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grugruel · 6 months

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The Game

Pairing: Silco x f!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Silco like to keep things interesting by playing a game. Its your turn now, heat flares and tempers rise.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Established relationship, hints of smut, brief choking, mentioned degrading, tension? Elutions to sub!dom!silco towards the end.

I throw the doors to The Last Drop open, making my grand entrance.

Smoke billows out through the opening, it curls around my vision as it mixes with the impure air of Zaun and all heads in the club turn toward me.

An uscher of whispers rumble through the crowd and the music suddenly halts. A mans low whistle can be heard ringing out through the crowd, aswell as the consequent "ow" and "hush" as the man next to him elbows him in the side, giving him a stern look in warning.

I was off limits to everyone but one man, and that was considered common knowledge in Zaun.

I take a step inside, smiling devilishly, approving of the general public reaction.

I let the doors slam shut behind me, welcoming the familiar embrace of the murky, green tinted darkness of the club as it envelopes me. I gaze around the room, searching for him.

I am counting on him to be in his office already, as It was a crucial part of my plan for dramatic effect. And when married to a man like him, one couldnt help but look for him in every room you enter.

All that im met with though, is an array of mixed emotions, smiles, glances and a bunch of wide eyed men and women. The crowd was divided between those who, had they not know was good for them, would hollar and applaud my confidence or those who would be scared half to death and couldnt even dare throw a glance my way.

Most bastards, however. Had already let their slack-jawed chins hit the floor at the first sight of me, and oh . . . was I a vision to behold.

Everyone already knew who I was of course, my antics were not news to them, neither were the fact that I am wife to the infamouse Eye of Zaun.

So to explain the situation, Silco and I ha'd been playing a fun little game for some time, just to spice things up. We set two rules of outmost importance, no matter what, we had to follow them.

1. Prizes asked for must be given.

2. Revenge is always permitted.

Meaning whoever manages to outdo the others previous actions in boldness, audacity, mischief etc, wins whatever prize they desire from the other and whatever we did to challenge the other, we could always retaliate however we wanted and those asks had to be met

Usually when it was Silcos turn, he'd experiment, try something new, take me in the hall, in an alley, where anyone could see. Just for the thrill if it, because we can, because who would question him?

But as of late, work has been stressing him and hes been using me. He makes a public display out of me, showing everyone just who I belong to. A power play, of course, reinforcing his claim on me and putting on a show of his brazen nature as for Zaun not to forget who he is.

And he'd do it all with a ravenous gleam in his eye, enjoying every second of my embaressment. But god help any man who makes a remark or even looks at you the wrong way.

And since he has a reputation to uphold, an image to keep clean, being the crimeboss that he is, I had never been allowed to play our game in any type of crowded setting. He needed to be respected and more imporantly, feared. Meaning he could not be put into conpromising positions publicly. Privately was a whole nother situation.

But today, that would be coming to an end. I'd been forced to accept the situation since this whole thing came about, but he needed a reminder of who he married. Although I do not have as important of a position as him, my life did not begin when we married. I was someone before him and I am my own person still.

Blinded by love, and lust. I've let him do whatever he wants to me and although that can be a welcome notion betwix the sheets, it is not when he needs to make an example of someone, not anymore.

Sevika stood leaned against the stairrailings, watching my plan unfold, eyes wide. She sprung into action, ripping the jacket off the shoulders from the unsuspecting man next to her and rushes to cover me up.

She knows you're not the kind of woman who listens to anyone who tells you what to do, with the exception being Silco. And knowing she'd get hell from the man himself if she did anything else than try, she tries.

I reject the jacket of course, gently pushing her away from me. I clasp my hands behind me back and walk slowly towards the bar with her shadowing closely behind me in hope of hiding something from the crowd.

She lowers her head to my height, leaning closer to my ear, a shudder runs through me "He wont be happy" she snarles.

"I know" I answer nonchalantly. And a ghost of a smile flashes over her lips as she shakes her head and turns around, sighing.

I sit down on one of the stools by the bar, watching her as she makes her way upstairs. I order a whiskey and take a look around the room once again, noting all the stares.

"Cmon folks, he'll be down in a minute and you know better than to stare. Get back to it." I say in a low chuckle and they do just that, knowing the truth of my words.

Minutes later Sevika comes back down, she throws me a warning glance that tells me "not in the mood" and a new feeling begins to fester within me, uncertainty. I already knew he'd be cross when I schemed my little plan up, that was foreseen. But now?

I had no time to think of the consequences, because another set of footsteps could be heard a few paces behind her, slow and deliberate. He was already punishing me and I've yet to lay my eyes on him. My stumache flitters despite myself, longing to see how this plays out. Turbulence was to be excpected, but the rewards would be gratifying.

The crowd seems to have heard the destinctive sounds of Silcos footsteps aswell, as their attention turn toward the stairs.

Through the gloom of the lowly lit, smoke filled room, the glowing red of his cigar lights up his features, giving an earie glow to his eye. He looks mightly unimpressed, inhaling a puff of smoke his eyes scan the crowd, eventually settling on my form. Clad in nothing more than the crimson red lingerie that he bought me. He was already incredibly annoyed that you would compromise him like this, but seeing you in the set that he stressed were for his eyes only truly set him ablaze on the inside.

I swiwel the barstool so that I face him completley, the bartender slides my drink toward me and I grab it as I lean back against the bar, forearms supporting me. A pleased expressions washes over my face, this was a serious matter. But I should gloat whilst I still can.

He glares at me for a minute, the club is so silent you could hear peoples breathing, very shallow, careful breaths as they try to avoid catching his attention and possibly turning his displeasure onto themselves.

He takes in my appearance, looking me up and down. Sevika had not known the ordeal of this specific set of lingerie, so she had not conveyed its importance to him.

His patience usually wears thin, but seeing me in the lingerie he clearly told me were for him makes his blood boil.

Turbulence stirs within him, feeling incredible annoyance at your clear disobediance, but also a tinge of impatience to punish you especially since you did look brutally ravishing.

And as if his hair sences his stress, a greying strand of his magnificent hair falls over his eye. He sighs deeply, gathering himself before taking action, he catches the runaway strand by combing his free hand through his hair, placing it perfectly back with the rest.

He moves the hand holding his cigar, wafting it back and forth dismissively as he turns toward the people, adressing them "Avert you eyes ladies and gentlemen, that is my wife." he orders.

"Go ahead, leave, scram, flee." He makes a dramatic shooing gesture and announciates the last word, then taking another drag of his cigar.

He turns to Sevika "Make sure they understand that they did not see anything, then leave you too. No one is to be let in." she nods and posts herself by the door.

The people flock toward the exit, creating a bottleneck effect. Carefully, eagerly even, they follow Silcos directions reinforced by Sevika. They did not need to be told twice, they had already forcibly forgotten the incident and had no intention on stickning around to challenge his temper.

As the last of the crowd have left and the doors slam shut behind Sevika, its only the two of us left, so I stand to make my way to him.

"Stay." Silco says coldly, eyes snapping to me. A shiver runs through my body, I sit back down, crossing my legs, anticipation lining my senses as I smile at him.

We hold eachothers gaze "I missed you" I say.

"So I see" he responds, striding closer, one painstakingly slow step at a time and when hes finally close enough to touch I reach out to him, taking the lining of his tie between my fingers, softly tracing it down his chest, stopping at his vest button to undo it.

He snatches my wrist, holding it closer to him, inhaling the scent of my perfume, loving the way it mixes with the cigar smoke. He kisses my wrist before pinning it to the bar-counter behind me.

Not so easily discouraged, I lean closer to him in an atempt to steal a kiss off of those ruthless lips. I let my eyes fall shut and lean further in until I feel his breath on my skin as I've done so many times before. Heat flashes through me as I imagine the taste of him being less than a mere second away, but my expectations fall short as im met by the the savour of his cigar instead.

"Tsk tsk tsk" he shakes his head "Surely you wouldnt dream it to be this easy my dear?" His tone mocking.

I scoff in pretend defeat as I take the cigar from him, taking a drag and leaning back against the counter again. "I was only teaching you a lesson, husband." I sigh.

"Oh" he exclaims, his demeanor unclear. A mix of entertainment and frustration evidens in his voice "You're teaching me a lesson hmm?" His gaze hardens and an frustrated smile forms on his lips as he awaits my response.

"Naturally."

A gleam of irritation lights in his eye, he takes the whiskey from my hand, studying it carefully as if planning his next move. He takes a slow sip, "So.." he begins, carefully phrasing his words, "Would you like to tell me how come? Because frankly, my dear. Im at a loss here." Agitation evident in his tone.

"Truly?" I question, not sure if he actually wants me to answer that. "I love this little game of ours, it can be... Oh so thrilling" I sigh in reminiscence, thinking back to past adventurez when we've enjoyed eachothers rueful challenges.

"But I do not enjoy to be used as someones puppet, not even yours. You've turned this wonderful game of ours into a show of your power, using me. So, I wanted to teach you a lesson." I repeated myself, nonchalantly.

His gaze bores into my own, furious at your choice of handling the situation, but even more so because theres truth in your words. "I have a reputation." He spits the last word, "How will I be respected if I cannot controll my own woman?" He asks, frustrated.

I sneer, "You forget yourself Silco." Theres venom in my tone, "I may not be known as "The Industrialist" but I have a reputation of my own and it is time I reminded you of it. Zaun will not respect you more for treating me like shit, and your blatant audacity to feel bad for yourself is sickening." I state coldly, and he knows your right, yet he cannot help how your words irk him. His face burns hot with shame.

"Ive let you degrade me in front of thousands of people, just for you to earn your power." I spit back.

"But truth be told, husband. Youre not a king, nor a god, and people will understand that you cannot control me. Ive never been know as conceded woman and I believe I have made that clear today." I fix my gaze sternly on his, making sure hes understood. He glares back, nodding.

Certain hes seen my point, I ease up. Work has taken a toll on him as of late, thats not his fault, but how he chose to counteract it is.

I lean forward again, softening my gaze as I carefully stroke his scar and whisper "You might have chosen me as your bride, but I also chose you, you know."

He sighs, closing his eyes, the anger melting away from him as he remebers you when you first met, and thinks of the woman before him now. Hes loved every version of you that hes had to pleasure to know and hes been incredibly stupid to put you in such positions for his own gain, he will simply find others to make examples of. He meets your gaze again, defeated "Im afraid my dear girl, that you're right, my behavior towards you have been appaling. You win, this time." A releaved expression covers my face as I've gotten my point across.

"However," he says soflty placing both hands on either side of my face, cupping it "That wont stop me from earning my retribution, game rules." He points out, pressing a soft kiss to my lips as a hand slides one hand to the back of my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair, earning him a moan from me.

He strokes my cheek gently with the back of his free hand, then tracing his index finger along my jaw and ending it with a tap at the sharpest point under my ear, "Everything." He says concurrently with the tap.

He strokes a strand of hair behind my ear before continuing to trace his finger down my neck, following it with his gaze, he grabs my throat, squeezing lightly as he carefully yamks me closer to him, making me gasp, "Has." he punctuates, finger tapping again, this time on my artery.

He lets go of my throat an continues to trace his finger outward along my collarbone, stopping at my shoulder, "A." He taps again. Silent anticipation linger between us, as I wonder where this'll end.

He takes the crimson brastrap between his fingers, slowly sliding it off my shoulder as he traces it down to the cup, "Price." He ends, the tension between us culminating, as he taps one last time at the soft flesh of my breast.%I shiver runs along my spine, I lean into again, his lips a ghost on mine.

"Naturally" I whisper against his lips, feeling him smile.

His hands continue downward, coming to a stop at my hips, holding me in place as if I'd ever wish to be anywhere else and melting me completely with his sudden tenderness. But his grip hardens, ready to take what is his. And as much as I would love just that, I was not done and he knew it.

"But, I've yet to claim my price. Game rules." I state, he steps back, knowing that he has to abide by the rules. His eyes shift to mine, pleading and lust battling for controll. "Cruel, cruel woman" he whimpers.

One side of him is itching to do whatever he wants to you and the other begging for you to let him touch you. And you're about to make him beg for it.

#arcane silco #silco fic #silco x reader #silco fanfic #silco #silco x you #arcane #silco smut #silco league of legends #silco imagine #arcane smut #arcane imagine #league of legends smut

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cognacandlilac · 9 months

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To the Depths - Part Six - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) Promises and Pomegranates

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You come face to face against an impossible creature and it royally screws with your understanding of reality. Will Silco help you? Chapter Warnings/Tags: this chapter is SFW. Don't you worry, more smut is coming <3 A/N: Not beta'd because I'm trying to feed my momentum monster. She's starving and she's mean.

You stand in place, still staring up at the towering monster of living water. A part of your mind understands that it is about to snap at the ship like a wild animal but the thought is simply too impossible to comprehend.

“Torches!” Sevika shouts sharply enough to drag your attention back to the deck and crew. You are not the only one frozen with fear and disbelief. Most of the crew cannot seem to believe their eyes either.

“Torches!” Sevika snarls and shoves the nearest crewmember. This sends them scurrying off to illuminate the ship as much as possible. Your gaze drags back up the column of water to the beastly head and glowing eyes. Its neck reminds you somewhat of a snake, coiled to strike.

When its head darts forward toward the deck, you at least have the good sense to brace yourself. The beast thuds against the ship as though it is made of pure, solid matter. You are knocked clean off your feet, unable to stop yourself from colliding with the railing. Breath leaves your lungs in a sharp gust just in time for a rush of water to slam against your body.

Gasping, sputtering, and dazed, the only thing you can think to do is look for Silco but you don’t see him. An unexpected stab of pain blooms in your chest that has nothing to do with the physical blows your body just experienced.

He left you to fend for yourself.

You should not be surprised. Why would you expect anything different? So what if he danced with you and briefly participated in a conversation that didn’t consist of throwing insults at each other? That does not change the fact that you are a prisoner. Less than that, even. You’re a stolen commodity.

A lump rises in your throat and you tell yourself it’s because the pain in your right side is growing more intense by the moment. No other reason.

You know why you are here. You know where you stand.

The water creature lets out another shrill roar as its glowing eyes scan the deck. Your eyes follow the serpentine curve of its neck to where its body meets the deck and continues, rising over the railing, not unlike the way a snake’s body slides over a branch. Yet, as water pours off of its form, it never changes size.

It strikes again, aiming at Locke who manages to dive out of the way. Like before, the brace of its impact rocks the ship. This time, you are able to see the way water bursts from its body and rolls across the deck the way a rogue wave would roll across a calm sea.

What in the hell is it?

“Princess, you either need to get moving or get fighting. I don’t care which one you do. Just don’t get in the way.” Sevika brushes by you with a vicious look in her eyes as she attaches what looks to be some kind of miniature harpoon to the end of her mechanical arm.

You nod, though Sevika has already moved her attention back to the water creature.

“Bring its head down!” She barks at whoever is within earshot.

You try to make yourself move in any direction for any purpose but you simply can’t. Your mind is racing and grappling with the reality in front of you, leaving your body stuck in a state of awe and terror. It is only when a crewmate, the same one who nearly came to blows with Locke, crashes against the deck in front of you.

“Fuckin’ waterwyrms,” he grumbles as he scrambles to his feet just in time to avoid another wave rolling off the body of the beast.

A waterwyrm. An apt name that scratches along the outer edge of your frazzled memory. You cannot chase after it just now.

The clatter of metal pulls your attention and you realize a thick dagger has fallen from the belt of the swearing crewmate. You call out for him, realizing too late that you never learned his name. Not that it matters. You can’t see him anymore.

You reach for the dagger, figuring it’s better to arm yourself in one way or another while you decide what you’re going to do.

The storm the other day was frightening but familiar. You’d sailed through storms before. You knew what to do, to an extent and if you didn’t, the crew was there to set you right. But that isn’t the case now.

Only a handful of the crewmates crisscrossing the deck seem to know what they’re dealing with. The rest wear expressions you imagine are similar to the one on your face right now. You are not the only one out of your depth with this.

The dagger is heavier than you expected and, truth be told, you do not know how to wield it. The closest thing you’ve held to this is an engraved letter opener that you keep on your bedside table at home, just in case.

You struggle to decide whether or not to keep the dagger or discard it but you cannot remain rooted in place like this. You are completely unprotected. Once you find a bit of shelter, you can organize your thoughts, and pull yourself together.

A flickering instinct tugs at your mind. It whispers to you, urging you to find Captain Silco. He’s supposed to keep you from harm until you are returned safely to your father and fiance. That was the agreement.

A cruel stab of logic reminds you that not even Silco could offer absolute protection against a creature of myth and magic, especially not one that is determined to flood the ship with its watery form. Besides, Silco did not hesitate to abandon you once the waterwyrm rose from the black sea.

Another flash of hurt sears into your chest and you quickly replace the hurt with anger, unwilling to allow your ego to be bruised by that man more than it already has. Enough is enough. The familiar clarity of anger awakens the part of your mind that had gone hazy with shock at the sight of the waterwyrm.

You need to get to a safe place. Quickly. You flee, heading toward the stern, nearly tripping with every step as you do so. As much as you do not want to look at it, you keep your eyes fixed on the waterwyrm. Perhaps, if you were seeing it in a painting or sketch, you would find it beautiful but not here. Not when it’s real and dangerous and hell-bent on fracturing your reality. Things like this only exist in stories.

Then again, you thought Silco only existed in stories, and look how that has panned out for you.

With a soft groan, you keep moving forward. Even in the most dire of situations, the Captain still manages to snake his way to the forefront of your mind. The thought stokes your anger and you cling to it as you navigate around the scrambling crewmates and thrashing waterwyrm. It has slithered around to the port side of the ship, an equal distance from the bow and stern. This would be a good thing if you didn’t feel a spray of water coming from behind you. You look over your shoulder to see its watery, snake-like tail rising on the opposite side of the ship.

You’ve seen plenty of sketches of mythical krakens wrapping their tentacles around ships to squeeze them into splitters. Could a waterwyrm do such a thing?

The tail swings like a whip, heading right toward you. You dive forward, evading the tail but you’ve realized you’re now scrambling to find your footing right beside the great neck of the beast. You gaze up, tipping your face all the way back to look at its head. Its attention is drawn elsewhere, for the moment. Instead of moving away, you feel the weight of the dagger in your hand.

You look at the rippling, translucent body of the waterwyrm. Surely, if it is solid enough to perch on the deck as it wreaks havoc, it is solid enough to feel the pierce of a blade. Without thinking twice, you lift the dagger and stab it into the side of the waterwyrm. The dagger pieces its watery hide like a hot knife through butter.

It does…nothing.

No, that isn’t true. It’s done something. It’s gotten the beast's attention. The waterwyrm’s serpentine neck swivels and bends, bringing its head down until it is looking you right in the eye. Those blue orbs glow and shine like fire. It has no pupils but you know it’s looking right at you, into you.

With a low, gurgling hiss, it opens its mouth.

The anger that propelled you forward evaporates, leaving you with nothing but a cold, hollow sense of fear. You cannot move. You are vaguely aware that the dagger has slipped from your hand and has clattered onto the deck.

Every inch of your skin, every drop of blood, every bone screams at you to run but you can’t. You can’t look away from the waterwyrm’s eyes. Now you see the beauty of such a creature, though the notion is far from soothing.

You will be swallowed up by its hungry maw.

You wonder if it will kill you by drowning or if its teeth are more solid than they appear. You wonder which you’d prefer. Probably the latter. You’ve never seen someone drown, but enough of your father’s men have had close enough brushes with such a watery death that you know it’s unpleasant.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve pondered your own death. It always seemed like such a faraway thing. An inevitable thing, like a candle blowing out. You would be here and then you would be gone. You never gave much thought to what happened in between. The act of dying itself.

A crack rings out and it doesn’t fully register with you that something has happened before the waterwyrm’s head reels back. It snarls and snaps, howling with rage. Something bright and sparkling falls in front of your face.

“Yes!” Jinx’s delighted laugh is out of place with everything happening around you as she appears by your side. She scoops up the bright, shining thing. With a slow blink, you realize it’s one of the waterwyrm’s eyes. She slips it into her pocket. Its glow is so intense it shines through the fabric of her pants.

“You should probably move,” Jinx says, putting a hand on your shoulder and tugging you back toward the weather deck. “I just made that thing really angry and I still need the other eye.”

She turns you a little and gives you a small shove in the direction of the weather deck. There, at the top of the steps, you see Silco with a rifle in hand. As always, he looks eerily still amongst the chaos. His ocean eye is bright and focused as he watches the waterwyrm.

You dart forward and start to climb the stairs, but your legs have gone wobbly. You stumble near the top, reaching out and catching yourself on his leg to keep yourself from sliding down the steep steps.

“You’re alright, treasure.” You feel a large, gentle hand on the back of your head. “Stay right there. This will be over and done with soon.”

Several words leap into your mouth but none of them make it past your tongue. You find that you can do nothing but cling to his leg and hope his words ring true.

“Line it up for me, minnow,” Silco orders. You see a flash of blue as Jinx scrambles up the nearest mast and begins to wave and shout at the waterwyrm. The half-blind beast whips its head around, teeth bared and snarling with fury. You close your eyes, not wanting to look upon it anymore but that is worse. The moment you close your eyes, all you see is the waterwyrm bearing down on you, ready to devour you. Your eyes snap back open just as the waterwyrm strikes at Jinx. Its head moves into the perfect position for Silco to take the shot, and he does. Another crack rings out, shooting right into your bones. The second glowing eye comes loose. This time, Jinx is able to catch it before it hits the deck.

And then, you aren’t fully sure what happens. The waterwyrm moans weakly, its head swaying as it struggles to keep itself upright. It begins to collapse, as though it’s been mortally wounded rather than blinded. You cling harder to Silco’s leg, bracing for an impact that could be severe enough to damage the ship. Just before the waterwyrm’s limp body hits the deck, it melts into water. Thick droplets of seawater smash into the surface of the deck like a vicious rain, but that’s all that happens.

Your brow furrows with confusion before you look up at Silco. He sets the rifle aside before reaching down to help you to your feet. Around you, the crew checks for damage to the ship. Some look exhausted and annoyed. Most look as confused as you feel. Sevika looks as though she’s just eaten a whole lemon. You briefly wonder what she must have seen in her life for something like the waterwyrm to be considered little more than an inconvenience.

“Those glowing stones gave life to the water,” Silco explains, his voice gentle and filled with patience that makes something hurt inside of your chest. “Remove the stones, remove the problem. The stones are very valuable as well, as you can probably imagine.”

You nod, though it’s a jerky, automatic response to his words. You hear them. You know what you saw. But your mind just refuses to accept that something like that can exist in your world.

“Are you hurt?” Silco keeps speaking to you in that low, gentle voice. You hate it. You don’t want to see that softness in him. You don’t want it to steady you or soothe you.

“I’m fine,” you manage, though you’re not certain that’s the truth. You feel like you are going to keel over at any second.

“You’re bleeding.” Jinx glides up to your side, ever the helpful little wraith, and lightly touches your arm. Sure enough, there is a gash stretching nearly from elbow to wrist on the underside of your forearm. You can’t even feel it, though you decide that’s a good thing for now.

“Get her down to the doctor, minnow.” Silco’s good eye fills with something you refuse to acknowledge as regret, possibly even worry, when he looks at the wound on your arm.

“So much for not allowing damage to your cargo,” you mutter as you let Jinx lead you below deck. She takes you to the bottom level of the ship. You pass dozens of hammocks strung up and layered over each other as well as an assortment of trunks and personal belongings.

“Do you sleep down here?” You ask her.

“I bunk on my own,” Jinx explains, but does not offer more details.

You pass three iron cells, each fitted with several pairs of shackles. They are all empty and, thankfully, look as though they’ve been empty for a while. You briefly wonder if you were meant to occupy one of the cells. Why did Silco insist on watching over you so closely when he could have thrown you down here and been done with it?

Just past the cells is a solid wall made from spare bits of wood. Though it looks sturdy enough, it’s quite slapdash. Gaps between planks allow you to see glimpses into the room beyond. The wood bulges and indents in strange ways. With a small start, you realize the wall is made of pieces of other ships. Perhaps, ships the Zaun’s Revenge attacked and scuttled while looking for goods.

There are two crude doors set into the makeshift wall.

“I sleep there.” Jinx points to one of the doors. Its placement against the wall implies that it’s the smaller of the two rooms. She points to the other door. “That leads to the laboratory. It’s best if you wait for me or the Captain to bring you down here if you ever have a need to see the doctor.”

“Oh?”

“He’s nice, usually,” Jinx shrugs. “But he gets very annoyed if his work is interrupted. He’ll always help you if you need it, though.”

Jinx raps her knuckles against the door. Through the gaps in the slats, you see warm candlelight but also some kind of glowing, purplish light you cannot envision a source for. There is no answer from inside the laboratory but that doesn’t stop Jinx from pushing in.

The room is small, though the curved hull of the ship that makes up one wall allows for a little extra space. All manner of indistinguishable items have been cleverly stored where the room comes together to form the underside of the bow.

Tucked against the curved wall is a desk cast in shadow by a tall, thin figure whose black coat seems to eat the light around him. Shelves fitted to the curve of the hull contain jar after jar of that strange purple powder. The jars glow faintly in the darkness of the room.

The man does not look up from his desk nor does he acknowledge the presence of two new people in the cramped space.

“This is where I work on projects.” Jinx taps a cluttered workbench stocked to the point of overflowing with metal bits and bobs, screws, nuts, bolts, and plenty more objects that you can’t identify. The walls around her workbench are covered in sketches and schematics, designs of a mechanical nature. You spot a page with the words ‘MAGNETIC CANNONBALL’ scrawled across the top in big, messy letters surrounded by complex equations you can’t ever hope to untangle. The sight makes you smile a little.

“Mr. Doctor, we are in need of your assistance,” Jinx chirps and taps on the bony shoulder of the man. He glances back at her with a foggy look that is somehow both dazed and focused. He wears a cloth tied around the lower half of his face in some kind of makeshift mask.

“Hm,” he grunts softly before turning around to face you fully. You bite the inside of your cheek so you do not react to the severe burns covering the previously hidden side of his face. His other eye is surrounded by scar tissue so thick he can barely open it, which doesn’t seem to matter since the eye itself is a pale, milky color. Despite that, you can still make out dark hollows under both of his eyes.

His functional eye quickly examines your body, spotting the laceration on your arm.

“What happened there?”

You open your mouth to explain, but you aren’t actually sure how you injured yourself. “I’m not sure. I fell a few times during the waterwyrm’s attack.”

The doctor’s nonexistent eyebrows shift upward. “Waterwyrm?”

