》VIKTOR

forgive me father for i have sexualized an older man

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fucking malleus from behind as you yank on those pretty black horns for leverage, forcing his back to bow and his ass to rise like no other. the sight of thee malleus draconia’s figure in such a comprising position burns heavy behind your eyelids.

there’s no mistaking it, the man was a whore in hiding. his moans were loud, deep and gravely but just as wet and enticing—so you keep at it. fucking into his sopping hole with a frenzied pace, absuing his prostate in the process.

the base of his horns will be sore and throbbing afterwards and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to care—not that he has the mental capacity to do such anyway. malleus, writing underneath you, couldn’t do a single thing but take and take what you’re giving him, brain long since melted into mush. all he sees is stars, all he feels is the redhot stretching in his abdomen, all he needs is to cum so hard that he’ll pass out.

you, on the other hand, was getting ahead of yourself, spewing all kinds of filthy nicknames and dirty nothings in his pointed ears in dire need to hear more of his choked sounds, his slutty moans, his unfit to be house warden language.

but, to your surprise malleus was also into it, the degradation, the unrelenting strokes, the heat of it all while his cock hung heavy between his legs, jolting and dribbling thick strings of cum all over the sheets.

it fucking fueled you.

there’s no way he will be walking normally after this.

minors (under 18) + silent readers will b blocked on sight. don’t interact.

The VIP Booth | Vander Smut Oneshot 🫗🤎

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairings: Husband!Vander x Wife!Reader

Pronouns: Fem!Pronouns

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI !! You WILL be blocked! 🤺

Word Count: 3.1k (whoops. got carried away with storybuilding)

Tags: Cunnilingus, Fingering, Face Fucking, Finger Sucking, Hair Pulling, Semi-Public Sexual Acts, Established Relationship, etc.

Summary: You coax your husband into eating you out in the only private area The Last Drop has to offer.

Notes: AAAA!! Idk if this idea is ANY GOOD but it came to me in a moment of delusion. The last bit was probably a little rushed, too. SORRYYYY. I’ll make it up to yall later.

Also, tell me I’m wrong when I say that Vander will go to any length to eat some pussy. Do it, cowards. I dare you. YOU KNOW JUST AS WELL AS I DO THAT THIS MAN WOULD HAPPILY DIE WITH HIS FACE IN BETWEEN A PAIR OF THIGHS.

Asks/Request fics are coming soon, as well as a few more special treats for y’all!! Enjoy, my lovelies, & stay tuned. 🤍

(I can see you, minors!! Get outta here 🤺🤺. BACK! BACK, I SAY!)

Inside the walls of The Last Drop, there was one booth unlike any other—a private, exclusive spot tucked away behind the bustling central room. It was a booth reserved for those willing to pay for top-tier service, offering a secluded escape from the usual chaos of the bar’s environment. But as co-owner of The Last Drop—and wife to the main owner—you didn’t need to fork out any cash to reserve it. Especially not on a night like this. No—tonight, luck was on your side. The booth had gone unclaimed by any paying customer.

Truthfully, the undeniably significant feature were its curtains. The enormous maroon tapestries that enveloped the entrance ensured complete privacy, shielding it from prying eyes. After all, that’s what made it the VIP booth—an oasis of solitude amidst the drunken chaos of the crowd.

With the booth left unreserved, its privacy ensuring a rare moment of seclusion, and the crowd blissfully distracted by their own drunken revelry, the opportunity was simply too perfect to pass up. You had concocted a devilish plan—one that had been simmering in your mind all night. It wasn’t just about messing with your husband—it was about messing around with him.

Your overwhelming desire for your husband was impossible to ignore on any given day, but tonight, it seemed even more intense—an insatiable hunger that gnawed at you, its cause elusive and beyond your comprehension. Whatever the reason, it gripped you with a force you couldn't obstruct, leaving you restless and consumed by pure unadulterated lust.

This, naturally, allowed your plan to unfold effortlessly, as if guided by an invisible hand, bringing it closer to fruition.

To carry out your devious plan, you had carefully cultivated the trust of one of the few individuals who worked for you and Vander. They weren’t exactly employees in the traditional sense, but rather a handful of people you kept on the fringes, offering a few coins in exchange for their occasional assistance. Their loyalty was fleeting, bought with small tokens, but it was enough to serve your purpose. Especially in a moment such as this. A seemingly crucial one—at that.

You kept things vague, framing your request as though it were purely concerning a business discussion needing to be had. You asked your employee to discreetly inform your husband that someone was calling him from behind the velvet curtains of the VIP booth. You also made it clear that the employee should mirror your discretion, avoiding any mention of your name or your connection to him.

The employee appeared curious, even somewhat uneasy, at first. That was, however, prior to you slipping a generous cash bonus their way, eliciting their cooperation without room for protest.

"Go on, please," you plead with your unsuspecting employee, your voice laced with a blend of urgency and excitement. "But remember—don’t tell him it’s me."

As the employee slips into the bustling crowd, you struggle to contain the surge of excitement building within you, all while fighting to maintain a sultry—yet composed, demeanor. You adjust your hair, breasts, and clothing, making subtle moves to enhance your allure and mystery. Every gesture is deliberate, designed to keep you as collected and captivating as possible, cultivating an air of intrigue about you as you desperately await the arrival of your beloved husband.

They fulfilled your agreement as you waited—approaching their boss and informing him that someone had entered the VIP booth, insisting on speaking with him directly.

"VIP booth? Thought nobody booked it tonight," Vander remarks, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to process the information. Normally, you were the one who handled the VIP booth, and he’d have gladly passed this task off to you—if the employee hadn’t mentioned that the VIP “customer” specifically requested Vander. Looks like he’d have to put on a more hospitable facade and give them what they wanted.

If only he knew just what this "customer" truly wanted from him.

After a series of grunts, groans, and huffs, Vander finally made his way to the booth. After forcing a welcoming smile onto his face, he slowly pushed aside the curtains.

"Sorry for the wait. You wanted to speak to the owner—"

His voice faltered, trailing off faster than it had taken him to summon the words.

You feel your own response threaten to catch in your throat, but you won’t cave. You abandon your nerves.

"Why yes, I did. Although..." you drawl, your tone laced with playful mischief, "...'speak' isn’t exactly at the top of the list of things I want to do to the owner."

Your sultry gaze locks onto his, deliciously teasing. Vander, already an imposing figure, looms even larger from your vantage point in the booth. Seated as you are, you find yourself craning your neck significantly just to meet his eyes, the angle only amplifying his commanding presence.

A slew of unidentifiable emotions cross his face in a mere flash before fading into a singularly—equally mischievous to yours—-expression.

“Well. Seein’ as how you are the VIP patron of the night, how can I oblige you?” He queries, his eyebrow raising once more.

