“I just don’t think having you and me scout out and pilfer a Piltover chemical storage facility is the first job he should be putting on you,” Silco’s cigarette was nearly gone at this point, and he lifted one of his feet to set his ankle on his knee and stub it out on the bottom of his boot, maybe a bit too harshly compared to the unsure tone you recognized in his words, “Vander should have left it for me to decide, but he’s always been the kind of guy to rush into things without thinking them over. I just have to clean the mess up when he’s done.”
— All That’s Left (Pt.2)
Another one for @chickenparm because I love her ❤️
If you haven’t started reading her work, you’re doing it wrong
Ft. an additional VA clip of my husband doing me a huge favour and making me simp harder for young silco. 🤌🏼
Summary: Drunk guys suck. It sucks to be around them, be one of them, or worse, be followed by one of them. After being tailed one-too-many blocks, you duck into the first bar you find and grab the most-sober looking man in the room to do a bit of acting. You find, it might have been a more dangerous gamble than you'd ever intended... (AKA, the Fake-Dating AU)
3K+ Wordcount/GN!Reader X Silco (slow-burn-ish)
Warning: SFW but A bit darker than normal, drunk-harrassment, minor descriptions of violence/blood, first-meeting, fake relationship, tension, set shortly after Act 1 yes because I wanted to check out more Act 1 Silco pics, don't act surprised
The door swings loudly, and the slam of it against the wall would be near-deafening, if the sound of the rowdy, pounding dancefloor wasn't already at least twice as noisy. You didn't care, and welcomed the peace of chaos, in fact, as you stormed in without even knowing the name of the bar. You just knew even from the outside, that it was loud, crowded, and easy to lose yourself in.
Immediately working your eyes to plot your escape, planning to duck into the rolling crowd and find an back-exit that couldn't be tailed by-
"C'monnn, ya really gonna be like that?" A hand snagged your sleeve, a paw that tugs you back before you could fully slip into the crowd. You felt your already sore-teeth grind down even more as a second arm snaked over your shoulder, limp but heavy as you were tugged back against an abnormally warmed chest. "Seriously dude, screw off. I wasn't in the mood at the last place, I am definitely not in the mood here."
Stiffening, you feel a pout against your scalp as he leaned over behind you, pressing his face against your hair as the hand on your shoulder started tip-toeing down your arm. It's as stumbling as his steps are. Your body shivers in disgust as you feel him sniff your hair, Gods... "I could make ya into a mood, just gotta say the magic word-" "How about if I say no?!"
"Hm... could be kinda sexy to work ya up to changing that-"
Revolted, you sharply snap your elbow back into his gut before sweeping under his grip and darting between the bodies on the dancefloor, leaving him as lets out an unintelligible, aggravated whine of complaint. You squeezed between a couple, earning their complains of ire before stumbling into the relatively calmer bar-area. Tables crowded and clustered as you glance around for an exit and you swear when you don't immediately detect one.
This place is not familiar, as you rarely go this deep into the city, and for good reason. This is ground-zero for the wildest, darkest and most dangerous folks in the Underworld to come out and play, especially in the more recent events. With Topside still on edge, any relative peace, or at least a handle on the more notorious of the Undercity, was loosened. Things were uncertain, dangerous, and you were the one stupid-enough to go just one-too-many miles down-deep for a night on the town.
But, you could still get out of this without further embarrassments, or worse, with a little help. No bartender worth his business wanted to cause trouble by calling out poor etiquette and lose a customer, especially during these times, so you turned your attention to the patrons. Your luck for the night was already shit, but apparently the universe wanted to really rub it in as you felt hope draining when you looked at your options.
Scanning the area, you felt frustration as you saw most were taking shots, or openly swaying, until your eyes caught a figure who was coming to a stop after a long, controlled stride to the bar from the stairs. No stumbling, just a confident and open swagger that caught your eye instantly as you zeroed your attention on him.
Tall, wiry, slight fraying at his otherwise refined clothing - no pushover, you could spot a slight curve of muscle in his exposed arms, sleeves rolled up as he braced them palm-flat on the counter-edges and leaned over to speak directly to the bartender. You don't particularly care what this guy's face looks like, only if he's got a bit of strength, a bit of intimidation and, gods-willing, a bit of pity in him to play along for five seconds.
There wasn't a lot of pity, nor compassion here. But you could hope, because you didn't know what else to do.
You were no true fighter, doing some manual work every once and a while to get by, but you lived on a higher level in the Undercity, that was almost akin to neighborly. Stabbings, muggings and high-tempered brawling still occurred occasionally, of course, but you were allowed some peace of mind in your daily walk from the apartment, to a market stall, and work, without needing to take a swing to the face. Or give one of your own.
Probably why you were in this mess in the first place, you were just too much of an easy target down here.
The bartender looks half-way to ashen as he's spoken to lowly by a stern man, who now leans back to cross his arms, but the only parts you care about are the fact that he is A: not visibly drunk, or holding a glass in a way that suggests he's about to be, and B: he's alone. No Miss or Mr to throw a fit over what kind of faux-role you're about to play.
You don't stop to think, or wonder if this is asking for more trouble then you're already in. You plastered what you hoped was a smooth grin on your face, half-ran, half-skipped over, and slipped your arms around the man's waist. Beneath his crossed arms, hovering just above actually-touching him as you loudly, and half-pleadingly informed someone who you prayed was sober enough to play along, "Sweetheart, this bum's been following me for three whole blocks! Could you help me out here?"
Your first clue that this was a horrible idea, was the bartender going from a greying-face of terror, to pure, white-faced shock at your open term of endearment. The second came when hands snapped down to yours that are interlocking at the front of the man's waist, grip tight. Unyielding and holding your wrists captive for clue number three...
A snap of a head to the side, just enough so the corner of the glowing red and black eye pierces directly through you like a knife to hold you in place.
The smile you had put on placatingly, to try and sooth him into agreeing to this little act, freezes in place under the simmer of hellfire in the ruined, scarred side of his face. You distantly see his mouth part open, once.
Pauses. Closes, then between slightly-clenched teeth, he growls out the next word in the lowest. Darkest. Most appalled, perplexed and overall stunned tone you've ever heard in your life, to come out of another person's mouth, "Sweetheart?"
If the bastard tailing you isn't already an issue, you might just find yourself murdered at this psychopaths hands, based on the way the red eye is already showing you the depths of hell itself.
Still, you try again, widening your eyes and smile in what you hope is perceived as charming. Probably reeking of your desperation.
