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pathetic-sapphic · 9 months

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I love your works! I hope you thrive in the community :D Can I please request an arcane Jinx x reader where reader always greets Jinx with a "hey babygirl" with a hug and a kiss on the cheek and they say it in such a gentle and loving tone, Jinx one day gets emotional over it and it's just a lot of sweet fluff?

Let's go, you and me, until the end of time

Tags: Jinx x fem! Reader, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, word count 1253, authors note at the end

Summary: Jinx knows you love her. Despite all the shit she's done you never showed any fear or hesitance around her and kept being her rock. However, after a particularly draining episode, insecurities come back to haunt her and it's up to you to comfort your girlfriend and make sure she feels loved.

Every now and then, Jinx thought that she had to have done something right in her life for the gods to grace her with such a perfect girlfriend like you. When the two of you first met, she was pleasantly surprised by your unabashed nature and how easily you befriended her. Even as you got to know her better, witnessing both the good and bad sides of her, you never faltered, never took a step back, as if trying to leave. You held your ground, you held her, even when the voices got too loud and her mind was in such a frenzy that she could barely distinguish reality from figments, you were still there. She fully expected you to leave after you witnessed her first episode, but you just got closer and closer to her until you asked her to be your girlfriend. Despite all the doubts in her head, she knew she wished for nothing more than to be yours and for you to be hers.

You were both very touchy and affectionate, you more so than her as she still had some fears and insecurities about being too much. She was scared that if she showed how clingy and desperate for your praise and touch she actually was, you would leave. But every single time the dark thoughts started to kick in, you’d prove her wrong and the worst thing was, you weren’t even aware of the positive impact you had on her.

Oh, you were so so lovely, so gentle and kind towards someone who couldn’t see the good in themselves but, she thought, if such a lovely person like you could love someone like her then she can’t be that bad, right? I mean, you were always so open and affectionate towards her, giving her as many kisses as she wanted and never showing any annoyance as she whined for more. Your hugs were tight and so full of love that whenever you held her, her mind was quiet for once. You gave her many pet names, which she returned wholeheartedly, and you always seemed genuinely interested in her work, and Jinx thought that the sparkly look of fascination in your eyes was truly the most beautiful sight that this shitty world had to offer. You were so patient and tolerant of her ramblings, always supporting her through her episodes by holding her hand or just standing close and talking to her softly when she couldn’t handle physical touch.

Because of all this and so much more, Jinx loved you. She loved you enough to tell you about her past, all the memories that haunt her, and the burdens she carries, she even told you her real name and allowed you to use it. You two basically had no secrets in front of one another, always joined at the hip and holding each other tenderly.

But try as you might to reassure her how much you love her despite everything, doubts still kicked in. Especially after extremely upsetting and exhausting episodes such as this one. There wasn’t a time when she needed you more but you've been gone for days, going back to your apartment after spending a week at hers. Silco grew irritated at Jinx's neglect of her duty as she was too enamored by you to do anything other than keep you company. So you, not wanting to get Jinx in trouble by being a distraction or get on Silco’s bad side, decided to leave and let her do what she needs to do for a while with a promise that you’ll be back in a couple of days.

Not knowing when you were coming back and worn out from the mental strain the episode caused her, Jinx curled up into herself and blankly stared off in the distance. She spaced out so much that she barely took note of her apartment door opening or the sound of soft steps making way towards her room. Like an angel sent from Heaven, your beaming face entered her room and, not noticing the state she was in, you made your way towards her, hugging her softly and placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

‘’Hey babygirl,’’ you greeted her with a voice filled with adoration, ‘’I’m sorry for coming unannounced, I just thought it has been a while and I wanted to check up on-‘’, that was when you noticed her red, puffy eyes and trembling lips. Quickly taking her face in your soft arms, you directed her gaze towards you, asking in a worried, but patient voice; ‘’What happened, baby? Are you hurt? Do you want to talk about it? Are you okay with me touching you or do you need space?’’ Knowing that it may take a while for her to gather herself and respond, you patiently waited. You were expecting all kinds of replies, but what she said next wasn’t one of them.

‘’Why do you love me?’’ and oh, if the doubt and sadness of her raspy voice didn’t break your heart in that very moment, nothing ever will. You knew Jinx had her doubts, for she was only human but you sometimes forgot just how heavy of a burden this silly, amazing girl carried on her tired shoulders. Gently brushing away some soft, blue locks which obscured parts of her face, you took a deep breath and said, ‘’I love you because you’re you. I love your intelligence and wit, your sense of humor, your creativity. I love how good you are despite everything you’ve been through. I love the way your hair frames your face, the way your tattoos adorn your beautiful frame. I love the sparkle in your eyes when one of your amazing inventions works and the art you decorate them with. I love the way you hold me in your arms and how you kiss me and look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I love your qualities and I love your flaws. I love all the good and the bad you ever have to offer to me and that’s how it’ll always be. You’re my sunshine, my sweetheart and no one could ever convince me that you’re undeserving of all the good that this world has to offer. I love you more than anything, Powder.’’ You finish with a soft kiss to her freckled nose and hold her as she starts crying again.

You know she feels the same about you, you needn’t hear it from her to know it. Right now, it’s all about her. You gently card your fingers through her hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear and holding her for God knows how long.

Slowly but surely, she starts breathing more evenly and eventually rises her head up to look you straight in the eyes. She mutters a soft ‘’I love you too, my trinket.’’, and lets you slowly drag her up and sit her down on the couch as you prepare some hot chocolate for your darling girl.

That night, the two of you fall asleep entangled with one another, so much that you can’t even tell where your body begins and hers ends. Exchanging soft pecks and tender touches, the two of you fall asleep with your hearts beating in tandem and matching smiles on your faces. No matter what the world may throw at you, you will always love this ridiculous and utterly lovely blue-haired girl and she will love you, until the end of time.

a/n: dear anon, thank you for this lovely request and kind words. i've gotten a bit carried away and wrote more angst than i originally planned. i hope you'll enjoy this work regardless as it is the first fanfiction i've written. if this is not to your liking, feel free to let me know and i'll write a new work that'll be more fitting to your request :)

#arcane #arcane headcanons #arcane x reader #arcane jinx #jinx #jinx x reader #jinx x you #jinx x y/n #jinx x female reader #arcane jinx x reader #jinx x reader fluff #jinx x reader angst #requests are open

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lullabyes22-blog · 6 months

Text

Mel x Silco - Happy Ending AU - A Drabble Thing

Based on this ask by @elviriel <3

Part of an AU meta of the Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO universe.

tw: pandemics, terminal illness, death

cw: sex, angst

"When I am gone, you will have many who will offer their love. Take their love, but never trade on it. Love is not a currency. Love is a gift, and a gift given is a gift given freely.

I cannot give you mine, not any longer. But know that it was real. It was true. And it was yours."

Given the fraught relationship these two have with love and trust, I truly believe it would be a long time coming. For a woman like Mel, love has always been conditional. It comes at a price: trade of power for power. Her mother may have loved her in her own way. But it was a love contingent on her worth as a Medarda.

Ambessa promised her the world... but only if she could prove herself in her mother's eyes.

With Silco, love is nothing but a petty conceit. He's known betrayal and disappointment from those he once called family, and from those who claimed to love him. So he doesn't put any stock in it. It's just a word that people use to control others. If need be, he'll weaponize it. He'll say anything, to get what he wants.

And what he wants most, is Zaun's ascendancy.

But somewhere along the way, Silco's and Mel's lives entwine, and feelings begin to creep in. Certainly, there'd have to be a level of mutual chemistry between them—cerebral, verbal, physical—if they chose to flout their cities’ conventions and tie the knot despite vehement protests from their respective political parties.

