29 and 38 | Silco x Reader
:3c
Oh, you're evil. I love you
Troupe Mash-Up | Wedding-Fic & Grief-Fic | Silco/F!Reader | ANGST | Fears of Mortality | Discussions of Death | Pre-Canon | Feral/Sad Zaunite Revolutionaries | Speed-Wedding | Hopeful Ending
You didn't have time for this.
You knew that, and a part of you had always known. There wasn't nearly enough time for this, for anything.
There had never, ever been enough time, and it's proven, by how quickly the ashes dissipated into the waves: forgotten, and swallowed up by the sea.
So, impossibly, horrfiyingly quickly.
Dully, you blink slowly as the current does-away with what remains -- they say death is so permanent, but a mere-blink, and all existence of it is already gone.
You give another slow blink, before you turn to him. In the same instant, sea-green eyes find yours and you immediately lose kinship with thought, with air-
Silco's eyes are as turbulent as the crashing-waves of the River Pilt before you both, dark grey-blues that bleed into the vibrancy of the sea. Fascination doesn't even scratch the surface of explaining what you feel when you normally look into that ever-thinking gaze... but right now, when you look into those bright hues, fascination is not what you feel.
You feel afraid.
Strangling you, choking you, there is a sudden, desperate jolt of fear that courses in your veins as you stare back at him, gazing into eyes so fierce and alive...
And knowing, from recent experience, just how quickly eyes like that can grow dull and dead-
"Marry me."
You don't have time.
You never, ever have enough time.
And you don't dare want to waste another second.
Considering how he only takes a single moment to consider, it's clear Silco has no-intentions of wasting time with you, either.
"Okay. When?"
"Now."
"Now?"
He's moreso curious, rather than shocked or indignant, perhaps even outraged at the demand. Maybe he should be... you are, of course, asking him to wed you at a funeral of friends.
But maybe that's the best place to wed. In the sight of what remains of friends, dead and gone.
Or maybe you've at last lost your sanity, it really feels like a toss-up. "You can say no," You inform him, shrugging a bit limply, letting out a small chuckle that is far from mirthful. "Yes, no... it makes no difference."
"It makes no difference whether or not we get married?"
Again, the Son of Zaun is only curious about the entire situation at-present. Keen for answers, but not seeking judgement or admonishment for your... less-than ideal timing, and lack of ring.
Turning away from the bright green, unjudging and daresay gentle glint of his gaze, your own travels to gaze back down into the waters below.
The waves are already clear.
It's sickening, how clean the water is already.
Fingertips touch your chin, and feeling strangely weightless as Silco tips your head back over, from the waves, to him. His eyes flick over your expression, the perpetual flat-line of his lips curling downwards at the edges and brows furrowing.
"I would prefer not to have a crying bride at my wedding," He says, but it's not meant to be insulting.
Regardless, your eyes still roll and your hand raises to tap-away his fingers. "I'm not crying-"
"But you're grieving." He insists.
You scoff, and it's ragged. "I wonder why-"
"We've faced death before. Personally and at a distance - It's an ever-present constant of Zaun, that you and I have both faced many, many times over," Silco pauses. Takes a small, tiny breath, that cracks at the calm expression on his face while his hand trails down, to grip at your own just a bit too tightly as his eyes darken. "It's... not easy."
Understatement. Zaunites are tough, but tragically, forever human at their core.
"But," He continues, squeezing your fingers until they twitch, and he returns to himself. From murky depths, the bright shine of his green-eyes returns when they mean your own gaze. "Typically... marriage-proposals don't erupt from such finality. So I feel the need to ask, why?"
A pause, where there's only the crashing waves and a distant rumble far overhead to speak in your stead.
You find your voice after a minute longer, when that grip on your hand starts to lessen and pull-away. "I love you."
"And I love you," He says, easily. "But why?"
He's not asking why you love him, because that's obvious enough.
You never have had the security of a promised-future, but your past has been long-since entwined with his. Death may be an ever-present constant for Zaun, but Silco has been your ever-present constant.
From the lowest-streets of the Sumps, to the highest-rooftops of the Fringes. From children of trash, to the Children of Zaun... You've done it all-together.
Again, you don't have the time. The unguaranteed of tomorrow, the nonexisting-promise of the future... that's been proven, many, many times over, and there's ashes already forgotten in the river, to help keep the reminder fresh.
"I can't lose you too," You admit in a whisper. Staying still, no longer dismissive or defiant when his hand comes up once-more to hold your chin, so he may continue to hold your gaze. "Why? Because I can't. I just... I can't, Silco."
"You will. One day."
It's a fact, and it's spoken as such. Silco is the kind that will go down thrashing, clawing, roaring and taking down as many with him when his heart-stops, and such a fact is one you have known for the entire time you have been in his life.
