Sacrifice
Reader takes Powder's crystals and hands them over to the enforcers presenting herself as the scapegoat. Being the last kid that Vander had taken in no one would even miss her, right?
Oneshots
Vampire!Vi/Caitlyn/Jinx x gn!reader
One scenario for each. When the bloodbank got robbed Caitlyn has nothing to feed on. You're more than willing to share your blood.
- blood, blood sucking, petname bunny, kisses -
Oneshots
Vampire!Vi/Caitlyn/Jinx x gn!reader
One scenario for each. When you realize you're being stalked by a Vampire you don't see any other way besides confronting them.
- blood, blood sucking -
Oneshots
Silco x gn!reader
Soft Silco as a dad hours. pure fluff
Silco x fem!reader
Silco is late and his girls can't help but worry
Series
Vander x Bartender!Waitress!reader
A series of little standalone fics following fem!reader and her relationship with Vander and their kids
Warnings at the start of each chapter
- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -
Oneshots
Vander x fem!reader
When Vander wants to sacrifice himself you realize that you can't let him do it. The kids need him. The lanes need him.
- angst, hurt/comfort, abduction, forced drug use, torture, character death -
Vander x fem!reader
You have a panic attack, luckily Vander is there to help.
- panic attack, explicit violence/gore -
Mother's Day
Vander x fem!reader
The kids and Vander prepare a surprise for you.
Oneshots
Vampire!Vi/Caitlyn/Jinx x gn!reader
One scenario for each. You're bad at fighting and Vi hates injustice.
- blood, blood sucking, Vi punches people (surprise), hand/wrist kisses) -
(straight pairings/time before felicia and connol married)
{reader x vander}
{reader sis x silco}
It was past midnight when Vander finally locked the front door of The Last Drop. The crowd had thinned out, the bar was cleared, and the only people left were the closest ones—those who didn’t need an invite, those who belonged here even after the lights dimmed and the ashtrays filled. You leaned against the bar, warm from the drink in your hand, legs stretched out as you listened to the hum of casual chatter. The wooden floors creaked under familiar boots—Benzo leaning on the counter, Connol dragging two chairs over, Felicia lounging with her legs kicked up. Silco sat off to the side in his usual brooding pose, swirling something dark in his glass.
You’d been sneaking glances at Vander all night, trying not to be obvious. He was all casual strength and quiet charm, leaning on the bar like it loved him more than gravity did. His laugh rumbled low whenever Felicia cracked a joke. And every time you looked at him too long, your heart thudded against your ribs like it was trying to escape.
Felicia caught you staring. Of course she did.
“You know what we haven’t done in a long time?” she said, suddenly sitting up. “Truth or Dare.”
Benzo perked up instantly. “I’m in.”
Connol raised a brow. “We’re adults.”
“That’s what makes it worse,” Felicia grinned, already reaching for an empty glass to spin. “Come on. One round.”
And so it began.
It started with a glint in Felicia’s eye—the kind that promised nothing good but everything fun.
She plucked an empty glass bottle from the bar shelf and dropped it onto the scratched wooden floor with a thud. “Truth or Dare,” she declared, as if that alone could summon the ghost of mischief past. “We’re doing this. Just one round. Come on, we’re all half-drunk, the bar’s closed, and none of us are getting any younger.”
You gave her a skeptical look. “Really?”
“Especially you,” she added with a smirk, ignoring you entirely as she knelt down in the center of your haphazard circle—Benzo on a barstool, Connol on the floor with a cushion, Silco in his shadowy corner sipping something neat, and Vander behind you, nursing a beer and looking too relaxed for your liking.
The room, warmed by alcohol and friendship, buzzed with amusement. You slowly slid off your barstool and sat down, legs crossed, watching as Felicia leaned forward and gave the bottle a practiced flick.
It spun fast, glass catching the glow of the hanging lanterns above. The flicker of flame shimmered in its curves as it whirled, clicking softly against the wood like it had secrets to tell. Everyone’s eyes followed its spinning dance, a lazy anticipation in the air. You caught yourself holding your breath, even though you weren’t the one spinning it.
It slowed.
Tilted.
Clicked.
And pointed—dead at Benzo.
He groaned theatrically, already laughing. “Of course.”
“Truth or dare?” Connal grinned.
Benzo sighed like a man walking to his doom. “Truth.”
“Ever been in love?” Connol asked, clearly expecting a joke.
But Benzo surprised everyone. His grin faded a little, eyes distant. “Once. Years ago. She left for Piltover. Said I didn’t have enough ambition.” He shrugged, trying to laugh it off. “Guess she was right.”
A beat of silence passed—real ones, the kind that cut through alcohol buzz and land quietly. Then Felicia clapped. “Well damn, that got deep fast. Spin again.”
Benzo gave the bottle a wobbling spin this time. It jerked, circled, slowed—and landed on Felicia herself.
Connol raised his eyebrows. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” she said without hesitation, already sipping her drink.
He smirked. “Kiss the person in this room you’d most want to take to dinner.”
She didn’t even flinch. Just leaned over and kissed Connol on the cheek
His eyes widened, and for once.
Everyone whooped.
“You’ve got game,” Benzo muttered, impressed.
Felicia winked and tossed the bottle with flair.
It spun faster this time, a lazy cyclone of mischief. You watched it move, your heart thudding a little harder than it should’ve. When it finally clattered to a stop, the mouth of the bottle pointed straight at you.
Felicia leaned back on her palms, eyes practically glowing. “Well, well. Truth or dare, sweetheart?”
You tried to look casual, but your nerves were already betraying you. “Truth,” you said carefully.
“Who in this room do you have a crush on?”
Your blood ran cold. You glanced at Felicia like she’d shot you. She only smiled wider, devilish.
You didn’t dare look at Vander. Not even a side-glance.
“…Pass,” you muttered, and grabbed your drink instead.
Everyone cheered as you downed it in one go, cheeks burning.
“Coward,” Felicia teased, then spun the bottle again.
The next stop? Vander.
The group collectively held its breath. The bottle hadn’t even stopped spinning before someone asked, “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he answered, voice low and smooth like poured molasses.
Felicia grinned. “I dare you to kiss the person you’re most likely to fall for.”
A hush swept the room.
You didn’t even dare blink.
Vander took one slow swig of his drink, stood up, and casually walked over. He dropped down right next to you without a word, his lips brushing yours, his warmth instantly sinking into your skin. “Guess that answers that,” he said.
Benzo let out a long, exaggerated whistle. Connal muttered, “Didn’t see that coming.” Felicia gave you a look, all raised eyebrows and smug delight.
You wanted to disappear and melt into the floor—but also… maybe stay exactly where you were forever...
----
Felicia leaned back on her hands, smug as ever, eyes flicking between you and Vander like she was the puppeteer of your slow-burning tension. Connol was still trying to pretend that kiss hadn’t fried every wire in his brain, while Benzo refilled his drink like nothing could surprise him anymore. Silco… well, he was quiet, swirling whatever was left in his glass, unreadable as always.
“Alright,” Felicia said, cracking her knuckles. “One last spin. Winner takes… the satisfaction of making someone squirm.”
She reached for the bottle again, fingers tapping it twice like she was casting a spell. Then—flick.
The bottle twirled across the wood, faster than before. The glass gleamed as it spun, catching the light from the lantern overhead. It looped like it had a mind of its own, whirring and clicking in its little spiral of chaos. Your eyes tracked it, dizzy with the movement—and with everything that had just happened. Vander was still sitting next to you, warm and close, his presence as steady as ever. You could barely think over the pounding in your chest.
The bottle slowed.
Slower.
Slower still.
Then, it stopped.
Pointing at Silco.
Everyone froze.
Even Felicia’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Well damn.”
Silco arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware I signed up for this.”
“You sat in the circle,” Benzo said, smirking. “That makes you fair game, brother.”
Felicia leaned in, almost predatory. “Truth or dare, Silco?”
There was a long pause.
Then, flatly: “Truth.”
Felicia’s grin stretched wider. “What kind of person makes you nervous?”
The table went quiet. All eyes turned to him. It was a strange question. Silco was the type of man who made others nervous. Calculated. Sharp. Always ten steps ahead. The idea of anyone—anything—making him nervous seemed absurd.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he tapped his fingers against the rim of his glass, once. Twice. Then:
“People who don’t flinch,” he said slowly, gaze distant. “People who can look me in the eye and not blink. People who say what they mean. Women who don’t try to impress me—and still do.”
That silence? Heavy.
Connol let out a low whistle. “Well… alright.”
Felicia blinked. “Didn’t expect philosophy hour, but sure.”
You caught the way Vander side-eyed Silco with mild amusement. You, meanwhile, were still processing your first kiss.
Felicia stretched, sighing dramatically. “Well, that’s the final round. Game over.”
Then the door creaked open.
You turned your head...expecting maybe another straggler from the Lanes — and there she was. Your older sister.
She stepped into the bar like she didn’t belong in the grime of the Undercity, yet somehow fit into it better than anyone. In her work blouse, sleeves rolled up, a faint sheen of oil on her hands from fixing the rickety bike she used to get around. Hair tied up haphazardly, but still managing to look like she could boss around a room with a glance. She didn’t speak right away — just looked around, eyes scanning the room until they found you.
“Time to go, trouble,” she said, and you groaned.
“I was just— We’re winding down.”
“Doesn’t matter. You promised to be back before midnight.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s one.”
Silco hadn’t spoken the entire time, but the moment she stepped in, something in his expression changed — like a man slapped out of his own thoughts. The tired slouch in his frame vanished. His eye, that strange glint, tracked her movements as she walked in further.
