currently zauning out @zaunedout - Tumblr Blog

Aug 31, 2025

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER - Chapter VIII

Silco x fem!Reader / Hades x Persephone-ish / enemies to lovers (kinda) / slow-burn/ canon-typical violence / explicit

Masterlist

Is there light in the abyss ?

Down where lost souls wander paths carved long before their time, dreams and nightmares merge as heroes and monsters collide, myth and reality chaotic currents blurring into an endless maelstrom.

It is said the Fates hide there in the shifting shadows, weaving an intricate tapestry of destinies.

Whose thread will you find intertwined with yours ?

Headstrong and ambitious, you are Piltover’s most promising chemist. Dreaming of independence, your life is turned upside down when you catch the feared Eye of Zaun’s interest and he... well, catches you. What happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object ?

Author's note: guess who's back.... back again. So sorry for the wait, i was on vacation and couldn't write much. That chapter is one of the longest in the series methinks, and i hope you'll enjoy it.

As always, thank you to my love @nephertiri for being there <3

Lovely people who wanted to be tagged: @mystiqueonfleek007, @vanhelsingsbigtoe, @simpingforsharp , @pinklunarprincess

Chapter VIII - Eris

Above the syncopated beats booming from the speakers, you hear a familiar, gruff voice behind you,

"They're waiting for you upstairs, princess."

Perched upon your stool, its worn leather biting at the exposed skin of your thighs, you slowly set your glass down onto the counter. You watch as the dark brown cherry sinks beneath the melting ice cubes, its acidulous flavour dissolving into the remnants of your drink as you inhale deeply and try to steady your nerves - as well as the slight tremor shaking your fingers.

You turn around and meet Hypnos' gaze, their sharp eyes glinting over the rim of their glass, the soft lemony hue of their cocktail shifting in the pulsating light. One of their pale hands settles on your elbow as you get up and they give a gentle squeeze, their encouraging words drowned by the ambient cacophony.

You simply nod before following Sevika, the crowd parting at once when they spot Silco's second-in-command, her imposing build creating a battering ram behind which you carefully step. You're thankful for her intimidating presence - you don't know how else you could have managed to get anywhere by yourself in such a densely packed area.

The upper floor is almost as crowded as the one below: midnight blacks and navy blues meet ruby reds and jade greens in a chaotic tableau as people mingle from open balconies to remote corners, bare skin clashing against brass mechanical enhancements that shine under the anarchic flickering of stray neon lights.

The further you walk, the wider the array of prosthetics grows, often paired with large muscles covered with grim-looking tattoos. You're busy gawking at a rather gawdy depiction of skeletons engaging in nightly activities when your guide pulls you towards the largest booth of the floor. Its dark curtains are drawn shut, but you spot soft rays of golden light seeping beneath the hem, along with the muffled sound of animated conversations.

Sevika stills, her flesh hand grasping the velvety fabric before her grey eyes fall on you, scanning your face as her scowl deepens. By the way her jaw ticks, you'd think she's about to say something but she shakes her head instead, growling a mere "Good luck," before tugging the curtain and hushering you in.

You step into the cramped space - given the large number of occupants - the clicking of your heels obnoxiously loud to your ears as the thick drapes close behind you, leaving you stranded with the seven Chembarons - and Minthe.

Despite the warm glow of the two gas lamp set on each side of the oblong table, the smoky air you breathe in feels cold, its heaviness a sudden reminder that the liveliness you felt fluttering in the club is merely an illusion.

The heart of the Undercity stands before your eyes: a corrupt and sick organ barely beating.

Conversations dwindle as your presence registers gradually, the thought lingering in your mind.

Your eyes glide over the motley crew in front of you, tattoos and enhancements peeking through intricate and garish garments in a poor attempt at elegance - save for Minthe -, before you finally meet Silco's stare.

Icy waters and molten lava swirl mezmerizingly as he takes a long drag of his cigar, and you feel your skin heat up under the weight of his gaze. He exhales, phantomatic white shrouds wafting around him when he shifts to lean against the wooden panels. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding as he nods - almost - imperceptibly at you.

