[silcoholic]

── .✦ WORKS & FICS

۶ৎ Old Flame Series

──── ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ──── ──── ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ────

SILCO

Old Flame Part One

Old Flame Part Two

Old Flame Part Three

Old Flame Part Four

Old Flame Part Five

Old Flame Part Six

Old Flame Part Seven

Old Flame Part Eight

Old Flame Part Nine

Old Flame Part Ten

Old Flame Part Eleven

Finale

۶ৎ Oneshots

Old Flame Post Valentine's Special

Always

Eyes On The Road

──── ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ──── ──── ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ────

VI

Behind Bars

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝓟𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮'𝓼 𝓢𝓹𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓵

↳ oneshot sequel

Silco X Fem!Reader | 2k words

ᯓ★ warnings: sexual content, profane language

The sun had barely crested the skyline of Piltover, its golden light spilling over polished brass and gleaming marble. Here, you sat at your desk, fingers stained with ink and grease, reviewing your notes on the latest prototype you've been working on lately. You haven't named it. It was just a random idea that came on you one day. You didn't even notice how much time you've been spending on it.

By day, you were a respected inventor, your work recognized in the highest academic circles of Piltover. Ah, it feels good to be recognized with all the hard work you put into your inventions. And then, by night, the world shifted - you would cross the bridge into Zaun, where your past and your real life awaited.

Living a dual life was never easy. It was a challenge, but you and Silco had come to an agreement—boundaries were necessary. Not for control, not for limitations, but for respect. None of this was forced. It was simply out of mutual respect. There were things he would not interfere with, and there were aspects of his world that you chose to keep at arm’s length.

On your end, that meant drawing a firm line when it came to his business. Not because you were forbidden nor because he would deny you, but because you preferred it that way. You knew the potential danger of his line of work. You wouldn't dare mess with it. You had spent years building your reputation in Piltover, crafting an identity that was detached from the underbelly of Zaun. While you never denied where you came from, you chose not to be involved in the politics of shimmer and trade wars.

As for Silco, it meant swallowing his hatred for Piltover, though not entirely, as much as it burned in his chest. He could do no harm to the place you had carved a space in. Or at least, for now. Not that he didn’t want to. Not that he didn’t dream of tearing down its ivory towers. But he had come to respect the nature of your work, the drive that propelled you forward. And more than that, he had come to respect you, like he always did. To see you thriving was something he wouldn’t disrupt. He knew how hard you have worked to establish your name and where you are today.

That's my girl, he thought.

And so, the balance remained. During the day, you were a scholar, a mind that the elites admired. To add on that, a rising inventor who crafted convenience for Piltover. But when the sun sets, you belong to the streets below to the murky waters of the undercity. To your home, Zaun. To him, Silco.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

It was yet another day to rise. It was the same as usual—work, work, work. Heavens, you can't even remember the last time you had proper sleep.

You had just come from a party arranged by the councilors to honour the inventions that were rising lately that had helped Piltover in various ways and by their own means. Honoured enough, you were one of them. Now, enough flattery.

It had been a long day of socializing, interacting, and even responding to unsolicited interrogations about you. Being known as an inventor had its pros and... cons—eyes were on you. Always. It wasn’t new to be gossiped about nor be accused of the most random things ever imaginable.

Earlier at the party, you found yourself caught in multiple conversations. Nothing new, honestly. But if someone's going to ask you, something definitely changed over time: the conversations at events. From marketing your inventions to negotiating with a sponsor, somehow you're just caught up with intriguing questions and prying eyes now. Geez.

One councilor, Councilor Salo, swirled his drink before addressing you. “Your latest work is quite remarkable. The hexcore has outperformed expectations. Your brilliance combined with Mr. Talis sure did Piltover major favours."

I'm probably his favourite, you thought.

You nodded, forcing a polite smile. “I appreciate that, councilor, but there’s still a long way to go before it’s perfected."

Another guest chimed in, her voice laced with intrigue. “And yet, despite your contributions, there are whispers—some question your roots, your… affiliations.”

You took a measured sip of your champagne. “People love to talk, but my work speaks for itself.

A chuckle came from a younger inventor standing nearby. “True enough. Though, I must say, you have a talent for keeping people guessing.”

May the heavens help you.

As the night wore on, the weight of scrutiny pressed on you. Finally, there are no more unsolicited comments and questions. Since when did events even turn to an interview of your life and not your work? Ah, whatever. By the time you return to your apartment, the exhaustion clung to your bones.

Tired and drained, you decided to step into the shower. A little refresh is something you need right now. Warm and mild drops fell on your skin, just as how you liked it—it was relaxing. Slowly, you felt your stress and worries fading.

You didn’t even notice the presence behind you at first, too lost in thought, the warmth of the water easing the tension of your shoulders. But then, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. A soft, lingering kiss was pressed against the side of your neck, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Instinctively, you tilt your head to the side, allowing more access.

"You look tired," came a smooth, rasping voice, one you knew too well. "Lack of sleep or just a bunch of morons?"

Now, fully registering in your mind, your breath hitched. You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of the man behind you. “Silco? How did you—”

He hushed you gently, his lips brushing against your damp skin once more before he spoke. His arm wrapped around your waist while the other reached for your bottom lip, caressing it gently. “Don't worry about me, love. Did you really think I wouldn't be here to celebrate a special day with you?”

You swallowed, heart tightening in your chest. You hadn’t even remembered what day it was—had been so caught up in your work, in the party, in the politics of Piltover—that it had completely slipped your mind. But Silco hadn’t forgotten. He never will.

His presence, his words, the simple act of being here—it stirred something deep within you. You turned around to face him, pressing a hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips, while the other hand wrapped around his neck. His eyes searched yours, a glint of amusement flickering in them, but beneath that, something softer. He missed you. You haven't gone home to Zaun for almost two weeks now. You've been that occupied the last few days. He's been busy too like the usual, but can you blame the man?

"You didn't have to come all this way," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He smirked. “And yet, here I am.”

"Oh, Silco.."

Warmth flooded your chest, the weight of the day melting away as you leaned into him. Silco, ever the enigma, ever the contradiction, but always—always—there when it mattered.

He pressed a gentle kiss on you, slow and deliberate, as if savouring the moment. The warmth of his lips against yours sent a familiar shiver down your spine, the exhaustion from earlier fading into the background. Instinctively, you wrapped both arms now around his neck, pulling him closer, needing his presence as much as he seemed to need yours.

Meanwhile, his hands rested on your waist, fingers pressing into your damp skin as if grounding himself. There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet understanding between two people who had found solace in each other, despite the chaos that surrounded them.

The water cascaded down your bodies, steam curling in the air around you. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough to leave you breathless before pulling back to see your face. His eyes, always sharp, held something unspoken, something that went beyond words.

“You work too hard,” he murmured, thumb brushing idly along your side. "Don't forget to look after yourself, love."

You huffed a quiet laugh, forehead resting against his. “And you travel too much just to surprise me in my own apartment. Technically, it's yours, too."

His smirk returned, though softer this time. “I think we both know I’d go much further than this for you.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, his lips found yours again, deeper this time, the heat between you intensifying despite the warm water cascading down your bodies. His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns along your waist before sliding up your back, pressing you even closer.

You sighed against his mouth, your hands tangling in his damp hair, nails grazing lightly against his scalp. He hummed in approval, his grip tightening as he shifted you against the cool tiles of the shower wall. His eyes flickered with something dark, something possessive, but there was reverence there too—a silent worship in the way he touched you, in the way he held you like you were something rare, something irreplaceable.

His lips trailed down, pressing lingering kisses along your jaw, your throat, pausing just long enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. The sensation sent a shiver through you, your pulse quickening when he dipped lower, mouth ghosting over your collarbone before placing an open-mouthed kiss there. It didn't took him long to enter your aching cunt. You gasped a little to your surprise. Ironically, it was gentle unlike your usual sex. This one? It's just full of love.

“You’re tense,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rasp. His hands pinning you by the shower wall for support, to keep you in place.

“The audacity. I wonder whose fault is that” you teased breathlessly, your head tipping back as he continued thrusting his length on you. Your hands find support in his shoulders.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against the skin of your neck. “I’d say Piltover’s, but I’d much rather take responsibility.”

The steam fogged around you, wrapping you both in a haze, but nothing felt quite as consuming as him—the way that he looked at you, touched you, pounded you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered. And apparently, you happen to be.

Right now, none of you gave a shit about Piltover. No politics, no work. No stress. Just the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of the moment, lost in each other.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

You secured the bathrobe around your waist, running the towel through your damp hair as you stepped out of the shower. The warm air of your bathroom greeted you, a contrast to the lingering steam from the shower. You expected Silco to return quickly—after all, he had only left to fetch a bottle of wine. Yet, minutes passed, and he still hadn’t come back. What is that man up to?

Frowning, you set the towel aside and padded barefoot through the apartment, the dim lighting casting soft shadows along the walls. The kitchen seemed the obvious place to check first. Wine, of course.

Instead, you found a little dinner setup waiting for you.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the table, casting warm shadows against the elegant arrangement. Plates were set, wine glasses filled, and amidst it all—roses. Lots of roses. Their deep red petals stood in contrast to the pristine tablecloth, their scent weaving through the air like a quiet confession.

You barely had a moment to take it all in before familiar hands wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you into a firm yet gentle embrace and a kiss landed on your cheek, warm and lingering.

Silco’s voice, smooth as ever, brushed against your ear.

“What do you think, love?”

Your lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. He wasn’t one for grand gestures—not like this. Yet here he was, setting something up just for you. Not for politics. Not for business. Just… you.

"Happy Valentine's, love"

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕱𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖊

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 3.4k words

↳➛ Summary:

Balancing your life between Piltover and Zaun was never simple, but with Silco by your side, anything felt achievable.

↳➛ Warnings: mention of violence, threats, murder attempts

Your thoughts drifted as you wandered around the room, already planning the little touches you’d add to make it truly yours. A softer lamp here, maybe a new chair over there, something to make the space feel warmer. You were so caught up in your musings that you didn’t notice the faint creak of the door or the figure leaning casually against the frame, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“I hope you like it,” Silco’s voice broke through the haze, making you jump slightly.

You turned toward the doorway, finding him standing there, arms loosely crossed, his sharp eyes softened by a rare hint of vulnerability. He stepped further into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as if careful not to intrude.

“You startled me,” you said with a soft laugh, though the warmth in your chest betrayed how touched you truly were.

“My apologies,” he replied, though his tone wasn’t entirely apologetic. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but there was something more earnest in his gaze. “I wanted to make sure everything was… suitable. Personalize it in any way you want,” he added, gesturing faintly to the room. “Besides, this is your room.”

You shook your head, a smile breaking across your face as you corrected him. “My home.” The word lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.

Before you realize it, you’d cross the small space between you, wrapping your arms around him in a firm, heartfelt hug. Silco stiffened for a moment, unaccustomed to such gestures, but slowly, his hands settled against your back in a hesitant yet steady embrace.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice muffled but sincere. "For everything."

Silco didn’t respond right away, but you felt the tension in his posture ease slightly. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost vulnerable. “Always.”

In that moment, surrounded by the faint hum of Zaun and the quiet intimacy of your new space, the room truly felt like home. Once again.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Moving back to Zaun had been one of the biggest decisions you’d ever made. Piltover had its comforts—bright lights, cleaner air, and the prestige of being part of its grand, gleaming machine. You’d built a name for yourself there, carving out your place among its inventors and intellectuals. Success followed you like a shadow, your work gaining recognition even among Piltover’s elites.

But as much as Piltover offered, it wasn’t home.

Home was Zaun. The gritty, chaotic undercity called to you in ways you couldn’t ignore, and though it wasn’t easy to leave behind the ease and accolades of Piltover, you knew you had to return. Zaun wasn’t just where you were from—it was where you belonged.

The balance between the two worlds was delicate. By day, you were a rising inventor in Piltover, meeting with investors, attending fairs, and pushing the boundaries of what was possible. By night, you returned to Zaun, slipping back into the shadows, finding comfort in its familiar hum and glow.

There were adjustments to make. The air was heavier, the streets rougher, and the lifestyle demanded a resilience that Piltover had dulled over time. But it was worth it, especially with Silco by your side. He made the transition easier—offering you support when the weight of balancing two lives grew heavy.

On quieter days, you found yourself in his office, organizing his chaotic piles of paperwork. Silco had a mind for strategy and ambition, but his attention to detail when it came to the mundane was... lacking. You didn’t mind, though. There was something oddly satisfying about bringing order to his carefully controlled chaos, and the rare moments when he’d glance up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you work, made it worth the effort.

Other days, you found yourself helping out at The Last Drop. Whether it was cleaning glasses behind the bar, hauling supplies, or simply watching the patrons and the ebb and flow of Zaun’s pulse, you found it grounding. Silco rarely acknowledged your help outright, but his approval was there, in the subtle way his gaze lingered or the faint nod of thanks when you caught his eye.

It wasn’t always easy, straddling two worlds, but you managed. Piltover fueled your ambition, while Zaun grounded your soul. And with Silco, you didn’t feel like you were walking this tightrope alone. Together, you were finding a way to make it work—building a life that existed in both places yet remained firmly rooted in the home you’d reclaimed.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Life in Zaun was anything but predictable. The chaos of the undercity was constant, a rhythm of turmoil that you had come to expect. It was a far cry from the structured world of Piltover, but this was Silco’s world—his empire—and now, once again, you were a part of it.

Every day brought new challenges. The raids by enforcers, the death threats scrawled on walls or whispered in dark corners, and the endless assassination attempts on Silco—it was a storm you had to weather. Silco had insisted on assigning bodyguards to you, much to your initial protests. “Necessary precautions,” he’d called it, his tone leaving no room for argument.

And then there was the attention your dual life attracted. While Silco was undeniably proud of your success in Piltover, it also brought scrutiny. Your name carried weight among the inventors and investors of the City of Progress, but to some in Zaun, that was enough to make you a suspect.

It wasn’t long before you experienced that suspicion firsthand.

On one particular day, you decided to bring Silco a meal. He had been in his office since morning, no doubt buried in work and likely neglecting his own needs as usual. Balancing a tray of food, you made your way toward his door, the low murmur of voices reaching your ears.

You paused just outside, recognizing one of the voices as Finn’s.

“She’s a threat!” Finn’s words were sharp, cutting through the muffled air like a blade. “You can’t guarantee she’s the same person you knew all those years ago. She’s spent too much time in Piltover. For all we know, she’s working with the enforcers! What if she’s behind those raids?”

Your heart sank, though you couldn’t entirely blame him. Finn was bold, paranoid, and relentless—traits that had kept him alive in Zaun’s cutthroat world. But still, the accusation stung.

You shifted slightly, careful not to make a sound. This wasn’t your fight, and you had no intention of barging in to defend yourself. You understood Finn’s perspective, as frustrating as it was. You had spent years in Piltover, after all, and in Zaun, trust was a fragile, easily broken thing.

But Silco wasn’t having it.

His voice was calm, dangerously so, like the stillness before a storm. “You’re overstepping, Finn,” he said, his tone low and cutting. “She’s no threat to me. If anything, you’re the one testing my patience with such baseless accusations.”

Finn’s voice rose slightly, but there was a hint of unease in it now. “I’m just saying, Silco, you can’t be too careful—”

“No,” Silco interrupted, his words razor-sharp. “What you can’t do is question my judgment or her loyalty. She’s proven herself time and again, something you’d do well to remember.”

The room fell silent after that, the tension thick enough to cut. You could imagine Finn’s expression—a mix of frustration and suppressed anger—but you didn’t linger to find out.

Quietly stepping back, you turned and made your way to another part of The Last Drop. Silco had handled it, and there was no need to add fuel to the fire. You knew that Finn’s suspicions would fade in time, especially as you continued to navigate your new life in Zaun.

For now, you’d let Silco deal with the chaos in his own way. After all, you’d chosen this life—this empire—and with it came the storms you had to weather together.

The accusations had become a constant backdrop to your life in Zaun. Professionalism was your shield, the thing that kept you composed in the face of the chembarons’ suspicions and sharp words. But sometimes, even that wasn’t enough. No matter how much you tried to brush it off, their doubts lingered, worming their way into your thoughts.

Were you a danger to Silco? Could your dual life—your ties to Piltover—put him at risk?

The questions weighed heavily on you, the answers elusive. You needed a break, a moment to breathe away from the chaos. That’s how you found yourself downstairs at The Last Drop, long after the bar had closed for the night.

The usual din of drunken laughter and clinking glasses was absent, replaced by the soft scrape of a broom against the floor. Thieram, one of the bartenders, was tidying up, humming quietly to himself.

“I’ll take it from here,” you said, stepping into the room.

Thieram looked up, startled. “Oh! It’s alright, I can manage,” he replied, a friendly smile on his face.

“I insist,” you said firmly, though there was no edge to your voice.

He hesitated, studying you for a moment before nodding. “Alright, if you’re sure. Just don’t blame me if you find it dull.”

With a soft chuckle, Thieram handed you the broom and a rag, giving you a nod of thanks before retreating to the back.

The silence that followed was exactly what you needed. Sweeping the floor, wiping down the counters—it was simple, mindless work, a far cry from the chaos you usually dealt with. It gave your thoughts space to settle, your breathing slowing as you focused on the rhythmic motions of cleaning.

As you worked, your mind wandered. You thought about Silco—how fiercely he defended you, how he trusted you even when others didn’t. That trust was something you clung to, a lifeline in the storm of doubts and accusations.

But the lingering question remained: Was that trust misplaced?

You paused, leaning against the bar and staring at the empty bottles lined up on the shelves. The quiet of the room felt heavy, almost suffocating, and for a moment, you considered pouring yourself a drink. But instead, you exhaled, shaking off the weight of your thoughts.

You had chosen this life, and with it came responsibilities and risks. If Silco believed in you, then maybe it was time to start believing in yourself, too.

Setting the rag down, you glanced around the room, now spotless. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a small victory, a reminder that even in the chaos, there were moments of control.

And sometimes, that was enough.

You deserved this, didn’t you? After everything you handled, everything you endured—both in Piltover and Zaun—a drink was hardly a crime. Who were you, after all? Not just anyone. You had a name in Piltover, respect that few could dream of. You co-handled an empire in Zaun, stood your ground in the face of suspicion, and tonight, you left the bar spotless. A drink—or two—was more than justified.

You helped yourself to one. Then another. The jukebox hummed a soft tune in the background, filling the quiet bar with a soothing melody. The music paired perfectly with the warmth of the liquor coursing through you. You let it all melt away—the doubts, the accusations, the weight of balancing two lives.

One drink became two. Then three. And maybe one more after that. The line blurred somewhere in between, and before you knew it, your head was resting on the counter, the empty glass still in your hand.

A soft clink and the sensation of the glass being pulled from your grip stirred you from your haze. You blinked groggily, your surroundings tilting slightly as you sat up.

“Drinking without me?” Silco’s familiar voice broke through the fog, smooth and teasing.

You turned to find him standing beside you, holding the glass he’d just taken from your hand. He raised an eyebrow, his sharp features illuminated by the dim lights of the bar.

“Didn’t think you’d mind,” you murmured, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

Silco chuckled, a low, gravelly sound, and sat on the stool next to you. Without hesitation, he poured himself a drink using your glass. The motion was unhurried, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world.

“I’m not one to mind,” he said, raising the glass to his lips. “But I can’t say I approve of you overindulging alone.”

You huffed, leaning your cheek against your hand as you watched him. “Overindulging?” you repeated, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “I call it unwinding.”

Silco smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking another sip. “Is that what they call passing out at the bar now?”

“Careful,” you shot back playfully, your grin widening despite your hazy state. “You’re starting to sound like one of the chembarons.”

That earned a laugh, soft but genuine, and for a moment, the air between you lightened. Silco’s gaze softened as he regarded you, the faintest trace of concern flickering behind his eyes.

“Long day?” he asked, his tone quieter now, almost careful.

You nodded, resting your head against your hand again. “Long life, more like.”

Silco hummed in agreement, finishing his drink and setting the glass down with a soft clink. “You’ve earned this, then,” he said, gesturing to the empty bottle on the counter. “But next time, don’t drink alone. I might even join you.”

His words hung in the air, equal parts offer and reassurance. You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth in his voice a reminder of why you stayed in this chaotic world.

"You're just always busy," you blurted out, the words slipping free before you could stop them. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your tongue, or maybe it was just the truth bubbling to the surface. Either way, there it was—raw, vulnerable, and out in the open.

Silco paused, his glass halfway to his lips, and turned his sharp gaze to you. His expression was unreadable, but you felt the weight of his attention, heavy and unflinching.

You exhaled a shaky breath, pressing your palms against the counter. “I know it’s your work. I understand what it demands of you,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “But sometimes, I just... I miss you.”

The words hung in the air between you, unspoken for so long that they felt foreign on your tongue. You weren’t talking about the moments when you helped him strategize or organize his paperwork, or even the times you sat silently in his office while he worked. Those weren’t the moments you craved.

“I miss us,” you admitted, your eyes fixed on the empty bottle in front of you. “Just... you and me. No paperwork. No chembarons. No empire. Just us.”

Silco set his glass down with a deliberate motion, his posture shifting slightly. For a moment, he didn’t speak, his mismatched eyes studying you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“I hadn’t realized,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “I thought—” He stopped himself, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. “Perhaps I’ve been too focused on the empire. Too... distant.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the hint of self-reflection in his tone. Silco rarely admitted to being wrong, but there it was—an acknowledgement, small but genuine.

“It’s not that I don’t understand,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “I know Zaun needs you. I know what you’re building is important. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to share moments that aren’t overshadowed by all of... this.” You gestured vaguely, encompassing the bar, the chaos, the world you both navigated daily.

Silco leaned back slightly, his fingers drumming lightly against the counter. He was quiet for a long moment, as if weighing your words. Finally, he nodded, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I have been distant. Too caught up in the demands of this life. Zaun.” He paused, his gaze steady on yours. “I’ll make time for us. Not just in passing, but truly. Those morons could wait. You deserve that much, love.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you.

“I would love that,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco reached for the bottle again, pouring what little remained into his glass before sliding it over to you. “For now,” he said, his smirk returning, “why don’t we finish this drink together? Consider it a start.”

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you raised the glass. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—a promise that things would change, even if only a little.

It wasn’t long before the tension melted into something deeper. One moment, you were exchanging quiet words, and the next, his lips were on yours, pulling you into him with a fervour that left you breathless. The cool edge of the bar counter pressed against you as he lifted you effortlessly onto it, his hands firm but tender as they found their place on your waist.

The kiss was full of longing, a culmination of words unsaid and moments missed. It wasn’t rushed or desperate, but it held an intensity that spoke of everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When you finally broke the kiss, your forehead rested against his, your breath mingling with his in the stillness of the bar. “I’m afraid this won’t compensate,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with honesty.

Silco pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression, an acknowledgement of the truth in your words.

“No,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly. “It won’t.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, a rare moment of tenderness breaking through his usual stoic demeanour. “But it’s a start.”

You searched his face, looking for something—an answer, perhaps, or a reassurance that things would be different. And in the quiet of the room, with the faint hum of the jukebox in the background, you saw it.

A promise. Not spoken aloud, but there nonetheless.

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his coat as you leaned in, resting your head against his shoulder. For now, this was enough—a fleeting moment of closeness in the chaos of your world.

The moment felt suspended in time as Silco pulled something from his pocket—a small velvet box. Your heart skipped a beat. You had a feeling, a suspicion, but you didn’t dare assume.

“Love, I would cut to the chase,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made your breath hitch.

“But speeches are your thing,” you teased, a nervous laugh escaping before you could stop it.

His lips curled into a smirk, and he leaned in, brushing your face with soft kisses. And then, he pulled back, his eyes locking with yours. His hand came up to caress your cheek, his touch impossibly gentle as he held you in his gaze. Slowly, deliberately, he opened the box, revealing a ring inside.

“Marry me,” he said, the words simple yet profound.

Your breath caught, the world seeming to narrow down to just the two of you. The ring was beautiful—not overly ornate, but elegant, with a touch of brilliance that felt unmistakably like him.

For a moment, all you could do was stare, your mind racing as the weight of his words settled over you. You saw the vulnerability in his expression, the rare glimpse of a man laying his heart bare for you.

“You’re serious,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Always been,” he replied without hesitation, his hand still cradling your face. “You’ve been my partner in every way that matters. This is simply... making it official.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you let out a breathless laugh. “You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head.

“And yet, you’re here,” he countered, his smirk softening into a smile.

You looked at him, at the man who had fought tooth and nail to build his empire, who had defended you at every turn, who had shown you his rare moments of softness. And then you looked at the ring—a symbol of everything he was offering you.

“You bozo,” you said, your voice steady now. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Relief and joy flickered across his face, emotions he rarely let anyone see. He slid the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite the intensity of the moment.

And then he kissed you again, this time with a mix of passion and gratitude, as if sealing the promise you’d just made. The jukebox hummed softly in the background, but all you could hear was the sound of your heartbeat—and his. Nothing else mattered.

It has been a long journey, but here you are - in Zaun, at The Last Drop, your home. And most of all, with him. With Silco. Balancing your dual life has never been easy, let alone adjust to. But with Silco, nothing felt impossible. And now, you're onto a new chapter. It was no longer just about remembering what once was. It is now about taking the next step - figuring things out together. With Silco. Your bozo. Your old flame.

After all, maybe the flame just burned with time, but it never faded out.

[silcoholic]

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝

Silco X Reader Oneshot

2.1k words | Modern Day Timeline

↳➛ Summary:

How can Silco possibly keep his eyes on the road with you as his passenger, tempting him at from time to time?

↳➛ Warning:

Explicit/Sexual content

The streets glowed under the soft haze of the city lights as Silco maneuvered an Orange McLaren 750S with practised ease. The low purr of the engine filled the quiet between you, a comforting hum that matched the rhythm of your heart. It was your anniversary—another year spent together despite the chaos of the modern world, and tonight had been nothing short of perfect.

Silco had reserved a private table at the finest restaurant in the city, the kind of place where the atmosphere dripped with luxury, and the wine menu was longer than a novella. He had dressed sharply, his usual dark suit tailored to perfection, the red tie an elegant nod to his signature style. His sharp features were softened in the candlelight, though his eyes still carried that piercing intensity that made your heart race.

"Did you enjoy the dinner?" he asked, his voice smooth and low, cutting through the hum of the car.

"Of course," you replied, glancing at him. "You always know how to make things special."

He smirked, his lips quirking just enough to show satisfaction. "Good. You deserve nothing less."

The car roared softly as he accelerated down an empty stretch of road, the cityscape blurring into a tapestry of light and motion. His hand rested casually on the gear shift, but you could see how every movement was deliberate, calculated—a man who always stayed in control.

Silco's voice was smooth, almost teasing, as his hand found its way to your thigh. His grip was firm, his touch radiating warmth through the fabric of your clothing.

"I might melt if you keep staring at me like that," he said, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but you caught the faintest twitch of a smile tugging at his lips.

"What?" you asked, caught off guard by his words, though your cheeks warmed at the idea of being caught.

"Don’t hide it now," he murmured, his voice carrying that calm authority he always seemed to wield effortlessly. His thumb traced a lazy circle on your leg, sending a ripple of heat through you.

You laughed softly, trying to play it cool, but you knew you’d been caught admiring him. It wasn’t your fault, really—he looked impossibly attractive behind the wheel, the way his sharp features were illuminated by the glow of passing streetlights, his posture relaxed but commanding as he handled the McLaren like it was an extension of himself.

"You look sexy driving," you finally admitted, your voice quieter now, tinged with a mixture of boldness and shyness.

Leaning forward, you let your lips brush his cheek, soft and fleeting, but it was enough to make his hand shift. His fingers slipped onto the inner part of your thigh, just barely grazing the sensitive skin, and you shivered under his touch.

Silco tilted his head ever so slightly toward you, the smirk on his face now undeniable.

"Flattery suits you," he said, his tone laced with amusement, though there was an edge of something darker beneath it. "But you’re playing a dangerous game, darling."

"Am I?" you replied, your lips curling into a smirk of your own. The tension in the air was palpable now, thick and electric, and you couldn’t help but revel in the way he was looking at you out of the corner of his eye, like you were tempting him to lose control.

"Don't distract me now," Silco warned, his voice low and tinged with that unmistakable edge of authority, though you could tell by the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips that he wasn’t entirely serious. His grip on the wheel tightened briefly, a silent effort to maintain his focus.

You shifted in your seat, turning slightly to face him. The movement caused his hand to slip further, fingers brushing dangerously closer. A sly grin crept across your face as you saw the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly.

"Not my problem," you teased, your tone playful and just a little provocative. "You’re the one allowing yourself to be distracted."

Silco let out a low hum, the sound almost like a growl as his eyes flicked to you briefly before returning to the road. His hand didn’t move, though; instead, it lingered, his fingers tightening slightly as if to remind you who really had the upper hand.

"Careful," he said, his voice calm but with a dangerous undertone that sent a shiver down your spine. "Push me too far, and I might decide to pull over."

You raised an eyebrow, leaning just a little closer to him, challenging him with the glint in your eyes. "Maybe I’m counting on it."

His lips curled into a wicked smile at your defiance, and for a moment, you swore you saw his fingers flex against your thigh in response. But he didn’t slow the car. Instead, he pressed on the gas, the engine roaring as the McLaren picked up speed, as if he was testing both his limits and yours.

"You’re going to regret that," he murmured, though the amusement in his tone betrayed the promise of retribution that lingered in his words.

Your fingers lazily traced lines along the back of his hand, resting on your thigh, the light touch clearly testing his patience. You noticed the way his breathing grew steadier, more measured, as though he were trying to keep control of himself. But you had a feeling control was slipping through his grasp.

Silco let out a low, frustrated exhale, and without a word, his foot eased off the gas as he began to slow the car. The McLaren purred quietly as he maneuvered it to the side of the highway, finding a lowkey spot hidden from the main stretch of road and, more importantly, out of sight from prying eyes or authority.

The instant the car came to a stop, you heard the click of his seat belt releasing. His sharp movements were calculated, purposeful, as he adjusted his seat and pushed it back, creating just enough room for what was about to happen—or rather, for the both of you.

Before you could process his next move, his hand slid to your waist, his grip firm yet inviting as he guided you effortlessly to straddle over him. The smirk on his face was pure mischief, his gaze piercing as he tilted his head to look up at you.

"You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?" Silco murmured, his voice low, almost a growl, the sound sending a ripple of heat through you. His hands roamed to settle firmly on your hips, his thumbs pressing into your skin as if to anchor you in place.

"You’re the one who pulled over," you shot back, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you settled on his lap, your knees brushing against the edges of the seat.