With your arms finally closing the distance to squeeze around his waist, feeling a jerk beneath your touch as his jawline goes wireline tense, you lean up closer under that impossibly burning red gaze, "Sweetheart. Lover-boy. Yessir. Handsome, literally whatever you want me to call you..." You subtly tilt your head to the side, breath caught as he turns to you fully, a second, human eye fixated on you in a low slit as he stares directly into your eyes. The grip hasn't loosened or removed from your wrists. "... there's a guy in a purple shirt following me, baby, and I really, really need some help."
There's a solid minute where he's just... staring at you. Boring holes into your eye-sockets in the most intense, duel-colored staring contest of your life, and you whisper hoarsely as your face struggles not to fall, "I will literally buy you the entire menu if you do this. Help me. Please."
The green-eye slips fully closed and there's hot air brushing past your face as he scoffs out a breath, sounding in disbelief paired with a slight shake of his head. You feel your heart sinking down to your stomach, humiliation and nausea suddenly burning in your eyes, your throat, and go to try and free your hands from his burning grip, find that damn exit- "Water, on ice. Now."
The fresh drink nearly slides off the countertop with the speed it's made-in by a otherwise petrified bartender, and after freeing one hand, long-fingers catch the glass before it could fall and crash onto the floor.
The freshly released hand from the man's immobile grip is full of the frigid glass as he securely presses it into your hand, forcing your fingers to curl around it. You grip it like a lifeline as the world, or rather, he moves around you. A practiced arm curling smoothly close to your wrist, hovering like yours did, before he forces you to suddenly keep up close beside him as he strides from the counter. You see the free hand lazyily lift, give signal or two to some stonier-thugs near the wall, and they disappear.
Unable to find time to turn and watch where they're going, as your guide stops before your destination: a private booth in the very back of the bar.
"Purple, you say?"
Your head manages a nod as you all but crawl into the cushed seat, worn and a bit of thread poking out at the seams. More focus is given to the man who still holds your sweaty-palm, steadying your balance when you nearly slide off the seat. "Easy now. Take a drink, clear your head." You hear him mutter, "Purple, fix a glass." Assuming he's talking to one of the thugs, but you can't really care as you finally take a seat, leaning hard against the wall. Hands wrapped around the ice-water with a vengeance, you resolve to keep your head down and out of sight as your... the guy, takes a seat across from you.
Except he doesn't.
He smoothly slides into the seat right next to you, like he's always done that.
"Drink," The order is repeated, quiet and low, and the glass is halfway to your lips before you stop yourself. There's a sigh, and you catch a long fingers in your peripheral, before they disappear beneath the glass. Guiding the chilled material to your lips, the gentle but insistent force of his touch on the glass finds you automatically opening your mouth, and half-freezing your throat as you take a quiet drink.
"Slowly. I am trying to calm you down, not make you sick all over my booth..." "I'm not drunk," You rasp as you lower the glass with a clink back onto the table. Steeling yourself, chancing a glass towards him earns you a side-eye of epic proportions, the sea-green eye unreadable once more in it's slitted fashion, dark brow narrowed downward slightly.
He scoffs. "Based on the stunt you just pulled, I consiter you the most sobered drunkard to ever grace this pub." You drop your eyes back to your glass, ears and face burning. "Well, I couldn't find the other exit-" He interrupts, a bit disbelieving, "You've never been to The Last Drop? Thought all the fools end up here one way or another."
You find yourself scowling, watching the frosty perspiration build on the sides of your glass, "Well, I didn't expect assholes to make their home here either." There's a beat, and you suddenly feel that burning sensation at the side of your head. Akin to hellfire, and you sigh, ducking your head a bit, "Sorry, I just..."
It's not a laugh; barely a chuckle. It's a low rumble that sounds, that suggests your gall bemused him one way or another. Regardless of what it's classed as, you feel some tension released from you, even though you also get the feeling it really, really shouldn't.
There's a grunt and you look up, freeze as you see your catcaller, then stalker being shoved across from you at the booth. Hazed eyes take a minute, especially as he's visibly swaying, but he notes you soon enough, and the man who sits beside you, calm with hands folded atop one another on the table. "... you lil' bitch, ya ran off 'n called the calvary, didja?"
Any comment you want to make in your defense dies quickly. It's buried the moment he casually lifts his arm, up and over you, and around your shoulders. The half-scarred face man casually slips you down the seat until you're flush against him, hip to hip, as if he's been doing it for as long as he could remember. "That's not the nicest thing to call my partner. I suggest you use softer words from here on out. It's for your own benefit, I assure you."
His tone is nonchalant. Like he didn't just wrapped an arm around you. Like he didn't just say 'partner'. Like you aren't sitting there, flush against him, and he just sat there and called you his 'partner.'
It's what you wanted, yes. Needed, in fact, but...
But he said 'partner' like it was true. And a part of you liked the way he said it.
"Oi, they came onto me, man, I dunno whatcha want," Drink making the lie almost sound truth, but you still stiffen, bristle at the gall of this man as a large, thick-glassed cup is placed before him, filled with ale that he eagerly begins to chug. Intoxicated as he may be, you still hiss at him, "You bastard, that's not what the fuck happened-!"
"Sweetheart." Your mouth is dry, and then it's shut as the low murmur breathed close to your ear continues, "Let me handle this."
You quietly find yourself bringing the glass, ice clinking, back up to your mouth, focusing on chugging down the chilled water. And the thumb rubbing slow circles on your shoulder as he straightens, and looks across at your cat-caller, studying him with something akin to boredom.
"What's your name?"
"Geyre." You snort at the name, it earns you a small squeeze at the shoulder. "Hm. Geyre..."
Blunt nails tap on the tabletop, mixed-colored eyes watching the man impassively for a moment before he suddenly says, "Never liked sharing the Playground with fools. It's like working with children." "Oh yeah?" A dull thud as he plops the bottom of his glass on the table, sizing up the wiry man across from him with narrowed eyes, "Reckon I don't look like no kid."
"No, but you run around like one. Wailing for toys you'll break or smash, causing mischief that I have no time, paitence nor eagerness to clean up." He reclines back, and you, still linked to him by an arm across your shouldersz recline with him. The thumb never stops rubbing against your shoulder. "I get enough trouble from Topside coming down to have playdates, breaking toys, people and the like... I don't need a drunken toddler running about as well."
"Ya saying 'm like one of those damn topsiders?"
