevika removed the towel, Lil could see that it was a long clean slice. Not jagged or surrounded by other injuries that would signify where he got it. If she had to guess, it was likely a slash from a knife.

After cleaning it, Lil threaded the needle and moved to stitch the sides together. Having just gone through this herself, she should have been prepared for Vander's violent recoil to the pain of the needle piercing his skin. He nearly pulled his arm out of her grip, its retreat only stopped by Sevika intervening and holding it still.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to numb it. Most of the supplies are at the warehouse.”

Vander nodded for her to continue, so Lil started her stitching job again. When she was satisfied, she tied it off and covered it with a bandage to keep it clean. Her eyes roved over Vander’s form, searching him for more injuries. His soaked clothing didn’t give her any indication he was bleeding anywhere else on his body. As her gaze skimmed over his midsection, she saw a hole on the side of his shirt. She reached out and touched the spot, causing Vander to recoil again.

“He’s got another wound,” she said to Sevika. “Help me get his shirt off so I can look at it.”

Sevika moved to do as Lil asked, but Vander placed his large hand on her shoulder, stopping her movement. 

“Leave it.”

“Vander…” Lil started.

“I said leave it,” he snapped at her. 

Lil flinched at his tone. Vander had never treated her with anything but kindness, never raised his voice at her. He looked at her for the first time since he entered the bar, likely having seen her flinch. His gaze softened, and as Lil looked into his eyes, she could see something dark lingering in them.

Pain. Regret.

At that moment, it struck her that someone was missing. Silco had left her at the warehouse to presumably talk to Vander. Here was Vander. With no Silco. 

“Vander…” she said. “Where is Silco?”

Lil could see the dark shadows on his face increase in intensity as he averted his gaze again. Vander stood from his chair, stumbling away from where she and Sevika were still sitting. Lil imitated his actions and stood from her chair, but her feet remained glued to the floor.

"Where is he?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly as her mind raced through every horrible scenario she could think of.

“He’s gone,” was Vander’s only reply as he grabbed a bottle from behind the counter and took a large swig of it.

“Gone? Gone where?”

The bottle shattered as Vander slammed it down on the countertop. He braced his hands against the surface, his large shoulders heaving as he took a deep breath before speaking again.

“He’s dead, Lil.”

Lil felt her heart stop at his words. Her breath caught in her throat, and she began to sway where she stood. She felt Sevika's steadying hand on her lower back, preventing her from falling over.

Dead? How could he be dead? She had just seen him. He was alive. She felt his heartbeat as he carried her to safety. Felt the warmth of his hands as he held her face before he left.

“What…what happened?”

“I wanted to touch base and see where we should go from here. Things went horribly wrong tonight. Things need to change. I only wanted to talk.”

Vander turned towards her, his weight sagging to lean against the bar.

"He came at me. You know how his temper is. He stabbed me and slashed at me with his dagger. I tried retreating into the river to escape him, but he followed me. I was just going to hold him under long enough to slow him down so that I could get away."

Lil heard more than felt the sob escape her chest. Silco was dead. And Vander had killed him.

“How could you?” she asked, taking a step towards him. “He’s half your size. There’s no way he could fight you off!”

“I didn’t have a choice, Lil! He was trying to kill me!”

Lil tore her gaze away from him. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. 

“I was only trying to slow him down, but he was under for too long. He was gone before I knew what had happened.”

With an angry yell, Lil grabbed the knife at her hip and launched herself in Vander's direction. Despite his injuries, he reacted quickly, grabbing her wrist to stop her attack. Lil lashed out with her other hand, violently smacking his face and dragging her nails across it. She felt an arm wrap around her midsection, pulling her away from the man before her.

“Lil, stop!” Sevika shouted. “You’ll pull your stitches!”

“Let me go!” Lil screamed, trying to pull herself out of Sevika’s grasp. 

“Lil, please…” Vander said, taking a step towards her. “Please understand.”

“Understand?! You killed the man I love, your brother, and you want me to understand?!”

“It was an accident! I was only defending myself!”

Lil felt another sob escape her lungs as she collapsed against Sevika’s grip. The other woman pulled the knife from her hand and threw it away from her. Vander took another step towards them, holding his hands up defensively.

“If I could undo it, I would. I would give anything to bring him back.”

