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Requests from fanfiction(.)net

Arayta:I don’t have a Tumblr account, but can I make a request? Basically, it’s a soulmate one. The reader and Yondu only have seen tints of grey their entire lives. Only when the reader meets Yondu do they see the colors associated with him, such as blue and red, while he only sees their eye color and such. But then, when they fall in love, they see ALL the colors. Smut if you want. And reader is as snarky as possible, which both turns on and p*** off Yondu.

Thx! Arayta, She with Lost Honor.

(Y/N - your name, Y/L/N - your last name)

Warning - language (also this is probably the longest fic I’ve ever written by a very large margin) 

(no smut - may have got side tracked a bit, so there’s not much of snarky reader)

—–

You’d seen grey all your life, there was nothing wrong with that - it was normal. It was normal when you were 5 and when you were 10. Some people saw colours by the time they were 15, but not many; though by the time people were 20 there were a lot less who only saw grey. Years passed, as they did, and you turned another year older, again and again, and all you saw was grey. And it was fine. Sure, everyone you grew up with saw in colours now. But it didn’t matter. What was life if all you worried about was finding your ‘soulmate’? There was so much more to life than some relationship, like memories and experiences and money and treasure and how good you were at stealing stuff. That was important. You were very good at stealing stuff.

Keep reading

☆ Would merc still like you if merasmus turned you into a worm 🪱 ☆

characters: all mercs

tags: crack but not really I'm taking it kinda seriously, reader has a platonic relationship with the mercs

note: maybe someone's done this before idk I felt compelled to write something tf2 related and this is lowkey all I fucking got lmao

Also this is ridiculously long for a fic that was supposed to be crack so my bad (this was longer actually, but I cut out a bunch of yapping)

●○●○●

• I feel like Scout's first reaction instead of panicking is to curse and threaten Merasmus.

"OUT OF EVERY SHITTY THING YOU COULD'VE DONE, YOU TURNED THEM INTO A FRIGGIN' WORM?!"

• He's yelling, so much to the point where Merasmus just teleports away and ignores it, finding it funny (of course he finds it funny what a dick)

• He realizes that when he was so busy yelling at Merasmus, he had lost you. He panicked, looking around the ground with a horrified frown, cursing to himself as he started to dig, looking closely. When he finally found you, he placed you on his hand with a frown, looking at how you moved against his fingertips. He wanted to cry a little, he really didn't know what to do.

• He's placing you under his hat. Usually he'd find worms or maggots gross as hell, and if he was going to be honest he still found you gross, but it was you, so...

• Then he rushes back to base, the panicked look on his face never leaving him. He alerts all the other mercs, making a huge fuss over how, you're a worm now, and they need to help him get back at merasmus to turn him back.

He's holding you in his palm, and you're just wiggling around like nothing is wrong cause you're a worm now. And the rest of the mercs look at him like he's crazy.

• Spy, Sniper, Medic, and Heavy are convinced he's lying. Demo believes him a little since he's experienced Merasmus' antics. Soldier automatically believes him fully since the worms there, but you're not, so that must be you. Engineer is just trying to keep the peace, trying to calm scout down, but it doesn't work as no one is listening to him.

• The team is skeptical, thinking that this is some elaborate prank and that, you're just out for a couple hours. But when you don't return tomorrow for the fight, or return after, that raises some suspicions on where you are.

• Ms. Pauling doesn't know where you are either. So is it true? Are you really the worm?

• A meeting is held, everyone stands around the rounded table, the light shining down on you. You're in your little wormy home, slithering and worming your way through life, forgetting your identity, eating leaves and sleeping in dirt.

The mercs watch as you're doing your worm thing.

Engineer clears his throat, making the attention go to him. He turns to Scout, and the confusion in his voice is evident as he speaks.

"Scout, you're absolutely positive that, this worm is (y/n)?"

Scout responds with an aggresive nod, the slight panic and frustration shown in his expression.

"I told you, its them! I saw it happen with my own two eyes, Merasmus found em, they got zapped and poof- they're a worm! A freakin' worm!"

• The team continues to look at you, so peaceful, so calm, being a worm. They don't know why, but, now it was much easier to believe him. The worm was just like you, chill and...cool...and awesome...and wow... amazing..

"So...what? They're just a worm now?"

Sniper said, picking up the jar you were in, looking at you curiously.

"I don't think they'll be too happy stuck like that."

Engineer spoke once again, "If they got turned into a worm, there's...probably a way to turn em' back, right?"

• That was enough to bring hope to Scout's mind. Of course! That was it, if he could find Merasmus and maybe force convince him to turn you back, everything would be okay! All his sadness had dissipated, and he was quick to start making plans.

• So they did, the team would go hunting for Merasmus, and make him turn you back. In the meantime, they'd take turns taking care of you.

• Scout liked to hang out with you, pretending like it was just like before, where you and him would sip sodas together and talk about anything and everything. He'd pour some soda in the dirt you were in, not really caring of the consequences and thinking everything was the same with you two. He really missed having someone to talk to, though.

"Man, I hope you can hear me. It'll be like, super fuckin' weird if I've been talking to you and you're not even in there.."

• Pyro wouldn't really see a difference. That sounds mean, but its really nothing personal. Though now that you were a worm, you weren't as scared as them as you usually were. They'd sit you down, with their plushies, having a nice tea party, watching carefully as you'd just slither about as a worm.

• Soldier was...confused. You, who once was a brave and selfless fighter, was now a worm. It fascinated him and scared him at the same time. He'd get awkward around you, wondering if you remembered him. He'd talk to you mostly, sometimes petting you...He'd try to.

"EVEN IF YOU'RE A WORM, YOU'RE STILL STRONG TO ME!"

"...You're still in there aren't you?"

• Demo wouldn't really know what to do with you either. He finds it kinda funny how you got turned into a worm. Unlike Scout or Soldier, he doesn't really panic, knowing you'll probably be fine, worm or not. He does miss having you to talk to, like scout. Sometimes he'd just be in the living room, and you'd be by the table in your little jar. He'd just watch curiously, but wouldn't really do anything.

• Same thing goes for Sniper. He legit doesn't really know what to do or say. But, he is a little afraid that you won't turn back into a person. Unlike Scout, he found that you weren't 100% obnoxious or annoying, someone to have chill conversations with after battle. He'd keep watch over you, letting you sit with him as he's chilling on top of his van. Sometimes he'd even bring you out with him in battles as he's camping out enemies during fights. He always makes sure you're safe, though.

• Heavy really liked you. He found you someone worth talking to, and a solid member of the team, so it was a bit jarring to see you turned into a worm. He'd keep his hopes up, though, talking to you like normal. Sometimes he'd watch you like Demo did, curious about you and your little world. It was weirdly calming, after battles he'd be worn out, and when he'd see you worming your way through leaves and dirt, it relieved him a little.

• Engie was a little off put by it, the same way soldier felt. You're just...a worm now? Huh. He doesn't really know what to say to that. Medic and him share the same thought, and that thought is, are you concious? Are you aware that you're a worm? Or are you mindless?

They can't help but think of it that way, in a practical sense. Medic would have to hide you from archimedes and the rest of his doves, who would love to eat you at any given chance.

Sometimes they'd do tests on you. Nothing painful or dramatic but, tests to see if you're still in there. They're really overthinking it.

Engie likes having you in his workshop late at night, makes him feel less alone when you're just worming. Medic keeps you at a distance, just to make sure he doesn't lose you or, have one of his doves eat you.

• Spy, is, kind of grossed out. Nobody has a close relationship with him. He did have a lot of respect for you, both on and off the battlefield. You were just a decent human being who he found a liking to, now you're...a worm. A gross, slimy worm.

He never let you into his smoking room, actually he never even let you out of your jar. He liked you, respected you, but liked you more as a person.

He feels pity, honestly, and just wants you to either be out of his way, or back to normal.

• When you do eventually turn back into a worm, they're all pretty glad. They all have questions, ranging from "Were you really in there? Like were you- aware?" And then "Was it nice being a worm?"

I'm sure you can tell who's asking which question and such.

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this what comic 7 leak does to a person

A Rare Flower in a Factory

Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Summary: Everyone has their own hidden little secrets, it just happens to be that Heisenberg's secret is the rarest and most beautiful flower.

Everyone has their secrets. Even the four Lords.

But no one could have guessed Heisenberg's.

Down deep in the dark, the deepest and most hidden place in his entire factory, just about where the rust ended, there was a living space.

A small, yet comfortable little place that the Lord himself built with his two hands.

Heisenberg was proud, he provided a home.

And in that home lived his beautiful little flower, his bride.

Someone no one would expect to find in such a place.

Yet, there you were, hidden away from Miranda and the other Lords.

Heisenberg's beautiful flower.

You were the reason he wanted to fight to be free. You were the reason he wanted to leave this Godforsaken place and start a new life. 

But no matter what he did, he failed.

He always moved back to his chambers, feeling like a failure. But each time, when he saw you, he felt at ease. As if all his worries melted away.

And you loved him so much.

"Karl?" you called out as he got out of the bath. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes." came his reply and soon he joined you in the kitchen. His arms moved around you as his mouth moved to your neck.

"Not like that..." you giggled as he pulled you closer.

"I'm always hungry for you, Doll. But I do need some food before I have my dessert." you smiled at him as you both finally moved to the table so you could eat.

---

You woke up to the feeling of cold on your feet.

You were naked under the blanket, with an equally naked Karl attached to your back.

It got rather cold in the factory during winter.

But you woke up with the need of pee and your throat felt dry.

You wiggled out of Karl's hold.

You put a long shirt on, which reached to your knees before leaving the room and headed to the bathroom then the kitchen.

On your way to the kitchen, you noticed the door to your home open, you found it weird but decided to just close the door and get your glass and go back to bed.

You poured a glass of water for yourself when you thought you heard a noise.

The factory did make a lot of noise so you didn't think much of it.

However, the second time, you couldn't ignore the footstep you heard, you knew it wasn't Karl, you could hear him snoring.

And just as you rounded a corner, there it was.

One of Karl's many creations. 

It had human legs but it was mostly a machine with huge machetes for arms.

You wanted to run but the thing was faster, it slashed and as you put up your hand to protect yourself, it cut into your palm.

"KARL!" you managed to yell, hoping he would come and save you. 

And again, the monster got ready and this time it slashed your forearm. You made another sound of pain and the machine-human fell to its knees, you heard the metal in his body squeeze.

You looked to your right and noticed Karl.

He was looking at your bloody hand. He made a gesture with his hand and the monster flew backwards, right out the metal door.

He rushed you into the bathroom, taking out a first aid kit and he started to work on your arm.

"This is all my fault."

"It is not, Karl."

"I didn't check if the door was closed."

"It's not your fault." you insisted, but he kept on avoiding your eyes. "Karl." you called out but he didn't listen. He bandaged up your arm and took you back to your bed.

"I'll clean up." he said and you knew he needed his own space and time. So, you allowed him to have it.

By the time he arrived back, you were fast asleep.

---

The next morning, you woke up alone.

You looked for Karl, but he seemed to have gone missing.

You knew better than to roam the factory, so you stayed put, reading your romance books and cooking lunch and dinner.

You also didn't forget to take care of your wound, you cleaned and re-wrapped it.

Karl arrived back later than usual, you waited in the living room for him.

He came into the room, his eyes filled with pain.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is not your fault. The thing wandered where it shouldn't have."

"Exactly, so, I prepared a new place for you, it is still rough around the edges but..."

"Will I get a window?"

"Yes, and a balcony. I'm done hiding you down here, it is far too dangerous."

"But what if Miranda finds out?"

"I bet my ass, she already knows." Karl made his way over to where you were sitting on the couch and knelt down, holding your hand in his. "I always fared something would happen down here with you, you will be a lot safer upstairs." he said and you nodded, you leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips.

"Okay, when will I move?"

"Hopefully tomorrow. I have them working on the rooms for you, then you can add your touch to it." you smiled at him.

"Thank you, but you got to stop blaming yourself, Karl."

"How can I ever make it up to you?" his fingers gently ran along the edge of your badage.

"I have a couple ideas. You can start with your fingers, then your mouth and last-"

"You are naughty." he smirked.

"Just the way you like it." you put your hand on the back of his neck and pulled him up to kiss you.

Karl was definitely thankful for you and your forgiveness. He was so mad with himself all day, he killed every single one of his machines in revenge.

He shouldn't have, but the thought of losing you became overbearing. It was all too much for him.

And he will make sure that no one ever will get to you. Not Miranda and not the entire world, for you were his hidden flower in a garden of madness and pain.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak   @manduse   @jacalineiscomingforyou  @mandoloriancookie @noname2246

In case you want to help out a dreamer: patreon.com/multific  

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS 

i hope i am not only a mutual to you but also someone you can point at a fictional character and go "oh shit that guy on tumblr is super fucking mentally unwell about that one" about

Please make art. You don't have to bare your soul or make a masterpiece, you can be silly and you can be derivative if you want. You don't even have to show it to anyone. Just please make something, it's so good for you

People worrying if their fic is too self indulgent like....... that is the point of fanfiction. You are supposed to indulge . Every fic is self indulgent

Reblog to hug prev poster (they need a hug)

Medic x Reader - The Red Means I Love You

Wc: 2.7k

Themes: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort(reader was feeling down beforehand)

A/N: I really haven't been writing huh,, sorry about that, guys!! I've been real busy with work n' other stuff- but I promise I still love seeing your ideas! I can't promise I'll get to them, but I still enjoy seeing them :3

Taglist: @electro-omen @skeleton-stomper-xoxo @moopy-milk @pillow-14 @emotionallyunwellmedic

Masterlist

Optional Playlist!!:

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not again.

It's always that damned static that manages to hum itself back into your ears; almost romantically. The idea sounds so beautifully comforting; lovingly pulling you away from reality, holding you in a close embrace.

It sounds so much nicer in thought than in practice.

But as much as you can't help but zone in and out, every sound around you feels so loud yet hushed at the same time. The buzzing of the lights, the crickets outside, at one point you think you may have heard someone walk past your room to go to the kitchen, but it was just one sound among many.

You sat alone in your bed, staring blankly ahead. You couldn't make out what you were staring at, nor did you care. - It was all just a blurry mess.

But you needed a distraction. You knew that if you were to be left alone it would only get worse.

And suddenly, you were standing in front of Medic's lab. You didn't remember the slow journey there. Maybe you've walked the path so many times that you went on autopilot? That doesn't matter right now.

You can hear footsteps from inside, and a soft, muffled voice. You can't quite make out the words, but with his tone, you can assume that he's talking with his birds.

You reach out for the door handle, hesitating. Did you really need to go bug him? You'll get over it, you're sure.

What exactly is it that your body needed? You shuffled through a short list of things. You ate earlier, drank water, you got an... okay amount of sleep. Well, more than usual- which is a start.

You just needed to be in someone's presence, you think.

But not just anyone, you're sure that someone like Scout would be too energetic, and Soldier would be too loud.

You always end up right back here, don't you? Maybe it's because you feel comfortable around him? You couldn't be too sure.

You lightly shake your head, your vision continuing to stay just a bit more blurry than usual. With the blurred shapes that you know spell "laboratory" in front of you, you finally crack the door open a smidge. Then some more.

Medic was standing in front of his doves, holding his bloody finger up to Archimedes. You're assuming he'd just given him a piece of meat or maybe he was petting him. In the middle of the action, Medic tilts his head your way, opening his mouth for a greeting-but deciding against it when he does a quick once-over of your tired form. Though, a gentle smile does make its way on his face.

You slowly hobble over to an empty counter, ignoring the chair stacked with a lab coat and papers, hopping up on said countertop. You stare ahead at the body on Medic's operating table. You haphazardly analysed it. It sat lifeless, it seems it'd been that way for a while now. Well, at least you knew you and him were truly alone.

You leaned back, letting your arms hold you up. Medic silently went back to his spot beside the corpse, picking up a scalpel with a soft smile. He began to hum. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find it comforting. The buzzing of the lights surely didn't leave, but they felt less overbearing. It was also late, and Medic rarely had all of the lights on at this time, only keeping the one main one he needed for seeing the corpse with.

He could tell something was up, but he didn't want to pry- though it was nagging at him. Perhaps Archimedes could tell, or maybe it was pure luck- or maybe Archimedes saw you as someone to care for too. Soon enough he was carefully flying towards you, gently landing on your shoulder and rubbing his head up against your cheek. It became tough to hold back a small smile, and you relaxed your shoulders. You gently brought up a knuckle to very carefully pet him with. Along with whispering little nothings- most of which Medic couldn't make out, only sometimes hearing his own name.

He couldn't help but admire the sight before him. It's a good thing that the corpse in front of him was indeed just that- a corpse- or else dropping the scalpel in it probably wouldn't have been too good.

"..Hey,"

He snaps back to reality, his face warming up just a bit at how you caught him dazed- one could even say with a somewhat lovestruck expression. You weren't about to point that out though, were you?

"Why'd you stop humming?"

He.. he was humming? No- well, yes he does tend to do that a lot while working to busy himself, but you noticed? His eyes widened a bit. It's not exactly a conscious thing he does- and it doesn't help that now that he's put on the spot he can't quite come up with anything to hum.

So, he carefully sets down whatever tool he was holding and quietly makes his way over to the music player. You recognized the first song as "Bust Your Kneecaps". You giggled at how fitting it seemed to suit him. The song was so calming but morbid at the same time. He carefully adjusts the volume and begins to sway his hips as he once again as he works on the corpse in front of him. The music player sounds a bit staticky, but the music was still enjoyable.

And now it was your turn to admire him.

He sure was skilled at what he did. Even with music playing and him obviously focused on the sounds surrounding him, he nonchalantly makes such precise and careful incisions. The soft smile on his face, and the way his hair was a bit messier than usual- a given after a long day of battles. You caught the way he'd absentmindedly twirl the scalpel between his fingers before deciding where to place his next incision. The blood coating his gloves glistened,- hey, that's odd, he very rarely wore his gloves while working. May he knew you'd-? No, no, you doubted it.

You noticed the way he had a small pep in his step whenever he had to walk around- it seems his boots may be newly polished, too. His voice when he hummed or softly sang any lyrics was always so comforting too. So much so that you'd absentmindedly join in on the humming at times if you knew the song.

Which is what happened. You only noticed that your soft hums could be heard as well when you caught the way his smile grew and he glanced over at you with hope in his eyes. It was always reassuring to him when you'd slowly warm back up in the subtlest of ways. Of course he knew when you weren't doing too well, and he was always glad to help you out. Honoured, even. It made his heart warm knowing that he was your go-to person to feel comfortable and safe again, even if it just meant being in the same room as him.

It means you willingly trust him. Yes of course, people trust him with their wounds in life or death situations- but they have no choice. Yet you come to him for the most mundane of things.

He must admit, he might be catching feelings.

And there wasn't any major event that caused him to realise this- no. Actually, it was something quite small that you'd done many times before.

This must've been roughly a month ago now; he was sat at his desk, his pencil going back and forth over some paperwork at ungodly hours of the morning. Everyone at the base should have been asleep, but he should have known better as mercenaries. None of you were normal- but you all still needed rest.

Which is why he was surprised when he heard soft footsteps slowly approach him. He recognized them, of course- had he not, he would have been reaching for his bonesaw.

Your presence alone relaxed him. But then he remembered how late it was, and was about the question you on why you might be up at this hour- damn hypocrite.

But before he could, there was a small plate with snacks being placed beside his paperwork, and a hand giving his closest shoulder a small, absentminded massage.

Then, you stood behind him, slowly snaked your arms around his shoulders and slowly leaned against him- almost all of your weight. You rested your chin on top of his head and you hadn't said a word.

This meant two things: one, that you had finally accepted that you simply couldn't tell him to get to bed because it would never work, to which you had adapted. Second, you were up at this ungodly time, and the first thing on your mind was taking care of him.

The thought of asking you why you were up at this hour left his mind, instead opting to let you watch whatever he was working on. Well, as much as you could with your eyes half-lidded, sometimes closing on you.

Every so often, he'd grab a piece of the snack you had brought him. One time, he brought a piece to your lips, and you lazily ate it with a hum. From that point on, he'd eat a piece, then offer you one. Then, because he was so entranced in his work, he had forgotten about the snack. Until you gently brought a piece in front of his mouth, still wanting to take care of him.

"...You don't have to do this, you know."

You gently shook your head, leaning a bit more on him and giving him a gentle squeeze, which was enough of an answer.

And yes, he did notice the way you'd begin to lose your balance due to how tired you were. He himself would lean just enough to keep you upright when he could tell you were beginning to doze off.

That was the first night you managed to get him to go to sleep early- and that was without a single word spoken by you.

That was the night he learned he may have feelings for you. He felt a growing urge to care for you; in subtle and non-subtle ways. Of course- the mercs could tell that he'd slowly become more of a pocket Medic, that much was obvious. But he'd also watch out for you in ways he knew how to. He'd make sure to give you a proper dose of anaesthesia, always be gentle when he did anything involving you, clean his lab and equipment thoroughly before even thinking about using any on you. He never thought too much of it, either.

You began living in his presence more often too, and he appreciated it so very much- he'd never brought it up, but he did care. There were a few times where you'd swing by and he'd offered you a snack; or if you were cold, he'd offer you his labcoat.

Then he realised that he became happy when you were happy.

He never thought of himself as an empath- far from it, really. But suddenly when your mood was down, he'd find himself alone in his lab, doing what he always does. It felt like he was on autopilot, and he felt dull. But when your mood was better and you were more excitable- or even simply happier overall, he'd hum more often, and he wouldn't notice the smile that seemed to constantly spread across his lips, nor the pep in his step.

Which brings us to the present moment. You two humming along to the song. It slowly drowned out, and a new song came on, You recognized it as: "The Red Means I Love you."

Medic's lips curled up a bit, and you gently kicked your feet, his seemingly happy mood becoming contagious. You were still somewhat zoned out, now accidentally staring off into space, which just so happened to be his boots this time. And suddenly, they were right in front of you, along with an open hand blocking the view- hey, when did he remove his glove? It just have been just now, as it wasn't bloody.

You looked up to him and recognized the expectant gaze he sent your way. That warm smile on his face was what convinced you to take his hand, and he carefully guided you around with small steps.

He hummed as he gently placed a hand on the small of your back, and held your hand in his as if it were made of glass.

Once you two began moving a little quicker, he began to sing. He started out in a very quiet tone as to not startle you;

"'Cause my insides are red,

And yours are too.