Your gaze follows the trail of smoke and you notice for the first time the crimson ensemble he is wearing. The vibrant color of his vest contrasts with his jet black shirt, its collar held closed by a peculiar brooch: a golden cornucopia filled with sparkling pomegranates - exact replicas of the jewelry you're wearing. A single gilded chain connects the garnet seed pins ornating the edges, warm metal resting neatly upon dark fabric.

You don't have to try too hard to picture the glee Hypnos must have felt when they designed your coordinating outfits. Was subtlety too much to ask for?

You suppress a scowl, schooling your features into an impassive mask as silence falls upon the room.

All eyes on you.

Putting out his cigar with a deliberate flick of his wrist, Silco introduces you to the assembly, tone cold and expression calculated as he gives a brief overview of your work: the last few months of your life reduced to a sterilized distillate, stripped bare of any feelings, superfluous residues easily discarded.

You know it is foolish to expect anything else from him - especially in front of his rivals - so you don't mind the content of his discourse. No, it is the absolute lack of fervor in his account that stings, your presence shrunk to mere numbers and experiments spoken in jaded tones.

The closeness the two of you shared during the afternoon seems like a strange anomaly compared to the detached demeanor you're currently witnessing, your heart sinking with each word he utters.

A brief silence follows Silco's monologue, broken when, tilting his head to the side - thus causing his sunglasses to slide down his bumpy nose - Chross is the first one to speak.

"So that's the topsider scientist who's been missing for months." His nefarious smile reveals a row of crooked teeth, "Your sudden departure has made quite some noise in Piltover… Enough for it to reach the ears of my little birdies."

"Topside you say?" Interjects Minthe, her tone acrid, "explains the stench then."

Her remark is met with an icy stare from Silco - so cold it could have frozen a lake even in the middle of summer.

A blond man clad in twilight blue straightens up from his slouched position to tut, "Now now Minthe, be nice to our guest. I'm sure we wouldn't want to leave a negative impression on a friendly neighbour."

He turns his attention to Silco before observing, "Afterall, we must demonstrate our wonderful hospitality if she's to return upstairs - since you assured us her stay with us was to be brief. We wouldn't want the wrong kind of rumours to spread on her way back now, would we?"

His insolent tone is highlighted by the cruel glint in his eyes and you swear you could feel a glacial finger gliding down your spine as he glances at Silco, then at you, the quiet murmur of the Chembarons buzzing in the confined space.

Ever since you made that deal with the crime lord, you'd told yourself you'd be able to persuade him to let you go back to Piltover alive.

However, now that you've seen just how hostile the rest of the council is, the prospect of walking free and unscathed seems a little presumptious. Even to your standards. You suppress a shiver.

"Yeah, I thought she was supposed to cover momentarily for Singed," scoffs a middle-aged woman with green tubes connected to a metallic contraption in lieu of a nose. "Instead she's still here months later while we face growing restrictions from Piltover."

"I'm not sure Silco and his pet scientist have anything to do with the Council and their decision to monitor more closely Topside's imports," the yordle on the opposite side of the table points out, "I'd wager the bad harvest season and the desperate need to fill stocks is more at cause here."

Huh. No one told you that. Now that you think of it, you don't have much information on what goes on behind the Undercity's borders. Better remedy that soon, you tell yourself.

"Though, strangely enough, Silco's merchandise is the only one steadily going through the border control," speculates the blond man, stray strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. "One wonders : could you somehow benefit from her… elevated status?"

Silco snickers, "Well Damian, maybe if your business strategies didn't solely involve senseless killings, you'd achieve something better than utter ruin. Refraining yourself from fucking your way through Margot's district could help you save some of your money too."

Your jaw flexes as you grit your teeth: you'd never heard him talk this crudely before. The quick scan of the room you make tells you it is also a novelty for the astounded audience.

Placid, he pulls out a cigar from his vest, cutting its cap quickly before bringing it to his lips, Sevika presenting him the open flame of a chrome lighter. Silco takes a drag before commenting dryly, "If my sales soar and yours plummet, it only means that one of us is more discerning than the other." Nodding towards you he adds, "And that she's good at the job I hired her for."

In other circumstances the small compliment would have stroked your ego for days. But not now.

No, this time his sour tone makes you feel as insignificant as the pawn you probably are in his game, like a fly caught in a spider's web. You feel the nape of your neck heat up as embarrassment squeezes your chest. Tight.