Your heart stutters beneath your breast as his expression shifts, his eyes darkening with a lust-filled intensity that sends a shiver through you. The chemistry between you two never failing to baffle you.

"...Serve me," you murmur, your voice soft yet determined to keep the air thick with seduction.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, can I serve you with?" he inquires, his voice dipping low, the provocative edge in his gaze unwavering.

"Your body." you quip, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves stirring in your gut, desperate to make it quiver.

Vander eyes you carefully for a moment, savoring the way your confidence wavers. He deliberately toys with the knowledge of how easily he can unsettle you, his gaze lingering as if relishing every flicker of hesitation you try to hide. A smirk slowly spreads across his mouth—the very one you ached for—his eyes glinting with an all-knowing, deviously sexy twinge. He nods softly, his hand rising to casually caress his beard as he watches you, the tension thick in the air.

“Mmhmm. I see," he murmurs, his tone laced with teasing amusement. "Who am I, if not a man willing to care for his loyal customers?" He phrases simply, the words carrying a heavy, unspoken promise before he moves, gracefully lowering himself to his knees across from you. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before he slowly begins to push himself beneath the table that had kept you both apart.

You don’t dare look beneath the table, almost afraid to meet his gaze at this moment, unsure of what you might see on his face now that the situation has shifted. The tension coils tighter, each passing second amplifying the anticipation that overwhelmed your senses.

You practically jump at the brush of his shoulders against your shins as he crawls to them, the rush of anticipation making every nerve in your body jolt. The aching desperation pulling through you draws attention to your core as you feel his strong hands gently caress your legs, the heat of his touch settling on your knees, sending a shiver through you. The way your teeth begin to tug at your bottom lip seemed like the only way you could physically process your eagerness.

Vander remains silent, his hands moving deliberately in opposite directions, the gesture designed to spread your legs—yet he did so with enough force to split you down the middle if he hadn’t been careful enough. It isn’t until he successfully parts them that he speaks again.

“No bottoms? My. What a dirty girl you are, my dear customer. What if someone else had walked in here, hmm? Did you plan on flashing your bits to any bloke who popped his head in?” He teases, practically groaning some of his words, the guttural tone an unintentional yet instinctual reaction to the sight of you so bare—-so clearly prepared for whatever scenario it was you anticipated happening in this little corner of the establishment.

It was obvious to your husband, from the way you were reacting, that the possibility of him crawling under the table to bury his face between your thighs hadn’t even crossed your mind. The surprise and hesitation in your twitches and subtle movements told him everything he needed to know.

The distant, familiar chatter of real customers beyond the thin barrier tightened the knot in your stomach, throwing you into the reality of the moment. It became an unrelenting presence, grounding you in the tension that hung in the air. Meanwhile, the hot, damp breath of your husband seethed against the cold slickness seeping from your cunt, a stark contrast that deepened the unease coursing through you.

A shiver ran up your spine, your body trembling as nervous spasms raked through your bones when he edged even closer—his hair grazing your skin in that familiar way you knew so well. It wasn’t uncommon for your husband to spend most of his time down here, yet no matter how often it happened, the anxiety it stirred within you never waned.

You had an even harder time controlling how your body writhed as you felt the warmth of his tongue flush itself against your sopping heat. Your nails pressed into the soft wood of the table, digging in as you braced yourself, your body jerking. The spasms faltered for a moment, your body going rigid once he started violently lapping his tongue against your aching clit. The abrasing way his beard rubbed against the skin of your thighs sent you into a spiral.

You had expected him to fuck you directly on the table, to take you in the way you were used to—but instead, he toyed with you from beneath it, the unanticipated choice leaving you bewildered. You had been aching for what felt like ages, the desperation almost unbearable. It was a struggle to keep your mouth from parting—your head tilting back, eyes closing as your husband began to ease the tension that had gripped you for so long.

All you wanted was to whimper, to cry out for him, but you couldn’t—not with the patrons so close, just beyond the curtains. If he had only fucked you as you’d expected, he would’ve easily pressed a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet, as he had in similar situations before. But this time, you knew he had chosen this path deliberately, testing whether you could hold your composure.

It was his unspoken way of making you atone for the ploy you used to get him here. He was a patient lover, understanding that even though you had pulled him away from his work—which he didn’t mind as much as he let on—you were just too eager to be patient. Always attuned to your needs, he was more than willing to satisfy the cravings of his most cherished wife, finding joy in fulfilling your desires—no matter the time or place. The absence of his familiar presence behind the bar, and the slight potential for upsetting customers, felt like a small price to pay in exchange for the chance to fully indulge in you. To unravel and claim you in ways only he could.

His tongue was relentless. He sloppily sucked and licked at your needy clit, his nose rubbing against the mound of flesh above as he devoured you. His hands were as equally hungry as his mouth, and in need of something to grab. He manhandles your legs, draping them roughly over his shoulders, his fingers gripping at your plush thighs as he curls his arms around them. In doing so, he pulled you closer, your back slipping against the booth as he guided you down, drawing you nearer to him with a purposeful force. His cock was begging to be set free from its cloth prison as he sunk his tongue deep into the void of your cunt. The rhythmic, wet sounds became a melody more captivating than any song he'd ever heard, especially when paired with the soft mewls of you struggling to stay collected—and most importantly—silent.

You can both hear and feel his laugh against you, a deep, low chuckle that carries a mix of arousal and amusement, vibrating through you with every huff. He found the way he could make you squirm incredibly sexy, the reaction sparking a deep sense of pride within him. There was something about the ease with which he could unsettle you that thrilled him, and he took great satisfaction in knowing how little effort it took. He knew all too well that it only took something as simple as a certain look to have you coming undone—and right now, he was determined to make you come undone. All over his tongue.

Vander knows just how wild his fingers can make you on their own— yet especially so when paired with the mastery of his expertly quick and thoughtful tongue.

He wasted no time in combining the two, intent on making you crack under the pressure. While Vander didn’t particularly want to be caught by patrons, either—or, for that matter, by one of your employees—his desire to make you scream was always his top priority.

He grips your thighs with more gusto than before, continuing to pull them further apart in hopes of expanding his ‘workspace’. He releases one of them, the fingers of that hand moving to replace the tongue that was working its familiar magic inside you. He doesn’t give you so much as a single moment to collect your thoughts as he makes the exchange, effortlessly ramming and curling two up into your cunt as his tongue continues its prior attack on your clit.

You swore you were seeing stars behind your eyelids, your grip on the table faltering just like your efforts to stay in control. You couldn't even attempt to cover your mouth, not with the relentless—yet unintentional—way your hands found their way under the table, tangling in his hair and gripping with enough force to pull some strands loose.

You greedily buck your hips down to meet the thrusting of his digits, pulling his head as far into your cunt as possible. He doesn’t complain. He never would. Maybe it was his own type of preferred masochism, but he’d consider suffocating and perishing in between your legs in this way, a noble death.

