OH. MY. FUCKING. GODS.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GODS.

A day hasn't passed where I wouldn't think about this series. I already spewed so many times how much I love your portraytion of Silco and this chapter only made my obsession with your works stronger.

I loved all the fluff in this, the soothing, the emotions, everything. It was a perfect thing to end my day after my nightshift ^w^

But one thing stood out to me. I know you said you wanted this series to be loaded with other relationships/subpllts tham just focusing on Silco and the reader. And you really did it beautifully! The way Sevica admits she's glad the reader is okay might not seem like much, but if you know her, it means so fucking much. She's not one to voice ger emotions often, so for her to admit that, even if it was to affirm Silco in that "argument" of theirs, she wouldn't lie. And she still said it, which means the wlrry she must have felt was way bigger for her to admit it like that, so easily, for lack of a better word.

And Zane??? It had me cljtching my heart, what he did for the reader. The soup moment was so sweet, because not only did the reader manage to get close to Silco, she also gained friends. Something she thought she would never have again adter everything she lost in her life.

You're...you're fucking perfect. Never stop what you do (I'll fucking lerish if you do)

The Mad Scientist's Assistant - Chp 27

Chapter 27—Bit by Bit, Piece by Piece (AO3)

Full TMSA masterlist

Previous Chapter: Chapter 26

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI 

Chapter Tags: Silco x Fem!Reader, Reader-Insert, some short-term amnesia

Chapter word count: 8.4k

Chapter Beta Readers: Thank you as always @purplefangirl42

Total word count: 172k

Darkness.

In the darkness, there's no pain, no guilt, no anger, no longing.

Only darkness.

Both weightless and untethered, yet unable to move. Suspended in both space and time.

No light can enter. No sound. No smell. No taste. 

How much time has passed? Has it even passed at all? Seconds, minutes, hours, days. None of it matters in this limbo between waking and dreaming. Then—

Something manages to slip past the barrier. A sound. It's hushed and broken, yet familiar. It grows stronger and louder, the unintelligible hums become more refined, more crisp until words can be parsed. They drift in and out, simultaneously so close yet so far away.

You hear a word, repeated over and over. It sounds so familiar. 

Why does it sound so familiar?

There's something important about this word. Something you can't quite place. Like it's been with you forever. Like it's accompanied you through everything you've ever known.

You cling to it, focus in on it, listening for more. 

Is it… is it your name?

Yes! That word, that sound; it's you! It's your name!

Your ears prick with every broken whisper of your name, with every shaking prayer.

You try to call out to it, your lips forming another word. It feels harsh on your tongue. Bittersweet. Like you've had so much of it that you can't take anymore. And yet you want more. 

What is that word?

It's a dew drop on your tongue, a melody in your voice. 

A name. 

Bit by bit, you piece yourself together, using the murmured hums and gentle touches from the other side as a guide.

First, your ears, honing in on the sounds around you.

Then, your hand, as something warm envelopes it, squeezing it tightly.

Your nose. The scent of gunpowder, river sludge, Shimmer, and something else. Something also familiar. Tobacco.

Your mouth. The taste of iron.

Your torso. A dull ache, a tightness that seems to wrap around you.

Slowly, painstakingly, each part of you pulls out from underneath the heavy veil of unconsciousness. With every piece of you, you relearn what it is to be human.

To feel alive.

Your eyes are the last to awaken. With each flutter of your eyelids, you feel the weight of them as they sink back down. Heavy, so heavy.

Was it always this hard? 

A soft orange glow, a beacon. A lamp? No. The sun? 

Your eyes drift closed again but you fight them, focusing all your energy to open them once more. When that proves too difficult, you turn your attention elsewhere, honing in on a sensation.

Warmth and weight on your hand.

Experimentally, you wiggle your fingers. There's resistance and pressure as the pads of your fingers press against something. You do it again, a little harder, until you're squeezing your fingers around it.

You sense something move in front of you, startled. There's pressure on your face as something warm yet rough presses against your jawline, something caressing your cheek.

Your ears pick up a sound. It sounds like your name. Your lips move to respond to it.

“Silco?”

Your throat is scratchy, your voice hoarse.

More feelings. More sensations.

Every part of you cries out in discomfort, a deep ache all over your body that won't go away.

But the hand in yours is soft and warm. As is the voice that says your name.

You squeeze the hand.

It squeezes back.

Your eyes open.

That soft orange glow. That light in the darkness. It shines before you now, ever present, unblinking. Your eyes focus, your vision growing more refined by the second until you can clearly see the beacon that guides you home.

Silco's corrupted eye.

The veil falls away until it feels like a distant memory, a hazy dream, leaving only…

“Silco.”

The man lays in front of you in bed, one hand in yours while his other tenderly strokes your cheek. His mismatched eyes swim as they take in your tired, confused face.

His lips are parted in awe, his eyebrows curled inwards in disbelief. 

He says your name again.

It sends warmth to your chest.

Slowly, and with great effort, you take in your surroundings. You're on a bed of some sort, somewhere dark except for the faint green light from somewhere further away. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you're able to take in a little more. 

“Your—” he whispers, blinking. It's as if he has a thousand things to say and doesn't know in what order he should do so. “It… it worked.”

You feel as if you've joined a conversation mid-sentence.

“What worked?” You croak out, your throat burning.

A smile spreads across his face. It crinkles at his eyes and makes him look a decade younger. It's the happiest you've seen him since you've met him. 

“Your cure.” He presses his forehead to yours, his good eye closing. “Your cure worked.”

You're not entirely sure what he's talking about, your mind unable to recall anything before this very moment. But you can tell from Silco's expression that this is good news, so you try to humor him.

Your lips pull into a smile, but it's crooked with the way your face presses into the pillow. It doesn't quite reach your eyes, limited by the exhaustion that continues to grip you.

“Yay…” you let out a small, pathetic whisper of an exclamation, pulling a soft chuckle from the man across from you.

As a bit more energy returns to you, you shift in the bed. Pressing off your arms, you grunt as you raise yourself up to sit. Silco follows suit, a look of concern on his face.

You suck air through your teeth as a sharp bolt of pain shoots through you from your shoulder, across your spine, and down to your hip. Squeezing your eyes shut, you ride out the pain, your breath hitching.

“Take it slow. You suffered a major injury,” Silco coos. “Breathe.”

You nod, taking a deep breath in through your nose before pushing it out your mouth. The sting eases slightly.

Another breath.

You open your eyes, relieved.

Looking around, you realize you're in Singed's cave. And not only that, you're in his bed.

I knew he had a room in here…

The blanket on you falls away and you look down to see that your entire torso has been wrapped in gauze.

You turn to your bedmate, confused.

“Why am I wrapped like a mummy?”

Silco lets out a soft chuckle.

“That's a long story. One I can tell you after you've had some time.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gazing into your eyes.

“All you need to know for now is: you're okay. Everyone's okay.” 

You feel as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. But even as that relief settles in, your body cries out, already desperate for a break.

Slowly, you sink back down on the bed into the same position as before.

The mattress groans as Silco's weight leaves it.

“Get some rest. I'll have food waiting for you when you wake.”

He starts to leave, but your hand reaches out instinctively to grab his wrist.

“Silco?”

He pauses.

“Thank you.”He gives you a soft smile in response. “By all accounts,” he hums, “I should be thanking you.”

The next time you wake, Silco brings you a tray with a bowl of stew. As you sit up in bed, content to let the hot soup soothe your scratchy throat, Silco recounts everything that happened after leaving his office.

As he talks, you struggle to recall the memories of what he's telling you. The images and sounds are hazy and muddled at best. You suspect your brain is trying to protect you from the trauma your body just went through.

Four days.

You were out for four days.

You certainly feel like it, your body aching all over as if you'd been run over by a Chemtank. 

“What happens now?” 

“All that's left is meeting with the Chembarons to divy up Finn's territory.”

You roll your eyes. “Something tells me none of them will be that heartbroken at his passing.”

Silco smirks, but adds nothing.

After a moment, you see him do something he's never done before. You blink as you watch, a smile curling on your lips.

He yawns.

“I think it's the Eye of Zaun’s bedtime,” you laugh.

