pairing: silco x gn!reader.
cw: angsty. reader implied to be close to Silco's age.
wc: 1.2k
Silco bends at the waist and leans down to meet your gaze as you sit perched on the edge of the couch cushion. He runs his fingertip along your orbital bone and down to trace the contours of your jawline, places a dry palm on the side of your face and strokes your cheek with his thumb. His eyes narrow as he examines every inch of you, as if heâs confirming again and again that itâs really, truly you.
âMy word,â he says after a moment, a hint of something close to reverence in his voice, âyou look nearly unchanged.â
Of course, it isnât true. There are lines around your mouth whenever you smile, deep-set creases in your forehead where there was once smooth skin. Your bones creak, your joints ache, your muscles scream at you when you sleep the wrong way on the floor of your tiny, barren home. Your body isnât as flexible as it once was, nor as reactiveâitâs how you were caught in the first place, how you ended up in the hands of Silcoâs men, dropped unceremoniously onto this sofa with no warning that it would be Silco you would be faced with.
âThanks,â you mutter, trying to focus your gaze on his good eye. âYou certainly know how to flatter.â
You want to tell him he is just as unchanged, but the uncertainty of his reaction turns your stomach; he looks at you just as he once did, with the same softness hidden in his features, but with a veneer of harshness over it. Despite this, he is, in ways, the same man you knew: the same striking aquiline nose and sharp jawline, the same blink-and-youâll-miss-it smirk, the same glint in his eye when he was trying (often unsuccessfully, but still amusingly) to flirt.
âHow did you ever find me?â you finally ask, placing your hand on his as he cradles your face. His skin is cool to the touch, and you can feel him react, just slightly, at the warmth of your palm.
Silco pauses for a moment. âSheer luck, I supposeâone often finds lost objects when theyâre looking for them the least.â
A grin creeps up the corners of your mouth. Heâs still just as charming as he was then, when he wants to be. Of course he would deny ever searching for you, probably still would under duress if you still had it in you to threaten those in power, but such pursuits didnât come as easy as the once did.
âYou kept yourself well-hidden.â He says it almost chidinglyâyouâd made it difficult on him.
âI had to, you know that.â
Silco kneels before you, places his other hand on your face and holds your head still, forcing you to meet his burning gaze. âI could have protected you.â
âNot then, you couldnât have.â Certainly not like he could now, as the Eye of Zaun. No, you couldnât expect to rely on others then, not him, not Vander, not anyone else, only yourself. And if that meant living a life of solitude barely worth living, then so be itâat least you were alive.
âOf course I could haveâI would have.â The accusation seems to rattle him, and his grip on your face becomes more vice-like, his hands beginning to shake. âI would have done whatever it took. I would hope you would have known me well enough to know that, hm?â
âSilco, youâre hurting me,â you finally eke out, a rasped whisper, and he immediately releases his hold on you.
Silco sits back on his heels as you rub your aching jaw, his mouth opening and closing as words seemed to catch in his throat. âTell meâwhy did you really stay away?â
All the reasons begin to flood you, burning in your blood, all the things youâd turned over in your mind year after year. Because I was afraid. I was afraid of losing you. I was afraid of you losing me. I had to leave before you abandoned me, before the world abandoned us both. But all that you manage is a soft, defeated, âI donât know.â
You slide down to the floor with him, press your forehead to his. The room melts around you, the architecture and the furniture disintegrating until all that remains is you and Silco, and the remains of what was and the scaffolds of what could be.
A low creak brings the room back together again, shocks you back into consciousness. Sevika stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her broad chest, her gaze fixed on some point just above and beyond the two of you; she clears her throat and gestures towards the door.
âI-Iâm afraid I have business to attend to.â Silco stands, straightens himself as he nods and waves a hand to dismiss Sevika, leaving the two of your alone again, for now. âUnavoidable, I suppose.â
âOf course.â You clear your throat and scramble back to the couch, sitting up ramrod straight, feeling suddenly and overwhelmingly raw. âIt was lovely catching up, Silco. But I...I suppose I should be going as well.â
He cocks his head, glaring at you almost incredulously as he smooths his vest. âGo where?â
âHome, I suppose,â you shrug. Anywhere but here. Anywhere you wonât be captivated by memories, lured by the life youâd built in your head, pulled into the unknown by years of want finally able to be realized.