"No doubt she's obeying every single one of your commands," muses Minthe, her almond-shaped eyes squinting as she turns towards you, "and probably eagerly so."

"I consider myself lucky to be able to practice my craft freely," you reply cooly, chin held high, your fingers flexing behind your back as you fight the urge to acquaint your fist with the elegant lines of her face.

A glimmer of something you can't quite place lights Silco's gaze when his eyes meet yours.

Whatever it is, it doesn't erase from your mind the thought that right now, his annoyingly perfect nose should also meet your knuckles. At full speed.

"Careful Minthe, it isn't wise to bite the hand that feeds you," chimes in a petite woman, the wide array of piercings adorning her pale face glinting despite the dimness of the lamps' glow.

"Speaking of feeding," a muscular man covered with tattoos you identify as Finn intervenes, "those explosions were a set back for everyone: our whole livelihood threatened by the reckless act of an imbecile. Do we have any clue as to who it could be?"

All at once, every chembaron expresses their opinion - more or less coherently. Voices overlap as the debate heats up and you don't lose one bit of it, exchanging knowing glances with Silco every now and then despite the tension brewing between you. He stays silent, undoubtedly commiting every detail to memory.

However, the discussion soon drifts towards different matters: stocks, export conditions and enforcer controls are brought to the council's attention, the atmosphere dangerously veering towards all-out chaos.

Indeed, the sight before you reminds you of a pack of greedy hyenas feasting over a rotting carcass, each kingpin arguing for the best cut.

This time, you fail to keep your disgust to yourself as a soft scoff leaves your mouth, prompting Silco to raise a quizzical brow at you. You meet his otherwise impassive gaze with a dark one of your own and the scarred corner of his lips twitches with a ghost of a smile.

He simply nods towards the curtain then focuses back onto the debate, his dismissal as quiet as it is final. Base-level professionalism it will be tonight then.

You take your leave, the barons barely registering your exit as they continue bickering amongst themselves.

The velvety drapes sway behind you and you feel like you've emerged from stormy waters only to be thrown into equally tumultuous ones: the saturated melody fills the air around you, its bass pulsing its way into your bones as you stagger towards the railing. Lightheaded - and feeling rather humiliated - your fingers brace the cool metal, your knuckles blanching under the pressure you apply.

So much for a formality.

The only things you've found out so far are things you could've pieced together on your own: the Chembarons are a bunch of greedy, manipulative and self-centered individuals that hates and wants you gone.

Judging from his attitude tonight, Silco might just humor them once he deems your work done.

So much for him protecting you.

With a grunt, you hurl yourself towards the first floor, barely noticing the speed with which you glide down the stairs and head towards the bar.

***

Throwing back your third shot of tequila underneath Mainas' bemused stare, you slam your glass onto the counter before elbowing your way towards the center of the dancefloor to join Hypnos and their partners.

Your whole body thrums with pent-up energy, your frustration rolling off of you in wild waves that come crashing down onto the dancers surrounding you.

Losing yourself in the rhythm, you let the dirty riffs seep into your pores, corrupting flesh and muscles down to the marrow of your bones, the sound of your heartbeat subdued by the hypnotic tune pouring from the speakers.

For a moment, you're one with the crowd: an anonymous entity of limbs that breathes and moves with passion its unique purpose. Your world stretches and retracts in cadenced patterns under the bright light of the multicoloured neons.

However, that symbiotic state is broken when you notice some strange movements coming from a few of the dancers to your left.

You're about to leave your newly found companions to investigate but a sudden violent push from the crowd throws you backwards, bumping into something large - and rock solid.

Surprised, you yelp and whirl around, ready to apologize when you recognize the broad chest covered with tattoos you just collided in - and the pair of feline eyes scanning you from underneath thick strands of raven hair. Albeit this time, his green irises are rimmed with a vibrant blue hue that shines bright as Finn checks you out.

You feel one of his calloused hand wrap around your bicep as he presses closer to you, his hot breath laced with the strong stink of alcohol fanning against your cheeks.

"It's clear the old man wants you all to himself," he drawls as he leans in, "how selfish of him."

Scowling, you yank your arm free as he slurs, "Pretty and feisty, just as I like," his body close enough that you feel the heat radiating from his glistening skin.