She wasn’t even trying.
“Who’s that?” he muttered to no one in particular.
“That’s her sister,” Felicia said, watching him with interest. “The scary one.”
“She’s not scary—” you started, but your sister shot you a warning look, and you shut your mouth.
Silco stood slowly, absently dusting off his coat. He looked… curious. That was rare. Silco was a man who kept most of his thoughts behind his back — but now, as your sister walked past him to grab your coat off the seat, he turned fully to face her.
“You’re late,” he said — and it wasn’t sarcastic. It was something else. Teasing, maybe.
Your sister blinked. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”
You watched, half in horror and half in awe, as your sister turned toward Silco, crossing her arms. “You always this nosy with strangers?”
“Only when they look like they could break my nose with a wrench,” Silco replied, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She smirked. “Only if you deserve it.”
He chuckled — a soft, low sound, almost too quiet for him. You stared. Silco? Laughing? Voluntarily?
Your sister stepped past him, but not before giving him a once-over, eyebrow slightly raised like she was deciding if he was worth the time. She let it pass without a word, but her silence said enough.
Silco watched her go.
The moment she turned her back, he was still staring — like he hadn’t blinked since she walked in.
Vander leaned toward him. “You’re drooling.”
Silco scoffed. “Shut up.”
But it was too late. Everyone saw it now.
..........
You tugged on your sister’s sleeve. “Can we go?”
She arched a brow. “Someone’s grumpy.”
You glared, ignoring the smug faces around you.
Silco was still watching her as you left the bar. He didn’t say anything, but his silence was too loud The way his eyes lingered on her back — it was the look of a man used to control, suddenly faced with something he couldn’t figure out, couldn’t pin down, couldn’t ignore.
Outside, as your sister unlocked her bike, she muttered, “That guy weird.”
You glanced back at the window. He was still there, barely visible through the glass, eyes locked on her.
You grinned.
“Oh, sis,” you whispered under your breath, “you’re in so much trouble.”
(In the first chapter the reader meets Benzo, the pawnbroker, and manages to secure a deal that ensures better living conditions for them in exchange for your found treasures. Today, Reader will interrupt perhaps the most important sale in the universe, and meet with the Bartender)
Three days feels like too many and too few at the same time. You don't want to appear over-eager, or more pathetic than you already feel. People's generosity down here is a precarious thing though, if you wait too long he may rescind the deal. And an evil little voice bickers in the back of your mind that maybe this ‘friend of a friend’ might not be as hospitable as you had hoped.
Your thoughts drift back to the shop owner, Benzo. He was hospitable, mostly, but only after puffing his chest and making you cry in his store. As shameful as it is, the interaction endeared you to him. You haven't been treated with kindness in.. no. that's not really the word you think. It was gentle. The feeling keeps passing over you like a ghost, his big warm hand on your shoulder, the subtle press of his thumb as it ventures to the nape of your neck in shy circles. It makes you shiver.
He's a far cry from the man you had hoped to wed. Piltover men had a vanity to them that was just another way to peacock wealth, an unspoken social rule that a ‘moderate’ weight was respectable, but anything deemed excess was a sign of a personal failing or greed. Crooked teeth are straightened, stained cloth replaced with fresh white linen and silk, skin clean and pure from washing themselves in untainted waters.
It was all taken for granted, and it all made your stomach turn now. Your would-be-fiancee was the embodiment of a piltie to the people of the lanes, and his image shone in your mind in blinding vile fluorescence.
But Benzo? Big, soft and dare you say fluffy Benzo? With his crooked bridge and chipped teeth, or his audacious, unkempt mutton chops. He was every bit as unique as his personality would ask, a balance of strength and softness. He was not a replication of a cities idea of a perfect image, just comfortably himself.
Regardless, you shake your head as your mind has once again dragged you back to thinking of him. Maybe it's a sign to bite the metaphorical bullet and go back already. Secure this ‘bag’.
Looking around your little home you consider all that you had put together here. Along the ceiling and walls spanned many pipes and valves you had decorated in your year, weathered oil lamps tied with wires, scraps of colored fabric, and patchy horrid soldering jobs to close up wide gaps that rats would climb in and out of.
Large wooden planks of varied length litter the floor overtop of green tinted concrete long before claimed by the moss, and the equally as unforgiving walls were plastered with posters from years before. Your bed was made of fabric scrap, pieces both big and small stitched together to make a sheet of fabric large enough to fold in half, sew along its edge, and stuff with dubious soft materials. Anything you could get your hands on really. Youd scavenged strips of foam from rotted couches and mattresses, more fabric scrap and sodden raw wool that you washed five times till it smelled less acrid.
Everything here was a necessity, but if this proposed spare room was good, you think you can be happy to leave this all behind. Let another wayward soul find respite in your ramshackle attempt at making a life for yourself.
The rest of the cache you had stowed away in this room, its crate stained darkly with scorch marks but miraculously still retained its integrity enough to carry it all the way home. You can fit the rest of this in your rucksack, save for a particularly long and strange construction of long flat brass plates and bolts, there were some hinged, hidden parts along it that suggested hidden compartments or blades. Carrying this out in the open will be a little bit of a hassle, so you roll it up in a stained bit of cloth and hope for the best.
It was still morning, but it will be midday by the time you climb some levels up to reach the shop. There is a lightness in your step as you trek away, at the very least, till you get deeper into the lanes. You clutch the odd object close under your arm and keep your head down, weaving around potholes, pipes and people, till you come to the same wide round window again.
There's some muffles inside and your skin tingles for a moment before you push open the door, almost excited to see the big guy.
But its not.
Inside was the child again. A mop of white hair tied in a curled type of topknot, his overalls a few sizes too big, he leans back in the stool counting through a sizable stack of paper notes, the type of money that hardly sees the world down here in the humid depths of the lanes. Across from the counter stood a tall broad man, a hooded cloak over his shoulders and the glint of a standard issue Enforcer respirator hung around his neck.
Piltie you thought without even realising it.
At what point did these people become so othered to you?
It was a thought you couldn't dwell on as the man seemed to almost panic, like he wasn't supposed to be here.
“Uh.Tha- Thank you then! I will be taking my leave good sir! I mean Young man?”
He had attempted to lower the pitch of his voice but it was clear that it's unnatural to his way of speaking. Hastily he gathered a collection of items that he had purchased and loaded them with clumsy hands into a small trolley he had with him, topping it off with a large black box that he gave the most care in its placement to. The child quirks a brow at him, and can hardly contain the smirk on his lips as he continues to flick through the notes just one more time to be sure. Some dodgy business was going on here that's for sure. But it's none of your business.
You awkwardly move around the room to give this stranger space as he retreated, taking with him almost half the shop's more eclectic wares. You didn't see his face too closely, just the strong line of his jaw and the jut of two misaligned front teeth. And his silly little cart, hardly concealing a Piltover family crest with a measly taped piece of paper.
When the door slammed shut with the sound of the bell's final rattle the room was silent for all of a few beats. Both you and the child staring at the swinging sign before turning to each other with incredulous looks.
You both begin to speak at the same time, tumbling over one another.
“Um. is Benzo around-”
“What you selling mister-”
It does nothing to alter the strange atmosphere, but he hufs a cheeky little laugh at you. “Hes out right now. But if you have more of those hairpins from last time I’ll give you everything in my pocket” He tells you smugly as he places the stack of bills inside something beneath the counter, closes a heavy sounding door, and spins a rattling dial. You glare at him just slightly. This isn't about what you bought for Benzo the other day, but the first time you had met this child months ago.
It seems he hasnt grown out of his snark.
“I'm not selling anything. I just needed to talk to Benzo”
“Well” the child shrugs, eyes sliding to the door again for a moment before setting back to you “I dunno when he will be back, you can come back a little later”
There wasn't anything you could think of to do in time in between, heading back to your little home would just give you another hour of walking with this heavy bag of trinketry weighing your shoulders down. Maybe you can waste a little time? Maybe Benzo is right around the corner and this tiny dweeb was just looking to shirk his responsibilities.
You slide the bag off your shoulder, as well as lower the mechanical piece, and dig around inside the rucksack for a remaining handful of the strange gears from last time, you place them on the counter and shrug back to him, parroting some of his body language back.
Almost rolling his eyes the child picks up some of the gears and turns them around, and instantly you see his brows furrow, flicking through a few, pinking out others, slotting some of them together and seeing what teeth fit comfortably amongst others.
“Are these from the same machine?” he questions you as more of the little pieces in his hands seemed to compliment each other. “I thought you said you weren't selling anything”
You corrected him “I'm not selling, I kind of already agreed to something with Benzo, you see. That's why I’m here”
The child leans overtop the counter to get a better look at your bag and your wrapped object, pointing at it with a gear he demands you “hand that big one over” so you do. Unwrapping the long armature and placing it longways in front of him, this kid seems to be as curious about it all as Benzo was, but where Benzo strong armed a client the child seemed to be more inclined to mischief.
“Robbing Pilties for the Old Man huh?” he asks with a grin. You falter just so.
Its a reminder that you probably avoided some serious problems by taking your things directly to Benzos the first time. Others would undercut you, or worse, just outright rob you of this well earned find.
You sounded exacerbated when you reiterated once again. “I didn't steal it”
“Heh. sure whatever”
If you were a true Zaunite you’d have bickered back with him, but you still can't find a place in you to be unkind to him, even if he was a bit of a dickdead. You watch as he tinkers away, adept with his tools and inquisitive mind, probably experienced in disassembling and reassembling a large manner of objects within the shop alone.
