OH. MY. FUCKING. GODS.

OH. MY. FUCKING. GODS.

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

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

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

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

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

The Mad Scientist's Assistant - Chp 27

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

Full TMSA masterlist

Previous Chapter: Chapter 26

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI 

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

Chapter word count: 8.4k

Chapter Beta Readers: Thank you as always @purplefangirl42

Total word count: 172k

Darkness.

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

Only darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it sound so familiar?

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

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

Is it… is it your name?

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

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

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

What is that word?

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

A name. 

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

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

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

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

Your mouth. The taste of iron.

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

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

To feel alive.

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

Was it always this hard? 

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

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

Warmth and weight on your hand.

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

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

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

“Silco?”

Your throat is scratchy, your voice hoarse.

More feelings. More sensations.

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

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

You squeeze the hand.

It squeezes back.

Your eyes open.

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

Silco's corrupted eye.

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

“Silco.”

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

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

He says your name again.

It sends warmth to your chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another breath.

You open your eyes, relieved.

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

I knew he had a room in here…

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

You turn to your bedmate, confused.

“Why am I wrapped like a mummy?”

Silco lets out a soft chuckle.

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

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

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

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

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

The mattress groans as Silco's weight leaves it.

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

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

“Silco?”

He pauses.

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

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

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

Four days.

You were out for four days.

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

“What happens now?” 

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

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

Silco smirks, but adds nothing.

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

He yawns.

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

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

“Yours as well,” he hums.

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

“Thank you.”

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

You blink.

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

“You've managed fine without me—”

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

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

“You've been gone—”

“I've been right here—”

“No! You haven't!”

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

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

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

Your throat bobs.

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

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

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

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

“An Independent Zaun.”

A pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?” she calls to him.

A pause.

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

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

“I am glad she's okay.”

Another pause.

Then, an equally quiet, equally sincere:

“Me too.”

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

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

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

“I can’t do it.” 

A pause.

“Not yet.”

A long, shaky inhale followed by a broken exhale.

“Not without her.”

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

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

“Ah!” 

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

“Jinx!”

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

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

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

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

“I do,” she says with a cheeky smile.

“What are you two going on about?”

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

No sudden movements. Got it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Singed managed to replicate my formula, right?”

“Correct.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Jericho's.”

You shake your head.

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

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

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

“You did not.”

You hum, nodding your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat bobs.

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

No use keeping it from him.

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

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

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

Now it's your turn to be confused.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am?” You straighten up.

He hums.

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

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

Silco offers her a soft smile.

“It seems we have a volunteer.”

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

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

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

“Oh…”

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

“Here, lemme help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jinx…” Silco warns.

She rolls her eyes.

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

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

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

“Welcome back,” she whispers.

You feel a slight sting behind your eyes.

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Thanks.”

He straightens up and you follow.

“Of course.”

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

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

“That’s perfectly normal,” he hums.

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

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

“You don’t… remember.”

You shake your head again.

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

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

“Do you remember why you were fired?”

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

His lips press into a thin line.

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

After a moment, you nod.

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

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

Is that my blood?

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

Or Silco’s?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let out a sigh.

“Okay.”

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

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

“Oh, right,” you mutter to yourself. 

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

My mom left me that bag…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh.

“I wasn’t going to complain, Silco.”

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

You turn to him, confused.

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

Your eyebrows lift and you cross your arms.

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

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

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

— Zane

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence stretches between you.

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

“Thank you.”

He takes your hand and gives it one good shake.

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

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

Why does this feel like goodbye?

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

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

“Perhaps this will jog your memory.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then—

Silco’s voice.

Hushed and broken. 

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

Pleading with you. 

"Stay with me."

Pleading with the gods.

“Kindred, please… not yet.”

And not only that—

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

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

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

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

Fuck! I’m still recovering.

You hang your head.

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

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

The back window lowers, revealing Silco.

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

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

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

“What are you—”

“I remember, Silco.”

He stares at you.

“I remember everything.” 

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

Or perhaps all of the above.

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

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

“You remember everything?”

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

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

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

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

“After what I did to you?”

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

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

That gets his attention.

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

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

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

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

Silco turns around.

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

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.” He nods his head. “It’s true.”

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

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

“You heard that?”

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

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

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

He wets his lips with his tongue, uncharacteristically unsure.

“The truth is…”

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

“I left something out of that letter.”

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

“I…”

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

“I love you.”

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

Perhaps you misheard him.

Surely, he said something else.

Finally, you find your voice.

“You what? Are you sure?”

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

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

“No. I mean— Why?”

