shimmerandink

[shimmerandink]

Hello ^⁠_⁠^

What do you like to be called, like do you have a name or nickname?

Hi! ^^

You can call me Codashi :D thanks for asking! Sorry for the late reply, I’ve been so busy😅💕

[shimmerandink]

The price of Peace

Silco x Peace Negotiator! Reader

Smut/one-shot

Tags: Silco x reader, reader is sent from Piltover, buildup, nsfw, fingering, dirty talking.

The stink of Zaun settled in your lungs the moment you stepped off the rickety transport. It was heavier than you imagined, metallic, damp, tinged with shimmer and soot. You could taste it. It clung to your fine Piltover coat like it meant to claim it, like the city wanted to remind you this wasn’t your world. Not anymore.

The Council told you to keep your head down. Be civil. Be cautious. Don’t provoke him.

You smiled at that. They sent you down here to negotiate with a man known for slit throats and whispered threats, and now they wanted you to play it safe.

Fools.

The Last Drop was quieter than expected when you stepped inside. Eyes turned toward you immediately. Not because of the name stitched inside your collar, not because of the orders buried in your pocket, but because you didn’t belong.

Your boots were too clean. Your posture too proud. You stood out like a candle in a cave.

A few patrons muttered under their breath. One barked out a laugh. You ignored them, crossing the bar with unhurried steps and taking a seat in the corner booth that had been cleared in advance. You didn’t ask who cleared it. The answer was obvious.

You waited.

Minutes passed like molasses. You didn’t fidget. You wanted him to see control when he arrived. Calm. Steel. Not weakness.

The door creaked open again.

You felt him before you saw him. A pressure in the air, like something ancient rising from beneath the water. The patrons stilled, and the low buzz of the room dropped an octave. Your eyes lifted just in time to see him step into the light.

Silco.

He moved like someone with nothing left to fear. A slow, deliberate walk, measured steps, hands behind his back, eyes like green glass catching flame in the low light. Half his face was a ruin, shimmer eaten and etched with veins of corruption, but it was his gaze that held you still.

Not cruel. Not even angry.

Just… calculating.

Like he was deciding how much of you to burn.

He didn’t sit right away. He stood at the edge of the booth, letting the silence stretch between you.

Then:

“Piltover sends a dove,” he said, voice rough like broken stone, “wrapped in velvet and perfume. Do they always dress their spies this well?”

You arched a brow, unbothered.

“And Zaun’s revolutionaries always this charming?”

That earned you a flicker of something in his eye, approval? amusement? You weren’t sure. He finally slid into the booth across from you, resting his arms on the scarred wood table.

“I don’t trust doves,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “They fly in, pretend to mourn, and leave after they’ve shat all over everything.”

“I’m not here to mourn.”

You met his gaze evenly.

“I’m here to make sure Zaun doesn’t burn itself to the ground before Piltover can decide whether to smother the fire or fan it.”

That made him smile.

Not kindly.

“And what makes you think I care about Piltover’s choices?”

You leaned in, lowering your voice.

“Because your people are dying. Because shimmer may fuel your soldiers, but it’s eating your children. And because whether you like it or not… your war is bleeding into our city. And the Council is ready to strike back.”

Silco stared at you for a long, quiet beat. Then he leaned back against the booth, studying you like you were some odd creature he hadn’t quite decided to dissect.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said at last.

You offered a faint smirk.

“Neither are you.”

—————-

Silco didn’t ask if you were hungry. He didn’t offer you a drink, either. He simply reached into the inside pocket of his coat, pulled out a small silver case, and slid a thin cigarette between his lips. He lit it with a match struck off the underside of the table, one-handed, thoughtlessly efficient.

The sulfur burned hot, then vanished.

Smoke curled around his face like a lover’s touch.

He didn’t blink when he spoke again.

“You come here, dressed like a Council pawn, talking like a diplomat but walking like someone who’s tasted rot before. So tell me, dove… why did they send you?”

You tilted your head.

“Because the others were too afraid.”

That wasn’t entirely a lie.

You’d volunteered. The Council hadn’t picked you, they’d protested, actually, but you knew the cost of letting war escalate. You’d read the casualty estimates. You’d seen the maps. And deep down, maybe, you’d wanted to look the villain in the eye and decide for yourself if he was truly a monster… or just the price of progress.

Silco exhaled, a slow ribbon of smoke escaping between his teeth.

“I don’t like liars,” he said. “And I especially don’t like martyrs. But I do like watching Piltover squirm. So by all means… convince me. What is it your city wants?”

You reached into your coat, not for a weapon, though half the bar flinched like you had, and pulled out the folded, sealed document the Council had entrusted to you.

You placed it on the table between you, untouched.

“A ceasefire. Limited shimmer exports. Defined borders between Zaun and Piltover. And a formal seat at the negotiation table—”

He laughed. Loudly. The sound scraped down your spine.

“A seat? They want to offer Zaun a seat at their table? How generous. Like a king tossing scraps to the starving dogs outside the gate.”

You didn’t flinch.

“That’s why I’m here. To change the shape of the table.”

He stared at you again, long enough for discomfort to slip its fingers under your skin. But you held his gaze. You weren’t some rookie politician or Council mouthpiece. You’d faced sharks before, just none that smelled of ash and gunpowder.

Silco stubbed his cigarette out against the table’s edge and leaned in again, lower now, voice just for you.

“You want change? Then don’t speak to me in Piltover’s tongue. Don’t bring me papers stamped with gold seals and hollow promises. Come with me tomorrow. See my Zaun. Walk the alleys. Smell the bodies. Hear what shimmer does to a starving man’s lungs. Then maybe, maybe, I’ll believe you’re worth speaking to.”

You blinked. He was baiting you. Testing you. And you couldn’t help the flicker of curiosity that burned in your chest. Not fear.

Interest.

“Fine,” you said, voice steady. “Take me there.”

Silco tilted his head, just slightly. A breath of a smile curved one side of his mouth.

“You’re not very smart, dove.”

“You’re not very scary.”

That earned a full smile this time. Small, crooked, dangerous.

He stood, without warning.

“We’ll leave at first light.”

Then he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows of the bar, smoke trailing behind him like a mark of his passage.

⸻

You stayed in that booth a while longer, unmoving.

You hadn’t realized until then that your hands were clenched beneath the table.

Zaun didn’t frighten you.

But he did.

Not because he threatened you.

Because a part of you, buried somewhere deep, behind your Council loyalty and carefully measured diplomacy, wanted to understand him.

And worse…

You weren’t sure you’d come back the same if you did.

——————

The sun didn’t rise in Zaun.

Not the way it did in Piltover.

Down here, the light filtered in like shame, muted, choked by pipes and scaffolding. The sky was little more than a sickly glow between rusted beams. The streets were already alive when you stepped outside: coughing merchants hawking scrap tech, children chasing rats with sticks, shimmer addicts twitching in the alleys, and the ever-present stink of rot and smog.

Silco was already waiting.

He stood beneath the archway of a collapsed walkway, his coat folded over one arm, puffing calmly on another cigarette. He didn’t greet you, didn’t ask if you slept well. Just turned and started walking.

You followed.

“You’ll want to keep up,” he said, voice flat. “Some of these alleys chew up soft skinned diplomats and spit out bone.”

“I’ve walked worse.”

“Not like this, you haven’t.”

You didn’t argue. Just matched his pace.

The deeper you went, the worse it became. Towering chemical silos oozed residue into the sludge-filled gutters. Kids with too-large eyes and shimmer burns on their hands stared as you passed. A woman sat rocking a sick infant against her chest, murmuring lullabies between dry sobs.

“You see it?” Silco asked without looking at you. “This is what Piltover calls progress. The waste, the rot, our children poisoned so yours can ride gold plated elevators and sip wine that costs more than a week’s worth of clean water down here.”

You felt his words settle deep in your ribs. You’d read about Zaun’s decay, of course. But reading about suffering was sterile. Living inside it was something else entirely.

You passed a small chem shop, its shelves cluttered with shimmer vials and syringes. A man stood just outside, trembling, begging for another hit. The shopkeeper slammed the gate in his face.

Silco didn’t slow.

“Addicts make poor soldiers. But they make desperate ones.”

“You control the shimmer trade,” you said softly. “You could stop this.”

He stopped.

Dead still.

Then turned to you with eyes sharp and glassy.

“I could kill every chembaron in Zaun tomorrow and ten more would grow back. You want me to fix a rot I didn’t start? One Piltover fed for generations?”

Your lips parted, but no response came.

Because he was right.

He turned away again, and this time… you walked in silence.

⸻

After nearly an hour, he led you through a half-collapsed tunnel that opened into a makeshift clinic. It wasn’t official, not funded, not sanctioned. But it was clean. Carefully kept. Run by volunteers. A girl no older than fourteen dressed wounds with practiced hands. An older man coughed blood into a handkerchief.

You watched it all quietly. The exhaustion. The pain. The fight to live in spite of it.

Silco finally spoke again.

“This is why I keep going. Why I have to. Because they deserve more than scraps. More than pity. They deserve power.”

You looked at him then, not at his scars, not the shimmer veined edge of his face, but at the man beneath it. Raw. Unapologetic. Dangerous. And human.

“I believe you,” you said.

He turned toward you slowly, the shift in his gaze almost imperceptible. You saw it, though. The flicker of surprise. Of something almost vulnerable.

But only for a moment.

Then the mask returned.

“Don’t believe in me yet, dove,” he murmured. “You’ve only seen the edges of the abyss. There’s more below.”

He walked away, leaving you to follow.

And as you moved after him, boots splashing through chemical runoff and shadows, you realized something terrifying:

You were starting to understand him.

And worse, you didn’t want to stop.

————-

The sun never truly set in Zaun, only dimmed into deeper shadows. Pipes groaned overhead, and somewhere in the distance, the low thump of chem machinery pulsed like a heartbeat.

You found yourself in Silco’s office that evening, seated across from him in a room that smelled of ink, old books, and burnt shimmer. He’d offered you a drink without a word, a dark amber liquid that burned as it went down.

No one else was here.

Just him. Just you.

He leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed, elbow resting against the arm as he regarded you through half lidded eyes.

“You lasted longer than most topsiders,” he said finally. “Didn’t gag at the smell. Didn’t cry at the clinic. You didn’t even flinch when that shimmerhead collapsed in the street.”

You shrugged, nursing the drink.

“Didn’t mean I didn’t feel it.”

That made him smile. Not mockingly, something quieter. Pleased, maybe.

“So tell me,” he murmured, “do your Council friends know who they sent down here? A girl who listens? A girl who… feels?”

“They sent me because they didn’t know what else to do.”

“And you came because you wanted to see the monster for yourself.”

You met his eyes. The shimmer there caught the lamplight, glowing faintly in the dim.

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched you for a long moment, as if weighing those words on some hidden scale.

“Careful,” he said at last, voice low. “Kindness can be a kind of weapon down here.”

“Then maybe I’m armed.”

He let out a breath, neither a laugh nor a sigh. Something in between. Then he leaned forward and poured himself another drink, offering to refill yours with a flick of the bottle. You nodded.

“Do you ever stop?” you asked quietly. “Fighting, building, planning… does it ever let you rest?”

He considered that. A flicker of something, fatigue?, passed behind his eyes.

“Rest is for men who have someone to hand the war to. I don’t.”