And the red on my face

Is matching you~"

The two of you continued to sway along to the music, slowly becoming more comfortable, but keeping the volume low. The two of you were tired but content. Then, the reoccurring line in the song came up, and the two of you sang it together in hushed voices;

"The red means I love you~"

You couldn't help the small smile that slowly played on your lips, his was contagious. He offered you a wide grin when he noticed you looking up at him, but it quickly went back to a small, calm, and reassuring one once your eyes were elsewhere. One could even say lovestruck. Paired with a gaze that was admiring every part of you, simply glad to be right there, right now, with you. He'd take lives to be able to do this at any given time- there was nothing more perfect to him than this.

You looked so perfect to him in this very moment. Even the dishevelled hair, darkened eye bags, and slumped shoulders were to be admired. Any imperfections of your skin he found absolutely stunning- they made you unique. But with his background, he's pretty sure that telling you you had fascinating skin wouldn't come off the way he'd hoped- so he'd keep that to himself.

He longed to gently card his fingers through your messy hair, run his finger from your hair to behind your ear, along your jaw and finally tilt your chin up and admire your eyes with the warmest, most loving smile he's ever worn. To pull you a bit closer with the hand that was still resting against the small of your back, with barely any force to be noticeable.

And then he'd lean down, analyse your face for whatever emotions you may be feeling and go from there.

Now, he wasn't a shy man.

So that's what he did.

And that's where the two of you now stand.

After analysing your emotions, checking for any sort of discomfort- he tilted your chin up just enough for you and him to meet halfway.

It was a small kiss- short, sweet and loving. It could even be considered a small peck. There was nothing more to be added, enough was said- even if the only words spoken aloud tonight were mostly just lyrics.

You stood a little stunned, but that was only because you weren't quite ready to fully comprehend what had just happened.

Medic on the other hand was already pulling you into a gentle hug that had the both of you calmly swaying back and forth as he played with your hair. He gave you a small kiss on the crown of your head as you finally relaxed into him, and allowed your hands to rest on his back. Barely audible, he muttered;

"I love you, liebchen."

A gentle squeeze was offered that reassured him that you felt the same way, and you could feel his smile widen before opting to rest his chin on your head, and gently rest his hand on the back of your neck, caressing the base of it with his thumb as the two of you continued to sway together.

He looked forward to more nights like this. Nothing extravagant, just you and him, comfortable in eachother's loving presence.

.

.

.

Nov.10.23

TF2 Mercs Green Flags (except it's very biased)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I love my boys. Yes, this is biased and questionable. But this is meant to be cute and fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scout:

-Silly little goober, great person to be around when you need cheering up

-Golden retreiver boyfriend

-Can easily make you laugh without even trying

-Artsy fartsy

Pyro

-Cutie patootie who makes the cutest drawings of you two together

-Owns an Easy Bake Oven

-Master at baking, never-ending supply of sweets for you to indulge in

-Your biggest supporter. Would literally cheer for you if you rob a bank

Soldier

-Also your biggest supporter, will demand that other adore you as well

-Will let you own any pet you want no matter what the animal is

-Speeches of why you're the best thing to ever exist and how America is blessed to have such a beauty like you live there

-Will give you anything and everything you could ever want, like human ears. Definitely a good person to be if you like collecting weird stuff

Demo

-Precious baby boy is a major cuddle bug

-Def knows how to knit/crochet, will make you whatever you want

-Baby man likes learning about folklore/mythology

-He's essentially a big walking teddy bear. Perfect for cuddles, especially on a cold or rainy day

Heavy

-GIANT WALKING TEDDY BEAR

-Protective baby boy, big scary dog privleges

-Bookworm, can recommend a good book if you don't know what to read

-Perfect person to lay around and cuddle with, he can smother me any day. Dates at home are TOP TIER

Engie

-THE BEST PERSON TO GO TO WHEN YOU'RE HAVING AN OFF DAY HANDS DOWN

-Smart boy, can make you stuff that helps with day to day activities which is helpful if you can't do certain things to having a disability or something

-Dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, can't get enough of it

-Voice of an angel, will sing for you if you'd like. Can def sing you to sleep

Medic

-NERD, he's an adorable nerd! Let him ramble about his hyperfixations!

-Def a good pet owner, would kill someone if they don't take proper care of their pets

-Would make sure you take care of yourself, he's kinda like a dad that cares

-He's such a maniac. I can see him just secretly being up to no good all the time. And he's also very girlypop

-Putting an extra for him cause I can: Medic boobs. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

Sniper

-Sweet, precious baby boy who can do no wrong. He strikes me as someone who listens to EVERYTHING when it comes to music. He ain't genrephobic

-Also a collector of weird things. Likes making bone jewlery. Bone boy

-I just love the concept of him being feral? This is probably the weirdest thing on the list. Like there's the golden retreiver boyfriend (Scout), and then there's the feral boyfriend (Sniper). Literally acts like a cat, hiding away from people, hissing when people that aren't you tries to touch him, will demand attention/affection from you, ect. I need to make a more detailed idea of a feral boyfriend so work with me plz

-He would absolutely let you wear his clothes, thinking about how adorable you look. He'd do the same with your clothes if they're big enough for his lanky body. You two swap jackets in the winter time so you guys always have a piece of each other when you two are busy and aren't able to see each other

Spy

-I know a running joke is that Spy is a smelly French asshole, but I really do think that he wears some of the nicest smelling cologne out there. Expensive af colonge, but damn, it's addicting

-Smarty pants. Not just anyone can be a spy, it takes quite a bit of intellect for it. And not to mentions he knows multiple languages? Love it, even if I hate the French language with a burning passion

-Him having a good taste in fashion? He's gotta know what he's doing by wearing suits all the time. Not only does he look fresh af, but people always look so good in a suit, especially when it fits them. But please also picture him dressed in a more romantic goth aesthetic plz, okay I'll stop now

-Is good at paying attention to even the littlest of details about his partners. Even if you're trying to be cryptic or subtle about things, he'll always find out. He's def a protective type too

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

kindergarten

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawnshop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

windmill

wishing well

wizard tower

Poor Isaac tbh

"Thinking I don’t love you, ‘course I do, sweetheart.”

Summary: (y/n) storms off after an argument with Cooper thinking he doesn't care about her but she soon realises that someone is trailing her.

Word count: 0.8K

Warnings: Swearing

-

-

“Fuck you, Cooper.” I grab my rucksack

“I’d happily oblige.” He teases despite me being frustrated.

“I’m not joking, Cooper, leave me alone.” I say storming off.

“If that’s what you want, sugar.” His refusal to react with any emotion only makes me more annoyed as I walk off into the desert. 

“I’m serious, I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” I yell, turning back to look at him briefly before heading off into the desert, despite it nearly being night time.

The temperature drops quickly as the sun disappears from the sky but I keep my eyes set on some ruins not too far on the horizon to stay for the night, just to be away from Cooper no matter how cold I’ll be without him.

Getting there, I stay the night on the cold, hard floor, regretting not taking the makeshift bedding from Cooper’s bag when I left so I prepare for an uncomfortable night.

Unsurprisingly, I wake up early in the morning, just as the sun comes up, waking me up as I pack all my stuff up and leave, deciding arbitrarily that I’m heading into town to top up on supplies that I forgot to take from Cooper before leaving.

I stop from lunch, sitting down at the top of a sand dune and pulling a small amount of food that barely equals lunch but it’s the best I’ve got to eat. Ripping open a pack of overly dry crackers, I bite into one of them, regretting not taking more water from Cooper.

I keep watch on the horizon before seeing someone walk over one of the dunes, I take my sniper off my back, using the scope to check out the threat before seeing someone dressed exactly like Cooper. I sigh when he gets closer, his face identifiable.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I mumble, watching as Cooper walks through the desert, the same path as I was walking.

I throw my backpack on, opting to eat the dry crackers on the move to get away from him. Checking back every now and then, he trails me throughout the desert but stays far enough away that I can’t talk to him, barely able to identify him without my scope.

I turn around and stop walking and watch as he gets a pair of binoculars I bought for us out of his bag to look at me and I put my middle finger on both hands up at him, hoping he’ll get the hint but I imagine he just laughs, dismissing me.

He follows me until I reach the treeline where he’s unable to see me anymore, waiting for him to take the bait. Waiting, I use my sniper scope to see how close he gets and as soon as he breaches the treeline I stand up.

“Can you stop fucking following me? I told you I was done.” I huff.

“You ain’t done. You ain’t never gonna be done with me ‘cause you couldn’t handle it.” He smirks.

“You seem to be the one who couldn’t handle it - following me around.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I need you as much as you need me so why are you messing around?” He asks.

“Because you’re a dickhead.” I point out.

“That’s true but I’m a lotta things and if that’s the only one you have a problem with then I’d say you’re dealing with me pretty well.”

“I have more problems with you.” I cross my arms, stubborn.

“Please, go ahead, feel free to list ‘em.”

“You’re mean, you’re rude, you never admit when you’re wrong, you, you, you never wear socks with your shoes.” He chuckles at the last one. “And you never tell me you love me and it feels like I’m just following you around like some lost puppy that you found on the street and felt bad for.” 

“You done?” I take a breath that he takes as a yes. “You’re one silly woman, you. Thinking I don’t love you, ‘course I do, sweetheart.” He scoffs, wrapping his arm affectionately around my neck and pulling me closer to press a kiss to my forehead. “Now stop running away and come back with me.”

I pretend like I’m even gonna make the choice not to go with him, I didn’t take all the supplies I would’ve needed and I can’t even lie about the fact that I love him and probably wouldn’t last that long without him. “Fine.” I sigh. “But you’ve got some making up to do.”

“‘Course, ‘course. If I didn’t make you feel loved then I’ve definitely got some making up to do.” He says. “Now, get your bag, let’s go.” He says and I grab my rucksack, throwing over my back before he takes it off of me carrying it for me. “Least I could do.” He says, when he sees my slight confusion but I don’t complain. “Now come on, sweetheart.”

-

AN: I hope you enjoyed reading!

Thank you for reading!

hi! is ur request box open?

Hi! Nope, as stated in my bio and pinned post, no requests are open atm. I am slowly working through the roughly 20 fic requests I have before I open them again :)

Am I gonna die?!🥴🫠🤤

(Part 1)

This was literally perfect, thank you so much! I think you described so well how Cooper would address this kind of situation. The detail that he worried the whole time if the reader was mad at him was so nice as well. I totally agree that he knows the kind of despair the reader is going through like the back of his hand. It's so tender, so raw and so real. This was amazing and I'm definitely gonna come back to this when I need some comfort. You have no idea how much this means to me <333

Hello! I would like to request Cooper Howard x gn!reader (post war, because...murderous cowboy...hnnngh), where they struggle with mental health issues like depression? I've been in a really tough spot, having no energy or motivation to do anything or really any desire to take care of myself. So I was thinking, maybe the reader's mental health is declining, they're slower and sloppier when it comes to keeping up with Cooper and he's more and more frustrated. Then one day he has enough (maybe the reader is taking too long packing up) and threatens to leave them and they're just...passive, because they really don't care anymore about what happens to them. So he realises they haven't been taking care of themselves properly for a while now and then some soft moments with him? I know this is pretty dark and you can change this however you'd like, but I'm dying for some hurt/comfort with this man 🥺 It's totally cool if it's too much for you, if you decide to not write this, please just let me know, so I don't wait for it. Thank you so much, I love your Cooper fics <3

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x gn!Reader

Synopsis: You’ve been struggling lately, putting both you and your traveling companion in danger. He was bound to confront you about it eventually. Tags: Prompt Request, Not Beta Read, Gender Neutral Reader, Depression, Mental Health, Mentions of Suicide, Disagreements, Comfort, Lazy Day, Cuddling, Beginning Relationships Author's Note: Trigger warning for topics relating to mental health, such as depression and suicide. Please do not read if you’re not in a good mental space. Take care of yourselves. Also, everyone’s experience with depression and mental health issues differs, so I am writing this story the way I experience it. Also, this was a fun challenge to write. Like how the hell would he approach a topic like this? It’s been fun to explore his character like that, and I hope I did it justice. Thank you so much for the request! <333

You used to be able to keep up with the Ghoul. 

Wherever he went, you followed, tearing through the Wastleland without hindrance. You watched his back, and he yours, a security that was unheard of in this world. It was a trusting friendship, bordering on something else, something that neither of you had crossed yet. You couldn't compete with over a hundred years of experience with a gun, but you were able to hold your own quite well. You were a decent shot and someone who never let anyone get the drop on you, senses always sharp. 

So when you started missing easy targets and found yourself surprised by opponents one too many times, you knew it was a matter of time before the Ghoul started asking questions and not believing the first lie that you said. The first time it had happened, you blamed it on your lack of sleep, and he seemed to buy it. And maybe you convinced yourself it was just a lack of sleep, ignoring the darkness that had begun to emerge in your mind. You just needed to rest, was what you told yourself. 

It happened again a few days later, completely missing a target in front of you. Your reactions had begun to slow down, too, unable to avoid the swing of a blade, cutting across your cheek. It was like your body gave up on wanting to move, an unbearable weariness to your muscles that you were unable to shake. Later, as you bandaged the wound on your cheek, the Ghoul confronted you, demanding to know why you were acting so sloppy. You’d merely shrugged, offering up the idea that you were sick. This time he seemed less convinced, yet he had let the matter go. 

You knew why you were acting the way you were. You weren’t unfamiliar with depression, far from it. It was something you’d dealt with your entire life, coming and going like waves. You’d go days, weeks, months and you’d be fine, but then a flip would switch. You’d lose your energy, your motivation, wanting nothing more than to just lay on the ground and never get back up. You’d stop taking care of your body. You’d lose your appetite. Your thoughts would turn dark, ideations and ideas flashing in your mind, things that you’d never tell another soul. 

For the months you’d been traveling with the Ghoul, you’d been able to keep a reign on your depression. Sure, you had your off days, but nothing like this. It was like the universe was punishing you for having such an excellent past months. 

But how could you explain this to your traveling partner? How could you explain that you didn’t have the energy to continue existing, to continue fighting? He needed you to be alert, to not have your thoughts occupied with something, that in perspective to the Wasteland around you, was trivial. 

So you kept your mouth shut, forcing yourself to appear alert and unaffected. You forced those thoughts to the back of your mind. You forced your body to move, no matter how much it screamed at you to just be still.

But it seemed that all that bottling your thoughts up did was make it worse. As the days dragged on, you stopped talking, only muttering small words whenever the Ghoul asked you a question. You’d normally spend the time traveling conversing, and the Ghoul did try to initiate a conversation with you, but no amount of questions and joking and jabs could get you to break. Eventually, he fell quiet too.

Sleeping became a challenge. You’d think with how exhausted your body felt, you’d be able to sleep easily, but the opposite was true. Hours would tick by, and you’d lie awake, getting up the next morning more exhausted than before you went to bed. Your face, already a bit gaunt from living such a difficult life, had grown even more so, the circles around your eyes darkening and your lips growing more chapped. 

You stopped eating, turning away the food he offered you. After you went a few days without eating more than a bite, he practically forced spoonfuls of food into your mouth, snapping at you the entire time. It was humiliating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to change. You just wanted to be done. 

You could tell that your demeanor was starting to annoy the hell out of the Ghoul, whose words had turned shorter and snappier. If you took too long, he’d grab you by the shoulder and drag you along, like an upset parent with their child. Your cheeks would burn every time, tears pickling your eyes, and you’d hang your head. 

There was a tension growing between you and the Ghoul, your friendship growing thin. His guard was up constantly, unable to trust you any longer to watch his back, which hurt you more than any knife or gun. Soft glances disappeared, his gaze scrutinizing when he looked at you. Light touches from him reserved for when you were at rest were no more, as you chose to keep to yourself every night. Instead of walking side-by-side, you’d linger a few feet behind him. You pretended like it was easier this way, to make him push you away, but it was tearing you apart. 

But eventually, that tension snapped. Too many close calls, too many sluggish movements, too many half-hearted excuses finally made him break. You’d just gotten up for the day, another sleepless night behind you, and you were packing up your few belongings. You must’ve been taking too long, because you heard him sigh audibly, standing in the open doorway of the room you’d sheltered in for the night. “What’s your fuckin’ issue?” He growled, arms crossed tight over his chest.

You looked up, feigning confusion. “I dunno what-”

“Bullshit,” he cut you off. He began to walk towards you, his steps methodical, threatening. “You’ve been actin’ like this for weeks, and you’ve only offered me half-assed excuses.” He was seething, and understandably so. He crouched down in front of you, rendering you unable to escape. “So, you,” he stuck a finger in your chest, barely avoiding hitting you, “are gonna tell me why. And don’t even think ‘bout lyin’, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest at the confrontation. Words flooded your mind, a full explanation on the tip of your tongue, yet you just couldn’t bring yourself to utter it. Your mouth opened and closed, struggling, until you eventually just gave up. Sighing, you just shook your head, which pissed him off even more. 

A disbelieving laugh left him, and he ran a gloved hand over his face. “No? You’re kiddin’ me, right?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Ya know, I’ve tried to be lenient. I bought into your fuckin’ lies that you were ‘just tired’, ‘just sick’. I tried to give ya space, to give ya time to get out of this. But you’re gonna get us both killed if ya don’t fix yourself. I can’t be distracted out there, constantly worried ‘bout you and keepin’ you alive, ‘cause it seems like that’s the last thing on your mind.”

He took a breath, steadying his rising voice. “So I’m gonna give ya one more chance to explain yourself, or else I’m leavin’ without ya.”

“Then leave.” Your response came almost immediately, your voice lacking any inflection. Even though in the back of your mind you were screaming at him not to leave, you kept an air of indifference about you, unable to make yourself care. It would be easier if he just left, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t be putting anyone else in danger, and you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt you felt of him worrying about you so much. And it would be so much easier to just disappear if there was no one looking for you.

He wasn’t expecting that as a response if the look on his face told you anything. His brow muscles were raised, leaning back from you in shock. But the way he was watching you, it was like he was observing you in a different light, dots beginning to connect in his mind. “You’ll die out there without me.” 

You merely shrugged your shoulders, glancing down to continue packing your belongings, no longer able to look him in the eye. He didn’t respond, simply standing up with a sigh. You didn’t look up, not even as you heard him walk away, backing towards the entrance of the room. You didn’t look up, even as you heard the surprisingly gentle click of the door as it shut. You didn’t look up, even as the tears that you’d been holding for the past weeks finally fell.

You were alone.

You thought it would make you feel better like there would be a weight lifted off your shoulders. But everything just felt heavier, the thoughts in your mind becoming a tempest, making you physically weak. Expletives tumbled from your lips as you sagged down onto your arms, head hung. Of course, he’d fucking leave, you idiot. No one wants to deal with your moping.

A part of you wanted to chase after him, to beg him to stay, but you already felt pathetic enough. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, not at all. You were weighing him down, putting his life in danger; he said so himself. He could only deal with you for so long. You should be grateful that he didn’t leave sooner.

The sound of rustling fabric made you jump, finally looking up. The Ghoul had taken off his jacket, laying it across the back of the couch he had slept on, never having left the room at all. Stunned, you watched him sit, taking his hat off in the process and setting it on the floor. He finally caught your eye then, a soft look on his face, a look you hadn’t seen in a long while. 

“I thought you left,” you whispered, sitting back upright. Embarrassment warmed your cheeks, and you tried to wipe the tears that had fallen on them. 

“I ain’t leavin’ ya, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you want me to go?” You’d never shaken your head faster in your life. “Then I’m stayin’.”

“But why?”

He sighed. “‘Cause I care ‘bout you. I… Is that too hard to believe?”

It is. Unable to find words, you just shrugged again. 

Something akin to regret or remorse flashed across his face, and muttering something under his breath he reclined against the couch. He was upset, but even now you could tell it was not because of you, at least not fully. “C’mere,” he murmured, patting the couch beside him. “You look like you’re gonna fuckin’ bolt at any second.”

Taking a steadying breath, you complied, albeit with some difficulty, your legs barely wanting to function. His gaze didn’t leave you once, as much as you wished it would, making you want to collapse in on yourself. The walk to the couch felt like it was miles long, but you eventually made your way over to it and him. 

He rolled his eyes when you just stood there in front of him, unsure of what to do with yourself. “Sit down, I ain’t gonna fuckin’ bite.” In another situation, you knew he’d add some comment like unless ya want me to, but he bit his tongue. The couch groaned as you sat next to the Ghoul, keeping a foot between your bodies. “Talk to me,” he commanded, yet his voice was gentle. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

You picked at the skin around your nails, no doubt drawing blood. “I’m… I’m not quite sure how to explain it,” you responded, and you expected your words to upset the man even more. But he nodded his head slowly, an almost understanding look on his face. “I’m just… done."

“Done with… what? Bein’ out on the road?” You shook your head. “Travellin’ with me?” You shook your head again, this time more vehemently. “Done with what?” You knew that he knew the answer to his question, but he wanted you to say it.

“I’m done with… with existing. I just can’t bring myself to care anymore. I’m just so tired of it all.” You sagged back against the couch like speaking took a toll on your body. “I’m so tired.”

He didn’t respond for a while, mulling over your words. “That… that explains a lot,” he chuckled humourlessly. “Your mind won’t just leave ya the hell alone, will it? It's like all your mind can focus on are these terrible fuckin’ things, no matter what ya do. And it just weighs on ya, like a million pounds, getting worse with every passin’ day until you just wanna… give up.”

He explained it perfectly, and you cocked your head to the side, a bit confused about how he was able to do so. “I ain’t a stranger to what you’re goin’ through. We’re well fuckin’ acquainted, to say the least. So I shoulda recognized it sooner with ya.” 

He paused, sighing. “Wanna know somethin’?” You nodded. “I was too busy thinkin’ ‘bout what I did to upset ya that I didn’t bother to think of any other possible reason as to why you’re actin’ the way you are. But once I realized it wasn’t my fault, not entirely, instead of bein’ there for ya, I was an ass. I thought, because I’m a damn idiot, that you were just mopin’ around for the hell of it, putting us both in danger simply ‘cause you were tired or some shit. Not once did I stop to think why. And I apologize.”

“You don’t gotta-” He cut you off with a pointed look. “I… I accept your apology, then.”

He nodded slowly, content. “I’d like to help ya, sweetheart. I know nothin’ I say or do is gonna make it go away like that… but I’d like to try. Whatever ya need from me, and you’ve got it.”

“I’m not sure what I need exactly,” you admitted quietly.

“When ya figure it out, will ya let me know?” You nodded.

“Just… be patient. As difficult as that is for you.” You hadn’t meant for the jab to come out, but you weren’t taking it back. Especially when a loud laugh left the Ghoul, making a smile of your own appear on your face. It was faint, yet it was there.

An almost starstruck expression appeared on his face, his laughter dying out. “I missed seein’ ya smile,” he murmured as if it was a subconscious thought.

You ducked your head, making him laugh again. “As for bein’ patient, well, I can be that, if that’s what ya need.”