“Yes, one just gave us a hell of a fight.” Jinx’s eyes spark with pride. “Nothing we couldn’t handle though. It looks like everything held up in here just fine.”

She looks toward the shelves and she’s right. Despite the viciousness of the waterwyrm’s attack, not even a single pen looks as if it’s rolled out of place.

“Good, good,” he nods, taking a step forward on spindly legs. “Come into the light, please.”

You do as you are asked, holding out your arm for him to examine. His long fingers wrap around your wrist and put the icy grip of the reaper to shame with their coldness.

“You truly did not notice that the ship was under attack Mr…Doctor?”

“I have learned how to maintain focus in even the most unlikely situations. Besides, the Captain and crew are more than capable of handling any dangers the sea flings at us.” He chuckles softly, the sound reminiscent of scraping bones, before speaking again. “Singed. Only the little one calls me Mr. Doctor.”

Singed. Surely, that is not his true name. You find yourself staring at the ruin of his face until you remember yourself and force your eyes down.

“It’s quite alright,” Singed says as he moves to one of the heavily stocked shelves and retrieves squares of pristine white cloth and two glass vials each the size of your thumb. “For all of my faults, vanity was never one of them.”

He holds up the first vial filled with clear liquid. “Clean your wound with this first and wait for the bleeding to stop.” He holds up the second vial, half filled with liquid the same vibrant purple as the powder. “This will encourage healing. I suggest you ask the Captain for assistance. It is most potent in its liquid form.”

“But what is it?” You ask softly, taking both of the vials as well as the scraps of clean cloth.

“Have you received advanced education in biology, chemistry, anatomy, pathology, and alchemy?”

Your eyes widen. “I have not.”

“Then all you need to know is that this is something that will help you.” There is a slightly condescending tone in the doctor’s voice but you don’t have the energy to let it pinch your pride.

“We call it shimmer,” Jinx says with a helpful smile.

“You call it shimmer,” Singed corrects, turning his attention back to his desk. “That is an inaccurate and purely cosmetic name.”

“It’s catching on with the crew so you should get used to it,” Jinx shrugs before ushering you out of the cramped laboratory.

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder but Singed is already engrossed in his work once more. You follow Jinx above deck, staring at the little vial of glowing purple liquid. The crew has largely recovered from dealing with the waterwyrm. Considering the violence of the attack, it did little damage to the ship.

“Oh, rats!” Jinx groans softly, lightly placing her fingers over the glowing stones in her pocket. “I forgot to give these to Mr. Doctor.” She hurries back below deck, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you’re grateful for the solitude or not.

Your mind still feels caught, stretched thin over the gap between what you thought you knew and what you now know to be true. You move toward the Captain’s cabin without thinking about it.

There are stones that somehow bring water to life. You grew up listening to myths and legends from all corners of the world. While many were soaked in magic and impossibility, you also knew the ocean still held many secrets and mysteries. You just didn’t think the secrets would be so close to the myths.

Desperate for something to occupy your mind, you dig through your memories for scraps of any myth containing the waterwyrm. Nothing comes to mind. Frustrated, you push into the Captain’s cabin to find it empty. Both relief and disappointment settle like stones on your chest. You toss the stone of disappointment away and will yourself to be happy for a moment to tend to your wounds alone.

While the bed looks welcoming, you choose to perch on the desk instead. You briefly consider sitting in Silco’s chair but you can’t bring yourself to do it.

It’s…his. Somehow, sitting in that chair feels more intimate than sharing a bed.

You place the vials and the cloth on an empty part of the desk.

Heat rushes to your cheeks as the image of your hands intertwined with his, bent over the desk, as he took you from behind fills your mind. Something tugs low in your belly as the need for a distraction attempts to disguise itself as desire.

Your upper lip curls in forced disgust, but you cannot summon any anger behind the motion. You call your anger over and over, wishing to wrap yourself in it to shield yourself from the strange feelings fighting to form within you. It does not come.

With a slow, deep breath, you turn your attention to the clean cloth squares and the first vial of clear liquid. You open it and take a sniff. It’s nothing more than a simple disinfectant if your nose is to be trusted.

Singed instructed you to ask the Captain for help with the shimmer. Even if the idea of asking Silco for help was palatable, you aren’t sure you want to put shimmer anywhere near an open wound without a better understanding of what it is.

You soak one of the cloths in a small amount of disinfectant and brace yourself as you press it to your wound. The stinging pain rips through you, far worse than the pain of the injury itself.

Tears prick at the backs of your eyes and you go stone still, keeping the cloth pressed to your wound. The threat of tears has allowed a tiny spark of anger to rise. You clutch those sparks hard and throw them against the feeling your tears wish to bring forth. The sting grows until you can’t stand it anymore.

Just as you remove the cloth from your wound with a small sound of frustration and anguish, the cabin door opens.

“There you are.” Silco steps into the room and lets the door swing shut behind him. He locks it with mindless movements as his eye focuses on the sight of you sitting on the edge of his desk. Worry flickers behind his ocean eye. “What are you doing?”

“The kind doctor gave me something to patch myself up with.” You hold up the cloth as though it’s obvious. “The experience has been less than pleasant.”

“Have you ever had to tend to a wound like that before?” He asks, that horrible softness returning to his voice as he approaches you.

“I think you know the answer to that.” You try to put a little bite in your voice but fail to do so.

“Perhaps, but I’ve learned several times now that underestimating you is a foolish thing to do.” He takes the cloth from your hand without a word and frowns. “Did you dilute this at all?”

Your cheeks feel hot. “The doctor didn’t mention that I’d need to do so.”

Silco removes the seal on the water pitcher near the vanity and wets the cloth before adding a drop or two of the disinfectant. “This will get the job done and sting far, far less.”

You hold out your hand to take the cloth but he ignores it. He moves close once more and holds your injured arm in his free hand before gently cleaning the rest of the gash. The sting is still there, but its bite is far less vicious. You find that you are able to breathe with some normalcy again, though something heavy still sits on your chest.

“Ah,” Silco murmurs as he spots the vial of shimmer. “Excellent.”

“I don’t want…whatever that is,” you say quickly.

“It’s perfectly safe when administered correctly, I assure you.” He opens the vial and the cabin is soon filled with a sweet, medicinal scent that makes your nose tingle. “I use it every day.”

You tilt your head. “You do?”

He meets your gaze before bringing his fingertips to the scars around his ruined eye. “It is the only thing that keeps the infection from progressing. It dulls the pain as well. I wouldn’t be fit to man a rowboat let alone captain a vessel without it.”

“Oh.” Your gaze dips to the vial in his hand before falling silent.

Silco leans forward, bending down a little so his face is level with yours. “What, no quips? Surely, you can think of some remark to make about such a substance turning me inhuman.”

You say nothing.

“Not even a little jab at my charming personality and wonderful temperament?” There is a teasing lilt to his voice but that softness still remains.

You shake your head. You aren’t in the mood to trade barbed remarks, not that your mind would cooperate with you if you were.

Silco sighs softly and returns his attention to the shimmer vial. He moves away from you for a moment to fish something out of one of the desk drawers. You hear something clinking and glance over from the corner of your eye. He holds a small glass eyedropper, which he cleans thoroughly with the remaining disinfectant.

“This will make it easier,” he explains. “You really won’t need more than a drop or two.”

“Will…?” You start to ask but you swallow your question down, hoping he’ll be gracious enough to pretend you hadn’t spoken at all.

“Will what, treasure?” He finishes cleaning the eyedropper and dries it off before giving you an expectant look.

“Will it hurt?” The sting of the disinfectant nearly brought you to tears. Another strike of pain would be too much for you to fight through and you were not going to cry. Certainly, not in front of Silco.

“Yes, but it’s an unusual sort of pain,” he explains. “It’s intense, but it’s quick. A bit like someone flashing a bright light in your eyes unexpectedly. Your senses will feel scrambled but, like I said, it’s quick.”

He loads up the eyedropper with just two drops of the violent purple liquid and takes hold of your arm once more. He looks at you, waiting for permission. You nod.

A single shining drop falls from the end of the eyedropper onto your wound. You feel a tingling sensation for a fraction of a moment before something unlike anything you’ve ever felt before wracks through your body. Too much air is crammed into your lungs yet it also feels as though the wind has been knocked from your chest. Your veins feel as though they widening and narrowing, wriggling beneath your skin. It’s unbearable.

And then it’s gone.

You gasp hard and brace on the desk.

“Easy, treasure,” Silco’s voice tethers you to reality.

Your mind scrambles to right itself. You feel exposed, vulnerable. Your anger has failed you so you fight to call forth anything else that will shield you from the terrible weight on your chest and the tightness in your throat.

His quick hands wrap your forearm in soft, clean bandages before you have a chance to see what your wound looks like now. Already, you note the absence of physical pain.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” His hand comes to rest in the middle of your back. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of your shirt. Tears spring forth but you quickly scoot off the desk to stand in the middle of the room, out of his reach.

“I’m rather tired.” You keep your back to him as you blink and blink and blink.

“I imagine so.” His boots thud against the wooden floor as he moves to stand behind you but he does not try to touch you again. “You’ve had quite a fright.”

Once again, you feel a tiny spark of your anger ignite but it’s not enough to catch fire and burn away the terrible feeling that creeps in around you. You are not yet in control of your emotions enough to speak, to deny his words.

“Most of the crew is in the same boat as you are, so to speak,” he says. “Waterwyrms are incredibly rare. I’ve only seen three, myself. Seeing something like that for the first time can be rattling.”

“I am not rattled,” you hiss. You clench your hands into fists to hide how much they shake as you move toward the bed. You sit down and fumble with the lacings of your boots until you’re able to shuck them off. “I’m tired.”

For a moment, Silco looks as though he’s going to press the matter. A small part of you, one that you’d like to squash beneath your heel, wishes he would.

He takes a half step back and nods. “Get some sleep, then. You’ve earned it.”

He takes a seat at his desk and goes through the motions of clipping and lighting a fresh cigar. The warm, spiced smell of it banishes the lingering scent of disinfectant and shimmer from the cabin. Something in your chest loosens, but you’re not sure if it’s a good thing.

You slip out of your breeches and crawl under the covers, pressing yourself as close to the wall as you can with your back to Silco. The only sounds in the room are the faint scratching of his pen across parchment and his soft exhales whenever he takes a puff of his cigar. It’s not enough to hold your focus.

Your mind begins to spin again. Your heart slams against your ribs but you tell yourself it’s nothing more than your body responding to the shimmer.

You are not rattled. You are not frightened. You can handle this. You have handled everything life has flung cruelly into your path and you will continue to do so. You will remain in control, just as you always have.

But you know that’s not true. The words float through your mind like a lullaby despite the threat they pose to your quickly fracturing resolve. It’s never been true.

It becomes harder to keep your breathing slow and even. That horrible feeling continues to tighten its grip around your throat, growing stronger and stronger until you fear you won’t be able to break loose. You won’t be able to keep it at bay. You’ll have to feel it and know the truth of it.

You are not rattled. You are not frightened.

You’re terrified.

And the moment you let yourself feel that terror, you’ll be lost.

Fear claws at your throat and sits on your chest, prepared to suffocate you. Already, you can feel it seeping through your skin and stealing your breath.

Fear has come for you before, but you fought it off. It pounced on you the day your mother died but you evaded it, letting grief shield you. It tried to ambush you again the day your father abandoned you at the family estate but your anger was so great and so fierce that fear could not touch you.

Now, your grief was a quiet, content creature resting near your heart alongside the memory of your mother. And your anger…where was it? How could it have abandoned you and left you so vulnerable?

There had to be something you could do. Fear would not reach you this time. It never had and it never will.

Not true. Not true. Not true. The words skitter across your brain, less gentle than they were before.

You fight the urge to scream, choosing to bite the inside of your cheek instead. It's no use. The truth has started to seep through the cracks of your mind and you have nowhere left to run. No place to hide.

How close will you allow yourself to come to madness for the sake of clinging to such a fragile illusion?

You only believed yourself to be capable because you had never faced a true challenge. Now that you had, now that you stared the waterwyrm in the eyes and saw death, you can no longer hide from what you are. A small, scared, stupid girl who doesn’t know a single thing about the world.

You do not have the strength or skills to survive on your own without your father’s money and protection. If you fled your engagement, you might as well forfeit your life. If you allowed yourself to be caged within the gilded bars of marriage and societal expectations, you would never feel alive again.

One way or another, death surrounds you. It does not matter if it’s a death of your body or a death of your spirit. Both are equally devastating in your eyes. There is no escape.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood as you keep fighting the cold sense of fear that tries to wrap you in its embrace. You can’t give in to it. You can’t allow yourself to feel it. You’d never be able to pull yourself out if you did. You don’t bother trying to call on your anger to help you keep fear at bay. You realize now that it did not abandon you. You’ve simply burned it all up.

Only the faintest scrap of pride allows you to hold yourself together. If you are going to fall apart, it will not be on this damn ship surrounded by these damn pirates.

You are so caught up in your own mind that you do not realize Silco has moved until you feel the bed shift beside you. You stay still, pretending to be asleep, not that it matters. Aside from your failed attempt to bring yourself some relief last night, Silco keeps his distance from you in bed.

He shifts and rolls a bit before he seems to settle. Thinking he has fallen asleep, you allow your mind to resume its heavy task of stopping your fears from consuming you.

A hand presses against your back. Your breath catches in your throat and it takes every bit of your frayed self-control to keep up the act of pretending to sleep.

“Brave girl,” comes Silco’s soft whisper, so quiet you are unsure if you were meant to hear those words or not.

Warmth spreads across your back, radiating from his palm. If you focus, you can feel the shape of every long, thin finger. It may be exhaustion, the shimmer, or the fact that you had your toe over the line of madness just a moment ago but you swear you feel him pressing against your back with every breath you take. His movements, if he’s moving at all, are slow and faint. When you feel him press, you extend your exhale. When he lightens the pressure, you inhale. Over and over until your breathing slows and your heart calms.

The urge to check if he’s awake or say his name gently pulls at you, but you let it pass. The peace of this moment is a fragile, hard-won thing that you aren’t ready to give up. Besides, if he actually is asleep and this is all in your head, you’d rather keep that to yourself. You continue to breathe slowly, focused on the way his hand feels against your back, and eventually allow sleep to take you.

********

When you wake, you roll over to find an empty bed. You open your eyes, expecting to see Silco sitting at his desk like he usually does but he isn’t there. A small amount of relief fills you. You’re spared from confronting him after…whatever that was last night.

Maybe you sent yourself into such a deep state of distress that you imagined it. But then that means that you imagined him for comfort, which might be worse.

Your mind still feels clouded and sluggish as you dress and leave the cabin. Above deck, the air is still and there is not a cloud in the sky. The Zaun’s Revenge bobs gently on a calm sea. To the west, you spot a strip of land but no distinguishing landmarks that might tell you where you are. Your eyes scan the deck for Silco, but you do not see him. There does not seem to be any work to be done so you head below deck to the galley.

Arlo has already started preparing for the evening meal, causing you to realize just how late you’ve slept in. You offer to help, he accepts. Soon, you are chopping onions. Your eyes burn and your mincing skills leave much to be desired, but your mind is occupied. Plus, you are learning something new. That always makes you feel better, more in control of yourself.

“You seem a bit out of sorts,” Arlo says. “Something on your mind?”

“That waterwyrm has rudely forced me to reexamine my understanding of the world and my place in it,” you answer. “It’s been horribly inconvenient.” “Oh, I see. That happened to me the first time I saw something like that. It wasn’t a waterwyrm, though. The carcass of an ushkya floated to the surface. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

“A what?” You hope you won’t regret asking.

“An ushkya. Merfolk use them similar to the way humans use horses. They’re actually quite gentle by nature. I’ve seen a few wild ones before. Their fangs make them look scarier than they are. I’d go as far as to say they’re more docile than horses.”

Your mouth drops open. You regret asking. “I am not in a position to take in that information.”

“Fair. How are you getting along with those onions?”

“Badly, I’m afraid.” You dab at your onion tears with the back of your hand. “I hope you like a bit of a rough chop.”

“It’ll do just fine. You aren’t cooking for the Council,” he chuckles and rests an affirming hand on your shoulder. “Keep at it. I have plenty of work for you when you’re done.”

Time ticks by in the kitchen as you and Arlo take turns teaching each other things. It will be a while before he can read properly, but he knows how certain words look written down, which is an excellent start. The two of you make a plan to redo all of the labels in the scullery. Having a plan like that makes you smile. It’ll keep you occupied during the days and will hopefully make your imprisonment pass quicker.

“Ah, so is this where I can expect to find you when you vanish from the cabin?” At the sound of Silco’s voice, you are flooded with memories of his hand on your back. You can feel the pressure between your shoulders as you turn around to face him.

“If I say yes, does that mean the longboats will be left unattended?” You fire back.

“Glad to see the stress of last night has not dulled your wit. You’re going to need it.”

“Why?”

“We’re going ashore. I have to meet with an associate of mine and I know better than to leave you to your own devices.” A small smirk twitches in the corner of his mouth but it is not accompanied by the usual mean glint in his eye.

“Scared I’ll ambush you with another oar attack, pirate?” You say, moving out of the kitchen with an indifferent look though you are glad to be back in the familiar territory of banter and quick remarks.

“If I remember correctly, I was the one who snuck up on you,” he says.

“But my first instinct was still to give you a good whack,” you point out, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

“True.”

Silco starts to lead you out of the galley but you pause and look over your shoulder.

“Will you get on without me, Arlo?” you ask.

“I’ll be fine. We can start our labeling project when you return if you’re up for it.” Arlo’s gaze darts to Silco and his face pales a little bit. “With the Captain’s permission, of course.”

You turn your head and look up at Silco, arching a brow.

“Hm,” he mutters before ushering you above deck. He lowers his head so his mouth is close to your ear. “Should I be concerned by how well you are ingratiating yourself with my crew?”

“Probably,” you shrug. “Do I need to put on that beloved harlot costume again?”

“Beloved indeed,” he chuckles lowly. “But no. Port Squawkfeather is not quite as…colorful as Port Fairna. You are perfectly fine as you are. Unless, of course, you secretly liked playing the harlot and wish to do so again.”

“Hold your breath and find out.” You smile sweetly before turning your attention to the port in question.

“Ever the charmer.” Silco stands by your side as the Zaun’s Revenge docks and the gangplank is lowered.

Despite its unusual name, Port Squawkfeather looks orderly and clean for a pirate haven. From what you can see, there is some form of authority patrolling the docks and the shore. They bear a discreet insignia that looks strikingly similar to a waterwyrm.

The small port town is clustered on a spit of land between a narrow, pebbly beach and sandstone rock formations that vary in height. A few structures stand on plateaus scattered across the cliff faces, but most of the buildings appear to be concentrated around the mouth of the port.

“What business do you have here?” You ask, glancing at Silco from the corner of your eye. You don’t expect an answer but you can’t help but ask. Silco is certainly making quite a few stops for someone with a valuable hostage underfoot.

“I’m sure you recall the blue stones that served as the waterwyrm’s eyes. I plan to sell them. They are extremely valuable,” he replies. “Even more valuable than you.”

“I am worth less than a pair of glowing rocks?” You scoff.

“These are not just rocks. The power they contain is unlike anything else in the world. Those stones contain pure arcane energy.”

“And you would sell them to the highest bidder?” You arch a brow.

“Of course. I do not have the resources to harness their power myself so I may as well make a profit from them.”

He offers his arm, which you take, and the two of you disembark.

“Are you going to make me sit in your lap in a dingy tavern again?” You ask.

“No,” he replies. “You aren’t wearing a skirt. I won’t be able to have any fun.”

His words bring a hot blush to your cheeks. You fix your gaze straight ahead and hope he does not notice. Once more, you feel the ghost of his hand on your back, guiding you through your breaths.

The entrance of the docks feeds into a well-maintained dirt road that leads right to a lively market. Instead of walking down that road, Silco cuts to the left and walks along the shore for a time.

“I hope you can handle a small climb, treasure,” he says before turning off the path onto a thin trail that snakes up the side of a sandstone formation. “I won’t carry you if you feel faint.”

“I’d rather be left in the dust than rely on you to carry me,” you reply, though a touch of worry reaches your heart. You nibbled on a few things while assisting Arlo, but you haven’t had a proper meal since last night’s dinner.

The trail isn’t steep but it snakes back and forth along the side of the cliff, carrying you higher and higher with each twist. The trail dips into a valley dotted with scraggly bushes before traveling up the side of another sandstone formation.

Sweat breaks out across your forehead and your throat feels scratchy and dry, but you don’t say anything. Silco doesn’t seem to be any worse for wear. It’s unlikely he has anything on his person that can relieve your discomfort so there is no point in opening yourself up to ridicule, especially after he saw you in such a vulnerable state last night.

It is a hot day and the air is dry. Your legs ache from walking at an incline for so long. As much as you want to ask Silco for a moment to stop and catch your breath, you push onward.

Each step gives you a frail sense of reassurance.

You aren’t weak. You aren’t helpless. You’re capable.

Even as your lungs burn and sparks tease the corners of your vision, you take comfort in your ability to keep pushing.

You are resilient.

The panic brought on by the waterwyrm was a fluke. A perfectly reasonable lapse in judgment, all things considered.

You are fine. You have always been fine. You will continue to be fine.

Is there not something better than fine? That wicked little voice whispers to you but you shut it out. Now is not the time. You must focus all of your energy on not collapsing on this forsaken trail.

“Steady now, treasure. Our destination is atop the plateau, just there.” Silco seems a little out of breath himself when he gestures to where the path curves just up ahead.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you reply, ignoring the slight wheeze in your voice as you speak. If Silco noticed, he has enough grace to refrain from commenting on it.

You round the bend and the land flattens. Straight ahead, the path extends into a flat stretch that overlooks the port below and the ocean beyond. To the left, there is a small, slapdash house that looks to be made of driftwood, thatch, and other salvaged materials but that isn’t what captures your attention. The trees surrounding the home are filled with brilliant-colored parrots. Their feathers are a deep ruby shade that almost seems unnatural. They chitter and squawk as you and Silco approach. They fix you in their beady gazes but do nothing.

Now you know how Port Squawkfeather got its name.

“Who, exactly, are we meeting?” You ask, moving a little closer to Silco.

“An old associate of mine,” Silco says.

Just before he knocks on the door, another parrot flutters over and perches on a specially-made stand near the door. Unlike the others, this parrot is a deep azure, blue as the sea.

“Oooh, visitors!” It screeches as it flaps its wings. “Get your ass out here, ya drunk!”

“Good heavens,” you chuckle softly at the bird. “I wonder where he learned to say such a thing.”

“You’re about to find out, treasure.”

The door to the driftwood cabin flings open and in the doorway stands the oddest man you have ever seen. Spindly legs support a bloated belly that leads to narrow shoulders and skinny arms. He wears a shirt of bold coral splashed with an assortment of random, vibrant colors that resemble tropical blooms. A hat of woven straw sits atop his head, blocking the sun from a leathery face and brilliant blue eyes that are almost white. He also wears trousers shorn choppily to knee-length. On his feet are sandals that look to be made of the same material as his hat.

“Captain Jimmy,” Silco says with a sense of familiarity and a warm smile. “You haven’t aged a day.”

“Damn right, I haven’t!” The man cackles. When Silco extends his hand for a shake, Captain Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “Glad to see you aren’t dead, my lad!”

You bite back a laugh at the display. Silco looks like a cat that has just been doused with cold water.

“I could say the same to you.” His discomfort is palpable and you see no reason to intervene. The azure parrot makes a squawking noise that sounds like a human chuckle. You glance at the bird with a fond smile. It gazes back at you as if it can read your thoughts. Its gaze is so intense that you find yourself looking away.

Silco has managed to extract himself from the eccentric man’s embrace. “I’m not here on a social call, I’m afraid. I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Captain Jimmy raises a bushy grey brow before sliding his gaze over to you. “Well, she’s pretty but I don’t deal in that sort of trade. You know that.”

“Oh! No,” Silco shakes his head and stammers. “Not her. She’s a different sort of investment.”

You huff with indignation at his choice of words but say nothing.

“I’d prefer to discuss this inside,” Silco presses.

“Shady deal! Shady deal!” The azure parrot screeches.

“Hush now, Barnaby!” Captain Jimmy snaps. “I know damn well Captain Silco brings me nothing but shady deals. You needn’t insult me by stating the obvious.”

The parrot looks abashed. You did not know a parrot could convey such an expression.

“Come in,” Captain Jimmy steps to the side and ushers you and Silco into his home.

The inside of the small home reminds you of Silco’s cabin. It is crammed to the gills with interesting baubles, trinkets, and artifacts.

You try to hide your surprise when Captain Jimmy waits for the blue parrot, Barnaby, to fly into the sitting room. The parrot settles on a perch in the corner of the room.

“You look thirsty, lass,” Captain Jimmy says to you. “May I offer you a refreshment?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” you say, summoning your most charming smile. Once Captain Jimmy has moved out of sight, you turn to Silco. “You should take notes in regards to manners.”

“Oh, I think I’ve been more than generous with you, treasure,” he murmurs with a glimmer in his eye. “At least, that’s the impression I got when you screamed my name-”

“Hush!” You snap just before Captain Jimmy returns carrying two hollowed-out coconuts.

“One for you and one for me, lass,” he grins, showing off several missing teeth.

“You’re too kind,” you say as you take in the fruity fragrances of the drink he offered. You take a sip and can’t help but sigh at the sensation of sweet flavors exploding on your tongue. “Oh, this is lovely! What is it?”

“A carefully curated and blended assortment of fruit juices from the surrounding land. Though it looks rather barren, this place is a treasure trove of natural wonder.” “Oh, I’m sure,” you nod as you take another deep sip of the delicious juice. “I can’t imagine those parrots would stick around otherwise.” Through the window, you can see clusters of ruby-red parrots chirping at each other and fluttering their striking wings.

“True enough!” Captain Jimmy cackles. “Shame I can’t get rid of this one.” He jerks a thumb toward Barnaby, who fluffs up his feathers as though he’s heard every word.

“Old bastard,” Barnaby croaks.

“Waste of poultry,” Captain Jimmy fires back.

Before you can comment on the odd exchange, Silco speaks up.

“As much as I’d like to chat, I am here for a reason.” He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a pouch. You recognize the faint blue glow bleeding through the fabric. “What sort of trouble have you brought me now?” Captain Jimmy grumbles as he sets down his hollow coconut. You sip at your drink while Silco spills the two glowing blue stones into his palm.

“We ran into a waterwyrm and got these for our trouble,” he says. “Any chance you can give me gold in exchange for them?”