“That’s lonely.”

“That’s freedom.”

You didn’t believe that. Not entirely. But you didn’t argue, either.

For a long time, silence settled between you. The comfortable kind, strange, given who he was. The room felt smaller now, warmer. Like a place not meant for politics or power plays, but for secrets.

“When I was little,” you said quietly, “I used to believe Zaun was just a shadow on the edge of the city. I didn’t know it bled.”

“It bleeds,” Silco murmured, “because your city needs it to.”

You looked at him again, and this time, truly saw him. Not just the warlord. Not just the figurehead. But the man carved by survival. Firenforged and still burning.

“I want to help you stop the bleeding,” you said. “Even if the Council never listens. Even if they turn their backs. I want to help you.”

The room went still. The air changed.

Silco stood, slowly, and walked around the desk. Not threatening, just closer. He leaned on the edge, looking down at you, eyes unreadable.

“Do you know what it means to say that to me?” he asked.

You nodded.

“I think I do.”

“Then say it again. Without the drink. Without the shield.”

Your throat was dry. But you looked up at him and said it anyway.

“I want to help you.”

Silco’s hand reached out, not quite touching your face, but close enough that you felt the heat of it. His fingers hovered near your cheek, tracing the space where a touch could land. But didn’t.

“Then stay,” he said.

And gods help you…

You didn’t want to leave.

—————-

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t mean to slam it, but the force of your frustration had followed you from the council meeting in the Wastes. Another wasted effort. Another chembaron snarling about weapons and territory, too drunk on shimmer and ego to see the bigger picture. You hated them.

So did Silco.

“They never listen,” you said, pacing. “They only know how to take. That girl at the clinic—she’s going to die because they won’t give up a single drop of stabilizer.”

Silco lit a match. The flame flared briefly before he brought it to the end of his cigarette, letting it smolder between his fingers.

“They listen when you make them bleed.”

“And what happens when there’s no one left to bleed?”

You turned to him, sharp, teeth bared in pain you couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it wasn’t about the chembarons. Maybe it wasn’t about Zaun. Maybe you were just tired, tired of watching him carry all of it alone.

“You act like you don’t care. But you do. I see you.”

His eyes lifted from the cigarette. Green and gold, shot through with shimmer. He studied you like something dangerous. Fragile.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll let you.”

You froze. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was taut. Heavy. The air between you felt electric, like something had snapped.

And then he was in front of you.

Not charging. Not lunging.

Choosing.

His hand hovered near your jaw, eyes scanning your face for any sign to stop. You didn’t give one.

Your breath caught when his fingers finally touched you, rough, calloused, cradling your cheek like it was something worth holding. His thumb brushed your skin, slowly, like he couldn’t decide if this was real.

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” he whispered. “Who I’ve had to become.”

“I don’t care.”

He kissed you.

There was no hesitation, no slow build. His mouth found yours like a secret unspoken for too long. His hand slid behind your neck, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he didn’t trust the world not to steal you away.

You kissed him back, hungrily, angrily, desperately.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t polite. It was heat and tension and years of grief and steel, all crashing into each other behind teeth and tongues. His other hand gripped your waist, not like he was holding you, but like he was afraid to let go.

You broke apart for air, barely.

His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless. Your lips were swollen, your chest tight.

“This is a mistake,” he murmured against your mouth.

“Then don’t stop.”

You felt him smile, faint and bitter.

“Gods help me.”

And then he kissed you again, deeper this time.

Like a man who had been starved of touch.

You didn’t remember how you got to the couch.

One moment you were tangled in Silco’s kiss, tasting smoke and bitterness and need. The next, your back hit the worn leather, and he was above you, bracing his weight with one hand beside your head, the other slipping down to your hip with devastating patience.

You looked up at him.

He was flushed. Breathing uneven. His collar had come undone, the dark shirt hanging open just enough to show the sharp line of his collarbone, the pale stretch of scarred skin beneath.

“Say it again,” he rasped.

“What?”

“That you don’t care. About what I’ve done. About what I am.”

You reached up, fingers curling into his shirt.

“I don’t care.”

His mouth found your neck, reverent and rough. Not gentle, never gentle. He kissed like a man afraid of what it meant to want. His teeth grazed your pulse, and when you arched into him, a low sound rumbled in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

“You should,” he murmured. “You should care.”

“But I don’t. I want this. I want you.”

That did it.

His hand slid up under your shirt, calloused fingertips skating over bare skin. You felt the tremor in him, felt how tightly he was holding himself back. He didn’t undress you quickly. He peeled each layer off like it mattered, eyes flicking over every new inch of skin like he was memorizing it.

You helped him out of his coat. His shirt. He hissed softly when your hands brushed the long scar down his ribs.

“Does it hurt?” you asked, voice low.

He looked down at you, something dark flickering in his eyes.

“Only when I remember why I got it.”

You didn’t ask. Instead, you leaned up and kissed the scar, slow and deliberate, and felt the shudder that passed through him.

“Let me have you,” you whispered.

“You already do.”

The rest came in gasps. In half-breathed names and hands gripping skin and the slow, aching grind of two people trying to get closer. There was nothing soft about it, but there was meaning. Heat. Trust. Worship buried under teeth and tension.

He kissed you like a man who didn’t think he deserved this.

You held him like someone who knew he did.

When it was over, your bodies slick with sweat, tangled and bare in the half dark, he didn’t speak for a long time. Just stared at the ceiling, one arm draped over your waist like a chain he didn’t want to lift.

“You’ll regret this,” he said eventually, voice hoarse.

“Will you?”

He didn’t answer.

But when he turned to face you, when he pulled you closer and pressed his mouth to your shoulder with something far too gentle to be just lust, you knew the answer already.

————-

The room was thick with heat.

Not just from the closeness of your bodies, but from everything unspoken that now screamed between you.

Silco hovered above you, eyes dark with restraint. His breath was shallow, lips parted, like he didn’t trust himself to move too fast. His hand rested low on your stomach, thumb tracing absent circles just beneath your ribs.

You could feel the tension in him, the way he warred with himself. He wanted to consume you. To drag you under and keep you there. But he held back, watching you like you were something holy. Or dangerous.

Maybe both.

“Still sure?” he rasped, voice rough at the edges.

You answered by sliding your hand down his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle under scarred skin. You let your fingers trace the curve of his ribs, the sharp indent of his hip. He closed his eyes briefly, jaw tightening.

“I want you to lose control,” you whispered.

“With me.”

And that broke something in him.

Silco’s mouth found yours again, harder this time, hungrier. His hand slipped between your thighs, parting them gently, and when his fingers found how wet you already were, he let out a quiet, guttural sound that vibrated straight through your spine.

“So warm…” he murmured. “So fucking soft.”

His fingers slid against you, testing, teasing. He found your clit with practiced slowness, rubbing tight circles that made your breath hitch and your hips lift into his touch. He watched you unravel, his mismatched eyes darkening with every moan he pulled from you.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let them hear you. Let them know who you belong to now.”

You barely had time to respond, your body arching as two fingers slid inside you, stretching you with a slow, filthy rhythm. He curled them just right, pressing deep, his thumb never once stopping its work on your clit.

“You’re perfect like this,” he growled into your neck. “Falling apart for me. Just for me.”

You cried out, legs trembling around his waist, the pleasure building fast and hot in your belly.

But he didn’t stop. Not when your nails dug into his back. Not when your body clenched around his fingers, the orgasm rippling through you in waves.

He watched you come apart, and gods, he looked devastated by it. Like he hadn’t expected it to feel this good. This real.

You were still trembling when he pulled his fingers from you, slow and slick. He brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with deliberate, maddening control.

“You taste like fucking salvation,” he muttered.

Then he moved over you again, positioning himself between your thighs. You felt him, hard, thick, hot, pressing against your entrance. But he didn’t push in yet. He paused, resting his forehead against yours.

“If I take you now,” he said, “there’s no going back.”

You reached down and wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in.

“Then don’t hold back.”

When he finally entered you, it was slow, so agonizingly slow it burned. He stretched you open inch by inch, watching your face the whole time, until he was fully sheathed inside you, his hips flush against yours.

“Fuck,” he groaned, voice strained. “You feel like you were made for me.”

And then he started to move.

The rhythm built, hard and deep, his thrusts hitting places that made you sob his name. He filled you completely, his grip on your hips bruising, grounding you to the couch as if he couldn’t stand the thought of you slipping away.

He fucked you like a man chasing redemption.

Like he could save himself with every thrust.

Like you were the only thing keeping him from falling.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered into your skin, voice breaking.

“Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours, Silco.”

He came undone with a growl against your throat, thrusting deep as his release tore through him, filling you. And even then, he didn’t pull away. He stayed inside you, breathing heavy, forehead pressed to your chest as your hands tangled in his sweat-damp hair.

“I never wanted peace,” he whispered.

“Until you.”

——————-

Morning came slowly.

No alarms. No boots on metal stairs. Just light filtering through the grime-smeared windows, painting pale gold across the worn floor of Silco’s office.

You lay tangled with him on the couch, his arm still draped across your waist like a silent vow. He hadn’t moved all night, didn’t even twitch when the creak of the city stirred outside. It was strange seeing him like this. Still. Unarmored.

He looked younger in sleep. Not softer, never that. But human.

You traced the edge of a scar on his chest with your fingertip. He stirred.

“If you keep doing that,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough, “we’re not leaving this couch all day.”

You smiled, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“A fact.”

He pulled you closer. His hand found your back, warm, possessive, and his mouth brushed the crown of your head. For a while, you stayed like that. No council meetings. No shimmer deals. Just the quiet hum of the city, and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“What happens now?” you asked softly. “With us?”

He exhaled slowly.

“We keep moving. You at my side. We rebuild Zaun, not for power. Not for the chembarons. For the kids who don’t get a choice. For the ones like Jinx.”

A pause.

“Like me.”

You watched the tension creep back into his jaw. The weight return to his eyes.

“And if Piltover finds out?” you asked. “That we’re not just allies. That we’re… this.”

He finally looked at you. Fully. Honestly.

“Then let them.”

You blinked.

“You’re not afraid?”

“Always.” He brushed your cheek with his thumb. “But I’d rather burn this whole city down than pretend I don’t care about you.”

Your breath caught.

No promises of forever. No pretty lies. Just Silco, in all his dangerous, broken devotion.

You leaned in and kissed him, softly this time. Like peace didn’t have to be a myth. Like maybe it could start here. In smoke and stillness. In the arms of a man who once thought love was weakness, and now held it like a weapon.

“Then we rebuild,” you whispered.

And together, you did.

[shimmerandink]

Question for your qna!! Where are you from? 💖💖💖🎀

Thank you for your question! 💕

I’m from Sweden😄🇸🇪

[shimmerandink]

This is for the LOL fans!

And of course everyone else haha!

Just got a tattoo inspired by my main and I’m so happy!!!

Can you guess who it is!!??

[shimmerandink]

Being Silco’s sister headcanons

~You’re one of the few people Silco truly trusts , maybe even more than Sevika.

~Despite his cold demeanor, he’s fiercely protective of you.

~ He’s constantly worried that your association with him puts a target on your back.

~You often have to remind him to eat, sleep, and take breaks, you’re one of the few people who can boss him around a little.

~You both share the same cunning streak, but express it in very different ways, you might be more diplomatic where he’s more forceful.