He shoots you a look, equal parts annoyance and amusement. But then you find yourself yawning as well, your eyelids growing heavier by the second.

“Yours as well,” he hums.

He stands, removing the tray and empty bowl from your lap.

“Thank you.”

“Don't thank me. The stew was all Zane's doing.”

You blink.

“Really?”

He hums in confirmation, using his free hand to adjust the sheets for you.

“Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake.”

You stir out of sleep at the sound of two voices speaking in hushed tones. Too tired to open your eyes, you're content to simply lay and just listen. After a while, you realize the voice that accompanies Silco's is Sevika's. The pair seem to be talking at the entrance to Singed’s room, if you could call it that.

“How long are you going to play nurse? We need you back.”

“You've managed fine without me—”

“Any longer and you risk a coup. The Chembarons will sniff out and exploit any weakness—”

“I just got rid of their biggest headache,” Silco shoots back, voice straining to stay quiet and hold back its edge. “They won't try anything so foolish.”

“You've been gone—”

“I've been right here—”

“No! You haven't!”

Sevika's voice rings out through the cave, dancing and bouncing off the stone walls. You realize in this moment that you've been holding your breath as you listen, your hands clinging to the sheets next to you.

There's a pregnant pause and you can hear Sevika take a deep breath in, gathering herself before she lowers her voice. You have to strain your ears to hear her.

“Ever since you fired her, your mind has been elsewhere.”

Your throat bobs.

“I don't know what happened between you two—and I don't want to know—but whatever it is, you need to sort it out. And fast. Before you drag us all down with you.”

You can sense Silco's agitation in the way his breaths come whistling out his nostrils, as if his lips are pinched into a tight line. When he doesn't speak, his second-in-command continues, her voice hushed but a fire in every syllable.

“Finn is gone; we saw to that. And now, it's time for you to make good on a promise you made me years ago.”

You can hear a subtle sound of metal on metal and suspect Sevika is rolling out her chemtech arm. When she speaks, her voice is low and gruff.

“An Independent Zaun.”

A pause.

There's nothing but the sound of bubbles in the various tanks throughout the lab. That and the occasional sound of tinkling glass as Singed works somewhere within the stone walls. Tentatively, you open your eyes. Your back to the pair, all you can see are their shadows ahead of you, their forms illuminated by the soft green light from the various tanks. You watch, attempting to read their body language as much as their hazy silhouettes along the cave wall will allow.

“Silco.” There's a warmth in Sevika's voice. The same you had witnessed when she was at your apartment. “You said yourself: the longer we wait, the more—”

“I know what I said,” he snarls back. 

Then, the sound of booted footsteps as he walks toward your bed, his shadow growing larger in front of you. Quickly, you shut your eyes, pretending to sleep. 

You can feel his presence and sense that he’s standing behind you, hovering. You keep your eyes shut, straining to not move a single muscle.

When Silco speaks, there’s a heaviness to each word; his tone informed by years of battles won and lost.

“There is no reason to leap into the next fray until after we've recovered from this one.”

More footsteps. They don’t quite reach your bed, Sevika standing somewhere between the entrance to Singed’s quarters and Silco.

“How long?” she calls to him.

A pause.

“How long do you need to lick your wounds?” She clarifies. “Topside’s not going to wait for us to be ready.” Creaking of leather as Sevika shifts her weight. “In fact, I heard as soon as two weeks from now, they’re meeting to decide our fate.”

The silence that stretches out is stifling. It goes on for so long, you wonder if Sevika has already left. But then, there's shuffling followed by Sevika's voice, all the bite behind her words gone, replaced with quiet sincerity.

“I am glad she's okay.”

Another pause.

Then, an equally quiet, equally sincere:

“Me too.”

Your hands tighten their grip on the sheets, your lips pressed together.

Silence falls on the cave again. After a few quiet moments, you hear Sevika’s echoed footsteps as she exits the lab. Silco remains at your bedside, deathly still.

You’re about to turn over, pretend like you had just woken up. But then Silco’s voice cuts through the quiet, just barely above a whisper.

“I can’t do it.” 

A pause.

“Not yet.”

A long, shaky inhale followed by a broken exhale.

“Not without her.”

You awaken on your back and are surprised to feel no pain as you do so. There's a lingering ache, but the sharp pain that shot through you before has diminished.

There's something on your chest on top of your bandaging. By no means heavy, it's small and strangely comforting. When finally you open your heavy eyelids, you're greeted with something purple and tentacled.

“Ah!” 

You bolt up, hands quick to shove the thing away from you. As soon as you do, you hear cackling coming from beside you. Turning, you see one blue-haired menace.

“Jinx!”

She continues to wheeze and howl at your expense, holding her stomach as she no doubt succumbs to stitches in her side, slapping her knee all the while.

When finally she gets up from the stool, she wipes a tear away from her eye as she walks to the foot of your bed where you had thrown her octopus plush.

“What did Ms. Inky ever do to you?” She admonishes as she delicately lifts the purple plush by two of its soft tentacles, dancing it toward you like a marionette on a string. The longer you look at the stuffed animal, the more you start to remember. Slowly, your mind pieces together memories from before your run-in with Finn’s crew.

“A lot, actually,” you reply with a laugh. “You know this by now.”

“I do,” she says with a cheeky smile.

“What are you two going on about?”

Your head whips around at the familiar voice and you immediately wince as a now familiar sharp pain shoots through your back. By the grace of Janna, the pain leaves just as quickly as it came.

No sudden movements. Got it.

“Nothing!” You and Jinx answer Silco in unison. When his attention is elsewhere, you both share a knowing look and a silent giggle.

Jinx continues to hold up the plush in front of you, jostling it with each little dance of her hands. Laughing, you reach out for it. Jinx sits at the foot of your bed cross-legged while her father takes her old spot on the stool next to you.

“I guess I can't stay mad at Ms. Inky. She saved my life after all,” you say, one finger tracing the stitching over the space where its missing limb used to be. “Even if she did try to kill me first.”

You can feel the heat of Silco's gaze on you and turn to find furrowed eyebrows, one dark while the other is slightly smeared. You can tell from glancing at his face that his makeup job was rushed whenever he had last applied it; you can see small traces of his scarring beneath the foundation, peeking through like sunlight through a thick forest.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, tone neutral.

Your hands fidget with the soft plush, fingers expelling the sudden nervous energy within you. You just know Silco won't approve of the way you had gone about finding his cure, but you also don't want to lie to him.

“Singed managed to replicate my formula, right?”

“Correct.”

“And… you know all the ingredients for it…”

“Yes.”

“Well…” You chew the inside of your mouth. “How do you think I got that in the first place?”

His good eye narrows; it's such a small movement that you almost miss it. 

“Jericho's.”

You shake your head.

His eye narrows further, suspicion on his face but it's clear that he's not putting the pieces together.

“When I needed to make more cure, I sourced from Jericho's… but what led me to the creature in the first place was…”

You watch as it finally clicks, realization spreading across his face.

“You did not.”

You hum, nodding your head.

“Do not tell me…” he leans forward, bringing his elbows to his knees while his thumb and forefinger pinch the bridge of his nose. “You went into the river to get its blood.”

“I didn't! I mean… I did,” you correct yourself. “But I didn't go in the river with the intention of getting its blood.”

He shoots you a look and you stumble through an explanation, more and more of your memory clearing up as you speak.

“So Singed gave me a couple bags of your blood, right? So I could test and research it to find your cure. But it wasn't enough and I knew I needed a sample of the toxins that did this to you, so I went in to get a few vial's worth. But—” you let out a nervous chuckle, looking down at Ms. Inky in your hands. “But I got pulled under by the big octopus creature.”

When you work the nerve up to look Silco in the face, you're surprised to see his good eye widened. Not in anger or surprise, but fear.

“Yeah, I… it grabbed me by the leg. I managed to get away after cutting off its tentacle. On a whim, I took it home. And, what do ya know, its blood held the key to our cure.”

Jinx sits uncharacteristically silent at the foot of the bed, content to watch the conversation unfold, blue eyes darting between you and Silco.

“... When you say ‘our cure’...” His voice is low, a deep rumble.

Your throat bobs.

“I mean…” you look up at Jinx. She offers you the smallest of nods. 

No use keeping it from him.