It's as if he’s seen one of these.. Things, before. But also, not. He knows what screws may do what, how a seam may lead to a compartment that leads to more intricate gearwork within, even managing to wedge open a spot that you swear one of those vial tubes could slot into. Very curious indeed.
He almost has the thing completely opened up when the door swings open with an audacious bang, the door rebounding off the crates stowed beside it and rattling with a creaking hinge. Damn near scared the shit out of you, making you jump in place and turn on your heel quickly to the sight of the store owner entering with a collection of rolled paper blueprints in his arms.
“Aah, that wretch at Geoff’s fucked up the measurement conversion again Ekko, You’d think they’d hire someone better at math by now” He huffs toward his.. Son? You assume.
But then his eyes fell on you, sitting on that little stool across from the counter, holding an odd gyroscopic ball that would glow so slightly when its inner mechanism turns fast enough. The way his face broke out into a wide grin comforted you, he wasn't cranky it took you three days to come back.
“There you are!” He chuckled “I was beginning to worry I scared ya off”
You can hardly keep away the little smile that pulls on your lips when you greet him. He hands the paper rolls to the child, Ekko, and waves him out of his chair for the man to take a seat himself. “Toyin’ around with it already” he muttered under his breath as he picked up the piece Ekko was working on. The child waits a moment to scrutinise the two of you before slipping into the room in the back to leave you alone.
You pick up your rucksack and place it on the countertop too, and begin to pull out every last piece you had left in there, more vials, gears, and four more of the small devices from the last visit. Benzo lets out a smooth low whistle surveying everything before him and seems to excitedly wring his hands before separating groups of the items, placing them in new little boxes for later use.
“I’m very glad you bought me the rest o’ this. It's not everyday someone comes in with long lost machines like this”
Watching curiously as he recloses the openings on the main piece. “Is it a weapon?” you ask.
Benzo gives a half-shrug. “It's not the whole machine, you got a little less than half of it. It is part of a charge amplifier from an older model of Enforcer Airships. I'd say this thing is maybe.. Thirty, Forty years old?”
You don't know the first thing about how airships are built or what a charge amplifier does. You were never one of Piltovers… best. While the town was swarmed by brilliant minds with the academy's generous grants and constant technological advancements, you were just lucky enough to be born into it. Maybe it made a little sense to you why your Ex had rejected your proposal, at the end of the day his family had a public image to uphold amongst their people, and you sure weren’t bringing anything special to their already overfull table of inventors and investors.
But alas. You did have things to offer here. A pile of Piltover relics that better put a damn good roof over your head. Considering that, you are unsure how to approach that subject with Benzo, not wanting to come across as disrespectful you simply watch him reorganise his things from where the child had misplaced and scattered things.
“Wheres the bloody… was here before I left… where’d he put-”
It seems the child has misplaced some of Benzos belongings. He stops himself from searching, and takes a cautious quick glance around the walls of his shop, then to you. His reddening cheeks and slightly flustered state making you equally as bashful in this awkward scene.
“Sorry, luv. I had put away somethin’ as an apology but…” he rubs a hand against his chin as he ponders “Guess I’ll have to find some more- sorry. More anticipation to a surprise I guess” You aren't sure why he’d need to apologise, trying to help you was more than enough, but he seemed keen to offer up more in humility.
“Oh thank you, It's fine really” You try to lessen his worry, and use the opening in the interaction to address this deal. “You are already going to improve my life here I can't ask for anything more”
“Think nothin’ of it! I was actually over at his this morning, but if i'm honest I told him ‘bout you the same night you were here”
Whoever this guy was had you hopeful and you felt yourself vibrate with anticipation. “What did he say?” you ask, earning another hearty grin from the man. “Of course he's open to the suggestion, gotta meet you first. As sorry a case as you are, he's still got his standards, but..” His eyes once again dip down your body and back to your face “I get the feelin’ you’ll tug on his strings just right”
You're unsure exactly what's insinuated here, but you flush anyway.
He adds in at the end “An’ if youre any good at cookin or cleanin who knows.. Might end up with a little coin”
Now that is a silver lining if you ever heard one.
“When do I get to meet this guy?”
Benzo straightens against the counter and flicks out a pocketwatch to check the time, despite the.. Seven, eight, nine clocks scattered around the store. Granted some dont seem to be ticking now that you focus. He purses his lips before closing it and stuffing it in his pocket.
“Well, He's probably a lil’ busy right now getting ready to open shop this evenin. Hows about lunch? Got anywhere to be?”
An invitation to a meal was again, unexpected, the hospitality of Benzo growing more and more grand every time he opens his mouth. You feel yourself melt into that comfort. You try to respectfully decline, not wanting to overindulge in his generosity lest it sours, but he insists upon it.
You relent easily, he didn't really need to pressure you much, as your stomach growls its own opinion on the matter.
He hops off his stool and you watch as he flips the door sign again, then reaching into his pocket to retrieve a ring of keys. Your skin prickles for a moment hearing the lock turn, not realising ‘Lunch’ meant eating here. You were curious now, did he have someone in the back who cooked? Was it himself? Or the child?
As Benzo steps up beside you you feel his hand on your body again, fingers smoothing from your shoulder in between the blades, he urges you up and out of the chair with his palm flat to your back. His heat permeates the thin weave of your layered shirts as you both walk towards the door to the back of his shop.
It opens with a creak, and he motions you in with the sweep of his arm. “After you, Luv"
═════════════
By Janna, the man can cook.
You can't even remember the last time in Piltover where you had eaten yourself into a food coma, but Benzo had just as much stowed away food as he did dangerous knick knacks in his store. And he knew exactly how to use them.
Apparently he had made a strange gamble a few years ago that really paid off in the form of a seemingly endless supply of canned preserves of many kinds. He tells you how he used to work odd jobs in kitchens when he was really young, learning by watching as the cooks tossed together their ingredients and teased the barely paid labourers with the delicious smells.
“-and the shelf life is at least three or four years after the printed use by date” He prattled to you as you sit opposite each other on his living space couch, “whats that sayin’ Ekko?” Benzo asks, having to throw his arm over the back of the couch to look behind him at his child, who was tipping his chair back in a lazy rocking motion at the table, His hand grips the fabrics surface firmly and is just a breadth away from being on your shoulder again. You stare at his fingers when you hear Ekko parrot something in unison with his caretaker
“Expiry dates are suggestions, not rules”
You find that dubious, but the way the two laugh with each other at least settles the worry of getting food poisoning. Only because you will have company in suffering.
“Unless its milk” the boy chimes in.
“Even spoiled milk can become yogurt or curds, lad”
His optimistic outlook is comforting, and you can tell by looking around his welcoming home that all things serve purpose, or have been repurposed like many things in the Underground were. The people of the Lanes were resourceful, his dinner table was clearly once a door, sanded down and fitted with three wooden legs of what might have been a bedframe once, paired with a single iron outlier. Not a single piece of cutlery or dinnerware matching. All pieces originating from somewhere else settling into this found home, not feeling disorganised, but that they belong.
You hope your next destination is just as welcoming.
The creak of Ekko’s wooden chair hitting the floorboards again signaled his rise and he begins to clear the table, and you too, feeling like you had something to give in return for the meal, also stand to assist him. Despite both of their complaints, that you were a guest, this time you insist, and there is little argument to it as the boy starts filling a washbasin with lukewarm soapy water.
Washing their dishes is the least you could do. In the back of your mind a talley of generous deeds between you fluctuates bit by bit, not with the intention to further ingratiate him to you, or you to him, but as a show of good faith. You want this man to like you a whole lot more for some reason.
As you are drying your hands off with a small towel Ekko is edging towards the door back to the shop with a glint in his eyes, but Benzo stops him. “Off to watch the shop for me?” He asks with a prodding humor before the boy had even gotten his hand on the doorknob. His skinny shoulders draw up, and when he turns his head there's an endearing pout in his expression.
“I was gonna go see my friends-”
“Ah, that works for us then. We were goin’ to head to the Last Drop ourselves anyway. We’ll all go together”
There's a little waver in the child's eyes that say he had some plans of his own in that respect, but he huffs in defeat, as he could never argue with his father really. He shrugs in acceptance and waits for the two of you to get off the couch and follow him.
Benzo guides you back through his house with a steady hand behind you again. It's so foreign to you to be touched so often by someone who was essentially a stranger, but nothing about that touch conveys intentions of harm. Maybe something different, something tender. You feel cared for.
There's a warmth that radiates right down to your bones as you disembark, a stomach full of food and heart full of friendly conversation, the three of you moving as a unit out through the front of the shop. Your rucksack slung over your shoulders was light once more, empty now save for your meagre belongings, a single change of clothes, a small knife, and a few notebooks you used to entertain yourself with little stories and doodles you come up with.
Ekko offers to carry it for you, but you laugh, “you have both done more than enough, I’ll be fine”
Traversing the Lanes feels so.. Different this time. Something about being with a group of people, not ones you are paid to work together with, but persons who would probably shove off any trouble that comes toward you. And the chat doesn't cease as you walk either. Benzo points out different buildings you pass and tells you who works out of what fronts, Mitula’s lockpickers, the knifesmith named Baros, a “rat bastard named Kev” who lived above a small grocery store, a good handful of brothels here and there too. It was quite evident that knowing people in the Lanes was very beneficial.