~You and Silco grew up together in the undercity, and you were there during the fallout with Vander.

~You tried to stay neutral during the split, but ultimately chose Silco because you couldn’t abandon your brother.

~After the river incident, you were one of the few who saw the pain and trauma it left on him, you were the one who helped bandage his eye.

~ You resented Vander for what happened but also quietly mourned the friendship all three of you had.

~You work alongside Silco in his operations, perhaps as an advisor, chemist, spy, or diplomat, or maybe you purposely stay away from his business, which creates tension.

~ If you are involved in his work, people fear and respect you almost as much as him.

~ You’re his emotional anchor, you see the good that’s left in him and sometimes argue with him when he becomes too ruthless.

~ You and Sevika often butt heads over how to handle Silco.

~Jinx sees you as an aunt or even a mother figure if you’re nurturing.

~You’re one of the few people who can calm Jinx down when she’s spiraling, Silco often relies on you for that.

~ You sometimes confront Silco about how he treats Jinx, whether you support his methods or worry he’s doing more harm than good.

~ You and Jinx have chaotic sibling energy, pulling pranks, causing trouble, or working on projects together.

~You tease Silco relentlessly for being dramatic. “You’re not a villain, you’re a theater kid with trauma.”

~You call him ridiculous nicknames like “One-Eye Willy” or “Zaddy Zaun” just to see him sigh in disappointment.

~You force him to take “sibling bonding time,” like tea breaks or sarcastic movie nights with Jinx.

~ You like to crash his meetings with sarcastic commentary or unsolicited snacks.

~You sometimes wonder what would’ve happened if you had sided with Vander instead.

~There’s an unspoken fear that one day, Silco will go too far, and you’ll be forced to stop him.

~ You once almost left the undercity but stayed because he begged you not to.

~ If you ever get hurt, Silco goes full wrath-of-God mode on whoever’s responsible.

[shimmerandink]

Cell Block Chemistry

Prisoner! Vi x Prisoner! Reader

One-shot

Tags: Vi x reader, prisoner vi, prisoner reader, stillwater, sfw, flirting

The door to Stillwater slams behind you like a closing coffin lid. Cold steel, thicker than your arm, shuts out the last trace of sunlight you’ll see for a while. The cuffs around your wrists bite into your skin, your fingers twitching from the rush of adrenaline and exhaustion.

“You’ll love it here,” the guard says with a sneer, dragging you by the arm. “Great neighbors. Gourmet food. Real cozy beds.”

The fluorescent lights above flicker as you’re led through the corridor, passing cell after cell. Some inmates glance up, eyes hollow. Others watch you like you’re prey. You keep your head high, even if your heartbeat’s trying to crack your ribs. Fear is currency here, and you can’t afford to be broke.

They stop you in front of a rusted cell door. “213,” one of the guards mutters. “Right across from 214.”

The cell creaks open. They shove you inside, the force nearly sending you face first into the cement wall. No mattress, no privacy, just a toilet and a slab of metal for a bed. Home sweet home.

“You forgot to say please,” you mutter, but the guards are already walking off.

Then comes the voice.

“Fresh meat, huh?”

It’s casual. Amused. Confident in the way only someone who’s been here far too long can be. You glance toward the sound, and there she is.

Across the hall, leaning against her bars like it’s just another Tuesday, is a woman with short pink hair, thick arms, and a cocky smirk that says she’s more dangerous than anyone else on this block. Her eyes drag over you slowly, as if she’s already taking your measure.

You meet her stare with a blank one of your own. “You always greet the new inmates with shitty nicknames, or am I just special?”

That earns a low laugh. “You talk back. I like that.”

You walk up to your bars, gripping them just to stretch your arms. “Let me guess. You’re the big, bad boss of this place?”

She rolls her shoulders lazily. “Some say that.” She flicks her eyes toward a bloodstain on the concrete a few feet down the hallway. “Others stopped talking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what’d you do to land yourself in Stillwater, Princess Pink?”

Her grin widens. “Punched a guard. Then his friend. And then, well… things escalated.” She shrugs. “Now I get a private suite and three square meals of regret.”

You huff a laugh despite yourself. “I’m here for smuggling chemtech.”

Vi whistles low. “Damn. That’s spicy.”

“It exploded,” you add, because what’s the point in lying now?

Her eyes gleam. “That explains the scorch marks on your coat.”

You glance down and notice the blackened hem you hadn’t had time to fix. Shit. She’s observant.

A silence settles between you, comfortable, strangely. You both study each other through the bars. Like two wolves trying to decide if they’ll fight or run in the same pack.

“So,” she finally says, her voice lower now. “What’s your name, Fresh Meat?”

You smirk. “Give me a reason to tell you.”

Vi leans forward, resting her forearms on the bars, looking you dead in the eye. “Alright. How about this—I keep the other freaks off your back during shower time. You give me your name, and maybe later… your secrets.”

You stare her down, but you can’t help the grin that creeps onto your lips.

“…It’s Y/N”

Vi’s smirk turns sharper, hungrier.

“Welcome to Stillwater, Y/N. Stick with me, and you might just survive.”

————-

Stillwater doesn’t sleep.

The lights don’t shut off at night, just hum above your head in a constant flicker. Somewhere down the hall, a man coughs wet and sharp, like he’s drowning in his own lungs. Metal clinks. Someone swears. A fight breaks out in another block, but the guards don’t bother stepping in.

You lie on your bunk, staring up at the ceiling, arms folded beneath your head. It’s your third night in this concrete coffin, and you’re already learning the rules. Don’t look too long. Don’t talk unless you mean it. Don’t owe anyone anything.

But Vi’s been testing those rules from the start.

“Still awake, chem-bomb?” her voice drifts from the other side of the corridor.

You sigh. “Not in the mood for a bedtime story, princess.”

She laughs, low and amused. “Then how about a warning?”

You turn your head just enough to look at her. She’s sitting with her back to the bars, one knee bent, a toothpick between her lips. “The girl in the cell next to yours? Tamra. She’s been eyeballing you since you walked in.”

“So?”

“So,” Vi says, tilting her head, “she doesn’t eyeball people for fun. She stabs them.”

You blink. “That the warning part?”

“No, sweetheart,” Vi grins, voice dropping into something rougher. “The warning is—if she touches you, I’ll break her fingers.”

A pause.

Your heart skips, but you cover it with sarcasm. “How romantic.”

Vi chuckles and doesn’t deny it.

⸻

The next morning, you’re in the yard for the first time. The sky is a dull, lifeless gray, barely visible past the barbed wire. Inmates mill around, some lifting weights made of concrete blocks, others trading goods beneath the guards’ disinterested eyes.

You keep to yourself. You don’t owe anyone. But you’re aware of eyes on you, one pair in particular: Tamra.

She’s taller than you, buzz cut, twitchy. She’s circling like a shark, and you’re trying to look casual when she finally steps too close.

“You’re the chemie,” she says. Her voice is sharp, too sweet.

You keep your chin up. “That’s me.”

“I heard you blew up a whole stash run. Think I want that kind of firepower on my side.”

“I work solo.”

She clicks her tongue, disappointed. “That’s too bad.”

You don’t see the shiv until it flashes.

But you don’t have to.

Because Vi is suddenly there, grabbing Tamra’s wrist mid swing and twisting it until the blade clatters to the ground.

Tamra snarls. “Back off, Vi. This ain’t your fight.”

Vi steps forward, pushing you behind her with one arm and getting in Tamra’s face. “It is now.”

There’s something electric in the air. Like the whole yard is holding its breath.

Tamra hesitates. Vi doesn’t. Her jaw is set. Her eyes, burning.

After a long second, Tamra spits at the ground and backs off.

Vi waits until she’s gone, then turns to you. “You alright?”

You blink. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did.” She smirks. “That’s why your hands were shaking.”

You scowl and shove her shoulder. She doesn’t move. Just laughs.

“Looks like you owe me,” she says, walking backward toward the gates.

You shout after her. “You’re keeping score now?”

Vi grins. “Oh, absolutely.”

[shimmerandink]

QnA!!

I’m having a little QnA so feel free to leave questions in my ask box and I’ll answer and connect with you guys even more!

Thank you all for your support and for you deciding to follow me on the journey!🥹

#shimmerandink

[shimmerandink]

Thank you for the tag!

favorite color ꕀ pink

last song ꕀ Kyss! By Albin Lee Meldau

currently reading ꕀ my math books TwT

currently watching ꕀ Orange is the new black

currently craving ꕀ Strawberries!

coffee or tea ꕀ depends if I’m at work or trying to relax.

Tagged by @aelxnox

Tags: @coolgirl32 @roses-without-raindrops @bebeluvvv

get to know your moots tag game ! ✶ answer the questions, then tag six people

favorite color ꕀ green and brown last song ꕀ tú by maye currently reading ꕀ the luminaries by susan dennard currently watching ꕀ the great british baking show currently craving ꕀ massaman curry. like always. and like. alcohol and a couple cigs HAHA. a break too :P coffee or tea ꕀ always tea! i don't like coffee

ty for the tag @saltcxrcle ! tagging: @lelapine @toadspondofwhimsy @outof-spite @h0neyst4rz @hhoneylemon @our-lady-of-venom

[shimmerandink]

Ashes and Alchemy

Silco x Spy! Reader

Continuing part of Ashes and alchemy!

The low hum of the machinery was a constant presence, wrapping the lab in a cloak of mechanical life. Tubes hissed softly, shimmering liquids pulsed faintly under flickering lights, and the metallic scent of oil and chemicals mingled with the faint bitterness of smoke. Every breath you took felt thick with danger, and anticipation.

Your hands moved with practiced precision, adjusting the injector valve on a complex shimmer refiner. The glass tubing shimmered with a delicate blue glow, crystallizing slowly as you tweaked the pressure. The success of this process could mean the difference between power and ruin for Silco’s operation.

Behind you, Silco watched silently, his shadow stretching long across the lab’s worn floor. The glow from his injured eye caught the faint light, burning like a dying ember, full of secrets and scars.

“You have skill,” he said quietly, voice gravelly but not unkind. “More than I expected.”

You didn’t turn to meet his gaze immediately. Instead, you focused on the shimmer inside the tube, your voice steady. “Shimmer doesn’t forgive mistakes. Neither do I.”

His footsteps were soft but deliberate as he moved closer, the scent of smoke and something deeper, a mix of danger and something almost human, clinging to him. He leaned slightly over your shoulder, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“And yet you hide something,” Silco murmured.

A spike of adrenaline ran through you, but you kept your expression calm, practiced. “Everyone in Zaun hides something. We all have reasons to keep secrets.”

Silco’s gaze was intense, piercing. “Some lies run deeper than others. Tell me, what is it you hide?”

You met his eyes finally, the cold blue of his good eye locking with your own. “I’m just a chemtech engineer. Here to help.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes searching yours as if trying to decide whether to believe you, or rip the truth from your throat. Then he circled you slowly, like a predator savoring the scent of its prey but curious about its worth.

“You talk like a man who’s seen the edge,” Silco said softly. “But you tread carefully.”

Before you could answer, a sharp beep cut through the silence, soft, but urgent.

Silco’s eyes snapped toward the console. “What now?”

You moved quickly, fingers flying over the controls, scanning logs and readings. The screen flickered and then displayed discrepancies, shipments that didn’t match records, unexpected delays.

