Maybe some Young! Silco fic? (Or anything that you wanna do) I already loved his older version but his Young self in The last episodes got my heart in a grip 😭💖💖 He looks so full of dreams and maybe a little silly. Maybe with a energetic/chaotic significant other!
young!silco also has me in a death grip don't worry. hope you enjoy this!!
warnings: fem!reader, violence, sexual innuendos, secondhand embarrassment for drunk rambling
“It’s doable!”
“Doable and survivable are two very different things.”
Vander knocked his head against the metal backing of his mining gloves repeatedly, aching for the two of you to come to a compromise. The light of the fungi matched the tink tink tink of his patience running thin.
Crunching footsteps had him pausing, one eye opening to find Felicia pushing her helmet up higher on her head as she stared at you and Silco just beyond, still very much squabbling. She leaned on her hip, one hand rising to rest on it as she smiled down at Vander’s hunched form.
“Are they still arguing about the gap?” she whispered.
He groaned quietly instead of answering. It was all she needed.
“I can make it!” you protested, arms gesturing to the other side of the ravine. “I’ve jumped buildings twice the distance.”
“When you’re jumping buildings you can see the ground,” Silco argued, pointing to the darkness below. “We don’t know how long a fall that is, you absolute lunatic.”
“You’ve gotta hand it to her,” Felicia chuckled, taking up camp next to Vander. “No one else would even think of jumping across.”
“She’s an adrenaline junkie,” Vander muttered. “Jumping off shit is all she thinks about.”
“Would you—just let me—damn it, Sil!”
The shuffle of boots and clothes had both of their heads turning, watching with equally amused expressions as Silco passed by with you being half carried half dragged away from the ravine. Silco didn’t pay them a glance as he went. You kept stretching back the way you came, struggling but not truly putting all your energy into it. Felicia could tell. You loved being his center of attention for as long as possible, even if it kept you away from your wild pastimes.
The sound of a horn echoed through the caves, sending the fungi white with the sound. The work day was finished.
“Back to the last drop, then?” Felicia hummed, standing and offering a hand to the big man. He accepted it with a soft grin, following her out. The two of them watched Silco far ahead, who was now fully carrying you in your grieved state. You kept muttering you could have made it.
“Think they’ll ever get together?” she hummed, nudging Vander.
“Wish they would,” he sighed. “It was annoying years ago, now its just pitiful.”
She laughed, waving a hand at you when you pulled your head up from Silco’s shoulder to eye them. “Well, she’ll never do it. She’s convinced herself he’s too focused on our cause to ever settle down.”
“Some days I think the same thing,” Vander said, introspective when she glanced up at him, “others, I catch him looking at her. He doesn’t open up, barely does around us, but…”
“Disappears around her, yeah?” She smiled at him and he mirrored her, nodding.
Later that night, the Last Drop was bustling with the newest record added to the box. You’re dancing over chairs, running across the edge of the pool tables as people chant your name. Someone tossed a mug through the air and you caught it, swallowing the contents down and cheering with the rest before continuing on with dancing.
Silco watched from his bar seat. He had cruel timing, turning his eyes back to his notebook when you pulled yourself away from the crowd to glance at him. To you, he was lost in his own world, but really he fell into yours quite easily. You were distracting. He perked up at the sound of your voice without meaning to, knew the outline of your body in his periphery. Abrasive and chaotic. You’re too much, too loud.
Too perfect for someone as withdrawn and stiff as him.
“Oh, heaven help me,” Vander grumbled, both hands on the bar as he stared at the scene. Silco paused to raise an eyebrow at him. “She just downed three shots in one.”
“How many does that make it now?” he questioned.
“Eight.”
Both of their heads dropped, knowing how the night would be going.
“All right, I give!” Felcia slammed a hand on the bar as she walked up, panting. “I can’t keep up with her. Gods. Where does she get the energy?”
Vander passed her a drink as Silco shrugged, music blaring all around them. Felicia scowled when she noticed his journal.
“Oh, c’mon, Silco. Let loose for a bit!” she shouted over the din of the bar, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“If I did that, nothing would ever get done around here,” he returned, smirking as she rolled her eyes.
The counter shook under them, the second bang of Vander’s fist sending both of them on high alert. Two meant trouble.
Felicia spun around, Silco turned in his seat. There by the record player you were backed against the wall by a man, one arm caging you in while his fingers pinched your chin. The cold look in your eyes had a shiver streaking down Silco's spine. You were a storm like this and he’d been lost to it for years.
The man said something that made you scoff, batting his hand away and sliding to get out from under him. As his hand grabbed your upper arm Silco realized he was no longer sitting. Even across the room he could read your lips.
“Last chance. Beat it,” you warned.
The man laughed and tugged you closer, it sent your knee right between his legs. When he bent over, Silco heard the crack as your fist met the man’s jaw. He hit the ground, dead weight.