You hiss, "Keep going and your jaw won't be the only thing you'll need to replace."

He jerks his head back and laughs, the raucous sound ringing in your ears before Finn raises his gaze towards the upper floor. A sudden shadow crosses his face and he purses his lips, stepping back hurriedly.

As he turns around to leave, he hesitates, looking up towards the balcony before his crazed eyes settle once more on you. They glint as he bends and straightens up into a mockery of a bow, before making his way back to the booth his gang occupies.

Fists clenching and unclenching at your sides, you lift your gaze upwards. As expected, a familiar silhouette sticks out, frozen against the lively backdrop of the buzzing club. Silco stands incredibly still, his expression unreadable, his elegant fingers coiled tightly around the railing. Despite the distance, you don't miss the subtle way his hands flex as his eyes lock with yours - nor the tick of his jaw.

Your surroundings blur, the waves of your vexation synchronizing with the red flashes from the stroboscopes as you stand tall amongst the tombstones and swaying dancers. You raise a defiant chin, willing your eyes to convey words you can not say as you search for a clue to explain Silco's strange attitude, his glowing pools of molten lava and swirling seafoam unnervingly fixed on you.

Finally he turns around, the connection severed as he disappears into the sea of moving bodies that liven the upper floor.

Numb, you're still standing in the same spot when Hypnos finds you with their growing cohort of partners. Through gentle words, they coax you back onto the dancefloor, making sure you're always on their radar as you resume moving.

Alas, everything feels heightened to you now, from the way the air comes out of your mouth in ragged breaths that leave your tongue dry, to the way your skin sticks to your neighbours' when your arms brush. Hyper-aware of your movements and of the crowd's, you feel goosebumps raise as the faces surrounding you start to distort into nightmarish visions.

Sensing your chest tighten, you motion for Hypnos to follow you as you make your way towards a nearly deserted booth, its scarce occupants snoring or caught in a haze from which they don't seem able to notice you.

"Are you okay dearie?" Hypnos' voice rebounds in the quiet space.

You want to reassure them but the only sound that escapes your mouth is a weary sigh.

"Actually, I don't think so," you chuckle dryly. "I think I'm done for the night, I'll head upstairs as soon as I'm done catching my breath."

Your friend gives you a small smile before wrapping you into their arms. Dropping their forehead onto yours, their cool skin is a welcome comfort against the furnace you feel trapped in.

They whisper, "You know where to find me shall the need arise, child. Remember that."

Something both warm and ancient lingers in their eyes as they give a gentle squeeze and release you, bidding you goodnight as they retreat into the throng.

Inhaling deeply, you're about to walk towards the bar when you spot something moving in the shadows of a nearby booth.

Holding your breath, you hide behind a pillar as you see a blond muscular man clad in neon green approach a woman cant against a table, her tan fingers drumming against the wood as she nods to the stranger.

He leans towards her, whispering something in her ear and she instantly produces a small vial from her charcoal jacket, its blue content swirling gently inside the glass. However, as the blond reaches for it, the mysterious woman catches his wrist with her free hand and glowers, revealing sharp golden canine teeth that glint in the dim light of this secluded part of the club.

Grunting, the man frees himself from her grip to retrieve a large wad of bills from his coat. The woman presents the bottle to him once more and they complete their transaction. Your eyes follow the blond when he dives into the crowd and by the time you turn your attention back to the booth, the dealer is gone.

Your heart beats loudly in your ears as your mind whirls: what is in that vial? Its blue hue is the exact same one you spotted in Finn's eyes - as well as multiple dancers you've come across tonight. It can't be that obvious, can it ?

Inhaling sharply, you decide to investigate further. You head towards the dancefloor, looking for the buyer. Luckily for you, his impressive built paired with his extravagant outfit make it difficult for him to go unnoticed, even in the packed club.

Finally you spot your target, who is busy emptying half of the vial before pocketing it back. He turns around and your gazes meet briefly - but long enough for you to notice the vibrant blue that now colors his eyes.

You trail him as he struts towards the dancefloor, his movements growing bolder by the minute.

So, a behiavor-altering drug it is then. Could this be recreational only or does it serve another purpose?

You frown.

Could this be an attempt at recreating shimmer?