His head tilts.

“Are you asking why I love you?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

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

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

You laugh, swatting your hand at him.

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

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

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

His lips curl into a smile and he laughs.

Not a chuckle. Not a snicker.

Not a short bark or a startled reflex.

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

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

It’s all too much.

Too much for your exhausted body.

Too much whiplash for what had been your broken heart.

Unbidden, tears start to run down your cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know what to do.”

He takes in one steadying breath through his nose.

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

He shakes his head, laughing to himself.

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

You sniffle your nose and lift your eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah! Fuck!”

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

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

You nod, energy completely drained from you.

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

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

Your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion overtaking you.

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

“Who’s Thalia?” he asks gently.

“My boss.”

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

“I got a job at a tailor shop.”

He hums.

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

You internally roll your eyes.

“I mostly swept and did inventory.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let me make it up to you.

Let me prove myself to you.

Finally, you nod.

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

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

You smile back to him.

“I’m not yours just yet,” you jest. 

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

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

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

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

You reply by smiling and nodding to him.

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

You pinch your lips together, shaking your head. 

“Those shouldn't be necessary.”

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

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

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

You nod and smile at him.

“See you then.”

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

“Two days,” he repeats.

“Two days,” you echo.

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

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

“You miss me that much?” you tease.

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

You cross your arms.

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

“I’m hurt,” he pouts. “Wounded even.”

“Then why do you want to know?”

He crosses his arms, mirroring you.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes you a moment to respond. 

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

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

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

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

And second chances.

You nod.

He smiles, waiting.

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

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

“Good night, Silco.”

My brilliant scientist,

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

But I can't.

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

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

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

For that, I am deeply sorry.

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

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

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

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

Yours, if you’ll have me,

Silco

Stay tuned for Chapter 28! The final chapter!

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

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

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

Join my taglist!

Alright folks! I am closing my requests for now, because I have accumulated quite alot of them over this semester, so I'll open them once I get through at least half of them.

Please be patient with me, I have university to attend and money to make and it's kind of exhausting. I will be working on all the requests I have received, and then open them up for new ones, but I cannot tell you a specific time at which that will happen.

Thank you!

---

Letters from Silco

In classic me fashion, I have discovered a new hyperfixation within my Silco brainrot and that is writing letters from Silco by hand. I started it with the letter found in TMSA 27 and now I've written one for all Silco simps to enjoy.

A Reminder

Word count: 250

Tags: Silco x gn!reader, established relationship, short-term long distance, soft Silco, horny Silco, suggestive language but no actual smut

My dearest,

I regret that my work has pulled me from you for this long. You can be certain that the person responsible for the mishap—for extending the need for my presence—will be facing serious consequences. This project becomes a larger headache by the day and I must face it without you by my side. But I take comfort knowing that I will be seeing you soon.

I cannot wait to hold you against me again. To look into your eyes and press my lips to yours. I fear, in our time apart, my tongue has forgotten your taste; I'm in desperate need of a reminder. I crave you, need you as a fire needs oxygen.

I have not known relief since leaving your side and I must apologize for the manner in which I intend to reclaim you as mine upon my return. The fervor with which I will devour every last bit of you. I will reacquaint myself with every curve of your body, every exquisite, supple inch of your flesh. I will leave no trace of you untouched, no part of you unworshipped. 

You will not leave my sight for a full day.

I will make sure of it.

But until then, I must work swiftly to get our efforts back on track. The sooner this error has been corrected, the sooner I can come home to you.

Wait for me, my beloved, and I will make up for every day lost. I promise you.

Yours,

Silco

If you would like a (digital copy) of a Silco letter of your own, check out this post for details on how to request one!

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @eurydicethesage @thepineapplesimp @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @delta-is-here @beardedladyqueen @sirenofzaun

Join my taglist!

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Nip To The Park (Broadchurch Drabble)

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Alec discovers your newest yappy crime.

Fic type: Crack/fluff

BROADCHURCH: @clarina04 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @yeethaw13 @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @quickslvxrr @madspads @catlynharper @merrilark @jaziona92 @iguirisu  (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wha’ the fuck is that?” Alec asked with his lips pursed into a very unimpressed grimace. “And what-” he enunciated the word- “is it doing in my house?” 

You let out a rather un-charming ‘uh’ sound, dragging it out while you attempted to find literally any excuse for the creature tugging behind your back. Your eyes darted left and then right. Alec’s grimace deepened, losing his patience. 

“It’s nothing,” you replied, hiding the leash. You didn’t notice the loop sticking out from your other side. 