The pipes and tight alleys give way to a more open flat walk path of welded steel. No stone and dirt, as you make your way deeper into Zaun. Given the positioning, this spot was more or less considered the ‘city center’, deep beneath Piltover where the founders had built platforms descending into the Fissures.
You hadn't noticed Benzo and Ekko stop, continuing your pace as you look around at all the bright neon signage used to advertise the evening venues. Benzo has to reach out and grab your hand to stop you from walking away with a chuckle. “Nah luv, over here”
You wobble on the spot as you turn and look at them, then to the door you stand before, and then up to the large sign high above the building that you can't discern from this angle. This must be the place then. A.. bar? You consider it curiously, and cast another glance to Benzo as he steps forward and pushes open the door, walking in, then holding it open for you and his child.
Running in head first Ekko disappears into the building, already well familiar with this environment, and you follow behind while throwing cautious glances around. Bars were never your favorite place honestly, what Piltover had to offer had an atmosphere about them, that people sitting in their stools thought themselves too important to really be there sinking into the bottom of their mugs. When your Ex had taken you out you were no more than a decoration on his arm as he sat with others to drink.
This felt different. Whether it's a good difference will have to be seen.
Inside you are welcomed into warm lighting, the slow beat of a jukebox, and enough chatter in the early evening to set a low drone in the background that vibrated in your ears. Ekko was long gone, so Benzo strides his way directly up to the currently empty bar and takes a seat on one of the farther ends, you follow close behind him and take a seat beside him.
You look around for the Bartender, then at the collection of bottles and glasses lining the shelves behind.
“He’ll be around” He tells you as he turns in his seat to wave towards the room of patrons. “The place is nice though, innit? Ol’ Vander has been runnin’ this place for twenty odd years. Hes kinda’ the reason everyone plays nice around here”
You hum your acknowledgement and remain entrapped by the movement around you, though numbers were few, every second booth housed two to four people, and some tables were full. Everyone caught in their own little worlds, having conversation, making deals, the candlelight throwing sharp shadows across their features and highlighting their laughter, smirks and glowers. The clink of glass echoes every now and then, a chorus of life.
Then. Heavy footfalls. The creak of withered floorboard and the jangle of loose keys and coin in someones pocket. And then.. “The hell are you doin’ back here?” came a deep, jovial voice from behind the counter as a man steps back into his space.
Your heart hammers for just a moment as you set your eyes on him.
His eyes are on Benzo at first, who turns to him and barks his greeting, their hands coming together in a mock shake over the counter, before the larger man nods his head toward you.
“That lost lil’ cat I told you about”
And Oh, does his gaze burn. You thought Benzos charm made you simmer under the collar, but as those intense steel grey eyes lock on you you freeze in place, yet they pool fire in your belly like nothing else before. You almost forget to breathe when he cocks a little smirk and holds his hand out to you.
“Good to put a real face to a description. The names Vander” You tentatively put your smaller hand into his palm, his fingers close around yours and he gives it a gentle jostle.
“About time you showed up-” he continued, the baritone of his voice shook you “Benzo was beginning to fret thinkin’ you’d been plucked off by some gang for your coin”. The way Vander carried himself was intriguing, there was a pride to him, aware of his strength and stature, but the same underlying glint of gentleness in his expression that had endeared you to Benzo. You nod along with him, not knowing what to say, while Benzo tries to insist he wasn't “fretting” but simply “concerned for a fellow Zaunite doing it tough”
It makes Vander laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling and setting your heart aflutter. This was getting dangerous fast for you. This comfort, this attraction, hit like a sack of bricks, and you once again reflect on how the men of Piltover really didn't seem to compare.
After pulling out a bottle from under the counter and filling up Benzos cup he turns to you.
“You drink?”
You nod, somewhat of a lie, as alcohol hardly made its way to you after coming of age to do so. It was a social thing for you in a way, only enjoying it in the company of many. But you were no doubt in good company now, the kindness of these men amounting them to a room of people.
Whatever it is that he pours, you sniff and take a sip, and are pleasantly surprised to find it bubbly and sweet with a tinge of bitterness. A cider. “You like it?” he asks, smiling warm and curious. You reply “Yes, thank you”.
To your side, Benzo leans ever so slightly towards you, and a hand placed on the lowered back of the barstool all but cages you in between the metal and wood of the counter.
“Right then. Benzo here said you've been living out in the warrens for a year?”
You nod again. If the Warrens are what they call the abandoned and rotted structures to the east. He gives a tight shrug at that, and hums a disapproving note.
“Hm.. that's no place for someone so… foreign to take shelter, absolutely not. Surprised you're even breathing down here honestly”
“It took a little while to get used to” Your response comes with your own shy laughter which only deepens Vanders smile, liking that your walls were dropping in little increments for him.
“Well, our purifiers run during open hours, You’ll breathe easy here for the most part.. Ya know, If you wish to stay. Its nothin’ fancy, and maybe a little humid, but the old distilling cellar over there” he nods towards a wall on the opposite side of the establishment, an area noone was sitting and languishing in low candlelight, “it’s been sitting empty for a while save for some old boxes of barley I ain't usin’, I can get the girls to clear it out tomorrow”
A mention of “the girls” gives you slight trepidation, probably a man with many lovely ladies flocking around him and those stupid gorgeous eyes and smile of his. His charm was probably a blessing and curse all in one.
“I.. It's so generous, really, I feel like I shouldn't..” You begin, but he cuts your sentence off with a swat of his dishrag on the countertop beside you. “Ah-Ah! None of that young man” he chastises “You live in a dangerous place right now, without even knowin’ it. It's no loss to me to put a roof over someone's head when they need it”
It's almost as if some benevolent deity were watching over you, a patron of portly philanthropic men tossing these two in your direction to essentially save your life. Your eyes become wet, and though you sniffle a little bit, you don't let your waterworks overflow this time. You accept his offer with deep gratitude.
Benzos hand that had been resting behind you slips up to rest against your hip and you stiffen at the contact, but then he uses that hold to tip you towards him into a one armed hug. Raising his glass towards the Barkeep in a mock toast.
“To another new beginning, eh?”
You pick up your glass as well, and Vander tilts the bottle in hand to clink with the rim of your cups.
I haven't written fanfiction in almost 8 years. regardless. No one really asked for this but me lmao. Benzo X Reader X Vander ahead.
I ended up writing more than intended so this will be a few chapters and uploaded to AO3 once I revive a dead account.
Also Reader is FTM. there will be NSFW as I am horny for big men.
(may reformat this post later.)
Chap 1 - Junkshop
Youre still a bit new to this.
This whole... living rough thing. All it took was a couple of bad debts, a job loss, and shitty ex, that led to you fleeing your already fringe home for the underground.
You had only stepped into The Lanes a handful of times on riskier outings with your wont-be-fiancee back when things were.. well. Fun.
Even though it has been a year since he not only rejected your proposal, but expelled you from his "family home" (one of twelve properties) you still feel an ache when you remember the genuine joy you had felt at times. His denial came as a complete surprise.
But what can you do?
Whatever. The Lanes actually weren't that bad. Your dwelling felt homely. What was once the pump station of the eastern ventilation shafts had been repurposed, apparently many times before, so by the time you came across it it was uninhabited and covered in cobwebs and mold. But with time and patience and a whole lot of stolen floorboards, you made it yours.
The work? Well. Could be better. It took some time before you figured out what a "normal job" was down here. And it wasn't retail. You had gotten lucky at first, working the fish market in the slightly fresher air that was pushed forth by the seas breeze, but the gig didn't last long when your boss started losing money.
The second job was the first risk you had to take, smuggling, and you have never feared for your life truly till that damn job. The first punch you've ever thrown, and the first time you got your ass beat, and the first time you were introduced to those who really control the underground. Yeah. You didn't last in that either.
Now the third job? You dunno, it's not even a job, it's making ends meet. You weren't big or strong enough to be hired muscle, not fast or agile enough for the thieves and smugglers, and you outright weren't ready for the brothels.
So you just... pocket things. Small and innocuous that noone would notice. A basket here, a tool there, a forgotten ring on a table or dropped weapon. You've pilfered many corpses, keeping your eyes from their faces in shame as you took all they probably had, and what they died for.
Be it bullet holes or malnutrition, they weren't using it anymore. The gears keep turning.
Whatever had no use to you and your home would hopefully be sellable. And that's where you are now. Selling. Sometimes you just have your junk on a rolled out cloth for passers-by to glance at, there were a few shops here and there that took the right wares.
And just your luck, for once, you have a score coming in the form of a thiefs cache left abandoned. You didnt know what half the shit was but you knew this could sustain you for a little while. Taking a handful of devices, some intricate gears and metal tubes with odd keyholes along them, and dumping them into your rucksack to toddle through the city.
There was one shop you had in mind for these doodads, having to bounce between many to avoid getting traced to anything you've stolen, but this one guy seems to have an inclination towards stuff that sparks with mystique.
Benzos
It's a simple little shop tucked away in the alleys with a wide, intricate patterned window made of the underground's typical melted bottle glass, the awkward ripples of the melt obscuring the view on both sides save for the flickers of old bulbs and candle light.
You were surprised to not see the small boy you had met the one time you came by, the one who gave you the most withering look when you presented the wares you were selling and asked if you were serious. Getting shot down by a child hurt just a bit more, but you think maybe this time you’d have enough experience to try and haggle with the little shit.
It was not the child though, but an adult man. Immediately you thought perhaps this is the man ‘Benzo’ so named as the shop. He was a heavier set individual hunched over a pile of metal instruments and tools on his workbench, however he turned to look over his shoulder when you stepped inside.