Deep in thoughts, your thumb comes to stroke your middle finger, but your ring isn't there. You scowl, flexing your hand as you make your decision.

If the content of that vial is indeed a dupe, Silco's whole operation could be compromised. Despite your current resentment towards your boss, you can't let such a threat slide: the people of Zaun deserve their independance - and so do you. As far as you know, only the realization of Silco's plans leads to it.

Exhaling slowly, you step onto the dancefloor once more, circling your target as stealthily as you can. Once you're sure no one's paying you any attention, you dance your way closer to the blond man, your movements following the sensual pace that oozes from the speakers.

Swaying your hips, you accidentally trip over your own feet, landing right into the soft fabric draped over the buyer's chest.

"I'm so sorry," you hiccup through a laugh before gazing up at him through your lashes, a shy smile plastered on your lips.

"It's alright doll," he responds, his deep voice booming in your ears.

You keep yourself from wincing at the name and ask, "Did I hurt you?"

"Hurt me?" his hands cover yours against his chest, his sweaty palms sliding against your skin. "How could an angel like you hurt anyone?"

Despite your skin crawling as if it wants to get the hell out, you smile as sweetly as you can and confess, "I think I might have had a bit too much to drink, I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I feel like I'm going to fall with every step I take."

You punctuate your sentence with a small laugh and see him practically beam, his eyes glinting madly as he pulls you even closer to him.

"You can lean on me all you want doll, I ain't going anywhere."

You bite your bottom lip as your fingers finally reach the bottle in his breast pocket. You swiflty retrieve it as you lean on your toes to whisper into his ear, letting your weight settle onto his chest, "What a gentleman you are. Thank you for everything."

With a wink, you disappear into the crowd, leaving the blond man bewildered for a moment - before forgetting all about you when he finds another companion to dance the night away with.

Shrugging, you hold the vial tightly as you plan your next move. You'll show Silco how you're more than just a mere pawn: you can be a hell of a wildcard too.

You make your way across the crowded space, but you're soon stuck in a labyrinth of bodies. You have no choice but to head closer to the bar in order to reach the staircase. From where you stand, you spot the alluring silhouette of Minthe. The petite woman is leaning against the countertop, whispering conspiratorially with… Dion?

What the hell is going on tonight?

You feel your eyes widen at the sight of the bartender engaging in a deep conversation with Silco's former paramour. Scowling, you decide to postpone the solving of this mystery to a later time, instead navigating the constant swarm of people, hoping to fly under Minthe's radar.

Despite your best efforts, you feel a hand wrap around your bicep as you reach the first of the steps - What is it with these people and your arm ?

You whirl around, meeting Minthe's malicious gaze with a frown - which deepens when you notice the blue hue tinting her irises.

"Enjoying your evening, Topsider?" You feel the threat coiling beneath the smooth surface of her sultry facade.

Your tone is icy when you respond, "I was, yeah." Dislodging her fingers with acute precision.

She laughs - the sound too loud to be honest-, her shiny hair bouncing as she shakes her head, "And here I thought you would stick out like a sore thumb." She muses, "Could you possibly be embracing the zaunite way of life?"

You don't miss the implication behind her words, but you manage to maintain control over your rising anger as you respond, "My stay has indeed proven most enlightening."

Her smile falters for a beat, "Of course, a sharp yet vague answer… you're a perfect pet."

You're about to retort but she keeps going, "I never stood a chance, did I?"

It's your turn to go blank as the words spill from her mouth in an unstoppable flow, "I thought maybe, you know, I could rekindle things with him, make things go back to the way they were at the beginning. But then you showed up. And I knew it was over. Can you believe he hasn't touched me since he first saw you, his precious little scientist?"

You're pretty sure your face is achieving the remarkable feat of simultaneously blanching and blushing.

"I can still hear him raving about that blasted conference on volatile stuff or whatever it is you talked about."

Oh? Oh! Oh.

You gave that conference a year ago. For how long did Silco actually plan your abduction?

Minthe's crisp voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Warmed his sheets yet?"

You blink, at a loss for words.

"I guess not." The corners of her ruby mouth lift as she gestures with her hand, "Even though he covets you, it seems like he doesn't trust you. How interesting."