“Someone’s been tampering with the shipment logs,” you said, voice tense. “Either a message… or a warning.”

Silco’s expression darkened. “From Rylen?”

You nodded grimly. “If he suspects we’re playing him, he won’t hesitate to act.”

He straightened, eyes blazing with resolve. “Good. Then we have less time before this game ends.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of your double life pressing down on you. The mission had started with clarity, but now every interaction, every glance, made the lines blur.

For the first time, you wondered, who were you really betraying?

—————

The hum of the machinery was suddenly quieter in your ears, overshadowed by the unexpected closeness of Silco behind you. His presence was a weight, both threatening and magnetic, that pressed against your skin.

He leaned in just enough for you to feel his breath brush your neck, the faint scent of smoke and spice making your pulse quicken.

“You handle shimmer like you handle secrets,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Careful, controlled… but I wonder how long you can keep it bottled up.”

You shifted slightly, the edge of the metal table pressing into your hip, the warmth of his body close enough to spark something you hadn’t expected.

“Maybe I’m not as careful as you think,” you said, voice teasing but guarded.

Silco’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “I like a little unpredictability. Keeps things interesting.”

His gaze flicked to your eyes, searching for a crack in your calm façade.

“You don’t scare easy,” you said, meeting his look head on.

“Most people do,” he replied, stepping even closer until the space between you was almost gone. “But you… you’re different. I want to see what else you’re hiding.”

Your heart hammered in your chest, not from fear, but from something far more volatile.

The lab around you felt hotter, charged with the electricity of unspoken promises and dangerous games.

“And if I let you in,” you whispered, “will you keep my secrets safe?”

Silco’s eyes darkened, the ember glow flaring brighter for a heartbeat. “Maybe. But first, you have to earn my trust.”

His hand brushed lightly against yours, just a touch, but enough to send a spark through your veins.

The mission, the lies, the dangers, all faded for a moment in the heat between you.

Silco’s fingers lingered on yours just long enough to ignite a spark, dangerous and electric, before he pulled back, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re bold,” he said, voice low and almost amused. “Zaun hasn’t seen anyone quite like you.”

You let yourself smile, eyes locking with his. “I have to be. Around you, unpredictability isn’t just fun, it’s survival.”

The moment stretched, thick with tension, before a harsh clang shattered the fragile calm. The lab door slammed open, and Sevika’s sharp voice cut through the air.

“Trouble.” Her eyes flicked between you and Silco. “Rylen’s men are moving. They’re coming for the lab.”

Silco’s expression hardened instantly. “Didn’t think they’d wait long.”

Your pulse quickened, not from fear, but from the thrill of the danger closing in, and the way Silco’s protective gaze locked on you.

“You ready to see if you’re as good under fire as you are with shimmer?” he asked, voice a low challenge.

You stepped closer, brushing your hand deliberately against his. “With you? Always.”

In the chaos that followed, the clang of metal, the hiss of shattered glass, you and Silco moved in sync, a dangerous dance of skill and trust. You covered his back as he issued commands, your mind sharp and heart pounding.

When the last threat was silenced and the lab fell quiet once more, Silco’s eyes found yours again, softer now, but still burning with that ember fire.

“Not bad,” he said, stepping close, voice a whisper meant only for you. “Maybe you’re more trouble than I bargained for.”

You grinned, leaning in just enough so your breath brushed his cheek. “Trouble keeps things interesting.”

Silco’s smile deepened, and for a moment, the shadows around you seemed to hold their breath.

Pt 3?

[shimmerandink]

Hi! I saw that you're following me, and I'm so honored and kinda confused that you like my writing when yours is like some of the best stuff I've read

Aww thank you! I just really enjoy seeing what other writers are up to, there’s so much amazing stuff out there, and your writing definitely stood out to me!

[shimmerandink]

Chains of fire part 2

Arcane characters x Dragon Hybrid! Reader

Continuing part of Chains of Fire pt 1 !

Thank you all for your support on my precious part!

The Undercity hadn’t changed.

Not in the ways that mattered.

The shimmer still bled through its gutters. The air still reeked of smoke and grease and desperation. And the people, your people, still stared with eyes that had seen too much and survived anyway.

But as your boots touched the cracked stone paths again, something had shifted. It wasn’t the city. It was you.

The dragon girl who’d once bled fire in defense of her family was now a woman walking under a fragile peace treaty, with Piltover’s crest stitched into the lining of her cloak like a leash she hadn’t yet decided to break.

You passed familiar faces. A few flinched. Some stared. Others looked away.

No one smiled.

The Last Drop hadn’t changed either.

The scent of cheap liquor and sweat still clung to the air, and the old, mismatched lanterns still flickered weakly behind the bar. But the second you stepped inside, time slowed.

Because Vander was there.

Behind the counter. Cleaning a glass that looked like it hadn’t seen water in days. He looked older, shoulders heavier, eyes sunken with too many sleepless nights, but when he saw you, the glass slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he stepped out from behind the counter, boots dragging slightly. “…You’re really back.”

You nodded, unsure what words could do justice to years lost.

Vander didn’t ask about the council. He didn’t mention the warmsteel cuffs or the cloak or the whispers. He just pulled you into a rough, breathless hug, one that hurt your ribs and your heart in equal measure.

“I thought they broke you,” he murmured into your shoulder. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

You pulled back slowly, voice quiet. “They tried.”

He poured a drink. You didn’t touch it.

“They’re upstairs,” he said after a beat, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. “Vi’s… changed. She had to. And Powder…” A pause. “She misses you. In her own way.”

You nodded. “I’ll see them. When they’re ready.”

A door opened above. Boots thudded down the stairs. You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Vi.

Taller now. Leaner. Her gloves were scuffed and cracked, fists already clenched. She reached the bottom step and froze when she saw you.

The silence stretched like a blade between you.

Her voice came low. “You left.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“Bullshit.”

You met her gaze, your own steely but soft. “They came for Vander. For you. For Powder. I made sure they took me instead.”

“And now you’re what? Their pet dragon?” Vi’s eyes burned. “They let you come back with a fancy coat and council protection, and you think that makes it okay?”

Vander stood quietly between you both, like he’d seen this storm coming from miles away.

“I never stopped fighting for you,” you said, voice shaking now. “But I’m still trying to figure out how.”

Vi looked like she wanted to throw a punch. Then she looked like she wanted to cry. Instead, she turned and walked out into the street, shoving past Caitlyn, who had just reached the door.

The Piltover enforcer blinked in confusion, then looked at you.

“…She doesn’t trust easily,” Caitlyn said gently.

“She used to trust me,” you murmured.

And just like that, you were home. But nothing about it felt the same.

—————

You found Powder where you always used to find her

curled up in the corner of the old workshop, surrounded by broken toys and half-finished inventions, tools scattered like forgotten dreams.

She didn’t look up when you entered.

Her hair had grown longer, dyed streaks of blue tangled in uneven strands. Her hands were stained with grease, and the goggles on her forehead were cracked, but she still had the same small, delicate frame, like a bird that had never quite learned how to fly.

“Vi said you were back,” she murmured, voice hollow. “Wasn’t sure if I believed her.”

You stood at the threshold, unsure if you were welcome. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered. “I waited. Every day.”

The silence that followed was sharp and brittle.

You finally stepped into the room, careful not to startle her. “I never wanted to leave you, Powder. I thought… if I went, they’d leave the rest of you alone.”

She turned then, finally looking at you, and the sight of her nearly shattered you.

Her eyes were still that soft, aching blue. But there was something distant behind them now. Like she was always half-drifting in a world only she could see.

“They did leave us alone,” she said softly. “But that didn’t mean we were okay.”

You knelt slowly beside her. “I’m sorry.”

Powder tilted her head. “You used to call me your little flame. Do you remember?”

You smiled faintly. “Because you were always sparking with ideas. Always lighting up dark places.”

Her voice wavered. “I thought… if I was brighter, you’d come back sooner.”

The words punched straight through your chest.

You reached for her gently, uncertain, until she suddenly surged forward and wrapped her arms around you, clinging like a child afraid of the dark.

“I missed you,” she choked. “So much it hurt.”

You held her close, stroking her hair, letting her cry against you.

“I missed you too, little flame.”

⸻

Later, as you sat together, Powder spoke more clearly.

“Vander tried. He really did. Vi was angry all the time. She got into fights, stopped listening. I think she blamed herself. Or maybe blamed me. We didn’t talk about you. It was easier not to.”

You nodded slowly. “I’m here now. It’s not perfect, but I’m trying to make something out of the ashes.”

Powder looked up at you, eyes glistening. “Are you going to leave again?”

“…No,” you said, and meant it. “Not unless I’m forced to. And even then, I’ll find my way back.”

She didn’t smile, but she leaned against you again.

You stayed there for a long time, listening to the hum of machines and the faint rhythm of her breathing. And in that moment, a part of the family you lost began to piece itself back together.

—————-

Night had fallen on Piltover, but you were in Stillwater’s subterranean command room, a hidden chamber of Hextech panels and tactical maps. Caitlyn stood at the head of the table, arms folded, face illuminated by the glow of a 3D city projection. Vi leaned against a wall, arms crossed, jaw set.

You stood between them, cloak drawn tight around your shoulders, still feeling the weight of the council’s promise pressing down on you.

Caitlyn tapped the map. “We’ve intercepted chatter about a new shimmer lab in the Undercity. It’s small, just a testing cell, but if we don’t shut it down, it could expand in days.”

Vi scoffed. “You want us to raid a Zaun drug lab?”

Caitlyn’s gaze flicked to you. “You know the tunnels. You know the shortcuts. And you’re not wearing Piltie armor tonight. No uniforms. You’re one of them, an exile with knowledge.”

You felt Vi’s eyes on you, challenge burning in her stare. You gave a small nod. “I know the territory. But they’ll be watching for Piltover uniforms.”

Caitlyn uncrossed her arms. “Exactly. You two go in. Disable the lab and bring back evidence. No unnecessary kills. But we will destroy their stock.”

Vi shrugged. “Sounds like old times.”

You offered Vi a half smile. “Let’s just get the job done.”

——-

You led them down a narrow shaft beneath the city, damp stone walls crisscrossed with pipes, the faint hiss of steam echoing around you.

Vi strode just behind you, fists at the ready. Caitlyn followed, her rifle slung but finger off the trigger.

You paused at a fork. “Left leads to the main market channel, busy, dangerous. Right takes you under the scrap yard; less traffic, but unlit.”

Vi rolled her eyes. “Your call, dragon girl.”

You exhaled slowly, feeling the fire underneath. “Right. We move faster in the dark.”

Caitlyn clicked on a tiny lamp at her belt. “Stay close.”

The shimmer lab was hidden behind a false wall of rusted barrels. You pressed your hand against a panel, scales glittering beneath your glove, and it clicked open.

Inside, lantern light danced off glass vials filled with luminescent liquid. Two guards in stained smocks juggled flickering Bunsen burners and rows of beakers.

Vi raised her fists. “Time to dance.”

You slipped forward, voice low: “Let me handle the entrance.”

Before the guards could react, you inhaled, and for a fraction of a second, your eyes glowed like embers. They hesitated, wide eyed.

Vi charged. With two rapid punches, the first guard hit the floor. Caitlyn dropped the second with a precise stun shot, no kill.