A frown, and you can picture the red-eye glinting, surrounded in black as the sea-foam one rolls up the the ceiling. "No, my analogy is on children, and the fact that you apparently seem to have the mental capacity of one. So, let me make this more clear..." He cleared his throat, and your eyes couldn't help but drop down to the white tie at his neck bobbing as it did so.
You took another drink of iced-water as he spoke, lowly, "Get out of my bar. Stay out of my side of town. Don't cause trouble. And if I hear more problems being caused by fools like you, I don't intend to ask around to see who did it, or if you were involved at all..." A small head tilt and a careless shrug. "I'll just kill you anyways."
The ice-chip feels like a knife going down your throat as you stare. One man going beet-red, hand tight and knuckles ashen around the glass in hand. And your so-called 'sweetheart' reclining with you halfway into his lap, while he's casually threatening to kill a man for giving him a minor headache.
Suddenly, you start to think perhaps you should've done a quick introductory before you chose him out of the crowd.
"... been 'ere before, did I mention that?" The haze seems to lift a bit, life and spite returning to the eyes that only held intoxication across the table. "Back before there was an ownership change..."
"I remember a Hound being 'ere... before there was a rat."
"Ah." The green-eye narrows, you can picture the red one blazing, and the soothing, petting motion on your shoulder finally stills. "Do you now? Well, I don't know if you've heard the rumor..." Geyre snorts, cutting off the low drawl, but you barely hear, as your mind begins to ring with the new, yet already familiar empty phrase that's been circulating these last couple months.
'Heard the rumor... heard the rumor yet.... heard it...?'
"Vander scared the livin' shit outta all of us from the glory-days, even when he was goin' soft. S'only reason we stuck together, did what 'e said even when times got tough... Vander was a scary sonovabitch, even spooked me..." The intoxicated man, eyes already going hazy as he wraps a hand around the handle of the glass, manages out a biting remark of scorn before his words start slurring again, "So trust me on this... ya ain't no Vander."
The air goes still. Cut by the guzzling of another gulletful of ale, and you suddenly realize something:
It's been awfully quiet.
A pub, and a dance-floor, have gotten eerily quiet at the height of the evening, and you figure out why when you glance around your 'partner' and realize the club has been entirely cleared out. Save for the thugs that were signaled to earlier, and a dozen of their brethren watching with cool, awaiting faces. They look on with anticipation, a challange or doubt in their eyes at they watch the man beside you, and see what his response is going to be... Some look excited, and you glance up at the man sitting beside you to see why...
And he's smiling. Showing off a low grin full of cracked, slightly crooked teeth, and a tooth gap that should not be as endearing as it is, consitering the nature of that smile on his face...
He smiles like a cat that just caught a bird. Like a shark tasting blood.
He smiles like he just found something that just made his evening a bit more exciting, even if his voice is as low, and cheery as the grave as he draws out smoothly between his lips, "No, I'm afraid I am not... unfortunately, I am nothing like Vander."
It's halfway over before you realize it happened.
Warmth fades from your shoulder as the hand retracts from you, while the other hand lunges, and latches onto purchase on the hair of the condemned bastard from across the table, as he rises halfway to his feet to dig claws into hair at the speed of a viper.
The large, thick glass cup is held just comfortably below the man's face. So when your 'partner' tugs down sharply, slamming him face-down onto the table, the glass is caught between the wooden surface, and face.
It shatters on the heavy impact of a booze-heavy head, at the same time you hear several sickening cracks. It's akin to the time you watched a neighbor get his nose broken.
A brutal tug up on short locks of hair, and the blood-steaked, glass cut face of Geyre is brought back into view. Before it's thrown back down onto a table covered in glass shards and blood, another sickening sounds.
And again, as his face is slammed back down again.
When he's limp, red, and the large glass shards scattered everywhere on the surface are nearly reduced back to sand, does the man you called 'Sweetheart' lean back, settle down in his seat. Does another small scoff as he languishly brushes a hand on his vest, clean off any remaining grease he imagines soiling his hand.
Doesn't do anything about the smear of flung-blood left on his unmarred cheek, or staining the arms from where his sleeves are rolled up, as he turns and gazes at the assortment of his goons around the rest of the bar.
He raises a nonchalant brow, and your stunned mind realizes that this entire show... it was as much an act as yours was, when you threw your arms around him and called him 'sweetheart.'
His goons are now staring at him in approval, grim satisfaction and renewed respect, might as well have been a standing-ovation, though his cool expression never changes for a moment to show his pleasure.
"The Last Drop is our new base now. Home, if you want to be sentimental. Base of operations, base of work, and while it can be a base for pleasure, I expect filth like this," He gestures vaugely to the limp form of the man, lying too still on the table with blood steadily dripping off the side, and onto the ground below. "...to stay on the streets. Set an example. Show control, especially in our own house. And if you see something like this again... well. I assume you all know how to make sure no one ever sees it again."
He doesn't need to order the body - or the unconcious man, you realize with a jolt as you hear a broken groan - off the table. Two are already plucking it off, with an equally unnerved, but unsurprised bartender coming by to quickly begin to sweep the glass, wipe down the blood and make the incident disappear entirely.
Long fingers reach over, and take your chin. It's a loose grasp, one you can shake off.
You can't and he knows it, as he turns your head back to him so he could get a look at your face.
The green watches you impassively, while the red burns through you. A small purse of his lips as he gave a consitering him, reaching up delicately to pluck a bit of glass of your hair. As his hand retracts, that warm thumb that had been caressing your shoulder trails down your face, and catches the splattered speckles of blood on your cheek.
He smiles, again. It's different from the one he gave the doomed man, but you still feel like prey.
"So, sweetheart... what am I going to do with you?"
Content Warnings: Graphic Description of Gore/Injury. Brief mention sexual tension/themes between Silco and Reader if you squint.
Synopsis: Between patching up his wounds and spending the night in an abandoned building, you and Silco find solace in the chaos of the day before. Making a silent promise to The Undercity and to one another.
Author’s Notes: wowie! Here she is, part 3! I’m wondering if I should let this be the end of this story and call it a mini-series OR should I take a break from uploading, get some other stories now and continue this one down the line? Let me know what you guys would be interested in!
You and Silco now had your backs against the wall, sitting on the dirty floor, arms pressing against each other. A comfortable warmth radiated off of him as you both sat quietly, each gentle shift of your arms brushing against each other felt needle-like along your sensitive skin. Most of his clothes had dried, but were still a little damp. He hadn’t taken his hair out of the bun you put it in hours prior, but you had a feeling that there would be many tangles and curled bits in it whenever he decided to take it out.