"Don’t think for a second this wasn’t your doing," he countered, his voice dark and rich, the tension between you crackling like static electricity. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and deliberate, as if to remind you just how much power he held in moments like these.

"Maybe I like seeing you lose control," you teased, leaning closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

His eyes glinted with dangerous amusement as his grip on your hips tightened slightly. "Darling," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours, "you have no idea what you’ve just started."

Silco’s lips crashed against yours in a hungry kiss, his intensity taking your breath away. His left hand slid up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek with a surprising gentleness that contrasted with the fire in his kiss. Meanwhile, his other hand gripped your hip firmly, steadying you as you moved closer, your bodies pressed together.

Without breaking the kiss, your hand found the seat adjustment lever, and with a quick pull, the seat inclined backwards slightly, giving you more space—and a bit more comfort. The sudden motion startled him just enough to make him pull back, his hands instinctively gripping both your hips to steady you.

The kiss broke, leaving you both breathless, and Silco tilted his head to look up at you with a sultry, amused expression. His eyes burned with intensity, his lips slightly parted as he caught his breath.

"Naughty little thing," he said, his voice low and rich with amusement, though there was a hint of challenge behind his words.

You smirked, placing your hands on his chest as you leaned down, your faces inches apart. "I thought you’d appreciate the convenience," you teased, your voice soft but daring.

His fingers flexed on your hips, his grip firm yet teasing, as his smirk grew into something darker. "Convenience, is it?" he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm as his thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin. "You seem far too pleased with yourself for this to be just about comfort."

You shrugged playfully, tilting your head as you let your fingers trail along the line of his tie. "Maybe I just like watching you try to keep up."

His laugh was low and dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. "Darling, you’re playing with fire," he said, his tone promising retribution. "And I don’t think you realize just how easily I can burn you."

As your lips collided again, the kiss was deeper this time, filled with raw hunger and intensity. Silco’s hand slid up, tangling in your hair with a firm tug, guiding your head back just enough to expose the curve of your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, his lips trailing down to your jawline before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

When his teeth grazed your pulse point, you felt your breath hitch. He chuckled lowly against your neck, the vibration sending a shiver through your body.

"Mine," he murmured, his voice possessive, as his lips pressed firmly against the spot. His teeth nipped lightly, followed by a soothing kiss, leaving a mark that would undoubtedly linger for days—a signature only he could leave.

Your hands, however, were anything but idle. One of them slid down his chest, trailing over the fine fabric of his top, while the other moved to his belt, deftly working the buckle with practised ease. His breathing hitched slightly against your neck, his lips pausing for a fraction of a second as he realized what you were doing.

Silco pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with both amusement and desire.

"You’re impatient tonight," he teased, his hand still gripping your hair as he studied you, the corner of his lips curling into a sly smirk.

"You’re one to talk," you shot back, your voice breathless but filled with playful defiance as you tugged the leather strap free, letting it hang loose.

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, as his grip on your hip tightened, grounding you firmly in place.

"If you think I’ll make this easy for you," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, "you’re sorely mistaken, darling."

Your hands, however, refused to slow, determined to keep the upper hand. With his belt undone, you moved to the button of his pants, slipping it free and tugging the zipper down with confidence that made his smirk widen. His eyes, heavy with desire, watched you closely, taking in every subtle movement you made.

Silco leaned back slightly, his head resting against the seat as he let you take control for a moment while his hands roamed on your sides.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, love," he muttered, his voice a mix of warning and amusement, though his hands betrayed his words as they gripped you tighter, guiding your movements.

"Maybe I like the danger," you countered, your breath hot against his ear as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing the shell of it before trailing down his jawline.

He growled low in his throat, his control faltering for just a moment as his grip on you tightened.

"Then let’s see how far you’re willing to take it," he whispered darkly, his lips crashing into yours again with renewed fervour.

The cramped space of the car was forgotten entirely as the heat between you grew, your bodies pressed together, his hands roaming freely as yours explored him with equal determination. The low hum of the McLaren’s engine beneath you and the faint sound of the wind outside only added to the thrill of the moment—hidden away from the world, lost entirely in each other.

Silco pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire and that familiar, dangerous glint.

"You’re going to regret teasing me like this," he said, his voice dripping with promise as his lips found yours once more.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Did you catch the idea? This was inspired by "2 Hands" & "Sports Car" by Tate Mcrae !

[silcoholic]

𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕰𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 2.9k words

↳➛ Summary:

With distant memories now at reach, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

𝕱𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖍𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐

In his youth, Silco was already a cunning and resourceful figure, shaped by the oppressive divide between Zaun and Piltover. While many in Zaun viewed Piltover’s Inventors’ Fairs as untouchable, exclusive showcases of technological triumph, Silco saw them as an opportunity—a stage where he could play a part and take what Zaun could never afford.

Disguising himself as a budding inventor, Silco crafted crude yet functional gadgets from scrap, presenting them as revolutionary ideas born from “humble beginnings.” His work wasn’t refined enough to attract the attention of Piltover’s elite, but it was enough to blend in among the fair’s lesser-known participants. His favourite creation was a small mechanical insect that could skitter and chirp, a novelty that distracted onlookers, while his sharp eyes scanned the stalls for useful materials or blueprints.

Slipping into the fair was the easy part. Piltover’s self-assured elite barely questioned anyone who spoke with confidence and carried an invention in hand. Silco made a point of studying their mannerisms, mimicking their arrogant tone when talking about his “innovative designs.” Piltover’s engineers, blinded by their own sense of superiority, rarely suspected the unassuming young man with soot-streaked hands and a nervous smile.

Once inside, Silco moved with purpose. He memorized schematics displayed at various stalls, quietly pocketed tiny machine parts, and even eavesdropped on conversations between inventors about upcoming projects. He treated these fairs like treasure hunts, each stolen item or piece of knowledge a victory for Zaun.

One of his boldest heists involved a rare piece of 'high-tech' adjacent machinery displayed under a glass case. Knowing he couldn’t simply steal it outright, Silco devised a distraction by overloading one of his own gadgets—a crude spinning top powered by volatile chemicals. The resulting explosion caused a minor panic, and in the chaos, Silco slipped the machine’s core into his coat.

Despite the risks, Silco’s ventures into Piltover became routine. Each time, he refined his approach, learning more about Piltover’s technology and arrogance. The stolen materials and knowledge were smuggled back to Zaun, where he quietly distributed them among his people—those desperate enough to experiment with the scraps of Piltover’s brilliance.

On one of his routine ventures into Piltover’s Inventors’ Fair, Silco's sharp eyes caught something that didn’t belong in the pristine world of Piltover’s technological marvels—a sleek silver lighter resting in the hands of a slouched enforcer. The man, dressed in standard Piltover blue, leaned lazily against a stall, puffing on a cigar and laughing with his equally disinterested comrades.

Silco's lip curled in disgust. Enforcers were supposed to be keeping the peace, ensuring order, yet here they were, drinking and smoking openly in the middle of the fair. It was almost comical how far their arrogance stretched. And yet, no one batted an eye. Piltover’s elite didn’t care about their incompetence, as long as their pristine image wasn’t disturbed.

But that lighter… it gleamed in the sunlight, its surface engraved with intricate patterns, likely a gift or a token of status. A trinket to Piltover’s upper crust, but to Silco, it was a prize—a symbol of how little they valued what they had.

Silco’s mind immediately began crafting a plan. These enforcers were drunk, careless, and too busy with their own indulgences to notice much. He approached with purpose, feigning the nervous energy of a young, inexperienced inventor. His tattered coat and soot-streaked hands only added to the illusion.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice slightly higher-pitched, almost sheepish. “Do you know if any of Piltover’s elites are visiting the fair today? I… I’ve heard sometimes they sponsor young inventors like myself.”

The enforcers exchanged looks and chuckled, the kind of laugh that made Silco’s stomach churn. They didn’t even bother to stand up straight.

“Elites? Ha, kid, they don’t come to these things unless there’s something big to show off,” one of them slurred, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re better off dreaming.”

As they laughed among themselves, Silco subtly shifted his weight, stepping closer to the enforcer holding the lighter. The man had set it down on the edge of the stall, too engrossed in his cigar to notice Silco’s gloved fingers creeping toward it.

With the enforcers distracted by their own banter, Silco’s hand darted out, snatching the lighter and slipping it into his coat pocket in one fluid motion. He offered a polite, awkward smile, masking the thrill rushing through his veins.

“Ah, thank you for the advice,” he said, bowing his head slightly before retreating into the crowd.

Once he was out of sight, Silco ducked into a shadowed corner and pulled the lighter from his pocket. He flipped it open, watching the small flame flicker to life. It wasn’t just a lighter—it was a reminder of Piltover’s complacency, their unearned wealth and power.

From that day on, the silver lighter became one of Silco’s most prized possessions. He carried it everywhere, a trophy of his ability to outsmart Piltover’s enforcers and a small but meaningful victory against the system he despised. Whenever he flicked it open, he remembered that moment—the carelessness of Piltover and the resolve it gave him to one day bring them to their knees.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The day started on the wrong foot the moment Silco's eyes blinked open. The faint light seeping through the cracked shutters told him it was already late. His alarm—a crude mechanical contraption he'd built himself—had failed. Again.

“Damn thing,” he muttered, kicking it off the table as he scrambled to pull on his boots. He was late. Being late at the mines meant one thing: a double share of backbreaking labour to make up for it.

By the time Silco reached the mines, he was already coated in a thin sheen of sweat, his lungs burning from the smog-heavy air. As expected, the overseers were less than forgiving. They shoved him toward the worst part of the site, where the equipment was faulty, the tunnels unstable, and the air thicker with toxins than usual.

Everything went wrong. His pickaxe broke midway through the shift. A cart full of ore toppled over, narrowly missing his foot but spilling everywhere. And to top it off, one of the overseers had the audacity to dock his pay for being “careless.” By the time his shift ended, Silco’s hands were blistered, his muscles ached, and his temper was dangerously close to snapping.

When the sun dipped below the horizon, Silco dragged himself to The Last Drop. It was where everyone from the mines gathered after work to drink, vent, and forget the day. Vander was already there, leaning against the bar, a pint in hand, his booming laugh cutting through the din of the tavern.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Vander called out, grinning as Silco approached. “Long day, was it? What happened? Wake up dreaming about Piltover girls again?”

The others at the bar chuckled, and normally Silco would have rolled his eyes and fired back with some sharp retort. But not today. Today, the weight of the day sat heavy on his shoulders, and the last thing he needed was Vander’s usual teasing.

“Not now, Vander,” Silco muttered, sliding onto a stool.

“Aw, come on,” Vander said, slapping a heavy hand on Silco’s back. “Don’t tell me the great Silco’s gone soft after a little extra work!”

The laughter that followed grated on Silco’s nerves. His jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the edge of the bar. He stared at the drink placed in front of him, ignoring the sting in his chest.

“I said, not now, Vander,” Silco snapped, his voice low and sharp enough to cut through the noise.

The bar fell silent for a moment, Vander’s grin faltering as he studied Silco’s face. For all their banter and ribbing, Vander had never seen his friend this… raw.

“All right,” Vander said after a beat, his tone softening. He raised his hands in mock surrender and turned back to his drink. “Just trying to lighten the mood, mate.”

The tension lingered for a moment before the conversations around them resumed. Silco exhaled slowly, his grip on the bar loosening. He felt a pang of guilt for snapping, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize—not tonight.

As he nursed his drink, Silco stared into the glass, the amber liquid reflecting the dim lights of the tavern. It wasn’t just the day that weighed on him; it was everything. The mines, the system that kept them all chained, the dream of something better that felt farther away with each passing day.

The muffled laughter from inside The Last Drop followed Silco as he stepped out into the cool, damp air of the evening. The narrow alleyway beside the bar was quiet, save for the faint hum of the undercity's machinery in the distance.

He leaned against the rough, cracked wall, tilting his head back and letting out a long, frustrated sigh. His hand ran through his dark, sweat-dampened hair as he tried to shake off the weight of the day.

Pulling the silver lighter from his pocket, Silco lit a cigar he’d been saving. The flame flickered for a moment before settling into a steady glow. He brought the cigar to his lips, inhaling deeply. The familiar burn filled his lungs, and he held it for a second before exhaling slowly, watching the thin stream of smoke curl and twist into the air.

Relief. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, but out here, away from the noise and laughter, Silco could think. He glanced at the lighter in his hand, the polished silver reflecting the faint glow of the cigar. It was one of his small victories, a reminder that even on the worst of days, he could take something back from a world that constantly tried to take from him.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, the sound of his own voice grounding him.

He stayed like that for a while, leaning against the wall, the smoke mingling with the cool, polluted air of Zaun. It wasn’t much of an escape, but it was his. Out here, there were no overseers barking orders, no broken tools, no Vander teasing him in front of everyone. Just the quiet hum of Zaun and the soothing ritual of lighting a cigar.

When he finally flicked the lighter closed and took one last drag, Silco straightened, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a little lighter. Tomorrow would come, with all its frustrations and struggles, but for now, he had this moment. This small, stolen sliver of peace.

"What's bloody ridiculous?"

Silco stiffened at the sudden voice, his sharp instincts kicking in, but exhaustion dulled his reaction. He scanned the alleyway, squinting into the dim light, his cigar dangling from his lips.

The silhouette moved closer, the sound of boots tapping softly against metal as they descended from the roof.

“What? What's so bloody ridiculous!” the voice repeated, light but laced with curiosity.

Silco huffed, dragging a hand down his face. He leaned his head back against the wall, too tired to muster the energy for a confrontation.

“None of your business,” he muttered, exhaling a trail of smoke into the air.

But before he could finish his thoughts, the figure was suddenly in front of him. In one swift, practised motion, the mystery person plucked the lighter from his fingers.

“Where’d you get this?” the stranger asked, flicking the lighter open and closed with an almost lazy precision. The brief flashes of flame lit up their face—a sharp, mischievous grin, eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

And, that's when he met you.

Silco’s tired scowl deepened. Of all the people to stumble upon tonight, it had to be some alleyway opportunist. His hand instinctively twitched, but he stopped himself. He wasn’t in the mood for a fight, especially not with someone so brazen.

“Give that back,” he growled, his voice low but calm, eyes narrowing as he finally straightened from the wall.

You smirked, holding the lighter just out of reach, and you examined it in the dim light. “Nice piece. Doesn’t look like something someone like you would have. What’s the story?”

“None of your concern,” Silco snapped, the annoyance creeping into his tone now. He took a step forward, but you danced back, the lighter still flicking open and closed in your hand. Always so stubborn.

Your grin widened, clearly enjoying the game. “Touchy, are we? I was just curious. You don’t strike me as the type to carry around something so... fancy. Piltover’s work, isn’t it?”

Silco’s jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. “I don’t know who you think you are,” he said, his voice cutting through the narrow alley, “but I suggest you return it. Now.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment before flipping the lighter closed with a sharp click. You then stepped forward, holding it out between two fingers, your grin softening into something almost... playful.

“You’re wound up tight, aren’t you?” you said, your tone almost teasing. “Relax. I was just curious.”

Silco snatched the lighter from your hand, his glare sharp enough to pierce. “And you should learn when to keep your curiosity to yourself,” he bit out, slipping the lighter back into his coat pocket.

It made you chuckle softly, your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer. “You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, don’t you?” you said, leaning back slightly. “Bet there’s a story behind that too.”

Silco didn’t respond, simply taking another drag from his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the dark. He exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift between you both as he turned his gaze back toward the alley.

“Well,” you said, taking a step back toward the shadows. “Maybe I’ll see you around, lighter thief.” With that, you disappeared back into the darkness, your footsteps fading as you climbed back up to the roof.

"Weirdo." Silco murmured.

"I heard that you bozo." You overheard, now on the way to do your personal errand.

Silco stood there for a moment, his hand instinctively brushing over the lighter in his pocket. He shook his head, huffing softly to himself. Of all the nights, of course, this would be the one to meet someone like that.

“Bloody ridiculous,” he muttered again, flicking the cigar ash onto the ground before heading back inside. But a part of him knew—this wouldn’t be the last time he would cross paths with this mysterious stranger. You. Something about the encounter felt... unfinished.

𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖙

The creaking door swung open, revealing a room that was now yours. For the first time since returning to The Last Drop, you had the chance to properly see it—a space carved out in the chaos of Zaun, meant just for you. It wasn’t lavish or grand, but it held an undeniable charm, a sense of care that made you pause at the threshold.

You stepped inside, the dim light casting soft shadows on the walls. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. The faint scent of oil and metal lingered, mingling with the earthy undertone of Zaun’s smog, and it made your chest tighten with an odd sense of nostalgia. You remembered this place—or rather, what it used to be.

“Storage room,” you murmured under your breath, running a hand over the edge of the desk. Years ago, this room had been cluttered with crates and barrels, forgotten scraps of machinery gathering dust in the corners. Now, it was transformed.

Every detail told a story. The worn desk in the corner, the shelves stocked with tools and trinkets that mirrored your taste, and the faint glow of a lamp casting warmth over the cold metal walls—it was clear Silco had put thought into this. He knew you better than you realized, and the effort showed.

But, of course, it wasn’t perfect. You smirked as your eyes swept over the room, already spotting little changes you’d make. The chair by the desk needed to be replaced—too stiff for your liking. And the small plant on the windowsill? It was a rare touch of green in Zaun, but it didn’t feel quite you. Still, the bones of the room were solid, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the care behind it all.

As you paced, your fingers brushing along the edges of the furniture, something on the desk caught your eye. A familiar glint of silver, faintly tarnished with age but unmistakable.

You froze, staring at it.

The lighter.

The memories hit you all at once—the narrow alleyway, the flicker of flame lighting up Silco’s tired face, and the way you’d teased him mercilessly as you swiped it from his hand. You hadn’t thought about it in years, but seeing it now, sitting casually on the desk like it had always belonged there, made you laugh under your breath.

“Bloody ridiculous,” you muttered, the words slipping out as naturally as they had back then. You picked up the lighter, flicking it open with practised ease. The flame sparked to life, small and steady, casting its warm glow over your face.

For a moment, you stood there, turning the lighter over in your hand. It was a relic of the past, a symbol of a time when you and Silco were just two ambitious souls trying to make sense of a chaotic world. And now, here it was again, sitting in a room that Silco had crafted just for you.

With a soft chuckle, you set the lighter back down, its weight suddenly feeling heavier than before. You took one last look around the room, a faint smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. And in a place like Zaun, that was more than enough.

[silcoholic]

𝕭𝖊𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝕭𝖆𝖗𝖘

Vi X Reader Oneshot | 2.1k words

↳➛ Summary:

Stillwater Prison is already a nightmare for Vi, but after being sent to the lower levels due to her behaviour, she crossed paths with a notorious swindler—wherein she ended up as a victim too.

Stillwater Prison was as much a symbol of Piltover’s iron grip as the shimmering spires of its wealthy districts. Located far from the bustling city , it was a massive, isolated structure built into the jagged cliffs overlooking the cold, unforgiving waters of the ocean.

Rumours about Stillwater were whispered in Zaun’s dark alleys and Piltover’s underbelly. It wasn’t just a prison; it was a graveyard for the unwanted, a place where the powerful could toss those who threatened their pristine order.

The prison was designed to break its inhabitants, both physically and mentally:

The Upper Levels. The cells here were small but functional, housing the “manageable” inmates. The guards maintained a tenuous order, but violence was rampant, and survival required cunning or strength.

The Lower Levels. Reserved for the most dangerous and uncooperative prisoners, this section was darker, colder, and far more oppressive. The cells were even smaller, often shared, and the guards barely intervened. It was a world unto itself, where the strongest and most ruthless ruled.

The Solitary Confinement. Known among the inmates as "The Pit," solitary cells were cold, damp, and completely devoid of light. The silence was maddening, and many inmates left solitary more broken than when they entered.

The air in Stillwater was thick with tension. Inmates were always watching, waiting for a moment of weakness. Trust was a rare commodity, and alliances shifted like the tides. The walls dripped with moisture from the ever-present fog outside, and the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs served as a constant reminder of how isolated you were.

The guards were as cruel as the inmates, often taking bribes or turning a blind eye to violence for their own amusement. Any hope of fairness or justice was a distant dream.

Stillwater housed a mix of criminals, from petty thieves to hardened murderers. The lower levels were home to the worst of the worst—people who had nothing to lose. Factions often formed, with leaders ruling through fear or charisma.

The inmates were as diverse as Zaun and Piltover themselves:

Zaunites. Toughened by life in the Undercity, many Zaunites thrived in Stillwater’s harsh environment.

Piltovans. Often the disgraced elite or rogue enforcers, they struggled to adapt to the brutality of prison life.

For Vi, Stillwater was a constant battle. She refused to bow to anyone, which earned her respect but also made her a target. Her fiery temper and sharp tongue led to frequent fights, and her strength ensured she rarely lost. But even for someone as tough as Vi, the prison took its toll.

The lower levels, where she eventually landed, were even worse. The dim lighting, the stench of damp stone, and the ever-present sound of distant screams or laughter created a hellish atmosphere.

Stillwater wasn’t just a prison—it was a test of willpower, resilience, and identity. For those strong enough to endure it, the experience left scars, but it also forged unbreakable bonds and unwavering determination.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It was nothing like Vi had imagined—it was worse. The endless fights, the cold meals, and the oppressive air of hopelessness gnawed at her every day. But Vi wasn’t one to give up. She survived the way she always had: with her fists and her fire.

Her violent nature earned her a reputation and plenty of enemies. The guards were no better, quick to toss her into solitary or shuffle her from cell to cell whenever she caused too much trouble.

When she was shoved into her new cell, she found you sitting on the cot, leaning back with an air of nonchalance that could only belong to someone with nothing to prove.

You weren’t like the usual Stillwater inmates. You didn’t have the rough edges of a brawler or the cold demeanour of a hardened criminal. No, your crimes were more elegant. You were infamous for luring Piltover’s aristocrats with charm and wit, only to leave them penniless and humiliated. The papers called you "The Phantom Swindler," and Vi had heard the stories even before she landed in Stillwater.

At first, Vi didn’t know what to make of you. You weren’t aggressive, but you weren’t intimidated by her either. You greeted her with a smirk, introducing yourself as if you were meeting at a dinner party rather than sharing a cell in the depths of Stillwater.

Vi rolled her eyes, muttered something sarcastic, and climbed onto her cot. She figured you’d either prove annoying or dangerous—time would tell.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for you two to find common ground. It started with small things: sharing stories about your crimes, trading jokes about how ridiculous the guards were, and grumbling about the miserable food. Vi appreciated your sharp wit and your ability to keep things light in a place as dark as Stillwater.

One night, the two of you were lying on your cots in the dimly lit cell, the faint sound of waves crashing against the cliffs outside. Vi was tossing her rubber ball in the air, catching it with lazy precision.

“You ever pull anything crazy on a Piltover councilor?” you asked out of nowhere, smirking at the memory that popped into your head.

Vi snorted, turning her head toward you. “Councilor? Nah. Most I’ve done is swipe a guard’s key when he wasn’t looking. Why, you got a story?”

You grinned, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Oh, you’re gonna love this one. Councilor Salo—pretty guy, pompous, thought he was untouchable.”

Vi raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That weirdo? What’d you do?”

“I made him fall for me,” you said with a laugh, leaning back dramatically. “Caught him at one of those ridiculous gala events, gave him the ‘poor, lost soul’ routine. He ate it up. Started gifting me expensive jewelry—rings, necklaces, and even a bloody tiara.”

Vi sat up, eyes wide with disbelief and amusement. “You’re kidding. A tiara?”

“Swear on it. Man thought he was my knight in shining armor,” you said, shaking your head. “What he didn’t know was that I was selling half the stuff behind his back while sweet-talking him into giving me more.”

Vi burst out laughing, her voice echoing off the cell walls. “Damn, you really played him. What happened when he found out?”

“Oh, he didn’t. At least, not until I vanished with a box full of his finest ‘gifts.’” You grinned, a glint of pride in your eyes. “Never looked back.”

Vi shook her head, still laughing. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you said, flashing a cheeky smile. “But you can’t say you’re not impressed.”

Vi smirked, tossing the ball your way. “Alright, I’ll give you that. You’ve got style.”

For your part, you admired Vi’s toughness and her refusal to be broken, even by a place like this. Despite her gruff exterior, you saw the humour and warmth buried beneath her walls.

Though both of you were hesitant at first—trust was a rare commodity in Stillwater—you grew accustomed to each other’s presence. Nights in the cell turned into quiet conversations about life on the outside, your respective pasts, and dreams for a future neither of you were sure you’d get to see.

Vi shared stories about her life in Zaun, about Vander, and the sister she missed more than anything. You opened up about your exploits in Piltover, the thrill of outsmarting the elite, and the mistakes that led you here.

Before long, you weren’t just cellmates—you were partners in survival. You watched each other’s backs during tense moments in the yard, shared strategies for avoiding trouble, and even found ways to hustle the other inmates for small comforts. Vi’s strength and your cunning made you a formidable duo, earning you both respect and a bit of fear from those around you.

There was something unspoken between you, an understanding that didn’t need words. You didn’t need to label what you had—it was enough to know that in a place as cold and unforgiving as Stillwater, you had someone you could rely on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Life in Stillwater had its moments of chaos, but most of the time, it was mind-numbingly boring. Days bled into nights with little to do beyond pacing the cramped cell, exchanging half-hearted banter, and counting the cracks in the walls.

You were sprawled across your cot one day, lazily flipping a playing card between your fingers as Vi sat on hers, idly bouncing a small rubber ball against the wall. The silence was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic thud of the ball hitting the concrete.

“I’m so bored I could scream right now,” you groaned, throwing the card into the air and watching it flutter to the ground.

"Hey," Vi caught the ball mid-bounce and smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Wanna make out?”

Your head snapped up, your eyebrows shooting to your hairline. “What?”

She shrugged, the smirk growing into a full grin. “I mean, why not? There's nothing else to do, right?”

For a moment, you weren’t sure if she was joking or serious. But the playful glint in her eyes was impossible to ignore, and a grin of your own slowly crept onto your face. "Oh well, I'm not opposing to make this prison cell a little more exciting.”

Vi stood up, sauntering over to your cot with a cocky confidence. “Alright, but don’t get all clingy afterwards,” she teased, leaning down until her face was inches from yours.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spread across your cheeks. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”

And she did.

The kiss was fiery and unrestrained, a mix of pent-up energy, and shared frustration with the monotony of prison life. Her hands braced the wall beside your head as you leaned into her, pulling her closer. What started as a joke quickly turned into something more—a spark that had been simmering beneath the surface, finally igniting.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were a little breathless, staring at each other with a mix of amusement and something deeper you didn’t dare name.

“Well,” Vi said, her voice low and teasing, “that was a hell of a way to kill time.”

“Better than counting cracks in the ceiling,” you replied, smirking.

From that moment on, the tension between you wasn’t just playful—it was electric, an undercurrent that made the dull moments of Stillwater a little more bearable. And while neither of you was in the business of putting labels on things, it was clear: this was more than just boredom.

After that first kiss, it was like a dam had broken.

Neither of you brought it up directly, but the tension that had been lingering between you since that first sarcastic exchange only grew stronger. The banter got sharper, the glances lasted a little too long, and the casual touches—brushing shoulders, leaning closer than necessary—became more frequent.

And then it happened again.

One night, you were both sitting on Vi’s cot, sharing stories about life outside of Stillwater. You’d made her laugh with one of your outrageous tales about conning a Piltover aristocrat out of their prized heirloom, and she’d leaned in, grinning.

“Miss my lips yet?” she asked, this time with zero pretence, her voice low and teasing.

You laughed, but the answer was already clear. “Thought you’d never ask.”

This time, it wasn’t just boredom or frustration—it was a deliberate choice. The kisses were slower, deeper, more intentional, and yet still carrying that edge of unspoken challenge that defined your dynamic.

And then it followed.

After that, it became a regular thing. Neither of you acknowledged it outright, but the tension and the chemistry between you were undeniable. Whenever the boredom got too much or the walls of Stillwater felt like they were closing in, one of you would make the first move, a grin or a sly comment breaking the silence.

“Bored again?”

“Maybe. Got a solution?”

You’d find yourselves tangled up on one of the cots, the harshness of prison life momentarily forgotten. It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about the escape, the comfort, and the strange sense of freedom you found in each other’s arms.

Neither of you put labels on it. There was no need for declarations or promises. Vi was still Vi—sarcastic, fiery, and endlessly stubborn—and you were still you—clever, confident, and just as guarded. But there was something unspoken in the way she looked at you after those moments, a softness she didn’t show to anyone else.

And maybe, just maybe, in a place as dark and unforgiving as Stillwater, what you had wasn’t just about killing time. It was about finding a piece of humanity, a flicker of something real, even when the world outside your cell seemed determined to take it away.

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕿𝖊𝖓

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 7k words

↳➛ Summary:

With distant memories now at reach, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

It took you days to completely move into your new apartment. The place was grand, which is far better than you had imagined. The high ceilings and large windows let in plenty of light during the day, while the spacious rooms gave you the freedom to spread out your work and truly make it your own. As an inventor, the generous workspace was a dream come true. To top it off, the location was perfect—close to the nearest produce market, cafés, and other essential spots you frequented. Convenience and comfort all wrapped up in one.

True to his word, Viktor helped you move in. He was there to help carry boxes, organize tools, and even set up some of your equipment. You caught yourself smiling more often during those moments; his quiet yet constant support meant so much to you. You never had to ask—he was simply there, ready to help.

Once everything was settled, the apartment felt like home. Still, in the back of your mind, you couldn't ignore the silence from Silco. Ever since the night you last saw him, he hadn't reached out. You told yourself it was better this way—he was likely busy handling the chaos from the latest shimmer factory raids you'd been hearing about. The tension between Piltover and Zaun seemed to be escalating again, and you could only imagine how much effort it was taking for Silco to hold his empire together.

You’d catch yourself worrying about him in quiet moments, though you tried to shake it off. With the move, the new apartment, and your projects, you managed to stay busy. But no matter how much you worked or distracted yourself, the thought of him lingered. It always did.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Viktor chuckled softly, leaning back against the railing of the spacious balcony. The dim glow of the city lights reflected in his amber eyes, giving him a warm, thoughtful look.

"This feels like a vacation."

“You say that now, but I suspect you’ll get too busy with your new projects,” he teased lightly, taking a sip of his beer. “Besides, it’s not the same as having you around. Your ideas kept me on my toes.”

You smiled, setting your slice of pizza down on the plate beside you.

“Well, I’m not disappearing entirely. I’ll still be around to pester you and critique your equations when you least expect it.”

