Drawn to the Surface - Part 2

Inspired by @six-feet-sleep's art of tattooed Silco that you can see here. Don’t try to tell me that man isn’t completely tatted up under those fancy shirts and vests.

Continued thanks to @of-the-argonath​. I continue to love you more than life.

AO3

Summary: When Silco shows up, years after you last saw him, you have no idea what to think. You’ve heard too many stories. Ones that incriminate. Ones that condemn. Of course, he’s not very forthright with any sort of answers. Not in so many words, at least. But then you realize he doesn’t need to. Not when he’s pretty much asking you to document the entire story upon his skin.

Young(ish!) Silco x Tattoo Artist!Reader SFW Word court: 5600 Prev. Part

--

For the next few days, after you’ve counted the tips from the day’s clients and carefully lock the shop behind you, you make the now-familiar trek to the old cannery, sketchbook in tow. Today’s a relatively early end to your workday. The hazy sun still lingers above the horizon and much of the light fails to filter down to the Lanes.

Just as well. There are only so many tattoos of gears and guns one can ink before it starts to feel a little bit old. You admit to yourself that the snake, at least, had been rather interesting. Too bad the runt hadn’t tipped worth a damn.

Without Silco leading you, forcing you into the shadows, it’s a much easier walk through the city streets. It’s just enough time for you to ponder the inanity of the situation you’ve found yourself in as you flash back to the night your entire world crumbled down at your feet.

You remember fuming as you had marched over to The Last Drop, ready to chew out the man for missing his appointment. He had always sent someone to let you know that he was okay, that he was sorry, that it couldn’t be helped. He had never wanted you to worry.

But now he’d left you without so much as a message to let you know where he’d gone. It had never crossed your mind that maybe he was hurt, or even worse. They knew you well enough here. Certainly someone would have come to tell you if something had happened.

Nearing the bar, Vander intercepted you. You demanded to know where Silco was, the son of a bitch. The large man had simply shaken his head and led you to a corner booth. He’d ordered you a drink, a strong one, and told you to cool off a little.

You didn’t want a drink. You wanted answers.

Tell me where Silco is.

The explanation caught on Vander’s lips and he’d swallowed hard.

He ordered a drink for himself this time.

Then you’d realized.

Vander was stalling.

You spied the bandage wrapped around Vander’s arm. The off-white was tinged crimson at the edges where blood had seeped through. Suddenly you’re cursing your assumptions. Suspecting the worse, all the anger in your heart faded as the organ fell into the pit of your stomach.

Vander followed your gaze and wrapped his opposite hand around the wound. He glanced away. You were caught off guard by the expression that flashed over the large man’s face.

It was guilt.

You’d desperately begged Vander to tell you what happened, where Silco was. Why they hadn’t told you earlier. Is he hurt?

Finally, Vander had told you Silco’s gone. His tone wasn’t open to further inquiry. You need to forget about him. Live your life. Move on. Why do you care so much anyways?

You heard Benzo over at the bar, muttering, just loud enough that you know that you were supposed to catch it.

Fucking bastard got what he deserved.

Vander shot a glare back to his partner, eyes blown wide.

You remember the disbelief that flooded over you, as you pieced together a story that they refused to tell you outright. You don’t know if what you assumed was true, but you were far beyond asking questions.

Someone asked you to leave. You were making a scene.

Vander offered to walk you home.

You declined in not so pleasant terms.

That was the last time you’d ever set foot in The Last Drop. Of course, many of your clients are all too willing to update you on the enigmatic Sons and Daughters of Zaun.

You find, however, that down a Founder, the idea of Revolution isn’t quite so sweet. You try to keep track of who is killed, at least. Who you knew. You know that Vander has taken control of the Lanes, Benzo filling in the role of his right hand man.

You’ve reached the old cannery sooner than you expect and have to pause for moment for your heart rate to slow and the anger to subside. It does, but you can’t seem to rid yourself of the bitter taste that lingers in your mouth.

Because now Silco’s back and you still feel like you’re drowning.

Silco, more often than not, isn’t at the cannery. He’s popped in several times, acknowledging you out of what you assume is courtesy. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he often makes a swift departure as soon as you descend the stairs. You try not to be offended, despite your history with the man. You need to let it go. He’s not here to rekindle anything. Time and circumstance have changed you both. Irreparably.

This is purely a business arrangement that you’ve settled on.

Completely professional.

At least the Doctor knows to expect you now and you find that his constant presence isn’t as totally unnerving as you would have expected.

That is, however, until your fourth evening there, after you’ve muttered your goodbye to Silco when you pass him on the stairs, and you finally hear the scientist speak.

“I would try not be so offended, girl,” the Doctor drawls unexpectedly.

You’ve only just neared the end of the staircase when the voice startles you, softer and smoother than you would have predicted. He’s hunched over his desk, safety goggles dangling around his neck. He offers you a placating smile that you guess is rather unpracticed.

“Uh, hello.” You politely offer him one back, clutching your bag closer to your chest. You eye your destination, the table at the opposite side of the room. You’ve dragged it directly in front of the large window, and suddenly you’re wishing you could simply teleport there and disappear.

“You know, you are the first person he has brought down here. I believe he is simply quite unused to the company.”

Was your irritation really that obvious? Even if Silco had gotten so used to being alone, you don’t deserve to be treated like you barely exist. It’s not something you wish to discuss with the scientist, however.

“I uh... I don’t believe we’ve made a formal acquaintance,” you say nervously, trying to change the subject.

The doctor rounds the desk, and you force yourself not to shy away. Silco didn’t need to tell you much about his peculiar scientist to let you know that you would be wise to be wary. The scientist must have noticed your unease, however, as he pauses besides one of glowing vessels, eyeing it, but comes none the closer.

“You may continue to call me Doctor.”

“Then you can continue to call me girl.” Your retort is out before you are able to filter it. Eyes widening, you curse your quick tongue, backing up a step.

Silco wouldn’t keep the scientist around if he was dangerous, right?

Luckily, the Doctor chuckles softly, eyeing you again, as he bows his head in defeat. You could almost sigh in relief.

“I can see why he likes you.”

His statement surprises you.

“I wouldn’t know,” you mutter. There’s a long pause between you.

“It’s singed.”

Your brows furrow, as you look back to him. You’re not following.

“Doctor Singed.”

At his clarification, you consider it as you momentarily forget your growing resentment towards your mutual acquaintance.

It was an unusual name, though oddly fitting. Somehow knowing it makes the scientist not quite as intimidating as you originally thought. You edge closer to him. It’s his turn to balk slightly.

“Well, nice to finally meet you, Doc.” You hold out your hand, offering your name in turn.

He hesitates a moment before grasping your hand lightly and giving it a small shake.

“Good to finally meet you,” he replies, his lips twitching upwards again in that unpracticed smile. You smile back as he releases your palm. He replaces his goggles as he returns to his papers and potions.

Maybe next time you’ll ask him what it’s all about.

 It’s the next day and you’re several hours into sketching when you sigh in frustration. You’re certain of the subject matter. Sea monsters. Tentacled creatures. Waves. Water. Maybe you’d throw some scales in there to fill in the negative space. That would be fitting.

The particular style of choice, however, eludes you. Traditional. Watercolor. Realism. Geometric?

Nothing feels quite right. Did he even want color? You hadn’t seen him yesterday and so hadn’t the opportunity to ask him. He wasn’t partial to it before and you hadn’t gotten that far during your little interview from that first night.

--

”All of it?” You question once more. You shake your head in disbelief when he nods his confirmation. “Even...” You cast your glance downwards.

He follows your eyes, followed by him then rolling his own.

“I didn’t mean—“

“You said all of it. What else am I supposed to assume?” You can’t help the smirk that is now plastered across your face. This was the Silco youremember.

“I am now seriously reconsidering my choice in bringing you into all of this.”

“Too late.”

--

“That one.”

“Fuck, Silco!” You jump at his voice right next to your ear, flinging your graphite to Janna knows where. You hope it won’t be the second casualty of the week. “Warn me a little next time, will ya?”

You hadn’t heard him come down the stairs, which in hindsight shouldn’t have surprised you. The man moves like a ghost. You look at the piece that he’s pointed out. It’s a style that you had attempted on a whim. You’d seen something similar on one of your foreign clients.

“That?” You reply, incredulous.

“Hmm.” He hums the affirmative.

“That’s just a rough sketch, not really much more than a warmup.” You point to another practice piece, much more realistic in nature. “What do you think about this one?”

You glance up at him. His good eye is to your left, much to your relief. It’s narrowed slightly as he considers your work. A piece of hair has loosened and is curtaining it slightly. You’re torn between the urge to tuck it behind his ear and the need to smack him across the face.

“No, I prefer the other one.”

You tilt your head slightly at your sketch, considering the style. It could work. Rather fitting, actually.

“Noted.”

When he leaves your side to stalk across the room, you let go of the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Except, it catches in your lungs once more as the man leans over slowly at the waist, snatching your graphite from the floor. So much for professionalism.

“You really do have a habit of losing these, don’t you?”

As soon as the ache had formed in your chest, it abandons you, irritation taking its place. Abandoning your chair, you stride up to him, hand on your hips.

“Maybe if you didn’t disappear every time I come over, only to scare the shit out of me when you decide to show up again.”

You reach out to take the utensil from between his curled fingers. Just as you are about to snatch it, however, he raises his hand high above his head, just out of reach.

You scowl up at him, quickly deciding your won’t belittle yourself so far as to jump to steal it back. You’re caught off guard by his soft expression.

“Are you saying that I’m quite... disarming?”

Smack him. You want to smack him.

Instead, you roll your eyes dramatically, a scathing retort already poised on your tongue that will wipe that smirk off his sorry face. It fades from your lips, however, when you hear a derisive snort from across the room, where Singed is tending to his projects.

Silco casts an annoyed glare in the scientist’s direction, who simply shrugs and returns to his work. It’s now your turn to wear the smirk, at least until you notice Silco’s increasingly murderous expression. You’d seen that expression before. Years ago. Back when it was uniform in color.