Your toes ache from the force with which you’re curling them, your legs clutching and winding around his shoulders and neck like a python.

By now, you had abandoned all caution, hope, and effort to moan quietly. You were practically screaming over the deliciously knowing way he prodded his thick fingers into your cunt. He had long forgotten to move them in and out. He knew exactly what spot drove you mad, and he made his most conscious effort to curl them into it as rapidly and frequently as possible.

As much as Vander adored your cries, they were truly becoming far too loud. He really didn’t want any curious folks to come wandering in to spoil the moment when you were so close to your inevitable peak. He has no choice but to silence you. With the hand that remained on your other thigh, he removed it from its resting place, reaching up from beneath the table as he gazes up at you. With a smirk against your cunt, and his eyes studying how your head was still thrown back against the booth, eyes shut tighter than a steel trap—-he shoves two of his free fingers into your mouth. Your eyes shoot open. You look down at him, earning a wink from your husband as he smirks harder against your cunt. The eye contact was filthy, in the most erotic way possible. It always made you feel slightly awkward, in an oddly arousing way, when you made such a type of contact with him in the heat of a moment like this.

You willingly sucked on his fingers, now understanding the purpose for his actions after a thoughtful moment. He groans against your cunt, luckily the sound being muffled by how much his mouth was buried into it. Your tongue swirls itself rapaciously around the digits, drool falling from your mouth as you did so. Vander simply can’t tear his eyes away from such a sight. He groans more as you lower your own gaze, your expression deadly with seduction. He was almost pissy that both of his hands were occupied at the moment. He was anxious to palm at his cock, desperate to find friction of his own now.

His tongue and lips were still working their relentless job on your clit, suckling every few seconds amidst the slurping. The way his facial hair brushes against it every now and then almost sends you into hysterics—bordering on a full blown frenzy.

Your legs are quaking, twitching and spasming with every harsh lick to your clit. It was so sensitive, you couldn’t help how it shocked your nerves, causing them all to fire simultaneously. Electricity burned in your veins, desperate to chase your orgasm as it made your hips flick against his mouth faster than he could lap at you.

Your orgasm burrowed itself into the pit of your stomach, commanding you to follow it down to your cunt.

It didn’t take much longer for you to keel over the edge of your impending climax. It burst through you, your legs clamping shut around his face—a move which Vander was used to by now—-hips mindlessly gyrating against his face as you brutally cum around his fingers. Vander can feel your walls clenching and relaxing back to back with each additional thrust he gave, your voice begging to slip past his fingers as you come undone. He thought you had been dripping wet at the start of this—but he had been sorely mistaken. Your arousal was seeping out of you despite his fingers plugging you up.

“Attagirl..” He whispers against you, giving your clit a few final licks before reluctantly pulling away. The grip on his hair finally loosened as your body went almost completely limp. Your breathing came in rapid, shallow gasps, just as desperate as Vander, himself, now was. His cock was so hard, it felt like it was being choked by his trousers. But he had the patience of a saint. He could wait as long as needed for you to collect yourself once again.

“So, was the service to your liking?” he asks, his tone teasing—and entirely rhetorical—as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The fingers that had been in your mouth slide free as he takes a moment to compose himself.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, clearly amused by how speechless you’ve become.

“Just don’t forget to tip your server..” He teases, alluding to the painfully obvious fact, that this situation is far from over.

staring problem | ekko x reader

Word Count: 2,000 Notes: Not particularly sexual, but MDNI, AFAB!Reader. Body (boob?) worship, tight-fitting clothing (no sizes mentioned), fluff, couch cuddling, the briefest food mention of all time. Ekko might have an oral fixation. The prompt for this warmup was literally just Ekko loving on your boobs, do with that what you will. No description of breast size.

Looking back on it, you absolutely knew what would happen when you squeezed into this tiny little black top.

In your defense, though, you had only been curious if it would even fit, pleasantly surprised to find that the soft material was designed to stretch and hug your frame like a second skin.

And it was just so warm that you couldn't bring yourself to peel it back off, not when the first wisps of winter are already twisting through the air. Niping at your nose, frosting the ground, and squeezing through the cracks in your front door, desperate to terrorize you and your already cold feet.

If anything, it's Ekko's fault for bringing it to you.

Some little thing he found while sorting through the new batch of clothes collected for the Firelights. But for someone so intelligent, he sure looks shocked the moment he looks up and sees you standing in the middle of the base.

You're pretending that you notice the way his eyes go wide, feigning ignorance, as you hang these new decorative lights. Using a hoverboard would have made this easier, wouldn't have had to reach so far overhead, but there's an ulterior motive here. Shamelessly twisting your body. Blissfully unaware of the familiar gaze that drinks in your frame, like a man who has just found a glass of water in the desert.

"Please be careful," Ekko's gloved hand presses into your lower back, and you don't need to look to know that the other is in front of you. Ready to catch you the moment you slip.

But try as he might, he can't keep his attention focused on what you're doing. Distracted by something that isn't your diligent hands, securing the string of lights to the wall.

Even after you've finished with them, and Scar calls Ekko over to come look at the engine they're repairing, you can't help but feel as if you're being stared at.

It's one thing to feel the other Firelights looking you over. With so many newcomers these days, all with varying estimations of how long it's socially acceptable to stare at someone, it's bound to happen, but this is different. The script has flipped.

For once, it's Ekko staring at you.

He thinks he's being subtle about it. Looking over his shoulder every time you walk past, going out of his way to ask you questions that he definitely knows the answer to. He's up on the balcony, head swiveling to keep up with you as you walk around the tree. Just so happens to think there's an issue with his hoverboard, one that requires him to fly past you half a dozen times.

You've got a fairly good idea of what could possibly have him so distracted, but it's only confirmed later in the afternoon when you're all huddled around for a meeting. It's another one of Scar's debates about capacity issues, and this time, it sounds like they're actually making progress on it, but...oh, what the hell. You're not listening.

You can't.

Not when Ekko is sitting eight feet across from you, hands clasped in front of his face, staring dead at your chest without the slightest hint of awareness of what he's doing. As if one quick glance won't reveal that he's more focused on the shape of your breasts than the overwhelming topic of where to put everyone. No bra to alter their shape into something modest, and with the way this shirt hugs every single inch...

You cross your arms, letting the motion squish your boobs into a new position.

Ekko's eyes dart up to your face. Caught red-handed.

"Ekko, you got any ideas?" Scar tilts his head, briefly looking toward you, then back to Ekko. Seems he caught on to what was happening a long time ago.

For once in his life, Ekko doesn't have a single clever suggestion to offer. A crucial mistake that keeps him at the meeting long after it ends; the capacity issue won't solve itself, and ideas don't grow on trees.