Captain Jimmy thinks for a moment before shaking his head. “No gold but I have a decent trade, I believe. Let me see.” He gets to his feet and walks toward an empty wall before pulling down a sheet of canvas covered in writing. There is so much information and you struggle to understand what you read.

You see a list of creatures listed out in a neat collum, the waterwyrm among them. When it is all laid out in front of you, you understand. The night in the tavern at Port Fairna, you believed Silco and his associates to be speaking in code. Now, you realize you were mistaken. Every mythical creature you heard mentioned that night is plastered on the canvas in front of you. If the waterwyrm is real, you cannot deny that the others must be real, too.

So, what does that make Silco? Is he a pirate? Does he poach creatures of myth for money? Is he more than that? Is he less than that?

“They’re all real?” You murmur softly, more to yourself than either of the men as you take another refreshing sip of the sweet juice.

“All these?” Captain Jimmy responds, rapping his bony knuckles against the canvas sheet. “Of course!” He shoots Silco a withering look. “Have you taught her nothing?”

“She has a talent for learning things on her own,” Silco replies.

You are too caught up in reading the list of creatures to throw a verbal barb back at Silco. At first, you’re pleased that you recognize most of the creatures listed from studying various mythologies but you quickly withdraw your enthusiasm.

After witnessing the waterwyrm, nothing should give you much of a shock but seeing just how many fairytales are actually true makes you feel uneasy. That horrible feeling of uncertainty and imbalance squeezes at your throat again. Your breath comes a little quicker but you hide it by taking quick sips of your drink. You feel lightheaded but you are determined to breathe through it.

“Would you like another drink, lass?” Captain Jimmy offers.

“Yes, thank you,” you say. “It is quite a trek to get to your hidden abode.”

Captain Jimmy takes your hollow coconut to refill it. When he’s out of sight, Silco places his hand over yours.

“Are you alright?” He asks.

“Just tired. Out of breath. I’m not used to walking over such challenging terrain,” you say. Silco’s good eye narrows just a touch and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you. Before he can press the matter, Captain Jimmy returns.

“Here you are, lass. Careful now,” he cautions. “Few can handle more than three servings of my juice.”

“Why is that?” You ask before taking a long sip, allowing the sweetness to settle your nerves.

“Well, I mix it with the most potent rum found west of Ionia,” he replies. “It’s not for the faint of heart nor drink.”

You swallow your last swig and summon a smile. “Is that so? I can’t taste anything other than fruit juice.”

“That’s the trick of it,” Captain Jimmy lets out a wheezing laugh. “It sneaks up on you.”

“May we return to business, please?” Silco cuts in, a soft snarl in his voice. You fall silent, more than happy to let the attention move away from you.

Barnaby flutters over, his wings creating small gusts that send your loose hair flying.

“Drink up, pretty one,” he chitters. “Drink up!”

“You are a very clever bird,” you murmur to him. “Do you like to be pet?”

“Pretty lady pet pretty bird.”

“Oh, I see,” you chuckle softly and run a fingertip over Barnaby’s sapphire head. He rumbles softly as you lavish affection upon him.

“I don’t have enough gold to buy a mermaid’s wish, but I can arrange a trade.”

At the word mermaid, you return your attention to the conversation between Captain Jimmy and Silco. Silco’s upper lip twitches as he shakes his head.

“I need gold, Jimmy. I can’t go through the trouble of trade after trade,” he says.

Captain Jimmy frowns. “Then I can’t help you today, old friend. I can check up on some old contacts but you know that will take time.”

Silco goes silent for a moment. He looks at his hands as he appears to be lost in thought. After a while, he looks up. “No trades, but I will leave one wish with you and see if I can’t put the other to use.”

“Wish?” You blurt without thinking.

Silco turns to you with an expression of annoyance. “I’ll explain it later, treasure. Finish your drink. There is no reason to linger here.”

“Are you sure?” Captain Jimmy says. “You look like you could use a drink, Silco.”

“You aren’t wrong, but now that you’ve given my companion two servings of your special juice, I need to ensure she gets back to the ship safely.”

“I’m fine!” You protest with a frown.

“Oh? Stand up for me,” Silco challenges.

With a haughty sigh, you do as he asks. The moment you are standing tall, the world spins. You wobble and make several futile attempts to right yourself before Silco reaches out to steady you.

You are thoroughly drunk. That damn juice was more deceptive than your captor.

“What is it with pirates and their inability to offer any drinks that aren’t spiked with something or other?” You grumble as you finish off the last of your drink. You’re already sauced. There is no sense in letting it go to waste. You do not wish to be a rude guest.

“Why do you keep drinking things without checking to see what’s in them? That seems like the better question from where I stand,” Silco says.

“I never had to think about that until now,” you huff.

“She’s a bit of a mess, isn’t she?” Barnaby asks, looking at Captain Jimmy with an almost human level of intelligence.

“What did that bird just say?” you whisper to Silco. The rum obviously had more of an effect on you than you realized.

“You’re a mess,” the blue parrot repeats.

“Now, see here-”

“Treasure, you do realize you’re about to argue with a parrot, right?” Silco gently takes hold of your chin and redirects your gaze so you are looking into his eyes.

“Right,” you stammer, giving your head a little shake. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“You’re fine, lass. The rum is strong and Barnaby likes to provoke,” Captain Jimmy says before turning to Silco. “I’ll contact you if I get any gold for your mermaid’s wish. Don’t hold your breath, though. Very few have that kind of gold.”

“You know me, Jimmy. I always have to try,” Silco says. “Besides, I still have the other one. I can make something of this.”

“If anyone can, it’s you. Heading out, I suppose?”

“I should get this one to a place where she can’t get into trouble,” Silco says, giving you a gentle nudge.

“Let the pretty mess stay,” Barnaby squawks before landing close to you. You reach out and gently pet his head. He blinks slowly and leans into your touch.

“We have to catch the tide,” Silco says. “I’ll be in touch, Captain.”

“Of course!”

Captain Jimmy waves you off with a flourish as Silco helps you down the trail leading away from the slapdash homestead.

“Is it just me or is something off about that parrot?” You whisper as you lean on Silco, allowing him to guide you.

He looks over his shoulder and takes a few more steps before whispering back to you, “just between you and me, I think Barnaby is a man trapped in a parrot’s body.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “You’re joking, surely.”

“He’s always been more vocal than the other parrots and he doesn’t seem to mimic phrases. Captain Jimmy specializes in trading rare goods. A parrot with the intelligence of a man would fall into that category.”

“Oh, that makes me uneasy.”

The sandstone landscape pitches and you cling to Silco to keep yourself upright. “Why didn’t you warn me about the juice?”

“Honestly? I figured you needed a drink after your ordeal last night. I didn’t think you’d gulp it down and asked for seconds. That’s not very heiress-like of you.”

“I was parched after the trek up here!” You protest. “Of course, I was thirsty.”

Silco chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re right. I miscalculated. I should have said something. But how do you feel?”

You go still and pay attention to your body. Your limbs feel loose and your mind is pleasantly fuzzy. You know there are many things you should feel stressed about but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“This is a nice respite from coherent thought, I won’t lie,” you admit.

It is later in the day that you initially realized. The late afternoon sun has broken through a thin patch of clouds and now shines on the ocean, turning the water into liquid gold. You move toward the light, forcing Silco to follow you. You do not even notice the edge of the plateau until he prevents you from moving forward and pulls you closer to him.

“I would prefer it if you didn’t fall to your death, treasure,” he says, his voice low and velvety.

“How gallant,” you murmur back. Your gaze settles on the dark silhouette of the Zaun’s Revenge, bobbing peacefully against the dock. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sure? Last time I brought up this particular subject I’m certain you envisioned all the ways you could end my life.”

“Now you’ve made me truly curious. Out with it.”

What you thought was a confident question evaporates on your tongue and you’re left scrambling for words through a fruity rum haze.

“The life you’ve given Jinx is a life I would kill to have. You, and those serving on your ship, have the freedom that so many dream of. Why would you work against that in search of what you think is a real home?”

Silco stiffens at your words and you worry you’ve pinched a nerve but he eventually lets out a long sigh.

“Why do you think we are free?” He asks.

“I spent many years at sea with my father. During those years, I felt the most free. I felt like my true self.”

“But during those years, did you not have an estate you could return to whenever you pleased?”

“Well, yes,” you answer. “But I do not like the family estate.”

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant.” A sharp edge sneaks into his voice. “When you played at being a seafarer, there was always a safe option. You could return to a plush home filled with luxuries.”

“But I didn’t want to,” you reiterate.

“But you were also never in real danger,” Silco points out. “Jinx has no other home. She has nowhere to flee if things become too dangerous. If something happens to me, no one will go out of their way to make sure she’s okay. We need to have a place away from the ship, away from everything we do. I need to give her a home that can never be taken from her, even if something happens to me.”

A horrible sense of guilt fills you. Shame colors your cheeks as you watch the golden water dance.

“I didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say. When Silco says nothing for a long while, a horrible feeling makes your stomach twist up in knots. “It’s good of you to want Jinx to have a safe haven to flee to. Will my ransom go toward that?”

Your question seems to catch him off guard.

“In a way,” he answers. “There are some debts to be paid and some investments to be made, but yes. Your ransom will put us closer to a safe home.”

“And the stone eye from the waterwyrm? What will that do for you?” You ask.

“Eventually, Captain Jimmy will find someone prepared to pay its worth in gold. I expect that will take months, even years. But those profits will go towards making a safe haven for me and mine.”

“But there are two stones. What will you do with the other one?”

Silco looks down at you with a faint smile. “I think you’ve had a little bit too much rum to worry about my trade. We need to head back to the ship. We already docked far later in the day than I would have liked.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“Yes, I am,” he grins as he guides you back down the trail. He keeps you close as you navigate the winding path, hugging the sandstone formation. You wobble and trip over your own feet often but he never gives you grief for it. At most, he chuckles and tucks you under his arm more securely.

“Why did you call those glowing stones mermaid’s wishes?” You ask.

“Just focus on putting one foot in front of the other, treasure,” Silco urges. “I can’t have you tumbling down a canyon. It’s bad enough you were injured when the waterwyrm made its appearance.”

“Oh, do you care about me, pirate?” You taunt.

“If I have to trek through a valley to find you when you fall victim to your carelessness, I’ll have to carry you back to the ship. If I have to do that, I’ll miss the opportunity to scope the market. That’s bad for business. I dislike practices that are bad for business.”

“Lucky for you, I enjoy exploring markets more than I enjoy falling into valleys,” you say, though you need his constant support as you navigate the thin trail toward Port Squawkfeather.

The sun is just barely kissing the horizon when you and Silco reach the market. He browses silently with a look of deep concentration nestled between his furrowed brows. You stay quiet, not wishing to interrupt him as you take in your surroundings.

As you pass a table filled with exotic fruits, Silco stops. He picks up a pomegranate and inspects it as though he were assessing a diamond.

“One crate, please,” he says to the shopkeeper, who looks both shocked and delighted at such a request. They quickly set about packaging an entire crate of pomegranates while you stare at the one Silco holds in his hand.

Pomegranates are your favorite. Your rum-addled mind can’t conjure a more enticing prize.

“Here, treasure.” Silco tosses the pomegranate to you and you manage to catch it. You bring it to your chest like some greedy little scavenger as he gives the vendor the information they need.

You marvel at the color of the fruit like it’s some kind of precious jewel. You are so absorbed in your examination that your mind barely registers the flash of pink in the corner of your eye.

You go still. You lift your gaze. You turn your head slowly until you spot someone familiar.

Violet. Captain Vander’s first mate. You recognize her hair and her steely demeanor. She does not face you directly, but she is clearly searching the market for signs of you. She must have seen the Zaun’s Revenge docked and idle.

Beside her is a slender young woman with a shiny sheet of deep blue hair. She clutches a pristine rifle in her hands as she scans the market with sharp eyes.

For a split second, you prepare to call out to them. They can take you back to Vander, back to your father. But the words get stuck in your throat.

You look at Silco as he arranges for the crate of pomegranates to be delivered to his ship. You hear his words about wanting a safe place for Jinx echo through your mind. Your ransom will help with that.

“Captain,” you murmur softly. Your tongue feels like lead as you tug on his sleeve.

“Treasure?” He looks at you, arching a brow.

“I…feel ill from that juice. I’d like to return to the ship, please.”

His ocean eye fills with sympathy before he gives you a quick nod. He gives instructions to the fruit seller before tucking you under his arm and guiding you back toward the docks.

“I shouldn’t have let you have that second drink,” he says quietly.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “Perhaps Arlo can funnel some solid food into my system and give me some water.”

“I’m sure he can,” Silco nods.

You are returned to the ship and quickly disappear below deck. You flee to the galley under the guise of helping Arlo, as you promised. You do just that, but as you work on making new labels for everything in the scullery, you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake not seizing your chance to escape. Worse than that, you wonder why you didn’t want to seize such a chance in the first place.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #pirate!silco #silco fic #to the depths #silco smut

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astudyincontrasts · 2 years

Text

The Baron’s Daughter

Regency!Silco x Fem!Reader NSFW

A very belated birthday gift for the sweetest, most patient @thesaltybuns ! Thank you for being such a darling, special part of this fandom 🖤 Here’s a little three part regency AU fic to celebrate you and all your beautiful art. I’ll be dropping a chapter a day for the next three days. Cameo appearances by Sevika and Singed, and some familiar henchmen too.

Tags: No Y/N, regency themes, arranged marriage, canon typical violence, blood, illness, virgin reader, longing, slight angst, smutty funtimes in later chapter sshhh

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Addendum 1

You’d never laid eyes on Silco until your wedding.

You’d hoped, entertained the notion for weeks after your father had broke the news of the marriage arrangement to you, that the man might come calling to meet you, or at least to set eyes upon his bride to be. At first you’d wishfully thought perhaps there might be a bit of wooing. Flowers, maybe, shy conversation. The days passed and the silly romance of that childish idea faded into a more sober hope that maybe you’d at least get a staid parlor introduction over tea.

The date of the wedding had crept closer and closer and soon you found yourself simply hoping perhaps he might swing by after a hunt to see your father and perchance you’d catch him briefly.

More days, more nothing.

Not a letter, not a single bridal gift. Nothing.

The first time you clapped eyes on him was the walk up to the altar on your father’s arm. Silco stood impassively up beside the minister, waiting, sharp profile aloof and set of his thin mouth severe. He did not turn to watch you walk toward him, and indeed, the dark patch covering his left eye prevented any manner of peripheral observation of your slow procession toward him. But instead of turning toward you, he simply pivoted to face the minister. Hands laced behind his back unmoving save for a slight, impatient tick of fore and middle gloved fingers in counter time to the bridal march the organ played.

He wordlessly accepted your hand when your father offered it, and let it drop the second custom no longer demanded it be held aloft.

Your father was a wealthy land baron with three sons, and you the only daughter and youngest. You’d known quite well for most of your life that your marriage would not be a thing of heady romance, but rather a ploy to build the family name, or coffers - or both. Silco was of no name at all, an industrialist, or so you’d heard, with wealth condensing so rapidly under his hand that there were rumors against its legitimacy and origins. Rumors of his origins too, but those you’d learned less about.

He repeated the vows quietly, did not spare you a glance as you watched the mismatched halves of his face curiously. Badly scarred across nearly the whole left side of his face, yet not unhandsome. The eye that refused to look at you was a soft teal, tired in its set, or else exceptionally disinterested, but not unintelligent. No, everything about the man beside you plighting his troth spoke of a resounding and almost menacing level of clever intelligence and hunger.

Far too nervous repeating your own vows back to him, eyes upon the minister as you followed his lead, to sneak another glance at Silco and see if he even deigned to watch you.

You held your own hand up yourself for his ring, no cradling touch under your palm, no hand to hold yours after the gold band slid over your knuckle.

The kiss he offered you upon the steps of the church after the ceremony was a dryly perfunctory peck on the cheek through your veil that he’d never sought to lift.

The touch of it burned softly on your skin as you sat alone during the wedding breakfast, your new bridegroom too busy talking business with other men in attendance, your father now included, to be seated at the head table beside you for a first meal together.

The coach ride back to his home was one of solitude as well. He’d not even helped you into the carriage, leaving it to your lady mother and father to see you up into the carriage and off to your new life with kisses and smiles and the unsubtle subtlety of whispered well wishes for the night to come. Silco meanwhile, had mounted his horse, preferring to ride rather than be confined to the boredom of a carriage with a new bride he’d not said one word to directly, and seemed impatient to be away, as if the whole day had been little more than a tiresome strain on his precious time.

Still, you caught his eye through the window as the carriage door closed and swore there was a flash of something there in that cool oceanic gaze that was not calculating, nor boredly irritated. No, instead it felt almost pitying? Or apologetic. It was there and gone too fast to track as he turned and wheeled his horse to the road with spurs dug in.

Mr. Silco’s holdings were not the same as your father’s large estate, though the house was no mean thing. It lay in the city though, not on a large land holding. And not in a particularly fine part of town… old, though it was no slum, simply one of those parts of town that had fallen to disrepair over the years and was now only slowly becoming reclaimed. The house was a large manor, oddly arranged on the point of a triangular city block so that its main doors sat directly on the point and the house was pressed on both sides by streets as it expanded outward, promising a strange array of rooms and architecture.

The household staff proved to be as odd as the home itself. A sinister lot; the valets all lumberingly massive brutes or else unhealthily skinny and slovenly looking wraiths, with no discernable butler among them. No ladies maid for you, though there were a few other women on the staff, looking just as rough and roguish as the men, as if they’d all found their way in from the lanes and never raised to service.

You were shown in by one of their lot and left in the hallway to watch your luggage carried inside, ignored as thoroughly as if you were one of the trunks or else a piece of new furniture no one quite knew where to place yet. Standing there, gloves in your hands, the kidskin wringing in slow tightening twists between nervous fingers, you waited, and let attention wander to the house itself.

Large, dark, but not unwelcoming. Rich, deep woods and wine-drenched colored fabrics interspersed with faded jeweltones that lent the candlelight a deeper warmth. The whole place had an air of slight elderly shabbiness to it, most recently plastered over with the wealth and slightly ostentatious air of rich trappings. The parquet floor was worn, varnish faded along the paths taken by many feet. High above you a soot darkened mural splayed across the foyer ceiling and beckoned back into the great halls.

You followed it, neck craning, stepping blindly out of the way of the staff as they ignored your presence. Let the artwork lead you on. The collections on the walls were an odd assortment, clearly acquired from a variety of estates and former owners, not a single portrait bearing any familial relation to your new husband.

One by one you explored the rooms; parlors and sitting rooms, a large formal dining room and a largely vacant and disused music room. A library conjoined with a comfortable study, and further back doubtless there were the kitchens and staff rooms. A billiard and games room jutted off the study, looking very well and frequently used indeed. The only room downstairs save for the dining room that had a fire lit.

He found you there, as you placed a hand upon one of the white ivory balls upon the billiard table and rolled it gingerly from side to side.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting.”

The sound of his voice made you jump, had you spinning to find him standing in the doorway, divested of his hat, gloves and overcoat from the ride. Clearly he’d not been in such a hurry to find you that he hadn’t found time to make himself comfortable. His smile was thin, taut, nothing of mirth living in the shape of it.

Silhouetted in the doorframe in shirtsleeves and waistcoat he cut a strikingly lean figure. Sharp set of shoulders and posture one of petulant authority, waist and hips narrow and legs long. He was a beautiful, sharp-edged slice of a man, and your words stuck in your throat as his hand slid from where it had rested upon the outside of the doorframe as he stepped inside.

You’d later come to learn that pace of his, the unhurried luxuriant roll of it, a stalking manner of walk that purred quiet power and intent.

“I see you’ve found your way around.” Quiet pitched velvet gravel in his tone that would have been flat save for the elegance with which he spoke and the slight touches of dark humor every now and again that caught his inflection.

“I’m sorry, I was tired of waiting and in the way.”

“Don’t be. This is your home now, I suppose.” He drew the ivory ball you’d lifted your hand from toward himself and spun it off across the table to clack lightly into the gathering of red balls at the far corner of the green felt. “You’re free to go where you like, though I ask you stay out of my office on the second floor. All the bedrooms are up there as well, I expect you’ll want to rest, if you’d like me to show you.”

Not tired in the least, but it seemed the agreeable thing to do, not to mention it felt as if you might have to find your own way to your new bedroom later if you declined the offer.

“Yes, please.”

He hummed something of approval and turned, let you follow him out of the room and back toward the hallways.

“Have you lived here long?” You asked, trailing in his wake.

“Not very. It belonged to an… an old acquaintance of mine previously, though.”

“I see.” You very much did not see. “Why did he decide to leave?”

“He died.” The reply was cold, matter-of-fact, and laced with something darker beneath its chill civility.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

That got you to hold your tongue, unsure what to think, and rather too alarmed to pry further. Silco led you up the stairs, taking a candelabra from one of the waiting servants to climb up into the stretching shadows as the late afternoon began its slide into evening. He pointed out his office as you passed it, left many of the other rooms unexplained, and showed you straight to the bedroom, opening the door for you and stepping aside. The trunks had been brought up but left unpacked, and a paltry fire was lit in the small fireplace with a singular candle left beside the bed. The room was well appointed, comfortable and large but held the air of a room only recently divested of dust and not very thoroughly at that, air stale.

Silco set the candelabra down upon the bureau just inside the door.

“Dinner is served at eight. You may join me, if you like.”

It was such an odd thing to say. Why wouldn’t you join your husband to dine on your wedding night, or any other night? You paused within, beside your luggage, and turned to stare questioningly at him. He seemed to take no note of the strangeness of his offer, continuing.

“Breakfast will be brought up to you in the mornings, lunch and tea are your own affair. Speak with the servants if you need anything otherwise. We keep late hours in this house, but none of that should disturb or concern you.”

“Did you wan-”

“You’ve settling in to do.” His already fleeting attention upon you slid to your things as he cut you off in your attempted offer that he stay and you get to know each other a little. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click of finality that brooked no argument, leaving you alone in the gathering dark.

Eight o’clock was ages away, and it gave you time to both rest and unpack the majority of your things, to finish airing out the room with open windows and arrange things how you liked. In the end you were grateful to do it yourself since no other distractions existed to numb your growing unease and nervousness. Not to mention it did make you feel a bit more at home; to be left to make the space what you wished rather than beholden to the stiff formality of a ladies maid to tut her tongue and sigh as you bade her move things about or fix them.

By the time the little clock on the mantle had chimed eight you were rested, had re-dressed from the road for dinner, and were eager to see him again, to finally share a meal. You thought to find him already waiting in the dining room, but instead the space was empty. Room lit and table laid, food upon it. You were grateful the place settings were not at an informal opposite ends of the table but rather beside one another. His at the head and yours at his right hand.

It was closer than customary for two dining alone, but if he wished to have you in a seat where he could more easily see you it felt like an improvement over all the little ways you’d gone overlooked recently. You waited by your chair, waited long enough you were beginning to worry he didn’t actually plan to join you.

It was a quarter after until he strolled in, back in a smartly brushed coat, no longer the informality of shirtsleeves. He seemed surprised to find you standing there, waiting, but came to pull out your chair for you.

“You could have begun without me.” He pushed the chair carefully beneath you before assuming his own seat, reproach mild.

“I didn’t like to be rude, sir.” You replied quietly, holding forth your wine glass that he might fill it after his own.

He smiled thinly and poured the lovely rich claret nearly to the brim of your cup. Far too much. You’d have a headache later if you weren’t careful.

“Silco.” He corrected you, even if your deference seemed to please him, “We rarely stand on precedent in this house. I daresay you’ll find things a touch more relaxed around here than what you might be used to.”

You repressed the urge to remark that you already had found that to be the case and instead helped yourself to the nearest plate before offering it to him.

“I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable here.” You attempted, hollow politeness a bastion you’d been raised and trained to so thoroughly it was now second nature.

Silco breathed a dry, near silent little laugh as he carved the slice of cold ham on his plate into bite sized pieces, the fine dark brow over his teal eye quirking upward a touch.

“If you say so. The best I can offer is that no one here will bother you.”

You gazed at him in silent confusion. Half the things he said seemed to have a meaning only known unto him, and the other other half seemed to intimate some manner of sinister underpinning he had no intention of elaborating on. No one will bother you? Why should anyone bother you in your own home?

The meaning became a touch clearer later, after the remainder of the dinner had passed in an ever-increasing weight of silence, and you’d gone up to ready for bed after he excused himself to the study for a smoke and brandy. After you’d dressed yourself for your wedding night in the most comely nightgown you owned; a nearly sheer confection of a thing that your mother had gifted you, no doubt eager that you might get to the business of making her grandbabies and no delay. After you’d blown out a few candles to leave merely a romantically gloomy glow in the room, and sat perched upon the bench at the foot of the bed nervously awaiting him. After those nerves hit their crescendo and began the slow slide toward first concern and then down into disappointment as the hours ticked by, and disappointment subsided into exhaustion when you finally climbed into bed alone and blew out the guttering last stub of a candle.

No one will bother you. Not even your husband. Not even on your wedding night.

It felt mortifying the next morning, to lie there alone and pretend to be asleep as one of the household lit the fireplace, and later brought your breakfast tray. Unable to even look the servants in the face, a bride gone unwanted.

By the time you rose, had some tea and toast and dressed, you’d talked yourself into at least three excuses for why he hadn’t joined you, and lined up a few more in the wings for good measure. Perhaps he’d been tired, perhaps all the ever important business of his had pulled him away, perhaps he’d simply thought you deserved a better rest after a long day and a big change of circumstance.

So many excellent little reasons to hand to explain away his disinterest in you. And each of them fell away one by one with every subsequent night you were left to climb into bed alone after sharing a near silent supper with Silco.

You tried to uphold conversation on your end, and to his slim credit he was never dismissive or rude to your attempts. You simply struggled to meet him on common ground, as the whole of his focus and every day seemed to be swallowed by his work, which you knew precious little of. Asking after it did nothing to help, as that one topic he did refuse to discuss with you, gently but firmly shutting down any inquiry more prying than how his day had gone. He did not seem the kind of man to speak frivolity to and you were well out of gossip with not a single scrap of mail from any family or acquaintance for the first full week. And so after a few days of faltering attempts you both fell into a measured silence broken only occasionally by polite demands.

And he was always polite with you.

For all his assurance that first night that his house stood on no grounds of formality he never came to dinner in a state of undress, never seemed unsober, always pulled out your chair and served you before himself, made sure your cup was full and begged your pardon if he had to leave before you had finished. He never swore, even on days when his mood seemed black as a thundercloud and you hardly dared speak to him for the severity of his expression.

He never laid a hand upon you either. Not in anger, nor in affection.