“Anyways,” you start. Now that he’s distracted, Silco has lowered the hand that is currently grasping your graphite. You triumphantly pluck it from between his spidery digits.

“I really should be heading home. It’s later than I usually stay.”

Your action forces Silco to tear his eyes from the scientist, the murderous intent tempering as he focuses on you instead. He glances out the large window, where the light has ceased streaming in, even weakly, from the surface.

“I’ll take you home.”

For all of your grumbling and annoyance that Silco’s been avoiding you, you weren’t prepared for that. You’re heartbeat quickens at the thought.

You shake your head, “Uh, there’s no need.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Really,” you say quickly, returning to the table and tossing your sketchbook and the aforementioned lead into your bag. “I’ve managed by myself for long enough in the Undercity. Besides, it’s such a long walk and I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“It wasn’t an offer.”

You sigh. “Silco, once was great, but I’m still sore from swinging over rooftops the last time. I’ll be fine. Plus, have you seen some of my clients? I know how to manage a brute.”

His right eye narrows. You swear you see his upper lip twitch.

“This is not a point that I will argue with you.” He’s crossing his arms now. You guess it’s to intimidate you into giving in. Curiously, it’s not working.

You scoff. “Afraid some villain of the night’s gonna snatch me up?”

“Yes.”

You suddenly find you don’t have the heart to argue any further.

“Fine,” you concede, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “But we’re walking. Go put on a hood or something if you’re so afraid of being recognized.”

The thought crosses your mind that maybe you shouldn’t be so comfortable with this, the fact that you’re basically dealing with a fugitive, even if you are unaware of the extent of his crimes.

To your surprise, Silco listens, returning several moments later with an old, tattered overcoat in his arms that appears several sizes too large for his lithe frame.

“What old degenerate did you steal that from?”

Silco stares you down with a hooded eye, choosing not to grace you with a response to your quip. He simply pulls the the coat over his shoulders. You don’t think you imagine the small wince as he’s threading his arms through the sleeves. You’ll have to ask him about it later.

“Let’s go.” He turns to the staircase, pulling out a pocket-watch to check the time.

“It’s not my fault you look like a little kid who’s just raided his grandather’s coat closet.” You mutter as you pass him on your flight up the stairs, taking two at a time.

He snorts, following behind you.

When you reach the open air, you wouldn’t admit it to him, but you are glad for the company. Sure, you could handle yourself if you needed to. Silco and Vander had made sure of that years ago when there was so much talk of revolution. That didn’t mean you ever sought out a fight.

You wonder at how easily you’ve slipped back into your familiar report with the man. You know he’s not the same man that had abandoned you two years ago. No one hangs out in a creepy abandoned warehouse with an underground lair without being involved in some shady shit.

Of course, he hadterrified you when you’d first seen him back in your shop.

But something changes when you realize that you’re going to spend Janna knows how many hours jabbing a needle repeatedly into someone’s skin, privy to parts of them that hardly ever see the light of day.

It excites you more than you know it should, at least in between the times when your are infuriated by the man.

You glance over to your right at your companion. He’s situated himself closer to the street. Walking slowly, his hands are shoved into the pockets of his coat as his head is cast downwards. You can’t see much of his face. You can catch a glimpse of his long, narrow nose and his burning eye every few steps, as his hood moves back just right.

You wonder if it hurts.

“You’re staring.”

“Yes.”

“Stop.”

“Does it hurt?”

Silco doesn’t answer you for several long moments, but his pace slows. When he turns to you, you both pause. You arch a brow up at him expectantly. You hold your breath, wondering if he’s going to finally open to you, even if just on this one small thing.

“Come on,” he says and then you’re moving again. You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from crying out in frustration.

The rest of the walk is done in silence. Silco falls into step a few paces behind you this time, with only the sound of your footsteps to break up the night. As you leave the neighborhoods and near the Lanes you finally hear the distant sounds of city life.

You’ve only recently moved into this new, private studio, located just at the perimeter of the Lanes. It’s close enough to be easily accessible to your clientele, but far enough removed that your windows are safe from being shattered by the street’s riff-raff. After the third time it happened at your old shop, you were over it.

Here, you’ve built enough of a reputation that your clients know where to find you and others know enough to respect your property.

You also rent the small apartment above the shop. It isn’t anything fancy, but the rent is cheap and your commute is short.

Nearing the building, you reach for your keys. As your searching for the correct one, Silco’s voice catches you off guard.

“Ever since that first night, I knew you would be successful. You had too much talent to go unnoticed.”

You are suddenly brought back to the time when you had to choose between the food on your plate or the ink in your gun. You aren’t proud of the nights you’d spent at dingy bars, barely above begging the old drunkards there to take you up on your offer of a quick flash piece in exchange for a few measly tokens. What you’re asking for is hardly enough to pay for the ink.

Nobody had volunteered and you’d been just about ready to pack up when someone not so old and not so drunk strolled up to you.

--

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna do it, Sil.”

“Come on, don’t you want to put the poor girl out of her misery.” You’re nursing your own drink, one you really can’t afford, and about to pack up when you see the pair ambling towards you.

A rather slim man with dark, shaggy, loose hair falls into the opposite side of your booth. He’s maybe six or seven years your senior, but it’s always hard to tell with the harsh conditions of the underground. His features are sharp, striking even, but his cheeks are too sallow and his chin too weak to call the man conventionally handsome. Still, you stare at him wide-eyed as you pull your half-filled cocktail to your chest to prevent it from spilling.

You eye his companion, incredibly tall with shoulders that you suspect have moved mountains, and who is now leaning against the back of the booth. He’s the one you could call handsome, if not for the unattractive expression of annoyance. He’s laid his head in his hands in sighing disbelief.

“Never knew you were much one for charity, Silco,” he grumbles.

Silco, as your now potential client had been called, is looking over your sketches so intently that, if he gets any closer, will literally be pressing his long nose into the parchment. You’re certain that it’s less to discern the quality of your art and more to make the images stop spinning.

Okay, so he’s drunker than you originally suspected.

“That one.” He points to a tiny sketch of an octopus. Not one you would have pegged him for but who were you to judge?

“Isn’t it usually me that’s supposed to make poor decisions when drunk?”

“Lay off it, Vander. We’re celebrating. Now, make yourself useful and go pay off the tab.” He inclines his head towards you. “Her’s too.”

As Vander stomps off to the til, Silco reaches into his coin purse for several coins, strewing them across the wooden table. It’s much more than you’d been advertising your work for, especially for what he’s chosen.

He leans against the table with a half-cocked smile.

“So, tell me your name, sweetheart.”

--

“Yeah, the little octopus on your big toe is certainly my crowning achievement.”

You jostle the key in the padlock several times before you give up, pulling the key out and slamming the metal door with your fists in frustration.

“Stupid,” you mutter. One would think that your landlord could actually give you a key that wasn’t bent and didn’t give you so much trouble every time you tried to enter your apartment. You’d meant to contact a locksmith, but you’d been decidedly distracted lately.

“I don’t know,” Silco replies behind you, looking down to his left shoe, lifting it up slightly. “I think I have excellent taste, even when slightly inebriated.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the little upturn of your lips. You’re beginning to forget that you’re supposed to be angry with him.

“You were drunk that night?!” You exclaim with faked incredulity.

Silco smirks back at you. He reaches up to pull the hood back, smoothing his hair back in the same movement. “At least it’s on theme.”

“So, why was Vander so pissed that night, anyways?” You ask without thinking.

When Silco doesn’t answer you right away, you recognize your mistake. His nostrils are flaring, his lips pressed thin, and you don’t like the glaze that’s settled over his mismatched eyes. You make a mental note never to mention Vander again.

“Forget it,” you backtrack. “I... I apologize for asking.” There’s an awkward pause between you. You stare at your keys again, flipping them through your fingers. Maybe you had accidentally picked the wrong one.

“He was losing a bet,” Silco growls faintly, barely breaking the silence. He’s staring at his feet.

You nod, leaving it at that.

“Uh... here,” you hold the key out to Silco, which seems to break him out of whatever mind space he’s trapped himself in. He takes the key without question.

“See if you have any better luck than I do,” you say, trying to impart all the sincerity you can into your tone.

Silco examines the key for a moment as if he’s trying to figure out what to do with it. Then , with a deep breath, he walks over to the gate, sliding the key into the lock as easily as you had. Turning it, he faces the same struggle and his face falls, the one brow furrowing.

You turn around to give him some space as he goes through the same motions you had, jostling the key before he too gives up in frustration.

“This is absurd,” he mutters behind you.

“You’re telling me.” You start to turn around again. “Here, let me have another go at it.”

You don’t have the chance, however, as you are cut off by the burst of gunshot.

“Fuck!” You exclaim as you duck, palms flying up to your ears, heart thumping in your chest as echoes of the shot reverberate through the streets. You scan the streets, trying to discern where the shooter is coming from. You can’t bring yourself to turn around. You’re not prepared for what you might see.

You don’t see anything. The streets are empty. You—

“You doing alright there?”

Silco’s cool voice draws you out of your panic. He’s standing there, unharmed and unruffled, twirling a smoking pistol around his index finger. The metal door leading up to your staircase is swinging freely, clanging against the wall behind it. The now broken padlock has fallen to the ground.

“I... I thought...” You shake your head, groaning as you press your palm hard enough against your eyeball that you see stars. “Ugh, I can’t believe you.”

Silco simply shrugs, slipping the firearm back into the pocket of his jacket as he turns to climb up your stairs. Your eyes widen.

“Wait, where’re you going?” You shout after him. He doesn’t slow and is now halfway up the staircase.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no you don’t.” You’re sprinting past him up the stairs, cutting him off. You barely refrain from pressing your fists against his chest to stop him.

“I told you I would take you home,” he says evenly, taking another step up so that he’s meeting you eye to eye.

You let out a single disbelieving scoff, taking another step upwards yourself. “Well, I think you’ve quite succeeded at that. Thank you very much, but I think I can manage myself from here.”