You're settled into the patchwork couch when Ekko finally pushes through the door. Face paint smeared across his forehead, some of it mysteriously staining his cheek, as if he's wiped his head with his hand and then rested his face in it. One of these days, he'll figure out how to get the consistency right with these new materials, but until then...

"Did the kids get you with a paintbrush again?" You giggle, aimlessly reaching out for him despite how far away he is.

Every muscle in his body seems to relax at the very sight of you, tension melting away like metal under one of his blowtorches. "I smeared it all over my face again, didn't I?" His voice has already lost its usual confidence, resigned to something much quieter.

Any other day, you would chide him for walking out of his shoes, leaving them scattered across the floor to be tripped over later, but you don't think he even has the energy to carry them over to their designated place by the door. All lazy smiles and half-lidded eyes, collapsing into you the moment he's deemed himself close enough.

"And here I thought I would have an easy day," Ekko grumbles right into your collar, groggy voice vibrating through your bones.

"An easy day for the leader of the Firelights?" You tease, running your hand up the back of his neck, nails tracing against his skin. "Never."

His whine cuts through the air, long and drawn out, as if being reminded of his status is the worst thing he could possibly hear right now.

"I'm sorry," laughing, you press a kiss to his forehead, where you're certain you'll get the least amount of paint on your lips.

All he has the strength to do is groan again, tilting his head until he's fully buried his face into your chest. Maybe if he snuggles close enough, nobody will be able to come ask for another favor that he'll inevitably say yes to.

"I should have never given you this shirt," Ekko still isn't lifting his head. Content to stay here with his face smashed into nondescript fabric for the rest of his life.

"What, you don't think it looks good on me?" Feigning hurt.

"It looks gorgeous on you," it comes out a little too fast. Seems he's been sitting on that thought for a while now. "That's the problem."

"I can tell," you have to momentarily pause with that thought, preoccupied with sorting his hair back into place. "You spent half of the afternoon and the entirety of the meeting staring at my chest. I'm shocked Scar didn't call you out on it."

"Oh, he's never gonna let me live it down," Ekko's tired chuckle is the prettiest thing you've heard all day. You can only imagine what went on the moment you left.

But one can only lie next to one's favorite temptation for so long. It's only a matter of minutes before he begins to wander, using the tip of his nose as a guide, wandering across your chest until he brushes over the soft swell of your breast.

A vague, warm pressure greets you. There and gone in a matter of milliseconds, leaving behind a coolness that wasn't there before.

And he does it again, a little bit slower this time. Easier for you to catch. The swift dart of his tongue, wetting the material of your shirt, and maybe he's misplaced his concepts of shame because there's no trace of it to be found today. Content to mouth over your breast, no real end goal to be found. Doing it just for the hell of it.

"What could you possibly be doing?"

No answer.

You're making no move to stop him. It's comparable to a feather-light massage, diligently working over you, leaving no space unattended to. He'd make this his full-time job if circumstances would allow it.

The left half of your shirt is almost entirely damp, your nipple gradually hardening from the cold, poking through the fabric, only to be greeted with his burning mouth. Tongue flicking over it, the faintest pressure of his teeth sending it off.

But the right side can only be neglected for so long, stealing his attention away from your left. Marking it in much of the same way while his hand rises to cover the wet mess he's made of you, warding off the chill before it can grow uncomfortable.

"How long." Kiss. "Will you." Kiss. "Let me do this for?"

You trace the outline of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, humming. "I haven't thought that far yet."

Forever, or until you can't stand it anymore. Whichever comes first.

Enabling him is the worst thing you can do in this situation. You've only got so much time before the dinner bell rings. Even less to change shirts and scurry across the hideout before everything grows cold, but you just can't bring yourself to deny him...whatever this is.

Even if you did want to, it's so hard to find your voice when he peeks up at you. Gentle brown eyes peering through thick lashes, drinking in your expression as he mouths at your breast, drool spilling off his tongue like you're the best thing he's ever tasted.

His hand appears at the hem of your shirt, pushing it upward. Past your belly and over the stunning swell of your chest, and fuck, those eyes sparkle at the sight that greets him.

That mouth of his wobbles. Opening and closing, visibly searching for words that he doesn't have the capacity to conjure up right now. Doesn't find them until after he's pressed a kiss into the underside of your boob. "Has anyone ever told you that you're breathtaking?"

"You," deadpanning. "Every day since the day I met you."

Ekko looks away from you, suddenly very, very interested in the stitching of the couch. As if he's ever cared about the odd green square that covers up the burn mark one of his inventions left behind.

It's remarkably easy to slip your hand beneath his chin, delicately turning him back to look at you. His eyes are a tad reluctant to meet with yours, still bracing for the impact of you expressing some kind of irritation with him that has never, ever been there.

"And I love every second of it." Whispering. A secret meant solely for the two of you to share.

Oh, he just lights up at the sound of that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He's still just as slow as he was the first time. Diligently kissing at your soft skin, loving on every little inch. Hot, wet tongue tracing shapes and his fingers smearing the saliva left behind. The other hand works carefully at the side he's not playing with yet, massaging loose circles into it. His callouses are just the right amount of friction, enough to create a slight drag that you can't possibly ignore.

"And you don't mind me doin' this?" He shouldn't be talking with his lips half wrapped around your nipple, but ugh, the vibration of his voice...

You're not sure when your hand made its way to the back of his neck, but its there, stroking up and down in a manner that always makes him melt. "I would have told you if it bothered me."

If you had known that something as simple as a new, form-fitting shirt would have ended in this, you would have invested in one sooner. Scratch that, an entire clothing business. Maybe you can find a shirt that'll fit him, too. Give yourself an excuse to kiss and suck on those lovely, bulging biceps that you so often find yourself staring at.

A yawn takes over his handsome face. Contagious. Passing on to you like a bad cold. And just like that, it wanders back to him, running its course through him one, two, three more times until his eyes have watered to the point of tears streaming down his cheeks.

Your thumb swipes out, stroking them away and smearing even more of the paint across his face. Oops. "You still have time for a nap if that's what you need."

"Here?" There's that glint in his eye again. Hopeful.

The bed would be so much more comfortable, but... "I don't see why not."

And as he helps to pull your shirt back down and snuggles down into his favorite spot on your chest, you can't help but get the feeling that you've unintentionally created his new favorite thing to do with you.

...not that you're complaining.

Poly line brain rot, how about when reader is sick, shes got the boys worried and James and faith fighting each other to play nurse

She eventually gets sick of it and screams at them both to get out, marko and paul keep an eye on her, Dwayne metaphorically bangs their heads together and is like 'guys, seriously, shes sick, get your shit together and get along for 5 minutes'

And they try, they do, but it's not perfect

“I can play nurse”

Faith x reader x James, reader x father lost boys

A dreaded day had washed over the cave, the day you got sick. Faith had woken up that evening, attached to you as she always does in her sleep. But when she woke up she had found you to be extremely warm, too warm.