“You know..” you started, looking up at him. “I agree with you.”
You scooted closer to his lean figure, subconsciously trying to keep the heat between you both as the air that had blown in through the broken windows caused a temperature drop in the building.
He had found a spare lighter in his bag after searching through it a couple of times over, so he used it to light a cigarette. He pulled it to his lips, staring across the large empty room and inhaled deep before pulling it away, keeping it balanced between his pointer and middle finger. You glanced up to watch him, never liking the smell, but you were always mesmerized as you watched the smoke leave from between his thin lips. Your eyes traveled as it dissipated into nothingness and followed back to the man’s face, who had been looking down at you with his single eye, a slight smirk forming halfway on his lips.
You had always been very fond of Silco. Ever since meeting him, the two of you had chemistry. The way that Silco would hang onto you and watch over you, and you would do the same with him. You loved Benzo and Vander just as much and cared for all three of them, but you felt connected with Silco in a different way. It was much more than just friendship that had blossomed over the years.
You agreed with the man on many things, and even disagreed on a few others, but your fights had never ended horribly as his and Vander’s tended to on some occasions. The two of you fought like an old married couple a majority of the time.
He had a hard shell to the rest of the world but was always soft to you. Passing glances and gentle touches that sent electric shocks through your skin. The way he smiled with his chipped front teeth had never failed to fill your stomach with butterflies. His off handed compliments on your appearance, intellect, and personality made your heart flutter. He trusted you with his plans, he always came to you with new ideas first before bringing them to Vander and Benzo.
But neither of you ever talked about the subject of relationships seriously. Nothing ever came up about the way he would sneak into your room in the middle of the night, knowing you were awake, both of you sneaking out of your bedroom window so Vander wouldn’t find out you two went out after curfew. Or the way he memorized how you liked your coffee and watched your lips curl into a smile as you took your first sip in the morning.
Locking your eyes with his, you forgot about the chill that ran up your spine just moments prior. He was the first to drop his gaze, bringing his nearly finished cigarette back to his lips before flicking it onto the ground beside him and putting it out with the heel of his boot.
“You should get some rest, we’ll have a long day tomorrow. I know someone we can go to that can help me with this.” He spoke softly, gesturing with his hand to his bandaged wound. It still looked as though blood was seeping through but you didn’t have any gauze left, so all you could do was hope it would be enough to last through the night and it wouldn’t bleed through.
His head hit the back of the wall as he sat in a more comfortable slouched position. His non damaged eye looked at your form as you rested against the concrete wall. Another chill rushing up your arms, but you couldn’t hide the way it made you shiver this time around.
“Cold?” He asked softly, causing you to glance at him with a soft, but wide-eyed expression.
“No, I’m alright.” You lied between your teeth, trying to relax your stiff demeanor but Silco caught it in an instant.
“I know I’ve told you this before but,” he placed the palms of his hands on the ground, shifting his weight a bit, “You’re not a very good liar.”
Grabbing his bag, he laid it down on the ground, resting his head on it, motioning for you to follow with his arms as he opened his mouth to speak again, “Come.”
“No, really I’m okay.”
A quirk in Silco’s remaining eyebrow was his only reaction to your response, before he shrugged.
“Suit yourself,” he chuckled before throwing an arm behind his head as the other was draped over his chest, slipping his right eye shut.
You grazed the top of your lip with your teeth, pulling at some of the skin before staring up at the ceiling and trying to slip your own eyes shut. The wind seemed to blow harsher through the window this time, and it felt a lot colder. You grumbled as your eyes opened, looking over at Silco who was resting peacefully. His hand that was rested on his chest joined with the rise and fall of his breath gracefully. If he was cold, he didn’t show it.
You could either borderline freeze to death OR you could cuddle up next to the man you’ve had a crush on and stay warm.
Your thoughts caused you to roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek gently before deciding to crawl over to the man laying on the floor. You gently lowered your body down next to him, curling up into his side, your head rested on his bag. Much to your surprise, he turned over to face you, a smug half-grin painted on his lips, but he still kept his right eye closed. You felt an arm snake around your waist, which made goosebumps raise on your skin.
You eventually fell asleep last night, after analyzing Silco’s face with admiration for a few moments. If he could feel your eyes on him, he never said anything about it.
Your eyes fluttered open, light from some of the broken windows splashing your face with rays of gold. You brought your hand up to cover your eyes from the sudden intrusion of the morning sun. You noticed that the man that was sleeping beside you last night was nowhere to be seen, but his bag was still under your head.
“Sil?” you called out to him, but there was no answer. Frowning, you picked yourself up off the dirty floor, wiping away the dust to the best of your abilities without rubbing the stains more into the fabric.
You took another look around from your position, scanning the room for any signs of Silco before a panic twisted in your chest. You didn’t want to think of the possibility that he may have left you, especially when his bag was still under you, nothing seemingly removed from it.
Shaking your head, trying to erase that possibility out of your mind before it got too overwhelming. Walking towards the door that you two had entered through last night, you pushed it open, slipping your head out first to take a quick look around. It must have just become morning, blue and orange painted the sky as the sun peeked halfway over the horizon.
Slipping the rest of the way out the door, you noticed Silco had been perched on a half wall in front of the building. Cold was still prominent in the air as it was only the early hours of dawn. Crossing your arms over your chest and rubbing your hands against your biceps to try and generate some warmth as you walked towards him.
“I thought you’d want to sleep a little longer.” He turned to your form, “I came out here for a smoke, didn’t want to disturb you with the smell and accidentally wake you up. I know it isn’t one of your favorite things that I do.” He chuckles, remembering all of the times he’s caught you scrunching up your nose whenever he smelled of tobacco. You never said anything about it though, but your twisted facial expressions when it lingered in the fabrics of his clothes told all.
“I never said that.” Another lie, it was your second one in the last twelve hours.
Silco let out a hard, loud breath through his nostrils, pushing himself away from the wall and putting his weight on both of his feet.
You took a look at his long, lean figure as he stood to almost full height, but having a bit of a slouch in his shoulders. His hair was down now, and just as you had expected, small knots and curls decorated his neck length black hair that nearly reached his shoulders at this point.
