true zaunite

Headcanons - the arcane men walking in on you | 🔥

Jayce ~ Jaye Playlist ~ jayce twt links - you're my pillow now | 🩵 - honey-colored eyes | 🩵🌩️ (posted on my main) - drunken nights | 🩵 - 'how much did you hear?' 🔥 | [pt. 2] 🔥 - warm welcome | 🔥🩵 - marry me for the night | 🩵 - "you kissed me back" | 🌩️ - come home | 🌩️🩵 - pillow talk | 🔥 - soot and all | 🌩️🩵 - in the rain | 🌩️🩵 - mother's intuition | 🩵 - teddy | 🩵 - the number conspiracy | 🩵 - you | 🩵 - 72 hours in Piltover 🩵🔥🌩️ | [Pt.2] 🔥🌩️ | [pt.3 coming soon...] - princess | 🔥

Viktor - 'till death do us part , huh? | 🌩️ - V with a reader with PoTS Headcanons | 🔥🩵 (posted on my main) - life's too short | 🔥🩵 - all the things left unsaid | 🌩️🩵 - lipstick stains are a work of art | 🩵 - understand me like you do | 🩵 [can be read platonically]

Poly!Jayvik x reader - early mornings | 🩵 - tease | 🔥

Ekko - can't add you to the mural | 🩵🌩️ (can be read platonically & romantically) - humid nights | 🔥 (MDNI)

Silco - that damned jukebox | 🩵 - dreamwalking (au!Silco) | 🩵 - hands | 🔥 (can be read as young or old Silco) - reputation | 🩵 - only you | 🩵 - husband's heart 🩵 | [part 2] 🔥 - who takes care of you | 🔥 - all this over dinner | 🩵🌩️ - 'you're soft' | 🩵 (can be read as young or old Silco) - subby!Silco HCs | 🔥 - Silco with a scent kink HCs | 🔥 - naptime drabble | 🩵 - Dance with me | 🩵🌩️

Young Silco ~ Y!Silco Playlist ~ Y!Silco twt links - my only enemy 🩵🌩️ | [part 2] 🩵 | [part 3 will come someday, maybe] - 'loverboy' | 🩵 - option two (young!Silco) | 🩵 - why would you do that? | 🩵🌩️ - 'revolution is one thing, rioting is another' | 🌩️ - dear wife of mine | 🩵 - never just friends | 🩵 - 5 a.m. |🩵 (can be read as precursor to never just friends) - pay the tab | 🩵🌩️ - last weekend | 🔥🩵 - four times you didn't, and one time you did | 🔥🩵 - bozo | 🩵 - on the hook [pt.1] 🩵 | [pt.2] 🩵🌩 - hopeful | 🩵 - your way, my way | 🩵🌩️ - the start of it all | 🩵🌩 - that's what love is | 🩵️

Vander ~ vander twt links - absolutely | 🔥 - old timer | 🩵 - "pest" | 🩵 [suggestive]

Tag guide:

‘Ekko’ - all things Ekko, including my fics and reblogs/recommendations ‘Silco’ - all things Silco, including my fics and reblogs/recommendations ‘Jayce’ - all things Jayce, including my fics and reblogs/recommendations ‘Viktor’ - all things Viktor, including my fics and reblogs/recommendations ‘Vander’ - all things Vander, including my fics and reblogs/recommendations ‘jayvik’- all things poly!Jayce x Viktor x reader, including my fics and reblogs/recommendations ‘Zaunite recommends’ - other blog’s fics I love ‘Zaunite responds’ - answers to submissions/questions/ etc. ‘Zaunite thoughts’ - any other ramblings I have that don’t fit into the above ‘SFW’ & ‘smut’ - self-explanatory ‘x f!reader’ & ‘x gn!reader’ - self-explanatory 'Playlist' - music that makes me think of the character

Sevika sighed again, shifting to pull her cloak a little more firmly over her arm as she turned back to her boss, brow raised, tongue between her teeth. 