After a quick up-and-down look from the man he Nods at you, insinuating he's sized you up as someone he can handle, and makes to put away some of what he was working on as you step to the center of his little shop.
"Welcome in!" he all but barks as he spins on the pivot of his chair, now facing frontward at the desk that bisects his shop. His accent thick with the slur of a once broken jaw, and his demeanour stands firmly with one foot on either side of friendly and sceptical. "Here to barter, I presume?"
You nod again, and struggle to find your voice before clearing the lingering grey muck from your throat.
"Yeah, I um- these, I bought some stuff" you begin as you unsling the bag from over your shoulders. He leans in, curious, and pulls a pair of small round lens glasses from a drawer to set on his rounded nose.
You retrieve the items in odd handfuls and scatter them on the available counter space before him, making a melodic sound as different metals rattled together.
Benzo, or at least you're assuming this man was Benzo, picked up the tubes first and began to turn them in his hands, slowly scrutinising the odd hole shapes, seeing what he could twist off or peer into.
The tubes are moved to the side and the first bit of apprehension settles in you. As he reaches out to check the gear pile he quirks a crooked grin.
"Odd assortment you got here" he comments "sure as shit aint the leftovers from your workshop, yeah? where'd you find these?"
He sounds somewhat impressed and hope wrestles its place beside your anxiety.
"I um.. I just found them.. I don't think anyone owns-"
He interjects, "Stolen then? I do charge extra to launder wares, you know, " his accusation scandalised you. For once these things weren't stolen! They were abandoned.. or at least you're sure they were.
"No! Not stolen, I just.. they were in a crate in an empty chem distilling house I was checking out"
He lets out an "aah" of understanding before gathering more gears to check over. These too are moved to the side with the tubes. Now you are unsure if this means the two were sellable or if this was the rejection pile now.
He continues his prodding with an air of harsh humor, perhaps sensing the eb and flow of your tension. "Didn't think so, you don't look cut out for topside targets" its a jab that does hurt in ways he wouldnt understand. Burning just a little as small bubbles of nostalgic memory flittered about in your mind.
"Hah.. yeah. I don’t think I could survive up there" you try to joke back but it is delivered so flatly that he gives you a moment's glance before slowly taking one of the devices you brought in.
Benzo seems to know exactly what these items are as he turns an aged dial on the back of one, it sputters, but the distinct grind of tiny machinery inside can be heard. You hear him mutter a curse to himself with a chuckle and he shakes his head.
"Alright then, what's the set up? Who's looking to offload this shit?"
Suddenly that tense worry in you pulls ever more taut. "I.. what-"
"Think im blind, luv? All this kit is from Piltover, as I said. It takes work to make stuff like this disappear. Are you their runner? Or just the idiot they sent to find the cap val?"
You felt very small and words failed to collect into a sentence you could voice. Just small questions in your confusion.
"Cap? Huh?"
"How much for it? Whoever you're runnin this for should come talk to me face to face"
"-its mine"
"I don't believe ya"
You feel heat creep up to your cheeks and your eyes wet. But do what you can to steel yourself, tighter smaller breaths, you look away from his increasing scowl and step back just a bit.
"I-Its true. I dont even know what it is"
"More money than im willing to hand out to just anyone" he sounded almost indignant about it. Suddenly you were a risk to him.
no. No! You cant let the deal drop. You needed the coin badly.
"Undercut me then!" You snap back at him.
"Hm. I will then"
"F-fine. I just. Whatever you can do please-"
His chuckle at you is almost cruel as he flicks his spectacles off and onto the table beside the pile of offending junk. "Three silver" he shrugs at you.
Your heart sinks into your empty stomach.
His offer so low its essentially an instruction to get the fuck out of his shop. But you freeze. Battling the grief. You could go to another shop, do this all over again, maybe hold back the little machines and sell the pieces off bit by bit. But something strangles you in place.
It was just unfair. And you drained from this interaction so fast, as everything else in your life now does down here, that part of you just.. gave up. You thought of the slog of sitting for hours waiting for downcast eyes to focus on anything other than a purple vial, of waiting out the hungry ache. Now knowing these are from piltover you probably can't just sell them on the street like that anyway.
Your voice is a hoarse note when you completely bow your head.
"..three.. I can take three" you conceded.
It's apparent that he was expecting you to pack up and go, but he leans back on his chair and surveys you again.
He doesn't speak. Just let the silence linger as you struggle to keep in the burning tears that blur your eyes. It was humiliating. You can't stop the instinct to wipe them away.
The distinct sound of that man sighing across the room somehow made you shake ever so. "Kid. Look at me" he commands, and his tone has changed towards you. No longer so harsh or accusatory.
You hazard a quick glance up through your bangs but cant hold his eyes long. His expression something morose and a bit regretful.
"Look. I- I didn't mean to be so- ya know. This just looks a bit suspicious. Come now and tell me, what have you gotten yourself into here?"
You're not sure what it was, maybe the way his demeanor softened, or the little pink on his cheeks that exposed his bashful nature. Something fatherly that felt honest. And that's all it took for your floodgate to burst.
You told this man, this stranger, if he's really Benzo or not did not matter, about the tumultuous last year of your life. Losing your home and love, adapting to the grey and its sickness, the many nights you lay awake starving and missing the stars. You make a pitiful mess of yourself as he can only listen to your blubber, and when all you could get off your chest was lifted, you slumped over his counter to sob.
Maybe luck is on your side a little, as this man is just as capable of being gentle as he was of being brutish. His wide, heavy palm rests on your shoulder and rubs in an assuring motion, and he awkwardly lets you cry till you're empty.
The man, who you learn really is the Benzo who owns this shop, almost completely switches away from his gruff persona. Leaving you for a moment to hobble to his door and turn the sign to ward off interruptions. He fetches you a hot mug of tea, and pulls a short stool out for you to sit on by the counter before he takes his place opposite you again.
Your sniffles now subsided, and catharsis warming your muscles, you felt maybe a little less shit now. Especially when he's already apologised a good few times.
"Look... if i'm being honest. I don't think I can give you the true value for these here. You'll be robbing me!" He offers, turning one of the mechanical devices in his fingers. "But for the gears and vials i'll do 20 silver"
Its more than enough. That's a little over a fortnight of meals, and to this you emphatically agree. Benzo holds out a hand to shake, but as you reach towards him he retracts for a moment.
"Ah, ah, ah! Just a minute. I do have another offer to make though" he begins. "I might know a guy who knows a guy with spare rooms. Youre a good kid, just on a stretch o' bad luck. What do you say, you get me the rest of that cache and I set you up somewhere more comfortable?"
Its a surprising offer that leaves you momentarily breathless. It feels like for the first time since leaving Piltover someone was actually looking out for you. Your eyes mist up again, but you smile. All but lunging over his countertop to slap your hand into his in a firm shake.
"A deal!" You could almost laugh at the relief.
"A deal, then." Benzo, too, seems pleased with the arrangement. "Don't start crying' on me now, I got a reputation to uphold. People usually leave here with black eyes not red, luv" he says with a hardy laugh.
He's a strange man, doesn't seem to take much shit, but can melt like butter under the right circumstances.
Benzo fetches a sizable pre-pouched bundle of coin and slides it in your direction, judging by the weight it was definitely more than 20, but you say nothing to his knowing smile. It disappeared into the depths of your rucksack in a blink.
You are readily composed when you slide off the stool, your mug now cold and empty, and the evening green glow starting to shine through the window guides your departure. Benzo waves you off, turning back to his desk with one of those mechanical devices youve left to him.
As the door almost closes behind you lean your head back into the store momentarily.
"What even are those things, by the way?" You ask
It rattles in his hand as he slides a thin pick along a seam and scratched out dirt and rust.
"Uh.. I definately wont say theyre not potentially explosive"
Worrying. You don't ask anything further, but consider the remaining devices with caution. You thank him one last time before closing the door with a thud.
The walk home is quiet in a comforting way, less lonely, your mind buzzing with optimism. A new home would be wonderful, and Benzo has given you more than enough money to take a couple days to think it over really. It's not that your current dwelling is terrible but it could be better. You could live without fighting off large bugs and the lack of amenities does make some of your daily doings harder.
Running water would be nice.
You detour through the food market and indulge greedily. Carrying home a collection of wrapped breads and cured fish to feast on over the next few days, warm and almost giddy. And when you rest at night you do not miss the stars at all, instead you dream of the welcoming warmth of a home.
I loved your Vander x fem!Reader fic so much that I just had to request another! Your writing is exemplary!!! Could fem!Reader maybe be faced with the kids being disrespectful to her—Mylo is the first that comes to mind—and she remains firm, grounding them for getting into a fight they started or something, but Mylo crosses a line? Perhaps saying she isn’t their mom, but she remains strong even though it really hurt, then Vander finds out about it later and chews them out for it after everything she’s done for them? Then fluff? You are so very incredible, have a wonderful day!!
Vander x Bartender!Reader (Part 2)
I started writing this and zoned out until I had around 2200 words so yeah. That got out of hand. Thank you for your request it put a very vivid scene into my head. Enjoy.
Also you are so sweet! you literally made my day when I read your request. I don't even have words to thank you.
This can be read a a previous moment of the reader and Vander from your other request.
Warnings: cursing, the kids being rude
- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -
You were furiously wiping down the counter your movements erratic. Those little shits. What had they thought? They hadn’t thought at all, that was the problem. As usual letting their fists do the work and not their heads.