He tilted his head, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a small grin.

“Ah, yes, how could I forget? Your ability to find flaws in my work is second only to your skill in fixing them.”

“Well, someone has to keep you humble,” you quipped, raising your beer bottle in a mock toast.

Viktor laughed, the sound low and genuine, before raising his bottle to meet yours. “To new beginnings,” he said softly, his tone carrying an undertone of bittersweetness.

“To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking your bottle against his.

For a moment, silence settled between you, comfortable and companionable. The crisp night air carried the faint hum of the city below, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how serene everything felt despite the changes ahead.

“You know,” Viktor started, breaking the quiet, “this balcony of yours… It’s almost too big. Are you planning to host an entire orchestra here?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “It’s not that big. But now that you mention it, I could throw a grand party and invite all the eccentric minds from the academy.”

He smirked, his gaze sliding toward you with a touch of mischief. “As long as I’m invited.”

“You’ll always have a spot, Viktor,” you said softly, your voice carrying more meaning than you intended.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned back toward the city skyline, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The alcohol had softened the edges of reality, and everything felt slower, warmer. Viktor’s gaze lingered on you, a look you recognized all too well—the one that started with that gentle, almost loving stare.

Before you could react, he reached out, his hand brushing against your temple as he carefully tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, but it sent a jolt through you, one that had nothing to do with the cool night air.

“Viktor…” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words caught in your throat.

He didn’t say anything, just watched you, his expression somewhere between affectionate and contemplative. Shit. You couldn’t let this go any further.

Before he could read too much into the moment—or worse, before you let yourself lean into it—you turned your head slightly to the side, just enough to move out of reach of his touch.

“You’re drunk,” you muttered, trying to keep your tone light, teasing even.

He hesitated, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he let it drop to his side. A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at his lips.

“Perhaps,” he admitted, his voice low and soft.

You exhaled a quiet breath of relief, grabbing your beer to give yourself something to do. “I think we’ve both had enough for tonight,” you said, trying to redirect the mood.

Viktor gave a small nod, leaning back against the railing. “You’re probably right,” he said, his tone carrying no hint of offence, only quiet understanding.

But the look in his eyes lingered, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or something deeper that had brought it out.

The bottle paused midway to your lips, your fingers tightening around its neck as Viktor’s words hung in the air. His tone was soft, almost hesitant, but there was no mistaking the weight behind them.

“You’ve been quite distant to me lately,” he said, his gaze fixed on you, searching for something—an answer, perhaps, or maybe just acknowledgement.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Viktor, I…” you trailed off, lowering the bottle to rest on your knee. How were you supposed to respond to that?

He gave a quiet, humourless chuckle, shaking his head slightly.

“I’m sorry. That was abrupt,” he murmured, though he didn’t take it back. “It’s just… You’ve been different since you moved out. Even before that, perhaps.”

The words stung, though not because they were untrue. You could feel the knot tightening in your chest, guilt mingling with the frustration of not knowing how to explain yourself.

“It’s not on purpose,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess… a lot has been on my mind lately. And with the move…”

He nodded slowly, his fingers tracing the edge of his beer bottle. “I understand. Change has a way of pulling people in different directions.”

You swallowed, looking down at your lap. “It’s not that I don’t care, Viktor. I do.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a softness that made your chest ache. “But caring doesn’t always mean staying close.”

That hit harder than you expected, and you found yourself at a loss for words. The alcohol in your system wasn’t helping, making your emotions feel messier and harder to keep under control.

“I’m not trying to push you away,” you said, finally meeting his gaze.

“I believe you,” he said, a small, almost sad smile playing on his lips. “But sometimes… it feels like you are.”

For a moment, the only sound between you was the faint hum of the city below. You weren’t sure how to fix this, or even if you could. But one thing was clear—Viktor wasn’t going to let you slip away quietly.

The air grew heavier, the silence between you sharp and tense. Viktor’s eyes didn’t leave yours, his expression a careful mask, but you could see the faint crack in his composure.

“There’s someone else, is there?” he finally said, his voice quiet but edged with something you couldn’t quite place—hurt, maybe, or resignation.

Your chest tightened, the words hitting you like a blow. You opened your mouth to respond but found nothing, no denial or explanation that felt right.

“Viktor,” you said softly, the sound of his name hanging weakly in the space between you.

He gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he looked away, his fingers curling around the neck of his beer bottle.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he muttered. “I think I already know the answer.”

“It’s not like that,” you said quickly, leaning forward slightly, desperate to make him understand.

He turned back to you, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “Then what is it? Because I feel like I’m losing you.”

His words were raw, cutting straight through the defences you hadn’t realized you’d built. You looked away, focusing on the skyline as if it could provide you with an escape.

“It’s complicated,” you admitted finally, your voice barely audible.

“That’s not an answer,” he replied, his tone steadier now, more resolute.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know how to explain it, Viktor. It’s not about someone else. It’s about… me. Things I need to figure out.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze softer now, though no less intense. “And you can’t figure them out with me?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question settling over you. “I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice breaking slightly.

Viktor sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I see,” he said simply, though the way his shoulders slumped betrayed the pain he was trying to hide.

The silence that followed was suffocating, and you hated it. But you also knew there was nothing you could say to make it better—not now.

"Look, Viktor," you began, your voice trembling slightly as you finally forced yourself to meet his gaze. "I don’t know how this is going to sound to you, but… I just need a break. I need time.”

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt, giving you space to continue.

“Going back to Zaun made me realize a lot of things,” you admitted, the words spilling out faster now. “And it hasn’t been easy ever since. It’s like… two timelines of my life collided, and trying to balance them has been a real challenge.”

Viktor’s eyes softened, though his lips pressed into a thin line. You could see him processing your words. The tension in his shoulders is still present but less rigid.

“But, Viktor,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost pleading, “no matter what happens, I don’t want to lose you. You’ve been such a great friend to me, and—more than that, perhaps. We both know that.”

His expression flickered, a faint mixture of hope and doubt crossing his face.

You exhaled deeply, the weight of the conversation bearing down on you. “But… I have a lot to take in right now. There’s so much I need to figure out about myself, my past, and what I want for the future. It’s not fair to ask you to wait around while I do that, but I hope…” You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I hope you can understand.”

For a moment, Viktor didn’t say anything, the silence stretching between you. Then, he nodded slowly, his gaze steady but full of emotion.

“I do understand,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to hear.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “I know. And I’m sorry, Viktor. I really am.”

He looked down at the beer bottle in his hand, turning it absently before speaking again. “Take the time you need,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But don’t forget, you don’t have to face everything alone.”

“I won’t,” you promised, your heart aching as the weight of the moment settled over both of you.

That conversation with Viktor lingered in your mind, not exactly comfortable for either of you, but it had been honest. You both had your reasons, and there was an unspoken understanding beneath the tension.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Settling into the new space was surprisingly easy. You found yourself quickly adapting to the solitude, though it came with a pang of loneliness. You missed Viktor—missed the sound of his pencil scratching against paper, the quiet banter, and the way he always got lost in his work.

Occasionally, you’d visit him at the lab, predicting—correctly, most of the time—that he was probably sleeping there again. Your unannounced visits were your way of looking out for him, ensuring he didn’t lose himself entirely to his relentless drive.

On one of these visits, though, you noticed something new. Viktor wasn’t alone. He had a lab partner now.

You were happy for him, truly. Socializing wasn’t Viktor’s strongest suit, and having someone else around would probably be good for him. But a part of you couldn’t help missing the time when it was just the two of you, working side by side in perfect synchronicity.

During your last visit, you found Viktor hunched over his desk, muttering under his breath as he scribbled equations furiously across a notebook. Whatever he was working on, it was far beyond your understanding—or maybe it was just the chaos of his notes that made it impossible to follow.

As Viktor worked, you paced around the lab, taking in the familiar sights and smells. You missed this place, though it felt different now, emptier despite the extra space. Something about it felt incomplete.

Your pacing stopped when you heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Turning, you saw Heimerdinger entering the lab, his fluffy form bouncing slightly with each step. Beside him was a tall, broad-shouldered man with an air of confidence that immediately caught your attention.

“Ah, there you are, Viktor!” Heimerdinger said cheerfully before turning his attention to you. “And you, my dear! A pleasant surprise to see you here again.”

You offered a polite smile as he continued. “Allow me to introduce Jayce Talis,” Heimerdinger said, gesturing to the man beside him. “He’ll be working with Viktor as his new lab partner.”

Jayce extended a hand toward you with an easy smile. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said warmly.

You shook his hand, forcing a smile despite the strange pang in your chest. “Likewise,” you replied.

As Heimerdinger and Jayce discussed the lab’s potential, you stole a glance at Viktor. He didn’t say much, his focus seemingly still on his notes, but there was a slight tension in his posture.

You weren’t sure what to make of it—this new dynamic, the changes in the lab, or the growing distance between you and Viktor. But one thing was certain: things weren’t the same anymore.

Jayce’s presence was, in many ways, a relief for you. Knowing someone was there to keep an eye on Viktor, especially when it came to his terrible sleep habits, gave you a sense of comfort. Over time, during your visits to the lab, you started noticing how Viktor was slowly adjusting to having Jayce around. Though initially hesitant, Viktor seemed to appreciate Jayce’s enthusiasm and the balance he brought to their partnership.

It was nice to see Viktor have someone who could match his energy—or at least challenge it in a way that was healthy. Jayce’s confident and outgoing nature contrasted with Viktor’s reserved demeanour, but somehow, it worked.

Outside the lab, Viktor still found ways to stay connected with you. Occasionally, he would drop by your apartment unannounced, sometimes with food in hand.

"You need to eat properly," he’d say, setting down a box of takeout or a freshly baked loaf from a local bakery.

Those visits became something you looked forward to. Whether you sat on the couch or the balcony, chatting over a meal, it felt like a return to the camaraderie you had shared in the lab.

“I hope Jayce hasn’t driven you mad yet,” you’d tease.

Viktor would smirk, taking a bite of whatever dish he had brought. “Not yet. Though, his energy is… something to behold.”

You laughed, glad to see him adapting to the change.

These moments weren’t just about food or casual conversation—they were a way to update each other on your breakthroughs. Viktor would share his latest equations or prototypes, speaking with that characteristic passion in his voice. In return, you’d show him the progress you’d made in your own projects, finding joy in how his eyes would light up with genuine curiosity and encouragement.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” he’d say on more than one occasion, leaving you feeling both proud and slightly bashful.

Even though the distance between your lives was more apparent now, these shared moments made it clear that your bond remained intact. The friendship you’d built over countless hours in the lab wasn’t something easily shaken, and despite everything, you were both still rooting for each other.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Living in your new apartment gave you the space—and the clarity—you didn’t realize you needed. For once, you could sit down and truly process what you wanted for the future.

Surprisingly, you didn’t overthink when it came to Viktor or Silco. You were certain they were fine. If they weren’t reaching out, you knew it was because they were likely buried in their own work. Viktor was probably glued to his lab desk with Jayce hovering nearby and Silco? He had an empire to run.

The newfound solitude allowed you to focus on your own work like never before. It wasn’t just about Silco’s investment anymore; your creations had started to gain traction on their own. Your name was becoming increasingly recognized, and with that came more opportunities, more requests, and more expectations.

It felt good—rewarding, even—but it wasn’t enough. You wanted to do more, to create more, and to contribute something significant to Piltover. There was always room to improve, to innovate.

Work kept you busy, almost too busy. You caught yourself pulling the same long hours you used to scold Viktor for, staying up until the early hours of the morning with nothing but your sketches, notes, and half-finished prototypes for company.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. You chuckled to yourself late one night as you stared at the glowing table lamp, the only light in the room. “I’m becoming just like him,” you muttered, shaking your head.

It wasn’t a bad thing, you supposed. You understood now what drove Viktor to push himself so relentlessly. But you also knew where the line was—or at least, you told yourself you did.

Still, the work was fulfilling. Each breakthrough, each finished project reminded you why you’d chosen this path. It wasn’t just about proving something to Piltover or to yourself. It was about the joy of creating, of bringing something new into the world. And for now, that was enough to keep you going.

It was late—too late, really—when you woke up with a jolt, realizing you’d fallen asleep while scribbling down some notes. The pages were a chaotic mess, filled with half-formed ideas and jumbled equations. There was a lot of revision to be done, but in your sleep-deprived state, it almost made you laugh.

Your mind was still buzzing from the work, but a part of you wanted a change of pace. So, on an impulse—and without thinking too much—you decided to head to The Last Drop. Why not? It was late, but it was still probably open at this hour. You needed a distraction and a drink, maybe, and perhaps it was time to visit Zaun again.

You didn’t bother overthinking your outfit this time. It wasn’t about impressing anyone. You chose something lowkey, something that wouldn’t attract unwanted attention—unlike the last time you were there, when your presence had made waves in ways you didn’t anticipate. It was simple but fit the vibe of the place. A blend of comfort and style that matched your mood.

And, truthfully, you didn’t mind the idea of tormenting Silco a little. A little payback won't harm him. The thought of showing up, catching him off guard, gave you a small thrill. You could already picture his reaction—the raised eyebrow, the sharp, calculating look he’d throw your way. Ah, you miss that bozo.

The walk through Zaun felt as familiar as ever. The air was thick with the usual mix of industrial fumes and the scent of distant fires. The streets were dimly lit, flickering lamps casting long shadows that made the world feel both close and distant at the same time. It was a tiring walk, but you didn’t mind. The familiarity of the paths you once knew made it easier to navigate through the labyrinthine streets.

Zaun hadn’t changed much. It never really did. The noise, the constant hum of machines, the life that never quite seemed to stop—it was the same chaotic, restless energy you remembered.

The familiar neon lights of the Last Drop flickered dimly as you approached, and for a moment, you hesitated. You walked into the Last Drop with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, your thoughts spinning as you stepped deeper into Zaun’s heart. The streets, bathed in dim neon hues, whispered their familiar stories as the smell of industrial fumes and distant fires wrapped around you like an old, frayed blanket. The walk through the labyrinthine alleys felt like a passage through time. Nothing had changed; everything was still the same chaotic, restless energy you remembered.

When you arrived at the Last Drop, you hesitated for a moment as you approached the entrance. The guards had just escorted someone out, their stern expressions and the stumbling figure giving away that something had gone wrong. The scene was oddly dissonant with the usual atmosphere, but as soon as the guards saw you, they gave you no more than a cursory glance and let you pass without hesitation. You didn't think much of it at first. After all, you'd been here before, and if anything, this was a familiar form of Zaun's no-nonsense approach to outsiders.

You pushed the door open, stepping into what you assumed would be the usual chaos—the clinking of glasses, the murmur of voices, the thrum of music. But something was off. The familiar energy was missing. The room, usually buzzing with activity, was unnervingly quiet. The flickering neon lights above cast an eerie glow over the empty chairs and tables, the stillness pressing in on you. For a moment, you wondered if you'd wandered into the wrong place, but the guards had let you in, so it couldn't be that. Yet, the quiet made it feel as if you’d stumbled into a different time, one where the bar wasn’t the same.

The hairs on your neck prickled, and you cautiously moved deeper into the space, your shoes creating a sound on the wooden floor. The chairs were stacked neatly, and the tables were arranged as though they'd been set up for a crowd—except the crowd was nowhere to be found. The bar was still polished, the bottles lined up in a row as if they had been prepared for a busy night. Everything seemed in place, yet nothing felt right.

You moved to the bar, your instincts pulling you toward the familiar counter. Leaning over, you peered behind it, but it was empty—no bartender, no sign of anyone. There was a sense of waiting in the air, but it wasn't the buzz of excitement; it was a quiet anticipation that sat uncomfortably in your chest.

"What the hell is going on here?" you muttered under your breath, frustration creeping in. "Creepy."

You hadn't come here for nothing, and while the absence of people should have been a relief, it only added to the strange tension that filled the room. Without another thought, you decided to help yourself. You grabbed a bottle from the shelf, the familiar glass cool in your hand, and poured yourself a drink. The clink of the glass against the counter broke the silence, but even that felt too loud in the stillness of the room. After all, you're not going back to Piltover for nothing. A little drink is what you needed and why not do it yourself? Blame the non-existent bartender.

As you were about to bring the glass to your lips, you froze. A shadow moved at the corner of your eye, a presence that made the hairs on your neck stand on end. It wasn't the usual noise or bustle of the bar. This was something different. Something you couldn’t ignore.

You slowly turned your head, your pulse quickening. Standing at the far end of the room was Silco, just by the end of the staircase. His figure was half-hidden in the dim light, his sharp eyes fixed on you. How had he gotten in without you noticing? His movements were so smooth, so calculated. It was as though he had always been there, waiting.

"Heavens! You gave me a heart attack!" You were genuinely surprised. Jumpscared may be another term.

He didn’t speak at first. His gaze swept over you, taking in the scene with that unnerving calm of his. The silence stretched between you, a weight that was both familiar and foreign. You hadn't seen him in a while—not since your last encounter—but his presence still carried the same intensity, the same unspoken authority that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Pleasant surprise,” he said finally, his voice low and smooth, like velvet, but there was an edge to it. His eyes glinted with a sharpness that made you wonder just how long he'd been observing you from the shadows. "You look good."

Your hand tightened around the glass, your heartbeat steadying as you set it back down on the counter. The Last Drop was empty, save for the two of you, and that uneasy silence made it feel like an entirely different space—a private arena just for the two of you.

“I didn’t expect company. Seems like everyone fled Zaun,” you said, trying to mask the tension in your voice. A hint of sarcasm, why not? “Missed me?”

Silco’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You always were resourceful. How's the drink?" He took a deliberate step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, each movement measured and purposeful, like a predator closing in. “But I didn’t think you’d return... not like this.”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight that made you pause, and made you wonder just how much of this moment had been calculated by him. His presence was almost suffocating, and the way he looked at you—almost like he was assessing you, reading between the lines of your every gesture—made it feel like you were playing a game you didn’t fully understand.

You met his gaze, unwilling to break the silence just yet, but something about this encounter—the quiet, the tension, his proximity—reminded you of something darker, something you hadn’t quite reckoned with yet.

Silco’s footsteps were quiet, almost calculated as he approached the bar. Without a word, he took a seat at the far end, his posture as composed as ever. You caught yourself staring at him for a moment longer than you intended before an unexpected, almost childish impulse sparked in your mind.

A grin tugged at your lips as the old memory resurfaced—the playful moments when you’d both shared a drink or two, the way you’d always jokingly taken on the role of bartender for him. The thought of it, that mischievous energy you once shared, seemed so distant now, but you couldn’t help but indulge in it for a moment.

With a swift motion, you grabbed a glass, your fingers brushing the edges of the smooth surface as you filled it with his favourite drink. The ritual felt oddly comforting—like you were reconnecting with a part of yourself that had been dormant for a while. You slid the glass across the counter toward him with a flourish.

"Your regular, sir." You said, keeping your tone light and playful, masking the tension still lingering in the air.

Silco’s eyes flickered briefly with something unreadable, his gaze never leaving yours. There was no immediate reaction, no flash of recognition or amusement like there once would have been. Instead, he regarded the glass for a moment, then slowly reached for it, his fingers brushing the rim.

"Always the same as ever, love." He mused quietly, his voice carrying a trace of something almost nostalgic, though his expression remained inscrutable.

He brought the glass to his lips, taking a measured sip, the slight click of the glass meeting the counter breaking the quiet once again.

"You haven’t changed," he said after a beat, setting the glass back down, his eyes now locked with yours. "You're still the woman I remember after all these years. The woman I loved."

You tilted your head slightly with a playful spark in your gaze. "Flattered. Careful, I wouldn't want to use yet another heart attack."

The tension between you both thickened, but for a moment, there was a flicker of something familiar in his eyes—a hint of the Silco you used to know. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to make you question whether the distance between you two was truly insurmountable.

You stood there for a moment longer, the silence lingering before you turned your attention back to the counter, your fingers tracing absent patterns as your thoughts swirled in tandem with the unease growing between you.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice quieter than before, a twinge of unease creeping in.

Silco paused, his gaze sharpening as he leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing in subtle confusion. "For what?" he asked, his tone steady but laced with curiosity.

You glanced away for a moment, processing your thoughts before meeting his gaze again, this time with more conviction. "Don't worry about it, love. You're not an intruder. The guards let you in for a reason," he added, his words almost casual, as though trying to reassure you.

But you shook your head, pushing forward slightly, leaning your arms onto the bar counter as you closed the distance between you.

"No, you silly." You said the words coming out with a firm edge this time. "I heard about the raids. The ones in the lower districts, the fsctories." You let the silence hang between you, feeling the weight of your words settle in the space.

Silco didn't immediately respond, his eyes searching yours as if weighing the sincerity in your voice. There was something in his gaze—a flicker of something fleeting. Perhaps it was surprise, or maybe a touch of something deeper, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

He straightened up slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. "You think I have something to do with that?" he asked, his voice low, though not hostile. It was controlled, measured—like he was trying to read you, to gauge how much you truly knew.

You met his eyes unflinchingly, the tension between you thickening as the weight of your question hung in the air.

"I don’t know," you said, your voice softer now, laced with a hint of uncertainty. You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you straightened up. "I’m just trying to understand what’s going on, Silco. I don't even know what you have been up to. You just disappeared one day and I haven't heard from you for like what? Forever? And hearing those news.. Do you honestly think I wouldn't care? You could've hurt or what."

He studied you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but there was a shift in the air—a sense that he wasn’t entirely in control of the conversation anymore. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally spoke again, his voice low and even. "You're adorable, just like that. My apologies if I worried you, love."

Tension hung in the air, and for a brief moment, there was a sense of familiarity between you two—a reminder of the bond you once shared. But it was fleeting, swallowed up by the tension that had now taken its place.

The silence lingered, thick and almost oppressive, before you broke it with your words.

“I’ve decided,” you said, a deliberate shift in your tone, something lighter, more upbeat, that contrasted with the heaviness of the room.

Silco’s gaze flickered to you, his eyes still shadowed with the weight of his thoughts, but a small shift happened in his posture, a subtle loosening of tension. You could see the change in him—his brow furrowed less, the rigidness in his shoulders easing just the slightest bit. Whatever it was that had been weighing on him, just hearing you speak so matter-of-factly seemed to ground him, even if only for a moment.

"Decided?" He repeated, the word catching in his throat, curiosity mixed with a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to figure out what you meant.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you considered the offer, then met his eyes with a small but deliberate smile.

“You know,” you began, voice calm but carrying a hint of playfulness, “Moving here. With you. I mean, it's not like I can avoid it forever. You've got a room prepared for me, right? I can’t leave that unused.” You paused, tapping a finger against your chin, pretending to deliberate. “Might as well make myself at home. Besides, I like interior designing.”

Silco's gaze softened, though there was a flicker of that old smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused. “The room’s ready whenever you want to use it. And it’s always yours to beging with, if you need it.”

You nodded, the light in your eyes turning more serious. “But...” You began, your tone shifting slightly, “we both know I can’t give up everything just yet. Piltover’s still a part of my life too, my work— there's too much to walk away from.”

Silco’s expression turned thoughtful, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed your words. You could tell he understood—he knew exactly how much Piltover had shaped you, how deep your commitment ran. But he didn’t seem to mind, at least not as much as you expected.

“That’s what I figured,” he said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the bar counter between you. His voice was low, almost contemplative, but there was an underlying steadiness to it. “But this place is an extension now, too. Your apartment, your lab—this could be another base of operations for you. A safe place when you need it.”

You smiled, the weight of the conversation settling comfortably between you two. “Maybe not a full-on base of operations, but I like the idea of being able to split my time. I’ll still need my space in Piltover... but this place? It’s not too bad. Feels a little more like home now. It troubles me lately when you're not around.”

Silco gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes softening. “It is your home, love."

You tilted your head slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. “You do know I’m a bit of a handful to have around, right?”

A wry grin spread across his face as he leaned back, his voice steady but carrying an edge of humour. “I can handle it. Don’t worry about that.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence, the weight of your unspoken agreement hanging between you. You weren’t giving up your life in Piltover, and neither was Silco asking you to. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like you didn’t have to do it all alone.

You raised your glass slightly in a silent toast, a new understanding settling between you. “Guess we’ll make it work, then.”

Silco’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside of this room didn’t seem so pressing. “We will, love. We will. I will.”

You couldn’t help the squeal that escaped your lips, a bit of genuine happiness slipping through the cracks of your usual composed demeanour. Seeing that small shift in Silco's expression—a subtle relief, maybe even a hint of amusement—was enough to make you feel like you’d accomplished something. You weren’t sure what exactly, but it was enough to make the tension in the room feel just a little lighter.

But then, as quickly as the moment passed, you noticed the faint lines of exhaustion around his eyes and the tightness in his posture. It was subtle but there. He wasn’t the same confident, steady figure you were used to seeing. There was weariness there, a silent weight that seemed to hang over him.

You couldn’t ignore it.

"I just know you've been loads busy," you said, trying to keep the mood light, offering a playful smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. "And here I thought you had it all under control."

Silco let out a soft exhale, the corners of his mouth twitching down slightly. "Control is a luxury," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, his hands clasping together in front of him. "There’s always something, always someone to handle. And trouble never seems to run out."

His words were measured, but there was a clear edge to his voice, a strain that suggested he was more overwhelmed than he cared to admit. "Deals that fall through, people to keep in line, constant threats from all sides. You think it quiets down for even a moment, but it doesn’t."

You could feel the weight in his words, the pressure that seemed to build up with every task, every challenge he faced. It was the weight of leadership of managing an empire. And it was wearing him down.

"You deserve a break," you said quietly, your voice softer now, your eyes scanning his face. "You know that, right? Even if it’s just for a moment."

Silco glanced at you, his expression unreadable at first. But there was something in the way his gaze softened, just for a fraction of a second, that made you realize he hadn’t heard that kind of sentiment in a while.

"I can’t afford a break," he replied, his voice low but steady, "not with everything at stake."

You leaned forward, keeping your eyes on his, unwilling to let him brush off the concern so easily. "Maybe you should make the time," you suggested, a quiet conviction in your tone. "Boo! You can't keep going like this, Silco. Not forever. Not under my supervision."

There was a long pause as he studied you, his eyes locking with yours, a thousand thoughts passing behind them. Finally, he sighed, a tired, almost resigned sound.

"I don’t know how to stop," he said, almost to himself. "But I’ll try. For now."

"Now that's the spirit."

It wasn’t much. But it was something.

And in that moment, you knew you weren’t the only one feeling the weight of everything around you.

Silco was lost in his thoughts, the weight of everything pressing down on him, his eyes distant and unfocused. You watched him for a moment, feeling the quiet between you, understanding without needing to ask. Sometimes, the silence said more than words ever could.

Deciding to give him a break from the weight of his responsibilities, you slid out from behind the bar, your movements light as you made your way to the jukebox. It was a small, comforting routine, one you knew well. Your fingers brushed against the records, searching for that familiar cover. When you found it, a small smile tugged at your lips. Felicia would’ve called it your song—but it was always more than that. It was the tune you danced to when the world felt just a little less heavy.

You placed the coin in, and the familiar crackling sound filled the air before the melody started to play. The song filled the quiet space around you, wrapping itself in memories, in laughter, and in warmth.

As the music flowed, you walked back toward Silco, a soft rhythm in your step. You paused beside him, one elbow resting on the counter as you slid your hand toward his, fingers brushing gently against his. You caught his attention immediately, his eyes shifting toward your hand, uncertainty flickering in his gaze.

"Dance with me," you said softly, your voice light, almost teasing, as you extended your other hand toward him.

For a moment, Silco said nothing. His eyes held a question, a slight hesitation as if trying to decide whether he could afford to let go of his worries for just a moment. But when he looked at you—really looked—he saw the invitation in your eyes, the understanding that you weren't asking for anything more than to share a fleeting moment of calm, of connection.

Slowly, his hand rose from the counter, his fingers brushing yours in a quiet acceptance. And then, without another word, he stood, stepping toward you, his usual guarded composure softened, if only for a moment.

The space between you closed, and with the music playing softly in the background, you both moved together. The world outside faded away, the weight of his empire, of his responsibilities, slipping into the quiet rhythm of the song. It was just you, just the moment, and Silco and the weight of everything else seemed a little less pressing as you danced under the dim lights of the Last Drop.

The soft melody of the song wrapped around you both like a blanket, the steady rhythm of your steps matching the beat of the music. It was easy to forget about everything else in those moments, the weight of time and distance fading into the background. It felt like those younger years, when life wasn’t as heavy, when the world felt a little bit smaller and your worries felt a little more distant.

As you danced, you could see it in Silco’s eyes—the subtle shift, the flicker of nostalgia that softened the hardness in his gaze. He wasn’t just moving through the motions anymore. He was remembering, too.

"Some things never change, love," he said, his voice low and almost tender as he looked at you.

You couldn’t help but grin at the familiar phrase, the one that used to make you roll your eyes back in the day. But now, it was different. Now, it carried a weight, a memory of things shared and moments lost to time.

"Yep, I know bozo," you shot back with a playful smirk, the words slipping easily from your lips, just like they used to. "I know. I finally know."

Silco chuckled under his breath, the sound a rare but welcome one. For a moment, it felt like time had rewound, like you were back in a place where the world outside the Last Drop didn’t matter, where it was just the two of you, lost in a simple dance and the comfort of familiarity. You didn’t need to say much more; the shared memory was enough to carry you through.

"For the record, I'm beyond elated with the visit. I suggest you surprise me more."

"This is home, dummy. It is my home too. Our home."

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 4.1k words

↳➛ Summary:

With distant memories now at reach, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: 18+, MDNI!

sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

Your work on the lab was long forgotten the moment he step foot inside. It didn’t take Silco long to act. In a swift movement, you found yourself atop your desk, papers scattering to the floor as he pinned you there with an intensity that left no room for hesitation. His lips crashed against yours, hungry and unyielding, as if trying to make up for all the lost time, all the years apart. It's crazy how time passed.

His hands moved with a calculated urgency, one sliding up towards your side, pushing your top higher to expose your skin, while the other tugged at your waistband with ease. The deftness of his movements sent a shiver through you, the cool air meeting your bare skin as he worked to rid you of the clothes between you.

Breaking the kiss briefly, his eyes searched yours, flickering with a dangerous mix of longing and determination. His lips curved into a smirk, though it held a softer edge, as if the intensity of the moment had taken even him by surprise.

"You’re still mine," he murmured, his voice low and filled with possessive reverence, before leaning back in to claim your lips again. "You've always been."

"Oh well, no escaping then."