“I just shot out your lock. It’s unsafe.”

“Believe it or not, I actually have another one on my front door. And a deadbolt.”

“Too risky.”

You finally realize what he’s implying.

“You... You’re not staying the night.“

“Believe it or not, there are worst monsters than me out here.”

Shocked, you don’t stop him as he pushes past and climbs the rest of the stairs. He still has your keyring, you realize, which is now dangling from his long fingers.

Then he’s in your apartment, on your bench, removing his boots, and you’re at a loss for words.

You edge into your own apartment, closing the door silently behind you, sliding the deadbolt over.

“Do you not have a couch?”

You glance at your messy apartment, suddenly hot with embarrassment. Dirty dishes are accumulated in the sink of the tiny kitchenette. Your clothes have piled up in baskets where you’ve neglected to fold them and stow them away. Sketchbooks and art supplies litter every surface.

And no, you don’t have a couch.

“Threw the old one away when I moved here. Thought it was a lost cause when it started squeaking. I, uh, haven’t gotten around to replacing it yet. Not like there’s much room anyway. I wasn’t expecting any guests.”

“That’s fine.” He’s removing his oversized jacket now, pulling the pistol out to instead slide it into the waistband of his pants. “If I remember correctly, your mattress is comfortable enough.”

You didn’t know it was possible for the heat that has risen up your neck to blaze even hotter.

“No,” you say, pulling off your own coat.

“Not like that.” Silco’s tone is so earnest you that almost believe him. He’s shrugging out of his vest now, left only in his partially-buttoned dress shirt.

“You grew up in the Undercity,” he continues. “Like the rest of us, I’m sure you didn’t spend a single night alone in your own bed before the age of fourteen.”

You know what he is saying is true. That does not mean that you want to share your bed now.

“You know it’s not the same.”

“I don’t see why not.”

You have to laugh at that. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been gone for over two years, and then, when you decide you want to waltz back into my life, you give me the cold shoulder every time I even attempt to ask for an explanation.”

To his credit, Silco looks properly scolded.

“I had wanted to give you some space,” he finally says.

Space? He thought you needed space? You bring your fingers up to rub against your temples, rubbing away the headache that’s starting to built there.

“So what made today so different?”

He doesn’t give you an answer, but you don’t miss the grimace that passes over his face.

“Silco,” you sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“I was taking you home.”

You’re about to roll your eyes, to continue this little backwards dance of which you’ve found yourself a not-so-willing partner, when all of sudden, you’ve found that you’ve quite simply had enough. You deserve more than his half-answers, this mystery, this constant hot and cold. You deserve more than him pretending like he hasn’t been gone a day, like he hadn’t abandoned you.

“No, what are you doing here,” To your credit, you’re able to keep your tone at least somewhat even. “I know, I know. The tattoos. I get that part. But... but why why now? After all this time? If it was just about the tattoos, I’m sure you could find someone, anyone besides me to do them. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

Suddenly you find yourself stacking your sketchbooks, with the sudden need to do something with your hands so they don’t end up wrapped around your company’s throat.

“And don’t say it’s for privacy. Because who’s to say I won’t just waltz into The Last Drop and let everyone know where you are. I was friends with Vander too, you know? I’m sure he’d love to know what you’ve been up to. ”

You pick up one of your pieces of graphite. The edge needs sharpening, so you pull out your pocketknife and begin whittling aggressively at it.

“And let’s not forget how you’re just gone every time I get to the lab. When you do show up, I don’t get anything besides a hello, before you’re off again. Even that I feel like I have to beg for. Do you know how that makes me feel, how much that fucking hurts?”

You pray that the dam holding back the tears you feel pricking at your eyes remains steadfast. You can feel it cracking.

“And then, finally you are talking to me and you’re walking me home. Oh, but you’re not just walking me home, you’re shooting my fucking lock and breaking into my damn apartment like you belong there, taking your boots off in my foyer like you’ve never missed a day. And finally, finally, you’re doing everything short of demanding I let you sleep in my bed, like it means nothing. Can’t you see how fucked up that is?”

You voice cracks at your last sentence and the floodgates open.

The graphite suddenly snaps between your fingers. You toss the knife and the broken pieces to the ground, bringing your blackened fingers to your mouth in a poor attempt to stifle the sobs.

Silco’s walked across the studio during your little tirade, over to the high-top table and chair you use to eat your meals. You wait for a response. Anything, but he refuses to even look at you. It’s like you’ve been yelling at an emotionally constipated brick wall.

He stands there a moment too long.

You clench your jaw, slamming your eyes shut against the grief. He doesn’t deserve your fucking tears. You’re just about to tell him off again, to get out of your home, lock be damned, that he can shove his commission up where the sun doesn’t shine.

What you don’t expect, is the feeling of the two strong limbs encompassing your torso. They squeeze with just the right amount of pressure and you can’t help the sob that escapes your lips. You both stand there for a long moment, long enough for your cries to finally subside.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear. “Don’t cry.”

“You’re an ass,” you manage to say between sniffles.

“I know.”

But you can’t help yourself as you bury your face further against his chest and wrap your arms tighter around his slim waist. You know he won’t break.

“Easier on the ribs there, if you don’t mind.”

“You can take it.” So you hadn’t imagined the wince.

You don’t know when Silco’s managed to lead you to the bedroom or when you’ve lost your own shoes. But then, you’re laying against your threadbare quilt and the only thought in your head is that you feel cold once he’s left you.

You’re still in your street clothes, but you find you don’t care enough to change. You pull yourself under the covers. The bedding needs to be stripped soon anyways.

“I’ll see myself out,” you hear from the doorway.

“Don’t you dare,” you say before you can think better of it. Maybe you should have. Thought better of it.

“Like you said,” you mumble into your pillow. “Monsters.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just... stay on your side. And on top of the quilt. There’s another blanket in the closet.”

There’s a long moment before you feel a dip in the mattress by your feet as Silco sits against the edge of the bed. You can feel the warmth spreading through the quilt.

“Would you believe me if I said the real reason I wanted to stay is that the doctor snores.”

“Go to bed, Silco.”

You notice the shift in weight as Silco gets up. Sleep weighs heavily against your eyelids, exhausted from your outburst. You try to stay awake, if only to make sure he’s comfortable, if he can find the blanket. If he actually stays.

You don't know how minutes pass before you feel the mattress dip once more, this time to your back. You hear his voice just before your exhaustion finally overwhelms you. It’s whispered soft enough that you’re sure that he hadn't meant for you to hear it.

“I truly never meant to hurt you.”

Welcome to the Suburbs

Singed meets single Dad Vander & preteen menace Powder

1.9k words - SFW Fluff-- AO3 Link

Happy Suburb AU, Meet Cute, Comfort Food

Is there any greater form of self-care than creating a wholesome Modern AU?

Thank you @sweatandwoe​ for the prompt idea! And eternal praise and love to DC for drawing this adorable scene  <3 <3 <3 Their faces are PERFECT

Vander marches down the sidewalk, bucket of warm soapy water in one hand and the elbow of a squirming, unapologetic ten-year-old in the other.

“He’s weird,” Powder whines, dragging her feet on every step as her dad pulls her along, “and he smells like old people.”

“Yeah, well, last I checked that doesn't make it ok to shoot at people, Powder.” Vander scolds. “When I got you that paint gun, you promised you’d be responsible.”

“I didn’t even hit him!” Powder stamps her foot, making the sole of the light up sneaker start to pulse pink. “Just his creepy van. He probably kills people's pets and plays bingo or somethin’.”

Their brisk pace takes them to the end of the cul-de-sac, to stop in front of a modest one story home with a white car out front. Fluorescent paintball splatters cover the doors and rear bumper.

“Again, not exactly an executable offense, kiddo.” Vander sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, maybe that first one, depending on the neighborhood.” Vander squares his shoulders and levels a steady gaze at his daughter’s head. “But people—yes, even ‘weird’ people—are innocent until proven guilty. And the only person who's been proven guilty right now is you, so it’s time to apologize and make things right.”

Vander raps on the front door three times, then takes a long step back. A preventative measure, in case their reclusive neighbor doesn’t appreciate the sight of an ex-linebacker crowding his entryway.

Shuffling footsteps approach and pause behind the door. Vander smiles sheepishly and waves at the peephole. A lock unlatches, followed by the jingles and clacks of what must have been at least two different chains and a security bolt.

The door swings open, revealing a lanky, almost emaciated man in his 50s. His gaunt frame is only a couple inches shorter than Vander and swallowed up by a cardigan with elbow patches and comfy looking slacks. A pair of reading glasses are perched on his nose, softening the harsh angles of his hooked nose and hollow cheeks.

Vander squints, taking in the fine crow’s feet and the bags under his eyes. A few wisps of brown hair cling to the crown of his head. This guy had ten years on him, maybe.

Powder had made him sound like an ancient crone with one foot in the grave.

Shit, was Vander getting old?

He tables that thought. He can worry about the inevitability of time later. Good parenting first.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Vander begins, non-threatening expression back in place. “I’m Vander and this”–he motions to the preteen hiding behind him–”is my daughter Powder.” He nudges her with the bucket of soapy water in his offhand. “You might recognize her as an aspiring artist and  homegrown terrorist. She’s got something real important to say to you.”

The lanky man blinks owlishly at what appears to be an ambush apology. Vander side steps, abandoning Powder to face her judgment. The preteen bites her lips and twists the sponge in her hands, refusing to make eye contact with anything besides her sneakers. 

He glances back and forth between the two as Vander waits. When the large man sets the bucket on the ground and crosses his arms, she takes a deep breath and dives in:

“Umm so my friend Ekko and I were playing Cops ‘n’ Robbers and he was the cop because I’m never gonna be a cop, they’re gross–

“Powder.”