Lil stiffened in Sevika's arms and turned her face towards Vander again. Her mouth twisted in a snarl, and she spat a retort at him.

“It should have been you. This whole thing was your fault! The demonstration went wrong because of you!”

Sensing Sevika’s grip weakening, Lil pulled out of it, freeing herself. Rather than attacking Vander again like she desperately wanted to, she ran from the bar out into the downpour. She could hear Vander calling after her, but she didn’t stop. Ignoring the stabbing pain in her shoulder, Lil continued running through the streets of the Undercity. 

Lil knew they wouldn't be able to catch her even if they tried, but she couldn't stop. She eventually found herself at the edge of the polluted water of the River Pilt. She couldn't see much of anything in the darkness of the stormy night, but she tried in vain to search the surface for any sign of life.

“Silco!” she screamed as loud as her lungs would allow. “Silco! Answer me, please!"

She continued screaming his name, her cries quickly covered by the deafening thunder. Lil sank to her knees on the riverbed, streams of tears mingling with the rain running down her cheeks. Her throat ached from screaming, but choked sobs still rose to the surface. 

Lil's eyelids shot open as she awoke from her nightmare. The same one she'd been having all week. The first night, Mai had woken her up. She had told her she was screaming in her sleep. Now that she was back at her place, she wondered if the screaming had continued. She'd have to apologize to her neighbors.

Pulling the covers from her body, Lil climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. She turned on the sink and splashed cold water onto her face. When she looked at herself in the mirror above the basin, all she could see was exhaustion. Her eyes were red and wrinkled lines were forming in various places. The haunting memories were keeping her from getting the rest she needed. The conclusion she had reached was that staying away from Silco didn’t alleviate the problem as she thought it would. 

Perhaps the solution was constant exposure to his presence. Maybe that would soothe the aching spot in her heart. To see that he was alive. Vander had lied. He was still here. Things would never be the same, but knowing this was the truth and seeing it daily could help heal the tear that had reopened by seeing him again for the first time.

Lil highly doubted he was waiting on pins and needles for her response. If she waited long enough, he would find someone else. She had simply been the easier choice and available. 

Hopefully, it wasn't too late.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this part! Please reblog, like, and comment! I would really like to hear your thoughts! If you would like to be added to the taglist, go here.

Tags: @findinghiddentruths​ @photogirl894​ @ariaud​ @sherwood-forests​ @insult-2-injury​

[silcoitus]

I love all your fics sm, could you possibly write reader comforting silco after his lil breakdown in s1ep6?

ngl i feel like I'm Silco in this one and I need a reader to fix me

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Broken

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco x gn!reader; angst; hurt/comfort; emotional hurt/comfort; established relationship

Word count: 1.1k

Betas: @medic-simp @juniper-sunny

He told you not to come with him. To stay behind in case Jinx returned. 

You didn't like what you were seeing—the way he was starting to unravel at the ends, his perfectly manicured facade crumbling with each hour his daughter was missing. You had this feeling in your gut that it was all about to go sideways, that something awful was going to happen.

But you couldn't stop him.

So you stayed in his office, sitting in his chair and staring out the large circular window. Watching his figure striding with purpose on the streets below to disappear from your view.

Maybe you were wrong.

Maybe he would find her and bring her back home.

Maybe everything was going to be okay.

But you couldn't shake the feeling.

That this was the beginning of the end.

There's a steady thumping sound as your heel taps along the hardwood, knee bouncing erratically as you wait.

Sure, you have things you could be tending to, but your mind is elsewhere—it’s with Silco.

Will he find her?

What will happen if he does?

You could tell by how he had spoken of her recently that his grasp on her was slipping away, her attention instead on the sister she thought dead for years. Despite raising Jinx as his own, Silco could not fight the bond shared by blood—and it was driving him mad.

You don't move from your perch for a full hour. And even then, you only rise to your feet to pace the empty office, one arm barred across your stomach as the other crosses your chest, your front teeth making short, quick clicking sounds against the tip of your thumbnail. 

A nervous habit.

One Silco hated.

But he's not here to tell you to stop.

So you keep doing it.

Waiting.

Mealtime comes and goes without any change. Your stomach protests, but you ignore it. You've taken to searching Silco's desk, hands frantically rummaging through his things to see if there could be any clue as to where his daughter had disappeared to.