He stretched his arms out, uncurling his fingers from the fists they were balled in. The hem of his now untucked shirt lifted slightly, showing some skin. Your eyes trailed down, but upon hearing a clearing of his throat, you looked back up at him quickly, a half smirk was painted on his face as he looked at you.
You brought your thumb to your mouth, picking at the skin around the nail silently with your teeth as you tore your gaze away from him, the cold no longer bothering you as you felt warmth rise to your face. He took a step towards you.
“See something you like?” he pushed his face in front of yours, looking at you with a half-lidded gaze, leaning his body forward, but not touching you. You laughed at his teasing, and despite your legs feeling like they may collapse beneath you as his flirting, you placed a hand on his chest gently before pushing him away and rolling your eyes. You received a scoff in return.
“How’s your eye? Does it still hurt?”
Silco nodded in answer to your question.
You took a step closer to examine the wound again, carefully taking the tape off and pulling the bandage back. Being in the light now you could see it a bit better. The gash trailed from his hairline and all the way down to the corner of his mouth. It had stopped bleeding, you weren’t sure how long ago it did, but there were definitely signs of infection as pus oozed in replacement of the blood. There was clear irritation that had spread around, causing red splotches surrounding the skin of the site.
He noticed the concerned look that spread across your features and the distorted, scrunched up face you made that followed suit shortly after.
“Dare I ask. How does it look?”
You sighed before placing the bandage back over his infected eye.
“Like I said, I know someone deeper in the Undercity that can get it fixed up. It shouldn’t be a problem. Their methods are more,” a pause, “unjust. But it’ll get the job done. We should head out soon. It isn’t safe to stay in one place for too long, especially now.”
His words caused you to tilt your head to the side, raising an eyebrow, “What do you mean you don’t think it’s safe?”
He stared at you, dumbfounded almost.
“You really think that Vander,” his hand pointed to the direction you guys came from, as if the man in question had been standing directly in that pathway, “is going to let you get away from him that easily? You believe that he wouldn’t do anything to protect you,” his hand moved in your direction, pointing a finger at you before pointing it back at himself, “from me?”
Shuffling your weight on either of your feet, you stood uncomfortably in front of Silco, unsure of what to say or to do in this situation. Would Vander really try to come fetch you from Silco? Did he really think that poorly of the man in front of you?
“I’m honestly surprised he didn’t kill me then and there.” Silco’s words were let out with a light hearted laugh. He couldn’t believe that he wasn’t dead yet, especially the stunt he pulled having the audacity to return to the apartment.
“You really think that Vander would try and come for me?”
“Without a doubt in my mind.”
“Because..” Silco stopped mid sentence, standing up straight for a moment to regain himself, clenching his teeth before turning his head away from you. He relaxed a bit at the sudden feeling of your hand delicately on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb along the fabric comfortingly.
“Because you’re dangerous?”
A tight frown pulled across the right side of his face, the other side of his lips seemingly paralyzed from the infected muscles. He nodded in return to your completion of his sentence.
“You mean everything to them.”
“But you do, too, Sil-”
“I did.” Pure venom spat from his mouth at the pretense of his words.
“I did, and then I was betrayed.”
If there was so much as a sliver of hope that you may be able to get them together to just talk it out, it was gone at that moment.
Silco turned his head to meet your gaze, placing either of his hands on your waist and squeezing his fingertips into your skin gently.
“I cannot count how many nights we all talked about how we would make The Undercity a better place. How we would finally create our independence, rip away from Piltover. We’d have been the rulers of our own little kingdom.”
The thought of fond memories of the four of you around the dinner table laughing and talking about how your futures would be surrounded with hope and prosperity for the Undercity. How it would thrive without the influence of the wretched city that stood tall, towering and striking fear because of their power.
Your heart seized for a moment in your chest, recalling the simpler times.
Your hand came to the right side of his face, running your thumb along his bumpy skin due to years of picking acne that littered his face.
“Just because Vander betrayed you doesn’t mean I will. I’d follow through with you until the end. Until we see the change that we want. Whatever it takes. Vander can call you whatever he wants but,”
You moved closer to his face, smiling up at him as tears glossed over your eyes.
“I’ll always feel safe with you around.” You laced your words with promise.
Two of his fingers found their way underneath your chin, tilting your head up. His face was inches from yours when you closed the distance between the two of you. You maneuvered your lips more to the right side of his mouth, pressing gently to avoid a surge of pain in the muscles of his face. He kissed you back almost eagerly, cupping your jaw gently and pulling you a bit closer to him.
His lips puckered against yours carefully and you pulled away, noticing a dark blush across his features. You could have sworn a twinkle glistened in his bright blue eye as he looked at you. You smiled at him softly, feeling the tingling of your lips from your kiss you shared spread throughout your body.
He never moved an inch farther away, placing his forehead against yours. He spoke quietly, barely above a whisper.
“I cannot express my undying gratitude for your loyalty.”
Silco took your hand in his, raising your intertwined fingers to his lips and kissing the back of your hand.
“The days of imaginary triumph are over. It is time to take action, you and I.”
Tag List: @leia-saveourskins , @nanvji
♡ Thank you for the continued support, everyone! ♡
since listening more to jason spisak’s streams, the parts where he’s given comfort to trans and non-binary people, and the trans comfort cameo i got from him, the things he says to jinx just take a whole different meaning to me know. as if powder is her deadname. “who you were always meant to be” being whatever gender we identify as, not whatever label was put on us at birth. “you’re strong now” let out old deadnames agabs die and just be ourselves because that’s what silco would want us to be. it’s late, i’m sleepy, and i’m having thoughts.
Summary: it’s late at night and you are coming back home with Silco and the others when he has the idea of showing you something.
It’s late at night.
You are coming back from a night out with Silco, Sevika and Vander.
The last one singing unintelligible songs in his drunk state and stumbling around while Sevika does here best to carry him safely to his place.
Once you finally arrive you watch the buff girl kick the door open and walk inside with quick steps, throwing the mountain of a man face down to a sofa before huffing at how heavy he is.
You and Silco, who happen to have remained by each other’s side the whole night laugh along at her grumpiness as she makes her way to the kitchen to steal a glass of water, or so you think you’ve heard her say.
After your laughter dies down you turn to your side to face Silco, whose eyes seem to shine with an unusual twinkle and his cheeks are tinted a fair pink -you believe to be due to all the alcohol he’s had tonight-.
You swing on your toes before speaking “I think… I think I should get going.” Silco shakes his head and stares at you wide eyed “this soon?”