Silco knew he was pushing boundaries, the fire of his emotions—a volatile mix of desire, frustration, and an unshakable need to reclaim what he believed was his—fueling his every action. As he took you from your back, his left hand grasped on your throat while the other one steadied you by your hip. His grip tightened slightly around your throat, exerting just enough pressure to remind you who held control in the room.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turning white as you braced yourself against the onslaught of sensations. It's been a while since you ended up in this position - at your desk, chest laid flat, and Silco pounding on your from behind. You're starting to think it's his favourite.Tears welled in your eyes, not just from the physical intensity but from the overwhelming storm of emotions swirling within you. It's just a lot to take in, honestly.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear as his breath ghosted against your skin.

"I already did my waiting - years of it," he murmured, his voice dark but tinged with an edge of vulnerability he couldn't entirely mask. "No matter how far you run, you're always be mine."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your chest heaving as you struggled to steady your breathing. He noticed the glistening tears slipping from your eyes and paused for a heartbeat, his grip on your throat loosening slightly.

For a moment, his fingers brushed against your skin gently, almost soothingly, as if silently apologizing for the roughness. But he didn’t speak the apology aloud. Instead, his lips found the nape of your neck, leaving tender kisses that contrasted with the dominance of his actions.

The duality of his touch—one moment rough, the next gentle—left you reeling, caught in the turbulent depths of Silco’s unrelenting hold over you. It was maddening, intoxicating, and utterly inescapable.

"I could die like this - taking me so well." He murmured.

You whimpered under his touch, his roughness igniting a mixture of pleasure and pain that left you breathless. His grip on your hips was firm, almost bruising, as he controlled every movement every moment. The heat between you both was unbearable, the tension winding tighter and tighter with every thrust.

Your breaths grew uneven, and soft gasps escaped your lips, signalling you were close to the edge. Silco, sensing it, adjusted his pace, his own breathing ragged as he held himself back, refusing to let go until you had.

"Fuck!" You exclaimed.

"Go on, love," he whispered, his voice dark and commanding. "I want to feel it, every bit of it."

The way he spoke sent a shiver down your spine, pushing you over the edge. Your body trembled as waves of pleasure coursed through you, a soft cry escaping your lips. Silco’s grip tightened as he felt you unravel beneath him, his control slipping as he let himself follow, groaning low in satisfaction as he found his release.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The sound of clattering utensils pulled you from your daze, your tired mind struggling to catch up with reality. Slowly, you sat up, the soft fabric of the oversized button-up shirt brushing against your bare skin. It wasn’t yours; you could tell from the size and the faint, unfamiliar scent that clung to it—a mix of cologne and something distinct.

The memories of the night before rushed back like a tidal wave, making your cheeks flush.

Silco. The lab. The desk. The intensity.

How the hell did I end up back here? you thought, glancing around your apartment. It felt almost surreal, as though the events of last night were a fever dream.

Still lost in thought, you hesitated, your legs swinging off the edge of the bed, bare feet brushing against the cold floor. The faint sounds of clinking dishes and a low hum—a familiar tune—made you pause. It was coming from your kitchen.

Wrapping your arms around yourself instinctively, you stood and cautiously padded your way to the source of the noise.

As you entered the kitchen, the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. Silco stood there, of all people, moving with surprising ease as he brewed a pot of coffee. He was dressed down compared to his usual sharp attire, sleeves rolled up, revealing his scarred forearms. His jacket was draped over a nearby chair, and his tie hung loosely around his neck.

He turned to you with a small smirk, his single good eye glinting as he looked you over.

“Morning,” he said smoothly, as if the sight of him in your kitchen, completely at ease.

You blinked, still trying to make sense of the situation. “Are my eyes fooling me?” You managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco chuckled softly, setting down the mug he had just filled. “I didn’t think it was wise to leave you at the lab,” he said, his tone casual but laced with that familiar commanding undertone. “You were… exhausted.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unspoken implications in his words. “And my clothes?” you asked, crossing your arms defensively, though the oversized shirt you were wearing was doing little to help your modesty.

“Wet,” he said simply, gesturing toward your laundry rack. “You spilled something on them last night. Coffee, perhaps. I had a spare shirt.”

Coffee? Wow, that's just sarcastic.

His lips curved into a smirk, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “It suits you.”

You felt a mix of embarrassment and irritation bubbling up but decided not to argue. Instead, you walked over to the counter and picked up the mug of coffee he had set down, taking a cautious sip.

“You could have just left,” you muttered, not meeting his gaze.

“I could have,” he agreed, his voice lowering as he stepped closer, his presence commanding as always. “But I didn’t want to.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, making your heart race. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny the magnetic pull between you two, even as the complications of your life loomed heavily in the background.

You leaned against the counter, sipping your coffee as your eyes lingered on Silco. There was something strangely captivating about seeing him like this—out of his element, yet still carrying that unmistakable air of authority.

His sharp eye caught your gaze, and his smirk widened slightly. “Don’t give me that look,” he warned, his voice low and teasing. “Or else.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth tugging into a small, defiant grin. “Or else what? I'm not even doing anything.”

Silco set the mug he had been holding down on the counter and took a slow step toward you, his movements deliberate and controlled, like a predator stalking its prey. His face held a look of playful menace, his good eye locking onto yours.

“Careful,” he said, his voice a soft growl as he closed the distance between you two. His hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face before resting lightly under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze fully. “You might not like the answer.”

Your heart raced, a mix of nerves and excitement pooling in your chest. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as you stared back at him.

“Try me, bozo” you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper, though the quiver in it betrayed your resolve.

"Hey!" you protested as Silco smoothly took the coffee mug from your hands, taking a slow, deliberate sip while holding your gaze.

His smirk never wavered as he set the mug aside, stepping closer, his presence commanding and inescapable. Before you could react, he placed his hands on either side of you, caging you against the kitchen counter. The cool surface beneath you contrasted sharply with the heat radiating between you two.

"Move with me," he said, his voice low but full of conviction, the words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. His sharp eye bore into yours, as though trying to reach the deepest parts of you. "I'll handle everything. You won't have to fight alone anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of his words. There was a quiet earnestness in his tone, something rare, something raw.

"Silco, I..." You started, but the words caught in your throat. "That's a major decision to do. I.. I can't just.."

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "I know you're torn," he murmured, his voice softening, "but I also know where you belong. With me. By my side."

Your breath hitched, the emotions swirling inside you too complex to name. But for a fleeting moment, all you could feel was the closeness of him, his unwavering determination wrapping around you like a second skin.

Silco's voice softened, his usual sharp edge dulled by something more vulnerable as he tilted his head slightly, studying you. "If this Piltovan life is what you like," he began, his words deliberate and measured, "who am I to ask you to stop chasing your dreams?"

His hand lingered on your cheek a moment longer before he pulled it back, his gaze dropping briefly as though weighing his next words. When he looked at you again, the intensity in his eyes was unwavering.

"Visit me," he said, his voice low and filled with quiet longing. "Zaun misses you. I miss you. I prepared a room for you at The Last Drop."

You swallowed hard, his words striking deeper than you expected. The weight of his request wasn’t just about Zaun—it was about him, about what the two of you once had, and what still lingered between you.

The silence stretched, filled with unspoken emotions as you tried to form a response. Silco stepped back just enough to give you space, though his presence still felt overwhelming, like a tether you couldn’t break.

"I..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ll think about it."

His lips curled into a faint smirk, but his eyes betrayed the hope behind them. "I’ll hold you to that," he murmured, his voice a mix of confidence and vulnerability. Without another word, he turned, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of smoke and something distinctly Silco.

Silco’s smirk deepened, his tone shifting into something darker, more possessive. "But…" he began, his eyes locking onto yours with that dangerous glint that always made your pulse quicken, "I can't promise not to eliminate what enters my property."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you could feel the duality of his meaning. It wasn’t just about Zaun or his territory—it was about you, the claim he felt he had, the boundaries he wasn’t willing to let anyone else cross.

Your breath caught as you tried to process what to say.

"Silco…" you started, but the way his gaze bore into you silenced any argument before it could form.

"Think about it," he continued, his voice calm but firm. "Zaun may have its chaos, but it's mine. And so are you—if you'll have me."

It was a declaration, not a question, and though it sent shivers down your spine, you couldn’t decide if it was from fear, longing, or both.

Silco’s words dripped with sarcasm, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he adjusted his tie with a practiced elegance. "Give Viktor my regards," he said, his tone laced with a pointed edge that made it impossible to mistake his meaning.

You crossed your arms, exhaling sharply. "Must you always make everything a competition?"

He chuckled softly, the sound both amused and condescending. "It's not a competition if the winner is already clear."

You rolled your eyes, but he stepped closer, tilting your chin up with a single finger. "I mean it," he said, his voice dropping into something softer, almost intimate. "Don’t let him take what belongs to me."

You didn’t reply, torn between the fire in his words and the reality you both lived in. Silco straightened, casting one last glance around your apartment as if committing it to memory.

"I’ll leave for now," he finally said, his tone returning to its usual commanding weight. "But don’t think for a second that this is goodbye. You know where to find me."

And with that, he turned, his coat sweeping dramatically behind him as he headed for the door. As it clicked shut behind him, you were left standing there, torn between two worlds—and two men—once again.

The audacity of this man. Geez.

You sat in the quiet of your kitchen, fork idly pushing the remnants of your breakfast around the plate. The taste of the meal Silco had made lingered faintly on your tongue, but your mind was far from the food. His words echoed in your head, heavy and weighted with implications.

"Move with me. I'll handle everything."

You knew he meant it, every syllable. Silco wasn’t one to say things lightly. But those words came with risks—risks you couldn’t ignore. He wasn’t just anyone. He was the Chembaron, Zaun’s most feared and powerful leader. Being connected to him was dangerous in ways most people couldn’t comprehend. You didn’t doubt for a second that he’d protect you with everything he had. But still, what about the dangers he couldn’t see coming? What about the ones that came from simply being a part of his world?

Your gaze drifted toward the window. The bustling streets of Piltover were nothing like the chaotic, unpredictable energy of Zaun. It had been ages since you’d called Zaun your home. The last time you returned, it had been unrecognizable—its grime deeper, its people more hardened. It wasn’t the Zaun you remembered, and it wasn’t the Zaun you had dreamed of when you were younger.

You sighed, resting your head in your hands. Moving back wasn’t just a matter of geography. It meant giving up the life you’d built here, the opportunities you’d worked tirelessly for. Piltover wasn’t perfect—it was cold, calculated, and distant. But it was a place where you could thrive in your own right, free from the shadows of the past.

And then there was Viktor. Loyal, steadfast Viktor, who’d been your partner in more ways than one. What would he say if he knew you were even considering this?

A small laugh escaped your lips, though it held no humor. "Gods, what a mess," you muttered to yourself. "I'm the mess."

Silco was right, though—you couldn’t deny where your roots were. Zaun was in your blood, no matter how much time had passed. It pulled at you in ways you couldn’t explain. But was the pull enough? Was Silco enough? Or would the risks swallow you whole before you even got the chance to find out?

You stared at the empty plate before you, the weight of the decision pressing down on your chest. Whatever path you chose, it wouldn’t be easy.

Panic bubbled up as you remembered the chaotic state you'd left the lab in last night. Or at least, you thought it was chaos. The memory was hazy, muddled by exhaustion and… Silco.

Did I clean up before I left? Did Silco leave everything untouched?

You scrambled to grab your things, leaving your apartment in a rush. The walk to the academy felt longer than usual. Every step weighed down by worry. Your thoughts spiralled. What if Viktor noticed?

When you finally reached the lab, your heart pounded as you pushed open the door.

Relief washed over you immediately. The room was spotless. Your papers were neatly stacked, tools arranged in perfect order, and the projects you’d been working on were exactly where they should be. If you didn’t know better, you’d think someone had spent the entire night tidying up.

But then you spotted it—a single rose, placed delicately on your workstation.

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t Viktor’s style. It couldn’t have been him. Silco.

You stared at the rose, a flood of emotions coursing through you. Was this his way of apologizing? Of leaving a mark?

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head.

Still, you couldn’t help but trace the petals lightly with your fingers, your lips curving into a faint, conflicted smile. Why does he always leave me like this?

You set the rose aside and got to work, determined to shake the thoughts from your mind. The day was young, and there was no time to dwell on Silco’s lingering presence—not when you had projects to finish and questions to answer.

The morning light filtered through the windows of the lab, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. The faint hum of Piltover’s early activity could be heard in the distance, the city slowly coming alive.

You were at your workstation, organizing notes and calibrating some of your tools. The events of the previous night lingered at the back of your mind, but the quiet rhythm of the lab helped you focus. The scent of freshly brewed coffee from the corner of the room added a comforting backdrop to the morning.

It was then that the sound of approaching voices broke the silence. Distinct and familiar, they grew louder until the door to the lab swung open.

“Ah, there you are,” Heimerdinger began, his tone as warm as ever. “Just the person I wanted to see!”

You exchanged a quick glance with Viktor, who was now leaning casually against his desk, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His curiosity was evident, though he seemed content to let Heimerdinger take the lead.

“Is there something you need, Professor?” you asked, standing a little straighter as Heimerdinger approached.

The professor nodded, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. “Indeed! I’ve been meaning to discuss an opportunity with you. It’s come to my attention that your work has been garnering quite a bit of admiration—not just within the academy but beyond. A rather significant development, wouldn’t you agree?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… wasn’t aware of that.”

“Well, you should be!” Heimerdinger chuckled. “Which is why I’ve arranged for a change of accommodations for you. As much as the academy has benefited from your presence here, it seems only fitting that you have a space better suited to your growing stature.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, unsure of what he meant. “A change of accommodations?”

“Yes, yes!” Heimerdinger nodded enthusiastically. “You’ll no longer be staying in the academy quarters. Instead, you’ve been granted a residence in Midtown Piltover.”

And,” Heimerdinger added, “I should mention that this change is courtesy of a rather generous investor. They were quite insistent that someone of your talent deserves only the best resources and environment.”

“Midtown?” you repeated, the weight of the revelation sinking in. That area was reserved for Piltover’s elite—brilliant minds, influential figures, and those at the pinnacle of their fields.

“It’s a testament to your progress and potential,” Heimerdinger continued. “Think of it as both a reward and an investment in your future.”

You didn’t know what to say. The gesture was beyond anything you’d expected. But with it came the realization of just how far you’d come from Zaun.

“That’s… quite an honour,” you managed to say. “Thank you, Professor.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “Well-deserved, my dear! Now, I mustn’t keep you. I trust you’ll make the most of this opportunity. I’ll let you return to your work. Just ensure you’re packed and ready—the move will take place soon!”

With a final nod, Heimerdinger turned his attention back to Viktor, resuming their earlier conversation as he exited the lab. Viktor lingered, watching you carefully.

“Well,” Viktor drawled, a small grin forming on his face. “Midtown, hmm? Seems you’re moving up in the world.”

You exhaled, still trying to process everything. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Life is full of surprises,” Viktor said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Some more pleasant than others, I’d say.”

You caught the subtle undertone in his words, but before you could respond, Viktor pushed off his desk, giving you one last look before turning to his work.

Midtown. A new chapter. And yet, the lingering weight of Zaun and Silco refused to let go.

You walked over to Viktor’s table, placing a hand lightly on the edge as you leaned in slightly. “Viktor, may I ask you something?”

He glanced up from his work, a curious expression crossing his face. “Sure, what is it?”

“You said you talked to this mystery person—this investor who’s supporting my work?”

“Ah, yes,” Viktor replied, nodding as he leaned back slightly, resting one hand on his desk. “But I didn’t get to speak to them directly.”

You tilted your head, frowning slightly. “Where did you get this information, then?”

He gestured lightly with his hand as if piecing together the details. “I was given a word by the sheriff. He was stationed at the gala, remember? Providing security for the event.”

You blinked, recalling the sheriff’s presence but not making much of it at the time. “So, he told you this directly?”

“Yes,” Viktor confirmed. “He mentioned that this news was meant to reach you specifically. Something about ensuring you’re aware of the support being extended to you.”

You straightened, crossing your arms thoughtfully. “That’s... unusual. Why go through a sheriff to relay something so significant?”

Viktor shrugged lightly. “Perhaps this investor prefers to stay anonymous. Or they have their reasons for keeping their distance.”

“Any other details?” You pressed.

Viktor shook his head. “No, that’s all I was told. But whoever they are, they seem to believe in you quite a lot.”

You sighed, a mix of gratitude and suspicion churning in your thoughts. “I suppose I’ll have to wait and see if they reveal themselves.”

“For now,” Viktor said with a small smile, “perhaps focus on what’s in front of you. Whoever this person is, they clearly want you to succeed.”

Well, you already know it's Silco. Credits to his revelation. Though admittedly, some pieces didn't make sense. Like the sheriff, what was that? But you had to play along with Viktor in this conversation like as if the investor was still a mystery to you.

You paused, running your hand through your hair as you tried to process it all. Silco was supporting your work in Piltover and even set you up with a new apartment. The reality of it was unsettling, yet there was no denying the benefits of his influence. You didn’t know whether to be grateful or suspicious. And honestly, it's just too much.

It all made sense, though—his actions, his words. But it still didn’t sit right. There were strings attached. You could feel it, even if he wasn't saying it outright. You had to tread carefully.

Viktor's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "I'll miss your company at the lab."

You blinked, meeting his gaze. "Visit me, Viktor," you said, the words slipping out before you could think twice. Oh wow, now you sounded just like Silco.

He chuckled softly. "Need help moving?"

"I'd love that," you replied, giving him a genuine smile.

Viktor's smile was warm, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes. "I'll be there. I don't mind helping you settle in."

You nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Viktor," you said, feeling the weight of the situation lift slightly, just by having him there.

"Of course," he replied, his tone reassuring. "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"I will," you assured him, though you couldn't help but feel the uncertainty nagging at the back of your mind—Silco, the new apartment, everything that still didn't make sense yet. But for now, with Viktor here, you felt a little less alone in this tangled web you were caught in.

"Of course, everything has to be him." You murmured to yourself.

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕰𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 4.6k words

↳➛ Summary:

With distant memories now at reach, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

After smoothing your dress one last time and ensuring you looked as composed as possible, you took a deep breath and headed toward the door. The night is still young. You need to keep going. Silco watched you the entire time, his gaze lingering on every deliberate movement, as if savouring the aftermath of your time together.

Just as you reached the door, he moved slightly, stepping in front of it, his lean frame partially blocking your way. His right hand gripped the doorknob behind him, a subtle but clear gesture that he wasn’t letting you leave without a fight.

You narrowed your eyes at him, the irritation bubbling back to the surface. Irritation from both blocking your exit and denying your peak. Damn this guy.

"Move," you demanded, your tone sharp as you stared him down.

Silco didn’t budge. Instead, his lips quirked into that infuriating smirk you had grown to both hate and crave.

"Wrong," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "Composure, love. Where are your manners?"

He reached out with his free hand, his fingers lightly tilting your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with a mix of amusement and something darker. "If you can’t keep it with me, what chance do you have out there?"

Your lips parted as a retort formed, but before you could say anything, the words escaped you, tangled in the tension that crackled between you. Instead, you leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to a daring whisper. "Make me."

For a moment, Silco froze, his smirk faltering as surprise flickered across his face. Then he chuckled, the sound low and dark, as his thumb brushed lightly over your bottom lip.

"Oh, I will," he murmured. "But not now. I want to see how long you last out there first."

With that, he stepped aside just enough to let you through, his hand leaving the doorknob but not without a lingering touch that brushed against your waist as you passed.

As you walked out, trying to steady your breathing and reclaim your poise, his voice followed you, smooth and teasing. "I'll be watching."

You didn’t turn back, but the heat of his gaze followed you all the way back to the gala, leaving you both rattled and exhilarated.

You adjusted your posture as you re-entered the gala, pushing away the discomfort and heat still lingering from your encounter with Silco. The noise of laughter and clinking glasses welcomed you back, but your mind was clouded, replaying the scene in the restroom over and over again.

You were so deep in thought that Viktor’s voice startled you.

"There you are," he said, his tone light but laced with excitement. He approached you with that familiar glimmer in his eyes, the one he always had when something good happened. "I’ve been looking for you. I have some news that you might find… interesting."

"What is it?" you asked, masking your unease as you turned your attention to him.

He smiled, clearly pleased. "I was just approached by a rather generous investor. They didn’t share their name, but they seem to have taken a liking to your work. They want to discuss funding your future projects."

Your heart skipped a beat, surprise, and gratitude flooding your chest. "Are you serious? That’s… that’s amazing!" you said, a genuine smile breaking through your guarded expression.

Viktor nodded, his pride in you unmistakable. "I told you your work would turn heads. It’s well-deserved."

But as he spoke, his gaze shifted slightly, lingering on your neck. His brow furrowed, and his voice softened with concern. "Are you alright?"

Your heart sank. You instinctively touched the side of your neck, realizing too late that Silco’s marks were still visible. You quickly dropped your hand and forced a light laugh. "Oh, this? I must have brushed against something earlier. It’s nothing."

Viktor’s eyes lingered a moment longer, skepticism flashing across his face. "It looks… recent," he said slowly, his tone gentle but probing.

You waved it off, desperate to steer the conversation away. "Really, it’s nothing. It's probably just a rash or something. Anyway, tell me more about this investor. Did they leave any contact information?"

Viktor studied you for a moment longer, his sharp mind clearly picking up on your discomfort, but he chose not to press further. Instead, he gave a small nod and began recounting the details of his conversation with the mysterious investor.

As he spoke, you tried to focus on his words, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Silco’s smirk, his touch, and the way he’d whispered, "I’ll be watching." The feeling of being caught between two worlds—two men—gnawed at you, the weight of your secrets growing heavier with every passing second.

The gala eventually faded into the background as you switched back into business mode, shaking hands, answering questions, and discussing your work with an air of professionalism. By the time the night drew to a close, you were physically and mentally drained, yet a part of you felt accomplished for managing to keep your composure.

Councilor Salo had graciously offered a ride home, a courtesy extended to all prominent guests. Viktor had lingered for a moment longer as you approached the council's car, standing beside you as if he wanted to say something.

"It was a successful evening, wasn’t it?" he asked, his voice warm but tired.

You nodded, giving him a small smile. "It was. I think tonight opened up a lot of opportunities for the future."

Viktor’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his gaze searching yours for something unspoken. For a fleeting moment, he looked as if he might bring up the marks on your neck again, but instead, he said, "Get some rest. You deserve it."

You returned his smile, albeit faintly. "You too, Viktor. Goodnight."

As the council’s vehicle pulled up, you gave a polite farewell and stepped into the car. The ride home was quiet, the hum of the engine filling the silence as you gazed out the window. The night’s events replayed in your mind: the gala, Viktor’s praise, Silco’s lingering presence.

When the car arrived at your apartment building, you thanked the driver and stepped out into the crisp night air. The city was quieter now, the buzz of the gala replaced by the stillness of Piltover’s late hours.

Inside your apartment, the familiarity of the space brought a sense of calm. You slipped off your shoes and made your way to the vanity, catching your reflection in the mirror. The marks on your neck were still there, faint but undeniable, a testament to the collision of your past and present.

As you stared at yourself, the weight of everything pressed down on you. Silco’s words, Viktor’s concern, the lingering pull of two very different worlds—it was all too much.

You sighed, preparing for bed. It's been one hell of a day. You need to rest. You need sleep. Tomorrow would come with its own set of challenges, but for now, you allowed yourself to collapse into the comfort of your own space, letting the night finally fade into memory.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The quiet hum of the lab machines and the faint scratching of pens on paper filled the otherwise still room. The Academy's labs were deserted at this hour, save for you and Viktor, both lost in your respective projects. The days had been busy, and the mysterious investor's consistent support had given you the resources to bring your ideas to life. You hadn’t met them yet, but their generosity made it clear they had high expectations from you. But anyway, you're truly honoured.

Taking a break from your work, you pushed your chair back and stretched, arms reaching high above your head. The ache in your muscles was a reminder of just how long you’d been sitting. With a sigh, you glanced over at Viktor, who was still hunched over his workbench, his sharp focus unwavering.

You stood and walked over to his station, leaning against the edge of his table. The soft glow of his workstation illuminated his face, highlighting the shadows under his eyes and the determined set of his jaw.

"You’re not feeling well, are you?" you’d asked, concern evident in your tone as you turned to him.

He waved a hand dismissively, but his usual sharp wit felt subdued. "I’ll be fine. Just need some rest."

You narrowed your eyes at him, skeptical. "Are you sure? Viktor, if you’re pushing yourself too hard again—"

He cut you off with a soft chuckle, though it was tinged with weariness. "I have bigger problems than that."

You crossed your arms, watching him intently. "Oh? And what’s that?"

He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say it, before a faint smirk curved his lips. "Missing you."

It caught you off guard, and for a moment, you blinked at him before the both of you broke into laughter. His tired chuckle blended with your own, and the tension in the air eased.

"You’re such an idiot," you said, shaking your head with a grin.

"Perhaps," he replied, his voice soft. Then he gave you a fond look, one that lingered just a second longer than necessary. "But I should go before you scold me for the hundredth time. Don’t stay too late, alright? You need rest too."

"I could say the same to you," you quipped back.

He nodded, his hand lightly brushing your hand that was rested by the table as he passed.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Viktor."

Now, the memory of the exchange lingered in your mind as you worked alone. The stillness of the lab felt heavier without his presence, but you pushed through, determined to finish what you had started. Yet, you couldn’t shake the lingering worry for him, the way his voice had carried an exhaustion you hadn’t heard in a while.

You sighed, setting down your tools for a moment and leaning back in your chair. The quiet wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t comforting either. It was just you, your work, and the faint hope that Viktor was truly resting like he’d promised.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The rhythmic ticking of the clock and the faint hum of machinery filled the lab as you scribbled some notes, your latest invention slowly taking shape. The familiar weight of concentration anchored you, but when the door creaked open, you didn’t even bother looking up. You assumed it was Viktor. Coming back despite your insistence, he should rest.

"You should be resting, Viktor," you said, irritation creeping into your voice as you adjusted a component. "How many times do I have to—"

Your words caught in your throat as you turned, expecting to see your tired companion standing there.

It wasn’t Viktor.

Silco stood in the doorway, his figure casting a shadow across the room. His piercing eyes, sharp and calculating, locked onto yours, and for a moment, the air in the room felt heavier. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him, his footsteps measured as he crossed the threshold.

"Not quite the greeting I was expecting," he said, his tone low and calm, but with that ever-present edge of authority.

You froze, heart racing, unsure whether to speak or demand what he was doing here. You hadn’t seen him since the gala, hadn’t thought you would. This was Piltover, your space, your sanctuary. What was he doing here? Again?

"Silco," you finally managed, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. "What are you doing here?"

He smirked faintly, his gaze sweeping over the lab, taking in the meticulous chaos of your workspace. "Impressive setup. I can see why Piltover holds you in such high regard."

"That doesn’t answer my question," you said, straightening up, your guard instinctively rising.

He finally stopped a few steps away from you, his hands clasped behind his back. "I came to see how my investment is progressing."

Your eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. The nameless, generous investor Viktor had mentioned… it was him.

"You?" you asked, disbelief colouring your tone. "You’ve been supporting me?"

He tilted his head slightly, a faint glimmer of amusement in his expression. "Did you think I’d simply disappear after our last encounter? No, love. I’ve always believed in you, even when the rest of the world turned its back."

Your pulse quickened, and not just from the revelation. There was something in the way he looked at you, as if he was both proud and possessive.

"I didn’t ask for your help," you said, your voice firmer now, though your emotions were a confusing mess.

"No," he said, stepping closer, his voice soft but unyielding. "But you deserved it. And I’ll admit, it’s been fascinating to watch you thrive in their world."

The tension between you was palpable as he stood there, calm and unwavering, while you wrestled with the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions his presence had stirred.

You rose from your seat, the realization hitting you like a jolt. Silco shouldn’t be there—couldn’t be there. The infamous Chembaron strolling into Piltover Academy, of all places, was an audacious risk, and you didn’t even want to imagine the consequences if someone had spotted him.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath as you hurried past him, heading straight for the door. Cracking it open just enough, you peeked out into the hallway, scanning for any signs of late-night stragglers. To your relief, the corridor was empty. You closed the door again with a soft click and locked it, spinning around to face him.

"What are you thinking?" You hissed, your voice sharp but low. "Someone could’ve seen you!"

Silco stood where you’d left him, utterly unbothered by your panic. He raised an eyebrow, his expression calm, almost amused. "If they did, I’m sure they’d find it rather... inspiring. A Zaunite walking freely among Piltover’s brightest minds. Isn’t that what you’re here for? To bridge the gap?"

"Don’t twist this into one of your speeches," you snapped, your heart racing as you leaned back against the door. "This isn’t Zaun. They won’t just look the other way if they see you. Do you even realize the kind of trouble this could cause?"

Silco took a measured step closer, his presence commanding despite his composed demeanour. "I’ve come this far undetected, haven’t I? Give me some credit."

"You shouldn’t have come at all," you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly, the anger mixed with something else—something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

His gaze softened, just a fraction. "And yet, here I am. Watching you waste away in a world that doesn’t deserve you. I couldn’t stay away."

Your breath hitched at his words, but you quickly pushed past the moment, shaking your head. "This isn’t about deserving. I’ve built something here—earned something here. You can’t just show up and—"

"And remind you of where you came from?" he interrupted, his voice cutting through yours like a blade, though it wasn’t harsh. "You belong to more than Piltover’s gilded towers."

For a moment, you were silent, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady your thoughts. Silco’s gaze was unrelenting, and you felt like he could see through every wall you’d built since your time in Zaun.

"You’re crazy" you muttered, turning away from him to pace the room, trying to make sense of the chaos his arrival had stirred.

"For you, yes." He said with a chuckle.

As you paced the room, trying to steady your thoughts, Silco’s sharp eyes wandered, taking in the tools, schematics, and half-finished projects scattered across the lab. He moved with a casual elegance, his fingers brushing lightly over a blueprint you’d left out, his expression unreadable.

"I missed you," he said, his voice low but unwavering.

The words froze you mid-step. For a moment, you simply stood there, your back turned to him, the weight of his admission hanging heavy in the air.

"You can’t just say things like that," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" he replied, his tone calm but tinged with something raw. "It’s the truth."

Turning to face him, you found him standing by one of your prototypes, his fingers tracing the edges of a delicate mechanism. He looked at it like it was an extension of you, something precious and extraordinary.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, Silco," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "Walking into Piltover, into my space, and saying things like that."

He turned to face you fully, his gaze piercing. "Danger doesn’t concern me. Not when it comes to you."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "This isn’t Zaun. You don’t get to waltz in here and—"

"—and remind you of what we had?" he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice softened, his usual sharp edges tempered by something more tender. "Or is it what we still have?"