None of her old drawings give you any answers, a tidy pile of them in his bottommost desk drawer. And no amount of rifling through the contents of the safe (the one hidden behind the painting whose sole keepers are Silco and you) lead to any revelations.

You’re moments away from leaving to check Jinx’s workshop when the door to the office opens. Not with a bang, but with a slow, drawn-out creak.

You have one sleeve of your coat on when you look up to see Silco's figure standing in the doorway. His hair is a matted mess against his forehead, his makeup smeared with sweat, revealing the decaying, grey skin around his corrupted eye. There's dust and grime all along his coat, vest, and pants, and blood on his gold-toed boots.

“What happened?” you gasp, ditching your coat to the couchback in favor of running toward him. “Are you okay?”

He ignores you, shuffling past you. When he flops himself onto the red velvet cushions, puffs of dirt dance in the air to settle around him. Staring ahead of him, he seems devoid of light; you could almost swear that the glow of his volcanic orange eye seems dimmer.

“Silco…” you whisper, crouching to get eye-level with him.

He looks through you, the iris of his ruined eye drifting almost lazily, with none of the vigor you've come to know. 

You take both of his hands in yours, resting them on his lap as you study him. There's a tapestry of textures along his skin, dirt and grime and shimmer and blood. You squeeze his hands as your lips press together, waiting.

You never know what Silco you're going to get: the loud, snarling, erratic beast, all roars and teeth; or the silent, fuming, cold statue, impossible to read and even more impossible to crack. You've seen every side of this man, every emotion, every reaction. 

But still, sometimes, you struggle to know how to handle him. How to help him. 

It took you many years and many fights to realize that, most times, he simply wants you to listen.

So you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your knees are sore from where they dig into the rug, both your feet fallen asleep long ago. But you stay rooted to the spot, resolutely, dutifully holding his hands as he stares straight ahead. You wonder what thoughts are swirling in that head of his, what calculations he's running, what strategies he's testing and retesting. 

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“She's gone.”

You bite your tongue, allowing him to talk.

“I've lost her.” His voice feels so far away despite being right in front of you. A ghost of a whisper. A light, almost imperceptible breeze. “And I don't know if I can get her back.”

At last, his eyes move. They almost seem to stutter as they cast slowly—so slowly—down to meet your gaze. And when they lock with your eyes, you have to hold back a small whimper from escaping your lips.

Broken.

He looks so broken.

You've never seen him this bad before. In all your years—first under his employ, then as his partner—he’s never been this far gone. You could always count on a small, stubborn spark behind his eyes.

But that little flame is gone.

Replaced with deep obsidian, heavy and impenetrable.

“Oh, Silco…” you whisper, bringing one hand up to cradle his scarred cheek. 

Your touch breaks him further, cracking the dam of his resolve.

His good eye squeezes shut and his hands come up to his head, fingers tangling in his hair as he doubles over. 

He doesn't cry—you’ve never seen him cry. Instead, he tugs at his hair, his hands shaking and his breath quickening. His whole torso seems to almost vibrate with how he shakes under the massive weight of his grief.

You rise to your feet, a soft reassuring hum at your throat as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him toward yourself. The crown of his head presses to your stomach and he feels stiff in your arms, awkward and unresponsive. Rubbing circles into his back, you make soft cooing sounds as you try to calm him down, feeling so helpless.

“It's okay,” you whisper. “I've got you.”

Finally, he releases his hold on the graying tendrils of hair, his head pressing against you earnestly as he wraps both arms around your middle tightly. You return the embrace, your eyes squeezing shut as a tear escapes them. 

How you wish you could take this grief from him, endure it for him. You would suffer this pain tenfold if it meant he didn't have to.

But as you hold him in your arms, you know this is something he must overcome himself.

And when you feel warmth against your stomach—a faint dampness to the fabric of your shirt—you wonder if you'll ever be able to bring back that spark. 

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

[kikiiswashere]

WIP (not) Wednesday

Rules: post a snippet of a WIP. No more than 300 words.

Tagged by: @ace-of-zaun thank you friend!!!

Tagging: @witchypandamonium @sweatandwoe and @silcoitus (if you've already done it and don't want to do this again, please ignore :) )

Here’s an excerpt from the next chapter of Children of Zaun.

“Yes, she’s very smart,” Viktor affirmed. “When I go home for the weekends, she helps me with assignments and studying.”