You chuckle at his response, a soft blush making its way to the apples of your cheeks. “It’s late, Silco. I have to get home.” Your eyes search for his as you say so, but his seems to avoid yours in a pensive way… as if he was contemplating something. “More in my favour” comes his answer and before you get the chance to object he takes your hand in his and pulls you out of the building with him.
“I wanna show you something!”
The walk to wherever Silco is taking you is long and silent, despite the amount of noise that characterises the undercity. The streets are cold and the air is damp this late at night, and you can feel the chill setting in your bones… but Silco’s hand is warm in yours and the way your fingers tangle against each other’s makes your whole body burn with a growing fire whenever you look at it.
Finally, Silco stops on his tracks and you can see his mop of black hair shake gently as he seem to make sure that you are all by yourselves. “Follow me.” Comes his voice from in front of you, and again you don’t get the chance to answer because he is already pulling you with him as he escalates his way to the tops of the undercity.
After setting yourselves in an old roof you turn to look at Silco, who has already let go of your hand and question him “what are we doing up here, Silc?” Silco’s eyes find your in an instant and he tilts his head at your question “showing you the beauties of our home, of course.” He answers you, a smile hiding behind his words.
You scoff and furrow your eyebrows at his words. “Beauties? What beauties are you talking about, Silc.” He ignores the tone of your words and gestures you to look up with his head, his body coming closer to yours till he takes your chin gently in his hands and redirects your head “Look around, see it for yourself.”
And just like that you finally take the time to observe the view before you… and what a view it is. The neon lights of the undercity mix themselves in a symphony of colors and sparkles, at the same time that the bustle that usually accompanies the streets mixes in a way that it creates a distant melody.
You don’t feel Silco placing himself behind you till his arms envelope around your waist and you can feel his chin gently resting against your shoulder, while his head softly nudges your hair.
“You see it, don’t you?” You hear him say against your ear, his voice making butterflies flutter inside of your stomach and creep up your chest. “This is what most people fail to see about us, love… That even in the beauty, there is chaos and a chance to create something far more better than what is seen with the naked eye.”
Many times have you heard him talk about this. There have been many nights where you have been participant of his visions of your future as a nation… but, it’s now that you see them too for the first time.
It’s now that you can understand that fervor that he and Vander have, that ferocity with which they stand up to the enforcers. Only now can you understand why they are fighting and why they have been fighting all their lives. Only now can you see what they are fighting for.
And it’s here, in this rooftop in Silco’s arms that you are finally ready to fight for it too. It’s the first time that you want to fight for the future that awaits you both.
Unofficial Prequel/sequel to this and this. Idk, felt the urge to write some hurt/comfort with Jinx, and I had a quote-prompt that fit. Enjoy! ^^
Warnings: Background Silco X Reader, implied violence/canonical character deaths, grieving, panic attack, brief self-harm, mental health issues, hurt/comfort, growing mother/daughter relstionship, not-yet Mom!Reader but getting there, 78% of the way
The Last Drop is usually always shaking, from it's routine activities on the dance-floor below, the sound of fists cracking against skin in the office, or from the bedroom of the resident couple of the establishment. Something or other usually has the building creaking in one way or another.
The soft-boom that jerks you awake, late into the night, is definitely one you are still getting used to, but classed as 'another' as you groan with a closed mouth before working yourself up from bed.
"Nope, stay." Your aloft hand to still him is met with a frown from the alert man on the bed as your feet hit the hardwood. "Sil, stay. I got this, you catch some sleep," You murmured as you turned to give him an assuringly look. The infamous-eye covered in black, you watch the other narrow and an almost sarcastic drawl underbreath as you turn to the door, "Without you? Unlikely."
"Well, try." It's in affection, and he knows it, despite the little scoff he makes before you close the door, and head down to the girl you both took in three months ago.
Slipping through the dark office and then down the stairs, you're unsurprised to find a handful of your lackies still hanging around, though it's far too late... or well, early. You give a nod to the one, responsible underling whose sweeping glass, a raised brow to the handful snoring at the counter with bottles still in hand, and, of course, one still thinking the party is going on, and jamming out at one of the booths.
Your silent commentary of a raised brow and narrowed eyes gets him off the table, and you leave the bar to step down to the hidden door just behind the wall of booze and liqueurs. Knocking twice before carefully undoing the latch, and then unlocking the electrified hidden one, not looking to get sent into cardiac shock this early in the day.
You enter and are relieved to see there's no smoke or spilt blood, but anxiety and speed up your steps on your way down to the bed, where Jinx is close to ripping her hair from her scalp.
"Hey, hey, kiddo, it's just me..." You're quick to assure as the touch of hands on her makes her jerk and screech between clenched-teeth, but it's so weak and strained it sounds like a distressed mewl.
Wail or gasp, it hurts something in your chest either way, and you work to unlatch her fingers from her strained blue locks before gently pulling her arms down to her sides, and wrapping yourself around her.
You don't think you give good hugs. In Zaun, there's not exactly a way to compare and contrast, especially in your line of work, where distrust is set all the way to maximum at every given moment.
You sense you've done an decent job at comforting her, as she stills, then begins sobbing openly against your chest as you hold her. It's honestly terrible, and brings back far, far too many memories from a distant youth of desperate, terrified and angry children in the streets, but you hold onto her nonetheless. You hold her because you know she'll come apart if you don't. And, although a part of you still tries to dismiss it, you know you'll come apart too, should she lose herself like this.
The crying dissolves back to screams once, then twice. Her hands come up again to grapple with her hair, or curl into fists so tight there will be scars again on her palms come morning, but you simply hold her. Guiding hands from hair when needed, unfurling clawed fingers when necessary.
You feel a weak punch at that last one, but only tighten your hold a bit more in security, a melody soon filling the air as you hum, and slowly rock her.
It takes an eternity, but wailing returns to sobs, and sobs to sniffles, then, blessed silence.
Sliding a hand up to her hair, you smooth down the twists and yanked azures, before guiding her head to tilt back so she can look up at you. Powder-blue eyes gaze up at you, red-rimmed and leaking, and Jinx slowly works out as you paitently wait, "T-they... they won't let me... a-apologize."
"Okay." You don't need to ask who they are. You still remember the fire, and blood, with an almost mockingly cleansing downpour of rain to follow as you trekked from the ruins of the cannery. The rain didn't clear a damn thing away, let alone the haunting of fresh-ghosts. "S-so I..." A trembling swallow, before she jerked her chin towards the corner, where smoulder had gathered.