“It’ll take some time,” you cautioned again, indirectly giving him a chance to back out of this. 

“Time ain’t an issue. I’ll wait as long as it fuckin’ takes.”

“You mean it?” Your voice was so soft, barely audible to either of you. 

You watched as one of his gloved hands inched towards you, palm upturned. Tentatively, you placed your in his, eyes growing wide when he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. “I swear,” he uttered, sealing the promise with another press of his lips.

As you returned your tingling hand to your lap, his eyes scanned over your face, a furrow appearing between his brow. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten somethin’? Somethin’ that I didn’t force ya to eat,” he added when you opened your mouth to respond. 

Your silence said enough, and he leaned down to his bag, which he had placed beside the couch when he sat. After a few moments of rustling through, he handed you a small bag of what appeared to be jerky, as well as a small canteen of water. “It ain’ human,” he added when you eyed the bag suspiciously before taking it.

The jerky was salty and tough when you took a bite, not quite wanting to, but unable to not eat under his gaze. You ate in silence until your stomach was full and your teeth hurt from the tough material. Taking a swig of water, you could feel your eyes growing heavy, eating seemingly draining your energy more than replenishing it. Stifling a yawn, you shoved the canteen back into his hand, and you noticed he had an almost pleased look on his face. 

You were confused, though, when he stood, making his way to the entrance of the room. For a moment, those thoughts flashed in your mind that told you that he was finally leaving, that he realized how pathetic you were. But instead of doing any of those things, you watched as he simply wedged a chair under the handle of the door, like he had done before you went to bed for the night. 

“What’re you doing?”

“We takin’ the day off. Doctor’s orders.”

“But aren’t we supposed to be in Filly in a few days?”

“We’ll be fine. You are gonna spend today catchin’ up on some much-needed rest.” He stood in front of you now, a moth-eaten blanket in his hands. 

“And what are you gonna do?” You asked, and he shrugged. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. Go ‘head, lie down.”

Your eyes quickly scanned the couch, and you took a deep breath before speaking again. “The couch is big enough for us both, no?”

For the second time that day, you’d stunned him with your responses. “Is… is that what ya want?”

Encouraged that he hadn’t just outrightly said no, you nodded your head, and a fond look crossed his features. He handed you the blanket before sitting once more, but instead of his back being against the cushions, he rested it against one of the armrests, not before tucking a pillow in front of it. 

Once he was situated, he opened up his arms to you, and you could’ve laughed at how uncertain he looked. Hands rested on your body when you laid down, head on his chest, laying on your stomach, and you made sure the blanket covered both your bodies as best you could. You weren’t too worried about covering all of you, though, with the sheer amount of warmth he was radiating. 

His eyes were already on you when you glanced up, a smile pulling at his lips. “Comfy?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely audible, but he heard it. 

You felt his fidget with something in his hand behind your back, but you didn’t have to wait long to find out what he was doing. You felt fingers run along your scalp, making you shudder, before combing through any hair there. “Alright?”

You sighed contently, nodding your head before letting it fall back onto his chest. He continued to run his fingers there, his other hand tracing patterns across your shoulders. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until now, finding it hard to keep your eyes open. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. Safe from the world outside this room. Safe from the thoughts that plagued your mind. Safe from everything. 

He didn’t have to see your face to know that you were struggling to stay awake. “Go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Promise?”

“Ain’t fuckin’ like I’m gonna be able to get up,” he chuckled, before taking a more serious tone. “I promise.”

That was all you needed to hear before you finally let the final strings of consciousness leave your grasp. Before you lost control of all your senses, though, you felt him lean down, pressing a barely-there kiss to the top of your head. “You’ll get through this, sweetheart.”

You believed him.

I- This- I was- AAAAAAAAAAAAA

This was amazing! I have been waiting for so long! It was nerve wracking and yet so sweet! All the tender moments between all the characters, their partners, friends...found family at its best, really. I loved it. The whole series- it was so awesome <3

The Mad Scientist's Assistant - Chp 29

Chapter 29–The Nation of Zaun (AO3)

Full TMSA masterlist

Previous Chapter: Chapter 28

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI 

Chapter Tags: Silco x Fem!Reader, Reader-Insert,

Chapter word count: 18k

Chapter Beta Readers: Thank you as always @purplefangirl42

Total word count: 201k

A/N: Thank you for joining me on this journey. I hope the ending is satisfying in more ways than one. As promised, I'm posting the chapter in its entirety. But in one month, I'll be replacing the text with an AO3 link. So read it here while you still can!

Slowly, The Last Drop starts to empty as people leave for their respective posts in Piltover. Your crew is among the last to leave, overseeing that everyone else has all the supplies they need.

You hoist a backpack over your shoulders with your share of mission materials. The straps dig into you from the weight of the canisters inside and you focus on that stinging pain to distract from the way your heart hammers wildly in your chest. Your stomach churns as the gravity of the situation hits you, your eyes darting around The Last Drop as everyone moves quickly to prepare. 

Once, twice, three times you check your bag for the Hextech remote and the other precious cargo protected by the satchel’s upgraded bulletproof material. 

There's electricity in the air tonight when you step out onto the street. Your eyes cast upward toward your destination, Piltover’s skyline littered with golden lights, their glimmering only matched by the stars overhead. You tug your coat around you as a harsh wind sweeps through the Lanes, sending a shiver to run up your spine.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath in.

You stand still as Silco’s crew around you continues to frantically get the last of the preparations ready, Sevika’s voice a loud boom as she shouts out orders to those who hadn’t left already. You take another deep breath, allowing it to wash over you.

Your throat bobs, your hands tighten around your satchel’s strap.

You set your jaw, open your eyes, and nod.

Showtime.

You get a sense of deja vu standing on the airship that will take you Topside. Your previous team of Sevika, Ran, and Jinx stand at the controls, staring out into the dark night sky. The only difference is that Silco is with you this time. He stands at the front, his hands behind his back, his shoulders pulled back. Sevika stands beside him, one hand at her ear as she coordinates the Turbo Chemtanks and confirms their positions.

Standing behind the team, you take a moment to savor where you are. As your eyes pass over each person, you feel a sense of pride for each of them. If anyone can take Zaun's independence, it's them. 

Jinx stands next to her father, both her paintball pistols at her hips, modified for tonight's mission. There's a strap over her shoulder attached to the large flamethrower she had shown you in her workshop. You marvel at how the large device dwarfs her tiny frame, making her seem even smaller than she already is. The hulking weapon has new panels fitted to it since the last time you saw it as well as a new coat of paint in that signature Jinx style.

Sevika, cigarette at her mouth, is armed with nothing but her chemtech arm and a belt of Shimmer vial refills at her hip.

Ran has a pair of long blades sheathed on their back. Your eyebrows lift, having not seen them before. You wonder why they hadn't brought them on your previous mission. 

And then there's Silco.

You assume he's armed to the teeth with his usual daggers. Briefly, you wonder if your gifted dagger is among them. The last time you had seen it, it was nestled between two of Finn’s ribs. 

Moving to stand next to Silco, you take a grounding, deep breath through your nostrils. Out of your periphery, you catch Silco's good eye studying you. But as soon as your eyes flick to catch it, he's already looking straight forward again.

“We're here,” Sevika calls out. “Mask up.”

You crouch down, unzipping the backpack before tossing Jinx, Ran, and Sevika their gas masks. You pick up two more and offer one to Silco beside you. His lips pout slightly as he shakes his head an infinitesimal amount. Your head ticks to the side, but you follow the silent instruction regardless, dropping the extra respirator back into the bag.

Once your mask is donned over your mouth and nose, you reach in for a canister.

“Sevika.”

She turns at your voice, flesh arm a flash as she snatches the metal can out of the air when it whizzes from your hand toward her. She nods before turning to the exit, dark eyebrows set as she rolls out her mechanical shoulder.

The airship lands. The back door opens. Sevika presses a button on the canister before rolling it over the exit’s threshold. After a few seconds, there's a hissing sound as the sleeping agent you and Singed had fabricated so long ago fills the air. 

Silence, and then —

Two thuds as two enforcers’ bodies hit the ground. Sevika silently signals the all clear and you move out as a unit.

You step through the gas and over the bodies, your eyes glancing back at Silco who takes the rear. When he steps through the fog and reemerges, maskless, collar pulled high, his abyss eye taking in the scene down his nose, your heart skips a beat.

You make your way through the city. With the exception of the dock, you run into very few enforcers, your path mapped out painstakingly in advance by Ran to most efficiently avoid all patrolling officers. And if not for that, the team that had arrived before you was given the task of knocking out any surprises along your route. By the time you reach the council’s tower, you've only had to use two more canisters to clear your way.

Outside the perimeter of the tall, ivory tower, there's an entire gaggle of blue uniforms. They surround the building, armed and alert. Your eyes dart through them, doing a quick mental tally of their ranks—much more than you would have expected or liked.

You scoff under your breath.

Maybe the council is expecting us after all.

You spot movement at the front of the pack, your eyes squinting to make out who it could be among a sea of blue uniforms. A familiar scowl on a familiar face. 

Marcus stands at attention in front of his men, dark eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. There’s an anger behind his eyes, a determination you did not see when you had first encountered him.

Jinx lifts her face to her dad, her blue eyes unmistakably wild and excited.

“Now?”

Silco chuckles. “Not yet, poppet. Save it.”

You can't see it, but you're certain Jinx is pouting behind her mask. You laugh internally.

“Ah, Marcus,” Silco addresses the sheriff. “How kind of you to welcome us.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Marcus yells back. “Turn around and go home.”

You glance at Silco next to you and watch as his expression darkens, his good eye narrowing.

“You know I won’t do that,” Silco replies. “Step aside and we’ll spare your enforcers.”

Marcus puffs out his chest, his gloved hand curling into a fist. 

“I should have arrested you when I had the chance,” he says before bringing one hand up in instruction. At the signal, dozens of enforcers train their guns on your small team. “Better late than never.”

Silco rolls his eyes while shaking his head before turning toward his daughter.

“Jinx?”

“Roger!” She chirps back, moving to stand in front of him. Before Marcus has a chance to give the order to his men, Jinx quickly unholsters both pistols from her hips with a flourish and a spin before shooting each. 

Thunk! Thunk! 

Two canisters sail through the air toward the enforcers, flanking them with a steady stream of gas.

“What was that?” One calls out.

“It's gas!” 

“Masks on!”

Chaos erupts as bodies at the periphery of the formation hit the floor, the rest of the officers scrambling to don their respirators. 

“Another,” Silco instructs.

You toss Sevika another canister and she launches it with her Chemtank arm. It lands dead center of the dense gas, adding another thick layer of fog to the growing cover. There’s the sound of coughing and sputtering followed by heavy footsteps as masked enforcers try to retreat out of the gas. 

Your team descends upon the officers, weaving through the gas to make your way to the ivory tower. Pistol in hand, you silently knock out enforcers with a well-placed hit to the head when they make the mistake of crossing your path. You're just about to reach the grand doors when you feel someone grab you by the arm. Spinning on the spot, you swiftly bring your knee up to the enforcer’s groin. As they let go of you, a grunt forced out of their lungs as they stagger back, you bring your now freed fist up, making contact with their jaw. You hiss between your teeth, shaking your hand as the officer falls to the ground.

“There they are!” Someone calls out as the gas starts to dissipate. “Get them!”

Bullets sail through the air as you sprint the remaining distance to the doors. Jinx is the first to make it, swinging her flamethrower around to smack an enforcer across the face, sending them toppling down the stone steps. Sevika knocks a second out of the way with a swing of her chemtech arm, clearing the way for you, Ran, and Silco.

Ran pushes the doors open amid heavy gunfire and the rest of your team run quickly over the threshold. As soon as you're safely inside, Sevika pushes the doors shut before calling out your name.

“On it!”

With gloved hands, you reach into your satchel for a vial of bright green liquid, bubbling and gurgling as if alive. Uncorking it, you pour the viscous liquid down the seam of the two doors. Immediately, the chemical reacts, melting the material of the heavy doors, fusing them together. There's frantic thumping and knocking from the other side as enforcers try to force their way in to no avail.

You smirk.

“I'd like to see them get through that!”

The rest of the crew is already long gone by the time you turn around. You spot them at the end of the hallway making their way to the elevator doors. Sevika yells out your name, urgency in her heavy voice.

“Hurry up!”

“I'm going! I'm going!”

You sprint as fast as your legs can take you, the backpack over your shoulders crashing into your spine every step of the way. You start to close the distance as you watch Silco and the team step into the elevator when a figure blocks the way. Eyes wide, you lose your footing as your body tries to stop in its tracks. The enforcer’s hands are both up, wrapped around a pistol pointed squarely at your face. You fall on your ass, arms and feet shuffling frantically as you try to get up. Then—

There's a loud whistling sound as something sails through the air and lands squarely in the man's back. His pistol drops out of his hands before his body falls close behind, limp.

Eyes still the size of saucers, you look up from the man to see Silco standing just outside of the elevator, his hand frozen in midair. Your eyes meet and you can see a hint of panic in his ocean green eye. There's an edge to his voice as he calls out your name.

“Come on.”

You hurry back to your feet, your body pushed forward from momentum the rest of the way to the elevator. Briefly, you debate retrieving Silco's dagger from the enforcer’s back, but another urgent call of your name has you scrambling to catch up. By the time you cross the elevator’s threshold, you pitch forward. Silco catches you with one arm across your chest, lifting you up.

Are you okay? He asks with a dart of his eyes.

I'm okay, you answer with an exhausted nod.

He returns the nod, letting go of you. Just as you're about to turn to face the front of the ascending elevator, you catch a glimpse of Jinx beaming at you. While you can’t see her mouth obscured by her respirator, there’s a glee behind her azure eyes. You furrow your eyebrows in question to her and she answers with what you can only assume is a Cheshire grin behind her mask, crowd feet forming at her temples as her pupils flick back and forth between you and her father. You roll your eyes before turning around.

The lift ascends. 

The silence of the mechanisms pulling you upward is eery, the only evidence of your ascent the subtle pressure you feel on your body by being pushed toward the ceiling.

As the lift starts to slow its climb, you grab another canister of sleeping gas from your pack. Just as the door opens, you hit the button and roll it down the hallway to the unsuspecting enforcers stationed at the conference room doors. Before they can even react, there’s a loud hissing as the gas fills the hallway followed quickly by four loud thuds as their bodies hit the floor.

You make your way down the hallway to the grand doors, eyes squinting through the thick gas. As you do, Ran pulls away, crouching down to bind the unconscious enforcers while Sevika relieves them of their weapons. Jinx pulls up the rear, flamethrower out at the ready, aimed at the elevator, leaving you and Silco at the front.

Once the last of the gas clears, your team starts to remove their masks, ditching them on the tile flooring.

“Sevika,” you whisper as you tug your satchel toward you. Grabbing the Hextech remote, you swing the bag back over your hip. “Are we ready? Are the Chemtanks in position?”

She holds a finger up in silent instruction, listening intently to the chatter in her ear piece. After a few tense seconds, she nods.

You look toward Silco, who stands with his hands behind his back, eyes staring straight ahead at the large door that stands between him and his Nation of Zaun. He doesn't tear his eyes away, doesn't blink.

“Do it.”’

You take a deep steadying breath in.

Moment of truth.

Left eye squinting closed in anticipation, you set the dial on the remote to the first dash before hitting the green button.

Your heart is in your throat as you wait, eyes darting around. You look to Silco, whose gaze remains transfixed on the door ahead of him. His jaw is set, his expression trained. After another moment, he starts to turn toward you. Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes lock with yours—

And the lights go out.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

Thank Janna.

In the dark, illuminated by the warm glow of his abyss eye, Silco grins at you.

There’s the sound of muffled voices through the door, panic laced in their words.

“What’s that? What happened?”

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Cast in darkness, Sevika and Ran pull open the doors a crack, just enough for your team to slip through. Silently, your footsteps covered by the councilor’s growing voices, the five of you sneak inside, moving to surround the unsuspecting politicians. There’s the faintest bit of light coming in through the tall windows, the city below barely illuminating the darkened room; just enough to see silhouettes around the grand table, some of them rising to their feet, their heads darting around.

You start to step away to flank the group but stop when you feel a quick tug at your elbow. Turning over your shoulder, you make eye contact with Silco.

Even in the darkness, with only the tiny light from Silco’s volcanic eye, you can read his expression as clear as day.

Don’t forget your promise.

You nod.

He lets go of your elbow just as a voice—male, young—cuts through the din.

“I’m sure it’s just a small hiccup,” the voice reassures. “The backup generators will kick in within a few minutes.”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” Silco’s voice replies, tone a taunting melody.

There are gasps at the unfamiliar voice. Your eyes are drawn to a small flame at the center of the room as Silco brings a lighter up to his face, a  cigar perched at his scarred lips. Standing at the center opening of the councilors’ long gear-shaped table, he lights his cigar. Seven heads whip around to stare at the man who has crashed their meeting.

“Now that I have your attention…” 

Flicking the lighter closed, Silco takes a long drag from his cigar, the end of it burning orange. The sight of it throws you back in time to the first time you had ever laid eyes on him. Your lips curl into a smirk and you watch as he turns toward you with an almost imperceptible nod.

You hit the red button on the remote and the lights flicker back on. Councilors squint as they survey the room, jaws dropping when they find themselves surrounded. Voices rise, a few more councilors getting to their feet.

“Is that Silco?”

“The Industrialist? What's he doing here?”

“What is the meaning of this? Guards!”

Silco's voice cuts through the din, sending a shiver up your spine.

“I wouldn't waste my breath if I were you; it'd simply fall on deaf ears.”

The man you recognize as Councilor Talis stands, both hands balled into fists as they press into the tabletop. When he speaks, you recognize his voice as the one trying to reassure his fellow councilors.

“What did you do?” he says behind gritted teeth.

Silco shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Nothing permanent, I assure you.”

More hushed whispers.

“Your enforcers will awaken in a few hours,” Silco continues. “Giving us plenty of time.”

Talis’s dark eyebrows furrow, his nostrils flaring. “Time for what?”

Silco takes one more drag from the cigar, pacing along the center of the table, piercing green and scathing red eyes making contact with each of the council members in turn.

“I merely wanted to ensure we could speak on equal footing—”

All heads whip around at the sound of the grand doors shutting. There's a loud creaking sound as an internal gear turns, locking in place with finality. Jinx dusts off both her hands, satisfied with herself.

“Without interruption,” Silco concludes.

“Holding us hostage is hardly equal footing,” a woman's voice says from the other side of the room. You turn to see Councilor Medarda rising to her feet, both hands propped on the tabletop in front of her defiantly, her chin lifted and the gold details of her ensemble shining brilliantly in the light. 

There are hushed murmurs and nodding heads, all eyes turning from Medarda back to Silco.

“Alas,” Silco replies, his hands and shoulders coming up in an exaggerated shrug. “How else does one get the attention of the Piltover elite?”

His boots click along the tile as he starts to pace around the center of the room. “We simply want to chat.”

Seven pairs of eyes track his journey, watching silently, waiting.

“It’s peculiar, really,” he muses, “that this meeting is to decide the fate of Zaun and yet…” he takes a drag from his cigar before letting it fall to the floor. “There isn’t a single Zaunite in attendance.” 

His gold-toed boot comes down hard on the cigar, the ball of his foot twisting as he grounds it into the tile. 

“That hardly seems fair. Whatever happened to representation?”

The councilors break out of their momentary stupor, finding their voices again.

“Who cares about that? What do you think you're doing?”

“Stop these games!”

“Where are the guards?!”

Voices grow louder and more desperate, drowning out each other. You take a step back, overwhelmed by the booming voices as they echo in the large chamber. Eyes darting to Silco for guidance, all you see is a snarl on his lips and disgust in his abyss eye, a slight wrinkle to his nose like he’s smelled something foul. He turns to his daughter before giving her the briefest of nods. 

You can see the whites of Jinx’s teeth as her face splits into a large grin before unleashing a stream of fire into the empty space next to the table, the entire chamber filled with brilliant orange light. You can feel its warmth on your skin despite your distance from it, your nose twitching at the smell of gas, your ears filled with the sound of the almost animalistic roar of the flame. Jinx makes no effort to hide her glee, her laughter cackling alongside the eruption of fire that bursts from the flamethrower which has been painted to look like a legendary dragon, its mouth open wide as it shoots a steady volcanic stream of light.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the fire is extinguished.

Silence.

The councilors freeze in place.

“That’s better,” Silco hums. 

Before Silco has a chance to speak again, there’s a grating metal sound as one of the councilors pushes their chair back to stand. You turn to see a bald, short, stout man with a full brown beard rising to his feet. Councilor Hoskel clears his throat, pulling his shoulders back in an attempt to look taller. (You suspect the purpose of the large, thick collar of his vest—that comes up past his head—is much the same.)

“Get to the point,” he huffs. “What do you want?”

“How kind of you to ask,” Silco says, tone almost playful. As he steps toward the table, his hand reaches into his coat. Simultaneously, all the councilors lean back warily, some scooting their chairs back. But then Silco is pulling a sheet of paper from the lining of his coat. He waves it teasingly, the fluttering of the sheet drowning out the relieved sighs from two of the councilors.

Mismatched eyes pinned on Councilor Talis, Silco unfolds the page once before placing it on the table between them, rotating the paper to face the youngest councilor with a flick of his wrist. With two taps of his index finger, he smirks and brings both hands behind his back. 

“We only ask for what we are owed.”

Talis looks around the room before picking up the sheet of paper. His dark eyebrows furrow as his eyes scan Silco’s words, lips pulling into a thin line.

Briefly, you make eye contact with Sevika and then Ran. Their expressions are stoic, determined.

“Free trade routes, blanket amnesty…” Talis reads aloud to his fellow councilors, “... unrestricted access to the hexgates…” He looks up, a look of indignation on his face as he stares directly into Silco’s eyes. “Sovereignty?”

Silco nods as voices erupt around him.

“Ridiculous!”

“And why would we do such a thing?”

“This is preposterous. Where are those guards?!”

Councilor Talis, however, says nothing. He continues to stare unblinking into Silco’s eyes, as if locked in a silent mental duel.

You shift your weight as you continue to watch the chaos unfold, voices and tension rising. Looking across the room, you make eye contact with Sevika again, a secret, silent conversation unfolding between you through the subtlest of movements.

You shrug your shoulders in question.

What do we do?

She barely lifts her hand up at her side, her palm to you in instruction.

Just wait.

She gestures to Silco with a small tilt of her head, her gray eyes flicking to him and back to you.

Follow his lead.

You nod, grip tightening on the Hextech remote as your jaw clenches.