“I mean I already needed the cure before the greenhouse.” You wet your lips. “When I got pulled under, the toxins got in my eyes. I umm… I almost went blind.”

His eyes lock with yours, a look of almost panic written into his features: the inward curl of his eyebrows, the slight part of his lips. But then, he seems to look through you, his eyes unfocusing as if watching some other scene play out in his mind. Finally, his good eye flutters closed, a sigh at his lips.

“That's why you couldn't see me,” he whispers.

Now it's your turn to be confused.

“What?”

But he elaborates no further, leaving you in the dark as he shakes his head.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” There’s an airiness to his voice, like he’s laughing at a joke only he understands. “Always finding trouble.”

You chuckle. “I think in this case, trouble most certainly found me.”

He hums at that, eyes never leaving you. His expression is unreadable, but you can’t help but notice there’s a hint of something behind his gaze. A sadness. Is it guilt?

But then he’s turning away from you and addressing his daughter.

“Jinx, fetch her things. She'll be returning home today.”

Jinx leaps off the bed. There's the sound of rustling and clanging as she throws things into a large black bag.

“I am?” You straighten up.

He hums.

“The doctor says you're safe to return home. Your stitches will dissolve in about a week. In the meantime, you'll need someone to redress your bandaging every two days.”

“I can do it!” Jinx pipes up as she plops the bag onto the foot of your bed.

Silco offers her a soft smile.

“It seems we have a volunteer.”

“Oh! Wait!” Jinx buries her nose in the bag as her painted fingertips shove things around. “I brought you a shirt since yours got all ruined and junk.” 

She pulls out a large oversized shirt, tan in color. Your eyebrows furrow and you blink, staring at it.

“One of Vander’s…” she mutters in explanation. 

“Oh…”

You lock eyes briefly with Silco and his gaze darts away. Meanwhile, Jinx is scrunching up the fabric, ready to pull it over your head.

“Here, lemme help.”

Maneuvering with your entire torso bandaged proves awkward, but with Jinx’s assistance, you manage to get the shirt on. You’re absolutely swimming in it; it hangs off one of your shoulders and you’re almost certain it’ll reach your thighs when you stand up. But the fabric is soft, softer than the sheets you sit under.

Jinx helps you with your boots before hopping onto the bed, sitting next to you.

“So!” she exclaims, “when are you coming back to work?”

“Jinx!” You and Silco cry out in unison. 

“Whaaaat?” She whines. “You two keep tiptoeing around it, I thought I’d nudge you in the right direction.” 

You and Silco share another look and this time you’re the one to break it off first. You chew on the inside of your mouth, heart too full of irreconcilable, inexplicable feelings tied to conflicting—yet incomplete—memories. 

Azure eyes dart back and forth between you and Silco, waiting for an answer. When one doesn’t come, she crosses her arms, letting out an exasperated huff through pouting lips, blowing the long blue fringe of her hair that’s draped over her face.

“I still don’t understand why you were fired in the first place,” she mutters.

“Jinx…” Silco warns.

She rolls her eyes.

Silco rises to his feet, plucking the bag by its strap from the edge of the bed and holding it up silently in instruction to his daughter. She lets out a groan and puts both her hands out, a soft grunt leaving her as her father drops the bag into her arms.

“Bring that to Dax. We’ll be up soon.”

“Okay…” she groans, hoisting the bag over her shoulder. She’s about to start for the cave’s exit when she turns back around and wraps her arms around your shoulders. Immediately, you melt into the embrace.

“Welcome back,” she whispers.

You feel a slight sting behind your eyes.

“Thank you.”

Jinx hops away, leaving just you and Silco in Singed’s quarters.

Silco stands with his hand outstretched in offering. Tentatively, you take it and—very slowly and very carefully—start to lower yourself off the bed.

You pitch forward when your boots touch the stone floor, your legs giving out almost immediately. Silco is quick to catch you, his hands grabbing your upper arms to hold you steady just as yours reach out to cling to the lapel of his coat. When you lift your chin, you’re surprised to find Silco’s face mere inches from yours, your breaths mixing in the middle. Eyes dart between cooling green and warming orange irises. Your throat bobs.

“Thanks.”

He straightens up and you follow.

“Of course.”

The two of you stand like that for a moment, still clinging to each other. There’s a familiarity to it, but you get this nagging feeling at the back of your head that you’ve forgotten something.

“I…” You wet your lips. “I don’t remember much of what happened with Finn, even after you told me.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” he hums.

“But that’s not all…” you say, more to yourself than to him. “I feel like…” you close your eyes, pinching your eyebrows together as you try to will the memories back. “I feel like I should be… mad at you?” You shake your head, as if it’ll knock the memories loose. “But I don’t remember why.”

When you open your eyes, you’re met with a stunned expression.

“You don’t… remember.”

You shake your head again.

“I vaguely remember being fired, but I don’t remember how it happened.”

Silco loosens his grip on your arms. You pull back, too.

“Do you remember why you were fired?”

You scrunch your face up as you try to think. “Kind of? Something with… the Hextech?”

His lips press into a thin line.

“Perhaps,” he starts, “it’s best if you try not to think of that right now. Focus on getting better. We can discuss your employment at a later date.”

After a moment, you nod.

Arm outstretched, he gestures toward the front of the cave. The climb up to the street level proves difficult on your wobbly legs, but Silco guides you the entire way, one arm barred around your shoulders to keep you from falling backward while the other holds your hand steady.

A black carriage awaits you on the street, Dax in the driver seat. You feel a strange sense like you had been here before when you climb in. As you scoot toward the middle of the seat, you notice a reddened stain on the carpet.

Is that my blood?

Silco climbs in after you, closing the door behind him.

Or Silco’s?

The car ride to your apartment passes in silence. You watch as the Undercity whizzes past your window, on occasion you steal glances at the man next to you. Only his unmarred side is visible as he stares straight ahead, expression unreadable. 

The carriage slows to a halt. After opening the door and stepping out, Silco turns to you, hand outstretched in offering.

“Oh, thanks,” you mutter under your breath as you take his hand and allow yourself to be guided out the car.

“Wait here,” Silco instructs Dax before making his way toward the back of the carriage, popping the trunk, and pulling out your bag.

“Oh, Silco, you don’t have to do that—”

“Doctor’s orders. You’re not to lift anything until your sutures have dissolved.”

You let out a sigh.

“Okay.”

When you get to your door, you realize you don’t have your satchel on you. Stepping aside, you watch as Silco pulls your keys out of his pocket.

“The contents of your satchel—as well as the now ruined satchel itself—are in this bag,” he explains as he unlocks and then opens the door. 

“Oh, right,” you mutter to yourself. 

Silco had told you about the warehouse, how your bag had been torn to shreds in the ensuing gunfire. You feel a slight pang in your chest, knowing it’s forever ruined.

My mom left me that bag…

Taking a step back, Silco offers you your keys. You realize at this moment that Silco has never been inside your apartment. You cross the threshold as you chew your bottom lip, preparing for the worst.

Your eyes widen when you take in the sight of your living room. Someone had cleaned it in your absence. Your blanket neatly folded on the couch, all the trash and bottles you had accumulated during your sleepless nights of work thrown away, even the dirty dishes in the sink are nowhere to be found, presumably cleaned and put away.

Silco follows you inside, setting the bag of supplies down next to the couch. You turn to him, surprised.

“Was this you?” You ask, unable to hide your smile.

“I’m afraid I cannot take credit for this,” he says. 

You walk into your kitchen, marveling at the pristine countertops as Silco follows you.

“In my defense, I never left your bedside.”

You laugh.

“I wasn’t going to complain, Silco.”

He shifts, bringing his hands to clasp behind his back. “I must apologize, however.”

You turn to him, confused.

“I may have… borrowed your key out of what was left of your bag to allow them to do this.”

Your eyebrows lift and you cross your arms.

“I put it right back,” he adds defensively.

You roll your eyes, taking in the sight of your spotless kitchen. Then, you see something on the fridge that wasn’t there before and realize someone had left a note. The handwriting looks unfamiliar. Plucking the paper from underneath a magnet, you read.

This food should last you a couple of days. It’s not Jericho’s, but it’s the best I could do.