“-right! We were playing and I was winning by a mile! But then Ekko dodged behind your van and how was I supposed to know you were checking the mail and I’m sorry I almost shot your eye out,” Powder blurts, each word coming faster than the one before until they were a jumble of mumbled syllables. “I know eyes are super important and stuff for, like, depth perception and winking without looking silly and it sucks to only have one but, oh man, it would be kinda cool if I did shoot your eye and it, like, turned a weird color then–

“Powder.” Vander barks.

“Annnd–”Powder gasps for air before continuing–“I’m sorry I ran when you saw us. I get nervous when I get caught, OK.” She taps her index fingers together and looks up at the bewildered neighbor. The full force of her baby blue puppy dog eyes activated before she finishes in a small voice, “I have stage fright.”

Vander narrows his eyes at that excuse but the Neighbor speaks first.

“It’s alright, dear.” His voice is raspy and soft and Vander feels the tension in his shoulders melt at the amused tone. The last two neighbors Powder had crossed had been MUCH harder to appease. “No harm was done.” He inclines his head at the bucket of soapy water. “At least not to my person.”

Vander smiles, a real one that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Thank you for being so understanding, Mr. uh-”

“Just Singed.” The man offers.

“Nice to meet you, Singed.” Vander nods, extending a huge hand that Singed tentatively accepts. Singed’s grip is surprisingly steady for a man that looks so bone tired. Vander gives it a firm squeeze then lets him go.

Vander nods down at his daughter, releasing Powder from the apology portion of the punishment so she can start the ‘making things right' part. She grabs the bucket, sloshing water on Singed’s porch in her haste to flee.

She gets to work scrubbing down the van as the adults supervise.

“I’m sorry about my kid.” Vander rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just…been hard lately.” Vander pauses, wondering how much of his life the unlucky neighbor needs to know. But considering Powder has another decade to go before she’s safely out of her teens and he really doesn't want to move anytime soon, Vander soldiers on. “She’s a good kid, really. It’s just…my ex and I are in a custody ‘thing’ right now”–he shrugs–”and to be honest, we’re not handling it great. Ever since the divorce she’s been acting out and–”

“I understand,” Singed interjects mercifully. He retrieves a thin leather wallet out of his pocket and flips it open, revealing a photograph tucked in a plastic sleeve.

The photo is worn, faded with time and tattered around the edges despite its current protection.

A blonde girl smiles happily at the camera. Her expression of unabashed joy only magnified by two missing front teeth. Singed’s voice is gentle and even. “I too had a daughter once.”

Vander sucks in a shallow breath through his teeth, eyes pinned on the photo.

She was young, younger than Powder even.

“Fuck,” he exhales.

“It’s fine.” Singed assures him, tucking the precious memento away. “It’s been many years now.”

“Fuck. Still.” Vander rubs his hand down his face. “Fuck.”

“Her name was Orianna. She was very…” Singed pauses, as if trying to find one word to sum up an entire person, an entire world. Powder jumps up and down in place to reach the topmost splotches of paint on the door. She's humming a peppy tune loud enough for them to hear across the driveway. Singed blinks then finishes. “Very happy. And she wanted that for everyone else too.”

Powder finishes scrubbing down the vandalized van (including the paint and the pollen and dirt) while the men continue to chat.

About Vander’s job. Part-time personal trainer and full-time kid wrangler.

About Singed’s job. Pharmaceutical Scientist. Vander raises his eyebrow at that. Fancy.

About the divorce. Awful.

About the kids. Lovable assholes. Trying to cope in their own ways.

Their conversation flows, light and easy, as they meander from topic to topic. It’s impressive, Vander thinks, for words to come so easily between men so ostensibly different, but Singed is good at finding common ground.

“Tada!” Powder exclaims, throwing jazz hands towards the sparkling vehicle. “All done! Now let’s go home, I’m gross.” Powder blows at the sweaty hair on her forehead and wipes soapy hands off on her cargo shorts.

“Good work, Powder.” Vander claps a hand on her shoulder and picks up the bucket, very happy with how well this parenting challenge went. It wasn’t awful at all, he didn’t even get yelled at this time. Or get threatened with a lawsuit…a much more annoying threat now that his live-in lawyer had moved out.

Vander shakes the thought.

Things were looking up.  

Powder hadn't hurt anyone this time. She’d even owned up to her mistake (after only minimal interrogation) and it had given Vander a chance to finally meet the shy man down the lane. Maybe even to plant the seeds of a friendship.

“Yes, thank you dear.” Singed says, wiping off his glasses with the hem of his cardigan. “It looks as good as new…now about the graffiti on my workshop.”

Vander furrows his brow. Powder bites her lip and cringes with her entire body as Singed motions for them to follow. He leads Vander through a white picket fence to the backyard with Powder trudging behind. There’s an entire garden back there, in neat little rows overflowing with an assortment of vegetables, herbs, and flowers. 

Vander feels like he’s been transported into a Home and Garden magazine. 

A few butterflies even float by in a colorful twirling dance.

Vander strokes his chin. He really should do something about his own wreck of a yard one day. The home owners association had started sending threatening letters. Looking at this display of what a yard could be, they might have a point about his weed collection bringing down property values.

He'd take care of it.

When things calm down with the kids.

One day.

Vander sighs. Or maybe he'd hire a lawn service, shit.

Singed stops at a small shed with green and purple paint sprayed on the side, halfway hidden behind a thriving peony bush.

“Jinx?” Singed gestures at neon tag which, yes, upon closer inspection, if Vander tilts his head at an uncomfortable angle, does say ‘Jinx.’

Vander heaves a sigh. “It’s her…street name."

“Ah.”

“You don’t know it was me! I’ve been framed!” Powder exclaims, indignant in that utterly shameless way only culpable kids are capable of.

Vander grits his teeth. She’d been doing so great so far but they must have hit the end of her limited patience for good behavior. “We’ll go get some paint,” he promises, grabbing his daughter's hand before she makes a run for it.

“What happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?” Powder cries as Singed escorts them back to the sidewalk. “I demand a lawyer!”

“Please don’t.” Vander cringes because Powder knows exactly one lawyer–

“Lemme borrow your phone.” The preteen holds out her free hand, as if that’s going to happen. “I’m texting Dad.”

“Sweet Janna, give me strength.”  Vander shakes his head and waves goodbye to Singed.

He waves back and checks the mail, glancing one last time at their retreating backs as they plod along. An odd pair. A lucky man to have such a vibrant, charming daughter. A lucky girl to have such a patient, goodhearted father. 

Singed smiles and heads inside, returning to his half-finished crossword and lukewarm tea.

A fluffy cat is waiting for him in the breakfast nook, resting on the warm spot in his vacated chair. 

“Things might be getting a little livelier around here, Rio.” He murmurs, scratching the purring cat under the chin. “And wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Zaun’s Most Beloved

Synopsis: you win a spot on the rebooted dating show, Zaun’s Most Beloved, after your friend entered you as a surprise. And who could possibly turn down an all expenses paid date with the man of your choosing?

Rating: Silco x GN!Reader - SFW - 2.3k words

Tags: no pronouns used but reader is wearing a dress and makeup, modern au in a way?

Inspired by this fanart by @dad-dumpster just because of the mystery element

You shifted awkwardly in your chair, throwing a distressed look at the director, trying desperately not to look at the audience in front of you. The director was oblivious to your pointed looks, busy talking to the cameraman. Luckily enough, a showrunner managed to see your discomfort and came over to you.

“Hey, can I help you?” he asked, moving his clipboard into the space between his waist and arm.

“Yeah,” you said, relieved to be acknowledged. “Um, do you know where the bathroom is?”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked down at his watch. “Uh, just so you know, we’re gonna start rolling in 10 though, so you might have to be quick.”

“That's fine,” you said quickly, desperate for the interaction to be over.

“Here, I'll show you the way so you don't get lost,” he said, turning and beckoning for you to follow.

As you walked past the divider separating your chair from the other three, you observed the set. A cheesy thing, a replica of the old 1960’s show which preceded the one you were about to be on. Walking through the studio door, you caught a quick glimpse of a long coat before it disappeared behind another door.

When you finally got to the bathroom, the showrunner nodded to you before stationing himself outside. You walked through the door and did your business, wondering how you managed to end up here.

You were never one for the spotlight, keeping to yourself most of the time, and although it wasn't hard for you to interact with strangers, you found it was more comfortable to be around the people you already knew.

And yet, it was one of those people who had caused you to land a spot on Zaun’s Most Beloved. You had heard the raffle on the radio, claiming that the winner would become a contestant on the famous dating show set to be rebooted in Zaun this fall.

The first run of the show had been stationed in Piltover, giving the general public a look into the high-class dating life of Piltovarians. After its cancellation years ago, someone had the grand idea to station the show in Zaun as a major comeback.

Regardless, you had been less than interested, complaining to your best friend about it. Little did you know he had signed you up for it, later saying he thought it would be good for you, a change of pace.

You had argued, but once you had heard the contestant you'd pick would end up going on a prepaid date with you, up to 1,000 dollars, you'd agreed in a heartbeat. You'd hardly ever ventured into Piltover, the transportation fees nearly killed you out of shock, but this was enough to last you several months of rent in Piltover.

And that was how you ended up here, in your best dress, standing at a porcelain sink, staring into your reflection. The stranger looking back didn't look like you at all. The makeup the team had dolled you up in was far different than what you’d normally wear.

You took a deep breath before opening the door, looking to the showrunner on the side. You gave him a small smile before allowing him to lead you back into the set.

The director was sitting in her chair next to the host, who gave you a winning smile. You flashed him an awkward one before settling onto your chair.

“On air in 2,” another showrunner called, flipping through her clipboard.

Those minutes couldn't’ve passed faster as you found yourself desperately hoping for more time. You wiped your sweaty palms on your dress as the director began counting down.

“Three, two-” She pointed at the host on one.

Theme music queued in before the host began speaking.

“Hello, and welcome to Zaun’s Most Beloved! I'm your host, Ash. And chosen through lottery, we have the person our contestants will be attempting to woo tonight. Please tell us a bit about yourself.” He gave you an encouraging smile as you realized that was the first time you had heard his name.