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively stepped back, only to find yourself cornered against your workbench. His presence was overwhelming, his eyes holding yours captive.

"Silco," you started, but the words caught in your throat.

"I’ve been patient," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Watching from the shadows, letting you build this life of yours. But don’t think for a second I’ve forgotten what you mean to me."

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "You don’t get to just... walk in here and pick up where we left off," you said, though even to your own ears, your voice lacked conviction.

"And yet, here you are," he murmured, stepping even closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was light, almost reverent. "Standing in front of me, just as you always were."

For a moment, you were lost in his gaze, the memories of your shared past crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Silco wandered to the other side of the lab, his keen eyes scanning over Viktor's workspace. His movements were deliberate, his curiosity evident in the way he studied the scattered notes and sketches. But then his attention shifted, catching on a small, unassuming object—a picture frame resting on the edge of the desk.

His steps slowed as he picked it up, his expression unreadable. It was a photograph. You and Viktor stood together, side by side, his arm over your shoulder - on the night of the awards gala. You were holding your award, the two of you smiling, both looking proud and... close.

Silco’s fingers tightened slightly around the frame, his sharp eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name—jealousy? Hurt? He let out a quiet, humourless chuckle, shaking his head.

"You look good," he said finally, his voice cutting through the tense silence. He tilted the frame slightly as if admiring it. "Too good, perhaps. With him."

Your breath hitched, and you turned toward him, catching the glint of something darker in his gaze as he looked at the photo.

"Silco," you started cautiously, your voice steady despite the growing tension. "It’s not—"

"Not what it looks like?" he interrupted, his tone sharp but quiet. He set the frame down carefully, almost too carefully, as if the very act of restraint was a challenge. "Tell me, love, what is it, then?"

You hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "Viktor and I... it’s complicated," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silco turned to face you fully now, his piercing gaze locking onto yours. "Complicated," he repeated, the word dripping with disdain. "That’s a convenient way of putting it, don’t you think?"

"Don’t," you warned, your voice firm. "You don’t get to come in here and—"

"And what? Be reminded that I’m not the only one who sees you for what you are? For what you can be?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping lower, the intensity in his eyes almost unbearable. "Do you think he understands you the way I do? Does he know the fire in you, the chaos, the brilliance?"

You swallowed hard, feeling cornered not by his proximity but by the truth in his words.

"This isn’t about him," you said, your voice steadying. "This is about you—and the fact that you can’t just show up here and expect me to forget everything I’ve built."

"I don’t want you to forget," he said, his tone softening. "I want you to remember."

For a moment, the air between you was thick with unspoken emotions, the photograph on Viktor’s desk feeling like an anchor tying you to two vastly different worlds.

Silco’s gaze hardened as he stood before you, his jaw set tight and his eyes brimming with a dangerous mix of hurt and anger. The sharp angles of his face were more pronounced under the dim light of the lab, his expression unreadable yet piercing.

"Look," you began, your voice trembling at first but steadying as you continued. "Paint me the bad guy if you want to. When my life started here in Piltover, it’s not like I chose this. I didn’t remember. I didn’t know, Silco."

You paused, searching his face for any sign of understanding, but he stood there unmoving, his gaze locked onto yours like a predator assessing its prey.

"I was given a new life, that’s all," you went on, your voice firmer now, though a faint tremor lingered. "All I had to do was build it—make something of it. Make my own name. And Viktor… he’s done so much for me. He’s been there when I was lost. We’ve got each other’s backs, and—"

You hesitated, your throat tightening as the words threatened to falter under his heavy stare. "I didn’t know you were out there, waiting, grieving. I didn’t remember us. Not then."

Silco’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a moment, it looked like he was going to lash out, but instead, he turned his gaze to the floor, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"Do you think that makes it easier?" he said finally, his voice quiet but dripping with an edge that cut deep. "To know that you didn’t choose this? That you didn’t remember me?" He looked up at you again, his eyes burning. "I’ve waited, hoping you’d walk through that door again. I’ve kept your memory alive while you’ve… thrived here, in their city, with him."

His words were venomous, but the pain beneath them was unmistakable. It wasn’t just anger—it was heartbreak, raw, and exposed.

"Silco," you said, stepping closer, your voice softening. "I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to forget you. But here we are. You can hate me for it, but I swear, if I had known—"

"If you had known," he interrupted, his voice low and bitter, "would it have changed anything? Would you have stayed with me? Or would you have still ended up in his arms?"

The question hung in the air, suffocating, as Silco’s piercing gaze bore into you, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

"But yet, you keep coming back to me," Silco said, his voice low and unwavering as he stepped closer, closing the gap between you. His fingers reached for your face, lightly squishing your cheeks—not enough to hurt but enough to remind you of the power he held. His touch was commanding, a delicate show of dominance that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your breath hitched as his gaze locked with yours, intense and unreadable. But then his eyes softened, catching the flicker of fear in your own. The change was almost imperceptible, but it was there. Silco released the pressure on your cheeks, his hand shifting to gently caress your face, the warmth of his palm grounding you.

"You fear me," he murmured, almost like a confession. The tenderness in his tone was disarming, at odds with the tension that had filled the room just moments ago. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips hovering near yours. "Don't be, love."

You froze, your body betraying the chaos in your mind. The air between you was charged, but as his lips inched closer, you instinctively leaned back just a fraction, your heart racing. His hand remained on your cheek, steady and unyielding.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, caught in a silent battle of wills. And then, when he leaned in again, you closed the distance, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, but it quickly deepened, the weight of unspoken emotions spilling into the connection. His other hand came to rest at the small of your back, pulling you closer as his lips moved against yours with a fervour that matched the intensity of his presence.

It was a kiss that demanded answers and gave none, a meeting of past and present colliding in a storm of conflicted feelings. You didn’t know what it meant, but in that moment, neither of you cared.

The intensity of the kiss quickly overwhelmed you, your thoughts dissolving into the moment. Silco pressed closer, his hand sliding to your waist as he deepened the kiss with an urgency that sent a thrill through your body. You barely noticed your back meeting the cool surface of the wall until it was too late, his frame crowding yours, taking full control of the space between you.

His lips never left yours, moving with a fervour that spoke of years of longing and frustration. His hand slipped to your hip, his fingers pressing firmly, grounding you in the reality of the moment. The other hand braced against the wall near your head, caging you in but not in a way that felt threatening—his proximity was intoxicating, a reminder of how much he consumed you, even now.

"Silco," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely audible, trembling with a mix of emotions you couldn't name.

He paused for a fraction of a second, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy. His piercing eyes searched yours, his expression torn between hunger and something deeper, something that almost looked like pain.

"You drive me mad," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "Do you even realize what you do to me?"

Before you could respond, his lips found yours again, his kiss filled with a desperation that mirrored the turmoil in your chest. You melted into him, your hands instinctively clutching his coat, pulling him closer despite the chaos of your emotions.

In that moment, amidst the heat of his touch and the rush of emotions flooding your mind, a truth that you had been avoiding hit you hard. Despite everything—despite the chaos, the danger, the guilt—you had always kept coming back to him. You had always been drawn to him, unable to resist the pull he had on you, even when you tried to walk away.

You had told yourself time and time again that you couldn't be with him, that there was too much at stake. But here you were, tangled in his arms once more, giving in to a desire that you couldn't deny.

"What are you doing to me, Silco?" you whispered, breathless, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, the weight of your words hanging between you.

"No matter how hard I try to stay away, I always end up like this. With you."

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 3.5k words

↳➛ Summary:

With distant memories now at reach, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: MDNI! 18+

explicit/sexual content, sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

The soft glow of the mirror illuminated your reflection as you adjusted the strap of your long, sultry black dress. The open back left your skin exposed, a deliberate statement of elegance and confidence. You leaned closer, making a final check of your makeup, ensuring every detail was flawless for Councilor Salo’s gala.

As you straightened and composed yourself, lost in thought about the evening ahead, warm hands rested gently on your shoulders. You felt the faint pressure of lips pressing a kiss to the exposed skin of your back, sending a shiver up your spine.

"You look beautiful," Viktor murmured, his voice soft and tinged with admiration. What did you do to even deserve him? He rested his chin lightly on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your waist as he gazed at your reflection in the mirror.

For a moment, the two of you stood like that, admiring your reflections framed by the soft lighting. His amber eyes held a quiet adoration as they lingered on your face, and the corners of his lips tugged upward in a small, genuine smile.

"Thank you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced at his reflection. You reached up to place your hand over his where it envelopes around you, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

Viktor’s grip around your waist tightened slightly, pulling you closer. "Tonight, they’ll honour your brilliance," he said, his tone gentle but proud. "But don’t forget—it’s not just your mind that leaves people in awe."

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. "Flatterer."

He hummed, his lips brushing your shoulder one last time before he stepped back slightly, giving you space to adjust yourself.

"Only when it’s deserved," he said, his voice carrying a trace of playfulness.

You turned to face him fully, taking in the sight of him. Though he always had an air of quiet intellect, there was something about the way he looked tonight—perhaps it was the way his attire suited him so perfectly, or the warmth in his gaze. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

"Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm.

You nodded, slipping your hand through his arm as the two of you prepared to leave. But as you walked toward the door, a nagging thought stirred in the back of your mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

"You look beautiful."

The words echoed in your memory, spoken in a voice different from Viktor’s. Silco’s voice.

You pushed the thought away, shaking it off as best as you could. Tonight wasn’t the time to dwell on the tangled mess of your past. Tonight was about the life you’d built here, about celebrating your achievements.

But as you stepped out into the night with Viktor by your side, the weight of your choices—and the echoes of what had been left behind—lingered just beneath the surface.

The first few days after your return to Piltover were a blur, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and unresolved questions. You hadn’t been ready to face everything—not Silco’s lingering presence in your mind, nor Viktor’s warmth waiting for you back here.

When you arrived, Viktor greeted you with open arms and a look of relief. His joy had been infectious, but when he leaned in to kiss you, you couldn’t do it. You’d turned your face just slightly at the last second, his lips brushing your cheek instead of your own.

"I’m sorry," you’d murmured, your voice weary. "It’s just... I'm too tired right now. I’m exhausted."

Viktor, ever patient, had nodded, his brow furrowing slightly as he stepped back. "Of course. You’ve been through a lot. Take all the time you need." He said as he gave you little pats at the back, hoping to comfort you.

And so he had. Viktor had given you space, never prying too deeply, though you could tell he had questions. You’d offered him fragments of your background—just enough to satisfy his curiosity but never enough to reveal the whole truth. You’d mentioned someone from your past, someone who haunted your dreams, but you hadn’t dared to say more. Not about Silco. Not yet.

Now, standing here with Viktor’s arm around you, his earlier patience felt like a distant memory, replaced by an intimacy you weren’t sure how to navigate. You hadn’t fully processed your feelings, hadn’t decided what path to take, and yet here you were, caught in a web of your own making.

Hate him or not, you could never deny the sheer extravagance of Councilor Salo’s gala. The grandeur of it all was almost overwhelming—the high ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers, the opulent decorations, and the symphony playing softly in the background. It was more than just an event; it was a spectacle.

To be invited to this gala was an honour, but to be recognized as one of Piltover Academy’s rising inventors? That was something else entirely. You couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride as you stepped into the venue, the chatter of Piltover’s elite filling the air around you.

The moment you entered, a pair of butlers approached, escorting you further inside. They moved with precision, offering a polished efficiency that matched the night’s sophistication. You barely had time to take in the splendour of the room before a drink was placed in your hand—something sparkling and golden, no doubt expensive.

Glancing around, you caught sight of a few familiar faces—colleagues from the Academy who waved you over with polite smiles. You joined their circle, exchanging pleasantries and light conversation about the evening’s festivities.

"Impressive turnout this year," one of them remarked, swirling his glass thoughtfully.

"It’s not every day we’re surrounded by Piltover’s finest minds and deepest pockets," you replied with a smirk, earning a chuckle from the group.

As the conversation shifted to more technical topics, you found yourself attracting the attention of a few potential investors. They approached with genuine interest, inquiring about your latest projects and theories. It was invigorating to discuss your work with people who seemed eager to support your vision, and for a while, you forgot the weight that had been pressing on you earlier.

You explained your recent breakthroughs, your passion shining through as you spoke. The investors nodded along, their expressions thoughtful, and you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. This could be the start of something big—a chance to bring your ideas to life on a grand scale.

After what felt like an hour of networking and discussions, you glanced across the room and spotted Viktor. He was engaged in his own conversations, gesturing animatedly as he spoke with a small group of people. His posture was relaxed, but his sharp mind was evident in the way he held their attention.

You watched him for a moment, a faint smile tugging at your lips. This was his element as much as yours—a world of intellect and ambition, of dreams turning into reality.

Deciding not to interrupt, you turned your attention back to the room, letting the atmosphere of the gala envelop you. Tonight was about celebration and recognition, and for now, you intended to embrace it fully.

You didn’t even realize how much champagne—or whatever fancy concoction they were serving—you had indulged in until the faint hum of tipsiness began to creep in. The bubbly drink was good, too good, and it left you feeling a little lighter, a little less grounded than you’d intended.

The realization struck you when the familiar urge to use the restroom hit. You excused yourself from the current conversation and began weaving your way through the crowd, navigating the sea of laughter and chatter with practiced grace despite the slight buzz in your head.

You were almost at the restroom when a voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

"If it isn’t Heimerdinger’s prodigy," Councilor Salo said, his tone smooth yet carrying that unmistakable air of authority.

You turned to find him standing a few steps away, flanked by a pair of aides who seemed more like decorations than actual companions. He held a drink in one hand, his other gesturing toward you as though presenting you to an unseen audience.

"Councilor," you greeted politely, offering a slight nod.

He smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and took a step closer. "I must thank you for gracing my humble gala with your presence," he said, his voice dripping with charm that felt just a little too practiced.

"The honour is mine," you replied, maintaining your composure despite the faint flush you felt creeping up your neck.

His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and then he chuckled. "That dress," he said, his eyes flicking over you briefly before meeting yours again. "Stunning. I can see why Heimerdinger has such high praise for you—you’ve certainly... turned heads tonight."

The way he said it—accompanied by a sly smile—made your stomach tighten, the compliment walking a fine line between flattery and something far less pleasant. He laughed lightly as though to wave it off as a harmless joke, but it left a sour taste in your mouth.

You smiled politely, choosing your words carefully. "Thank you, Councilor Salo. I’m glad to hear my work is appreciated." You gave a slight incline of your head, keeping your tone neutral, before adding, "If you’ll excuse me, I was just on my way to freshen up."

He raised his glass slightly in acknowledgement, his smile never wavering. "Of course. Enjoy the rest of your evening, my dear."

You turned and continued toward the restroom, your steps a touch quicker now, feeling quite franctic now. Behind you, the Councilor’s voice faded into the background as he moved on to another guest, leaving you to process the interaction.

Once inside the restroom, you exhaled deeply, gripping the edge of the sink for a moment as you steadied yourself. The champagne’s buzz, the Councilor’s comment, the sheer weight of the evening - it was all starting to feel like a lot.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your eyes catching the faint glimmer of determination in your gaze. You were here for a reason, a purpose, and no lingering discomfort from an overeager Councilor was going to take that away from you. You have to collect yourself together. After all, the gala's purpose is to celebrate what you have to offer to Piltover.

"Lightheaded already?" a low, familiar voice teased, startling you out of your thoughts. "I’m afraid you’re not even halfway through the night yet."

Taken aback, you spun toward the source of the voice. You were startled. Shit.

Silco.

Silco stood there, leaning casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his sharp features illuminated by the soft light. His eyes seemed to pierce right through you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your chest tightened as you stared at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief washing over you. What is he even doing here? you thought. Or maybe… maybe I’m just drunk. Is he real? Fuck. I had too refreshment. Pick up yourself.

You barely had a moment to process before the sound of the bathroom’s lock clicking shut broke through your haze, snapping you back to reality.

"Silco," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you. "What.. what are you doing here?"

He took a step closer, his presence commanding as always. "Shouldn’t I be asking you the same thing?" he replied smoothly, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin prickle. "A Piltover gala doesn’t exactly seem like your… natural habitat."

You crossed your arms, trying to ground yourself. "I could say the same about you," you shot back.

His smirk widened ever so slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Touché," he said, his tone light yet laced with something deeper. "Let’s just say I have my reasons. But you…" He stepped closer still until there was barely any space between you, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You’re full of surprises. I never imagined seeing you here, among Piltover’s finest."

You swallowed hard, your mind racing. The fuck is he up to? The last thing you’d expected tonight was to run into him—here of all places.

"I’m here for my work," you said, your voice firm despite the flicker of nerves.

"Of course," he murmured, his tone unreadable. His gaze softened slightly as he looked at you, taking in the elegance of your dress, the way you held yourself even under his scrutiny. "You’ve always had a way of standing out, haven’t you?"

You turned your head slightly, trying to avoid the intensity of his stare, but his presence was impossible to ignore.

"Why are you really here, Silco?" You asked, needing something—anything—to distract from the weight of the moment.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and almost dangerous.

"Let’s just say I have an interest in tonight’s guest list. But now that I’m here…" He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "You’re far more intriguing than I expected this evening to be."

Your breath caught as the weight of his words hung in the air. The room suddenly felt smaller, the tension between you thick and inescapable. Whatever the reason for his presence, it was clear Silco had no intention of leaving you to finish the night without crossing paths again.

"Nice dress," Silco murmured, his voice low and laced with something dangerous, his eyes raking over you with purpose. "It’s a shame you won’t need it anymore."

Before you could even fully register his words, his lips crashed against yours. The force of it caught you off guard, and for a moment, you froze. But the heat of the moment, the weight of unresolved emotions, and the electric pull between you made it impossible to resist.

Your hands instinctively gripped his coat, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, his intensity consuming you. Silco’s hands moved to your waist, firm and deliberate, lifting you effortlessly. He placed you on the edge of the sink, your back hitting the mirror with a faint thud that echoed in the quiet bathroom.

The sound made you tense briefly, but Silco didn’t falter. His lips moved against yours hungrily, almost as if trying to make up for all the years lost between you. One hand slid up your side, grazing the exposed skin of your back, while the other steadied you, his grip firm, but not rough.

The clinking of the mirror against the wall was loud in the confined space, but the world outside—the bustling gala, the conversations, the music—felt impossibly far away. Everyone was too busy to notice what was happening behind the locked door.

Your breaths grew heavier as his lips trailed down your jaw, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Your mind raced, caught between the desire surging through you and the faint voice of reason whispering somewhere in the background.

"Silco," you managed to breathe out, your voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze burning with a mix of passion and something deeper—something that had been left unspoken for far too long. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his breathing as uneven as yours.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice rough, his forehead resting against yours. "And I will."

But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him back in, your lips meeting his with renewed fervour, losing yourself in the moment, in him, in everything you thought you had lost.

You audibly gasped as he moved his hand up your dress and teasingly rubbed you through your lace underwear. Who knows your instincts were right to wear that?

“Sil...” You moaned. "'Silco"

"Quiet” He slammed his lips to yours to muffle your moans.

Pushing your underwear to the side, Silco ran his fingers along your folds slowly, causing you to whimper and wrap your legs around his waist, an act of safety and a hint of possessiveness. You then ran your fingers through his hair, making a mess of his usual slicked back hairstyle. Oh, how you love his hair.

Forcefully entering two fingers on your insides, you slammed your head against his shoulder - a reaction from the sudden action. You bit down on his shoulder, hoping to aid the urge to scream. He sucked and bit on your neck in return as he curled his fingers, pumping in and out your flesh, finding your sweet spot.

“Is this for me?” He smirked, pertaining to your soaked cunt.

"Silco, please.." You managed to mutter. "Fuck."

"Use your words, love."

Silco immediately sensed that you were coming nearer and nearer to your peak, and before you could even let off, he pulled out and sucked his fingers dry.

He pulled back slightly, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he admired the sight before him. Your hair was tousled, your lips swollen, and your chest rising and falling with each breath. You were a mess—a beautiful mess—and it was all his doing.

His gaze flicked to your neck, where faint marks already bloomed against your skin, evidence of his fervour. He reached out, running a finger lightly over one of them, making you shiver.

"Shit," you muttered, your hand flying up to touch your neck as realization hit. The marks were visible—too visible. You couldn’t go back out there looking like this.

Silco raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Why?" he drawled, his voice low and teasing. "Don’t you want people to know you belong to me?"

You shot him a glare, your cheeks flushing even more. "This is an official event," you said, your tone defensive as you slid off the sink and adjusted your dress. "I can’t just waltz out there looking like this. It’s unprofessional."

Silco chuckled softly, stepping closer and placing his hands on either side of you, effectively trapping you against the counter. His mismatched eyes locked onto yours, amusement dancing in their depths. "Unprofessional? Since when did you care so much about appearances, love?"

"Since this is a gala dedicated to my work," you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way his proximity made your pulse race. "I still need to go back out there and face investors, colleagues—people who don’t need to see… this." You gestured vaguely to your neck.

Silco tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "If anyone asks, tell them the truth," he murmured. "That you’re mine."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned to the mirror. "I’ll tell them I bumped into something," you muttered under your breath, fumbling to adjust your appearance.

He leaned back, watching you with a mix of amusement and something deeper. "You’re as stubborn as ever," he said, his tone almost affectionate.

You glanced at him through the mirror, catching the faintest hint of pride in his expression. Despite the chaos of the moment, part of you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him all over again. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. You had a gala to survive—and questions to avoid.

As you were making yourself look decent, smoothing your dress and fussing over the marks on your neck, Silco’s hand snaked behind you, slipping under the fabric of your long gown. You froze, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your bare skin.

"Silco," you said in a warning tone, but he ignored you, his smirk widening as he smoothly pulled your underwear down and out from under your dress.

"What the hell are you doing?" you hissed, spinning around to face him, but he held the delicate fabric up with an air of triumph.

Before you could grab it back, he brought it to his face and inhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on yours with a look that sent shivers down your spine. His expression was nothing short of smug as he folded the garment and slipped it into his coat pocket.

"I think I’ll keep this," He said casually.

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to find the words to respond, but all you could manage was a sharp glare. "Silco, give it back. Now."

"Why should I?" he countered, his voice low and laced with amusement. "Consider it a souvenir. Something to remind me of tonight."

You took a step closer, your cheeks burning, equal parts anger and embarrassment flooding your senses. "I still have to go back out there, and you’re making this impossible."

"That’s the point," he murmured, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. "I want you to remember me while you’re out there, mingling with those self-important fools."

You stared at him, torn between frustration and a strange, undeniable thrill that his actions stirred within you. Finally, you huffed, turning back to the mirror with a muttered, "You’re impossible."

He chuckled softly, stepping back but watching you with that same infuriatingly smug expression. "Go ahead, darling," he said, gesturing toward the door.

"Let’s see how well you keep your composure tonight."

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕾𝖎𝖝

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 4.2k words

↳➛ Summary:

After losing your memory and barely surviving the uprising against Piltover, you now find yourself on a quest for answers.

Now, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: explicit/sexual content, sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

The soft hum of the jukebox filled the otherwise empty bar, The Last Drop - a rare moment of peace before the chaos of the crowd. You stood by the machine, a little smile on your face as you picked a song, one that felt right for the moment. It was your personal favourite. As the first notes played, you saw Felicia moving to the beat in the background, swaying gracefully. It was one of those rare mornings when there were no customers yet, just the early hours before the day would truly begin.

You couldn’t resist joining her. With a playful grin, you joined her to dance, your body moving with the rhythm. Your moves matched one another, and just in time, you gave her a twirl, matching the music's tempo. Felicia laughed and gave you a twirl in return, her movements as fluid as ever. The two of you danced together, carefree, lost in the moment.

Then, as Felicia spun you once more, something unexpected happened. You were caught mid-turn, bumping into someone's chest like as if an accidental embrace. Then, there it is. Silco’s arms wrapped around you, catching you just in time. He looked down at you, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Glad I caught you,” he murmured, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing in a playful challenge. “Thought you’d let me slip away.”

His grin deepened, a glint of something darker in his gaze. “Never.”

And with that, the dance proceeded with just the two of you. Felicia owned the floor, but in that moment, you were lost in Silco’s embrace, guiding you through the dance, the world around you fading away.

The Last Drop was practically deserted, the morning light filtering in through the dusty windows. Vander had stepped out for the moment, leaving you and Silco to pretend at bartending, goofing around, while Felicia spun around the back of the room, humming to herself like she owned the place. You leaned casually against the counter, watching Silco as he scanned the rows of bottles, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as if he were plotting something.

With a playful gleam in your eye, you straightened up and slid behind the bar, pretending to get serious about your 'bartending duties.'

"So, Silco," you said in a low, dramatic voice, "what’s your poison? I imagine you’ve got a taste for something... strong."

He raised an eyebrow, not taking you seriously for a moment, but then his lips curled into a small smile. "I could ask you the same, but I get the feeling you're just trying to stir up trouble."

"Me? You silly." You placed a hand over your chest in mock offense. "Never." You glanced at the bottles, pretending to deliberate before turning back to him with a mischievous grin. "Come on, what drink does someone like you prefer? A man of mystery, danger, and... charm, I’m sure you’ve got a favorite."

He leaned back against the bar, crossing his arms, and gave a quiet laugh, looking at you like you were the last person he’d expect to take this seriously. "I’m not the type for drinking games," he said dryly. "But I suppose a glass of whiskey wouldn’t be a mistake."

You reached for a bottle, pretending to carefully measure the pour but clearly making a show of it. As you slid the glass over to him, you couldn’t resist teasing a bit more. "What brings a man like you alone in here?" You said flirtatiously.

Silco blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. His gaze softened just a touch, and then he leaned in, his voice almost amused as he replied, "I have a girlfriend, actually."

You raised an eyebrow and leaned closer, just enough for the playful tension to build. "A girlfriend? How lucky she must be," you replied, keeping the tone playful.

For a beat, silence hung between you two. Then, before either of you could say more, you both burst out laughing. It wasn’t loud, but it was real—genuine, free of the usual weight of the world hanging on your shoulders. Felicia, catching the mood, stopped her dance mid-spin, giggling along with you both.

"Careful," she teased, tapping her fingers on the counter as she winked. "You two are starting to look like trouble."

Silco’s laughter lingered for a moment longer before he straightened up, taking the drink you gave him with a mock sigh. "Guess I’m the lucky one, huh?"

"You definitely are," you said, the warmth of the laughter still hanging between you.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The warmth of the laughter still lingered in your chest as you slowly woke up, the dream still vivid in your mind, as if it had happened only moments ago. You could almost feel the hum of the Last Drop's atmosphere, the teasing between you and Silco, the easy camaraderie shared over whiskey and lighthearted banter. But the dream faded as reality crept in, and you found yourself lying in a dim room that didn’t feel like your own.

You blinked a few times, trying to piece together where you were, your head fuzzy from the dream—no, memory, surely. The room looked... familiar. The sharp, almost clinical smell of chemicals, the faint hum of mechanical devices, the shadowed corners, and the quiet stillness that marked a space rarely used. Your mind raced as it all clicked into place.

You were in Silco’s room.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. The memories from your past—the rally - the moment you thought you’d lost him forever.. But, the life you had rebuilt in Piltover, Viktor... Damn this life. The lingering connection to Silco, to Zaun, to the part of your life that had never truly gone away—it all felt too real. Everything you had once forgotten was now coming back with overwhelming clarity.

Shit. Now you know who Silco is.

And that was the least of your worries.

The question that followed sent a sharp pang through your chest—What about Viktor?

It's crazy. You spent basically the entirety of your life, well at least since you can't remember - trying to ponder and find out who you really are. And here you are. In Silco’s room. Your old friend. Your best friend. Your old flame. With the mere memory of him now, everything would be easier to piece together. But, here's the problem: What about your present life? Piltover, your privileges and grants, Viktor...

It's like if when you found a fragment from your past, you're now facing a problem with your present. How will you handle everything now? Ah, shit.

You had kept everything with him simple—comfortable. But now, you found yourself questioning what you had with him, the weight of your past with Silco pushing against the life you had begun to carve out with Viktor. The complexity of your feelings, the haunted memories, and the ever-present pull between your two worlds seemed impossible to reconcile.

How could you continue with Viktor, knowing what you’d just remembered? How could you move forward when Silco had become part of the picture again?

You closed your eyes for a moment, your breath catching as you fought to sort through the swirling emotions. But even as you tried to ground yourself, there was no denying it. The world you thought you knew, the life you had built, was crumbling in the face of truths long buried. Honestly, you could use a loud scream right now.

And in that moment, the last thing you expected was to feel a tug of longing—a need to return to that place where you and Silco shared a moment of laughter, a shared sense of something real.

The question that kept repeating in your mind was no longer just about Viktor or your past. It was about who you were, where you belonged, and what this unexpected reunion with Silco meant for the future.

The thought of Viktor lingered like a shadow, his face flickering in your mind as you lay there, tangled in the sheets and lost in your own thoughts. You had promised him you'd be back—promised to return to your life in Piltover, to continue your work together, to keep things simple and uncomplicated. But now, as fragments of your past with Silco resurfaced, everything felt like it was unravelling.

What would Viktor think if he knew the truth? What would he say if he found out that the person you had become—the person you’d built your life around in Piltover—was intricately tied to Silco? The man from your past. The man you thought you had lost. The man you now found yourself sharing the same bed with in the very room that felt like it was soaked in memories of a life you couldn't quite remember.

You sat up slowly, wrapping the sheet around yourself for some semblance of comfort as your thoughts raced. Silco's reaction was impossible to predict. The last time you saw him—before everything had fallen apart—he had been cold, distant, hardened by years of fighting and survival. But that night... the night that you shared more than a kiss, something had shifted. There was a raw intensity between you two, something neither of you had expected to feel again.

But what did it mean? Was it just a fleeting moment of weakness, a brief slip into old habits, or was it a sign that something had been reignited between you two? Silco was still as guarded as ever, though there was an unfamiliar warmth in his eyes when he looked at you—something that felt almost... hopeful. Did he still care for you? Did he think that this was the beginning of something, or was it just another piece of unfinished business?

Your heart ached just thinking about it.

And then there was Viktor. What had you been doing with him all this time, if not trying to move forward? What would happen when he inevitably discovered that your past and present were colliding in ways neither of you had planned for?

You couldn't keep lying to Viktor—not forever. He deserved more than that. But Silco was part of you in a way you couldn't easily explain, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push him out of your mind.