And so with nothing else to do, you settled into learning of him, slowly. Gathered scraps of his story to yourself like sifting tiny flecks of gold from the silt of a riverbed. Tales of his past that you could glean from the servants, the fact he had a ward you had yet to meet, a young girl as inherited, it seemed, as the house you lived in, from that late acquaintance of his. Rumors of what he did for the very lucrative living he made abound, and the sound of them scared you off chasing down the truth too hard.

He became enigma; puzzling, frustrating center of your little world.

And his refusal to share your bed the most frustrating thing of all.

You supposed you ought to be grateful, that perhaps any young woman ought to be grateful not to be put upon to share herself with someone who by all reason was a total stranger… but. But you wanted him. In those silent hours every night before sleep took you, you’d come to realize quite profoundly how badly you really did want him, and not just in the manner of fulfilling some marital piety but because of the way the sound of his voice made your skin warm, because of how the shape of him and the way he moved pleased you so deeply to watch. How gazing at his face over the dinner table made your fingertips burn soft fire at the desire to touch, to trace his profile and pull his collar open, to run along the sharp thin shelf of his lower lip.

More than all this the yearning to be touched trumped all.

Those elegant, fastidious hands of his and their constant, easy motions an almost embarrassingly obvious distraction of yours, feeding the coals of quiet fantasies you would have been smart not to entertain. Yet you could not help yourself, and those lonesome nights began to turn from disappointment to frustration as surely as the green on summer leaves rioted into fall color.

By the third week you’d begun to resort to little wiles to see if you could not entice his affections. You laced the tops of your corsets tighter, chose dresses with the lowest possible cut of neckline so that you were all but spilling from them in generous offer. With nothing but time on your hands you could dote upon your appearance, every curl perfectly coiled, every tendril of hair laid just so in softness against your skin where it fell artfully from the piled intricacy of whatever style you could manage without the aid of a ladies maid. Scent chosen carefully, cheeks pinched to a soft flush, lips made pretty and plush with a softening beeswax balm, every little detail that could possibly catch his eye put on full display each evening.

And beyond the superficial, you had taken to exploring the house more, haunting its hallways, refusing to be relegated to just your bedroom, the ladies parlor, and the dining room on evenings.

One night, when you could not take the silence of your room another second, you had shrugged on a shawl and padded out of your room with a candle, determined to ransack the library for some form of diverting literature, perhaps even find a book worth discussing with Silco over your singular shared meal.

The rest of the house was dark and silent in the late hour, even the light from under the door of his forbidden office was out. The worn parquet and elderly oriental carpeting felt delicious under bare feet in a riot of sensation, and the chill of the night was just enough to feel soothing but not biting. Such a surprise then, to find a few candles already lit in the study, and just off of it, the billiard room a spill of bright light.

Curious, you set your candle down on the desk of the study and wandered toward the games room to find Silco within alone, bent over the billiard table with a cue in hand, lining up a shot. A glass of whiskey sat upon one edge of the table and a freshly lit cigar lay in an ashtray along the side table, smoke rising like heavy incense in a lazy, wavering line that plumed outward at its zenith.

He glanced up in surprise as you darkened the doorway and you, in turn, froze.

That black eyepatch of his was off.

You’d imagined all manner of thing beneath it in the few weeks you’d been here; a gaping dark socket, a milky white dead eye, perhaps nothing but a stretch of skin where the lid had been sewn shut… even perhaps just a normal eye incapable of sight and so ever distractingly off center or lolling wildly that he kept covered in an effort to maintain his precious air of irreproachable dignity.

Never in all your wildest imaginings had you thought to encounter the lidless, black sclera orb that gazed back at you with its hot glowing coal of an iris. It stared through you unblinking, watching your mouth part open and shock rush your features in spite of yourself.

Silco straightened, and almost immediately dug a hand deep into one pocket of his breeches for the eyepatch he’d removed.

“No. No, please.” You rushed a step or two in, the fraughtness of his desire to cover himself upsetting.

He paused and turned the contrast of cool teal and hot orange-red back upon you distrustfully.

“Please don’t.” Your tone softened from that initial pleading, and he slid his hand from his pocket empty.

“If you insist.” It was not pitiable, his tone, nor terribly harsh. Simply that cold, slightly clench-jawed habitual tenor.

Lips rolled inward as you fought to settle attention either upon him or the billiard table, unable to pick a focus. He was back in shirtsleeves, cravat gone this time and high, stiff collar open to reveal the lean column of his throat, sleeves rolled to just below his elbow, forearms corded muscle and sinew. He was a terrible beauty, made more terrible by that demonic half gaze that did nothing to ruin the attractive lines of his scarred face.

“Playing alone?” You asked, timidly grasping at conversational straws.

“Practice.” He explained flatly, “Makes perfect, or so they say.”

The smile you offered him was gentle in its curve as you turned to step to the cue rack, and selected one carefully to match your height and reach. His unscarred brow quirked upward.

“Care for an actual game?” You asked, examining the tip of the cue to avoid his quizzical and slightly scoffing gaze.

“You play?” Not bothering to keep the slight hint of incredulity from his voice, he set the table with its three balls back to start position and watched you grin.

“I’ve three elder brothers, Mr. Silco. If they desired to play doubles I was often called upon to fill the fourth. They regretted teaching me, in the end. Didn’t much like being showed up in a game ladies aren’t supposed to play.”

That earned you the first honest little laugh from him you’d ever had and it bubbled up against the bottom of your heart with delighted pride.

“Then by all means.” He stepped back and gestured to the table in a slight sweep of those long fingers you found so entrancing, “Ladies first.”

It was a fine game. He spared you not at all, pulling no shots, and you paid him the same respect, even if you could feel the vacillation between his delight and frustration as you steadily pulled ahead in points. Won match after match until he at last admitted defeat, tossing his cue upon the table in exasperation, but ultimately awarded you a polite quiet applause as well.

Glowing with pride, you reached into the corner pocket to retrieve your last shot, only to still as his fingers closed warmly over your wrist above where you hand lay buried in the latticed leather pocket of the table. A glance upward found him terribly close before you, yet you could not tear attention away from his touch, from the soft circle of a stroke his thumb made absently on the tender skin of your inner wrist.

That slow building ache that had begun weeks ago doubled in size and weight within, stealing strength from knees and breath from your throat.

You’d been conscious of him throughout the game, of his occasional nearness, of how he’d bent over your lean once, to judge a shot you were lining up for himself, of his gaze from across the table as your bend at the waist no doubt offered a lovely view down the neckline of your nightgown. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t watched him in the same manner as he took his shots. But this, this was wonderfully and intentionally close, and that blessed contact sparking warm fire that tingled up your arm and tickled in the crook of your elbow.

“To the victor goes the spoils.” He murmured quietly, and for a breathless second you’d thought perhaps you might’ve won the favor of a kiss. Face tilted upward and you nearly committed the embarrassment of offering a slight pursing of lips… when his hand left the grip of your wrist to dig into the hip pocket of his waistcoat and set two guineas upon the green felt.

Your incredulous gaze ticked from the coins to his countenance and back again as your hand withdrew from the corner pocket, the ball you had been retrieving well forgotten.

“I… I don’t want your money.” Voice touched by a bit more of your offense than you’d meant to show. It ruined your sweetness and you berated yourself for it even as you wrestled with his actions.

Silco, for his part, looked only mildly displeased, but not offended.

“Whyever not?”

Unable to help the way your brows furrowed in consternation as you looked up at him, you struggled with your composure, heat flooding your face far too obviously. So easy to fluster, so quick to temper, a foible you’d managed to keep well hidden with practice and hard lessons at the hands of your governesses, but unbreakable in the end.

“It was enough to play for the pleasure of your company. Sir.” Eyes ticked between his mismatched ones trained down upon you as something suspiciously close to surprise touched the usual stone of his expression. “If you had won, what would I have had to offer you?”

“What indeed.” He murmured after half a beat, turning your pink flush red, “I’m sure we could have come to an equitable arrangement.”

You were just opening your mouth as your brain struggled mightily with the notion he might have been keen to take you to bed had you just let him win, a sinking feeling that perhaps you’d wounded his pride and tricked yourself out of the very thing you longed for, with your inability to play anything but fair, when all of a sudden he cut the knees right out from under you.

“Perhaps a week in which you did not pester me for details of my work, or that I did not get reports of you bribing the servants for stories of my past?”

No sooner had he warmed your heart than he saw fit to punch it straight from your chest.

The pool cue in your hand slammed against the felted flagstone table with a resounding crack of a whip. It only made him smile, the villain.

“Why take a wife if all you desired was to be left alone?”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, hot and angry as that horrible eye of his.

Silco’s smile turned cruel, the frequently hidden teeth of his showing slightly, too large for the rest of his finer, more aquiline features, and the front pair chipped as if he’d been beaten badly in a brawl at some point in his past.

“Because neither my happiness nor your own came into the question of the union, my dear. Only your father’s gain. Not that I lost anything in the bargain. Far from it. What's a quiet meal at the end of the day weighted against one more business partner tied to my plans?”

You were breathing hard, world a sickly tilt and heart hammering in your ears as he pressed the tips of fingers to the softness under your chin to keep your face full upon himself mercilessly. And something about the way your anger melted into an undeniable ache of mourning at the sudden cold wash of the reality he sluiced over you seemed to give him pause. You could feel the sting of tears welling against your lower lashes, and the bite of nails within the clench of fists trembling at your sides. No need to try to wrench your face from the plinth of his fingers, the press of them eased and dropped on their own as his pleasure in hurting you faltered.

It was enough of an out to allow you to spin and take to your heels.

He caught you at your bedroom door, startled you by stopping your shove of it closed behind yourself, unaware he was even on your tail, let alone so close behind, far too lost in your own misery and whirling thoughts to have heard him behind you.

“Wait.” It was sharper than anything he’d ever said to you, the closest he’d come to a demand, and instead of pushing the door spitefully against him as was your first inclination, you paused, stopped, and released the pressure on your side of the door, stepping back as you fought tears valiantly, unwilling to give him any satisfaction in seeing you cry.

Far from looking hungry to cause you more harm, he seemed almost contrite, uncomfortable in what he’d done and even moreso in what was so clearly a role he was unfamiliar with as penitent. Your shawl that you’d forgotten in your rush to leave the billiard room was clenched in his hand. He hesitated awkwardly in its offer to you and you couldn’t find it within yourself to take pity upon him and relieve him of that burden, wrapping arms around yourself as you took another step away.

His arm dropped at your failure to reciprocate and accept the scrap of clothing back, his gaze upon you unreadable, but touched at its very edges with perhaps the closest a cold hearted creature such as himself could come to regret. He opened the shawl between both hands and stepped forward, draped it over your lifted and bunched shoulders and let it wrap warmly around you, hands smoothing its fabric over your upper arms in a touch that had one of the tears clinging to your lower lids shiver and drip free, before the contact fell away, hands tucked safely behind his back once more.

“Why were you downstairs so late tonight?” He asked quietly, eyes carefully avoiding the misery of your expression as they ticked up and down the rest of you, “In such a pretty little nightgown.”

The compliment shocked you after his cruelty, and had you wondering if he wasn’t baiting you into another row, or perhaps just offering you a backhanded nicety to condescend. You hated having to second guess the singular compliment he’d ever offered you. Hated where the promise of the night had led. You were suddenly very tired, tired straight down to the bone with dashed hopes and a bleak future stretched long and terrifying before you.

“I just wanted to find a book to read.” You admitted weakly, voice failing you with a soft crack. Unable to lift eyes from the floor between your bare toes and his boots, you simply closed them wearily. “Something to read and share with you.”

He didn’t make a perceptible sound, but the air in the room shifted. A moment later you heard his boots on the floor and opened eyes to find him disappearing out the open door. Shoulders slumped as you buried your face in your hands, fighting the ragged lump of a sob lodged in your chest, only to hear him clear his throat a moment later and look up to find him back, a book held out between you both.

“This has long been a favorite of mine. If it's reading you want, there’s a better selection on my office shelves than the ones downstairs. Simply ask.”

You reached out and took the novel from him, eyes straying from its worn and well loved cover to his face. For a second he looked as if he would say more, but ultimately turned away.

“Stay?”

You don’t know why you asked it, why you kept on wanting someone so hateful to keep your company, but you did. In spite of all of it, you did. So badly.

“I think I’ve imposed enough on your good graces for the evening.” He refused, but gently, and lingering in your doorway with his back turned, paused and fished those two guineas out of his pocket once more to lay them on the dresser.

The breath you drew at the return of the spiteful little coins was shivering.

“I don’t want your prize.”

He hummed a little noncommittal rebuttal of a noise, tinged with mirthless humor.

“Take it anyhow.”

He shut the door behind himself, leaving you clinging to that paltry excuse of an apology, leaving you to climb into bed alone again and curl around the gift of the book clutched to your chest. To come to grips with the chill reality of your situation and to curse your father through bitter, silent tears.

His only daughter’s happiness was never going to be any match for your father’s greed and business acumen. He smelled blood in the water surrounding Silco’s dealings and so he came swimming to join the feast, eager to use you to tie himself to the next big investment. Nary a thought or care for where that might have left you.

#silcoxreader #silco #arcane #regency silco #regency au #silco x f!reader #arcane silco x reader #silco fic #arcane fic #silco x reader #silco arcane #gift fic

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insult-2-injury · 2 years

Text

Rematch

Silco x Fem!Reader- NSFW! | MDNI

Warnings: Manhandling, Pretty rough sex, knives, BAMF reader, Fluffy at the End Though :)

I'm not sure what happened but I started this as a short project and then it turned into 5.8k words. I couldn't tell you what went wrong and this will happen again.

This fic was inspired by this amazing and sexy artwork by @wildragon

Link to artwork!

He’s found you.

You know it the second he prowls past the door of the frigid room you huddle inside, smoke trailing down the hallway from the tip of his cigar, the smell of it wrapping you in a taunting familiarity. He’s prolonging it, the search, pulling your nerves taut until you vibrate with a dreadful anticipation.

You wait.

He never misses. Never has. Never latches his bloodhound nose onto a scent and loses his way. He knows you’re in here, tucked back into the shadows.

But your senses are keen, too, and the cigar stench hasn’t faded quite so quickly as you would have wanted.

So, this was it, you think to yourself. The finale.

You know he’s out there, lying in wait. And he knows you know.

You rise, wincing when your knees crack from the prolonged position. No sound from outside, even to your finely tuned ears. Not so much as a breath, no fabric rustling from a position adjustment. Light-footed, you creep your way forward, walking your fingers across the hilt of the knife in your belt, trailing them over the jagged embedded gemstones, worn from his touch and yours.

It was about time you give it back.

Your aim is precise, a sharp whistle puncturing the air from the sheer speed of the weapon as it crosses the doors threshold and embeds into the wall in the hallway, hilt wavering only slightly from impact.

You step to the side and let out a startled breath.

The dreadful fluorescent lighting in the hallway is terribly bright, but the reflection in the knife’s gleam is radiant.

Two eyes stare back at you through the blade, one orange, one a shocking familiar teal widening with something akin to surprise at the sight of his knife before settling into a predatory, furious state.

He’s blocking the entrance in an instant and you trot several steps back, stomach dropping as you prepare yourself for what’s to come.

He stands with his head bowed, slightly hunched, looking all the more like a starved lion, barely restrained from pouncing on his waiting supper.

Your gaze rips away from his scorching eyes and lands on his arms- burgundy striped sleeves rolled up his wiry forearms, one hand propped against the stone wall, the other hanging loose by his side, a shocking amount of blood dripping down from his elbow, down the knobs of his fingers and to the floor.

The cigar hanging loosely from his lips twitches as he gives you something adjacent to a sneer, although there’s little humor in it when paired with the fury outlining every other feature of his face.

“Silco.”

His face doesn’t change, but the hand on the wall clenches into a tight fist, dragging forward, a track of glistening red succeeding the movement.

He takes a step forward and you rear back, knowing how terrified you appear.

Another twitch of his lips, this one taunting, something wild kindling in his eyes as he takes you in, eyes flitting across your worried brows, your heaving chest as you try to quell your pounding heart.

Silco slowly presses into the room, wordless.

“Do- do you remember this place?” you stutter, stumbling your feet over the ratty gym mats littering the floor.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he expertly rolls his cigar over to one side of his mouth.

“You’ll find there’s little I don’t remember.”

His voice is grittier than before, cold and snakelike, and you’re reminded of the time that has elapsed since you’d last spoken.

Your gulp is loud in the stone room, echoing off the walls, providing soundtrack to your dance.

How long have you been playing this game now, half a year? Foiling plans, pulling strings from behind the scenes, going so far as to murder his people. You’d wanted him suffering, you’d wanted him angry, matching him move for move, and now it had culminated in this single moment, where you stand, toes curling over the edge of a dangerous precipice.

“Yes, I remember,” he hums. “What a fitting place you chose to die.”

“I don’t intend to die here.”

He lunges and you burst forward in a mad dash for the exit, but the world predictably spins, and stars splash across the borders of your vision as you’re thrust forward into the wall, one arm twisted behind your back painfully. Your other hand clings uselessly to his thigh, digging into the fabric there as you pant.

Smoke stings the inside of your nostrils and your cheek presses against the chilled stone as you stare wide-eyed at his hand crushing the cigar into the wall right before your nose. Your gaze dips as it falls abandoned to the ground and you gasp when the knife sinks into the wall instead with a sharp thud.

“I had my suspicions it was you from the very start. All your meddling. Making things difficult.” He hisses, pressing you painfully into the wall for emphasis. “Oh, you were always so good at being difficult, weren’t you? Forcing me to bloody my hands just to find you. I do hope you think you’re clever.”

“Please,” you whimper, as pathetic as you can muster. “Don’t hurt me.”

Silco’s tone is ragged, seething as he shoves his nose against your temple, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks each clipped word harshly into it.

“Cut. The. Act.”

You crane your neck but are unable to catch his eye. It’s near impossible to quit the incessant quake that has your muscles rattling against his, but the translation changes drastically as you allow your features to fall into the barely restrained fury just beneath the surface.

“Get off me.”

You attempt to slam your foot down on his insole, but there’s little space for it.

“There she is. Our little actress. Tell me, how’s Vander?” he purrs, a bitter self-satisfaction suffusing his tone. “Do you have him all wrapped around your finger now that I’m gone?”

Something bubbles up inside as you hurriedly turn to press your forehead against the wall, your chest heaving with ill-timed emotion.

Your hand is torn away from the fabric of his pants as he releases the arm behind your back, spins you around, and pins you against the wall again, his bony fingers latching onto your wrists now, blood smearing across the palms of your hands that now frame the space on either side of your head.

And he finds the remnants of laughter on your lips.

“You think I’m working with Vander? I knew you’d changed, Silco. But I didn’t think you’d be stupider.”

You not only hear but feel the rumble in his chest this time.

The vise that tightens painfully around your wrists speaks multitudes as you squirm.

“Careful now, darling,” his face tilts forward tauntingly, lips twitching into a cruel sneer, eyes brimming with lethal promise. “I am a changed man, after all.”

You study him with a daggered glare. Those painful scars you’ve seen only from afar until now. Janna, he used to be so expressive, in his own peculiar way- now so carefully withholding, impassive. But it didn’t take much searching to discern that dark edge clouding his features, steeping into that teal eye.

And that’s the color you remember, hovering above you, taunting, pinning you time and time again to these very gym mats during combat practice, you screeching and clawing like a mad cat beneath him.

All those times he’d bested you, humiliated you in front of the other Children of Zaun. But you’d keep coming back each day, a glutton for punishment, wanting to win so badly, recklessly throwing the first punch, spurred on by that smirk of his, sometimes even taking to the shadows, lying in wait for him to prowl past.

You’d never been one to make friends easily. Still weren’t. You weren’t an easy pill to swallow, but nor was he, and maybe that was what had him allowing your reckless assaults, what had him searching you out after a while, intent on putting you in your place. And oh, how he loved putting people in their place.

But you never stayed put. It wasn’t in your nature.

And that fact alone had pushed the two of you into something you couldn’t quite call a friendship- the tumultuous, spiteful waters too full of a strange tension to be defined as such.

Then he’d disappeared.

“I thought you were dead. For months,” you spit accusingly.

His eyes search yours for a drawn-out moment.

“Perhaps I did die.” He hungrily laps up your outrage as he trails one bloody hand down to your neck, encircling it lightly. “Perhaps you’ve done yourself a great disservice, drawing me into the open like this.”

“Easy really. You never did like a loose end.”

Your derisive laugh is cut off by a single warning squeeze to your throat and you close your eyes against the swell of heat that accompanies it.

You hedge your bets on Silco not killing you, not yet at least.

He is a changed man, yes, but the foundation he’s built upon is still the same. He is the same Silco who hungers for answers like a man perpetually starved- whose immovable, unrelenting nature calls to your own hurricane-like one.

There is still something there of the man you’d become so infatuated with.

At least you hope.

“And what were you hoping to achieve- running about, interfering, engaging in such senseless violence?” he croons.

You open your eyes, steadying yourself in order to dish out an outrageous eyeroll.

“They betrayed you anyhow, the ones I killed,” you say, sounding a little too proud of yourself, and not really answering his question at all. “Dropped you like a hot skillet as soon as money talk started. They would have offed you eventually. With the proper motivation.”

“Mm, out there doing me favors, then,” he mutters, looking unperturbed, thumb brushing lightly across your pulse, as if he isn’t surprised in the least that he has traitors among him. “Such a conniving thing.”

Your lips form a tight line, eyes falling shut again in frustration. He doesn’t get it.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice fatally soft, and you steadfastly disobey, scrunching your nose to emphasize just how little you were willing to relinquish. But your eyes pop wide open on instinct as soon as the hand wrapping a wet necklace around your throat squeezes and holds.

The slight upturn of Silco’s lips is minute, but primitive, nonetheless.

As much as common sense would have you clawing at your desperately contracting windpipe, you fist your free hand tightly in his shirt instead, trying to maintain a challenging glare even as your jaw drops open with unsuccessful breaths.

Even as something ancient and unbidden coils hotly in your abdomen.

“Be that as it may, you’ve pushed me far past the boundaries of my extensive patience.”

He releases abruptly and you reel forward as you greedily heave in oxygen, coughing and sputtering, the crown of your head pressing into his sternum as he allows you to catch your breath.

And as the shooting stars recede from your periphery, you tilt your head up and sneer.

“Good.”

You despise the dark amusement on his face.

“Should’ve just let them kill you,” you spit, reddening face inches from his, wanting, no needing a reaction.

And Silco’s face is unreadable.

“So, that’s why you’re here then? To kill me?” Two hands prop themselves beside your ears as he leans in. “Oh, you’re so close, keep trying.”

“I’m not here to kill you.”

You make as if to close the distance, nose stopping inches from his, a savage smile playing about your lips.

“But I will get what I came here for.”

A single exhale betrays him and the stone next to your head scrapes as his nails subtly dig in. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his gaze flits to your mouth.

“And what would that be?”

“I want a fucking rematch.”

You use the hand fisted in his shirt to propel the other into the unsuspecting softness of his chest.

With a startled grunt, he stumbles backward a half step, eyes narrowing as in one move, you yank the dagger from the wall and narrowly duck to avoid his outstretched arm, crossing to the other side of the room.

After a long, nerve-wracking beat, Silco turns to you, an almost dizzying energy radiating off him as he levels you with a look that contains the same unrestrained fire he prowled in with.

“With my own dagger? Oh, I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

His hawklike gaze catches the cold shudder that walks down your spine before his eyes catch yours again, something dangerously excited igniting there.

All those times he’d bested you, pinned you right here on these mats, his half-hard length pressing into the space between your legs, eyes wild as you utilized anger to shrink from your desire- to run away.

He’s frustrated. And furious, so furious. But you’re sure, absolutely sure now, that he’s taking just as twisted of a delight in this as you are. It has you setting your jaw, twirling the blade tauntingly across your palm.

Your eyes fall to his bloodied hands, staining a dark crimson as they dry.

“To be fair, I did try to give it back.”

“Oh, there’s nothing fair about you.”

His own blade materializes seemingly out of thin air, hilt tossed about in his palm, black and orange in color.

How fitting.

He waits for you to lunge, and you do with a centering growl, keeping low, arm swinging in a sideways arc just as his does, forcing you to switch up, instead sliding into his booted feet as if sweeping in for a home run. He stumbles and you barely manage to regain your balance before darting out of the way of his blade.

“Still overeager, I see,” Silco pants, eyes tracking your form, circling you like a vulture, voice pitching strangely.

“Still a beanpole, I see,” you retort, flying at him again, as if determined to prove his point.

And you begin a vicious dance, meeting in the middle again and again. You leap out of the way of his attacks, clever and dexterous, using practiced history to anticipate his movements.

“I do, by the way” you say, managing to catch him off guard with a brutal kick to the stomach, “Think I’m clever.”

Silco hisses, but latches onto your ankle, yanking you forward.

“Do you?” he grits.

You spin mid-air, yelping as your full body weight smacks the mat, and you succeed in donkey kicking him away.

“I do,” you sputter, leaping back to your feet. “I mean Janna, how long have you been letting me run circles around you?”

Something dark and merciless casts a shadow over both orange and teal, his pupils dilating as his tongue presses into his teeth in calculation. His gaze trails unhurriedly down your body, as if capturing this moment of hubris, memorizing it.

And he exhales a soft grunt, focus narrowing back on the widening of your eyes as he cocks his head and this time, he’s the first to lunge.

You defend, spring back time and time again, blocking each of his relentless jabs, desperation pushing you to swing at him hard but he surprises you, a fist enclosing your wrist to jar you, pull you off kilter.

You twirl, side-step to correct, switch the knife to your other hand just in time to have it end up trapped between his arm and your side as he yanks you into his chest, arm encircling your mid-back.

Your bewildered gaze takes a moment to adjust to your new position- his knife poised delicately against your throat, face hovering directly over yours.

“Long enough,” he answers in a tattered voice, and your eyes flutter as his breath tickles the sweat-dampened hairs on your forehead.

The two of you are flushed, panting, and with the way he fastens you against him, your lower abdomen flush against an unmistakable hardness, his knife driving your upper body backward, you have to arch uncomfortably into him just to maintain eye contact.

In his gaze there is a hunger that shocks, overwhelms you in its intensity.

“Do you work for anyone?” he asks.

You try to make your weapon anything but useless at your side, wrenching your wrist, grazing the side of his thigh.

“I can still make it hurt,” you snarl, eyes pinning his with a cold glare as you try and muster something up out of that ever-flowing well of anger in your chest.

You use your free hand to attempt to grate your nails across any visible skin, because however self-assured he looks, the fight isn’t over.