Bone was unsurprised to hear that the student did not stay on campus permanently. There would be no way to afford it, even with the scholarship he was on.

Viktor’s feet awkwardly shuffled from side to side. Whether it was from anxiety or discomfort in his bum leg, Bone wasn’t sure. In any case, the boy spoke up.

“If you’ll excuse me, Professor, I n-need to go to the Hall of History. Professor Holgren’s exam is this afternoon and I would like to review more.”

“Of course, my boy!” Heimerdinger sang. “Please, don’t let two old men keep you from the pursuit of knowledge. Go then! Off with you!”

“Thank you. Nice to meet you Councilor, sir.”

Viktor dipped his head toward Bone again before hobbling away. His steps were hitched and painful at first, but smoothed out to a steady limp as his gait warmed up. The two Councilors watched the boy go.

“How is he doing?” Bone asked once Viktor was out of ear shot.

“He is the brightest the Preparatory school currently has,” Heimerdinger admitted. “Perhaps even brighter than the upperclassmen in the Academy. Extremely promising.”

Bone nodded, his eyes following Viktor’s angled shoulders as he slowly made his way toward the Hall of History.

“How are the other students with him?”

Hiemerdinger’s pause answered Bone clearly, but he eventually said, “He is struggling socially.”

Bone’s jaw tightened. He knew Viktor wasn’t struggling socially. He was struggling under Piltover’s prejudice.

“Shall we head to my office?” Heimerdinger asked.

[writingmysanity]

Rules: post a snippet of a WIP. No more than 300 words.

Eskel x reader (Kit) request by @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie hoping to have this out soon, lovely.

Voices waft through the open window, ringing out to the sound of an ill-plucked lute. Jaskier grumbles about the lack of respect for the instrument, eyeing his own lute. Today would be the perfect day to showcase his talents, and possibly make some extra coin. Geralt just shoves the Instrument into his hands with an exasperated sigh.

“You’re going to do it regardless, Jaskier. I don't understand why you don't just accept it as I have,” he grumbles before making his way back over to his pack, digging out a shirt, and sniffing it to see if it's clean. Eskel doesnt miss the way the bard’s face twists in disgust before he turns to give him a knowing look. 

“Thank gods, I know I washed that thing recently.” Geralt huffs.

“I heard that,” Geralt gripes, throwing his dirty shirt at his friend. Eskel watches him dodge the projectile, sticking his tongue out at Geralt like a child. 

“You were meant to, you lug.” 

“Is this normal?” he asks curiously, eyeing the pair. Without even so much a breath, they answer in unison. 

“Yes.” 

Shaking his head, Eskel shakes his hair out again, trying his best to style it nicely in the crude mirror that the inn provided, eyebrows pinching a bit in concentration. Jaskier pats his shoulder with a smile. 

“You think she’s ready?” Eskel shrugs.

“She isn't usually one to take very long to get ready,” he starts but pauses seeing the words forming on the bard's lips before they spill off his tongue. 

“Life on the path leaves little time for that,” Jaskier agrees. “But this is different.”

Tagging: @silcoitus @thesleepy1 @thedreamlessnights @aerynwrites @ace-of-zaun

You of course don't have to. Tempted to also put out snippets of my viktor x reader WIPs that aren't sanctuary. Perhaps later.

WIP (not) Wednesday

I did this yesterdaay already, but @amzngdevil & @dancingwiththefae tagged me (thank yooouuu 💚) and I always love sharing these snippets, I decided to do it again and not wait until next week.

Rules: post a snippet of whatever you’re currently working on, no more than 300 words, and tag five other writers

I already talke dabout the Steddie Stardust AU in my head and while I still have to finish the other one before I can concentrate on this, I already wrote a couple of sentences for this, soooo here it is

---

For centuries, he’d been looking down at the earth, had watched the humans go about their lives, and he’d grown more and more intrigued by them. He’d followed their stories, had cheered them on, but he’d never been a part of their lives. Sure, they’d always looked up to him and his siblings, because humans looked up to the stars to dream. Eddie on the other hand had looked down and wondered what it was like there. Most of all, he’d always wondered about love. Yes, he’d seen it, had seen the happiness on people’s faces, but he wanted to understand it. Maybe, it was too much to hope for experiencing that feeling, but it was possible. He’d heard stories about it.