You woke up groggy and with a massive migraine. You tried to hide it as today was the usual day you, faith and James would go on a date. Faith saw through you straight away and went to fetch star, who wasn’t in as she had found a boy to entertain her time with.

Her next best bet was her favourite of your fathers, marko. Marko and faith has a mentor and student type of relationship and she greatly admired him even though she would never forgive him for what he put you through hell when you were a child.

“(Y/n)s sick” faith blurted out nervously when she entered the common area of the cave where Paul, Marko and Dwayne sat.

“What?” Marko questioned with worry

“She’s got a fever and she’s mumbling unintelligibly” faith said as she fiddled with her long night shirt which was actually yours. She preferred to sleep in your oversized band shirts because your scent and perfume always helped her sleep, she refused to wear any ‘that heathen’ had worn previously though.

“What should we do?” Paul questioned Dwayne as he was the most rational

“Tell David and make sure to keep her hydrated” Dwayne answered “if she gets any worse, faith can take her to the doctors”

“I can take care of her for the time being” faith offered or more demanded, this was her chance to spend extra time with you while James couldn’t.

“We should probably take care of her” Dwayne denies faiths request “we can’t get sick, your human and you don’t want to get sick”

“I don’t mind getting sick” faith reassured “I have a really strong immune system so I probably won’t anyway”

“See” marko stands up and puts his arm around faiths shoulder “faiths got it under control and we can help”

Faith was grateful she had Marko as an ally. She used to get pushed out of conversations and decisions quite easily when she first began living in the cave but when marko took a shining to her, she was never left out again and he always had her back. Kind of like a bad influence older brother.

“If you say so” Dwayne huffs out as he gets up to check up on you “we’ll still be taking care of her though”

Dwayne couldn’t help his possessiveness. He liked faith, he truly did, but she was yet another person who could take you away from your fathers and he despised that. Even if he liked the girl he still wanted to tear her head off of her shoulders whenever he saw her kiss or embrace his little girl.

Marko went to tell David the news. Dwayne and faith went off to check on you but Paul had other plans. Paul wanted to shit stir.

He strolled out of the cave as it the sun had just gone down and went to the phone booth near the bluff and dialled up maxs phone.

“Maxs residence, this is his son speaking” James answered and Paul snickered

“Son? That was quick” Paul teased, he heard a deep sigh through the phone and laughed harder

“What do you want shithead?” James seethed out at Paul in frustration

“I’m just calling you to let you know that unfortunately your date has been cancelled” Paul said with a over the top nonchalant tone

“Oh and whys that?” James questioned through gritted teeth, already tired of Paul’s antics

“Well she can’t exactly turn up when she’s sick, that what would just be cruel” Paul gasped out in fake offence.

“She’s sick?!” James rushed out in worry

“Yep, poor girls got a fever and can barely string together a sentence” Paul smirked into the phone

There was a long silence before Paul heard the jingling of keys and the rushed sound of shoes being put on.

“I’ll be over in ten minutes” James rushed out as he put the phone down and ran through the door.

“I’m counting on it” Paul smirked out at his evil genius plan.

———————————————————————-

“How are you feeling honey?” Faith asked gently as she moved stray hairs from your sweaty forehead

You just mumbled incoherently into your pillow as you pulled the covers close to your chest. Dwayne looked at you with sympathetic eyes as he put more water to your mouth but you rejected it.

Suddenly the two of them heard stomping footsteps through the cave as they got closer and the door slammed open to reveal a fuming James and a smirking Paul.

“Oh baby” James rushed to your side and pushed faith back “are you okay?”

You nodded your head into your pillow as you coughed and shivered into your blankets

“Thanks for telling me faith” James seethed sarcastically as Dwayne rolled his eyes

“I’ve been taking care of her” faith defends herself “it’s not my fault you live in town”

“You always find a way to throw that back into my face” James argues “I don’t live here because the you cried to David about me”

“That’s not true” faith denies and gets in James face “David asked me if you’d make a good roommate and I told him my honest opinion”

“You just know she’d want to spend more time with me if I lived here” James mocked cruelly

“Oh go back to your sugar daddy max you stupid waste of air” faith responded with anger

“Don’t get mad because the head of the family likes me better than the prissy little bitch” James jabs his finger into faiths shoulder and she pushes him

“Max isn’t the head of the family, David is” faith defends David, her powerful ally “you’d know that if you were actually part of the family”

“I don’t want to be part of this sick circus of cruelty” James yells back “as soon as I get the chance I’m getting her out of this freak show”

“I’ll kill you before you even get the chance” faith yells back

Dwayne and Paul watch this with amused expression before they notice you covering your ears and whimpering into your pillow in pain. Dwayne growls lowly as he goes to intervene

“Shut up” you groan out, beating Dwayne to the punch “if your going to keep yelling just get out”

This took the two of them by surprise. Sure you’d hand James his ass whenever he was being a prick or was simply taking bad about faith but you’d never snapped at faith before. You knew she was an emotionally fragile person when it came to you so you would usually have gentle talks with her but tonight you were to sick and tired to care

Dwayne grabs the two of the blondes by the ears and yanks them out of your room as they groaned in pain at his hold.

He drags the two of them into the hall and pushes them against the tunnels of the cave and gives them a frightening glare

“I understand the two of you have a grand total of two brain cells combined whenever your around each other” Dwayne insulted them with a glare “but my child is extremely sick right now and I will not have you two little fuckers making her worse”

The two of them stood slack jawed at Dwayne’s words and didn’t dare move until he finished his speech

“If you two really want to help you’ll slap on a smile and help us take care of your sick girlfriend and my sick daughter” Dwayne scolds them harshly

“OUR sick daughter” Paul corrects, feeling left out. Dwayne turns to him with a ferocious look as he slowly got closer

“Don’t think I don’t know who’s to blame for this situation” Dwayne growls out “now shut up and help these fools to take care of OUR sick daughter who’s situation you made worse”

“Yes sir” Paul muttered out like a scolded child as he went to your room to comfort you.

———————————————————————

Faith and James entered your bedroom with a tray full of food on it and placed it on the bed as they gently woke you up.

“We made you soup honey” faith whispers gently

“I made soup and you filled a bottle up with water” James muttered out but stops when faith jabs him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Is there anything we can do honey?” Faith asks genuinely while rubbing your hands affectionately

“I can play nurse for you?” James jokes with a smirk but is again stopped by faiths elbow to his ribs as he swats the back of her head.

“I want my daddy” you said with tears in your eyes, resorting to a childlike manner that you used to do when you were younger

“Oh honey” faith gently carcasses your cheeks “David’s busy-“

“I’m here baby” David interrupts faith and storms past and pushes them both away “can we have some privacy please?”