It was only midday and no one was at The Last Drop yet. So unsurprisingly the counter was still clean but you wiped it dow anyway, needing an outlet for you anger. You knew where your anger came from. In truth you were only worried. Worried for the safety of your kids.
They weren’t back yet and word had already traveled to you of what they had done this time. Oh they really had messed up. What did they think? Robbing such a high up person in the undercity. The only luck was that Vander had immediately gone to settle things upon hearing about his kids misdeeds.
Your stomach was in knots from worry and you couldn’t await their return.
When the door opened your eyes flew to the newcomer. You were disappointed upon noticing that it was only the first customer, not your kids. You served him with much less smalltalk than you would have normally and he took his drink to a corner of the bar.
You wiped down the immaculately clean counter a third time. Your nerves made you sweat and you hated it.
When the door opened again your little shitheads entered the bar and went off to go to their room. Hell no. No! Not today.
“Vi! Clagger! Mylo! Powder! If you go down without talking to me…”, the threat hung visible in the air and they shuffled over to you with hung heads.
You noticed that the three older kids had bruises on their cheeks and knuckles. Hell, even Pow had a bruise around her right eye. Unbelievable! They had endangered even her!
With all the self-control you could muster you inhaled deeply, closing your eyes and setting them on Vi afterwards.
She met your gaze stubbornly her bottom lip pouting in defiance.
“What do you have to say Vi?”, you asked calmly, keeping your arms on your sides consciously. You didn't want to seem closed off. You weren't their enemy.
“What do you care?!”, she spat venomously making room for her frustration.
“You very well know why I care.”, you gently said.
“Well maybe. But we don’t!” Her harsh words stung.
“Yeah? You don’t care? You don’t care that you endangered Pow? You don’t care that you messed up big time?”, you questiond keeping your voice leveled.
“We had it under control.” She responded stubbornly.
“Ah. Yeah. Of course you had. That’s the reason Vander had to go to smooth the waters.”
“Yeah! That’s the point.” Vi nearly shouted now. “Vander went to set things straight while you stand here doing nothing being completely useless!”
You took another measured breath. She was just angry, she didn’t mean it.
“You are grounded.” The eyes of the other tree flew to your face as well, eyes wide in shock.
“You are grounded for three weeks and in those weeks you will help me in the bar, being as useless as I am.” You couldn’t help the slightly venomous tone in your voice even tho you tried to contain it as well as possible.
“Wait, wait!”, Clagger exclaimed “You can’t just ground us!”
I can’t?”, you snorted. Then went on calmly almost gently: “Watch me.”
Mylo stomped up to you, looking directly into your eyes. “No you can’t!” He was basically shaking with barely contained anger. “You are not our fucking mom. You have no right to talk to us like you are because you aren’t and you will never be!”
The following silence was deafening, only disturbed by the one customer slurping on his drink.
You put up steel walls around your heart refusing to show them how much the comment had stung. You would not let them get to you. You were more mature than that. You needed to focus on giving them a punishment for their reckless behaviour. Why did it hurt so much?
“You are grounded. That is final. Now go to your room and think about how you will explain this to Vander when he returns.” Your calmness surprised even you. You voice was hard, firm not betraying any emotion.
“But-“
“Out.” Upon hearing the silent command and the danger behind it they finally turned around to leave.
You watched them trudge across the floor and descend the stairs. Then you supported your weight on the counter with your hands. You breath was shaky and tears gathered in your eyes.
Fuck! And Mylo was right. If they didn’t view you as their mom there was nothing you could do. You would never be good enough to be a parent for them. You would never be good enough to earn such a place next to Vander.
They were right, what were you even doing. Serving customers at The Last Drop and scolding the kinds like you had any right to. You weren’t good for anything else. You had never been a peacekeeper or fighter like Vander. You were a simple waitress who just decided to act like a mom. But you weren’t fit for that role.
You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time. You pressed your hand to your forehead, willing the tears in your eyes to disappear. Just because you felt for them like a parent would, didn’t mean they would return those feelings. How foolish could you be?
But that was fine. It was okay for them not to see you like that. You would continue caring for them anyways. And-
The door opened once again and Vander stepped in. You quickly brushed you hair back and straightened your apron, putting on a façade of indifference.
You quickly made him a drink and he sat down heavily.
“Are they back yet?”, he sighed.
“Yes. I grounded them.”
“Good. Good, that’s what I would ‘ave done too. Thank you for being ‘ere for ‘em. How’d they look?”
You laughed quietly. “A little worse for the wear but nothing too serious.”
He nodded, looking at you appraisingly and then turning towards the customer, taking a long sip from his drink.
“I’ll go sit with Benzo for a bit, catch up and such.” He tapped the counter twice and took his drink with him.
So that was Benzo. You had heard about him but hadn’t seen him until today. You smiled at the plump man and he lifted his drink in acknowledgement.
“I’ll go look after the kids as long as business is still slow.”, you called out and Vander nodded.
“Thank you sweet’art.”
You calmed down your racing heart, still stressed from your conversation with them, as you knocked softly on the door of the old storage room. Vander had cleared it for the kids to use as they pleased.
“Yeah?” You heard Powder call and opened the door.
When you entered they looked up just to turn their heads away. Ah, giving you the silent treatment. That was fine. You could deal with silence. It was your daily companion while business was slow, The Last Drop only filling in the evenings.
You softly padded over to the first aid kid you kept in a corner and opened it, taking out a few wipes and a little bottle of hard liquor you used to disinfect wounds. You’d need some soothing balm as well and took out your secret little tin you had stolen from a pharmacy in Piltover.
You took your supplies over to Powder and smiled encouragingly when she looked at you unsure. Gently you laid your hand on her cheek and turned her head towards the light. You gently dapped the bruise and the little girl whimpered. You gently shushed her and stroked your thumb soothing over her cheek. As you applied the balm she scrunched up her nose.
“That stinks!”, she exclaimed and you laughed.
“I know Pow, but it will help with the pain and bruising."
She nodded and you gently kissed her nose when the door burst open, interrupting the tender moment. Vander took up the entire doorway, standing there like a symbol of doom.
The teens gaped at him and then shrunk back in fear. Oh damn, Vander looked like he was about to give them hell.
“Go back to the bar, there are new customers coming in.”, he calmly addressed you.
You scrambled to your feet rushing to get past him when you felt his warm hand on your shoulder stopping you in your tracks.
“You’re fine sweet’art. Don’t worry, yeah?”
You nodded meekly and closed the door on your way out. When you reached the counter The Last Drop was still just as empty as before. Confused your eyes flitted to Benzo. He shrugged.
“I told Vander how the kids treated ya. He abut to set their heads on straight.” He took a sip of his drink and signaled for you to refill it.
You hurried to do so and set it down in front of him gently. You patted his shoulder.
“Thanks for telling him.”
“Ye a good one lass. Don’t let them rowdy kids get to you. They are still young and stupid.” His warm hand rested on top of yours briefly and you smiled appreciatively.
When you hurried off you nearly stumbled down the stairs because you wanted to hear at least a part of the conversation so you could step in should Vander be too hard on them. But you doubted that would be necessary. He was the kind of parent you always wanted to be.
Before you opened the door you pressed your ear to it. Vander’s deep voice was clearly audible through the door.
“Three weeks? Helping at the bar?” He laughed dryly “You lot are lucky she got to you first. I would have had you cleaning the last drop for half a year. You realize how soft she was on you lil shits.”
You heard quiet murmuring of quite a few voiced. The kids.
“Ya know ya did yer mom dirty.”
A heavy silence settled over the room.
“Now tell me Mylo. Why would ya tell yer mom that she ai’t yo mom? Hm? Who has been takin’ care of ya?”
“She has.”, you could hear Mylo grumble.
“Tell me boy. Do you really not feel that she is your mother?”
The heaviness of the question settled around your throat and nearly choked you. Your hands had begun shakin. You needed to hear his answer.
“No. No Vander. She’s been a real mother to me.”, Mylo quietly admitted and you could feel tears sting in your eyes.
“Then why. Why. The. Fuck. Would you say something like that to ‘er?”, Vander spat at the boy behind the door still keeping his voice calm, collected.
Mylo shrunk under his gaze, shuffling his feet.
“’Cause I was angry and wanted to hurt her.”
Vander scoffed at him. “Yeah, that’s some kind of man ye are.”
His gaze settled on Vi. “And you. I really expected better from you. Tell me, what did you say to 'er?”
Vi wrung her hands uncomfortably. Vander making them repeat what they had said made her stomach turn in guilt. “That she is useless and never does anything.”
“Now Vi, what do you think ‘bout that?” Vander questioned her with a steel like voice.
“She does very much.”, Vi mumbled between gritted teeth “She helps so you can take care of the lanes. She looks after us. She listens. She does so much.”
Vander nodded gravely, crossing his arms before him.
“How did she react to what you said.”
Clagger pulled on the band of his goggles and replied: “She remained calm and firm on her stance. And then she came to patch us up.”
Vander pinched his nose and closed his eyes. The teens before him all sheepishly refused to look at his face. A tired sigh escaped him. “So what will you do ‘bout it? Hm? How will ya make it up to that sweet’art of a woman?”
Pow carefully supplied: “We should apologize to her.”
“That’s right Powder. I hope ya will. I really hope ya will. She deserves everything. Not to be treated like shit by little kids who don’t know how to keep out of trouble.”
He turned towards the door. Stopped and spoke over his shoulder: “Oh. If you ever go off like that on 'er again, you won’t just be grounded for three weeks. Are we understood?”