— Zane

P.S Not judging, but I also cleaned a little.Maybe don’t let it get this bad againif you don’t want rats.

You feel a tinge of embarrassment, knowing Zane had seen your depression-fueled mess. But the embarrassment is quickly overridden by the warmth that settles in your chest, overwhelming and unexpected. 

What did I ever do to deserve a colleague like this?

When you turn back to Silco, you see he’s pointedly avoiding your gaze. 

“I feel as if… I should have done more,” he says softly, a hint of regret in his voice. 

"No, Silco, it's fine. You’ve already done plenty.”

Silence stretches between you.

With so many blank spaces in your memory, it’s impossible to tell where you and Silco stand. After a few minutes of internal wrestling, you put your hand out toward him.

“Thank you.”

He takes your hand and gives it one good shake.

“Thank you. With your cure, maybe I’ll get to see an independent Zaun in my lifetime after all.”

He releases your hand and you feel as if he’s taken a part of you with him as he does. 

Why does this feel like goodbye?

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes hold your gaze as scarred lips tug upward into a soft smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something else behind his two-toned look, a deep sadness that sends an arrow to your chest.

Then, wordlessly, he starts for the door. He’s a few steps away from it when he pauses. You watch as he reaches into the lining of his coat pocket before placing a small white envelope onto your kitchen island. Turning over his shoulder, he addresses you.

“Perhaps this will jog your memory.”

Your eyebrows furrow. Before you have a chance to question him, he’s walking out the door.

Your eyes dart back and forth between the closed door and the envelope. You’re half tempted to run after him, but the curiosity of the contents of that envelope is too strong. Finally, you tear the seal off, hands shaking all the while. 

In it is a letter in Silco’s pristine, slanted handwriting. Your eyes dart back and forth as you take in every word, your eyebrows curling inward with each line. As you read, images fill your mind, scenes you had forgotten resurfacing.

By the time you reach the end of the letter, a tear falls from your eye to land on the kitchen tile. Mouth agape, you blink as you take in everything you just read, as you’re left to process all the memories that came rushing back to you like a torrential flood.

That night in Silco’s office, his eyes boring into you.

His hands as they trail down your face over your neck.

But then—

Silco’s voice.

Hushed and broken. 

"It's me. I'm the one who should be sorry."

Pleading with you. 

"Stay with me."

Pleading with the gods.

“Kindred, please… not yet.”

And not only that—

“And if you'll forgive a foolish, old man… you have me.”

The letter falls to the ground as your feet lift off, carrying you forward to sprint out your apartment door. Ignoring the tightness in your chest, you throw yourself down the stairs two steps at a time before putting all your weight into the door that’ll take you to the street. Eyes wide, heart racing, lungs burning, you scan for the black carriage that had taken you home.

“Silco!” You yell out as you start to race toward the vehicle that is driving away, getting smaller and smaller by the second. “Silco! Wait—”

Your words are cut short by the wheezing cough that rips through you. You double over, pain tearing through your throat as you continue to cough. One hand clutching your chest as the other clings to your knee, your eyes squeeze shut.

Fuck! I’m still recovering.

You hang your head.

Straightening up, you try to catch your breath. Bringing your hands behind your head, face turned up to the heavens, you take a deep inhale through your mouth, trying to get as much air as you can into your lungs before pushing it out. The breath comes out ragged, but you start to feel a little better. After doing that a few more times, you lower your chin and open your eyes.

To see a black carriage pulling up in front of you.

The back window lowers, revealing Silco.

“What were you thinking?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows. “I saw what you just did; you’ll rip open your—”

Hands reach through the window, grabbing Silco by the lapel. His good eye widens as you pull him forward before crashing your lips into his. He makes a small startled sound as you press your mouth to his, your eyes squeezed shut. After a stunned second, his hands come up to cradle your face as he returns the kiss in kind. 

You cling to his coat, certain that if you let go, your feet will leave the ground and you’ll never be able to come back down. When finally you both part, Silco considers you with a shocked expression, eyes wide, lips parted.

“What are you—”

“I remember, Silco.”

He stares at you.

“I remember everything.” 

You feel out of breath again. You don’t know if it’s from your brief sprint, the kiss, the flood of emotions that’s coursing through your system, or the adrenaline. 

Or perhaps all of the above.

He continues to stare at you wordlessly. Then, his expression shifts, eyes darting to either side of you as he grabs the door handle. You take a step back as he opens the door, his hand quick to find yours, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist. The carriage door slams behind him as he quickly tugs you along, staccato footsteps on the pavement as he leads you back to your apartment. You’ve no choice but to be pulled along. When finally you find yourself back inside your apartment, you close the door behind you. 

You watch as Silco crouches down, picking up his letter from the floor. He straightens up, standing with his back to you, only the marred side of his face visible as he looks at you over his shoulder.

“You remember everything?”

You nod, taking a step toward him. “Yes.”

His abyss eye casts down to the floor, the hand not holding the letter curled into a fist.

“Then…” He pinches his lips together, eyebrows curling inward. “Why did you kiss me?”

The orange iris of his ruined eye lifts back up to your face, but he still doesn’t bring himself to turn fully toward you. He shakes the letter in his hand.

“After what I did to you?”

You take another step, as if approaching a cornered animal. Tentatively, you lift your hand, reaching for his. You wet your lips and take a steadying breath, before wrapping your fingers around his closed fist. You feel his muscles twitch at the contact, but he remains still.

“I remember what you did to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “But—more than that—I remember what you did for me.”

That gets his attention.

He turns over his shoulder a fraction, just enough for you to see the rest of his face. Softly, you continue.

“I heard everything. Everything you said when I was asleep. I…” You let out a nervous laugh. “I thought maybe it was just a dream. That I had hallucinated it while I was unconscious. But after reading your letter, I know it was real.”

His fist relaxes, but the rest of him stays frozen to the spot.

“I heard your apology. I heard your encouragement, your praise, your prayers. You…” You feel a sting forming behind your eyes and a lump growing in your throat. “You guided me home.”

Silco turns around.

With the ways his shoulders hunch forward, you’ve never seen him look so small. He adjusts his hand to hold yours. You reach out for his other hand and he takes it, the letter falling back down to the floor between you. As you stare into his eyes, you’re met with the most broken expression you’ve ever seen on the man.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

You let out a small puff of air out your nostrils.

“In more ways than one, you almost did.”

The pair of you stand like this for a few moments, simply staring into each other’s eyes as your hands are intertwined between you.

“Is it true?” you finally break the silence. “You can’t see a life in Zaun without me?”

He presses his lips together. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but you could swear you almost see his throat bob.

“Yes.” He nods his head. “It’s true.”

“So…” You pull your lips through your teeth. “What you said after Sevika left…”

His good eye flutters closed as he lets out a short chuckle.

“You heard that?”

You shrug. “Like I said: I heard ‘everything.’”

He opens his good eye, his gaze on your interlocked hands. His thumb rubs a tender line back and forth on your hand. His eyebrows lift a little as he takes a deep breath in through his mouth. When he lets it out, you can feel it brush over your skin.

“That, too, is true.” He lifts his eyes up to yours. “I cannot march on Piltover if it’s without you. If you’re not by my side.” 

He wets his lips with his tongue, uncharacteristically unsure.

“The truth is…”

His eyes cast to the side, unable to meet your gaze. For once, you’re content to just listen, your mouth sealed shut as you wait.

“I left something out of that letter.”

His eyes flick down to the folded paper on the hardwood before slowly, painstakingly, lifting back up to your eyes.

“I…”

His throat bobs, his eyebrows pinch together. When he speaks, there’s a subtle uncertainty to his voice, like he’s never said it before and doesn’t know if he’s pronouncing it correctly. 

“I love you.”

Your eyes widen, your heart stopping in its tracks. You feel as if all the air has left your lungs as you stare into Silco’s two-toned eyes, searching them for any trace of sarcasm or jest. When you find none, you blink, unable to keep your mouth from hanging open.

Perhaps you misheard him.

Surely, he said something else.

Finally, you find your voice.

“You what? Are you sure?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, a small smile tugging at his scarred lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I know I didn’t exactly say it with the most confiden—”

“No. I mean— Why?”

His head tilts.

“Are you asking why I love you?”