You're positively fuming as she adds, "Maybe not everything's lost for me then?" She steps aside to let you go, her smile stretching as she lands her final blow, "Enjoy your evening, you've certainly improved mine."

***

Minthe's words resonate in your ears, as loud as the booming noise echoeing from the speakers that surround you. Your temples ache as the shadow of a migraine starts to coil in your skull, its dull pulse mirroring the throbbing lights that color the club in reddish hues.

Still, you make your way up the stairs, slaloming through the horde of people that litter every step, in more or less advanced states of debauchery.

When you reach the upper floor, your body pressed against sweaty skin and glistening prosthetics, muffled sounds seep through the closed curtains - the shadows of the booths providing their occupants a relative anonymity where their fantasies can run free.

Your grip tightens around the glass vial as you continue down the hallway, the presence of some of Silco's men in the restricted area the quiet confirmation that the crime lord is indeed back in his office.

Absentmindedly chewing on your bottom lip, suddenly unsure if your idea is a wise one, your fist hovers above the massive door. Much to your surprise - and before you can second-guess yourself any further, the panel suddenly revolves and a tall figure almost topples over you.

Two grey eyes fix you blandly as you struggle to keep your balance, the pungent smoke of a cigarillo billowing from the corner of Sevika's mouth where it dangles dangerously.

"Why are you still here?"

The words - both dry and dragged out like chalk on a board - convey Silco's irritation all too well and Sevika's scowl grows larger. Giving no answer, she shoves you inside the office before stepping out and slamming the door behind her, the hard clanking of her boots still audible as she strides down the hallway.

Somehow still facing the intricate details of the door, you hear the distinct crinkle of leather above the familiar rustle of papers, before Silco's voice rings, harsh and clipped, "What a surprise."

You turn around to face your boss, the dim light of his desk lamp casting shadows across his features. The downward curl of his mouth paired with the deep furrow of his brows is eloquent enough - frustration and weariness exuding from his usual stern demeanor.

"A good one no doubt," you manage a crooked smile despite your own conflicted feelings.

"Mmh, we'll see about that." Heterochromatic eyes glide over you before they drop back onto the hefty stack of papers that sits upon the cluttered surface of the desk. One hand supporting his forehead, he lifts the other, crooking his fingers in a 'come-hither' motion as he beckons, "Don't just stand there, come closer. Be quick about it, I haven't got all night."

You refrain yourself from commenting something derogatory, instead leisurely crossing the space, the plush carpet muffling the clicking of your heels as you step closer to the greenish halo that leaks from the oval window.

Hostility seems imbued in everything you see: from Silco's cold posture to the knife protruding from the desk, its blade shining menacingly.

You feel as small as an ant when you sit down on the rickety chair facing the crime lord. Of course the room is designed and furnished to make you feel that way, to deter anyone from thinking they can rise above the underworld's master.

Silco slowly rises from his chair, his fingers wrapping around the bronze edges of the glass precariously perched atop a tower of books and files. Making his way towards his cellarette - which he opens with a flick of his fingers, he pulls out a large bottle of liquor, its dark content swirling in the amber light of the coffee table lamp. Your gaze is fixed on his every movement, the elegance of the fine lines of his hands an hypnotic sight you can't pull away from. His dark shirt clings to his back as he hovers above the credenza, the taunt muscles flexing gently.

Ice cubes tinkle as he pours the rich liquid into the intricate tumbler, and you divert your attention just as he turns around, your heart suddenly pounding.

Brushing past you, he comes to a halt as he reaches his desk.

"What is it you wanted to see me for?" He asks as he leans against the messy surface, his mismatched eyes scanning your face as he takes a small sip.

"An apology. From you." The jewels in your hair jingle as you tilt your head to the side.

He nearly chokes. Despite his coughing, his hand is steady, the alcohol barely sloshing inside the glass.

Anger follows surprise, the creases settling deeper as his lips curl into a sneer.

"And what for exactly?"

"Presenting my work, me, as you d-"

"I believe I was doing you a favour." He takes a second sip, taking his time to savour the smokey taste.

"Do not interrupt me." Something flashes in his aquamarine eye at your authoritative tone.

You press on, "You made me look like I was nothing more than your lapdog."

He comments, "Well you do work for me, don't you?"