“Hi, Ash,” you said before introducing yourself. “I'll admit, I'm a pretty private person and there isn't a lot to say, but I was born and raised in Zaun, and I, uh, still live there. I mean, how else would I be here?” The audience gave a respectful chuckle, which you took as encouragement before continuing. “I work in financing for a small company, and I like to read and garden in my spare time. I also love cats and fish, I'd really like to own some one day.”

“What a wonderful-sounding person!” Ash said to the camera. “Now, let's hear a little bit about our contestants. Contestants, why don't you tell us about yourselves?”

“Hi, I'm Contestant One.” A raspy voice spoke, somehow smooth in its cadence, washing over you like the waves in the harbor. “I’ma CEO of a company in Zaun, but I'd rather not reveal its name so as to not prematurely reveal my identity. I'm a single father of a wonderful little girl and although we don't have many pets, I'll say that I also like fish and cats.”

“It seems like the two of you have a lot in common!” Ash gave a grin to the man you couldn't see. “And onto Contestant Two!”

“Hi, I'm Contestant Two and I'm an art student! I make sculptures and I came here looking for a new muse.” Although his voice gave nothing away, Contestant Two’s words led you to believe this was someone younger than you, which in its own way was a bit repelling. You’d never really been into younger guys.

“A charmer! And onto Contestant Three.”

“Hi! I'm Contestant Three and I own a small shop on the Promenade.” said a soft voice. “I work with a lot of plants and I have a pretty green thumb. I also like to read in my spare time.”

“What a bunch of lookers! Why don't we move onto the next question?” Ash said your name, prompting you to speak.

“Oh! Um, what made you choose your career path?” you said quickly, the host catching you off guard.

“I'd say just circumstance,” Contestant One mused. “I'd never really planned to be the CEO of my business but I'd always thought I'd be a leader. I'd led other groups before but becoming a CEO was honestly just circumstantial.”

Jeez, how pretentious could a person be?

“I've always been good at art, I'd been doing it since I was young, and I'd been accepted into a Piltover school on a scholarship and I thought what the heck, you only live once.” You could hear the smile in Contestant Two’s voice.

How quaint.

“Similar to Contestant Two, I'd been pretty good with plants ever since I was little. My father owned the shop before me and I worked with him then. When he passed I took over the shop.”

“Oh I'm so sorry.” You said, pitying the man as he got choked up.

“It's okay, it was a while ago.” he sniffed.

“Uh, next question?” For once, Ash seemed as though he was at a loss for words. He exchanged awkward looks with the director who shrugged in turn before putting his TV persona mask back on.

“What's a trait you value the most?” you said robotically, having used the time the contestants spoke to rifle through your memory to find the questions you had prepared before.

“Either loyalty or honesty. It's very important to me that my employees are loyal to me and I can trust and rely on them. But more than that, I prefer that the people around me are wholeheartedly dedicated. Not to say that I am only taking from them. I also, in turn, give them my full fealty. As for honesty, I think it goes without saying that no one likes to be lied to, but I don't like to beat around the bush for an answer. As a CEO I like to make sure my time is spent wisely, and that includes transparency in any relationship, especially romantic.”

Gods, could this guy go a minute without mentioning he was a CEO? It's like he wanted to rub it in your face.

“I think I value kindness the most. There's nothing like getting unwarranted kindness with no strings attached and I thoroughly enjoy giving and receiving compliments in addition to general goodwill.”

“Sincerity,” Contestant Three said at last. “I've had my fair share of people using me and full transparency means a lot to me.”

“What thoughtful answers! I'd say we have a lovely batch of bachelors tonight.” the audience gave a polite laugh before Ash continued. “And for our next question? Take it away!”

“Transparency is important to me too, Contestant Three. For my next question, what's something you're looking for in a relationship?”

After a moment of silence, Contestant One replied, “I'd say companionship. There's something to be said about being able to enjoy each other’s presence and personality without any romantic intention. And as I said before, I value honesty so this might be hard to hear or cause you to not pick me; but to be truthful, I don't want a relationship where we rely too much on each other. My ideal relationship would be somewhat casual, taking things somewhat slow because as you can imagine, I don't want to move too quickly for my daughter’s sake.”

“It seems like you care a lot about your daughter.” you said, tilting your head to the side.

“I do,” he said fondly. “She's my most treasured companion.”

As much as you disliked Contestant One, you found his relationship with his daughter sweet. He had taken her feelings into consideration and clearly deeply cared for her. The paternal relationship spoke greatly about his character, showing vulnerability and care.

“Someone fun,” Contestant Two said quickly, interrupting your thoughts. “I’d like someone spontaneous who’s always down to do something or go somewhere. My art relies a lot on how I'm feeling in the moment and I'd love someone who could conjure that feeling in me just by being around me.”

“I hate to break it to you, Contestant Two,” you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, a bit annoyed at his interruption of your thoughts. “but I wouldn't describe myself as the most spontaneous person. I like reliability and routine and while I might enjoy the occasional impromptu outing, I like to have things planned out in advance.”

“Oh, well I'm sorry to hear that,” Contestant Two said, sounding genuinely remorseful.

“Contestant Three?” Ash prompted, breaking through the tension that had builded.

“On the contrary to Contestant One, I'm looking for commitment. There's something very special about devotion and relying on each other for everything.”

As much as you hated to admit it, what you looked for most in a relationship was closest to Contestant One’s. You weren't looking for commitment or something that would only last a little while, burning bright but all too quick, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your heart.

“This leads us into the final stretch and onto our last question.”

“What would your ideal date be?” you asked, shifting a little in your seat. As much fun as this was, you were becoming unbearably uncomfortable from sitting in the same spot for far too long.

“My ideal date would probably be dinner along the coast. A lot of daytime activities are often busy and populated and we wouldn't be able to interact in a private setting. Dinner would be nicer because it would grant us the privacy and intimacy I'm looking for.”

How fascinating. A man who didn't want commitment but partook in private and intimate settings.

“An art class I think,” said Contestant Two. “I've taken paint and wine classes before and it's always been a great experience. I'd love to go to one with a partner and get to know them while making something special for each other.”

“Probably just coffee,” Contestant Three said. “It might seem boring but there's nothing like getting to know someone over a classic cup of coffee. Besides, being in a public setting while getting to know each other wouldn't cause awkward tension or unneeded uncomfortability.”

“And that concludes the question portion!” Ash turned to you. “Would you give us the honor of revealing the lucky man you will be taking on a date - sponsored by the show, of course!”

“That's hard,” you said. “They're all a lovely batch of people, but I think I'll have to go with Contestant One just because we’re looking for very similar things in a relationship.”

“A wonderful choice! Why don't you come down here and meet each other?” Ash gestured to the front of the stage, where he was standing in between the divider.

You got up from your seat, grateful to be free from your chair, walking down the stairs to the platform in the middle. You saw a coat sweep across the floor from the corner of your eye, but your gaze remained determinately on the platform in front of you.

Standing in front of Ash, the camera right next to your face, you allowed yourself a glimpse of the man you had chosen before your breath caught in your throat.

Mismatched eyes bore into you, ones you had only heard about through word of mouth, never seeing them in person until now. Cleanly slicked back hair glinted off of the lights, a gray streak deviating from the center.

Your name coming from his mouth broke you from your trance. “It's nice to finally meet you.” Chipped teeth glinted of the stage lights. “I'm-”

“Silco.” you breathed.

The penultimate chapter of Patchwork is up! For those unfamiliar, Patchwork is an Arcane fanfic I’m writing that focuses on Vi’s relationship with the idea of family, featuring: cute fluff of Vi and Cait having a kid, tasty Vi & Jinx angst, a good balance of time spent exploring a number of different friendships (including some friendships that usually don’t get much attention), and the world’s least subtle metaphor.

Uninterrupted (NSFW)

Summary: Silco would much prefer to go uninterrupted in his favored past times - that sometimes means uninterrupted by you as well.

Warnings: NSFW | MDNI. Established Relationship, fingering, light bondage, oral (F receiving) teasing, light banter

"Now, now... You knew better than to interrupt my meal." It's a tease, warm, almost-loving, and it still makes you shudder.

Of course, it isn't help that Silco's breath is ghosting over your cunt as he says this, with fingers idly stroking the uppermost edges of your thighs as he peers up over your mound, the hint of a smirk just visible over your own flesh.

"Don't give me that look," Whether he means the one where you stared down at him with wide eyes, or with them squeezing shut tightly as he's unable to resist an quick flick of his tongue over your dripping slit. "I told you, I wish to be uninterrupted," Silco continues in total casualness as you bounce your head back on the mattress beneath you. "That includes you, my dear. And I gave you plenty of warning, so don't look so surprised that additional measures were deemed necessary."

"Fuck-!" There's no warning, before he's mumbling out the tail-end of his playfully-chastising sentence within your folds, clearly impatient to get back between your legs.

"Fuck," You repeat in a trembling mewl, wrists yanking beneath your back while your thighs trembles at the feel of a tongue gliding and easing through your warm slick. The shakiness is not eased in the slightest with the feel of nails playfully scratching at the crease of your thigh, almost tickling.

Not that it doesn't feel heavenly, and sinfully good, but Silco is seeming to take immense pleasure in pressing close to the spots that leave you truly tormented and writhing, with little recourse - or hands - to stop him. Fingers press down on the tops of your thighs, with the tips stroking at your shaking hips as the bastard purposefully grinds his nose while giving slow, self-pleasing laps to your hole.

The ridge of cartilage is practically perfect for your clit, but without an anchor and no sign of relief from the precise grinding on your sensitivity, you are left gasping and bucking in time with every subtle, purposeful motion of the head between your legs.

And left whining when he moves back, taking the pleasure with him, but not without an utterly lewd slurping sound as he takes his time easing his lips from your pussy. Silco's breath has rasping quality, wet and shallow that he seems to take great pride that it leaves you squirming.