The bickering reaches a crescendo, voices filling the large chamber and your skull. As the politicians shout their protests, you barely catch any of their words, their voices overlapping one another so that all you hear is the emotion.

Anger. Frustration.

But under that thick layer of aggression, under that superficial veil of violence, you hear it.

Fear.

You look at Silco, taking in his form. He stands silently and so still he could be mistaken for a statue. The only indication of his body not being made of stone is the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the occasional flaring of his nostrils.

Calm. Resolute. Confident.

At complete odds with the seven councilors across from him.

The ghost of a memory plays in your ears.

“Do you trust me?”

Your shoulders pull back, your neck straightening.

Yes.

Your grip tightens around the Hextech remote.

With my life. With Zaun.

Among the chaos, Councilor Medarda raises her hand up. Silence immediately falls. She clasps her hands together as she addresses Silco.

“And what is Zaun willing to trade in order to get these?”

There’s a small, derisive chuckle at Silco’s throat.

“This is no trade,” he counters, something dark and ominous beneath the surface of his voice. “This is collecting on the debt Piltover has incurred at the hands of Zaun. The City of Progress is built on the backs and ashes of the Undercity; without us, your commerce would crumble, your production would stagger.” He pauses, lifting his chin so he's looking down his nose toward the councilor. “You’ve taken plenty from us already.”

You can hear an edge growing in his voice and it sends a sweet shiver up your spine. 

The Eye of Zaun. 

Putting Topside in its place at long last.

Silco takes a steadying breath. When he continues, he adopts a softer tone, an attempt to lure more firelights with his honey voice.

“This—” he says, gesturing to the paper in Councilor Talis’s hand, “is merely balancing the ledger.”

You hear subtle clicking and whirring sounds before a voice, robotic in nature, speaks up. Turning, you see the bronze image of Councilor Bolbok, a mechanical man with a long, slender neck. 

“And what happens if we don’t give into these demands?”

Silco brings his shoulders up in the smallest of shrugs.

“We bring the City of Progress to its knees,” he says plainly.

There’s whispers around the table as councilors turn to their closest neighbors.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Silco says, ocean green and volcanic orange eyes locking with yours. You watch closely as he gives you a subtle nod. You nod back before turning the dial all the way to the right and hitting the green button for—hopefully—the last time. The device hums in your hands, sending a shiver up your arms as it shoots its signal to all six machines planted around the city. 

The council chamber is silent as everyone waits. When nothing happens for a solid minute, you start to panic.

Fuck! What if it doesn’t work?

You glance at Silco. He looks at you, unblinking, waiting. You can barely breathe, heart in your throat. Your grip tightens around the remote and you squeeze your eyes shut.

Please.

Another second with nothing happening.

Please! Please work!

Then, you hear it. 

The silence in the room becomes deathly still as the white noise of the city—the humming and whirring of all its unseen, thankless machinery—comes to a halt. 

You open your eyes.

Darkness falls on the council chamber again. Then, the buildings immediately surrounding you. Then more. 

And more. 

One by one, city blocks lose their power, casting the world of Piltover in pitch black darkness. There are hushed gasps from the councilors as they realize what’s happening, turning in place to stare out the large window. From the large ivory tower all the way to the River Pilt, not a single light is shining in the City of Progress.

Quick staccato clicks echo through the room as one councilor rushes to the large window overlooking the city. There’s a small gasp and then a voice, feminine and frantic, calls out to the rest of the politicians.

“It’s the entire city!” Councilor Kiramman exclaims.

“What?!”

“Impossible!”

More hurried footsteps as councilors leave their seats to see for themselves, eyes darting to the city below to find the buildings cast in darkness.

“Stop this at once! Are you insane?”

As the members of the council look on in horror as their beautiful city is engulfed in darkness, Silco meanders his way around the room, taking his sweet time as his hand guides his journey, long fingers running along the golden details on the edge of the table. He passes you on the way to the head of the table and offers you a small grin before continuing on his journey and making himself comfortable in the centermost chair.

“How long do you think Topside can go without its precious Hextech power?” he asks in the darkness. “A day? Maybe two?”

There’s quiet chatter among the councilors. In the darkness, it’s near impossible to read their expressions. 

But their fear—once hidden, now bubbling up to the surface—is palpable.

“That's the thing about you Topsiders,” Silco continues. “You take everything you have for granted, while we've had to slave away for scraps.” 

You can barely see your own hand in front of your face, the darkness so complete. Slowly and carefully, you try to make your way toward Jinx’s last seen position, hands working quickly to return the remote to your bag and unholster the pistol from your hip, your promise to Silco tugging you forward.

“How long until there are riots in the streets? How long until those well-mannered Topsiders turn on you, demanding your heads?”

An uncharacteristic silence falls over the councilors as the gravity of the situation dawns on them. It’s unsettling, the way it seems the entire world has frozen around you.

The quiet is broken by the unmistakable sound of yelling. You hear rushed footsteps next to you—light and quick—as Jinx sprints to the window. 

“Oooooh!” She exclaims excitedly. “They sound real mad!”

More yelling. More screaming. There’s anger in the voices below; the usually prim and proper City of Progress citizens giving into their baser instincts. Giving into the panic.

There’s more shouting as enforcers—the ones who hadn't been knocked out by your sleep gas—try to restore order in the streets below, followed by the shattering of glass as someone capitalizes on the chaos to break a store window.

As the passel of Topsiders below makes their protests known, so too do the Councilors above.

“Bring back the power at once!”

“You won't get away with this!”

“You're terrorists!”

Councilor Talis’s voice rises above the others.

“How did you even do this?”

Jinx laughs, amused. “It was a piece of cake! Why? Did you never figure it out?”

Illuminated by the glow of his abyss eye, Silco smirks at his daughter’s words.

The young scientist turned politician seems less concerned by the politics at hand and more in the Hextech, in how you and Jinx had managed to disable his invention.

“Hextech is powerful, but it’s not this powerful. For you to have darkened the entire city, you would have had to—”

“Boosted its range?” You finally speak up. “Yeah, we did.”

“How?” he says, turning to the sound of your voice.

“You want me to tell you?” You shift your weight, popping a hip as you cross your arms in front of you. “And give up the leverage we have? Not likely.”

“Much like your enforcers,” Silco starts, voice a low, taunting drawl, “It would seem your Hextech has some lapses in security.”

Illuminated by his corrupted eye, Silco crosses one leg over the other as he reaches into his coat, this time producing a pen from the lining. He fiddles with it, long dexterous fingers twirling it around with casual ease. 

“You can put a stop to all this,” he says coolly. “And all you have to do is sign.”

There’s hushed, confused murmurs as the councilors turn back toward Silco, who continues to make himself comfortable at the council’s table.

“Let me see it,” Councilor Medarda says, not to Silco but to Councilor Talis. In the dark, you can just barely see the faint glimmer of gold at her arms as she reaches for the paper the young man holds. He hands it to her before crossing his arms.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Sevika appears next to Medarda, holding up an opened lighter, its small orange flame illuminating the paper. The councilor seems unperturbed by the movement, but sidesteps her nonetheless to put some distance between their bodies, staying just close enough to use the lighter’s light.

You watch as Medarda’s green eyes flick back and forth, taking in Silco’s words. When she finishes, she turns to Councilor Talis next to her.

“There’s no way we can sign this.” She passes it off to another councilor. “Not without discussing it first. We need time.”

Silco scoffs under his breath.

“You’ve had decades to make this right with Zaun; what’s another few minutes?”

The other councilors step away from the large windows to stand around Councilors Talis and Medarda, their figures barely illuminated by the small lighter’s flame, more shadows than anything else. You get a strange sense of unease at their dark figures and for the first time worry that this plot may not work out in your favor. 

You’re surprised to see Councilor Kiramman stepping forward, a gloved hand taking the paper as it's passed around. You just barely catch Medarda wordlessly sharing a silent look with Talis, while Sevika continues to hold the lighter aloft, an unmistakable scowl at her dark lips.

The councilors take turns reading the terms by fire light before retreating to those already in the know, a small circle forming as they whisper, voices overlapping and tensions running high. 

Silco, on the other hand, seems wholly unaffected, bringing his hand up to his face to check his nails casually.

“We’re offering you a solution free of bloodshed,” Silco says matter-of-factly before correcting himself, looking out the tall windows. “Though that may not be the case the longer the power is out. Mobs are known to do drastic things in desperate times.” His voice lowers, a deep rumble lower than the mines he worked. “It would be wise to take our offer.” 

Our.

Not his.

Our offer.

There’s more hushed murmurs among the councilors, more words spoken behind hands. 

“How are we to know you won’t simply keep us in the dark even if we sign?” a voice asks, defiance in their tone. You suspect it's Councilor Shoola.

“And how are we to know you won’t back out of the deal once we’ve returned your power?” He counters. “Trust goes both ways, Councilors. That said, I will be needing assurances.” 

Silco twirls the pen with a flourish before setting it down on the table. Talis eyes it warily, his lips pinched into a thin line as he considers it. Gaze lifting back to Silco, he lifts his chin and pulls back his shoulders before taking a step backwards.

What little you can see of Silco remains expressionless, giving nothing away.

“It’s obvious you’re wary of such a deal,” he concedes. “Perhaps this can put your mind at ease.” 

You perk up when Silco calls your name and take a step toward him.

“Restore the power to the tower,” he orders, voice low. “Only the tower.”

You nod and realize it’s fruitless given the darkness. Fetching the remote from your bag, you twiddle with the settings before hitting another button. After a few tense seconds, the room is flooded with overhead lights again. The councilors squint as their eyes adjust to the light and Silco rises to his feet, both hands moving to clasp behind his back. Sevika flicks closed her lighter before stepping away, giving the council space.

There’s more heated debate among the politicians. For a brief moment, you wonder if blows might actually be exchanged with how passionately Councilors Salo and Hoskel argue with each other. 

As they continue to bicker, Silco moves to stand next to you, his eyes never leaving the gaggle of Pilties when he addresses you.

“How much longer do we have?” he asks under his breath.

You let out a soft chuckle, some of your unease lifting as you do. Without even bothering to check your watch, you keep your eyes forward as you reply.

“We’ll have to worry more about food and water before we worry about the power coming back.” 

He hums and you chance a glance at him to see the corner of his lip lifting up. When he turns to you, your heart skips a beat as you catch the fire ablaze in his eyes. A familiar one. That quiet confidence put out the last of your unease, filling you with warmth and optimism.

As if reading your mind, he leans down slightly, just enough for his lips to reach the top of your head just above your ear.

“We’re not out of the woods yet. Remember your promise.”

When he leans back, you pull your shoulders back and nod before quietly resuming your spot close to Jinx.

Their weapons out but not aimed, Ran and Sevika stand on either side of the debating councilors as they continue to debate in hushed tones. Jinx, meanwhile, seems to grow bored of all the talking and plops herself down onto the floor cross-legged, her flamethrower across her knees, chin resting on her palm as she pouts.

Something shifts in the air.

You can’t place your finger on it—maybe it was the tone of the politicians’ voices or the temperature in the room—but something changes in those twenty minutes of lively debate. Where once you felt trepidation and uncertainty, now you feel calm.

It’s happening.

You look at the councilors to find them nodding to each other in turn.

They’ve reached an agreement.

Councilor Talis picks up the pen, shoots a glance to Silco, then leans down to scribble something on the paper. He straightens up and with a flick of his wrist rotates the sheet around. Silco wordlessly saunters his way over before delicately picking up the sheet of paper. You shift around to get a good look at his expression, his dual-toned eyes ticking left to right and back again as he reads. He hums before reading aloud, addressing his fellow Zaunites.

“The only condition they are willing to give without change is free trade routes.”

Your eyebrows furrow. He continues.

“As for access to the Hexgates, they agree to unrestricted access in exchange for the research done on the Hextech and its amplifiers.”

You and Jinx share a quick look before looking back at Silco.

“But as for blanket amnesty and sovereignty…” Silco says, voice low. “They refuse.”

You hear metal grating as Sevika clenches his bronze fist. Jinx leaps to her feet, twin braids bouncing behind her as she picks up her flamethrower again, pointing it toward the councilors.

Looking at Silco, you just barely catch the way his eyes flick to Jinx and then you before returning to the council. Jaw clenched, you grip your pistol tight in one hand while setting the dial on the Hextech remote with the other, waiting.

Silco releases the sheet of paper from his fingertips, letting it cascade back down onto the table. His voice is dark and ominous, foreboding and terrifying when he speaks.

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the best we can do,” Talis says.

Silco’s lips thin.

“Then there’s no deal.” He says your name without looking at you, his eyes dead set on Councilor Talis’s face. “Hit it again.”

Your tongue peeks out to wet your lips as you holster your pistol. Dominant hand forming a fist, you raise it up above your shoulder before swiftly starting to bring it down when—

“WAIT!”

Your hand pauses an inch away from the button. Looking up, you see Councilor Hoskel pushing his way through the other councilors to address your crew.

“You can have it! You can have it all!”

Immediately, the six others turn on him, protesting.

“That’s not the agreement!”

“You’re a coward!”

“Listen to them out there!” Hoskel yells, a shaking hand pointing to the window toward the darkened City of Progress. “If this outage keeps up, they’ll be coming for us!”

“That’s a chance we have to take,” Bolbok counters.

Salo’s eyes dart back and forth. It’s obvious Hoskel’s panicked voice is getting to him. 

The councilors continue to bicker and a division seems to form with Hoskel, Salo, and Shoola on one side and Kiramman, Bolbok, and Medarda on the other.

Talis, on the other hand, looks overwhelmed.

"And what do you know of Hextech?"

"Only that the man pioneering it is young, naive, and has more charm than wits about him.”

Your own words ring in your ears. Watching as he stands frozen and in shock, you almost feel bad for him.

He’s young. Younger than you. And yet with so much power in his inexperienced hands.

“If they kill us, who will run the city?” Salo argues.

The longer and louder they argue, the more obvious it becomes that they don’t even remember your presence. 

Silently, Silco makes eye contact with each of his crew in turn, gesturing to the front door of the chamber with a small tilt of his head. Slowly, you make your exit, leaving the councilors to bicker in the one and only lit building in all over Piltover: a beacon of incompetence in a sea of black.

You don’t know if they notice your team slipping away, but you’re almost certain they realize it when the grand doors shut behind you with a loud, resounding bang.

Thankfully, the enforcers in the hallway haven’t awoken from their slumber, their wrists still bound.

“What now?” Jinx asks her father as she hops into the elevator.

“We wait,” he says, allowing you, Sevika, and Ran to take your spots next to her. “Until they either come to their senses…” 

He steps in and turns to the front of the elevator.

“Or they eat each other alive.”

You catch movement at the end of the hallway but it's obscured from view as the elevator doors close. Just as it’s about to start its descent, the doors open again to reveal Councilor Talis, breath labored as he slams his hand over the threshold, holding the elevator open.

“Wait!” He takes a step back. “Just wait.”

Silco steps out of the elevator and the rest of you follow.

“It’s yours,” Councilor Talis says between heavy breaths. “It’s all yours.”

“All of it?” Silco asks harshly.

“Every last bit,” Talis confirms. “No conditions.” The young councilman starts to walk backwards toward the chamber doors, head tilting in invitation. “Come on.”

Incredulously, you follow. When again you cross the threshold into the council room, you’re surprised to see the rest of the members have taken their seats.

Councilor Talis makes his way around the table, taking his spot in the center, that familiar sheet of paper in front of him.

“Representatives of Zaun,” he says diplomatically, “After much consideration, we have unanimously agreed to your terms. Upon the signing of this document, Zaun will have free trade routes, blanket amnesty, unrestricted access to the Hexgates…”

He pauses. Your shoulders tense as your eyes dart to the rest of your crew, waiting.

“And sovereignty.”

There’s a collective sigh of relief followed by Jinx’s triumphant whooping. 

“And if…” Talis clears his throat before continuing, “the lead scientists from Zaun—” he nods to you and Jinx. 

You both share a look, somewhere between confusion and flattery. 

“—are open to…” he tries to find his words, choosing them with care, “creating a mutually beneficial trade of technological knowledge—of say, Hextech—Piltover is… umm… also open to that.”

You turn to Jinx, lips pouting. She mirrors your expression and you both shrug. You turn back to Councilor Talis.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” you say, laughing. Briefly, you wonder if Singed would protest such a term. 

“Wonderful!” Talis exclaims, clasping his hands together. “Then all that’s left is to sign.”

You should have known that Piltover would have to go through some pompous ritual around the signing of the document. They couldn’t just do it quickly and be done with it. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you watch each councilor stand in turn and walk to stand beside Councilor Talis and sign before taking a step back. 

You’re surprised to see Councilor Medarda is the first to sign, recalling where her position had been before you had left the chamber. She’s followed by Hoskel, then Shoola, then Salo. After them, Bolbok and Kiramman sign and take their places, leaving only Councilor Talis.

He takes the pen, eyeing your crew one by one before bowing his head and signing with a flourish. Satisfied, he straightens up and offers the pen to Silco.

You watch, pride swelling in your chest as Silco steps forward to stand opposite Talis, the contract he had drafted between them. There’s the sound of scratching and you let out a breath. Unable to hide the wide smile from your face, you watch Silco offer the pen back to the councilman, who looks at it almost confused.

“Keep it,” Silco says, a coy smile on his lips, “as a token of this momentous occasion.”

The young councilor takes it, albeit still a little bit perplexed.

“And the power?” he asks.

“Of course,” Silco replies, nodding toward you.

Taking the remote out of your bag, you take a deep breath. Smiling to Zaunite and Piltovian alike, you hit the red button. A dozen heads turn simultaneously toward the grand windows, watching. It takes a few minutes, but you track as the power is restored to the city, block by block. Starting at the River Pilt, the street lights and various machinery switch back on gradually until the entire city is dotted with bright light yet again. There’s a familiar hum as electricity is fully restored and you could almost swear you hear cheering in the streets.

The councilors let out a collective sigh of relief as you move to wrap your arms excitedly around Jinx’s small frame, embracing her tightly as you whisper-shout, “We did it!” 

You both jump and down in place, your heart racing with adrenaline and a surge of confidence, like you could do absolutely anything in the world.

Councilor Talis extends a hand out and Silco graciously takes it. 

With a firm handshake, the Nation of Zaun is assured.

You feel light as air as you stride down the hallway to the elevator, spirits lifted, the work done. Sevika next to you, her hand at her ear, informs the rest of the crew over comms, an uncharacteristic smile on her face.

“Well done, team. We did it.” She looks at you, nodding. “We’re coming home.” You can hear the sound of cheering from her receiver.

When you get down to the main doors you reach into your satchel for a vial—similar in size to the one you had used on the door previously, but its contents red in color instead of green. Uncapping it, you pour the liquid down the fuzed seam of the doors. Immediately, the material starts to fall away.

Sevika grabs one handle as Ran grabs the other, Silco standing between them waiting. The doors open and your heart leaps into your throat.

Marcus stands at the opening, a wild look in his eyes, his hand aiming a gun directly at Silco’s face in point blank range. The Eye of Zaun, to his credit, doesn’t react at all, simply humming before addressing the man with the sweaty brow and the frazzled hair.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Look what you did to my men.”

“If you had any sense at all, you would see that they’re unharmed. We could have killed them, but we didn’t.”

Marcus shakes his head, eyes wild as he presses the barrel of his revolver into Silco’s forehead. At that, Ran brings one of their blades to Marcus’s throat as Jinx flanks him, her flamethrower pointed at his chest. You unholster your pistol, pointing it at the man’s face.

“Now,” Silco coos. “Unless you would like to start a war, I would put down your gun.”

The sheriff shakes his head again, his face drenched in sweat. The arm holding the gun almost vibrates with how much he is shaking from adrenaline and anger. His finger wraps around the trigger and you take a step forward, your pistol trained on his temple.

You’re at a standstill as you wait for who will fire the first shot. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest and will yourself not to blink, trigger finger at the ready.

A heartbeat.

A breath.

And then—

“Stand down, Sheriff.”

Without turning, you look through your periphery to see Councilor Talis making his way toward your group.

“But he—”

“Stand. Down.” The councilor’s voice softens, part resignation, part relief. “It’s done.”

Marcus’s lips pinch into a thin line as he eyes dart between Silco and the man giving him the order. Finally, he lowers his gun, something between a grunt and a snarl leaving him as he takes a step backwards, allowing Silco through.

Sevika and Ran swing the grand doors open to let the rest of your crew through. All around you, enforcers are slowly waking up from their slumber. A few of them start to get up on wobbly legs, but Marcus signals to them, palm held up in silent instruction. 

Safely aboard the airship home, you shrug off your backpack and stretch out your shoulders. You take a spot next to Silco, a smile on your face.

“I gotta say, aside from that last bit with Marcus, that went a lot smoother than I thought it would.” 

He hums, nodding his head.

You cross your arms, shifting your weight to one foot as you pop a hip.

“Now that I think of it,” you add, “I’m surprised you didn’t have something else up your sleeve.”

At that, he chuckles softly out of his nostrils.

“Oh? Did Jinx not tell you?’

Your eyebrows furrow, confused.

Silco turns to you, smirking.

“That was no ordinary pen.” His eyes dart to his daughter and back to you. “Jinx fitted it with a microphone. The contract wasn’t the only assurance tonight.”

The corners of your lips twitch as you hold back a smile.

“Of course,” you whisper to yourself.

Silco turns to the front of the airship, eyes on the city below. Without looking at you, he matter-of-factly adds, “She also fitted it with a remote-controlled bomb.”

He turns to you once more, a devilish grin on his face.

“Assurances,” he purrs.

You return the smile.

“Assurances.”

Silco’s arm moves an infinitesimal amount and you look down to see a gloved hand out in offering to you. Warmth flooding your chest, you take it in yours.

Bodies swarm together on the bridge that connects Piltover and Zaun, familiar faces and strangers alike. As you look around the crowd, it feels like most of the Undercity is crammed onto that stretch of road hovering over the River Pilt. There’s excited—if a bit anxious—chatter among the people, a question on everyone’s tongues.

You stand next to Jinx off to the side, back pressed against the railing. Sevika and Ran are nowhere to be found, no doubt reuniting with their respective partners in the large mass of Zaunites.

“Children of Zaun!” 

Heads all turn in unison toward the familiar voice to see Silco standing atop the parapet, his coat billowing behind him in the wind. You stand a few feet from him and commit the image to memory, a small smile on your face.

“By now, word has spread of the events of tonight,” he bellows, addressing the crowd. “I am here to say—definitively, without question—you are free!”

Cheers break out, an almost deafening chorus of yells, arms raised up in the air.

Silco points toward the tall ivory tower where your crew was just moments ago.

“They did not give you your freedom!” He continues. “You! You! Brothers and sisters, you took your freedom! You fought and slaved over it.” 