You stepped between overturned tables, clutching your cloak. “Shimmer vials, over there.” You pointed to a shelf.

Vi lobbed a grenade that shattered glass. Caitlyn set charges on mixers and filtration drums.

You knelt beside a half, formed shaker, eyes narrowed. “This sample… it’s engineered to resist frost. If they scale up, they’ll have new weapons.”

Caitlyn nodded grimly. “Which is why it must go.”

Explosions rocked the chamber. You all staggered out just as fire and smoke burst through the door. Your heart pounded, both from adrenaline and from seeing Vi fighting side by side with you again.

In a tight tunnel, you paused. Caitlyn checked her rifle; Vi flexed her knuckles.

Caitlyn glanced at you. “I saw your eyes back there. You held back.”

You shrugged, voice soft. “No point showing teeth when we’ve got a job to do.”

Vi grunted. Then, unexpectedly, she reached out and squeezed your shoulder. “You did good… dragon.”

Caitlyn watched the exchange, a small, thoughtful smile on her lips. “Maybe there’s hope for us yet.”

You exhaled, the tension easing for the first time since you arrived. Smoke curled in the dark tunnel behind you, but ahead lay something new: the fragile alliance of blood, steel, and magic, reborn in the heart of Zaun and Piltover alike.

[shimmerandink]

Arcane characters reacting to you coming home drunk

Tags: mention of alkohol, mention of drinking, 18+

Jayce/Viktor/Vi/Caitlyn/Jinx/Ekko/Silco/sevika

Masterlist

Jayce

It was past midnight when Jayce heard the apartment door creak open.

Odd. You were supposed to be out with friends, just a casual drink or two, but you never came home this late without texting him.

He stood from the couch, already halfway through unbuttoning his dress shirt from a long day at the Council Hall. A flicker of worry tensed in his chest as he moved toward the hallway, just in time to hear something crash against the wall.

“…I meant to do that,” came your voice, a little too loud. “Totally intentional.”

Jayce blinked as you appeared around the corner, one shoe missing, jacket half off your shoulders, cheeks flushed bright pink. Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

“Jayyyce!” you grinned, arms thrown wide like he was a prize you’d just won. “You’re home!”

“You’re home,” he said slowly, eyebrows raised. “Very… ungracefully.”

You stumbled a little, tripped over absolutely nothing, and then caught yourself on the wall with a dramatic gasp.

“These floors are slippery. You should talk to whoever designed them.” You squinted. “Wait. Was that you?”

Jayce bit back a laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Gods, how much did you drink?”

“I don’t remember,” you sang. “But there was a shot called The Firelight. It tasted like betrayal and cinnamon.”

He reached for you instinctively as you took another wobbly step, gently wrapping his arms around your waist to steady you. You melted against him like a satisfied puddle.

“You’re warm,” you mumbled into his shirt. “And very shiny.”

“Shiny?”

You blinked up at him, poking his chest like you’d discovered a new species. “Councilman muscles.”

Jayce snorted. “Okay, time for water. Lots of water. And maybe food.”

“What I want is you, a blanket, and maybe, hear me out, a bathtub full of mashed potatoes.”

He sighed, fond, exasperated, and a little bit in awe of how adorable you could be while clearly obliterated. “You’re going to hate yourself tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow Me can fight me.”

Jayce guided you gently to the couch, helping you sit down while kicking off your other shoe for you. He tucked a throw blanket over your shoulders and disappeared to grab a glass of water and some crackers. When he returned, you were already dozing, head tipped back, mouth parted slightly.

He sat beside you, brushing your hair gently from your face, heart softening. You always brought chaos into his order, light into his seriousness, and even drunk out of your mind, you still somehow made his world better.

“Sleep, Firelight,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Viktor

Viktor wasn’t expecting you to come home that late. He had stayed in the lab longer than planned, lost in a maze of notes and calculations, but the moment the clock crept past 1:00 AM and you still hadn’t messaged him, he began to worry.

So when he finally heard the front door click open, followed by a loud, clumsy thud and a muffled groan, he pushed back from his desk with a sigh, and his cane, already expecting the worst.

“I’m fine!” you called out before he even entered the hallway. “Totally fine. No injuries. I only fell… twice. Maybe three times.”

“Ah. So a record-breaking night,” Viktor said dryly, stepping into the dimly lit hallway to find you crouched on the floor, wrestling with your boots like they had personally wronged you.

You looked up at him with wide eyes and a dramatic gasp. “Viktor!”

Your whole face lit up in that way it only did when you were drunk and thrilled to see him.

“You’re here. You’re so smart. And handsome. And you smell like ink and genius.”

He blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.”

You stumbled toward him with open arms, nearly taking him out as you hugged him tight. “I missed you all night. Everyone kept talking and laughing and the drinks kept… multiplying.”

He steadied you with one arm around your back and one hand gently gripping your forearm, guiding you toward the couch. “Drinks cannot multiply, dear. That’s not how alcohol works.”

“That’s what you think. You haven’t met the tequila fairy.”

He let out a quiet laugh, sitting you down with practiced care. His touch was gentle, his voice low, soothing.

“Did gravity offend you tonight, or were you simply trying to challenge it?”

You giggled as he helped remove your jacket, your fingers flopping uselessly. “It started it.”

“I’m sure.”

He disappeared for a moment and came back with a glass of water, kneeling beside you as he handed it over. You stared at it like it was an ancient artifact.

“What’s this?”

“Life-saving hydration,” he said patiently. “Drink, or tomorrow you’ll regret your life choices.”

You downed half of it and then immediately burrowed into his shoulder with a content sigh. “You’re so soft.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Soft?”

“Emotionally.”

He smiled, just faintly, just for you.

“Only with you.”

You nuzzled against him sleepily. “I’m never drinking again.”

“You said that last time. And the time before.”

“Well now I mean it.”

Viktor stroked your hair gently, his voice dipping into something warm and steady. “Then I’ll be here next time too, ready with water and soft judgment.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” he said simply, resting his cheek against the top of your head. “Even when you bring home tequila fairies.”

Vi

The door slammed open with the kind of dramatic flair only someone very drunk could manage.

Vi, who had been lying on the couch with one leg draped over the backrest and a magazine she wasn’t really reading, shot upright.

“What the—”

“Baaaaaaabe,” your voice sang from the hallway, slurred and breathy like you were trying to seduce the air. “I live here now.”

“You already live here, dumbass,” Vi called back, rising from the couch with a grin pulling at her lips. “What the hell happened to one drink and then home?”

“They were very persuasive,” you said, stumbling into the room dramatically with your arms wide like a very friendly zombie. “They said I needed to have a good time. And I did. I’m like, 87% good time right now.”

Vi crossed her arms and arched a brow, trying to keep her cool, but the sight of you, with your hair slightly wild, eyeliner smudged from laughing too hard, and your shirt half untucked, made it really hard not to smile.

“Did anyone mess with you?” she asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Anyone touch you weird? Say something they shouldn’t?”

You squinted at her. “Why? Are you gonna punch them?”

“That depends on how much they deserve it.”

You staggered closer and flopped against her, nearly knocking both of you over. She caught you with a grunt, steadying your swaying form and looping her arms around your waist.

“You smell like alcohol and bad decisions,” she muttered against your neck.

“You smell like heaven, punchy goddess of my heart,” you slurred, dramatically cupping her cheeks like you were proposing.

Vi let out a breathy laugh, grabbing your hands gently and pulling you down onto the couch with her.

“Alright, alright, lightweight. Let’s sit before you crack your head open trying to serenade me again.”

“You loved that serenade.”

“You were singing the Zaunite anthem to a breadstick,” she deadpanned.

You leaned into her with a proud little hum. “It was very moving.”

Vi chuckled again, pulling the throw blanket over you both and letting you rest your head against her shoulder. You were already starting to drift off, limbs heavy and thoughts slower by the second.

“You gonna take care of me tomorrow when I’m dying?” you mumbled.

Vi kissed your forehead. “Of course. I’ll even make you greasy breakfast and pretend not to say ‘I told you so.’”

“You’re perfect,” you sighed.

“Damn right I am,” she whispered, tucking you closer. “Now sleep before you throw up on my boots.”

Caitlyn

It was almost 2:00 AM when Caitlyn heard the front door click open with an unmistakably loud thud.

She had been reading by the fireplace, a cup of half-cold tea beside her and your text from earlier replaying in her mind: “just one drink!”

“Darling?” she called, her voice calm but sharp.

“Shhhh…” came your delayed reply. “I’m being… sneaky.”

Thud.

Caitlyn sighed deeply, already rising to her feet, heels clicking softly as she rounded the corner, only to find you trying (and failing) to kick your boots off without using your hands.

You looked up with an exaggerated gasp, eyes wide. “My lady of House Kiramman,” you slurred dramatically, “you are as radiant as ever.”

“And you are as intoxicated as I feared,” she said coolly, folding her arms. “You smell like… spiced rum and bad judgment.”

You wobbled toward her, arms open and entirely unapologetic. “Come here, my beautiful enforcer. Arrest me with your love.”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, but she caught you nonetheless, steadying your balance with her hands on your hips. “You are absolutely insufferable when drunk.”

“You adore me.”

“That is tragically true.”

She guided you gently to the couch, helping you sit without collapsing entirely. You immediately flopped over, resting your head in her lap with a dramatic groan.

“Why are pillows illegal?” you mumbled into her thigh.

“They’re not,” she said dryly. “You’re simply too drunk to find one.”

She began undoing your coat buttons, careful and meticulous, her movements soft despite her mildly irritated expression.

“You’re lucky no one tried to take advantage of you,” she murmured, brushing hair from your face. “Zaun is one thing, but Piltover’s upper bars can be just as dangerous when you’re not paying attention.”

You peeked up at her. “Aww. Were you worried about me?”

“I always worry about you,” she said, finally letting her guard drop a little. “Because I love you. And because you have a tendency to get loud, flirty, and somewhat belligerent after two drinks.”

“I was charming.”

“You tried to flirt with a waiter by quoting a hextech patent,” she replied flatly.

You groaned and buried your face in her lap. “Kill me.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Not tonight. But I am making you drink two glasses of water before bed and I’ll be waking you at 7 a.m. for a proper hangover lecture.”

“You’re such a cop.”

“And you love it.”

“Ugh. I do.”

She smiled, brushing her fingers along your jaw.

“Next time, you’re taking me with you. I’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“…But where’s the fun in that?”

Caitlyn sighed fondly. “You are the trouble.”

Jinx

The second you stumbled through the door, giggling to yourself and talking to your keys like they were alive, Jinx knew something was up.

She was upside down on the couch, literally, legs over the back, blue hair spilling onto the floor, when she spotted you swaying into the hallway.

“Oooooh no,” she grinned, flipping upright in one fluid motion. “Who let you get this messed up without me?”

You blinked at her, glassy eyed and beaming. “Jinx!”

“The one and only, baby,” she laughed, already walking over to you. “And look at you, all floppy and flushed. Were you partying without me?”

“Maaaaybe,” you slurred. “But it wasn’t fun without you. They didn’t throw any explosives.”

“Ugh, amateurs.”

You leaned into her, arms loose around her shoulders, clinging more for balance than affection, but she held you tight anyway, grinning against your cheek.

“You smell like someone spilled a distillery on you,” she teased.

“They might have.”

“I should be mad, but honestly? This is hilarious.”