Hearing him say the phrase again jumpstarts your heart. Where once it had stopped entirely, now it beats too quickly. All at once, you feel dizzy. 

Silco’s eyes dart back and forth between yours, quick to catch the way your eyelids start to flutter. In an instant, his arms wrap around you as your body pitches forward, your face pressing into his shoulder as your limbs fall slack.

Somehow, by the grace of Janna, you remain conscious enough to mutter out apologies.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

He chuckles above you, quick to scoop you up in his arms and carry you to the couch. He gently places you down on it, crouching down next to you. His hand comes up to tuck a stray tendril of hair behind your ear.

“You’re like one of those fainting poros,” he jokes.

You laugh, swatting your hand at him.

“It’s your fault; I’m still recovering. You can’t be dropping bombs on me like that.”

“You must have me confused with my daughter. I don’t drop bombs,” he quips.

“No, you just give injured women heart attacks.”

His lips curl into a smile and he laughs.

Not a chuckle. Not a snicker.

Not a short bark or a startled reflex.

Not the sadistic, sinister laugh you heard at the warehouse.

It’s warm and rich, complex and beautiful. It’s so unmistakably Silco that it makes your heart sing. You’ve never heard a more perfect sound. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s a glow in his eyes unlike you’ve ever seen.

It’s all too much.

Too much for your exhausted body.

Too much whiplash for what had been your broken heart.

Unbidden, tears start to run down your cheeks.

It wipes the glee clean off Silco’s face. Quickly, his hands reach out, crading your jawline as his thumbs swipe away your tears.

“I’m sorry. I should not have laughed.”

“No, it’s not that,” you whimper pathetically. “I missed you. I missed this.”

Silco’s lips pinch into a line, a now familiar look of guilt on his face.

You sniffle your nose, unable to keep the tears from flowing.

“All I wanted was for you to apologize and for us to go back to how we were. I know we both fucked up, but I wasn’t ready for it to be the end.”

He nods in agreement, his throat bobbing as his good eye flutters closed.

“It’s my fault.” His voice comes out ragged, like the words are tearing themselves past his throat. “I acted rashly. I cast you aside not once but twice.”

When he opens his good eye, you can see the unmistakable warning signs of a tear forming on the ocean green surface.

“I sent you home after making you read that letter because…”

His hands at your face shift, his shoulders come up in a small shrug.

“I didn’t know what to do.”

He takes in one steadying breath through his nose.

“I’ve made my living as the man in the shadows, doing my work from the dark. I grew accustomed to everyone keeping their distance from me.” He chuckles. “With the sole exception of Jinx.”

He shakes his head, laughing to himself.

“So you’ll have to forgive me. Your declaration of love caught me completely off guard.”

You sniffle your nose and lift your eyebrows.

“Are you saying I managed to disarm the Eye of Zaun?”

He leans forward, nodding his head. One of his hands tangles into your hair as he brings his forehead to rest on yours.

“Yes,” he whispers into the small space between you, that one tear in his ocean green eye falling to land on his unmarred cheek. “You absolutely did.”

And then he’s capturing your lips in a kiss, more tender than you’ve ever known. Without missing a beat, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering yourself to his touch. It’s warm and familiar and home.

It’s not long until the familiar sensation of his mouth on yours awakens a deep need in you, a heat pooling in your belly.

You start to straighten up on the couch, still connected to Silco at the lips. He follows your movements, crouching over you as his tongue teases the part of your mouth. You readily accept his request, allowing him to roll his tongue over yours as you start to get to your feet and—

“Ah! Fuck!”

You break off this kiss and fall back to the couch as pain surges through your back in a flash. The sensation only lasts for a few brief seconds, but it’s enough to have you gasping for air.

“Perhaps that’s…” Silco moves to sit next to you, “Enough excitement for one day.”

You nod, energy completely drained from you.

Silco puts his hand out on his lap, his palm turned up to the ceiling, fingers spread in invitation. You lace your fingers through his before letting your head flop onto his shoulder. He chuckles softly under his breath, squeezing your hand.

“Take some time,” he hums. “Take the week to recover. If Singed is correct, you should be good as new in just a few days.”

Your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion overtaking you.

“I can’t…” you hum. “I have to give notice to Thalia…”

“Who’s Thalia?” he asks gently.

“My boss.”

You don’t have to see his face to know that his good eyebrow is ticking upwards in curiosity. You don’t wait for his question before answering.

“I got a job at a tailor shop.”

He hums.

“I thought you said you were ‘useless with thread and needle.’” 

You internally roll your eyes.

“I mostly swept and did inventory.”

You sit like that for a few moments, content to stay in each other’s company again. After a while—and still much too soon—Silco rises to his feet. You mirror his movements, looking up at him.

“I know that Jinx already offered to help you with your bandaging, but if you want… I could—”

“No, Silco, don’t. You’re so busy,” you insist. “Please, don’t worry about me.”

“That’s impossible,” he says dryly, but you can hear the hint of humor behind his voice.

“You have so much on your plate with Piltover. You really don’t have to waste your time with—”

“I want to,” he says, voice firm. “Take it as my penance for all my wrongdoing.”

You stare into his ocean green and volcanic eyes to see a profound sincerity. As if he’s pleading with his eyes.

Let me make it up to you.

Let me prove myself to you.

Finally, you nod.

“But only if it wouldn’t interfere with all your work.”

“Of course.” He smiles. “I can spare an hour every couple days for my brilliant scientist.”

You smile back to him.

“I’m not yours just yet,” you jest. 

He looks back at you stunned, not in on the joke. 

“I have to finish out my work for Thalia first,” you clarify.

Realization dons on his face and you see his shoulders relax.

“So,” he starts, “am I to assume you're accepting my offer?”

You reply by smiling and nodding to him.

“And… the conditions?” he asks, voice unsure.

You pinch your lips together, shaking your head. 

“Those shouldn't be necessary.”

His shoulders relax further, like a heavy weight had been lifted off them.

You walk him to the front door, arms wrapped around your middle. 

“Get some rest,” he says in the doorway. “I’ll be back in two days to do your bandages.”

You nod and smile at him.

“See you then.”

He starts to leave but pauses, turning back around to kiss you softly on your cheek. It sends warmth to your face, a quiet flutter of firelights beating behind your ribs.

“Two days,” he repeats.

“Two days,” you echo.

He turns, heading down the hallway. You close the door behind him, letting out a soft sigh.

Just as you’re about to retreat to your bedroom, there’s a knock at the door. Your eyebrows furrow and you make a face when you find Silco standing at your doorway again.

“You miss me that much?” you tease.

“Yes and no,” he replies, grinning. “This tailor shop you work at. Where is it?”

You cross your arms.

“Why? If you’re thinking of doing something to Thalia—”

“I’m hurt,” he pouts. “Wounded even.”

“Then why do you want to know?”

He crosses his arms, mirroring you.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes you a moment to respond. 

After everything the two of you have been through, after everything he had done specifically to you, could you trust him again?

It’s a question you’ve asked yourself countless times.

And call it naivete, or idealism, or plain stupidity.

But, deep within your heart, behind the cage of your ribs, buried under years of hurt, there’s a small part of you that clings to hope. 

And second chances.

You nod.

He smiles, waiting.

“Oh, right,” you recover, remembering his question. You use your hand to point to the space behind him. “You just go down this street and it’s the fourth shop on the right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thank you,” he says softly, bringing one hand up to stroke your cheek, as if he needed to check you were real one last time before leaving. He says your name gently before adding a soft “good night.”

“Good night, Silco.”

My brilliant scientist,

There is nothing I can say to undo the hurt I caused you. The pain I inflicted upon you with my own two hands. For all my influence, all my power, I cannot turn back time. No matter how much I wish to. The only thing I can do is accept the consequences of my actions and move forward.

But I can't.

I'm stuck in a loop of my own making, playing the same scene over and over again. Asking myself: Why? Why did I do that to you?

No answer suffices. The truth is: what I did to you was inexcusable. Unforgivable.

No matter the perceived slight you may have made against me, it pales to the monstrous sin I committed against you. By allowing my emotions to get the better of me, I became a mirror to your demons. Demons that you had entrusted to me. Demons that had plagued you long before me. And now I am just another nightmare for you to overcome.