You nod alongside your fellow Zaunites, pride swelling in your chest.

“Through blood, sweat, and tears, you lifted Piltover’s boot off your face and said in one unified voice ‘No! We will not take this anymore!’”

Silco lifts his hand up, his fist clenched in victory. The others follow suit, a forceful display of solidarity and unity, of revolution and triumph.

“All those years—those decades—of waiting, and planning, and hoping. It all came to this.” 

Coattails billowing behind him, he extends his arms out, head turning as he gestures to the grand Undercity. Your mouth slightly agape, you can’t help but stare up at him in awe. More cheers erupt around you, voices filled with relief and promise. With a gentle tapping of his hands, Silco calms the crowd, his voice lowering to a more somber tone.

“Let us take a moment to reflect on those who could not be with us tonight in our journey, but whose shoulders we proudly stand on.”

One by one, you bow your heads. Eyes closed, the image of your parents appears in your mind, followed soon by Faye, Griff, and Marco. Something bittersweet tightens in your chest as you recall Nico’s face, before the Shimmer had corrupted him. You pull your lips between your teeth as a tear streaks down your face, the sensation of too many emotions flooding your senses looking for an outlet. Taking a deep breath, you wipe the tear away before opening your eyes and lifting your face back up to Silco.

His mismatched gaze finds yours, his scarred lips pinched together tightly. There’s concern behind his eyes and you reassure him with a nod. He returns it, the ends of his lips tugging slightly in a small smile before turning to address the crowd again.

“Revel in the victory. It is your victory. But come tomorrow, the real work begins.” 

There are hushed murmurs in agreeing tones around you, but then Silco is raising his hand once more, his forefinger pointed skyward.

“Let us show all of Runeterra who we are. Show them all…”

He punches the air quickly, so forcefully it sends his coattails flying behind him.

“The Nation of Zaun!” He bellows out.

The crowd erupts once more, the sheer volume of Zaunites’ cries overwhelming your ears. And if that wasn’t enough, bursts of lights and sound explode in the air. You practically jump out of your skin and turn to see Jinx setting off multiple explosions. You breathe a sigh of relief when you realize the bombs aren’t bombs but in fact fireworks in dazzling colors of green and blue. They fill the night sky and illuminate the ecstatic faces below before fading and being replaced with even more lights. 

You cry out when you hear something go off beside you and feel something fall from the sky and onto your hair and face. Laughing, you bring your hand up to your head and pull it away to find pink and purple powder on your fingertips. There’s another explosion as more paint powder bombs go off, covering the crowd so that they’re vibrant colors of the rainbow.

It’s messy and chaotic and liberating.

Laughing and unable to escape the multicolored debris, you watch as Silco jumps off the parapet. He shakes a few Zaunite’s hands, but then makes his way toward you. The crowd almost seems to part to let him through until he’s standing toe-to-toe with you, his usually pristine ensemble now spotted with flecks of magenta and violet powdered paint.

You have almost no time to react as his hands reach out, long fingers cradling around your face and pulling you into a deep kiss. Your eyes flutter closed as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, returning the kiss in kind as you stand on your tiptoes. 

The din of the crowd around your fades away and in that moment, all you have—all you need—is Silco.

The office door slams shut, pushed closed by your back slamming into it as Silco presses his body against yours, his lips quick to claim yours in a hungry kiss. The sound of your kisses drown out the drunken celebration below as over a hundred Zaunites crowd the club, their voices and glasses raised high in triumph, their bodies and souls free.

But all you can focus on is getting Silco's stupid coat off.

"I'm glad you didn't die," you gasp against his lips.

"And I you," he replies, his arms wrapping around your middle possessively.

Silco shrugs out of the coat, letting it fall to his feet, a small puff of blue powdered paint bursting into the air when it makes contact with the rug. You start to work the knot of Silco's silken cravat, which is quickly cast down to join its fallen brethren.

“You're covered in paint,” you laugh, Silco's usual burgundies and charcoals hiding behind a thick layer of greens and blues and pinks.

“So are you,” he says with a smirk, his hands working quickly to rid you of your coat.

You shrug out of it before bringing your hands up to cradle his face, pulling him in for another kiss. He hums into it, allowing you to push him past the couch and toward his desk.

“Perhaps we can wash it all off with a nice, hot shower?” You ask against his lips, your mouth curling into a devilish grin.

His hands grip your waist and you suddenly remember just how good it feels to be in his arms again.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” he chuckles, guiding you around the desk and to his bedroom door. 

Breaking off the kiss, he turns over his shoulder, but not before grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you with him, his free hand already pulling the door open.

As soon as you're over the threshold, you're slammed into the door much like before, Silco greedily slotting himself between your legs as he brings his lips to your neck.

Your eyes flutter but don't close, not wanting to miss a single second of this moment. Mouth parted, your breaths come out shallow as heat creeps through your entire body, radiating outward from where his lips suck on your skin.

“You know…” you say, hand coming up to grab a fistful of his hair. "I just realized something."

"Oh?" Silco's voice is muffled, his nose pressed into your pulse point. "What's that?"

Your hands wander down and fingers start to work the intricate clasps and buttons of his vest, practically shaking with anticipation.

"You’ve seen me naked, but I've never seen you naked." You start to tug the vest off and Silco does nothing to stop you. "And that would have been such a pity to miss out on."

You can feel him smirk against your neck, his hands now at your hips.

“All you need to do is ask.”

You chuckle.

“You won't make me beg?”

He lifts his face, mismatched eyes locking with yours. There's something sinister and mischievous behind his gaze, a playfulness you haven't seen in him since before your firing. It helps that there is blue paint smudged across his ruined cheek. 

“You caught me in a good mood,” he hums.

But then, something in the air shifts. As your palms rest on his chest—only one layer of fabric now between your hands and his bare skin—you feel an unease building within you, an uncertainty after months apart.

“Silco, I…”

He shakes his head, bringing both hands up to your upper arms as he stares into your eyes.

“I know,” he whispers and you can tell from his tone that he's deadly serious about it. “I'm asking a lot of you.” 

His eyes trail down your body, good eye blinking quickly as he takes you in. 

“I'm asking you to trust me again with…” His left hand comes up, hesitating as it hovers a scant inch away from your neck, like he's afraid that simply touching you there would kill you. His eyes lift to meet your gaze and you can see a hint of guilt behind them, of deep regret. “With your body.” His throat bobs. “With your life.”

You wet your lips as you stare into his eyes, an earnestness behind both volcanic orange and ocean green. This is a man who knows he fucked up. That wants to do right by you.

Any anxiety you had, any reservations, are washed away with that look in his eyes. Remorse and regret, deep and genuine. You find yourself at a familiar crossroads and, like before, you can't help yourself from barreling down the path with Silco at its end.

“Silco…” you say softly, bringing a hand up to trace the lines of his ruined face. “I’m okay.”

He looks unconvinced, his dark eyebrows curled inwards as his eyes search yours.

That intense gaze, those beautiful eyes. You're reminded why you had fallen for this man so many moons ago. 

Something warm and bubbly awakens within you, a giddiness and excitement you haven’t felt since that first kiss. 

“Let me show you just how okay I am,” you say with a smirk, taking one hand and shoving your partner toward his bed.

He falls backwards onto it, the mattress groaning at the sudden weight. Without missing a beat, you climb on top of him, tangling your fingers into his hair as you kiss him deeply. He hums into the kiss as he allows you to lower him onto his back, his hands squeezing your waist. Mouth parts and tongues meet in the middle, a familiar taste filling your senses as you let yourself savor every point of contact.

When finally you break off the kiss to come up for air, Silco considers the both of you; what clothes remain on the two of you and his pristine white sheets littered with vibrant paint powder.

Silco props himself up on one elbow, his other arms snaking around to pull you against his chest, dual-toned eyes wild with desire.

“You're making a mess.”

You chuckle.

“Yeah, so much for that shower, I guess,” you say, shrugging.

But then you're gasping as your whole world spins, Silco pushing and rotating you so that your places are reversed. Your head hits the pillow, sending a small puff of pink powder up from your hair. You can’t help the small laugh at the display, hands reaching up to work the buttons of his shirt. Fully aware of Silco intently watching you undo each button, warmth creeps into your cheeks and that same nervousness from before returns.

Not unease or even anxiety. You know this is what you want. For all his flaws, for all his mistakes, you want him. All of him.

Excitement builds within you, sending warmth to your core.

“Think your back will be able to handle this?”

You shoot him a quizzical look.

“Your injury,” he clarifies.

“Oh!” You laugh. “Honestly, I haven’t even noticed it.”

As he shucks off the fabric of his shirt, you can’t help but marvel at the canvas of scars along his chest. There’s a small patch of hair at his sternum, raven with hints of gray. WIthout thinking, you bring your hand up to it, nails carding through them as you smile softly to yourself.

“You don’t mind a bit of gray on this old man?” he hums above you.

You tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.

“It’s very distinguished.” You reply. “Gentlemanly.”

He chuckles through his nostrils before lowering himself onto you, slotting himself between your legs so you can feel his clothed hardened length press against the apex of your legs.

“Glad you think so.” He bows his head, bringing his lips to your ear to whisper, “But there is nothing ‘gentlemanly’ about what I’m going to do to you.”

Your walls clench around nothing and you let out a small gasp as his lips find your pulse point, sucking deeply. It sends a stinging pain to your neck, but your hand is quick to tangle into his hair, beckoning him on. You feel something sharp as he drags his teeth against your skin, marking you where the paint hasn’t.

Eyes closed, you surrender to him in every sense of the word. All thoughts leave your mind as you allow him to take what he wants of your body, your mind, your soul.

And then his mouth is finding yours again and you’re kissing him back deeply, molten lava between your legs. Without breaking off the kiss, he undoes the buttons of your blouse before working the buckle of your belt. Chests heaving, you lift your hips to help him tug your pants and underwear off.

A sweet thrill shoots up your spine as you’re fully naked underneath Silco, nipples hard as the cool air of the room kisses your skin. Wetting your lips, you start to undo the buttons of Silco’s pants as his arms cage you in, his mismatched gaze watching as you undress him.

Your eyes follow the small trail of hair from his navel down to his pelvis as you lower the fabric. Tugging his pants down, you find yourself holding your breath.

Silco shifts off the mattress to stand at the foot of the bed, long fingers pushing his pants the rest of the way down to reveal him, your pupils widening as you’re reminded of his size after months apart. You squirm as you feel the familiar desire—the need—to have him filling you up.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows, eyes hungrily taking in every inch of naked skin before you.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, Silco, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.”

Scarred lips pull into a smirk as he crawls back onto the bed.

“Can’t have that now, can we?”

You reach for him, but he pauses halfway up the bed. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but then he’s lowering himself down, pressing his lips to your navel. Your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale as he kisses your hip bone before traveling further down. Lower and lower he goes, leaving a trail of hot kisses on your skin as he makes his way closer and closer to your core.

By the time he’s close enough for you to feel his breath against your folds, you’re certain you’ve ruined the sheets beneath you. 

He lifts his eyes, resting his chin gently over your mound as he looks up at you. The fire in his eyes has been replaced with something else, something a little more vulnerable; less carnal desire and more aching longing.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your heart skips a beat and your breath catches in your throat as you look down at him. You ditched your clothes what feels like ages ago, but this is the moment that you feel truly naked underneath him.

“I’ve missed you, too, Silco,” you manage to whisper between shallow breaths.

One of his hands reaches up to find you, fingers finding a tender spot along your ribs, just under your breast. Your hand is quick to grab it, lacing your fingers between his.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” he says, an uncharacteristic shake to his voice, his hand squeezing yours. You squeeze it back, swallowing back a tear that threatens to break free. “I promise.”

You nod, squeezing your eyes shut. It pushes the tear from your eye to trail down your cheek, an overwhelming feeling of adoration filling you. Of feeling seen. And heard. Of forgiveness and acceptance. 

When you open your eyes, you’re surprised to see a similar glisten in Silco’s good eye. And when he says your name, it’s as if an invisible hand has wrapped its fingers around your heart. Not a tight, forceful grip, but a steady, comforting hold. Protective and kind.

“I love you,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “I want to be with you in every way possible.”

You let out a shaky laugh, another tear escaping your eye.

“You are with me, Silco,” you reassure him. “And I’m with you.”

The hand not holding his comes up to tuck a stray strand of hair back up to the crown of his head as you look down at him. 

“I love you, Silco.”

You can swear you can see the orange of his abyss eye glow just a bit brighter at your words. His mouth breaks into a smile and he takes the hand at his head and brings it to his lips, planting a kiss to your palm. 

You smile at the display, but your smile quickly morphs into a shocked gasp as he brings his mouth to your core, tongue hot and flat as it glides through your folds.

“Ah!”

Silco glances up at you, a smirk on his face.

“When I said I missed you,” he says before licking his lips. “I also meant I missed this. Just so we’re clear.”

You laugh, chest still heaving.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Good.”

And with that, he’s lowering his head again and bringing his mouth to the apex of your legs, hot breath against your skin as he indulges himself in your taste. You throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut as he’s quick to find your sweet bundle of nerves, lips wrapping around it and sucking almost harshly. Your hips leave the mattress as a wave of pleasure courses through you, from your core up your spine to settle behind your eyes.

It doesn’t take long for Silco to build your pleasure to dizzying heights. Between the time apart, his heartfelt words, and his tongue working your clit, it’s only a matter of minutes—if not seconds—before your legs are shaking around his head, fighting to not squeeze and suffocate him. 

Your climax takes you by surprise, with Silco not even needing to use his fingers to leave you wailing out his name in an incoherent cry. Chest heaving with each wave of ecstasy, you feel as if you’re back on the bridge with the way vibrant colors seem to burst and explode behind your eyelids. 

When finally you come back down to Runeterra, you look down to find Silco absolutely beaming with arrogance. You push his shoulder as you roll your eyes, but he ignores you in favor of climbing atop you, arms caging you in possessively.

“You’re so beautiful when you come undone.”

Your lips part when you feel his length press against you, the head of his cock gathering your arousal before teasing at your glistening entrance. Nose pressed to your temple, he whispers into your ear.

“A sight I’d like to see over…” 

He starts to push into you, the tip of him slowly working you open. 

“And over…”

Your walls stretch to accommodate him as he pushes in more, his girth blissfully filling you up.

“And over again.”

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as he bottoms out inside you, his pelvis flush with yours. Arms wrapped around him and nails digging into his shoulder blades, you savor the feeling of fullness, his girth and length reaching places you never can alone.

He hangs his head, a soft grunt at his throat as he stills within you, like it’s taking every ounce of strength just to hold himself up above you.

“Silco,” you look up at him, searching his face. “Are you okay?”

He nods wordlessly, his forehead pressed slightly to the headboard.

“Yes, I…” he lets out a shaky exhale and you practically feel the way it travels from his body to yours. “Fuck—I had forgotten how good you feel.”

You let out a soft whimper and your walls clench at his words, which spurs on another groan from him. You haven’t heard him curse since the time he had forbidden you from working on his cure. Hearing him say that word—and in this setting—lights your skin on fire. 

Without thinking, you start to shift your hips, chasing that bit of friction your core so desperately needs. It only takes a second for Silco to recover himself before dragging his cock along your walls slowly and pushing back into you.

Push and pull.

In and out.

Over and over.

Your rhythms identical, your breaths mixed in the small space between you. Soft whimpers and groans muffled against skin. There’s a tenderness to the steady pace, but a desperation with the way your hands grab at each other, clinging, grasping. Chests pressed together, your legs wrapped around him, ankles locked in a vice grip as if you’ll both float away if you were to ever let go.

You don’t know how long it’s been since the speech on the bridge. How long the club has been celebrating below. It could be a minute. It could be eternity. Time stands still as you hold each other, the gentle pulsing of his hips sending wave after wave of pleasure through you, making your cheeks flush and your forehead glisten with sweat. 

With the way Silco stares into your eyes and says your name, you don’t even think to chase your high; you’re just happy to be with him again. 

Your mind a blank slate, all you know in this moment is your partner.

And the way he holds you.

And adores you.

Mind at peace, muscles relaxed, your second climax builds without you even realizing it. When suddenly it hits you, you let out a startled cry as your walls pulse around him. Mouth hanging open and eyes locked with Silco’s, you’re overwhelmed not by the magnitude or intensity of your orgasm but by just how drawn out it is. It seems to stretch on for forever; not a sudden burst of pleasure but instead a steady—and yet somehow thorough—wave of ecstasy, as if every cell is singing and vibrating.

You feel almost high off of it.

When finally the sensation passes and you’re left to put yourself back together, you blink as you look up at Silco, stunned. His hips pause and he looks at you with a concerned look etched into his face.

“I’ve… never done that,” you explain.

He tilts his head, unconvinced.

“I’m most certain you have. A few minutes ago, in fact.”

“No, no,” you say, shaking your head and bringing your hand up to wipe the sweat from your brow. “Not like that.” You take a deep breath. “That was different.”

You can feel Silco start to soften within you. He doesn’t seem to mind, his attention focused on your face.

“How so?”

“Like… I didn’t have to concentrate on it. It just sort of…” You shake your head and shrug your shoulders. “Happened.”

Silco smiles, bringing his lips to your forehead in a tender kiss.

“I’m sure we can replicate that again.”

You laugh.

“You make it sound like it’s an experiment.”

“It can be,” he says, bringing his lips to your ear. “I’m all for exploration…” He nibbles gently on your earlobe and your walls clench around him in response. And just like that, you can feel him start to harden again inside you. “In the name of science.”

“In the name of science,” you parrot back, your afterglow segueing smoothly into another wave of pleasure as he starts to roll his hips.

With each push and pull, you can feel your heart hammering wildly in your chest. Silco’s pace picks up, as does the volume of your cries. The tenderness before replaced now with desperation, like you’re both making up for all the time you had spent apart.

There’s a delightful sting to each of Silco’s harsh thrusts, the force of his hips slamming into you, causing your entire body to shake. And that delicate line in your navel that had already snapped twice before reforms, only to be pulled taut again.

“Use me.”

"You may come to regret those words.”

"Doubtful."

As you gasp and moan through your pleasure, you’re transported back to the time on the couch, your mind replaying the scene of you on your back with Silco above you. Unbidden, another image plays: Silco’s face twisted in anger, his breath on your face, labored puffs behind clenched teeth.

You don’t know why you do it. In the moments later when you’re alone with your thoughts, you’ll analyze and tear apart and scrutinize your actions. But in the heat of the moment, you search blindly for Silco’s hand, tugging at it, guiding it. And as you continue to gasp and moan your way to your climax, you bring his hand to your neck.

At the sight, Silco's good eye widens to the size of his corrupted one, his mouth—once agape from his labored breathing—now slack from shock and confusion.

"What are you doing?" His voice is strained and his pace slows down to a halt as he tries to pull his hand away, but yours holds it firmly in place.

"Don't stop," you gasp, shifting your hips to get some friction when his thrusts still. "Please."

He shakes his head.

"No, I can't."

You lace your fingers between his, wrapping them around your neck.

"Just the sides," you whisper, whimpers growing more desperate as you try to build your pleasure back up to the promising peaks you were starting to crest before he stopped, begging him to continue with the way you grind yourself against him in earnest. "Please," you gasp. "I promise: I'll be okay."

Dark eyebrows furrow together as he stares down at his hand around your neck and then back up to your eyes, his length softening with each passing second.

"You want this?"

"Yes, Silco! Please!" Your cries are becoming more pathetic by the second as you feel your release slipping away from you. 

Mismatched eyes dart all over your face as he shakes his head. You can feel him trying to pull his hand away, but you hold it in place, fingers tightly gripping his. Staring up at him, you scream as much as your hands will allow

"Just trust me like I trust you!"

A pause.

Everything seems to go still.

Something shifts in Silco’s gaze, as if a puzzle piece had slotted perfectly into place. Ocean green and volcanic orange tick down to your neck where your hands are then back up to your eyes.

“Just the sides?”

You nod desperately.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” he asks breathlessly.

You nod again.

Slowly, you pull your hand away, both palms up toward the ceiling in surrender.

“I trust you.”

Another pause.

Silco nods.

The pads of his fingers press tentatively against the sides of your neck, his palm barely touching you. When you don’t protest—nodding enthusiastically, in fact—he clamps down a little more. Without thinking, your mouth flies open and your eyes widen.

And your walls clench a death grip around him.

“You…” his voice is almost a growl and you can feel him hardening inside you again. “You enjoy this?”

You nod as much as his hand will allow, lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t act like you don’t.” You roll your hips, grinding your swollen bud against his pelvis. “I feel how hard you are.”

He lets out a low chuckle, a deep rumbling in his chest. And then he’s rolling his hips, his pace picking back up to what it was before.

“This certainly changes things,” he hums, his movements now less like thrusts and more like short, shallow pulses, his pelvis never leaving yours. His hips stutter and you can feel warmth building in your core, pleasure radiating outward from where he grinds against you. Toes clenched and hands now gripping the sheets beneath you, you start to tumble toward your third climax. Your legs shake and you can feel tingling in the soles of your feet.

The pressure at your neck is constant but not overwhelming—perfectly balancing that razor’s edge between pleasure and pain. And the look in Silco’s eyes goes from dark intrigue to adoration, like he’s seeing something for the very first time.

“That’s it,” he coos. “I’ve got you.”

You whimper at his words, the line in your stomach almost fully unraveled, only one strand—the thinnest sliver—holding you together.

Your name leaves his lips as a whisper.

And the delicate line snaps in half.

Silco releases your neck just as your orgasm takes over you, flooding your senses, washing over you like a warm bath. And as you come undone around him, so too does he come undone inside you; hearts beating as one, chests heaving in time with each labored breath. You stare up into Silco’s face to see his good eye widened and his mouth slack as he pushes in as deep as he can, hips frozen in place. 

As the last of your combined releases wash over you, Silco slumps forward on top of you, his nose pressed to the crook of your neck, breath hot on your skin as he tries to regain himself. You let out a soft, exhausted chuckle before wrapping both arms around him, holding him close.

“See?” you say breathlessly. “Told you I’d be okay.”

He lets out a bark of a laugh and you almost jump at the sound, still unused to it. On shaky arms, he props himself up to get a better look at you, tendrils of his hair matted to his forehead.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says, pulling out of you with a wince, “but I’d say you were more than okay.”

He flops down next to you onto his back, one hand coming up to rest his palm against his forehead.

You roll over and scoot closer. Instinctively, he raises up an arm to allow you room. And when you nuzzle your torso into his, he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer.

“You’re not wrong.” You let out a chuckle. “But you are slow.”

“Slow?” he protests, turning to face you.

“I had to beg you to do that!”