Baseline: Mel likes Silco. He's not a good man, but she's drawn to his brilliance. He's an incredible tactician and a shrewd politician. And the more she sees of Zaun, the more she admires him for what he's built. His ruthless streak unnerves her with memories of her own mother, and yet it's offset by his capacity for intense tenderness. For Jinx, for the future of Zaun, even, if in a twistedly wry way, for her. Despite coming from two diametrically opposite social strata, their tastes are surprisingly well-aligned. They have a keen appreciation for art, music, fashion, philosophy. He denies it, but she thinks he's a fine dancer whenever he lets himself cut loose. And, when they're not trying to best each other in conversation, their silences are comfortable.

As a husband, he's not half-bad. He's attentive, in a hold-the-door-for-you and pull-out-your-chair sort of way. He's perceptive, and knows almost intuitively when she's tired or unhappy in need of a distraction. In an indulgent mood, he'll leave queer little tokens on her pillowcase or in her trousseau, like a funny note from a fortune cookie or a pretty dried flower or a small gemstone. And he's got an appreciation for her intellect that goes hand-in-hand with his admiration for her beauty. He'll notice when she uses a special perfume with the same astuteness as when he catches a coy innuendo or a well-timed pun. Sometimes he'll even smile when she's not looking, a crooked curve to his mouth, gone as soon as it's there.

But love?

There's something there, for sure, this quiet warmth that grows between them. Something that's a little like amusement, and a little like fondness, and a lot like family.

But she'll never put a name to it. Naming things brings them to life. Like a curse.

The Medarda bloodline has enough curses to go around.

As for Silco?

Baseline: he likes Mel, too. Granted, she began as an unforeseen complication. He didn't anticipate falling into a relationship with a Topsider, much less a member of the Council. Still, the gains far outmatch the costs. He gets to make a mockery of Piltover's hypocritical, stagnant elite. He gets an inside connection to the very seat of their power. He gets a gorgeous woman on his arm. Mel’s mind is an endless wonderland of strategy, she's got a tongue dipped in sterling silver, and that body is a gilded marvel. She can be a proud bitch, sometimes, but she's got a secret sweet streak that she's at pains to keep hidden. Marriage was never part of the plan, but now that he has it, he's got few complaints.

As a wife, she's an unexpected boon. She's no homebody by a long shot. He's never once seen her set foot in the kitchen; nor does he care to. Cooking's not his thing, either, unless it's a cookie-baking night with Jinx. They have staff for that. But when they do entertain, she's a consummate hostess. She's a deft hand at managing her social calendar and his own. She dazzles at every event. Half the chem-barons would give their left rib for one dance with her; the rest fall over themselves just to catch a glimpse. And, she's got a wicked sense of humor. Behind closed doors, he's had more than one glass of whiskey ruined by her sly commentary on the partygoers.

But love?

Let's cut that word out of the picture entirely. It's a fairytale; a fantasy. Zaun has no room for either.

Yes, sometimes, at night, when she's curled up against him, her soft breathing stirring the hollow of his throat, he'll feel a bite of possessiveness and think, Mine. But, the next morning, it's a fleeting memory, lost in the heady rush of conquest.

He's got a city to run. There's no room for foolishness.

Less for love.

And then Zaun is struck by the Ash Plague.

It's a mutated variant of Grey Lung, a disease that ravages the respiratory system, causing progressive weakness and eventual death. The victim’s skin turns gray and papery, and lesions erupt everywhere, like the flesh is sloughing off their bodies. Their lungs blacken and their coughs fill with blood. They grow progressively weaker, unable to do much more than lay in bed, struggling for breath.

Silco doesn't catch the sickness. His constitution is stronger than most, thanks to years spent working in the mines. And he's a careful man, washing his hands and covering his mouth whenever a new outbreak occurs. The Shimmer microdosage also boosts his immunity, making him less susceptible to common diseases.

Jinx, likewise, seems to have been blessed with an immune system forged of steel. She catches the colds and stomach bugs that go around the Lanes, but the Ash Plague slips by her, like a black cat in the night.

Mel, on the other hand, is vulnerable as a newborn.

She's possessed with a fine constitution. She takes scrupulous care with her hygiene. But her lungs have always been delicate. It's why she's seldom in Zaun without a mask. When the first cases are reported, Silco makes arrangements to escort her back to Topside, where she'll be safely ensconced in her private apartments, and guarded by a veritable battalion of doctors.

But on the day they're to sail, Mel comes down with a fever.

Silco doesn't panic. Not immediately. But by the time they've returned to the Undercity, she's already coughing, a wet, hacking sound that has him summoning Singed.

And that's when things go sideways.

When Singed examines her, his face darkens. He looks at Silco and says, "I am sorry."

The Ash Plague has a near-total fatality rate. The strongest of victims might last three months. The weakest, a fortnight. There is no known cure. Singed suggests an experimental Shimmer cocktail: a compound that should boost Mel’s immunity and buy her more time. But the odds are long.

"How long does she have?" asks Silco.

"Six weeks. Perhaps eight. It's hard to tell."

"What can I do?"

"Keep her comfortable. Make her last days happy. She is strong. With luck, she may even pull through."

Jinx, of course, takes the news poorly.

"It's not fair!" she shrieks, tears streaming down her cheeks. "We can't let her die! She's family, Silco! You have to help her! We can't just sit here and let her die! You gotta do something!"

But what can he do?

For days, he sits by Mel's bedside. He's seen her sleep before. But not like this. Her breathing is labored. Sometimes, she hacks, and a bloody spume froths from her lips. The lesions are appearing all over her body, like a child's drawing of the sun. The fever rages on, no matter how many icepacks Singed prescribes.

When the fever is particularly bad, she'll murmur. A single word, again and again: "Mother."

Ambessa has already received the news. Due to the Plague's severity, Zaun is under lockdown. No one may come in, and no one may leave. Not unless they wish to be quarantined, and see the Plague spread to other lands.

Ambessa threatens to declare war on Zaun if they do not let her through the ports. But her warnings fall on deaf ears. She may be a fearsome general, but she is nothing in the face of a pandemic.

Ambessa curses, and rages, and swears her revenge on Silco.

"She should never have married you, you blasted snake!" Ambessa snarls at him, over the speaking telegraph. "But you had to drag her down, to your hellpit, where your fucking plague will do your work for you, won't it? Well, when the time comes, you can bet your life that I'll be there to cut your heart out and feed it to my hounds, and—"

At this point, Silco hangs up.

But her words haunt him.

You had to drag her down, to your hellpit...

He says nothing of the conversation to Mel. She's barely sensate, lapsing in and out of fever dreams. If he's lucky, she'll stay awake a few minutes. He'll spoon broth past her lips. But most of her feeding comes through tubes. The Plague is cruel, eating away at her lungs. She grows thinner by the day, the bones in her ribcage and hips like fragile branches. He'll lay beside her in bed, feeling each racking breath she draws.

Sometimes, she'll look at him and smile, murmuring, "Silco."

And then she'll close her eyes and sigh, and sleep.

When she's lucid enough to talk, she asks, "How is Jinx?"

"She's worried," he tells her.

So am I, he thinks but doesn't say.

"Tell her not to be."

"How can she not be, Mel?"

"I'll be fine," she says. "Don't worry."

She closes her eyes and falls asleep again.

The Plague rages on. Silco devotes more hours to Mel's caretaking.

And her time grows shorter.

In the afternoons, Silco takes to reading to her. He'll select a book from his shelf, or hers, and read a few pages. She seems to enjoy that, so he does it more often. The story of a soldier who finds a magical thimble. The legend of the Lady of the Lake. A romance about two star-crossed lovers. Fantastical tales as far removed from their reality as possible. Other times, poetry is her fare of choice, and Silco will recite the verses in slow, smooth cadences. He's not a bad reader, though his voice doesn't quite suit the tone of most of the poets' works.