“They are becoming a distraction,’ she warned quietly, ignoring the insolent glare he offered her in return. “Need I remind you what is at stake at the moment? Is it really the time to be–” 

“I advise that you stop talking.” He cut her off, stilling for a moment before leaning forward, slipping the ornate cigar box from the booth table and trimming the cigar between his fingers, pressing it to his lips as he fished for the lighter. 

A plume of smoke rose from his lips as he sat back again, sinking into the worn velvet cushions. “Now, I believe you have a message to deliver.” 

With a final huff, Sevika pushed away from the wall, disappearing off through the crowds of bodies. 

The smoke burned his throat as he took another drag, holding it in his lungs for a moment before reluctantly letting it slip from his lips, rolling the smoldering cigar between his fingertips as his gaze drifted instinctively back to them. Sevika was right, of course, they were a distraction. And it was driving him crazy. 

“We’re all closed up, boss.” 

He had barely registered the music stopping, let alone the place emptying as he poured over his paperwork. A deep ache had set between his shoulder blades as he hunched over the proposals, most of them too idiotic to be worth the effort. 

He glanced up, somewhat startled at the sound of your voice, the sound much softer than he was accustomed too. 

“Oh, yes, thank you,” he hummed, holding your gaze for just a moment longer than he perhaps should have done. “How many times do I have to tell you you can call me Silco?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, “Yes, Silco.” You hesitated for a moment, moving to step away only to step back again, held in place by the way he looked at you. “Is there anything else you need?” 

He mentally scolded himself, reaching for his nearly burnt out cigar from the tray to busy his hands. “No, thank you. You finish up.” 

His smile felt forced as you nodded, smiling softly back as you turned and headed back to the bar. His lips dropped as soon as you were out of sight, stubbing the remains of his cigar out roughly, ignoring how the embers singed the tips of his fingers a little with the force of it. 

He was nearly 50, for Janna’s sake. He had dedicated his life to the nation of Zaun. Why on earth was he now blushing over some 20-something? He rolled his shoulders to try and ease the tension, gathering up the stack of paperwork to take to his office instead. 

The sound of gentle humming stopped him, the stacked papers tapping against the table softly as he paused, shuffling them to listen more closely. The sound was soothing – somewhat out of place in the acrid glow of the neon lights. 

Stacking them on the table again, he pressed himself to stand up, the jukebox starting up as he rounded out of the booth and caught sight of you, swaying gently to the song you had chosen, as if you were in your own world entirely. 

“I didn’t know you liked to dance?” He called softly, leaning back against the wood of the table behind him to watch you, his fingertips brushed against the splintering wood. You jumped slightly, having forgotten he was still sitting there. Your hand pressed to your chest as he chuckled, holding his hands up in apology. 

“It makes the closing shift a little more fun,” you shrugged, feeling your skin heat up. The burning orange had never scared you, if anything you found it intriguing – and you had grown more than accustomed to the way it would follow you around the room on the rare night he came down to sit in the bar, rather than stay cooped up in his office. 

You waited for another beat before turning back to mopping, moving a little less fluidly as you felt his eyes watching you, a tingle creeping up your spine as you tried to focus on your work. 

You froze when a hand clasped the mop just above yours, slender fingers curling around the wood, forcing you to stop. 

“Leave it for opening. You have done enough tonight.” 

You looked up slowly, your breath hitching in your throat as you realized just how close he was. The space between you felt almost nonexistent, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your cheeks. 

You scoffed, but made no real effort to pull the handle from his grasp. “I really don’t mind—”

“Will you dance with me?”

The question caught you off guard, and you couldn’t help but laugh awkwardly, hoping he couldn't hear how your heart rushed behind your ribs. “You dance?”

A slow, rumbling chuckle escaped him, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled the mop from your grip, setting it aside, “Rarely,” he admitted, “but I have been known to.”