He lifts his head indignantly to address you better.

“Pardon me!” he shoots back, tone dripping with sarcasm. “I thought choking you given our history wasn’t exactly wise.”

“And I thought it was exactly what we both needed,” you counter.

Silco lowers his head back onto the pillow, a soft chuckle at his throat. You press your head to his chest, fingertips playing lightly with the slightly dampened hairs at his sternum. Quietly, you both lay like this as your breaths start to even, heartbeats calming, the fiery inferno simmering down to a warm afterglow.

“As you do,” you say, eyelids starting to flutter closed as sleep threatens to take you, “Just a little light choking to expel the demons.” 

But then your eyes are shooting open and you’re jumping up, startled out of near-slumber by a loud bark of a laugh. Looking down at your partner, you find him with both his hands clutching his stomach as he continues to laugh, his good eye squeezing shut. 

“My demons or yours?” he manages to finally ask between his short huffs of laughter.

You continue to look at him stunned, taking in this image of Silco, a startled smile on your face. With the way his expression twists in amusement, you’ve never seen him so at ease before, the lines of his face somehow shallower, as if he were a decade younger. You look on in astonishment, feeling like you’re seeing something rare. Something precious.

You let out a laugh of your own before lowering yourself onto him again, nuzzling into his chest as his laughs quiet. He wraps his arm around you again, squeezes you tight, and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Both,” you chuckle, starting to drift off to sleep. “Definitely both.”

The next day

You stand at the edge of the River Pilt, coat pulled tight around your torso as the wind kicks off the water’s surface, sending a chilling breeze to shake your bones. There’s a stillness in the early morning air, the sun still down, the sky not yet kissed by its light. 

You had awoken early, sneaking out of the bed you had shared with Silco to make your yearly trek to the river. To where you had laid both your parents—and your late-boyfriend—to rest, their ashes scattered into the waters below to drift along the current and travel the world. 

Hands shoved into your pockets, you stare straight ahead, an unwelcome sting behind your eyes.

“I wish you could be here, mom and dad,” you lament, voice small. “I wish you could see what we’ve accomplished.”

Your lips pinch into a thin line, a knot in your throat. A bitter laugh escapes your lips as you roll your eyes, a tear cascading down your cheek.

“Even you, Nico.” You sniffle your nose, a tightness growing in your chest. “Even you deserved to be free.”

Another tear pushes its way past your defenses, the taste of salt at the corner of your lips. You take a deep breath but it comes out shaky, your shoulders slumped as you stare out into the dark waters. 

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You scramble to wipe the tears off your face at the sound of the familiar voice before turning to your partner. He’s in his signature coat, though his usual cream cravat is nowhere to be found, the topmost button on his maroon shirt undone. There are still traces of paint powder on his shoulders. Hands in his coat pockets mirroring you, he strides toward you, stopping when he reaches your side.

“Oh, hey.” You sniffle the last remnants of your tears away. “Sorry, I just…”

He lifts a hand out of his pocket, halting your words as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize.”

You stand in silence for a bit, the sky’s colors shifting as the sun starts its slow ascent above Piltover and the now freed Nation of Zaun.

“How much did you hear?” you ask, knowing the answer already.

“Enough,” he replies simply.

You sense him moving next to you and feel his arm wrap around your shoulders, his fingers wrapping around your upper arm as he pulls you to himself. You give into the gesture, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder.

“There are many we lost along the way that we wish could be here,” he says solemnly, voice low. His fingers squeeze around your shoulder. “They would want us to be happy.”

“I know,” you agree quietly. “But I still miss them.”

You turn toward him, pressing your face to the crook of his neck. He wraps his other arm around you as you bring both of yours around his middle, clinging to him. His breath is in your hair and his nose pressed to your temple, he lets out a long sigh before bringing his hand up, long fingers tangling in your hair.

“Me too,” he whispers.

You cry into his shirt in earnest now, his warm embrace opening the floodgates. How long had you held back these tears? How many times had you fought them, too scared to set them free?

Silco holds you close as you cry. No empty words of comfort. No sarcastic joke to cut through the tension. Just his chest pressed to yours and his warmth enveloping you, telling you with his actions that he’s here.

Telling you you’re not alone.

You don’t know how long you stand there, enveloped in his warmth as you let years—decades—of grief out in long, distraught cries. You’re there long enough for the sun to become an unwelcome visitor in your private moment, its warm glow an irritating presence against your eyes.

You squint up at your partner, drying your tears with the back of your hand, nose sniffling the last of your snot away. Bringing his hands to cradle your face, Silco presses his lips to your forehead in a soft, reassuring kiss.

“You did well,” he whispers, thumb rubbing a tender line against your cheek. “They would be proud.”

You nod up at him, lips pinched together firmly to keep yourself from breaking out into sobs again. Taking a (not so clear) breath in through your nostrils, you press your face to his chest, acutely aware of how damp the fabric of his shirt is from where you had stained it with tears.

You squeeze him tight around his middle. He brings a hand down and returns the gesture, palm pressing firmly against your shoulder blades while the other tangles in your hair. When finally you feel you’ve had your fill—can you really say you’ve had your fill of him?—you pull away and offer him a small smile.

“It’s tomorrow,” you say, eyes locked with his, the grief you had felt replaced with a quiet hope.

“That it is,” he replies, eyes leaving yours briefly to track as he fixes your hair. When he returns your gaze again, it’s with that same determination you’ve come to admire. 

His form backlit by the morning sun, his features softened by the orange glow that seems to almost form a halo around him, he pulls his shoulders back and lifts his chin.

Silco.

The Eye of Zaun.

Your partner.

Voice low and assured with that signature musical tilt to it, Silco hums.

“And now the real work can begin.”

Epilogue

Two Weeks Later

“Is everything ready for next week’s visit?”

You look up from your workstation, Jinx’s soldering iron in one hand and her goggles on your face. With the revolution now won, you’re repurposing the parts from some of the Turbo Chemtank suits for various projects (though Silco did say to save at least two suits, just in case). 

Singed considers you from where he stands a few yards from your desk. 

“Yeah, we should be good to go,” you reply, pushing the goggles to rest on your forehead and setting the soldering iron down. “Are you excited?”

His hairless eyebrows furrow in slight confusion. 

“You’ll get to see that kid again. What was his name? Viktor?” You put your goggles back on, turning back to your work. “That’ll be fun.”

The Mad Scientist hums quietly from behind his bandaging, parroting your word back to you in a slow, unsure cadence. “‘Fun…’” 

You shrug.

“Okay, maybe not fun, but at least interesting! Reunions can be interesting.”

Singed hums again, seemingly unconvinced.

“I suppose.”

When he adds nothing else, you shrug and turn your eyes back to your work. You hear him start to walk away, footsteps a soft echo against the cave’s stone walls. But then the sound pauses. Looking up again, you find him standing at the edge of your table, one bandaged hand resting gently on the metal surface.

He says your name softly and you lift your eyes to his face. There’s something behind his eyes that you’re unfamiliar with, an uncertainty. While Singed has never come across as arrogant, he has always looked as if he knew exactly what he was doing at any given moment. As you look up at him, he seems at a loss for words.

“You…” he taps his fingertips on the metal desktop absentmindedly. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, an air of exasperation around him like he’s annoyed with himself for hitting this wall.

Rising to your feet, you stand opposite him, smiling.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say it.”

You hear a soft chuckle from behind his bandaging. He lifts his hand, his palm hovering over your shoulder briefly before awkwardly tapping you lightly on your lab coat. Finally, he speaks.

“You did well.”

Your eyebrows lift at the praise, an echo of Silco's words before.

“Your parents would be proud.” His bandages shift as he offers a small smile. “I should know.”

Your eyes widen and you feel a familiar sting behind them. Without thinking, you leap forward, wrapping your arms around his slender frame in a tight embrace. His shoulders jump at the sudden contact and, after a short pause, he pats you lightly on the back in return with one hand. He says your name again and you break off the embrace, mumbling apologies. He waves it off with his hand before nodding and returning to his workstation.

You laugh and return to your work.

“Didn’t I bring these in like over a month ago?” You ask, standing precariously on a ladder. “Why are we only putting them up now?”

Zane stands on the empty dance floor, large arms crossed over his chest as he looks up and watches you.

“Didn’t feel like it,” is all he offers in response.

You roll your eyes, standing on your tiptoes as you finish putting on the last red velvet curtain. The Last Drop looks back to its old self with the booths now restored to their former glory; can’t have shady dealings without some shady cover.

“Not to mention,” you add, bringing your hands to your hips as you survey your work, “why am I the one doing it? You’re—what?—seven feet tall?”

Zane doesn’t answer immediately, but then you hear the sudden jolt of the jukebox coming to life.

You shake your head, “You can’t change the subject just by playing some mus—”

You freeze.

Zane is gone; the spot he occupied before now empty. Your eyes follow the sound of the soft hum of music to the jukebox past the bar. You expect to see the large bartender standing at its controls, but instead, you’re met with the familiar sight of burgundies and charcoal. The tall, slender figure slowly makes his way to the center of the dance floor, movements fluid and hypnotizing. 

As the song continues to play, Silco lifts his hand up in offering to you, chin lifted to meet your gaze.

“The new curtains look perfect,” he says as you delicately take his proffered hand, allowing him to slowly guide you down the ladder.

When your feet are firmly planted on the ground, you nod to your partner in thanks, half-debating a sarcastic curtsey.

“I’ll be sure to tell Thalia the next time I see her.”

Silco doesn’t let go of your hand, instead tugging you gently toward him as he walks backwards toward the center of the dance floor.

“Do send her my regards,” he hums, the hand not holding yours coming up to hold your hip. 

That same arm starts to snake around, pulling you close as he rests his palm against your lower back. Your eyebrows lift at the position you’ve found yourself in and instinctively you drape your free hand over his shoulder. Then, before you know it, you’re swaying gently from side to side, following Silco’s lead as he shifts his feet. It’s a small, subtle movement, nothing frivolous or fanciful. Just a steady rocking back and forth to the music.

You can’t remember the last time you danced like this. Your last dance partner had been Nico. (And he had two left feet, your toes painfully recall.)

Silco looks down at your face, his expression soft. The ruined side of his face is bare, the foundation you had given him months ago nowhere to be seen. Despite your insistence that you could make more for him if he just asked, he had decided to stop using it all together. With the Nation of Zaun secure and his condition no longer worsening, there was nothing to hide—from his daughter, his people.

Or you.

You smile up at him, a slight blush creeping under your collar at this fairy tale moment, certain you’ll pinch yourself and find yourself tucked in your bed. 

“So…” Silco hums, his one remaining eyebrow cocked up slightly. “How’s work?”

You laugh to yourself, feet still shifting back and forth as you follow Silco’s rhythm.

So much for the fantasy.

You roll your eyes at him.

Always business with this one.

“Oh, is this how we’re conducting our meetings now?”

Without warning, Silco takes a large step forward. Instinctively, you take a step back. You somehow manage to not trip and you catch Silco’s lips curling into a subtle smirk.

“It can be,” he muses. “Though I’m afraid this is the only song of this genre in the entire jukebox.” 

Another large step forward. Before you know it, you’re doing a sort of box step. How you’ve managed to keep up with him, you’ll never know. Something about the way he’s guiding you feels so natural; like you’d both been doing it for forever. 

“We would grow tired of it rather quickly,” he adds.

“You know, it’s funny,” you start, reminded of your very first encounter with Jinx. “When I first met Jinx, she said I had the same musical taste as her old man.”

“That so?” 

Another box step. You can feel the rest of the world dissolving away as you let the music—and Silco—take you wherever they please.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, nodding. “And now I can confirm that I do.”

He offers a soft smile, a familiar glint in his eyes.

The two of you enjoy the song, content to dance without speaking. As the music continues to play, you cling to him just a little bit tighter—and he does the same.

By the time the song has reached the bridge, Silco has his cheek pressed to your temple. You close your eyes, letting him continue to guide you around the dance floor in sweeping, elegant steps. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze it back.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says softly into your hair. “For everything you’ve done.”

You smile and press yourself closer to him a little.

“Your work has been invaluable,” he continues. “For Zaun.”

He pulls back, his steps slowing back down to a gentle rock side to side. His mismatched eyes lock with yours and there’s an earnestness behind his gaze.

“For me.”

“It was nothing,” you say, feeling naked behind the power of his stare and turning away.

“It was not nothing,” he insists, his hand leaving yours to turn your chin up to face him. You’ve both given up any semblance of dancing, now simply standing together in the center of the dance floor. “It was everything. And not just for me with my cure, but all that you’ve done for Jinx…”

His voice trails off, his throat bobbing. You wonder how long he’d held onto these feelings. How difficult it must be for him to voice them.

You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him gently on his ruined cheek, your eyes fluttering closed briefly as you feel the complex, delicate textures of his scarring against your lips. When you pull back, you offer him another smile that quickly morphs into a smirk.

“I had no idea the Eye of Zaun was such a softie.”

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes roll as he lets out a scoff, his hand returning to yours as you pick up where you left off.

“I was merely giving you the credit you deserve.”

A few more sways back and forth. A few more quiet moments together alone on the dance floor. The music starts to fade away. You’re about to step back, but then the song repeats. You look up at Silco with a cocked eyebrow and he chuckles under his breath.

“I may have set it to repeat.” He shrugs. “Given it’s our only slow song.”

You laugh.

“Sneaky bastard.”

He shrugs again, playing innocent.

“You know…” you say, bringing both arms to wrap around his shoulders. He responds by bringing both hands to your hips, large hands pulling you close so you’re flush with him. “I really only took that job with Singed for one reason.”

His good eyebrow lifts slightly.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

You lick your lips, laughing a little.

“I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

Silco continues to look at you, expectantly.

“About you,” you clarify.

“Ah…” he hums, realization spreading on his face as he continues to sway to the music. “And? Have I met your expectations?”

You pout your lips, eyes lifting up to the ceiling as if in deep thought.

“You could say that,” you tease.

You feel Silco’s chest shaking as he chuckles. In his arms, you allow yourself to get swept up in the moment. But then it's cut short when you hear someone make an exaggerated retching noise. You turn to find Jinx standing at the jukebox.

“Yuck! Who put this on?”

Silco's shoulders slouch forward a little. “Don’t touch—”

But it’s too late, Jinx is already fiddling with the controls, switching the song to a much more lively one. Silco hangs his head in defeat.

“It seems our dance has been cut short.”

You take a step back and offer him a clear mockery of a Piltover curtsy. 

“Well maybe get some more records and we can try again later.”

Silco bows to you as you see out of your periphery a blue blur starting to speed towards you. Despite bracing yourself, you still almost fall to the floor as Jinx crashes into you, arms wrapped around your middle in a tight embrace.

“My turn!” she squeals in delight. “I’m cashing in my prize!”

Silco laughs to himself before placing a hand around your shoulder, pulling you in close so he can plant a tender kiss to the crown of your head.

“Have fun,” he says into your hair before taking a step back and retreating up the stairs to his office.

Jinx seizes the opportunity and grabs you by the hand, her braids flailing wildly as she tosses her head back and forth to the rhythm of the music. Laughing, you join her, jumping up and down chaotically. 

It’s silly and clumsy and freeing.

At one point, you grab both of Jinx’s hands and start to pull. She follows your lead until you’re both spinning around, torsos leaned back as your feet shuffle between you, the club spinning around you in a haze. She cackles as the world continues to morph into blurry shapes and colors, a cheshire grin on her youthful face. Eyes bright as the Hextech crystal, you can’t help but smile.

She’s a teenager. A proper teenager.

Not the daughter of the most powerful man in Zaun.

Not a weapon to be used. 

Not a lost soul tortured by her demons.

Just a girl dancing without a care in the world.

You don’t know how long the two of you dance for—long enough for the doors to the club to open and the usual regulars to start piling in. By the time you finally take a break, your skin is dotted with a thin layer of sweat and you ask Zane at the bar for the tallest glass of water he can offer. Jinx, on the other hand, remains on the dance floor, bopping and grooving to the beat. 

Leaning against the bar, you look out into the crowd as you sip your drink, feeling relaxed (if a little exhausted from all the dancing). You’re about halfway through your glass when the little blue gremlin cuts through the crowd toward you, painted fingers reaching out for yours.

“Jinx! I’m tired!” You protest, laughing. All the same, you set your drink down and allow her to pull you back onto the dance floor.

The pair of you squeeze through the bodies packed together, Jinx leading the way, seemingly beelining for something in particular. The crowd parts and she lets go of your hand, disappearing into the crowd.

“Jinx!” You call out to her, head darting around as you try to catch a glimpse of her blue braids. “Wait!”

And then the crowd is parting and standing before you is Silco, hand outstretched in offering again.

“Another dance?” he asks over the din of the music.

You walk toward him and take his hand, shouting to be heard.

“This doesn’t seem like your kind of beat!”

You catch him smirk as he leads you toward him, spinning you so that your back presses into his chest. Blush rushes into your cheeks when you feel him wrap an arm around you, palm warm against your hip as he slots himself against you. Tip of his nose pressed to your temple, he whispers into your ear so only you can hear.

“I’m sure I can make do.”

And then he’s moving his hips along to the beat and you can feel him press against the swell of your ass. Eyes widen as he continues to grind against you and you can’t help but wonder if everyone can see it. No one on the crowded dance floor seems to pay the two of you any mind, content to dance and grind amongst themselves, giving you space.

As the song continues to play, you allow yourself to let go, to follow Silco’s lead. You press your ass against him and he responds by tightening his grip on your hip, humming into your ear.

“You better not dance like this for anyone else,” he says, voice low and threatening. But you can hear the hint of teasing behind it.

Turning, you lift your chin to meet his gaze as both of your hips continue to rock back and forth.

“I could say the same to you,” you quip back, smirking.

The warm glow of his corrupted eye licks at your skin and you feel as if there’s no one else in the club, no one else in all of Runeterra.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he hums.

You smile and turn back around, bringing both your hands to rest on his as you sway side to side. Letting your weight fall on his chest, you lean into him, allowing him to move you to the music. As you dance with him, your eyes drift around the club, taking in the scene.

Zane is wiping down the bar, eyes ever vigilant as he watches the nearby patrons.

Jinx is pulling Ran by their hand, clearly trying to get them to leave their barstool to join the dance. Ran seems reluctant but, like you, is unable to resist Jinx’s energy.

Sevika sits in one of the private booths, its curtain slightly parted to show the raven-haired woman you had spotted her with so many nights ago. Sevika’s mechanic arm is draped over the booth back around the woman’s shoulders as her flesh hand grips a glass. When she spots you watching her, she smirks before lifting her glass in cheers and taking a sip. You nod and smile, eyes darting away to hide the blush of her seeing you with Silco like this.

Eyes lift to find Dax at his post, standing dutifully at the top of the stairs. You’re about to look away when you see a petite blonde woman make her way up the steps toward him. You expect him to turn her away but are surprised to see his expression soften as he smiles at her. She stands on her tiptoes, hand at his wrist to steady herself as she plants a small peck on his cheek. Your mouth falls open in a stunned smile and you can’t help but laugh to yourself at the display.

Looking at the sea of faces in the club, you feel warmth in your chest. It’s not from the dancing or stifling heat from the packed bodies. It’s not from  booze or Shimmer. (Neither of which you have had.)

No, it’s from a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. One you thought you didn’t deserve. That you resigned yourself to never feeling again.

A feeling of belonging.

Of being home.

You didn't need friends. Or family. Or lovers. You proved for years that you could survive just fine without them. 

But as Silco holds you in his arms, you know in your heart now what you denied yourself so long ago. It's not enough to just survive. It's not enough to only live day to day. 

The Undercity is a warm and vibrant place, full of potential and wonder.  

A dark, secretive cave. 

A propeller in an abandoned mining shaft. 

The darkened balcony of a night club. 

Anything is possible in Zaun. 

You just have to know where to look.

A/N: I can’t believe we’re here. I can’t believe we made it. I say “we” because I truly could not have finished this work if not for you, my amazing readers. Every kudos, every comment, every hit kept me going. Can you believe when I first set out to write this it was only supposed to be 15 chapters? But then y’all inspired me and I had so many more ideas that I just had to throw in. (Some of you directly affecting the plot—looking at you, @dreamyonahill and your comment about the sleep serum side effects. I wasn’t ever going to turn that into anything, but your comment made me want to explore it and it led to one of my favorite chapters, Chapter 15! Forever grateful.)

I of course must give a giant, sloppy thank you to both my betas @purplefangirl42 and @deny-the-issue. Catching my errors and leaving me reactions in google docs really made writing feel less like a solitary endeavor. And Kels, you alone kept me in check from chapters 20 onwards and were subject to so many DMs of me questioning if I was making the right choices or not. I appreciate your honesty and your comfort when the big imposter syndrome monster would rear its ugly head.

A thank you to the BR discord. Thanks for putting up with my ramblings about TMSA and for just being an amazing, supportive community of beautiful, unhinged, sexy, talented creatives. 

Big thank you to anyone who did art of TMSA, commissioned or otherwise. It’s one thing to write a fic; it’s a different thing entirely seeing art derived from it, especially when it’s fanart. It’s so surreal to see it. (I’ll have you know I’ve saved all of them to my laptop/drive and I will cherish them forever. I should print them out!)

Yesterday was my 2-year ao3 anniversary and honestly, this feels like the perfect way to celebrate it.

Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, 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

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Omg, the ending had me fucking cackling XDDDDD Poor girl is trying to defend herself from Cooper's teasing and he just laughs at her XD Ooooooooh, how I love them

Daisy

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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[5.7k words]

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Chapter 8 "The Lie"

It’s been a journey.

Parched and starved, you’d been dragging your feet over the desolate wasteland deep into the night. The promise of a guesthouse only a mile or two away keeping your spirits up and your soreness to a minimum. Your head was still fuzzy with the trauma, as expected after taking such a brutal blow.

A pale coat of dust covers your boots, the blood has ceased oozing and now clings to your hair and skin like haunting war paint.

Cooper hadn’t said a peep about what had happened earlier, didn’t complain about you keeping his hand hostage either, just let you soak his glove in sweat while indulging in chain-smoking.

The lights coming from the inn are a beacon in the darkness, they slice through the shadow of the night, beckoning you with whispers of a bed and a full night of sleep. An exasperated sigh leaves you when you finally see it.

It was once a farmhouse. Large three-story mansion built of wood and reinforced by steel sheets only after the apocalypse. There’s a barn to the side, presumably turned into storage, a handful of soil beds from which vegetables are sprouting, a small herd of brahmin lay huddled in a corner, under a flimsy tin roof, sleeping in the remnants of a stable. A large rusty gate hugged by a sturdy fence, electric too once you were close enough to hear the distinct buzz. The generator rumbles behind a locked door in the ground, the basement if your speculations are correct.