For that, I am deeply sorry.

That night, I did two things: I nearly took your life and I fired you. One cannot ever be taken back, but the other I do have the power to rectify. 

It is a meager consolation, a pathetic offering. One I do not suspect you will readily take. 

But, if you wish to return, you would have a place waiting for you in Singed’s lab. You would answer only to him. You would never have to see or speak to me, if that is what you desire. If that is what it takes to ensure your peace of mind.

I almost took your life. The least I can do is offer you back your livelihood.

Yours, if you’ll have me,

Silco

Stay tuned for Chapter 28! The final chapter!

A/N: You didn't think I'd leave you hanging and not show you his letter, did you? ALSO HE SAID IT. HE SAID IT AND THEY RECONCILED. T^T But we still have one more chapter???

As we reach the very end of this fic, I cannot thank you enough for all your support. The comments and reblogs keep me going and I could not have made it this far without all my amazing, loyal readers. Thank you so much. I promise I read every comment and they all bring such warmth to my heart. Truly. Thank you.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @eurydicethesage @thepineapplesimp @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @you-never-talk @delta-is-here @sirenofzaun @weirdhorrorenthusiast @cloudroomblog @dad-dumpster @jennithejester @witheringblooddemon @beardedladyqueen @metaheroi

Join my taglist!

❥ my sweet, my darling

feat.: Alastor / f!reader

summary: Your loving husband makes sure to keep an eye on you at all times — for the sake of your safety, of course! His shadows help quite a bit with that.

warnings: mildly controlling Alastor (but in a sweet way....)

It's not often that you explicitly go against Alastor's wishes.

For one, that is because your goals and interests usually align either way; whether that's through fate or through Alastor's careful observations and plans is not for you to know. Secondly, you're well aware there's a good reason as to why he'd prefer to keep you out of the V's territory entirely; Vox seems eccentric and intimidating on a good day, and, from what you've heard, his obsession with your husband borders on insane. Neither of you doubt for even a second that he'd try and hurt or kidnap you just to get back at Alastor.

Today, however, you really can't help but make an exception. It's not your fault that the antique shop you heard of is located just past the outskirts of Alastor's part of town, and while this would usually mean that you'll simply go there together, stop by it during a walk, that just won't work, not when the necklace you've seen there is supposed to be a gift for him.

He's bought you plenty of jewellery before, both for special events such as Valentine's Day or your birthday, and simply just because a bracelet made him think of you, a ring fit well with your favourite dress, a hair accessory matched the shade of your eyes. It's safe to say Alastor spoils you profusely, and the urge to do the same for him is overwhelming.

You're determined, certainly — and yet, your throat suddenly feels tight when you eye the street in front of you, various posters and LED signs promoting the V's, naked bodies displayed in every storefront's window.

This isn't your kind of area, really. While you're not a prude per se, you're already not looking forward to other sinners coming up to talk to you, hands touching you unnecessarily much, tones sultry purrs.

It's for Alastor's sake, though. You're fine with some pushy demons approaching you as long as you keep your goal in mind; and seeing him smile with true surprise and joy was going to be worth it a thousand times. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself, taking one last look at the ominous sign, proudly claiming to have the wettest holes in all of Pride, you have been hiding behind.

It turns out your concerns are entirely unnecessary.

The very moment you step into the small alleyway, cringing instinctively in order to avoid drawing attention to yourself, shadow coils around your ankles, and a split second later you're back where you started, once more looking at the advertisement.

What?

Brows creasing, you move forward again; sure enough, you don't get further than a few metres before you're magically teleported behind the territory's border again. This is odd.

Two more attempts don't cut it, either. At this point, you're huffing, arms crossed in front of your chest, eyes narrowed unhappily, though, just as you raise your foot again, stubborn, the air around you shifts.

“It appears you're lost, dear.” Alastor's voice, sounding from behind you, tinged with amusement, really shouldn't make you flinch anymore, and yet you can't help but jump at his sudden materialisation, shadows curling around his limbs before finally fading into nothingness. “One would almost think you're doing it on purpose.”

“Goodness, you scared me”, you choke out, heart beating erratically against your ribcage. “I'm doing what on purpose?”

“Why, attempting to leave safe grounds, obviously.”

Ah. Right. Instinctively, you push your lips forward, hands now on your hips. You can't even deny any accusations. “Well”, you say, hesitating for a moment or three, “I was.”

Alastor leans forward, weight supported on his cane, eyebrows raised. “Is that so? I can only wonder why you'd endanger yourself this eagerly, darling.”

“That's a secret.”

“A secret?” His eyes sparkle, red glowing in the low light. “Colour me intrigued.”

“Well, I won't tell you.” You scoff. “Besides, I really doubt anything would have happened to me.”

“Is that so?” Alastor laughs, the noise so sharp that the contrast between it and the fondness in his gaze is startling. “Have you seen yourself, sweetheart? There were three men in the past five minutes alone, circling around you like vultures.”

The sudden use of the past tense makes you pause; you don't even bother to turn around and look for them, knowing you won't find anything that's left.

“Oh.”

“Yes, indeedy! Now, let's get you home, shall we?” Arms now linked together, Alastor is quick to lead you away from neon signs and bright LEDs; the one time you're about to be approached by a guy, seemingly blind to danger, to the reputation of the Radio Demon, his ears twitch backwards, the sound of his staff repeatedly hitting the ground the noise you decide to focus on instead of the quickly silenced screams.

It's quiet afterwards. Usually, you're able to enjoy the comfortable silence Alastor and you often settle in, proof of familiarity, though this time guilt gnaws at you, urging you to explain yourself, to prove that you didn't go against one of the few boundaries he has set without any important reason at all.

You'd hate for him to think that you don't take his concerns for you seriously. Your throat feels tight.

“I wanted to buy something for you.” The words leave your mouth quietly, though they catch his immediate interest nonetheless, scarlet gaze now focusing on your eyes, cast downwards. Still, he doesn't respond, prompting you to elaborate. “A necklace. I—, well. I thought it'd suit you.” The continued silence makes your chest ache. “You always buy me gifts that I absolutely adore; I merely wanted to do the same for you.”

Both of you come to a halt. A single claw moves underneath your chin, gently tipping it up. “I appreciate the effort, darling. Still, your safety is much more important to me than any surprise.” The warmed leather of his glove sends a shiver down your spine. “How about we go and take a look at it tomorrow, yes? I do promise to keep my eyes averted until after you've purchased it. Sound fair?”

That's not the point of a surprise gift. Nonetheless, your lips split into a toothy smile as you nod. “I'd love that.”

“Lovely! For now, I'm starved! How about I cook for us once we're back at the Hotel? What are you in the mood for, darling?”

i cannot tell you how huge the urge to write a long multichapter fic for him is....

---

Hiya I bloody love your writing. I was wondering wether you could write one where reader threatens silco with a knife and he likes it a bit too much

ooooooh I very much like this! Thank you, anon!

And as a reminder, my inbox is always open for silco/reader requests! With the caveat that my timing is entirely unpredictable. (Vampire anon, I swear I will fulfill that request. It's just taking me forever.)

Red-handed

AO3 link

Word count: 2.1k

Beta reader: @deny-the-issue

Tags: silco x f!reader, young Silco, smut, pervy Silco, peeping Silco, thinking-with-his-cock Silco, mutual masturbation, sassy reader,

It’s not something he’s ever done.

But you drove him to do this.

No, maybe not intentionally. But with your lingering presence in the Sons of Zaun’s base of operations, Silco finds he cannot focus.

Every meeting you attend, every mission you escort, Silco cannot get your form out of his mind. Your plush lips, your intoxicating laugh. The way your cheeks blush when you’ve had just one too many drinks at the bar. Ever since you joined the crew, Silco finds himself tongue-tied and unable to withhold his usually calm and aloof demeanor, as if his brain has short-circuited and you are the fuse with too much power, with no hope of controlling the magnitude of your effect in sight. 

You drove him to do this.

It’s the only way.

The only way for him to get over you.

He continues to tell himself this—knowing full well that it’s all a lie—as he scales the side of your apartment building, ocean-green eyes affixed to the window that he knows leads to your bedroom. Once, twice, his hands almost lose their grip on the harsh, rough brick wall, palms sweaty from nervous excitement.