Silco’s response is to lower his center hold to wrap around your waist, forcing you to grip tightly to the fabric of his shoulder just to keep from falling back.

His searing look demands an answer.

“Here and there-”

The knife digs in lightly.

“No,” you choke. “I don’t have a job.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t kn-“

The knife drives you further back and you let out a tight, teeth-gritting squawk of frustration, the discomfort of craning your neck enough that you finally drop your head back, relaxing into his firm grip, the two of you standing in an awkward, uncomfortable mimicry of a ballroom dip.

“Because I’m- I was too busy trying to figure out what the fuck happened to you.” The words are cast from your mouth and into the open air like tiny, poisonous arrows. “I knew you wouldn’t have just up and left like they said. I searched everywhere- ate, slept, and breathed you, only to find out you were still alive…”

Pause.

“And you decided to make my life harder for it?”

Your cackling laugh sounds deranged from your position.

“Among other things. You deserved every-”

You choke on a gasp as Silco rolls his hips methodically slow, the ridge of his cock catching your clit and drawing his impressive length upward, wrenching an embarrassing, high-pitched moan from your throat as your fingers dig into his shirt.

This isn’t how it-

The knife in your hand clatters to the floor as he rolls against you again, rendering you speechless.

“Maddening. You are maddening.” His tone is so low, so ragged, it must be born from the deepest, most primal part of him. “You know, I used to spend hours concocting ways to get you to shut up.”

He abandons his own knife, sheathing it at his side, splaying his hands to drag up your spine, until one long-fingered hand clasps around the back of your neck.

You stare dazedly as he lifts you, blinking half-lidded as you drink them in, those carefully impassive features that you think you can see right through. You press your face gently into his neck, teasing along the hinge of his jaw, and you hate how well you fit, the way his knife-bladed nose buries perfectly into your hair, the gentleness contrasting his next clipped words.

“Shoving my cock down your throat to silence your incessant screeching. Fucking you back into those shadows where you thought you hid so well. Suffo-“

Silco’s words stutter into the crown of your head as you lick a long, salty stripe across his pulse point and his hand draws up to fist in your hair, pulling back so he can look at you.

“Suffocating you until those pretty eyes rolled back.”

Your hands fall to his hips to run down his sides, up again to pull him flush against you. His free hand follows suit, kneading into your ass as he hunches over you just slightly in order to track his middle and index down, applying a perfect, dragging pressure once, twice over the crotch of your pants before trailing back up to cup your soft flesh.

“Always such an angry thing,” he says almost reverently as you try and fail to stifle a whine, “Now look at you. So soft.”

Silco, one hand still kneading into your hair, steps back to make room for the other as it travels down your front.

It’s not practiced fear nor rage that you tremble from this time, it’s raw desire that has you shaking like a leaf as he slides his palm between your pants and underwear.

It’s been so long, you realize, since you’ve been touched, even held, that at the first swipe of his fingers across your clit, you cry out, wobbling, eyes screwing shut at the explosive sensation.

“I think,” he croons down at you, and his voice is so deceptively soft as he works you, “What you needed all along was for someone to just touch you.”

You can’t lose sight, won’t lose sight.

Even as he leans down to your ear.

“For me to touch you, hm?”

He drags tight circles around your aching bud and your knuckles crack as your hand unfists his shirt, smoothing down the rough material of his vest.

You nearly sob as the pressure builds sharply, and it’s almost humiliating how fast he’s able to bring you to that precipice.

“Pl-ease,” you pant, tilting your head up, moaning through your teeth. “I’m g-onna-”

His mouth is so close to yours, breath uneven, labored as he quickens his pace, his wild eyes mapping the pleasure as it tracks across your face.

“You can cum, darling.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and everything gets tighter, and tighter.

“I w-“ Seconds away, you’re seconds away from that cliff. “I w-“

The hand in your hair finds its way to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“I win.“

And just as you cross the point of no return, you clumsily press the pointed end of his dagger into his upper back just enough that he’s able to identify it before tossing it to the side to clatter to the floor.

He could have killed you. But he didn’t. You could have killed him. But you didn’t.

The shock, the black that blows out the teal of his eye at the realization is enough to push you over the edge and you’re sinking your nails into his arm, clawing red, angry trails across his skin in desperation as your back bows and your knees buckle.

The punishing grip in your hair only heightens the domino effect and to Silco’s credit, he doesn’t stop working you, lowering you slowly to the ground as you writhe against him, a long, high-pitched whine freeing itself from your throat.

Light explodes behind your eyelids and you fall forward, curling in on yourself as your pussy clenches around nothing.

You blink stars out of your eyes as you peer down.

Silco is on his knees and you straddle his lap, his hard length nestled between the apex of your thighs. Through the dull ringing in your ears, you hear his sputtering.

And you hardly realize that your forehead presses against his until you’re jarred aggressively, two hands sliding up your sides to rid you of your shirt, your bra, tossing them furiously to the side.

He’s spitting acid.

“I should have killed you. The moment I discovered it was you.”

He grabs the back of your head, pulls you into a violent kiss, and a tidal wave of sensation has the world crashing back in and before you know it, your hands are eagerly twisted into the textured strands of his hair, hips grinding into his.

A familiar rumble of anger rocks through his chest and he yanks your hair back, runs one hand down your collarbone to cup one breast roughly.

“Desperate for more, already?” You squeal when he twists your nipple hard. “Do you really think after that little display you deserve anything I have to offer?”

“I think I deserve something.”

One of your hands falls to the strain in his pants and you run your palm along it, deriving a sick satisfaction from the way his abdomen tightens, his teeth grind.

He tilts forward, mouth enveloping one of your pebbling nipples and your gasp ratchets into a vulgar moan as his tongue flutters around the stiff peak, the sensation arcing its way directly between your legs, the heat too much. Too fast.

The hand not fondling him caresses the back of his head, unsure whether to pull him in or push him away as his teeth graze the sensitive skin and he sucks, pulling out of you a keening cry.

He moves to the other breast, lavishing it with similar attentions like a man starved, nipping sharply when you grow selfish, when your hand stops working at him.

You need him. You need more.

“Please.”

“Hm?”

“Please,” you snip impatiently, “You want me to beg, right? Isn’t that your thing?”

Silco releases your hair and you spring forward, nipping lightly at his bottom lip, working on his pants.

“I’m quite aware of your neediness already.”

“Asshole.”

He snatches your jaw in an iron grip and you maintain his fiery gaze with a determined glare as you thumb the complex buttons of his pants. Something oddly soft irons out the crease between his brow before you’ve take him into your palm much faster than anticipated, and he releases a shattered growl.

The speed at which he strikes you down is astonishing and you blink twice, confused, at your sudden view of the ceiling. Silco looms in your lower periphery, his adept hands making quick work of your pants, yanking them off, tossing them to the side. Your eye draws to the twitching length lying solid, inviting against his inner thigh and he meets your hungry gaze with one of his own.

You sit up, intent to pounce.

“Lay back down,” he commands harshly, and you ignore, sitting back on your haunches.

“No.”

Silco lurches forward as you spider back but he’s faster, and you let out an indignant screech as he snatches your ankles, yanking you toward him, your skin making an outrageous noise as it squeaks across the leather mat.

“If you want to make things difficult,” he growls, length grazing your thigh as he immobilizes your squirming form, folding your knees outward, spreading you lewdly to observe the glistening wetness between your legs. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“I’m more than happy to oblige,” you mock in a comically low voice and he smacks your thigh hard. You wriggle to try and aim a pathetic kick at his chest and with barely curbed aggravation he drags himself between your legs, propping himself over you.

Silco slides himself across your slick folds, catching at your entrance. Your body betrays you as you release a strangled moan. His arms quake just slightly, head dropping with a shuddered breath at the feel of your soaking heat, strands of his hair falling out of his careful style to tickle your neck.

He bounces back quicker than you do, grasping himself, dragging the swollen head of his cock torturously up and down your slit, studying you callously as you writhe beneath, punishment for your cheekiness.

“Fucker,” you spit and his lips twitch almost fondly. He drops his head to your sweat damp neck.

“I’ve been nice thus far,” he croons into the juncture of your jaw. “Can’t you try? To be nice?”

“I swear to Janna, put me on top if you can’t do this right. I’ve waited years for this, and it’s going to be done my way.”

“Unfortunately, that’s no longer in the cards after you held a knife to my back.”

“Served you right!” you yell.

He murmurs a quiet “Careful,” into your ear before he removes himself from your neck, sitting back on his haunches, positioning himself.

“I think you just want something to be upset about.”

“I do-oh“

Your lips freeze in an ‘oh’ as his hips begin a slow inch forward and you’re both made speechless. He pauses, and you don’t know whether it’s for you or him, his teal eye shutting tightly as if to anchor himself.

Silco is solid and so achingly hard inside you, and he stretches you painfully. But it’s exquisite. And he’s too slow, trying to savor it, you think, the moment. But he’s not answering your whining pleas and you’re squirming to grab his attention. Impatient.

Your legs wrap around his thighs, and you cross your ankles. You smile devilishly with the satisfaction of watching his eye shoot back open in realization before you thrust him the rest of the way inside.

His mouth falls open as a jagged, echoing groan is punched out of him, his fingers digging excruciatingly hard into the muscles of your inner thigh as his hips are pressed flush with yours.

You cry out at the sudden fullness, clawing uselessly at the mat. Oh, it’s excruciating. Wonderfully so. And you want him- no, need him to do something besides clutch into your skin, tower over you as if deciding which part of you to stab into first. And in a bid for a reaction out of the man, you clench around him, hard.

He hisses through his teeth.

“M-move.”

“Oh,” Silco breathes, his voice full of deadly promise, chest heaving with unbridled fury, only fueled by the wild lust eclipsing both eyes. “You make me mad.”

Fingers dig further into your thigh as he violently spreads your legs apart, crawling forward until his face is right above your panting one, shoulders pressing you into a curled position, knees spread impossibly wide.

Breathing is suddenly no longer a course of action as, without warning, his palm clamps down on your throat and squeezes, rendering you completely prone beneath him as you have no choice but to take it as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Deep, quick-fire thrusts nail hidden spots inside you that have mini fireworks exploding behind your eyelids.

Your chest burns and your body doesn’t know what sensation to focus on, what reality to latch onto, mind going completely and blissfully haywire as neurons seem to fire haphazardly. You grasp onto his arm like a lifeline, pleasure recycling over and over again as you convulse beneath him.

“You make me furious.”

There’s a rumbling, a purr, emitting from low in his chest, vibrating into your own, like a growling predator just emerged from its den. It feeds you, challenges you.

You fight to maintain the angry eye contact as you’re jostled, and he lets up, allowing you a few choked breaths before grasping your throat again.

He wrenches your head to the side, and his breath is a hot pant against your ear as he seethes, each syllable accompanied by the sound of his hips meetings yours in an obscene slap.

“Incorrigible. Never learned to behave. So rude. So impatient.”

The beginnings of another orgasm tingle across your sweat soaked skin as a rubber band stretches across your lower belly. Your hands latch onto his where they clasp around your throat, tightening his hold there.

Silco groans at the gesture, and suddenly he’s everywhere, heated words whispering into your neck, your cheekbones, your temple.

“You love it, don’t you? Me shutting you up like this. Should’ve done this ages ago. Given you the attention you so desperately begged for. With all your silly little tantrums.”

You don’t hear the rest.

It’s less of a crackling explosion, this one, more of a gentle, rolling thunderstorm as that band snaps. Except you’re completely fixed, held down entirely by Silco- can’t arch your back, can’t stretch your legs, you can’t even cry out- just have to lie there and take what he’s given you, a wild pressure renting out every hollow in your trembling body until he offers you an outlet by releasing your throat, a throaty wail resonating obscenely across the stone walls.

You suck in air, cough it back out, can hardly get a grip on yourself as pleasure ripples back and forth like you’re being steamrolled by it.

And you hardly know where you are, eyes squeezed shut, tiny whimpers accompanying every exhale, your thighs quivering uncontrollably, Silco still inside you, still impossibly hard, although not moving. You can sense he’s propped above you, can feel his eyes as they dart across your trembling features, watching as you work through the terribly powerful bliss.

And then all is still.

You crack open your eyes, fix them on the ceiling, blinking languidly, studying and counting the criss-crossing wooden slats like you’d just awoken from a deep slumber.

A calloused hand slides its way under the back of your neck, another wraps your mid-back and you allow yourself to be pulled up and into Silco lap, your arms wrapping the back of his neck automatically, nose burying itself in his neck.

It’s a complete contradiction, the way he rocks up into you now, slowly, like you’re something to be savored. And you ram your forehead into his shoulder, biting into the fabric of his vest as you try not to jolt with each wet slide of him inside your sensitive walls.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment just to listen to his soft grunts as he wrecks you again with gentle but thorough thrusts, each movement pushing a small, unrestrained whine from your lips as he fills you perfectly.

Silco puffs a laugh and you realize dazedly you’ve been muttering out loud.

“Perfect,” you rasp again, unashamed.

He tugs you backward and you surrender your position on his shoulder with a whine that he swallows, pressing his lips to yours and forging ahead with his expert tongue when you gasp at the newness of it, the tenderness.

He reaches a hand down between your bodies and you shake your head, lips breaking from his.

“I ca-I can’t. Too sensitive.”

“Shhh,” he croons gently before his thumb finds your aching bud.

You jump at the electric arc of sensation, yelp as his other hand grabs a hold of your hip, holding you steady as he increases his pace, beginning to chase his own release.

He’s already close, he has to be.

Silco swallows every tattered moan, every soft squeal that he pulls out of you with the expert roll of his thumb.

Your body writhes, contorts as he fucks up into you.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you murmur, almost panicking against his mouth and you can feel the smirking stretch of his lips.

And it slams into you again, a third orgasm rising so sharply you feel like you’ve just flown off the edge of a cliff with no ground in sight. You let out a long, anguished whine into his mouth and you’re clawing at him as one set of fingers continue to work you through it, the others threading your hair to better inhale your cries.

Your arms can hardly summon the energy to hold yourself upright, and you just slump onto his shoulder, spasming around him, drenching his cock as you cry out his name in a torn voice that draws his own release forth, pulsing in tandem as his hips stutter, spilling his load into you with a ragged groan.

Your fingers find his hair, shakily brushing through the soft strands, and you try to quell the aching emotion in your chest that has tears springing to your eyes, has you pressing yourself further into his shoulder to hide.

“I missed you,” you say. It’s all you can say, really.

A hand draws hesitantly down your spine, kneading each vertebrae, as if to ensure you were still there. Real.

“You’re not the only one,” he murmurs, and there's a long pause before he turns, dropping his chin gently to the top of your head, “Whose been waiting.”

<3 <3 <3

Hi, I hope you enjoyed! Sorry I was a day late with this one. It's 3am and my only hope at this point is that this story makes a modicum of sense. Thank you for reading, I love you all! Here's the AO3 Link if you'd rather read on there!

Stay unhinged!

Love, Sulty <3

@of-the-argonath

#silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco arcane #arcane #reader insert #silco fic #sulty writes

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a-gal-with-taste · 1 year

Text

Flu-Season (Oneshot)

Summary: You stayed with him, partially because you know the stubborn man would mount an escape-attempt the moment someone looked away, regardless how close he came to hacking out his lungs.

You also stayed, because you loved the fool.

Tags: Sickfic, banter, humor, established relationship, young!Silco, pre-canon, cuddling, Silco X GN!Reader, 1067 Word-Count

A/N: Quick-gift for a sick-friend, everyone is legally obligated to write @ink-and-dagger get-well card, and this is mine

There was something to be said about the stubbornness of man.

It was unshakable. Undaunted, rivelless, much to your chagrin, and ceaseless annoyance.

"Sit down," You commanded, lowly and eyes narrowed into blazing-slits, not so different from the deadly-edge of blades pulled from fires. "Sit. Down."

Taunting you silently, Silco braces his palms harder against the surface beneath him and raises an unimpressed brow when your tightly pursed-lips go bloodless. He swivels, enough to let his legs dangle over the cots-edge with a glint in his pale eyes, that is as-much rebellious, as it is feverish.

Opening his mouth, you expect he wants to make a grand-speech to christen his revolt against your order.

Instead, he bursts into a coughing fit.

"Idiot."

Another harsh length of coughing, when the Son of Zaun tries to deny the accusation.

"Dumbass," You chided tiredly, walking forward with one hand releasing the thickest blanket you found to push back on his shoulder, unsympathetic to the familiar coughs, and unaffected by the insulted-look he gave you when you nudged him again. "Hey, no one told you two to take a dive in the river-"

"It was that, or arrest," He insists in a rasp, looking at you incredulously. "Would you rather be dealing with Enforcers for our release?"

"Honestly, I'm debating whether or not to turn you in myself, let them handle you."

"Such loyalty, darling," He said with an eyeroll, apparently using the last of his strength to perform it. The next push had him bouncing back onto the bed, an action that left his sweaty dark-locks in a damp halo around his head, and a drawn-out whine slipping from his mouth.

Smothered quickly, when you tossed the comforter over his body and face.

"Yeah, loyal enough to assure the rebellion doesn't end in a cough and a whimper," You sigh, allowing him to settle, albeit grumpily, before you give his body another firm push. Deeper into the already-thin mattress, and further to the side. “I’m also loyal enough to make sure you don’t go-running. Scoot.”

“I wouldn’t run-”

“You’ve tried to escape. Six times now.”

“Because this is humiliating. Uncalled-for. A blight on my reputation-!”

The very instant he tried to raise his voice, in response to rising ire and indignation at the insult of being tended to, he burst into another coughing fit that you watched flatly. Such dramatics had become the norm in the last couple days, as a dip into the cold-waters of Pilt had transformed a simple annoying cold into a full-fledged bout of flu, that seemed to strike at the Son of Zaun with a vengeance.

The fourth-time he tried to sneak out on patrol, shivering, sweating, wheezing, and looking so-absolutely pathetic, that you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

But you stopped sympathizing at the third-attempt to leave his bed.

“Save your breath. Move over.”

Silco possessed a glower that would send most Pilties quivering in their boots and heels, but the slight pout to his lips, paired with his huddled-position under the comforter, made it difficult to take him even remotely seriously. Thankfully, he realized this for himself, and wasted only a short uncoughing sigh before shifting, relieving some room onto the mattress for you to sit down on.

“Your immunity is preposterous. How are you not sick?”

“Too smart to get sick. You, however, jumped into a river.”

“Again. It was that or an arrest.”

You doubted that was the only two options, but it mattered little at this point. Nudging off one boot, toeing off the second, you soon reclined back on-top of the comforter with a lingering sigh. “Keep-on telling yourself that, champ,” You murmured, reaching over to pat the top of his head, patronizing despite the deepening-scowl it earned you.

When you tried to pull your hand away, a weak, but steady set of fingers locked around your wrist, thumb tapping out a thoughtful beat on your pulse as your eyes slipped closed, basking in the near-domesticality after a day of playing the role of two.

As much as you could.

Despite your efforts, no one could replace the headache, the whiny-baby, the absolute buffoon that was the man who was supposed to be resting beside you.

The very same man who didn’t know how to shut up and save his breath, evident by his croak, “You don’t have to stay with me.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Opening your eyes, you tilted your head until your cheek rested on the mattress, eyes finding his hazy, thoughtful and quickly-tiring green gaze. “And besides that, besides how infuriating you are, I want to stay with you.”

Because, stubborn as he is, only Janna-knows what the fool would attempt to do without a guard to watch over him to quash any escape attempt.

You also loved him.

As if reading your mind, those green-eyes slipped closed as a faint, resigned smile bloomed onto his face, coaxed out by your hand lowering to cup at a fever-heated cheek. “So sweet to me.”

“You don’t deserve it,” You assured him, half-joking. “Not after jumping into a river.”

“Vander jumped too.”

“So maybe I should go cuddle-up with him then-” The threat, again only half of a joke, was thwarted-immediately by Silco turning over over, enveloping you in body and comforter as his arms pulled tight around you, squeezing when you grunted out his name in surprise.

“Don’t you dare,” He murmured, pressing you tighter against him when you shifted to get comfortable. It wasn’t all-that difficult, even if the fever from his body was quickly-seeping into the thicker layers of comforter and clothes, you found it easy to grow comforted in the man’s arms as his rasping breathes evened-out.

A good thing, because even as exhaustion wore him down into rest, the strength in his arms never-faded - you imagined you would be here a while. The thought made you sigh, but also smile wearily, as hand traveled up to smooth the dark-ink of his hair back, murmuring affectionately about how gross and sweaty it was to the now-napping man.

It was indeed, very gross, but nonetheless, you did not leave him.

Partially because you imagined the stubborn fool would still attempt a retreat upon awakening, despite clearly lacking the strength to make it anywhere beyond the room.

And also, because you loved him. As stubborn, gross, and idiotic as he was.

And even after a week after he was back on his feet, it was your turn to start coughing.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #young silco #reader insert #gender neutral reader #arcane fic #silco fic #sickfic

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roxnpens · 11 months

Note

My dearest Roxy,

I request 2 and 13 for Silco pretty please. The details are up to you! Thank you 💜

Dear Kels, thank you for your request <3 I enjoyed writing it a lot.

It also made me think about Silco: Would he be melancholic about his partner? Would be able to trust or love again after his trust was so viciously broken? I think “yes” - because it shows how he treats Jinx and how much he cares for her… so why wouldn’t he trust someone who’s been there for him all the time - from when it happened with Vander?

A walk in the Clouds

TW: [Silco x fem!Reader], [Established relationship], [Melancholic Silco], [Mention of Pain], [Comforting], [Soft Silco]

Tumblr prompt for @ilikemymendarkandfictional :)

Synopsis:

For a long time it as been just you and Silco. You and him against the world. But the ‘Eye of Zaun’ is not always as ruthless and dangerous as he wants everybody to believe - he has a soft side… especially with you…

________________________________

The Lanes were overcast by shadows and clouds, a thunderstorm beginningto draw near from Piltover’s coast. But you were safe from it. Safe inside the Last Drop, on the lap of your longtime lover.

Silcos mismatched eyes are on you, drinking in the sight that you make: straddling his lap, your hands on his shoulder to keep yourself steady, his hands on your hip - kneading small circles into them. Lovingly you stare into his eyes… you’ve been there for him so long, he couldn't imagine his life without you anymore. Especially now… when his medication was due… when he needs to be injected with shimmer… when his pain is almost unbearable. But both of you always take your time when his medication is due.

You always calm him down first, let your hands roam his body, massage his scalp, kiss him all over his face, kiss his scarred lips with an unfathomable softness - that it almost breaks his heart every time. It’s incomprehensible for him how you could love a monster, a lusus naturae like him. He loves it - your little ritual. He loves the intimacy between you and him, how he can let loose of the world, of his problems, of his pain…

“Why did you choose me?”, you suddenly ask, your gaze never waivers its love. Silco had his good eye closed - so just a questioning huff left his lips.

“Why did you choose me, all those years ago?”, you extend the question.

He opens his good eye and now the hot and icy gaze is on you.

“Because it’s you, it's always been you.”, he whispers, every syllable contains his whole heart.

His lips softly press against yours and a tender silence falls over the two of you, occasionally interrupted by the wet sounds of your meeting lips. It's the wonderful stillness between you two that he so passionately indulges in.

After a few more moments you break this kiss which Silco comments with a groan. You grab the injector from behind you.

“Silco… it’s time.”, you say softly, an understanding smile on your lips.

Silco exhales heavily. “I know… I know…”

You put a hand on his cheek and carefully overstretch his neck. You place the injector over his eye.

“Ready?”

“Ready…”

With a snap the needle rushes down, penetrates the eye and pumps the purple fluid into his eye.

It hurts…

It always hurts…

But today… today it burns… it burns like the day Vander cut his face and the polluted waters disfigured his face… the day he came to you for the first time…

Silco clutches at your hips with a force that could break bones, his head first snaps back and then forwards toward your shoulder. You knew he was in a lot of pain before he groaned the first time. One of your hands immediately cradles the back of his head and the other finds its way to his back and strokes it soothingly.

The next minute Silco groans, breathes heavily and keeps holding himself on your body, while the waves of pain roll over his body.

You caress him throughout the pain the whole time, never leave his side. You softly rub the tense out of his back and shoulders. Massaged his scalp - your nails scratching his scalp with just the right pressure. When he relaxes a little - you kiss his head and whenever possible his lips.

After a while he relaxes slowly and his head keeps being buried in your neck. You notice that his pain episode ended by how he started drawing circles on your waist again. Yet he doesn’t look up to you, like he always does afterwards and you start to worry.

“Silco…?”,you ask carefully, “Is something else wrong?”

"Nothing's wrong, my eye. I just…”, he finally looks up to you - directly into your eyes. You could see a tear gathering in his seafoam eye.

“… I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much.”

His words are so full of love - it almost makes your heart burst. You have been together for such a long time - he let you know that he loves you from time to time, always bought you what you wanted and let everyone pay dearly, if they did you wrong. But this gaze of uttermost true love in his eyes was the ultimate love confession in all these years.

He continues. “You’ve been there for me from the beginning. From the day Vander betrayed me - over the day I avenged my dream by killing this snake…until now…” He gently strokes your cheek and you lean into his touch. Outside a thunder growls in the sky.

“Thank you, my eye… thank you for being my most trusted friend… for being the love of my life…”

He leans forward and takes your lips by storm - just as it begins to rain outside…

#WritingRoxy #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco x oc #silco x you #silco arcane #silco #awesome #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco fluff #Soft Silco

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ace-of-zaun · 6 months

Text

Don't Go (One-shot):

young!silco x gn!reader - 3.6k words - SFW

cw: angst, fluff, breakup conversations, happy ending, reconciliation, arguments, silco struggling with his emotions, little bit possessive, soft silco, suggestive ending (this one is pretty angsty but don’t worry, it all works out in the end!)

summary: Silco, your long time boyfriend, does something you’d begged him not to, so you regretfully decide that you need a break from him. Silco has other plans.

You didn't want to go. Not really.

But after Vander’s revelation, you felt like you had no choice.

Silco had been all fired up the night before, ranting and raving about his latest (and quite frankly terrible) plan of breaking into the Sheriff’s office Topside to gain information about any upcoming raids in your neighbourhood.

The surprise Enforcer raids had been hitting businesses across Zaun at random, an M.O of storming in and ransacking each place with no clear means or motive, and definitely without any warning.

Understandably then, Vander, Silco, and you had been particularly concerned that a raid would hit The Last Drop any day now, and despite every effort to hide anything that could give you away, there was a real fear that your revolutionary group would be discovered and brutally dismantled.

But the idea of breaking into the Sheriff’s office of all places was beyond dangerous and to your frustration, you just couldn’t get Silco to listen to reason.