The teens mumbled their agreement. A small smile flitted over his lips. “I heard you gave those ruffians hell.”
The teens breathed audibly in relief.
You scurried away from the door, back to your place behind the bar when you heard Vander walking back to the door. Quickly using your apron to wipe away you tears you pretended like nothing had happened when Vander once again sat down on one of the stools.
You leant on your forearms over the counter, your hands clasped together. “I hope you were not too hard on them. They are still kids Van.”
His eyes seemed to twinkle in the dim light when he took you in. His big hand carefully went to yours and covered them. You nearly gasped at the gesture. His broad palm effortlessly covered both of your hands and the fact made you feel warm all over. No scratch that you felt downright hot. Maybe one day you would melt because of the broad man.
“Just talked to ‘em. Don’t worry sweet’art.” He squeezed your hands. “You know you are the best damn thing that happened to us in a long time, yeah?”
Slowly you turned your hands grasping his and his gaze wandered to your etangled hands, face softening.
“Thank you Van.”
Before your courage left you, you leant forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, turning around immediately after and starting to clean his used glass. You cheeks were on fire and you could feel your blood rushing to your head.
Behind you Vander touched his hand to his cheek and stared at your back longingly while the kids downstairs planned a surprise for you as an apology.
Hey, Sewer! Could you please do a fem!reader x Vander (Arcane) where the reader is essentially a mother to the kids? Perhaps the kids are playing on the river while it’s frozen and she sees the ice begin to crack under one of them, pushes them out of the way, and ends up getting stuck in the water? The kids have to get help, and they do end up getting her out and helping her back to the Last Drop, though she begins to get very sick? I’d just love to see Vander being all protective and worried over the reader.
Vander x Bartender!Reader (Part 1)
Heyo. Thank you so much for the request! I had a blast writing it. I am not a native English speaker and have no idea of accents so I just went with what felt natural for Vander. Also sorry if this isn't how you imagined it. Have fun!
Warnings: Description of freezing probably very inaccurate since I've never frozen to near death, Swearing, Cuddling with Vander that deserves it's own warning
- Part 1 - Part 2 -
Your little found family had grown since Vander had taken in the two boys as well. At first Vi and little Powder had been a bit wary of them. Easily being jealous since they were afraid of loosing their new found parents to them. But Vander and you had quickly placated them with enough attention and snuggles.
You had formed a fragile bond with the boys, both being older than Vi and Powder, when Vander had taken them in. As a waitress at the last drop you got to see the kids every day and had quickly fallen into the role of an additional parent. While Vander was more of a stern father, having to scold them quite often, you were more of a listener. It hadn’t been hard to love the kids. And the fact that they were Vander’s kids certainly didn’t hurt. You admired the man endlessly with his calm demeanor and his firm hold on the kids.
Softly smiling to yourself you watched your kids. You didn’t remember when you had started to think of them as your kids. It had come naturally.
They were playing on the frozen river, the white ice betraying the dirt and filth underneath. Vi and the boys were having a snowball fight while Powder was off to the side tinkering with snow and some old metal parts.
“Parry this!”, Vi screamed and threw a snowball the size of her own head at Mylo. He took the ball straight to the head and landed on his butt. You couldn’t help but laugh.
Mylo grumbled under his breath while Claggor tried to get a hit on Violet. She punched the snowball coming for her and it burst into little pieces of snow. “Wham!”, Vi shouted and did a little victory dance.
Powder had looked up and her little mouth hung open. “Vi! That was very wooow!”, she squealed and ran to her sister hugging her. Vi laughed openly.
A warm feeling spread in your chest. Your kids meant everything. “Mom!”, Vi cheered “Did you see that?!”
“I did Vi! That was some punch you threw there!” The cold air bit your lungs as you inhaled after your shout. It warmed your heart to hear her calling you mom so freely. She used to get embarrassed by it and correct herself, but not anymore.
Powder rushed to the spot she had been in previously and strained to get you all to listen.
“Look what I built! It melts the ice and freezes it into iceballs!”, she tinkered whith something and the metal began to glow. Your heart stopped. No no no. The ice!
“Kids! Get here now!”, Mylo, Clagger and Vi looked to you when they heard the terror in your voice.
“NOW!” They had never hear you use such a tone and scrambled to get to you.
Powder looked up. “But you have to see this!", she whined.
The ice under the machiene and subsequently under Powder had begun to turn into a puddle.
Deep breaths.
“I will sweetie. I’ll come and look at it!” You forced yourself to remain calm.
“Stay here, don’t you dare come after me.”
The three teens nodded their heads anxiously.
In your haste to get to powder you slipped and fell. Your knee began to bleed.
“Stay right there sweety.” Powder looked at you irritated. Why did you sound so scared? Why were you angry?
Your feet splashed in the water on the ice as you reached Powder. Then you heard it. CRACK.
Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck.
You picked Powder up and threw her over your shoulder.
“MOM! No my machine! No you are mean mom!”, Powder screamed and hit your back but you ignored her, running back to the river bank.
In hindsight running may have not been the smartest idea you've had. The ice beneath your thumping feet cracked more and more. With a sudden certainty that came from your subconscience you knew it: You wouldn’t make it. You looked to your kids.
“I’m going to throw her!” You collected yourself and manhandled the little girl till you had a better grip on her. Then you threw Powder the last meter with all your might.
The last thing you saw was Clagger stumbling forward and catching her, then stumbling to the ground.
The ice gave way and suddenly cold. Cold cold cold cold cold. Everything froze up. Your last inhale, only a gasp, as your fingers found purchase on the edges of the hole in the ice. Hold on hold on hold on. If you go under, the river will take you along under the ice and you will die. Just hold on. Fuck! A piece broke off. Hold onto another part. There you go. Deep breaths. Deep Breaths. It will take a few minutes till you freeze.
“Go get Vander.” The shout of your mind was only a shudder from your mouth. The kids looked at you in horror. Heard your shallow gasps, saw you clawing at the ice. And ice pierced their hearts.
“Mom, no mommy. I didn’t mean to please Mom! MOMMY!” You vaguely heard powders screech. You saw Vi run away and then you focused only on breathing.
Breath in. Breathe out. Your feet tingled. It hurt, it hurt! Until you didn’t feel your feet at all. Your shins becoming cold, the water biting at your thighs hungry for some sort of victim, for someone to feed the current. Maybe being in the water wasn’t as bad. Your teeth had stopped chattering. Your feet had started feeling warm. Yeah, your feet felt warm. Your lids grew heavy. If only you could sleep. Just letting go of the ice and it would be warm.
“Mom! Hold on mom!” A boy shouted. No. Mylo, your boy shouted. Right. The kids.
You felt your fingers slip. Breathing was hard, your muscles not listening to your thoughts. It was warm. The water would keep you warm.
“Now, just you hold on darlin’.” A very deep voice shouted. Was that Vander? Oh, someone had thrown a rope at you. You just needed to…
“I can’t move.”, you whispered. All you heard was the chattering of your teeth. Huh? You thought that had stopped.
“She can’t move. SHE CAN’T MOVE VANDER WHATDOWEDO?!”
“Now calm down Vi. I’m gonna get 'er.” If you could have, you would have smiled at his words. If Vander came to get you everything would be fine.
Powder was in hysterics. Clagger pressed her to himself to calm her down while he watched his mother die. He looked at Vander. Calm, collected Vander who had tied a rope around his hips and laid down on the ice. With very steady movements he crawled towards you while the kids held their breath.
“If the ice breaks, just haul me back by the rope, will ya?!”, he shouted over his back and Mylo and Vi immediately nodded, taking the rope which was tied around a pole into their hands.
Vander had reached you and gripped your wrist in a bruising grip. “Just hold on sweet'art. Can’t let go.”
He tugged on your arm and the edge of the hole broke. He cursed and slid backwards, tugging you with him, making the hole bigger and bigger. If only he could…. There! The ice was finally strong enough to give resistance and he managed to drag you out of the icy water with an iron grip and sweat running down his face.
The water made your clothes heavy and he grunted and groaned. The sweat immediately cooled down on his skin and he started to shiver. But finally, fucking finally he reached the river bank and crawled off the ice, dragging you like a ragdoll behind him.
Once on sold ground he immediately shifted you into his arms and held you tightly to his chest. The teens around him were wide eyed, shivering from the adrenalin. He smiled reassuring.
“Come. Let’s get yo’ mom to safety. Don’t worry sweet’art we’ll get you warm again.”
You turned your face into his chest. Everything was cold. It felt like ice was flowing through your veins. Your heart hurt. And finally you dared to close your eyes. If Vander held you everything would be okay.
~
“Great job Powder! As always you jinxed it!”, Mylo spat at the little girl.
Violet shoved him. “Hey now. It wasn’t her fault!”
Claggor awkwardly pushed at his glasses.
“Uhm, yeah it was? If she hadn’t built that damn machine?” Mylo laughed humorlessly “Just like her. Finally something works and it kills Mom.”
“Shut up, shut up. I didn’t want that!”, Powder cried and Vi hugged her harder.
“Mylo. I suggest you keep your mouth shut…”
He shrugged. “Or?”
Vi turned her face to him. He gulped audibly upon seeing her expression. Without another word he turned around and began pacing the hallway. Clagger put his hand on Powders shoulder. She sniffled.
The door before them finally opened and all eyes were on Vander. They didn’t even need to ask, when they saw his furrowed eyebrows and lost eyes.
“She’s very, very sick. If she doesn’t rest enough she’ll… well it won’t be good. Her lungs are not in the best conditions anyway from… her childhood work and they aren’t exactly in the best place for such a sickness.”