"... i-i tried to make it better. Show 'em I could've done it better. I c-could, I could-"
Sensing another fracture, you close the gap still in your relationship with a touch of your palm to her cheek, drawing her gaze from a shadow she's fixated on, and back to your paitent eyes. "Are you hurt?"
A blink of blue. "... Nuh-uh. I t-took cover."
You nod, and gently draw her back into your arms.
She doesn't fight at all this time, but you can practically hear her rapid blinking, darting gaze of confusion as you simply hold her, your voice making her jump slightly despite it's soft tone. "Jinx, you don't have anything to prove, not to anyone. Not to me, not to Silco, not to your family," You don't say the halfway-forbidden sister. You thought the fit would never stop, the last time you brought it up. "... no one needs you to prove anything, okay?"
"You're already amazing. Brilliant, talented, smart and powerful. Whatever you do is going to be great, but do not do things just to prove yourself. You've already done it, just by being Jinx. Being you."
It's ridiculously cheesy, you know, and a part of you is positive the phrase is copy-pasted on half a dozen of those stupidly-fluffy, used-Piltovian novels circulating the haggle-markets.
Still, if its the one phrase makes her immediately latch onto you and cling tight enough that air is knocked from you, you find that you'd gladly say it a million times over.
this is a gift for @kikorenart to go along with her gorgeous piece of artwork that you can see HERE!
please go follow her if you haven't, her artwork is bodacious!
1932 Words - NSFW
Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex (F Receiving)
“You’re doing too much. It’s just a few scrapes.”
“Well, I don’t want them to get infected,” You argued, dabbing the last bit of antiseptic on his skin while he hissed in protest. The plaster came soon after, and as you smoothed down the adhesive with your thumb, you didn’t miss the way Silco’s eyes softened just the slightest bit at the corners.
Silco always argued about it, always tried to brush off your doting when you cleaned him up and sent him back on his way after your jobs, but in the end he always relented. Despite being vocal about not wanting it, the way he’d lean into your touches like a starving man was more than telling of how much he craved just a bit of physical contact.
You wondered how far you could take it, what his limit would be before he started to become skittish and back away from what you were trying to offer. Subtly was a strong suit of yours, enough that he’d never become suspicious, but all of this was just as much for your own benefit as it was for Silco’s.
With that in mind, and the amorphous form of the boundary between you wavering, you smoothed his hair back from his cheeks and pressed a gentle kiss to each of his bruised cheekbones. Indulging yourself a bit, you lingered a bit longer on the second one until you could feel the exchange of warmth between your lips and his skin.
You expect him to pull away - maybe with a pink face or a stutter for you to knock it off - but instead he’s leaning into it almost immediately. The feel of his hands falling on your waist nearly startles you, especially when you realize that he’s not holding you to steady himself but to keep you right where you were.
Maybe with a bit too much confidence, if only to spite the sudden nervousness you feel in your stomach, you curl your hands in the soft strands of his hair just behind his ear to hold him close. You press another kiss slightly lower, this time on the hollow of his cheek. From this proximity, you can hear the way his breath picks up when another kiss is pressed at the corner of his mouth - enough to be brushed off if he doesn’t want it, but there’s a clear implication there.
“Careful,” Silco’s voice is barely more than a whisper - it makes you shiver when it rasps against your ear, “You’re treading dangerous waters.”
“I know how to swim,” You speak against his skin, feigning nonchalance even as his hands pull your hips closer until you’re pressed against his chest. Silco is still, waiting for you to do anything further, to take it one more step.
So, you do. All it takes is a nudge of your head to the left and your lips are pressed against his just barely - more of a brush than anything, but it’s the only confirmation Silco needs. All at once he’s kissing you back and it’s heated to the point that you wonder why you were nervous about this in the first place.
Silco’s hand leaves your waist to reach behind you and blindly turn the bathroom door handle and swing it open. The steps he takes toward the bedroom are crowding you exactly where he wants you to be, and soon enough your knees hit the bed and he’s encouraging you to fall onto your sheets with a hand behind your head to soften the landing.
Even in the low lights from just outside the window, you can see Silco’s expression perfectly and it’s just as soft as you expected it to be - even if his eyes seem to be ablaze with an unresolved hunger. How long had that been there, hiding just out of sight?
Silco climbs up after you, caging you in with his arms beside your head as he settles between your already-parting thighs. This all felt so familiar, almost like you’d done this with him a thousand times despite having done the opposite. The pressure as he settles against you brings your arousal to your attention, and soon enough his as well when he rocks against you.
“Let me take care of you,” Silco props himself on one hand easily and reaches down for your thigh to hold it against his side - the bandage on his finger catches on the ones you already wore against your skin before it scratches down to the back of your knee to hook it around his hip. There’s another grind of his hips against you, and even with the barriers of fabric you can feel that he’s already hard.
“You’re always so good to me - good for me. Let me make you feel nice, for once.”
You want to blurt that he already does, but with a final grind of his cock against you he’s traveling down your body. Silco noses at the valley between your breasts, nipping at you through the fabric of your shirt before he’s heading lower with an unspoken promise of how exactly he wants to take care of you.
Long fingers curl around the band of both your shorts and your underwear, and before they slide down, Silco is looking at you with a question - a confirmation that you’re still as into this as he is. You lift your hips as an answer, and he’s undressing you with swift, smooth movements until you’re fully bared to him as he settles back between your thighs.
The calluses on Silco’s fingers leave tingles in their wake as he slides his hands up your inner thighs with an agonizing slowness. Propping yourself on your elbows, you watch with bated breath as he looks you in the eye and pushes the pad of his thumb up through your folds. The moment it catches against your clit your whole body jerks, just enough pressure relieving to have you exhale sharply.
“You’re already dripping. Did that fight get you as riled up as it did with me? Wish I’d’ve known that sooner, would’ve done this to you the first time.”
“No,” You answer breathlessly as his thumb fingers your clit again to stroke it up and down, “That’s all for you. As if laying out some enforcers would be enough to make me like this.”
“For me? That’s even better,” Silco’s voice is thick with his teasing, but it cuts off when he finally uses both thumbs to part you open and take in your wet and desperate pussy. It’s almost embarrassing, the way his pupils blow out and he simply stares, but before you can rock your hips and urge him to do anything, he’s leaning in to press the flat of his tongue against your clit.