There is one in particular that Mel enjoys. Each time he reads it, she sighs raptly. After he's done, she'll say, "Read it again?"

He'll kiss the inside of her wrist, and promise to read it the next afternoon.

Inside, he'll wonder if there'll be another.

Mel is dying. He can see it. Her skin grows grayer by the day, the lesions deepening in color. Her breathing is getting shallower. And when she talks, it's only to aspirate a few words. He's helpless against the tide of inevitability. It's an opponent he can't corner. Can't negotiate with. Can't kill. And the harder he tries to hold back the waters, the faster the tide rushes in.

She's dying.

But he keeps coming back, every afternoon, with a book under his arm and a bowl of soup in hand.

"Read the poem again," she'll say, her eyes half-lidded.

"And again," she'll repeat.

"Just a one more time," she'll rasp.

Sometimes, Jinx will join him. She's deeply agitated by Mel's illness, but determined to put on a brave face. She'll bring a pile of throw-pillows and her toolkit and sit at Mel's bedside, tinkering quietly with a new contraption.

"I'm working on a present," she'll tell Mel, with a wobbly smile. "It'll make you better."

"That's lovely, Jinx," says Mel, closing her eyes. "Thank you."

And then, barely a beat later, she's asleep.

Silco takes his daughter's hand and squeezes it. They trade a wordless glance.

She's dying, thinks Silco.

She's dying and there's nothing I can do.

But he still comes every day. He reads her books. He holds her hand. He brings her tea and hot-house hyacinths and anything she desires. In the evenings, Jinx keeps vigil, her gift blossoming beneath her hands in slow-motion. It resembles a flower, an intricate copper-plate bloom with furling petals. But she tells him it's meant to be a music box.

"To sing her to sleep," she says, and her smile is sad.

"It's beautiful, Jinx."

"Not yet. It's not done. Once it's ready, it'll sing to her, and she won't have to die."

But she is dying, he thinks.

She's dying and Jinx's music box cannot save her.

I cannot save her.

One evening, returning from his duties, he finds the door to Mel's bedroom ajar. He creeps closer, barely within the ambit of the lamplight, and finds a scene that has his heart skidding to a stop.

Mel is sitting up.

She is in her favorite dressing-gown, a ruched silk-and-chiffon number in pale cream. Her dark skin has gone a mottled gray. She is coughing, softly, the wet sound threading through the room. There's a handkerchief pressed to her mouth. When she lifts it away, there's a red stain on the cloth.

She is smiling.

"...That's why you married him?" Jinx's voice floats over. "Because he quoted a stupid poem?"

Mel chuckles, the once-melodic sound coarsened by suffering. "Not just any poem. The one I liked best. The one that was... mine."

"What d'you mean, yours?"

"I'd read so many poems growing up. None were meant for me. They were... generic. Like a suit. You know, a man goes to a tailor. He says, 'Make me a suit. Make it black. Make it sleek. Make it smart. For the ladies.' And then he wears it. Maybe it fits, maybe it doesn't. It doesn't matter. Because the suit doesn't matter. It's a costume. An... illusion."

"What does that have to do with the poem?"

"When Silco quoted that poem... that poem I'd always felt was mine... it wasn't like he'd tailored it to a passing fancy. It was like..." Her breath shivers out, "...he lived it."

Silco stays hidden behind the doorway, listening in, spellbound.

"Huh," says Jinx. "I think I get it."

"It was a gift, you see," Mel goes on. "In those eight lines... I saw myself. I saw our future."

"What was the poem, again?"

Mel closes her eyes. "It's a short one. I've memorized it."

Then she recites a poem Silco knows well. The same poem he has read to her, day in and day out, since her illness.

"'Had I heaven's embroidered cloths/Enwrought with golden and silver light/The blue and the dim and the dark cloths/Of night and light and the half-light/ I would spread the cloths under your feet/ But I, being poor, have only my dreams;/ I have spread my dreams under your feet;/ Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'"

Her voice falters. She's breathing hard. Her lashes flutter.

"Oh," says Jinx, softly.

"The poem is about an unequal match. A man and a woman. From two different worlds. Two different social strata. A love that can never be."

"You and Silco."

"Me and Silco," Mel agrees. "We could never be. Not by the laws of our respective societies. And yet we are married. We are together. Because we chose to defy expectations. And when we stand together, we are stronger. More than the sum of our parts. That's what the poem is about. A defiant love. A love that dares to be."

She's quiet a moment. She coughs. Her shoulders shiver.

"He loves you," says Jinx, quietly. "I know he does. Even if he won't say it."

"That's the beauty of the poem," says Mel, smiling. "I don't need him to say it. I feel it, every day, when he wakes me up with breakfast and sits by my side. Every time he reads me this silly poem over and over. It's his love letter to me. And I will treasure it. For as long as it's mine. Until the day it isn't."

Jinx's voice quavers. "You can't die."

"We all die, Jinx." Mel coughs again. She draws a sharp, shuddering breath. "But we do it... on our own terms. As best as we can."

Silco watches from the doorway. He can't breathe. His lungs have filled with icewater.

Mel coughs again. Her voice is barely a whisper. "Jinx. Do you mind... if we stopped talking now? I'm tired."

"Yeah. Okay." Jinx sniffles. "We'll talk more tomorrow, yeah?"

"Tomorrow," agrees Mel. She lays back on her pillows. "Goodnight, Jinx."

"G'night, Mel."

Jinx stands up and walks away. Silco sees the glisten of tears on his child's cheeks. But he cannot go to her, not right now, because Mel is still awake. Jinx has already lost so much. How much more loss can such a fragile girl bear?

He backtracks hastily before Jinx crosses the door, and pretends to have just come in. Jinx throws herself into his arms, and he holds her close. She cries a little, but soon composes herself.

"I have to finish my gift," she tells him. "It's almost done. It'll save her. I just have to figure out a few kinks, and it'll be perfect."

"Of course," says Silco. He's numb, unable to tell her the truth. He can't. "Go on. Work on your project. I'll take over for tonight."

"Thanks, Silly."

Jinx goes on tiptoe to peck his cheek, then races off.

When he returns to Mel's bedroom, he finds her asleep. She looks more peaceful than she has in days. Her favorite book lays facedown beside her, the spine cracked.

He sits down by her bedside, and stirs a fingertip through the book's pages. There's a loose scrap of paper tucked inside, a bookmark. He pulls it out. It's a folded square of parchment. He's seen the handwriting before, all looping lines and arcing flourishes in elegant cursive.

Mel's.

The note is brief.

Beloved,

This morning, I woke with the scent of your cologne on the pillow, and knew that you had come and gone, and left this parting gift: my favorite book, opened to my favorite poem. You always remember, even if I have not the strength to say.

And so, before the strength leaves me, I must leave you with this final gift:

When I am gone, you will have many who will offer their love. Take their love, but never trade on it. Love is not a currency. Love is a gift, and a gift given is a gift given freely.

I cannot give you mine, not any longer. But know that it was real. It was true. And it was yours.

Mel.

Silco reads the note three times.

His chest feels like a blade has cut his black heart in two.

He folds the note and returns it to the book. Then he sits, watching Mel sleep. She's fading fast, the plague ravaging her body, leaving only a ghost behind.

His fingers find hers, and clasp them gently.

"Thank you, Mel," he whispers.

He waits, the night passing slowly, his heart aching with each of her labored breaths.

After that, it happens quickly.

She wakes briefly in the early hours. Her eyes are fever-bright, and her skin is papery. The lesions are stark, deep-violet against her skin. She reaches for him, and he takes her hand. He can feel her, waxing and waning between life and death. Her pulse stutters, and her breaths are short, broken snatches.