And, oh, what glee! When he finds your bedroom window cracked open and you nowhere to be found. Long fingers tuck under the wooden edge, slowly—painstakingly—opening the window just enough to allow himself through. By some miracle, it doesn’t make a sound, and he’s able to crouch through undetected. But then—

Footsteps.

Your footsteps.

And they’re walking toward the door to this very room.

Silco’s eyes dart around for somewhere to hide, head whipping around. He’s so overcome with panic that he doesn’t notice his hair tie falling from his head to land on the floor, unraveling his messy hair to rest along his sharp cheekbones.

Not enough room under the bed. Wait! There!

He silently leaps into your closet through the small gap in the door, heart hammering in his chest. With one hand pressed to his mouth to quiet his frantic breathing, he looks through the slats of the door to see you emerge from the hallway. 

You’re dressed in nothing but a towel, its soft green fabric wrapped around your middle. Your head is covered by the matching towel you use to dry off your hair, chin tucked as you make your way through your room.

Silco’s eyes scan down your body, his throat bobbing when he sees how high the hem of the towel sits on your thighs and the way your skin glistens from remnants of your shower. He can feel the front of his pants strain as blood rushes to his navel. Green eyes wide, he watches with bated breath, heart an unsustainable rhythm as he realizes what your next move will be.

His eyes dart around him, surrounded by your clothes. The clothes that you’ll be wanting to change into very soon.

Fuck fuck fuck!

Maybe he can hide behind some of the hanging garments, but the closet is so small, there’s no room to maneuver. Internally, he bangs his head against the wall, chiding himself for his idiotic plan.

He clearly had thought this through with the wrong head.

Perhaps he just makes a break for it. If he runs quickly enough, he can dart out toward the front door and sprint like his life depended on it. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to tell who it was.

But the thought of leaving you to deal with the trauma of an unknown stalker twists a dagger into his chest. You don’t deserve to have your safe space violated in such a way.

So why did you do this in the first place?

Silco’s nails dig into his palm as he clenches his fist together at his side.

Stupid stupid stupid!

His self-flagellation is cut short when he hears your footsteps pause abruptly. Looking through the slats, Silco finds you with your second towel draped around your shoulders, your chin tucked, and your gaze affixed on the single black hair tie on the hardwood floor.

Free-hand shoots up to the base of his head to find his low ponytail undone, his long hair now hanging almost to his shoulders.

Fuck!

You pull your towel tighter around yourself before bending down, delicate fingers reaching out for the mystery item. It’s certainly not one of yours. Silco’s fully aware of your penchant for all things green in your wardrobe, your hair accessories no exception. 

Straightening up, you roll the hair tie between your thumb and forefinger, looking at it curiously before looking around the bedroom.

To Silco’s surprise, you don’t look scared.

You simply look confused.

He watches your face as you run through all the possibilities until finally realization paints your features. Then, with the precision of an apex predator, your eyes land on the closet door.

Silco squeezes his eyes shut, his body giving into the third possible reflex of fight, flight, or freeze. His ears pick up the sound of creaking wood as your steps approach his position.

The door opens and Silco feels something cool underneath his chin.

“Silco,” you hum with more amusement than anger.

Eyes still shut, Silco raises his hands in surrender.

“I didn’t look. I haven’t seen anything.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. “What are you doing here?”

“I… I came to see you.”

You scoff.

“Did the front door elude you?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come.

There’s no way out of this. It’s obvious to anyone with a pair of working eyes what he came here to do. He waits for your wrath, eyelids starting to hurt from how tightly he’s holding them closed. The seconds pass in silence and he’s acutely aware of the cold metal resting against his skin, tucked under his chin.

“Open your eyes,” you instruct, annoyance in your tone.

He does and confirms his suspicion, gaze falling on your outstretched arm that leads to the knife you hold in your hand at his throat. Something about you holding him in such a vulnerable position sends warmth to his belly, rekindling the leftover arousal from earlier. Silco winces, unable to stop his body’s reaction to the predicament he’s found himself in.

Your eyes narrow at his expression, only for them to slowly drift down to the front panel of his pants and the growing tent he’s pitching there.

One of your eyebrows ticks upward.

“Well, I’d say it’s pretty obvious what you came here for,” you hum, amused.

“I’m sorry,” he grovels, finally finding his voice. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your pupils dilate slightly at the confession.

“I thought maybe if… if I did this, it would…” His throat bobs as he struggles to continue. “It would help me get over you. And I can get back to working like I used to.”

You consider him for a moment, your blade still pressed to his skin with the slightest amount of pressure. After a few seconds of thought, you slowly pull the knife away. Silco lets out a short sigh of relief.

“Then do it,” you say, tossing the knife onto your vanity with a loud clang. “Do whatever it is you were planning to do.”

Silco’s eyes widen and the instruction sends even more blood to rush between his legs. 

“What?”

You take a few steps back before sitting down on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs. The towel hikes up at the movement and Silco is unable to stop the reflex of his eyes darting to the dark shadow under the hem of your towel.

“Do it,” you repeat. “Unless you were planning on just watching and then jerking off once you got home.”

Silco’s mouth falls open as he steps out of the closet.

“I was not going to—”

“Mmmm,” you hum, unconvinced, tilting your head toward his growing erection. “Your current state would say otherwise.”

His mouth gapes like a fish, unable to counter your flawless argument.

You lean back on the bed, hands resting behind you as you uncross your legs.

“I’m not letting you leave until you do, Silco.” 

You spread your legs.

“So come on. This is your one chance.”

Green eyes dart between yours, searching.

Surely, this is a trap.

His gaze flicks to the vanity with your knife and back to the bed.

She’s got something else planned.

But then you’re pulling open your towel and letting it fall around you, your sex on full display. Your chest is covered by the towel draped around your shoulders, but Silco can see a peek of the bottom curve of your breasts and it’s the final nail in the coffin.

“I’m waiting,” you taunt.

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap.

Silco lets out a long sigh as he takes himself in his hand, eyes never leaving you. You sit up a bit straighter, your chest pushing forward as your lips curl into a mischievous grin.

With one experimental stroke, Silco holds back a grunt deep from the back of his throat. You nod in silent instruction and he continues, his fingers wrapped tightly around his cock as he focuses his efforts on his reddened head.

Satisfied, you pull the last remaining bit of cover off you, discarding the towel at your shoulder to fall onto the hardwood, revealing your breasts and your nipples, hardened from the chill air.

And maybe even from…?

The thought of you getting turned on by Silco’s display sends a surge of pleasure through him and he’s unable to contain the hushed groan from leaving his lips. He’s certain he can’t take much more of this, but then you’re bringing your hand to the apex of your legs, fingers moving with purpose as you touch yourself.

Involuntarily, Silco takes a step forward, aiming to close the distance between your bodies. 

You raise your free hand, index finger pointing to the ceiling in warning as you shake your head.

“Look,” you whisper as you swipe a curious circle into your clit, eliciting a small, perfect little gasp from your lips. “Don’t touch.”

Cock in hand, standing across from your naked body, Silco can’t help but wonder how he ended up here. How the gods had blessed him with the most ideal of outcomes. As his pace gets faster and his grip gets tighter, he wonders why he didn’t do this much sooner.

The sounds of you pleasuring yourself—from the slick sounds of your fingers to your soft whimpers and moans—send Silco barreling toward his climax. Eyes locked, your chests both heave as your breathing grows more broken. As both of your speeds continue to pick up, a familiar blush blossoms on your cheeks as you start to crest your peak.

You’re the first to break, your wails reaching unholy heights as you ride out your orgasm. Silco watches in awe as your face twists in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. The image of you coming undone is all it takes to unleash Silco’s release, a groan at his throat as he comes all over his hand, some of it spilling onto the hardwood floor below.

Breaths broken, hearts pounding, you both recover from your highs—you slumped down on your bed as Silco takes a step back to rest against the closet door. 

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your labored breathing.

The mattress groans as you sit up, eyes lingering on the form of Silco’s spent cock in his hands. Grabbing the towel beside you, you toss it to him. He catches it clumsily with his free hand, a soft “thanks” at his throat.