You’d pleaded with him not to do something so risky. You’d tried to calm down, told him to just wait until you could all discuss it together as a group and come up with a plan that wasn’t so grandiose, and in your view, completely and utterly stupid.

Eventually, Silco had gotten frustrated and rolled his eyes, grumbling that he wouldn’t go as he’d slunk off downstairs to no doubt drink the night away in the bar.

This morning you’d woken with him fast asleep by the side of you in bed and, assuming he’d wasted the evening drinking himself dry, you thought nothing of it until later this afternoon when you’d found out the truth from Vander.

Silco had gone Topside to scout out the building that housed the Sheriff’s office.

Vander had desperately tried to reassure you that Silco wouldn’t have done anything stupid but it had done absolutely nothing to douse the flames of anger and hurt spreading through you.

The damage was done.

Now, salty tears finally drying on your cheeks, you stand in your shared bedroom packing your belongings into the rucksack laid out on your bed.

Silco is still out running errands so there's a note placed carefully on the desk in your bedroom. It's not ideal, but it's for the best.

However cowardly it makes you feel to reduce your breakup to a measly note, you're too emotionally drained to even think about having another argument with him.

You just can’t deal with it right now.

Planning to stay with a friend until you found somewhere you could afford by yourself, you convince yourself that if he truly wants you back, if he truly wants to fix things, he’ll come and find you.

You’ve already packed the easy things, like most of your clothes and your toiletries from the bathroom. The real challenge now it would seem is the more sentimental items, like the pile of gifts currently lined up on the bed that you’d received from Silco over the years.

The little toy poro he'd scrimped and saved to buy you for your birthday that one year. Or the matching sunglasses he'd stolen as a little souvenir from your third date.

As you stare down at the gifts on the bed wondering if you’ll have enough room to bring them all, the door opens behind you.

You freeze, knowing exactly who it is before he’s even spoken.

"There you are," Silco announces, his voice clearly tired but still laced with a hint of relief. "Vander said you were-"

He cuts himself off as he undoubtedly takes in the state of the bedroom before speaking again in a tone of pure shock.

"What are you doing?"

You can’t bring yourself to answer so instead busy yourself with shoving all of the gifts into your bag before he can see them.

"No," he breathes out from the doorway as it dawns on him.

It sends a horrible pang of hurt ringing in your chest, only made worse when he pleadingly says your name.

"Please don't do this."

"I have to, Silco," you sigh, trying to keep your heart as closed off as you can. It hurts enough as it is without you letting your emotions run wild.

"You don't,” he says. “You don't have to."

You stop answering because you can tell this particular line of conversation will just go in circles.

Behind you, he shuts the door with a click and it irritates you into shoving more into the bag, no longer caring about being neat or if you should leave anything behind.

"Is this because of what happened last week? I already told you that wasn't my fault," Silco continues when you don’t respond or turn to face him.

He's referring to the incident where he almost got shot after taunting some enforcers for no good reason.

Truth be told, that incident had absolutely terrified you, but it was just one of the many reasons why you couldn’t keep doing this.

"No, it isn't because of that," you say flatly.

"Then why?"

You finally turn to look at him, the first time since he’d left the bar this morning. (He looks gorgeous and like he's on the verge of heartbreak and you hate that you still love him despite it all.)

"Where did you go last night?" you ask flatly, looking him square in the eyes.

As expected his expression instantly turns stony, but after years of learning and reading his tells, you can see the twitches of regret in his eyes.

A few beats of silence pass and you know he’s too stubborn to admit it out loud.

Your response is quiet. Resigned.

"That's why."

Turning back round to face the bed, you begin to shove down all your belongings as far down into the bag as they can go, making sure you have enough room for the last bits that you know are in the wardrobe.

"Look, I'm sorry for doing it behind your back, but I had to go," he starts, and it feels like the beginning of the heated argument that you were so desperately hoping to avoid.

Your cool facade broken, you whirl round to face him straight on, built-up ire finally pouring out of you in reams.

"No, you didn't have to go! You went because you wanted to and you went even though I asked you- no, begged you not to," you yell at him.

He flinches minutely at the sudden raise in volume, but keeps his own voice calm and steady when he crafts his response.

"You don't understand, this is important," he emphasises. "They cannot find out what we’re doing to fight against them, not when we’re this close to finally having the lives we deserve, that all of us deserve.”

It takes all your strength not to give in to his words and continue the argument with an incredulous scoff.

As if you don’t know all that. As if you didn’t spend your days fighting for Zaun as well.

As if you didn’t fight every second for him.

You shut it down immediately, twisting back round to face the bed.

"I'm not doing this," you say blankly.

"What?" he replies, clearly stunned.

"I'm not arguing with you, Silco. I'm leaving."

It breaks your heart to say it, but in this moment, you see no other way forward. Not if he’s going to keep on like this.

Silco says nothing as you pack away the rest of your belongings into your bag, briefly recalling that you still have a few last bits in the wardrobe. You're almost certain that his anger is charging up in the silence, readying himself to launch into a whole speech about how wrong you are.

But when he does speak again, the sound of his choked-up voice feels like a shot directly to your heart.

"You can't leave."

Your heart sinks into your stomach and everything within you practically screams to cross the room and hug him, but you know that if you even look at him you’ll end up changing your mind. So, you move over to the wardrobe instead and pull open the doors to ensure he’s not in your line of sight.

Silco says your name in that horribly soft timbre he only uses when he’s desperate and even though it pretty much tears you apart to ignore him, you focus on pulling the rest of your clothes from the closet.

He speaks your name again, this time even more desperately and you suddenly find yourself biting back tears.

Fuck, why did he have to come home early? Why couldn't you just have some time to grieve by yourself?

"Silco, it's over," you bite out, just wanting this horrible situation to be done with so you can work on healing.

Finally moving into the room, you hear his footsteps creak on the old wooden floorboards behind you.

You brace yourself for him to take your hand or wrap his arms around you but to your confusion, his footsteps halt in the centre of the room and you hear an unexpected rustling sound instead.

Spinning around, you find Silco holding your backpack upside down in the air, emptying the contents back onto the bed with vigorous shakes. Your belongings drop onto the sheets in a crumpled mess, undoing all your work to get them all into the rucksack.

Silco glares at the bag with tight-lipped hatred, as if it’s the reason you’re leaving, the longer strands of his hair falling down and bouncing with each rough movement of his arms.

You stare at him in disbelief, your jaw slack until you find the words to confront him.

"What the fuck, Silco? Put them back!"

He grips the bag even tighter.

"No."

And just like that, your astonishment slides into anger.

"Silco," you warn, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Put. Them. Back."

"Not if it means you'll stay," he replies obstinately.

He continues to shake the bag but, ever the impatient boy, gets too frustrated and decides to drop the bag onto the bed. Rapidly taking out handfuls of your belongings until the backpack is empty, he then throws it at the wall furthest from you with a grunt.

Silco’s gaze slides to look at you from across the room and you both stare at each other breathlessly, chests borderline heaving.

A clear challenge.

Unfortunately for Silco, you can be stubborn too.

Without another word, you reach into the wardrobe and pull out his backpack, moving over to the other side of the bed to restart your packing.

This time, Silco rushes around the bed to you and tries to grab your hand, but you pull it away, taking a step back.

"Just stop-"

"Please don't leave me," he pleads in the most heartbreaking, riven timbre you’ve ever heard him speak in and your heart wrenches.

He sounds like the little boy you’d met all that time ago in those dark mines, the one who was so desperate to no longer be alone.

"I'll do anything, I can't do this without you," he begs.

"Do what without me?"

"Any of it," he blurts out, running a distressed hand through his hair. "Some days, the only thing that gets me through the day is knowing that you'll be here when I get home."

Your insides jolt at such a vulnerable confession from such a headstrong man, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get when he suddenly drops to one knee in front of you, taking one of your hands in both of his.

Heart racing ten to the dozen, you watch in horror as he glances up at you.

He’d better not be doing what you think he’s doing…

"Silco-"

"I love you," he says. "I love you more than anything in the world."

You watch as tears line his lashes and soon find yourself matching.

Fuck, you were expecting yelling and anger, not this.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

"Please," he repeats and it cracks your mask in two.

Your knees give out and you let yourself sink down onto the floor with him.

Silco immediately throws his arms around you, only just stopping you from falling back with how quickly he presses his body against yours, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

On instinct, you wrap your arms around his frame, one hand rubbing his back whilst the other cards through his inky strands as he rocks you gently from side to side.

Little whispers of “Don't go,” and “I need you,” are mumbled into your hair, and you’re almost certain the wetness on your neck is from those tears that had been threatening to break free. You kindly decide not to mention it.

Eventually, you sigh and rest your forehead on his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut in a pitiful attempt to ease the difficult conversation up ahead.

"Sil, I can't keep doing this."

He sniffles a little and pulls back to look at you but doesn’t let go. (He never lets go.)

"Doing what?" he asks, brows furrowing in that cute little way he does when he’s confused about something.

"Watching you destroy yourself."

"I'm not-"

"You are, Silco, and it's hurting me," you enunciate, holding his cheeks to force his gaze on you. He needs to understand how serious you are about this.

The horrified expression on his face instinctively causes you to brush some of his hair back tenderly while he processes your words.

"I want a better Zaun too, but not at the cost of you sacrificing yourself," you continue, keeping your voice quiet but firm.

He’s clearly overwhelmed, seafoam eyes so wide and trenched in deep-rooted panic. But with a lack of response to distract you, you’re forced to take notice of the pain spreading through your back and legs at the awkward sitting position you’re in.

You shift your body, pulling away from him to situate yourself in a comfier position, but the second you loosen your arms from his thin frame, his hand desperately grip you even tighter, clutching onto you like a child to their mother’s leg.

"No, I-"

"I'm not going anywhere, I just need to move before my legs go numb," you’re quick to reassure him.

At this, Silco relaxes slightly, allowing you to move so your back is resting against the side of the bed. His fingers clasp onto your shirt the entire time and the very second you’re planted in a spot that doesn’t completely ruin your spine, he pulls you against him once more.

"What- What can I do to make you stay?" he says between a harsh swallow.

You sigh, swiping a hand across your face tiredly.

"I need you to stop this ridiculous crusade you're on. Or," you add when he goes to protest, "at the very least, include the rest of us in it."

He bites the inside of his lip and entwines his fingers with yours.

"You can't keep making reckless decisions by yourself, Sil. It affects all of us. Especially me."

Silco keeps quiet for a few moments, so you give him time to think while his thumb rhythmically traces your knuckles back and forth.

This can’t be easy for him. He’s pretty independent by nature (most Undercity kids are), but Silco is especially so when it comes to the fight for Zaun’s freedom.

But if he wants you to stay, you’re going to need some compromise.

"Okay," he eventually says, breaking the silence to gaze at you with muted hope.

You’re not letting him off that easily.

"Okay what?" you say expectantly.

He sighs and suddenly he’s transformed into that petulant little boy again.

"Okay, I'll run things by you and Vander before making any big decisions," Silco heaves, like it physically pains him to say.

"And?" you prompt with a raised eyebrow.

Silco stares at you with a look of disbelief, but his lip is curled in clear disgust.

"There's no way I'm running anything by Benzo," he scoffs. "It'd be more useful talking to a brick wall."

You slap his arm half heartedly and bite back a laugh.

"No! I meant, are you going to stop throwing yourself into stupid situations for no reason?"

"I knew you were still upset about last week," Silco replies, a knowing expression melting across his features.

"Of course I'm upset about it! They almost shot you!" you fire back with indignation.

As if you wouldn’t be horrified at the idea of your boyfriend getting seriously hurt and potentially arrested just for being an idiot.

Silco gently combs his fingers through your hair, eyes tracing your features as that smug little smirk you secretly adore colours his lips.

"The key word in that sentence is almost, my lovely."

The glare you level him with is met by a crooked grin, but it’s soon wiped off his face when you jab his stomach with your elbow, ignoring the “Oof,” in favour of cuddling up to him even closer.

Silco lets out a sigh of relief and rests his head against yours whilst one hand sneaks up behind you to surreptitiously wipe his eyes dry with his sleeve.

You allow yourself to relax for a few quiet moments, slowly calming each other down with soft touches until your breathing syncs up with the boy holding you close to his chest.

Silco soon murmurs into your hair, hand smoothing along your waist.

"So you'll stay?"

"Yes, I'll stay," you reply softly, nestling into the crook of his neck.

It’s seemingly not enough to soothe his nerves because he leans back and tilts your chin up with one finger until you meet his anxious gaze.

"You promise?"

"I promise, Silco."

Relief melts through his whole body, but with it brings a cool wash of physical and emotional exhaustion that you wish you could wipe clean.

"You know you can always talk to me, right?” you tell him gently, pinky finger delicately tracing along one eyebrow until the lines of his face relax. “I know you're always so busy trying to keep us afloat but you don't have to do it all alone. You can tell me when things are bothering you, it doesn’t make you weak or ‘less of a man’."

He gazes at you in profound wonder before lightly cupping one side of your face with his hand.

"I really do love you," he whispers, tenderly tracing one thumb down your cheek.

It feels like the weight of your near-breakup is lifted off your shoulders when you finally say it back.

"I love you too, Sil."

He leans down to kiss your head and you find yourself desperately hoping that he keeps his promise. You never want to have to go through this again.

But for now, graced with another chance to stay with the only person you’ve ever loved, you focus on the present, needing to change the heavy atmosphere stifling the room. Your tone shifts into a light, coy thing that immediately grabs his attention.

"You know, if you hadn't rushed in all guns blazing last night you'd have had the chance to listen to my plan for getting the info we need," you tell him. "Y'know, one that wouldn't get you thrown in Stillwater."

Silco stares at you with a frown and you struggle to keep in the smile that threatens to break.

"What plan?"

"The one where I seduce a poor, unsuspecting enforcer and use a bit of good old-fashioned lip service to get what we need," you say coquettishly, batting your eyelashes at him innocently despite the clear innuendo lacing your words.

Instantly, (brilliantly), his seafoam eyes darken with a delicious combination of jealousy and lust, sending a spark of hot desire through your body.

"Not in a million years," he says gruffly, pulling you even closer to him.

You twirl a playful finger through your hair.

"I don't know, I think it's a great plan if you ask me," you reply with an air of teasing nonchalance.

"I wouldn't let you anywhere near them,” his grip tightens on the fabric by your waist. “You're mine.”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, knowing exactly what it does to him.

"Prove it."

There’s a beat of electrified silence before Silco abruptly stands, pulling you up with him until you’re both on your feet.

He smoothly coils one arm around your waist, the other snaking around the nape of your neck until his lips hover tantalisingly above yours. And just when you think he’s about to finally close the gap, he pauses.

You frown, chest flooding with anxiety that you’ve done something wrong, or he’s changed his mind, or-

Silco removes the hand resting behind your head and before you can voice your concerns, he suddenly grabs the bed sheet, ripping it off the bed in a move that sends the mess of your once-packed belongings tumbling to the floor in a cacophony.

"Silco!" you admonish him, already envisioning the amount of time and effort it would take to pick everything up and put it back in its rightful place.

"What?” he says, like butter wouldn’t melt. “We can put it back in the morning."

Then, he swiftly picks you up and tosses you onto the mattress, making you squeal in surprise.

Silco kneels onto the bed and climbs until his body is hovering over yours, arms caging you in as you heat up, warmth flooding downwards in anticipation.

"Now, I think it's time I make it up to you, sweetheart," he purrs, leaning down to hotly trace your ear with his lips. “I’m going to make sure you never want to leave this bed again.”

- A/N: don’t mind me, just casually obsessed with the idea of silco emptying out your bag to desperately stop you from leaving and then frenziedly trying to propose to you when he doesn’t know to deal with his emotions 💁‍♀️

#silco x reader #silco x you #silco x gn!reader #silco x f!reader #silco x m!reader #silco #silco fic #silco arcane #one shot

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silcoitus · 3 months

Note

Hiiiii! I absolutely love your work (as you may have noticed, but idk if I was vocal enough about it 🤔).

I saw you were answering asks with scenarios with Silco and I was thinking...I've been kind of down in the dumps lately and I'm really interested in your take how Silco would confort his s/o in such a situation. I live for hurt/comfort and it helps me tremendously and I feel like there is a criminak lack of such fics with Silco, but if you don't feel inspired, that's completely ok! Again, I really love everything you write, have a great day!

Thank you, Robin, for the request! And thank you for all your kind words today in my DMs. My heart is overflowing with all the love and support I've received today.

To be loved

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1.8k

Beta reader: none

Tags: Silco x gn!reader, soft Silco, established relationship, depression, fluff, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, angsty with a happy ending

One more bad day after a series of bad days leaves you feeling numb and dejected. Getting out of bed seems an impossible task. But thankfully, your partner Silco knows exactly what you need to get you out of your funk.

Read on AO3

A/N: I have written so much smut lately, writing hurt/comfort is so refreshing. Also ngl I made myself tear up a bit while writing this and getting into the reader headspace. As a depression girlie myself, I've def had these sorts of days.

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!

#silcoitus #silcoitus writing #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco fic #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #x reader #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader x #soft silco #silcoitus answers

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cognacandlilac · 9 months

Text

To the Depths - Part Five - NSFW

(Pirate!Silco x F!Reader) The Pirate's Waltz

AO3 - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3.1 - Part 3.2 - Part 4

Rating: Explicit/MDNI Chapter Summary: You struggle with the terms of your punishment even as you begin to win over the crew. For a moment, all is well even though you are technically a prisoner. Will the sea allow a moment of peace? Chapter Tags/Warnings: def a little nsfw but not nearly as much as other parts, nothing that hasn't been in past parts. Not beta'd bc I was too impatient to get the update posted lol *edited on 8/5 to fix mistakes that would have been caught with beta reading. There is a lesson here...*

You flee the cabin immediately without another word. Your entire body hums, rages, cries, and begs for release and you know you will not find it in that room. Something stings and burns in your chest, wrapping around your heart and squeezing tight. You’re reminded of Silco’s sea serpent tattoo but immediately shake the thought away. His body is the last thing you want to think about right now.

Especially since the ache between your legs only grows with each step. You briefly entertain the idea of finding a dark, shadowy corner of the ship to bring the relief denied you, but that thought flies out of your mind the moment you see the crew standing idle on the deck, their faces all turned toward the short stairwell you’ve just climbed. You freeze on the last step.

Before Silco dragged you back down to the cabin, you’d passionately declared for all to hear that you were the reason they had to spend the night fighting a violent storm and why thick pools of drying blood now stain the deck. No doubt you’ve made an enemy of yourself to every single person staring at you now.

You could return to the cabin but the thought of being enclosed with Silco is unbearable. You are caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Almost literally.

Luckily, you aren’t trapped in your frozen state for long. Jinx darts into your field of vision, her eyes wide and frantic.

“You look awful ,” she says, cupping your face in her dainty hands. The coolness of her skin alerts you to just how scorching your face is. No doubt flushed, too. “I hope he wasn’t too harsh with you.”

Harsh certainly isn’t the word you’d choose to describe what just happened in his cabin. “I received the punishment I deserved for my error,” You say, hoping to avoid bringing up any particulars of that punishment, not when your ass still stung in the shape of his hand. Before Jinx can ask another question, you make your way across the deck to the poor crewmate you tricked.

“I owe you an apology.” You speak to him with the same grace and dignity you would reserve for a noble. “Tricking you wasn’t just wrong, it was cruel. If I thought for even one minute that things would turn out the way they did, I never would have done it but that does not make it acceptable.”

You bow your head and sink into a half-curtsy.

“Please, accept my sincerest apologies.”

The walleyed crewmember says nothing at first. Your cheeks grow red from embarrassment as you try to figure out what you ought to do next. He saves you from your discomfort when he lets out a loud, cawing laugh.

“All those fancy words for me, miss?” He guffaws. “In all me days I never thought a lady would speak so pretty to me.” He throws an arm around you in a friendly, but rough, manner and you straighten up to avoid falling over altogether. “So, am I forgiven?”

“Ya ran a bad scheme and it bit us all in the ass. We’ve all done it,” he assures her. “But it’s nice to know you aren’t too high and mighty to take the consequences.” Relief floods you as the other crewmates circle around. They give you approving nods, though you won’t go as far as to say they look upon you with trust or friendliness.

“Surely, the Captain requested more than just an apology,” Sevika says with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“The apology was my own doing,” you say as you approach her. “His punishment dictates that I am to report to you. I am to clean the deck.” Her eyebrows twitch as the corners of her mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh.

“I wouldn’t trust someone so soft-handed with the care of my deck but if the Captain insists…”

She trails off as she walks away. You realize you are meant to follow and hurry after her. She doesn’t offer anything by way of instruction. She tosses a bucket and a thick bristled brush towards you, which you fail to catch. The items clatter onto the floor. Your cheeks burn when you hear chuckles behind you. “Get to it,” Sevika grunts. You look at the empty bucket, noticing that it’s…well, empty.

“Where would I find water?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize your mistake. Everyone who heard begins to laugh.

“I think you can figure that one out on your own, princess,” Sevika smirks before heading below deck.

Jinx appears at your side, silent as a ghost but with the energy of a toddler who has had nothing but sweets all day.

“I rigged up a pulley system so you can fill your bucket. I’ll show you.”

She loops her arm through yours and pulls you across the deck. You fill your bucket with saltwater and approach one of the more gruesome remnants of the morning’s violence. Your stomach heaves as you spot something that might very well be a skull fragment.

Determined not to look foolish or weak, you get on your knees and scrub. You work diligently and without complaint, even when your arms start to ache and the wood remains stained despite your efforts.

It isn’t the approval of the crew you want, exactly. But you are going to be trapped on this ship for two weeks. While you aren’t looking to make friends with your captors, you also don’t want to find your throat slit in a moment of anger.

“How long are you going to keep doing that?” Jinx materializes by your side. Her braids fall into the puddle you’ve created with your scrubbing efforts. She doesn't seem to mind that she might be getting blood in her long hair.

“Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

You lift your head to find wide blue eyes staring at you with curiosity.

“I will keep doing this until the deck is clean.”

She barks out a laugh. “You’re never going to remove all the gross stuff with just water. Didn’t you know that?”

“I don’t often find myself in positions where I am scrubbing up gross stuff ,” you reply. “What else am I supposed to use?”

“Did Sevika not tell you?” Her brows knit together in a mix of concern and confusion.

“Tell me what?”

Jinx studies you for a moment longer before giggling. “Oh, I get it. Sevika’s having a go at you. Don’t worry. Everyone knows you’ll work without kicking up a fuss. I’ll be right back.”

She bounds off, leaving you confused. You take a moment to give your aching arms a break. You are aware of eyes on you, though the crewmates scattered around the deck do a decent job of not staring at you directly. You know this is some kind of test, one you’re determined to pass with flying colors even if the reward is earning the respect of pirates.

Jinx returns with a small tin.

“Watch this.” With a grin, she opens the tin to reveal vibrant purple powder. She sprinkles a little over the blood-soaked wood. “Pour a little water on that.”

You do as she instructs. With wide eyes, you watch the water hiss and bubble. It takes on a pale purple hue as it spreads. It eats away at the blood but leaves the wood unblemished.

“More water,” Jinx instructs. You comply. The bubbles wash away leaving behind smooth, clean wood.

“What is that?” You ask, eyeing the purple power.

“We’re still working on a name. I have several ideas but they always get shot down,” she says as she replaces the lid and tucks the tin into one of her many pockets.

“We?”

“The ship’s doctor. He likes to experiment.”

“This is the same doctor you got that strange drink from before, when I was first brought aboard?” You press.

“Yup!” Jinx beams.

“Well, the Captain tore that drink from my hands and threw it overboard before giving me water. What was wrong with it?” You shudder at the thought of drinking a substance that is capable of dissolving blood and chunks of brain matter being served to you in a cup.

“Nothing!” Jinx raises her hands, palms facing you. “Sometimes it has side effects, but usually it’s completely safe.”

“Usually?” You arch a brow.

“Sometimes it makes your veins swell and glow and you can occasionally develop abnormal growths on your body,” she explains. “But that’s only if the batch is made wrong or you take way too much.”

“None of the words coming from your mouth are bringing me comfort.”

“It’s science! It’s all about trial and error,” she shrugs. “If I thought it would hurt you I wouldn’t have given it to you.”

Despite everything, you believe her. You haven’t seen a hint of malice in her since you were brought aboard.

“But you still haven’t told me what it is,” you press.

“It’s…a tool,” she says with thoughtful consideration. “Depending on how we process it, it can do a lot of things. It can be medicine and poison at the same time. It can clean wood with gentle precision but also dissolve bone. A tricky thing, it is. Truly fascinating.”

“Interesting,” you murmur as your mind wanders to a person who possesses that same versatility. Another tricky thing.

You see Silco’s face in your mind’s eye but quickly shake his image away. You don’t want to think about the Captain right now. You’re still cross from the way he teased you and denied you. You’re even more cross knowing how much you would have begged for your pleasure had he not chosen to punish you the way he did. “Thank you for the help. Can I have some of that powder to help me clean?”

Jinx almost seems like she’s going to agree but she holds back. “I’ll just stay with you. We can talk and I’ll sprinkle a little whenever you need it.”

“That works for me.” You offer her a warm smile, a genuine one. She smiles back and settles between two crates to keep you company as you clean. ******** Though you finish cleaning the blood and gore from the deck the very day they were spilled, Sevika isn’t shy about giving you extra tasks. She never gives you anything too difficult though you know it’s not out of consideration for you, but for the ship.

You’ve scrubbed the deck twice a day for three days. When you aren’t scrubbing, you put your sewing skills to use mending sails. The thick material is hard to work with and the needles are little more than scraps of half-rusted metal but you make do.

With the help of quick hands, fast learning, and the strange purple powder Jinx offers you soon have far too much idle time on your hands.

You aren’t particularly fond of aimlessly pacing the deck. The Captain’s cabin is always open to you, but you spend as little time there as you can manage.

Despite Captain Silco’s demanding schedule, he always manages to be in the cabin whenever you are. The room is small enough as it is, but when you are in there together, the very air seems to struggle for space. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him unless you can help it. Yet, he never misses a chance to brush close to you. You feel his eyes on you, always. Even when you sleep.

Sharing his bed is a necessity but you keep your limbs tucked close to you and your body curled toward the cabin wall. He never touches you, which brings both relief and unimaginable frustration.

On the third night, you lay wide awake. Your entire body hums with pressure from the release that was denied days ago. The longing never went away but tonight it’s nearly unbearable.