She dragged you toward the couch and tossed you down like a sack of potatoes, then flopped beside you, bouncing your leg with hers.

“Tell me everything. Who danced on a table? Who cried in the bathroom? Who did you threaten to fight?”

You slurred something incoherent, which made her snort.

“Okay, new plan. You talk later. Water now.”

She disappeared and came back with a huge glass and a straw, because, in her words, “sippy cups are for cowards, and straws are sexy.” She handed it to you with a mischievous wink.

“Drink up, buttercup. If you puke on my boots, I’ll never let you live it down.”

“You’d still kiss me after.”

“Debatable,” she smirked. “Depends on how cute you look mid vomit.”

You took a sip and laid your head on her shoulder. Jinx quieted just a little, her fingers tapping gently along your knee.

“Y’know,” she said after a beat, “I kinda hate when you’re out without me.”

“Jealous?”

“Maaaybe,” she hummed. “But also, if anyone messed with you, I will blow up their mailbox. Just say the word.”

“You’re the best.”

“Duh,” she smirked, pulling a blanket over you both. “Now sleep, drunkie. You’ll need your energy for tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“For me. Payback party. I’m bringing fireworks and slingshots.”

“…oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

Ekko

You stumble through the door of Ekko’s hideout in the Undercity, giggling at nothing and clearly out of it. Your eyes are glassy, and your coat is only half on as you fumble with the zipper, completely unaware of the figure watching you from the corner with crossed arms.

Ekko raises a brow, stepping out of the shadows.

“Well damn… Look who decided to show up lookin’ like they fought gravity and lost.”

His voice is casual, teasing even, but the tightness in his jaw betrays his concern.

You blink, swaying.

“Ekko! You’re so pretty… like, like a clock… no, a time wizard. A sexy time wizard.”

He snorts. “Okay, you’re definitely drunk.”

Ekko steps forward and gently catches you as you nearly trip over your own feet, steadying you by the waist. You lean into him with a dramatic sigh, your forehead dropping to his shoulder.

“Didn’t mean to worry you,” you mumble.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he walks you to the beat up couch, helping you sit before crouching in front of you.

“You didn’t answer your comm,” he says, voice lower now. “You go topside and come back smelling like glitter and regret, and you think I’m not gonna worry?”

You blink slowly.

“Glitter and regret smell good…”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him. Despite himself, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“We’re talkin’ about this tomorrow. And you’re drinkin’ water. Like, a lot.”

You groan and fall back onto the couch, throwing an arm over your eyes.

“You love me.”

Ekko chuckles as he places a glass of water in your hand.

“Yeah, yeah. But if you puke on my jacket, we’re fighting.”

Silco

You barely manage to unlock the door to Silco’s office. The metal creaks louder than usual as you stagger in, clumsy and giggling to yourself.

He’s at his desk, of course, pen in hand, papers spread out, always working, always composed. His single visible eye lifts slowly. He doesn’t speak, but his expression tightens.

“You’re late.”

His voice is cold, measured. But his hands have stilled.

You sway, offering a crooked smile.

“Time’s fake anyway.”

He sets his pen down with a soft click.

“Are you drunk?”

“Only a little. Maybe a lot. Depends on how you define drunk.”

You hiccup and laugh, and for a second, it looks like he might sigh.

He stands and crosses the room in calm, deliberate steps. You don’t notice the slight tremor in his hand until he reaches out to steady you.

“I told you to send a message if you were going topside.”

“I didn’t forget,” you lie, wrapping your arms lazily around his waist.

“I just got distracted. With… you know. Shots.”

He huffs through his nose, a sound that could almost be called amused if you didn’t know him better.

“And who exactly let you stumble through the Lanes like this? Alone?”

You shrug. “Some guy tried to flirt with me. I told him I belonged to the Eye of Zaun.”

That catches his attention. His brow lifts.

“Did you?”

You nod, proud. “Told him if he touched me, you’d drown him in shimmer.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, quietly, so softly only you would hear it:

“…Good girl.”

He helps you sit down gently on the couch in the corner of his office, removing your coat with surprising care.

“Drink this,” he says, placing a glass of water in your hand.

“And don’t ever make me wonder if something’s happened to you again.”

You blink at him, lips curling into a lazy smile.

“You were worried.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against your temple.

“Of course I was. You’re the only thing in this city I can’t replace.”

Sevika

You stumble through the back door of the Last Drop, coat half off and shoes in your hands, trying (and failing) to sneak in unnoticed.

Sevika’s sitting at the bar, cigar between her lips, eyes narrowed. She doesn’t move, just watches you, unimpressed.

“Seriously?”

Her voice cuts through the quiet like a blade.

“You’re walkin’ around the Undercity barefoot, drunk, and lookin’ like a half dead pigeon.”

You hiccup. “Helloooooo, gorgeous…”

She sighs, slouching back against the bar and flicking some ash off her cigar.

“You got a death wish or somethin’? What were you even drinkin’?”

“Everything.”

That earns a short, dry laugh. She stands up slowly and walks toward you, boots heavy on the wooden floor. One arm snakes around your waist before you tip over, pulling you upright with an ease that’s equal parts frustrating and hot.

“Of course. You’d go out gettin’ plastered without backup. Fuckin’ brilliant.”

You lean your head on her shoulder, giggling.

“But I came back to youuu…”

Sevika rolls her eyes, but her grip on you tightens.

“Yeah, yeah. Lucky for you, I don’t let people I like get shanked in alleys.”

She steers you toward the back room, muttering curses under her breath the whole way. You nearly trip on the doorway, but she catches you with her prosthetic arm like it’s nothing. It’s warm, buzzing faintly with a low hum, and it steadies you more than you care to admit.

“Sit. Drink water. And if you puke on my bed, you’re cleanin’ it with your damn teeth.”

You flop down dramatically. “You careeee…”

She growls, dragging a blanket over you as she tosses the cigar out.

“Shut up and sleep it off. You can be annoying when you’re sober too, don’t make this a habit.”

But later, when you’ve dozed off, Sevika pulls the blanket higher, brushing your hair from your face with her human hand. She watches your breathing settle, then mutters so quietly it’s barely audible,

“…Dumbass. Should’ve known you’d find a way under my skin.”

[shimmerandink]

You’re mine, if you want to be

Jinx x Reader

Angst/comfort

Tags: Jinx x reader, angst, reader comforts Jinx, Jinx is having a difficult time, sfw

Zaun never truly slept. The constant hum of engines, distant clattering of hammers, and faint groans of the city settling into its usual chaos kept it awake, kept it alive. Yet, for all its constant noise, there were those rare moments when it felt like the city itself had stumbled, taking a breath and holding it.

And it was in that brief silence that you found yourself, half dozing in your workshop above the Last Drop, hands hovering over a half finished project, a soldering iron cool beside you. You had half-expected her to drop by earlier, throwing chaos into the calm as she often did, but nothing. The evening dragged on without a whisper from her.

That wasn’t normal. Not for Jinx.

You stiffened when you heard the first soft creak of the floorboards below. A subtle disturbance, one you recognized immediately. Your heart skipped, and you barely registered the moment you stood from the desk, making your way to the door. But when you opened it, you weren’t prepared for what you saw.

There she was, standing just beyond the threshold, her figure framed by the dim light from the hallway. Rainwater clung to her clothes like a second skin, glimmering in the faint light like oil slicks. Her usually wild, chaotic energy was gone. Her breath came in ragged gasps, too shallow, too tight.

Jinx’s eyes met yours, wide but unfocused. The madness in them was gone. She was empty, her usual manic spark dimmed to something raw, something fragile. She barely registered the door opening, her hands trembling as they hovered over the guns strapped to her hips, as if she might reach for them instinctively but didn’t quite know why.

“Jinx?” you whispered, voice barely breaking the silence.

She blinked at you slowly, as though trying to make sense of your face. The moment seemed endless. Then, just as quickly, she collapsed. Not dramatically, but slowly, her knees buckled, her body folding into itself as if gravity had suddenly lost its fight with her. She slid down the wall with a soft thud, sitting on the cold floor, her arms wrapped around her knees as if trying to hold herself together.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, the words barely above a breath, but heavy with the weight of something you hadn’t seen before, guilt.

You were already kneeling in front of her, your heart hammering in your chest. But you didn’t reach for her yet. She was unpredictable, unstable in ways only she could be, and you knew the distance mattered. The space between your touch and her was a fragile thing.

“Didn’t mean to what?” you asked, voice soft, trying to coax her to let you in.

Her lips trembled as she shook her head, not answering immediately. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. She seemed so small in that moment. Smaller than she’d ever let herself appear. Even her usual bravado seemed to have vanished, leaving a broken girl in her place.

“He screamed.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I thought it was a trap. A trick. I—he begged me, I thought it was just another game, but—then—”

She stopped, her breath hitching as her eyes glazed over, the pain of the memory hitting her again. There was a pause before she whispered the last part, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

“And then he stopped moving, and I… I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want to—”

She squeezed her eyes shut as if trying to block out the memory. Her hand reached up, rubbing at her face, but all it did was smear the tears she’d been trying to hide. There was no venom in her words. No rage. Just a fragile tremor, a vulnerability that made her seem human in a way you’d never seen before.

You sat beside her, slowly closing the space between you, heart aching. You’d never seen her like this. She was always fire, always explosion, always the one causing chaos, but right now? She was a dying ember, fragile in the palm of your hands.

You couldn’t help it. You reached out carefully, hand brushing her shoulder. She flinched at first, just a slight jerk, before she collapsed into your touch. Her trembling body seemed to fold into yours like a puzzle piece, and without thinking, you pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her.

At first, she stiffened, her usual instinct, to resist, before something in her softened, her breath evening out as she buried her face against your chest. Her hands were cold, trembling, like she didn’t know how to handle the closeness. But you didn’t let go. You held her close, just gently enough to remind her she didn’t have to be alone in this.

“You’re not alone, Jinx,” you whispered, your hand moving to the back of her head, gently brushing through the wild, tangled braids. “You’re not a monster. You’re not what they say.”

She sniffed, her breath catching again, and for a moment, you thought she might pull away, but instead, she sank deeper into your embrace.

“Then what am I?” Her voice was barely audible, but there was desperation in it. A question she had been asking herself for too long.

You swallowed hard, the weight of her vulnerability pressing down on you. She had never let anyone this close. Not like this. Not when the walls were down. And in that moment, the truth was clear:

“You’re mine,” you said quietly, your heart pounding in your chest. “If you want to be.”

Her body stilled against yours. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her shoulders shook with a ragged breath, and when you looked down at her, her eyes were wet, the pain still raw. But there was something else there too. Something softer. Something that needed to be held.

“You’re mine,” you repeated, this time more firmly. “I’ll always be here. I won’t let you fall.”

Jinx’s breath hitched, her lips parting slightly, but she didn’t respond with words. Instead, she pressed her forehead to your chest, her arms tightening around you as if to hold on for dear life.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, she wasn’t running.

She was just… breathing.

And for you, that was enough.

[shimmerandink]

Aches and Alchemy

Silco x spy! Reader

One-shot

Tags: Silco x reader, spy! Reader, sfw

Summary: You are a chemtech engineer recruited by one of Silco’s rival Chembarons to infiltrate his network and report back weaknesses. Under the cover of a transfer from a dissolved lab, you earn Silco’s trust but as time passes, his respect for you becomes something deeper, and you’re no longer sure where your loyalties lie.