“Y’cannae expect me t’believe there’s nothin’ there,” he said, gesturing wildly. The poor man was three steps in the door and already gesticulating and waving his tone about like a man worn down with desperation. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, my love,” you replied, not even looking down at the rather fluffy and rather medium-sized dog sniffing at your feet. 

“Och- you’re ridiculous, why is there a dog in my house, darling?” 

Oh, so he was pronouncing his ‘g’s now. This was not good. You let go of the leash and picked the dog up, grunting as you did so. His little tail wagged side to side happily. 

“Alright, so, uh, listen- here’s the thing,” you chuckled nervously. “I might have gone out today. And there might have been an adoption set-up going at the park. And I might have stopped in to have a quick look and say hello. And I might have looked into his eyes a bit too long. And…” 

“And?” Alec asked, already knowing the answer but forcing you to come out with it anyway. 

“And I might have brought him home.”

 

Alec finished putting his stuff down, hanging his keys and coat on their various hooks. You took a step back, careful not to trip on the lead. The dog in your arms sniffed at your chin and tried to lick your face. 

When you fended off his kisses and looked back up, Alec was coming towards you. Your eyes widened with fear. Alec was a cop- not even. He was a detective. He could definitely kill you and cover it up successfully if he really wanted to. 

Then, he slumped his shoulders, drooping in front of you like a sad balloon. You watched him warily as he raised a hand to pet between the dogs’ ears. 

“Oh, f’er fucks sake,” he groaned, scratching the little fella on the neck. “Wha’s ‘is name, then?”

Angel Shot (John Wick x Reader)

A/N: Just a little something because I missed writing for John and watching all the movies again on winter break has got me feeling inspired. ♥

Description: John Wick x Fem!Reader, protective John fluff | Warnings: mild language, alcohol, suggestive themes, Y/N is harassed/threatened and John intervenes | Setting: before Helen (or AU without her, you decide) | Word count: 1,474

Gif credit: user johnswick

Imagine John coming to your defense when a former associate won't leave you alone

It had been a long week. All you wanted was a moment of peace and a cold drink. Normally, you had no trouble finding that at the bar within the New York Continental. On this night, however, you found yourself wishing you had gone elsewhere. No sooner had you taken the first sip of your cocktail did Rico Augustine spot you from across the room.

You keep your eyes fixed forward and pretend not to notice his approach on your right.

"Look who it is," he announces, mockery in his voice, "The rooftop sniper."

"Rico," you acknowledge placidly. You could already sense this interaction would not remain civil. A quick glance his direction allowed you to take notice of his haggard, unshaven face and wrinkled suit. Even in the subdued glow of the mood lighting, you could see the wildness in his bloodshot eyes as he clutched the edge of the bartop.

"I'd offer to buy you a drink," he starts, leaning in closer, "but considering I'm a little light of funds right now, maybe you should be the one getting me something, huh?"

The alcohol on his breath was strong enough to burn your nose. Apparently, he'd managed to evade both sleep and sobriety since you last spoke.

"I already have one," you say, gesturing with your glass, "And I'm not sure you need another."

"It really is the least you can do, after what you stole from me," he provoked, his disgust poorly veiled.

His proximity, paired with his odor and audacity, set a fire in your blood.

"Are we really going to go over this again?" you ask, turning toward him, "I didn't know you were there last night. I wouldn't have taken the shot if I had. I don't work like that."

"You know that's my territory. I followed that mark for two hours and you took him right out from underneath me. I needed that money," he seethes, drawing out his next words, "You owe me."

You pivot back to the bar, your temper flaring. "It was an open contract, Rico. Just because we worked together on the Morocco Exchange doesn't mean I owe you," you state, taking a swig before speaking once more, "I already gave you a 30% cut, from a profit you didn't earn in the first place. That means we're finished."

His hand flies up to grab your wrist, causing you to drop your drink. The glass rattles and liquid sloshes out as it hits the bartop, but it does not fall over. With the dull roar of music and conversation filling the room, the noise isn't enough to catch the distracted bartender's attention.

"What if I say we're not?" he asks, his voice growling in your ear, "What if we're only finished when I say we are?"

Before you can answer or go for the dagger concealed in your shirt sleeve, you feel the cold steel of a concealed blade begin to dig into your ribs.

"I tried being polite, but you just had to keep flapping those lips of yours."

"You don't want to do this," you warn through gritted teeth.

"Wrong again," he sneers, his gratified tone sending a shiver down your back, "Why don't we continue this conversation up in my room, hm?"