The two reluctantly left the room with promises to be back later. David crawled into bed with you and leaned your sweaty, hot head on his chest with his arm around your shoulders.

“Your not looking so hot kid” David joked and you choked on a laugh and cry at the same time as David rubbed your back comfortingly.

“I don’t feel good daddy” you whimpered out, slightly embarrassed at your deleterious sick state making you act so childlike.

“It’s okay kid” David pats your back reassuringly “daddy’s here now”

No matter what, David wanted to make sure you would always want your fathers first. He’d make sure of it. He’d kill those two idiots if it meant that you would only have the boys left to take care of you. He’ll keep them around for now, until you get bored and accept your place in their legacy and accept that they are all you need.

They’re poor sick baby.

Hello , I’m marah from Gaza 🍉🇵🇸

I need your help if you can

Please donate to save my life and my family

Asking for help is not easy, l ask for a small donation of only 20$ will save my family from death

It became more difficult after I lost a large part of my family and my home.

My father had a stroke and my mother needs treatment due to chronic

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I started suffering from stomach pain due to polluted water and unhealthy food.

Your contribution means everything to us and in these difficult times

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Hi im so so so sorry but i do not have 20 dollars on me i am so sorry

sure. resending. basically vander successfully drowns silco to keep the peace only for a few days later for some kid who turns out to be silco's child comes to the last drop saying their daddy hasn't been by for a while and told them if anything ever happened to go find "A nice man named vander at a place called the last drop...."

-Thanks for the resend and sorry again for Tumblr's bullshit broken system 😒 Now onto the ANGST and I am so fucking sorry this took so long

**CW for darker subjects including: drowning, accidental murder, implied strangulation **

There were three days of silence, save for the ticking clock, the constant murmuring heartbeat of the city outside and occasional muffled sobs. Three days of drinking himself unconscious trying to chase away the demons, only to have them haunt his nightmares and awakening to start the cycle over again.

One lone man sat slumped at a corner booth of the empty barroom, a spent bottle next to his ragged form and another clutched in his shaking hand. His hair and clothing were a disheveled mess, his hands still raw and red from scrubbing them dozens of times. His eyes, glazed and unfocused, stared ahead into nothing, trying to avoid closing them for too long because every time he did he could see him-

Flailing, eyes wide in terror and shock, struggling and clawing at the water, at anything his slender hands could reach, streams of bubbles ripped from his throat as they and he slowed and slowed until-

Groans morphing into hiccups and quiet sniffles, he lowered his forehead to the table, his thoughts a howling whirlwind of guilt and fury; at himself, at him, at all of this. Try as he might he couldn't get the images, the screams out his head...

He was gone; his best friend, his brother, drowned by his own hands after months of disagreement, arguing and eventually back-stabbing had resulted in one final fight, fueled by blind rage and frustration. It had been a horrible accident; he hadn't meant to, hadn't wanted to go so far, he just wanted him to shut up and listen for once but he'd held onto him underwater just a little too long, squeezed just a little too hard-he clutched his hair then with a roar of despair, whirled to fling the bottle at a wall where it exploded in a shower of glittering shards and liquor before collapsing back to his seat, now sobbing outright...

"I-I'm sorry Silco...I'm so...so s-sorry..."

On the fourth day, waking up on the floor of the sparse bathroom next to a puddle of vomit that'd missed the toilet and a searing headache, he lay staring at the ceiling for some time before deciding he had to make some sort of effort. After he acceptably cleaned up the mess he dragged himself into the tub, hissing and cursing as the cold water ran over his sore, tired and dirty body.

He tried not to think too hard about the water.

On the fifth day, realizing if he didn't get the bar up and running again he'd likely lose it from lack of funds, he shuffled into the main room and began slowly to pick up the chairs he'd knocked over or thrown and sweep up the broken glass. A lot of folks relied on this place for a warm, decently safe refuge from the outside world, somewhere they could get a drink and find some sort of comrade among the other customers. News, gossip, business transactions, tall tales, all of these and more flowed through the place like the alcohol that was served, creating a sort of haven for the people of the Lanes, rough as it could be. Losing it would letting them all down, and he just couldn't bear the thought of that. He'd let people down enough for two lifetimes already.

He paused frequently, taking deep breaths and trying to calm the storm still threatening in his mind. The raging, boiling despair of the past days had partially given way to a sort of creeping numbness that was gradually seeping into his very bones. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse. What he did know, was that it had happened and it couldn't be taken back. He had considered seriously the notion of turning himself in to the authorities and spending the rest of his life rotting in prison, he deserved it, but then remembered how much people still looked up to and relied on him...if he did that even more would suffer, thus he was stuck now with the gift and burden of what he'd worked to become.

There was no way to remedy things, make amends for what he'd done, but perhaps...he could do what was possible to continue the dream of a better, safer, more independent city for everyone else.

As he worked he thought he heard a faint knocking at the front door. At first he was sure he'd imagined it, but then he heard it again, and again until eventually a small, insistent voice joined in. Sighing, he leaned his broom against a table and slowly made his way there. No doubt a child was looking to either try and sell him something, or play a joke, or ask for their parents when the place would reopen. He had not the strength or patience for any of these but regardless unlocked and cracked the door open. Immediately he spotted a small girl on the doorstep who couldn't have been more than six, her slender frame swimming in clothes that were a couple sizes too large and her auburn hair pulled back with a length of silk ribbon. But it was her eyes that truly grabbed his attention; pale blue-green and oddly intense, they caught his and didn't let go.

"...Can...I help ya?" he muttered after an awkward moment of staring at each other.

She took a couple steps back to look upwards at the building, gave an assured nod, then approached him again, "You're Vander, right?"

Vander tilted his head, immediately regretting it with the headache he still had, "I am...and who might you be? This ain't exactly a place for kids."

She fished around in the inner pocket of her coat; it looked like it had once been a fine piece, likely belonging to some well-off child topside, but was now worn and patched, the brick-red wool faded to a dull brown. Her pants and shirt were of similar condition; it seemed someone had put considerable effort into clothing her in the finest castoffs they could manage. Finding what she wanted, she straightened herself and held out an envelope with an air of grave importance.

"My name is Olivia, and I was told to come here by my papa if I didn't see him for more than four days. He told me to find the Last Drop and a nice guy named Vander and to give him this letter."

She recited all this with a practised tone, as if she'd gone over it dozens of times. Vander's brow furrowed; what was all this? Some sort of prank? A trap? Who had sent her? And why him? Who did he know that had a daughter? All these questions swirled in his fogged brain until he spied several men nearby leering curiously at Olivia. He clutched the doorframe a little harder; he didn't like the look in their beady eyes whatsoever.