You listen in the dark. Silco sleeps beside you. His breathing is deep and even. Though there is a soft glow from the ember of his ruined eye, you know he’s asleep. Slowly, very slowly, you shift onto your back. You wear only a borrowed shirt to sleep in. Your legs are left bare and your undergarments never recovered from your unexpected dip in the ocean. Tonight, it’s an advantage.

With great care, you slowly lift the long hem of your shirt until you feel the skin of your lower belly. You part your legs only an inch or two before letting your hand slowly wander between your legs beneath the shared blankets.

You listen intently as you move. Silco’s breathing never changes and you keep the rustling of bedsheets to a minimum.

You find it safe to assume that Silco is a heavy sleeper. Between the winds and rocking of the ship, it would be difficult for a finicky sleeper to find peace here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. As sound as your logic may be, logic is not what drives you at this moment.

The sensation of your fingertips against your skin is enough to make you shiver. You freeze, silently admonishing your lack of self-control before making another attempt. You don’t need much. Just a few light, indulgent touches. Just enough to remove the biting edge of desire that has taken up permanent residence in the back of your mind since Silco bent you over his knee. The pad of a single fingertip brushes against that sensitive, soaked bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to hurt. The pain is necessary if it keeps you from making even the softest of sounds.

You wait for a moment, listening to Silco’s breathing. When you are certain there is no change, you allow another slow drag of your fingertip. Then another. And another. Pleasure spins through your mind and soothes the needy ache you’ve carried in your core for days.

Fragmented images from the night of the storm slip through your mind. The memory of Silco’s soft groan when you rode him so slowly sends another ripple of warmth through your body. You can recall the exact sensation of his tongue as he teased your nipples. You can feel the way he throbbed inside of you when you drove each other to maddening releases.

Yet, somehow, you manage to keep your movements minimal, discrete, and silent. Even as your blood heats up and your heart pounds, you have enough self-control to keep yourself quiet as you relieve your desires.

An intoxicating sense of smugness adds another layer to your pleasure. Though it was memories of Silco that fueled that pleasure, he remains asleep beside you. Completely oblivious.

His ability to consistently underestimate you was truly something-

“What do we have here?” His velvet voice slides through the darkness and wraps around you as his hand finds yours. You’re grateful for the pitch blackness of the cabin so he cannot see the redness of your cheeks. Your mind, still caught in the haze of pleasure from your fingertip, struggles to come up with any sort of explanation.

There is nothing you can say for yourself. You’ve been caught.

His hand, still covering your hand, moves. He presses down on your fingers, forcing you to tease yourself. You push your hips down into the mattress to avoid the pressure of your own touch. “Oh, now you wish to follow the rules?” He taunts lightly.

You roll so that your back is to him. You tell yourself that you remain silent because you will not sink so low as to dignify his taunts with a response. Yet, deep in your belly where that spring of desire sits tightly coiled, you know that you cannot trust your own tongue right now. If you open your mouth to slice him with scathing words, there is a chance you’ll simply end up begging for pleasure.

Hatred blooms within the blush on your cheeks. How dare he toy with you in such a way? How dare you struggle so much to keep yourself in control around him? What happened that night, within the violence of the storm, was about control more than it was about pleasure.

But now? You have your hand between your legs, sneaking pleasure when you’ve always been able to go without when it suited you.

He’s made you desperate.

You remove your hand from between your legs and tuck both arms against your chest. You clamp your thighs together and pray that the sweet ache between them fades soon.

“If I catch you doing that again, I will not hesitate to bind your hands behind your back.” Silco’s voice comes through the darkness once more before he falls silent. You continue to say nothing. When the sun rises, you dress as quickly as you can and flee the cabin. Silco sits at his desk and you do not even have to look at him to know there is a smug smile on his mouth. Embarrassment and irritation propel you through your daily tasks in record time. It is not yet midday when you find that you have nothing to do.

The rest of the crew mill about at a comfortable pace. They don’t seem to be in any particular rush. Jinx is nowhere to be found. You assume she’s below decks with the strange doctor you have yet to meet. Disappointment flutters in your chest. As strange as it is, your favorite parts of the past few days were when she would perch near you ask you worked, and ramble on about everything and nothing. She often jumped from topic to topic without rhyme or reason and rarely bothered to make sure you had the proper context to understand anything she said, but you enjoyed listening. She helped you keep your mind busy.

When your mind is not busy, even for the briefest of moments, your thoughts always turn to Silco. More specifically Silcos’s hands. Or his mouth. Or his voice or his cock or his insufferable personality. Without care, it’s so easy for you to lose yourself in a whirlpool of obsessive, never-ending thoughts about that ridiculous, despicable, revolting pirate bastard.

Prickles of pure fury ripple over your skin. With a soft snarl of annoyance, you scan the deck for Sevika. You find her near the bow, watching the calm sea.

“I need something else to do,” you say.

She initially seems as though she does not hear you, but you’ve come to realize that it’s part of the game she plays. She makes you wait before turning slowly and looking at you as though you’re a piece of flotsam.

“Mend the sails,” she says.

“They’re all mended.” Despite their somewhat worn-down appearance, the sails are of remarkable quality. Even after that vicious beast of a storm, little mending was needed.

“And the deck?”

“As spotless as it can be with all of the wood rot.”

“And the spare line?”

“In perfect condition. It may as well be coils of silk.”

“How many pickled eggs are in the barrel?”

“Two-hundred and seventy-three.”

Her thick, dark brows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”

“If you want to double-check, you’re more than welcome but please give me something to do first before I throw myself overboard.”

Several emotions fight for dominance on Sevika’s stern face. You see flashes of surprise, humor, annoyance, and perhaps a little bit of respect though that might have been a trick of the light.

“Arlo is doing one of his big cooking hauls today,” Sevika says. “I’m sure he can use an extra set of hands.”

You had yet to venture below deck to meet the ship’s cook and see the mess deck. Jinx preferred to eat in the open air and had taken it upon herself to bring an extra serving for you at mealtimes.

You find the meal offerings of the Zaun’s Revenge to be, frankly, repulsive. At first, you assumed it was because your palate was used to Piltover’s fresh vegetables, vibrant spices, and choice cuts of meat. But you’d seen the way others look at their meals with disgust and longing and you knew you weren’t alone in your dislike of the cuisine.

Of course, could you truly expect to find something tasty aboard a pirate’s ship?

Sevika does not wait for you to answer. She turns away as though you are not there and focuses her gaze on the sea once more. You wonder if she’s looking for something or simply pondering. It’s not hard to imagine that those aboard this ship have had difficult lives filled with strife. You have more than most ever will, despite your losses, and you often need to take a moment to deal with the weight of it all by gazing at a soothing view. It clears the mind.

You make your way below deck, passing the crammed tables of the mess deck.

Arlo isn’t difficult to find. The mess deck and the kitchen are one and the same. A heavy-set man covered in a light sheen of sweat frantically tosses…something in a wide pan over a massive flame. The air carries a scent of burnt food and vinegar. Arlo watches the pan as though he believes the contents will jump out and bite him. To be fair, that doesn’t seem impossible.

“Hello?” You call softly, over the violent sizzle of the ill-fated meal.

Arlo looks over his shoulder and sets the pan aside, looking relieved to do so before a stern expression overtakes his somewhat doughy features. You can’t help but notice the red tinge to his watery grey eyes, irritated by the fumes of cooking such a creation.

“No early meals. You should know the rules by now, princess.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “I’m not here to beg for food. Sevika suggested you might need an extra hand. She said you were doing some kind of…food haul?” While you understand what each of those words mean separately, you are unsure of the combined meaning of them in this context.

“Aye?” He sniffs as he brings the corner of his apron up to rub at his eyes. “I like to cook big batches of things all at once and preserve them so it is easy to handle mealtimes. This lot is hard to feed.”

“Preserve them?” You ask. “You have enough salt for such a task?”

“Of a sort,” he says. “The good doctor below decks whipped up a preserving powder that works wonders. It tastes like nothing.”

Arlo jerks his chin towards a bowl sitting on one of the stained, cluttered counters. The bowl is filled with a grainy substance the same vibrant shade of purple as the powder that helped you get blood out of the deck.

“What is it?” You ask, leaning forward just a little.

“Beats me,” Arlo shrugs. “It’s not my place to ask questions, especially not when I’m given something helpful for free.”

“I can understand that,” you nod. “Do you need help with your food haul?”

“I won’t say no. Can you cook?”

You hesitate for a moment. “No. But if you have a recipe I can look at, I can surely figure it out.” You’ve always been a quick learner. And so many people know how to cook so how hard can it truly be? You doubt whatever concoctions Arlo makes take much skill.

“I don’t waste my time with recipes.”

“Then how do you cook?” You ask, unsure if you want to know the answer.

“I do what feels right.”

What feels right often leads to grey foods that are both mushy and crunchy at the same time.

“Did you study somewhere to become a cook?” Your training in polite conversation rears its head before you can stop it. Of course, he didn’t train anywhere. He’s a bloody pirate.

“People are trained to be cooks?” He looks at you with utter confusion.

“They prefer to be called chefs, but yes.”

“Ach,” he waves her off. “I’m no chef and I do not pretend to be. I just do my best to use whatever isn’t rotting or foul to keep the crew fed.”

Well, at least Arlo seems to have some sort of self-awareness. “Were you not able to gather more ingredients when we stopped at Port Fairna?” You ask. You vividly remember plenty of spice sellers and bakers lining the dirt streets.

“No,” Arlo answers sharply. “I do not mess about with such things.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “You do not manage your own stock?”

“No.” Came another curt reply. The cook avoids your gaze, choosing instead to look at his own hands.

You decide not to push the matter and instead, turn your attention to the shelves of the well-stocked scullery. Unfortunately, your confusion only deepens. The shelves are lined with rich spices from all over the world that look untouched. You spy garlic, onions, potatoes, carrots, and all manner of staple ingredients labeled and stored with heaps of the purple preservative.

“What are all of these?” You ask.

Arlo looks at the shelves you point to but quickly looks away. “Don’t know. Never seen ‘em before. Don’t know how to cook with ‘em so I don’t use them.”

“But it says what they are right on the containers,” you point out. “Surely, you’ve heard of garlic and potatoes even if you’ve never had them. Right?”

Arlo goes quiet for a moment and you briefly wonder if you’ve made some unforgivable error in an innocent question. “Aye. Yes, I’ve heard of them but I did not know we had them.”

“But they’re labeled. Did you not label them yourself?” He controls the kitchen, does he not?

Arlo’s cheeks turn a patchy red color that is not from the fumes or heat. “No, no I didn’t. I…can’t.”

You stare in confusion before shame and embarrassment creep into your gut. “You do not know how to write?”

“Or read.”

Arlo can’t meet your gaze. He seems frozen in place. Though he is nearly the side of the large, tattooed crewmember that once pulled you from the sea, he looks like a small child.

“Oh,” you say softly. It’s clearly a point of tenderness for Arlo. You don’t wish to upset him even more. “Well, then this seems like a perfect arrangement.”

He lifts his head and looks at you with a quizzical expression. “What?”

“I can read but I cannot cook. You can cook but cannot read. It seems like an ideal pairing to me.” You offer him a smile.

For a brief moment, you wonder at your own actions. You’d never go out of your way to be unkind to someone who did not deserve it and you always try to do what’s right, but you know yourself. You have a temper and a spiteful streak that prevent you from ever calling yourself a nice person, though you like to think you are kind in all of the ways that matter.. Arlo is a pirate. Arlo likely knew of the plan to kidnap you and hold you for ransom. Arlo is one of Silco’s men and, therefore, cannot possibly be a good person.

Yet, you find it easy to be nice to him. Natural, even. He doesn’t seem like a scowling, sneering member of a villainous pirate crew determined to put you through hell before returning you to your father and fiance.

He’s just…a person.

So is Jinx.

You are surrounded by people. Just people.

You shake away the thought. Yes, the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge are people but they are people who willingly follow a terrible man capable of terrible things. There are no innocent people aboard this ship and you cannot allow sentimentality and loneliness to cloud that fact.

Still, if a little teamwork can yield some decent food, you’re willing to give it a go.

With Arlo’s approving nod, you push into the scullery and examine what you have to work with. The stock aboard this half-rotted ship rivals your larder back home. You gather up ingredients you know work well together and read the labels to Arlo. His eyes light up with inspiration.

“If I had known we had such things, I would have used them ages ago,” he says with an excited smile.

“No one helped you until now?” You press.

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly a helpful bunch. We handle our own responsibilities and we don’t gripe to anyone else. No one wants to be seen as a weak link in the chainmail. Weak links don’t last long. Asking for help would mean dumping some of my responsibilities on someone else’s lap. It’s just not done, you see?”

“No, not really,” you answer. “Asking for help is not a weakness.”

“We can agree to disagree on that but let me ask you something.” Arlo took a head of garlic and began peeling and mincing the cloves with speed and precision. “When was the last time you answered a call for help?”

You open your mouth to answer but falter. You cannot remember a time you were last approached by someone in need of help.

“Well, no one has asked me for help in recent memory so I cannot say,” you answer.

“And that automatically means that no one around you needed help?”

“I-” you stammer. “I don’t know.”

“I bet you live in a big, fancy house. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks coloring with embarrassment as you pass a vial of dried green herbs to Arlo.

“And lots of people get paid to be in that house and make your life easier?”

“Yes,” you repeat.

“And you don’t think those people have struggles that you could probably help with?”

You want to say no. You want to believe that everyone working for your family is happy and content with their job as well as their personal lives but you are not that naive.

Except…perhaps, you are.

“I never thought about it,” you admit.

“And they never asked because that’s not how it’s done. Their burdens are their own. My burdens are my own. It is the way of things.”

You let his words sit heavy on your chest as you rummage through the scullery. You’re almost grateful when you smell the thick stench of rot from ingredients kept too long. You clear out everything that doesn’t look right and shove it into a bin to be disposed of later.

You think of your lady’s maid and realize you know little about her. You do not know if she has siblings, a lover, a best friend, or even if her parents are alive. You have no idea why she applied for a position with your family. As much as you’d like to think your family are good employers, you know it’s foolish to believe her greatest joy in life is tightening your corset and brushing your hair.

“Would this be a tasty addition?” Arlo calls, bringing you out of your thoughts as he holds up a jar of dried peppers. You read the label and wince.

“Are spicy dishes popular among the crew?” You ask. “Just one of those would set your mouth on fire.”

“Better leave it for another day, then,” he shrugs. “I don’t want to overwhelm anyone with too many new flavors.”

Though Arlo never had any training, his instincts as a cook come to life the moment he fully realizes just what he has to take advantage of. Vegetables are minced and sauteed quickly. You find some bone broth tucked away in the scullery. There is no shortage of fishmeat to choose from. You read the labels to Arlo who looks on in wonder.

“I thought this was bass and this was carp,” he says, pointing to two containers of preserved fishmeat. “I never knew that was eel. It all looks so different when it’s sliced up and skinned.”

“Who does the fishing?”

“A few crewmembers have a knack for it. All of Sevika’s gadgets make her the obvious choice for skinning, deboning, and filleting,” Arlo explains. “It’s brought to me all packaged up like this.”

It seems odd to you that the systems around food are so sloppy, especially since Silco seems to thrive on order. Upon further reflection, you realize you haven’t actually seen him eat. He left his plate untouched at the tavern. He let you eat his bread and potatoes. You saw him drink from his tankard but you cannot recall him taking a bite of his food.

Surely, he must eat. Though he is a pirate, he’s displayed a sense of elegance and taste on more than one occasion. You simply cannot see him eating the food prepared by his illiterate cook.

But why does it matter to you? He’s obviously eating enough to keep himself alive. Why would you care what he eats?

You don’t care. And you don’t want to think about him. You have an important task on hand that is, truthfully, quite fun. You’ve come across many of the spices and herbs stored in the scullery during your travels. Smelling them brings pleasant memories. While you do not know how to cook, you know how to describe what things taste like. In the event Arlo knows nothing about an ingredient, you are sometimes able to provide some knowledge. It’s a strange system, but it somehow works.

Arlo keeps your mind busy. He even teaches you how to chop a few things. Your hands are clumsy but you make it work. Within an hour, you are dutifully stirring a massive pot of fish stew. While it’s not something you’d choose for yourself, it’s an improvement on whatever Arlo made before. “It’s strange to be a cook on a pirate ship in the middle of the ocean and have access to things I never even knew existed growing up,” Arlo says, holding a potato in his hands.

“You never had a potato until joining this crew?” You itch to ask why he joined in the first place but you allow him to reveal information about himself at his own pace.

“Potatoes grow from the earth, yeah?” He asks. You nod. “Which means they need something in order to grow.” He gives you an expectant look. You know you’re being tested again but potatoes are a safer topic than the unknown personal lives of your staff. “Sunshine, water, and fertilizer, I presume.”

“There is no sunshine where I come from,” Arlo says. “Water can’t be wasted on plants but even if it could, there is no earth. You can’t grow something of the earth if there is no earth for growing.”

“Oh,” you murmur softly. “You’re from the Undercity, then?”

“Almost all of us are,” Arlo says. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Well, I haven’t been in a very social mood as of late. Being kidnapped tends to do that.” You offer a small smirk, which Arlo returns.

“Fair enough,” he nods. “You seem like a decent sort for a spoiled heiress.”

“You seem like a decent sort for a pirate who can’t read.”

Arlo barks out a laugh. “Perhaps, your ransom money will buy me a tutor.”

You can’t help but laugh at that as you continue to stir the stew. With a little thrill of accomplishment, you realize that you’ve not only assisted in the preparation of a meal but you’ve done so without thinking of Silco for more than a few moments. He’s hardly entered your mind at all.

Footfalls thump on the wooden stairs leading to the deck. You spot tall, well-kept boots wrapped around slender legs.

It is as if your thoughts - or lack thereof - summoned him like some kind of devilish moth to a flame that would prefer to be left unbothered. “Ah, there you are,” Silco says as he enters the mess deck. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Working,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the stew.

“I did not assign you to the kitchen.”

“You told me to take orders from Sevika. Sevika sent me here. Arlo and I are getting along brilliantly, aren’t we?” You look over your shoulder at the cook who glances between you and Silco with a look of panicked confusion. Eventually, his gaze stops on Silco.

“I didn’t know you didn’t want her working in the kitchen, Captain,” he says quickly. His voice trembles with nerves and you feel anger flickering to life in your stomach.

“I should warn you, Arlo,” Silco speaks as though the cook said nothing. “Our prisoner does not have a talent for following directions. She can be sneaky and disobedient if she believes she can get away with it.”

Your cheeks burn as you understand exactly what he means.

Before you can stop yourself, you pull the wooden spoon from the stew and chuck it at Silco. He dodges, but barely. His good eye widens in surprise as you search for something else to launch at him. Perhaps a nice sharp butcher’s knife. Instead, you find a whisk. You throw it without hesitation.

“Have you gone mad?” Silco snaps, dodging the second projectile. How can someone with one working eye be so good at dodging and judging distance? Although, you don’t know for certain if the ruined eye still has a vision. Could that be possible?

You let out a frustrated groan as your mind tries to give in to your curiosity about the infuriating pirate before you.

“Oh, I see,” Silco chuckles. “You’re just upset I won’t let you cu-”

He is silenced by a spatula spinning through the air as it hurtles toward him. He dodges once more.

“I have plenty of things to throw at you,” you warn him. “And if I have gone mad, it’s entirely your fault so I will not feel bad if I crack your nose with a rolling pin.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Arlo murmurs softly.

“Temper, temper,” Silco tuts before backing up toward the stairs. “Don’t let her poison me, Arlo. I don’t put it past her to try.”

Arlo gives you a concerned look as Silco vanishes.

“Don’t worry,” you say with a bitter note in your voice. “I won’t poison anyone.”

“It’s not that, though I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “But you just threw things at the Captain. Have you lost your bleeding senses, woman?”

“Most likely.” You find another spoon to stir the stew with and continue on as though Silco did not interrupt your work.

“Just be careful,” Arlo warns. “The Captain is not to be trifled with.”

“Neither am I.” ******** The stew is well received, but that’s not a surprise. Even if it still tastes off to you, it’s a massive improvement. The mess deck is packed with crewmembers licking their bowls clean and sniffing out second helpings. You and Arlo made enough stew to last several meals but it is all gone in the span of an hour. Arlo frets about rationing ingredients but his worries are soon put to rest from an overflow of praise. Even Sevika cracks a smile as she sips her broth.

Silco does not eat with the crew, but that doesn’t surprise you. A spiteful part of you is glad that he will miss out on such a delightful meal. It serves him right for being so…so… Him.

As night falls, the crew settles into a leisurely state.

You get to work scrubbing the dirty dishes, eager to have a task that will keep you out of the Captain’s chambers for as long as possible.

“Ach, leave it to me,” Arlo says. “You’ve done enough.”

“I don’t mind,” you protest, even though dishwashing is not an appealing task after seeing the way the pirates eat. “I should be helping.”

“Come have a drink with us,” comes the deep voice of the tattoo-covered man. After listening to the conversation during mealtimes, you gleaned that his name is Locke.

“Oh, I-” You stammer, surprised by the invitation. A slender crewmember with dark choppy hair moves to Locke’s side. You’re fairly certain they go by Ran.

“Come on,” they urge. “You’ve worked hard enough. And none of us have given you proper credit for taking Walley’s punishment the other day. It took nerve to speak up like that. Most of us wouldn’t have done that.”

You look back at Arlo, who gives a nod of approval. Your gaze returns to Locke and Ran. Though they do not look as intimidating as they did when you first came aboard, you wouldn’t call their demeanors friendly, either but that’s something you’ve come to expect. Everyone on this ship comes from a rough place. It makes sense that even kindness looks abrasive in your eyes. “Okay,” you nod. A part of your mind begins to scheme. If you can befriend some of the crew, perhaps you can pull off an escape after all. The other part of your mind is simply glad you have a reason to stay out of the Captain’s cabin. Besides, it will surely irritate Silco that his crew is being so welcoming to you. That’s a lovely bonus to this situation.

You follow Locke and Ran to the main deck where quite a few members of the crew including Jinx and Sevika stand around a cluster of torches bound together in a damp barrel. It doesn’t seem like the safest arrangement, but you don’t say as much. You move to Jinx’s side. She beams when she sees you and throws a playful, but rough, arm over your shoulder.

“It’s about time you started being social,” she says with a glint of mischief in her eyes. You almost want to remind her that you are a prisoner, a captive. Socializing is not a priority. You decide against it. She’s just a kid. She’s happy and she’s aware of the situation. You’ll leave well enough alone.

“Here, princess.” Sevika presses a tin into your hand. You can smell the alcohol even though the tin is nowhere near your face.

“What is it?” You ask.

“The finest vintage imported from uppityland courtesy of Star Crossed Shipping,” Sevika snorts before taking a gulp of her own drink. You try not to bristle at the mention of your father’s company.

“Seriously, what is it?” You whisper to Jinx.

“I don’t know. I only drink coralberry juice,” she shrugs. “Nothing else is sweet enough.”

You’ve never heard of coralberries or their juice. It’s entirely possible that Jinx is making up a random drink for the fun of it. Either way, your cup is filled with something dark and pungent. It is only when you notice that many crewmembers are watching you with curious and expectant looks that you realize they’re waiting for you to drink. They probably expect you to choke and sputter, proving that you’re too soft and fragile compared to them.

You don’t know why the idea bothers you, but it does. You brace yourself and take a drink.

And it is awful.

If you had to guess, you’d say it was some kind of spiced rum but that doesn’t make the burn any easier to bear as you swallow it down. Your eyes water so much that everyone blurs together in a smudgy mess. For a moment, you think you’re going to be sick. Or that your skin is going to melt off. It’s hard to know for sure.

Even when you swallow the liquid down and the feeling passes, your tongue feels numb. Surely, that’s nothing to worry about. Right?

You are rewarded with approving glances but never any outright praise. Not that it matters. Why would you want the praise of a bunch of pirates? Why would you want praise for choking down something that tastes like it was made in a boot?

You shudder as you realize that it likely was made in a boot or something equally foul.

Thankfully, attention moves away from you as everyone settles down to swap stories. Jinx pulls two crates together and urges you to sit on one.

“Every word of these stories is utter shit, but they’re entertaining,” Jinx whispers to you. “I hope Locke tells about the time he caught a deep sea spineshark with nothing more than a stick and some fishing line.”

You listen to the stories and Jinx’s words ring true. It quickly becomes clear that the purpose is not to share experiences, but to outdo each other with fictional feats of glory. Though, when Sevika speaks of punching a ravenous whale right in the eye, you feel as though there is a measure of truth in her words. Especially if that punch was done by her three-pronged attachment.

“I wonder who is going shout liar first,” Jinx murmurs as her eyes scan the faces of those around her.

“What?” You ask.

“Eventually, someone tells a story that’s so impossible, so unbelievable, that someone else calls them a lair. Then they fight over it.”

“Fight? As in, fight ?” You shake your head. How is this considered a fun activity?

“Yup!” Jinx’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “It’s the best part.”

“If you say so,” you shrug and continue to listen.

Sure enough, a skinny sailor with sunken eyes and a permanent scowl tells a tale that is just a little bit too farfetched and it sends Locke over the edge.

“Lair!” Locke booms, spilling some of his drink.

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the ass,” the other sailor snarls.

“This is going to be a boring fight,” Jinx mumbles. “No one will throw a punch at Locke and Locke is too honorable to punch someone smaller than him.”

Never in a thousand years would you have looked at Locke and thought the word honorable applies to him. But Jinx’s prediction rings true. The two sailors shout and swear at each other for a little while but they do not come to blows.

“At least I am a decent shot,” Locke grumbles as the argument reaches its head.

“My nan is a better shot than you are and she’s fuckin’ blind,” the other man snarls, earning a round of snickers from the rest of the crew.

“Your nan died three years ago, you twat.”

“Yeah! And she can’t see for shit!”

You nearly spit out your tentative sip of likely-rum at that. You try to rein in your laughter when you realize everyone else is doing the opposite, especially Jinx.

“Bring me a rifle,” Locke snaps. “We’ll settle this now.”

“You don’t have any targets to aim for, you buffoon,” Ran quips as they drain their cup.

“That don’t matter,” the skinny sailor says with a dismissive wave. “I’m so drunk I can see just about as well as my nan.”

“Then how are we going to settle our little disagreement?” Locke demands. “By proxy?”

“Sure, I’ll choose a proxy to defend my honor,” the sailor scoffs. His bleary eyes scan his surroundings before his gaze lands on you. “I bet the little heiress can outshoot you.”

Locke rolls his eyes and your cheeks flush red.

“I’ll bet my life’s earning she’s never even held a firearm before,” Locke mutters.

“Yet she can still outshoot you,” the sailor slurs.