Before you could protest, he took your hand and closed the remaining distance between you, his chest nearly brushing yours. His arm wrapped around your waist, firm yet careful, his hand resting respectfully against your lower back.

The world around you seemed to fade as he took a few tentative steps, guiding you gently. It was slow at first, a gentle sway, then, with a soft tug of your hand, he guided you into a slow turn, his fingers pressing lightly against yours, his hold on your waist steady. 

“You’re not so bad,” you pondered lightly, hoping that breaking the tension between you would help slow your pulse. The way he laughed again, only making it worse. “Who taught you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, “My mother. A very long time ago, when I was a lot younger and a lot more spry,” he chuckled dryly.

Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulder, the worn fabric beneath your touch grounding you. The two of you swayed together, an unspoken rhythm settling between your bodies, as if you had done this a hundred times before.

“I wish I knew you when you were younger,” you murmured, the thought slipping out before you could second-guess it.

His grip on your waist faltered for a second, but you didn’t notice. You missed the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly,  “Back when I was still good,” he laughed, but there was no real mirth in it. His voice was noticeably tense, his words sharp at the edges.He had never thought twice about the things he had done to get where he was today – until he met you.

The choices, the sacrifices, the bloodstained path he had carved through the years had always felt necessary, inevitable. Regret was a luxury he could not afford, a weakness he had long since discarded. But with you in his arms, some part of him felt young again. 

Your fingers tightened against his shoulder instinctively, your steps slowing. “You can still be good.” 

Silco’s breath hitched – so quiet, so brief, that you might have imagined it. He didn’t answer, not right away. Instead, he simply pulled you a fraction closer, as if testing whether you would pull away. Instead, your eyes searched his, flicking between the burning orange and the ice blue pupils. 

Before your mind could catch up with your body, you moved – leaning up, acting on instinct, your lips brushed against the unscarred side of his face, just shy of the corner of his mouth. It was the barest whisper of a touch, barely even a kiss, but it was enough.

Enough for his fingers to tense at your waist as he went completely still. Enough for you to feel the way his jaw tightened beneath your lips, as if he were holding something back.

When you finally pulled away, his face was unreadable, his expression carefully schooled into something neutral. But his eye betrayed him, burning with something unsaid, something dangerously close to longing. Instead, he exhaled slowly, his voice barely more than a murmur. 

“Careful,” he tutted gently, “You deserve better than me.” 

And just like that, he dipped you, his arm bracing you effortlessly. A gasp slipped past your lips, your fingers clutching at his shirt. He smirked softly down at you, something undeniably smug in his expression, before pulling you back upright in one fluid motion.

Your heart was racing. Your thoughts were a blur. 

“I don’t want anyone but you,” you muttered, voice little more than a breath.

He paused.

“I can’t think straight when I am around you,” he admitted, his voice low, rough at the edges. “And that’s too dangerous. For both of us.”

Then, barely giving himself another second to waver, he stepped away.

The warmth of his touch disappeared, leaving behind only the ghost of it, lingering on your skin. It was only then that you noticed the silence. The record had long since scratched to a halt. Silco adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, a distraction from the way his fingers twitched at his side, fighting the urge to meet your eyes again, knowing he would be sucked in – fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“I’ll see Sevika helps you home safely,” he swallowed, “Goodnight.” 

And then, he turned, walking away before you could say anything else.

He pressed your bedroom door closed behind him, his arms soon wrapping around your waist as his head settled on your shoulder, his sharp chin digging into the tender muscle. 

“What happened?” 

You continued your fight with your hair, tensing a little as you managed to pull one of the knots out. “Work happened,” you sighed, dropping the hair to rub at your eyes instead. 

Silco watched you softly, lifting his head from your shoulder as you stood with your forehead pressed against your palms. Pressing his lips into a firm line he ran his hands soothingly up and down your waist, the movement instinctive, his fingers working their way under the fabric of your top to brush against the skin. The slight scratch of his calluses doing more to relax your body than anything else so far. 