She says only one word.

"Silco."

"I'm here," he soothes.

"Mother."

"She's not here. It's only me."

"Silco."

"I'm here. You're safe. Rest."

"Love..." she murmurs. "...love."

"I know," he says. "I know."

Her eyes close, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She's slipping away, her spirit a candle guttering out. And yet, finally, there is a peace on her face that he hasn't seen in weeks. She is dying, yes, but there is a beauty, a lightness, a grace. Like a heavy weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She is treading softly, at last, into her dreams.

Silco leans in. He kisses her brow, her lips. His forehead, cool on hot, touches hers.

"I love you," he tells her. "And I always will."

Her smile is sweet and soft.

Her eyes close, and her breathing evens.

It stays that way, as the night bleeds away, and the sun fills the room.

The next morning, Silco finds Jinx working on her gift, the metal petals unfolding and unfurling. There's a delicate clockwork mechanism, with a single lever. The music box is beautiful, a work of art, a marvel.

"Look!" Jinx cries. "It's almost done! Just a couple more kinks, and then we can wake Mel up with it, and she'll be all better!"

Silco looks at the device. Then he looks at his daughter. She's staring at him with such hope, such joy, her eyes glowing fiercely. Her faith is unshakeable.

She doesn't understand that some bargains are more ironclad than others.

"She's not going to get better, Jinx," he says, quietly. "You have to let her go."

Jinx stares at him, her face crumpling.

"No," she whispers. "You can't say that. She'll get better. She has to. She promised."

Silco shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Jinx. But Mel's not going to make it. Not this time."

"But—"

"Singed and the doctors have tried everything. The Plague has taken hold. It's spreading. She'll only linger in pain."

"I can fix her! I just need a couple more days!"

"She doesn't have a couple more days, Jinx. She's fading. You have to let her go. She's going to die."

Jinx's face is wet.

"No," she whispers. “No no no.”

"Jinx. I'm sorry. She's gone."

"But she said—"

"I know. But it's not something we can fix. No one can. It's out of our hands."

Jinx is silent.

"Go to her," says Silco. "Tell her goodbye."

And Jinx goes.

When she comes back, her eyes are gleaming red. She's clutching her music box, which has finished unfolding into a magnificent metal bloom, the petals unfurling like a rose. But her smile is wobbly, and her hands are shaking.

"Mel liked it," she whispers. "She said it was the best gift she ever got."

Silco holds her tight.

"It's okay, Jinx. We're going to be okay."

"Are we?"

"I'm sure. I promise."

She sniffles.

"Y'know... for a sec... I thought..."

"What?"

Jinx lifts her head, eyes locking with his.

"For a second... when I was lookin' at Mel... I coulda sworn her lesions were smaller. Like... she was getting better."

"You're imagining things, Jinx. You're tired."

"Yeah."

"How about I read you a story? Something nice and easy, to get your mind off things. Would you like that?"

"Uh-huh," says Jinx. She nestles against him. "Read me that poem. I wanna hear the poem."

"What poem?" Silco says, as if he hasn't heard the words a thousand times, in a thousand variations.

"The one Mel talked about. While you were eavesdropping at the door. Peeping Silco."

Silco bites down a bittersweet smile.

"You knew?"

"I saw you duck out. I wasn't born yesterday, y'know. You're lucky I didn't call you out on it."

"You could've."

"And miss out on the juicy gossip? As if. Read me the poem, Silco. Please?"

"All right."

So Silco and Jinx settle together on the pillows of his couch, and Silco recites the poem, the words rolling from his tongue as if they were his own.

"Had I heaven's embroidered cloths/Enwrought with golden and silver light..."

The poem is brief. But it resonates, like a crystal chime, striking at his heart.

"'...Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.'"

"I like it," says Jinx, after a quiet minute.

"It's not your thing, though. Poetry."

"Maybe it could be. You think I can write poems? About Zaun and stuff."

"You can do anything, Jinx. If you put your mind to it. You just need practice."

Jinx falls asleep in his arms, and Silco sits in the silence, his fingers idly smoothing her hair.

Then he goes to check on Mel.

He's braced himself for what he'll find, and yet he is still unprepared for the sight.

Mel isn't gone.

She is sitting up in bed. Her skin is still gray, and the lesions are still present. But her eyes are clear. Her breathing is steady. She looks at him, and smiles.

"Silco."

He is silent.

"Jinx showed me her music box. It's ... extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it."

Silco steps closer.

"How are you feeling?"

"The same. But..." Her smile grows, "...a little better, I think."

Silco frowns. He can't quite trust what he's hearing. Can't believe what he's seeing.

Because Jinx was right. Her lesions are less pronounced. Less angry. Her skin holds a warmer hue. Her breathing is easier.

"I don't understand."

"Nor do I," admits Mel. She pats the sheets, "Sit with me?"

He does.

She reaches for his hand.

He does not give it.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"How are you feeling? Truly?"

"I told you. Better."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm fighting it off. Or perhaps—"

"Or perhaps what?"

Mel gives him a coy smile. A fleeting flash of her old self.

"Perhaps I've crossed over and returned. I'm not certain. It felt like... a dream. Like the world was made of glass, and I was drifting. But a voice was calling to me. Telling me I was safe. Telling me I could stay, or go to my dreams. The choice was mine. And I chose."

"You chose what?"

"To stay. With you." Again, she reaches for him. This time, he doesn't deny her. "I don't know how. And I don't care. Because the dream wasn't worth it, without you."

Silco's throat is a knot.

He says nothing. He urges her to lie down again, and she does.

"Sleep," he says. "I'll be back later. And we'll talk."

"I love you," she says, with a sleepy sigh.

He doesn't say it back.

He cannot be sure if this is a dream or not.

Instead, he summons Singed. The doctor examines Mel carefully.

"There's a remarkable improvement in her condition," he notes.

"What do you mean?"

"Her vitals are stabilizing. She's regained color. Her breathing is stronger."

"Is she cured?"

"Not yet. But it's possible."

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Singed hesitates. "She's been granted a reprieve." A beat. "As have you."

Silco scowls.

"There are no reprieves. Only hard bargains."

"It appears your bargain has been struck. Whether you meant it or not. She's made her choice. And she's staying."

Silco turns away, unable to rein in his emotions.

"You think she's safe?"

"With our treatment? It seems so. The Plague has retreated. She's no longer terminal. In a month, maybe two, we may see her through it. She'll have some scarring. But she'll live."

Vertigo nearly overtakes him.

He'd been ready to say goodbye. He'd prepared for her loss. He'd steeled himself against her passing. And now?

He's not prepared to feel his heart beating again.

"Thank you, Doctor," he says with terse formality. "Keep me apprised."

"Of course."

Singed leaves.

Silco is alone, and he is reeling.

Hard bargains. Harder truths. And yet, somehow, by the grace of something he doesn't believe in, Mel is here. And she's going to live.

It's more than he deserves.

But he'll take it.

The next weeks bring more change. The Ash Plague continues its relentless ravage of the city. More are afflicted, and many more die. Zaun is locked down. Shops and factories are shuttered. People hunker in their homes, waiting, praying for the end. But Singed's serum is making inroads. More are recovering, albeit slowly. The disease is not gone, but it's in retreat.

And Mel is regaining strength.

Day by day, her lesions heal. Her color returns. Her energy. Her appetite. By the month's end, she's well enough to rise from bed. Silco has one of the guest rooms in their suite remodeled into a sun-room, where she can spend her afternoons, surrounded by plants and art. The view is the Undercity, and the sky, a bright jeweled dome.