Your apprehension melts away as you realize everything is said in good fun. For reasons you are unsure of, you decide to join in.

“I’ve never held a firearm but I’m certain Locke has never danced a waltz,” you say.

Locke levels you with a hard stare, one brow arched. “Who needs waltzing?”

“Who needs to be a good shot in alone in the middle of the ocean?” You point out.

“Good marksmanship is very useful in piracy,” Locke says. “Waltzing is not.”

“Waltzing requires grace, balance, self-awareness, spatial awareness, and the ability to read those around you. You don’t have only your partner to worry about but other pairs around you. Can the same be said for shooting?”

“Yes!” Jinx exclaims. “Well, maybe not the bit about a partner but that’s all true.”

“What a load of shit,” Locke grumbles.

“It’s true,” Sevika chimes in. Her word seems to make all the difference even if she only speaks up for the sake of her own entertainment.

You look at Locke who still seems to be struggling with the idea that a waltz and a rifleman use the same skillset. “I propose a challenge.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

“If I can shoot better than Locke can waltz, I win,” you say.

“Win what?” Locke asks.

“Bragging rights?” You suggest. You don’t want to trade away any chores since you need them in order to avoid being alone with Silco.

“Done,” Locke nods with a smirk. Despite his menacing appearance, he looks almost…giddy. Like he’s happy to take part in something that’s truly ridiculous. “Come take your shot.”

You stand and approach Locke as Ran brings a rifle to him.

“Do you have any idea how to shoot this at all?” Locke asks.

“Nope,” you admit.

“In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’ll show you just enough to keep you from hurting yourself,” he says.

“How gallant.”

He shows you how to hold the rifle, which is far heavier than you imagined. As per instruction, you keep the barrel pointed toward the open ocean at all times. As you hold it, your arms start to tremble. Locke prepares the rifle for firing and you suspect he’s taking longer than necessary just to see you struggle.

“If there is no target, how can we know whether I’ve made a good shot or not?” You ask.

“Don’t worry. That won’t matter.”

“But my part of the challenge is a test of marksmanship,” you protest only to be met with a chuckle.

“Okay, princess. Go ahead and fire.” Locke gives you a nod and you gently tap your finger against the trigger. Aiming at the endless, empty expanse of the black ocean, you pull the trigger fully. You expect the loud boom but you do not expect to feel the entire rifle revolt against your grip, slamming into your shoulder. You stumble back with a small yelp, much to the enjoyment of the spectators around you.

Locke tosses his head back and laughs, his shoulders shaking.

“What the hell was that?” You stammer. Ran takes the rifle from you, freeing your hands to rub at your shoulder.

“Recoil. To be honest, I expected to you land on your ass,” Locke chuckles.

“You might have given me some warning.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The pirate says.

“Well, once I confirm that my shoulder hasn’t been launched from its socket, I’m going to make you waltz and we’ll see how you do,” You mutter, still testing the soreness in your arm and shoulder. “If you complete the waltz without tripping, you’ll win. Is that fair?” That seems fair to you since Locke expected the rifle’s recoil to send you to the ground.

“Easy enough,” he agrees.

“Good. Stand here.” You direct him to stand in front of you. “Watch my feet.”

With a phantom partner, you demonstrate the basic steps of a waltz before returning to Locke.

“Got it?” You ask.

“Yes,” Locke nods though he does not seem very confident.

“Good. Remember, if you trip, I win.” You place his hands in the correct positions and do the same for yourself. He’s much taller and broader than anyone you’ve ever danced with. Your arms feel suspended in an awkward way that almost makes you laugh.

“I don’t suppose we have any music?”

“Depends. Can one play a waltz on the side of a barrel?” Jinx asks.

“Likely not,” you chuckle. “It’s no matter. I will count out the beat. That won’t be too difficult for you, will it?” You taunt Locke who only nods.

You begin to count, but nothing happens. Locke stands stock still.

“You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead,” you prompt him.

“Right. Naturally,” he grumbles and waits for you to begin your count. When you do, he steps forward instead of backward, trampling your foot. You hold in your laughter as you shake your head.

“I didn’t think you’d stumble on the very first step,” you tease. “Had I known such a game would be so easy to win I would have joined the fun sooner.”

“I’ve never done any of that fancy Piltover dancing before. Let me try again,” Locke mutters. “It’s a stupid dance. It’s not that hard.”

“If you say so,” you shrug before taking up position again. You begin to count once more. To Locke’s credit, he manages two steps before stumbling, earning a round of laughter from the crew.

“What is the meaning of this?” A voice like a burst of cold wind blew over the deck. Silco stood at the top of the stairs leading to his cabin. The laughter amongst the crew faded into nothing. Only Jinx looked unaffected by the Captain’s sudden presence.

“A friendly challenge,” you explain. “Nothing more.”

“I can see that,” Silco says as he steps closer to the cluster of burning torches. The firelight casts his face in harsh shadows that make him look even more inhuman than he already does. “But I cannot allow the crew of the Zaun’s Revenge to look incompetent. Locke, step aside.”

“Aye, Captain.” The confusion is clear in his voice as he stumbles back. You are unable to fully hide your confusion as well, especially when Silco steps before you and takes your hand.

“The honor of the Zaun’s Revenge is at stake. You will not leave this ship under the misbelief that no one here can execute a decent waltz.”

Well, that’s an unexpected development.

“Do what you are able,” you reply with a note of challenge in your voice that does not go unnoticed by your new partner. You bring your hand to rest on his shoulder as you prepare to dance. “One more thing,” he says before looking to his crew. “Walley, do you still have that old fiddle?”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Fetch it.”

The crewmember scurried away and quickly returned with the promised fiddle.

“Play Across a Sea so Clear and Blue, ” Silco orders before looking down at you. “I doubt you know it but it will suffice for a waltz. Surely, you can adapt.”

“Surely,” you bristle.

Walley beings to play his fiddle. Though you do not know the song, the time signature is well-suited for a waltz. You wait for Silco to lead you into the dance, expecting him to miscount or falter but he doesn’t. The pair of you move across the deck as though you’ve done this a hundred times before and plan to do it a hundred times more.

You quickly adjust to each other’s movements and soon he leaves room for you to add flourishes to the simple steps, which you do without hesitation. Your movements are slow and precise. As you dance with him, you cannot help but think of how different this is from the passion you shared during the storm. Silco leads you through the dance expertly, trusting you to be a competent partner. This isn’t a show of dominance or power but a display of grace and unity. Two bodies moving as one to create something elegant and lovely.

The song ends far too soon, as does the dance. You feel breathless even though the dance was not at all physically demanding. You’re speechless even as your body moves you through the motions of curtsying to your partner.

Thankfully, Jinx appears at your side. She’s nearly vibrating with excitement.

“How did you do that? You looked like you were floating!” She says, looking between you and Silco. Her question is a good one.

Where does a pirate learn how to waltz, let alone waltz so well?

“I…” You start only to trail off. “I need a drink.”

You move away from Silco, back to your abandoned cup. You force yourself to take a sip and you are grateful that it goes down easier this time. The alcohol settles in your belly and dulls the unwanted feelings swirling through you.

Jinx joins you soon and within minutes, the crew is back to swapping stories and boasting as though the waltz never happened.

Your gaze wanders to the bow. Though that part of the ship is kept in darkness, Silco’s figure is even darker and you can see him easily.

Curiosity and something deeper that you do not wish to think about tugs at you. You do your best to ignore it for as long as you are able, but it’s like a persistent buzzing fly hovering around your head.

With a resigned sigh, you get up and move toward the bow. No one stops you or questions you.

You reach Silco’s side and stand quietly in the darkness for a moment. You can hear the gentle lap of the water against the ship’s hull and you can see the sparkling array of stars above, but everything else is black.

“If you’ve come to beg for another dance, I’m afraid I will disappoint you,” Silco says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, as though he does not wish the stars to overhear him.

“I wasn’t going to,” you say. “But I was going to ask where you learned to dance like that.”

“It does not take much to learn how to waltz,” he says. Though you cannot see his face, save for the glow of his ruined eye, you get the sense that he’s avoiding something.

“It’s not just that,” you say. “You dance like a gentleman. You carry yourself like a gentleman. You speak like a gentleman, for the most part. Yet, you’re…”

“A pirate? A sea hound? A scoundrel? A criminal?”

“You could have stopped at pirate but yes,” you nod, earning a soft chuckle from Silco. “But even still, you’re nothing like the pirates my father has encountered.”

“I’ll admit to that,” he says. “I am not like any other pirate roaming the seas. I have no wish to scavenge from trade ships. If I wished to fight for scraps with a thousand other desperate fools, I would have stayed in the Undercity.”

Silco does not need to see your face to know his words have thrown you.

“Is it more believable that a pirate can carry himself well than it is to believe a gutter rat can do the same?”

“I have not known what to believe for several days now,” you say. “I’d be willing to believe almost anything.”

The chuckle that leaves Silco’s throat is dry and humorless. “The Piltover Naval Academy loves bottomfeeders with a sad story.”

Your eyes widen in the darkness.

Of course, that makes perfect sense. He wasn’t daunted by the storm. He runs his ship with precision and discipline one would not attribute to ordinary pirates. He’s managed to instill a sense of both fear and loyalty in his crew. And those who attend the academy are taught etiquette, dance, deportment, and anything else that can shape them into shining jewels of society.

Your mind snaps back to the day you were kidnapped, before everything went to hell. Captain Vander spoke of the academy briefly. There was a moment when a shadow fell over his features as he spoke of his past. And he knew Silco. As did Quartermaster Benzo.

“Did you know Captain Vander?” You ask softly, unsure if you wish to know the answer or not.

Silence stretches out between you and Silco. Even though you are within arms reach of him, you feel as though you may as well be an ocean away.

“Yes.” His voice is soft yet somehow still harsh. Bitter but sad.

“Were you…close?” you ask, unsure if there is a better way to phrase it. The way Captain Vander looked at Silco aboard The Hound went beyond normal anger. There was history there.

“For a time,” Silco replies.

You’re shocked that he gave you any kind of real answer.

“What happened?” You press, wanting to see how far you can take your questions.

“Professional differences,” Silco mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

Silco turns to look at you as silence falls once more. Though you can barely make out his features, you can see he is fighting some kind of war within himself. You are about to take the high road and apologize for prying, as the rules of polite conversation demand, when the ship suddenly heaves hard to one side.

Unable to right yourself in time, you start to fall. Silco’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls you to him, allowing you to use his body to steady yourself. Farther down the deck, the crew voices their confusion amongst themselves, unsettled by the sudden jolt.

“What was that?” You ask, turning your gaze to the sky as though you expect another terrible storm to blow in out of nowhere. But the skies are perfectly clear and the wind is calm. The ocean, however, tells a different story. The faint light of the torches reaches the water closest to the ship. Instead of the calm, docile sea, the Zaun’s Revenge glided on only moments ago, the water was as violent as a bubbling cauldron.

“Get back,” Silco urges, guiding you away from the railing.

“What is it?” You repeat.

Silco does not get a chance to answer. In the blink of an eye, the sea erupts. At first, you fear the ship has nudged some kind of explosive. You can think of nothing else that would explain the towering column of water rising just off the starboard bow.

The water crashes back down to the ocean’s surface except that it doesn’t. Water rolls off the form of something huge, something that also looks like water. You blink over and over, trying to make sense of what you are seeing.

You spot two glowing orbs that shine brilliant blue, brighter than any star in the sky. They look like glowing stones that are somehow perfectly round. Your stomach drops as the crew leaps to action around you and more torches are quickly illuminated. The glowing stones are not stones at all.

They are eyes.

Glowing, unnatural eyes deeply set into a massive head made entirely of living water. The head boasts a long snout. Water vapor floated like smoke from what you believe to be nostrils. Its long, curving neck ripples as the water that made up its body somehow managed to keep its shape. Its serpentine body vanishes into the sea as its proud head takes in the sight of the ship. Its watery jaw opens revealing long, sharp teeth that look deadly despite also being made of water.

The creature let out a shriek that makes your vision go blurry for a moment. Your mind still grapples with what your eyes attempt to understand but there is one thing you know for certain. You are not safe.

The water monster shrieks once more and dives toward the deck with open jaws.

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #arcane silco #silco arcane #pirate!silco #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco smut #to the depths

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beef-bakery · 2 years

Note

IDK if your ask for fics is open, but I feel like 'angst with happy ending'.

How about: Silco is usually very protective over his and readers small daughter (eventually Jinx, but i feel like it will be more angsty with a biological child), but this day everything went wrong. Reader is away,chem barons meeting was horrible, *Scar's voice*he's surrounded by idiots etc... so he snapped at his child and told her to stop wasting his time. She's disappeared and he can't find her oh no and reader will be home veeery soon

Yes my asks are open!! Feel free to send more prompts because i LOVED this!! It would’ve been out sooner but my editor decided to take a break halfway thru editing smdh (im kidding if you see this bae I love uuu)

Damage Control

Rating: Silco x gn!Reader - SFW - 3.1k words

Warnings: angst, possible ooc moments from mr. mans

Silco had always had poor pain management. And at this moment, there was an insatiable pounding in his head that he couldn't quite shake. The splitting feeling coming from his head was enough to drive anyone mad, and he was at his limit. The bickering voices of the chem barons echoed through his ears and into his skull, worsening matters.

“Enough,” he finally ordered, giving into his impatience.

They all went quiet, staring at him obediently. The complete submission would've brought him a sort of satisfaction on any other day.

Distracted by the constant barrage of pain, Silco realized he must have spoken with a harsher tone than he’d intended. He softened his voice ever so slightly; not to be merciful, but simply because the sound of his own voice initiated a fresh pounding in his right temple.

“Clearly nothing can be decided when you fail to reach a conclusion on such a simple matter as distribution. We’ll reconvene next week when you’ve reconsidered your priorities.”

Silco nodded to Sevika and stood up on legs two dimes away from trembling. Silco attempted to keep up the facade until he was out of the room, walking with a strange gait. Making his way into a carriage, he finally relented, exhaustion getting the best of him as he leaned his head against the glass.

The sound of heavy breaths filled the air as Silco attempted to go through the breathing exercises you had taught him. You were prone to frequent headaches and had encouraged him to learn how to manage pain with you.

Oh, to have you by his side.

You were currently over in Topside, doing damage control after one of his more… advantageous endeavors had gotten out of hand. The destruction had been devastating, and while it had pleased him in some way, clean up was needed.

You had been slightly cross with him before you had left, a bad night of sleep and unfortunate circumstances weighing you down. Neither of you enjoyed going to Topside, and you were continuously ridiculed by the enforcers despite your connection to him. You weren't going to be doting on him when you got back, headache or not.

It seemed to take hours to arrive back at the Last Drop, even though the rational part of Silco’s brain knew that the bar was only a couple of minutes away.

The urge to drag his feet along the wooden floors and up the stairs was strong, but Silco had a reputation to uphold.

Having finally made it upstairs, Silco poured himself a glass of water. It wasn’t his typical beverage of choice, but whiskey would do nothing to soothe his headache. Taking a large swallow, Silco settled down at his desk, looking with some foreboding at the mountain of paperwork awaiting him. The pounding had lessened slightly, the fresh air in the carriage having done him some good. Preparing to dig into his work, Silco set a pen to paper just as the office door banged open.

“Dad!” A little girl slammed the door open before launching herself across the desk, scattering papers everywhere. The sound of the door smacking against the wall was enough to make his headache flare up again.

A grin wide enough to show off the gaps between her teeth greeted him. His daughter scooted her butt across the desk, settling herself in his lap. Her hands looped around his midsection as she pressed her face into his chest.

Normally the arrival of his daughter was enough to make Silco’s stress melt away, but today was not that kind of day. Silco barely restrained himself from hitting the small child, something he would've done to his underlings had they interrupted him in such a way. Instead he took in a controlled breath, pushing the chair out of the way as he stood up slowly. The girl clung to him, holding her own as he stood up.

“Jinx,” Silco said, purposefully pushing any amusement out of his voice to demonstrate his seriousness. “Please let go of me.”

Unfortunately Jinx didn't listen, instead burrowing further into his coat. “Dad,” she said, her voice muffled. “I had a really bad day.”

“Yes, I know, little one,” Silco said wearily. If it were any other day, he would've run his hand through her hair as he listened to her speak, or even just allowed her to spend time with him, sitting in his lap, her cheek resting on his shoulder while he did paperwork. But not today.

“But I really need to work.” He slowly peeled away the girl from his body, her pleading eyes failing to sway him. Silco turned around to pick up the fallen papers when he felt the little girl jump on his rounded back.

Breathe, he repeated to himself, trying not to let his impatience run away from him. He grabbed her hands, still wrapped around his shoulders, and pulled them off. He heard the sound of a sob behind him, but ignored it as he began to gather the papers. In addition to not wanting to enable her tantrums, you had always said it would be best for Jinx’s development if he allowed her to self soothe. A louder wail sounded before a full-blown scream was let loose from the little girl’s throat.

Silco’s headache was not kind to him, ripping into his head with a throbbing pain. Whipping around, Silco saw red.

“Do you not understand that there are other people, Jinx? That your problems are not the only ones there are in the world?” Silco felt regret with every word he said, but the pain was in the driver's seat and he couldn't bring himself to shut his mouth. “I have more important things to spend my time on. You are wasting that time, you hear me?”

Jinx’s eyes watered but she refused to let the tears fall, her lip trembling with the effort of keeping her emotions reigned in. Silco felt his heart soften ever so slightly as he took a step forward, arms reaching out to her.

Jinx’s eyes widened, a tear streaming down her face as she flinched away. Silco felt sick then, watching her scramble to her feet and race out the door. Falling back into his chair, Silco rubbed a hand down his face, sighing wearily.

As he had said, there were more important things to do, and he might as well get them done while he waited for his daughter to calm down. He gathered the papers and set to work.

—-

It was late when Silco finished, the pile of papers towering high above his desk. Silco set the pen down, flexing his fingers to release the tension. After doing a few preliminary stretches, Silco set forth, his daughter’s room his final destination.

He tentatively knocked on the door with two knuckles, with no response.

“Hey bug, I know you don't want to talk to me, but I’d like to know how you’re feeling.” There was no response so he continued. “I had a bad day too, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry.” The silence on the other side of the door was deafening. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Silco knocked again, and when there was no response, he tugged on the handle. The doorknob gave easily and opened; it wasn't locked. Surveying the room, Silco’s heart dropped. The room was clean - as clean as a seven year old could keep it - and empty.

Silco opened the door wider, stepping inside. “Jinx?” Silco’s search became more frantic as he couldn't find the little girl. The closet was empty, the space beneath the bed full of dust and forgotten toys. Anxiety began to crawl up his throat.

“Sevika!”

Sevika arrived shortly, as dedicated as usual. “Yes?”

“Have you seen Jinx?”

Sevika shook her head. “I only saw her leave your office and head to her room.” Silco sighed, sitting down on the bed. There was a patch that was still warm. If only the goddamn window wasn't open and the sounds from outside weren't so loud, he would be able to think clearer.

Silco’s eyes snapped open as he slowly turned to the window. The window, which was open. In two quick strides, Silco was there, leaning over and looking outside. There was no trace of the little girl, and Silco’s heart stopped.

“Sevika.” Silco turned around. “I want everyone who can be spared working on this. Jinx needs to be found.”

“Of course,” Sevika said, turning to leave.

Silco slumped once she had left the room, burrowing his head in his hands. After taking a few deep breaths to situate himself, Silco got up, smoothing out the wrinkles on the bed. If - no, when - Jinx came back, she wouldn’t be happy to see her room in disarray, even if it was only a few wrinkles.

Silco left the window open. If Jinx had left of her own volition, she would most likely come back through where she departed from. And Silco couldn't think of any of his enemies who’d be nimble enough to scale the side of the Last Drop, meaning he could leave the window open without stationing a guard to watch. Although it would be convenient to have someone stationed there to notify him if Jinx came back.

Silco set off to find someone to post there, immediately disrupting them from whatever they were doing with a firm - angry, almost - command.

With Sevika back by his side, notifying one of his messengers to get the closest people on duty looking, the two of them split up.

Silco had never really assigned people to stay by Jinx’s side; he knew that she needed to protect herself and that her best method of learning was through trial and error. That meant Jinx knew that when he sent people out for her, he meant business.

Maybe that's why Silco was finally feeling the effects of anxiety kick in. Jinx was gone, most likely because of him. Who knew what his enemies could do to her before she was found? Besides, his headache seemed to be worsening with the stress.

He swept The Last Drop with Sevika, feeling the guilt eat away at him every time he opened a door and was met with nothing but stale air.

Settling down on a barstool, Silco ran his hand through his disheveled hair, which had fallen down from its styled position. While normally under such extreme duress Silco would allow himself a drink, it felt unfair for him to indulge in something as mundane when his daughter’s whereabouts were unknown. Perhaps it was a form of self-flagellation, refusing to allow himself the slightest bit of release as long as his daughter was missing.

Waiting was hell. There was nothing Silco wanted to do more than to run into the streets screaming Jinx’s name for everyone to hear. However, Sevika had instructed his people to meet back in twenty minutes, even if they hadn't finished the sweep of their assigned area. And, having finished looking in the bar, there was nothing Silco could do but wait for his people to give their reports.

Silco heard the sound of the door opening, a tinkle of the bell alerting him to the presence of another. If Silco wasn't so drained, his headache a dull ache in the back of his head, he would've turned to look.

It was only when he felt arms twining around his shoulders did he look up from his slumped position. Silco looked up into the mirror behind the bar, seeing not only himself in the reflection, but you draped over him, clad in Topside appropriate attire.

“Hey,” you murmured in his ear, perhaps enticing in intent, but Silco could feel the exhaustion rolling off of you in waves.

“Hey,” he replied, attempting to replicate the sound of normalcy. A failed attempt, he realized as he felt you stiffen behind him. You drew up, dragging your hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. You looked back at him in the mirror, your expression suddenly stony.

“What did you do?” Your voice was even, but Silco could sense the control you held over your voice to not give away the emotions you truly felt. You were an expert at the mask, something he admired - just not when it was aimed at him.

Silco opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the door opening and the sounds of shuffling feet.

“Hey, Boss,” one of them called out. Silco found himself swiveled around on the stool as you turned, your arms firmly latched onto him. “ We still can't find Jinx.There’s no sign of her anywhere.”

Silco felt your grasp tighten on him. “I'm going to ask you again.” This time, your voice spoke directly in his ear and had lost the tender lilt. “What did you do?”

—-

To say you were mad was an understatement. You were always a patient person, so carefully calculated and put together - so much so that when you did have your moments of madness, they were… elaborate, to say the least.

Typically you only lost your temper because of your daughter. When Silco had first brought Jinx home, you had doted on her, never leaving her side for what seemed like the first year. You adopted her quickly, she was the child you had refused to have, not wanting to subject another to the cruelties the two of you had endured when Zaun was only a concept. Furthermore, you had always felt so deeply, it was one of his favorite things about you.

All of this meant Silco should have known you’d go ballistic. Perhaps he could’ve introduced Jinx’s disappearance more smoothly, but it's not like he’d had much of a say in the matter.

“You what?” Your voice bounced off the walls with its volume. Silco had managed to get you upstairs before you blew up in front of his employees, but there was no doubt in his mind that they could hear you through the walls, no matter how thick or soundproof they were. And even if they couldn't hear your voice, they could surely hear the sound of your heels as you paced the length in front of his desk.

“My love, please-” You held up a hand, cutting him off without having to speak a word.

“Don't even. Not right now. You do not get the luxury of indulging in pet names with me when our daughter is who-knows-where because of you.” You paused, chest heaving with the effort of keeping your anger as restrained as you could. Silco knew how far your temper could go, and this was only the tip of the iceberg. Seeing Silco open his mouth, you quickly cut him off again. “And for what? You lost your temper at her? For what reason?” You let out a dry laugh, your anger turning into hysteria. “You had a headache? Let me tell you something, dearest. I have to deal with chronic pain and migraines every day. And somehow I don’t manage to run our daughter out of the house! And you lose it over what? A little migraine? Grow up! You're supposed to be the adult!”

You finally finished and stopped in front of the couch. You collapsed on it at last, perhaps the first time you sat down since you got back.

“She's just a kid, Silco,” you said. Your anger was gone, replaced with exhaustion. You leaned forward, elbows on your knees as you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles. “We have to be there for her the way our parents weren't there for us.”

Silco kneeled next to you, placing a hand on your knee. You didn't look up, instead shifting your fingers so you could look through the slot between them. Silco gently tugged your hand down to hold his. You leaned back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling with almost unseeing eyes. Silco settled on the couch next to you, copying your pose.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you,” you sighed, shifting slightly to face him. You looked down to where his hand was tracing circles on yours.

“No, don't apologize,” Silco said. “I deserved it, truly. No one deserves to be made to feel like they’re a burden.”

You lifted your feet onto the couch and tucked them beneath you while leaning into his shoulder. Silco lifted his free hand and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“I just want her back,” you whispered quietly, words that almost went unheard from being muffled by the cloth of Silco’s shirt.

There was a courtesy knock at the door before Sevika turned the handle.

“She’s back,” she said, almost breathless.

The intensity you stood up with brought Silco with you, nearly launching him into his desk.

“Where is she?”

Sevika led the two of you down the hall to a very familiar room. You pushed open the door, which was left slightly ajar. You hadn't let go of Silco’s hand and he found himself pulled past Sevika, who had taken up a post in the hallway.

Jinx was curled up on top of her comforter, the window allowing a small breeze in. If Silco hadn't been involved in the earlier chaos, he may have mistaken the scene for something almost serene.

Your hand’s hold on him grew slack as you approached the bed. You dropped down next to Jinx, leaning your upper body against the bed. Silco grew closer to the bed as you gently rocked your daughter.

Jinx’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze first landing on you. She cut off her sob as she launched herself at you, not unlike the way she had done to him earlier.

“Missed you.” Her voice was almost unintelligible from where she had burrowed herself into your shoulder.

“I missed you too, poppin,” you said softly, turning so you could see Silco.

Silco imagined it was a domestic scene, him sitting on the bed and looking so tenderly at the two people he valued the most. His headache was gone, especially now that his daughter was back, this time in the hands of his spouse.

You pulled away slightly from your daughter, holding her by the shoulders while looking straight at Silco. “I do think someone has something to say to you.”

Taglist

@shadow-pancake9 @bigchungusdrinksspritecranberry @ariaud @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester

#bruh i originally had jinx as a bio kid and I just realized while formatting this I had to take out all the pregnancy stuff #not that I know what it’s like to be pregnant #anyways #silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #silco fic #silco x reader #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane fic #arcane fanfic

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