The hum of the chem burners was the only sound in the lab, low and guttural like a beast at rest. The air was thick with heat, the faint sting of metal, ozone, and scorched cloth clinging to your throat. You’d been working for hours, hands moving with practiced precision as you adjusted the stabilizer compound in the vial, watching its color shift from volatile orange to a deep, mossy green.

Success. Again.

You’d earned your keep today. Silco wouldn’t find cause to doubt you, at least not for this.

You reached for your notes with an ink stained hand, ready to log the adjustment before sending a coded message to your true employer. You had maybe ten minutes before someone checked in.

But the moment your pen touched the paper, a shadow moved in the reflection of the vial.

“There are no second chances in Zaun,” a voice rasped from the doorway, rough as gravel, quiet as a knife.

You didn’t flinch. You couldn’t.

Even as your pulse jumped, even as your body screamed to react, you turned slowly, lab coat hanging loosely over your frame, your face carefully composed.

Silco stood there, framed in the warped glass of the lab’s reinforced doorway. The left side of his face was obscured by shadows, his ruined eye gleaming faintly in the low light. He wasn’t flanked by guards. He didn’t need them.

His presence alone could turn a room to ice.

“And yet,” you said calmly, tilting your chin up, “you gave me one.”

There was a pause. Then the subtle lift of his brows, a flicker of amusement, or was it warning?

“I didn’t say you’d earned it.”

He stepped into the room, the soft hiss of the door sliding shut behind him sealing you in together. No witnesses. No backup.

Your hand was still resting on the vial of stabilizer, its glass warm beneath your fingers. You didn’t move it. Moving anything now would feel too much like reaching for a weapon.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, circling one of the nearby tables, trailing a finger along the surface. His sharp gaze skimmed your notes, the diagrams, the chaotic arrangement of tools. “Singed speaks well of you. Says your adjustments to the injection rate are… promising.”

He let the last word hang in the air like smoke.

You nodded. “I’m honored.”

“Are you?” he asked, stopping in front of you.

His eyes locked with yours. There was something different in them tonight, not suspicion, not yet, but something leaning toward it. Something… searching.

You could lie, of course. You were good at that. That’s why they chose you.

Why they sent you into his domain.

But Silco was no fool. He’d built an empire out of ash and blood. He knew what betrayal smelled like. Knew how to bleed truth from silence.

“I don’t hand out praise,” he said softly, almost conversational. “But I recognize value. And you…” His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then rose again. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You held his stare.

“That makes two of us.”

A beat passed, sharp and electric. Then he exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Flattery will make me curious.”

Then, without warning, he turned, studying the vial still beneath your hand.

“What is that?” he asked, voice low.

“Prototype stabilizer. Holds the serum without the side effects. No seizures. No tissue collapse.”

You paused. “Still untested.”

“On humans?”

His gaze flicked back to yours. “Or Firelights?”

You blinked.

That was deliberate. A test.

“I don’t do human trials,” you replied carefully. “I’m not a monster.”

“No,” Silco murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “You’re something worse. Idealistic.”

He stepped away then, his back to you as he made his way to the door. But just before leaving, he spoke again, this time without turning around.

“I want results by the end of the week. If it works, you’ll move to a private lab closer to the core. Fewer distractions. Fewer eyes.”

The door hissed open.

“If it doesn’t…”

He glanced over his shoulder, and for a split second, there was something unreadable in his expression, something darker than suspicion. Something personal.

“I’ll find out what you’re really doing down here.”

Then he was gone.

You stared at the space where he’d stood, heart pounding behind your ribs.

You had ten minutes. Maybe less.

You turned back to your notes, flipped to the final page. With one trembling hand, you picked up the coded pen and scribbled a single phrase to your handler:

“He’s starting to trust me.”

But even as you wrote it, you weren’t sure if that was a warning—

—or a confession.

——————

You’d been left with Jinx for the past two weeks, a chaotic assignment disguised as a reward. She was brilliant in a way that didn’t follow logic, all sparks and storms and scattered genius. But you kept up, sometimes barely, and she started trusting you, in her own volatile way.

She even let you adjust her launcher, though not without a dozen threats and three accidental explosions.

The lab was quieter tonight. Jinx had been pulled away for “fieldwork,” which really meant mayhem. You stayed behind, fine tuning the weapon stabilizers and double checking the pressure valves she insisted on modifying.

The dim green lighting made your tools gleam dully across the table. You’d just started documenting your adjustments when the door slid open behind you.

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“She didn’t kill you. Impressive.”

You glanced over your shoulder.

Silco stepped inside slowly, his coat dusted in rain and street ash. He was alone, again. That was happening more often lately.

“She tried,” you said, offering a tired smirk. “I bribed her with a gear polished scope.”

That earned a low hum of amusement from him as he approached, his gaze flicking across your workstation.

“You’re still here. It’s past midnight.”

You turned fully toward him now, leaning back against the table, arms crossed loosely.

“You said you wanted progress. Or was that just intimidation dressed up as motivation?”

Silco’s head tilted slightly. That unreadable expression, half amused, half predatory, crossed his face.

“Do I need to intimidate you?”

You paused, pulse quickening. “Do you think you do?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped a little closer. Close enough that the scent of smoke and something metallic clung to the space between you.

“Most people down here only do what’s necessary,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you—”

His eyes lingered on your hands, smudged with oil and soot.

“You perfect things. You work like someone who has something to prove.”

You swallowed but didn’t look away.

“Maybe I do.”

Another step. You could feel the weight of his presence now, steady and watchful. Not dangerous, not yet, but undeniably intense.

“To whom?” he asked. “Me? Or someone else?”

Your breath hitched. Just slightly. It was subtle, but he noticed. Of course he did.

“You don’t have to answer,” he added. “Not yet.”

Then, almost gently, he reached out and plucked a small gear from the corner of the table. Turned it between his fingers. Examined it like it might reveal a secret.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked suddenly. “Piltover. Order. Bright lights. Cleaner air.”

You stared at him. That wasn’t a question a Chembaron asked. That wasn’t a question a man like Silco asked.

“No,” you said after a moment. “Zaun may be broken. But at least here, you know what you’re breathing in.”

That made him pause. His gaze met yours again, and this time, there was something warmer behind it. Something tired. Something he wouldn’t dare show anyone else.

“That’s the difference, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Piltover hides the rot under silk. We wear it on our skin.”

He handed you the gear, brushing your fingers as he did. You weren’t sure if it was intentional. But the contact lingered longer than it should have.

“You should sleep,” he said, stepping back. “Your eyes give you away.”

You watched him retreat toward the door, pulse still racing, breath shallow with adrenaline, not from fear, but from how close he’d come.

Before he left, he looked back once more.

“Keep your loyalties clear, engineer,” he said, low and unreadable. “Zaun doesn’t take kindly to ghosts in its walls.”

And just like that, he was gone.

But his words stayed. Long after the door shut. Long after you turned back to your notes with hands that shook for the first time in weeks.

Because you weren’t sure who he meant by “ghosts.”

You.

Or himself.

[shimmerandink]

thats great, I thought something bad happened to you idk why gnnnn😭😭 I'm fine thanks for asking hehe, I'm also bombarded with assignments and exams 💔

Glad to hear! Sorry for worrying you!!!!! Why are there so many exams in may 😭 I did an 4 h exam at school today and now I am working on the second one this week💔💔

[shimmerandink]

Hi I just like to say your writing is the chef's kiss all of it including the one with young Violet and Mom reader, so may I request a fem dragon reader where the reader gets arrested instead of Vander and violet and she goes to Stillwater and one of the councilman Cassandra learns of reader being a dragon hybrid and the council and Cassandra and Mel know that a dragon could put pilltover on the map so the reader and the council made a deal that the reader would stay in pilltover and she would also stay in the undercity as well in her own free will what do you think about that it's been in my mind I am sorry to bother you about it❤️😊💐👏🏻🎊

Thank you for your request and your support! Love the idea! I hope you will enjoy this part! Sorry for taking so long xoxo

Chains of fire part 1

Dragon! Reader x Vander & young! Vi

Angst

Tags: vi x mom reader, vander x reader, fightning, reader gets arrested, sfw, reader is a dragon

Summary: Reader gets arrested instead of Vi and Vander, turn out she is a dragon and Piltover wants to use her as a weapon

Zaun was restless that night.

You felt it before you saw it, the way the air trembled beneath your skin, the way the shimmer of shimmer twisted tighter around alley corners and bitter wind whispered warnings in the dark. The underground buzzed like a wounded beast, aching for retaliation.

Vander was pacing in the Last Drop. Vi was standing guard near the back, fists clenched tight, trying to keep Powder calm. You were posted near the entrance, a silent guardian of the makeshift family you’d come to love. Even with your hood drawn, your presence was unmistakable, too tall, too still, and your heat too unnatural in the cold undercity air. Scales shimmered faintly along your forearms, barely concealed beneath your sleeves, and your eyes… they were never quite human.

The Enforcers came just after midnight.

Their boots were the first warning, heavy, sharp, synchronized like a death knell. By the time they kicked in the door, you were already moving.

Powder screamed. Vi lunged.

You intercepted.

A burst of raw heat surged in your throat, threatening to rise. You didn’t want to reveal yourself, but they weren’t going to stop with threats. The shimmer dealers you’d burned two nights ago… you should’ve known there’d be consequences. But you hadn’t expected the Council to act so fast. Or so ruthlessly.

Vander reached for his gauntlets.

“No.”

Your voice cut through the panic like steel. You stepped forward, slowly. The Enforcers hesitated, watching the way your form shifted slightly, the skin of your neck flickering like molten gold under a paper thin disguise.

They knew. One of them, the youngest, lowered his weapon just a fraction and whispered, “She’s the one. That’s it. The dragon hybrid.”

Gasps. Confusion. One of the others shouted, “Orders were to bring Vander!”

The leader’s gaze narrowed on you. “Orders changed.”

Vi screamed your name. Powder clung to Vander’s coat, trembling.

You raised your hands slowly, flames crackling just beneath your palms. Not a threat, just a warning.

“I’ll go.”

The look Vander gave you… it was betrayal and heartbreak and gratitude all at once. He opened his mouth to protest, but you were already kneeling, already letting the cold iron shackles bite into your wrists.

You didn’t struggle.

Not because you were weak.

But because they needed to stay free.

———————

Stillwater wasn’t built for creatures like you. The walls groaned from the pressure of your presence, as if they knew something ancient and dangerous was being kept just beneath their nose.

They tried to keep you isolated. Silence was your only company, until the day a new sound echoed down the corridor: the sharp, deliberate click of high heels on stone.

When the cell door opened, you didn’t rise. You watched.

A tall woman with steel, grey eyes stepped in, flanked by guards who looked far more nervous than they wanted to show. She wore a councilor’s robes, sleek and pristine, as if untouched by the filth of Zaun.

“Councilwoman Cassandra,” she said smoothly, her gaze cool. “And you’re… far more than we expected.”

You stared, silent.

She walked closer, eyes flicking to the chain marks around your wrists. “We’ve reviewed your file. What little there is. Dragon hybrids haven’t been seen for, well, let’s just say you’re the first that matters.”

You bared your teeth slightly. “Say what you came to say, Piltie.”