It’s a fine establishment by today’s standards, well-known for offering respite for travelers because it was plopped in the middle of nowhere.

Regardless of the newfound relief, your pace stays the same, too achy and drained to rush towards the finish line. It’s a slow and agonizing walk, feels like an eternity, but as you climb the front porch steps you crack a smile. Your hand is promptly released and you take your usual place behind the ghoul, the medical folder still pinched under your armpit and looking like an old pancake.

The rich yellow hues shining through the dirty windows illuminate the creaky wooden boards beneath your shoes, the old benches on either end of the porch, and the large urns hosting a blooming tato plant each. There’s a mud-caked mat at the entrance and you can scarcely make out a “welcome” sign beneath all the grime.

Cooper spares you a glance over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes and husky tone indicating he’s just as exhausted as you.

“Don’ wander. No talkin’ t’ strangers.”

“Got it.” you nod, suppress the urge to hold onto his coat, and follow after him through the door.

You’re flooded with cigar smoke and the smell of spirit. Methodical chatter hangs in the air, mixing with the fluent jazz from the jukebox, random paintings are strewn across the walls, hiding the peeling wallpaper, some of the hanging lights are intact, some are missing their glass domes. Simple wooden chairs and circular tables, mostly vacant aside from a few rugged personas stuffed in the darker crooks of the establishment.

You take in everything under lowered lashes and caved-in shoulders.

It’s a cozy place, an oasis nestled along the road, a lovely little safehouse that welcomes any who have the caps.

The bar looks out of place, it’s too new and polished compared to everything else, dark oak shining under the soft glare of the old lightbulbs. A plethora of bottles are on display behind it, most of their labels scratched out or simply missing.

“Where’s Monique?” Cooper rests a palm against the counter and cocks his head to the female ghoul absentmindedly wiping at a glass with a stained rag.

“Holy Moly…”

You’re awestruck at the sight. She’s the second ghoul you’d ever seen and a woman at that. Despite the decomposition, she’s still retained her feminine features, one could even call her exotically beautiful. Donned in a full-body apron, a turquoise polo peaks under it; her eyes are sunken but lively, however the veiny red sclera makes you cringe. It just looks damn painful.

“Nice to see you too, Cooper.” she barks a laugh, her voice – distorted by radiation, but still cheery and friendly. “She went to bed so I took over. What’ll it be?”

“Got any rooms left?”

You’ve decided to focus on the hand-drawn menu hoisted above the liquor cabinet, scrunching your nose at the radroach skewers and cricket potato stew. There isn’t much that would suit your pallet, especially not the yao guai jerky. What even is a yao guai? Another overgrown bug?

The drinks have more variety than the food, even though most are alcohol. There’s still just plain water, specified as ‘mostly rad free’, then there’s tato and cactus juice. The options aren’t mouth-watering, but the drawings next to the headers are cute, some of them are even colored in.

“Got two, lucky for you.” she pauses then and the friendliness on her gaunt face gives way to confusion. She leans to the side as you step out of Cooper’s shadow to get a better view of the menu, her mouth shrinks out of its prickly smirk. “Oh, hello.” her curiosity quickly blossoms into sweet glee as she stares you down with startling warmth, then tosses the bounty hunter a passing comment. “Made a new friend, I see.”

You stiffen as the realization of her attention on you sinks in. Rolling your eyes to her, you find her beaming and you can’t help but return her welcoming smile with an awkward one. You fix your slouched posture, straighten up because first impressions are important, and give a polite nod.

“Mitzi, good to meet you. And you are?” she’s all giddy grins and wavy hands, finding you as a good treat after a long time of only having gruff wastelanders as customers. And you’re more than happy to humor her, she matches your character perfectly and you feel her filling up your energy levels instantly.

Your lips part as you fully intend to reciprocate her brightened mood.

“I’m – ”

“–An annoyance.” a dismissive scoff, one which has you shoot Cooper a nasty look. He’s indifferent, doesn’t bat an eye at you, instead nudges his chin at the untouched bourbon bottle. “I’ll take that one, room too, don’ care which one.”

Mitzie turns to reach for the bottle and sets it down next to the bounty hunter before sifting through the ledger hidden behind the counter. Keeping the privacy of her customers comes as a nice surprise. She mumbles something soft, supposedly checking the available rooms, then looks up at you.

“Shower or nah?”

“Excus – ” you blurt, then stop and suppress the need to ask for elaboration. “Shower.”

If she was alluding to the possibility of taking a proper bath, you’d cry. After months of rubbing soap into your sweat and using saliva to wash out toothpaste, you felt disgusting. Dirt had accumulated in places you didn’t even know existed and all of this excluded the greasy mess your hair had become. At times, you wanted to crawl out of your skin with how crusty you were.

And the stench was a whole other story you fought valiantly to ignore.

“Gotcha.” she hums and stuffs her hand into a jar before pulling out a large, rusted key and handing it to Cooper. “Master bedroom, second floor to the left.” her baby blues dart back to you. “Just so you know, showers cost extra.”

You hear the disgruntled groan and your expression sours.

Of all the things he dismissed to save up on caps, basic hygiene was one which you fiercely disagreed with. You’d already had this conversation multiple times, him walking around smelling like a dumpster fire with no regard for how that made him look was unacceptable. His clothes needed washing, he needed washing, and you’d scrub him clean if you didn’t know he’d stab you if you so much as tried to bring your soap bar anywhere near him. Both of you were in dire need of a proper bath. You’d work him into the idea, you’d already succeeded once when you were less acquainted.

With a sigh, you blindly pat the side of your backpack in search of the pocket holding your caps.

“How much?”

“Thirty per shower.” she answers simply, then perks up to holler at a behemoth of a man waving her over from the back of the bar. “I’ll be right there!”

“Deal.” you chirp and point at the menu. “And a cup of brahmin bone broth, please and thank you.”

“Right away.” Mitzi graces you with another cheeky smile before rushing past the counter and through a door to the kitchen.

You’re close enough for the smell of roasting meat and herbs to waft into your nose, your stomach twists with hunger and gargles in protest. You clear your throat in embarrassment, the jazz music does a wonderful job of disguising the ugly toon. A clatter of pots comes from behind the kitchen door followed by a meager slur of curses that has you hoping your order wasn’t the cause.

After gathering enough caps, you extend your arm to leave them next to the register. Your attempt is shot down by a sharp slap to the knuckles, you glance up at Cooper and prepare to debate why you should be allowed to wash up and spend the money for it. He snuffs out your bubbling protests with a stern look and a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Mitzi reappears shortly after with a tray in hand.

“Here you are.” she lays down a steaming tin can in front of you and scoots to the register, which is mostly used for decoration. “You want the total or separate tabs?” she scribbles down each of your amounts and lifts her eyes to Cooper.

“Total.” he gruffs out and litters the free space on the bar with scoops of caps fished out from his bandolier.

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to prevent a grin and tuck away your money. He definitely knew how to turn your legs to pudding and tie your tongue into submission. Sadly now that meant you couldn’t complain for at least a week.

“Hundred-fifty. Oh!” the waitress sloppily wraps a rag around your drink and squeezes it in place. “Here. I tend to forget smooth-skins have more delicate hands.” she winks at you and proceeds to gather up the payment, combing through it with a long bony finger and counting. “We’ll get to know each other another time.”

Once she was sure of the amount, Mitzi stuffs it all in the hefty pickle jar labeled ‘earnings’, then sealed it shut and stored it somewhere around her feet. She’s back to polishing shot glasses, gives both of you a ginger smile and nudges her head towards the staircase to the right of the counter.

“Enjoy your stay.”

You take the broth and let your fingers soak in the warmth as you follow behind Cooper with bated breath and a spring to your step.

A bed and a shower, you were being spoiled tonight. The covers and sheets are probably old, the room itself is most likely slowly rotting away and covered in grime and dust, but it’s heaven compared to sleeping on the ground with one eye open due to threats skulking about. The last time you’d managed to get a full night of sleep was back in Tillburry, and just the thought of being undisturbed had you going through a plethora of pleasant jitters.

You give the greasy drink, your dinner, a good sniff while climbing to the second floor.

It’s not an aroma that makes you salivate, but you’ve missed the luxury of warm food and the herbs do well at overpowering the stench of boiled beef. Even under the weak light in the corridor, you can tell it’s fatty enough to keep you sated for a while, it’ll have to do. The can is used as a cup for hot drinks, the broth came from elsewhere, either that or you were scammed into eating dog food judging by the peeling-off sticker of a poodle.

You thump over a long red carpet rolled out on the floor, squint at the hacked cough coming from one of the rooms, and then stop a foot away from the ghoul.

He jams the key in and after a deft click, the door creaks open.

Your refuge for the night isn’t as bad as you’d imagined. The bedding is mostly white minus a few stains, the wallpaper is torn a tad, but intact and it’s all relatively clean, there’s even a few trinkets lying about to bring more life. A wall clock is hung above the curved sofa next to the window, it’s not working but it is a nice touch. There’s a night lamp on one of the nightstands, a wide drawer, an ashtray on the table along with two more chairs in case there were more than two bodies in the room. There’s even a deck of cards next to the crystal alcohol glasses.

You watch Cooper set down the bourbon and slouch against the couch with a long exhale before shrugging off his hat and coat and letting his eyes shut for a moment.

“Darn hell, what a day…”

Safety is painted in his mannerisms, you smile adoringly at him and shut the door behind you.

True to her word, there indeed was a bathroom. You switch the lights on and peek inside. The tiles are cracked or missing, it’s old but clean and there’s a bottle of Rad-X among the diluted shampoo bottles. Lovely!

You hear a ripple and whirl your head to see the ghoul lighting a cigarette. His feet are perched up on the table and crossed, his bandolier thrown over the backrest of the sofa, he takes a long drag and strains to push open the window.

“You know Mitzi?” you ask and shed your backpack with a delighted moan before kneeling to zip it open. With your trusty Vaseline and a tiny vodka bottle in your free hand, you join him on the couch, sitting on the opposite end to give him as much space as possible.

“Hm? Sure I do, met some years ago.” he twists to partially face you and pinches the smoke between his lips before grabbing for the bourbon. “Thought you’d wash up first thing. Changed yer mind?”

You chuckle at that and dab the vodka into your palm before rubbing it between your fingers. It’s a mundane little habit you picked up since you learned vodka specifically was almost pure spirit nowadays. Considering the unthinkable things you touched on the hour, from blood to dirt and worse, and without a sink to wash your hands, you needed this at least before eating.

“I’ll shower later. Wanna take a breather first.” you cradle the broth to your chest and take another good whiff before sighing. “Plus, I’d like to drink this before it goes cold.”

“Hope you know tha’ ain’t all brahmin, Darlin’.”

“Let me stay ignorant, please.” you mumble before taking a long sip.

Cooper cackles but decides not to ruin your dinner. You watch him pour a glass of bourbon for himself, mull, and then pour a second one before setting it next to you.

“Mm?” you give him a crooked look, frown with scrunched eyebrows.

“Heavy broth goes good with booze.” he gestures for you to take the offer with a keen smirk. “ ‘Bout time we pop your cherry anyway.”

“Gosh, don’t call it that!” you hiss through a flustered face, but take the glass and ignore his mocking grin.

The jukebox can still be heard from the main floor, it calms your apprehension and you twirl in your spot to open the window fully, looking to the sky for further comfort. You’re intentionally stalling as you swish the bourbon around, elbows rested on the windowsill and gaze lifted to the cluster of stars. A chilly breeze caresses your bare shoulders and you shudder.

“Thought you’d get bored gawkin’ at nothing by now.” The ghoul spits, watching you like a hawk because he refuses to miss your first time trying alcohol. You wish he wasn’t, it adds unnecessary expectations and you’re unaware of how exactly you’re supposed to react. By the smell alone, you’re guessing it won’t taste pleasant.

“I’ll never get tired of the sky.” you muse out loud with an unreadable expression, then face him briefly. “Has it changed over the years?”

You don’t know how old he is, he’s refused to disclose that with you, but from the subtle hints in the past, it’s been longer than the average person. You wish he’s looser, that he trusts you enough to share more about who he is and where he comes from. He seems to know almost everyone you’ve crossed paths with, could work with any weapon and traversed the wasteland without a compass or map and still know exactly where he’s going.

“ ‘Sides the radstorms, not much.” he rolls his tongue over a mouthful of bourbon, then audibly swallows and scowls. He raises his glass towards you, waiting for you to mimic him. “ ‘Nough stallin’ ya pansy, it ain’t poison. Drink.”

Your nose is already wrinkled at the idea, but you oblige him by lifting the drink to your lips. Holding your breath you take a tiny sip and your skin explodes in goosebumps before the fire registers on your tongue. Your taste buds feel defiled, the foulness makes your eyes pop open and you spit before the urge to gag crawls too high up your throat.

First impression: No.

“Ugh…Ew!” a hand clasps over your mouth, obscuring both disbelief at the fact you’d spat straight against the window and pain at the utter nastiness of the flavor. You take the rag wrapped around your now lukewarm broth and wipe off the evidence with urgency. “How do you like this stuff? It’s awful!”

He’s cracking up a storm on the other end of the sofa, having burst into such an abrupt fit that half his drink was running down his vest. You sneer through a glare, hoping he catches your translucent reflection in the glass and feels at least a drop of remorse for your misfortune.

“Glad to make you laugh.”

He tries to say something, a snippy remark most likely, but his gullet is too dry and nothing comes out when his mouth parts. He washes down the hoarseness with another swig of alcohol and tries again.

“You’re doin’ it all wrong.” he’s all up in your beginner technique, even though you weren’t open to be taught how to become a proper alcoholic. Nasty habit that, but he’s given you no choice. “Gotta let it rest on yer tongue, enjoy the taste ‘n go slow.” he can see you sulking even with your back turned to him, can practically smell the discomfort and annoyance emanating from you.

He tones down the decibels when you refuse to face him. Unlike you, Cooper finds the concept of convincing you that drinking is a fun pastime activity strangely thrilling. That, and he’s a horrid old man who selfishly craves to claim all your first experiences, no matter what they are. It’s a vile desire and he’s aware, but the longer you exist in his presence the further his obsessive protectiveness develops. He chalked it up to you being dumb and defenseless, it was natural to become possessive of you and want to keep you safe.

He’d be caught dead before he let some mangy bastard touch you before him or be present for your first cigarette. And he’d take this revelation to the grave because he was too prideful to admit to his urges. This was for your protection, better him, a person you trusted, than anyone else.

“Come ‘ere.” he takes off his gloves and extends a hand to you, beckoning you in the softest way he can muster. “I’ll teach ya.”

You look back at him and the angry frustration simmers down to mild irritation when you notice he’s reaching for you. Tasting that nightmarish poison again makes you queasy, you don’t want to and you’re fussy, but falter for him once more with the intent of giving it another go and then never again.

He’s paid for your dinner, bed, and shower, it’s only fair to entertain his stupid ideas. That doesn’t mean you’re going to smile through the whole thing though, no, you’ll grimace until the end.

He shifts until his feet are firmly planted on the floor as you round the table.

“One last time.”

“Last time.” he repeats through a haggard breath and as soon as your fingers dip into his open palm he spreads his legs farther apart to accommodate a plan you were blissfully unaware of. “Promise, Sweet pea…”

He coaxes you closer, tugging on your hand until you’re standing between his legs, radiating confusion. Guilt prickles his heart, you don’t deserve to be manipulated into succumbing to his perverse advances. It wasn’t even a good lie. Teaching you how to enjoy bourbon…a load of horse shit, but what were the odds that you’d so pliantly let him desecrate you once the concussion and fatigue didn’t stand in the way of clear thinking?

You were vulnerable now and he was a fiend for taking advantage. He’d deal with the consequences later.

The concentration carving his expression is hidden under the guise of darkness as he gently lures you down until you’re hesitantly sitting on his thigh. An arm coils around your waist to keep you in place, you’re face to face and the ringing in your ears increases, completely deafening the music from downstairs. Blunt fingers melt into your supple flesh, deliberately massaging away the prolonged day. You’d had it rough today, poor little thing, you needed some good kneading.

He’d give it to you. Whatever the hell you wanted, you’d have it.

Rotten man. Defiler.

He shakes the thoughts away and feeds on the sugary lavender hints beneath the sweat clinging to your body.

You’re engulfed in warmth and finally, you can put a name to the ever-present musk he carries around – bourbon and cigarettes; the smell of home. Your hands are resting in your lap, pinching at your dress in a nervous tick as you fight to keep eye contact. Inexplicable tension writhes in the air, it chokes you with sadistic glee.

Cooper’s studying your features as they twist, searching for something specific in the involuntary muscle twitches.

“You don’ like it, you call quits. Got it?” he speaks softly, but with authority, already taking another sip and letting it rest in his mouth.

You’re no less lost than you were two minutes ago, left to wonder what he means because your glass is on the other side of the table. But now he’s mute with alcohol and unable to elaborate verbally so you simply nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

No cheeky smirks or mischief is dancing in his eyes. He’s the most serious you’ve ever seen him, it’s nerve-wracking, you’re left to blindly follow his guidance and you trust him, but anticipation has no boundaries. The bedroom turns stuffy and his once welcomed heat is forming sweat on your forehead and pinching at random nerves throughout your body.

He glides a hand to the back of your neck, holds it with solemn tenderness. You make a pathetic noise when he leans you back until you’re cradled in the safety of his arms without leverage, hovering above the sofa as he watches over you with a mellow look.

“Tha’s it…steady, Pretty girl.”

You’re rigid and hesitant in his embrace, don’t know what to do except give in and let him work you like a puppet. It’s humiliating, you want to be an active participant, give him what he wants without him having to hold your hand, but you can’t. The only soothing thought that comes to mind is that he’s a dominant man, he probably doesn’t mind.

Probably even likes it like this.

“This okay, Sweetheart?”

You barely register he’s asked a question, the gravel in his voice seizes your breath.

“Yeah…Yes?”

The ghoul is languid and gentle when he leans forward, taking his time, but you notice the twitch in his fingers, the hidden urgency behind the façade he’s adopted to not scare you away. But he’s still a rugged man, you can tell by the callouses on his palms and the leathery skin on his face as it rubs against yours.

It’s a peck at first, makes you tingle all over. He barely brushes his chapped lips against yours, testing the waters, and dulling your awareness with patience before he shatters and ruins your innocence. But you’re too enticing for your own good. You don’t startle; cling to his vest instead and shiver with a milky moan and his resolve cracks.

With a ravenous snarl, he squishes you against his chest when you offer no protests and the hands that held you are now clutching. He kisses you with a bruising need, changing into a brutish oaf as his tenderness fades. Your mouth opens in a gasp and he lets the bourbon seep past his teeth and ravage your taste buds. The flavor is the last thing on your mind as he devours you whole, a few droplets escape from the corner of your lips and trail down your jaw until they soak into your hairline. Starved of everything soft and sweet, he gorges and palps, litters you with clumsy bruises because he’s forgotten how to handle someone such as you.

He tilts his head to one side and his tongue glides past your teeth to twirl around yours, forcing you to open wide. His eyes are hidden behind squeezed lids, leaving him purposefully blind to your current expression. He didn’t want to see rejection, didn’t want to know if you were disgusted but too fearful to pull away. All he needed was just one moment of indulgence disguised as him teaching you to drink. Let him feast upon you for a bit and he will never touch you again afterward, he swears it.

It’s just to show you how to enjoy a good glass of alcohol.

But you weren’t stupid, you already knew this was all a charade. It’s agonizing when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and clutch at his back. You’re klutzy in your love, a shaking mess as you try to match his pace, but this is too new and with an absent mind, instinct can only tell you so much. Still, you fill his cavernous maw with high-tuned chirps of affection and you’re so pleased despite the uncertainty, you’re aching for him, you’re just as starved if not more.

Cooper wasn’t prepared for reciprocation, it leaves him boneless and barely holding you both steady.

You let your eyes close as well and guzzle down the remainder of the booze from his mouth. A strained growl reverberates in his throat as he cuts down the urge to buck into you. Too soon, not yet. He’s taken enough from you for one night.

You suck in a breath as your knees turn to jelly. Your thighs are quaking; he presses one hand against them to soothe you and earns a muffled mewl. It’s raw lightning, sparking over your skin and making your clothes feel so damn constricting. You’re clawing at your tights, scratching at his sleeves, turned feral with lust and lilting pleas in his chewed-up ear.

A clash of teeth and jerking tongues, muffled sounds of indulged wants and thinned nerves.

He’s intoxicating, gruff to the bone and you avidly drink in everything he offers.

“Greedy little thing…” he rasps over deep breaths once he’s pulled away enough to take in your possum-like state. “So how’d you like the bourbon?”

A dull ache forms in your core at his sweet derogatory coo. You bite the side of your cheek to stifle the vulgar rattle trying to escape the confines of your heaving chest.

He lifts you into a proper sitting position and readjusts your dress back over your legs because he’s a gentleman tonight.

You’re a mixture of labored inhalations and sputtered words, struggling to descend to normalcy and proper manners. It takes you a moment to find your voice, you speak before thinking, high on a newfound addiction – him and his taste and his smell and everything that had to do with him. The knots in your stomach ease, but you’re still absently fiddling with the straps of his vest while trying to regain composure.

“Can we…” you shrink as his heavy gaze makes your throat tighten, lower your eyes in bashfulness but your insides burn and you need that fire sated. It’s his fault you’re like this, him and his sinful vulgarities. “Can you show me again?”

He croons a laugh and bloats with pride, doesn’t even care to take a shot before he latches onto you again.

“Needy girl…So pretty f’ me.”

You’re the one with the lingering hands now, sigh in relief when he violates your mouth again as if being apart had been torture. Nimble fingers intrude on his spine, slipping beneath the loose collar of his shirt and mapping out the marred flesh like it’s a piece of art. He shudders in your hold, mouths something that gets lost among the vocal sloppiness emitting from your feverish kisses.

You’re too eager at the mixed saliva dribbling down your chin, too delighted when he pauses to lick it off and keep you partly decent as he suffocates on his passion. You cage him between your thighs like it’s only natural, nestle down on him because he’s your new throne and he shoves a hand between your bodies to adjust his straining erection before you find out how desperate he is. You’re too spread and willing, unaware of the debauchery your actions hint towards.

He’s a man gone wild beneath you, boiling and unchained and drinking in your wanton display. A blank canvas for you to paint whatever you wished on as you submit to cravings he’d unraveled. He was a perverse bastard, stole your first kiss and hadn’t even made it proper, but there was nothing right in this world anyway. You returned his advances, you were happy, the rest be damned.