Mel resumes painting. Silco has a small easel set up for her, and brings her supplies: acrylics, charcoals, watercolors. Sometimes, she paints flowers and fruit. Other times, the cityscape, or portraits of Jinx. The girl's gift adorns the table, a magnificent centerpiece. From its copper heart pour the sounds of Zaun, a tinkling aria of notes raised in celebration and defiance.

Silco is a constant visitor. Sometimes, he'll bring one of her preferred philosophical treatises and read aloud. Sometimes, a newspaper, so she can keep abreast of the political landscape in Zaun and Piltover. He'll discuss the articles with her, and they'll brainstorm strategies, and Mel's eyes will grow bright, her tongue sharp, her mind a diamond-faceted brilliance.

Other times, he'll bring her tea, and a new book. They'll read together, a few chapters a day. He'll listen to her talk about the book's themes, its characters, its symbolism. She's an animated analyst, full of incisive ideas, and he's fascinated, and more than a little aroused.

He keeps the desire to himself. Her body is not yet fully recovered. The Plague has left her weakened.

He will wait, until she is strong again.

In the evenings, they have dinner together with Jinx. His daughter has taken up residence in the guest room next door, and often, they'll eat in Mel's bedroom, playing cards and swapping gossip on the chem-barons and Councilors. Jinx's wild tales always make Mel laugh, and, sometimes, the two women double over bubbling with hysterics, while Silco sits in contented silence, taking in the beautiful sight.

After the third month, the Plague is receding. The Fissurefolk bestow thanksgiving to Janna. Theories abound. Perhaps it's the Shimmer compound. Perhaps a quirk of genetics. Or perhaps, says Mel, a miracle.

"Doubtful," says Silco.

"Hey, stranger things have happened!" Jinx insists.

"Like what?"

"Like me and you and Mel," she says. "Bein' a family."

He can't argue with that.

The third month stretches into the fifth.

Mel is well enough to resume correspondence with her colleagues in the Council. Her desk is awash with missives inquiring after her health. There are a dozen invitations to tea, and twice as many invites to dinners and parties. Then there is the intimidating crest of the Medardas on a red-bordered envelope.

Mel is reluctant to answer it. Ambessa's threats have not abated. And Mel has no desire to confront her mother.

"Not yet," she tells Silco, "There is work to be done between our cities."

Silco agrees, and leaves her to it.

Week by week, their disrupted rhythms smooth back into a semblance of normality. The Plague is contained. The chem-barons are slithering out of their strongholds, and Silco is needed to keep them in line. He spends more time in his office, and less time hovering by Mel's side. But they send each other a brisk succession of messages, and he drops in to see her daily.

He's just returning from a meeting when one of his messengers finds him.

"Boss. There's a letter from the Missus."

Silco unfolds it, and skims through it.

Urgent.

You're needed at home.

It's a shock, to read the word.

Home.

Home is his office, and his desk, and the clutter of his plans and maps, and the view of Zaun from his window. But his home has also become Jinx's and Mel's laughter, and the burnished warmth of the sun-room, and the gleam of Jinx's music-box, and the floral lilt of Mel's perfume.

And now, this summons.

His pulse spikes, and he rushes home, his blood thundering in his veins.

Has the Plague come back?

Has Mel relapsed?

But, when he gets to the penthouse, the space is quiet. The lights are dim. He heads to Mel's room, and finds her door ajar.

He enters.

It's dark, the drapes closed. The room smells of hothouse hyacinths.

"Silco."

Her voice comes from the bed. He sees her, lying under the covers, and his heart drops to his toes.

"Are you all right?" he demands.

"Better than all right."

Her voice is low. Musical.

Aroused.

"What's wrong? Why the summons?"

"Come here."

He does.

She's reclined on the pillows.

The bedcovers are pulled to her breastbone, revealing only the tantalizing slope of her neck and shoulders. Her face, in the dark cloud of her unbound hair, holds an alluring glow.

She looks...

"You've been ill," he begins, cautiously.

"No longer. I'm well."

"But—"

"Silco," she whispers.

And her voice is a siren song, her lips a dark temptation. He's leaning in, and she's rising to meet him, and then their mouths find each other, the kiss slow, deep, drugging. He feels her arms loop around his neck. Her fingers curl through his hair. And then she is drawing him down, tugging at his clothes, pulling him closer, until he is braced above her.

"We shouldn't," he gasps one final time. "Not until you're—"

"Stronger? I am."

"But—"

"Shhh," she murmurs. "No more talk. Only us."

She's naked beneath the covers, he discovers, as his hand slips into the sheets. Her skin is deliciously hot, and the seam between her thighs is slick as melted butter. Her eyes hold a heavy-lidded radiance, and he is caught, a fish on a hook, a drowning man, powerless against the pull of the tide.

"Mel," he groans.

"Shh."

He lets her drag him under. He's already lost, his thoughts unraveling, his will dissolving. And she is exquisitely sensitive, arching and curling beneath his questing hands, his teasing fingertips, his ravenous mouth. He savors the way her breath catches as he parts her, caressing her with his thumb. She moans, a melting croon, and he dips his head and tastes her, his tongue teasing the silky nub of her clit. Her fingers claw into his scalp, holding him there, and he delves into her, drinking the sweetness of her need, the music from her throat, the symphony of her joy.

When he rises over her, she's trembling, her skin sheened, her eyes molten.

"Yes," she breathes.

He sinks into her, inch by inch.

She sighs, her body stretching to welcome him, and the hot, liquid squeeze makes him groan. He pauses, gathering his self-control.

"Don't stop," she says. "More."

And then he is moving, the rhythm a languid glide, his body making itself heavy on hers, her palms starfishing his spine. They've done this before, numberless times. But this is different. So different it's almost a dream. A fantasy. When he kisses her breasts, she arches her neck, and he laves her nipples, suckling gently, until she is keening.

"Silco..."

He's going slow. Slow, because he doesn't want to hurt her. Slow, because he wants to remember every detail. How her eyes are liquid gold, her mouth a swollen bruise, her body a sleek mold to his own. She flows with him, skin-to-skin, a river with a hundred secrets, and he wants to know them all, to learn her inside out, to drown in the dark velvet of her: heat and honey and salt.

Her breath is catching.

"More," she begs. "Please."

"No," he rasps. "Slow. Don't rush it."

"I can't—I can't—"

"Slow."

But he's not much better, the fulcrum of his control teetering. His muscles are coiling, his mind sluicing down black headwaters. She's so tight, the grip of her a sweet torment. He can feel the gathering tension in her body, the fluttering spasms that presage her completion, the way her nails are scoring his skin, her breaths sawing frantically.

The heat of her is a burning sun.

Mine, he thinks, with a surge of sudden fierce elation. Mine.

They've changed rhythm somehow, and he isn't sure if it's hers or his, only that they're grinding against each other, the pressure an unbearable sweetness, the friction sparking a fire through his nerves. Mel's breaths come wet and shaky. One broken sound, a gasp that is nearly a sob, escapes her. She is crying, tears streaking her skin, delirium reducing her words to a single whisper.

"Please," she begs. "Please."

Silco doesn't speak. He can't.

So he gives her what she needs.

He rocks harder, faster, driving her deeper into the sheets, her body a pliant curve, her legs locked around his waist. The headboard is rattling against the wall, a dirtysweet percussion. And the room is full of their cries, a ragged duet spiking into crescendo and then softening, softening, softening into a single, shuddering gasp.

Afterward, they lay entwined.

Mel’s body, dewy with sweat, is fused to his. Her hips stir lazily. He's still half-hard, but for the moment he's sated, the blissed-out aftermath resonating through his bones. He kisses her forehead, and she nuzzles his jaw.

"Well," she murmurs, "that was..."