"You understand I'm sure, sweetheart. The desire of having your wants satisfied in peace... a craving left unfulfilled, is truly a brutal torture," He teases you lowly, and before your mouth can part-open to snap at him about torture, specifically the kind he seemed all-too-eager to inflict between your legs, fingers began to creep closer.

A prayer, or a curse, goes out to Janna, as your lips are opened with two fingers, while another index and middle move down to just barely be entering your hole. Barely to the first knuckle, but you find it hard to feel annoyed at the lack of fulfillment when Silco nudges your folds apart further with his fingers, in order for him to lean forward and lash his tongue directly along your clit without any interference.

It's not a cry you make out of his name, but a wail.

It's a sound that is sharp, sudden, like your back that bows off the bed. Your legs struggle not to clamp around his head, all the while the tip of his tongue rolls around your throbbing bundle of nerves with particular, loving cruelty.

"And I am afraid, dear, that I have a craving that's quite yet to be sated anytime soon." The apology from Silco would be a lot more sincere if it wasn't spoken against your cunt, the vibrations making you whimper and jerk the trapped wrists behind your back.

Almost comforting - but definitely moreso teasingly - the Eye of Zaun pets his fingertips along your mound with tenderness that makes you raise your head up to glare down at him with pleasure-feverish eyes and locked-tight jaw.

Silco only smirks, revealing his attempt at an apology to be total shit.

"Be paitent, sweetheart. I'd like to take my time, uninterrupted, in one of my favored locations. Until then..." Slipping his eye closed, any rebuke you make dies into a choked gasp for air as partially-scarred lips wrap around your clit, sucking slowly in time with the long, deep thrusts of his fingers deep into your pussy.

Curling slightly to beckon forth a sudden, instant and convulsing orgasm, one that has you struggling for air, for your hands, for anything, in the sudden crash of waves that snap within the rolls of your orgasm.

All you can manage is strangled sobs of your lovers name, growing louder with his aroused groan vibrating your nub between his lips, and growing shrill when he catches your clit with broad, lingering laps on the flat of his tongue. As if out of spite, Silco adds a third digit, but keeps the trio flat within you as he fucks you with a slow, deep pace within the vice that has become your pulsating cunt.

There's wetness trickling down, brushing against your earlobe with a pathetic whimper of Silco's name when he eases his mouth off of you... not without giving a brief, taunting brush of his lips on your clit, chuckling heavily when you buck your hips at the sensation. "Shh... it appears my impatience is transferring over to you," Silco teases, slowly easing his fingers in and out of your pussy, unfurled but still sending up shivers of pleasure through your body, leaving you legs quaking from the shallow thrusts.

Though he's careful to keep his hand steady, you still whine as he shifts, moving upwards and over your arched-chest. The hand between your bodies slows it's movements, keeping just-barely within you, while the wiry body settles atop yours with careful, smooth movements.

The taste of yourself on his tongue sparks that desire in you - not that it ever truly goes out, but the reignition leaves you moaning out his name against his lips, and your hips undulating to coax his lengthy digits back inside.

The reaponding teasing-chuckle is warm, almost loving, and even to make you shudder with your own smile at the corner of your mouth.

"Impatience suits you, darling."

"T-think it's pronounced horny, actually."

"My apologies," Silco's amusement, and resulting smirk, once more cuts his so-called apologies to be worth very little, but the slow rock of his fingers into you, as his other hand curls slightly into your hair, is enough to make you focus on other things.

You hum and sigh, eyes fluttering closed as fingers caress at your hairline and within your warmth, quickly regaining your libido at the dual teasing, and loving motions of both his hands. "... I lied, I'm afraid. It seems my impatience for you never quite left at all, however much it might have transfered." You gasp, mouth dropping open with the first curl of his fingers, pressing on the spot that leaves you seeing stars.

Amongst them, you also see Silco, taking advantage of your open mouth to press his own against it. The desire for you is clear in every motion he makes; slow, methodical and wholly focused. Such fixation on you, and the pleasure he seems all too keen to draw out of you with every thrust of his knuckles, is enough to leave you sighing his name sweetly against his lips, and whimpering when he leaves you.

There's a smile on his lips, even as you whine up at him when you're suddenly left empty. "No need to worry," He insists lowly, leaving your own mouth dry as you watch him bring his fingers, still dripping with your juices, up to his mouth. The remaining-eye slips close as he hums at the first-taste - one he's more than familiar with, and yet takes his time lapping off every drop as if each is a delicacy.

A full-cleanse of his fingers, and the subconscious neediness in your whine, is the only thing that regains his concentration, and once his still-hungry eyes settle on you, you know full-well he's not likely to have his attention diverted again.

"We, hrm..." He's stalking back down your body, hands smoothing around every dip and divet to leave you squirming with anticipation. "... t-they'll be pissed if we miss that meeting."

"They can learn paitence. I seem incapable of it." At least he's honest, as he once again slots himself between your thighs and let's out a low hum at the sight of you, making your face flare red.

"B-be the second meeting we've been late to... might just b-be banging on the door this time-"

Your voice ends in a squeak at the feel of nipping-teeth at your thigh. "Unlike you, dear, they don't need a reminder of how it's unwise to interrupt me," You jerk your wrists behind you at the mention, and at the feel of a tongue broadly sweeping over the ache left behind by Silco's teeth, and continuing to trail even further upwards...

"And frankly, I don't plan to be interrupted from my great desire quite yet..." Arms wrap beneath you, and pull forward in order for you to meet him halfway in the middle of his half-apology, and half-unapologetic declaration of intent, before his mouth settles upon you again, with little intentions of letting up anytime soon.

Lapping, dipping and wholly suckling from you like he's a man trapped in eternal starvation, you're having trouble finding a part of you that wants to interrupt Silco in his sinful, and heavenly feasting from your dripping cunt, even as you're soon left babbling between whimpers and cries.

The Baron's will be pissed, you think briefly before your head falls back onto the pillows beneath you, lost in the carnal pleasuring that it's inflictor seems just as, if not more pleasured by as you are. And from that point on, with body trembling and a prayer his name, and not any God, spills from your mouth, you suddenly find it difficult to think of anything besides, let along something like the virtues of paitence.

Perhaps because, what Silco's committing between your legs, makes you certain that paitence is all but dead.

And even if it weren't, you are certainly finding very, very few reasons to invoke paitence by interrupting him...

-

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Surprise | Ekko x Reader | One Shot

Summary: A jealous Ekko confronts you about your sudden friendship with Viktor; he finds out that it was for his sake all along.

Word count: 1,670

Warnings: None, just some good ol' fashioned fluff!

━━━━━━━━━━

The bullet whizzed past your ear, so close you could feel your hair whipping with its trajectory. Before the Piltover officer could aim again, you readied your own weapon, firing a bolt of energy towards her - one of the taller enforcers you've seen, with striking blue hair.

The projectile hit her shoulder, causing her to drop her rifle and fall to the ground. You steadied your gun again, ready to properly immobilize her before someone shot past you. The familiar sound of a hoverboard was all that was left behind as the rider hit your target upright the head with his weapon, successfully knocking her out.

"Ekko! I had that under control," you quipped.

"Sure you did," he responded, not even looking your way, simply taking the stolen goods which you had been pursued for from your satchel. "Without me, this Hexcore would've been toast. You had only one charge left on your gun - you would've needed a perfect shot."

"I had it before you interrupted. She was already down, I had a still target! It would've been a flawless robbery!" you yelled back, but there was nobody there to hear. Ekko had disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. You grumbled to yourself, starting your trip back to your shelter at the edge of the city.

The two of you had been best friends since childhood, so you had naturally ran into road bumps before, but this sort of treatment was new. It was the first time that he was consistently actively avoiding confronting the situation. Ekko had been inexplicably cold towards you for the past few weeks, never staying in a room with the two of you alone for more than a few minutes. Whenever you brought it up, he'd, at best, mumble his way through an "I've just been busy" before finding another excuse to leave.

The fact that you had developed feelings that were more than friendship a good while ago didn't help. Despite the cold shoulder, you still caught him stealing glances of you or monitoring you more closely than the other fighters, this most recent chaperoning of his proving it further.

It was infuriating, but you understood that if you couldn't do anything about it, it was best not to push it, so-

"I got it! By Hex, I figured it out!"

The door had rapidly opened just as you laid you hand on it, a familiar face startling you.

"Viktor!" you hollered, still in shock. "You can't just open the door to me to my own house, I could've shot you!"

His grin didn't waver, him not speaking as he pulled you through the entrance and gestured you towards your workspace. "This better be good," you say, "I know it's rare to see you smiling but that's going to heighten my expectations even-" You gasped. "My goodness, you did get it."

The greatest creation to grace the room, maybe even the community, cut you off. You couldn't believe that something like this was sitting on your simple workbench, usually just propping up armor under repair or weapon additions. Before you could thank Viktor, the both of you suddenly became aware of treading outside the room. "We wouldn't have forgotten to close the door, would we?" 

A cough came from behind you, the both of you whipping around, you with your gun at the ready and Viktor grabbing the closest object to wield - unfortunately, a lamp. Its cord straightening pushed a toolbox off the table, the loud crash concealing your slight groan once you saw who it was. 

Ekko raised an eyebrow at you, but not before shooting a glare at Viktor who was already frantically picking tools off the ground. A sudden outburst incurred, him snapping, "He's here? First, you bring him to the Firefights meeting, and now he's in your home? We swore to fight these high class shmucks, not get all goodie-goodie with them." 

Both you and the Piltoverian were visibly taken aback, your initial surprise mingling with anger. Who was Ekko to tell you who you couldn't and could be friends with, especially after his treatment towards you lately? Even with the indignity coursing through you, you couldn't help but notice the way the muscles bunched in his arms as he leaned cross-armed against the doorway.

You quickly shook off the feeling, gesturing towards Viktor to leave. He understood, giving a grateful nod before sidling out the door, Ekko's eyes staying trained on you.