You leave his scalding tongue and nipping teeth to pepper his bony face with butterfly pecks. He’s a silent enjoyer, lets you drown him now that you were unleashed, with a ghost of a smile and lazy blinks, mild and content. Time slips past in a blur until you’re finally satisfied, having pruned and memorized every inch of his face.

You’re studying his features while cupping his jaw when the haze fades and you register just how many lines you’d crossed. His hardness digs into your thigh and you wince because you’d climbed him like a mountain, sat on him like he was just a chair and not someone you held dear. You’d taken advantage of his docile form, oblivious to the fact that this was what he’d hoped for from the start. You’d treated him like a tool to cater to your horniness without ever considering how much strain you’d put on him.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he’d thought. No, that wasn’t it. You trusted him too much. Took his every word as fact.

Your heart is pounding and the trembling returns with twice the vigor as your serene smile dies.

“Oh my God…Jeez! I’m so sorry. Wait! I– ” you blabber while prying away with clumsy movements. You’re sure you’re about to have a heart attack and die on the spot.

What have you done?!

Why didn’t he stop you? Why did he look so high when you’d forced yourself on him without even asking for his consent? All he’d done was try to ease you into drinking and you’d thrown yourself at him like a…

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask you…Why didn’t you say – Sorry. I’m – ”

“Whoaw there, Cowgirl.” he springs to action, forced out of his delightful trance by the utter horror written in your eyes. He grips you before you manage to stand, coercing you in a bear hug. Opposite to your shaken state, he rounds up your skittishness with honeyed words and caring touches. “Easy now, Sweetness. All’s fine, easy…easy.”

He stuffs you in the crook of his neck as you sputter more apologies, nuzzles his cheek in your hair and coos. You’re inconsolable for a time, badmouthing yourself because you knew no better and it’s heartwrenching because it’s his fault for taking advantage of your trust. He rocks you into silence while chuckling, criminally unapologetic.

“Now if I didn’ want any o‘ this I would’a kicked you off long time ago. ‘S okay, Sweet pea, all’s fine.” he palms himself until you can’t feel the incessant poke anymore, the scowls at his meager self-control. “Damn thing got a mind of i’s own.”

You hum in response, whiney and weak. He snorts at your deflated mood, to think his boner would be the cause of worry is comical. He lets a jab slip to bait you out of the cesspool of self-bludgeoning you’d thrown yourself in. He could be truthful and lay out the entire farce before you, but that came with the change you’d never let him near you again. Cooper isn’t a good man, nor a truthful man and what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

“Now quit yer mopin’, you’re ruinin’ m’ shirt.”

It does the trick. You stiffen against him and choke because how dare he.

“Asshole!” you recoil and land a weak fist against his shoulder. “You’re the one always ruining everything. I’m thinking about your comfort and your consent and trying to be nice and all you ever do is mock me. Awful man! You don’t even use the toothbrush I gave you. And you’re horrible company too.”

He’s laughing for the countless time that night, catches your wrist, then your other one, stifling your tantrum. A grin peeks beneath your stern glare, his high spirits are too contagious, and you wrestle against his unweaving hold without much zest.

 “Too bad.” he gives you one good jerk and you faceplant into his neck, then rests his chin against the top of your head and you can hear the cocky smirk forming. “Is either me or the wasteland, Darlin’, and the wasteland don’ give no kisses, trust me.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

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@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

@sgt-barnesveins @alastorsw1f3 @villainofmyownstory

Thanks :)

The funniest thing is that this is one of the few things I don't read

Hello, I am from Gaza, due to the shortage of medicine in Gaza, my mother who is a type 1 diabetic and was supposed to undergo urgent eye surgery, has not been able to get insulin or any medical care for the past three months. . Some members of my family fled to the southernmost part of Gaza (Rafah) in tents. But my parents and sisters have nowhere else to stay. They are forced to stay in the Nuseirat refugee camp, which has been bombed since the beginning of Christmas. "I am on my knees asking for your donations. Please help me. where you can, Goal: $700

Nb/REBLOG,DONATE & SHARE WITH FRIENDS ❤️

I haven't checked properly if this is a scam (not to be insulting, but I've seen similar scams) and don't really know how to check, but in case it is real, here you go. I am sadly not able to donate but I hope my reach is big enough to help at least a little bit.

Omg, Mozart is one of my favourites, this was really good! I loved it!

Me?? Writing Mozart???? Anyone writing Mozart is a surprise surprise tbh. I bully him too much and therefore it's so hard for me to write him. Is this good? Not exactly. But the Mozart simps can't say I never did anything for them

BUT YOU'RE ALSO GETTING TWO SMUT FICS IN ONE DAY??? let's just say I'm feeling some type of way. You bitches getting fed today.

Mozart has been living outside the mansion for a few months now. He has an apartment in the city so that he wouldn't have to take a carriage back and forth.

For a while you were going back and forth between the mansion and his apartment. There are plenty of days where he is working nonstop and you try to take care of him and try to get him to take a break but it's no use.

"Süße," you call out for him from the couch but he doesn't move. "Süße," you look over at him. He's at his desk, writing music or replying to letters you assume. You pout. "Süße."

You know he can hear you. Why isn't he answering. "Wolfgang!" it took you so long to get used to calling him that. It still feels weird. You sit up on the couch, about to get to if he didn't hear you this time.

"Hm? What is it?" He still doesn't look up, but at least he answers you.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"I did. You just didn't say it right," he chuckles at you while you huff.

You get up and go over to him, putting your arms over his shoulders. "That's what you call me. How am I saying it wrong?"

"It's süßer for me," he drops his own and holds one of your hands.

"Oh wow, so different," you pout, but you still kiss the top of his head. You try to pull him from his chair. "Come spend time with me," you whine. "You have been glued to your desk for days."

You keep trying to pull him up but he's not budging. He laughs softly seeing how determined you are. "Okay okay. Just let me finish writing this letter," he kisses the hand he's holding and you let him go.

"Okay, but that's it for today!"

You let him finish writing it while you go into the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner. It was getting to be around the time you should start cooking.

You get a few things out and set them on the counter. "I wonder if he'll want to eat tonight," you talk to yourself and turn around and see Mozart walking in.

You smile and go up to him to hug him tightly.

"You've been so mean to me," you look up at him pouting.

"What? I haven't done anything."

"Exactly," you glare at him. "I need attention."

He then hugs you back, holding you close. "Attention? Like this?" He kisses you, making you him softly.

"Mmm, more please," he kisses you again and you kiss back. "You taste like coffee," you giggle.

"I have been drinking quite a bit."

"No more for the rest of the night. You need proper sleep," you kiss him again before letting him go to go back to the counter. "Do you want to eat with me tonight?"

"Depends. What are you making?" He walks over to see what you pulled out

"Nothing too spicy, I promise," you chuckle, remembering last time he tried something new from you. You added way too many spices for him to handle.

He seems to think for a moment. "I'll try it."

"Perfect! I'll start cooking soon then."

You smile and take his hand, taking him back to the living room. All you want is to curl up next to him for a while, have him play with your hair while you relax. Which does happen.

You sit in his lap, leaning against him while he is brushing his fingers through your hair, getting out some loose knots. You lift your head up to kiss him.

It was only meant to be a little kiss, but once he kissed you back you didn't want to stop. He didn't try to pull away either. You both kept going.

Shifting on his lap, you face him, your legs on either side. His hands rest on your hips. You moan softly, arms going over his shoulders.

You can't help but start to rock your hips, getting a moan out of him. Your grip onto his shirt, getting more worked up.

He stills your hips, holding you down.

"What do you think you're doing," it's a lighthearted tease. He wants to hear you say it.

"C-can we go to the bedroom. Please," you start to whine.

His hands slide down your body and before you know it he's standing and holding you. You always forget about that vampiric strength, even still, you wrap your legs around his waist and hold on around his neck.

As he carries you, you start kissing his neck, lightly nibbling at his skin.

He drops you on the bed, giving you the view of him taking his shirt off. You sit there and watch rather than getting your own clothes off.

Mozart tosses his shirt to the side and looks down at you. "I can't do much if you keep your clothes on."

You immediately blush and fumble with your clothes, wanting them off as quickly as you can. You're clothes are barely to the floor and Mozart gets on top of you, kissing you roughly.

Keeping your lips together, you move further back onto the bed so you aren't along the edge, Mozart following you, not breaking the kiss until you lay back.

Lifting up one of your legs he kisses your ankle as he brings it over his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful," he smiles, getting you to blush before he slides into you.

You moan, quickly trying to bite your lip to stay quiet.

With one hand on your leg and another on your hip he starts to thrust into you.

He keeps a steady rhythm, but then again why wouldn't he. Getting more comfortable, he gets rougher. Nearly pulling out all the way before thrusting back in, making sure he's going as deep as he can.

He pulls your leg up further, redirecting your hips, hitting you in a new spot. Your moans get louder and he quickly reaches up to cover your mouth.

"Be quiet," he kisses. "The window is open."

You completely forgot about that. The window right above the headboard of the bed was open, letting in a light breeze. You were wondering why you occasionally got a chill.

You whine under his hand, not able to stop moaning. "Th-then close it."

You grit your teeth as his hips only snap harder. You swear the sound of his hips rutting against you is louder than your moans.

He takes his hand off your mouth and kisses you instead, causing both of you to lose your breath quickly. Panting in each other's mouths.

You wrap your arms around him, leaving red streaks along his back. Your leg that was over this shoulder is now around his waist, keeping him close.

His fingers interlock with yours, holding them down into the mattress.

"You feel close, süße," his lips trail down to your neck. "Why don't I help with that."

"Wolfg-ahh!"

His fangs piece your skin, giving him the pleasure of your blood and giving you the pleasure of reaching your climax. He didn't seem to care about the window being open at that moment.

Your moans went on for as long as his fangs were in you. His hands squeeze yours, his movement suddenly gets faster, until he pushes himself as deep as he can go, filling you with cum.

You squeeze his hands back, buck your hips up, moaning with him.

Mozart licks the bite clean and sits up, licking a few drops of blood off his lips while looking at you.

Your chest heaves, and you whine when he pulls out of you.

You don't feel like making dinner now, but you don't want to be done with him yet.

When Mozart lays down next to you, you sit up, getting on his lap.

He looks up at you surprised. "What are you-"

"I don't want to be done just yet," you smirk, sitting yourself down on his cock

~~

Tag list~

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @xalxtusxiao @namine-somebodies-nobody @ana-thedaydreamer @evil-quartett @ameyoruakiikemenseries @yrenesposts @tele86 @damekathearasi @lokis-laugh @candied-boys @breadmercury @aquagirl1978 @xenokiryu @nightghoul381 @vampiricpancake @lulu-the-smol-floof @tako-cafe @floydsteeth

Night, Darling

Bo Sinclair x reader

******

Bo sneaks into your shared bedroom tired and aching. He huffs and sighs quietly as he undresses to his boxers. He felt his arms aching and his head pounding, but it fades when he ears you stir under the blankets.

“Bo?” You voice sounds like a coo from a dove. “Baby? What time is it?”

“Go back t’sleep, honey,” he drawls, covering his mouth as he yawns. “It’s half-past midnight.” The floor creaks under his feet and his bones crack with every steps. The weight of the bed sinks down and he lays on his side, pulling you close. “Back t’sleep.”

There’s silence for a moment as the crickets sing their good-night songs and fireflies dance to the beat of the swamp. Then it’s cut as you sleepily asked, “Did ya turn out the porch light?”

Bo groans in annoyance at himself and sits back up. “Shit,” he whispers as he stands and hobbles across the floor.

Sleep filled your voice as you called, “Bring back water.”

“Get yer own water,” he spat through a yawn. He was already half way down the steps when he called back, “Yeah, I got it, y/n.”

He turns off the light and locks the door (even though he doesn’t have to) then goes into the kitchen. He gets you a glass of water with two ice cubes; he knows how much you like ice. He looks through the kitchen window and out into the woods. It’s all peaceful out there; it almost scares him. The moon was half full but it lit up the forest. He could see coyotes trumping through the tall grass without care and glow from faded stars. The train whistle was distance and he felt its wheel through the floor like thunder. He smiles to himself before heading back to you.

By the time he gets back, he finds you dead asleep. He smirks and shakes his head. He places the glass on your nightstand then goes on his side of the bed. Bo fixes his photo of you and him before laying down next to you. Just like a puzzle piece, you fix perfectly in his arms once more.

Sleepily, you planted a kiss on his cheek then went back to sleep. He kisses your forehead in return then your lips.

“Good’igh, darlin’,” he whispers. “Love ya.”

I don't usually like AUs but mafia 141 is just...mmmmm

I love it.

The Assistant

Photo on Pinterest

Lmfao this is my take on the Mafia!141 x reader

this had been sitting in my drafts since February.

WARNING: swearing, violence, later chapters might include NSFW if I decide to continue. afab!reader, f!reader

(I would like to preface this that this is not my original idea, I know that many of these stories have assistant!readers but this idea had been sitting on my head for the longest time)

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Paying for school was a fucking shit storm. You really should’ve just stuck to STEM but dammit did you fucking hate statistics. That was never your forte.

In desperate need of work, you took up waitressing, bartending, house keeping, even dog sitting.

You came to the conclusion very quickly that while job hopping kept you busy- it’s not something you want to keep doing.

So you found a job offer for an office assistant. Pretty solid. Keep orders of appointments, organize files, print and send files, and send emails.

Shit…it sounds easy it certainly can’t be so?

Well. Call it a hunch. You were right. It was awful.

Your boss was pretty alright at the start, but later on it became such a shit show. He would show up drunk, verbally assault you and another assistant, and constantly throw passes at you.

Not only that. The man you worked for ended up being a fucking scammer. Offered a very dangerous group a ‘great deal’ that ended up turning their plans for the worse. The threats from the clients were scaring off co-workers of yours. Some without notice, which kind of hurt your feelings.

One of them being your friend, Amara. She was a sweet girl, getting married soon. She was so excited to start a new life with her fiancé and her mom. But then she was found dead only a few weeks after she left. Oh you were heart broken.

Her funeral was very difficult to attend.

You noticed that your boss wasn’t around the past few days, and you were anxiously answering furious emails back to back. Some of them threatening to end your life if you couldn’t fix their issues.

You were so close to finishing college with your BA. You needed to save enough for your Masters. How else could you manage?!

There went your goals of becoming something in theatre, yes we know, of all things. Gods…you were so willing to start selling organs to pay off student loans. You knew this job was way too good to be true.

Then *they* came around.

Two gentlemen, a charming male, with brown eyes and a dashing smile had you distracted before he even opened his mouth. The other next to him, a blue-eyed individual with a soft-looking Mohawk and rugged nature, had a contagious laughter that drew you to look up in the first place.

When they got to you, they were very polite.

“Good afternoon, we’re here to see Mr. Seamire.”

Your smile falters and you worry that they might turn nasty if you tell them the truth…but you can’t think of a better lie than the “sorry he’s not in right now” that you’ve been repeating that past few days.

“I’m so sorry, he hasn’t been in for a few days now.” You sheepishly admit. “If you’d like to leave a message or number we can leave it on his desk, if he comes back-“

“Oh that won’t be necessary, hen.” The blue eyed man speaks, a Scottish accent in his words.

“If we can, would you be able to find us some files? Only if you can. We’re pulling out of a…” he huffs a laugh, but there’s no amusement in his eyes, “business, deal.”

You blink and nod your head.

“Sure, I just need a name. I’m so sorry we’ve not satisfied you with our company’s service.”

The brown-eyed gentleman smiles warmly. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. It’s no worries. They’re under a number actually, 141.”

You nod, typing in the number as an aggressive smack on your desk counter sounds right next to the two.

“I wanna speak to Seamire! Now!”

Ah shit.

“I’m sorry sir, he’s not in-“

“You said that shit last time!!”

“Y-Yes- I did-“

The man throws a drink (where the fuck he got that from you don't know) right at you, and you thank god that it was a cold one.

Immediately the two gentlemen wrestle him back a few steps.

“Oi- what the bloody hell is your problem?!”

You take a deep breath, the aggressive stranger still yelling profanities at you as your in the middle of a breathing exercise your therapist from your uni taught you. It’s not really working.

“Cheap whores like her need to learn how to do their fucking jobs-!”

Your eyes snap open in rage. “ENOUGH.”

Everyone in the room stops.

You slam the company telephone on the top of the counter, grabbing the actual phone part and holding it out to him. “Do *you* wanna try calling him? Huh? Wanna give it a fucking go?!”

You shove it off of the counter as he stands there gobsmacked.

“I’m sorry you got fucked over by my boss, but I’m not his fucking keeper. I’m his fucking assistant. He tells me what to do, when to do it, and not even a please or thank you to come with it. The little slimeball hasn’t been here in,”

You yank out a file and slam it down. “three fucking weeks. So if you want to file a complaint-"

You harshly slide the folder over. It's huge, the papers spilling out of the openings. "-JOIN THE FUCKING CLUB. You incompetent prick!”

The Scotsman lets out a huffed laugh, looking back at the stranger. “Think yer not welcomed here, lad.”

He grabs the man by the jacket of his suit and drags him out of the door. You can only see so far which way he takes him.

His friend looks back at you, a sort of worry on his face. “You alright there, miss?”

Immediately you shake your head. “No. I think that might’ve been my sign to quit.” You sigh out. “Uhm…I’m not supposed to do this but since I’m putting in my notice, uh I can use the computer on the managers floor to get those files for you. I can either mail them to you or-“

“I can pick them up myself, I’d rather them not be others hands.”

“Okay,” you pull out a pen and sticky note. “Write down your number or email, and I can let you know when they’re ready to be picked up. I can honestly have them by…”

You need to take a deep breath, the nerves and anxiety still hot in your blood. “…like- tomorrow.”

The man smiles, scribbling down a number, and a name. ‘Kyle’. You presume it’s his, considering he doesn’t correct you when you point at him.

You smile, peeling off the note and sticking it onto the desk. “Okay, Kyle. I’ll let you know as soon as that’s ready. Thank you…for uh…helping me out there.”

‘Kyle’ nods and motions to your outfit. “You’re gonna be alright smelling like coffee all day?”

“Oh, I’ll manage. Might leave after this.”

He leans in with his forearms on the desk.“I don’t blame you.”

There’s a feeling of shyness in your chest as he leans in, and then his friend comes through the door.

“You alright, miss?”

Again, you nod. “Yes! Thank you, I hope that wasn’t trouble-“

He waves his hand in front of him. “It’s no problem for us.”

Kyle raps his knuckles on the desk as he looks at his friend. “Well, she said she’ll let us know when we can get those files. We're clear?”

“Almost,” the Scotsman states. There’s a look between the two, something their communicating with their eyes as Mohawk opens his mouth. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your boss last was?”

Your brows raise up- cause in all honestly no. You didn’t know. Last you heard he just stated he was taking some vacation days. Which you relayed.

“He could be anywhere really, he really likes his beach house though. Never really told us where it was.”

His demeanor perks at the mention of a location. Not a proper one but a house nonetheless. “Thank ye, lass. And yer name was-?”

“Oh I’m (y/n).”

“(Y/n). Such a beautiful name. I’m Johnny.”

“Pleasure.” You can’t help but notice his knuckles. Bruised and cut up, like he fights for a living. Honestly, with his build, you would assume he does so.

“We’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

Kyle throws you a toothy grin before turning and walking out, Johnny right behind him.

——————————

That night, before you left for the day (even though you smelt of coffee), you managed to find those files that Kyle and Johnny were asking for. To your surprise they weren’t blacked out of some of the info that should be blacked out on a managers desk.

You sigh, shaking your head. If anything this proves that this business was failing, as none of the necessary precautions were being used.

As you printed out everything, you decided to put some in a flash drive as well to give to them. And then in the same moment, you downloaded a file that had your name? Which was odd. Cause these were all names of clients and buyers. Your name shouldn’t be on there.

But then you see other names. Familiar names of previous co-workers who just stopped showing up to work. One was Amara. This wasn’t right.

You decided to be nosey, putting like five names that you recognized even Amara’s in the flash drive. You’d just move things around before giving it to Kyle.

When you finish you organize the printed files in order. If it’s named, it’s alphabetical. If it’s dated, it’s numeral. Some are even color-coded.

By the time you make it to your car, you pull out your phone, texting Kyle that his files are ready. And to your surprise, he texts you really fast. Right as you start the car!

Kyle: great! Would you mind if we met up somewhere public? Wouldn’t want to scare you if I asked you to drop them off.

Well, that’s odd. Why the fuck would you be scared. He’s such a nice-looking gentleman.

But anyway, you sent him a location and headed over there.

It was a rather busy street, the place you recommended. Finding parking was easy though you didn’t think to tell Kyle where the good spots were.

You sit in front of a cafe, a coat covering your stained blouse with the file in front of you. Eventually, a familiar voice greets you.

“Why hello again.”

You look up from your phone and grin. “Hi! Here you go, I’m sorry it took so long, something was weird about the files. Uhm, not everything is blacked out but I swear that’s not normal, we usually black out certain info-“ you begin to play with your hands. “Honestly I am really sorry things didn’t work out, a lot of people but a lot of money with this kinda of business.”

Kyle is furrowing his brow at the files before glancing up at you with a hard gaze that softens immediately. “You put this together?”

“Yes?”

“This is…” he raises his brows before thumbing through the pages. “Jesus love,…how long did this take?”

“Like,” you sputter, the name catching you off guard. “Like I don’t know 20 minutes?”

There’s a long pause as he nods his head, looking up at you with a smirk. His eyes are a hypnotic coffee brown. Flakes of gold shimmer from the gold lighting of the window to the cafe. You’re mesmerized before he speaks.

“You’re out of a job now right?”

"Yep."

“You like assisting?”

You give a shrug. “Could be worse.”

Gaz leans in, putting his file on the table. “If I offered you an interview would you be interested?”

It was like a record scratch hit your head. “I…well I mean…it depends really. No offense I barely know you-“

“Yet here we are, face to face again.”

You furrow your brow. “Oh come on, I was being nice and doing a favor.”

“Maybe, but this is a job that pays well. I promise you we can take care of anything you may need. We could do work benefits like dental, medical, or even housing.”

You clicked your tongue, a wide but nervous grin sprouting out. 'Housing?' you thought.

What they were going to keep you nearby? What in a tiny little shack?

You let out a dry laugh. “What is this..."business" you do?"

Kyle licks his lips, and you notice only the tiniest amount of hesitation.

"Call it uh, protection detail."

"Protection? So you're security?"

Oh if only you knew.

“Well," He changes the subject. "I understand this is pushing. Honestly, we could really benefit from your work ethic.” He stands, tucking the file under his arm before shaking your hand. “Text me if you’re interested I'm serious.”

Then just like that. He’s gone in the crowd.

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