He wasn’t the first star that fell to the earth because he wanted to be there, and he wouldn’t be the last, all of them with a certain mission. When they fulfilled their mission, they could stay among the living with the option to return when they were ready. If they didn’t succeed, they returned after fifty days to their place at the firmament to shine at night and give the humans hope.

Eddie’s mission was to fall in love and to be loved in return, because he’d chosen that path. Now in human form, he cast a look around, not sure where he was - but there was already someone out there looking for him. Steve wanted to find the fallen star to present it to Nancy as evidence of his love. Little did he know that he’d be faced with a human being and not just a necklace as he’d always heard.

---

No pressure tags: @writingmysanity @runningmunson @tellhound @dreamsoffilm @jesskier

[juniper-sunny]

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

Chapter 12

[silcoitus]

Erm hello. Idk if this has been requested yet by me or not but….

Silco x reader with a hand fetish maybe? Fingers in her mouth and all yk?

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Practiced Hands

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Explicit—Minors DNI

Tags: Young Silco, f!reader; hand and finger kink, semi-public sex, fingers in mouth, vaginal fingering, dirty talk

Word count: 1.7k

Betas: @juniper-sunny

You've always noticed how dextrous Silco is with his hands; the way he twirls his pencil or fiddles with his butterfly knife. One night, when you have The Last Drop to yourselves, you see just how good his hands truly are.

He doesn't even realize he's doing it.

Of course he doesn't realize. 

The man just oozes effortless swagger, innate charisma. Every movement is less like a gesture and more like a dance; everything he does somehow elegant.

You busy your hands, wiping down a tumbler with a rag, standing opposite Silco as he pours over his notebook. His eyes are pinned to the page while his elbow rests on the countertop, his butterfly knife twiddling between his long, deft fingers. He flicks it open and spins it around, not even looking at what he's doing. The metallic clatter and the swish of the knife through the air a steady rhythm, almost musical.

“Silco.”

“Hmm?”

He doesn't look up. The knife continues to dance between his fingers.

“You better be careful with that.”

“With what?”

He finally looks up, his hand still moving. Finally, his ocean green eyes look to his knife and back to you. He chuckles lightly before clicking the knife closed with a decisive flourish.

“What? Scared?”

You roll your eyes.

“Not for me. For you.”

“Please,” he says, picking up his pencil. He twirls that just as dexterously. “I can handle it.”

You let out a sigh before setting down the tumbler, throwing the rag over your shoulder and crossing your arms. Hip popped, you watch him return to his work as he idly fiddles with the pencil. 

Those long fingers of his move so quickly, so effortlessly, never once dropping the writing instrument. Something about the movement sends heat to pool in your belly and desire to rise in your chest.

He's been driving you insane ever since you joined the operation. His arrogance and dryness, his hot-one-minute-cold-the-next nature. You can't get a read on him, and yet you can't look away. And if that wasn't enough, the slight pout of his lips is begging for someone to kiss it—or better yet, lick it.

You shake off the thought, turning your back to him. As you tidy up the bar, Silco continues to work silently. A rare comfortable silence between the two of you, save for the jukebox humming lightly in the corner. 

Silco breaks that silence with a soft call of your name.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing after this?”

“I dunno,” you say without turning around. “Just heading home, I guess.”

You hear Silco stand behind you, the stool squeaking as it spins. His footsteps get closer and closer as he makes his way around the bar to join you. You're reaching up to replace a bottle to the top shelf, standing on your toes, when you feel something at your back. Soon, Silco's hand is on yours, taking the bottle from you.

“Here,” he says, his breath in your hair. “Let me get that for you.”

You turn, your nose brushing against the tip of his with how closely he stands to you. Your eyes dart between his two ocean green ones as his fingers wrap around yours, tugging the bottle free before setting it down.

“There you go,” he hums.

“Thanks,” you whisper, heels returning to the floor, making Silco seem even taller.

His hand lingers on yours, his free one snaking around to your hip. Your heart races in your chest, firelights in your stomach.

“You know,” he coos. “The rest are gone for the night.” His fingers intertwine with yours, bringing your hand down to rest on the counter. “We have the bar to ourselves.”

Your breathing grows shallow, anticipation building behind your ribs.

“That so?”

“Mmhmm,” he hums, guiding your hand so it rests on your stomach, his thumb agonizingly close to the bottom curve of your breast. 