She smiled, unbothered. “Piltover has power. But it lacks… myth. Legacy. Wonder. You could give us that. A dragon, especially one born of Zaun, but bound by diplomacy, could put us far ahead of the rest of the world.”

You flinched at the word bound.

Cassandra continued, circling you slowly. “We’re prepared to make a deal. Freedom. Citizenship. Influence. But under condition.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You’ll be permitted to move between Piltover and Zaun. No collar, no cell, but your loyalty will belong to both cities. Your existence will be our secret… and our weapon.”

You stood then, slow and imposing. Heat radiated off your skin. “And if I refuse?”

She held your gaze without fear. “Then you rot in here. Or worse, they dissect you.”

Silence fell. The room felt too small for your presence now.

Finally, you murmured, “I won’t be tamed.”

Cassandra’s smile was faint. “We don’t want to tame you. We want to unleash you, on our terms.”

And just like that, the game began.

—————-

You didn’t give Cassandra an answer.

Not that day.

She left you in that dim cell with her promises ringing in the air like smoke trailing from a match. The door slammed shut behind her with a finality you didn’t trust, even if she had said, “You’ll have time to decide. But not much.”

So you sat in silence. Not because you were weak, but because there was power in stillness.

And besides, dragons don’t rush decisions. They wait. They watch.

⸻

Three days later, it was Mel Medarda who came.

The guards were twitchier this time. You were being moved, they said, but no one told you where. Stillwater’s stone walls fell away behind you as you stepped onto the private council sky-lift, your wrists bound in warmsteel cuffs, designed specifically to suppress volatile magic.

You didn’t bother to test them.

Mel was seated across from you in the hovering transport, legs crossed, gaze impossibly calm for someone sharing a lift with a dragon in chains.

“I wanted to see you for myself,” she said, voice smooth as silk. “The council’s buzzing about you. A dragon hybrid with fire in her blood and Zaun in her heart.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Planning to hang me in a museum, Councilor?”

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No. I think you’re more useful alive. But, your usefulness depends entirely on your choice.”

You turned to stare out at the Piltover skyline. It gleamed in the rising sun, golden towers stretching above the clouds like they’d never tasted smoke or blood. You’d always hated it from below. Now, seeing it from this high… you still hated it. But a part of you wondered if Zaun would ever stand this tall.

“I didn’t choose to be dragged into this,” you murmured.

“No,” Mel replied softly. “But now that you’re in it, you have a choice. Be their enemy, or something more dangerous: their ally.”

————

You weren’t given time to breathe when you arrived.

The sky lift docked atop the Council Tower, and within minutes you were escorted into a grand chamber lined with glistening marble, Hextech panels glowing faintly behind the ornate seats of power.

The full council was present.

Cassandra sat stiffly. Mel leaned back with effortless elegance. Heimerdinger blinked slowly from his seat, beard twitching in unreadable thought.

You stood alone in the center of the chamber, still in chains.

A man in white gloves began reading a formal agreement aloud, terms and restrictions and expectations. You barely listened until the words “unrestricted movement between the Undercity and Piltover” echoed off the walls.

That’s when your attention snapped back.

They were giving you freedom. Sort of.

But it came at a price.

You would become an unofficial ambassador, a living symbol of cooperation. You’d be expected to report movements of shimmer, relay tensions in the Undercity, attend council events, and appear loyal. And if war ever broke out…

You’d fight. For them.

Even now, their greed was palpable.

Still… it was a leash you could chew through if needed.

The council chamber waited.

Mel met your gaze across the room and gave a slight, knowing nod.

“Do you accept the terms?” Cassandra asked.

You inhaled slowly, deep enough to stir heat at the back of your throat. It was quiet for a moment too long.

Then you lifted your chin.

“I accept. On my terms.”

Mel arched an eyebrow. “And what are those?”

You let your voice drop, slow and molten. “I’ll walk between Piltover and Zaun, but I won’t belong to either. I’ll work with you, not for you. And if anyone tries to use me, if anyone threatens my people again, I’ll burn this city to the ground, council and all.”

The chamber fell into a stunned silence.

Then Heimerdinger coughed into his beard. “Well… diplomatic tension aside, I believe this concludes the arrangement.”

—————

You were released that same evening.

No fanfare. No guards. Just quiet footsteps echoing down a marble hallway as you descended into the depths of the city once more.

And Zaun was waiting for you.

It smelled the same, metal and ash, sweat and electricity. But when you passed familiar streets, people stared. Not with fear, not yet… but with curiosity. With a mixture of awe and wariness. They’d heard the rumors.

That the dragon hadn’t been executed. That she made a deal. That she was coming back.

And they were right.

You stood at the edge of the bridge between Piltover and the Undercity. Behind you: golden towers and clean skies. Ahead: smog, violence, home.

The fire inside you simmered.

Let them think they owned you.

They were wrong.

———————

Part 2?

[shimmerandink]

Plss keep the Silco x latina f!m wife fluff coming!!! I love it sm

Nuestra Familia

Silco x Latina wife! Reader

Fluff

Tags: Silco x reader, Latina reader, wife reader, comfort, cute moment between silco and reader.

Masterlist

The day had been long. It had been that way for weeks now, chaos at every turn, deals to strike, enemies to silence. The undercity never slept, and neither did Silco. But tonight, for some reason, he was quieter than usual.

You stood in the kitchen, the familiar smell of your cooking filling the room. The stove’s soft crackle was the only sound, your hand rhythmically stirring a pot of something savory. A small smile tugged at your lips as you hummed the same old song, the one you used to sing when you first arrived in the undercity.

The hum of the stove, the sound of the rhythm, your own voice, it all felt comforting in this small space. A space where Silco could just be… Silco.

You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” you said, your voice gentle, almost teasing.

Silco said nothing at first, his good eye flicking toward the flickering candlelight that softly illuminated the room. He was taking in the quiet, something that was rare for him. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on his arm, a sign of the constant thoughts running through his head, even when the world outside was still.

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I’ve been thinking,” he replied, his voice low and almost hesitant. The words seemed too heavy for him to say out loud. But you knew him too well to not catch the hint.

You smiled softly and turned back to the stove, knowing what he needed without asking. “About what?”

He leaned against the counter, watching as you moved with a practiced ease, your hands flipping something in the pan, your movements graceful, almost mesmerizing. “About how much this… this—” he paused, his words faltering for a moment before he caught himself. “This is what I’ve always wanted.”

The vulnerability in his voice made you pause for a second. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to be so open, so raw with his emotions. But with you, he did.

You turned to face him, wiping your hands on a towel before stepping toward him, closing the distance between you. Your hands found his, gentle but firm, a grounding touch that always seemed to calm him.

“This,” you said, a soft smile tugging at your lips, “this is us. It’s all we need.”

For a moment, Silco didn’t respond. He simply stood there, letting your words settle into him. You could see the tension in his face, the weight of the world pressing down on him. But when he looked at you, when his gaze softened, that fire in his eye flickering for a moment, you knew he felt something more. Something that went beyond the cold, ruthless man he was known to be.

He lifted his free hand and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. “You make it easy, you know that?”

You tilted your head, leaning into his touch, your heart swelling with a love you didn’t quite know how to express. “It’s easy because you make me feel safe.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with meaning. Silco didn’t say anything at first, but his lips quirked upward in a small, almost imperceptible smile. It wasn’t often you saw him like this, vulnerable, content, and completely unburdened. But in your presence, he allowed it. And that, to you, was enough.

He pulled you close then, wrapping his arms around you in a rare moment of tenderness. You rested your head against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and strong. It was a sound you had come to love, a sound that reminded you that, despite all the darkness and chaos that surrounded you, this, this, was where you both belonged.

“Promise me something,” he murmured against your hair.

You looked up at him, your heart full. “Anything.”

“Don’t ever leave me.”

The words, raw and sincere, sent a rush of warmth through your chest. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I’ll never leave you, Silco. You’re my home.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak, just held you tighter, the weight of his emotions heavy in the quiet of the room. You could feel the storm within him calming, the edges of his hardened exterior softening just enough for him to hold onto this moment, this peace.

The rest of the world, everything outside, everything they fought for, could wait. In that moment, it was just the two of you. And that was enough.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. The warmth in your chest grew, and without thinking, you reached for the pot simmering on the stove, checking the seasoning.

“Te gustaría un poco de arroz con frijoles?” (Would you like some rice and beans?) you asked, your voice playful but warm. You always knew how to lighten the atmosphere with something simple, something familiar, something from your past that you held close.

Silco watched you for a moment, a slight quirk in his lips, the smallest trace of a smile tugging at his usually stern expression. He didn’t always understand the little things you did, but he never stopped watching, never stopped trying to understand you more. And somehow, that made it easier to be yourself around him.

“I don’t understand why you insist on calling everything you cook ‘comfort food,’” he murmured, watching as you worked with a tenderness in your movements. “What’s so comforting about rice and beans?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you turned the stove off, stirring the meal with an ease that only came from years of practice. “Es un plato sencillo,( It is a simple dish ) but it’s more than just food. It’s what my mamá used to make when we were little. After a long day, arroz con frijoles always felt like home.”

You leaned back against the counter, watching him, the smile fading just a little as you spoke about your family. Silco sensed the shift, the way you’d suddenly grown quieter. He knew your story wasn’t always easy to share, he could see it in the way your eyes softened when you spoke about your past. And as much as he wanted to push, to ask more, he understood when it was time to simply listen.

Without a word, he walked over to where you stood, and this time, it wasn’t the harshness of his presence that overwhelmed you. It was the subtle strength, the warmth he provided just by being near. He cupped your cheek again, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same tenderness he’d given you earlier.

“You’ve carried so much,” he said quietly, his voice almost reverent. “I can see it in you.”

You leaned into his hand, your eyes closing briefly as a wave of emotion swept over you. Your Latina heritage had always been a part of you, something you wore proudly, but it was also a reminder of what you had left behind. The love, the culture, the warmth of your family. Sometimes it felt so far away, especially here in Zaun.

But in his arms, you felt something close to that same sense of safety you had back home. Home, it had always been more than a place. It was the people. It was the food you made, the songs you hummed, the stories shared in a language that only you and your family understood.

“Te amo, Silco,” (I love you, silco) you whispered, the words flowing easily now, a little more than a declaration of love, they were an anchor, a promise. “Even when things get hard… I carry this part of me with me. I carry them with me.”

His gaze softened, and for the first time, he said nothing in return. He simply pulled you closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly, as though you were two pieces of a puzzle that had been waiting to meet.

And in that moment, Silco understood something deeper than just loyalty or protection. He understood why you loved the way you did, why you gave so freely, despite everything that had happened in your past. You were woven from the same threads of strength and love, no matter where you came from. And he would never take that for granted.

“Whatever happens,” he said, his voice firm with conviction, “we’re a family now.”

Your heart swelled at his words, the weight of them sinking deep into your soul. You had never imagined that this, this life, this love, was possible. But in his arms, it felt like everything you had ever hoped for.

You kissed him then, soft and slow, a kiss that tasted of shared promises and quiet love. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you both.

“Gracias,” you whispered.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Silco allowed himself to smile, genuine, small, but there. He didn’t need to say anything more. There was nothing else that needed to be said.

In the quiet of your home, surrounded by the scent of your cooking and the sounds of the world outside, you and Silco were finally at peace.