Whatever the reason for her showing up she wasn't safe out here, and with the tiniest, faintest flame reignited in his heavy heart he opened the door wider, "C'mon love...it's gettin' cold out. I'll get you something hot to drink 'n we'll get this sorted out yeah?"

Soon Olivia was seated at a table, sipping a mug of weak but much appreciated hot chocolate as Vander sat across from her and turned the letter over repeatedly in his hands, trying to glean some sort of clue from the outside alone. The only mark on it was a neat 'V' in the center in bold, black ink. He glanced up at this mystery child, again wondering what in the world this was all about and with a reluctant sigh, tore the seal off and unfolded the couple-page length letter.

The moment he saw the handwriting the air was knocked from his lungs. The quick, graceful pen strokes and neatly straight sentences across unlined paper were instantly recognizable even before he'd registered a single word...but then his eyes traitorously began reading on their own and he couldn't tear them away.

"Vander; I despise sounding cliche, however if you're reading this, it means I am either somehow incapacitated, or tragically, I've met my end. In either case, I'm certain you're wondering who the girl is that gave it to you. There's no point in playing games or sugarcoating things, so to cut to the chase, this is my daughter, Olivia-"

'My daughter'

Here Vander stopped reading for a moment, of all the words scrawled on the page to tear at his heart those nearly made it stop. Silco had...a daughter? He pried his gaze from the paper to glance up at Olivia, feeling dizzy and sick all over again. Her attention seemed to be focused on the jukebox at the moment, those bright blue-green eyes wide with curiosity. Her father's eyes...

Vander shut his own tightly, drawing a slow, deep breath before reopening them to continue reading.

"-who as of my writing this is nearly six. If you're wondering how, I trust you recall the time we decided it would be great fun to visit that new brothel in Piltover just over the bridge? In a moment of youthful weakness I, well, even you can figure it out. I put it out of my mind entirely until several months ago, when a woman approached me with Olivia in tow, insistent I was her father. Of course I didn't believe a word of it, and called in a favor to have a test performed to prove it...and much to my shock it was true. I'm still trying to sort out my thoughts on this whole matter. Gods know I'm no man to be a father. Though, I must confess, my fondness for her has increased greatly these past months. She is a highly intelligent and inquisitive child, with a natural instinct for problem solving and a strong sense of justice. Paternal feelings are not something I'd ever expected to experience, yet here I am. I'm certain you're wondering many things right now, first of which why I haven't told you until now-"

Here the pen appeared to have stopped, multiple dots and specks of ink seeming to indicate he had been tapping it on the page as he paused to consider his next words. Vander felt his eyes well at the mental image of Silco sitting at a table or desk, chin resting in one hand as he tapped his pen and stared at the paper, Olivia curled up asleep in his lap clutching a puzzle toy. He exhaled mournfully, blinking the tears away and continued reading.

"-At first I didn't quite know how to, but then I concluded it would be best for all if her existence was kept quiet. We've become successful Vander, perhaps too much in some ways. We have our enemies, and can't risk them learning of anything, or anyone, that could be used against us. The less people knew about her the better. Secondly, about her mother well, she's not the reliable sort, and often vanishes from their meager apartment without a word or even a note. I question how much she truly loves Olivia versus how much she enjoys holding my purse ransom for her care. She's been disappearing more lately, which brings me to the most critical part of this letter. I need to do something to ensure her safety and wellbeing, even if I can't be there personally. I know we've been at odds for some time, but should you still hold any affection for me-"

Vander had to stop again for a moment to gather himself, pressing his knuckles to his mouth. Of course he did...but did he have any right to? He could hear Silco's voice in his head, narrating the words as clearly as if he was standing over his shoulder right now. For a brief, mad second he was certain if he looked, he really would be there, those bright eyes he'd gifted his child boring critically into him.

Now Olivia noticed, and blinked at him, "Are you okay mister?"

Vander let out a quick gasp, wrung from his dark thoughts and trying to force a smile, "Y-yeah sweetie just...was thinkin'. Gimme a moment gotta finish readin'..."

"-I ask you, with utmost sincerity, to do this one, vitally important task-I need you to bring her to her grandparents in Piltover, where she'll be safe and well cared for. I've included the address at the bottom of this page. Her mother refuses to do this out of stupidity and stubborn pride, but since she refuses to be a proper mother, I must be a better father and I know the grandparents would be thrilled to take her in. I have included a second letter for her to give to them explaining all relevant matters so you needn't worry about talking to them more than strictly necessary, if at all. Lastly, as for explaining to Olivia what's become of me, be honest. If I am locked away, tell her. If I am dead, be gentle, but tell her. Better her heart is broken now so she has more time for it to heal. Please do this for me, brother, and for her. She deserves the chance we never had, and if all my efforts in this world amount to lifting this one child from the muck and poison, then I can leave it with pride. Farewell, for now, or forever, and thank you for everything. -Silco"

Vander sat and gaped in stunned silence at the paper in his trembling hands. Would he help her? Without question. He'd utterly failed Silco already, and though helping his daughter wouldn't erase his sins or bring the man back, at least he could honor him by fulfilling his last request. That numbness had cracked, letting the howling storm of grief back in, especially when he dared look up to find Olivia staring at him in both concern and curiosity and had to look away again; her eyes, so alike Silco's, were too much to bear right now.

"What...does it say?" at length she wondered, "Does it say when mama or papa will be back?"

"I-" Vander choked, coughing out a breath then took a slow, deep one to steady himself, sniffling back more tears. The girl's face fell, seeming to understand his expression and Vander winced as she spoke again, quietly with a wavering voice.

"...Did...something happen to them...?"

"Sweet'art, I-I don't know 'bout your mom, but...but your dad...he..." Vander swallowed the lump in his throat preventing him speaking, forcing himself to look at the girl with every thread of calm sincerity he could muster; she deserved that much, "He's..."

Some time later, Vander gazed hollowly out a window, watching the raindrops occasionally spatter against it as he slowly blew puffs of smoke into the still air. He glanced at the small figure dozing fitfully and curled into a ball in a nearby booth. He had honored Silco's wish. He told her the truth...but not the whole story. She was grief-stricken and traumatized enough; telling her the man her father had trusted, the one sitting across from her and from whom she expected help and protection was the one that had taken his life wasn't something he could put her through. Perhaps someday he would tell her the rest, and should she choose to take revenge, well, he wouldn't blame her.

After hearing the grim news she had thrown herself onto him, seeking comfort and burrowing into his broad chest as she sobbed, but he'd been unable to return more than gingerly 'hugging' her with his forearms. Holding her with the same hands that had killed her father seemed, at the moment, far too cruel. She'd then crawled into a booth and eventually cried herself to sleep, so he'd taken up a vigil and draped his jacket over her for extra warmth. A small comfort perhaps, but one he could stomach easier.