He untangles his fingers from yours, wordlessly instructing with a squeeze to the back of your hand to keep it still. You freeze, keeping your hand steady on your stomach as the pad of his middle finger glides up your shirt between your breasts. 

“I saw the way you looked at me,” he says, voice honey in your ears. “The way you looked at my hand earlier.”

That same hand is wrapping around your neck now, his touch featherlight. Those long fingers cover so much of you and you find yourself lifting your chin as he moves against you. His chest presses into you, and you're certain you can feel the hardened length of him against the swell of your ass. 

But all you can focus on are those fingers now cradling your chin, heading north.

“Did you enjoy it? The way my fingers move?”

His middle and forefinger rest on your left cheek, his thumb coming up to swipe across your bottom lip. 

“Would you like to know how they taste?”

Your hand at your stomach grips the fabric of your shirt tightly now, molten lava sent down to your core.

For a moment, you forget yourself, lost to his touch and voice. It takes you a second to remember he had asked you a question.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, nodding as much as his hand will allow.

His thumb swipes along your top lip now, your mouth hanging open to let out shallow, bated breaths.

“Go on, then,” he coos. “Indulge yourself.”

At that, you stick out your tongue, Silco's thumb coming down to press on it. As soon as he does, you close your mouth around it and suck, tasting the sweat on his skin. You hum around him, not even realizing that your eyes have fluttered closed.

“That's it.”

You drag your teeth across his thumb and he chuckles softly at that.

“How about some more?”

He pops his thumb out, replacing it with his middle and ring finger. You readily accept both, humming as you allow him to press them in as deep as they can go, fingers firm against your tongue.

“How long have you wanted these inside you?” He pulls his fingers back a fraction before sliding them back in. Your thighs press together as you picture that same movement between your legs. “Perhaps as long as I've wanted?”

You whimper around him, dampness growing in your underwear. And if his fingers in your mouth wasn't enough, his other hand is snaking down your hip, moving with purpose toward your navel.

“I should fuck you with my fingers right here in the bar,” he whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

You nod, whining a muffled whine.

Eyes half lidded, you feel drunk off him. More drunk than you could ever feel on any drink from the bar. His hand works quickly to undo your belt, fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants.

“How much do you want this?”

Your free hand flies to grab him by the thigh, fingers digging into his pants desperately. 

Right hand still working your mouth, his left dips beneath the waistband of your underwear, gliding down to your mound. And when the pads of his fingers glide through your folds, he finds them absolutely drenched.

You feel completely captive to him, his body encircling you and his fingers playing you like a puppet. Your walls clench around nothing as he massages a circle into your clit.

“Mmph!”

“That's it,” he hums, coating his fingers in your arousal. “Don’t worry. You're in good hands.”

At that, he presses two fingers into you. Your hips buck and your mouth falls open at the touch, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure shoots through you. Your toes clench and you scoot your feet apart, spreading yourself wide for him. His palm grinds against your clit as his fingers in your mouth press down on your tongue, middle and ring finger rolling against it like a steady wave.

You knew his hands were good.

You didn't know they were this good.

You already feel on the edge of ruin, hips shamelessly chasing the curl of his fingers inside you, grinding yourself against him. So blissed out, so overcome by want, you lift your hand from your stomach to grab your own breast, kneading it as you chase your high.

“I love a woman who knows what she wants,” he hums, his breathing almost ragged. He seems to be enjoying watching your undoing as much as you are enjoying experiencing it.

Your name is a prayer of praise on his lips, a quiet secret against skin. And as Silco's fingers continue to curl within you, his chest flush with your back and his palm grinding your clit, you wish this moment could last forever.

Silco shoves a third finger into your mouth, followed swiftly by a third at your core, stretching your walls.

A few more rolls of your hips, a few more curls of his fingers and then—

“Mmph!”

Your walls pulse around his fingers as you come undone, drool escaping out the sides of your lips as you pant and moan through your climax. It's impossible to tell which part of you is wetter with how slick both Silco's hands are. Chest heaving, clit throbbing, you feel as if every cell in your body is singing, crying out in unison one singular word.

Silco.

He eases you through your climax, both sets of fingers matching the rhythm of your spasming walls. And when finally your orgasm slows, he holds you in place, not moving a muscle.