He was still fuming, continuing with his rant before you could even open your mouth. "We've been on the same team for all this time, now all of a sudden you want to get to know someone from up there? He's the one you've been seeing for the past few weeks, hasn't he? All this time you've been missing from the hideout, you've been here with him, huh. I can't believe you, I can't believe I was going to-" 

You throw up a hand, silencing him, saying, "You absolute blistering imbecile, how dare you say you can't believe me when you were the one that came into my house without warning just to prove a point. Yes, I've been 'goodie-goodie', as you say, with Viktor. But did you bother with finding out a reason? Especially since, if I remember correctly, I'm the one that has been trying to talk to you!"

"A reason?" he shot back. "I didn't need a reason as soon as I found out that you weren't telling me something about what you were doing! It's always been the two of us making plans, and I was worried, alright?" His voice suddenly dropped an octave, him almost muttering, "I didn't want there to be someone else."

The way he addressed Viktor so differently in his last statement threw you off, causing an idea to pop into mind.

"Ekko - are you jealous?"

He immediately broke eye contact, and you swore you saw a tinge of red touching his face.

"Wait, no, sorry. That was a stupid question, you've never been envious of anybody we personally know, much less just for being my friend."

The boy spoke up before you could continue, a bit of shame crawling into his voice. "Stop, I should be the one saying sorry. It's not stupid, I..."  He took a deep breath and stepped away from the doorway towards you, meeting your gaze again. "I was jealous. Extremely so, and I let it get in the way of us for two whole weeks. The reason I was different this time was because it felt more personal when you were becoming friends with Viktor. It's not because I hate him, it's because I-" 

All traces of anger had left his voice, as it had from your thoughts. You lay a hand on his arm, signaling for him to continue. 

"It's not how I feel towards him. It's how I feel towards you. Because I like you. No, scratch that. I love you."

You can't help yourself as you feel yourself inhale sharply, Ekko adding furtively, "And love as in love, not how we usually say it. You know, as friends. That's what I wanted to say just now. When I said I was going to do something, I meant telling you all this earlier. It was just bad timing with Viktor, the two of you together really scared me, especially since I was trying to scrape up the courage to say something about it to you."

To say you were taken aback was an understatement. Your mind was racing a mile a second, and you didn't doubt your face was just as red as his was just now. However, none of that stopped your heart from overflowing with happiness at the news.

"I love you too," you say in a hushed tone, Ekko's eyes widening. "I have some explaining myself. The friendship between me and Viktor was more of a collaboration. He would help me out on this, and I would share with him the potential uses for Hexcore I had found. It was meant to be a surprise for you as a congratulations on the anniversary of the Firelights founding, which is why I didn't tell you anything about it."

You step aside from your place in front of your workbench, revealing the product of two weeks of hard, consequential work. 

The boy next to you gasped, his already wide smile lighting up further. 

"I didn't think I could love you any more after the extent of all that pining, but evidently, I was wrong," he stated, approaching the newly finished hoverboard. Unexpectedly, he didn't even touch it, instead quickly turning towards you. "You're just the most amazing person I know, I'm so sorry for everything; I'm really an idiot. Missing out on being with you in any and every way for the past two weeks has been killing me, it was wrong of me to take out my own insecurities on you. Also, I really want to say that you looked so beautiful sniping that officer earlier-"

His words are swallowed as you press your lips to his, the arms you admire so much immediately wrapping around your waist, him pulling you towards you as he leans against the workbench to press the two of you even closer. It's better than you could've ever imagined, the hostile moments from the past simply dissipating as a new door for you and Ekko opened. 

The blissful shard of eternity paused as you pulled back to say, "Oh, and by the way; the board is compatible with your boots, the two bond together so you don't have to worry about those hard turns you're always trying to master anymore, not to mention that it folds up unlike your last one, so it's even more portable."

He pressed a delicate finger to your lips, stating, "It's my turn to cut you off. The gift is a perfect surprise, but you're the real surprise here - and a far superior one at that."

And eternity resumed. 

Monsters of the Past

Silco x Gen!Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: PTSD episode, mentions of traumatic memories

A/N: I feel like the scenes where he says “do you remember?” There’s a haunted little boy behind those eyes, stuck in the mines. I just want to hold him and tell him he’s seen.

Summary: you comfort Silco

The world stands still as he stares into the abyss, memories haunt him as he stands frozen. The cold, damp air of the abandoned mine causes his body to feel cornered.

Silco’s hands grip onto the rusted metal of the railings, the groans of protest echo against the carved walls. His shoulders unconsciously shake as his vision is haunted, the day he arrived was still as grim as he remembered.

His head lowers, his body feeling as if it’s caving in, shudders of his anxious breath ring in his ears.

One eye hidden in darkness by an eyelid, he remembers every dead child he helped carry out of these mines, the accidents, his own injuries. A choked gasp leaves him, and Silco feels helpless.

“Sil?” A soft voice pulls him back up from the dark ambiguity of his flashbacks.

You couldn’t see him like this, you can’t.

“Who informed you I was here?” You flinch at his rough tone for a moment, before giving a cautious step forward.

“Sevika, but I don’t blame her. Silco… I worry about you, let me help you.”

Guilt punches him in the gut and makes him nauseous, he shakes his head subtlety as he tries to regain composure.

“I’ll be fine, you must not worry about me,” defeat is evident in the inflection of his words. He needs you, but he doesn’t want you to see him weak.

He was a leader, he couldn’t afford to be weak.

“You don’t have to be alone, I’m bound to you by vows to be here when you need me most. I’m fulfilling my duty not just by my title of spouse, but as by promise.”

Silco’s shoulders relax at your words, reminding him of your loyalty. He needed that in this moment, after how many times he’s been betrayed and abandoned: you were his constant.

He hesitantly turns towards you, sea-foam eye full of emotion.

Holding your hand out, his dexterous, shaky hands rests in your comforting palm. You join him at the railing, only looking down for a brief moment. Your eyes flick up to Silco’s, and he lets out a nervous breath.

“I was only a boy when I was left here. I do not remember my parents, but they day they abandoned me will forever haunt my mind. I remember begging, pleading to go back home. I was held back by large hands around my arms, I had bruises there for days after,” He stands at full height and looks at the entrance of the mine.

“Children were abandoned at the mines in exchange for a heavy payment. I find myself wondering if my parents left me here for a better life, more meals, shelter.” He looks down at your conjoined hands, swallowing against the lump building in his throat.

“Now that I have taken in Jinx, raised her as my own…. I realized that no matter how desperate I would have been: I would never put my own child through that horror.”

He avoids your gaze as long as he can, rubbing circles into the skin of your knuckles.

You place a gentle caress of your free hand to his unscarred face, your thumb tracing at the apple of his cheekbone.

“And look at you now. A leader, a beacon of hope, a loving father, a loving husband.” His eyes switch between the both of yours, searching for any lie in your words.

He hears the honesty in your voice, and presses his own hand against yours.

“Silco, that little boy who feels trapped in these mines would be proud of the man you’ve become. I am proud of you, no matter what the world throws at you, you rise and you prove that you deserve to be here.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, a hand resting at the base of his skull. He leans into your embrace, his face pressed against the pulse of the crook of your neck. Your scent calming him, comforting him further as your words sing in his mind.

A chaste kiss is pressed to your exposed skin, and your fingernails gently rake against his scalp.

He pulls away and looks into your bright eyes, lighting up the darkness of the dim-lit tunnel.

“Come home with me, my love. Take the rest of the day off and we can do whatever your heart desires.” A small upward quirk of his lips causes his features to gain more life.

You lead him out of the tunnel with your hand in his, guiding him away from the monsters of the past.

Chapters: 1/13 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021), League of Legends Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard/Jinx Characters: Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard, Jinx (League of Legends), Ekko (League of Legends), Ezreal (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Roommates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Running Away, Touch-Starved, Recreational Drug Use, mild drug use, Kissing, Girls Kissing, minor ekko/ezreal, characters are twenty something Summary:

Jinx finds Lux collapsed in an alley and offers her a place to stay. So maybe they fall in love a little without mentioning the skeletons in their closets, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it.

 -- GUYS IT BEGINS

idk if any of my normal readers are into f/f or arcane, but I hope you are <3

Symmetry (Silco/OC)

Chapter 26

May we all burn a few bridges in our day

Oh yeah Finn is super dead and Sevika actively egged in on for the shits and giggles. Not all heroes wear capes.

Me gleefully writing Finn digging his own grave in front of papa Rengar and inching closer to a nasty death with each word:

Whoopsie

I’m noticing a pattern....

CHAPTER 4 - NEW ACCOMMODATIONS

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to stare?”

.

Silco / Jane Eyre Regency AU

Silco/Reader (Governess)

Good Daddy Silco, Slow burn, gothic/regency/victorian AU, Young Jinx, Sevika, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut... this will definitely be smutty when the time comes.

Silco and his many mood swings. There will be some fluff coming in the following chapters, a little education for father and daughter, a bit of creepiness, a little smoke and fire and someone comes on the scene who can cause a lot of problems for the new wealthy industrialist. 

For the few of you that asked for a tag list for this fic. I didn’t want to add people  for just liking my story post. You can always DM me too. I took a page out of @a-gal-with-taste​ ‘s book (I hope you don’t mind)

JOIN TAG LIST

@ironandglass @intpthinkinginquiet @angxlictexrs​

anyway i havent written in so long but lightcannon just forced me to barf out some words

if you wanna see lux and jinx be awkward and cute and lux cleans jinx’s wounds and whatever go read my thingy: you smell like sunshine

pussydrunk jayce maybe?

“Maybe”, anon? I think you mean certainly.

He is. Very on the brain. Thank you for indulging me. Enjoy!

Keep going

Jayce Talis x GN afab Reader

18+

Tags/warnings: come eating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral (reader receiving), P in V.

Word count: 1k

Jayce loves indulging you. There is an intrinsic need to give that drives him, his touch, his words. It’s rare that you find him focused on his pleasure alone, which is what makes those instances all the more valuable.