The questions gnawed at you: How would Viktor react if he found out? How would Silco respond to you leaving again, this time with more than just your memories to reconcile?

You had no answers. All you had were fragments. You were caught between two worlds, each tugging you in different directions. It felt like no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape your past—whether you wanted to or not.

You didn’t even hear him enter until his voice sliced through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality.

"You're awake," Silco said, his deep voice carrying through the room like an undercurrent as he rounded the space with his usual intimidating presence. The harshness of the morning light barely filtered through the room’s dusty windows, but he reached for the curtains anyway, pulling them back just slightly to let a little sun in. It was almost a gesture of care—subtle but there. You couldn’t help but notice how easy it felt to be around him in that moment, despite everything.

He paused at the end of the bed, leaning casually against the frame with his arms crossed, eyes studying you as if he were weighing something he couldn’t quite place. The way he looked at you, however, made the breath in your lungs hitch for a moment. There was something familiar in that gaze, something that made it feel like everything from last night—the heat, the tension, the rawness—was still very much alive in the air between you.

"How was your sleep?" His voice was quieter this time, more personal, almost as if he were genuinely asking, and there was a softness in his tone you hadn’t expected.

You were about to answer, to say something, but before you could, his gaze softened even more. He leaned in just slightly, his eyes trailing over you as though he was reacquainting himself with a part of you that had been lost for far too long. He didn't speak for a moment, letting the silence linger until he finally broke it with something that made your heart skip a beat.

"You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and almost reverent, as though he hadn’t expected the words to sound so sincere. "Just like the last time I saw you."

The weight of those words sank deep into your chest. Beautiful? It almost felt too much, too complicated to take in. You hadn’t expected to hear that from him, not now, not after everything. But there was no denying the sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes lingered on you with a rawness that had once been so familiar, so natural between you two.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond, unsure of how to even look at him with everything flooding back. What did he mean by that? Was he saying it because of the moment between you two last night, or was it something deeper, something that stretched back to the past?

The silence between you two grew thick, and you could feel the tension building again. This was the moment where everything hung in the balance—your past with him, the confusion you were still working through, the pull between the life you had with Viktor and the one that had never truly let you go.

The words slipped out before you could stop them, fragments of your dream weaving their way into reality. You didn’t even fully realize what you were saying until the weight of it hit you.

"You're Silco."

"Correct."

"We used to smoke together a lot. Play bartender. Dance together..." You trailed off, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time in years, trying to piece together the hazy memories that now felt far too real. "You're Bozo #1. My bozo."

Silco froze at the mention of those moments. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his features, but there was something else there too—something deeper. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, the slight tremor in his hands as he gripped the edge of the bed. He wasn’t expecting this, you could tell.

And then, as if he couldn’t hold it in any longer, he spoke. His voice was low, heavy with a sense of gravity that made your heart tighten in your chest.

"We're more than that. We're everything." His words hung in the air like a weight, each syllable heavy with the emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to express in years. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing and intense, and for a fleeting moment, the room seemed to shrink around you both.

"You were my everything."

The confession, the rawness of it, struck you in a way you weren’t prepared for. It was like everything—every lost moment, every lost piece of time—had come rushing back to him. And with that, to you. He had always been a mystery, so guarded and careful with his emotions, but now, it was as if the walls had come down, leaving nothing but the truth between you two.

You felt the weight of his words settle in your chest. You were my everything.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, how to respond. The pull of the past, the undeniable bond between you two, was stronger now than ever. But where did that leave you? Where did it leave Viktor? And how could you even begin to navigate the mess of emotions swirling inside you?

You swallowed hard, trying to find the words that would make sense of everything, but all you could do was stare at him, lost in the intensity of his gaze. It was as if he was waiting for you to say something, anything—anything to acknowledge the truth of what had always been between you.

But all you could do was breathe, your heart racing in your chest, as the weight of the moment settled heavily between you both.

Silco shifted closer, his movements slow and deliberate as he sat on the bed facing you. His gaze never left yours, an intensity behind his eyes that spoke of years of lost time and unspoken words. For a moment, the weight of everything—the past, the present, the tangled emotions—seemed to fade into the background. All that remained was him and you.

"But you were taken away from me," he said softly, his voice heavy with the weight of that simple truth. His words felt like a wound reopened, raw and painful, but there was something else there too—something that wasn’t just sorrow but yearning, regret, and perhaps even hope.

Before you could respond, he reached for you, pulling you into him with a force that startled you, but you didn’t resist. In his arms, it felt like time had folded in on itself, and for a brief moment, the world outside didn’t exist.

"I have no intention to let that happen again." He added.

You could feel the heat of his body against yours. The feeling of your bare skin grazing his clothed skin reminded you of the steamy, chaotic night that had come before, a night that had blurred the lines between your past and present. His hands were gentle yet firm, as if holding onto something precious, something he thought he had lost for good.

You hugged him back instinctively, the comfort of his touch enveloping you in a way that you hadn’t expected. It was as if a part of you that had been missing for so long was finally being filled, that strange, comforting warmth that had once been so familiar.

It didn’t matter that you weren’t sure of everything yet—that you couldn’t make sense of all the confusion swirling in your chest. In that moment, you allowed yourself to simply feel. His arms around you, the steady rhythm of his breath, the way he held you like he was afraid you might slip away again—it all felt like a lifeline.

The distance between you, both physical and emotional, had always been a barrier, something you had never quite crossed. But now, it felt as if that line had been erased, replaced by something more tangible, something that was impossible to ignore. Silco wasn’t just someone from your past anymore—he was here, in this moment, with you.

You closed your eyes, sinking into the embrace, allowing yourself to feel the comfort and security you hadn’t realized you were missing. Whatever the future held—whatever choices you had yet to make—you knew, in that instant, that the connection between you and Silco had never truly been broken. It had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting for this moment. And now, you were both here, together.

For a moment, you let yourself forget the complicated paths ahead, and simply let yourself be.

Silco pulled back slightly from the hug, his hands lingering on you as if he wasn’t ready to let go completely. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. His expression was tender, his mismatched eyes soft with an emotion you hadn’t seen in him before—or perhaps you had long ago. One hand rose to your hair, fingers gently brushing through the strands in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

You didn’t think. You didn’t plan. You simply leaned forward, closing the small distance between you, and pressed your lips to his. It was impulsive, a burst of emotion you couldn’t contain, and for a split second, you worried he might pull away. But he didn’t.

Silco froze at first, startled by your action, but the surprise melted away as he leaned into the kiss, his lips moving with yours in a way that felt both familiar and electric. His hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you closer. He shifted back slightly, pulling you to straddle him. The movement sent the blanket slipping off your body, leaving your bare skin exposed to the cool air, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs.

Silco’s arms wrapped firmly around you, his hands sliding up your sides, exploring the curve of your body as the kiss deepened. His touch was deliberate but not rushed, like he wanted to savour every moment, every inch of you. His fingertips trailed your skin, leaving a warmth in their wake that contrasted with the chill of the room.

The intensity of the kiss grew, your hands tangling in his hair as his lips claimed yours with a fervour that made your heart race. It was as if years of separation, of longing, of unspoken emotions were pouring out all at once. Each kiss, each touch, carried the weight of what had been lost and the desperation to hold onto it now.

You pressed yourself closer to him, feeling the steady strength of his body beneath yours, his breath mixing with yours in the charged air between you. The way he held you, the way he kissed you, made it clear that in this moment, you were the only thing that mattered to him.

For a fleeting moment, everything else faded—the complications, the questions, the choices you’d have to make. All that existed was the warmth of his arms around you, the fire between you, and the overwhelming feeling of being exactly where you were meant to be.

The kiss lingered in the air even after it broke, both of you breathing heavily, facing mere inches apart. Your hands rested on his shoulders as you looked into his eyes, your heart warring with your mind. Silco’s gaze was soft yet searching, as if he was trying to decipher the meaning behind your sudden pause.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his intense gaze despite the storm of emotions brewing inside you. There was love in his eyes, undeniable and raw, but there was also a hint of vulnerability—something you hadn’t expected to see in him.

"I'm afraid I can't stay here in Zaun," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly, the words feeling heavier with every syllable.

Silco’s expression shifted subtly, the softness hardening just a fraction as the meaning of your words began to sink in. He didn’t pull away from you, but his hands, which had been caressing your sides moments ago, stilled.

"Why?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm. There was no anger in his tone, only a mix of confusion and something deeper—hurt, perhaps, though he masked it well.

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain the mess of emotions swirling inside you. How could you tell him about the life you had built in Piltover, about Viktor, about the dreams that had haunted you and led you back to this place? How could you make him understand that while a part of you yearned to stay, another part of you was terrified of what that would mean?

"I have a life in Piltover," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "A life that I’ve worked so hard to build... and someone who’s waiting for me."

At the mention of someone else, Silco’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he said nothing, his gaze fixed on you.

"But being here, with you... it feels like I’m remembering pieces of myself I didn’t even know were missing," you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. "I don’t know what to do with that."

Silco let out a slow breath, his hands moving to rest on your hips, steadying you as if grounding himself in the moment. His mismatched eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it looked as though he was about to argue, to try and convince you to stay. But then he seemed to catch himself, his expression softening again.

"You’ve always been torn between worlds," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Even before all of this. But..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. "If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I understand the circumstances you're going through. But don’t think for a second that I’ve given up on us. I have eyes in Piltover."

The raw conviction in his words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew that leaving wouldn’t be easy—neither for him nor for you. But the weight of your choices was something only you could bear, and the path forward was far from clear.

You leaned your forehead against his for a moment, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, "I don’t want to hurt you, Silco. I just... I need time to figure out where I belong. I need time."

Silco’s hands tightened slightly on your hips, but he nodded, the tension in his body palpable. "Take all the time you need," he said, his voice steady despite the pain behind it. "Just promise me one thing—don’t forget what we had. What we still have."

You nodded, your heart heavy as you closed your eyes, committing the feel of him, the sound of his voice, to memory. Whatever came next, you knew this moment would stay with you forever.

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕱𝖎𝖛𝖊

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 5.1k words

↳➛ Summary:

After losing your memory and barely surviving the uprising against Piltover, you now find yourself on a quest for answers.

Now, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: profane language, sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

The soft light of morning spilt through the curtains, warming Viktor's apartment as you stirred awake. The faint hum of activity drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. You stretched lazily, the oversized blanket slipping from your shoulders as you sat up, yawning.

The sound of clinking dishes drew your attention, and you smiled softly, already knowing who it was. Sliding out of bed, you made your way barefoot towards the kitchen.

There he was, standing by the stove, a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. His golden eyes were focused as he worked, his movements precise yet relaxed. His tousled hair caught the soft glow of the morning sun, making him look almost ethereal.

“Good morning,” you said softly, leaning against the doorway.

Viktor glanced over his shoulder, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you. “Good morning,” he replied, his voice warm and tinged with that endearing accent. “Breakfast is almost ready. Sit, I’ll bring it to you.”

You crossed the room instead, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting your cheek against his back. He stilled for a moment, then chuckled softly, setting the spatula down so he could place a hand over yours.

“Good sleep?” he teased, though his tone was light and affectionate.

“Maybe,” you murmured, breathing in the familiar scent of him—soap, faintly metallic oil, and something uniquely Viktor. “I'm giving you all the credits.”

He turned in your arms, his hand gently tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. His smile softened, and before you could say anything else, he leaned down to kiss you. It was slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made the rest of the world fade away.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Sit,” he said again, his voice quieter but insistent. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You reluctantly let him go, moving to sit at the table while he plated the food. A moment later, he set a steaming mug of coffee in front of you, followed by a plate of bacon and waffles.

“Thank you,” you said, watching him as he finally joined you with his own cup.

The two of you ate in companionable silence for a while, the clinking of utensils and the occasional comment filling the space. But as you finished your coffee, you set the mug down and took a deep breath.

“I need to talk to you about something,” you said, your voice soft but steady.

Viktor’s gaze lifted to meet yours, his brow furrowing slightly. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve decided to go back to Zaun,” you admitted, watching his expression carefully.

The words seemed to land heavily between you. Viktor froze for a moment, the concern in his eyes quickly turning to something deeper—worry, perhaps even fear. “You’re serious about this? I'm not opposing this idea, but have you thought this through?”

“I am,” you said gently, reaching out to take his hand. “I need to figure out what these dreams mean. I need to understand where I came from, Viktor. I can’t keep running from it.”

His fingers tightened around yours as he processed your words. After a moment, he set his mug down and stood, pulling you up with him. His arms came around you tightly, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Zaun isn’t safe,” he murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. “If something happens to you…”

“I’ll be careful,” you promised, wrapping your arms around him in return. “I’ll come back. I promise.”

He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his golden eyes searching yours. “You’d better,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing across your cheek.

Then, as if he couldn’t hold back any longer, he kissed you. This time, it wasn’t soft or gentle—it was desperate and lingering, filled with all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“You have to come back,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Okay?"

“I will,” you said firmly, your hands covering his where they still cradled your face.

He didn’t let go immediately, holding you close as though trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he finally stepped back, his reluctance was clear, but he managed a small, determined smile.

“Then you’d better hurry,” he said, his voice tinged with quiet resolve. “But don’t forget—I’ll be waiting.”

You nodded, pressing one last kiss to his lips before stepping away. As you left the kitchen, Viktor’s gaze lingered on you, the weight of his silent plea following you.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

After your quiet breakfast with Viktor, the weight of your decision to return to Zaun began to settle heavily on your shoulders. You knew that it would be dangerous, but it was a risk you had to take. The dreams—haunting and fractured—had only intensified, pushing you toward answers that Piltover couldn’t provide. Viktor’s support was unwavering, but there was still a lingering tension in his eyes, a deep concern that you would be walking into danger.

You packed quickly, gathering a few essential items from your small apartment: a change of clothes, some tools, and your most important research materials. You didn’t know what you might encounter once you returned to Zaun, but you wanted to be prepared. You slipped the small vial of Dr. Reveck’s serum into your bag, just in case the potions he had used to save you could be of any further help. His work had kept you alive when you shouldn’t have been, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there were more answers hidden in the mysteries he had helped create.

Before you left, you made one last stop to speak with Dr. Reveck. The scientist was a quiet, methodical man, often wrapped up in his work in ways that made him hard to pin down. But today, he seemed more focused than usual, his lab dimly lit and filled with the hum of machinery. You entered slowly, hesitant, but he looked up from his work and waved you over, his sharp eyes glinting with curiosity.

“I trust you’re not here to ask me about more of my experiments?” he said with a hint of amusement, his hands adjusting a set of vials.

“No, not today,” you replied, your voice steady but tinged with apprehension. “I’m going back to Zaun.”

His gaze softened, and his lips tightened into a thin line. He knew the risks, though he wasn’t exactly one to voice concern. “Zaun is a dangerous place,” he said, his voice low but filled with that quiet urgency you had come to recognize. “You may find what you’re looking for... but you should know, it’s not a place for those who are unprepared. Not anymore.”

You nodded, accepting the truth in his words. “I know. But I need to find the answers. The dreams... They keep coming back, and I need to understand them.”

He studied you for a moment, his fingers stilling on the vials before him. “I don’t have much more to offer in terms of knowledge about the city. Zaun has changed, and its underground has become harder to navigate over the years. But there are places... places where the past lingers.” He paused, as though weighing his next words. “If you go, be cautious. The city's heart is more dangerous than ever, and its secrets are buried deep. There’s an old address, buried in my notes from the time I was there. It might help guide you.”

He handed you a small, weathered piece of paper with an address scrawled across it, the ink faint but legible. “This might be where you need to start. If you can find it.”

You tucked the note into your bag, feeling the weight of it in your hand. “Thank you, Dr. Reveck. For everything.”

He gave you a small nod, his expression unreadable, but his eyes filled with something deeper—concern, perhaps, or maybe regret. “I’ve only given you the tools to survive. What you choose to do with them is up to you.”

With a final look at the scientist, you left his lab, your heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead. Zaun was waiting, and with it, the answers that had been haunting you for so long.

You made your way through the city, making sure you had everything you needed for the journey ahead. The streets of Piltover felt like a distant memory as you moved closer to the underbelly of the city, where Zaun's smoky air and tangled alleys awaited. You knew that returning would mean diving back into the chaos into a place you had left behind. But the pull of the past was stronger than any fear, and you had no choice but to follow it.

As you walked, your thoughts returned to Viktor to his last words before you left. You could still hear his voice, filled with quiet concern, echoing in your mind. I’ll be here when you get back.

But you didn’t know when you would return—or if you would.

By the time you reached the edge of Zaun, the sun was beginning to dip low, casting a shadow over the industrial sprawl. The city smelled of oil, metal, and something far older, a scent that reminded you of home—if home could ever feel like anything but a place of loss.

The entrance to Zaun’s lower districts was barely noticeable, a narrow alleyway between two crumbling buildings hidden from the eyes of Piltover’s highborn. You passed through the archway, the dark, oppressive air of the undercity immediately swallowing you whole.

The streetlights flickered weakly, casting dim pools of light along the cracked streets. The sounds of the city—distant machinery, the hum of gas lamps, the quiet murmur of voices—felt foreign to you, yet undeniably familiar. You adjusted your pack and moved forward, the note from Dr. Reveck clutched tightly in your hand.

As you walked deeper into the heart of Zaun, the shadows seemed to close in around you. The streets were less crowded now, and the atmosphere was tense, charged with the heavy weight of secrets and unspoken histories. You followed the directions on the note, your mind racing as you approached the location Dr. Reveck had mentioned.

You clutched Dr. Reveck’s note tightly, the address leading you to The Lanes, an area known for its web of information, rumours, and whispers. The streets of Zaun, however, weren’t exactly straightforward, and as much as you wanted to get to the heart of things, you weren’t sure where to begin. The Lanes was vast, its alleys and hidden corners well-known to those who thrived in Zaun’s underbelly. You needed to take it slow, observe, and see what you could pick up from the locals.

The air was thick with the usual fumes, a mixture of smog, oil, and something else—burnt metal, perhaps? You pulled your collar up, trying to shield yourself from the stench as you wandered through the maze of streets. It didn’t take long before your stomach growled, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since the hurried breakfast with Viktor earlier. A small food stall caught your eye, its sign reading “Jericho’s” in chipped letters. The stall was simple enough: a makeshift counter, a sizzling pot of something on the stove, and a few scattered chairs where locals huddled over their meals.

"Jericho’s," you mumbled to yourself, thinking it couldn’t hurt to take a break. You had no immediate destination in mind anyway, and a small meal wouldn’t slow you down for long.

You approached the stall, and the grizzled individual behind the counter gave you a quick nod. "What’ll it be?" he asked, his voice gravelly but warm. The food smelled like a strange combination of spices and something sweet, a hint of comfort amidst the chaos of Zaun.

"I’ll take whatever’s good," you replied, offering a smile that felt out of place in this environment.

He nodded again and set to work, slinging meat into a pan and stirring something simmering in a pot. As you waited, you took in the scene around you. Zaun, despite its dark reputation, still had a life to it. People bustled through the streets, some hurriedly, others slower, their faces drawn from years of survival in a city that had no room for softness. The noise of distant engines and the hum of machinery blended with the clatter of footsteps and muffled conversations.

And then, as you absentmindedly sipped on the warm drink he'd handed you, something caught your eye—something out of place.

At the far edge of the market square, near an abandoned alleyway, a group of men surrounded someone. At first, you thought it was just another street dispute, but as you watched, the situation became clearer. The man in the middle, a young figure, seemed out of place. He was dressed poorly but still had an air of someone who didn’t belong here—maybe someone who had recently been brought down into the city's depths.

The group of men, rough-looking with tattoos and a dangerous gleam in their eyes, were pushing him around, their voices rising in anger. One of them, a burly figure with a scar running down his face, spoke loudly, his words laced with venom.

“You think you can double-cross the Chembarons and walk away scot-free?” he sneered. “You’re a dead man. This is what happens when you get too greedy. Betray the wrong people, and this is your fate.”

The young man tried to speak, his voice shaking, but it was drowned out by the jeers and threats that followed. Another of the gang members swung a fist, catching the man across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground. You could feel the tension in the air, the palpable violence that clung to the group like a shadow.

Chembarons? Your heart skipped a beat. You’d heard of them—powerful figures in Zaun’s criminal underworld, controlling everything from chemicals to weapons to influence. To cross them was to risk death. The young man had made a mistake. You had no idea what it was, but it was clear this wasn’t going to end well for him.

You couldn’t just watch there, but you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You had no stake in this, no reason to get involved—yet something about the sight left a bad taste in your mouth. The brutality of it all. The raw, unforgiving violence. It was a harsh reminder of what Zaun had become, a city where survival was a battle, and betrayal wasn’t just a crime—it was a death sentence.

The food stall owner, oblivious to the unfolding scene, continued cooking, as if the events happening just a few yards away weren’t worth a second glance. The other patrons were just as unbothered, some glancing over briefly before returning to their meals.

You took a deep breath, turning your attention back to your own meal. A little voice in your head told you to stay out of it, that this wasn’t your fight. But still, the images lingered in your mind. The desperation, the fear on the man’s face. The way the Chembarons controlled everything—and everyone—here.

You couldn’t help but wonder what you had walked into, and whether your search for answers would lead you to darker, more dangerous corners of Zaun than you had anticipated.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Your journey through Zaun was proving more difficult than you had imagined. The city’s labyrinthine streets twisted and turned, and every day seemed to drag on as you tried to piece together fragments of your past. You thought that maybe familiar places or landmarks might trigger something—anything—that could give you some clue about who you were and what your life had been before the accident. But as much as you tried, the memories remained elusive, like grains of sand slipping through your fingers.

You’d spent your first few days exploring the more famous locations in Zaun, spots that the locals seemed to mention with reverence—or perhaps fear. There was the underbelly of the Great Rift, where machines and factories churned out their dark creations, and the busy marketplaces where the air was thick with the stench of chemicals and the noise of traders shouting over each other. You ventured through old ruins, narrow alleyways where children played amidst the wreckage, and down into the deep, where the air tasted like rust and oil. Everywhere you went, it felt… familiar. Yet something about it all seemed wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something, was watching you. It was as if a shadow followed you wherever you went, lurking just out of sight.

Each day, your little "tours" through the city would end early, the unease in your gut growing too strong to ignore. You couldn't pinpoint why exactly, but the sensation of being followed was undeniable. So, you’d retreat back to your accommodation—a small, modest room tucked away in a quieter corner of Zaun. It wasn’t much. A bed, a table, a dim lamp in the corner, but it was enough for now. You were alone with your thoughts, and that was both a relief and a curse.

In the quiet of your room, you’d sift through your memories, trying to piece together what little you could. Bits of your past danced on the edge of your mind, but they were always just out of reach. You remembered flashes of faces, conversations that felt half-formed, and places that seemed both foreign and familiar at the same time. There were dreams too—strange, fractured dreams that felt like glimpses into your past, but they were always clouded in confusion. You’d wake up feeling disoriented, like you had just stepped out of a different life, one you didn’t quite understand.

The longer you stayed in Zaun, the more you realized that your search for answers wasn’t going to be easy. The people here were guarded, their eyes always shifting as if they knew something you didn’t. And yet, they wouldn’t tell you what it was. There were whispers in the streets, but they always stopped when you drew near. Conversations that trailed off the moment you entered a room. It was as if everyone was keeping their distance, as if your very presence was unsettling.

And then, there were the encounters—small, almost unnoticeable moments, but they made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A person who glanced at you just a second too long or a shadow that moved in the corner of your eye. It was subtle, but it was there. Someone was watching you.

You could feel it in your bones.

Was it just paranoia, the lingering remnants of your fractured memory? Or was there truly someone after you? You couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter. Either way, you couldn’t ignore the growing sense of danger in Zaun. The city was full of secrets, and you were beginning to realize that you were one of them.

At night, you would sit by the window of your room, staring out into the darkened streets, your mind swirling with unanswered questions. The stars above Zaun were barely visible through the smog, but you still found yourself gazing up at them, wondering if they held any answers. You’d often think about Viktor, his face flashing in your mind, but you pushed the thought aside. This was something you had to do alone. No one could help you figure this out but yourself.

The journey was just beginning, and as much as it felt like you were running in circles, you knew that you had to keep moving forward. Somewhere in Zaun, buried under all the grime and lies, the truth about your past awaited you. It was just a matter of finding it before whatever—or whoever—was watching you caught up.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You walked through the gritty streets of Zaun with the weight of your decision pressing heavily on your mind. Your thoughts circled around Piltover, the quiet stability it offered, and Viktor. You missed the safety of his presence, the calm that came with being in a place where things made sense. But Zaun... Zaun had something else. There were pieces of your past here—scattered fragments, whispers, and shadows—but they weren’t enough to make you feel like you belonged. It was a place of chaos, of broken dreams and twisted streets. Every day, you felt the weight of the undercity pressing in closer, a constant reminder that you didn’t quite fit here, no matter how much you tried to understand it. Maybe it was time to leave.

The thought of returning to Piltover lingered in your mind like an unshakable shadow. You could almost taste the crisp air of the upper city, feel the warmth of Viktor’s touch. You wanted to leave Zaun, wanted to forget the danger and uncertainty that haunted you here. But then there was that gnawing feeling in your chest, the pull of your lost memories. They were too precious, too important to give up on entirely. Maybe just one last walk. Maybe seeing the familiar sights, hearing the murmurs of Zaun's streets, would bring you closer to the truth.

It wasn’t long before you regretted that decision.

As you walked, the shadows of Zaun seemed to close in around you. The city was louder today—more frantic. The screams of vendors hawking their wares echoed in the alleyways, the acrid stench of chemicals and oil burned your nose, and the dim light barely broke through the thick smog that hung in the air. You kept your head down, eyes scanning for any signs of something familiar, but each turn only seemed to bring more confusion.

You hadn’t noticed them at first. At first, it was just a sound—a few voices low and grating, a few footsteps behind you. But when you passed the old, cracked wall and heard the shuffle of feet too close for comfort, you knew something wasn’t right.

You tried to keep walking, hoping they would just pass by, but they didn’t. Instead, they closed in.

There were five of them—men, rough-looking, their clothes patched together with whatever scraps they could find. They were nothing like the hardened criminals you’d seen before in Zaun. These men were small-time, scruffy, their movements full of too much energy and not enough control. Their eyes glinted with something darker, something predatory. They smelled of cheap drink and sweat.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You had learned long ago that in this city, hesitation was weakness. But when one of the men reached for you, a grimy hand brushing your shoulder, a shiver ran down your spine. You jerked away instinctively, heart pounding in your chest. They chuckled, their voices growing louder now, spitting out jeers and crude remarks. They were saying something about your clothes, about you not looking like you belonged in Zaun. It didn’t matter what they said—you knew their intentions. The way they looked at you was enough. They thought you were easy prey, just another innocent to be cornered.

"Where you think you’re going, pretty thing?" one of them sneered, his grin twisted, a hand reaching for your wrist. You yanked your arm back, stumbling a little as you tried to break free.

“Fuck off. Let go of me!” you hissed, voice trembling with the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your breath came in short gasps as you twisted around to dodge another grab. They closed in, blocking your path. You tried to push past them, but the alley was too narrow, and they were too fast.

One of them got too close—his hand gripping your arm hard enough to bruise. "Thought you could just walk through here, huh? Think again."

The sickening smell of alcohol and stale sweat filled the air as they laughed, surrounding you with a growing sense of desperation. You needed to escape, but you were cornered. There was no way out except through them.

And then, your instincts kicked in. With a surge of panic, you broke free, spinning on your heel and dashing down the alleyway, your heart hammering in your chest. You could hear them behind you, the sound of their footsteps pounding against the cobblestones, but you kept running. You weren’t going to be another victim in this damn city.

You pushed yourself harder, faster, feeling your legs burn as you turned a sharp corner, the rush of adrenaline blinding you to everything around you. It wasn’t until you stumbled slightly that you realized you had found yourself in a different part of Zaun, a place you hadn’t noticed before.

The Last Drop.

The name barely registered in your mind, but the moment you set eyes on the place, you knew you had found something different. The crowd was thinner here. People didn’t stare at you in the same way they did on the other streets. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it felt safer than the alley you had just escaped.

You didn’t think. You just moved. You have no idea why on earth those guards didn't question you even by a bit. The cool air inside hit you, and for the first time that day, you felt like you could finally breathe. The rough edges of Zaun seemed to disappear in the dim light of The Last Drop, and despite the intimidating looks of the people gathered here, there was a sense of calm in the air. No one bothered you. It was a place for those who needed to forget or hide, and for the first time, you felt like you belonged here. Somewhat.

Sitting down at the bar, you ordered a drink. You didn’t know what you wanted, but you knew you needed something. The bartender slid a glass toward you, and you took it without hesitation, the sharp burn of the liquor sinking deep into your throat.

Zaun was a dangerous place, but tonight, it was giving you the peace you so desperately needed.

Taking a slow sip from your drink, the bartender approached you once again after tending to another customer, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyes flickered over you, and he leaned in just a little, his smile growing warmer.

"Not from around here, are you?" he asked, his voice smooth with a hint of curiosity. "You’ve got that look, you know? The one that says you’ve seen things but aren’t quite part of it all."

You looked up, surprised by his insight. It wasn’t something people noticed often in Zaun, at least not in the same way. You gave a slight, appreciative smile.

"Yeah," you replied, offering him a small shrug. "I suppose you could say that."

The bartender grinned, clearly amused by your response. "Well, I gotta say... you’ve got a way about you. Looks like you belong here more than most."

He slid another glass a little closer, a twinkle in his eye. "This one's on the house," he said, the words laced with a quiet compliment that made you feel oddly flattered. "No charge for someone who can pull off a look like that."

You blinked in surprise, a flush creeping up your neck. It wasn’t often people complimented you this way, especially not in Zaun. You couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth spread through you at his words.

"Thanks," you said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "That’s kind of you."

"Anytime," he replied with a wink before turning to tend to another customer, leaving you to finish your drink in the unexpected comfort of a rare moment of kindness in the undercity.

The music played softly in the background, its steady beat vibrating through the wooden tables and walls of The Last Drop. For the first time in days, you felt a sense of calm, the drink in your hand slowly easing the tension in your shoulders. The flickering lights and the low hum of conversation surrounded you as you took another sip, lost in the atmosphere.

That was when you heard the voice, smooth but with an edge to it.

"Mind if I sit here?"

You looked up, a little surprised, meeting the gaze of a woman who oozed confidence, her posture imposing yet graceful. She was taller than most, sizing you up in an instant. Her demeanour told you she wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

Cool. You thought.

There was a split second where you hesitated, but something about her presence intrigued you. "Be my guest," you said, offering a subtle nod and a hand gesture.