You try to make eye contact with the bartender, but his back is still turned toward you, occupied with a chatty patron. Only one option remained: be even less civil. You try to free your dagger slowly from its sheath on your forearm without Rico noticing. It starts to slide loose as he pulls you toward him with a sickening laugh. The hilt is almost in your palm when, in the mirror on the wall of liquor bottles, you catch a glimpse of someone approaching from behind. They come to stand at your left a few seconds before you hear a voice that brings immediate relief.

"Hey, Y/N."

"Hey, John," you say.

"Nice night," he remarks.

"Sure is," you reply, glancing to him from the corner of your eye.

"Evening, Rico. Can I buy you a drink?" John asks.

"Thanks John, but Y/N and I are about tapped out for the night. Ain't that right?"

You attempt to turn your head towards John, but Rico pushes the blade harder into your side in response.

"Yeah," you say unconvincingly, wincing from the sting, "Thought about ordering an Angel Shot though."

There's a brief silence before John speaks again. "That so?"

"This doesn't concern you, Wick," Rico snarls, his fake cordiality gone in an instant, "Mind your business."

"Actually, you made it my business when you pulled that knife," John responds calmy, "Now, how about that drink? Or shall I make a dinner reservation instead?"

You feel the grip on your arm loosen a bit. Your assailant knew as well as you did what that meant. One of two things awaited him: a whiskey, or a body bag.

Despite the warning, Rico scoffs, looking past you to glare at John.

"Come on, Wick. You and I both know you don't have the balls to break hotel rules," he retorts, his thin lips curling into smirk.

John doesn't blink. "You willing to bet on that?"

You suppress the urge to smile as you watch the reflection of your harasser's face lose its gusto, along with most of the color.

"Last chance, Rico," John says, "Take your hands off her, and walk away."

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Rico narrows his gaze, but lets go of your arm. "Of course. Whatever you say, Baba Yaga," he jeers, rubbing his mouth with his sleeve.

You exhale, but the sweaty brute leans back in close to your face and hisses, "The Boogeyman won't always be there to save you. This isn't over."

Rico starts to walk past you, but John grabs his arm, and tilts his head ever so slightly. "I didn't catch that last part."

He clears his throat, avoiding John's piercing stare. "It was nothing."

"Uh-huh," he deadpans, "Didn't think so."

"What's the matter, Wick? We're all professionals here, aren't we?" he poses; more a begrudged plea for mercy than an inquiry.

"Some of us more than others, it would seem," John replies, proceeding to lower his voice, "If you threaten her again, you'll find out just how professional I can be."

Rico clenches his jaw, his eye twitching in rage. Even as he choked on his own venom, he knew he was beaten. He violently recoils as John releases his arm, straightening his jacket and running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. You, John, and the rest of the room watch him retreat until he's completely out of sight.

Boogeyman or not, John had a way of drawing attention. The hush that had fallen over the room fades as customers return to their drinks and conversation, no doubt now discussing what sort of gruesome scene they were nearly witnesses to.

John finally turns to you. "Are you alright?"

You nod and smile a bit, "Thanks to you."

"I'm sure you had it handled."

"Yeah, but I wasn't looking forward to scrubbing his blood out of this fabric. You can never find this color, I'd hate to toss it," you chuckle, looking down at your shirt.

"We wouldn't want that," he says, amused.

You replace your tousled hair behind your ear and meet his softened gaze. "Thank you, John."

"You're welcome, Y/N," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket, "You look like you could use a refill."

He holds up an all-too-familiar gold coin, then places it on the bartop. "On me."

"That's two I owe you then," you counter, giving him a knowing look.

"No. You don't owe me anything," he states, kind but firm. The look he gives you in return makes you feel that you shouldn't argue.

"Fair enough," you say, watching the now attentive bartender top off your beverage, "But at least let me get you a bourbon."

John retrieves his phone from another pocket, reading the screen and stowing it back as fast as he'd produced it.

"Thank you, but I'll have to take a raincheck," John says, touching your shoulder before walking away. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

"You have business elsewhere tonight?" you question, calling after him.

"Yeah," he answers, pausing a moment, "But I won't be checking out for another day or so."

You smirk. "Be seeing you, then?"

He nods, the smallest trace of a smile on his face.

"Be seeing you."

He turns to leave, and your eyes follow him until the last. Drink back in hand, your heart continues its excited drumming. You press the cold crystal to your lips and grin. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad night after all.

"Give 'em hell, John."

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Reblog if you write fanfic and would be totally down with your followers coming into you askbox and talking to you about your fic

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