They all looked around frantically.
“Isn’t there something we can do?!”, Vi asked.
Vander shook his head. “We can only wait. Maybe I can get some sort of medication from somewhere.” He was already deep in thought when he returned to your bed.
Vi looked at the boys and Powder. They all nodded and silently padded away. Maybe they could do something after all.
“Hey sweet’art. Gave us quite a shock there.” He looked forlorn over your pale figure between the blankets. “Promise me you’ll make it for the kids sake. Y’know they would be lost without you.” Tentatively his fingers touched your hand. It was still ice cold. He sighed. The only colour on your body was the purple bruise around your wrist where he had gripped you.
He kneeled down and kissed the bruise gently, looking up concerned when he felt how cold you were.
“I need to warm ye up darlin’.” He chuckled while he started to take off his boots. “Didn’t imagine our first time sharin’ a bed to be like this, eh.”
Carefully he lifted the blankets and crawled in, shifting you until you laid on top of him. His arms closed around you and he shivered at your frosty body.
“Listen up sweet’art. M’gonna make you a deal, yeah?” He couldn’t help himself and placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “If you manage and get healthy, I’ll finally tell you how I feel. Deal?"
Carefully he tugged the blankets around you both more closely.
The door creaked open.
“Um…. Vander?”
“Yeah?”
“What about the bar?”
“What about it?”
“We need you down there.”
His head turned to the door, his gaze stern. “Well then close it up?!”
“Oh… oh okay.”
The door closed again.
Sighing he turned onto his side, tucked you against his front and began to hum.
“C’mon darlin’. I know you are strong enough. You can take this.”
If a single tear escaped his eye while he held you, no one would ever know.
~
In the following days the kids didn’t see Vander much. He stayed in your room. Ate in your room. Slept in your bed with you. Whenever someone came to talk to him Benzo had to handle it. Whenever the kids came in they would ignore the bags under his eyes or the way he laid next to you, cuddling your form which was at least warm again.
On the third day Powder sneaked into the room. Her eyes big as she saw Vander in bed with you, sleeping. She crept over to your side and sat down.
“Mommy. Mommy, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry. Please don’t die. You can’t leave us. What will daddy do without you? What will I do without you? Who will love me when you are gone?”
Vander sat up and she looked at him frightened.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll go. I’ll…”, she stammered and stood up.
“Shhhh. Shhh powder. C’mere. Maybe you will warm her up even more."
With an encouraging smile he held up the blanket for her.
Shaking the small girl climbed into bed and cuddled into your side. Small tears escaped her eyes.
“I never, ever, ever, eh-ever” she hiccupped “meant to hurt you!” She started to wail and Vander gazed sadly upon the small girl.
“I know Pow. It’s alright.”
Both of them stared down at you. Your eyes were cracked open slightly. The words had definitely come from you. Hoarse and whispered but in your gentle voice none the less.
“M-mmmm-mommy?”
The smallest of smiles tugged at your lips.
“Yeah Pow. I’m awake.”
Coughs shook you and immediately Vander took a glass from the bedside table and held it carefully to your lips. You drank in small sips. And finally exhaled exhausted.
“Pow. I’m not angry. I’ll get healthy again. I love you Pow.”
The small girl cried even more now and hugged you as tight as she could, shaking with relief. When her tears finally stopped, she hopped off the bed.
“I have to tell the others.” And she ran out of the room.
Tired eyes looked up at Vander but you had never looked so beautiful to him. His eyes glistened with emotions. His big hand slowly and gently wandered to your cheek and held your face. You turned your cheek into his hand the slightest bit and big huff of air escaped him.
“I love you.”
That had your eyes wide open.
“Fuck darlin’. You had me thinkin’ I’d loose ya. Shit. I love ya.”
You watched in wonder as the big man began to cry with relief. Slowly you brought your hand up to his cheek, shaking with the effort.
“I love you too, Van.” Slowly you thumbed away a tear. “Will always love you, Big guy.”
Laughter mixed with his sobs and he leant down to lay his forehead against yours. “Promise me you’ll get well again.”
“Promise. You know I’m too stubborn to die. Who’s gonna take care of our kids otherwise?”
He grinned. “Our kids. That sounds good.”
With the last of your strength you craned your neck and pressed a kiss to his nose.
“I need more sleep.”, you grumbled.
A genuine big laugh shook him. “Take your time, sweet’art. I’ll be right here.”
And you would get healthy again. After all your kids knew how to rob a pharmacy.
GOOD MEN — Vander x Transmasc Male!Reader — SFW — PT 1 / 1
REQUESTS: OPEN
The concept of identity is something Vander never pushes you on, so you never have to say anything. This is a quiet understanding, and he's only ever nodded, then helped you through your time here at the bar. You want to get through this, so he gives a few tips, and you find his advice natural to follow. He won't force anything on your persona that isn't you.
Instead, he's only suggested things that enhance the version of yourself that you want to be seen as. The real you.
Vander sees the real you. He always has. Ever since you met, small next to his barrelled chest and massive frame, you've started standing taller, smiling brighter, and serving with a keen ear. You listen when people talk about the things they don't want Vander to know, yet still ought to. Delivering it back to him, he takes the helm, and The Hound is eager to clear the field of the hunt before it has to begin.
He doesn't do that anymore—he doesn't have to.
Instead, Vander pours the drinks, relies on his reputation, and rests on his laurels. Nothin' doin'. Besides, if he has to, he'll prove he's still worth his weight in steel and fire. The gauntlets hang as a reminder not just to others, but to himself, and he told you that once over a closing shift. From where you were standing, he'd taken in orphans, four by now at your count, so! WHY NOT street rats, huh? Vander declared with a firmness over an ending nightcap not to call yourself that. He'll take in a street rat, sure, but you're not one of them. You've got a bright future if he has anything to say about it, and a good heart. Vander can tell good hearts, incredibly accustomed to sniffing them out immediately upon arrival.
He's dealt with so many of them by now and has broken—shattered!—dozens to date. Thus, he's learned to handle them with care despite his brutish paws.
Tonight, you're bold. It's not dangerous, but it is something. Two years have come and gone. You're different now. You have him to thank for that, but arguably, you have yourself to thank more. The power to be brave was inspired, but ultimately, you were the brave one, and Vander?
He was there to watch with pride.
"I'm not who anyone thinks I am," you admit. You pause, then swallow the rest of your drink. "I'm a fraud."
"You're not," he says. "But I know what you mean. I'm not the man you all think I am."
He says your name, the one you chose after your second week at The Last Drop. That was two years ago now. You've really come along, changed for the better, and your boyish grin is contagious. Your eyes used to be so sad, and Vander, for all his faults, is an honest man. He coaxed that sadness out of you and then shaped it into an inspirational channel for you to rely on.
Hard work, devotion, and talking to him. It took time, but it was worth it, and now? He can't see you any other way than this way.
You're safe, and that's all that matters to him, but you are yourself, and that's what matters to you. Together, it meshes. You often think that you two fit well together, and you wonder if he feels the same. It's silly to even consider since he has so many admirers, best mates, and histories to sift through. You worry that you'll never compare to them.
You lack the years and experience with him necessary to be so close, and instead, this creates a misunderstanding that the others simply do not understand.
He's older than you by at least a decade, and that's probably being generous, but you're always a little hopeful.
"You're a good man," you say confidently. "I know you are. Everybody does. You might have been The Hound back then, but you're more like...I dunno, a big ole' cuddly dog these days. People just know not to fuck with you." Most want to fuck you, anyway.
You snort, Vander arches a brow, and you wave a dismissive hand. He finishes his drink, pours a fresh round, and figures pleasant conversation is worth a delay in closing the bar down properly.
Besides, he owns it, you're his employee, and this is the best time to get his ear to the ground.
"I'm not as good as you think. If I am now, I wasn't always. The man you see today wasn't the man I was before all this. Even when I got this place, I was different. S'good we met when we did, kiddo."
"Kiddo. You still call me that? I'm not a kid. I never was to you."
"Aye, but you're youthful, and still young, and that's...Well, it's hard to get down here, yeah? The place wears on you quick. Heh, but it never has with you, has it? Least, not yet. [ ... ] Nah, not a day on your face. Would think you're a Piltie with that smile. Let's keep it that way, hm?"
"You still look good," you offer. "And...you know, you're a dad, and that's great."
"S'better than great, but...It is what it is, innit? Kids are kids, gotta letta 'em learn, but it's hard to watch them fail."
"You don't let them fail, Vander," you say. Instead, you give him a new way to look at it. "You let them learn. They'll thank you for that one day, you know? And right now? They love you so much."
"...I love them," he agrees.
He drinks to that, so you follow suit.
"Then they'll be fine," you soothe.
"They will," he says. He trusts you on this because no one else understands, and while he figures you're not directly on par with his experience, you see enough to know better. "I'll make sure of it."
"So, see? You might not be the man you think we all believe you are, or even the man you used to be, but the man you are now? That's a good man, Vander." A firm reminder, wrapping it all back around. "A noble man. You spend so much time telling us we have good hearts, and maybe we do, but you...You have a good heart. The best."
A good heart. The best. Such fondness is not deserved, but you would argue he's earned it, so what's the difference? What does it all matter?
Oh! But his heart.
Is his heart good anymore? Or has it rotted away since that day, leaving a gaping hole that consumes everyone and everything around it?
His private pain—
—His secret fear.
"It takes a good man," he starts, looking at you fondly with a private understanding, "to know one."