Now she suddenly stirred and awoke, rubbing her red, swollen eyes and sniffling as she clutched the heavy leather garment around herself. Neither spoke, and Vander stood, going behind the bar and fetching a soft cloth and a dented cup, pouring the cleanest water he had into it. He then brought the items to Olivia, who took the cup with a whispered thanks. He gently dabbed her eyes and nose, cleaning her up the best he could.

She glanced at him with glassy, scared eyes then the floor, "...What's gonna happen now...?"

Vander hesitated for a second before laying his hand on the letter, "Don't worry, Olivia...I'm gonna take ya to your grandparents, safe 'n sound. You'll be a'right...your papa made certain of that."

She only nodded, still sniffling as Vander stood, "I'll be right back love, then we'll head out so we can get there b'fore dark. Ain't safe after dark..."

Vander adjusted his vest and pulled his overcoat a little tighter around himself to ward off the evening chill, keeping a close eye on his charge as she trotted beside him, and ignored all the sharply curious glances they received. He had changed into a set of more 'respectable' clothes he kept stashed away for whenever a trip topside was necessitated and he didn't want to draw any attention to himself. Well, once they crossed the bridge anyway; down in the Lanes still they garnered quite the variety of looks. Olivia's small fist was balled tightly around the hem of his coat as she kept close, and soon, after climbing flights of cracked stone and metal stairs and taking a rickety elevator, they found themselves on the surface level just as the hazy, clouded sun was sinking into the horizon. The drizzling rain had stopped for the time being, with a blanket of fog settled over the area. Vander strode down the muddy, trash-littered road leading to the bridge when he felt an insistent tugging at his pant leg, and looked to see Olivia gazing longingly up at him.

"What's the matter, sweet'art?" he inquired, and she stretched her thin arms toward him, "I'm tired...please?"

In an instant he realized what she was asking but this time, instead of feeling ill at the thought, although a stab of shame still coursed through him he was overcome by a sort of mournful bitter sweetness. Here was the daughter of his friend, a friend now heartbreakingly gone but here in front of him was a part of them. He couldn't apologize, make amends, but he could do this much.

'...if all my efforts in this world amount to lifting this one child from the muck and poison...'

Mustering a reassuring smile, he gently scooped her into his arms, holding her securely to his chest and shoulder and she curled herself into him with a content, if not equally melancholy, sigh.

In this way he made his way to and across the long, imposing structure, the fog obscuring then completely hiding the dark and toxic city behind them as he carried her toward a better life than her father ever had...

EPILOGUE:

Some time late in the night, Vander stood in the bathroom with his hands braced on the sink, staring blankly into the mirror at his exhausted and scruffy face. Dark blueish bags hung under his tired eyes and he could see the grey beginning to creep into his hair and messy beard. Insomnia and vivid nightmares had again claimed any attempt to sleep, so after pacing the empty building he'd ended up here.

Giving his reflection a disgusted snort he grumbled, "You're a right fuckin' mess..."

He turned the faucet on, gathering a palm-full of water to splash on his face and reflecting on the shock and emotional rollercoaster of the day. Silco had had a daughter he'd known nothing of until she appeared at his door, and though not her fault had only helped to deepen the wounds of guilt and shame in him. Still...

He recalled now showing up at the home of her grandparents, though clearly being not especially wealthy were quite comfortable, and how the older couple were obviously overjoyed to see Olivia and grateful to the man who introduced himself as a friend of her father's for bringing her there safely. Though they didn't speak much Vander realized they were well aware of their daughter's...unpredictability and Olivia would benefit from staying with them. The last he saw of her, and likely would ever, was when she waved to him and expressed her thanks before being led into the house.

He'd fulfilled his duty in escorting her safely there, not that it should have ever been under the circumstances it was. He had to grip the sink again as one more question crossed his thoughts, one she had every right to know but one he was praying she wouldn't ask and that just dug the knife further into his heart. While making their way through Piltover Olivia had abruptly asked what had happened to her papa.

"....He drowned..." had been his only reply, and seemingly satisfied the girl fell quiet again.

"...and it's my fault..." he now whispered to the empty air, scooping up another handful of water.

Before he could douse his face however, he felt a sudden and violent chill start at the base of his spine, and as it raced up his back all the hair on his body stood with it. A wave of creeping dread followed and he slowly lowered his hand, the water falling through his fingers to splash in the sink and onto the floor...wait. There was so much water on the cracked tile where had it...?

Then he was aware of something else...a presence of sorts, the sensation that someone was there, just at the edge of your conciousness. Braving the slightest upward glance-he quickly dropped his gaze back to the sink, nauseous and terrified to look up fully at the reflection he could just see in the mirror behind him out of the corner of his eye and certain he'd finally gone mad.

Silco stood there, ghostly pale, soaking wet with water dripping from his hair and clothing and glowering at him. A ring of dark bruises encircled his neck, and his hair clung to his face such that his left eye was barely visible-but the right absolutely burned with fury.

After the initial shock, shaking and heart hammering, Vander addressed him, "If you're...here to kill me too...I know I deserve it..."

Silco remained silent, unmoving except for the eerily unnecessary rise and fall of his chest with his 'breathing'. Vander felt his own chest tighten with the continued confusion and horror of this situation coupled with the guilt of what he'd done. He tried another line of conversation.

"Silco the-there's a million things I could, that I wanna say but it all feels...inadequate and stupid. You're gone and nothin' I do or say will change that. I...I'm so sorry..." his throat tightened but he coughed to clear it, a jumble of words he needed to say flooding out, "I wish ya'd told me 'bout Olivia...she's somethin' special. But especially now I understand why ya didn't...ya know what fucks with me? That not only did I-I take your life but I took the time ya coulda had with her...gods I-"

He drew several deep, calming breaths, unfair as it felt before continuing, "I did what ya asked. She's with her family, and they'll see to it she's well loved..if she's half as smart 'n resilient as you she'll really be somethin' one day..."

He dared to look upwards, feeling he owed Silco that much, "...And if she ever comes seekin' answers or justice, I'd rightfully give 'em to her..."

Vander saw his expression had gone from cold rage to still angry, but now blended with almost a regretful sadness. He gave the slightest nod, then slowly raised a hand as if to reach out to him...

And suddenly Vander couldn't breathe. He panicked, coughing and gasping for air, then braced himself on the sink before collapsing to his hands and knees. Falling onto his side, his vision swam with the water that filled his lungs and eyes and the image of Silco standing over him as he lost consciousness-

He awoke with a strangled, terrified shout and bolted upright, grasping at his neck and heaving in deep breaths, the realization that it had been a nightmare gradually settling in. Though that one had been a figment of his guilt-ridden imagination, the true nightmare of reality, of having to live every day with the knowledge and weight of what he'd done would be neverending. Eventually, he fell back into the sagging and worn mattress, staring at the wall and knowing sleep would likely allude him the remainder of the night.