"Good," he says, and she laughs, a breathy, satisfied purl. Stretching beneath him, she winds her legs round his, tracing his back with her palms. He's a canvas of old scars. Always has been. But now a few cicatrices linger on Mel's own skin: on her left cheek, below her collarbone, upon her right breast. Silco kisses each one, like a benediction.

"My warrior queen," he murmurs, tracing the mark on her breast. "The scars are badges of your valor. You won the battle."

"Did I?"

"You survived. That's more than I could ask. More than I deserve."

"Sssh." She lays her finger against his lips. "I'd never have, if you hadn't taken my hand."

He kisses her: slow, savoring sips.

She breathes, "I heard, you know."

"Heard what?"

"That night. When I was... fading. You said you loved me. That you'd always love me."

His pulse trips.

"Did..." Her lashes dip. "Did you mean it?"

He can't lie to her. Not anymore.

"Of course I did."

"And now?"

His eyes lock with hers.

"Always," he says.

"Then it wasn't a dream. You called me back." She smiles. "The poem took care of the rest."

"Poems don't save lives, Mel. Only progress can."

"Poetry opens the doors of possibility," she insists. "And sometimes, the best poetry is the poem that you live."

He has no answer to that.

So he kisses her, a hot, deep, hungry kiss.

Her eyes flutter shut, and she sighs.

"We have much to do," he says, a husked warning.

"Mmm. I know. My mother’s missives..."

"I meant us." The kiss deepens: a promise. "The missives can wait for another day."

Her answering smile is a thing of beauty: a bright golden blossom that unfurls like Jinx's gift.

"Tread softly," she teases, "because you tread on my dreams."

Silco only kisses her again, their bodies folding together in the dark.

He doesn’t need to tread far.

His dream is already here.

#asks #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward (never forget)/xoxo #forward but never forget/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #arcane mel #mel medarda #silco x mel #melco

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xaaaavleg · 2 months

Text

!Première fois que je publie (et que j'ecris aussi) donc soyez indulgent!

STORY WRITE IN ENGLISH AND FRENCH

Context: You and Vi were friends, even if the two of you shared a very romantic chemistry...Only, after the accident caused by Powder, your whole world collapsed, desperately trying to find Vi or Powder, you end up finding Vi's sister and then working for Silco. That said, a few years later, Vi reappears. The story unfolds as Caitlyne and Vi are kidnapped by Jinx.

Contexte: Vi et toi étaient amies, même si toutes les deux partageait une alchimie très romantique...Seulement, après l'accident causé par Powder, tout votre monde s'est écroulé, essayant désespérement de retrouver Vi ou bien Powder, vous finirez par retrouver la soeur de Vi puis à travailler pour Silco. Cela dit, quelques années après, Vi réapparaît. L'histoire se déroule où Caitlyne et Vi se font kidnapper par Jinx.

L'histoire est aussi courte que la musique

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────

we'll find moonlit nights strangely empty because when you call my name through them there will be no answer

sᥲ᥎ᥱ 𝗍һ᥆sᥱ ᥡ᥆ᥙ s𝗍іᥣᥣ ᥴᥲᥒ

I looked at the one I'd loved so much, from beginning to end, and all I could do was think of her. But now, it was time for her to become a memory, just a name that will never be thought of again, but never completely forgotten either. I looked at her, with an eager face, then in a rush I took her cheeks between my hands and kissed her. She was slow to react, but participated in the tender kiss. It was the first and last time our feelings would come together after so many years, at last. I stepped back and spoke coldly.

"You failed, Vi. You failed to save your sister, and to keep our love alive" I paused and turned my head towards that soldier, who was chained to the chair. "If you hadn't followed her like a good doggie we wouldn't be here, you screwed up" I said, turning my head towards her.

Vi was about to speak, but I didn't let her. I untied the ties that bound her to the chair. She looked at me confused.

"Save those you can", referring to this warrior. Vi rushed at her, untying the ties that held her to the chair. I took advantage of their distraction to head for the cliff where Jinx was waiting for me.

Holding in her hands the weapon that would destroy the site of the Tower of Councils. I look at Jinx and smile at her. We take the weapon together and pull the trigger. This provoked an enormous noise that shook the earth for a few moments. The soldier screamed, realizing what we'd just done. There was no turning back - it was already too late for that. Vi said nothing, still in shock at what had just happened. She preferred to try and console the soldier, but to no avail.

I looked at Jinx. She knew it was time to move on to the next phase. So we turned to face the two women who were staring at us, eyes wide open. I took Jinx's hand and stared at Vi. I silently uttered an "I love you". She looked at me, her eyes revealing great confusion, a desire to understand what was happening, to know where all this was leading. At last, she realized. Then she remembered what I'd said to her earlier: "save those you can," but too late.

It had taken her too long to understand. She rushed towards us, begging us to stay. Still hand in hand, Jinx and I smile sadly. We let our bodies topple over the cliff. As we fall, I have time to hear Vi's heart-rending scream. Our bodies collided violently with the ground, creating a deafening noise. I used the last of my strength to close my eyelids. They would never lift again.

This is the end.

sᥲᥙ᥎ᥱ ᥴᥱᥙ᥊ 𝗊ᥙᥱ 𝗍ᥙ ⍴ᥱᥙ᥊ ᥱᥒᥴ᥆rᥱ sᥲᥙ᥎ᥱr

Je regardais celle que j'avais tant aimé, du début à la fin, je n'aurais fais que de penser à elle. Mais maintenant, il était temps qu'elle devienne un souvenir, Juste un nom auquel on ne pensera plus mais qui ne restera jamais complètement oublié non plus. Je la regarda, d'un visage avide, puis dans un élan je pris ses joues entre mes mains et l'embrassa. Elle prit du temps à réagir mais participa à ce tendre baisé. Ce fut la première et la dernière fois que nos sentiments s’unissent après tant d’années, enfin. Je me recula et d'un ton froid je m'exprime.

"Tu as échoué Vi. Tu n'as pas réussi à sauver ta soeur, et à faire vivre notre amour" je fis une pause et tourna ma tête vers cette soldate, qui était enchainée à la chaise. "Si tu ne l'avais pas suivie comme un bon toutou on en serait pas là, tu as merdé" dis je en tournant ma tête vers elle

Vi allait s'exprimer mais je ne lui en laissa point le temps. Je détacha les lien qui la liaient a la chaise. Elle me regarda d'un air confus.

"Sauve ceux que tu peux encore sauver" faisant allusion à cette guerrière. Vi se précipita sur elle, détachant les liens qui la mintenai à la chaise. Je profitais de leurs distractions pour me diriger vers la falaise sur laquelle Jinx m’attendais.

Tenant dans ses mains l'arme qui allait détruire l'emplacement de la tour des Conseils. Je regarde jinx et lui souris, Nous prenons l’arme ensemble et appuyons sur la gâchette. Ce qui provoqua un énorme bruit qui à fit trembler la terre quelques instants. La soldate cria, réalisant ce que nous venions de faire. Aucun retour en arrière n’était possible c’était déjà trop tard pour ça. Vi ne dit rien, encore sous le choque de ce qui venait de se produire. Elle préféra tenter de consoler la soldate, en vain.

Je regarda Jinx. Elle comprit que le moment de passer à la phase suivante était arrivé. Nous nous tournons donc face à ces deux femmes qui nous regardaient, les yeux grands ouverts. Je pris la main de Jinx puis fixa Vi. J’articula silencieusement un « je t’aime ». Elle me regarda, ses yeux dévoilaient une grande confusion, une envie de comprendre ce qui ce passait, de savoir où tout ça allait nous mener. Elle réalisa, enfin. Elle se remémore alors ce que je lui ai dis plus tôt : « sauve ceux que tu peux encore sauver » mais trop tard.