You can feel his laughter against you as his lips wrap around the little nub, the tip of his tongue swirling around it. It’s almost too much at once, and you know Silco can feel your thighs shaking against his shoulders already. And he’s watching you the entire time, pretty blue eyes keeping your gaze locked on him as his mouth works against you skillfully.
Silco pulls off your clit with a sharp pop that makes you whine from the harsh sensation. It doesn’t last long as he shifts his attention to your pussy, licking against your hole with wide, flat strokes of his tongue to catch all of your arousal - and he groans, almost savoring the taste before he’s pushing inside for more of it.
You can’t keep yourself propped up, and fall to the bed once more with a bounce. Searching for something to brace on, you dig one hand in your rumpled sheets and the other into Silco’s hair, keeping him against you with your fingers twisted in the dark strands. Absently, you remark on the way the waves feel against your fingers, the softness of it contracting with all the other sharp angles that made up who Silco was.
When he pulls away, Silco sounds breathless and almost giddy, “You taste so good, sweetheart. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve fucked my own hand thinking about you, about all the things I want to do with you.”
“I-It’s all mutual,” You stutter, flexing your fingers against his scalp and watching his eyelids flutter at the sensation, “Last time you were here, you had those tight fucking pants on and I could see everything-”
“I wore them on purpose, just to see what you’d do. Thought for sure you would’ve jumped me then.”
You’d thought about it, but waiting for this was so much more worth it with how Silco dived back into your cunt and added two fingers into the mix, easing them into you with a pleased moan at how you immediately clenched around him. Silco’s eyelids were shut as he devoured you, as if he was focused solely on the taste and feel of your cunt clamping down on his fingers and tongue.
“S-Silco,” You stutter his name, and as his eyes snapped open to look up at you, “I need you, please just-...”
“Just? Just what?” Silco’s fingers are still curling inside of you, three of them now as he angles them up to hit your g-spot and laughs at the way you throw your head back with a moan, “Just make you cum? Fuck you? Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. You name it, I’m yours.”
“Let me cum, Silco,” You plead, and in seconds his tongue is back on your clit and sucking just enough to err on the side of pleasurable without any of the pain. His free hand latches around your thigh, holding you still as you immediately writhe underneath him with the swift arrival of the orgasm you’d been teetering on the edge of.
It’s got to be hurting him with how harshly you’re tugging at his hair, yet he does nothing but groan as you cum on his tongue. Your lungs burn with how harshly you’re breathing, his name tearing from your throat in encouragement as he works you through it relentlessly - he doesn’t stop until you’re yanking him away by his hair with near-sobs for him to quit.
Your hand falls limp against your stomach as you gaze down with half-lidded eyes. Silco’s leans against your thigh as he watches you, cheeks wet and lips glistening. You’re just as much of a mess after he's finished with you - your inner thighs are soaked and the bed beneath you has an uncomfortable damp spot from your orgasm.
Silco turns his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your thigh. It’s sweet, even as he’s looking at you with those same dilated pupils that are telling you what he’d like to do to you the moment you catch your breath. The kiss on your thigh turns harsher, teeth and tongue getting involved until he’s leaving a bruise in his wake - a mark to stake his claim, as if anyone would be able to stand a chance.
With one last lingering kiss to your skin, just next to one of the bandages he’d placed there before, Silco crawls up your body once more. His hips settle between your thighs, uncaring of the wetness soaking into the front of his pants as his clothed cock pushes against you. Dark, disheveled hair brushes your face as he leans closer, dragging his lips from your cheek to your jaw and speaking lowly with a rumble in his chest.
Hello! I just discovered your blog and it looks lovely! May I please request the arcane characters of your choice with a blind reader? Thank you!
AKDJKA thank you so much !!! mwah
arcane | with a blind lover | gn!reader
contains ; vander , silco , caitlyn ,
warnings ; blind reader , different variations of blindness , fluff.
SUMMARY ; how they treat their lover who is blind. how they learn and show you the world without needing your eyes.
you have tunnel vision. everything you see is very limited to a small, very focused circle.
at the beginning of your relationship, he was worried about you. but he knew that you were okay
you knew the streets of zaun like the back of your hand, the need of a white cane usually unnecessary but you still carry it for more of a defence mechanism
even if you can only see at such a minimal, he treats you no different
his favourite thing to do is to kiss your eyelids or just a little above the brow
when he knows there something knew you’re unaware of, he wants you to hold the item immediately
sitting at one of the booths, a warm cup of hot chocolate cradled between your hands. you tapped your nail against the rim, a satisfied hum emitting from you when feeling the broad man seat himself on your side. a hand grasped around your waist, lips pressing against the crown of your head. “doing well, love?”
you see the world through blurs, your sight feels like just one big smudge
you knew each other back in your youngin days, when you both were just two normal people that lived in the undercity
vander introduces you both!
it wasn’t the— best first impressions, silco being naive and questioning your manners when a he held out a hand for a shake.
but instead of vander, you scowled and returned the fire. snarking at him immediately.
in your words, domesticated dogs can bite, even in other circumstances
since then, he opened his mind a little more. still naive to some tropes but you make him think twice about it
when he found out he was falling for you, he found a way to confess to you in one way. through a letter in braille!
you stuck to his side, himself vowing protecting over your head. a lot of chemistry between two opposites, the love holding it together.
silco curled his fingers around your hand, bringing it up to kiss your palm. not much of an affectionate type, he still shown it in ways of subtle love gestures. with his other hand, he placed light pressure against your palm in motions of morse code, the way he spoke to you speaking wonders without voice. and honestly? he loved that—being able to be across the room from each other, but a form of communication still being intact. a silent love with lots of words.
one eye is fully blind, the other is getting there but not entirely the best.
to the best of her capabilities, she tries showing you as much of the world throw a close eye!
she speaks in detail when describing far distances, making sure you can paint a picture in your head.
she often keeps you at your shared home, but bringing you out often on dates with her.
yes you can head out whenever you want, she sees no problem with it! she just wants to tell you the world without you questioning how it looks
gives her an excuse to hold you more often!
hand holding, an arm wrapped around you, and a proper hold where you could rest your head against her shoulder
she loves asking how you perceive the world as well! different perspectives aslways amaze her mind, especially from yours.
“can you paint me something?” she mused, her hand tracing lines along your back. a laugh escaped you at first but you knew; she was serious. at first you denied until the third time she asked—it wasn’t frequent—but it was a topic. and when you caved and painted on a canvas, nervous until you found your flow. she praised you and praised you and praised you. she was astonished and even hung it up on the wall!