Eyelids heavy, breath ragged, you feel exhausted all over. Silco's fingers remain inside you, a heavy, comforting presence within you. And when he pulls his hands from you, he does so only for a moment before bringing his left hand up to your mouth.

You can smell yourself on him and see the way his fingers glisten with your release. Wordlessly, you open your mouth and Silco pushes each drenched finger inside one by one.

You lazily suck on each of his fingers in turn, cleaning them as you try to piece yourself back together. 

Satisfied, he pulls his last digit free from your mouth and rests his damp fingers on your stomach possessively, both arms curled around you.

It's almost sweet, the way he embraces you.

But as your senses slowly return to you, you can feel the needy press of his crotch to your backside.

His chin tucked over your shoulder, his voice is a low rumble, a deep devilish purr at your ear. Your eyes flutter closed at the sound and warmth fills your body at his words.

“Why don't we continue this upstairs?”

A/N: Yes, a part 2 is already written 👀 Look forward to it.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

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[silcoitus]

hi! I was wondering if you'd ever be open to writing a Silco fic including pup play or even just pet play? If not, I totally get it, and much love to your other works regarding kink ❤

I've never written anything with this and am not a part of this kink scene, so I hope I did it justice with my limited knowledge via reading wiki lmao (ngl most of the inspo from this came from my very real wish to bodyswap with my shiba Yoshi lmao that guy has it made. What's it like to not have a job or pay taxes?)

Because this is a request, I am posting the full text. In one month, it will be converted to an AO3 link, so read it here now while you still can!

Man's Best Friend

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco x gn!reader; Established Relationship; Fluff; Domestic Fluff; Master/Pet; Pet Play; Puppy Play; Soft Silco; Collars

Word count: 1.2k

Beta: @pluviofleur

Curled up in the very center of the bed, you feel content. 

The sheets are plush, the mattress is soft, and the steady hum of activity outside the window is a lovely bit of white noise to accompany your nap. Arms curled underneath your head, you nuzzle your cheek against your forearm and let out a soft little happy sigh out your nose.

This is the life.

No worries. No responsibilities. A nice big bed all to yourself. What more could you ask for?

Well… some company wouldn't hurt.

Silco had left for The Last Drop a few hours ago and he wouldn't be back for a while. Sometimes, he'd stop by to check on you, but lately he's been too busy for a midday break.

You sigh again, this one a bit more forlorn than the last.

He'll come back. He always comes back.

You stretch your limbs out, your fingers and toes spreading as you tilt your head back, eyes closed as you savor the feeling of all your muscles pulling taut. Relaxing, you shimmy your hips and head a little before resuming your earlier position. The collar at your neck jingles as you do, a satisfying sound that perks up your ears, a reminder of who you belong to—who you're waiting for. 

You spend your day alternating sleeping positions, on occasion leaving your spot on the bed to lay on the couch instead. But you always find yourself back on the bed; it is, afterall, the most comfortable spot in Silco's home.

And it smells like him the most.

You're lying on your side, mouth hanging open and drool pooling on the sheets when you hear the front door open. Immediately, you're pulled out of your slumber and scramble to get off the bed. And when you hear Silco call your name from the hallway, you slam your shoulder into the doorframe with how quickly you move, hands and knees frantically thumping on the hardwood.

“There you are,” Silco says warmly, shutting the door and locking it behind him. 

You bound toward him as fast as you can, eyes wide with excitement and mouth hanging open, showing a peek of your tongue. When Silco crouches down to get to your level, you slam into him, almost knocking him backwards.

He laughs, good eye squeezing shut and hands coming up to protect his face as you start to lick any bit of his skin that you can reach: his jaw, his neck, his cheek. You can taste the makeup on his face and smell the cologne and nicotine in his clothes as you cover him in puppy kisses. But when you nip at his face—

“Ah!” Silco lets out a startled sound as he rises to his feet to put distance between you. 

He towers over you and you immediately retreat into yourself. 

“No,” he commands sternly. “No biting.”

You cast your eyes down, pulling your limbs close to your body as you practically sink into the floor. Looking everywhere but at him, you let out a small, pathetic whimper.

You hear him let out a sigh above you, but don't dare look up, continuing to grovel. 

He says your name, still serious, though a little softer. You turn your head away from him, pouting.

Finally, he chuckles.

“Oh, I can never stay mad at you, can I?”