He inhales deeply and sits beside you on the sofa, his lean hip digging into yours, hand settling on your thigh. âWhat could possibly be there for you now that you need to leave so abruptly?â
Nothing. There is nothing for you there. Everything you wanted is here, right here, because he forced your hand and dragged you back in time with him against your will. You run your fingers over his forearm, dancing in the fabric peaks and valleys of his shirtsleeve and your heart pounds and your brain buzzes and everything in you aches for him.
âYou act like time stood still when we last saw each other. Like we can just pick right back up where we left off.â Hot tears form at the corners of your lash line, and you do nothing to stop them from tumbling down your cheeks. âBut time never stopped, I never stopped. I kept running. I had to.â
Silco grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns your head towards him. Thereâs the softness you missed, the same concerned expression and furrowed brow heâd wear whenever heâd catch you in a rare moment of melancholy. âWhat if you donât have to run anymore?â
âSilco, time just keeps moving, even if I donât want it to.â A sob hitches in your throat and comes out a deep and mournful wail, years of want and need, of anguish and grief, all escaping you at once.
He slides a hand to the back of your neck, squeezing it gently, and waits, waits for your cries to become hiccups to become soft sniffles. He leans in close, so close his breath warms your skin and his lips ghost yours and you want him to kiss you so badly, more than you ever have and ever will. âThen let it halt for a moment with me...wonât you?â
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pairing: silco x gn!reader. platonic reader & jinx heavily featured.
cw: angsty. mildly sexually suggestive.
wc: 560
a/n: just a little warm-up to get a feel for things.
Jinx loved you once (you think). Wrapping her arms around your neck, her limbs growing lankier every day it seemed, sighing into your shoulder at some childish inconvenience before grabbing your hands in hers and dragging you to her room to show you something new and fun and dangerous. You were a novelty, a brand new toy fresh out of the box, a doll for her to play with and then toss on the floor when she was bored and restless. But she chose you, often, and her attachment to you became currency, buying you even more favor with Silco than you earned all on your own.
You thought (smugly, stupidly) perhaps one day youâd be his undoingâbe the liability he often said you were, muttered as a playful reprimand when heâd pull you into him, bare limbs tangled under silken sheets, hair matted against sweat-dappled skin. Youâd kiss his clavicle, run your fingers over his sternum, grin as youâd retort something about always wanting to ruin a man in power and bring him to his knees. And to his knees heâd fall, his breath still ragged and strength waning, and heâd pull you to the edge of the bed and trail his long, slender fingers up your thighs, teasing you with warm breath and a warmer tongue. Perhaps you would be his downfall after all, youâd think as he muttered words of adoration against your skin.
But that would never be.
You werenât sure when it was that it dawned on Jinx that you didnât belong to her, exactlyâthat your presence in her life wasnât even really about her all. Prying eyes and pricked-up ears and a deep well of sadness in her soul led her to put the pieces togetherâyou werenât just Silcoâs nice friend who came to visit sometimes, not her precious plaything that suddenly took up residence one day. No, no, you were something elseâyou and the way youâd fall into his lap like it was home, the way your fingertips would so delicately trace his scars, the way his expression would soften when heâd lay eyes on you.
You.
You.
You were danger. You would take, you would ruin, you would build a wall between her and safety and security and love and keep it all for yourself.
And suddenly the warmth in Silcoâs touch cooled. He called for you less, found himself away on business more. His words were the same but hollow, dredged of all meaning and left as husks. You still lingered there, even after your things were moved back to your apartment one day without so much as a wordâyou still draped yourself over him like an ill-fitting coat, trying to extract whatever drops of affection you could, living off the momentary glimmers of melancholy youâd glimpse behind his eyes when heâd glance at you sometimes. He cared for you still, you could feel it, but it was all just out of reach, placed behind glass too thick to break.
Those moments of connection sustained you still, gave you enough to keep you just on the edge of sane, your legs dangling over the precipice as you chided yourself, day after day, for your utter hubris. There was only one who would ever be his undoing, and you were a fool to think it would ever be you.