She slid into the seat beside you, not needing to ask for permission. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, her lips curving into a faint smirk. She wasn’t just any stranger, and you could tell. Something about her screamed power, control, and authority.

"Sevika," she introduced herself, her voice low and steady. "I don't see many faces like yours around here."

You studied her, her posture and the way she carried herself, and a realization dawned—this wasn’t just some random person. She had the air of someone used to dealing with the undercity’s darker side, someone who belonged in places like this.

"What's your name?" Sevika asked casually, as though the question was nothing out of the ordinary. She leaned back in her chair, eyeing the rest of the bar while keeping one eye on you.

Your mind raced for a moment, considering how much to reveal, but there was something about Sevika that made you feel... safe, even if you weren’t sure why. You took a deep breath and, after a moment, decided to give her a straight answer.

You said your name. You replied, your voice a little more confident than you felt. You raised your glass slightly, offering her a small toast. "Nice to meet you."

Sevika smiled, a glint of approval in her eyes. "Likewise. What brings you to the undercity?" she asked, leaning in a bit closer, her tone more curious now.

As you sat there, the conversation unfolding, you couldn't shake the feeling that this encounter was far from coincidental.

Your conversation felt very natural. It was an instant click. For once, you felt like this person was genuinely interested in conversing with you. Though different worlds apart, it felt so natural to vibe with each other. It was quite a surprise when your conversation lasted longer than you expected.

She seemed chill, you thought. Or it could be the alcohol taking over her. Either way around, you enjoyed her company and the stories she told you. Not to mention, it's quite comedic, especially that one incident, how she met her boss. It was all fun and games, not until your conversation got interrupted.

“Sevika,” Silco’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. Sevika stiffened, snapping out of her tipsy reverie, though her body betrayed a slight sway. She turned toward her boss, realizing too late the storm in his mismatched gaze.

“Silco,” she started, her tone more sheepish than she intended. “I didn’t hear you—”

“I noticed,” he interrupted coldly, his eyes never leaving you. “And who might this be?”

You met his gaze with the same cool confidence you’d shown Sevika, though there was a flicker of recognition in your eyes as well. Silco caught it, and his heart twisted painfully.

“Just someone I’m getting to know,” Sevika said defensively, though she faltered slightly under Silco’s intense scrutiny.

Silco’s voice softened, though it carried an edge of disbelief. “Is that so?” His gaze bore into you now, searching for answers. “You seem… familiar.”

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕱𝖔𝖚𝖗

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | Academy Lover X Reader | 3.3k words

↳➛ Summary:

After losing your memory and barely surviving the uprising against Piltover, you now find yourself on a quest for answers.

Now, you’re left with two choices: remain at the academy and move forward, or dive into the fragments of your past and start anew.

↳➛ Warnings: suggested and mild explicit/sexual content, reader's past, lover's cameo, sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

Life at the academy was full of ambition and structure, but it also left little room for personal connections. At first, you thought you would be too consumed by your work to form any meaningful relationships. But then you met Viktor.

Viktor was different from the others. He wasn’t just brilliant—he was quietly intense, a mind full of ideas and dreams, but without the airs of some of the other more renowned inventors at the academy. He was driven, but there was a softness to him that drew you in. You crossed paths in the workshops, bonding over a shared interest in invention, both outsiders in a world that seemed to thrive on the polished status of Piltover.

Your connection was easy, natural even. It started with shared conversations late into the night, your voices the only sounds in the quiet halls. You spoke of inventions, of the future, and the problems you both faced. He made you feel seen in a way that no one else had. But there was something else between you, something unspoken. A mutual attraction, a simmering energy that both of you acknowledged but never fully addressed.

It wasn’t long before your bond became more than just intellectual. One night, after a particularly long day of working together in the lab, Viktor reached for you—touching your hand softly as your eyes met in a moment of understanding. It was a quiet kind of intimacy, unspoken but clear. Your lips met in a kiss that was more than just physical—it was a merging of two minds, two souls searching for something, anything, that felt real in a world that often felt hollow.

From there, your arrangement was simple: casual. There were no promises, no expectations. Just two people who shared moments of connection when the world around them seemed too loud, too demanding. You were both driven by your work, your obsessions with invention, but in those fleeting moments of intimacy, you found comfort.

You made out on occasion, spent nights tangled in the sheets, but there was also something deeper. Viktor was there when you needed someone to talk to—when the dreams became too much. He would listen patiently as you shared the fragments of those strange, haunting memories, offering insight without judgment.

"Maybe they're just memories of a life that was... taken," Viktor suggested one evening, his voice gentle but firm. "Not all memories are meant to be remembered. Maybe what's important is who you are now."

Even with Viktor’s comforting presence, the dreams never stopped. Each night, the rally resurfaced, twisted, and fragmented in a way that felt like it was trying to pull you under. You would wake, drenched in sweat, your heart racing, your body trembling with the weight of emotions you couldn’t understand.

Viktor was the one who helped you through those times. He never pressured you to talk about it if you didn’t want to, but he was always there, a steady presence, when the nightmares overwhelmed you.

His words, though comforting, only deepened the conflict within you. You weren’t sure if you could find peace until you understood what had happened to you—what had been taken.

Despite your agreement to keep things casual, something between you and Viktor was slowly shifting. The intimacy, though still physical, had begun to carry more weight. It wasn’t just about the moments of pleasure—it was the quiet moments too. The shared smiles over experiments, the lingering touches, the way Viktor seemed to be there when you needed him most.

He was kind, understanding, and just as haunted by his own past. He didn’t demand anything of you; he simply offered his presence when you needed it, no strings attached. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, you wondered if you were both running from something—your past and his future.

Your arrangement was supposed to be simple, but nothing was ever that simple. The line between friends and something more was blurred. You found yourself spending more time together, your conversations moving from casual to deeply personal. Viktor would tell you about his own struggles, his work, and his past. In return, you would tell him about the fragments of your dreams—the faces that lingered, the rally, the strange sense of loss. He listened without judgment, understanding in a way that no one else did.

But as your bond deepened, so did the confusion. Was this still just casual? Or had you both begun to rely on each other in ways that went beyond just physical comfort? Neither of you had put a label on it, but the weight of your connection was undeniable.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

It was an evening to remember, a night that felt almost surreal. You had been working tirelessly for months on your latest invention—a complex device meant to revolutionize energy efficiency in Piltover—and tonight, you were being honoured for your ingenuity.

The grand hall of the Piltover Academy was filled with the city's finest minds, inventors, and dignitaries, each of them draped in their finest attire. You stood by the stage, your heart racing, but not from nerves. This moment was a culmination of your hard work, of everything you had sacrificed to get to this point. The award you were about to receive wasn’t just for the invention—it was validation for everything you had been through for the person you had become.

As the host called your name, you made your way to the stage, a mixture of pride and disbelief swirling within you. The applause echoed in your ears, and as you took the award in hand, you caught Viktor’s gaze from the crowd. His expression was one of admiration, but there was something deeper there too—a quiet, knowing smile that made your heart beat faster. You had shared so much with him, from the late-night conversations to the personal struggles, and tonight, he was here to witness your success.

He nodded toward you, a subtle gesture, but it was all you needed. You smiled back, feeling a warmth spread through you.

After the ceremony, Viktor found you near the back of the hall, away from the noise and the crowd. You had already exchanged pleasantries with a few colleagues, but it was clear that your mind was elsewhere. When Viktor appeared in front of you, his usual calm demeanour seemed to soften.

“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You laughed softly, a little breathless. “You helped me get here. If it weren’t for your encouragement, I wouldn’t have had the courage to push through.”

He shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. “No. You did this yourself. I only provided the space to grow.”

You felt the weight of his words, but there was also something else—something unspoken between you, something that had been simmering for a while. You looked up at him, a gentle laugh escaping your lips.

“So, what now? How do we celebrate?”

Viktor’s smile deepened. “Dinner? Or we could just go back to the lab and work on something new... I’m sure I could think of a way to keep us occupied.”

You raised an eyebrow, knowing exactly what he meant, but something about his teasing tone made you want to get away from the confines of the academy, away from the expectations of others.

Later that evening, you and Viktor found yourselves at a quiet restaurant overlooking Piltover’s skyline. The evening light had a soft glow to it, and the atmosphere was calm—just the two of you, far from the accolades and the ceremony.

Dinner was light, but the conversation was easy. The two of you discussed everything from work to more personal topics. Viktor’s sharp mind had a way of pulling you in, making you feel seen in a way that few ever had. You shared stories, joked about trivial things, and yet, the connection between you was undeniable. Every word, every glance felt charged with something deeper, something more intimate.

As the night wore on, the restaurant emptied, leaving only a few lingering patrons. Viktor’s hand brushed against yours across the table, and you could feel the tension building in the air. Without saying anything, he stood up, holding out his hand to you.

You took it without hesitation, feeling your pulse quicken as you stood from the table. The night was far from over, and neither of you had to say it aloud—you both knew where this was heading.

Back at his apartment, the air was thick with anticipation. The door clicked shut behind you both, and Viktor’s lips found yours in an instant. There was no waiting, no hesitation—just the pull of something inevitable, something you had both been skirting around for far too long.

The kiss was slow at first, soft and tentative, as though testing the waters. But soon, that gentleness turned to hunger. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your lips deepened the kiss. The world outside seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you in that moment.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way he pressed against you, his hands wandering as though memorizing the contours of your body. You responded in kind, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, not wanting any distance between you.

The air in the room seemed to grow warmer, your breath coming faster as the kiss grew more intense. You could feel his heart racing in time with yours, the chemistry between you both palpable.

When you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, your breathing shallow. You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension breaking for a moment.

“Celebrating in the best way, huh?” You teased, your voice low and playful.

Viktor smirked, his eyes dark with desire. “I think you earned it,” he replied, his voice husky as he reached for you again, capturing your lips in a kiss that promised the night was far from over.

The night blurred into a haze of passion and intimacy, the two of you lost in each other, in the unspoken connection that had grown between you over time. As you finally lay together, the weight of the evening’s events still heavy in the air, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. You had won the award. You had celebrated your success. But more than that, you had shared a moment with Viktor—one that neither of you would forget.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

The dim glow of moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. You were awake before you even realized it, your body stiff and restless. Viktor’s steady breathing beside you was the only thing that anchored you in the present. The warmth of his body pressed against yours was comforting, but there was no peace to be found in the comfort of his presence tonight.

You sat up in bed slowly, trying not to disturb him. The sheets tangled around your legs as you pushed them off, your skin still warm from the intimacy of the night. Your heart pounded in your chest, the memory of your dreams lingering like a shadow at the edge of your thoughts.

They were back. Those dreams—vivid and unyielding, pulling you into a world you couldn’t fully grasp. Faces, voices, the rush of the rally, the screams... and then, the haunting feeling that something had been lost, something you couldn’t reach. It had been like this for weeks now. Fragments that wouldn’t fit together, pulling at your subconscious in ways you couldn’t explain.

You slid out of the bed carefully, your bare feet meeting the cool floor. The air in the room felt thick, oppressive, like it was pressing against your chest. The weight of the night and the dreams were too much. You needed to be alone, to think, to try and understand.

As you moved toward the window, you instinctively grabbed Viktor's shirt from the chair by the bedside—a comfortable, oversized piece of clothing he often left lying around. It was warm, the fabric soft against your bare skin as you pulled it over your head, the familiar scent of him lingering in the fabric.

You stood by the window, staring out into the city, the bustling lights of Piltover now seeming so distant. Viktor’s presence in the room was comforting, but the pressure in your chest, the unease from your dreams, was something you couldn’t shake.

As you looked out into the city, the quiet stillness of the night filled your senses. But Viktor’s voice broke the silence, low and hushed.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice raspy from sleep.

You turned to find him watching you, his eyes soft but full of concern. The way he looked at you made your heart skip, and for a moment, the weight of the dreams seemed lighter in his presence.

You gave him a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s nothing. Just... the dreams again.”

Viktor pushed himself up onto one elbow, his gaze never leaving you. “The same ones?” he asked, his voice low, cautious.

You nodded, unable to explain it fully. “It’s like I’m seeing flashes of something, someone, but I can never get a clear picture. It’s always so... blurry. And then it feels like I’m drowning in it. Like I’m missing something. I don’t know why it’s happening.”

There was a long pause, and you couldn’t look at him. The vulnerability in your voice felt too raw, too exposed.

Viktor didn’t say anything at first, but then he slowly sat up, the sheets slipping off his body as he moved toward you. He was only a few feet away now, his presence filling the space between you. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your back, his touch a quiet reassurance.

“You’re not alone in this,” Viktor said, his voice steady and calm, like a balm to your frayed nerves. “Whatever it is, I’ll help you figure it out. You don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

You closed your eyes at the comfort of his words, feeling the weight in your chest loosen just slightly. But the dreams—they didn’t go away. And tonight, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were only growing stronger.

“I know you’re here for me,” you said softly, still staring out the window, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s like... I can’t escape it. I can’t rest.”

Viktor’s hand moved to your shoulder, his fingers brushing against your clothed skin. You turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. The soft light illuminated his face, the concern etched in his features. But there was something else there too—something deeper. His eyes held a kind of determination, a promise to stay with you, no matter what.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he repeated, his voice stronger now. “We’ll face it together. Whatever’s causing these dreams... whatever you’re chasing... we’ll find it.”

A sense of calm washed over you, and for the first time since you woke, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath. You could still feel the pressure of the dreams at the back of your mind, the unease still there, but Viktor was with you. And that, for now, was enough.

He moved closer, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing motion. His lips brushed against yours in a kiss that was gentle but with an undeniable intensity. It wasn’t rushed, just a slow, comforting touch that promised he was here—not just in the physical sense, but emotionally as well.

You closed your eyes as the kiss deepened, letting yourself lose the sense of time, of the dreams, of everything that was haunting you. For a moment, there was only Viktor, his presence grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of the unknown.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Viktor rested his forehead against yours, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe here. You’ll always be safe with me.”

The silence between you and Viktor hung thick in the air as you pulled away from the kiss, the warmth still lingering on your lips. You both sat at the edge of the bed, the soft rustle of sheets the only sound breaking the stillness of the room. The faint glow of the moonlight outside filtered through the curtains, casting shadows across the room, but it wasn’t enough to dim the heaviness in your heart.

Viktor’s hand rested gently on your back, his fingers tracing small, reassuring circles as he watched you carefully. His voice broke the silence, soft but full of understanding.

“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” he asked, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read what was on your mind.

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the dreams and the decision pressing down on you. “I don’t know what to do anymore. The dreams... they’re just getting stronger. I keep seeing flashes of something I don’t understand. I can’t keep pretending they don’t matter. I need to go back to Zaun. Maybe that’s where I’ll find the answers.”

Viktor didn’t respond immediately. His gaze softened, but there was a clear conflict in his eyes. He wanted to support you, but you could see the worry creeping in, the same worry that always seemed to follow whenever Zaun was mentioned.

“I understand why you’d want to go,” he said slowly, his voice low. “You need to find out who you were... who you really are. But Zaun...” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration, and concern mixing in his expression. “It’s dangerous. I don’t want you to go back there. Not after everything...”

You met his gaze, feeling the truth of his words weighing heavily on you. Zaun had never been kind to anyone, especially not to those who dared to defy its harsh realities. But you couldn’t ignore the pull, the nagging feeling that the answers to your past were there.

“I have to, Viktor,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I need to know. I need to understand what happened to me... what’s causing these dreams. I can’t keep living like this.”

Viktor was silent for a moment, his hand still resting on your back, his thumb gently stroking your skin as if trying to ground you. You could see the way his mind raced, weighing the risks against the need to support you. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer now, though the concern was still evident in his words.

“I’ll support you. You know that,” he said, his tone filled with warmth, though his eyes still held a shadow of worry. “But I can’t pretend I’m not scared. Zaun isn’t a place anyone comes out of unchanged. Please, promise me you’ll be careful.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his concern and the sincerity in his voice. You squeezed his hand, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “I promise, Viktor. I’ll be careful. I’ll keep in touch. But I can’t stay here... not when the answers are in Zaun.”

Viktor exhaled deeply, his expression still a mix of concern and affection. He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into a gentle embrace.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet resolve. “No matter what happens, I got your back. You know that.”

You nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his embrace envelop you as you tried to push aside the unease in your chest. You didn’t have all the answers, but for now, knowing that Viktor would be there, waiting for you, made the decision feel a little less overwhelming.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i see you got a type, eh? viktor nation, how we feeling? ;)

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕿𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 3.4k words

↳➛ Summary:

After losing your memory and barely surviving the uprising against Piltover, you now find yourself on a quest for answers.

Meeting someone strikingly familiar, only to find out they’re from the past, though a triumph of effort, raises many unanswered questions. Now, reflecting on the event of the rally, what truly happened?

↳➛ Warnings: sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

In the heart of a war-torn region, you were caught in the midst of the chaotic uprising against Piltover. The violence and unrest left you gravely injured on the brink of death. However, fate had a different plan for you.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦ ғʟᴀsʜʙᴀᴄᴋ ꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

The rally against Piltover was meant to be a turning point—a declaration of Zaun’s defiance against their oppressors. It was supposed to be a day of unity, of hope. Instead, it became a bloody, chaotic nightmare.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and the deafening roar of explosions. Shouts and screams echoed off crumbling walls as Zaunite rebels clashed with Piltover enforcers in the narrow streets. What began as a protest had spiralled into war, and survival was the only goal now.

You and Silco had stuck together at first, moving through the chaos like shadows, side by side. The two of you had always worked best that way—a seamless partnership - trusting each other implicitly. He was the strategist, the mind behind the movement, while you were the spark, rallying others with your fire and conviction.

But the rally had turned. Piltover’s forces descended like a storm, pushing back the Zaunites with brutal precision. Somewhere in the chaos, you and Silco became separated.

“Stay close to me!” he’d shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony.

“I’m right behind you!” you’d called back. But in the sea of bodies, the smoke, and the shifting tides of battle, you were swept away.

You fought your way through the crowd, desperate to find him again. Every step was a struggle, each breath a fight against the choking smoke. Around you, friends and allies fell. Piltover’s enforcers were relentless, their shields and weapons cutting through Zaunite resistance like a blade through cloth.

And then it happened.

A deafening explosion rocked the street, throwing you off your feet. You slammed into the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of you. Pain exploded in your side as a shard of metal tore into your flesh, warm blood soaking through your clothes.

You tried to get up, to crawl, to scream, but the world was spinning, your vision blurring at the edges. Around you, the battle raged on, but no one stopped. They were too busy fighting, too busy surviving.

Silco wasn’t there.

In your hazy state, you thought you heard his voice, distant and muffled. You tried to call out, but the words wouldn’t come. Darkness crept in at the edges of your vision, and you realized with chilling certainty that this might be the end.

Meanwhile, Silco...

Silco had seen the explosion, felt the ground tremble beneath his feet. His first thought was of you. He turned, scanning the chaos, searching for any sign of you in the smoke and ruin.

But there was nothing.

He called out your name, his voice raw with desperation. He pushed through the crowd, shoving past allies and enemies alike.

And then, amid the chaos, he was struck.

An enforcer’s baton came down hard, cracking against his temple. He staggered, blood dripping down his face, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

Until he saw it.

A body lying in the rubble, motionless, blood pooling beneath it. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought it was you. He dropped to his knees, turning the figure over with shaking hands.

It wasn’t. Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. The enforcers were closing in, and he knew he couldn’t stay.

He called your name one last time, his voice breaking, before he was forced to retreat. Oh well.. the heavens wasn't in favour of Silco that day. A tragedy of his own followed involving one of your closest friends, Vander.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Amidst the turmoil, your broken body was discovered by none other than a brilliant scientist and artificer, Dr. Corin Reveck. Known for his unconventional methods, he saw potential in you, not as a casualty of war, but as an opportunity.

For Silco, the rally ended with the loss of everything he held dear. He left that day believing you were gone, swallowed by the violence of Piltover’s wrath. It was a wound that never healed, a scar that shaped the man he would become.

And for you, though your body was saved, your memories—your connection to Silco and your life in Zaun—were lost.

Neither of you knew it then, but the rally had forever changed your fates.

Dr. Reveck had been working on a radical procedure—an experiment aimed at preserving life, at any cost. With the knowledge that the right combination of artificing, alchemy, and his keen intellect might give you a second chance, he began working tirelessly on you. It was a delicate process, blending organic and mechanical in ways never seen before. Slowly, but surely, your life was saved. The pain and the memories of the uprising faded as your consciousness returned to a new world.

However, in this rebirth, a price had to be paid. The memories of who you once were were now lost, leaving you as a blank slate, a new identity formed by Dr. Reveck's care and guidance. Your new body was a testament to his success—a combination of the natural and artificial, enhanced, and repaired beyond what was once possible.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the man said, appearing beside you. His face was pale, his eyes sharp and calculating. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his gaze.

“Who…?” Your voice was a rasp, your throat dry and raw.

“Dr. Reveck,” he said simply. “You were dying, and I saved you. Or rather, my work saved you.” He gestured to the machines around you, their soft hum filling the air. “You’re alive because of my formula—a prototype designed to preserve life, even in the face of death.”

You tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced you back down. “What… happened to me?”

Reveck tilted his head, observing you like a specimen under a microscope. “You were gravely injured. My serum repaired the damage, though not without cost. There may be… side effects. Memory loss, for one. A small price to pay, wouldn’t you agree?”

Memory loss. The words sent a chill through you. Fragments of the rally flashed in your mind—the fire, the screams, a voice calling your name. But it was like trying to hold water in your hands; the memories slipped away before you could grasp them.

“What do you want from me?” You managed to ask, your voice shaking.

Reveck smiled then, a cold, calculating smile. “I want to observe. To see how my work evolves and how it functions in a living subject. And perhaps, in time, you can assist me. Your survival is proof of my success, and I have no doubt you’ll be of use to me.”

You had no choice. You were alive, but at what cost? The life you’d known—the people you’d fought for—were gone. And all you were left with was the cold, clinical gaze of a man who saw you as an experiment.

But somewhere, deep in the recesses of your mind, something stirred. A faint, persistent feeling that you’d lost something important. Or someone.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

In the following months, Dr. Reveck took you under his wing, treating you as both a student and a testament to his genius. He nurtured your skills, and you began to pick up on his intricate knowledge of engineering, mechanics, and artificing. It wasn’t long before you became a prodigy in your own right, mastering the principles of invention, much like the man who had saved you.

But your story didn’t end there. One fateful day, Dr. Reveck's partner, the legendary Heimerdinger, visited the lab. Having heard of Reveck's groundbreaking work and curious about his latest creation, Heimerdinger observed you with keen interest. The tiny Yordle genius saw something extraordinary in you—potential far beyond anything Dr. Reveck had anticipated.

Recognizing the value in further education, Heimerdinger extended an offer to you—an invitation to study at the prestigious Piltover Academy. This was not merely a gesture of goodwill, but an opportunity to grow your talents and, one day, contribute to Piltover in a way that could change the city itself. And so, you stepped into the hallowed halls of the Academy, a place where the brightest minds of Piltover gathered, unaware of the forgotten past that had brought you there.

The transition to Piltover had been jarring at first. You had arrived with nothing—no name that felt like your own, no past you could remember, only the skills you’d honed under Dr. Reveck’s watchful eye.

You didn’t know what drew Heimerdinger’s attention to you initially. Perhaps it was your precision, the way you worked with materials and theories others hadn’t dared to touch. Perhaps it was the whispers of Reveck, who had sent you to Piltover for supplies and research when your abilities outgrew his lab. Or maybe it was sheer coincidence that the brilliant Yordle crossed paths with you during one of your quiet demonstrations in a bustling Piltover square.

Whatever the reason, Heimerdinger saw potential.

"You've got a rare mind," he’d said after observing you tinker with a device you'd cobbled together from scraps. It was a crude mechanism, but it worked, humming with the energy of ingenuity. “A spark I’ve only seen in the brightest of inventors. Tell me, where did you learn to think like this?”

The question had caught you off guard. You didn’t know how to answer without revealing the truth—how you’d been piecing together what felt like someone else’s knowledge. Memories that weren’t your own, techniques that came to your hands like muscle memory.

But Heimerdinger didn’t wait for an explanation. “You belong at the Academy,” he said firmly. “We could use someone with your talents. I could use someone with your talents.”

And that was how it began.

The Academy was nothing like Dr. Reveck’s lab. It was vast, gleaming with polished marble and gilded railings, the halls buzzing with life and innovation. At first, you felt like an outsider—a ghost walking among the brilliant minds of Piltover.

But that feeling didn’t last long.

It turned out that your skills spoke louder than your silence. The inventions you presented in your first workshop—a self-repairing mechanism based on a blend of Piltover tech and Reveck’s experimental methods—earned nods of approval from even the most skeptical professors.

Heimerdinger himself often dropped by to observe your progress. He encouraged you to think beyond the constraints of practicality, to dream bigger, to push the boundaries of what was possible.

“You remind me of a younger version of myself,” he once said with a chuckle, his whiskers twitching. “Eager, inventive, and just a touch rebellious.”

The other students, too, began to notice you. At first, they whispered behind your back, curious about the mysterious newcomer who seemed to know things no one else did. But over time, that curiosity turned into respect. They started seeking you out for advice for help with their projects, even for collaboration.

And then came the recognition.

At a grand exhibition hosted by the Academy, you presented your latest invention: a device capable of detecting and neutralizing volatile chemical compounds. It was a hybrid of Piltover engineering and techniques you couldn’t quite explain—an echo of your forgotten past.

The room had fallen silent as you demonstrated the device. Even the most seasoned inventors watched in awe as it worked seamlessly, saving a volatile concoction from detonating during a live test.

When the demonstration was over, the applause was thunderous. Heimerdinger beamed at you, his eyes twinkling with pride.

“Exceptional,” he declared. “You have a bright future here.”

For the first time since waking in Reveck’s lab, you felt like you belonged. Like you had a purpose.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Life at Piltover Academy was everything you had imagined and more. The halls were filled with the sharp minds of brilliant inventors and scholars, the laboratories gleaming with cutting-edge technology and research. You were thriving—your skills honed to a razor’s edge, your intellect constantly challenged by the academy’s rigorous curriculum. Professors admired your work, often asking you to help them with their most complex problems. Your inventions were becoming more refined, your theories more innovative, and it seemed like the world was yours to conquer.

But despite the successes, despite the accolades, there was a gnawing emptiness inside of you. At night, sleep was no refuge. The dreams kept coming—strange, haunting flashes of a time long past, of a place you could barely remember but felt deep in your bones. The rally. The chaos. The smoke and the screams. The feeling of running, of being lost, of something—or someone—calling your name.

Each time you woke, drenched in sweat, you felt the heavy weight of those dreams on your chest, as if they were trying to pull you back into the past you couldn’t quite grasp. You could barely remember the faces in the dream—figures lost in the haze—but there was one that always lingered, a shadow in the distance, someone who seemed so familiar but whose face you couldn’t place.

No matter how many equations you solved, no matter how many breakthroughs you achieved in the lab, your mind was always tugged back to those dreams. They plagued you like a puzzle missing a crucial piece, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers were waiting for you, hidden just beneath the surface.

During the day, you pushed it aside, burying yourself in your studies and research. But even as you sat in lectures, listening to the greatest minds of Piltover discuss advancements in chemistry and engineering, your thoughts would drift back to those flashbacks—the rally, the fire, the feeling of being so close to something, yet always just out of reach.

There was no way you could ignore it anymore. These dreams weren’t just memories—they were a call. A call to something, to someone, and you couldn’t silence them. You had to find the answers, no matter what.

One evening, after a particularly long day of work, you sat alone in your dorm, the dim light of your desk lamp casting shadows on the scattered papers around you. The quiet hum of the academy felt distant, almost irrelevant. You pulled out a journal—a habit you had started recently, a way to keep track of the dreams and the fragments of memory that seemed to grow with each passing night.

You wrote:

The rally. The explosion. Smoke. Searing heat. Someone calling my name, but I can't remember who.

You paused, your pen hovering over the page, as a surge of unease crept through you. Something wasn’t right, and you knew it. You weren’t just searching for answers about the rally—you were searching for answers about yourself. About the person you were before Piltover, before the experiments, before Dr. Reveck’s influence had reshaped you. But that person… she was slipping further away, buried beneath layers of forgotten memories and the experiments that had warped your mind.

You closed the journal, your gaze settling on the window. The stars outside looked so far away, as distant as the answers you sought. Yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were closer than you thought. Something in the pit of your stomach told you that you had to go back. Back to Zaun. Back to where it all started.

The academy had given you everything—knowledge, recognition, access to technology and resources that most could only dream of—but it had never given you the one thing you needed most: the truth about your past.

You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The dreams, the flashes of memories, the feeling of being connected to something—or someone—so deeply that it ached in your chest. You had to return to Zaun. You had to face whatever lay there, buried in the dark corners of your past, and uncover the truth.

With a steadying breath, you made a decision. You would return to the heart of the chaos. You would return to him, to the place where it all began. There was no turning back now. The past was calling, and you couldn’t keep running from it.

The dreams always started the same way: the sharp crack of an explosion, the acrid stench of smoke filling your lungs, and a cacophony of screams that made your chest tighten. You would find yourself in the middle of it—a rally turned battlefield, shadowy figures rushing past you in chaos, their faces blurred like smudged paint.

At first, you thought it was your subconscious playing tricks on you. Trauma, you told yourself. Leftover fragments of that fateful day when Dr. Reveck found you bleeding out in the rubble. But the dreams were relentless, growing more vivid with each passing night.

The dreams weren’t just memories—they were pieces of something bigger.

The first time you saw the rally in your dreams, you recognized the setting almost immediately. A narrow street, crumbling walls covered in graffiti, and the roar of a crowd. People were shouting, their voices rising in anger and hope. Someone was holding a banner, though the words on it were too blurred to make out.

You stood among them, your hands shaking, your heart pounding. You didn’t know why, but you felt connected to them. You felt their rage, their determination. But then the dream shifted.

The explosion came suddenly, the force of it throwing you to the ground. When you looked up, the crowd had scattered, replaced by enforcers in gleaming Piltover armour. The clash of weapons filled the air, and a single thought burned in your mind: Find him.

But before you could take a step, the dream ended.

Weeks later, the dreams began to reveal more. This time, you were lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath you. Pain seared through your side, and your vision blurred. Shadows moved around you, their faces indistinct. You tried to call out, but your voice wouldn’t come.

And then he appeared. A man with cold, calculating eyes and a voice that sent chills down your spine. He knelt beside you, muttering something about “a perfect subject.”