Elle avait mis trop de temps à comprendre. Ni une ni deux elle se précipita vers nous, tout en nous suppliant de rester. Toujours main dans la main, Jinx et moi sourions tristement. Nous laissons nos corps basculer de l’autre côté de la falaise. Pendant notre chute, j’eux le temps d’entendre le cri déchirant de Vi. Nos corps percutent le sol avec violence, créant un bruit assourdissant. J’utilisais alors mes dernières force pour fermer mes paupières. Elle ne se soulèveront plus jamais, désormais.

C’est la fin.

#jinx #arcane #vi arcane #arcane powder #arcane violet #sad ending #league of legends #wlw #SoundCloud #Spotify #tv girl #viral

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truthandadare · 1 year

Note

27 & 29 ?? 👀

Well hey, anon nibling!

27: What do you listen to while writing?

I take my writing ambiance VERY seriously 😊. I can’t write a single word without music and find it exceptionally challengingly to concentrate when songs have lyrics, so I stick to instrumental. I’m a massive score/soundtrack fan, especially when writing and this year we were gifted a couple of amazing ones including Bear McCreary’s Rings of Power and God of War Ragnarök, and Ramin Djawadi’s House of the Dragon. I could go on and on and goodness I have actual data to back me up, cause my Spotify wrapped was all composers…..

Fun fact about me, I actually started my career in opera and musical performance many moons ago. So classical music has always had a loving (if a tad stern) grip on my heart. There's nothing I love more than when I find a bit of score that fits just perfectly for a scene I’m dreaming up in my noggin. I listened to “Awaken” by Dario Marianelli from the Jane Eyre so many times when writing Act Two of Symmetry that it shot up to my most listened song of the year 🙈

I also love to have soundtrack ambiance on my tv when writing and highly HIGHLY recommend Ambient Worlds he does a superb job and the videos are gorgeous.

29: Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Well dammit this has my brain somersaulting between pick-your-favorite child and imposter syndrome.

There are some lines I’m excited for yall to read, one in particular that I’ve had tucked away since the beginning when I was mapping Symmetry. My favorite moments of writing fic this year were with Silco’s POV. I’m especially proud of lines in his POV that were a little less flowery and punched directly in the gut. Chapter 15 is one of my favorite chapters and I’m particularly proud of the ending:

“He had to keep working despite the distraction of her. He was the one who could stomach summoning monsters, so he had to do the dirty work. Had to continually bury himself in necessary evil without complaint.

But oh, if he could somehow bury the entirety of himself in her, he would not have hesitated.”

Oh, oh, AND! My next project is an original work that I’m hoping to get published. It’s an Appalachian Gothic tale thats very close to my heart and the only real passage I have so far is the opening.

“Gryme women take a good long time to die. They linger, too stubborn to succumb to their own mortality until they are dragged to the end with tattered memories and bones as brittle as sapsucker eggs. All are prickly as the pine and hardy as the rhododendron within the mountains we incorrectly call home.

That is why, dear cousin, it was such a shock when they found your corpse beneath the sourwood trees before your twenty-second birthday.”

Thanks for asking!

#auntie dare writes!

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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

Text

Echoings (NSFW)

Hello and welcome to Sinning-Sunday, today's theme is exactly what's on the label, feast, and please don't get any ideas for your local bridges from this.

Silco X F!Reader (Established)

Wordcount. 2.5K

Warnings: Minors DNI/18+. Dirty talk/language, oral (f-receiving) spit as lube, drunk sex, minor voice/volume kink, P in V sex in a stupidly-dangerous location/minor exhibitionism/sex in public-locations/it's literally fuckin on a bridge. Implied/mentioned violence.

Mostly just a story about two young revolutionaries-in-love, drunk, sticking it to Piltover and makin' some memories. And smut, don't forget the smut. Just in time for 300 followers 💖

"... We could get shot."

"Hm, potentially."

You squint at him as you caught your breath between ragged pants, staring up at calm, nonchalant, hooded and completely-drunken blue-green eyes. Before another roll of his palm had you mewl lowly, a dull thunk as your head fell back on the alley wall behind you as your eyes squeezed shut and you bucked under him. "By Janna, you're being serious?"

Silco nodded, and seemed pleased at the gasp he pulled from your lips as he squeezed between your legs again, heat flashing from your core as he grinds his palm against your clothed-sex. He surely must feel the warmth beginning to pool down below, but he only cocks a brow, head tilting loosely as he points out with only minor slurring in his cool tone, "I've seen you obliterate an entire Topsider shipment while underfire. You're not that scared of being fucked-senseless near enemy-lines, are you?"

You released a huffed breath, glancing back to the warm amber glow of the tavern you had slipped out of, the moment you felt that telling-squeeze on your knee beneath the table, turning to catch the eye of your fellow revolutionary as he had casually jerked his chin to the exit. "The guys will never let us live it down if we die from this," You warned him, letting out a small huff of annoyance, and another moan of lust, as he simply leaned forward, nipping at the skin beneath your ear while crowded you closer to the wall behind.

Palm slid from it's fixated positioned on the wall beside your head to secure him, letting your body be his leaning-post as he yanked your tucked shirt out, hand sliding up along your abdomen to grope at your breast. Thumb pressed deliciously to circle a hardened nipple, Silco closed the gap between your mouths to taste that whimper that he pulled from you as he gave a short tug on the aching flesh with a pinch.

The whiskey was still warm on his breath, just as you knew it was on yours. You let out a whine under the ministrations between your legs, moaning through clenched teeth as you felt a particularly rough press of the heel of his palm stir at your clit.

"Sil, are you listening...?"

"Mmhm. So, are you coming or not?"

Again, you were probably going to get shot doing this. Doing something this stupid, asinine, and reckless, was surely something that would go down in history as one of the dumbest decisions of your life...

And if the mere notion of the idea was turning Silco on half as much as it was arousing you, you were already consitering the risk completely worth it.

The haze of sex and alcohol didn't stop that small bit of worry from breaking though the reckless cloud in your system as, half-tearing at one another while rarely breaking the heated collision of your mouths, you and your partner made it to the bridge in question. Ducking with long-bred instincts as soon as you got in view of the long stretch between the Lanes and picture-perfect Piltover, your twin pantings came to a slow as you observed the fog-coated structure before you.

"... Next patrol should arrive in about twenty minutes." Silco murmured, long nose brushing your cheek as he pressed close to whisper in your ear. Fingers tickle as they brush down your side, to your hip, making you shudder as he squeezes the lower-flesh there. "Think I'll have you screaming loud for them to hear you before they've even started marching over?" Knowing him, and what he could do with his body against yours, it was actually more likely then one would think.

You turned slightly with an equally hooded gaze and wicked smirk, snapping your teeth an inch from his nose playfully as you watched his eyes turn predatory in response to your sly smirk. Nails bit into your hip as he pressed against your other-side, obviously losing patience as you felt the straining tent rubbing against your other hip. "Only one way to find out, pretty-boy."

Mouths again locked onto each other, you found yourself letting out a small grunt as your lower-back dinged against the waist-high railing on the side of the bridge, inhaling the crisp, cold fog as you felt a hand snake down the waistband of your pants, a greedy grip on your ass as you felt Silco's tented cock grind against you.

"Up, now." You huffed a laugh at the order, but impatient, his other hand snaked under your thighs with a growl, and he lifted. Hands flew out beside you to grip the edge of the frigid railing Silco propped you onto, as the wind whipped your hair-about. "You are insane." Your croak of awe and pure-need only makes him darkly chuckle as he was soon tugging at your pants, making you cling your hands ever tighter for dear-life as the chilled sea-air reached your bared skin. "No; hungry," He corrected you with a crooked smirk at your wanting face, which grew wider as you thrusted your hips invitingly.