Still, you scoff and glare at him for saying it aloud, so flippantly. "You think I'll just sit by the sidelines? Think I won't go down fighting beside you, before I have to lose you?"
The fingers on your chin squeeze, and you become away of how chilly the air is, when compared to how warm his breath is on your face, and how his eyes blaze at your implication. "And you think I won't fight death-itself to prevent losing you?"
Another rumble from the stormclouds overhead.
The next time you speak, the sky has cracked open, and the fall of rain joins the spray of the sea that is steadily drenching you both.
"We'll lose one-another eventually. It's hardly a contest."
"It's an inevitably," Silco agrees, but it's clear he's not exactly thrilled at the prospect. He'll likely drag Piltover to hell with him, when the time comes... but it's not difficult to imagine he is a man willing to take the entire rest of the world down, should you fall-first.
It shouldn't be an endearing as it is. It shouldn't make you feel breathless as you are, and yet-
"Then if I have to lose you, let me have you first." You whisper in a hoarse tone, somehow still audible for him to hear... though it's equally unsurprisingly. He's so close, you might as well be sharing the same breaths of air. "Let me have you, have me, for as long as we got."
"I thought you said it made no difference, if we got married."
"It'll make no difference to the ashes." They won't care whether or not you wore rings on your hands, one of which turns to grasp onto his. "It would mean everything to me. You... you, mean everything to me."
Sappy as a trashy-romance, but one can afford to be sentimental at a funeral.
And a wedding, if the equal-squeezing of fingers around your own is any indication of Silco's choice.
You lean forward - now truly taking-in every inhale he exhales - to rest your forehead to his, the dark, dripping tendrils of his long dark hair acting as a bit of a curtain as he tips his face down, his lips brushing agaisny your own when you move them minutely.
"Silco, marry me."
"Okay. When?"
Your eyes close, and there's the beginnings of a smile.
There was some old netting up ahead, strong and sturdy despite age and disuse. No one would notice a few inches of twine hacked away, until the tied-loops could be replaced by true bands.
No one would notice two rebels, alone in the rain, with only the waves and ashes to hear the whispered promises, eternal vows Silco and you would speak.
Somewhat of a morbid ceremony. Not many brides would prefer it.
But you only smile at the mental image, that would soon be reality.
"Now?" There's too little time left to wait any longer than that. And you love him, by many, many facts, but also by the fact that he seems to agree.
"Now."
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How about a short smut of Copia or Secondo/Reader where the Reader just comes in, shoves them down and just takes over because they need to let off some STEAM.
Hell yeah. Here's some Bone Daddy
MDNI - Secondo x F!Reader - P in V, Riding, Angry Sex (One-sided), Married
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He knows you're in a bad mood the moment you step into his office. Secondo peers his head up, blinking at the sight of your fury-filled form. "Amore-?" He had moved to stand, but you've already crossed the room and your hands dig into the meat of his shoulders.
When you slide into his lap next, pushing him further back into his chair, Secondo isn't going to deny that it's a bit more than a turn-on.
The kiss you give him is sloppy. All tongue and teeth clashing. He wasn't in his robes today, and you're making quick work of his belt. The old man gives no hint for you to stop, his arousal growing with each moment.
It wasn't rare that you were eager, but it was rarer that you approached him. Especially like this.
It's animalistic, feral, primal - he thinks he's falling in love with you all over again as you pull your panties to the side, lining yourself up and sliding down. "Fuck," His hands move to your hips, helping to lift them and bring them back down.
There are no words really said, just noises and more teeth clashing. Your nails scratching into his back, along his shoulders. He'll have marks, possibly even holes in his shirt. And Satan below he could not care less about it.
His fingers will leave bruises on your hips as he helps you bounce, fast and hard. Thrusting his hips up to meet you. Your lips graze, staring at one another in a final moment before he watches your head tilt. A strangled moan leaves your lips, as you cum. And he follows quickly after, with a loud grunt that breaks off into a moan.
You both sat there, neither moving as you both slumped into the chair together. It was intense and fast, and Secondo isn't as young as he used to be. Sitting in the chair felt a lot nicer than standing up right now.
He rubs his hand over your hips in comfort now, pressing his forehead to yours. "What got you so worked up, cara?"
Your lips press together before you bare your teeth. "I hate your brother. He's such a pain."
Secondo doesn't, not right now at least. Not after this, but he nods solemnly. "I understand, tesoro." He presses a kiss to your forehead, giving you a tender smile. "Let me take you back to our apartments. I'll draw you a nice bath, and you can tell me why you hate him so much. Si?"
Your face softens then, a small smile slowly forming on your lips. "I love you."
He lets his lips match yours, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "And I love you, amore."
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