The memory of him stuck with you even after you woke. Dr. Reveck. That was when you realized the dreams weren’t just random—they were pieces of your lost past.

The most recent dream was different. You weren’t in the rally this time. You were in a dimly lit room, surrounded by people whose faces you couldn’t quite see. You felt a deep connection to them—a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold detachment of Piltover.

One figure stood out, though their features remained obscured. They were speaking to you, their voice low and urgent. You couldn’t make out the words, but you felt the weight of them, the sense that they were important.

When you woke, a single thought lingered: Did I lose them? Are they still alive?

The dreams left you with more questions than answers, but a few things were becoming clear.

• You were from Zaun, and you had been at the rally that day.

• You had been gravely injured and left for dead until Dr. Reveck saved you—but not out of kindness. You were a trial subject for his experiments.

• The people in your dreams felt like family, though you couldn’t remember their names or faces. You didn’t know if they were still alive, but you knew you had to find out.

Every time you dreamed, the pieces fit together a little more. The rally, the man who saved you, the shadows of a life you once lived—they all pointed to one truth: you needed answers.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────

With Heimerdinger’s guidance and access to the Academy’s resources, you immersed yourself in a world of study, discovery, and invention. But questions remained. Who were you before the uprising? What had you lost in the battle? Could the memories of your past ever return?

The answers might not come easily, but with every invention you crafted and every piece of knowledge you gained, the path toward uncovering the truth about your origin grew clearer. In the vibrant streets of Piltover, the story of your rebirth continued—one where you would have to decide whether to embrace your newfound purpose or seek the forgotten pieces of yourself that remained hidden in the depths of your past.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. The life you’d built in Piltover—the recognition, the opportunities, the comfort—felt hollow without knowing who you truly were.

One night, after waking from another vivid dream, you made your decision. You were going to Zaun. You didn’t know what you’d find there—whether the people in your dreams were alive, whether they would recognize you, or whether they had moved on without you.

But you had to try. You had to know.

Because without the truth, you would never truly belong anywhere.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: teaser ! part four will basically focus on the reader's life at the academy with a lover you had on the way - somewhat like an 'academy lover x reader'. sorry, silco. life's just gotta be zesty, packed, and thrilling.

the lover's character is crucial in your journey. it's not just about the company, but this character also became your guide regarding the decision to go back to Zaun. silco content will probably be back at part five ^_____^

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕿𝖜𝖔

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 3.2k words

↳➛ Summary:

Stress is a constant companion for everyone in Zaun, but for Silco, it's more than that—it's his closest ally. The past week had been particularly chaotic. Summoning his trusted right hand for yet another task, Sevika was nowhere to be found.

Furious and about to confront her, Silco was instead taken aback by what stood before him—you. His long-lost flame, whom he believed had died during the uprising against Piltover. How could this be?

On the other hand, after losing your memory and barely surviving the rally, you now find yourself on a quest for answers.

↳➛ Warnings: MDNI! 18+, EXPLICIT/SEXUAL CONTENT

profane language, complicated relationships, sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death

Sevika leaned against the bar, her sharp eyes flicking in your direction. She could feel the tension radiating off the both of you, thick enough to cut through the din of the Last Drop. She didn’t need to hear every word to know something was simmering—something dangerous and intimate.

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer as Silco stepped even closer to you, his voice dipping into that low, measured tone he used when he wanted to break someone down—or pull them in. You didn’t flinch, holding your ground, though the way your shoulders stiffened didn’t escape Sevika’s notice.

With a quiet scoff, she turned her attention back to her drink, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. She wasn’t about to get involved in whatever this was. Still, she stayed close enough to keep an eye on things, her presence a silent reassurance—or warning.

“Sort it out,” she muttered under her breath, taking a slow sip. Whatever was unfolding between you and Silco wasn’t her business, but she’d be there if things went sideways. For now, though, you were on your own.

The bartender, a lanky figure with tattoos running down his arms, slid a glass of dark liquor towards you. Silco had ordered for both of you—his usual - a sharp, smoky drink with just enough bite to match his mood. You took the glass, the amber liquid reflecting the low lights of the bar, and looked at him.

Silco didn’t break his gaze, watching you with an intensity that felt both familiar and foreign at the same time. He took a sip of his drink, the ice cubes clinking gently in his glass, before placing it down. “I'm afraid I didn't catch your name” he said, his voice low, sarcastic you may call it. It's a little game just to test his guts.

You leaned casually against the bar, trying to mask the nervous energy buzzing under your skin. Silco’s sharp gaze never left you, his mismatched eyes narrowing as if he were dissecting every movement, every breath. The intensity of it made you smirk, a poor attempt to break the tension.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," you quipped, your tone light but edged with unease.

Silco didn’t flinch. His expression remained unreadable, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. He sat at the stool beside yours, resting one elbow at the bar counter, his voice dropping to that low, measured tone that made you feel somewhat unsettled.

"Perhaps I have," he said. His eyes bore into yours, searching, demanding.

He straightened, one brow arching as he gave you a pointed look—expectant, almost daring. His expression was clear: So?

The air between you thickened as your pulse hammered in your ears. You shifted under his gaze, every instinct screaming to deflect, but the unrelenting demand in his eyes pinned you in place. Silence wouldn’t save you now.

There was something in his look—something raw—that caught you off guard. You could feel the electricity between you, but the answer still eluded you.

"I..” You trailed off, unsure of what to say.

The attraction was undeniable. His presence was magnetic, a pull that stirred something inside you, but the memories—the fragments of your past—were still locked away. In a fleeting moment, there it is. You said your name.

It was the name he hadn’t heard in years. The name that haunted him. The name he thought had been buried with the rally, with the lies, with the past.

His breath caught in his chest. His eyes widened just slightly, and for the first time in a long time, he felt raw. Exposed. Everything—the years of grief, the rage, the guilt—came rushing back in that instant.

“I should’ve known it was you,” Silco continued, leaning closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. "It is you," he whispered, his voice thick with disbelief.

The words tasted like ash on his tongue, but they were the truth. It’s really you. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to make sure this wasn’t some cruel illusion, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆

Friend. Old friends. Those words lingered longer than it should have. If only you knew.

It happened so fast. The heat between you two had reached a point where nothing could stop it. Silco’s lips were on yours before you could say anything else, his kiss deep, urgent, as if he couldn’t wait another second.

His taste—rich, familiar, like something you had lost and were now reclaiming—flooded your senses. The shock hit you first, but then, just as quickly, the world around you seemed to vanish. It felt right.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve questioned everything—his sudden proximity, the years that had passed, the ghosts of the past. But in that moment, it felt too real to deny, too powerful to stop. You couldn’t stop.

Your body responded without hesitation, your hands moving to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath, the warmth of him under your fingertips. You pressed yourself closer, the kiss deepening as the world around you continued to fade away. There was only Silco and the undeniable magnetism between you two.

The kiss wasn’t gentle, nor was it rushed. It was messy, desperate, as though you both had been waiting for this moment for far too long. Every touch, every movement, spoke of a longing that had never fully been buried. Silco’s hands roamed, finding the curve of your waist, his fingertips brushing your skin with the familiarity of someone who knew you inside and out. His body pressed against yours, urging you to stay close, to not pull away.

You felt the electricity between you both, that heat growing stronger as you deepened the kiss. There was a rawness to it—an unspoken truth that neither of you could deny. You had been brought together by fate, by something bigger than either of you could understand.

The world outside the Last Drop didn’t exist anymore. The sound of glasses clinking, the soft laughter of patrons in the background—it all faded as you gave in to the moment. Silco’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as you deepened the kiss. His lips were insistent, desperate, as if trying to claim you, to pull you into the gravity of whatever this was.

☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆;+;｡･ﾟ･｡;+;☆

Before you could even realize it, Silco stood, taking your hand and guiding you toward the stairs that led up to his office - the very place where he usually retreats to find solitude and control. Tonight, though, nothing about this felt controlled. His grip on your hand tightened as he led you upstairs, his steps quick, deliberate, matching the frantic beat of your heart.

As Silco led you into his office, a strange sense of deja vu hit you like a wave. The space was exactly what you expected—eccentric, filled with sharp angles, dark tones, and the hum of power that radiated from every corner. Yet, there was something about it, something unspoken that clawed at your mind. The desk was polished, the walls adorned with the heavy weight of decision-making—but the air felt different. It felt like it had been different.

You looked around, trying to place the feeling, but it was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. This office—this space—was chaotic, cold, but there was a warmth somewhere in the back of your mind that made it feel familiar. Too familiar. It didn’t make sense. How could a room like this, one filled with the stark reality of Silco’s empire, feel like something you knew once?

The leather chair behind the desk looked imposing, but it should have felt foreign, shouldn’t it? Yet, your mind felt it—like you’d once rested in that chair, seen this view before, maybe with someone else beside you, sharing some quiet moment. It wasn’t possible. This was Silco’s world. But why did it feel like you had walked into something long lost, something that had belonged to you too, at one point?

Why does this feel like home? you thought, your pulse quickening slightly. Your heart rate was all over the place, and yet… your chest felt lighter, as though you’d stepped into a place where your memories hadn’t yet fully unravelled.

It was almost like an illusion. The colours, the smell of leather mixed with faint notes of smoke, and something metallic—it was all so right, even though you had no memory of it. You tried to focus to see the office through a stranger’s eyes, but it was impossible. It wasn’t just a room. It was your room. But how?

This doesn’t make sense. Why do I feel like I’ve been here before?

You took another step deeper into the room, and a wave of nostalgia washed over you. The feeling was unmistakable now, even if your mind tried to dismiss it. This place was once different, wasn’t it? Once, it had felt like a sanctuary. Had it? Or was that just some strange part of you, begging for something familiar in the middle of all this uncertainty?

And there, standing in front of the desk, Silco watched you, his presence as commanding as ever. You should have felt out of place, perhaps even intimidated, but instead, something inside you tugged you forward.

I don’t know what this is, you thought, feeling your pulse throb in your neck. But it feels like I’m supposed to be here.

Without another word, his lips crashed against yours, raw and urgent. It wasn’t a tender kiss; it was something more primal, as if years of unspoken desire had finally found its release.

The kiss was frantic, desperate, each of you pulled to the other by a force neither of you could explain. Silco’s hands moved with precision, as if he had to make sure you were real, that this wasn’t just some hallucination, that you were actually there with him. Your body pressed against his as you kissed him back, your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of him seeping through the thin barrier of your clothes.

As he guided you toward his desk, the papers, the documents, everything that had consumed him only moments before, were forgotten. All that mattered now was the urgency between you two. His lips were on yours again, hungry, as if this was the culmination of something that had been building for far too long.

You responded in kind, your fingers tracing the hard lines of his chest, then slipping beneath his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin. Your bodies were tangled together, movement becoming a mix of instinct and desire. Silco’s hands were everywhere, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

You felt the pull, too. The magnetism, the strange familiarity of him—it was undeniable. There was no mistaking it. Every touch, every press of his lips against yours, felt right, even though your mind fought to keep pace with the emotions rushing through you.

You didn't exactly know what you were doing. In fact, what on earth is even going on? But for the strangest reasons, things seem to pull itself together. Things seem to fall into the right place.

He pulled you toward him, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. You wrapped your legs around him, drawing him closer, the need between you two palpable, urgent. You could feel his heartbeat thudding against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own. The kiss was messy, raw—nothing gentle about it. There was only the need to close the distance, to consume each other, to drown in the connection that had always been there, buried deep beneath the surface.

When the kiss broke for air, you found yourself breathless, your body tingling with the heat of him. His hand rested on your waist, and he looked at you, his gaze intense, as if he was searching for something in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, his voice husky, but the way he leaned into you, the way his hands continued to trace the curves of your body, told you everything you needed to know. He was already beyond the point of return.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze, your fingers brushing against his jaw. “What more on my end? A ghost, you said? Consider me a poltergeist now,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the chaos inside of you.

His lips found yours again, more demanding this time, a desperate kind of need in the kiss. Every inch of you seemed to respond to him, as though your body had always known it belonged to him in some way. In that moment, there was no past, no uncertainty. There was only the heat of his body, the urgency of the way you kissed him, and the raw, undeniable need that had built up between you two over time.

And as you gave into the pull of that need, the world outside his office seemed to disappear completely. There was no history, no past confusion. Only the two of you, here, now, tangled in something that felt like it had always been inevitable.

Your fingers trembled slightly as they reached for his belt, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you like a tangible force. The faint clink of metal broke the heavy silence as you worked the buckle, your movements deliberate yet hesitant.

Silco didn’t move. His breathing was steady and controlled, but the way his jaw tensed betrayed the storm brewing beneath his composed exterior.

As the belt came undone, you felt the heat of his presence, so close and yet so commanding. Your fingers brushed against the fabric of his waistband, and for a moment, you glanced up, searching his face for a reaction. His lips curled into the faintest smirk, a mix of approval and challenge, as if daring you to continue.

The air between you crackled with anticipation, every small movement drawing the two of you deeper into the moment, closer to the edge of control. Silco, on the other hand, found his hands helping you out of your clothing. With new area of your skin being exposed slowly, he made sure to give them an equal dose of attention. Red marks marked your neck along with the range of your collarbone and shoulder. This is who you are, Silco's. What once was his.

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Silco's gaze roamed across your body, and your hair splayed all across the table as he took you from behind. He relished the softness of your skin against his and the quiet moans you released at his touch. Gripping your wrists firmly behind your back, he drove you with relentless intensity - the sound of his hips meeting your flesh echoing through the room. Though his own release loomed near, Silco resisted, determined to draw out every moment of your raw connection.

Your obedience and responsiveness only fueled his desire even further. The way you surrendered to him - your body arching and trembling under his control. It was intoxicating. Silco knew his movements were rough, yet it thrilled him.

As his pace quickened, Silco leaned down, sinking his lips into the area where your neck and shoulder met, and leaving a mark that made you cry out softly. The idea of reclaiming and marking you as his sent a possessive satisfaction coursing through him. You were once his—completely—and he intended to ensure you wouldn't slip away this time. No, not even a chance.

Silco felt your body quiver beneath him as he continued to move, his grip on your wrists loosening just a little. You responded, pushing back against him, your hips meeting his with every motion. Releasing your wrists entirely, he pulled you closer, your back pressing against his chest. One arm encircled your waist while the other gently cupped your nape, holding you steady without applying pressure as he slowed his rhythm, relishing the warmth and tightness around him.

"Fuck.." he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "Taking me so well like the good girl you are."

Finding your clit, Silco's hand moved from your hip to the space between your legs. He rubbed in strong, methodical circles that matched the cadence of his thrusts. Your breath was coming harder and quicker, and he could feel you tensing beneath him. Knowing you were near, he leaned in to murmur to you while nuzzling your neck. In a low voice, he whispered, "Where have you been all this time?" "Let go, love. Let go. It's okay.. I got you."

He allowed himself to relax only after he was certain you were done. He buried himself deep within you, his own release throbbing through him as he groaned harshly. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath and tumble into your back and shoulder.

Silco refused to let you go. He held you tightly, but cautiously, as though he was worried that you would leave him the instant, he relaxed his hold. The embrace lingered, communicating volumes in the silence, and was neither casual nor brief.

Finding yourselves in his office chair, exhausted and out of breath, you leaned your head against his shoulder. With his chin resting on your head, he inhaled the aroma of your hair. His hands wrapping around you. And, as if they have a mind of their own, his hands found themselves caressing your hair.

"Curious little thing you are, aren't you?" He said, his voice low of energy from exhaustion.

"Hey.. wanna hear a secret?" you said, looking up at him.

"Don't be a stranger now."

"You probably have a bunch of questions in mind.. so do I, " you added. Silco looked at you with a question written all over his face. Proceed.

" I came here to find answers. It’s not something I wanted. But... it’s like there’s a wall, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t remember. It’s like everything just—slipped away in the blink of an eye. Then there's you.. you felt like home."

That hit him like a bullet. He watched you fall—watched you disappear—at the rally. The chaos, the violence, the screams. He'd assumed you were gone, that he’d never see you again. That you had never made it out.

It wasn’t some random twist of fate that had brought you back into his life. It wasn't a random act of disappearing and suddenly appearing out of the blue. It wasn't just you playing hard-to-get. Now, this is serious. His initial thoughts were wrong.

You lost yourself, he thinks, the weight of that knowledge sinking in like lead. And it hurts. Hurts in ways he can’t quite process, can’t quite accept.

You don’t remember him. You don’t remember what you had. And that... that is worse than losing you all over again.

What matters at this very moment is that you're back in his arms. Sure, he can't let his guard down. Sure, he got a thousand questions inside his head. Sure, he can't simply reassure himself that you'll be the same. A friend. An old friend. His old flame. The old flame he once knew. His ride-or-die. His partner-in-crime.

But, there are risks. It wasn't just a matter of helping you remember what one was. This is also a matter of reacquainting. Who are you now? What happened to you? Where have you been? And out of the blue, why did you show up at The Last Drop? What's your true motive?

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: hi ! thank you so much for those who supported this series, i hope you guys enjoyed it ! the upcoming parts will focus on the reader's past, tackling what really happened after the rally against Piltover.

it will be juicy, and it will feature a cameo of someone who became your lover before your return in Zaun. basically, the setting would be set before the events of parts one & two. for feedback and suggestions, I'd be more than pleased to hear them !

[silcoholic]

" 𝕺𝖑𝖉 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 " - 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝕺𝖓𝖊

↳ a series

Silco X Fem!Reader | 1.9k words

↳➛ Summary:

Stress is a constant companion for everyone in Zaun, but for Silco, it's more than that—it's his closest ally. The past week had been particularly chaotic. Summoning his trusted right hand for yet another task, Sevika was nowhere to be found.

Furious and about to confront her, Silco was instead taken aback by what stood before him—you. His long-lost flame, whom he believed had died during the uprising against Piltover. How could this be?

On the other hand, after losing your memory and barely surviving the rally, you now find yourself on a quest for answers.

↳➛ Warnings: profane language, complicated relationship, sensitive topics, mention of violence, mention of death, eventual smut

The Last Drop was buzzing with life that night, the air is thick with smoke, alcohol, and the faint hum of Shimmer. After all, everyone needs a break from Zaun's daily craze and stress to offer. Sevika slouched at the bar, nursing her drink with a scowl. Yet another typical day. The stress of the week had been relentless—Silco’s demands, the growing tension in Zaun, and the constant weight of maintaining her reputation as his unshakable right hand. She needed a break, even if it came in the form of a stiff drink and some loud distractions.

That’s when she saw you.

The Last Drop was a haven in the chaos—a dimly lit bar tucked away in the heart of Zaun, where the sounds of clinking glasses and whispered secrets masked the weight of the world outside. For you, it was more than just a place to unwind—it was a search for something. Anything. Anything that might trigger a memory, a clue about who you were before the uprising. The city’s underbelly seemed as fitting a place as any for answers, or at least a distraction from the silence of your lost past.

You entered the bar with an effortless confidence that immediately drew Sevika's attention. Clad in an outfit that screamed both practicality and style, your presence seemed to command the room. You didn’t seek the spotlight, but it found you anyway. You slid onto a stool at the bar, not too far from Sevika, and ordered a drink with a tone that was cool and unbothered.

Now, that's worth taking the shot. Who is this? How come I never saw her around? What brought her to this place?

Sevika’s dark eyes lingered longer than she intended. In other words, she was starstruck. Something about you was magnetic—maybe it was your calm demeanour, a stark contrast to the chaos of the room, or the sharp wit you displayed when the bartender struck up a conversation. It's such a mysterious little thing. Whatever it was, it pulled at something deep within her. She didn’t often indulge in distractions like this, but tonight, she decided to give in. After all, you didn't seem like just a distraction.

“Mind if I sit here?” Sevika asked, gesturing to the seat next to you. Her voice was gravelly yet smooth, and there was a glint of curiosity in her gaze.

“Be my guest,” you replied coolly, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips along with a little hand gesture signalling her to take a seat. You didn't mind, anyway.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm of conversation. It was an instant click. This is what happens when two cool individuals meet. Sevika found herself laughing—a rare sound these days—and  sharing stories she wouldn’t normally divulge. Your sharp humour and calm confidence were a balm to her frayed nerves.

“Now..,” Sevika began, her voice thick with amusement, “you want to hear how I met my boss?”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “This ought to be good.”

She chuckled, running her metal fingers over the rim of her glass. “I was younger, dumber, and thought I had the world figured out. I was in this gang back then—not one of the good ones—and my boss shows up at this meeting like he owns the place. Sharp suit, cold stare, all business.”

You leaned forward, already hooked. “Sounds about right.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Sevika said, her grin widening. “I spent the whole damn meeting convinced she was some rich lady from Piltover slumming it in Zaun for kicks. The way she carried herself—calm, calculating—I thought, ‘She’s too put-together to be some guy. Definitely a woman. Definitely a lesbian. Pretty much my type.'”

You burst out laughing, almost choking on your drink. “Wait, you thought your boss was a woman?! That's bat shit crazy”

“Dead serious,” Sevika said, laughing with you. “I even told the guy next to me, ‘She’s got to be trying to recruit us for some secret Piltover club. Only someone that confident comes out here with zero backup.’”

“And when did you realize?” You managed through your laughter. "You got to be kidding me"

“Oh, it was awkward,” Sevika admitted, shaking her head. “He starts talking, and I finally catch on. I felt like an idiot. But by then, he’d already sized me up, decided I wasn’t a complete waste of space, and offered me a job.”

You leaned back, grinning. “And now you’re his right hand. That's actually amazing!”

“Yeah, funny how things work out,” Sevika said, raising her glass. “But I still get a laugh out of it. Never told him, though. He’d kill me. Kinda figured out he knew about it, sometimes."

The two of you clinked glasses, laughter spilling between you, the weight of the world outside momentarily forgotten.

Time seemed to slip away unnoticed as the drinks flowed. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sevika let her guard down, the stress melting from her shoulders.

But as Sevika grew more tipsy in your company, Silco’s patience upstairs wore thin. He had been calling for her, needing her presence for some urgent matter, but she hadn’t answered. Frustrated, he descended into the bar, hoping to find Sevika in there.

This better be reasonable.

The dimly lit bar reeked of alcohol and smoke. Silco passed through the crowd, his single sharp eye scanning the room. His patience was already thin, frayed by the unanswered calls and the disrespect it implied. Sevika wasn’t the type to ignore him without reason, and that made her absence all the more grating.

When Silco finally spotted Sevika, he stopped dead in his tracks. She was leaning against the bar, her expression uncharacteristically soft, her attention entirely consumed by you. Silco’s irritation flared for a moment before his gaze fully landed on you—and his breath caught.

You.

No, it couldn’t be.But the resemblance was uncanny. The way you carried yourself, the curve of your smile, and even the faint tilt of your head—it was all too familiar. You reminded him of her, his old flame, the one he had mourned long ago, believing to be lost forever. His mind raced with questions. Was it truly you? How was this possible? Had fate conspired to bring you back into his orbit? What..

"So, do you smo-" Sevika's question was interrupted.

“Sevika,” Silco’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Sevika stiffened, snapping out of her tipsy reverie, though her body betrayed a slight sway. She turned toward her boss, realizing too late the storm in his mismatched gaze.

“Silco,” she started, her tone more sheepish than she intended. “I didn’t hear you—”

“I noticed,” he interrupted coldly, his eyes never leaving you. “And who might this be?”

You met his gaze with the same cool confidence you’d shown Sevika, though there was a flicker of recognition in your eyes as well. Silco caught it, and his heart twisted painfully.

Oh no.. I think Sevika is in trouble. Shit, it must be my fault. Wait.. why do I feel like I've seen this man somewhere? Deja vu.

“Just someone I’m getting to know,” Sevika said defensively, though she faltered slightly under Silco’s intense scrutiny.

Silco’s voice softened, though it carried an edge of disbelief. “Is that so?” His gaze bore into you now, searching for answers. “You seem… familiar.”

You smiled faintly, your calm exterior unshaken, though the statement surprised you. "Do I? You've got an excellent memory then." You still managed to slip your humor, but this man is so serious.

Silco's mind churned with the possibilities, his heart wrestling between hope and dread. Could it really be you, his old flame? Or was this some cruel trick of the universe, a shadow of the past come to torment him?

"You should be dead," Silco said out of the blue, his voice rough, as if the words themselves burned. "I saw it. I felt it. They told me you were gone."

Clueless and taken aback, you bite back. "Pardon..?" Something about his statement made sense, though, so much sense. Dying.

The air between you two crackled with the weight of history. His eyes, once filled with icy detachment, now glimmered with a mixture of fury and something deeper—an old longing, twisted and suffocated by the years of loss. His hands clenched at his sides, his control slipping as his emotions fought to break free.

Sevika, standing behind him, watched the scene unfold in silence, her usual stoic demeanour shaken by the tension between you and Silco. She could feel the shift in the room, the unspoken history between the two of you hanging in the air like a thick fog. It was clear to her now—this wasn't just about you being 'alive.' This was about something far more personal, something that would unravel everything from Silco's past.

Silco’s mind raced, the flood of memories and emotions overwhelming him. He wanted answers. He needed answers. Would he risk it all to uncover the truth about you, or would he push you away, fearing the chaos your return could bring?

In the silence, it was impossible to tell what Silco might do next. The man who had always been in control now stood before the one thing that could shatter him—the woman who had once been the fire in his soul, the one who could either redeem or destroy him.

For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze never wavered from you, as if trying to pierce through the uncertainty, to find some shred of the person he had lost. His hand twitched, and his breath became shallow.

Sevika watched, her mind calculating, her heart in turmoil. She had never seen Silco like this—so raw, so vulnerable. And as much as she wanted to understand what was happening, she knew better than to interfere in this moment. This was Silco’s past, and whatever decision he made now would echo through their future.

"You’re not the same," Silco muttered under his breath, his voice colder, but the words still holding a hint of the person he had once been. Something is telling Silco to trust his guts - that this, she, is no other than the person he's thinking of. But Silco is not the person to simply let his guard down. He needs assurance. He needs proof.

The statement hung in the air, sharp and dangerous. What would you say? Would you reveal the truth of what you know, what happened to you, or would the mystery remain, leaving him to wonder forever what might have been? After all, you came back in Zaun searching for answers. You didn't know who you were way back then even. All you know is that you were given a second chance in life, but that's your own business now. And oh.. randomly spilling that out is probably not the best.

In that moment, the future of your story hung in the balance. Silco could be swayed by his emotions, by his anger, by the ghosts of his past.

But for you, it wasn’t just a matter of surviving—it was a matter of finding the person you had been, the person who had been lost to the flames of the past. And Silco’s presence, whether a blessing or a curse, would be the key to unlocking the truth.

"Enlighten me."

"Ah.. is that what you want?" A smirk playing across Silco's face. "I'll show you. Oh, I'll show you."

[silcoholic]

"𝒜𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈"

Young Silco X Reader Oneshot

Unspoken feelings | Friends to Lovers | Little explicit/sexual content at the end

The Last Drop was livelier tonight than usual with noise and chaos - the kind of electric buzz that only Zaun’s underbelly could spark. Besides, who wouldn't want to drink in such a cozy establishment? The dim lights flickered, the smoky haze mingling with the sharp scent of liquor. Tired and exhausted, you sat by the bar area where Vander tends to his drink concoctions and customers. It has been a long day. Zaun is not exactly an accommodating place for everyone, but oh well, you were happy to survive yet another day.

You stared into the glass before you, watching the amber liquid ripple with each beat of the bass-heavy music. The crowd is so alive. Your mind wandered through the labyrinth of shared memories—years spent fighting for rights alongside your friends and surviving in Zaun’s harsh shadows. These thoughts stirred a series of emotions that lingered as time passed. Somehow, your mind just seems to constantly drift over something from time-to-time or maybe.. someone.

Silco.

The noise of the room faded along the background as you became lost in the swirl of emotions you’d tried so hard to ignore. For years, you’d told yourself it was nothing more than camaraderie, an alliance forged in necessity. But deep down, you’d always known the truth.

The night wore on as the others grew louder with alcohol. Silco slipped away from his seat - a table nearby, moving to the bar where you sat. He leaned against it, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” he asked, his voice low and edged with amusement and tease.

“I was,” you teased, swirling the remnants of your drink as you looked at him. “Until you came.”

He chuckled softly, his eyes glinting in the low light. “Ah yes, I missed you too," he replied, followed by a playful bump into your shoulder. Sarcasm has always been a part of your shared humour. It is a tool that makes your interactions anything but ordinary.

You raised an eyebrow, unwilling to let him win this verbal sparring match. “Look Silco, if you want to ask me out or something, you have got to do better than that.” Nothing more than the usual playful banter between the two of you. Or is it?

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something darker, more intense. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And if I do?”

Your breath caught, but before you could respond, Felicia called out from across the room, dragging your attention back to her. With the open opportunity, Silco leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Follow me" an invitation.

A smile crossed your face in response. An acceptance.

Poor Felicia. Her offer for you to join her on the dance floor has long been abandoned.

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Silco led you to one of the private rooms of The Last Drop, a space wherein you often hang out with him, Vander, and Felicia. In other words, you could call it your little chaos corner.

The air between you was immediately charged with unspoken tension. The door clicked shut behind you as you walked in right after Silco, and for a fleeting moment, the only sound that could be heard was both of your breathing. The room that was usually filled with laughter was now filled with a suffocating tension. May heavens help you.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. There was no hesitation in his gaze, no uncertainty as his hand reached out to your cheek with a slow and gentle caress. It momentarily felt like a dream. But for once, if this is a dream, you'd rather just keep on dreaming instead of waking up.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper as he pinned you at the door with his free hand and foreheads almost clashing together.

You shook your head slowly, barely able to form words. “Don’t.”

That was all the permission Silco needed. He wasn't able to process whether it was just the alcohol taking over him, but for heaven's sake, he knew he always wanted to do this. His lips crashed against yours, and the world fell away. Nothing else mattered, it's just you and him. His kiss was demanding, filled with years of suppressed longing and frustration. You wrapped your hands around his neck, tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Sil..” you gasped in between kisses, his name a plea on your lips. "Silco."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

You pulled him back in, your lips claiming his as you backed toward the bed in the corner of the room. His hands roamed over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and when you finally fell onto the mattress, he followed, his weight pressing you into the worn sheets.

The room was filled with the sound of soft moans and whispered words, each touch and kiss more desperate than the last. Silco’s usual composure unraveled as he worshipped you, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of your skin.

“All mine,” he growled against your neck, his voice rough with emotion.

“Always,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

The night stretched on, every moment a culmination of years of unspoken feelings and stolen glances. You lost yourselves in each other, the outside world forgotten as you finally gave in to what you’d both known all along.