“Let me help?” lifting his hands from your sides, his fingers brushed over your hair gently, gathering it all to pull it back gently, being careful not to tug on it too roughly as you nodded, finally pulling your hands from your face. 

Without another word, he guided you backwards a few steps, his hands warm and firm as they pushed gently against your shoulders, encouraging you back down onto the edge of your bed. 

He fished around in his nightstand drawer for a moment, taking out his stacks of notebooks until he found his hairbrush, pulling a few of his loose hairs from it before turning again and settling on the mattress behind you, once again guiding your hair back over your shoulders. 

He started brushing methodically through your hair, starting at the bottom and slowly working his way up, his hand pressing the strands gently against you to avoid tugging at your head. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Picking at some piling on your duvet you wet your lips, eyes falling closed against the therapeutic rhythm of his hands, “Some of the guys decided it would be funny to send me through all the tight corners again.” You attempted a shrug, but thought better of it when it sent another ache through your bones.

Silco’s hands stilled, and you could almost feel his piercing stare on the back of your head again. 

“The same ones as last time?” 

You muttered a hesitant yes under your breath and his work continued, brushing out the knots with ease, a quiet, ominous hum setting your hairs on end. 

“What are you thinking?” You attempted to turn around, only for a firm hand on your shoulder to stop you. 

“Nothing.” 

You knew that tone all too well – “Silco…” 

He sighed, the sound forced through his nose, “Me and Vander will have a word.” 

You tensed, turning as he shuffled on the mattress, leaning over to put the brush back away beneath his journals. “You don’t need–” 

He quickly shut you up with a sharp look, one brow raised, “I said we will have a word, that is all. I am not having them mess you around whenever we aren’t on shift with you.” 

The feeling of his fingers raking back through your now untangled strands quietened any argument rising in your throat, especially when his clipped nails scratched over the skin of your scalp coaxingly. 

"Thank you," you murmured, your eyes drifting shut once more.

He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "It's my job," he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he took in your peaceful expression.

"Could you plait it for me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Leaning back against him, you nestled into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, letting yourself sink deeper into him. 

He chuckled again, “I don’t know how.” 

Your eyes opened, brows raising, meeting his as he gazed down at you. 

“Seriously?” he nodded, “you have never braided your hair?” 

“Why would I do that?” 

You pressed yourself to sit up straighter again, shuffling to face him and reaching for his hair, pulling it over his shoulder. “Because it would look cute!” 

He scoffed, leaning back just enough for his hair to slip from your grasp. “Cute?”

“Yeah,” you muttered softly, smiling dopily. “Come ‘ere. I’ll teach you.” 

He let you pull him from the bed slowly, his hands squeezing yours softly as you led him back to the mirror, centering him in the dusty glass. He fought the urge to sigh when your fingers brushed through his hair again, combing lovingly over the scalp as you parted it and brushed it forward a little. 

“You wanna split it into three–” 

"There." You twisted the tie into the second braid, securing it in place. "Think you got it?"

You glanced up, catching his reflection in the mirror—the dozy smile on his lips gave you your answer before he even spoke.

"When did you stop listening?" you asked, already stifling a laugh.

His smile deepened, eyes softening as they met yours through the glass. "Somewhere between you brushing my hair and the sound of your voice."

You rolled your eyes, giving his shoulder a gentle shove as you moved to step past him, only for his arms to loop around your waist, pulling you back against him.

"I can't help that you relax me so much," he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of your neck. His fingers spread over your stomach as he swayed you slightly.

"You're a sap," you chuckled, shivering as his lips grazed your skin. "Do you at least like them?"

He glanced at himself in the mirror, studying the braids sitting just above his shoulders. "I think they’d look better on you."