“As lovely as that was, Silco,” you say rising to your feet, “I need you to get the fuck out of my apartment.”

You smirk, taking a step forward.

“I have a date tonight.”

Something green and ugly bubbles up within Silco’s chest, rising to contort his face into an expression of disgust.

“Is someone jealous?” you add.

He replies with a smirk of his own, the brain cells that had eluded him for weeks now finally returning.

“Why should I be? When you’ve already given the main attraction away,” he says, motioning to your naked form.

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, bringing up a hand—the hand you had used to pleasure yourself—to stroke a line from his temple down his cheek to his chin. “You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

You pop your finger into your mouth, licking yourself clean with a pop. Silco’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, pupils dilating. Then, with the precarious confidence of his afterglow, he wraps his free hand around your middle, pulling your body flush with his.

“Is there anything I can do to make you cancel your date?”

Your head tilts curiously.

“Perhaps. What’s the refractory period on that?” you ask, hand pointing to Silco’s spent cock.

“Not very long,” he hums. “And that’s not what I would be using.”

One of your eyebrows ticks upward, your lips curling into a grin.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

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

Join my taglist!

---

lore mode

↳˗ˏˋAlastor x Readerˊˎ˗ ↴

☒ Summary: You were Alastor's weakness. Something about you drew him closer into your orbit. He knew this weakness would be his downfall, but he couldn't pull back. No matter how hard he tried.

☒ Contains: fluff, gender!neutral reader, slightly angsty undertones, affectionate!Alastor, also possessive!Alastor, sleeping together (literally), implied established relationship, cuddles, one forehead kiss, Alastor undresses the reader but it is not sexual

☒ Word Count: 1,374

Alastor was alluring. 

The mystery surrounding the radio demon made the man all the more interesting to you. The moment Alastor showed up at your friend Charlie's Hotel all those months back, his gaze fixated on you.

His crimson gaze was intimidating at first. But as more time passed, Alastor's stare became somewhat of a solace to you. You felt safe around him. Especially because overtime he seemed to become possessive with you.

Any time you would get a little too close to the other patrons at the Hotel, Alastor's eye would twitch. He would be at your side in an instant- ushering you away. Keeping his hand firm at your waist as he shot the poor sinner a death glare. 

It was flattering, really. You just didn't seem to understand why. 

Why you? 

But hey, you weren't complaining. Plus, it was probably best not to question it. 

It had been an overwhelmingly exhausting day at the hotel. Charlie had you working overtime in preparation for the newcomers ready to be redeemed. You couldn't help but yawn as you trailed down the corridor. Sleepily swaying from side to side as your half-lidded eyes got heavier with each step. 

Suddenly, you felt yourself slam face-first into something- or rather, someone. 

"Careful now, my dear! If you don't watch where you're going, you could end up in a rather dangerous predicament!"

The static crackle in his voice was all too familiar; Alastor.

One of his hands came up to your waist; fingers playfully tapping along your side. Alastor's other hand grasped your chin, tilting your face up so he could get a good look at you.

"My, my! You're looking rather worn down, my dearest! Seems like Charlie's working you to the bone, hm?"

His Cheshire-like smile caught your eye before your gaze met his crimson orbs. Alastor's eyebrows were knitted in concern, making your heart flutter in your chest. 

"Ah, sorry for running into you, Al. I'm just really sleepy. It's been a long day," Your yawn cut you off before you could say more. Your arms snaked around his slender neck as you rested your head against his chest.

Alastor and yourself never discussed the gravity of your relationship. He was bad with feelings, and even worse at expressing them. What you two had was an unspoken thing, and you felt honored to be able to embrace him in this way; knowing no one else had the privilege to do so.

Alastor let out a low hum, static grumbling in his chest. The vibrations lulled you further into dreamland. That was until Alastor's hands swiftly pulled your thighs up, and on instinct, your legs wrapped around his slender waist. Your eyes fluttered open from the swift gesture, and you tilted your head to read Alastor's expression. 

"Al... what are you doing?" You mumbled softly, tightening your hold around the back of his neck as he began his descent down the hall. 

"Why, I'm taking you to our room, my dearest! Seems as though it's way past your bedtime." His radio static voice held a playful undertone as he pulled the bedroom door open. Carefully, Alastor placed you at the edge of your shared bed. 

On most nights, you slept while he worked on his plans for the next broadcast. Alastor rarely slept, but he adored the peaceful sounds of your labored breaths while you rested. Your captivating visage distracted him- only slightly, most nights while he typed up his script. You were just too adorable for your own good, too entrusting. Too tempting.

"Arms up, my dear!" Alastor quipped in a sing-song voice. Sharp gloved fingernails grazed the bare skin of your waist as he tugged your shirt over your head. You shivered slightly from the touch, a coy smile adorning your features as Alastor worked on removing your pants next. 

Alastor hummed along to a tune you couldn't quite put your finger on as he finished undressing you. You couldn't help how your heart pounded against your ribcage from the way his crimson orbs raked over your frame. Strangely, you felt like he was looking at you as if you were his prey. It sent a wave of adrenaline through your entire being.

"No need to feel demure, my darling. You are truly breathtaking! Quite a sight for sore eyes." His voice lowered slightly at the end of his sentence. Alastor made himself comfortable between your parted thighs as he began undressing himself, crimson gaze never once leaving yours. 

He allowed his overcoat and bowtie to cascade to the floor as he unbuttoned his red dress shirt, slumping it off his broad shoulders. "Thank you, Al... you flatter me too much," You chuckled softly, looking at him quizzically as he began looping your arms through his crimson button-up. 

"Nonsense, my dearest! I speak nothing but the truth." Alastor's voice softened as he fastened a couple of buttons of his shirt around your frame, leaving it rather loose-fitting on you. You smiled up at him softly as he lifted you up once more, carrying you to your side of the bed. Slowly, Alastor lifted the sheets, tucking you under them snuggly.

"There, now my darling is ready for bed!" He cooed. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before darting back up. Just as Alastor was about to turn on his heel to begin his work for the night, your hand wrapped around his wrist. Alastor slowly turned his head, gaze fixated on where your delicate fingers held him.

"Al... can you lay with me? Only for a little- just until I doze off, please?" Your pleading eyes struck something deep from within him. Alastor swore you were his biggest weakness of all, though he would never admit it aloud. Let alone allow any lowly wretch to discover his drawback; you. 

"Well, how can I deny such a sweet little request from you? You did say please, after all!" Alastor wasted no time slithering in beside you, pushing you gently toward his side of the bed. His scarred flesh was cold to the touch as your hands came up to his bare chest. Alastor stiffened slightly under your touch before allowing himself to relax into the plush mattress. 

Alastor let out a hum of approval as you drew shapes into his chest with your fingertips. "Thank you, my love," You yawned. Finally, permitting your droopy eyes to close shut for good tonight. Alastor quietly shushed you before bringing his hands to your waist, holding you firmly against him. 

He became accustomed to your touch, something Alastor never believed would be true in his case. But you were just darling; he couldn't get enough. You were his and his alone. He would make sure everyone in Hell who dared to lay a single finger on you would be the next guest on his broadcast. 

Alastor's smile deepened as he played out his little murder fantasy in his head. Your labored breaths began filling the dimly lit space. The crickets chirped quietly from beyond the forest on the other side of the room. Your legs were tangled beneath the sheets as you sleepily weaved your hands in his two-toned locks. Alastor's breath hitched as your fingernails lightly grazed the base of his ears. A crimson color coated his cheeks. 

As Alastor allowed himself to succumb to your touch, his mind wandered. Just how did he get so soft? How did he allow you to sneak your way into his cold dead heart? His feelings were conflicting. Alastor cared for you deeply, but fuck did it frighten him more than anything. He was a prideful man, cool, calm, and collected. But you caused his mask to slip ever so slightly. 

Just what was he to do about this revelation?

A small sigh crackled out of his throat as his smile slipped; a rare sight to be seen. Alastor's eyes closed softly as he rubbed small circles into your hips with the pads of his thumbs. Allowing himself to drift off into a deep slumber. 

The workload would still be there in the morning after all, but this moment with you was fleeting. So he planned on greedily allowing himself to enjoy your embrace to the fullest tonight.