He reaches his hand out and affectionately tousles your hair. Instantaneously, you light up, corners of your lips pulling into a smile as your hips wiggle back and forth. 

“Come on,” he says, walking toward the kitchen. “I need a drink.”

You pad along behind him, staying as close to him as his shadow. As he gets his glass and drink ready, he almost trips on you. He only has to look at you once for you to take the hint, relegating yourself to the small kitchen rug in front of the stove. 

You sit and wait until he gets settled, his tie discarded to the countertop and his vest draped over one of the chairs. As you continue to wait, you start to grow impatient, your hands stomping on the rug as small whimpers leave your throat. The need for his attention is so strong, but the need to be good for him is just as overwhelming. You wish he'd look at you, give you a kiss.

Silco is putting away his bottle when you shift your body, raising your hips to allow your knees to join your hands in their incessant stomping. Finally, he turns to you.

“What's that?” He sets his drink down on the kitchen table. “Do you want something?”

Your hips are wiggling furiously now the closer he gets to you, but you stay on the rug, knowing stepping off it would upset him.

“Mmm,” he hums in understanding. “Does someone want a kiss?”

You stomp harder and whimper louder.

He chuckles and it sends warmth to your chest.

“What's the word?”

You let out an eager bark, your entire body practically vibrating with how much of yourself you put into it. As soon as you do, you're rewarded with Silco’s smile, followed by him bending down. One hand cradles your right cheek as he brings his lips to your left one to plant an almost harsh kiss on it. He hums as he does it, pulling away quickly before peppering you with five more. The entire time, your eyes close and your butt wiggles, so overcome with love.

The kisses stop all too soon, but when he signals you to the living room with a tilt of his head, you jump to follow him, eager for the next part of your nightly routine.

You leap onto the couch before him, taking his usual spot by the end table. He shakes his head as he sets down his glass on a coaster before tucking both hands under you to shove you toward the center. Content to enjoy the ride, you allow him to push you until he's given himself enough space. And when finally he sits, you don't wait to rest your head and your hands on his lap, eyes staring up at him adoringly.

“What a day,” he sighs, reaching for his glass. “At least it's over now.”

Silco idly strokes the crown of your head with his free hand, long fingers combing through your hair and neatly trimmed nails dragging along your scalp. Your eyes flutter closed and your mouth falls open at that, the weight of you sagging heavily on him. He hums at your obvious display of approval before gliding his hand down your neck and toward your back. 

As he takes a sip of his drink, you feel him ease into the couch, allowing the worries of his day to slide off him. You shift in his lap, letting your cheek rest against his thigh. And as he continues to scratch your back in long, meandering strokes, you can feel sleep start to take you again.

It's always good to have him back home.

Soon, you start to drift off into a comfortable slumber, feeling warm and safe and happy. You hear Silco whisper above you, adoration in his voice.

“Good pup.”

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @constantfragmentation @ariaud @jennrosefx @steponmesilco @leave-me-alone-silco @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @you-never-talk @noposwe @toripandashady @sirenofzaun @22carolina08 @roxnpens @commanderblood @medic-simp @cthezaunite @verdant-onyx @ursawastricked @artwithvivien @edlix @lackofhonor @spoczkot @witchypandamonium @lotus-99 @robin-the-enby @blissfulip @all-that-we-hope-to-be @zaunite-leo @silvia-elaine-hestia @nyx2021 @cccandynecklaces @another-batkid @toogaytofunctiondangit @rinkatai @mollymauksboi @pinklunarprincess | @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @ladymer @redlovett

[silcoitus]

I’m looking for a Silco x Reader fic and I feel like you’d be the right person to ask soo

Basically the premise was some like Silco is a Captain who had a ship and Reader’s brother “died at sea” but he actually didn’t die and was saved by Silco and as a thanks for saving him brother offered up reader to marry because Silco fell for a picture he saw of them in brother’s locker and so Reader and Silco exchange letters and it’s really cute and stuff

If you know it please tell cause it was really good ❤️

Omg I actually haven't read this one!

🗣️ SOUNDING THE SILCO SIMP ALARM🗣️

If anyone knows the name and author of this fic, please share with the rest of the class! It sounds like a great premise and I'd love to read it.

Anon, do you remember where you read it? Tumblr? AO3? Wattpad? That'll help narrow it down a little. Feel free to send a follow up as another anon ask.