"And we agreed on work, not slavery." You counter, eyes narrowing as he simply huffs, a smirk slowly splaying across his features.

Exasperation threatening to get the better of you, you pretend to get up and you spit, "You're exactly like all those piltovian assholes, you know that?"

Silco scoffs, extanding his hand and motioning for you to sit back down as he responds, "What do you want?"

You cross your arms in front of your chest and simply state, "Respect."

The silence that falls between you buzzes with tension, only broken by the distant roar of the club. Hawk eyes fixed on you, seconds stretch into minutes and you can't help the urge to fidget in your seat, the leather scratching the exposed skin below the hem of your dress. Finally, the harsh lines of his scowl soften as Silco exhales a long, deep, sigh.

His voice is quiet, stripped bare of his venom when he murmurs, "You already have it."

Lips pursed, you try to weigh the sincerity in his words. Standing eerily still, his gaze never leaves yours, and for a brief moment you spot the turmoil agitating the cool waters of his good eye.

"I swear."

His earnest tone is enough to crack your walls open and - perhaps against your better judgement-, you decide to trust him.

You huff, the weight of your anger and insecurities slowly evaporating. You relax against the backrest - which you immediately regret as the wood bites into the tender flesh of your back. Holding out your hand, your fingers spread to reveal the glass vial. Its blue content shimmers as you twirl it delicately.

"I thought you'd be interested to know somebody's feeling lucky, selling their stuff on your territory."

Silco hums, his acute stare darting onto the bottle: the creases around his right eye deepens as the left twiches slightly. You don't need to peek inside his mind to know it whirls with calculations.

Suddenly, he straightens up and goes back to the cellarette. Picking up the expensive whiskey decanter, he pours himself a second drink before standing in front of you.

Lifting your head towards him, you catch his eyes darting from the vial to his glass. Carefully, he lowers his hand, the fresh ice soflty clinking against the edges in the process.

You click your tongue.

He greets you with a roll of his eyes, "What now?"

"Do not mistake me for one of your little pawns. Ever again." You don't know where that confidence comes from, but you don't mind it.

Silco doesn't seem to mind as well, seeing as he nods.

It's your turn to extend your hand; your fingers brush as you exchange the crystalline bottle, a burst of sparks trailing your skin at the contact.

The tumbler is cool to the touch, a nice but short reprieve from the heat that spreads within you as Silco pockets the vial, his ardent gaze never leaving yours.

Feeling emboldened, you bring the glass to your mouth, searching for the exact spot he sipped from. You're playing a dangerous game, teetering on the edge of a cliff. However as you proved time and time again, you're not afraid of the fall. So you dive in.

Your lips part, the crimson pulp slightly dragging across the intricate edge that still carries the ghost of his warmth. Your pulse quickens as the smooth liquid coats your tongue under the scrutiny of Silco's stare. You let out an appreciative hum, letting the strong taste settle, your eyelids fluttering as the alcohol burns your throat when you swallow.

When you open your eyes, you notice the discreet way his breathing grows heavier as his adam's apple bob lightly.

You suppress a smirk of your own as you shift to cross one leg over the other, gently swirling the tumbler.

"Sinful," you comment, the flicker of mischief in your eyes matching his before it disappears behind his emotionless facade.

You motion to his pocket with a tilt of your chin, "From what I observed, I'd say someone is trying to sell a dupe of your shimmer."

"My shimmer? I believe you meant it to be ours." He notes, with a hint of teasing.

You playfully nudge his shin with the sole of your shoe before explaining, "Well, I believe finding whoever is pumping this onto the streets will lead us right to the mines' explosion culprit."

"Operating right in the open, selling their wares as everyone is searching for them? If the short-term profits might be interesting, the repercussions will be deadly. All in all, that would be a stupid move."

"So is running one's cargo right onto the Eye of Zaun's turf."

"So you think our culprit is an idiot?"

"Your council isn't short on that."

Silco snorts. A short and loud noise, startling the both of you and bringing a soft smile to your lips.

Regaining his composure, he ponders, "I trust you'll need to run a few tests on this…dupe?"

"Indeed. Analyzing its components might give me a few clues to pinpoint from which plant it comes from. Maybe even the warehouse from where it was shipped."