Your chilling flesh in the dark, seaside air is warmed quickly by hands gripping your thighs, spreading them wide open as he drops to one knee, already biting at the apex of your thigh and core. Lips soon drag, open and tongue leaving broad stokes through your soaked pussy, as you hang onto the polished bridge-railing. A physical link to the last bit of sanity and good sense you had left, as Silco's mouth began it's work in earnest, in it's efforts to make you scream from his devouring of your sex.

On tables were one thing. On a barstool had been another.

That one time on a rooftop, when you had both been too lazy, too drowsy to move to a proper sleeping mat in order to give in to the urgent sexual necessity after a long day, had been on a different level entirely, but this...

Getting your cunt utterly feasted upon, with nails furrowing down your thighs in rhythm with long, broad sweeps of tongue as you clung to the railing for support, and to keep from tumbling down hundreds of feet into the harbor waters below, was surely on a whole different plane of insanity.

Your bark of a curse was loud, even through harshly-biting lips in your attempt to muffle as you felt that diabolical tongue press just inside your dripping hole to brush against your inner walls. Twisting your hips to grind that sensitive bundle of nerves on that perfectly-arched nose, you're stuck trying to not buck into his face as he laps and suckles at your sex.

Letting out a particularly loud whine, your nails dig into the smoothed surface under you for purchase as you feel his mouth pull back to close around your lower lip. The suction he gave at the sensitive folds, along with the groan he sent rumbling through your cunt, had you straining not to let out the yelling string of curses out into the open air.

He must hear your pitiful attempt at restraint too, for he grants mercy by slipping arms under both your thighs, holding you securely as your hands all but fly to grip his long dark hair, growing damper by the minute as the fog begins to turn to a dripping mist of rain.

Silco doesn't let you go over the edge, sexually or literally, as he pulls back his face with a wet gasp for air after only another moment or so of his feasting, fingers twisting into the dark strands as he smirks at your whine. Licking his lips around a soaked mouth and chin as he gazes through his lashes at your twisted, desperate face. Catching your heated gaze with his own.

You watch him slip a hand from under you to wipe at the rest of his chin and face, gathering your juices his tongue cannot catch, before spitting into his palm. His other hand slips to his trousers, and soon the wet sound of a palm sliding along his own flesh joins your whimpers as you reach out for him as he stood. "Four minutes to patrol..." It took your brain a moment to catch up, and you swore, digging nails through the leather on his back. "Fucks sake, Sil. You've been counting?"

"Course, want to..." He's cutting himself off by his slamming of a mouth against yours as he loops an arm around your waist. A grunt against your lips as he slicks his length with your essence, while the taste of whiskey, and yourself, on his tongue is quickly overwhelming your intoxicated senses. "Wanna know... if all of Topside is gonna be hearing you. Gods, I hope they do, I hope they hear me fucking you."

"Probably hear your big mouth first-" The retort is cut off into a keen of need as he grips you tighter, guiding his cock between your thobbing lower lips. "No, they'll be hearing you, I can promise you that," His low growl vibrating into your ear as he bit down on the lobe, another thrust against the folds of your cunt. The ache of need was growing inside you with every movement, as Silco was being wholly unhelpful in his hoarse whispers and growls, "Hear your tight cunt take me all... screams are one thing, doll, that wet pounding is going to be another."

To articulate, he finally guides that tip into you, causing your head to press into his shoulder with a whine as he fills you quick. Utterly lewd, wet sounds drag in the air as he slowlybrings himself full-hilt within your damp heat, only possessing a second more of patience before he pulls back to slam into you.

The cry echos in time with his thrust, which takes the pitch of your moan up at least three octaves.

"That's it, that's exactly what I want..." His own growl sputters off at the end as you grip his hair for support on the ledge, locking ankles at the small of his back as he begins to rock into you with a mission in mind. "I want you wailing. Crying, howling my name out here."

You believe you're doing that already, but his brief pause to scoop under one thigh, raising your leg a bit higher before pounding his cock into you from this new, perfectly devastating angle, has you actually screaming out.

This makes his voice rasp along your neck as he bites hard almost enough to draw blood. After ensuring the spot will ache for days, his carnal thrusts turning more wild between each word, "... rest of my life," Cut off by a swear from him, another mewl dragged from you, he continues after catching a heavy breath. "... whenever I look at this bridge, I only want to think of this. Thinking about you, and about me fucking you into this perfect, goddamn bridge of theirs..."

Feeling you begin to tighten around him, he manages out a final growl.

"Make it echo."

Throwing your head back with his teeth latching onto the soft skin of your collar, you let the deafening sound of Silco's name bounce up along the towering metal structure of Piltover's precious Bridge of Progress.

And as he gives a final slam into you, you're pretty sure that the action just made him cum harder than he ever had in his life.

Boneless, you distantly remember to keep upright on the ledge railing as your legs slide from the strangle it had around his waist, hands carting up to lovingly roll through sweaty, mist-wet locks as he shudders and pants for breath against your skin. Slipping forward to brace closer to the side of the the walkway instead of open air, your legs dangle on either side of his hips as you slip a hand under his chin, raising his face to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

The first sound of a fortified metal boot stepping onto the bridge breaks the moment of peace, and, in surely record-time, you have your pants pulled back up, and his buttoned into place.

Hand in hand, sore from the fast-removal between your legs and sitting on polished marble for so long, the two of you are racing back to the Lanes-side with survival pounding in your veins. The moment your heels step onto solid ground, and you're dipping back into Zaun, you feel a hoarse, choked laugh slipping from your teeth...

It takes a minute, but after he's slumping against an alley-wall alongside you, sliding down to sit beside you on the ground, you hear the equally strained chuckles begin to rumble from Silco's chest.

It can't seem to stop, the shared laughter at the incredulousness of the situation you both found yourselves in. The moment you believe it's over, you make the mistake of turning to face your partner, and immediately have to look away as you dissolve back into cackling at the sight of him trying to hold back his own laughs. Teeth biting his lower-lip as he struggles to maintain composure, the whisky and the euphoria of sexually release, still working though your senses and making the immediately-prior events seem absolutely hilarious.

"That was insanity."

"Indeed."

"We're never doing it again, no." You insist between chuckles when he starts to object with a wide smirk, your laughter finally tittering off into a amused sigh as you lean your shoulder onto him, arm curling around your waist. "... even though that felt really, really fucking good." Silco hums, long fingers sliding up to cart through your hair, casual but smugness curling the syllables, as he inquires, "Which part?"

"The view." Your tease earns you a final amused huff, before a distant thud as he leans his head back to recline more comfortably against the surface behind him. If you could move the lower-half of your body, you'd be squirming at the cooling wetness you can sense dropping from your spentness, and Silce being in a similar situation. Aftercare was important, but in the face of avoiding being caught and potentially shot for trespassing, you had to put such relaxtions aside.

Price of being a revolutionary, you guessed. Foregoing most comforts for the sake of basic survival.

Silco's hand squeezed around your waist again and you smiled, eyes slipping shut. Most comforts, not all.

"... remember how loudly I said your name out there?" A slow exhale sounds as you glance up, watching his seafoam-green eyes slipping shut as the memory replayed in behind his mind in perfect clarity. With such a careful, concentrated look on his face, you could wholeheartedly believe him as he murmurs, "I am never going to forget that."

Eyes cracking open, Silco hums as you slide a hand over his chest, rubbing through the layers of fabric in a promise of sensuality as you shift up, breathing wickedly into his ear, earning a muted growl of quickly regenerating need at your next words, "I'm going to get you twice as loud when we get back home."

#this is why the peace negotiations with Jayce didn't happen at the bridge #too many... distracting memories for Silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #silco x you #minors dni #18+ only #the ultimate Silco powertrip #young silco #the young silco brainrot is still not dead yet #thank god #my writing #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #silco smut #silco

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