You huffed lightly, "Well, that was the point." Twisting, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and slipped from his grasp, crawling onto the bed. Stretching out with a sigh, you let the last of the tension drain from your body.

"Now," you mumbled, "will you please come cuddle me so I can fall asleep?” 

“Come here, I want to try something.” 

You looked up from where you were plaiting your hair for work, brows furrowing, “I have to get ready to go, Sil, I don’t have ti–” 

“Just, come here,” he urged, gesturing to the spot on the ground in front of him, “And bring those hair ties.” 

With a huff you stood, letting the loose braid drop, “This better be good.” 

“Always the optimist in the morning,” he drawled, carding his fingers through the strands and loosening the plait. “Now just close your eyes and trust me.”

“I really do have to get to work,” you pressed. 

“We both do,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost amused. “This won’t take long.”

You felt him gather sections of your hair, his movements careful, deliberate. There was a pause, then a quiet huff.

“This is harder than it looks,” he admitted.

A smile tugged at your lips. “Oh? So you’re saying I have skills?”

He let out a low chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You resisted the urge to peek, instead letting yourself enjoy the sensation of his fingers weaving through your hair, the rhythmic pull and twist of each strand.

After a moment, he exhaled, satisfied. “There. Now, open.”

Blinking, you turned toward the mirror, taking in his attempt – a slightly uneven but surprisingly decent braid. You tilted your head, inspecting it with a hum.

“Not bad,” you mused, grinning at him through the reflection.

He smirked, “Told you to trust me.”

Shaking your head, you reached for one of the hair ties to secure his work. “I thought you weren’t paying attention?” 

He shrugged, busying himself plucking your jackets from the closet, “I am not that bad,” he grumbled. “Besides, I practised.” 

You almost missed his quiet admission. Your fingers stilled over the braid as your eyes widened. "You practiced?"

Leaning down, he pressed a fleeting kiss to your temple before handing you your jacket. "Vander can sit surprisingly still when you really need him to."

And with that, he disappeared through the bedroom door, the stairs creaking beneath his hurried steps as he rushed down to grab your work bags.

You stood there, utterly dumbfounded, hands frozen mid-motion as you stared after him, slack-jawed. You shook your head in disbelief, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the braid you had been fixing. The thought of him persuading Vander to sit still long enough for him to fumble through the motions was almost too much. You could picture it now – Vander grumbling under his breath, Silco muttering curses as his fingers worked, the two of them likely bickering the entire time.

Grabbing your jacket, you hurried down the stairs, your heart still hammering in your chest. As you reached the bottom step, you caught sight of him slinging your bags over his shoulder, pretending like he hadn’t just completely upended your morning with that little confession.

“You practiced?” you repeated, louder this time, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Silco barely glanced at you as he headed for the door, but you didn’t miss the way the tips of his ears turned red. “If you keep gawking, you’ll be late,” he deflected.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, stepping up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. “You’re unbelievable.”

He huffed, though you could feel the way he leaned into your embrace just slightly. “And yet, you love me for it.”

You grinned against his back. “Yeah. I really do.”

† he loves to make you wait for it

† you're the best way to get his frustration out

† it's so fun to manhandle you

† he loves to wake up with your hands around him

† he's tired from the lab, but his lap is all yours

† you can't come to the lab in that skirt

† he loves taking his time with you

† he loves your belly bulge

† he loves seeing how much he would fill you up

† it's almost embarassing how quick you make him cream his pants

† putting his muscles to good use

† he's amazed you can fit him

† you can't come into work in such a small dress

† those pyjamas are too cute on you to ignore

† he loves seeing how big he is compared to you

† he can't wait to see you pregnant

† he tries to take it slow, but can't help himself

† watching you try to ride him is such fun

† his fingers are just as fun

† you have to stay quiet so the kids don't hear you (and fail)

† the bar is the best place to have you

† he's so obsessed with breeding you

† there's no better feeling than being full of him

† sometimes you're both too tired, but he can't help himself