Humming his approval, he reaches into his pocket. The glass edges glint as he settles the vial onto his desk, deep blue clashing against warm mahogany.

His fingers drums a mindless rhythm onto the brass details as he asks, "How did you come into possession of such a find?"

Your smile falters briefly and you cough, "I uh, witnessed an exchange and followed the buyer."

When you don't elaborate, he prodes, a frown distorting the right side of his face, "I suppose you asked nicely and they gave you the vial?"

His gaze burns with the same intensity as it did when Finn left.

"Something along those lines, yeah."

His fingers still, silence weighing down around you.

"'Tis the night of giving, and that vial qualifies as my gift to you." Even if you're not that deserving of it, adds the voice in your head.

He stares at you, his face impassive.

"Seeing as we're matching… You wearing crimson, me wearing black? Please don't tell me this isn't really a thing and Hypnos and Mainas made it all up?"

This brings out a small smile, "It is a real custom." He deftly picks the bottle up, twirling it between his fingers. "Although our dear tailor went a bit heavy on the coordinating."

Your eyebrows must be stuck to your hairline because he adds, "I thought I asked for something less obvious."

"Why would you do that?"

"The meeting." He explains, "To discreetly show the other chembarons you're off-limits. Although I might have to spell that one out to our young friend Finn."

You suck in a breath, chest tightening and mind whirling as he adds, "You're one of mine."

Standing up, he questions, "Speaking of, what did you think of the council - other than the fact that you deem them stupid, that I gathered."

"I'd wager that half of them think I'll betray you or that I'm here to somehow sabotage their own chemical production. The other half probably think that I'm here to warm your bed."

Brow quirked, he tuts,"I don't think Minthe qualifies as 'half'."

You swallow a hiss to respond, "Did she have to be there?"

Your tone sounds awfully sour - even to your ears - and you wince.

"Well she couldn't miss such an event now, could she?" The shadow of his teasing lilts his words and you just know he is toying with you, like a cat with a mouse.

"You know what I'm talking about." Your back grazes the wooden backrest and you bite your lips.

"Is it jealousy I sense my dear?" The bastard's enjoying it.

You scoff, "I'm not jealous, I'm simply wondering about the mythical clarity you have when it comes to conducting your affairs."

"Careful now."

"You're preping her for a seat on the council aren't you?" You assert, the cold reality sinking in.

He doesn't respond, his right pupil a glinting amber amongst a bed of smoldering coal.

Ignoring the silent threat looming over you, you press on, "You think she'll bring you her support, don't you? Not only is that obvious to everybody, but it also gives her the upper hand on every difficult decision you'd want to implement."

"You think I haven't considered this?" His words are clipped, his scowl deepening as he warns, "You may be a brilliant scientist but you've still got much to learn about power, little dove."

He steps closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate, his gold-tipped boots gliding silently upon the carpet as you unconsciously try to recoil further back into your seat - to no avail.

"See, I only make sound investments. And she's one of them."

"Just like I am?" Your eyes could burn holes into his skull.

"No, not like you." His leg brushes your knee as he circles you, his scent clinging to your skin as soon as it wafts over you.

A shiver runs down your spine as one of his hands settles on your shoulder, short trimmed nails grazing the delicate lines of your tattoo. "You're special."

You feel the slight tremor in his voice mixing with something deeper, darker.

He whispers, "I do appreciate your fervour in helping me build Zaun."

His index and middlefinger toy with the pomegranate pendant adorning your neck, pressing the cool metal against your burning skin as he adds, "Which is fitting since I see a future for you here."

The uncertainties that ate at your heart all night long melt away as his fingers trail higher, following the column of your throat until he hooks them beneath your chin and tilts your head back.

Your eyes meet his and you stare at his blown out pupils that seem to drink you in.

"And what a bright future indeed."

You feel your whole body tingling at the intimacy you share, the anticipation chasing the oxygen out of your lungs as he bends further down towards you. Something burried deep within you stirs, threatening to boil over under his touch.

A sharp knock shatters the moment.

Silco retreats instantly, leaving you breathless. The ghost of his warmth lingers behind as he hurries towards the door, his lean frame bathed in the ever-present greenish glow that seem to rebound against the shadows.

***

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#arcane #silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x y/n #x reader #arcane fandom #chohw

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