Fuck, he thought, hands curling into fists at his side. You were perfect.
You stumbled back a few steps. It seemed those shots had soaked in. You were cradling your hand as yells broke out, slow to turn as a couple of goons stood from a table nearby.
“Great,” Felicia puffed, pushing off the bar, “he had lackeys.”
Vander shouted as they ran at you, Silco was halfway to you when you dodged the first swing, putting you straight into the path of another. Your back hit the record player, a scratch disrupting the music. The entire bar turned, regulars rushing forward without second thought and jumping the goons.
Silco went straight to you, mindful of the chair Felicia was brandishing overhead as she flew into the meat of the fight.
“Let me see,” he said, sliding a hand under your jaw and tilting your head back. You were hunching, still holding that hand of yours to your chest.
“Hey, Sil,” you slurred, grinning and wincing. Your lower lip was busted, the right side of your face already beginning to swell from the jaw up. “Can you believe that guy? Down in one hit, hah!”
“Still have all your teeth?” he asked, wiping the blood trailing from the corner of your mouth.
“What? You want me to open wide for you?”
He ticked a brow, scowling through the heat that flashed through his stomach.
“Come on, let’s get ice on that,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around you. You hummed happily, falling into his side. Even as drunk as you were, your feet barely stumbled as he led you to the basement door. He nodded to Vander who already had the same idea, coming around the back of the bar to pass him an ice pack and a clean rag. He thanked him.
“Take care of her,” Vander said, rubbing a hand over your back. You tossed the big man a smile before he returned to his station.
“Keep that on there,” Silco said to you, heart aching as you hissed at the touch of it.
“I’ve got it,” you muttered, hand brushing his. He made sure you kept it pressed to your cheek before opening the door and helping you in first, careful of the stairs as he closed it behind him. The sounds of fighting and the skipping music was muffled as he led you into the bowels of the Last Drop, setting you down gently on the couch.
He reached for your hand, frowning when you turned away from him.
“Let me see,” he said.
“It’s fine,” you grumbled, curling into the couch.
“I’d like to see that for myself,” he pushed, fingers gentle as they smoothed over your wrist. Your furrowed brow relaxed a bit, watery eyes trailing to him. “Let me see,” he asked again, softer.
You sighed, the weight of your arm settling into his palm as he moved to sit next to you. You hand shook in both of his, the skin of your knuckles ripped open and gushing red. When he attempted to move your pointer and middle fingers you whimpered, head falling into his shoulder.
He apologized, pulling one hand away to reach into his jacket. “It’s sprained. I’ll need to wrap it.”
“Sweet Sil,” you sighed, your good cheek rubbing against his shoulder as you brought your knees up, “always prepared for the worst.”
“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t constantly getting into trouble,” he hummed, pulling out a roll of bandages and beginning his work. You curled into him as he cleaned you up, tensing when he secured your bruised digits. As he tied the bandages off around your wrist, he sighed, holding your hand in his, thumb running over your skin.
“M’sorry,” you sniffed.
He turned his head, a breath punched from his lungs as he saw tears slipping down your cheeks. The ice pack laid abandoned in your lap.
“What are you apologizing for?” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face.
“I always make a mess,” you whispered, little gasps slipping. Each one was a bullet to his chest. He couldn’t stand seeing you cry. “I always annoy you.”
“No,” he murmured, arms stretching over you to pull you into his lap, “no, you don’t annoy me, pet.”
“Yes, I do,” you sobbed. “I get into t-trouble when I-when I just want you to look at me.”
Oh, Gods help him. He knew this was the alcohol talking but the hopeful flame in his heart was burning into a torch. He needed to calm you down and get you to bed.
“I’m looking,” he said, lips grazing your forehead as he rubbed your back. “You don’t have to try so hard. I’m always looking.”
You sniffed and he grabbed the bloody rag, nudging the cleanest corner towards you to blow your nose. He chuckled when you groaned, curling deeper into his chest.
“Too drunk for this,” you mumbled. “Stupid shots.”
“Stupid shots, indeed,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Let's get you some water and go to bed.”
You whined, hiding your face in his neck. “Wanna stay here. M’warm.”
He sighed, settling into the couch. Eventually you would nod off. He’d carry you into bed, then.
“Hair’s nice.”
“What?” he chuckled, trying to look down at you, but it was impossible with you smushed up against him.
“Your hair,” you said, lips moving against his neck. “I like it when it’s bun. Hair frames your face nice. S’handsome.”
You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, he thought, holding back his laughter. You were never going to live this down and he wasn’t nearly nice enough to not tease you about this for the rest of your life.
“Face hurts,” you sighed. He rubbed your calf, shushing you.
“Sleep, pet,” he murmured against your forehead.
“You’ll stay?” you asked.
“I’ll stay,” he promised.