Those instances happen when he’s at his most vulnerable, in post-orgasmic bliss: glistening chest heaving, most winning grin plastered all across his face as he’s giving one final, weak thrust into you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders determines him to lean forward, between your thighs, until his head lays heavily on your chest, and you’re scratching gently at the short hair on the back of his head.

“Your pussy’s my favorite thing in the world,” He heaves out, shifting his head against your chest just barely, enough to look into your eyes. His stubble rubs against your sternum, gliding with the sweat coating your skin when he tucks his chin to press a kiss to your chest.

You deliberately clench around his softening cock, smile when he winces. Not that you’re any better off, letting out a small whimper of your own when you realize the dull ache you’re left with. “I can tell,” you lilt. “You’ve left me very sore.”

He hums affirmatively into your skin. The clash between his zygomatic and your ribcage is not a pleasant one, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s Jayce, and he’s staring up at you lovingly while his cheek is squished up against your chest, listening to your heartbeat. Frankly, nothing matters, save for the sated, fucked out glint in his eye and the cupping of his hands over your ass.

They continue upwards, calluses catching gently over the insides of your thighs as he raises them back to your chest.

“Can I make it up to you?” Jayce asks, mouthing at your chest, nipping and licking at whatever’s within reach.

“Make it up to me how?”

There’s no answer, only him groaning as he unsticks his sweaty body from yours, the cold of the room hitting you suddenly. Jayce inches out of you softly, and yet, you still find yourself spasming around his cock. The wet squelch the head of his dick makes as it dislodges is obscene in every sense of the word, and you suppose the sight Jayce is being treated to right now isn’t any different, either.

“Oh, fuck, you’re hot,” He mumbles, one hand dipping between your thighs. The pads of his fingers trace up your left lip, stopping at your cunt. There, he doesn’t waste another moment, languidly finger-fucking his cum back into you with wide eyes. “Look at what I’ve made of you, gods—“ His Adam’s apple bobs heavily before his eyes snap back up to yours, drinking in the strangled whimper that leaves you. “Can I clean you up?”

You’re about to inquire why he’s even asking while you give him a curt nod; it’s often that you either run a wet washcloth over his abdominals or that he’s kissing his cum off your chest, why would this warrant any giving of consent? Regardless, you digress, are about to tell him where you’ve left the washcloth, which turns out to be entirely redundant.

Jayce ducks between your legs, and, next thing you know, his fingers leave you, replaced by two thumbs on either side of your lips.

“Jayce, what—“

There’s no response; not that you need one. Not when he’s letting out a sated moan as he spreads you apart and lays a thick swipe of his tongue over your dripping hole.

“O-oh, gods—“ you mewl, reaching down to card your fingers through his mussed locks. If the amused exhale and curling of his lips against your pussy is anything to go by, he’s grinning. Smug bastard.

“You taste so good,” He groans, arms folding around your thighs to draw you in. His breath fans your pussy when he speaks, voice low and heady. “Well, I mean, we taste good.”

You can’t hold back a small laugh, one that quickly dies down as he thrusts his tongue into you with a lewd, blissed out hum. His nose presses into your clit with his enthusiasm, you find yourself canting up your hips against his face, in spite of the fact that it feels like it’s far too much to handle.

“Just like that,” Jayce encourages when you rub yourself against his tongue. “Wanna drown in you, babe, c’mon.”

Drown he does, in the gush of your orgasm on his tongue. It’s nowhere near as potent as the one you’d had a few minutes ago, but it’s delightful no less. Slow and gentle, Jayce eases you over the heights of your pleasure with his tongue buried inside you as far as it can reach, and his thumb frantically rubbing your clit. He moans into you when you clench around the slickness of his tongue, hands coming up to hook around your thighs. Even as you mewl that it’s good, it’s enough, Jayce, please, he raises your hips to his mouth, keeps them still as he laps up all you can give.

Only the upper part of his face peeks out from below you when he finally stops, barely circling the tip of his tongue over your clit. He smiles, wide and proud when you stroke his cheek with the back of your hand. You expect a lot of things from him as a breathy exhale leaves him with finality. Maybe a loving kiss to your thigh, a loving squeeze of your ass, to ask if you liked it, was it any good, what should he repeat next time, what should he leave out, really, there are a lot of ways you expect it to go.

But not like this.

Jayce smiles impishly, hands around your thighs not budging even an inch. He barely lifts his face from your pussy when he asks: “Can I keep going?”

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jayce/Viktor (League of Legends), Jayce & Viktor (League of Legends) Characters: Jayce (League of Legends), Viktor (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Unrequited Love, Pining, no happy ending, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, mainly Viktor's pov, social skills of a pebble, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

Viktor thinks about the good things from the past but no matter what present isn't something you can run from.

OR

Viktor makes himself and everyone reading this sad by thinking too much.

Whooooooo, chapter 30 is finally here!! Sorry for the wait everyone, hope it was worth it. Vi struggles with her assignment... and talks to a LOT of people!

Girls night (NSFW)

Everyone’s reaction to reader coming back from a girls night tipsy and horny

I thought this idea was wayyy too funny

18+ minors DNI

Mel

Probably was at the girl’s night with you.

If you smack Mel you’re losing access to your hands and they will be pinned.

She completely understands getting caught up in the moment but she isn’t the one to slap. It’ll just be used as an excuse to steal your soul.

This girls got gadgets you’ve never even heard of and they’re all gonna be working at their highest setting tonight.

Accidentally traumatizing Jayce and waking up to enough noise complaints you could swim in them.

Vi:

At first she’s a pouty puppy. Hasn’t even noticed that you’re tipsy and hella horny. She’s too caught up in feeling bad for herself that you left her at home to spend time with your girls.

She has to get a good look at you before she realizes what’s going on and smirks.

Handsy, hot and bothered, she’s liking this side of you.

But then her pants are coming off, and wow you taste like hard liquor and when did you get her top off?

As soon as she realizes you’re moving a little too fast for her she panics.

Locked herself in the bathroom and sat in the tub till you passed out by the door.

Viktor:

At first he’s excited to see you. He’s ready to hear about all the places you’ve been and what you guys talked about until he sees this carnivores look in your eye he’s never seen before.

You pretty much jump his bones.

You’re going to break the man. You’re squishing his face and he’s fighting to breathe while you’re having some of the best sex the two of you have ever had.

Moans in confused and a little scared cus what the fuck is going on.

He’s half out of his mind while you’re bouncing on him and only really comes back to earth once the two of you are done.

Littered in bite marks and can’t look you in the eye in the morning. Doesn’t even know who you are anymore. This is going in his journal.

Sevika:

Babes can do more than handle you. You’ve met your match with this one. She doesn’t really care if you’re gripping her hair hard if anything it makes her work harder.

Bite her she’ll bite back harder.

She’s gonna chuckle into your mound while you grind yourself against her face. Usually you’d never even think about sitting on her face because you’ve said it before you’re too scared you’ll suffocate her. It’s hard to believe the words ever left your mouth at the sight of the two of you.

When the strap comes out if you get wild she’s just gonna enjoy the show. Completely ignores you when you try smacking her. Only really cares about the faces you’re making cus you look cute.

Sevika can take a couple of hits this is a piece of cake.

Silco:

Someone missed you while you were gone as much as he hates to say it. He tried distracting himself with work but couldn’t help thinking about you and how cold you’d left his presence.

He waits for you at the door so once you come stumbling in he’s getting mowed down immediately.

Congratulations you’ve caught the king off guard and wow this is definitely a new position, have you always been this flexible? What are you doing to his body?

____

@thesinoflust1103 @htmlbitxh @redflamesbaku @illicittete @mochi-clouds @bilesxbilinskixlahey @sparrow-rise @freementallyillkid @just-a-sewer-goblin

Wildest Dreams. [PREVIEW!!]

SilcoxF!Reader—🥧

I wrote this at 12 am, I'd probably finish this soon with fixing and editing some errors.

"Say you'll remember me standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe. Red lips and rosy cheeks, say you'll see me again even if it's just in your

Wildest Dreams."

The sun falls as the people inside the ballroom dances around gracefully to the music while you watch them. Piltover was the finest and beautiful place to live with, to you, of course. You were interested to stay here while learning about your people and kind, the stories and information about everyone and everything around the world. What made you even more interested about the place you live in, is the Undercity.

You didn't knew why the certain place didn't had a name but for sure you really wanted to know the history too. On how the two cities broke apart and the other left to rotten in hell while the other is being praised and visited by many people.

Unsure why one the councillor's invited you into this occasion, you were flattered and decided to come anyway. with a fluffy white and light blue dress that matched the sunny sky sea of cotton clouds, that Mel suggested for you to wear. You have been friends with her for a long time, pen pals if I may add. She was very sweet and caring towards you and sees you as a big sister, you never expected it really but you loved her.

She wanted to invite you in every party she goes, and I mean every party and occasions. You weren't that much enjoyable around people but you tried your best to not make her upset.

"Enjoying the party?"

"Not quite but it's very exquisite."

Mel lets out a laugh as she shakes her head softly, admiring the view with a beautiful sunset orange and gradient yellow infront of you both while talking and away from the crowded room inside.

"One of these days, you'll get to live in this majestic progressed city."

"Oh? but I am already, thanks to you."

"You seriously have to go back?"

You froze at her words, currently thinking about it. You just stayed in Piltover awhile to explore and learn the stories about them, it was only thirty one days.

"I have to, Mel."

"I won't stop you, just remember to write me,"

You huff a laugh, she was one young beautiful woman, never thought you'd be friends with her at all especially with her reputation of being the richest person. Mostly people would give you stares and hearing their whispers about you that made your surroundings insufferable. Though you didn't want to forget and stop writing to her.

No doubt you won't at all.

—

Oops<3

Got a spark of inspiration for chapter 3 of the wedding arc fic (which also had me scrapping a good chunk of what I’d already written for it) and Lux is having a full on mental break trauma response. I’m so sorry baby, but we need this for the sake of plot.

Me @ my babies when I’m about to cause them suffering and mental torment for the sake of plot progression: